She raised her brow at that one. ‘And into your bed.’ She finished for him. He laughed as she knew he would.
‘Point taken my dear; so is it to be flowers and chocolates or poems and love letters?’
‘Ah, I do believe that were I to tell you, it would be cheating. Perhaps you should go and investigate the ins and outs of courting with those who have already courted and won?’ she suggested.
His brows knitted together in a frown. ‘Can’t you just tell me?’
‘I could but I won’t. I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with.’ She took his arm and strolled down the path, smiling brightly.
‘Perhaps I will do nothing but pester you with kisses, for I already know I am going to win your hand.’
She stopped. ‘Do you? I have not accepted your proposal yet, Lord Shelton.’
The sound of hooves pounding up ahead brought their attention to the rider who was advancing towards the house.
‘Good morning,’ Lord Barton said, bringing his mount to a huffing shuffle in front of them. Robert instantly scowled while Arabella smiled.
‘Good morning, Lord Barton. Did you enjoy your ride?’ Arabella asked.
‘Why yes, Miss Fleming, I did. You have a very picturesque village a few miles from here. Met the smithy.’
‘Mr Bowles, yes, he is a very … burly fellow,’ Arabella supplied with a laugh.
‘Indeed he is. He fixed my horse’s loose shoe for me while he told me the story of two hoydenish sisters who live around these parts.’ He laughed with a mischievous glint in his lovely hazel eyes.
Arabella turned towards Robert. ‘I wonder who he was referring to? I don’t know two such sisters; none who used to pester him and play jokes, that is.’
‘I told him he must have been mistaken. The only sisters I knew were both bright and beautiful and would never have done such things,’ Justin replied, dismounting and turning towards a stoic-looking Robert. ‘Shelton, your mother is delightful and far too lovely to be hiding away in some draughty mansion all by herself. Think it’s a marvellous idea to get her back to London.’
Robert features showed nothing but mild interest. ‘So glad you agree.’ He turned towards Arabella. ‘Shall I tell him or would you like to, my dear?’
Arabella knew what he was doing; he couldn’t wait to show up Justin by telling him that he’d won the girl. It made her a little sad to think of Justin being the brunt of Robert’s bitter jealousy when he didn’t deserve it, especially as there was nothing for Robert to be jealous of.
Perhaps she should tell him? Although, in light of his past with the other woman, perhaps not.
‘I will,’ she said firmly. ‘Father has given Lord Shelton permission to court me.’
Justin looked at the pair of them for a moment. ‘Well, that is news. I take it that you are thinking of settling down then, Shelton?’
‘Yes,’ Robert replied, almost daring Justin to say something defamatory about his reputation.
‘Still,’ Justin said with a smile, ‘this will be an interesting courtship. Are you sure you’re up for it?’
‘By that you mean?’
‘I mean sometimes it’s hard to break a habit, is it not?’
‘Lord Barton!’ Arabella said alarmed. What on earth was he doing?
‘Pardon, my dear.’ Justin pinned Robert with a cool smile. ‘Not that I expect this to be a problem, Shelton, considering who it is that you’re courting. But if by chance of fate you find yourself presented with a difficult predicament, I do hope you will use your common sense.’
Arabella glared at Justin. Did he want to get himself killed?
She saw Robert’s eyes narrow on Justin. ‘I will not find myself in a predicament, Barton. So you can uncross your fingers and toes. Arabella is mine.’
‘Oh, of all the …’ She rolled her eyes towards the sky. Why did men act so much like … boys?
‘Miss Fleming, please don’t upset yourself. Lord Shelton and I are just drawing up battle lines,’ Justin said calmly as he remounted his horse. ‘Good day, Miss Fleming, Lord Shelton.’
They watched him ride around the hedge and up towards the house. ‘What was that all about? I’m yours? I beg your pardon but I am not a piece of horseflesh or the pot in a card game!’
‘Bella, I was simply pointing out to Barton that he needn’t bother trying to compete against me, as I have already captured the prize.’ Robert traced a lazy finger down her jaw.
She pushed it away. ‘The “prize” has not been captured. You may have my love, Robert, but do you deserve it? This is why I am making you court me, don’t you see? If you really want me, my heart and my soul, not just my body, then you have to earn the right to keep it.’
Oh boy was she angry with him. Her eyes were flashing, her face was red and her hands were in fists, and if he didn’t know better she might have taken a swing at him. And she was right, again. Was he going to spend the rest of his life feeling completely inadequate around her? He didn’t know the first thing about being in love, what to do, what to say and, for land’s sake, how to earn it. She knew that, didn’t she?
‘Are you saying that I have to prove my love for you?’ he asked incredulously.
‘In a way, yes.’
‘How? How do I do that? I have confessed my feelings, which was no mean feat, and now you’re saying that’s not enough?’ He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had done and heard this all before.
‘I’m saying that I have to be certain you’re sure I’m the one you really want. To have and to hold, from this day forward, forsaking all others. Do you understand?’
‘Huh. I see. You don’t think I can be faithful,’ he replied, astonished.
‘Can you? When I’m round with child, when I’m ill, when my beauty has faded, when I’m old and grey? Can you, Robert, can you really?’ She touched his cheek softly. ‘Now, do you understand that I have fears too?’ She kissed him before walking back to the house. It seemed that this courtship was more than just about flowers, poems and love letters.
Oh bloody friggin’ hell!
Chapter 22
The church was small, intimate, perfect. The stained-glass windows behind the pulpit sent shards of colour over the small handful of family that had come to bear witness to the nuptials, bathing them in a warm rainbow as they waited for the bride to arrive.
Quinn tugged at his waistcoat and Robert gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The minister soon arrived and the organist began to play.
‘She’s here.’ Quinn’s relief was evident on his face.
‘Of course she is,’ Robert replied. Turning, he found his eyes widening as he drank in the sight of the woman he loved making her way towards him.
Arabella.
His mouth went dry. The pale-lemon gown she wore was like sunshine, her dark hair like small waves around her enchanting face. It was confirmed that yellow was definitely his favourite colour on her. Was the smile on her lips just for him? Again, part of him wished he was marrying her today but she was right, today was for Quinn and Isabelle.
When she reached him, he had to resist the urge to pull her to his side. Instead, she moved to the opposite side of the aisle and turned towards the back of the church to watch her sister make her entrance. She did glance up once in his direction and he winked at her. Her lashes lowered but her smile widened.
Isabelle appeared on the threshold of the church on the arm of her father. Quinn gasped. Robert turned to check the groom was not about to faint but he needn’t have worried. Quinn was beaming, his eyes focused only on Isabelle.
The bride’s face was radiant, her dark tresses piled loosely on her head and encircled in small pink roses and pearls. So much like her sister and yet not the same at all. Her dress was ivory silk shot through with a pattern that Robert could not quite discern at this distance, flowers perhaps? She was everything one would expect a bride to be and the grin on her face showed she was excited rather than nervous to be marrying h
is dearest friend. Robert’s heart swelled. He was responsible for this match in a roundabout way, even if in the beginning his involvement was not in the least honourable.
Amusing how the heart works. How it somehow knows what it wants, what it needs.
The minister began the ceremony and Robert reluctantly focused on a beam of light that fell on a square of tile on the floor. He listened as the minister talked about the joining of two people in holy matrimony, quoting the words that had caused him such insomnia last night. Those words were like a tune that would not leave his head, forsaking all others, forsaking all others, forsaking all others. Even when he dug out the ring from his pocket, even as he signed the register, even as he escorted Bella back down the aisle, it repeated on him like bad pork pie.
Damn Barton. Had he planted the seed of doubt in her mind? Or had she had this uncertainty all along? How could he convince Arabella he would not stray, that he was committed to her, body and soul? Presented with his past, he could well believe her scepticism about his ability to stay faithful, but shouldn’t she trust him by now? That’s what it boiled down to, she didn’t trust him. He had to admit it hurt. He hadn’t bedded anyone else since he met her. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
And what about her? Could she forsake all others? He had more than enough experience to know that more often than not, that particular vow was being broken quite readily by the ladies he knew, mostly with him, but that was beside the point, they had still done it with little hesitation.
He looked down at her on his arm. Maybe this whole courting thing was more about trust than it was about proving his love for her. He needed this woman in his life and he would do whatever it took to make her trust him. But trust went both ways. He’d never realised his capacity for jealousy until Arabella, and did not like the idea that men, particularly Barton, might find favour with her.
A small crowd of villagers had come to cheer the happy couple outside the church and escort the newlyweds up to the house. Arabella had left his side to speak to some of them. He decided his spot to the side of the doors was a good vantage point from which to observe the goings-on. He enjoyed watching her interacting with her friends and family, but his enjoyment did not last long.
Barton wandered over to her and the other women left them. Justin hadn’t wasted any time lounging on his laurels. Was he purposefully flirting with Arabella in front of him? But no, it looked more like he was getting a little bit of a dressing down.
Ah, there was the apologetic look, well executed and complemented by a bowed head. Very good, Barton. Oh ho, what was this? Was he pressing a love letter or a poem into her hand, perhaps? The silver-tongued bastard was trying to win her with words, but Barton had to know that she had already given her heart to him. Just touch her Barton, just once and I’ll—
‘Admiring her from a distance, darling?’ His mother slipped her arm through his.
‘Wishing she wasn’t so frustratingly female, actually.’
‘Putting a little effort into your courtship is not going to kill you, you know.’
‘It is not the effort that I object to, ma’am.’
‘No? Then what is it?’
‘Why is it that there is no rule book when it comes to women? We men must blunder about guessing the right thing to say, the right thing to do. It’s like playing Blind Man’s Bluff.’
His mother chuckled. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about Bella. First I have to love her freely and completely, then when I do finally tell her I love her, she won’t marry me until I court her. And, no, flowers and such are not enough. I have to prove that I love her. Does she wish me to swallow swords or juggle eggs? I’m not sure what she wants from me and it is giving me a brain ache.’ He glanced down at his mother hoping he would find the answer to his woes written on her forehead. He didn’t. Instead he saw her lips twitch.
‘Oh dear,’ she said.
He sighed. ‘That’s what I thought you’d say.’
‘I am sure she doesn’t mean to confuse you. You cannot blame her for wanting to test you. I know you may not see it as necessary but she does. You must do what you know in your heart to be right and the rest will fall into place. Trust me.’
‘Why does that not give me comfort?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Look at her, Mother. She’s beautiful, she’s clever and completely too good for me. I’ve been a scoundrel for the last decade and I feel like she’s asking me to shed my skin like a snake.’
‘I doubt she’s asking that. She fell in love with the scoundrel after all, remember? She is just unsure and nervous. This is all new to her too. Believe me, she may have chosen you, my son, but that doesn’t mean she suddenly knows all there is to know about being in love, about being in a partnership with another.’
‘Partnership. Is that what you and father had?’ He gave her a searching look.
‘Your father and I didn’t have the benefit of love. It makes things so much more difficult when you can only just bear each other. Your father wasn’t interested in being married. He only wanted a wife so that he could leave all the day-to-day worries to me. So he could hide from the world and pretend it didn’t exist. All he wanted to do was play with his bugs.’
She squeezed his arm. His father had spent his life hiding from the world, and from them. His collection of insects had meant more to him than the bricks and mortar that housed him, more than the tenants who provided him with an income, more than the wife and child who had needed him.
Robert’s guilt over not being good enough to please his father, for not being Thomas, was but one part of the chaos that had been his upbringing. Dear Papa had been pleased to have a clever wife who was interested in her new home and was a quick study. He was pleased to gain an heir so quickly who could take on the title and the responsibility he had detested. After Thomas died, Robert suspected that his father saw too much of himself in his younger son and thought him a hopeless case. He wasn’t so pleased then. He never really let Robert prove him wrong.
When his father died, Robert became the Marquis of Shelton. He met with his land stewards, his solicitor and put a plan in place that had been simple but effective. He wasn’t really interested in crops, that was true, but he’d refused to ignore those who depended on him. With the advice of those who knew better, and the guidance of his mother, he had made some smart investments that had increased his wealth. He felt his estates and those who depended on him were well in hand. He may play the absent master but he read every report and made his decisions based on logic and fact.
His mother was an extraordinary woman and he had let her down so many times, and yet she still loved him. He suspected he must prove himself to her too. Prove that he had changed and no longer needed to be cloaked by the Collector of Hearts.
His mother pulled on his arm to get his attention. ‘Wool-gathering, my dear? We should make our way back to the house.’
He nodded. ‘Oh, yes, of course.’
Barton had departed from Arabella and she was now making her way to her mother who was standing with...
His heart stalled in his chest. All breath exhaled from his body in a rush.
Catherine.
Was he hallucinating? Had he conjured her up? He had only told Arabella about her yesterday and now she was here? His heart began to beat in a rhythm that he surely could not sustain and still be standing.
‘What’s wrong?’ his mother asked, her face etched in concern. ‘Are you ill? You have gone very pale.’
He’d forgotten she was on his arm.
‘Yes. Fine.’ He felt panic rise. He had to do something. Should he turn back towards the church or continue up the path? The path that led to the woman who had ruined his life. His eyes burned and he realised he had not blinked.
Catherine stood like a goddess, tall, lithe and with her golden hair shining brighter than a lighthouse in a fog. Still beautiful, still coolly detached. She listened to Arabella talking to her mother but not at all en
gaged in the conversation; her gaze travelled past them and finally came to rest on him.
‘Who is that woman with Lady Tremaine and Arabella?’ his mother asked.
‘You do not want to know. Let us make our way towards the bride and groom.’
‘They have gone far ahead. Robert?’
Her tone was all concern but he didn’t know how to articulate his thoughts into polite words appropriate for his mother, appropriate for anyone.
‘Robert, who is she?’
‘Don’t, Mother.’ If he closed his eyes for a moment, would Catherine disappear? He could feel his mother’s gaze studying him, but he kept his eyes on Catherine. She raised a brow. It felt like a challenge, like a dare. Next to him, his mother gasped.
‘That’s her, isn’t it? She’s the one who …’
He couldn’t reply. He couldn’t move. All he could do was wish lightning would strike Catherine dead in front of him and that was the kindest of his thoughts. What the hell was she doing here?
Now he saw Lady Tremaine and Arabella had noticed the strange behaviour of their guest and followed her gaze to him. What did Arabella see on his face? Horror, disgust, anger? Whatever it was she looked confused, as well she should.
His mother tugged on his arm. ‘You have to confront her. Show her that she no longer controls you.’
‘She never controlled me,’ he replied, but it was a lie. In the past he had been able to avoid a confrontation with her by focusing on whoever was on his arm, by slipping away through the crush. Stripped of his usual armour of a crowded ballroom and with nowhere to turn, he felt like he was standing naked in the church courtyard and the devil was laughing at him.
How it happened he didn’t know but he now stood just a yard away from her. Catherine stared at him as if waiting to see what move he would make. They were like two generals on a hill waiting for the other to issue the order to charge.
Lady Tremaine smiled at them as they arrived. ‘Lady Shelton, Lord Shelton let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Brogdan.’
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