Unto Death

by Lena West

  Either way, it didn't matter; he had diced with the devil and lost. He was committed to a marriage he didn't want; a bride he didn't love. And there was no way forward except to face the music and make the best of it.

  Since procrastinating served no useful purpose, he picked up Peter Gordon's letter, smoothing the wrinkles from it as he went. He headed for the library where his father could usually be found taking an afternoon nap at this hour. Entering without knocking, he cast the missive down upon the desk, startling Thomas out of his doze.

  “Read this Father. As you can see, I took your advice. You've got your way. We can talk it over later. Right now, I'm taking Sultan out for a ride.”

  Unable to bear his father's inevitable exclamations of pleasure, he shut the door with a decided click and strode off to the stables. Thomas wasn't the only one to whom he owed an update on the situation. He hoped Isabella would be as pleased with him as his father undoubtedly would be when he read Peter's letter.

  *****

  Sliding from Sultan's back, Stephen tossed the reins to Josh, the stableboy, and marched up to the house. There'd be no sneaking around on this visit.

  Isabella's insistence on this damnable marriage still rankled, making him reluctant to disclose his news to her privately for fear he said something regrettable. Let her worry about Archibald and his suspicious mind.

  That's what he thought until he arrived inside the homestead.

  When the housekeeper showed him into the drawing room of Far Horizons, he found Archibald, foot propped up on a stool, reading the latest newspaper.

  His wife, decked out as usual in the latest Sydney fashions, idled away her time with her embroidery frame. Together they formed a picture of marital bliss which tore at his lacerated emotions.

  “Stephen, my boy. Come in! Come in! Excuse my not rising, won't you? Gout, you know. It's the very devil. Isabella my dear, ring for refreshments, the boy must be parched, riding across in this heat.”

  In the ensuing fuss, Stephen almost turned tail and ran, only if he did, he would not only appear a fool, he'd still have this to do all over again. Once was more than enough.

  Hiding his trepidation, he shook Archibald's hand and bowed over Isabella's. Breath shallow, he dared a surreptitious squeeze which earned him a warning glance from flashing dark eyes as she slid her hand away in a lingering caress that set his heart beating faster.

  He retreated to the armchair indicated by his host, settling with a false air of indifference to his hostess; although as God was his witness, no red-blooded man could possibly view Isabella Cummings with genuine indifference.

  The tray of afternoon tea had been delivered and cups passed around before Archibald inquired as to the purpose of his young guest's visit.

  Stephen, having used the ride from Eden Vale to prepare a suitable excuse, was ready with a plausible inquiry regarding a joint project which had recently been embarked upon between the two adjoining properties. Since its management had been given into his hands, it was entirely reasonable for him to consult with his neighbour.

  The ensuing discussion kept both men well entertained till the cups had been long drained, to the frustration and boredom of Isabella who had no interest whatever in the latest practices in cattle breeding. The conversation drawing to its conclusion, Stephen casually introduced the true reason for his visit as if it was a mere afterthought.

  “One other item of news,” his cheeks reddened as, to his great surprise, shyness assailed him.

  In actual fact, he couldn't have done better if he'd tried, the blush being a completely natural reaction, more than sufficient to allay Archibald's recent disquieting suspicion that Stephen's admiration of Isabella had strayed beyond what was acceptable.

  “I am engaged to be married. Lucy Gordon and I have been unofficially betrothed for some time,” he began.

  Not exactly the truth, but close enough. It was the story he'd decided to spread around.

  “This is a lonely life out here in the bush for a man without a wife, so Lucy and I decided to go ahead and make it official.”

  “Well done, my boy! Excellent news.” Archibald's words were seconded by his wife.

  “Congratulations, Stephen. And when is the happy event taking place?” Despite the fact that she herself had instigated this very outcome, Isabella couldn't disguise the touch of acidity in her voice.

  “For what little it is worth, Stephen, my advice is not to wait too long. As you said, a man is lonely on his own, so don't be hard on yourself. Tell your little girl you don't want a long engagement.”

  Casting a simpering sidelong glance at her husband, Isabella had taken note of Archibald's satisfaction with the news. He'd be even happier when the bride took up residence at Eden Vale. Perhaps then he would stop eyeing her so suspiciously whenever he returned home from one of his frequent trips and dogging her footsteps when he was at home.

  She'd known instinctively this would be the result and was well pleased Stephen had followed her instructions so swiftly.

  As she showed their visitor out a short time later, she whispered a sotto voce message for his ears only.

  “Meet me in the summerhouse by the dam tonight at the usual time.”

  Her lover had earned his reward and she had no intention of being chary in bestowing it upon him. It had been too long since she'd had the sort of enjoyment she'd find with Stephen.

  She would slip a little something that had been delivered in today's mail, into Archibald's after dinner coffee to ensure him a deep sleep; and herself a few precious hours to relieve her boredom before it drove her mad.

  She much preferred her large, comfortable bed to a narrow day-bed among the creepy-crawlies out in the bush; but needs must.

  5

  “… and two shall be as one, until Death doth them part,” said the preacher. And my doom was sealed.

  Till Death …

  Death. Blessed, peaceful oblivion. How the very idea stills the torment in my soul.

  A flurry of letters back and forth soon resulted in a wedding date set a scant two months ahead, at the very beginning of January.

  It would be a relatively small affair, the Fortescue's friends and neighbours, and most of their relatives, being unable to make the journey to Morpeth at such short notice. This was true also of the Gordons' extended family, most of whom resided in Melbourne.

  Even so, there were more than enough acceptances for their guests to comfortably fill most of the church, and every single one of the chairs in the Gordons' dining room, when it was extended by opening the dividing doors between it and the adjoining drawing room. By making the celebratory meal a buffet breakfast, those who were so inclined could overflow into the spacious garden, thereby accommodating the whole crowd.

  So as not to disappoint those unable to attend, Thomas was planning a slap-up party for his neighbours on The Ridge to meet the bride on her arrival in her new home at the end of the young couple's month-long honeymoon trip to Sydney. Throughout the wet, blustery Christmas Maggie Gordon prayed fervently for a fine sunny New Year.

  Lucy found her groom's strongly expressed impatience in setting so early a date, most heartening, although it meant she and her mother were run off their feet organising the event. Her wedding held no fears for her beyond those natural to an innocent young bride, and she was all eager anticipation of the momentous day.

  Although she hadn't forgotten those nasty rumours, she had put them behind her, happily reassured by the fact that if there ever had been any truth to them, Stephen's infatuation with an older, married woman must all lie forgotten, far in the past; otherwise, why his eagerness to tie the knot?

  The Christmas rains, heavier in the mountains than on the coast, rendered the rough bush tracks of the upper Hunter Valley temporarily impassable, causing Lucy to fret when the floods made it impossible for the Fortescues to travel on the dates planned.

  Her mother agonised over whether or not she should postpone the ceremony. Her decision to wait till t
he very latest hour was rewarded, when, in triumphant sunshine, they arrived, mud-splattered and weary, late on the afternoon before the wedding.

  Lucy, nervously on the watch for two days past, ran out to greet them, calling news of their arrival as she went.

  “Stephen! Mr Fortescue! You've finally made it. Oh, you are mucky, aren't you! Did you have to cross many flooded creeks, or were you able to wait till they went down? Come away in, there's no need to stand out here in the road.”

  “Oof! Am I glad to finally be off that beast.” Thomas stretched and gave his sturdy mount an affectionate slap.

  “Come here, girl, and give your soon-to-be father-in-law a kiss. If you can find a spot that's not caked in mud, that is.”

  Fitting actions to words, he pulled Lucy into a bearhug, planting resounding kisses on both cheeks before he let her go.

  “And what's this Mr Fortescue, nonsense? You're about to become my daughter, lass, so please call me Dad, as Stephen does. You would make me a very happy man if you could bring yourself to do so.”

  Self-conscious at being greeted so effusively by this normally rather formal gentleman, Lucy blushed prettily.

  “I'll be very happy to do so, Mr … No, I'll begin right away. Thank you, Dad.”

  She stood on tip-toe to kiss him on the cheek, eliciting a huge smile. By that time the new arrivals were surrounded by a host of visitors staying with the Gordons for the happy event.

  Lucy looked about her in the melee for her groom, locating him at last standing off to one side, the reins of the horses they had ridden, and their heavily laden pack-horse, loosely clasped in his hand.

  “Stephen, there you are. I almost lost you in the crowd.”

  Stepping close in expectation of a greeting similar in enthusiasm to Thomas's, she was disappointed to receive no more than a chaste peck on the cheek.

  Stephen's greeting was so stiff and awkward, if she didn't know better she'd have thought she was facing a stranger, not her old friend come to claim the bride of his choice.

  She stepped back from him, her face assuming a more formal mien in place of the exuberant pleasure that had lit her whole being only a moment earlier.

  Damn!

  Guilt-ridden, Stephen could have kicked himself when he saw the excitement drain from Lucy's face to be replaced by a polite, social mask. Belatedly, he tried to infuse a warmth he didn't feel into his greeting.

  It wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined, as long as he kept in mind the friendship they had shared for so long.

  “Oh Lucy, you'll have to forgive me; it's been a hellish trip. I'm so glad to see you at last.”

  Tugging his riding gloves off, he reached out, pulling her to him for a long hug. Clasping both her hands within his own, he held her at arm’s length, smiling as his eyes roved over her person, discovering the changes since he'd seen her last, over a year previously.

  She was prettier than he remembered. More fashionably dressed; in a style more suited to the young woman she had become than were the girlish dresses he was familiar with. He'd swear she'd grown, too. At least an inch, although that still left her barely shoulder-high next to his own rangy six feet two inches.

  He also noted how well her generous new curves filled her elegant gown. She'd added more than extra height to her slender frame. Lucy wasn't at all the gauche schoolgirl he'd been expecting. His bride had grown into a most attractive young lady. One who unexpectedly reduced him to schoolboy shyness.

  “You do look a treat, Lucy. You're quite the young lady now, aren't you? I barely recognised you.”

  So that is his problem. She hadn't realised Stephen was shy. Lucy relaxed, a genuine smile once again signalling her pleasure.

  “I'd recognise you anywhere, Stephen, although you've changed too; and all for the better. I do believe your shoulders have broadened. You've got a man's stature now.”

  Lucy, recalling one of her grandmother's tenets, let appreciation of the changes wrought by time and nature show, as her eyes roved possessively.

  “You're no longer the boy I climbed trees with, but I do like what I see, I assure you.”

  Uncomfortable with a conversation threatening to become too personal, Stephen was rescued when Lucy's parents stepped forward to greet him. He was further relieved a moment later when his father began making brisk farewells.

  “We only called in to let you know we'd made it safely down the track in time, so we'll say goodbye for the present. As soon as we've scraped the mud from our boots we'll be back to join all you good people for dinner this evening. Come along Stephen. You've got the rest of your life to chat with Lucy.”

  The broad wink accompanying Thomas's last words had Stephen covering up a grimace. As if he needed reminding!

  “It'll take more than a boot scraper to see me cleaned up and presentable, Dad. I'm hoping for a generous supply of hot bathwater at the hotel.” He turned politely back to Lucy. “I'll see you at dinner, my dear.”

  Lucy sighed. There were so many things she wanted to discuss with her fiancé, and due to his late arrival, no time at all. It had surprised her to find him so aloof; almost a stranger. Time to become familiar with one another again would have been nice.

  But, near strangers or not, there and then she made a solemn vow to herself; this would be the last time she permitted Stephen to greet her in so impersonal a manner.

  6

  I ought to have handled my personal life with the same caution I invariably bring to business affairs.

  I ought to have listened to the friends who sought to advise me. Warn me. Who claimed she was not the virtuous woman she purported to be. That she was incapable of making me happy in the long term.

  Fool that I am, I brushed their warnings aside, dismissing them as manifestations of jealousy that such a glittering prize chose me over them.

  Keeping to her freshly made vow, when Stephen returned that evening, Lucy, asking herself what Grandmama would do, made sure she was on hand to greet him in the entrance hall.

  Standing on tiptoe, she gathered her courage and boldly threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his; Mama's warning hiss going quite unregarded. It was the way she'd imagined them greeting each other that afternoon, only in her imagination it had been Stephen who initiated the kiss. That he hadn't had been a sad disappointment.

  She poured her heart into the kiss, rewarded by Stephen's unmistakable response which sent heat flooding through her body. Lucy couldn't keep the smile from her lips when Stephen steadied her back on her feet so he could greet her parents.

  Putting his arms around Lucy and returning her impetuous kiss was pure reflex. For Stephen, the true surprise lay in how sweet she tasted; and how his lips tingled with the urge to taste her sweetness again. Another, more private, part of his anatomy had responded in its own inimitable fashion to the feel of Lucy's delightfully curvaceous body pressed so closely against the full length of his.

  Panic tinged the hot pang of guilt which shot through him as she moved away. Did his instinctive response herald yet another complication in what was rapidly becoming a truly confusing situation? How could he feel such instant desire for Lucy when he loved Isabella? All he had expected to feel for his bride was mere fondness based in their old friendship.

  As the evening progressed, Stephen covertly studied Lucy, banishing the image of the child he remembered and replacing her with this new, thoroughly entrancing young woman before him. How could this self-possessed young lady be his harum-scarum Lucy? Stephen watched her moving among the houseful of guests assembled for the wedding, marvelling at her skills as co-hostess along with her mother.

  What a splendid chatelaine Eden Vale was acquiring, he thought, sourness tainting his mood. No doubt his father would be pleased.

  His mind straying into dangerous territory, Stephen wondered if Lucy's greeting tonight was an indicator of how she would respond to him once they were married and on their own at last.

  And how would he respond to her?

&nbs
p; His libido stirred, recalling the warmth of the kiss they'd shared in the entrance hall. For the first time, he began to anticipate his wedding with something less than utter dread. Until he remembered Isabella and was sickened by guilt at being so easily attracted, albeit in no more than the physical, he assured himself, to another woman.

  He wasn't fickle, he assured himself. It was just … He sought to somehow rationalise the situation.

  If he had to marry, then it made performing his marital duties so much easier if he was capable of feeling physical desire, at the very least, for his bride. Doing his duty, therefore, was not a betrayal of his love.

  Isabella did the same. She was forced to go through the motions of honouring her marriage to Archibald.

  If Isabella could endure doing her duty, then so could he.

  As she had assured him, it was the way of things when love ran counter to convention. No doubt he would grow accustomed and stop feeling so uncomfortable when thoughts of his imminent marriage intruded upon his consciousness.

  After dinner, Stephen strolled in the garden with his bride-to-be, the others good-naturedly encouraging the bridal couple to take advantage of the chance to be alone together for a short while on their wedding eve. Uneasy thoughts of Isabella still haunting him, Stephen would rather have avoided this intimacy. Still, he couldn't help responding to having an attractive young woman lean upon him, hanging on his every word, as they meandered along the paths until they were out of sight of their fellow guests.

  The sweet, fresh scent of violets wafted from Lucy's person and without thinking, Stephen dipped his face closer to her soft, brown curls, filling his senses with the delicate perfume.

  Isabella's image, which he had for several hours been struggling to hold in the forefront of his mind, receded still further. Her voluptuous, exotic beauty, with its strong colouring and rich musky perfume held no sway here.