by Regina Darcy
Sutherland’s eyes were saucer-wide, but mindful of his duty, he accompanied his master out of the room and to the front door. He did not lay a hand on the irate Peregrine Greane, but if the Viscount needed assistance, Sutherland was ready to provide it.
As soon as the expostulating Peregrine Greane was out of the house, Arthur returned to the drawing room, his heart heavy. He had lost her.
Tabitha was standing by herself when her husband returned to the room. Joshua stood by the fireplace. There was a sense of waiting in the room, as if something must happen. But this was not a stage play.
“You have changed,” Tabitha said with wonder. “You said you had, but I did not believe it possible.”
Arthur looked at her, not daring to hope that her words meant that there was still a chance that she could be his.
Tabitha took a deep breath and turned to Joshua. “Joshua, this summer has been the happiest of my life,” she told him. “You showed me that there is much in life to enjoy and that one need not cower behind fear simply because of being a woman. You were kind to my son. You have been a friend such as I never thought to have. You will always be my friend.”
Joshua’s smile was crooked. “Is this a farewell?”
“It is not farewell. You are my friend. I hope you will accept my friendship.” She looked towards her husband. He stood tall and immovable. Only his eyes revealed his yearning for her. “Arthur is my husband. We have been separated by miles and by time, but also by our own false concepts of what marriage ought to be. By the way I have brought up my son, I have discovered that a woman needs to be equal in a marriage, not subordinate to a man, whether the man is her father or her husband. Once, Arthur, you could not have accepted this. But now I see that ours can be an equal partnership.”
Arthur was gazing at her as if he did not dare believe that she was offering a second chance. “It can,” he said, his voice strained. “I believe I can be the sort of husband you deserve. Joshua . . . this is a most unusual circumstance in which we find ourselves, and I have no right to ask this of you, but I hope that you will consider allowing me to be your friend, just as you are a friend to my wife. Dare I ask that?”
“Friendship is a rare prize,” Joshua replied, his eyes looking tormented. “You know that I hoped, not so long ago, to have Tabitha as my wife. My love for her has not changed. Should you fail her, I will still be here. I advise you to take my words to heart, my lord, for I mean them with the utmost sincerity. I can only be your friend if you do right by your wife. If you mistreat her or fail to honour her as she deserves. . .” he smiled sorrowfully. “Then, sir, I am your rival.”
Arthur nodded. “I am grateful to you for what you have done. Because of you, Tabitha knows what she should expect from a man who loves her. It is not an easy admission to make, but I tell you that I have learned much from you. You brought happiness into Tabitha’s life and for that I am eternally grateful.”
Joshua nodded. “It seems as though you have come to an epiphany,” he said. “I will leave you to your discovery. You understand that, for me, this is a bittersweet moment. My love for Tabitha rejoices that you cherish her, but at the same time, I have lost her. Mark my words, and Tabitha, please be assured that should your husband fail to measure up to your expectations, I have love enough to wait for you.”
It was Arthur’s turn to nod. “I understand,” he said, as if he were agreeing to terms in a negotiated treaty.
“Then we are in accord. I shall let myself out,” Joshua said. “You two have much to discuss.”
“Joshua—” Tabitha went over to him. “How can I thank you?”
“Hold him to his promise,” Joshua answered her. “Accept nothing less than what you deserve. Remember that I am your friend.”
She nodded; tears had begun to trickle down her cheeks. She could not hold them back. She felt overwhelmed by the emotion in the room. Nothing in her upbringing had prepared her such an occasion as this, when two men professed their love for her and their respect as well, something which her father did not believe women were worthy of receiving. Arthur, who had reminded her so much of her demanding and dogmatic father, had escorted her father out of the house and told him that Tabitha had the right to do the same. He had asked Joshua for friendship. Joshua had acted valiantly and honourably. She could not have wished for more.
“Tabitha?”
Arthur’s voice brought her back to the present.
“Do you mean it?” he asked.
“Do I mean that I want us to be married? Yes, I do. I have seen a different side of you from anything you have previously shown me. My father . . . you made him leave. The Arthur I married would never have done that. You would have agreed with him and I would have been obliged to heed your will as well as his. Tonight, you freed me from the fetters of my childhood.”
“My dearest Tabitha,” he said, taking her into his arms. “It seems that we have more in common than not. My father was distant from me; your father undervalued you. I regret that I did not perceive this from the beginning.”
“How could you perceive it when I did not recognise it myself?”
They sat down on the sofa, their hands linked together.
“I thought myself inferior and unworthy. I tried to win his affections by being what he wanted me to be. But that Tabitha—meek, docile, never speaking up in my own defence—earned his contempt. He accepted your proposal of marriage on my behalf not because he cared whether or not we would enjoy a happy union, but because having a titled son-in-law reflected well on him and would benefit his professional reputation. I never realised how selfish he is.”
“In some ways,” Arthur told her sombrely, “he is the man I would have become, had I not been forced from your side and then, returning, forced to nearly lose you to the better man. Yes,” Arthur insisted as Tabitha began to disagree, “Joshua Hendrickson is the better man by far. I have much to accomplish if I am to reach his level of generosity of spirit. He saw in you from the very beginning how remarkable you are. I saw it, but I did not nurture what I felt. You were my wife. I thought there was nothing more to be done. Now we are all these years married but because of the years apart, we are like a bride and groom.” He paused and looked at her intently, “And you know what a bride and groom do.”
She beheld him, wide-eyed. “Arthur, we are in the drawing room!”
Arthur laughed in appreciation. “No, my beloved. Brides and grooms go on honeymoons, where they enjoy one another in a setting quite removed from their usual environment.”
“Brides and grooms do not have children,” she said, smiling.
“Do you not think that Micah would enjoy coming with us for a visit to Spain or to Italy?”
“Or to Virginia? I should like to go there, I think.”
“For your honeymoon? You do not want to go to Europe and enjoy centuries of culture and elegance?”
“I think that, if we are to travel, I should like to go somewhere that has a personal meaning for you. Virginia might be quite rustic compared to our European capitals with their centuries of history, but perhaps we should look to the new rather than the old. Perhaps your years of captivity, wretched though they must have been, were part of God’s plan to liberate you from your past, and me as well. Is that not possible?”
“I think it must have been,” Arthur replied after contemplating this peculiar, but insightful consideration. “It is therefore very humbling to think that I owe my second chance with my wife to the amorous dalliances of a vindictive royal advisor, to a conspiracy which sent me to work the fields in a country unknown to me, to a well-heeled man without a title who taught my wife what love ought to be . . . yes, very humbling. I declare that any arrogance I previously exhibited must now be forever chastened by this realisation.”
It occurred to Tabitha that while her husband’s experiences had chastened him, she had been emboldened by the results.
“It has been a remarkable reckoning for us both, I should think,” she said. “Do not
forget that it was not until I became a widow that I came to realise that I wanted you to be my husband.”
Arthur laughed heartily and Tabitha joined him. “Our world turned upside down,” he said.
“Indeed it has, but you know, I rather like it this way. Our staid and orderly world did us no favours. We were hostages to that pattern, and we did not know it. Now, we are free to define our marriage as we choose. But before we go on a honeymoon, I should like to return to Randstand. It is our home, and I want us to have the time to see Randstand transformed by our great hopes as we ourselves intend to be transform.”
“You know that I shall never refuse to go to Randstand. I thought of it constantly while I was away and having my home denied to me gave me a renewed appreciation for it. Just as I realised how much I loved you.”
He took her into his arms and kissed her with such passion that she felt as if she were being seduced. His lips sought and claimed her, his arms enfolded her, and she returned his embrace with an ardour that she had not known was within her.
“Oh, Arthur,” she exclaimed, “I am so glad that you returned!”
“As am I.’
“But there is so much to do. In the eyes of the court, you are a dead man.”
“I shall go to the court and provide ample proof of my living status. I shall tell them that a dead man could not enjoy the kisses of his wife with such abandon as I just did,” he said, grinning as he watched the rosy blush mount in her cheeks.
“I hope it will not come to that,” she said with dignity. “I am sure that Mr Ochsbury will be more than delighted to offer confirmation that the Viscount of Randstand has returned in the flesh and is ready to resume his role.”
“No doubt. But think you that he will also draw up a contract which recognises my wife’s position as my equal in the business matters which concern Randstand; that the dowry which her father paid upon our marriage is to be regarded as her private income, to spend as she wishes.”
Tabitha’s lovely grey eyes shone. “Do you mean it, Arthur? All of these things are very different from what is common in other marriages. We shall scandalise the ton if we proceed in such a bold manner.”
“My beloved, when a dead man marries his widow, one must expect the natural order to be upended. The ton will simply have to accept that we have found a novel way of loving one another and, if they are wise, they will consider following our example.”
“I do not think they will do so, however. I confess, Arthur, that I am not enamoured of London society. Walcott Overton is a prime example. He sought to ruin your life in order to keep his amorous escapades a secret from the monarch he served. Is that not vile?”
“Walcott Overton is a vile man. However, he did not ruin my life. Quite the opposite. He faces disgrace; I anticipate bliss. I am quite excited about the opportunities that are now ours to enjoy.”
He lowered his lips to meet her upturned lips. “Do you know, my love,” he murmured against her check, “I highly recommend being declared dead as a marvellous introduction to life! Do you not agree?’
He did not expect an answer from his wife; she was eagerly returning his kisses with her own and words were quite unnecessary.
The End
PREVIEW: FOR THE LOVE OF A SCOUNDREL
PROLOGUE
“I say, old man, how is that daughter of yours?”
Viscount Longford smiled as he thought of his daughter Teresa, the apple of his eyes. Her heart-shaped face, her dark brown curls and her sparkling green eyes that so often reminded him of his late wife.
“She is doing very well, Dunlop, thank you.”
The Earl of Dunlop, Viscount Longford’s long-time acquaintance, rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“She’ll be coming of age soon enough, won’t she?”
“She ought to be out already,” Lord Longford replied, with a slight grimace. “The truth is, Dunlop, things have been so bad with the estate that I’ve not been able to take her to town for the Season. If her mother had still been alive – God rest her soul – then I would not have to worry about such things but, as it stands, Teresa has had to remain at home. The only reason I have come away from there is to see my solicitor, although I am glad to have the opportunity to see you again. It has been a long time.”
Lord Dunlop chuckled, his eyes still thoughtful.
“I still remember what it was like when we were both young men, out in London looking for our brides. How fortunate we were.”
“Indeed,” Lord Longford murmured, his heart still filled with a love for his dearly departed wife. “I had hoped for a good match for Teresa but since I have been unable to take her to town, I may have to consider other means.”
Lord Dunlop nodded.
“Well, as it happens, I do have a son.”
Lord Longford paused, looking over at his friend who was busy pouring them both another brandy.
“Your son and heir, I presume you mean,” he said, slowly. “I would have thought he might have married now.”
Shaking his head, Lord Dunlop handed Lord Longford his glass of brandy and sat back in his chair.
“Not yet. It appears he is not as enamoured with the London set as he thought he’d be. He shows no interest in any particular lady despite my encouragements to find someone who is a suitable match. I am beginning to wonder if an arrangement might suit him just as well.”
“An arrangement, you say,” Lord Longford murmured, taking a sip of his brandy and letting it spread warmth through his chest.
“Tell me about Teresa,” Lord Dunlop continued, waving a hand. “Does she know how to run a household?”
“Of course,” Lord Longford replied, quickly. “that is what she’s been doing ever since her mother passed away. She is well mannered, genteel, articulate and knows exactly what is expected of her.”
Lord Dunlop smiled in delight. “Wonderful. Hugh is, of course, fully aware of his duties when they should come to him – not that I have any intention of creeping into my grave just yet!”
Lord Longford laughed, feeling much the same sentiment.
“Hugh is a rather sensible fellow, for which I am grateful,” Lord Dunlop continued. “he has no particular vices I am sure, and everyone speaks well of him. If you are amenable, we could make a very good match for them both.”
Lord Longford though quickly, wondering about his daughter and how she would feel about an arranged marriage. To his surprise, the idea took hold quickly, making a sense of satisfaction rise in him. After all, he reasoned, he had not been able to take Teresa to London when she was of age, which meant that soon society might think her on the shelf. He did not want her to live her life alone, aware that he would one day leave this earth and, in doing so, leave her behind.
“I think Teresa would be amenable to the match,” he said, slowly. “What of Hugh, however?
Lord Dunlop shrugged. “He will not take much convincing if any. He is more than ready to settle down and, just so long as his wife is what he requires from such a companion, I am certain he will accept her with gratitude. After all, it takes all the difficulty out of finding a match for themselves!”
“Indeed, it does,” Lord Longford agreed, a smile fastening itself to his face. “I could bring Teresa to London for a few short weeks so that they can become acquainted and then be married by Season’s end.”
Lord Dunlop lifted his glass in a toast.
“Capital!” he exclaimed, a broad smile settling across his face. “Then it is settled. My son shall be betrothed to your daughter and, in so doing, we shall join our two families together. A wonderful idea, if I may say so.”
Lord Longford chuckled, amused that his friend was congratulating himself on his own wisdom.
“A very good idea, Dunlop.” He raised his glass and tapped it against Lord Dunlop’s, feeling a deep sense of happiness begin to settle in him. “To our families uniting,” he finished, before taking a long sip of his brandy. “My goodness, I can hardly wait to get home to tell Teresa.”
Not once did he worry that his daughter might be distressed at being married off to a stranger, after all, she was a most dutiful daughter.
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