by Cheryl Bolen
She ignored his amused expression and pressed on with more serious matters. "We spoke to each other across tavern tables. That is quite a different setting than a duke's drawing room. I am ill prepared to be a duchess."
"You're the granddaughter of an earl, Barbara." He covered her gloved hand with his own. "I've seen you grace ballrooms of the best houses, and none could compare with you. I would very much like to behold your lovely face across the breakfast table for the rest of my days."
"That is hardly a reason to propose marriage, your grace. You have seen my mother. The fact that she was a noted beauty does little for her appearance now. A face does not stay flawless as the decades advance."
"I have other reasons to seek a wife," he said in a more formal tone. "I have a very strong desire to settle down. I am four and thirty years. If I don't start a family soon, I will be as old as my parents were when I was born. And I shouldn't like that at all."
Bonny watched a stunted fir tree that had permanently bent with the winds, and she tried to speak casually. "Then you have been considering marriage for some time, your grace?"
"Blast it all, Barbara, stop calling me your grace!"
Her lips curved into a smile. "Yes, Richard."
"I'm not proud of the way I've lived for the past ten years." Avoiding her gaze, he kicked at the ground. "I admit I gave no thought to marriage. But as of late, I have decided I very much desire to marry and have children and live at Hedley Hall, to enhance the lands that have prospered under my family for generations. And besides, I want to keep my cousin, Stanley Moncrief, from getting his hands on my estates. He would but lose them at the gaming tables or use them to keep himself in the latest dandified apparel."
What the duke had told her put a different complexion on his offer, she thought hopefully. If he, indeed, had determined to take a bride, she had to accept before he offered for someone else. But the thought of being a duchess scared her. She feared she would be an embarrassment to Radcliff.
Marrying the duke, Bonny knew, would please her mother, now that she knew Bonny's feelings for him. But above all, Bonny wanted to become his wife. If she could but marry him, and love him to completion, surely she could earn his love.
For she was convinced he did not love her. He had said he wanted to gaze upon her face. He had said he wanted to have a family. He had said he wanted to keep Stanley from inheriting his estates. But he had not said he loved her.
She tossed back her head, causing the hood to fall, and she smiled up into his face. "Do you think we could wed before Mama dies?"
Radcliff cupped her face in his hands.
She felt the scrutiny of his all-knowing eyes, and for the first time, she sensed a passion beneath his pensive countenance.
He lowered his head, and she smelled his Hungary water, felt his warm breath, then his lips crushing hers. He enfolded her in his strong embrace as the intensity of the kiss deepened.
Her arms reached for him, tentatively at first, then firmly as she prolonged the kiss.
When finally he did pull away, Bonny felt bereft. She had never been kissed before, and she was surprised at the power of one kiss. And now she knew the desire for something more than a kiss. Something even more intimate.
She lingered within his embrace and kept her arms about him. He freed one hand to brush away windblown strands of rich black hair from her cool face, then he lifted her chin. "I think a hasty wedding is an excellent idea, my love," he said flatly. "Else I should ravage you here on the moors."
She could have stood forever on the hazy moors within his arms. The wind stung her face, but she basked in the warmth of his body, dazed by the passion of his kiss. And to think she had thought he lacked passion! He had even called her "my love."
He pulled away from her, took her hand in his and began to walk back to the house. "I shall ride to Lambeth Palace for a special license. I'll leave immediately. It is my intent to have your vicar perform the ceremony at your mother's bedside."
Within the hour, she watched him ride off toward London.
Chapter Five
Radcliff sat in the sitting room adjacent to the countess's sleeping chamber. He knew the news he was bringing Lady Heffington would be most unwelcome. She had made no secret of her desire to be his duchess.
"Mon chéri," she greeted him, gliding into the room in a black lace negligee. Were it not for his Barbara, he would have thought the lascivious Lavinia of the ivory skin and voluptuous body extraordinarily beautiful.
"You have been away far too long," she said.
He stood up, and she swept over to him, linking her hands behind his neck. She tossed her head back to gaze at him.
"It has been three weeks since anyone has seen you, mon chéri. I've been most dreadfully worried about you. That odious Lady Landis said you had taken her daughter to Northumbria, but of course I knew that couldn't be so. Why, her thin little daughter would no more turn your head than a charwoman."
Removing her hands from his neck, Radcliff frowned. "But I regret to tell you another woman has, indeed, turned my head."
Her eyes filled with tears, and her normally rich voice shook. "I knew it. It is that cousin of Lady Emily's, is it not?"
"It is. I have a special license in my pocket." She gasped but did not speak for a moment. When she did, her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "You make a great mistake, Radcliff. You don't know the girl. She's but a child. She will never love you as I do. And she will never know how to please you as I do."
"Nevertheless, she will be my duchess." A grim set to his mouth, he picked up his gloves. "I wanted to tell you before you read it in the papers, Lavinia." His voice softened. "I owed you that." He walked toward the door. "I bid you good-night, madam."
'"Tis a beautiful bride ye'll make," said Polly, the maid, as she placed the last pin in the dress she was sewing for Bonny's wedding.
Lifting the train of her gown, Bonny moved back to gaze into the mirror. The embroidered ivory muslin made a lovely dress for a country wedding, but of course it never would have done for marrying a duke, had they been back in London.
"Radcliff will love it," said Emily, who had removed herself from a seat before the fireplace in Bonny's room to circle around Bonny approvingly.
The ease with which her mother and Emily had accepted her forthcoming marriage to Radcliff surprised Bonny, since she herself was still plagued by fears that something would prevent so agreeable a union.
"While ye've got me sewin', ye might as well have me make a mournin' gown, Miss Bonny," Polly said.
Bonny whirled round and snapped, "My mother is still very much alive."
A dejected Polly, hanging her head like a scolded child, helped Bonny out of the gown.
After Polly assisted Bonny into a printed muslin day dress and left the room, Emily said, "I know it was a thoughtless thing for Polly to say, but she was right, you know."
Bonny lowered her head and spoke softly. "I know. I'm just not myself lately."
"You've had time to prepare for your mother's loss. Aunt Charlotte would not want you to be melancholy. Think of your future with Richard and how happy you two will be."
"You sound so confident of my happiness."
"That I am. As I've said all along, he adores you."
"I wish I had half so much assurance of his attachment." Surely Emily was mistaking the generous man's excessive kindness for love. Because he was so very good to her did not mean he was in love with her. After all, he had never said he loved her.
"You're a goose if you can't see what's as plain as the nose on your face."
"Then a goose I am." Bonny's eyes scanned her cousin. "But I'm happy to see the color coming back to your face, Em. I think these cold old moors must be just what you needed to get back your health."
"More likely it's the absence from my dear, well-meaning mother. Then, too, my body's healing. It's been ten weeks since my precious Harriet was born."
"Now, don't you start getting melancholy. Your baby'
s in perfectly good hands with Mrs. Davies."
"I know. It's just that it seems so wrong that I must be ashamed of the only things in my life that have given me joy·"
"Harold and Harriet?"
"Yes. I love them both so much. And I could never be ashamed of loving Harold." Emily retied the satin ribbon adorning her dress. "I'd do it all over again. Part of Harold lives on. I see him every time I look at Harriet's sweet face."
"I worry what life holds for little Harriet."
"If only Aunt Camille had lived. After Harold got killed, she vowed to raise our child and say it was hers."
"It's not fair that society prevents you from raising her, but, alas, both of you would be horribly branded."
Emily nodded.
"I want you to know you'll always have a home with me and Richard. Harriet, too."
Emily sighed. "Sooner or later I'll have to return to Mama, and I do so long to see Harriet."
Bonny, nodding sympathetically, heard the clopping of horse hooves from outside and ran toward her second-floor window. It was not the first time in the past several days she thought she had heard the sound of a lone rider and expected to see Radcliff, only to be disappointed. This time, her heart hammering ever faster, she wiped the pane clear and saw him seated on his stallion, galloping into the hollow where her house was located, the capes of his coat flapping behind him.
"It's Richard," Bonny happily announced, running to the stairs. She wanted to run to him, to throw her arms around him, but when she got to the front door, she held back.
He strode through the door, already divesting himself of his greatcoat, and her breath caught at the sight of him. He looked incredibly handsome dressed casually in his riding clothes, mud splattered on his Hessians. His rugged hand pushed stray strands of his toast-colored hair from his forehead as his warm green eyes flickered at the sight of her, the hint of a dimple in his cheek twitching.
All she could think to say was, "You have the license, your grace?"
He slammed the door behind him. "Confound it, Barbara! We'll be married on this very day and still you cannot call me Richard." He moved closer. "Could you at least welcome me back with a kiss, my dear?" He lowered his head to her.
Her heart fluttered as she brushed her lips across his, eyeing Emily and Mrs. Melville coming down the stairs.
"His grace is back," Mrs. Melville said. "And he'll be wantin' a nice spot of hot tea."
"What I desire first, madam," Radcliff said kindly, "is for you to dispatch a messenger requesting the vicar's attendance here today."
The old woman's face brightened. "I'll do that as quick as a wink, your grace."
Radcliff took Bonny's hand in his, a gentleness coming over him. "Your mother?"
Bonny's lashes lowered. "She lives still." Biting her lip, she looked back at Radcliff. "You look so very cold, your . . .Richard. Come sit before the fire and have some tea."
The crackling fire warmed the cozy morning room. Bonny took a seat on the sofa that faced the fireplace and motioned for Radcliff to sit beside her. She poured his tea and handed it to him, her hand shaking.
She noticed his hands cradled the cup for its warmth. "Three times while you were gone, we thought we had lost Mama, but each time, she rallied back."
"So she could make it until today," he said softly.
Bonny nodded, offering him a scone but taking none herself. The sad vigil at her mother's side these past days had greatly reduced Bonny's appetite. Radcliff's nearness distracted her from all the things she had been thinking of to say to him.
"I confess I am very hungry." He took a big bite out of the warm scone. "I wanted to arrive in time to get the vicar and marry today and had to forgo my meal."
Bonny jumped to her feet to summon Mrs. Melville to prepare his grace something more substantial.
"Quit worrying about me, Barbara," Radcliff instructed. "I believe you should be dressing for your wedding, and I, my love, need to clean up."
With Dr. Howard and Emily as witnesses, Bonny married Richard Moncrief, the fifth Duke of Radcliff, at her mother's bedside. As Radcliff placed the emerald ring on her finger. Bonny looked into her mother's faded face. Though tears raced down Mrs. Allan's cheeks, the dying woman's face was placid, only her lips touched by a wan smile.
When the ceremony was over, Mrs. Allan spoke not to her daughter but to her new son-in-law. "Take care of her," she said weakly.
Radcliff drew his arm around Bonny and gave her a loving glance. "I will do everything within my power to make her happy, ma'am."
A wide smile crossed the old woman's face, a face still pretty despite networks of wrinkles and years of ill health.
And the breath Mrs. Allan had so painfully strived for these past few years finally came to an end.
The doctor felt for her pulse, then looked into Bonny's pained face and nodded. "I regret to say the parson will have to perform two ceremonies today."
Bonny gasped and started to sob. Radcliff's arms closed around her, pulling her against his chest. She found the steady thumping of his heart beneath her ear strangely comforting. She cried against his shirt for a long while.
Later, Emily coaxed Bonny upstairs to change clothes while Radcliff assured his bride he would see to all the arrangements.
When Bonny came back downstairs, her husband brought her wool cloak and gloves. "Come, my love, we'll walk along the moors. They will suit your melancholy mood." He gently placed her cloak around her, lifted the hood over her black ringlets, then outlined her face with his finger.
The gray moors and the eternally cold winds of Northumbria very much suited her mood, Bonny thought as they walked along in silence, her mind whirling with emotions. Here in this land of mists her parents had lived, loved and died. And nothing of them now remained. Save her. She thought of the quiet man at her side–her husband now– and wondered if she would bear his children, and if those children would have a part of her cherished parents in them.
She and her husband came to a stop atop the knoll where first he had kissed her. They stood amid a bed of wild crocuses that failed to die, despite the wind and ice that unrelentlessly surrounded them.
She felt the whistling winds sting her face as she raised it to meet Radcliff's gaze. "The ring–my wedding ring–is lovely."
"It was my mother's."
She eyed the cleft in his chin. His somber face reflected her own mood. "It seems you remembered everything when you went to London."
"Which reminds me. I placed the notice of our nuptials in the papers."
"I am most gratified." She still could barely believe Radcliff had gone through with the marriage, let alone had taken pains to inform the ton of his intentions. She should feel elated, but she didn't. She could not entirely blame her mother's death for her lack of enthusiasm. Her discomfort with Radcliff stemmed from the distance between herself and her husband. There was no easy intimacy between them. No words of love. Not that she could fault him for that. No woman had ever married a more compassionate, unselfish man than her Richard. She had observed so many of his kindnesses during their long journey to Milford. He had made her mother's final days very happy ones. And with every action and every gaze at his bruising masculinity, he stole another piece of her heart.
If only he could love her with the depth of emotion her father had felt for her mother. If only he cared for more than a lovely face and young body to bear his children.
She looked into his weathered face. "What a wretched wedding day for you," she said shakily.
"Quit worrying about everyone else, Barbara. It's all right for you to hurt for yourself."
"You've been in my shoes, haven't you."
He nodded solemnly. "When I was three and twenty, my father died. Less than a year later, my mother joined him."
She swallowed hard, tears once again springing to her eyes. "How did you handle your grief?"
"I thought getting foxed would lessen the pain, and the habits I adopted after my parents died very near
ly had me joining them."
"You must have felt so terribly empty."
"Utterly."
The thought of him lonely and suffering nearly overpowered her. She wanted to love him so thoroughly he would never know pain or loneliness again.
They stood facing each other, the wind slashing its chill into their very bones. She raised her head to kiss him, her arms slipping under his greatcoat to pull him into her as his arms encircled her. The feel of his lips on hers was just as powerful as before, but this time he did not pull away. And this time she parted her lips. When she had heard of the French custom of kissing with tongues, she had been horrified, but now she couldn't get enough of him as they exchanged hungry, wet kisses, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
She no longer felt chilled, but fevered, as she clung to him, the evidence of his own ardor swelled against her skirts.
He pulled away ever so slightly, his hands brushing stray strands of hair back from her damp temples. "What a passionate little baggage you are, my love, but I shall wait to take you in the marriage bed at Hedley Hall."
"When will that be?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"We shall leave tomorrow." He pulled her cloak tightly about her, lifted her gloved hand and kissed it.
Walking back toward the hollow, her hand in his, Bonny said, "But I need to go through the things here."
"This is not a good time for you to do that. We will come later–after you have had time to heal–and my servants will help you pack and go through everything. In the meantime, I have arranged for Mrs. Melville to stay on here."
God, but he was glad to change to talk of the mundane. He had already revealed to his wife far more than he had ever revealed to anyone, telling her of the suffering when he had lost his parents. He had never admitted the pain to anyone before. Only a weakling let people see his wounds. Just as weak was letting those he loved know how deeply he cared.
