At first the little boy only had eyes for his adored father, who swept him into his arms and gave him a fierce hug, before setting him on his feet once more. Alistair’s pride as he looked down at his son could not have been more evident. Taking Louisa’s hand, he drew her forward.
“There is someone I want you to meet,” he said gently to the little boy. “This is Louisa, my wife—your stepmother, Mark.”
Mark came towards her a little hesitantly at first. He couldn’t remember his real mother and was unsure what a stepmother was. A little bemused, he gave Louisa a direct look, regarding her seriously, and she noticed that he bore a remarkable resemblance to his father, but, unlike his father, Mark’s eyes, which were wide and as darkly grey as a winter’s sea, were from a different strain.
Louisa prayed silently for acceptance, hoping he would not reject her. On impulse she reached out and took his small hand in her own, and bending down, so that her face was on a level with his, she smiled warmly into his eyes. “I know this must be as difficult for you as it is for me, Mark—and as much of a surprise—but I’ve looked forward to meeting you so much. Your father’s told me all about you—and you too, Sophie,” she said, smiling up at the young woman standing beside Alistair, who was looking with wonder and admiration at her beautiful new sister-in-law. “I do hope we can be friends,” she said to Mark, “and that you will help me find my way around this lovely house of yours. It looks so huge I shall be sure to lose my way without guidance.”
Mark made no attempt to pull away and a little smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. He seemed to be assessing her, and when his eyes ceased to regard her so seriously and his smile gradually broadened, which was a delight to see, everyone present began to relax and look at one another, certain that he approved of his new stepmother and that a good start had been made. It also brought a relieved smile to Alistair’s features and he seemed to relax, which told Louisa how apprehensive he had been about this meeting between herself and his son.
“I’ll make sure you don’t get lost,” Mark said, with a bright, eager light shining in his wide eyes, his face taking on a look of enthusiasm, no longer seeing this beautiful lady as a stranger. “Huntswood is very old, you know, and I can show you the room where Papa says King Henry VIII slept a long time ago. The bed is huge—but then so was the King,” he told her with a considerable amount of childish gravity.
“Then I shall look forward to seeing it, Mark. I’m so glad you and I are going to be friends.”
“So am I. What shall I call you?”
“Louisa will do fine for now.” She smiled gently.
“And do you fish? We have a large pond in the park well stocked with carp and pike. I love to fish when someone will take me.”
“I like to fish, too,” Louisa replied truthfully, having spent many a happy hour when her father had been alive fishing in the river close to Bierlow Hall. She laughed. “Although I must confess that I’m not very good at it and have never caught anything very big.”
“We could go tomorrow—can we, Papa?” he asked, his eyes bubbling with excitement as he tugged at his father’s hand.
Alistair laughed lightly, ruffling his curls. “I think we had better give Louisa time to settle into her new home before dragging her off to the fish pond, Mark. There will be plenty of time for fishing later. Now, come and let me introduce you to the staff,” he said, putting an arm gently around Louisa’s waist and drawing her towards the line of waiting servants, sensing her tension and wanting to get the formal introductions over with so she could retire to her room, “and then I’m sure you would like to be shown to your room so that you can rest a while before dinner. You must be very tired.”
“Thank you,” she murmured gratefully, feeling more tired than she cared to admit, and deeply conscious that he kept his arm about her waist as the introductions commenced.
“Let me show Louisa to her room,” Sophie offered eagerly afterwards, hoping for a chance to become better acquainted with her new sister-in-law. “I’d like to. You stay with Mark, Alistair,” she said, throwing her young nephew a cross look. “He’s talked of nothing else but your coming home all day so that my head positively aches.”
“Thank you, Sophie. I’d like that,” smiled Louisa.
“I can’t tell you how happy we are to have you here, Louisa. Your room has been prepared for you—next to Alistair’s, of course. I hope it will be to your liking. Facing south, it gets plenty of sun, and it overlooks Wyndham and the valley. I have also taken the liberty of appointing a maid to attend you—and I’m glad I did for I see you did not bring one with you. In his letter informing us of your imminent arrival, Alistair said you might not. Her name is Edith. She is extremely competent and I’m sure you will like her, but if not you can employ someone more to your liking.”
“Why—thank you, Sophie. I’m extremely grateful. I’m sure she will be perfect,” Louisa said, wondering what Sophie would say if she were to tell her she had never had a maid to attend her in her life, that such a luxury was beyond her means. “You have been extremely busy on my behalf.”
“I hope your journey to Sussex wasn’t too difficult,” said Sophie as they climbed the stairs. “Whenever I go to London to stay with either Alistair or Julia I can’t say I look forward to the journey.”
“It was tedious, but not uncomfortable. Do you visit London very often, Sophie?”
“Yes. I love the excitement. Unlike Huntswood there’s always something to do. I do so love the theatre and strolling in the parks. Sometimes I stay at Dunstan House with Alistair, but more often than not I stay at Richmond with my sister, Julia, and her husband. Have you met Julia?”
“Yes. She was present at our wedding this morning with her husband.”
Sophie’s expression became subdued. “I would like to have been there too. When I was in London several weeks ago, had I known Alistair intended marrying, I would never have returned to Huntswood.”
“It—it was rather sudden, Sophie,” Louisa explained, “and the ceremony was over very quickly. Alistair was eager to reach Huntswood before dark, you see.”
“Was Julia well?”
“Yes, she was. We’ve become good friends over the weeks of our acquaintance—as I know we will, Sophie,” Louisa said, linking her arm through hers in an attempt to dispel her disappointment over not being at the wedding. She already felt a closeness with her lovely young sister-in-law, who was on the brink of womanhood.
“Yes, I’m sure we will,” Sophie replied, smiling brightly once more. “Oh, it’s going to be so nice having someone in the house I can talk to. Huntswood can be very lonely at times—especially when Alistair is away. I visit friends in Wyndham and the surrounding neighbourhood, but it can hardly be compared with London.”
Sophie’s shy awkwardness touched a hidden chord in Louisa. She reminded her so much of herself at that age, having to come to terms with spending most of her time alone at Bierlow Hall without her brother.
Louisa’s bedchamber was one of gracious elegance, sumptuous in both design and colour. The ceiling was white and gold, the walls decorated in a delicate shade of pink and hung with mirrors and pictures. Louisa was overwhelmed at the extravagance and unaccustomed luxury, looking with longing at the large comfortable bed, hung with rich, deep pink brocade, which matched the curtains framing large windows. They opened onto a balcony overlooking the gardens below. There was a door connecting Alistair’s room to hers, a door she was certain he would keep locked, yet through which he could come to her at any time he chose—but would he? she asked herself. With a desperate longing, she hoped he would.
Like a shadow Edith flitted about the room, industriously unpacking Louisa’s trunks and hanging the beautiful gowns that Alistair had bought her in her dressing room. She was very young and smiled with shy nervousness when Sophie introduced her to her new mistress, but Louisa soon discovered that despite her youth she was an extremely capable and competent young woman and would suit her very well.
Dinner was a quiet affair, the conversation dominated by Sophie and Mark, who normally ate upstairs with his tutor, but as a special treat was permitted by his father to join them in the dining room. Louisa, though quiet, listened with interest. However, she was extremely tired and had little appetite for the delicious, excellently cooked food in front of her, and was impatient for the moment when she would be able to retire to her room without appearing rude.
She was acutely conscious that this was her wedding night and her stomach was tense, her nerves unnaturally sensitive, as she awaited the night to come with a feverish anticipation. The softening in Alistair’s attitude towards her over the days before their wedding, and during the long journey to Huntswood, when she had been touched by his thoughtful solicitude, encouraged her to think that he might cast aside the harsh terms of their marriage agreement, laid down so firmly when he had visited her at Bierlow Hall. Secretly, she desperately cherished a desire that he would do so, having to quell a wild surge of hope every time she met his gaze across from her at the table.
Alistair was the perfect host and companion. He complimented her on her gown of dark blue silk, cut low to reveal the softness of her white shoulders. All through dinner, although he listened and responded politely to his sister’s lively conversation, as she eagerly brought him up to date on everything that had been happening in the neighbourhood during his absence, there was a keen, watchful glint in his eyes when they rested on Louisa. He was not unaware of how weary she must be feeling after the long journey from Bierlow, and how she was struggling not to show it, but her face was pinched and drawn into a pale cameo.
After the meal Alistair escorted her out into the hall, turning to her after he had said a fond goodnight to Sophie and his son. She looked up at him nervously, not knowing what to expect now they were alone. Slowly his eyes slid over her face, the moment one of intimacy, without tension, and felt by them both. Neither of them spoke. Alistair took her hand and pressed it gently, looking into her eyes.
“Are you feeling unwell, Louisa? I noticed you ate very little at dinner.”
“No,” she whispered, the touch of his hand resurrecting the same wild, fateful quivering she had felt before, in which nothing mattered but the warmth that spread inside her. “I am quite well. I was just not very hungry, that is all.”
“I hope you will be happy at Huntswood, and not miss Bierlow too much.”
Louisa smiled softly. “Bierlow was my home for too long for me not to miss it,” she told him, “but Huntswood is my home now. I’m sure I shall be very happy here. Indeed, who would not be? It is a beautiful house.”
“And tomorrow you will see more of it. The park and gardens are sure to impress you.” He smiled softly. “I congratulate you. You have made a conquest. Mark has taken to you better than I dared to hope. He has just told me how much he likes you.”
“And I like him. It would be difficult not to. He’s a delightful boy.”
“Yes, he is. He is a great joy to me.”
“I can understand how you feel.”
He looked at her intently. “I know it will be no easy matter to feel affection for a child who is not your own, Louisa—but I would be pleased if you would try to find some pleasure in his company.”
“I will—I promise. Each day I shall set aside some time to spend with him.”
“I would like that. Mark’s best interests have been paramount to all else since his mother died—and still are,” he murmured, releasing her hand, his look becoming one of preoccupation and complete absorption as he glanced up the stairs, where his son had disappeared with his tutor, suggesting that the brief moment of intimacy which had just now passed between them was, for him, already past.
It grieved Louisa to think how little it had meant to him, how little she meant to him.
He looked down at her once more. “Today has not been too taxing for you, I hope?”
“No, not at all—but I am rather tired. I—I shall feel better after I have rested,” she said softly, palpably aware of him, of his closeness, but seeing nothing in his expression to suggest that he might have changed his decision and would come to her room later. But the fluttering under her heart would not be stilled, and her lungs were so empty of breath that all she could do was look at him, all thought suspended.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he looked deep into her eyes, seeming to read her thoughts, feeling her need—as well as his own. A softening crossed his face, but only for an instant, before his expression became unreadable, as he took perfect command of himself.
“The terms of our marriage haven’t changed, Louisa. They are still the same,” he told her. “We both understand that ours is no ordinary marriage. There are too many similarities to my first for it to be that, and I am determined that this time I will get it right—that there will be no repetition of what I went through with Marianne. Our relationship has had strange beginnings. There has been no courtship for us to get to know one another as other couples do, no preliminaries of gentle wooing. Had things been different, I would have sought your brother’s permission and there would have been acceptance followed by a long betrothal and finally marriage, but because of the circumstances there was no time for that, which is why I want to take things slowly at first. Do you understand?”
Louisa nodded, too disappointed to reply.
It didn’t occur to Alistair that perhaps he was being unfair to Louisa, but he wondered how long he could hold out before he succumbed to her irresistible beauty which he had secretly come to love. Dropping his arms, he stood back, which was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He turned his head to escape the soft bewitchment of those lovely, imploring eyes. Dear Lord, he thought wretchedly. What would it take to break down the barriers he had erected against her?
But his hurt went too deep. However difficult his life had been since the death of Marianne, he had not deviated from his determination never to fall into the same trap again. Yet as he looked at Louisa, a pale vision of loveliness, he wanted her, wanted to make love to her as was his right, while the cruel shadow of his resolve struggled with the emotional shambles of love and hate, his stupid pride and the abominable physical desire that possessed him.
“Goodnight, Louisa.”
Louisa wanted to complain, to tell him it wasn’t right, that his rejection of her was cruel and shocking, and that it wasn’t fair to treat her like this now that she was his wife. But, for her pride’s sake, with a smile and her eyes downcast, she said goodnight, she too wondering what it would take to break down the barriers he had erected against her.
Alistair did not see the strain on her face as she climbed the stairs when she knew he was no longer watching her. Any hope that he might disregard what he had said to her before making their marriage vows was shattered. Nothing had changed and she had been a silly, conceited fool to think it had. It was foolish, she thought angrily, to be so consumingly in love, when he felt nothing for her at all. Her pride and her love were both suffering, but she would not let him see her feelings. Her emotions had to be held in check, and he would never know how much the effort cost her.
That night she dreamt of Marianne, realising the following morning that she had probably slept in the same bed. She opened her eyes and stared about the room—Marianne’s room—but there was nothing to suggest she had been there. There were no pictures, nothing. Yet this had been her room. She knew it instinctively. The shadow of her predecessor was everywhere. Everywhere she felt Marianne’s ghostly presence.
It would be no easy matter to assert her own character and personality at Huntswood, a house her husband had shared with another woman, but she was fiercely determined to try. She also intended to fulfil the role of Alistair’s wife in all its aspects—except one—and she fully intended that, by whatever means it took, that aspect would come later, after their child was born.
With a painful effort Louisa managed to overcome her bitter disappointment and accept the blow that fate had dealt h
er as she became totally immersed in her new life. Her days followed the same pattern. Outwardly everything was seen to be as it should be between herself and Alistair, and everything due to a wife Alistair gave to her—everything but himself. They lived in the same house, and yet existed in separate areas.
Much of the time Alistair spent with Mark, when the child wasn’t at his lessons, and the rest of the time he was so busy with estate affairs that Louisa seldom saw him. In fact, most days he did not set foot in the house during the daylight hours. He would ride off early in the morning with his bailiff or someone else and she would watch him go, wishing she could accompany him—but from the beginning he had refused to allow her into the saddle until after the child was born. She was touched by his solicitude, but she did not fool herself, feeling that he was concerned less about her welfare than about the welfare of the child.
Yet he had seemed much happier in recent weeks, the brooding, sombre look that had been there in the early days of their marriage having lifted, although where she was concerned there was a wall around him a hundred feet thick.
Because of the state of the nation he was forced to return to London—to Westminster—to sit through long debates in the House of Lords, not only about the continuing war against France in Europe, but also the ongoing colonial rivalry between France and Great Britain in North America. He was gone for several weeks and Louisa missed him terribly, although she would never let him see how much.
The weeks passed into the cold, dark months of winter, and Christmas, which was cheerful enough, with Julia and Joshua down from London, came and went. It was formally announced on Christmas Day that Louisa was pregnant, and both Sophie and Mark were delighted, a delight which was shared by the whole household—even though it did cause a few eyebrows to rise in speculation as to when the child had been conceived.
An Innocent Proposal Page 21