by Jen Yates
She'd heard the term, turned to stone, but she'd never imagined she’d actually experience it. He loved her?
He still held her hand, now cupped firmly between both of his.
‘I do not expect you to return my sentiments. We’ve not spent that much time in one another's company after all—but—I’ve watched you whenever I’ve visited with Henry and noted the patience you exhibit with your younger sisters and brother, the respect you accord your elders, indeed all people. I’ve watched you grow into a beautiful, confident, accomplished young woman and I fell in love. I’m not just some foolish old man lusting after young flesh, Liberty. I told Henry some time ago of my feelings and that if he was seeking a husband for you I’d eagerly put my suit forward. I’m deeply honored by your acceptance, my dear. I promise to do all in my power to make our marriage a happy one. I’m a wealthy man and can afford to indulge whatever needs or desires you have.’
Liberty clamped her teeth over her lip again, dismayed to feel tears burning at the back of her eyes. He was being so nice to her. He loved her, for God's sake. And the only thing she wanted of him was his death. It was all so wrong. So desperately unfair.
Managing to swallow the lump in her throat, she stammered, ‘Th—thank you. Please get up.’
‘I didn’t mean to make you cry,’ he said gently, which had that very effect. She buried her face in her hands and tried to stifle her sobs. Drawing her into his arms, he held her until she quieted, then they continued to sit in companionable silence, watching the butterflies through the glass wall at the end of the conservatory.
***
His shoulders ached and the tips of his ears burned.
He wouldn't have thought he’d feel embarrassment or anxiety at his age, but love, it seemed, was a leveler. Justin eased his stance and tried to quiet the ugly thought that Liberty might leave him standing here at the altar looking like the old fool his sons undoubtedly thought he was.
Watching his betrothed at dinner last night he'd been concerned at the absence of her usual sparkling warmth and open, confident personality.
Her eyes had rarely lifted from her plate, no smile had softened the strained line of her mouth and when she did look up, Henry's gaze was fixed on her, watching.
Had he been a fool to ignore the obvious signs his bride was reluctant? Had he been totally selfish in deciding he could address her issues after they were safely wed when he’d have the right to unleash his formidable powers of persuasion?
He might be almost seventy, but he was still fit, upright and well capable of pleasuring a woman. That, for the first time in his life he loved that woman, lent the situation a poignancy, a deeper significance he'd not felt before.
He would break her in gently, like a feisty filly—the organist segued into the wedding march and his heart took off round his chest like a fox with the hounds in close pursuit. Turning, as did everyone in the church, to face the door, Justin lost awareness of anything but the vision walking up the aisle towards him on Stannesford’s arm.
Frozen fire gowned in seafoam green silk and lace.
He scarcely noticed her sisters walking before her—Verity almost dancing in her excitement.
An excitement that echoed in his blood, but not on his bride’s face.
Her beautiful green eyes were blank and focused straight ahead—on the stained glass window behind the altar. Reminding himself to breathe, he turned to face the vicar as she came to a halt at his side.
She didn't offer her hand, but he sought and found it tightly gripped about the posy of roses—from the Stannesford Conservatory, no doubt. Gently he prized her fingers loose and placed her hand on his arm, holding it there. If she was reluctant he’d prefer no one knew that but himself.
‘Dearly beloved—’
The familiar words were reassuring and Justin forced himself to concentrate. All other issues would wait until the vows were said and this beautiful young woman had agreed to be his wife.
‘I do,’ he said, clearly and firmly, hoping his confidence and love sounded in his voice and reassured his bride.
Her response was quieter, lacking enthusiasm perhaps, but firm enough, clear enough. It was done. They were man and wife.
Lowering his head, he softly kissed her frozen lips.
He could only hope his powers of persuasion were formidable enough.
***
Her rooms were a haven decorated in a light jade and a darker green accented with cream and gilt. No luxury spared. The bed was large and looked deeply comfortable.
Her husband's consideration and forbearance could not be faulted.
Her husband. Every cell in her body wanted to scream in denial. That title should have been Levi’s. Only Levi’s.
Somehow she had to put Levi out of her mind. Nothing could be gained from losing herself in bitterness and sorrow now. She’d given him her most precious gift. It would have to be enough.
For now.
They’d stayed overnight at an inn and Lord Earnslaw had told her he’d not come to her bed until they were in their own home. She hadn’t left him in any doubt of her relief.
But they were at Earnslaw now. Dinner had been intimate and the dishes offered delicious. She’d managed to eat little. Justin had talked of many things, mostly to do with Earnslaw, no doubt trying to keep her mind off—where they were now.
The bedroom. He’d escorted her upstairs and dismissed both Goldie and his valet, Brant. It was just the two of them now and he was going to want to consummate this marriage and no matter how she felt about it, she had to let him.
She'd said ‘I do’, given him the rights to her body.
How could she allow it without turning into a shuddering mess of revulsion?
Would it help if she pretended he was Levi?
The scream of pained rejection in her head reverberated through her entire body.
‘There is nothing to be afraid of, my love,’ her husband assured her softly.
His arms came around her, pulling her gently against him and gliding down to cup her bottom and press his arousal against her belly.
Levi. His name wanted to form on her lips, in her mind, and she could not let it. Could not bear to even think of him.
Did not dare.
If she could just endure it would soon be over.
‘Do you feel what you do to me, Libby? Do you understand what that means I want to do to you?’
He nuzzled her hair, his hands coming up to pull at the pins holding the arrangement of it in place.
‘Do you?’ he asked again, leaning back to watch her face.
She blinked and nodded. Words were beyond her.
‘I’ll make it good for you, love, I promise. It may hurt a little the first time, but I will do all I can to minimize that.’
Liberty ground her teeth and reminded herself revenge was sweet.
She’d not say anything. He’d likely find out soon enough this was not her first time—and she only had to allow anger and bitterness to well within her to overshadow any sense of shame she might have about that.
Regret it, she did not.
***
She tried to lie like a log of wood, tried not to respond but her healthy young body had betrayed her, or perhaps her husband’s undoubted expertise. He’d definitely delivered pleasure and drawn cries of release from her, leaving her clinging to him and actually welcoming him into her body.
As he lifted away to lie beside her, she dashed tears from her cheeks and told herself she hadn’t betrayed Levi—she did this for Levi.
‘I’m disappointed I was not your first, love.’
Why his words should shock her, Liberty didn’t know, but they sliced through something deep within that had been holding her together, shattering the restraint, acceptance, reconciliation she thought she’d achieved.
He was disappointed?
Any monitor or filter of her responses vanished.
‘What arrogance is that? Why would you think I’d save myself for you? You�
�re older than my father. Did you seriously think I came willingly to your bed, to this bloody marriage? Do you actually think I had a choice and that I chose you?’
She could hear the hysteria in her voice, knew she’d finally lost control and had no idea how to regain it, how to stop the terrible truths from flying off her tongue.
‘What convinced you then? My title? My wealth?’
There was a flat, calm tone to his voice as if he felt nothing—or—a deadly calm before a disastrous eruption. Even that thought didn’t stay her bitterness.
‘You think such things matter to me? What convinced me? My dog.’ A sob escaped her, but she was determined now he’d understand what he’d wrought by daring to offer for her hand. ‘My horse. And your age was a consideration.’
‘Your dog and your horse convinced you?’
‘Papa shot my dog. My horse was going to be next.’
‘Good God!’ he muttered after a moment of shocked silence. ‘Dare I ask why my age mattered?’
‘I look forward to an early widowhood.’
Suddenly she was alone in the bed and the closing of the door told her she was alone in the room as well. Which was just as she’d wanted, she told herself.
So why did she feel so miserable, as if she’d done something unbelievably cruel and selfish?
Tears dribbled silently and helplessly from her eyes, soaking the pillow. So much for being reconciled. So much for being grateful to Justin for anything.
They were married. They had to live together—for as long as it took. She could do better than this. She had to do better—sleep would never come with this guilt and shame riding her.
Climbing out of bed she groped her way through the door Justin had closed between their rooms just minutes before.
Crossing to the big tester the bed, she said, ‘Ju—Justin?’
His name was strange on her lips, but calling him Lord Earnslaw as she had up till now, felt wrong.
‘What is it?’
His terse response didn’t come from the bed. She found him in the big leather wing chair by the window, his outline merely a tense shadow and moonlight glinting off the glass in his hand. Tossing back the contents, he placed it on the table at his side and she could just discern the outline of his fingers gripping the arm of the chair.
‘I’m sorry—I—I’m so sorry—’
Helplessly she stood and waited for a response from him. For some inspiration as to what to say or do next. This misery was as acute, if not more so, than having to deny what she felt for Levi.
Now she hated herself.
‘I am, too, Libby,’ he said gruffly. ‘There’s no fool like an old fool, so they say. I had hoped I might teach you of love.’
Oh God! Compassion welled in her chest and flooded more tears to her eyes. Her knees crumpled and she found herself sitting on the floor at his feet, her head coming to rest naturally on his knee. Instantly his hand was at her hair, fingers caressing her scalp, gentling her.
‘Will you tell me of it, Libby? I collect there is someone you love? Do you—carry his child? Is that why?’
‘No! Oh—’
Liberty stopped, acutely aware she could not categorically say she wasn’t carrying Levi’s child.
‘Who was he? And do you intend to cuckold me with him again?’
‘No.’
‘Then can you talk to me of him? I would know what ails your heart, Libby, and I would have no secrets between us, whatever else we are able to share—or not. I would do anything I could to protect you from hurt, my love.’
My love. Still he called her ‘my love’. Such generosity and understanding she had not expected—and didn’t think she deserved.
Surely she could meet it with some degree of civility?
‘Come,’ he murmured, rising slowly to his feet and pulling her up with him. ‘We might as well be warm as we talk. Will you share my bed, Libby? I’ll not bother you in that way again tonight but—sharing warmth with you would please me.’
She had started to shiver and the warmth of the quilts on the big bed was enticing.
‘May I hold you?’
Silently Liberty accepted his arm around her and laid her head on his shoulder, grateful for the heat his closeness generated.
‘Now,’ he murmured softly, ‘will you tell me about the man who holds your heart?’
And so, with the occasional question and gentle prodding from Justin, Liberty told him of Levi.
‘We—we both agreed we should be grateful to you because there never really was any hope Papa would agree to our marriage.’
‘Your Papa was right, Liberty. A miller’s son just would not do, my dear, but—I’m appalled at the means by which Henry gained your acquiescence and he shall hear of my displeasure.’
Oh Lord, she didn’t want to be the cause of the two long-time friends falling out.
‘I don’t think he truly meant to shoot Jess. It was one of those horrible accidents—Gloames was holding the gun, broken, across his arm, the muzzle pointing down at Jess. When—when I came to the window and called down to them, Contessa stepped forward, tossing her head for I hadn’t been down to see them for nearly a week. She was excited. Somehow she bumped Gloames’s shoulder, jarring the gun into cocked position and I suppose Mr. Gloames must have had his finger on the trigger. He looked appalled at what happened—and so did Papa actually. It’s a scene I can’t get out of my head—Jess so black against the white snow—and then the spreading pool of red. After moments of stunned silence, Papa said, ‘Do I order Gloames to shoot Contessa as well?’ I knew then I was never going to win the battle—not in the way I wanted anyway. And I’d already sacrificed Jess to an impossible dream.’
His hand was soothing in her hair and when she lay still and silent she could hear his heart thumping steadily in his chest, a heart he claimed belonged to her. He confused her.
She had thought to hate him, to abhor his touch. She had thought he would reject her out of hand if she admitted to any of what they’d been talking about.
He was a remarkable man and she’d be a fool not to be grateful for that.
‘So, you are not pregnant?’
The question was quietly asked, but in such tones as left Liberty in no doubt he required an answer.
Levi’s child. Growing under her heart. If only. She exhaled with a tremulous shudder.
‘I—don’t know. We only—I went to Levi the first time when Papa told me of your proposal and that he’d accepted it. I wanted Levi to ruin me but—while we both wanted it—more than anything he—he insisted on being honorable and waiting—and hoping. Two nights before our wedding I went back and—I was determined he would be my first—and so he was. So, I don’t know—yet.’
‘I see.’
‘What will you do—if I’m pregnant?’ Liberty asked in a small voice.
Thought of the consequences to herself or to a child should there be one, had not entered her head. Unmitigated fury and the desire for a bitter revenge had been her driving force.
What had happened to the deep resentment and sense of entitlement that had sent her running to Levi?
Justin didn’t answer immediately and Liberty had the sense that he waged a battle within himself.
‘If there is a child it will be raised as my son—or daughter. The timing will raise no eyebrows, after all.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Do you intend to see him again?’
‘No. I don’t make vows lightly—and however unwilling I might’ve been, I did make vows to you. I’ll not compromise them.’
‘Thank you,’ he said softly.
Nothing more was said and gradually Liberty became aware of a change in his breathing and a gentling of the beat of his heart against her cheek.
She also acknowledged a small spark of hope in her own heart that marriage to the Earl of Earnslaw might not be so onerous after all.
***
Chapter 7.
Earnslaw lay in the verdant vale of Wiltshir
e, its acres rolling away to the southern toe of the Cotswolds. The house, a classic Georgian edifice added onto an original Tudor mansion was a rambling place Liberty thought would take her weeks to find her way around.
Justin had introduced her to the staff, taken her on two exploratory tours of the house and grounds, explaining the history of the place and of the Dilmores of Earnslaw.
He’d made it interesting and Liberty had been grateful to find historic tapestries hanging in the old Tudor hall in need of a skilled hand to repair them.
That she could do. It would give a purpose to her days and brought a smile of gratitude to Justin’s face. One whole section of tapestry had been laid out on a table in a smaller ante-room off the old hall and the fires lit to warm the place up.
They’d been married almost two weeks and had settled into an amiable cohabitation. An amiability that had definitely been improved by the arrival of her courses.
Liberty had been working on the tapestry since taking breakfast with Justin, who’d retired to his study with Mossman, his steward, and she’d assured him she was quite content and had not expected to see him again until luncheon. The work delighted her except it didn’t engage her mind.
Free to roam, it always found its way to Stannesford. To Levi. To her empty womb.
It was for the best, she knew but frequently had to dash tears from her eyes at the thought she might never bear, never hold, a child they’d made together.
In the way she’d come to know was natural to him, Justin had understood her sorrow. A remarkable man in so many ways.
If only she hadn’t loved Levi first. And always.
She’d been at work little more than an hour when the door opened and her husband entered, a quirky smile on his lips she’d not seen before and his grey eyes gleaming with some suppressed emotion.
He held her warm hooded cloak over his arm.
‘Hello, my love. You don't have to work over this like a slave.’
‘It is a pleasure, Justin. I love old tapestries and imagining past generations of women working on them, maybe right here in the old hall. And being able to restore them is an honor. So far I've just been sorting through the bag of tapestry wools Mrs. Clark found for me and have begun unpicking the ear of the black horse, which is badly moth eaten.’