The Unconventional Bride

by Lindsay Armstrong

  ‘Off you go, then.’

  Her new clothes were beautiful.

  Obviously expensive, lovely fabrics and colours, and if he’d chosen them himself, she paused to think, he’d had some experience at this. She dug down into the bag and there was underwear as well; gossamer silks, satins and lace, bras, bikini briefs, nightgowns, the lot. Even four pairs of the finest pantihose, black, pale grey and two beige, still in their packets. There was also a set of luxury cosmetics.

  She stared down at it all, at the exquisite colours, coffee and cream, lemon and white, French navy, peach, ivory, and pulled her hand away suddenly. She closed the suitcase, stood it against the wall and went to sit in an armchair.

  This was too much, she decided. Raspberry Hill and the boys might be safe but accepting and wearing his choice of clothes, and particularly underwear, would be the equivalent of turning herself into a mail-order bride. Into the kind of woman he wanted, not the kind of woman she was.

  And she knew herself well enough to know that, however she finally went to Etienne’s bed, it could only be as herself, not some sexy creature dolled up in his choice of silks and satins.

  So, once more tense and unsure of how to go on, she didn’t change. She washed her hands, touched up her minimal make-up and presented herself in the lounge, still wearing her lime trouser suit—which was perfectly suitable anyway. Etienne was watching the news on television.

  He looked up almost absently then stood up with a question in his eyes.

  ‘Uh—’ Mel hesitated ‘—I decided to draw the line at the clothes. There’s nothing wrong with this outfit, is there?’

  ‘Not at all, but what’s wrong with the clothes?’

  Mel fiddled with her wedding ring then looked down at it, to find another cause for dissatisfaction that had been simmering away at the back of her mind since he’d slid it onto her finger.

  She’d declined an engagement ring and expected a plain gold band for the wedding ring. In fact, that was what she’d been fitted for. What had eventuated was quite different. A broad gold band with beautifully chased edges and a stunning diamond set into it. If any ring could be called an engagement and wedding ring combined, this one could—yet another example of Etienne getting his own way.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with the clothes. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing them. This may be hard for you to understand,’ she continued, ‘but wearing things chosen for you by a man you barely know is, well, it makes you feel like a mail-order bride.’ She tilted her chin at him.

  ‘I didn’t choose them.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Who, then?’

  ‘Mary Lees and Mrs Bedwell.’

  Mel opened her mouth to express herself colourfully then closed it. ‘I should have known!’ she said instead.

  ‘Yes. Well. Does it make you feel any better to know I have no idea what’s in that suitcase?’

  Mel considered. ‘It was still your idea.’

  ‘It wasn’t. Mrs Bedwell came to me and told me you were being difficult on the subject of a trousseau.’

  This time Mel did express herself colourfully. ‘All the same, you paid for them,’ she added.

  He shrugged.

  Mel heaved a frustrated sigh. ‘They’re so…they’re like nothing I’ve worn in my life!’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I would have thought Mary had good taste.’

  ‘I don’t mean the clothes, they’re lovely. It’s the underwear. And I don’t mean they’re not lovely but when you usually buy your underwear at the supermarket and prefer cotton anyway—do you see what I mean?’

  ‘You would hate it if I told you what I do see, Mel,’ he drawled, ‘so before this conversation becomes too much of a trial, you wear whatever you like and perhaps we should go to dinner?’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked downwards unwittingly and colour mounted in her cheeks at the thought of him seeing beneath her clothes to her underwear. ‘I…’ She looked up to encounter a particularly wicked look in his eyes. ‘I agree,’ she said with hauteur.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THEY walked down to the restaurant, which opened, through tall diamond-paned doors, onto a garden then the beach. A burgundy and deep blue colour scheme complemented the sheen of crystal and silver, and candles lit the tables. The maître d’ hurried forward and welcomed them by name.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Hurst,’ he said delightedly, turning to Mel and bowing. ‘Ma’am, this is a great pleasure. May I pass on my, and all the staff’s, felicitations? We’re really honoured to have you here on your wedding night.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mel said, somewhat taken aback. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Word spreads fast!’ He winked conspiratorially. ‘Please come this way; I’ve prepared our best table for you.’

  The restaurant’s best table was a banquette in a secluded corner with a lovely view through the doors to the beach and the now silvery waters beyond as a moon rose.

  They sat opposite each other, cocooned in the plush candlelit burgundy banquette, and the starched pink damask tablecloth was strewn with little silver horseshoes and wedding bells.

  ‘I detect more than news travelling fast here,’ she said humorously. ‘Mary Lees again?’

  ‘She did make all the bookings. So, what will it be?’

  Mel consulted the menu, changed her mind a couple of times then settled for what he ordered. And she chattered inconsequently while they waited. Etienne seemed happy enough to allow her to direct the flow of conversation along harmless lines.

  He’d changed into a black shirt and trousers with his sports jacket and he looked powerful but laid-back. As if this wedding night was not at all momentous for him, she reflected, and she stopped making conversation rather suddenly.

  Fortunately, all the accoutrements for their meal arrived at about the same time. A trolley, under the command of the maître d’, drew up beside the table, laden with copper-lined chafing dishes piled with glistening green olives, grilled bacon and kidneys, onions and parsley and two fillets of steak.

  And, with ceremony, the contents of each chafing dish were added to the flambé dish to bubble gently before the brandy was poured on and set alight. The blue-gold flame hovered briefly and the most delicious aroma arose.

  It was the best grill Mel had ever eaten and definitely an experience that didn’t need to be talked through.

  She put her knife and fork together at last and patted her stomach. ‘Mmm…mmm!’

  ‘You were hungry,’ he teased.

  ‘I haven’t really eaten well for a week.’ She paused and looked embarrassed.

  The teasing light died out of his eyes. ‘That worried about marrying me, Mel?’

  She hesitated and chose her words with care. ‘Most brides probably have some nerves, although,’ she tipped a hand, ‘maybe not these days.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ he agreed. ‘Most, even traditional brides, are a little more used to their husbands than you are, however.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said slowly. ‘As a matter of fact I rather regretted imposing those restrictions on us before the wedding. Not, well, I guess, not morally is a good way of putting it, but because it made things harder. It’s certainly made this night harder, anyway— Oh, thank you!’ She took the dessert menu being offered to her.

  He waited until the waiter had left. ‘That’s an interesting way of putting it—we are very properly and morally married, Mel.’

  ‘We may be but not really for the right reasons. Mind you,’ she looked rueful, ‘I didn’t mean to bring that up. One thing I can honestly tell you about being married to you, Etienne, is that I don’t seem to know if I’m on my head or my heels. Actually,’ she confided, ‘and I don’t know if this is champagne and a good meal talking, but today has been—I feel as if I’ve been on a roller coaster all day.’

  ‘So there have been “ups”?’ he queried.

  She ran her finger down the menu and it hovered over the pavlova but moved on.

  ‘There have,
’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I can’t make up my mind between the pavlova or the lemon tart.’

  ‘Have them both since you haven’t eaten for a week, just don’t keep me in suspense, Mel,’ he drawled and added specifically, ‘about the “ups”.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I walked down the aisle feeling quite pleased with myself whereas I walked up it wondering what on earth I was getting myself into. Then I found myself enjoying the reception although I have no idea why. Then—I was really upset about being given a luxury car but thoroughly enjoyed driving it, and I watched the sun set thinking that the boys were safe and so was Raspberry Hill so it all had to be worth it, only to get upset again over some clothes. Strange, isn’t it?’

  But her blue eyes were alight with humour and shining in a way they hadn’t all day, and certainly not over the gift of a luxury car, Etienne found himself thinking. And he went on to reflect on the irony of having married the one girl his fortune meant nothing to.

  ‘How was your day?’ she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

  ‘It too had its ups and downs. You were ten minutes late and I was quite sure you’d got cold feet. Then you accused me of making you feel “bought” and like a mail-order bride, and for a horrible moment I thought you were going to invite the whole family on this honeymoon.’

  She laughed. ‘I doubt if I’d have been able to tear them away! But—were there any “ups”?’

  His lips twisted. ‘Two. Watching you walk down the aisle looking so beautiful and so Mel Ethridge at the same time, and kissing you.’

  Mel sat back. ‘I’ll have the pavlova, thank you, although I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Then I have a better idea: let’s go for a walk.’

  She took a little breath as his eyes lingered on her mouth. ‘So—you could kiss me?’ she hazarded.

  ‘Well,’ his eyes glinted, ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to get rusty and too out of practice.’

  She hesitated with a half-smile on her lips.

  ‘Besides which,’ he continued, ‘one of the reasons for one of your “ups”—walking down the aisle feeling pleased with yourself—may, just may, I say,’ he warned, ‘have had something to do with what happened in the moments before you waltzed down the aisle.’

  ‘I…I’m a fast walker,’ she warned in turn.

  ‘Then I’ll just have to prove that I’m a fast worker, won’t I?’ He stood up.

  Mel stared into his eyes then put her napkin on the table and followed suit.

  But once outside, they discovered that the weather had changed. The moon was obscured by clouds and there was lightning in the air. So it was not only dark but also deserted and the sea was also dark as it broke against the shore, not a fierce surf but enough to add the tang of salt to the air.

  Etienne hesitated and looked at the sky. ‘This may not be such a good idea; I think it’s going to rain.’

  Right on cue thunder grumbled, although not that close.

  ‘I don’t mind a bit of rain,’ she said and stopped to listen. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He stood with his head back and listened himself.

  The thread of sound came again.

  ‘It’s an animal,’ she said, ‘in distress. We’d better have a look; I think it’s coming from over there.’ She pointed towards a thick patch of bushland beside the beach.

  ‘Mel,’ he said but she ignored him and started to run towards the sound. He swore, and followed her.

  What they found was a stray calf caught up in a barbed-wire fence, exhausted by its struggles, but only after they’d ploughed through almost impenetrable bush and been soaked by the first shower of the evening.

  ‘We may need help,’ he said.

  ‘We may not have time,’ she answered with rain streaming off her face and flattening her hair. ‘He could die!’

  ‘I doubt it but—all right.’ He pulled off his jacket and put it over her shoulders. Half an hour later, with a herculean effort and her help, he managed to release the calf, and with surprising energy it bounded off into the bush.

  ‘Oh, well done,’ Mel breathed. ‘But now it’ll be lost! Should we—?’

  ‘No, Mel, we should not. Listen!’

  Above the rain, they heard a full-blooded moo answered by a miniature moo some distance apart but getting closer to each other. ‘I would say a family reunion is about to take place.’

  ‘Thank heavens!’

  ‘I do agree and let’s get out of this bloody rain.’ He looked down at himself rather comically.

  Mel did the same. ‘We’re ruined—oh, my poor shoes!—but you were wonderful, Etienne.’

  They started to laugh together.

  When they were back in the comfort of their bure he told her to take a shower before they had a spa but reaction had set in and Mel was shivering uncontrollably. So he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom.

  ‘I—I—I’m sorry,’ she said through chattering teeth. ‘I expect I’ve well and truly ruined our wedding night.’

  He set her on her feet and looked down at her wryly. ‘I think we might give up on this one.’ He picked her up again and sat her down on the end of the bed. ‘But listen, Mel,’ he said softly and took her chin in his fingers so she had to look up at him, ‘on the subject of our wedding night, the last thing I want to feel is that I’m taking you against your will. The last thing I want you to feel is that it’s something you have to get over and done with.’

  She sniffed and licked her lips.

  ‘And,’ he went on, ‘I’d just like to point out a couple of things; while I’m not going to force you into anything, we have to start somewhere but it so happens—that “somewhere” is already established. I’ve told you how I feel and I know you’re not unmoved either.’

  He dropped his hand but his eyes searched hers.

  She nodded slowly.

  ‘Then,’ he touched her face again lightly, ‘we have that in common plus a whole lot more. Believe me, we can build well.’

  He trailed his fingers down her cheek in a way that was mesmerising to Mel. They made her skin feel like silk and she broke out in goose-pimples that spread down towards her breasts and caused her nipples to tingle. He made her tremble inwardly, the whole tall, damp, strong, dark length of him.

  It crossed Mel’s overwrought mind to tell him how much she’d liked the feel of his arms around her, and the easy strength that allowed him to pick her up and put her down at whim. It crossed her mind to say that the one way she could visualise falling asleep tonight would be in the sanctuary of his arms and that one part of her longed to leave all the decision-making up to him.

  But the words wouldn’t be said. He waited for a moment then he broke the contact and turned away. ‘See you in the pool.’

  He’d activated the spa by the time she came out of the bedroom in her one-piece blue swimsuit, and there was a silver tray with two cream-topped dark drinks in long glasses beside it. Flickering, very soft, concealed lighting added to the exotic, jungle feel.

  ‘Join me,’ he invited from amidst the steam and bubbles. ‘I have to tell you, this is exactly what you need after battling the elements, barbed wire and strayed calves.’

  Mel grimaced and slid into the water. ‘What’s this?’ She indicated the glasses.

  ‘Irish coffee. Renowned for its sleep-giving properties but also delicious.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She picked up her glass and sipped. ‘Yum!’ She closed her eyes and allowed her body to relax under the heated jets of bubbles.

  ‘By the way, I rang home,’ he said. ‘They’re all fine, quite sober now, although Justin is nursing a sore behind.’

  Mel blinked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Your beloved Rimfire took exception to your absence and got a sly bite in while he was being fed. Justin has therefore relinquished the chore to Mrs Bedwell and he asked me to pass on the message that the next time you rescue any damn horses, please make sure they’re not man eaters.’

  Mel broke out into sponta
neous laughter. ‘I was afraid of that!’ she gurgled. ‘I warned Rimfire not to bite the hand that fed him. He obviously didn’t listen to me.’

  ‘Why does he hate men?’

  ‘Some man was terribly cruel to him, I guess. Do you ride, Etienne?’

  ‘I used to as a kid but I haven’t for years. Why?’

  ‘I wondered if you’d enjoy riding around Raspberry Hill, that’s all.’

  ‘I would,’ he said slowly. ‘Do you have a horse for me?’

  ‘No. Justin is only into mechanical forms of transport at the moment, Ewan was never into horses and Tosh has a pony, that’s all.’ She sat up, obviously struck by a thought. ‘I could get you one.’

  ‘I could get my own.’

  ‘No, no,’ she waved a hand, ‘I’m sure I could find one that—’

  ‘Not one that you’ll feel obligated to ride into the council chambers, or one that’s liable to bite and kick me, please,’ he broke in with mock-alarm.

  She grinned at him. ‘Not at all. But there are always people with horses to give away because they can’t afford to feed them or whatever. And I thought,’ she drew an excited breath, ‘if I brought it up to scratch, made sure it was well-trained et cetera, et cetera—I could give it to you as a wedding present.’

  He was leaning back with his arms spread out along the edge of the pool and his dark eyes softened at her eager expression, the way her hair was curling riotously so that she looked about twelve. ‘Thank you. I look forward to it.’

  Mel finished her Irish coffee, and hiccuped.

  ‘I would say all this alcohol is finally getting to me!’

  ‘OK. Next part of the cure.’ He got up and left the pool. In a pair of charcoal board shorts there was little left to Mel’s imagination and it was hard not to look awestruck. He was tanned and well-proportioned and you could see where that excellent co-ordination came from, finely tuned muscles, long legs and wide, powerful shoulders.

  There was a pile of thirsty turquoise towels on a stool and he dried himself off briefly then reached down a hand to her. ‘Out you get.’