by Anne Herries
Arabella smiled, but before she could answer the door opened and Tilda entered, carrying a posy of wild roses.
‘Oh, Tilda, wherever did you get them?’ Arabella cried.
‘There were a few left in the woods,’ Tilda said, looking smug because Arabella was obviously so pleased. ‘You look lovely, Arabella. I came to tell you that the carriages are starting to take everyone to church. Lady Hernshaw is just finishing her toilette and will join you in a moment…’
Even as she spoke, the door opened again and Melinda came in. She handed Arabella a white leather prayer book tied with blue ribbons.
‘Something old, something blue,’ she said and kissed Arabella’s cheek. ‘You look wonderful, dearest Belle. Charles Hunter is very lucky and so I shall tell him later.’
‘Thank you, Mel, but I think he knows. We both know how lucky we are to have found one another.’ Her eyes were misty as she smiled at her friend. ‘I am so very happy.’
Her announcement was greeted with kisses and laughter from the other ladies, and, since Arabella was ready, they all left the room and walked along the landing together. Tilda and Sarah lifted the short train of her gown to stop it getting dirty or snagging as she walked.
Below in the hall the whole household had gathered to watch and there was a little burst of applause as Arabella seemed to float elegantly down the stairs in her gorgeous gown. She was greeted by Mrs Bristol, who gave a little speech about how happy they all were to see her going to be married. She thanked them and then went out to the waiting carriages.
Several workers from the estate had gathered outside to watch her leave and there was more cheering and clapping. As her only near relative, Lady Tate had claimed the right to assume the privilege of giving her away, and they got into the front carriage. Sarah, Mrs Hunter and Tilda followed in the second, and a third took up Mrs Bristol and some of the other servants. Mrs Bristol would see them married and then return to the house to prepare for the guests. It was not to be a huge reception, merely a few neighbours and close friends, but it would be all the happier for that and everything had been arranged exactly the same as if they had invited the cream of society.
It was but a short drive to the church. Arabella was soon entering the beautiful old building with her aunt and friends. It was filled to capacity with her guests and people from the estate and the village, who had squeezed in at the back to see her married.
Arabella saw only the man who waited at the end of the long aisle for her to take her place at his side. He turned his head and watched her walk towards him, smiling at her as she reached where he stood with John. Arabella turned and gave her posy to Sarah and her prayer book to Tilda, who were her bridesmaids.
She was aware that sunlight streamed through a high window, shedding a spray of colour on to the stone flags of the church floor, and of the Vicar’s voice as he performed the service that made them man and wife. Yet it seemed to be a dream that enfolded her, a little unreal, and she could not quite believe that it was happening until Charles slipped his ring onto her finger, and then, at the Vicar’s bidding, lifted the veil of her head-dress to kiss her.
And then, suddenly, it was all very real. They went into the vestry to sign the registry and then she was walking back down the aisle on her husband’s arm to the sound of church bells. Outside, the sun was warm on her head as they stood to be showered with rose petals and receive small gifts of flowers and good luck charms from friends and villagers alike.
Arabella was laughing when at last they were allowed to escape to their carriage, which was to drive them back to the house for the wedding reception. Charles had brought in extra cooks so that the villagers and estate workers could enjoy their own feast while the invited guests were entertained to a splendid buffet. The champagne flowed as bride and groom mingled with their friends, and then went outside to hear themselves toasted by all the people who lived and worked on the estate.
‘You look so beautiful, my love,’ Charles whispered, pulling her into his arms as they returned to the house and were for a moment alone. ‘I cannot wait to have you to myself.’
‘Soon, my dearest,’ Arabella promised as she gave herself up to his kiss. ‘Soon we shall be alone together—and we have the rest of our lives to love each other and be happy.’
Arabella woke, stretching as she felt a sense of well being. She was relaxed, content, and, as she felt the hardness of her husband’s body lying by her side, she smiled, snuggling up to him. She loved the scent of his warm flesh, the slightly salty taste of his lips as she bent her head and kissed him. It was a light kiss, meant to leave him sleeping, but his arms closed about her suddenly, pulling her down to his chest.
She laughed and reached out to touch her finger to his cheek. ‘I thought you were asleep, Charles.’
‘I have been awake for some minutes,’ he replied, his hand stroking down the smooth, silky arch of her back, pressing her closer to him. ‘But you were sleeping and I did not want to wake you. You looked so beautiful. I was afraid to touch you in case you disappeared.’
‘Did you think it was all a dream?’ she asked and took his hand in hers. ‘You have such lovely hands,’ she murmured. ‘When you touch me I feel so alive.’
‘You are alive—the most vibrant, exciting woman I have ever known.’
‘I wasn’t alive until I met you,’ Arabella said. ‘Not truly so, Charles. After Ben died, I built a wall around my heart. Oh, I cared for others, but I did not allow myself to think of loving or being loved in this way. I believed that that part of my life was over.’
‘Tell me,’ he said giving her a wicked, teasing smile, ‘when did you fall in love with me? I think for me it was in London, when I found that I was thinking of you every moment—even though I thought that I had no right to happiness.’
‘I loved you long before that,’ Arabella said. ‘It was when you had a fever and I nursed you, bathed your body to cool you when you were so hot…and I saw how beautiful you were. I realised then that I was lonely, but I told myself that I was foolish and that we should never meet again. That day in the park I wanted you to kiss me and…do all the things we did last night.’
‘You are a wanton wench, my love,’ Charles said and laughed as he rolled her beneath him in the bed. He began to kiss her, taking his time, teasingly, sweetly, his hand stroking and caressing so that the passion flamed between them once more. ‘And that, my darling Belle, is exactly how I want you.’
‘Oh, Charles,’ Arabella protested, but her words were lost in the heat of delight as they came together once more in sweet harmony, their bodies moving together in the slow, intoxicating dance of love.
Afterwards, Arabella lay luxuriating in the feeling of having been well loved, her limbs relaxed, her mind at peace, knowing that she was happier than she had ever expected to be—perhaps happier than she had ever been. She had been still a child when she married Ben, but now she was a woman, an ardent, caring woman who had known sorrow and was all the stronger for it, a woman who loved and was loved.
‘I love you so much,’ she said as he lay with his arm still about her, holding her close. ‘We are so lucky Charles. I wish…’ She sighed and shook her head as if she did not quite know how to go on.’
He leaned up on one elbow to gaze down at her, his eyes serious. ‘What do you wish, my love? There are no regrets?’
‘None at all,’ she told him. ‘I could not be better. I was thinking of Sarah, wondering whether she will ever find the happiness we have together, Charles. I love her as my sister and I cannot help but think of her.’
‘Sarah will travel to Italy, and perhaps there she will find herself again,’ Charles said. ‘You know that I would do anything for her, Belle—but she told me that she needs to find her own way. John would have asked her to be his wife, and I think he truly cares for her, but she told him that she does not wish to marry yet—that she may never wish it.’
‘Poor John,’ Arabella said. ‘Love is such a strange thing, Charles.
It comes when it chooses and one cannot force it.’
‘That is true,’ he said. ‘To find real love is a blessed thing. I pray that my sister will be blessed as we are one day, but only she can find her way to that special place, Belle. You saved her life and perhaps her sanity. Only Sarah can know what she wants to make of herself.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Arabella said and smiled as she nestled up to his chest once more. ‘I am so glad that she came to us, Charles. Had she not stumbled into Nana’s cottage that night, we might never have found each other.’
‘That is very possible,’ he agreed, a faint echo of remembered grief in his eyes. ‘For had I not found her, I must have gone on looking for as long as it took…’ He pulled Arabella closer, his throat tight with emotion as he stroked her silky skin. ‘I thank God for the gift He gave me in you, my darling—and I pray that He will give happiness to my sister one day.’
‘I think perhaps He will,’ Arabella said and smiled. ‘And now, my love, I think we must get up—unless you wish to stay in bed all day?’
Charles’s answer was lost as he kissed her.
Afterword
Sarah stood looking out of the window of her bedchamber at the sea. They were staying at an inn in Portsmouth, and had been for two days while they waited for the weather to settle. At the moment, it looked stormy and black, for it was a wild day, the wind whipping the waves into peaks of foam. She shivered, feeling that the sea was a hostile environment, and glad that they were not due to sail that day.
Restless, and unsure of her own feelings, she moved away from the window, discouraged by the view. Her lovely eyes were sad, her face paler than it should be for one so young and pretty. Being cooped up here was making her feel ill at ease, reminding her of things she would rather forget.
At the moment she was sharing a room with Tilda, and she understood that they were to share a cabin when they went on board. Sarah did not mind—they got on well enough these days, and it would be only a short trip across the Channel to France. From there they would travel on by carriage. Besides, Tilda had changed since her abduction, becoming less timid and more friendly. She found it easier to talk to Tilda about certain things than to her own mother.
Sarah had remembered everything, apart from what had happened between running away from the cottage she had been taken to by someone who had tried to help her and waking up in Nana’s bed. She did not have the nightmares now, and Arabella had told her that probably nothing much had happened during that period—but Sarah still felt nervous around men. It was bearable with her brother and John Elworthy, but if other men stared at her she felt uncomfortable, almost frightened. She knew that it was foolish to have this irrational fear, but she could not help herself. It made her reserved, cool in her manner whenever gentlemen were present—and yet even that did nothing to deter them staring at her.
It had happened the previous evening when they were at supper in the parlour downstairs. They had hired the parlour for their exclusive use, but a man had wandered in while they were eating, clearly a little the worse for strong drink. By his clothes he was a gentleman, but his eyes were bold and the look in them as he saw Sarah had sent shivers down her spine. Sir Montague Forsythe had looked at her in that way when he’d forced her to drink the drugged wine. It made her feel vulnerable, afraid, almost as though he was stripping away her clothes with his eyes.
Sarah knew that her mother hoped that she would marry one day, would find happiness with someone. John had wanted to ask her to be his wife, but she had forestalled him, telling him that she did not believe she would ever wish to be any man’s wife. The hurt and grief in his eyes had almost made her change her mind. For a moment she had wanted to tell him that she would marry him—if he could be patient. But that would not be fair to him. John was a good man, a truly gentle man. She knew that he deserved more than she could give him at this moment. Perhaps she would never be able to offer him the kind of love he wanted from her.
‘I wish…’ Sarah smothered a sob. ‘I wish that it had never happened.’
If she had never been stolen from her home, never experienced the trauma of abduction…never seen that naked man bending over her and the evidence of his arousal…perhaps she might even now be married to John. A part of her longed for it, for the closeness of sharing, the joy of holding a child in her arms—something that must be for ever denied her if she did not marry.
‘Sarah…’ She turned at the sound of her mother’s voice, forcing herself to smile as if nothing was wrong. ‘Are you coming down, dearest? I thought we would go shopping as the voyage has been delayed. They say that the weather will clear tomorrow. I am looking forward to our trip—aren’t you, my love?’
‘Oh, yes, very much,’ Sarah said. ‘I do not like these grey skies, Mama. The sea looks angry at the moment, but when the sun shines again it will be different.’
‘Everything will be different in Italy,’ Mrs Hunter promised. ‘You will see, my love. After a few months in the sunshine of Italy all the bad things that happened to you will seem like a distant dream. You will learn to be happy again.’
‘Yes, of course I shall,’ Sarah said. ‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting. I shall put on my pelisse and come down at once.’
She lifted her head, courage returning as she thought of Belle and Charles. They had found happiness against the odds, and there was no reason why she should not find it too.
‘Everything will be better when we get to Italy,’ Sarah said, because she knew that her mother was anxious. And, as hope surged in her heart, she believed it was true. She had been hurt, but she was still alive and she would learn to be happy again.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1691-8
A WEALTHY WIDOW
Copyright © 2006 by Anne Herries
First North American Publication 2008
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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