Born for Thorton's Sake

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  He looked away for a moment and then, taking a deep breath, nodded. “Only if you promise to keep your fingers out of my hair,” he said, smiling. “In fact,” he added, “keep your hands from about me entirely.” She frowned, not fully understanding. He continued, “You see, I’m leaving you now for possibly as long as a year.” She nodded. “Your…attire…is somewhat…provocative. And I sense my power of will weakened…being here in your chambers. Do you understand me?” He was in complete earnest, she realized, and she nodded. “Very well. Goodbye, Maria,” he said. He stooped, letting his mouth tenderly find hers.

  The desire to reach for him was overpowering, and Maria locked her fingers together behind her back. He stood straight again and said, “Goodbye. When next we meet, kitten…I shall never have need to leave you again.”

  He bent once more and kissed her, more fiercely this time. Their kiss deepened, and he took her shoulders between his hands. Maria let her own hands clutch his powerful arms. Slowly she moved toward him until her body was flush with his and his arms held her tightly. His mouth left hers and traveled the length of her neck. His breathing had become uneven and labored. His kisses were hot and fierce on her flesh, and she clung to him, letting her fingers entwine themselves in his hair.

  “Brock,” she said as she sensed the risk of the situation. “Brock,” she repeated, hoping he would be able to find the strength in himself to leave her—for she was certain her own strength was fast fleeing.

  At once he released her, dropping to his knees. He took her hands and looked up at her. “It is my love for you, Maria. It takes possession of my senses. But know my wanton desire is fanned only because of the purity of my love for you.” Maria knelt in front of him and let her hand caress his cheek, her heart breaking at the thought of his leaving her. He continued, “It’s my love for you that keeps me from you as well. Do you realize it?”

  “Yes,” she whispered as the tears escaped her eyes.

  “When I return, it will be to remain.” he said. He stood at once and left the room.

  Maria listened as the rhythm of Stetson’s gallop grew fainter and fainter. Brock was gone.

  ALL IS LOST

  “Six months, my darling,” Lady Thorton sighed, working the stitches on her linen. “Six months and this dreadful waiting will be at an end. Finally. I’ll have you at last as my daughter, and Brock will be home to stay.”

  Maria smiled and set her book aside. “It seems like ever so long yet, milady. How will I ever endure it?”

  Shaking her head, Lady Thorton smiled. “I do not know. But it is sure to drag on and on, is it not?”

  Entering the library, the maid curtsied. “Milady, Mr. Jacob Peterson to see ya.”

  “Peterson? Well, send him in, Lillian. By all means,” Lady Thorton replied.

  Lillian curtsied again, and as Lady Thorton set her stitching aside, Jacob Peterson entered.

  “Jacob!” Lady Thorton exclaimed.

  Jacob Peterson appeared before Lady Thorton is such a state as Maria could never have imagined. He was completely disheveled. His hair was uncombed and his clothes wrinkled. He wore several days’ beard growth as well, all of which was quite uncharacteristic of the ever-proper solicitor.

  “Milady Thorton! Tragedy has come to you this day, and I’ve no way of diverting it!” he shouted.

  Maria stood. The sensation of utter dread infiltrated her very soul and then threatened to drown her entire being.

  “Jacob! Whatever do you mean? You’re in such a state! I’ve never seen you thus!” Lady Thorton exclaimed. Maria could see the great woman was experiencing the same overwhelming anxiety.

  “Vanished, milady! Presumed dead! That’s what they are saying. I’ve searched for days, milady! He is nowhere on earth! Milady Thorton, what misery this will bring to you! I dare not expound. But I must.” Jacob was truly in a state of near madness.

  “What nonsense do you jabber on about, Jacob?” Lady Thorton asked, though Maria saw the tears forming in the grand lady’s eyes.

  “Lord Brockton, milady! Dead, they say! At the hand of thieves!” he shouted.

  Lady Thorton dropped to her knees in disbelieving shock. Maria stood paralyzed.

  “Where is he laid out?” Maria asked at last. She felt only horror, sickness.

  “Nowhere, Miss Holt. That is just it. They do not know where he is.”

  “You see there, Jacob. He’s alive! He is fine. Just put up somewhere,” Lady Thorton rationalized.

  “No, milady. I have searched. He is nowhere. And if it can be proven he came to his end, then…”

  Lady Thorton buried her face in her hands and began to sob bitterly. Maria looked at Jacob, paralyzed with shock.

  Jacob Peterson returned her gaze. He stated in a voice almost void of emotion, “If he can manage to have Brock declared legally dead…Harrison Thorton will inherit the title and all else left by his brother, being there is as yet no other heir.”

  “Harrison?” Lady Thorton gasped.

  “Yes, milady,” Jacob confirmed. “All is lost.”

  Maria still stood stunned by what Jacob was telling them. Her mind emptied of thought as slowly she began to walk forward.

  “Brock?” she whispered. Lady Thorton and Jacob Peterson watched helplessly as she turned to them and said, “You are mistaken, Mr. Peterson. We are to be married in six months’ time, Brock and I. He will be home then. He would not leave me to live my life alone without him.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment as a vision of Brock appeared in her mind. At once, an excruciating pain exploded throughout her entire essence. She found herself unable to draw breath, so great was the pain in her heart. There was only blackness then. Although she heard the noise and knew her body had become limp and fallen to the floor, she felt nothing before sinking into a deep, painful abyss where only darkness dwelt.

  HOPE

  Maria stood at her window. She stared out across the fields, out across the earth in its peaceful naïveté. As always, she looked down to the way leading to the manor house. As always, she closed her eyes for a moment and listened, strained to hear the familiar rhythm of Stetson’s stride. But there came no drumming of hooves. There would be no handsome rider to rein his horse in beneath her window and lovingly smile up at her. There would be no parcel tossed to her and abandoned on her bed as she ran down the stairs to greet her love.

  Three months had waned since the horrid day Jacob Peterson had come with the unbearable news of Brock’s death. As Maria stood at her window, knowing this should have been the day he would have come back to her—the day he would have begun to settle the wedding arrangements—her broken, failing heart nearly ceased in beating.

  Maria did not move from the window, even when she heard Lady Thorton enter her bedchamber.

  Lady Thorton laid her hand softly on Maria’s shoulder and said, “Come down and sup with me, darling.” Maria did not speak. Lady Thorton frowned, stroking her lovely hair, gazing out the window with her. “You have been at this window for nearly nine hours, Maria. Please…come down with me now.”

  “Just a few more moments, milady. I promise,” Maria whispered.

  Lady Thorton sighed heavily. “Very well, my love. When you are ready then.” And she respectfully left the girl to her own grief.

  Life was only misery for Maria. She feared she would never be able to recover from the loss of her beloved. And now—now with Harrison in the house as well—there was many an hour she considered fleeing from it. Had it not been for her profound love and devotion to Lady Thorton, she would have found a way to leave weeks before.

  Harrison Henry Thorton had arrived two weeks after Jacob Peterson’s revelation of Brock’s demise. He did not even attempt to feign sorrow for his mother’s loss but simply began trying to intimidate his mother into giving him control of the estate and all the affairs with it.

  Maria had been astounded and overjoyed at the strength and steadfastness of the great lady. She had managed to keep him from living at the
house, though he frequently visited. Further, she was flaunting a superb ability in running the estate with the help of Jacob.

  However, at the thought of Harrison, Maria shuddered. It was all too obvious what his thoughts were concerning her. He was a cruel, lustful man, and Maria saw this all too often whenever he looked at her. She always met his penetrating inspection with an air of courage and defiance, but deep within she shivered with fear and insecurity at his very presence. Yes, were it not for Lady Thorton, the situation would have been too unbearable, and Maria would have taken flight.

  Looking longingly down the way one last time, Maria closed the window and left her chamber. Lady Thorton was still grieving as well, and Maria realized it had been quite selfish on her part to spend the day in futile dreaming.

  “My dearest,” Lady Thorton greeted her as she sat at the table. Lillian began serving them, but Maria’s appetite was lost the moment Harrison walked into the room.

  “Ah! My two favorite females!” he said confidently as he entered. “I shall be dining as well, Lillian. Serve me,” he commanded, removing his riding gloves and sitting at the head of the table.

  “Do not assume too many airs, Harrison,” Lady Thorton stated.

  “Oh, dearest mother…when will you accept the fact Thorton Manor and everything connected with it will fall to me at any moment?” he said, assuming heinous superiority.

  “Do not conclude triumph as of yet, Harrison. Brock has still not been found,” Lady Thorton reminded.

  “He will not be found, Mother. He is dead. I assure you.” The villain grinned knowingly.

  Maria knew Harrison had killed Brock or at the very least had a hand in his disappearance. She knew Lady Thorton suspected as much herself, for they had spoken of it.

  “And how is my little enchantress this evening?” Harrison addressed Maria.

  She ignored him.

  “Ah. Playing coy, are we, Maria? You, as well as Mother, had better set your mind on me…for Thorton and everything belonging to it…will be mine,” he said, chuckling.

  “You delude yourself on too many accounts, Harrison,” Maria stated.

  “How so?” he asked, amused.

  “In the first state, because you will never own Thorton. In the second, even if you did, I do not belong to it. As for the rest…the reasons are far too many to enumerate.”

  His sudden laughter was boisterous and startled Maria. “Well, done! What a vixen you are, Maria! I dare say Brock had his hands full with you…somewhat literally too, no doubt. I shall look forward to the same.”

  Without looking at him, Maria rose. Walking to where he sat, she slapped him hard across the face.

  His anger was provoked, and he roughly took hold of her wrist. “You’ll pay for that, wench!” he growled, rising to his feet and glaring down at her.

  She narrowed her eyes and met his stare.

  “Do not touch her, Harrison. I’ll have you severely dealt with if you do not unhand her this moment!” Lady Thorton commanded.

  Harrison looked to his mother, sneering. Releasing Maria, he said, “Very well. I can wait for her submission to me.”

  “I have lost my appetite, milady. If you will excuse me,” Maria said, making to leave.

  “Beggin’ yar pardon, milady,” Lillian said as she set a plate heaping with food in front of Harrison. In her thick tone of the Green Isle, she continued, “There is an aged mother askin’ far yar favor at the kitchen door.”

  “Very well, Lillian. Feed her a good meal, and have cook give her some coins from the jar in the kitchen. You should well know the routine,” Lady Thorton said, somewhat puzzled at Lillian’s even mentioning it to her.

  Lillian looked nervously at Harrison, who had begun to devour the food before him.

  “I think she be somewhat of an eccentric, mum. She’s askin’ far favor from the young miss of the manor. ’Tis Miss Holt she wishes to see, it is.”

  Maria was curious. Something was stirring inside her. Something…a feeling she could not quite place.

  “I shall go, of course. Whatever could she want from me?” Maria asked.

  “I do not know, miss,” Lillian said. Yet Maria felt Lillian did know something more than she was leading her to believe. She followed Lillian into the kitchen and found an ancient-looking woman seated at the table there.

  “How may I serve you, old mother?” Maria asked, sitting across from the woman.

  “Would the brother be about then, miss?” the woman asked in a heavy Irish accent.

  “The brother?” Maria asked.

  “That’s what I be askin’, lass. The brother. The elder…disowned I think he be,” the old woman said.

  Maria looked at the woman, and a frightening, anxious excitement began to rise in her.

  “He’s taking dinner just now,” she answered.

  The woman dropped her voice and said, “I’ve come to help ya, I have. To help ya help him.”

  Maria felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. “What do you mean?” she asked the woman.

  “The younger brother…the rightful heir. Yar his betrothed, are ya not?”

  “Brock?” Maria breathed, afraid she might faint from the mad hammering of her heart. “Yes. Yes, I am his.”

  “The sweet baby girl with the raven hair…his kitten…grown up and meant to be the mistress of this manor?” the old woman asked.

  Maria gasped. Reaching out, she took one of the woman’s leathery, knurled hands in her own.

  “You have news of Brock?” she asked in a whisper.

  “That I have, lass. But I’m to be makin’ certain that the brother elder is not within listenin’.”

  Maria drew in several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself, in an effort to keep herself from fainting dead away.

  “Lillian!” she whispered. “Quickly! Go stand at the door and tell me if Harrison makes to move this way.”

  “Yes, Miss Holt,” Lillian said, nodding, her own eyes wide with excitement.

  “Please. Tell me your news, old mother,” Maria begged.

  “They call me old Mother O’Malley, they do,” the ancient woman began. “I live far from here and near Bevary Prison. I had a lad, me first…he died there. Lonely, cold, and without hope. So I visit them, I do. The prisoners. I see every one of them, but only about one time in a month. There is a prisoner there…kept in the deepest-most cell. They let me visit him, though I think they’ve been havin’ orders not to be allowin’ it. I’ve seen him thrice…though the first two he wasn’t wantin’ to confide in me. Distrustful was he.”

  Maria’s heart was pounding so hard she thought it might stop altogether. But hope kept her from dying—the same hope she had secreted for months. Hope that Jacob Peterson had been wrong in his information about Brock’s death.

  “Well,” the old woman continued, “five days ago, I went to visit him, I did. He’s discouraged, that one. I asked him if he’s things to discuss with an old mother. And…then he tells me it. He’s Lord Brockton Thorton. ’Tis wrong doin’ that’s found him in Bevary…but not his own. An elder brother who covets what’s his.”

  Maria knew well the tears streaming down her face. They had become as familiar as breathing. “Pray continue, kind mother,” she whispered.

  “Somethin’ within me bosom told me this one is a gentleman…born and bred and honest. He told me, he did, of his concern for the girl to be his lover…wife…mother of his children. And also concern for his mother, who will be at the mercy of this demon brother. I was believin’ him at once…and came here. Though I gave him no false hope of release…I be willin’ to help ya free him. Me own boy died in there. And wrongly accused was he. Yar man is weak and wastin’. Horrible life it is in there, lass. He says ya’ve got a likeness of him that ya wear and that I can see it, and his story will be provin,’ it will.”

  Immediately, Maria lifted the locket she wore about her throat always and opened it, revealing the likeness of Brock.

  “Yes, lass. That be the one.
I speak the truth, I do. I swear it,” the woman whispered.

  Maria clutched the locket tightly to her bosom and tried to steady her breathing. Alive! Brock was still alive!

  “You must accompany me there,” Maria begged.

  But the old woman shook her head. “No, lass. ’Twould then be clear to the authorities who helped ya. No. I’ll leave. Ya come later, and I’ve a plan, I do. For liberatin’ the handsome lad.”

  BEVARY

  Maria was awash with guilt over lying to Lady Thorton. Still, she could not give away any false hope to Brock’s mother or risk Harrison’s finding out by any means. As she sat in the coach watching the landscape pass, she tried to remain calm. What if it were all a deception? What if it were not Brock wasting away at Bevary but a cruel trick?

  Harrison had questioned Maria and Lady Thorton on Maria’s destination.

  “She needs a holiday, Harrison. Though you may care less than not for your brother’s death…Maria is heartbroken,” Lady Thorton had told him.

  Harrison had, of course, been against Maria’s taking a holiday. Yet Maria guessed it was in an effort to win some sort of approval from her that he stepped aside and allowed her to leave. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of Brock’s evil brother. In her mind, she saw Brock—saw him asleep across from her in the coach that had carried them from her aunt and uncle’s cottage and to Thorton Manor so many years before. She saw his smile, his dimple, the impish spark that leapt to his eye each moment before he kissed her.

  Praying for his safety, praying he still lived, she opened her eyes as the coach jolted. Maria had escaped, and now, with the help of Mother O’Malley, Brock would be with them again soon. She knew it would be true. It must be true!

  Carefully, she reviewed the strategy in her mind as the coach traveled over the countryside. Mother O’Malley had gone over it in every detail so Maria would be sure of what she was to do.

  As Maria sat thus, reviewing the scheme, uncertainty crept over her. Was she, Maria Holt, capable of accomplishing such a feat requiring such steady deliverance and step? She was not certain of herself. But she must be! She must, for her own sake and for that of her beloved Brock. She would be strong. She would prevail. And she would spend her nights lovingly held in Brock’s strong arms. She would!