He grasped at the phrase with relief. "Exactly! You told your father that you wished to be left alone at Gardsley. I can't give you that, for it's only a matter of time until he loses the estate, but if you like the country, you'll be happy at Belleterre. You'll be free to draw or paint, or do anything else you desire. I promise not to interfere with you in any way."
Her eyes widened. How could he know about her art and how important it was to her? Vainly she tried to see Falconer's face within the shadows of the cowl, but without success. There was something uncanny about the man; no wonder he had such an alarming reputation. "Your offer is very generous, but what benefit will you derive from such a marriage?"
"The warm glow that comes from knowledge of a deed well done," he said with unmistakable irony. Seeing her expression, he said more quietly, "It will please me if you are happy."
She began twisting a lock of hair that fell over her shoulder. He seemed kind, but what did she know of him? She wasn't sure she trusted disinterested generosity. If she became his wife, she would be his property, to do with as he wished.
Guessing her thoughts, he said, ''Are you wondering if you can trust the Black Beast of Belleterre to keep his word?"
So he knew his nickname. This time when she blushed, it was for her fellow man, for inventing such a cruel title. "I'm confused," she said honestly. "An hour ago, I scarcely knew you existed. Now I'm considering an offer of marriage from you. There's something very medieval about it."
He gave an unexpected rumble of laughter. "If we were in the Middle Ages, you would have no choice at all, and the man offering for you wouldn't be wearing a monk's robe."
So he had a sense of humor. For some reason that surprised her, for he was such a dark, melodramatic figure. She sank down into a chair and linked her hands in her lap while she considered her choices. Marrying Gordstone she dismissed instantly; she'd become a beggar first.
Perhaps she could stay at Gardsley for a while, but sadly she accepted that her days at the only home she had ever known were numbered. Even if her father received some unexpected financial windfall, he would soon squander it. He cared only for London society and placed no value on his estate beyond the fact that being Hawthorne of Gardsley gave him position.
She could look for work. Wistfully she thought of Anna McCall, who had been her governess and friend for six years. Anna had been discharged on Ariel's eighteenth birthday because Sir Edwin had not wanted to continue paying her modest salary.
Anna had gone to a fine position with a family near London. Perhaps she could help Ariel find a situation, for the two women still corresponded. But Anna was older and much more clever, while Ariel was young and vague and had no skills except drawing. No one would want her for a governess or teacher.
If she wouldn't marry Gordstone, couldn't stay at Gardsley, and was incapable of supporting herself, she had only one other choice — accepting Falconer's proposal. Of the paths open to her, it was the hardest to evaluate. Yet even if the man was lying and he wanted to use her to slake his mysterious male needs, he couldn't be worse than Gordstone, and if he genuinely wanted no more than to offer her a home, she might be happy at Belleterre.
Lifting her head, Ariel gazed at the dark stranger who waited patiently for her answer. She wished she could see his face. No matter how misshapen his visage was, it would be less alarming than the hood. Nonetheless, she said steadily, "If you truly wish it, Lord Falconer, I will marry you."
Humor again lurking in his voice, he said, "You've decided that I'm the best of a bad lot?"
"Exactly." Her lips curved up involuntarily. "Apparently I inherited some of my father's gambling blood."
"Very well then, Ariel," he said, his deep voice making music of her name. "We shall marry. I guarantee that your life at Belleterre will be no worse than your life here. If it is within my power, I shall see that it is better."
She could hardly ask fairer than that. Nonetheless, that night in her bed, she cried herself to sleep.
THEY were married three and a half weeks later, after the crying of the banns. Ariel's father had insisted that she must have a fashionable wedding gown, so he took her to a London dressmaker.
She hated the noise and the crowds of people. Even more, she hated the white silk gown, with its bustle and train and elaborate flounces that made her feel like an over-decorated cake. Most of all, she had hated the corset and steel hoops she must wear to make the dress fit properly.
Just before they left the dressmaker's salon, she heard Sir Edwin tell the proprietor to send the bill to Lord Falconer of Belleterre. So her father would not spend his own money even for his daughter's wedding gown. Any sentimental regrets she had about leaving her home vanished then.
She slept badly during the weeks between her betrothal and her marriage, and she went to the church on her wedding day with dark circles under her eyes. She wouldn't have been surprised if the groom took one look at her and changed his mind, but he didn't. She suspected that he was as nervous as she, though she wasn't sure how she knew that when he was completely invisible under his cowled robe.
For a moment she had the hysterical thought that she might not be marrying Lord, Falconer, for anyone could hide under a robe. She reminded herself that his face might be hidden, but his height and smooth, powerful movements were proof of his identity.
The wedding was very small, with only Ariel and her father, the vicar and his wife, and an elderly man who stood up with Lord Falconer. Based on a faint but unmistakable scent, Ariel surmised the elderly man worked with horses. She'd invited Anna McCall, but her friend had been unable to come, for the interesting reason that she herself was getting married the same day.
Though the ceremony went quickly, there were several surprises. The first came when the vicar referred to 'the bridegroom as "James Philip." Ariel knew that his family name was Markland, but with a small jolt she realized she hadn't known his given name. He was a stranger, a complete stranger—and she had agreed to marry him without knowing either his name or what he looked like. She glanced up at his face, but the church was old and shadowy, and the cowl effectively prevented her from seeing anything even though she stood right next to him.
The service progressed. The next surprise came when Falconer lifted her icy hand so that he could slide the ring on her finger. He used both hands to hold hers, and she found his warm touch comforting.
She glanced down. She hadn't seen his hands closely before, for he tended to hold them so they were not readily visible. Now she saw that his left hand was so heavily scarred that the two smallest fingers must be almost useless. She could not help but stare.
He saw her reaction and dropped his hands as soon as the ring was on her finger. The sleeve of his robe fell over his wrist, and once more the damage was invisible.
She wanted to tell him that her reaction had been simple surprise, not repulsion, but she couldn't do that in the middle of the wedding ceremony. She bit her lip as the vicar concluded the ritual, declared them man and wife, and said jovially that it was time to kiss the bride.
Ariel had wondered what would happen at this point. Would her new husband abstain, or would he actually kiss her and she might learn something of what he looked like?
Once again, he surprised her by lifting her right hand and kissing it, very gently. His lips were warm and smooth and firm, just the way lips should be. She wanted to weep, and didn't know why.
They turned and left the church, married. No wedding breakfast had been planned, for Ariel guessed that Lord Falconer would be uncomfortable at such an event. Nor would there be a honeymoon; they would go directly to Belleterre where her possessions should have already been delivered.
Before stepping outside, she saw Falconer give an envelope to her father, but she said nothing until she and her new husband were alone in their carriage. As she arranged her billowing skirts, she asked, "How much did it cost you to buy me?"
He shifted uneasily on the leather seat, but didn't avoid the question.
"I canceled a loan of ten thousand pounds and gave your father ten thousand pounds beyond that. He's supposed to use it to settle other debts, though I doubt that he will."
She inhaled the spicy sweet scent of her bouquet of white rosebuds and pale pink carnations. ''That's a high price to pay for a good deed. You could have endowed another hospital for twenty thousand pounds."
"I suppose so," he said uncomfortably, "but I consider it money well spent."
Ariel was looking straight ahead, her eyes on the velvet lining of the carriage. He took advantage of that to study her profile again, this time from much closer than on the occasion when he'd first seen her. But today she wasn't that carefree girl under the apple tree. Beneath the veil her flaxen hair was drawn up in a complicated style of coils and ringlets, and her gown made her look terrifyingly fashionable.
Her beauty and sophistication alarmed him. Where had he ever found the audacity to offer for such a paragon? It was tragic that because of her father's fecklessness, she was now tied to a man wholly unworthy of her. "A pity that you never had a London Season. There you could have found a husband to your taste instead of being forced to choose between two unpalatable alternatives:"
To his surprise she smiled humorlessly. "I did have a London Season when I was eighteen."
He frowned. ''Then why aren't you married? You must have been a stunning success."
She began plucking the ribbons that trailed from her bouquet. "Oh, yes, I was a success. Proclaimed a Beauty, in fact. There were several proposals of marriage. Fortunately they were improperly made to me rather than my father, so I was able to decline without him learning about them."
"Why did you refuse? Were they all men like Gordstone?"
She twined a ribbon around one slender finger. "None were so dreadful as he, but neither did they want to marry me. They just wanted to win the latest Beauty. And win is the right word. Courtship was a sport, and I was one of the Season's best trophies. None of the men who proposed marriage knew anything about me, or cared about the things I cared about." She glanced up at him, her blue eyes stark. "To be a Beauty is to be a thing, not a person. Perhaps you, more than most men, can understand that."
Her words struck him with the impact of a blow. For the first time he realized just how much more she was than the beautiful child he had seen on the hillside. "Yes, I understand what it is to be a thing, not a person. I don't blame you for resenting that. But even so, you would have been better off married to one of those men, someone who would have given you a real marriage and a position in society."
"I'm not sure I would have been better off. I spoke the truth when I told my father that I preferred a quiet life in the country. He can't bear quiet. I suppose that's one reason we've never understood each other very well." Visibly shaking off her mood, she said, "I don't believe I've properly thanked you for saving me from Gordstone. I really do appreciate what you've done." After a slight hesitation, she added, "James."
Startled, he said, "No one calls me that."
"Would you rather I didn't?"
"Do as you will," he said, his voice constricted. He was deeply moved to hear her use his name. No woman had done so since his mother had died.
Thinking of his mother's death, he dropped his left hand from sight behind his thigh. Ariel had viewed the scars with distaste when he had put the ring on her finger. That was to be expected since she was without flaw herself. But she had the good manners of natural refinement and had done her best not to show her revulsion
For the rest of the journey to Belleterre neither of them spoke, but the silence was less awkward than he had expected. When the carriage pulled up in front of his home, he helped her out, saying lightly, as if the matter was unimportant, "After this moment, you need never endure my touch again."
He started to remove his right hand from hers, but she clung to it. Softly, her great blue eyes staring up at him, she said, "James, you mustn't think that you repel me. We are almost strangers, but you have been kind to me, and now we are married. Surely we will have some kind of relationship with each other. I hope it will not be a strained one."
He pulled his hand from her clasp, knowing that if he felt the touch of her slim fingers any longer, he would want to do more than just hold her hand. "It won't be strained. You will scarcely see me, except by chance around the estate."
She frowned. "It sounds like a very lonely life. Can't we at least be friends, perhaps sometimes keep each other company?"
It would be very hard to be friends with her, but obediently he said, "If that is your wish. How much company do you want?"
She bit her lower lip, looking enchantingly earnest. "Perhaps ... perhaps we might dine together every night? If you don't mind?"
"I won't mind." He reminded himself that her request stemmed from the basic need for human interaction rather than any special liking for him, but even so, joy swirled through him at the knowledge that she'd actually requested his company on a regular basis.
She took his arm as they began walking up the steps, surprising him again. She was a brave child, and an honorable one, willing to do her duty. Solemnly he promised himself that he would not take advantage of that willingness.
The servants were lined up inside the house to meet the new mistress. Ariel knew she would never remember all the names until she knew them better, but she was impressed by the general air of well-being. If orgies were held at Belleterre, they didn't seem to distress the servants.
Nonetheless, she sensed deep reserve among them, as if they were doubtful about her. She supposed it was only natural for them to be wary about a new mistress. Once they discovered that she didn't intend to make sweeping changes, they would relax.
Introductions over, Falconer turned her over to the housekeeper to be shown to her rooms. Mrs. Wilcox was remote but polite as she took her new mistress upstairs. As she passed through rooms and halls, Ariel observed that her new home was furnished in excellent, if rather austere, taste. It was also well kept, with floors and furniture gleaming with wax and not a speck of dust anywhere.
On reaching their destination, the housekeeper opened the door and said, "Your belongings were delivered and the maids have unpacked them, your ladyship. If there is anything that you want, or if you wish to make changes, you have only to ask."
Ariel's first impression was that she had stepped into a garden, for every available surface was covered with vases of welcoming flowers. She drifted through the scented rooms, awed by the size and luxury of her accommodations. Not only was there a well-furnished bedroom and sitting room, but another large chamber that was almost empty.
It took a moment for her to realize that the room was a studio, for there was a north light and an easel in the corner. Her eyes stung. Had he known what this would mean to her? He must have guessed. Though he was a stranger, he understood her better than her own father had.
Behind her a soft Kentish voice said, "I'm Fanny, your ladyship, and I'm to be your personal maid. Do you wish to take off your gown and rest before dinner?"
Gratefully Ariel accepted the girl's suggestion, for the stress of the day had left her exhausted. She slept well and woke refreshed. Fanny appeared again and helped her dress. In one of the surprises that was starting to become commonplace, Ariel discovered an armoire full of new clothing. Apparently the dressmaker in London had been commissioned to make her a whole wardrobe as well as the wedding gown.
Her husband had judged her taste well, for most of the dresses were loosely cut tea gowns. They would be perfect for daytime in the country, particularly for painting and walking. The colors chosen were clear, delicate pastels that suited her fair hair and complexion. Ariel was beginning to suspect that the Black Beast had the eye of an artist.
When she went down to dinner, she found her husband waiting in the morning room. He greeted her gravely and inquired if everything was to her taste. She assured him that her rooms were lovely, especially the studio. Then they went together into the family dining room. He tens
ed when she took his arm, and she wondered if he found her touch distasteful.
The family dining room was still very large, and one end of the room was quite dark even though the summer sun had not yet set. Ariel had thought that when her husband ate he might put his hood back, but he didn't. Since his chair was in the dark end of the room and she was a dozen feet away, at the far end of the polished table, she saw nothing of his face.
The dinner was a quiet one until the end, when bowls of fruit had been served. After the footman had left the room, Ariel said, "Do you always sit or stand in the shadows?"
He paused in the act of peeling a peach. ''Always.''
"Is that necessary?"
"To me it is." He began to peel away a spiral of peach skin, his long fingers deft. In the shadows it was impossible to see the scars on his left hand. "I have said that you can do whatever you wish at Belleterre. In return, Ariel, I ask that you respect my wishes in this matter."
She bit her lip. "Of course, James."
The rest of the meal passed in silence. When they were done, they rose and went into the hall. Ariel had thought that perhaps they would sit together after dinner, but her husband only said, "Good night, my dear. If you wish to read, the library is through that door on the left. The selection of books is wide, and of course you are welcome to add anything you want to the collection."
She realized that he had been quite serious when he'd said they would see little of each other. She'd wanted a quiet life, and it appeared that her wish would be granted. She was just saying good night when a scrabble of claws sounded on the polished marble floor.
Ariel looked up to see a dog trotting eagerly down the hall. It was the ugliest dog she'd ever seen, rawboned and splotchy and of very dubious parentage. But its shaggy face glowed with canine bliss as it reached its master, then reared up and balanced on its haunches.
Christmas Roses: Love Blooms in Winter Page 11