by Anne Herries
Samantha had stayed in several large country houses with friends since her widowhood, but she did not think any of them could rival the magnificent entrance hall which had a very high ceiling and a glass dome that let the light flood through and reflect on a light-grey marble tiled floor. The staircase might perhaps be the work of Gibbons and led up to a gallery that ran the length of the main building either way.
Brock had refused all help from the servants, but leaned on Samantha’s arm as they walked into the house, where a small army of servants had been lined up to meet them.
Brock introduced her as his future wife and Samantha saw the surprise and delight on all their faces, though a glance at Lady Brockley’s expression made her wonder if she were pleased at the prospect. However, she had already told Samantha that she was glad her son was to marry at last and been polite and even friendly as she extended Brock’s invitation for her to stay as long as she wished.
‘I shall be delighted to arrange the wedding at our home,’ she’d said when told of their plans. ‘I know you have no family of your own, Samantha, and therefore I know both Brock and my husband would wish you to have it at our house. You must give me a list of friends you wish to invite.’
‘I imagine Sam’s friends are for the most part the same as mine,’ Brock had said. ‘We both have a regimental background, of course, though I dare say there are some ladies in particular that I do not know.’
‘Half a dozen, perhaps,’ Samantha had replied with a smile. ‘Do you think we should invite Rosemarie and her grandfather?’
‘Yes, of course. She is very fond of you and you of her, I know. I dare say that young man of hers will come if he is still on leave.’
‘I think he may have returned to his duties,’ Samantha had said. ‘But he may be planning a longer leave soon for they have their own engagement ball next month, I believe.’
After she had been introduced to the servants, Samantha was led to a large sunny parlour at the back of the house and tea was requested from Harkness the butler.
‘Why don’t you go up to your room, dearest?’ Lady Brockley said to her son. ‘You look a little tired—do you not think so, Samantha?’
She looked at him and saw that he was white and a little strained, adding her pleas to Lady Brockley’s at once. ‘Yes, please go up, Brock. I should rest for a while if I were you.’
‘Very well,’ he said, giving in so easily that she knew the journey had taken all his strength. ‘I shall go up. Please ask Father to come and see me, Mama. I should like to speak to him when he comes in.’
‘Yes, of course, my love. Do not worry, I shall look after Samantha and take her upstairs when we’ve had our tea.’
‘Well, this is nice,’ Lady Brockley said once Brock had left them together. ‘For now we shall just have our tea and then Mrs Wicklow, the housekeeper, will take you to your room. She has been with us since she was a girl, you know, and I dare say she will take you on a tour of the house tomorrow. I’m sure that Brock would wish to do so, but he is hardly up to it just yet. He ought to rest for another week or so at least.’
‘Yes, he should, but I do not think he will, do you?’
‘Probably not,’ Lady Brockley said wryly. ‘Brock knows his own mind and I would not dream of trying to interfere—but I do hope you both know what you are doing, Samantha. Marriage is for ever in families like ours and I had hoped for grandchildren.’ She paused and then gave Samantha a straight look. ‘You were married for four years before your husband died, I understand. Tell me, did you ever have a child? I have not heard Brock speak of a child.’
‘No, I never fell for a child,’ Samantha said. ‘We were a little disappointed, but Percy blamed himself, because he was older, you see.’
‘Ah, yes, I see. It was a marriage of convenience, then?’
‘I married him because he was kind and loving towards me and I liked him very much,’ Samantha said. ‘I suppose you might call it a marriage of convenience, but we were happy until he was badly wounded and then he never recovered, though he lingered for some months.’ Her throat closed at the memory. ‘I loved him in my way.’
‘Yes, I imagine you might for he gave you a new life when you had very little,’ Lady Brockley said. ‘I do hope you are not marrying my son for similar reasons?’
Samantha flushed, angry at being questioned in this way. Had anyone else spoken to her in this way she would have answered sharply and left, but this was Brock’s mother and she must try to be on good terms with her.
‘If you are asking me if I am in love with Brock, the answer is yes,’ she said, her hands gripping in her lap. ‘I cannot promise you that I can give him sons, but I hope that we shall have children one day. I am but five and twenty...’
‘I was nineteen when I had Harry,’ his mother told her. ‘I had given my husband two more children before I was your age. I have always believed that it is better to have your babies sooner than later. And of course, Brock must have a son and heir.’
‘Are you telling me that it would be unfair of me to marry Brock?’ Samantha asked, her throat tight with a mixture of emotions.
‘Naturally, that must be for your conscience to answer,’ Lady Brockley replied. ‘If you are both absolutely certain that this marriage is right for you, then his father and I will accept it. I dare say our younger son may oblige us with a grandson in time.’
Samantha was saved the necessity of replying by the arrival of the tea tray. The maid stayed to serve tea and tiny cakes, which Samantha refused, for food would have choked her, though the hot sweet tea helped to calm her nerves. Her hostess kept up a stream of small talk about the estate and the people who would no doubt call to see the bride and groom, and Samantha nodded but could not smile.
* * *
After the tea had been drunk, Lady Brockley sent for the housekeeper and she was invited to step upstairs.
As she went on ahead up the stairs, Mrs Wicklow told Samantha how pleased the servants were that Major Brockley had become engaged.
‘We are all so fond of the major, Mrs Scatterby, and looking forward to seeing a new family here in the future—though, of course with the major being appointed to such an important post, it won’t be for some years.’ The friendly woman chattered on. ‘Still, it means that there will be children here again one day. And there was a time when we all wondered if it would ever happen.’
Left alone at last in a very charming room decorated in shades of pale duck-egg blue, cream and silver, Samantha threw her hat and gloves on the dressing chest and sat down in a large winged chair. The view from her window was of a lake in the distance and beautiful gardens close to the house. She decided that she would take a walk to the lake the moment she had the chance.
A sudden rush of tears stung Samantha’s eyes. She’d thought at the start that Lady Brockley did not truly like her, even though she’d taken the news of her son’s engagement calmly. However, she’d made her feelings quite clear just now and some of what she’d said had hurt Samantha very much.
It was a secret sorrow she’d nursed inside her for years and Lady Brockley had trampled all over it, making her want to cry out and strike back at her. How could she be so very cruel as to touch on the one thing that Samantha could not defend?
She had not given Percy a child even though for the first two years of their marriage they had enjoyed a very natural relationship. Percy had not been a passionate lover, but he had been gentle, kind and loving and Samantha’s lonely heart had responded to him. After a while he had stopped visiting her so often, but they had still continued as man and wife until just before he was severely injured—and in all that time Samantha had not quickened with child.
‘It’s because I am too old for you,’ Percy had told her once when she’d shed a few tears over it. ‘It’s not your fault, my love. How could it be?’
Samantha
had accepted what he said, because there was almost twenty years between them. Yet now she wondered, realising that the fear had always lingered in the recesses of her mind.
Supposing she was barren? Supposing she could not give Brock a child? Was it fair to wed him in the circumstances? He was his father’s eldest son and expected to produce the heir.
Ought Samantha to have accepted him?
It had just never occurred to her to think about it. She longed to give Brock a child—but what if she couldn’t? Would he regret marrying her, feel resentful and disappointed?
Samantha blinked away her tears as a maid knocked, entered and asked if she could help her to change her gown.
‘I have brought very little with me,’ Samantha explained. ‘My trunks should arrive in a day or so, but at the moment I do not have much choice—and certainly not an evening gown.’
‘Lady Brockley is aware of your problem, ma’am. She says there are some of Miss Augusta’s gowns still here. Miss Augusta is married and living in London, ma’am, but we still call her that.’
‘Yes, I expect so,’ Samantha agreed, smiling at her. ‘Well, if you think there is a suitable gown that will fit me for this evening, but my yellow silk will do otherwise.’
‘Yes, ma’am. Would you like a bath before you change this evening?’
‘I do not wish to cause you a great deal of trouble.’
‘Oh, it’s no trouble, ma’am. Mrs Wicklow said as I was to look after you properly. The major is a favourite with us all, ma’am, and we all want to look after his lady.’
‘Thank you,’ Samantha said, and her head came up. She smiled, feeling better once more. She was young and healthy and there was no reason why she could not give Brock his heir.
* * *
The evening passed pleasantly enough. Brock made the effort to come down for dinner, but because he could not yet manoeuvre his arm into his evening coats, it was decided not to dress for the evening.
Samantha’s maid had produced a gown that fitted her well enough, but she preferred her own yellow silk and wore it. Brock’s smile banished any lingering doubts and his father’s welcome was so warm and open that she soon found herself relaxing and forgetting the doubts that Lady Brockley had raised.
* * *
Later, as they strolled in the orangery before retiring, Brock held Samantha with his uninjured arm and kissed her passionately on the mouth. She felt the desire ripple through her, melting into his body as a passion she had never felt before shot through her. She was tingling, on fire with need and a longing for something she knew she’d never experienced. Brock’s lovemaking would, she sensed, be very different from Percy’s gentle caresses.
‘I want you so much, my darling,’ Brock murmured against her throat. ‘I never knew how much I could feel until this moment. Always, I held my feelings in check. For a long time I believed myself unworthy and then I knew that I could never have the woman I loved, because she belonged to another.’
‘You could never be unworthy. Why should you think it?’
Brock told her of his friend Mary and what had happened the day he allowed her to walk home alone through their woods.
‘Surely you did not hold yourself responsible for what that brute did to her?’ Samantha said softly, and brushed her lips over his cheek. ‘My dearest love. Mary walked through those woods safely on her way to visit you, as I dare say she had a hundred times before. Who could have known that this one time she would not be safe?’
‘Yet, I should have made sure of it,’ Brock said, and touched her cheek. ‘There is such evil in this world, Sam. I exposed you to danger when I brought Rosemarie to you, but I never knew what horror I had unleashed.’
‘No, it was I who did that because I delved into her history and discovered Barchester’s secret,’ Samantha replied with a smile. ‘None of us could have guessed to what lengths he would go to protect his family’s secret. I thought to frighten him, but instead he struck at us and you suffered because of it. I should have waited and asked you what to do, Brock. I caused this trouble, not you.’
‘We cannot be sure that he had not planned the abduction long before you discovered his secret. He may have thought that Rosemarie knew of their connection when she did not.’
‘Well, I wish I had not done it for he hates us both now.’
‘Yes and I want you to promise me that you will be careful, my darling,’ Brock said. ‘Please do not walk far from the house alone until we discover what has happened to that devil. I fear that he may try to harm you to spite me.’
‘Yes, he might, or because I dared to threaten him,’ she said, and leaned into his body again, saying huskily, ‘Kiss me, love me, Brock. I don’t want to think of that horrid man. I want to be with you, to be loved, to make love with you, my darling.’
‘I love you so much,’ he said, crushing her to him. ‘I cannot wait until we are married, but I suppose we must. Mama would be shocked if she thought we were behaving improperly.’
‘I do not care what anyone thinks,’ Samantha said recklessly, because she was suddenly afraid that something would tear them apart and she wanted so desperately to know the pleasure of lying in his arms, being one with him. ‘Is there not somewhere we could go to be truly alone?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Brock said, a blaze of passion in his eyes as he gazed down into her eyes. ‘My darling, are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘I am a woman, Brock, not an innocent child, and I love you. If it does not shock you, I should like to be your lover until we can marry.’
‘It makes me know more surely than ever that you are the woman for me,’ Brock said and took her hand, pulling her with him. He was laughing, excited and suddenly impatient. ‘I’ll take you to the summerhouse, Sam. It is kept ready for use and I know where to find the key.’
She laughed for she saw that he looked almost like a naughty schoolboy and she held tightly to his hand as they left the glasshouse and ran across the lawns and through a gate in the tall hedge.
The summerhouse was shaped like a small eastern temple with a domed glass top and lots of windows and the moon shone on it, making it look mysterious and beautiful.
Brock found the key on a small ledge, unlocked the door and drew her inside. Because the moon was high she could see that it was furnished with chairs, small tables and a beautiful chaise longue. They needed no candles for the moon’s light was sufficient and Brock led her to the small sofa and they sat down, looking into each other’s eyes.
‘I love you so very much, my darling,’ Brock said. ‘You will never know how much for I cannot find the words to tell you—but be sure that you are the only woman I shall ever love or want.’
‘My dearest Brock,’ she breathed, and went into his arms. Their lips touched and the kiss was long and tender as they lay back on the chaise longue, holding and kissing until the passion swept them away. ‘I love you more than my life.’
Samantha hardly knew how she shed her clothing, but she was lying in her lover’s arms, flesh to flesh, feeling the smooth hard length of his legs and his thighs as he lay with her and loved her tenderly. His touch sent her senses wild, her soft moans of desire mingling with his as he touched and caressed, kissed her in all the secret places of her body. Places that had never known the touch of a man’s lips and tongue. His loving was so sweet, so passionate and needy that it brought her swiftly to a state of readiness and she cried out in pleasure as he entered her.
‘Samantha, my love,’ he cried, and drove into her with a groan of needy desire. ‘Oh, my darling, I never knew loving could be this sweet.’
‘Nor I,’ she wept into his shoulder as their passion brought them both to a speedy climax. ‘Nor I, my dearest one. I never knew.’ How could she when Percy’s gentle loving had never touched her inner being or brought her to tingling awareness as Brock’s
kisses did?
Afterwards, they lay clasping each other, holding one another tightly as though they would never wish to be apart again. And after a while he made love to her again, more slowly this time, savouring each caress, each tiny kiss, each movement that brought such exquisite joy.
* * *
It was a long, long time later that they heard the church clock strike the hour of two and Brock shook himself out of the state of languor that had come over them. He pulled her to a sitting position and searched for his discarded clothing, hunting for an elusive stocking and finding it at last under the sofa.
‘We must dress and go back or Father will send out a search party,’ he said, laughing as Samantha moaned and protested that she wanted to stay where she was. ‘No, no, my love. We must go back now for you will be so tired in the morning. And to be truthful, I need some brandy. My shoulder hurts like the devil.’
‘Oh, Brock, my dearest one,’ Samantha said ruefully. ‘I had forgotten your shoulder. You were so tired earlier and I expected you to make love to me. You should have gone to bed early and taken a sleeping draught.’
‘I am not yet in my dotage and this arm of mine will heal given time,’ Brock said, and his eyes danced with laughter, though she could not see it for the moon had gone now and it was dark in the summerhouse. ‘Making love to the woman I love must always come before sleep, even if I am in pain now and a little clumsy. Come, let me help you fasten your gown, my love—or your maid will know you have been behaving shamelessly.’
‘I do not mind if you do not,’ she said, and was swept into a hard embrace. ‘But we should make ourselves respectable for the sake of the servants—and your mama, who would be shocked.’
‘Mama would, I am sure,’ her undutiful son said, and laughed. ‘The servants would giggle amongst themselves and say good luck to us, but let me fasten you and we may yet keep our secret.’
Samantha stood while he somehow fastened the hooks at the back, though she knew it hurt him to move the left arm, and then, abandoning the attempt to put her hair up, she took his hand and they walked back across the lawns to the gate and into the formal gardens and then up to the house. Little was said, because there was no need of words; they had moved on this evening, into a world that belonged to them alone, and both were content.
