A Promise Given

by Michelle Cox

  “Yeah, okay, sorry,” Stan said thickly. “Sorry.” He glanced over at Al, who was glowering at him. The doorman let go of him with a shove. Stan collected himself, smoothing his hair back with the palms of his hands and breathing deeply while Al slunk off farther into the parking lot, dodging the parked cars.

  Reactively, Stan quickly felt his pocket for Henrietta’s cake, which was of course smashed now into a gooey mess, and he let out an anguished groan. He would never eat it now; it was ruined! With a deep breath, he stood up straight and raggedly held out his arm to Rose, as there was nothing else he could do now. Hesitantly she took it, and together they walked unsteadily toward the doors.

  “Oh, no you don’t, buster. You’re not going back in there.”

  “But I have to! My date’s the maid of honor!”

  “Sorry, pal.”

  “Please, mister,” Rose implored. “I’ll keep an eye on him; I promise! Please? I’ll get him some coffee. He’ll behave now.”

  The doorman seemed to hesitate. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “But one sign of trouble, and I call the cops. Groom’s orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rose said as they passed through the doors. “Thank you.”

  Rose dutifully led Stan to the shadows by the bar. “Are you hurt?” she asked. “I’m so sorry you got mixed up in that.”

  “Ah, it was nothing,” Stan said sheepishly, though his heart was pounding at the near miss of almost getting thrown out! He would have died from the shame of it! Getting thrown out of Henrietta’s wedding for fighting? He would never forgive himself.

  “I think I need a drink,” he said heavily.

  “I told the doorman I’d get you coffee …”

  “He won’t know.”

  Rose hesitated. “Oh, all right. But stay here!” she implored as she left him slumped against the wall. He took the opportunity to look over the crowd again. Elsie was nowhere in sight now. The lieutenant must have spirited her away somewhere. He could not see Henrietta, or Clive, for that matter, anywhere at all.

  Rose came up and handed him a drink. He was delighted that it was a scotch and even more surprised that she held one, too. They clinked their glasses together in a silent cheers.

  “Listen,” she asked. “I have a favor to ask …”

  “Yeah?” he said, looking past her, still trying to locate Henrietta.

  “I think my friends have left,” she said worriedly. “Do you think you might give me a lift home? I just thought, since we live so close to each other …” her voice dropped off.

  There was a commotion in the crowd now as people began clapping. Stan craned his neck to see. It was Henrietta and Clive. They had emerged from the back of the hall, dressed in normal clothes now, except that Henrietta carried a small bouquet, a replica of her bouquet from earlier in the day. They paused somewhere in the middle of the dance floor, which had hurriedly cleared for them to pass. Several women gathered around, and Henrietta laughingly tossed them the bouquet. Secretly he was glad that Elsie was not among them to catch it. The couple continued on then, Stan suddenly realizing with dread that this was it, they were leaving! That’s why they had changed, stupid! he chastised himself. They were off to begin their honeymoon! Stan’s heart was beating hard in his chest as he realized he had not had a chance to really talk to Henrietta, to dance with her one last time. He had meant to, but he just hadn’t gotten around to it. And now his chance was over! They were passing so close to him now, so near the doors and their new life. She didn’t see him, of course, and he wanted to call out to her, to say goodbye, but he didn’t. Mortified, he felt hot tears in his eyes, which he furiously blinked away before anyone saw. What was it that Elsie had said to him? That he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body? Well, for once in his life, he thought despairingly, he wished to God that he didn’t.

  Chapter 7

  The gravel crunched faintly as the Isotta pulled up in front of Highbury. Clive had insisted on driving the short distance from the yacht club himself rather than involve Fritz. Henrietta was secretly glad. It was her first time alone with her husband—her heart fluttered in excited pleasure at being able to call him that— and she was eager to recount all the details of the day with him, alone. As they drove back on the almost empty streets, both of them concluded that the day had gone so very fast, as had the drive now to Highbury. They seemed to have barely scratched the surface of discussing all that had happened at the reception when they had already arrived back at the estate! Except for the servants, they were alone. By arrangement, Clive and Henrietta had left the reception early, as tradition held, while Mr. and Mrs. Howard would remain until the last of the guests departed. It was only eight o’clock in the evening, but the reception wouldn’t end until ten. Still, it felt later than it was.

  As Clive came around to open the car door for her, Henrietta suddenly fell silent, her excited chatter during the drive home fading away now as the massive Highbury loomed in front of them. She suddenly became very nervous, knowing what was expected next. She glanced up at the east wing and saw that it was dark, which somehow made it seem all the more cold and foreboding. Clive gave her his hand to help her out of the car, saying, “Why, hello, Mrs. Howard, how very nice to see you!”

  She laughed despite her nerves. It felt strange to be called that! She didn’t think she would ever get used to it. He wrapped her arm through his, then, and said in a cheerful voice, “Let’s not go in just yet. Do you mind, darling? Let’s walk by the lake. I would see my wife in the moonlight.”

  “Yes, my lord!” she said, responding in kind, glad for an excuse not to proceed to the wedding chamber just yet.

  No staff were on the grounds, thankfully, at this time of night as Clive led his new bride down to the lake. She was relieved at this suggestion and wondered if he was delaying going into the house on purpose to calm her. If so, she was very grateful. Despite the chill in the air now, a walk was just what she needed after the noise and chaos of the reception. The lake, by contrast, was blissfully quiet and still except for the sound of the rhythmic lap of the waves. Clive carefully led her past the boathouse out onto the dock, where they stood looking out at the bright reflection of the moon on the water and held hands. Henrietta took a deep breath. She could not believe she was married! That she belonged to this man, now, and he to her. That all of this would someday be theirs.

  “Happy, darling?” he asked gently.

  “More than I ever thought possible, Clive,” she whispered, looking at him now.

  “I love you,” he said, squeezing her hand and kissing her softly, “with all my heart.” He gazed into her eyes, and she thought he was going to kiss her again, but instead he said rather abruptly, “Come! I’ve got a surprise!”

  “A surprise! You’ve already surprised me with Helen Forrest! What is it?” she asked, as she allowed herself to be led back to firmer ground. “Oh, Clive, I didn’t get you anything!”

  Clive laughed. “I have all I’ll ever want, darling, now that I have you,” he said as he led her up the path.

  “Where are we going? Are we taking the long way back to the stables?” she asked, wondering if he had bought her a car, though she really couldn’t drive that well. He had tried to show her a few times, but she had yet to really get the hang of it.

  “You’ll see.”

  Together they climbed the path up the slight hill that ran past the boathouse until they reached the ridge, and Helen’s old cottage came into view. To Henrietta’s surprise, a light was burning inside and smoke was coming from the chimney.

  “Oh, no, Clive!” Henrietta whispered anxiously. “There’s someone in there! Did one of the servants move in?” she said, gripping his arm as they walked toward it, a niggling feeling of unease overcoming her. She felt possessive of the cottage now, though she wasn’t sure why, and it bothered her that someone occupied it, which was completely irrational, she knew.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, someone does occupy it,” Clive said with a smile as they c
ame upon it now and he pushed open the door with not a little effort. “That would be us!” he said, gesturing wide with his free arm, Henrietta still having hold of the other one.

  “Oh, Clive!” Henrietta said as she gingerly stepped inside. She had never seen it so warm and inviting. Soft kerosene lamps and candles glowed everywhere and a roaring fire crackled in the fireplace, which was surrounded by cozy well-worn furniture procured from somewhere—a sofa and two small armchairs and an old Victrola as well. The whole place had been cleaned and patched and repaired to perfection. Henrietta’s eyes traveled to the kitchen table, where a large bucket of ice housed a bottle of champagne and nearby stood a bouquet of wildflowers.

  “Did you do all this?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Well, I arranged it. Mother wasn’t happy, as you might imagine. I picked the flowers myself, though, this morning.”

  She took a few steps more. “Are we to spend the night here?” she asked tentatively, her eyes darting to the bedroom beyond and then to him.

  “If you wish it,” Clive said delicately. “I will be guided by you, my love.”

  Suddenly it was all too much. “Oh, Clive!” she said, holding out her hand for him to take, tears coming to her eyes. “You’ve gone through so much trouble to please me this day. How can I ever repay you? I don’t deserve someone so good!”

  Clive laughed. “Nonsense!” He looked down at her now, more seriously, as he pulled her to him and held his arms loosely about her. “If you must know, you’ve already repaid me, darling, a hundred thousand times over, earlier today when you became my wife. You’ve given me a second chance at love. I want to do it right this time. I mean to make you happy, each and every day, and to keep you safe, always.”

  It was difficult to see him now for the tears in her eyes, and he appeared blurry in front of her.

  “It’s not permanent, you know,” he added in a lighter tone, “before you get too excited and take to wearing gingham dresses and kerchiefs. But until we leave anyway, it is ours, and when we come back, well, it can be our special place. How about that?”

  “Oh, Clive,” she said, looking at him seriously. “Thank you. I love you so very much.”

  “Come on,” he said with a smile, leading the way to the small kitchen area. “Let’s get settled in our little abode! I’ll pour us some champagne,” he said, rustling the bottle from its firm nest of ice. “Why don’t you put on some music?”

  Henrietta, still stunned, walked to the Victrola and began to peruse the stack of records there. They were all her favorites. “How did you know?” she asked, gesturing toward the records. Clive laughed as he walked in then and handed her a crystal glass of champagne. “Well, I am a detective, or was,” he grinned. “I happen to notice small details.” He sat down on the sofa while she put on Benny Goodman’s “And the Angels Sing” and joined him.

  “That’s one thing we haven’t talked much about,” she said seriously. “You leaving the force. You’ve had to feel it very much, and you haven’t said a word about it, dearest.”

  A faint wave of something—regret, maybe?—passed across Clive’s face then, but he quickly brushed it away. “Let’s not talk of that tonight. No serious subjects! We’ll speak about it later, perhaps on the ship as we idle our days away. Tonight is only for happy things.”

  Henrietta nodded and tried to smile. She was overwhelmed by Clive’s attempts to please her (he was a romantic, after all!), to show her how very much he cared for her, and she struggled to mediate her mounting feelings of disproportion. She had gotten him nothing and brought so little to the table (she knew she wasn’t supposed to think these thoughts anymore and fingered the gold band that now sat between her heart and her engagement ring), though she knew what she was supposed to give in return. And she wanted to give herself to him, but she was afraid. Afraid that it might be painful after all and more so, to be honest, that she wouldn’t know what to do. Over the summer when she had found herself unwittingly alone at times with Clive—out on the terrace, upstairs in the darkened hallways, or even strolling through the rose garden—she had allowed him to kiss her and let his hands briefly roam. It had been exciting and dangerous, and she had thrilled to his touch. She had wanted to be intimate so many times, but now, now that it was expected, it seemed so contractual, so forced. It wasn’t spontaneous! And as lovely as all of this was, she thought, as she looked around the cottage again and contemplated how much effort had been put forth, it only served to increase her sense of discomfiture, as if it were the build-up to the final act in a production for which she had somehow forgotten her lines. She looked over at Clive now, who was looking back at her. Carefully he took her champagne glass from her and set it down. He stood up then and held his hand out to her. “Come,” he said, “let’s do what we do best. Let’s dance.”

  At his suggestion, Henrietta audibly breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. Clive put on “The Way You Look Tonight” and held her in his arms. She began to relax when she felt his strong arms around her. Thoughts of her father made their way into her mind suddenly, but she forced them out just as quickly. In the past, memories of him had always been a source of comfort for her, but now, after her mother’s horrible insinuations about a darker side of him, thoughts of him left her feeling squeamish, if Ma’s tales could even be believed. She didn’t want to think about that now, though, and, annoyed, pushed those thoughts away. Instead, she closed her eyes and deeply breathed in Clive’s scent. He usually smelled of crisp linen and cologne, but there was always a deeper, earthier, manly smell to him too that mingled with it and made her insides clench.

  He was softly singing the words now to her …

  Yes, you’re lovely, with your smile so warm,

  And your cheeks so soft,

  There is nothing for me but to love you,

  And the way you look tonight …

  She looked up into his eyes and could not help a little laugh, or perhaps it was a little gasp, from slipping out, so very overwrought was she. He stopped dancing then and looked down into her eyes, the love in them palpable. Tenderly he brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. Her heart began to beat fast in her chest.

  “You’re still frightened, aren’t you,” he said gently.

  The fact that he knew, that he understood her so well, made fresh tears come to her eyes as she nodded.

  “Oh, my love,” he said, “the last thing I would have is to force you to my bed. I promised you that we would go slow. We don’t have to do anything tonight if you do not wish it.”

  Quickly she searched his eyes to ascertain his sincerity. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly,” he said with a small smile.

  “But … but what about a child?” she asked, unable to push Ma’s— and Helen’s, actually—prediction from her mind.

  “A child?” he asked, taken aback, and Henrietta almost thought he might be angry. “Who filled you’re mind with that notion?”

  “Well, Helen,” she said, gesturing around the cottage. “And my mother, and Grandfather, and, well, Julia, in a way. No one else has said it exactly, but I feel it. That I have to produce … Don’t you … don’t you want a child, for Highbury and all of that?” she murmured.

  He closed his eyes and sighed and then took her face in his hands. “You absurd girl. Of course I don’t care about any of that. Put that worry from your mind. I only want to love you, to please you. And if a child never comes, then so be it. I’m happier right now, this minute, than I could ever be again. You have fulfilled me … completed me … and I need not one thing more.” He kissed her forehead and then took up her hand and kissed it. “This life we’ve entered into is about you,” he said, kissing her hand again, “and me,” kissing her other. “Let’s just be happy in our love; many people never get even this chance.”

  He kissed the palm of her hand, then, and Henrietta felt her knees weakening.

  “As far as loving you, taking you to my bed, I will wait for you, Henrietta,” he said, his voice ca
tching a bit. “I will wait for you to be ready. I’ve waited years for my heart to come to life once more, and I can surely wait just a little longer still.”

  Henrietta felt herself wanting to embrace him, to give herself to this good man in front of her, to love him, but she wasn’t sure how to begin.

  “Clive, I … I want to … to please you, but I … I want you to show me. Show me what to do, help me,” she whispered, blushing.

  He studied her for a moment and then lifted her chin with his finger. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, very,” she said, smiling up at him, trusting him completely despite the fear that still hovered near.

  “Very well,” he said quietly. He took her hand then and led her to the bedroom. Helen’s bed had been removed and a cherry four-poster bed stood along the opposite wall in an attempt to differentiate it from what it had been and to dispel any lingering memories of Jack or that horrible night.

  “What if … what if someone comes?” she said, looking back toward the door.

  “No one will come. I’ve given explicit instructions. No parents, no servants—especially the meddling Billings.”

  Henrietta smiled hesitantly, and Clive kissed her softly.

  “I … I didn’t bring any of my things …” Henrietta said, pulling back and thinking about the negligees she was supposed to wear. She still felt nervous and distracted.

  “I had Edna bring some of your things over,” he said, nodding toward an armoire in the corner.

  “You did?” she asked and released herself from him to step over to it. Hesitantly she pulled the small brass knob of the armoire door. Neatly hanging inside was the feathery gown and robe from Julia, the negligees from Lucy and the girls, as well as her long cotton white nightgown hanging on a peg on its own, which Edna must have included for later, for when it was all over … She was embarrassed that Edna had had to handle such things and that she knew—that everyone knew—what she would be engaging in tonight. Still, the sight of her long cotton nightgown made her want to cry.