As they crossed the lawn and passed the ha-ha to enter the park, he began to find the silence uncomfortable, yet he could not summon the right words. Was it time? Or should he talk of trivial matters until they reached the river? Would it look too eager if he began now? Yet they were still within sight of the house…
Lord, how difficult it was! Now that the moment had come, fear gripped him. He had lain awake half the night thinking of her, and trying to work out from words and glances and gestures just what lay in her heart. For a whole year he had tried, and he was no nearer to the answer. Today he would know, once and for all. Would he have everything he longed for, or must he settle for a sedate marriage of convenience, on her side at least? Or would she reject him… Dear God, let her not reject him!
They passed between the hazel grove and a stand of laurels, and at last they were hidden from the house. Abruptly she stopped, some strong emotion clouding her face. Was she angry with him? His heart thumped with painful intensity. He turned to face her enquiringly.
“Why do you not speak!” she cried. “You said you would… today, you said… yet you are silent. Why? Why?”
Her breath was as ragged as his own. For an instant, astonishment held him immobile. He licked his lips. How to answer her? This was the moment, but all his glib speeches, so many times rehearsed, deserted him. Instead, he found himself blurting, “Because I am terrified.”
“Of what?”
“Of finding out that you do not care for me. Annie, I wish—”
What he wished remained unsaid, for she hurled herself at him with such force that he was pushed back against a tree with a thump. And then…
Her lips claimed his with burning heat and need, sweeping away all his careful control and setting him aflame. This was no gentle, affectionate kiss, it was a thing of such frenzied urgency that he was utterly lost. He threw himself into that kiss with all the suppressed desire of twelve months of restraint. He could restrain himself no longer… and he need not! He could gather her into his arms and hold her against him, so tight that her stays pressed into him, and she must surely feel the buttons of his coat. And still she kissed him, her need as desperate as his, her passion the equal of his own, and he doubted no more. She loved him! By all that was miraculous, she loved him and she was his.
Eventually their ardour was sated for the moment, and their lips separated, although his arms still held her tight. One of her hands was inside his coat, resting warmly against his shirt. The other was tucked behind his head, her fingers gently stroking his hair.
“Are you less terrified now?” she said softly, making him smile.
“A little. I shall need a great deal more reassurance, I fear.” That made her laugh, and he was holding her so closely that he felt her body gently shaking with amusement. “But I must tell you, Mrs Huntly, that I am shocked by such wanton behaviour.”
Another ripple of laughter. “That was rather forward of me, was it not?”
“Outrageously so.”
“Oh, Adam!” She gently stroked his face, smiling up at him in a way that almost unmanned him. “I could not bear it, you see. You said you would speak and then… you did not.”
Her sweet face was so open, so artless that he could not resist teasing her just a little. “I had planned to, naturally. Today I believe I intended to pay you some little compliment on your dress.”
“My dress!”
“And then in a few weeks—”
“Weeks!”
“—I should remark upon the smoothness of your complexion, or some such. Then, in a few months—”
“Adam!” she cried, her face a picture of horror.
“—I should begin to suggest—”
His words were smothered in another impassioned kiss. “No!” she said firmly, when they finally broke apart again. “I am not waiting a day longer than necessary. We shall go and see Mr Popham today and arrange to have the banns read. Today, Adam.”
“Well… if you absolutely insist, my love,” he said. “We could do that, I suppose. Or…”
“Or what?”
“Or we could make use of the special licence I have in my waistcoat pocket.”
Her squeak of excitement was everything he could have hoped for. “A special licence? Did you get that when you were in London?”
“That was the reason for my journey, in fact. I would hardly go there merely for a new coat. It was a tricky business, for the Archbishop does not hand out special licences without good reason, but Mr Willerton-Forbes accompanied me to Doctors’ Commons, and also his father, the Earl of Morpeth, and that did the trick. I have the licence and we can be married today, if you wish it. Mr Popham is to call at around four o’clock, in case his services should be required, and your uncle is here to give you away.”
“Oh! I see it now. Everyone knew, except me,” she said, with a merry laugh. “Even Mrs Hewitt, busily preparing the wedding feast. I wondered why Mama and Aunt Hester were so insistent that I wear this gown, for I have a quantity of others far less fine.”
“It was presumptuous of me,” he said slowly. “I thought — I hoped — you might not wish to wait any more than I do, but Annie, dearest Annie, we need not rush into this if—”
Another kiss cut off his words. When they surfaced again, she said, “Dear Adam, I never knew what love was until I met you. I did not realise at first. All I knew was that I felt better when you were around, that you lifted my spirits in some mysterious way. And then, after Rupert died, I hardly knew what I felt. My emotions were all at sea! I know I looked so outwardly calm, for Judith and Cecilia both berated me for it, but that was just my way of coping with all that had happened. And when you were arrested — I was so terrified, Adam!”
“But you knew I was innocent?”
“Of course! But the law is not always perfect and you could have been taken from me even before I knew how much you meant to me. And then when you came back—”
“I would not even kiss you,” he said softly, leaning close to nuzzle her cheek.
“That was just what I needed, however,” she said. “The breathing space to be sure that I was not rushing into another mistake, as I did with Rupert. Time to determine my own heart.”
“And now you have?”
“Now I have, my love. We shall be so happy together, you and I. Oh… but if we marry today, must I move to the Manor at once? I shall have a great deal of packing to do.”
“I thought,” he said hesitantly, “and you must tell me at once if you dislike the idea, but it seems to me that it would be better if I move here. It would be a shame to leave Willow Place empty, or let to tenants, and you will not want to abandon your walks here, which has a far more extensive estate than the Manor. Besides, now that Mr Popham’s sermons have been printed and are proving to be so popular, he is likely to be summoned to the cathedral, and I can give the living to Elkington, as I have always hoped. He and Cecilia can raise their extensive brood at the Manor, instead of that tiny parsonage. But it shall be as you wish.”
“That sounds so perfect,” she said with a sigh. “Shall you mind? Leaving the Manor, I mean. It is your home, after all.”
“My home is with you,” he said simply. “I love you to distraction, Annie Huntly, and I am going to take the greatest pleasure in watching you unfurl your petals and become the wonderful, warm, loving woman you were destined to be, with your brood of fine children about you.”
“I hope we have many children,” she said, “and all of them with your blue eyes and mischievous smile and teasing ways.”
“May we not have some who have their mother’s hazel eyes and quick mind and serene manner?”
“I shall allow you one, perhaps,” she said, smiling. She lifted her head to kiss him again, then said, “Should we go inside and announce our good news?”
“And prepare for our wedding day,” he said. “The first day of forever.”
She gave him a radiant smile. Arm in arm, they strolled back to begin their life together.<
br />
THE END
Thanks for reading!
If you have enjoyed reading this book, please consider writing a short review on Amazon. You can find out the latest news and sign up for the mailing list at my website.
Family trees: Hi-res version available here.
A note on historical accuracy: I have endeavoured to stay true to the spirit of Regency times, and have avoided taking too many liberties or imposing modern sensibilities on my characters. The book is not one of historical record, but I’ve tried to make it reasonably accurate. However, I’m not perfect! If you spot a historical error, I’d very much appreciate knowing about it so that I can correct it and learn from it. Thank you!
Isn’t that what’s-his-name? Regular readers of my books will know that occasionally characters from previous books pop up again. There are a few in this book. Lady Charlotte Litherholm was at Valmont when Caroline Milburn visited in The Lacemaker. Mr and Mrs Elkington made a brief appearance at a dinner party in The Lacemaker. Lawyer Mr Willerton-Forbes and his flamboyant sidekick Captain Edgerton have been helping my characters solve murders and other puzzles ever since Lord Augustus. Long-standing characters the Marquess and Marchioness of Carrbridge and their home at Drummoor in Yorkshire get a passing mention.
About the Silver Linings Mysteries series: John Milton coined the phrase 'silver lining' in Comus: A Mask Presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634
Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?
I did not err; there does a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night,
And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.
Ever since then, the term ‘silver lining’ has become synonymous with the unexpected benefits arising from disaster. The sinking of the Brig Minerva results in many deaths, but for others, the future is suddenly brighter. But it’s not always easy to leave the past behind…
Book 0: The Clerk: the sinking of the Minerva offers a young man a new life (a novella, free to mailing list subscribers).
Book 1: The Widow: the wife of the Minerva’s captain is free from his cruelty, but can she learn to trust again?
Book 2: The Lacemaker: three sisters inherit a country cottage, but the locals are surprisingly interested in them.
Book 3: The Apothecary: a long-forgotten suitor returns, now a rich man, but is he all he seems?
Book 4: The Painter: two children are left to the care of a reclusive man.
Book 5: The Orphan: a wilful heiress is determined to choose a notorious rake as her guardian.
Book 6: The Duke: the heir to the dukedom is reluctant to step into his dead brother’s shoes and accept his arranged marriage.
Any questions about the series? Email me - I’d love to hear from you!
About the author
I write traditional Regency romances under the pen name Mary Kingswood, and epic fantasy as Pauline M Ross. I live in the beautiful Highlands of Scotland with my husband. I like chocolate, whisky, my Kindle, massed pipe bands, long leisurely lunches, chocolate, going places in my campervan, eating pizza in Italy, summer nights that never get dark, wood fires in winter, chocolate, the view from the study window looking out over the Moray Firth and the Black Isle to the mountains beyond. And chocolate. I dislike driving on motorways, cooking, shopping, hospitals.
Acknowledgements
Thanks go to:
All those fine people in Albany, Australia who restored the Brig Amity, and gave me the germ of an idea.
Rev Charles Sturgeon, who wrote the splendid sermon attributed in the book to Annie’s father.
Shayne Rutherford of Darkmoon Graphics for the cover design.
My beta readers: Barbara Daniels Dena, Quilting Danielle, Amy DeWitt, Melanie Savage, the readers of Rachel Daven Skinner at Romance Refined
Last, but definitely not least, my first reader: Amy Ross.
Sneak preview of The Painter Prologue: Miss Latimer's Academy
FOUR YEARS BEFORE THE SINKING OF THE BRIG MINERVA
Felicia gazed at her work with a critical eye. The faces… yes, she thought she had contrived them rather well, all things considered. And the trees… she had always been good at trees and flowers and curvaceous smears of colour. But the cottages! How was it that simple straight lines gave her so much trouble? The honeysuckle growing around the door was as realistic as any she had drawn, but the poor cottage itself looked as if a puff of wind would see it off. The walls were crooked, the window frames askew and the chimney pots tilting. The smoke— yes, the smoke needed something.
She reached for a stick of the palest grey, and blended it into the drifting cloud emerging from the chimney. Then some darker grey, a little white, and just a touch of black, smudging the colours together with her thumb so that they mingled and merged. Another stroke of white just there… Smoke and clouds were so satisfactory with pastels. It was hard to go wrong, in truth. But walls…
There was no sound, but she became aware of someone behind her. Miss Gertrude, of course. No one else had quite such an uncanny ability to sneak up noiselessly behind a person. No, that was unfair, for she had no intention of sneaking. It was just her way.
Felicia reached for a cloth to wipe her hands, and turned with a smile. “Miss Gertrude? Have you an errand for me?”
“You’re wanted in the Principal’s room.”
“At once? Then I shall wash the dust off my hands.”
“Nasty, messy stuff, those pastel sticks,” Miss Gertrude said with a sniff. “I can’t see why you don’t stick to watercolours like a proper lady.”
“Perhaps because I am not a proper lady,” Felicia said, as she poured water from the ewer into a basin. “I am only… oh, a pirate’s daughter, I think, abandoned at port in my cradle when he had to escape the Excise men in rather a hurry. He will come back for me one day. My mother was a Persian princess he captured, whose father offered a fortune for her safe return, but my father had fallen in love with her and married her by then. I expect she died of grief when I was left behind. There! I am a trifle cleaner, I believe.”
“You and your stories,” Miss Gertrude said sourly, turning to stalk away. “Pirates and Persian princesses! Ha!”
Felicia chuckled at her receding back, and ran lightly after her, down a floor to the main teaching rooms. The Latimer Academy for Young Ladies was a respected institution, where girls from twelve to eighteen could learn the feminine arts of French or Italian, music and singing, the management of household accounts, sewing, dancing and deportment, and a little history and knowledge of the world as an aid to conversation, but not so much as to deter potential husbands. Heaven forfend that they should be turned into blue-stockings! After which, they would be fired off into society and expected to make good, or at least respectable, marriages and bring honour upon their families. Felicia sincerely pitied them.
On the ground floor was the dancing room, where the rather fraught dancing master was attempting to instil gracefulness into a small group who seemed determined to bump into each other and then collapse into giggles, while Miss Mason banged away determinedly on the pianoforte. Felicia smiled, and executed a few steps of the cotillion as she passed through the hall in Miss Gertrude’s wake, her skirts flaring around her as she twirled. Oh, to dance and lose herself in the music! It was a long, long ten days until the next assembly, and she had her gown and hair ornaments already planned. And this time, she was determined, Jane would dance every set and enjoy herself. She was coming along so well, and in another few months, her shyness would be almost unnoticeable in company.
Across the hall were the domestic offices, where Miss Latimer had her study. Unusually, she was not seated at her desk when Felicia entered. Instead, she stood at the window gazing out into Bugle Street, one of Southampton’s most salubrious thoroughfares.
“Miss Oakes is here, sister,” Miss Gertrude said. She never called Felicia anything else, conveying her distaste for her by means of rigid formality.
“Ah, Felicia. Do sit down.” Miss Latimer settled into her seat behind the desk and Miss Gertrude took up her usual position, standing a little behind her sister, hands clasped before her, an expression of displeasure on her face, as if she had trodden in something unsavoury. The two sisters were as unlike as could be, Miss Latimer as round and soft as a floured dumpling, and Miss Gertrude as thin and sharp as a spear.
Felicia took the chair in front of the desk, and waited expectantly.
“I have had…” Miss Latimer began, then halted with uncharacteristic hesitancy.
“Yes?” Felicia said.
“A letter,” Miss Latimer went on, more strongly, picking up a paper that lay on the desk. “A proposal, if you like. A gentleman wishes to engage a governess for his two daughters.”
“A governess!” Felicia burst out. “I am hardly qualified—” A shiver passed down her spine, but whether of fear or anticipation was more than she could determine. A governess lived the most miserable life on earth, neither gentry nor servant but abused by all, and yet… to leave Southampton, perhaps, and see a little of the world beyond… that would be something!
“Hear me out,” Miss Latimer said. “It is… a most unusual case. He is a married man, but he took a mistress who gave him two children, and he seems to have cared greatly for them. They have been well provided for, at all events. The mistress has recently died, and now he wishes to engage a governess for his natural daughters. And here is the interesting part, Felicia. He insists that the governess must be an artist, and her primary role is to nurture the creative talents of the children. His mistress was a talented painter, it seems, and he hopes to see that ability transferred to her offspring. You can see why our thoughts turned at once to you.”
The Apothecary (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 3) Page 32