They had ridden together over the vast estate and into the small village which sat at the edge of the farmland, a place where the tenants and servants could meet their friends at the inn, where they could buy necessities and fripperies at the small market place and where they attended mass in the tiny church. Adrian wanted his betrothed to meet all these people; before he settled on a firm commitment, he wanted very much to observe her interaction with the peasant classes.
He was a man who held his responsibilities dear. With great privilege came great responsibility; these people depended on him, but they were owed his respect and he could never love a woman who did not share that belief. He had seen haughtiness too often to be comfortable living with it.
He was delighted when they rode into the village to see her dismount, walk towards some of the women and present herself.
“I have no wish to disturb your work,” she said with a warm smile. “I am Lady Elizabeth Paxton and…” here she dropped her voice and whispered: “I hope to make your master fall in love with me.”
He watched as the eyes of the three peasant women widened, then they burst into squeals of laughter. His final doubts were expiated; she was as gracious and friendly toward the peasants of his land as she had been to everyone else, even the servants, and he knew she was the one for him. They could be so happy together; he enjoyed her humour, her kindness, and he longed to enjoy her body as well.
Now they sat together on the grass while their mounts drank from the stream, just as they had on the day she told him about the massacre and betrayal.
Adrian had his arm around her as he rested his back against a strong oak tree and now he pulled her close and kissed her, his fingers entangled in her soft curls as he held her cheek in his hand. He felt her heart beating wildly against his own and he could think of nothing but taking that soft, full breast into his hand and caressing it, making the nipple stand up in his palm and perhaps bending his head and taking it into his mouth. His groin began to throb and his hand slipped into her bodice, almost as though it had a life of its own. Her hand found its way beneath his shirt, her nails gently scratching the flesh on his back while his lips came down on her neck and traced a line down to her breast.
“Adrian,” she murmured through frantic breathlessness. “We should not be doing this.”
Reluctantly, he pulled away and looked down at her, his cheeks flaming and a little bashful smile on his lips.
“You are right. Let us not spoil our wedding night; I will talk to your father today about the marriage.” He paused and let his hand slip into her blonde curls, turned her face up to his. “Or am I being presumptuous?”
She smiled and shook her head, snuggled her head beneath his chin and turned to kiss his neck.
“I can hardly wait,” she whispered.
He, too, could hardly wait. How he stopped himself from taking her there, beside the stream, he could not have said. She was everything he ever dreamed of and there was but one duty he had to face before his happiness could be complete.
They planned a small gathering of friends and neighbours for a betrothal ceremony, and Adrian was delighted with the prospect of marriage to this gorgeous creature, but his promise to Marianne echoed in his thoughts, clouding his joy, marring his anticipation. He knew it was a promise he could not keep.
***
Marianne was not yet dressed when Adrian arrived, was still wearing her pink silk shift. She was not expecting him, but that in no way diminished her joy when she saw him from the window where she sat watching the streets below. She recognised his footfall on the stairs, hurried as always, and her heart leapt with pleasure at the sound. She turned to face the door as it opened.
“Marianne,” he said and took one step into the chamber.
She stood and moved to meet him, expecting his embrace, expecting to be scooped into his arms as usual. But things were different this time; she sensed it immediately as he just stood, fingering his hat where he held it in his hand, a half smile as his eyes met hers.
“Come and sit down, My Lord,” she said softly. “Forgive my attire. I was not expecting you.”
At last he dropped his hat onto a chair and moved closer.
“You look beautiful, as always.”
This was proving to be much more difficult than he had anticipated. During his journey here, he had gone over in his mind the things he planned to say, tried to imagine what her response would be, but now he was here with her, he could think of none of them. How was he going to tell this woman, who he still loved, that his promise to her was about to be broken.
“And you look uncomfortable, My Lord,” she retorted. “You have not come here to make love to me, have you? Not this time. This time you have something to say to me which you would rather keep to yourself, but your conscience will not allow it. Am I right?”
He drew a deep sigh of relief and pulled her into his arms, kissed her cheek.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I know what I promised, but…”
“But the woman your mother has found for you to marry is more enchanting than you had expected.”
“Oh, Marianne! You have no idea.”
Her heart twisted painfully. She looked up at him, her hands on his chest as she enjoyed the warmth of his embrace, possibly for the last time ever. She swallowed, desperately trying to contain her tears, keep them from falling until he had gone and she could weep alone.
“You are right, Adrian,” she said softly, “I do have no idea. I have no idea what it is like to be marrying the man I love, and I never will. But because I love you, I wish you every happiness and I pray she proves worthy of your love.”
“She is worthy, I swear she is. I believe she loves me too.”
“I am glad she loves you; I am glad she is worthy of you, but if you should be wrong, I will still be here.”
Her words troubled his conscience. He hated to think he had used this woman, but that is precisely what he had done. He still loved her, but not as he loved Elizabeth. He felt the need to assure her about the future, if only to make himself feel better.
“I promised you my support, and that has not changed,” he said. “The goldsmith will still manage your weekly allowance from me and that will continue until you decide you no longer need it.”
“If your wife should learn of that…”
“She will have to live with it. I do love her, Marianne; I adore her. She makes my heart tremor and my senses shiver with longing. But I also love you and I will never desert you. You have my promise and that is one promise I shall never break.”
So he left her, knowing she would be financially secure, would never have to return to her evil tyrant of a father, and they fell into a pattern of exchanging letters each week. They contained only pleasantries, reports of their activities, but each one ended with a brief message of love.
Adrian taught Marianne to read and write and now when he saw her child like handwriting, he smiled reminiscently, recalling the lessons he gave her, her struggle to form the shapes of the letters, and how their tutorials always ended in lovemaking.
He could almost see her now, struggling with the quill pen, drawing the letters like a small child and growing impatient with having to keep dipping the quill into the ink. He laughed at her at first, at her impatience, but she looked so dismayed he realised at once it was no laughing matter, not to her.
“You think I am stupid,” she told him. “You think I am idiotic that I have grown to womanhood and still cannot draw these silly letters.”
He put his arm around her, held her close.
“That is simply not true, my love,” he assured her. “You are doing wonderfully well. We will soon have you reading all the materials I can find for you.”
“Really?”
Her blue eyes looked innocently up at him, her mouth turned down.
“Really.”
“You are only saying that to make me feel better. Well, I will show you. I will show you I am not stupid.”
&nbs
p; He smiled fondly at the memory as he rode home. He was very glad she had persevered with her lessons, so that she could write to him and tell him how she was, what she was doing, who she was with.
He saw no reason to reveal their exchange of letters to Elizabeth. Marianne was his concern and as long as he remained faithful to his bride, she always would be. It was pointless to discuss her with Elizabeth. She may not understand and he might lose her because of it; he could not take that risk.
After a brief and secret Protestant service in the family’s private chapel, where they took their vows before a Protestant priest, they would join their guests at the village church. They both wanted this service, they wanted to be married with the wedding service written by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer; they would not feel married otherwise.
As he stood in the chapel awaiting his bride, Adrian remembered how it should have been Frances for whom he waited, and he remembered the love he had shared with Marianne. But when he turned and saw the exquisite figure of Elizabeth, in her pale blue wedding gown draped in cloth of silver and sparkling with tiny sapphires, he forgot those other women had ever existed.
Later, during the long and unintelligible Latin service in the village church, their fingers found each other and intertwined, they cast surreptitious glances at one another and both felt the unaccustomed pounding in their hearts, the throbbing deep down.
***
The newly married couple ate their wedding feast on the high table in the great hall at Kennington House, then Adrian took the hand of his new wife and spun her around the floor to the sound of the minstrel’s music. He was so proud of her, so happy with her and he wanted to show her off to all their guests.
They danced the afternoon away and when the evening at last brought the darkness and the time for them to retire to their bedchamber, they both felt the same flutter of excitement. So this was it, the moment they had both waited these weeks for, and at last the sadness in her eyes had faded, been replaced with a sparkle of joy.
The guests stopped dancing and applauded as Adrian led her away and handed her over to a maidservant who would help her to undress, brush her hair and bathe her, ready for the marriage bed.
Elizabeth smiled as she sat in the bed and waited for Adrian to join her. The priest had been and performed the blessing, the maidservants had removed her clothes and wiped rose water over her skin before they left her alone.
She felt herself to be the luckiest woman alive to have found Adrian. She not only cared for him, she yearned for his touch, wanted desperately to feel his lips on hers, his arms around her.
As she waited she considered what her future might have been had Elliot succeeded in his bid to force her into marriage. She would not have sat waiting for him with the same anticipation, the same excitement. She would have waited with dread for the traitor who would take her maidenhead.
She had sat for hours in that barn with her servant, sobbing so much she thought her heart would break and she was too wrapped up in her own heartache to notice the tears in the eyes of her manservant. She knew this man was a Catholic, which was obviously why Elliot had sent him with her, why he had escaped. She would never forget; it would haunt her dreams until the day she died, but she had to try to put it in the past where it belonged.
Now she sat on this soft, feather bed with its ornate carvings and beautiful hangings and waited for her new husband to join her. She hoped she would not have to suffer a crowd of onlookers who would force their way into the bedchamber in an attempt to witness the consummation, as was the custom in many important noble households. She was sure Adrian would not want that, as this part of their marriage was not merely a duty which needed to be witnessed, as many noble marriages were; this joining would be done in love.
Her heart leapt fearfully when she heard a sudden roar of laughter from outside the door. Since the arrest of her former family, she had been terrified of loud noises of any sort and this was no different. She scurried back against the headboard and her eyes widened as she stared at the door, while it slowly opened. Adrian stood in the doorway and behind him she could see many people, a crowd of wedding guests, all jostling each other in their efforts to enter the bedchamber. She was relieved to see that Adrian did not return their merriment, but turned to face them and, using both strong hands, pushed them outside. He closed the door firmly on the departing crowd and turned the key, locking them out, then he went to the windows and closed the shutters, lest any of them should climb up to peer through the windows.
He turned to smile at her for a moment, before taking one long stride to the bed where he sat and took both her hands in his, kissed each one.
“My wife,” he murmured. “What beautiful words they are.”
She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek.
“My husband.”
“I have longed for this moment, hungered for it. I have dreamed about you, about holding your smooth flesh close to me. I can scarce believe this is not part of that dream.”
He took her into his arms then and kissed her, a long, deep kiss like the one which had made them almost forget themselves in the grass beside the stream. There was nothing to stop them now and as he gently slipped her shift from her shoulders and let it fall about her waist, she clung to him.
He shrugged out of his mantle, displaying his firm chest and she ran her fingers over it, flirted with the thick hair on his chest, leaned forward and kissed his nipple while he threw back his head and let out a sigh of pleasure.
He laid down on the bed and folded her into his arms, kissed her lips once more as his hands caressed her body, moved his lips along her neck, her shoulders and down to gently suck at her breast until she could bear it no longer. She parted her legs to receive him and cried out with joy when she felt him deep within her.
“I love you,” she whispered against his neck and he turned to smile at her tenderly.
“I love you, too,” he said. “We are going to be so happy.”
***
Elizabeth suspected she had conceived that first night, but she could not be sure. Rumour had it that it was not possible to conceive the first time, but they repeated that first time every single night so it could have been any one of those nights.
She had been longing to tell Adrian throughout supper, but she wanted it to be a private moment not shared with his mother. She got on well with her, but she did not want her to be privy to this news.
When she had finished her meal, she got up from the table and leaned to whisper in his ear.
“I have something important to tell you,” she said. “Will you hurry?”
He smiled, squeezed her hand and watched her go, a little contented smile curving his lips. He was so fortunate to have her as his wife; he loved her so very much, he felt sure he would die without her. If he did not have Elizabeth, he would be but an empty shell of a man and he blessed the day his brother had found the courage to tell him of his love for Frances. What would life have been like had he not done so? He would have respected Frances, treated her kindly, but he would never have known the irresistible yearnings, the unbelievable temptations and the sheer bliss he felt with Elizabeth.
In her chamber she waited for him, seated beside the window and she turned and ran to him as soon as the door was closed. He smiled mischievously.
“Is this a ruse to get me alone, My Lady?” He asked.
She shook her head.
“Adrian, I am with child.”
His smile widened and he stood still for a moment, then he took her in his arms and lifted her from the ground, high above him, felt her hands on his shoulders, watched her smile of pure joy.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Are you well?”
She nodded again.
“You are happy?” She asked him.
“Happy? Oh, my darling, you have given me the one gift I needed to complete my happiness.”
He let her slide down and as soon as her feet touched the floor he kissed
her, that special kiss which only he could give, and hugged her tightly.
“I hope it will be a son for you,” she murmured.
He took her face between his hands and gazed down into her eyes, those pretty blue eyes which no longer looked sad. They looked back at him with adoration clear in their depths.
“It will not matter what it is, so long as you are safe.”
They stayed in London that spring. Adrian was almost obsessed with keeping his wife safe and he did not want her to travel, but as Mary’s reign went on he wished he had not made that decision, wished they could be far away at Kennington House, but a few miles from London.
The bishops grew ever more zealous, the arrests and burnings grew in number until they could almost smell the burning flesh. He had been such a fool not to leave London at the beginning of the pregnancy, for the affect it was having on Elizabeth was not something he had anticipated.
She was terrified. The fires could be seen on the horizon halfway across the city and she locked herself in her chamber and refused to come out. Every strange noise in the night had her running to the window.
“I want to leave,” she told him. “I want to go to Kennington House where they cannot find us.”
“We are in no danger, darling. As long as we keep up the façade, we are safe.”
“That is what the Sinclairs thought.”
He pulled her toward him and kissed her, held her close as he sat beside her on the bed.
“We have no traitors in this household,” he insisted.
“That is also what the Sinclairs thought,” she said. “We will have to let strangers in, midwives. How will we know that they are not secret papists?”
She was right, of course, and they would have to be extremely careful in the coming months, even having private masses said in their little chapel, instead of the protestant services that were the norm.
His motive for staying in London had been to keep her safe, but he could never have guessed how vivid it would be, how terrifying, and now it was too late. He did not want her to travel over rough roads and risk her health and that of the child she carried.
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