“Perhaps you’re right, my lord, about one thing. You will never understand if you can look at Mr. Howard, here, and say such things. Look at his face,” she said, leaning forward. “Look at him.”
The viscount reluctantly did so.
She put out one hand and traced the wrinkles on the old man’s face. His filmy eyes opened and he smiled at Sorrow, putting one gnarled and ancient hand over her young one. Quietly, she said, “There is so much terrifying beauty and dignity in his pain. I don’t know how else I can explain it. Ugliness and death . . . they’re a part of life, and when embraced they’re beautiful, too. I don’t mean in and of themselves; that would be sophistry, for there is nothing beautiful in our end except what we have learned and given back to this world. But just look at the acceptance in his eyes, the patience. It’s glorious and humbling.” She patted his cheek and turned back to the viscount. “When I met Bertram I knew he would understand that. I don’t know how I knew, I just did. He had . . .”
She paused, searching for the right words as the viscount stared at her in incomprehension. How to express to this man who had so long denigrated his son that there was one person in the world who thought Bertram everything fine and noble? “My lord, your son has a more powerful spirit than any man I ever met in London or anywhere else. When I look deep into his eyes I see my future. I see kindness and humility. He’s wonderful. If you don’t know that about him, if you don’t understand what a fine man he is, then I pity you, sir. I sincerely pity you.”
A movement caught her eye and she saw that Bertram had been nearby and likely heard her. He stared at her, and there was such a speaking look of love in his eyes that it took her breath away. Lord Newton looked from one of them to the other, and as Bertram made his way toward Sorrow, his eyes never leaving hers, he shook his head.
“I don’t understand.” His voice held genuine bewilderment.
“Maybe you never will,” Bert said as he joined Sorrow and took her hand.
Lord Newton stared at them both. “You will go ahead with this marriage, even against my wishes?” he said to his son.
Bert just smiled. “I think you know better than to even ask. Why would I leave Sorrow? I’m a fortunate man that you happened to point out to me the one woman in the world who makes me . . .” He turned his gaze to Sorrow, and finished, “Whole. And happy.”
“You are both doomed to unhappiness, don’t you see that?”
Sorrow looked back up at the viscount and met his troubled gaze. She was stricken by the expression of utter perplexity on his handsome visage. “No, we aren’t. I’m sorry you don’t understand.”
“Sir, it’s more than just love,” Bertram said, sure now of his feelings. “Though I know for most people the love we . . . we share would be enough.” He looked down at his bride-to-be and his voice choked off for a moment as he gazed into her beautiful eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was feeling and thinking, it had hit him so forcefully. She truly loved him, and he had fallen in love with her. But there was more . . . so much more! She chose him, she didn’t just blindly acquiesce to an eligible offer of marriage. And she chose him because she thought him to be more than he even thought himself to be, a man with a good and true heart, a man who could do anything. She believed in him, and he knew now that he couldn’t live without that.
Her face, upon hearing his words, his admission of love, glowed with astonished joy. He realized he had never even told her he loved her yet. How much they had to talk about! How much he had to tell her of all the new discoveries in his heart. But first, his father.
“I can’t put into words what it feels like, Father, to know that Sorrow isn’t marrying me because I will one day be Viscount Newton. Nor is she marrying me because I’m wealthy. Nor because she is afraid no one else will ask her. Somehow she knew—and I’m so grateful to her, for I have been blind for too long—that in each other we have found our souls’ true mates.”
Lord Newton was silent. He shook his head and stared at Sorrow, then at his son. “I won’t pretend to understand. I don’t.”
“Father,” Bertram said, pouring all of his hope into his tone. “If you would open your heart to Spirit Garden and to the people here, to Mr. Howard and Billy and poor Joshua—”
“Good God, do not counsel me to hobnob with madmen and invalids,” the viscount said. He turned away, but then turned back again and gazed at the young couple. Bert had taken Sorrow’s hand in his and she had caught up Mr. Howard’s hand again. “I just don’t understand.” He walked away.
“Bert,” Sorrow said, leaning against him, “will he ever understand?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “His attitude may sadden us, but we can’t live for him.” His heart thudded and he couldn’t contain the bubbling spring of purest joy that welled up in him despite the chasm between his father and himself. “Mr. Howard,” he said, “will you excuse us for a few moments? I would like to tell my bride of all the discoveries I’ve made and it’s a private moment.”
He could see the old man’s hand flex around Sorrow’s, and she said, “He says all right, but to behave ourselves!” She giggled and Mr. Howard smiled and nodded.
Bert led her away, out of the garden and to the long green grassy slope, and pulled her to him, finding her lips, kissing her softly, then with increasing passion. No man had ever felt like this in all the years of creation. “Sorrow,” he murmured into her hair, “I love you. My soul has been reborn and I love you. I’m such a lucky man to have found you, and then to have convinced you to marry me. I didn’t love you then. What blind stupid luck that you said yes!”
“No, not luck. Bert, I didn’t say yes with no notion of our future. I knew this day could happen, I just didn’t know you would be so intelligent as to discover you could love me so quickly!”
They chuckled together and gazed deeply into each other’s eyes. The light breeze riffled through her curls and he pushed back her stray tendrils. “You really saw something in me, something no one else had ever seen, not even me or my father.”
“Especially not your father,” she said with a trace of acerbity in her voice.
“Let’s not talk about him,” Bert said.
“I will agree to that. Bert, you will marry me anyway, won’t you, even though your father doesn’t approve?”
“You could not push me away if you tried. I have had a taste of heaven, and I want to pass through the gates.” Another few moments were lost in kissing.
“Then let’s get married.”
“I think we will,” Bert said, and putting his arm around her, walked back toward the house. They had more plans to make.
Chapter 11
The viscount didn’t leave, and for the rest of the day he was seen pacing in the garden, astonishingly enough speaking with various folks who lived or worked in the house, and sometimes to the Marchands themselves. Often, just on his own, he walked in the meadow.
Sorrow saw him from her window, and it tinged her day with sadness to know that there was that rift between Bert and his father. That night she didn’t sleep well.
Margaret came in to her early the next day—the wedding breakfast following the ceremony was a morning affair in the garden, of course—and sat on her bed. “How are you this morning, Sorrow?” she said shyly.
She was already dressed in her new lavender gown, filled with nervous anticipation of her role as bride’s attendant, and her hands were elegantly gloved.
“I’m tired,” Sorrow said, yawning hugely. “I don’t think I slept at all.”
“Nervous, I should think,” Margaret returned, blushing. “I would be, to think that that evening . . . you will be . . . I mean—”
“Hmm? Oh, well, yes, I’m a little nervous about that, but Mama has told me there is nothing to be afraid of, you know.”
“Really?”
She looked so disbelieving that Sorrow almost laughed, but was saved by a desire not to hurt Margaret’s feelings, which were often raw and close to the surface. “Really
. Mama says it is a little uncomfortable at first when you . . . when . . . well, you know what I mean. But she says it is quite pleasant after a while. She said it’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Margaret looked relieved, but still doubtful. “My mother said it is a torment and that men are brutes once they shed their clothes. She said it is the price women pay for the Original Sin, you know, that and childbirth.”
“And when was your mother ever truthful with you or right about anything?”
Margaret’s expression brightened. “That’s true! My mother has been wrong about other things, too. And your mother always tells the truth. Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking about such things. So if that is not worrying you, what is?”
“It’s this quarrel between Bert and his father. I feel responsible.”
“But your father told your mother that it is Lord Newton’s disagreeable personality that is at fault, and that he could never imagine how such a sterling young man came from such a father.”
“My father said that to my mother in front of you?”
“They didn’t know I was there.” She widened her eyes and put one finger over her mouth. “But I wasn’t eavesdropping, truly, Sorrow, I was in a club chair in the library and didn’t want to interfere when I heard them come in.”
“Margaret!”
The girl began to twist her hands together, but then stopped and said, “I know I should have stood and let them know I was there. I’ll try not to be so shy next time.”
“Especially with Mother and Father!” Sorrow turned back to her own problems and wished things were different. In London, Sorrow had just thought Lord Newton frosty, but now it seemed to her that he had layered his distressing lack of compassion and empathy under a veneer of civilized behavior. How had he turned out a son like Bert? It was a miracle and a blessing, but she would still be his daughter-in-law for the rest of his life and they would have to deal with each other on a continuing basis. And if she had children—
She buried her face in the covers over her knees and felt Margaret’s hand on her head.
“You’re probably just nervous,” she said lightly. “I’ll call the maid. Your mama said you have to get up and get dressed.”
The door closed as Margaret left. It was more than just bride nerves, Sorrow thought, lifting her head and facing her fears. Harmony, that guiding principle in her life, was threatened. She didn’t know if she could go ahead without it.
• • •
Another hour and he would be a married man, Bert thought, pacing anxiously in a quiet part of the enclosed lawn. The ceremony was to be in the tiny ancient chapel beyond the garden, and then the couple would come out to the company and be announced as husband and wife. Then there would be a grand breakfast with the inmates of the house and villagers and invited guests, too, as well as some relatives all mixing in a grand mélange. The seating was already arranged, tables flowing with white cloths fluttering in the breeze.
Bert had thought he would despise this kind of public celebration, but on joining his life with Sorrow’s he felt he was gaining an extended family of such warmth as he had never in his life experienced. He looked up from his contemplation to see his father advancing toward him. He was dressed for the ceremony, so he must have decided to stay. Bert was not sure how he felt about that.
“Bertram,” Lord Newton said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Yes?”
The viscount glared off in the distance, furrowed his brow and said. “I don’t quite know how to say this, but—”
“Then don’t. Father, I thought that I needed your approval—”
“Bertram, I—”
“No! Let me say this,” Bert said, putting up one hand. It seemed that they were going to continue interrupting each other if one of them did not say what he felt. “All my life I did most of what you told me. I did well in school. I shot, I fenced, I hunted. I courted the girls of whom you approved. And then, by the greatest chance in the world—by your urging—I met Sorrow. I think now what a fool I was not to make an effort to get to know her before you pointed her out to me, but I feel certain now that even if you hadn’t, we would have come together. Apparently she saw me and liked me before I ever noticed her. We were meant to be together. And now you cannot turn me away from her. I love her and we’re going to marry today with or without your blessing.”
Lord Newton stared at him, and a smile twisted his lips. At least Bert thought it might be a smile, being unfamiliar with that expression on his father’s face.
“You really should let me speak, you know, for I—”
“Mr. Carlyle!”
Bert turned to see Billy being wheeled toward him by Joshua. “What is it, Billy?”
“Sorrow wants to see you upstairs. She sent me ’specially . . . said it was important.”
“All right, thank you, young fellow. I’ll be back down in a few minutes, Father, and we can continue this conversation if you wish.”
“I do wish,” Lord Newton said. “You and I have much to discuss. But in the meantime, Billy, Joshua and I will stroll in the garden.”
Bert stopped and turned back, the words startled him so much, but his father was already walking along the stone path and questioning Billy about his dragon bush. It was a sight he never would have imagined possible and gave him much food for thought, thought he didn’t have time for it that minute.
His bride-to-be needed him. He raced up the stairs and saw Mrs. Liston on the landing. “Where is Sorrow?”
“In her room, Mr. Carlyle. Go in. She said she needs to talk to you.”
He entered the door he had long known was to her room—long known and tried to forget—and saw her as she turned from the window, the sun touching her golden curls and glinting off the iridescent pale yellow of her gown.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, coming across the room to her.
She held him at arm’s length. “Bert, I thought it didn’t matter.”
“What?”
“I thought your father’s approval or disapproval didn’t matter, but it does. I can’t do it, not without him approving of it.”
“What?” He knew he was repeating himself stupidly, but he felt all the blood drain from his heart, and that organ thudded uncomfortably. It was just like a nightmare, that what he wanted—needed—more than water and sunshine was snatched away just as he reached out his hand. “You can’t mean that.”
“But I do,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve thought about it all night and all morning, but I can’t! I know how much he means to you! If my father didn’t approve—”
“You wouldn’t marry me?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know!”
They stared at each other.
“He will approve,” Bert said, through clenched teeth. “If that is what you need to become my bride this morning, then he will approve.”
“But you can’t force approval.”
“Never mind, Sorrow. He will.”
He gave her a quick kiss, then a more lingering one, and raced back down to the garden. His father was standing alone watching Mrs. Liston, who was guiding a couple of ladies from the village to a table in the shade.
“She won’t marry me!”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Newton said, turning.
“Sorrow,” he grated out between clenched teeth. “She won’t be the cause of a rift between us, she says, because she knows that you are important to me. She will have your approval or she won’t marry me. You will approve, sir, and you will tell her so!”
“Is that any manner to speak to your father?” Lord Newton’s eyes were wintry.
“I don’t care. I won’t beg, I won’t plead, but you will do this.” He glared at his father, and the wintry look in Lord Newton’s gray eyes melted.
His voice oddly gentle, he said, “I will.”
He moved to pass by Bert, but Bert caught his sleeve.
“What?”
“I’m going to tell my future daughter
that she must marry you.”
It was the oddest day, Bert thought, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Everything predictable was upside down. He gave his head a shake. “Why?”
“How dull you’re being, Bertram. Of all the things I ever thought of you, I never thought you a dullard.”
“I mean, you don’t approve. Why are you doing this? Just because I want you to?”
“No. How do you know I don’t approve?”
“Because you told me so yesterday.”
“Ah, but have you never heard of a sea change? I never thought such a thing could happen to me, but it has.” He paused, and the oddest expression of discovery crossed his handsome face. “I took your advice—something I have never done before, you will note—and I spent yesterday talking to people, to young Billy and Mr. Marchand and an old old lady named Mrs. Mackintosh. She told me I was a great ass, and that anyone could see the young people were so in love it would be the making of my son; a good woman, she said, while she cannot change a man, can bring out in him the best that is there. And Sorrow was the very best of young women, and young Bertram, she insisted, the very best of young men.”
Bert stared at his father. “I can’t quite believe it is you saying these things. People just do not change overnight.”
“No, I suppose you’re right.” He sounded tired, and looked discouraged, but then brightened. “Tomorrow I will likely be my old incorrigibly overbearing self, so take advantage of this softer . . .” The viscount’s words melted away. He watched Mrs. Liston. “If I had heard Mrs. Mackintosh’s advice thirty years ago, I might have married differently, who knows? There was a woman who loved me, but she told me that I was too pompous for her taste. Like a fool, I let her slip away,” He mused for a moment. “What would I have become if I had found the courage to go after her? She was unsuitable in so many ways, I remember . . . gloriously unsuitable! But I cannot lament, can I? Your mother was a good woman and bore you, and that was an excellent thing for the world.”
An Eccentric Engagement Page 7
