by Georgie Lee
‘Then when will it end?’ A lifetime of frustration made her clench her hands at her sides. ‘When they’ve finally driven me from the countryside or Lady Ellington tires of constantly defending me?’
‘Lady Ellington will always help you like she helped me and Adam marry, and Lord and Lady Falconbridge find each other again. She won’t give up on you no matter what.’
It was difficult to believe, especially after Lord Falconbridge’s warning the other day that Marianne’s future here depended on Lady Ellington being right about Sir Warren’s intentions. If he made his aunt choose between him and her, she felt certain she’d lose. ‘And Sir Warren?’
‘Give him a chance to surprise you. I think he will.’
Alexander began to fuss and rub his eyes.
The stout nurse in her starched apron appeared in the doorway. ‘Time for Alexander’s nap, Mrs Menton.’
‘All right.’ Theresa offered Marianne an apologetic look. ‘I must feed him, to Lady Menton’s horror. She thinks I should hire a wet nurse. Will you wait here for me?’
‘No, I want to walk by the lake.’ She was too agitated to sit still.
‘All right, I’ll come find you when I’m finished.’
Marianne picked her way downstairs, cautious in case Sir Walter was about. The baronet had been cordial enough to Marianne every other time she’d been here, but there’d been no mistaking his cool disapproval of Marianne’s friendship with his daughter-in-law. It would turn to outright disdain if he’d read the newspaper and Marianne might find herself permanently banned from Hallington Hall, despite Theresa’s protests.
To her relief, Marianne saw no one as she made her way through the house to the back sitting room. She stepped outside on to the stone portico and crossed it to the steps leading down to the lawn. She followed the path heading into the woods and to the lake beyond, the sense of isolation increasing as she moved further and further away from the house. A breeze blew through the trees, sending a shower of brown leaves fluttering to the ground. Marianne caught one, but the brittle thing crumbled beneath her grip like everything with Warren seemed to be doing. She tilted her hand and the pieces cascaded to the ground. If only she could release her concerns the same way, but nothing except a meeting with Warren would settle her. She wasn’t sure she could face him and risk his turning away.
At last she reached the lake and stood at the shore. A stiff breeze blew across the wide expanse and drove it up to lap over the rocks dotting the sand. The surface reflected the clouds passing overhead and made her feel as lonely as the grey water.
I wish Warren was here.
A path followed the bank to a Grecian temple perched on an outcrop. Marianne followed it, then climbed the lichen-covered steps leading up to the main walkway under the temple dome. The second floor of Hallington Hall appeared over the trees. The dark stone didn’t stand out against the red and orange leaves as it had nearly four years ago when she’d stood here with Theresa to admire her friend’s new home. Theresa was here because she had a husband, a child and peace. Marianne had nothing.
No, I might still have Warren.
She hoped Theresa was right about him not giving up on her. At one time she would have balked at needing him, but it was clear she did. Under his influence she’d begun to live as Lady Ellington had always encouraged. She wanted more of it, more time to see what existed beyond the pianoforte and the small world she’d created for herself at Welton Place. With him beside her, helping her to disregard everyone who wanted to pull her down, she could have it, assuming he wanted to remain with her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he washed his hands of her and hurried to undo the damage his relationship with her might have caused.
She leaned against the cold stone building, not sure how she would stay sane with all this uncertainty nipping at her. A duck swam by, cutting a widening V across the surface. She must see Warren and settle things, one way or another. Even if meeting him meant the end of their relationship, their brief time together proved there existed gentlemen who might care for her. It should have been a comfort, but it wasn’t. She didn’t want any future gentleman. She wanted Warren.
Rustling from behind the temple caught her attention. She followed the curve of the building around to the other side and out of view of the house. She expected to see a rabbit or a deer in the underbrush. She was startled by the sight of Warren emerging from the woods atop a chestnut-coloured horse, Lancelot trotting beside him.
She moved, ready to run down the steps and throw her arms around him as he dismounted, but she didn’t. She wasn’t sure why he was here and she wasn’t going to embarrass herself by clinging to him as he bade her adieu.
‘I didn’t think you one for riding,’ she called out to him, summoning the old Marianne, the one adept at appearing aloof no matter what the situation. It was a much more difficult thing to accomplish today than in the past.
‘I wouldn’t be a proper baronet if I didn’t.’ He flipped the horse’s reins over its head to dangle on the ground.
‘Do you usually ride on the Menton lands?’ She fingered the outline of the slim gold ring beneath her glove, as nervous as she was thrilled to see him.
‘No.’ He climbed the steps to her while Lancelot wandered off, sniffing the ground as he went. ‘I did it to find you. Lady Ellington said you were here.’
He came for me.
She let go of her hands and let them drop to her sides. He hadn’t told her what he wanted yet. ‘You came to discuss the story in the Morning Post?’
‘I’m sorry you had to find out about it from so dubious a source. I wanted to be the one to tell you.’
‘Why? So you could at last admit our arrangement was a mistake, that I’m costing you patrons?’ She ducked away to follow the curve of the building. She hated hearing the words spoken aloud, but she’d said them to avoid him doing it first and crushing her already fretting heart.
Warren’s footsteps echoed in the dome of the building behind her. ‘Marianne, wait.’
It was the same tone he’d used the day he’d burned his copy of Lady Matilda’s Trials. He was asking her to listen to him, to let him make things right. She faced him, opening and closing her fists at her sides, willing to give him the chance.
He strode up to her, concern deepening the small furrow between his eyebrows. ‘I’d never choose them over you. You’re worth more to me than any of their praises or support. I need you in my life more than I need them.’
‘As your muse.’ Despite the earnestness in his voice, the doubt she’d carried for so long still haunted her.
‘No, as the wonderful woman you are.’ He reached out and caught her hands, his solid grip spreading through her like ripples over the surface of the lake
‘What are you saying?’
‘You captured me with the first note you played and every day we’ve been together since.’ He raised his hands to her cheeks, cupping her face as his words did her heart. ‘Before you’d played for me, I’d lost my talent and despaired of ever being the man and writer I was before my sister died. You’ve helped me to unlock the stories which were holed up inside of me and to reclaim my faith in myself. I love you and I want you to be with me for ever, to be my wife.’
Her gasp of surprise was smothered by the touch of his lips to hers. His defiance of her expectations made her head whirl as much as his mouth against hers. Warren loved and cherished her, more than patrons or stories or reputations. He wanted her with him, scandalous past and all, and she would be his, free and trusting as she’d never been with anyone before.
Lancelot’s loud barks as he raced past the Grecian temple and up the path interrupted their bliss. Warren broke from her and she wavered on her feet before his tight arms steadied her.
‘Will you marry me, Marianne?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She laid her cheek on his chest a
nd played with the sloppily tied cravat beneath his chin. She didn’t care who found them here. Let them see the two of them united against every trial and person determined to humble them. Their nastiness couldn’t separate them.
‘Come.’ He took her by the hand to lead her to the horse.
‘Where are we going?’
‘For a ride.’
She resisted his gentle tug. ‘I can’t leave my friend.’
‘I think she’ll understand.’ He motioned to the woods.
Theresa stood petting Lancelot beneath one of the few evergreen trees. She wiggled her fingers in goodbye with a smile as mischievous as one of Lady Ellington’s, then faded back into the tree line. Lancelot raced to them with excited barks before bolting off into the woods.
Theresa had been right about Warren and so had Lady Ellington. They’d never allow her to forget it and she didn’t mind. It was the most glorious thing anyone could ever hold over her.
Marianne laughed when he caught her about the waist and lifted her to sit sideways across the saddle. He gripped the leather in front of her thighs, the height of the horse and the strength of Warren overwhelming as he pulled himself up behind her. His legs were strong against hers as he tightened the reins between his hands and clicked the animal into motion.
The wind slid around them, tugging a few of her curls out of their pins as the horse carried them around the curve of the lake. At the far end, the path turned to lead them deeper into the woods. Lancelot bounded past them before veering off into the trees to chase a bird.
‘I’ve never seen Lancelot so active.’ Marianna tucked her windswept hair behind one ear, but it refused to remain there.
‘Sometimes his instincts get the better of his laziness, especially when he’s chasing something.’
Her instincts came alive under the pressure of Warren’s chest against her shoulder, his thighs hard against her buttocks. She leaned against him, all the concerns of the last day, the Cartwrights, Lord Bolton and the past dissolving in his presence.
The path led out of the trees to follow the rolling hills. She’d never ridden this way across the Menton lands or even the edge of the Falconbridge estate. Her life was circumscribed by the dower house, Falconbridge Manor, Hallington Hall, the country families and the village. After today, she would at last break free of this small existence and its influence on her, but for now she was grateful for it. While they were here it was just the two of them, untarnished by anything or anyone.
They talked while they rode. She told him about the Protestant School and the jokes they used to play on Mrs Nichols at All Hollow’s Eve. The darker memories of the lonely nights in the dormitory, or the lack of letters or gifts on her birthday or at Christmas didn’t intrude to overwhelm her like they used to. The warmth of the spring sun on the flowers in the garden between the school walls and the house, and the friendship of two older girls who’d come to the school three years before she’d left were the most vivid memories today.
The same optimism filled Warren’s description of his childhood at the vicarage. He laughed as he explained the pranks he and the other boys used to play on his father. His smile widened with his description of Christmas dinners with the boys who hadn’t gone home for the holiday. In his words, Marianne could almost smell the excitement of the season, and the aroma of the chestnuts and spiced pudding which had filled the vicarage during their small celebrations.
‘Leticia and I used to play in the ruins of the Norman keep behind the village. My mother made her a princess dress out of one of our grandmother’s old gowns. She’d stand in it on the old stone parapet, calling across the field to her imaginary prince to save her.’ He surveyed the rolling hills of brown grass, neither his memory nor his smile darkening with anguish over his sister’s passing. Like her he was too elated to be pulled down by past sorrow.
‘What did you do while you were there?’ Marianne laid her head on his chest and revelled in the rumbling of his voice in her ear. His happy childhood didn’t make hers seem so stark, nor did she ruminate on what she hadn’t had. Instead, she imagined their future children and the care and happiness they’d enjoy. They’d never doubt her love for them, or their parents’ love for one another.
‘I had a rusty breastplate my father had found in the attic and a wooden sword he’d carved for me out of an old plank. I used to pretend the rocks were dragons and I’d slay them and then I’d seize their imaginary treasure hoards.’ Warren guided the horse down the hill which skirted the woods above Falconbridge manor. ‘Some day, when the repairs to Priorton are done, I’ll commission a dragon sculpture for the garden. It’ll be a sleeping one I can lay between the shrubs so our children can pretend to wake it. Maybe I’ll get a winged one too for near the cloister.’
‘You don’t have to wait. I’ll buy them for you as a wedding gift along with a stone treasure chest for them to guard.’
‘No, I won’t take money from you to do it. I’ll earn it myself, you’ll see. In fact, I want your fortune placed in trust with Lord Falconbridge administering it. No funds are to be advanced from the trust unless you and he approve.’
‘But why?’ She pushed up from his chest, surprised by the determined set of his chin and his green eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘I want you to be able to use it for us, for Priorton. I don’t want you to worry about patrons and sales.’
‘No. I won’t have anyone thinking I married you for any other reason than love and I will continue to earn money with my talent just I always have, do you understand?’
‘I do.’ His success was important to him and she wouldn’t undermine it.
‘I love you, Marianne, you’re the only treasure I need.’ He swept his lips across hers, tempting her more than a dragon’s stash of rubies or gold. He wasn’t a fantasy or some imagined man hidden by the mist, but hard and hot flesh beneath her fingertips. Her insides melted under the pressure of his kiss and she reached up to lace her hands in his hair, to pull him closer and deeper into her.
The horse snorted and tossed its head, breaking their kiss.
‘So much for our mighty steed.’ Warren laughed as he guided the animal to where the trail ambled down through another forest. It rose again to follow the ridge behind Falconbridge Manor. Their sweet conversation continued until the roof of Welton Place peaked above the orange and yellow treetops.
Warren tugged the horse to a stop. ‘I don’t want to go back.’
Neither did Marianne. ‘We don’t have to. Turn here.’
He guided the horse to the path Marianne pointed to. It followed the slope of the hill beneath two sprawling oak trees until the red brick of the orangery came into view.
‘What’s this?’ Warren asked, bringing the horse to a halt.
‘Somewhere we won’t be disturbed.’
He dismounted, then reached up for her. She held tight to his arms as he lifted her down, her skirt flaring out before his legs pinned the fabric against her thighs. She didn’t let go, but studied him. The afternoon sunlight through the branches cut hard across his cheeks and played in the light hair at his temples. She ran her hand down the curve of his arm and entwined her fingers with his. She led Warren inside the orangery where the sun through the tall windows warded off the chill of the brick and the day. In this moment, she wanted to be more than his intended, but one with him.
‘I see the Falconbridge family’s taste in art extends to the decorative ones too.’ He cleared his throat as he motioned to the gilded screen dividing the room.
Marianne closed the double doors and threw the lock. She didn’t need any curious maids, or, heaven forbid, Darby, stumbling in on them. She came to stand in front of Warren and with her fingers turned his face from the erotic embroidered screen to her. ‘Lady Ellington’s brother used this place for trysts while keeping his regular mistress in the dower house. He was too cheap to pay for a London
home.’
‘And why are we here?’ It was clear from his hard swallow he knew, but she appreciated him wanting her to make it clear. He wouldn’t fall on her because of opportunity, but wait for her to guide them both. Today, she would be with Warren in all the ways a woman could be with a man without any interruptions. This wasn’t wrong or licentious like her mother’s old liaisons, but beautiful and made richer by his promise to love her for ever. ‘To seal our betrothal.’
She unbuttoned her pelisse and dropped it to the floor as she slipped behind the tall screen to the windowless half of the orangery. Then she peered around the edge of it, cocking her finger at him to join her. He didn’t hesitate, entering the shadows and embracing her with the same force as the embroidered Apollo taking Calliope. She followed his unrestrained passion, allowing it and hers to carry her beyond regrets, or second guesses. They couldn’t wait, and she didn’t want to. He loved her and the rest was all a formality.
Breaking from Warren’s kiss but remaining within the circle of his arms, she leaned back and undid the small pearl buttons of her fichu. Slowly she slid it off her neck to reveal the tops of her breast before flicking it away to flutter to the floor. Warren’s eyes were ablaze as he took in the length of her cleavage. He slipped his hand from around her waist and brought it up to cup one heavy mound through the fine muslin. Leaning down, he tasted her neck, his tongue making small circles on the skin as he worked his way to her décolletage. His breath against the moisture from his tongue made her shiver and her nipples peaked, the tightness of them increasing the desire for him building inside her. For the first time ever she understood what it was to want someone beyond reason and good sense. She’d never craved a man the way she did Warren, her legs weak with her need for him and the love he’d promised. It wasn’t physical passion driving her forward, but the longing to finally end in his embrace the loneliness which had shadowed her for years.
As if hearing her desire, he placed his hands behind her and began to undo the long row of buttons. While his nimble fingers worked, she tasted the smooth skin of his neck, inhaling the rich cedar scent of him made more potent by the heat of the ride. His breath caressed her ear as he slipped each button free, exposing little by little the skin on her chest. There was too much between them, too many laces and linens, buttons and tapes. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, the weight of him on top of her, to be covered by his touch and his love.