by Jane Lark
A rough sound of amusement broke from his throat. ‘I had never expected myself to say those words, but if I had ever imagined it, thank you, was not the answer I would have anticipated.’
She looked up. ‘Sorry.’
‘Thank you and sorry.’ His lips quirked in a challenging smile.
I love you. The words whispered through her head, but she would not speak them. This marriage offer had come about because he felt there was no other solution. It was not a thing of the heart. She did not care what had made him say it, though. She could see that he meant it and the offer saved her from the streets and whatever may have come then. ‘Thank you.’ Those words slipped from her mouth again.
He laughed at her. ‘Let me put this on for you.’
She held out her hand. It was shaking again. He held it steady while he slid the ring on as far as her knuckle. When he released her hand she slid it up her finger the rest of the way. It fitted.
He looked up from the ring and into her eyes. ‘We are to be married then, Charlie. We will go to London and get a licence and marry there. Then we’ll go to my brother’s estate. I’ll not subject you to the stares of my family as you stand at the altar, as you do not know them. Though, the church that is a part of my brother’s property is very pretty and you may say you’d have preferred it.’
She still did not know what to say, yet him speaking of his family reminded her of hers. She had not seen them for seven years, but she wrote at times and they would want to know that her circumstances had changed and where she was. ‘May I write to my family and tell them?’
‘Of course. I need to rest,’ he said as he began unbuttoning his coat. ‘We’ll not set off until tomorrow. You have plenty of time.’ He stripped off his coat. ‘There is a quill, ink and paper in the things I brought with me yesterday, and I can give you the direction. It is on a letter from my father in my coat pocket. You may write while I sleep.’
As though he sensed her unease, his hand lifted and he held the back of her neck and pressed a kiss on her lips, before letting her go and smiling. Then he sat on the bed, took off his boots and stockings, then his braces and his shirt.
She watched, her arms at her sides. The sense of awkwardness in the air was as heavy as that which had been in the room the first time they’d come to this inn.
He stood and stripped off his trousers, then lay down on top of the bed, not beneath the covers, wearing only his underwear, tied low and loose on his hips. ‘Will you open the window?’
‘Will the noise from the street not disturb you?’
‘No, Charlie, I have slept in a tent while cannons have been roaring their defence. I can sleep through the noise from a street.’ She nodded as for the second time the truth of the life Harry had led as a soldier crept into her mind.
She was to go to India now and live that life with him.
He was asleep in moments as the summer breeze brought slightly cooler air into the room.
She looked at the ring, splaying her fingers so she could admire it better. A ring. She… Wicked Charlie Cotton. Was engaged. To Harry. The beautiful Captain Marlow.
A part of her would never believe this could have happened and that part was so happy. Yet another part of her was weighted by guilt with the sense that she had forced him into this. He would not have chosen her, or this, had she not written to him, or if Mark had not turned her out on to the street and she had gone to Harry. Harry was simply an honourable, good man. Who did good things.
She had gained the attention and protection of a good man. But how would that progress? Would he always be good to her, kind, thoughtful, even caring—and yet his heart empty?
Her heart was full. But not only with love, with so much pain. She was afraid as well as happy and her stomach turned over, churning with uncertainty. She had known for years what was expected of her and she had never been happy with it, yet at least she’d understood it. She did not understand anything any more. She had no idea what her role would be—no she did, she would be a wife.
He breathed quietly in his sleep, unmoving.
Despite him saying he could sleep through noise she tried to be quiet as she looked for the materials to write with; he had woken easily enough when Mr Perrin had knocked.
She found the things and laid them out on the table.
She could see her brother, her mother and her little sister in her mind, only her sister was no longer little, she was twelve. She would probably not even recognise Ginny if they passed each other in the street, it was so long since she had seen her.
For moments she stared at the blank paper, not knowing what to write. The feather tip of the quill brushed her cheek. She wondered what her brother and mother would think of her news. Surely they would be glad for her—and yet they lived on Mark’s land, in Mark’s property, and he had been giving them money for years. She knew why he had asked Harry for money. He wanted Harry to pay back everything Mark had spent on her and given to her brother, and more. Mark would stop paying her brother now.
But she had stayed with Mark for seven years, was that not long enough to live unhappily? And her brother was a man now and working in the forge; he could provide for her mother and Ginny and his wife and child.
Would Harry be unhappy with her, though?
She glanced back at him, hoping that in seven years he would not feel unhappy with her after spending those years forced into a marriage with her. He had not touched her in the way a man did in bed since she’d gone to him at the barracks… and yet he had asked her to marry him.
Marry him! The words shouted through her soul and she dipped the tip of the quill in the ink.
Dear Mama, Rodney and Ginny,
You will never guess my news, I know. Even though you may have heard some of it, you cannot know it all. Colonel Hillier is done with me.
That was a lie, and yet she knew that Rodney would be angry with her if she told the truth because Mark would no longer give him money.
I have been thrown out and yet I have made a friend of another man. A friend who has been loyal and respectful and kind, Mama, he is very kind. You will like him I know. He is an officer too. A Captain. Captain Marlow. And he has asked to marry me!! I told you, you would never guess it.
I am to be his wife, and we are going to India on a ship, half way across the world, and so I wanted to write and tell you that I am safe and happy, with Harry. We are going to visit his family. Their address is at the end of the letter, if you wish to write to me there. I shall be there for four weeks, or a little less, and then we sail.
I shall write to you when we reach India too and tell you where you may write to me there. I shall be Mrs Marlow remember, though, if you write to me at Harry’s brother’s.
I hope you are all well. I hope the harvest is good and all your friends in the village are well too.
For seven years she had not seen the friends she had grown up with and she had never dared write to them. She had been frowned on and spat at before she had left.
Harry still lay quiet on the bed.
He’d said the letter with his brother’s address on it was in his coat pocket. If she wrote the address in the letter then she could seal it and take it to the post master to send it, and give Ash a walk at the same time.
She went over and quietly picked up his scarlet and gold coat, with Ash watching her, then felt in all of the pockets until she found the roughly folded letter.
She opened it, then took it over to the table and copied the address from the top right-hand corner.
Ash’s eyes questioned what she did, and yet the dog did not make a sound. Ash must know the smells on the letter she would be remembering a home that Harry knew.
The smell of the small cottage she had grown up in was something Charlie would always recall, the heavy scent of peat burning on the fire with the wood and the sweet smell of bread baking.
She folded her letter and used Harry’s wax and the blank end of his seal. There was an image at one end. He had a mar
k that would tell people he had sent the letter.
When her letter was addressed, she looked back at the one Harry had received. Her gaze fell to the signature. Lord Edward Marlow, was signed beneath a large cross. He had said the letter was from his father. A lord… Had he told her that? Perhaps, in the beginning and she had forgotten. Since the beginning he had only ever spoken of his family by their Christian names. He had not mentioned titles.
She could not resist looking up to the top of the letter. She was not a clever reader, she was slow and this was written in an unknown hand. Yet she could spot enough words to recognise the intent of the letter.
His father wanted Harry to leave her. He thought she was not good enough for Harry.
If your mother hears…
You cannot keep this woman.
You have to leave this woman alone. It is not right.
Harry rolled to his side and a low sound came from his throat as though he was dreaming.
Her heart raced as she refolded the letter, trying to make it look untouched. Harry had read this, though, and then bought a ring and asked her to marry him. Why? And why did he wish to take her to meet this family who did not want her there.
Her stomach churned with the nausea created by the uncertainty inside her.
No. She would be happy. She would be. Harry had chosen to marry her despite his father’s complaints. Surely that must mean he did not feel trapped. He would not have gone against his family if he felt forced.
Her hands were shaking once again when she picked up her letter. But she wanted to walk outside now even more than before, she needed air and time to think. Time to try to understand her new future.
India. She could not imagine it, though.
‘Ash,’ she whispered, to call the dog to her heel. Ash glanced at Harry but then looked at Charlie. The dog had been given a new mistress these last few days but Ash had accepted her. Charlie would pray that Harry’s family accepted her too. Yet she had been told long ago, by the vicar in her village, that God did not hear the prayers of a sinner. The memory made her lift her chin as she walked out of the door and down the stairs. She had denied such rebukes then; she would not listen to them now.
She walked briskly, occasionally looking across her shoulder for Mark’s servants but if any of them were watching her they did not show themselves. Mark had probably thought his threat had been heard. He was used to people who conceded and Harry was now disposed of—sent to the other side of the world so he could no longer keep her. Only Harry had defied that; he would not concede and nor would she, not any more.
Pride became a new emotion in her stomach that defied her fear of the future and of Harry’s family and of Harry’s reasons for asking her to marry him. She would be proud to be his wife. She would be the wife of an officer and she would be able to hold her head high and look down on those who had looked down on her.
A part of her longed to return home and show them all. The part of her that was still angry even after all these years.
She paid for the postage of her letter with money she had taken from Harry’s purse, then walked down to the sea.
The pebbles turned noisily under her feet as Ash found a new stick to play with and then bounded about Charlie. She threw the stick as Harry had done on all those days when she’d watched him from the path and not come near.
She returned to the inn two hours later and when she shut the door of their room she did so with a little too much force so the wood bumped against the frame. Harry woke and he sat up abruptly, his hand reaching out as though he sought for a weapon.
She ignored the movement and untied the bow of the ribbons on her bonnet. ‘Sorry I woke you. Do you feel rested?’
He smiled then let a sound of amusement escape from his mouth. ‘Yes, until the last moment when I thought your entrance a cart of explosives.’
‘Sorry,’ she said again
‘No need to be sorry that my mind is scarred by war. That has naught to do with you.’ He turned and sat on the edge of the bed. He was breathing harder than normal as though the dream had truly shaken him.
‘May I fetch you anything?’
‘A tankard of ale would be welcome.’
‘I’ll walk down and bring a jug for you.’
She stiffened her shoulders and her posture as she walked back down to the taproom. She was stronger today. Recovered from her shock. She was ready to defend herself if she must as she had done before. She would not listen to his family if they judged her badly nor listen to her fears. She and Harry could be happy. They were alike that was why they suited. He was scarred and she was scarred and so they did not judge one another as others might judge them.
When she returned to the room, holding a jug and two tankards, she smiled at him knowing she looked like a tavern wench with the items in her hands. ‘Ale for the Captain.’ She lifted the jug.
He smiled.
She set the tankards down on the table and filled them. He got up, walked over and accepted the tankard she held out. He drank all the ale in it immediately then set the tankard on the table beside the jug as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She had only sipped her drink but he took it out of her hand and set that down too.
Then he kissed her. His mouth pressing down on to hers, and his tongue reaching into her mouth as his hands clasped her hair in the way he often did.
She would be happy. They would be happy. He could not feel forced not when he was defying his family and not when he could kiss her like this.
Her arms rose and rested on his shoulders. Then he picked her up and carried her to the bed and did not even undress her but merely lifted her skirts and petticoats and through the gaps in their clothing made use of the bed in the way a bed ought to be used—for pleasure.
Chapter 8
The carriage continued through the maze of London’s streets, rocking from side to side on the cobble, like a boat at sea, and creaking as though it would fall apart. The old ruin of a bounder he’d hired had seen far better days and yet with his cash low he had hired the carriage on a promissory note to be paid either when he received his next wage or when his brother relented and paid him his next allowance.
In the meantime he and Charlie were going to be acting the poor relations. That was one of the good things about this new posting; he now had four weeks in which he might live off his family until he received his next wage.
‘Where are we going?’ Charlie asked. Her words drew Harry’s attention away from the view out of the window.
‘We are going to John’s town house. I doubt anyone will be there, so we will have it to ourselves for a wedding breakfast tomorrow.’
‘And today…’ Her voice carried a teasing pitch, hinting at him to take her to a bed.
For the last two days they had been acting as they had acted during their days in her parlour and her bedchamber at Hillier’s. As though they were careless. ‘We will enjoy the run of his home. But first, after I have dropped you off, I must go to speak with my brother’s solicitor and find out what I need to do to arrange our wedding. Then I hope I will have time to take you shopping. We will use my sister-in-law’s modiste. The woman will know exactly what you need.’
He looked out of the window, again, his hand holding hers with their fingers laced together on his thigh as the carriage turned through the very familiar streets. Something squeezed at his heart. This was a home-coming he had never imagined.
‘We are here,’ he said when the carriage turned and he saw his brother’s giant Palladian mansion behind its wrought iron railing and gates.
Charlie leant across him to look. ‘Where?’
‘There.’
‘There is only one huge house and nothing…’ She pulled back looking her question at him.
‘Yes. The huge house.’
‘Oh my goodness, Harry!’
He smiled, thrilled that she was impressed. Sometimes it was fun to be the brother and grandson of a duke and a nephew of several too.
She sat back looking absolutely horrified. ‘You did not say…’
‘Why should I say so. Although I think I did mention once he was duke. Where did you expect a duke to live, in a hovel?’
‘I do not even remember you saying that.’
‘Well regardless we are here and this is where we will spend the night. Though, as I said I do not think any of my family are here.’
The carriage turned into the small area before the house and stopped in front of the door.
Harry let go of Charlie’s hand and rose to open the carriage door then jumped down with Ash following. He knocked down the step and held out his hand to take Charlie’s. He imagined the panic inside the house generated by an unexpected caller.
A porter opened the door as Harry turned to lead Charlie up the steps.
‘Captain Marlow, we are not expecting you.’
‘I know you are not, but I’m sure you can have a room made ready quickly. One for the two of us.’ He leant towards Charlie. ‘It will not be as magnificent as you are imagining on the inside, everything will be covered in sheets to keep off the dust.’
‘It is like a house put to sleep,’ she said as they walked in, her head and her eyes turning everywhere.
The porter watched her, asking silent questions Harry did not answer. It was none of the man’s business. ‘You will have a room prepared…’ he prodded.
The man looked back at him. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘One with a sitting room so we have no need to interfere with the rest of the house. We are only staying for one night.’
The man bowed. ‘We will have a room ready in two hours, sir.’
Two hours. Perhaps it was better that Charlie stayed with him then.
‘And I need one of the grooms to take care of my horse?’ John always left a couple of his horses in the stables here, there would be a groom available.
‘Yes, sir.’
