Epilogue
After the wedding they had returned to Stonegrave Hall. Much to Victoria’s relief, the reception had been warm and welcoming from staff, friends and neighbours alike, although no matter how often Laurence told her to the contrary, she could not believe that anyone with the least instinct for class differences could tell she was not a born lady. However, she played the part so well—and possessed the little subtleties of behaviour, the grace-notes of social superiority, that all came naturally to her—and she was so charming that no one would not believe she was anything else.
Laurence and Victoria had eaten breakfast in the privacy of their quarters. The day was overcast and it had just started to rain. Laurence had a busy day ahead of him. He had to go over the ledgers with his steward and he wanted to inspect some farm land. Although he had a very efficient bailiff and a number of able assistants, Laurence liked to keep abreast of things on the estate when he wasn’t occupied with his other business affairs.
He stood up now, tall and superbly built, wearing breeches and a tan jacket. Dark hair curling about his head, his handsome features thoughtful as he contemplated the day’s duties, he stood for a moment beside the table, and Victoria looked up at him with admiration, telling herself once again how very fortunate she was.
Six weeks had passed since their marriage—six weeks of heavenly peace, yet with a speed that equalled the degree of its pleasure. Victoria had no cause to regret the decision she had made. Catching her looking at him, Laurence smiled.
‘Don’t forget to take your coat,’ she said. ‘It is raining and I should hate you to catch cold.’
‘You would?’
‘Of course. I want you strong and healthy.’
A smile curled his lips, lifting them slightly at one corner, his eyelids drooping seductively over his deep-blue eyes. Although she hadn’t meant it to sound provocative, Laurence interpreted it that way, recalling, no doubt, the private times when his being strong and healthy was definitely an asset. In the bedroom he was a potentially sensual male, superlatively aggressive and masterful.
She came to know every aspect of him—his face, the way his lips twitched or the corners dipped when he was about some inanity. Though his eyes twinkled slightly when a mediocrity smote his fancy, he could just as easily give uproarious vent to rich appreciation when she failed to see the cause for mirth. His moods were like the changing character of the seasons, sometimes infinitely gentle, at other times curt and angry because of some injustice or offence. She had learned to read the tensing muscles in his face and the lowering of the brows as forewarnings of a storm and was thankful that his anger was never carelessly applied or anything but just—which was in complete variance to what she had once believed.
She had come to know there was a baseness to him, too, when his kisses could be fierce and demanding, his passion all-consuming. His amorous zeal left her breathless, but thoroughly content in the warm security of his embrace. That aspect of their marriage could not possibly be improved.
Standing behind her, he leaned down and circled her with his arms, resting his cheek against her head.
‘Have I told you recently how extremely lovely you are?’
‘About thirty minutes ago.’
‘And captivating?’
‘You just want to sleep with me,’ she accused.
‘You’re right about that. Come back to bed,’ he murmured, his lips nuzzling her ear.
‘You’re extremely persuasive, but there’s no time. You have far too much to do.’
‘It could wait.’
She laughed softly. ‘You really are incorrigible.’
He caught her earlobe between his teeth and bit it gently. ‘And you look absolutely delectable in your lavender robe. Are you wearing anything underneath it?’
‘Behave yourself, Laurence. Sally will be back any minute.’
‘Sally is the soul of tact. She’d go right back out again. We could make love right here. It would be quite a novelty.’
‘You’re outrageous.’
‘Utterly.’
‘The answer is no, definitely not. I think you have married me under false pretences,’ she said, feeling her body beginning to respond to his persistent mouth against her ear and the warmth of his breath on her flesh. ‘I thought I was marrying a gentleman, not a savage.’
‘Are you complaining?’ he enquired.
‘Go away. I would like to finish my breakfast in peace.’
Laughing softly, Laurence kissed her cheek and stood up straight. She turned her head and gazed up at him, taking his hand in hers and placing a kiss on the back of it.
‘Are you happy, Victoria?’ he asked, his eyes caressing her upturned face.
‘Extremely.’
‘No regrets?’
She shook her head. ‘No. How could I? I have a passionate husband, a wonderful house to live in here in Yorkshire and one in London, with loyal servants and everything I could possibly want. I am a very fortunate woman.’
‘I’m the fortunate one,’ he murmured on a more serious note. ‘You’re my life, Victoria. I cannot bear to think that because of my stupidity I almost lost you.’
‘Then the next time I write you a letter, make sure you read it. If you had read it, you would have understood. It cannot happen again, Laurence.’
He grinned. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to be the kind of wife who will come after me with a broom.’
‘It won’t be a broom—nothing so delicate. It will be a shovel.’ Hearing him chuckle softly as he turned from her and strode to the door, she said, ‘Laurence.’ Pausing, he looked back. ‘Are you happy?’
Walking back to where she sat, he raised her out of the chair and held her tight. ‘I couldn’t be happier.’
Victoria fell under the spell of his heavy-lidded eyes and slid her arms round his neck, holding him close. ‘I’ll make you even happier. I swear I will.’
Placing his lips on hers and feeling her body melt against his, Laurence felt joy within his heart that he could not describe, filling him up in a way he had never thought possible.
It was instant, and would last for the rest of his life.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460320150
THE MASTER OF STONEGRAVE HALL
Copyright © 2013 by Helen Dickson
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