by Sahara Kelly
They were close to being ready on Sunday, but Cressida remembered something.
“Richard,” she said quietly. “Today’s the day that our Reverend is delivering a sermon in honor of those we lost.”
“Davy,” said Richard. “Of course. We must attend.”
“Indeed we must.” She hurried out. “It’s early yet, but I need a few minutes to change.”
If it had been any other woman, he’d have settled down for a good half-hour wait, but he was coming to understand that his wife wasn’t any other woman. And sure enough, she presented herself promptly ten minutes later, looking as fine as fivepence.
“That is a delectable bonnet, my dear,” he said, flicking his fingers at the white and green confection perched on her head and shading her face.
“Would you believe it was made by one of the Worsnop girls? Such talent. We must do something for her when we get back.” Cressida pulled on a pair of light muslin gloves and picked up her parasol. Her choice of colors, white and green, threw her fiery curls into prominence, and Richard wondered if he’d ever stop experiencing that bolt of passion and possession every time he looked at her.
That dart of lightning that said “Mine. Want.” Primitive, elemental, but overpowering sometimes. He had to fight to keep from gathering her close, enfolding her in his arms and then carrying her off to some deserted cupboard to have his way with her.
Thankfully, there were no deserted cupboards in the vicinity, so Mrs. Ridlington was able to clamber up into their new gig unmolested, while her husband walked to the other side and took the reins. It was a snug fit, but they both enjoyed the closeness.
They weren’t the first to arrive at the church, but there was a good crowd, and they chatted with some of the regulars they knew, while nodding and smiling to those they didn’t.
“We should attend a little more regularly, Richard,” observed Cressida, after shaking hands with two older ladies and admiring a new baby. “This is how we can get to know our neighbors.”
“Agreed,” he nodded. “I should have known, from Simon. He always said that church is one of the best social clubs around if you want to know anything.” He paused. “Although I would have said the local inn, myself.”
“That sort of setting would only provide the masculine point of view, my dear.” She tucked her arm through his as they walked into the cool church. “If you want the real information, you need both sexes present.”
He grinned, and led her to the front pew, where Parsnip and her husband were beckoning.
“So glad yer ‘ere,” whispered Mrs. Parsnip. “My Davy’d be right proud, ‘e would.”
Cressida reached out and took the woman’s hand. “We’re all so proud of him, today, Mrs. Parsnip. It’s the best way to honour his life and sacrifice.” She looked around. “And I believe there may be a few more like yourself here, with sad memories of lost lads…”
“Aye,” sighed Worsnop gustily. “’Tis a sorrow we bears wi’ too many, if’n yer ask me.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” nodded Richard.
They fell silent as their Vicar walked up the stone stairway to the pulpit, and the service commenced.
It was, thought Richard, as beautiful a commemorative sermon as he could have imagined, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the entire building. The Vicar spoke of the lads by name, added an anecdote or two, then praised their courage, loyalty and devotion to their country. He praised the families who had raised them, and asked God’s blessing for everyone with heavy hearts and an empty seat at their table. Then he reminded everyone that those brave lads were now in Heaven looking down, and that everyone should make sure to continue the honour they had brought to this land.
Mrs. Worsnop openly sobbed, and Cressida had need of her handkerchief several times. Hymns were sung with fervor—if not complete harmony—and the Vicar paused before opening the big bible for the reading of the day’s lesson. He looked down at the front pew.
“I note that today we’re welcoming our newest neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Ridlington, from up Branscombe Magna way. On behalf of all of us, may I say how happy we are you joined us for this special service, and we hope you’ll be back for the regular ones as well.”
Richard nodded his acknowledgement, as did Cressy.
“And if I may make so bold…Mr. Ridlington. Would you care to say a few words? I believe everyone’s head my voice enough for this morning…”
Richard gulped, but stood. “Of course, Vicar. I’d be proud to…er…say something.” I have no idea what, however.
The church fell silent as his boots clicked smartly on the stone floor, and the Vicar descended, meeting him at the bottom of the pulpit steps and bowing respectfully. Richard waited until he straightened, then leaned in and shook the surprised man’s hand, bringing a smile to his gentle visage.
Then he mounted the steps and found what looked like a sea of curious faces staring at him. He cleared his throat and met Cressy’s eyes. What he saw there, gave him courage.
“Friends, it’s an honour for my wife and I to be able to join you as we acknowledge the great loss suffered by so many. We haven’t been here long, but in that time, we have come to learn about family…no matter whether related by blood or not.” His gaze fell on the Worsnops and he smiled. Mrs. Parsnip sobbed again.
“I come from a large family…there are six of us. My brother Edmund was a sailor, and risked his life in the service of Lord Nelson before taking on the Ridlington Estate. My brother Simon is a man of the cloth, wise and forgiving—although he still cannot forget that young hedgehog in his bed…”
There was a surprised laugh at this comment, and Richard smiled. “My sisters are amazing women who all have lives that take them down different paths.” He paused. “And yet…we are family. No matter our location, or our status, or anything else…we are still family. The bonds that unite us are stronger than anything that might separate us. And those bonds are now growing between my wife and I—and Branscombe Magna.” He looked around. “I hope that as time passes you all will become family, as important to us as those related by blood. Because it takes a family to survive tragedies; it takes the affection of those around you to comfort the wounded, and bring light into the darkness of grief. I would like to think that today is the first step for us as a new family, and that all of you present today will allow us to become part of your family. In that way, we can stand together against adversity, and triumph over whatever besets us, always knowing we are not alone.”
There were murmurs and nods at his words, and a warmly loving smile from his wife. There was an abundance of blowing of noses too, and a bit of a sniffle here and there.
“In light of one very personal loss,” he again turned and nodded at the Worsnops, “Mrs. Ridlington and I have decided to erect a memorial to the fallen. We will be reviewing plans soon, and we’d like to place a stone bench, a statue of some sort, and a garden of wild local flowers near the top of the cliff. A place for reflection, where the sea and the land meet in such eternal grandeur. To that end, we’re hoping that you all will be able to voice an opinion on the design…” He looked down at the Vicar, whose eyes were wide with surprise. “And we’re also hoping that our good Vicar might be able to collect those thoughts and suggestions. My wife and I have to travel to visit my family for a little time, but when we return, we hope to begin this project.”
He smiled at Cressida. “With your approval, the Worsnop Memorial will bring comfort to our neighbours and friends for many generations to come.”
Mrs. Parsnip stopped sobbing and just gaped at him, while the rest of the church surrendered and gave him a round of applause. He walked down from the pulpit, shook hands with the Vicar again, and retook his seat next to Cressida.
She slipped her hand into his. “You, sir, are a constant source of amazement.”
He smirked. “I know.”
“It’s going to be damned hard to top that, you know,” she whispered, under cover of the noise. “When did you th
ink of it?”
“Five minutes ago.”
She choked. “I’m so glad you included me.”
“You didn’t mind?” He squeezed her hand.
“Of course not. I just wish I’d thought of it first.” She chuckled. “I can’t wait to start.”
“It will be a good thing, I believe.” He sighed. “But first…we have to go to Ridlington.”
*~~*~~*
Cressida sighed on Monday morning as the loaded carriage headed away from Branscombe Magna. It was rented, since neither of them could yet justify buying one of their own, but it was comfortable and held everything they needed.
Richard had said she could borrow a maid while at Ridlington, which set her mind at rest, although given her simple and minimal wardrobe, she hadn’t concerned herself with actually hiring a ladies’ maid, let alone travelling with one. Richard was every bit as good if not better at dressing—and undressing—her.
“That was an incredibly wicked grin.” Her husband looked at her with interest. “Might one inquire as to what lay behind it?”
“No,” she shook her head. “You may not.”
“Spoilsport,” he sighed. “Do you think Zizi will miss us?”
“I’d say yes, right up until Mrs. Parsnip decides to cook something with a juicy bone. Which, upon reflection, will probably be lunchtime today.” She laughed. “They spoil her to pieces, but at this time I’m very glad of it, since I don’t have to worry about her welfare.”
“Agreed, although we could have brought her, I suppose.”
Cressy shook her head. “I haven’t met your family, Richard. It would be most inappropriate to appear on their doorstep with a dog in tow. Maybe next time, but not this trip.”
“All right,” he answered. “But Hecate will be disappointed.”
Cressida gazed from the window. “Are we stopping in Ilfracombe?”
“Yes. I want to see if there are any messages from Ridlington that haven’t reached us yet, or anywhere else, for that matter. And I must stop in at Coutts to deal with a couple of financial details.”
“Very well,” she said. “I might add some fruit to our travelling picnic basket. Mrs. Parsnip used up all the apples yesterday in our apple pie.”
They completed their errands quite quickly and within half an hour were back in the carriage, ready for the long day ahead. They’d planned on only one overnight stop, in Yeovil, so there would be many hours ahead of them, with only few breaks for food and once or twice for a change of horses.
“Did you find your apples?” Richard asked the question absently as opened a letter and he shuffled a few papers to one side.
“No, I decided we could eat lemons instead.”
“Mmm.”
She watched him nod, which clearly demonstrated that his attention was on the letter in his hand, not her words.
She remained silent for a few minutes, noticing his brow folding slowly into a frown. Then he folded up the letter and replaced it into the envelope.
“Richard? What is it? Not bad news, I hope.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “Just when things start going our way.”
“What?” She touched his hand with hers. “You are worrying me. What is it?”
“Here. Read this.” He passed the letter.
She took it out, opened it and gasped at the name at the bottom. “Perrenporth? Were you not done with the Earl?”
“I thought so,” he answered gloomily. “Just read it.”
She began. “Dear Ridlington, it is with apologies that I draft this brief missive; but I have just been informed that the captain of the Jolly Fellow, upon which you set sail, was not registered or certified as a Captain by any recognized Maritime Agency. In truth, my staff made assumptions that were unwarranted. Therefore, his officiation of your wedding was quite improper and thus invalid. You and Miss Branscombe may choose to part with no legal obligation on either side. I trust this will not be too upsetting for either of you. Again, sincere apologies, Perrenporth.”
Stunned, Cressida copied Richard’s earlier moves and refolded the letter, tucking it back where it came from.
She leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes. “What the hell do we do now?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What a bastard,” muttered Richard, more to himself than Cressida. “A few casual lines in a note and two lives are seriously impacted.”
“At least he sent his sincere apologies,” she answered dryly. “And his hope that the news isn’t too unsettling.”
“Unsettling? Finding out that even though we’ve lived as husband and wife for several weeks now, it’s not been a valid and legal marriage?” He snorted. “What on earth could be unsettling about that?”
Cressida couldn’t answer. Her mind was awhirl, worries floating to the top with ever-increasing frequency. They weren’t wed. So where did that leave the tenancy of Branscombe Magna? Her dowry, which was now administered by Richard and Coutts bank…was any of that hers?
Silly things crossed her mind, and she used them to obscure the massive fear that lurked like a dark creature below the surface of her thoughts.
Would Richard want to re-marry her?
She glanced at him, noting his own preoccupation with whatever was going on in his head. Was he pleased at this news? He didn’t seem to be, but he was skilled at keeping his own countenance.
So instead of asking the question that trembled on her lips, she turned away and stared out the window of the carriage, seeing nothing of the landscape, or noting the clouds that blocked out the morning sunshine.
By the time they drew to a halt for a late lunch, those clouds had turned grey, as lowering as Cressida’s spirits.
“There’s a tap room here. I’ll go in with you and then come and see about the horses.” It was the first time Richard had spoken in quite some time.
“All right.” She straightened her bonnet and let him lead her into a cheerful inn, where more than a few people thronged the tables set out for weary travelers. She availed herself of their hospitality and ordered a light meal for herself and Richard, who came back brushing raindrops off his jacket.
He reached for the tankard of ale that a servant had just brought to the table, along with bread and cheese. After a long draught, he sighed and wiped his lips. “Good stuff. Chillendale, I’ll bet.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she answered. “But the bread is fresh and I’ll wager the cheese is from a local farm.” She buttered herself a large slice. “You’ve been quiet, Richard.”
“As have you,” he looked at her. “I have to assume we’re both thinking about the same thing?”
“Our marriage,” she said.
“The memorial,” he said.
“Oh.” Cressida blinked. So they weren’t thinking of the same thing. “What about the memorial?”
“Wait,” Richard frowned. “What about our marriage? Why are you thinking so deeply about that? It’s simple. We’ll re-marry. In fact, it would be lovely to have Simon perform the ceremony at the Ridlington church.”
Touched at the idea, Cressida swallowed, unable to find words at that moment.
Richard blinked. “You don’t like the idea?”
“Of course I do.” She hesitated. “It’s just…”
He leaned forward as she looked away, her hands twisting against each other in her lap.
“Just what, Cressy? Tell me. Tell me now what’s bothering you.”
She opened her mouth to respond, when an ostler walked up to Richard and bowed. “The ‘orses is ready, sir. Yer can head orf whenever yer wants…”
He nodded. “Thanks, my lad.” A coin changed hands as Richard stood, and drained the ale. “Can you bring the bread and cheese, Cressy? We’ll continue this conversation in the carriage.”
She gathered her things, wrapping the bread and cheese in a clean handkerchief, thankful for the interruption. She wasn’t sure how to address her concerns to Richard in a way he’d understand.
Getting back into the carriage, settling up with the inn and then talking with the driver and the lad who would be on the box with him…all took time, so it was at least ten minutes until both Richard and Cressida were safely tucked inside for the next leg of their journey.
Richard took the bread and cheese, and tore off pieces of both, handing the rest back to her. “All right. Now. Talk to me, Cressy. Tell me what’s worrying you.”
She took a breath. “I love you, Richard. I told you that, I said those words and I meant them. I still mean them and I believe I will always mean them.”
“Good,” he bit into some cheese. “Me too.”
Not the most romantic of declarations, but it warmed her a little.
“The thing is…” she swallowed down a lump of apprehension. “The thing is, Richard, that we got married out of necessity, and neither of us knew what I was at that time.”
He frowned. “What do you mean? Um…I mean I agree, that yes, our marriage wasn’t the usual sort of union, and yes it was out of necessity. And I found out who you were quite quickly…” He shook his head in puzzlement.
“It’s fair to say that we were both blackmailed into our wedding,” she answered. “Which at that time, although not very fair, certainly solved our problems.”
“I’m following you thus far,” he agreed.
“However.” She held up her hand. “You were misinformed.”
“About what?” He looked completely perplexed.
“Richard.” She held his gaze. “I’m a bastard. The illegitimate daughter of a lady of quality and a traitor who was hanged for his crimes.”
“So?”
She groaned. “If you’d known then, in Brussels, what my background was, would you still have gone ahead with the marriage? Would you? Honestly?”
He paused, a few moments that seemed like an eternity to Cressida.
Then he looked away from her. “I don’t know.”
*~~*~~*
