Born for Thorton's Sake

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “I’ll leave you as well,” Lady Thorton said, standing and quickly exiting behind Jacob. Maria looked to Brock. He stood unmoving and silent.

  Her body trembled. She found breath elusive for a moment as she carefully opened the letter from her father. There she read:

  My darling Maria,

  You have no doubt been told of your betrothal to young Thorton. I am sure it will come as quite an astonishing revelation to you, but I pray read on.

  Richard Thorton and I have been closer than brothers. When you were but three years of age, he and his family arrived for a visit. With him he brought young Brockton. I was immediately impressed by him, though he was no more than nine years of age at the time.

  Richard and I discussed our concern for our children. We wanted security, happiness, and love for them both. The idea was conceived by your loving mother, who saw in Brockton all the things she would wish for you to have in a companion.

  As we four parents watched the two of you together, we came to the conclusion it would be a magnificent match…security for you both and, no doubt, a loving relationship, in time.

  I would ask that you trust me and fulfill this obligation. You will not regret it. It is best, and I will die with peace of mind knowing you will not go against my wishes.

  Your loving father,

  Charles Holt

  Maria set the letter aside and looked to Brock. He stood still unmoving. She must be dreaming! To wed Brock? To be his wife? Surely he had not agreed to this! Was this a new revelation to him as well?

  “Have you known?” Maria asked uncertainly.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And…you never told me?”

  “No.”

  “Why ever not, Brock? Why did you not tell me?” she asked, rising from her chair and taking several steps toward him.

  “I could not. I was bound by my own father and yours,” he said. She could sense no emotion in his voice.

  “All this time, you’ve known. All this time,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Did…did you agree to this?” she asked hesitantly, fearing the pain his answer might bring.

  “Yes. When I was twelve.”

  “Twelve? That is hardly old enough to…is it agreeable with you now, Lord Thorton?” she questioned as an overwhelming sense of dread began to rise in her being at anticipation of his answer.

  “Yes.” Still he showed no emotion either through his expression or intonation of voice.

  “Everything…the relationship we have come to share…everything as of recent…were you only trying to convince yourself this would be a tolerable situation? Or were you in earnest?”

  He was silent.

  “Brock?” she pleaded.

  He drew in a heavy breath and muttered, “You are asking me to confess things I have guarded for years.”

  Maria rallied her courage. She could not fathom where within her it came from, but it surfaced then. “There is nothing…nothing I have dreamed of more than our belonging to each other, Brock. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you through the door of that miserable cottage. But…I could not be happy unless you…unless you actually want this too. I mean, I must appear as a child to you! If you are simply fulfilling an obligation…”She stopped when she heard her own words. In the stable! What was it he had asked her only that morning? He had asked her if she cared for him. Not only held an obligation to him. Maria was filled with a sudden, boundless elation and went to stand directly before him.

  “You are young, Maria. You see me as the knight in shining armor who rescued you when you were but thirteen. That is not love,” he said flatly.

  “No. Not the sort a married couple should share, perhaps. But I do love you, Brock. More than just a maiden would love her rescuer. I live for you to come home and be here with me! I dream of being in your arms every moment, of touching your face, of your kisses.” He looked down at her, and she continued, “I know I am terribly young at this moment in your eyes. But I will grow older. I know I can make you love me, Brock. Only give me the opportunity to prove it to you.”

  “You do babble on at times,” Brock said, a smile breaking across his face. “You’ve loved me, have you? Since the very moment you saw me at your uncle’s house through that door, is it? Well, I will tell you something. You were three the first time I saw you. I despised females, as a rule. They were all fragile, vain, and shy. And not a one could sail a decent toy boat across our lake.”

  He smiled and brushed a strand of hair from Maria’s face. She trembled at the simple touch as he continued, “I was an experienced man of nine then, you understand. Our family visited yours once. I reluctantly entered your father’s house, and there you sat. Long black ringlets, an immense blue ribbon around your head, lace cascading everywhere. I sighed, thinking you would be an intolerable brat. Then I sat when your mother offered me a chair. You stood up suddenly and ran to me, much like you do now when I arrive home after a long absence.” Maria felt tears fill her eyes as his voice broke when speaking of her greeting him after his absences. “You climbed up into my lap and threw your arms around my neck. I tried to push you away, but you held fast to my shoulders. I remember you kept sticking your finger in this infernal dimple on my cheek and giggling. You turned to your mother and said, ‘He’s very handsome, Mother. Do you think he would kiss me if I asked him?’”

  Maria gasped and put a hand to her mouth. He had kissed her when she asked him to. It was nearly prophetic. She brushed a tear from her cheek as he continued once more, “Your mother was mortified, naturally. But I…I was enchanted.” He reached out, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips briefly.

  “And then, when the adults had returned to their own conversation, you took my face between your tiny, soft hands, smiled up at me, and kissed me exactly on the mouth.”

  “Oh, no! Tell me I did not!” Maria asked, somewhat humiliated.

  Brock chuckled. “Yes, you did. It was as pure honey to me. We spent the rest of the visit together, you and I. We went for walks, invented games to play, and when it was time for my family to leave, I took you aside for a moment and whispered in your ear, ‘Will you marry me when we grow up, pretty little girl?’ You nodded vigorously and kissed me exactly on the mouth once more. I’ve had to wait thirteen long years to taste the honey of your kisses again.”

  Maria let go of the shyness that had previously kept her from entirely reveling in the intimate moments shared with Brock. Reaching up, she entangled her fingers through his thick, beautiful hair.

  “I knew it would feel just as this,” she whispered. “I’ve wanted to do this for as long as I can remember,” she said, smiling up at him. Then she raised herself on her toes, kissing him softly on the chin.

  “Regaining the confidence found only in toddlers, are you?” Brock whispered as he gazed at her mouth, moistening his own lips.

  Maria nodded and pulled his head to her own, kissing him exactly on the mouth. As she moved to release him, he pulled her tightly against his perfect form, kissing her ferociously, wantonly, and without reprieve. Maria was lost, once again, in the passion ablaze between them—lost in love and desire and dreams that would be realized. She would own Brockton! She would own him—his heart, his mind, his passion—and he would own her. In two years he would take complete possession of her, and in that instant she knew…she was born to be Lord Brockton Thorton’s wife!

  AWAY

  The next day was nothing but bedlam! Lady Thorton was so determined the coming-out should be entirely sophisticated and perfect, she kept everyone occupied the entire day. Each member of the household hopped from one thing to the next, hardly having a moment to catch a breath.

  Compared with the revelation she was to marry Brock, to Maria the coming-out seemed like one single droplet in a rain barrel. She awoke that morning certain she had dreamt the assembly with Jacob Peterson regarding her father’s will. She was even more certain she had dreamt the conversation between Brock an
d herself in the study afterward.

  It was inconceivable he could love her—actually be in love with her! After all, she was merely sixteen, he a completely grown man of twenty-two. Surely she had dreamt it. But that afternoon when Lady Thorton asked to see her in the library, Maria knew it was, in fact, certainty. She, Maria Castillo Holt, was the betrothed of the obsessively coveted Lord Brockton Thorton!

  “I’ve already spoken with Brock, Maria,” Lady Thorton began as she closed the library door, ensuring their privacy. “As Brock explained, your engagement will not be announced for one year. We have all agreed then will be the appropriate time for it. Therefore, considering the fact this arrangement is, to say the least, more than agreeable to the both of you…well, to simply come out and say it, darling, it would be…safer…more proper…if Brock were to live away from the house for a time.”

  Maria instantly became ill. “But, milady…why? I have lived here for three years! Surely it was proper before. I do not see why—”

  Lady Thorton inhaled deeply, fanning herself nervously. “It is not so much the issue of propriety that concerns me, darling. More so…the feelings you and Brock share for one another. It would be too strenuous…too difficult to…well, certainly too tempting for Brock. Perhaps not for you…your being a woman and very young. But for him…his age…and his knowing now how strong your feelings are for him.”

  Understanding enlightened Maria’s mind. “Oh. I see,” she said, dropping her eyes to the floor. In her inexperience, Maria had not previously thought that perhaps the strain of being in love yet having to wait two years to marry might become taxing for her and Brock.

  Then Lady Thorton continued. “Oh! I’m so very relieved, my dear…that you understand what I’m trying to convey to you! I was afraid I was going to have to give a lecture on the weaknesses of men when it comes to controlling their physical desires for a woman.”

  Lady Thorton’s relief obviously turned immediately to nervousness once again when she saw Maria’s eyes widen in sudden, complete comprehension.

  Maria laughed nervously. “Oh, milady! I am certain you have nothing to fear along such venues where Brock is concerned. He is the epitome of the perfect gentleman!”

  Lady Thorton smiled and quirked one disbelieving brow. “He is that. At least under normal circumstances. But where you are concerned, darling…well, it is best, Maria. In fact, it was Brock who suggested it. After all, who better to judge his strengths and weaknesses where his lover is concerned than the man himself? He plans to leave on the morrow.”

  “On the morrow?” Maria cried, jumping to her feet. “But he only just arrived! He has only been here a short time!”

  “Yes, I know, darling. But he confided in me you have become much too tempting for him not to…as he put it…keep his good sense about him where you are concerned.”

  Maria nodded. Suddenly she understood perhaps more than she thought herself capable. She knew where she wanted to be every moment of the day: entangled in his arms. Two years was a very long time to elude the necessity of being there.

  Lady Thorton gathered the girl into her motherly embrace. “Just think, my sweet…in two years’ time you really will be mine. At long last.”

  Maria looked up into the woman’s beautifully matured face. “I am yours now, milady. You well know you are both mother and friend to me.” She smiled and lovingly embraced the woman once more. “Now, I must be off. I suppose I should look the best I am capable this evening. There is so much yet to do.” With a quick kiss to one cheek of Lady Thorton, she took her leave.

  Maria spent, at the least, an hour crying into her pillows once barricaded in her chambers. How could she live without the prospect of Brock coming home every few months? Surely he would visit! Surely he would not stay away the entire two years! And why had her father insisted they wait until she was eighteen to marry? Many young women were married at sixteen, and many who were did not even wish to marry the men they were forced to wed. Why could not Maria marry Brock at once? Why had her father stipulated the two years? She could not live a year without him near! Yet she must. She wiped her tears, realizing then whether two days or two years, she would wait to belong to Brock, for belonging to him would be worth the torture of missing him. As long as she would spend eternity in his arms afterward, she could wait a year to feel his lips pressed to hers once more, his strong arms about her.

  

  “Maria? Darling? May I come in?” Lady Thorton asked from beyond the closed door of Maria’s chambers. “It is nearly time. The guests have assembled in the ballroom.”

  Maria studied herself in the looking glass. “Yes, come in,” she answered finally.

  Lady Thorton caught her breath at the sight of the lovely creature her eyes beheld upon entering the room. “Darling! You…you look…exquisite!”

  Maria felt sickened with anxiety. “Hardly exquisite, milady. Perhaps dowdy, plain, ordinary—homely even—but not exquisite. I cannot possibly go down with all those people looking on! And besides, what point is there? I have no interest in being courted by anyone but your son,” she said, curling a long raven ringlet around her finger.

  “Oh, darling! You are such a modest young lady. That is quite refreshing. Now, Brock is waiting just downstairs to escort you in. He will have the first dance as well. Just remember, you are more beautiful than anything those assembled in the ballroom have ever seen! I assure you of that. And Brock loves you. Nothing else matters.” Lady Thorton kissed Maria’s cheek encouragingly and opened the door. “Now, do not twist your pearls so, dear. They will break apart.”

  “Oh! You see, milady…I was not even aware that I was fidgeting. I am so anxious!” Maria whispered as they descended the stairs together. She had wanted to wear the locket Brock gave her, but the pearls looked so beautiful with the dress, she relented and wore them. As she and Lady Thorton proceeded down the stairs, she tried not to twist the dainty adornment.

  As Maria reached the bottom of the staircase, Brock turned, smiling dashingly at her. Involuntarily, she broke into goose flesh as she remembered the moment in the library when he had taken the string of pearls in his teeth before he kissed her. Subconsciously, for the memory purely delighted her, Maria’s fingers toyed with the tiny orbs once more.

  “Maria,” Brock greeted her. He bent, placing a lingering kiss on her bare shoulder.

  “Brockton!” Lady Thorton scolded in a whisper, looking about quickly to be certain no one had witnessed her son’s indecent and brazen act.

  “Now, now, Mother. Do not pull the reins too tight or the leather will snap,” he whispered, winking at Maria.

  Warm security flooded through Maria’s entire being as Brock took her hand and placed it ceremoniously in the crook of his arm. She marveled at how naturally her own arm fit with his.

  “Now, you just remember, pretty kitten,” he whispered to her, “you belong to me. This is purely performance. Understood?”

  Maria giggled as they approached the ballroom. “Of course. I never wanted to go through with this anyway, remember?”

  A moment before the doors to the ballroom swung open, Brock bent and quickly kissed Maria’s shoulder once more.

  “Brockton!” his mother scolded as the doors opened wide and Maria stood radiant and blushing on Brock’s arm for all those assembled to behold.

  There went up a great noise of cheering and awed responses, and Maria curtsied gracefully before Brock led her to the ballroom floor. Once in the center of the room, a loud voice boomed, “Lord Brockton Richard Thorton and Miss Maria Castillo Holt.”

  Again cheering went up as the musicians began to orchestrate the lingering waltz. Brock smiled down at Maria, and the light in his eyes made her feel perfectly lovely! Her hair was piled high with a strand here and there hanging freely, each in a perfect ringlet. Her skin was soft and fragrant, and she moved with the grace of some fabled fairy. In his arms, she felt beautiful.

  As Maria gazed up into Brock’s captivating expression, she realized
for herself why it was necessary for them to be apart. The longing to reach up and run her fingers through his chestnut-gold mane was nearly impossible to deny.

  “There are confessions in my mind, my pet,” he whispered to her as they danced. “Certain things I wish to tell you…but now is not the time.”

  “Tell me,” she demanded, smiling at him.

  “I cannot,” he said, smiling. “And I must leave you after this dance.”

  Her smile faded. “Cannot you be somewhat attentive?” she pleaded.

  Brock simultaneously smiled and frowned, “Not with my conversation or touch.” He lowered his voice and added, “Nor my mouth.” He chuckled when Maria’s eyes widened at his inference. “But with my eyes and my heart I will attend you, for I will watch you at every turn and love you with every breath.”

  “Then I can endure,” she told him. “Until tomorrow is ended,” she added. “How will I endure your absence?”

  “Hush, pet,” he said, forcing a smile. “The music is ending, and we are drawing too much attention for a lord and his ward.”

  The music did end, and Brock bowed to Maria as she curtsied.

  “Lord Brockton Thorton and Miss Maria Castillo Holt!” the loud voice boomed once more. Maria resisted the powerful urge to reach out and take hold of Brock’s arm as he walked away from her. But resist she did, knowing his heart was hers.

  

  The evening wore on with Brock charming the many debutantes in attendance and Maria politely accepting dance after dance with partner after partner. Throughout the evening and on into the late night hours, their eyes would meet spontaneously, and each would smile with joy in their secret knowledge of what would be.

  Rebecca and her mother had departed at an earlier opportunity, and now the remaining guests were departing gradually as the hour was indeed late. Maria was grateful to be bidding them farewell, for her feet ached, her eyes burned, and her body longed for respite.

  Suddenly, however, the attention of the departing guests was arrested by an uproar that burst from the entry hall. Angry voices were raised in shouting, and Maria recognized one of them as Brock’s.