“I love you, too,” she answered. “Promise you will never leave me.”
Her request made him stop and think for the first time since he found her. He could not promise that, could he? He would soon be the Earl of Kennington and expected to marry a woman of his own class. Was it fair to give her the assurance she wanted?
He would have to tell her, but he was not quite sure how. Damn! He should have told her at the beginning, not let her go on thinking he was no different from any man she might have met in her father’s tavern. For the first time he wondered what expectations she had of their relationship and he cursed himself for a fool.
“Marianne,” he said. “I will always care for you, no matter what the future might hold.”
She pulled away from him and looked into his dark eyes.
“That is not what I asked.”
Why had he not thought of this before? He had been very selfish; he had treated her like a little doll he had found, had bathed her, dressed her in pretty clothes, brushed her hair, even helped her to subtly paint her face. And all the time he had hardly realised she was a real, live woman who was falling in love with him.
It would be all right. A new bride was no reason to stop seeing Marianne, was it? Men in his position were not expected to stay faithful to their wives. A dart of shame stabbed his heart to be thinking like this.
“Marianne, I love you. But there is something I have never told you.”
She stared at him, her eyes taking on a stony glare.
“You are married?” She asked angrily.
“No. No, I am not married.”
“What then? Why do you look so ashamed?”
“Do I look ashamed?” He said. “I should feel shame for not having told you before who I am.”
“Who you are? What does that mean?”
“I am soon to be the Earl of Kennington,” he told her.
She stood glaring at him for a few moments, her lips creasing up as she bit into them to keep them from showing him how hurt she was. Tears began to escape and fall down her cheeks and she wiped them away with her fingers.
“You do understand that one day I will have to marry?”
She caught back an ache in her throat. What had she been thinking, that one day he might marry her? She had thought that, yes. When a man makes love to a woman, buys her lovely clothes, treats her like a lady and tells her he loves her, she expects him to stay with her for ever.
She should never have expected anything from him, should she? Even if she did not know he was of the nobility, she should have realised he was not of her class. A man did not become that wealthy and still want to marry a tavern keeper’s daughter he found on the streets. She knew that, so she must have realised he could never marry her. But she did not realise; even now she knew, she had no idea that a titled gentleman of the nobility would be prohibited from marrying someone like Marianne.
Did she think one day to be his countess, to preside over his mansion and be hostess at balls and functions for many important people? She had expected him to marry her, that was the truth of it and now she felt foolish and embarrassed and terribly, terribly hurt.
Her heart ached as she collected what little pride she could gather around herself to answer him.
“Yes, My Lord, I understand,” she said. “And you cannot marry a little whore you found on the streets.”
***
Adrian lived with Marianne for almost two years before another bride was suggested for him. She could live like a lady in that elegant part of London and she was surprised to learn that the mistress of an Earl was a respectable position. He would make sure she always had everything she needed to live comfortably, no matter what. He had promised her that and she had no reason to doubt him, but knowing he would never really be hers still brought an ache to her heart and tears to her eyes.
He had to spend more time at home after the death of his father, as he was the Earl now and running the estate was his responsibility. He recalled the day he had hoped for Mark’s help in that, but now there was only him and his duty lay with Kennington House and its inhabitants.
He knew Marianne had been hurt when he explained to her about his position and his need to marry a woman of his own class, and he would have done anything to alleviate that hurt, but although he told her every day that he loved her, she never reciprocated the sentiment again.
He spent as much time with her as he could, while he spent enough time at home to allay suspicion, but his mother was no fool and guessed where he was spending his time and his money.
His father died just a month after Mark’s departure and there was really no one to question Adrian’s whereabouts or his actions.
Marianne accompanied him to the theatre and they went together for rides in the park. They were happy together and Adrian gave little thought to a new bride. He was now in a position to choose for himself, within limits. Nothing would have given him more pleasure than to choose Marianne, but that was a step too far. Even aside from her past, which would always be a closely guarded secret, she was of low birth and experience had taught him, she was barren. He imagined that was caused by the poor nutrition and unsanitary conditions in which she was raised.
He knew he would have to give serious thought to a marriage and for the first time he envied Mark. He had been able to marry the woman he loved.
The first letter arrived from Mark some six months after he left and it told of the homestead they were building, it told of the child they were expecting and it told of their happiness. It also thanked him once more for the gift of freedom he had bestowed on them.
Adrian was glad to receive it and he wished he could tell his mother her second son was safe, but she never spoke of him and he was not sure she really wanted to know. Frances’ father certainly did not want to know; the old man had been scandalised when he was told what his daughter had done. Adrian wanted to explain to him how they must have loved each other, but he got the impression he cared nothing for his daughter’s happiness, only for appearances and the right marriage to continue the bloodline. Adrian hoped he never used his own children that way.
Yes, he did envy them. But there was no way Adrian could wed Marianne, and he had explained that to her very carefully.
“I wish I could marry you, my love,” he told her. “You have been everything to me since that fateful night when we met. You do understand?”
Since she discovered his title, she insisted on using it every time he made her angry, as his question now did.
“I understand, My Lord,” she answered bitterly. “I am nothing, only your whore. I cannot wear your title and mix within your circles, I cannot go to court. What would people think?”
He put his arms around her, pulled her close to him and kissed her. He really did love this woman, despite everything, and he had no intention of giving her up.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I will always love you and I have no intention of leaving you. You will still let me visit? I will still be welcome in your bed?”
“You had best wait and see what manner of woman you will wed,” she answered. “She might make you fall in love with her. You do not want to make promises to me you will not be able to keep.”
He could not imagine any woman meaning more to him than Marianne, but she was right. He did not want to go into a marriage with the intention of being unfaithful before he had even taken his vows. That seemed wrong to him.
He pulled her toward him and kissed her again, slipped his hand inside her bodice and cupped her breast, felt her shiver with pleasure then began to remove her clothing.
“I am not wed yet,” he said. “Perhaps we should make the most of it.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Marianne watched from her window as he rode away, her cloak wrapped around herself to cover her nakedness. Her gaze fixed on him until all she could see was an after impression of Adrian and his horse as they rode through the narrow streets between the overhanging upper floors of the black and white buildi
ngs.
Some children were playing in the street and one of them looked up at her and waved. She waved back, wondering what the future held for the child of a tavern keeper. Marianne’s father was a tavern keeper, until her mother died and he drank the stock and instead of making his business pay to keep his little girl, he tried to sell her to the highest bidder.
She tried to imagine what it would have been like, having a strange man every night run his grubby hands over her, touch her private places, defile her and steal what she had given willingly to Adrian.
Being his mistress was the highest position she could ever aspire to but she had not known that then. Her mind was full of romantic notions that he would sweep her off her feet and make her his wife, despite the disapproval of all concerned. She had no idea that the Queen herself would be likely to hear of such a marriage and annul it, whether they liked it or not. When he told her that and explained that although he loved her, she could never be his wife, her heart had broken and had never really mended.
Still she had loved him since the night he found her. It was the first night her father made her wait on the streets for a stranger and she was terrified. Adrian was not what she was expecting. He had treated her with tenderness, had made love to her as though she really meant something to him. He was her saviour, her hero, but she did not give herself only because he had rescued her. If he had asked her to marry him, she would have agreed without hesitation and she often wished he was a common man who was free to offer her marriage.
He told her a lot of things about his own life, about what seemed to her to be a charmed childhood with a huge house and grounds to play in, beautiful horses to ride and servants to do his bidding. He told her about falling out of a tree and how his brother had lied to his father because they were not allowed to climb trees and that surprised her.
“You have a brother, My Lord?” She asked.
He stopped laughing at his past and looked at her sharply.
“Yes,” he answered reluctantly. “Mark.”
“What happened to him? You have never spoken of a brother before.”
She could see he did not want to answer, that his mention of a brother was a mistake, but it was too late now.
“He fell in love with an unsuitable woman, as I tried to explain to you. They ran away together, to the Americas.”
She drew a sharp breath and looked at him hopefully.
“Then why can we not marry and go to the Americas?” She demanded. “You say you love me? Apparently you do not love me as much as your brother loved his lady.”
He made no reply for a few moments, but held her close.
“Well?” She asked.
“It is different, Marianne. Mark is the younger son; I am the Earl. I cannot simply take off across the ocean. Please say you understand?”
“No. You say you love me, but you will not leave your wealth behind for me. Your brother’s wife is a very fortunate lady.”
She tried to understand, but she had never been raised in aristocratic circles, she knew nothing of duty and responsibility; she knew only of love.
She was aware the day would come when he would have to take a wife and Marianne tried to prepare herself for that, but now that day had come she had mixed emotions. He would always care for her, would always make sure she was safe, of that she had no doubt, but what would his new countess think about that?
The jealousy which caught at her heart as she watched him ride away was something she had never experienced before. What would she do if he fell in love with his new wife? Marianne loved him enough to share him, but what if she was denied that choice? What if he loved his bride and wanted to end his relationship with her? Would she ever recover from that? And where else would she go from there, a life of loneliness after the passion he had taught her? Could she ever love someone else and could someone else ever love her?
To Adrian, it was one more stage in his future, his life; to Marianne it could be the end of hers.
***
Elizabeth, Lady Paxton, was sent to live with Lord Sinclair’s family at the age of twelve. She was betrothed to marry their son, Elliot, but both sets of parents wanted to wait for the marriage until the young couple were a little older.
Elizabeth’s mother had been her age when she was wed and she felt it was too young and that her daughter should be more mature. Elizabeth had not been asked her opinion about the marriage, neither had Elliot, it just was and they had both made an effort to learn about each other.
The Sinclairs were a prominent Protestant family and Lord Sinclair had a position at court when the young King Edward occupied the throne. Indeed he was among the nobles who suggested Lady Jane Grey might make a suitable heir if the young Edward died without issue.
Life was very pleasant for both the families until the day Mary Tudor rode into London, her supporters at her side, her army behind her, and reclaimed the throne of England.
The Sinclairs all agreed they could do nothing other than pay lip service to the new Queen’s religious laws, but Lord Sinclair declined a new position at court, using as an excuse that his wife was ill and needed him at home. Mary apparently thought this a loving gesture and agreed immediately.
Even the young couple were included in the family’s plans, as it was imperative that they too, realised the importance of upholding their position and waiting out the reign until the Queen died and hopefully her Protestant sister would take her place as Queen.
They closed their private chapel and began to attend mass in the village church. They sought absolution for their sins like any good Catholic, they wore the crucifix around their necks and decorated their home with statues of the Virgin Mary, despite the distaste such a sight caused them.
For two years, they kept up the façade, for two years they lived as quietly as any nobleman and his family could and they kept their opinions about the Queen’s Spanish marriage to themselves.
Lord and Lady Sinclair postponed the wedding of their son to Elizabeth, praying for a time their faith would be restored and the couple could enjoy a Protestant service. Elizabeth had reason to be very glad of that as things turned out.
She knew none of the Papist lessons she was being taught were what she was supposed to believe. Unfortunately, one member of the family took it all very seriously and decided the Queen was right, the Pope was all holy and heretics should be burned.
She would remember for the rest of her life the day they were all taken away to prison. It would haunt her dreams, rear up and invade her mind whenever she tried to be happy, whenever she tried to trust.
***
When Elizabeth’s father told her of a possible new marriage, her heart sank. She had lived a secluded life since the tragedy of the Sinclairs and she had given little thought to a new match. She had trusted Elliot, trusted that he loved his family and he loved her. Perhaps he had; he had tried to save her, even believed they could still be married. She had battled with the church about that, when he thought he would force her into marriage.
She remembered the day he told her he would ask the Queen to command it, the day when what little love might have lingered turned to bitter hatred.
“Is that the sort of future you want for us, Elliot?” She had asked him. “To know your wife despises you? And what reason will you give for my refusal? Will you tell the papist fanatic it is because of what you did, when she thinks you are some sort of holy hero?”
“I might.”
“You tried to save me,” she said. “I know that. Is this what you saved me for?”
“I saved you because I love you.”
He had gripped her arms, pulled her against him and tried to kiss her but she turned her face away, her mouth creased in distaste.
“If you loved me, you would never have betrayed your own family. How could you think I would love a man who could do that?”
“It was God’s will,” he insisted. “They could have recanted. That is what I thought they would do.”
“R
eally? Then you knew nothing about them. As dear as you think your faith is to you, so that is how much theirs meant to them. And to me.”
“But mine is the true faith.”
It was pointless to argue, but either he had not made his request to the Queen or he was not as important to her as he believed himself to be.
Elizabeth withdrew from the world, refused invitations to balls, refused to leave the house unless it was to sit beside the lake and think of her bitter past. She lived in constant fear that someone would come calling with questions designed to trap her and her family into admitting they were Protestants. If any strangers came near the house, she fled to her chamber and locked the door. It was no way for a young woman to live, but it was all she had.
Now her father was talking of a new match. Was it possible she could give her heart and her trust to another man? She thought it unlikely.
She had but a few days to think about the prospect before she accompanied her father to Kennington House.
***
Adrian returned to his country house at his mother’s request, ready to hear if she had found him a prospective bride. Left to his own devices, he would have stayed with Marianne, but he knew where his duty lie and it was up to him to attend to that duty. As the Earl he should be finding his own bride, but his mother had lost patience with his prevaricating.
“Tell me, Adrian,” she had said, “is it the fear of another rejection, another disappointment?”
“What do you mean, Mother? What rejection?”
“Your betrothed ran away with your brother. The scandal was embarrassing and you must have found it hurtful, whether you want to admit it or not. Are you afraid of something similar happening? Are you afraid a new bride might also prefer another?”
He smiled, shook his head. That notion had never entered his head.
“No, mother,” he had answered. “I am not afraid of another rejection. I am not that fragile. Besides, I have no more brothers.”
“What then? You must marry; you do see that? It is why your father chose Frances at such a young age, so you would be settled, have a real chance for the title to continue. We brought her here to get to know you, not your brother. I know it was hard, but with Mark gone, we need you to at least try to produce an heir.”
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