by Laura Martin
Reaching across to the other seat he pulled the package towards them, resting it on his lap.
‘Open it,’ he said quietly, taking her hand and placing it on the string that held the parcel together.
Pulling at the knot, Francesca opened the package, frowning as the paper fell away and a swathe of beautiful deep red material cascaded out.
‘It’s a cloak. A thick one. Something to keep you warm this winter.’
Francesca felt the tears building and struggled to contain them. It was the most thoughtful present. He must have seen the almost threadbare condition of her coat and of course he would know the rumours about her family’s dire financial situation.
‘Ben,’ she said, hearing her voice catch in her throat, ‘it’s too much.’
He turned to her, none of the usual humour or light-heartedness in his eyes, and shook his head.
‘A person needs to be warm, Frannie, it’s a basic human need.’
Wondering what else he considered a basic human need, she looked down, running her fingers over the soft material.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘It’s the nicest present I’ve ever received.’
‘Now I know you’re lying,’ Ben said, the grin returning to his face. ‘I remember a young girl who once told me the best present she’d ever received was a baby piglet.’
Immediately Francesca smiled. It had been her best present. Ben had given it to her when she was eight years old. It had been the runt, unable to fight its way through the rest of the piglets to get to its mother’s milk. She’d loved that piglet, nurtured and cared for it for two years as it grew until her father had declared the now almost adult-sized pig too big for the house and demanded she take it back to the farm on the edge of the estate.
‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘Porker was better than a cloak. But I doubt I’d get away with having a pig for a pet now.’
‘Society wouldn’t approve?’ Ben asked.
‘I think it would be frowned upon.’
‘Perhaps you should do it anyway,’ he said, his hand resting on the soft material of the cloak just an inch away from hers. ‘Perhaps you should decide you don’t care one iota what society thinks and do what makes you happy instead.’
‘Wouldn’t that be nice,’ Francesca said.
‘I’m serious, Frannie. People here seem to make so many important decisions on what looks right. Take your marriage to Huntley.’
‘Proposed marriage,’ she murmured the correction.
‘It wouldn’t make you happy. You’re only doing it to save your family from the shame of financial ruin.’
‘That is a pretty good motive,’ she protested.
‘Not good enough. Let them sell the houses. Let them sell all the land. Sell everything. Live in a little cottage somewhere. Stop spending money they don’t have keeping up a pretence of wealth. Then you might be able to choose a life where you’re not tied to a man with a reputation for being unkind to his wives.’
She looked down, not wanting to admit how accurate Ben was with his statement. Her father did focus too much on wanting to keep up a pretence of wealth. Their house in London and estate in the country had only a couple of rooms furnished, those which might receive visitors. The rest of the rooms were empty shells. Everything they did was to try to show the world they were normal, even when the act of doing it put them further into debt. On a few occasions Francesca had wondered about just running away from it all, finding employment as a companion or governess for a few years and saving up for a little cottage at the coast somewhere. If it wasn’t for her sister she might have done so already. Although she knew that she would find it difficult adjusting her expectations of life. She wanted to be free, but for so long she’d lived life as a lady—as the daughter of a viscount and then Lady Somersham. To become someone who worked for a living, that would be hard to accept, even though she suspected in the long term she would be happier.
‘I don’t want to argue about this,’ she said. ‘You know why I’m doing it. Can’t we just enjoy this evening?’
‘As you wish,’ he said, capitulating easily. For a moment she wondered why he was so concerned about her future and she felt a flurry of hope inside her. It had been a very long time since anyone had put her needs first.
They continued the journey in silence for a few more minutes, Francesca aware of Ben’s body every time he shifted, every time his leg innocently touched hers.
‘Are we going to one of the pleasure gardens?’ she asked.
‘Have some patience and you’ll find out,’ he said, infuriatingly not giving anything away.
‘Ranelagh Pleasure Gardens?’ she asked. ‘Or Vauxhall, perhaps?’
Vauxhall was a little less upmarket, with a cheaper admission price, but would probably afford them more anonymity. There were rumours about what couples got up to there, with plenty of dark avenues and secret gardens, but most of it was probably grossly exaggerated. Silently she chastised herself for the bubble of anticipation at the thought of escaping somewhere private with Ben. She was a widow, a respectable lady, and in a few short weeks she would likely be engaged to be married once more. As much as she might want to be reckless, to indulge her baser desires, she knew that once again she would have to deny her own wants and needs and do what was right.
‘Patience,’ Ben said again and she saw the grin on his face as she glanced sideways. Patience never had been one of her virtues. She’d always wanted to know things immediately, to be told exactly what was happening.
‘It’s too late for a stroll in the park,’ she mused, thinking perhaps it wasn’t a pleasure garden after all.
‘Mmm...’ Ben murmured non-committally.
‘And I wouldn’t need a cloak if we were going somewhere indoors.’
‘Unless it was very cold indeed,’ Ben said, looking as though he were enjoying himself immensely, teasing her by withholding the knowledge of what they were going to do with their evening.
‘It wouldn’t hurt to tell me.’
‘It would ruin the surprise.’
‘What if I don’t like surprises?’
‘Everyone likes surprises. Just some people are too impatient to wait for them.’
She huffed, sat back and twitched the curtain, peering out of the window to see if she could find any clues as to where they were going.
* * *
Only ten minutes later the carriage slowed to a stop and Ben hopped out, turning to help her down before reaching up to fetch the package with her new cloak. As she looked around, puzzled as to why they’d stopped in a pleasant but quiet residential street, he draped the cloak over her shoulders, his fingers tickling her neck as he adjusted it. Francesca looked down, feeling the warmth from the luxurious garment already making a difference to her cold body.
‘Ben...’ she said quietly, trying to convey the myriad of emotions that were fighting for supremacy inside her.
‘It’s only a cloak, Frannie,’ he said, offering her his arm.
It wasn’t only a cloak, though. It was the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given her.
‘What are we doing here?’ she asked, looking around.
‘It’s not quite Ranelagh or Vauxhall,’ he said, smiling at her confusion, ‘But I thought they might be a little too public for us to be seen together.’ He paused, slid his hand into hers and then pulled her along the pavement to the quietest end of the street. ‘Here. Shall I give you a boost up first?’
Frowning with confusion, Francesca looked at the wrought-iron railings that surrounded the private gardens for the residents of the street. It was like a small park, but the gates were locked and only those with keys could get inside.
‘You don’t mean in there?’ she asked.
‘Unless you’re not up to it,’ Ben said, a hint of challenge in his voice.
It was what they’d always d
one as children, challenged the other to more dangerous and more difficult pursuits, and Francesca felt the years falling away as she looked at Ben. For just one night she didn’t want to be Lady Somersham, she wanted to be someone reckless and fun.
‘It’s you I’m worried about,’ she said, moving up to test the sturdiness of the railings and feel the cold metal beneath her hands. ‘You’re not as young as you used to be.’
‘None of us are.’
‘Some of us carry it better,’ she said, tapping a gloved hand on the metal.
‘Cheeky minx. I wouldn’t worry about me, my body has been honed by years of hard labour, while you’ve been sitting around idle in your drawing rooms and ballrooms.’
‘How do you know I don’t break into private gardens every week?’
‘Sometimes I feel I know you better than I know myself,’ he murmured in her ear.
She shivered, knowing everything about this evening was dangerous. There was the physical danger of climbing over the iron railings into a place they were not allowed. The danger of being caught together somewhere they had no excuse to be, but most of all the danger of being alone with a man she was finding it supremely hard to resist.
Everything in Francesca’s life had schooled her to guard her virtue, to never allow herself to let her desires and emotions overcome her common sense, but here she was with a man she found incredibly attractive, allowing him to escort her into a dark and secluded garden. She knew if he tried to kiss her again she would be powerless to protest and deep inside she knew there was nothing she wanted more than to feel his lips on hers again.
‘On to that tree?’ Francesca asked, eyeing the railings critically. They were shoulder height, but at one corner a tree branched out over them, providing an easy route into the gardens.
‘Have you got the strength?’
‘Of course.’ She wasn’t entirely sure if she did, but was determined to give it her best try. Although she kept active, dancing while in London and walking and riding in the country, none of her pursuits required the upper body strength needed to climb a tree.
‘I’ll be right behind you,’ he said, offering his hands to boost her up.
Placing one foot in his hand, she felt him lift her and carefully she caught hold of the tree branch, pulling herself up on to it until she was sitting comfortably with her legs dangling over the gardens beyond the railings. She watched as Ben jumped, caught hold of the tree branch and pulled himself up, the muscles straining the seams of his coat, but otherwise no other outward signs of the effort it must have taken.
Lithe and nimble as a cat he skirted along the branch, swung himself around her and dropped to the ground on the other side of the railings.
‘I’ll catch you,’ he said, holding out his arms.
Just as she pushed herself off the branch Francesca realised she had no fear. She knew he would catch her, knew he wouldn’t let her fall. She wouldn’t jump into the arms of Lord Huntley or have contemplated trusting her late husband in this way.
‘Nice work, Lady Somersham,’ he said, setting her on the ground, but not hurrying to remove his arm from around her waist.
‘I break into private gardens all the time,’ she said, finding her footing and adjusting her new cloak. ‘Climbing trees and vaulting over railings isn’t much of a challenge.’
‘I’ll have to find something to stretch you next time,’ he murmured.
He took her hand and, although they were both wearing thick gloves to protect themselves from the freezing temperatures, Francesca felt a rush of blood to her fingers at the intimacy of the gesture. Most men offered their arm or would content themselves merely with walking side by side with a lady, but Ben took her hand as boldly as if there were nothing strange in the action.
Slowly they meandered along the path, having to take care in the near-total darkness to avoid any obstacles.
‘The stars look different from here,’ Ben said as they paused to look up at the sky. ‘You wouldn’t think it, it’s the same sky after all, but they look different here to how they do in the Australian sky.’
‘Is it very different there?’ Francesca asked softly. Ever since they’d become reacquainted she’d wanted to ask about his life, to find out what he’d been doing all these years, but she’d been too afraid. Too afraid that it might have been nearly two decades of hell because of her father and that he might resent her even just a little for it.
‘I can’t think of two more different places,’ he said. ‘England is so ordered, so structured. Australia is just wilderness. Even the settlements are nothing more than a collection of buildings.’ He paused and Francesca saw his eyes softening. ‘The countryside though, Frannie, that’s where you fall in love with the country.’
She hardly knew anything about Australia. After learning of Ben’s sentence eighteen years ago she’d tried to find out as much as she could about the country on the other side of the world, but information was thin on the ground. Hardly anyone who had been had ever come back and the reports that were published were mainly from the voyage where it was first discovered. Her imagination had supplied images of vast swathes of scrubland, dry and dusty with no redeeming features.
‘It’s beautiful. There’s fields and farmland just like here, but so much more. There are beaches of golden sand and the ocean is brilliant blue. The mountains near Sydney are misty and cool and although I’ve never been the interior of the country is meant to be filled with miles upon miles of orange sand and great rocky outcrops. One day I will venture to the very centre of the country and see for myself.’
‘You plan to go back?’ she asked. Swept up in the passion of the past few days she’d forgotten his return to England was temporary.
‘Of course. It’s my home.’
‘You have work there? A family?’ Francesca found she was holding her breath. A lot could happen in eighteen years. Ben might be married with a brood of children for all she knew.
He laughed. ‘Work, yes, a family, no.’
‘And these friends you came over to England with, they’re planning on returning, too?’
‘Robertson and Fitzgerald. Yes. We all have farms to run.’
Francesca found her eyes widening. ‘You run a farm?’ She wasn’t sure what she expected Ben to have been doing the last ten years after his sentence was completed, but even though he was an intelligent man she never imagined he might be making a success of his life. It took a special type of man to turn his life around after serving eight years for theft and being transported to Australia.
‘I own a farm,’ he corrected her. ‘Actually, lots of farms.’
‘How?’ she asked, feeling such a mixture of emotions that she barely knew where to start dealing with them. Of course she was happy his life hadn’t been completely ruined by her father’s actions, but she felt a sense of loss and panic at the thought of him leaving. It wasn’t her place to want him to stay, wasn’t her right to miss him, but still she knew she would. In a couple of months she would be married again and he would return to his home in Australia. That was how things had to be, but it didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.
‘Luck,’ he said, ‘and a little work.’
She doubted much of it had been luck. He was a determined man and underneath the humour and easy-going attitude she would wager there was a man who worked harder than he let on.
* * *
Ben watched as Frannie screwed up her face, steeling herself to ask the next question on her mind.
‘So it hasn’t all been terrible?’ she asked quietly. ‘Not every single moment?’
He stopped and turned to her, waiting for her to lift her eyes to meet his in the darkness.
‘No,’ he said softly, ‘It hasn’t all been terrible.’ It was difficult to resist kissing her. With her face turned up to his and that look of forlorn concern in her eyes he just wanted to cup her chin
and kiss her until she forgot all her worries.
He had suffered greatly over the years, with the terrible conditions of the hulk ship and even worse on the transport ship, then the years of hard labour under a hot sun supervised by cruel and petty guards, but he realised in his own way Francesca had been suffering, too. It was clear she felt guilty for not being able to save him all those years ago despite doing everything a ten-year-old girl could do. Added to that were the years of unhappiness foisted on her by her father and her husband.
Ben knew he’d weathered the hard years and come out stronger on the other side and now he knew the worst of his life was behind him. Francesca still might have her hardest years ahead of her.
‘I survived, Frannie,’ he said softly, raising up one hand and letting his fingers trail down her cheek, ‘The first few years were terrible, but I survived.’
She nodded, not able to tear her gaze away from his.
‘And then life began to get better. I’ve got six huge farms, great friends and my freedom. No one judges you in Australia for being an ex-convict—over half the population have such beginnings.’
‘But you lost so much,’ she said. ‘Your family. Your childhood.’
There was no way he would ever get his childhood back, but one of the main reasons he’d returned to England was to see his family. In a few short weeks his father would return home and Ben would make the journey to Essex to see the man who’d done everything in his power to show Ben he hadn’t been forgotten even though he was half a world away.
‘I haven’t lost my family,’ Ben said quietly. ‘And I try not to dwell on the loss of my childhood.’
She nodded, her movements shaky.
‘I always imagined the worst...’ she said quietly. ‘It was terrible never knowing what had happened to you.’
‘Hush,’ he said as she buried her head in his shoulder. He suspected she was crying, trying to hide the tears from him, and feeling a rush of sentimentality he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in even closer.