“God deliver me from a romantic virgin in love for the first time,” he mocked her. “I am assuming, of course, that you are still a virgin and have not been silly enough to let my cousin seduce you. He is quite a notorious rake, you know. Or perhaps you do not know. He has fathered at least three bastards to my knowledge.”
“Valerian!” His grandmother’s handsome face was flushed with her annoyance. “You are being deliberately provocative and most indelicate.”
“How nice to know St. John’s seed is so potent,” Aurora said sweetly. “I am very eager to begin a family. Does he throw sons or daughters the most, Valerian?” She smiled brightly.
Mary Rose Hawkesworth gasped at the girl’s boldness as George Spencer-Kimberly stifled his laughter. The duke and his grandmother were going to find out that Aurora was a formidable opponent when irritated, aroused, or otherwise annoyed. No one had ever called his sister a biddable female. He would miss her when he returned to St. Timothy with his bride, but Besty Bowen was a more predictable female, like his mother, and he far preferred such a girl for his wife.
“Be careful, my dear Aurora,” the duke said coldly, “else you be mistaken for a coarse strumpet.”
Standing suddenly, Aurora threw her wineglass at him and stormed from the dining room. The duke laughed, both amused and amazed by her actions. Then he nodded to Peters to see the disarray was cleaned up, and turned his attention back to his dinner plate.
“You are really quite impossible, Valerian,” his grandmother remarked. “Frankly, I would have thrown the entire wine carafe at you. It was well within Aurora’s grasp. She was rather restrained, I thought.”
George could no longer contain his mirth, and burst out laughing.
The tension broken, the trio continued their meal, while upstairs Aurora was sending Martha for a tray, for she was ravenous, her anger and her excitement both fueling her appetite. When George stopped by later on to bid her good night, Aurora was just finishing her meal.
“He laughed at you, you know,” George informed his sister.
“He can go to the devil,” she muttered.
“You must restrain your antipathy toward Valerian, Aurora, lest people gain the wrong impression,” her brother gently warned her.
“What impression could they possibly obtain other than the fact I dislike Valerian’s arrogance?” she demanded.
“They might think that you were in love with him,” George said with devastating forthrightness.
“What?” Aurora grew pink. “How can you say such a thing, George? It is ludicrous and shameful! I am in love with St. John!”
“I am pleased to know it,” her brother responded in serious tones. “Now, listen to me, Aurora. You have always been headstrong and willful despite your charm and your good heart; but I would remind you of the deception we—you and Cally and I—have enacted upon the Duke of Farminster. I knew it was wrong, yet I allowed you to do it. Indeed, I aided you, and the results are disastrous for Valerian and Cally. While I am in love with Betsy, and will be happily married, while you are in love with St. John, and will be happily wed, they despise each other and are utterly miserable, and it is our fault to a great extent.” He took Aurora’s hand in his and kissed her fingertips. “I love both of my sisters. You should have been the duke’s wife, and Papa would be very disappointed that I allowed myself to be manipulated by you, Aurora. Had I only known of Cally’s abhorrence of physical love, I would have never allowed what has happened to happen.”
“But she wanted to be a duchess,” Aurora said weakly.
“Do you remember when we were young and that group of Spanish nuns took shelter on St. Timothy from a hurricane? Cally wanted to be a nun for weeks afterward. This was a similar situation, and I was too blind to see it because I love you both and wanted you happy. Look upon the results of my foolish indulgence, little sister.
“I will be brutally frank with you, Aurora. Whether you are willing to admit it or not, you are attracted to Valerian, and I believe he is attracted to you. Perhaps you don’t even realize it, but I see it, and I know the dowager sees it too. Face it, and put it from you else it cause further disaster. Valerian is married to Cally, and they are, for better or for worse, expecting a child. You will marry in the spring, and that must be an end of it,” George concluded.
“I am not attracted to Valerian,” Aurora said firmly.
“Then cease asking him if he thinks you’re pretty in this or that new gown. Stop baiting him, and taunting him with your passion for St. John. He and his cousin have always been rivals of a sort, and neither can seem to get over it. Are you certain that St. John cares for you, Aurora? Really cares for you? Not just lusts for you, for even I observe that he does lust for you. Tell me that there is more between you than just desire. Do you even know, or understand, that there must be more between a married couple than just physical hunger?”
“Yes, of course, I think so!” Aurora pulled away from her brother and sat down in a chair by the fire. “We amuse each other,” she told George. “I know I like him, and I believe he likes me. If we are to live together as man and wife, shouldn’t that be important?”
He sat himself opposite her while Martha, having returned to the room, bustled quietly about, listening. “You and St. John already have more than Cally and the duke,” he said approvingly, “but there must be more. For instance, Betsy and I agree upon several things that will affect our married life. We are in concert in the matter of raising our children. We know that we would like two sons and two daughters. We have decided that even if the slaves have their own religion, we will still raise an Anglican church on the island and encourage them to attend. St. Timothy is going to change, Aurora. With the bottling facility that Valerian and I intend to erect, it shall become a more important island. Eventually trading ships will stop regularly, and we will not have to send our sugar to Barbados for transport to England. Betsy and I plan to work together to make certain that St. Timothy remains a good place, a happy place. It is up to you and St. John to set the goals that you wish to follow in your life together. Do not marry him just because you enjoy his kisses and like his hand up your skirt.”
“Master George!” Martha’s indignant voice interrupted them. “What a shocking thing to say to your sister. She’s a good girl, she is! Don’t you dare cast doubt upon either her purity or good character.”
George laughed, catching a hold of Martha’s hand and pulling her down into his lap. “I know Aurora is a good girl, Martha,” he said, “but I would not be a good older brother if I did not attempt to ascertain that she is marrying St. John for the proper reasons, and will be happy with her choice. Poor Cally is very unhappy with her choice.” He kissed the servant’s cheek.
Martha struggled to her feet. “Now, don’t you go trying to wheedle me or confuse your sister. She has made her decision to marry that Mr. St. John, and he’s a mighty good catch. She’s going to be happy, and no mistake about it, Master George. Now, go along with you and let my poor mistress get some sleep. It has been a very exciting day for her, for us all.” She shooed him from the room.
“Remember what I said,” George called out to her as the door closed behind him.
“Young scoundrel,” Martha muttered.
“He just wants to be certain that I am happy,” Aurora said.
“Well, he shouldn’t say such wicked things to you, brother or not. And he shouldn’t be confusing you about Mr. St. John,” Martha said.
“I’m not confused about St. John,” Aurora assured her as Martha helped her to undress and get into her nightgown. She washed her face and hands and cleaned her teeth in the basin of warm water that Martha provided for her. Then, tying her nightcap on, she climbed into her bed. “I’m not confused about St. John at all. He’s going to make me a wonderful husband, Martha. I really think he is.”
Satisfied, Martha tucked the girl into her bed, and blowing out the candle on the nightstand, gathered up her mistress’s discarded garments and left the room wi
th a chirpy “Good night, miss.”
Aurora lay quietly beneath the down coverlet. The fire in the fireplace blazed cheerily, casting dark, mischievous shadows upon the walls and hangings. She closed her eyes and attempted to rekindle her delicious memories of that afternoon. She had been waiting for hours, it seemed, to be alone so she might recall her sensuous little adventure with St. John. He really was quite wicked, and she had been very naughty, yet she felt not a moment’s guilt over the matter. His mouth on her breasts. His fingers beneath her skirts. The look in his eyes when his love juices had erupted and he had turned his head to gaze at her. She sighed deeply, and then suddenly her eyes flew open. It had been Valerian Hawkesworth’s face she had just imagined! It hadn’t been St. John’s at all! What was the matter with her? Was her brother right? Was she unknowingly attracted to the duke?
Aurora shivered. This was wrong. It was very wrong. How could she be attracted to Valerian Hawkesworth? She didn’t want to be a duchess, and he was certainly the most irritating man she had ever met, not to mention his appalling arrogance. And what had he done to her sister that Cally so disliked the physical act of passion? And had Cally not said he forced himself on her so he might have an heir. This was a terrible man. She could not possibly be attracted to him! She couldn’t! Was Cally right? Was she a wanton who enjoyed clandestine revels with her affianced and had secret thoughts about her sister’s husband? What is the matter with me? she wondered.
Was she regretful that she had deceived the duke? Was her conscience bothering her over it? Did she feel guilty that Cally was so unhappy? Yes, she did, but no one had forced Cally to marry Valerian Hawkesworth. She had taken one look at his handsome face, considered the elevated social position she would attain, and agreed. I will not accept responsibility for my sister’s unhappiness, Aurora decided.
That still left the problem of why she kept seeing Hawkesworth’s face in her daydreams, even when she was contemplating the deliciously sensual St. John. Both were tall and lean. St. John had an attractive face with good features, but Valerian was extremely handsome, his face a combination of angles and planes. This is ridiculous, Aurora thought. It makes no difference what they look like. That cannot be the reason that I keep imagining Valerian instead of St. John in my dreams. Yet, I am not aware that I feel anything for the duke but irritation. I do not think I have ever met any man who so annoyed me. That is not love. Even with my inexperience I am wise enough to know that. I don’t know why I keep thinking of him, but I will not do it any longer. I will not! It is disloyal to my dear St. John. George is wrong. St. John does love me. I am certain of it. Did he not say he had never felt for any woman what he felt for me? It must be love, and I will not allow Valerian Hawkesworth to spoil my happiness. I won’t!
Chapter 10
George Spencer-Kimberly and Miss Elizabeth Bowen were married on the thirtieth of October. It was a bright and crisp afternoon. The villagers had gathered outside St. Anne’s to catch a glimpse of the bridal party. It was almost like family, for the Bowens had lived in Farminster for eleven generations, and there were several of those standing in the crowd who had not only seen Betsy Bowen grow up, but her father, Sir Ronald, as well.
It was a small affair with only close friends and nearby family invited. Almost everyone was known to the villagers. The bridegroom arrived on horseback with Mr. St. John and the duke. The ducal coach stopped directly before the church path to debark the old dowager, quite regal in burgundy velvet trimmed in beaver. Her snowy hair was piled high and had two fine plumes in it. Miss Spencer-Kimberly followed the dowager, quite pretty in dark green velvet, her ringlets bobbing. But then, to the onlookers’ surprise, an open sedan chair was brought up to the coach and the young duchess was helped out and into the conveyance that was then carried into the church.
“She don’t look good,” an anonymous voice in the crowd said.
The dowager’s sharp eyes swept the crowd for the speaker, but suddenly all was quiet. Linking her arm into Aurora’s, they proceeded into St. Anne’s. Inside, the church was filled with an air of expectancy. The midafternoon sun streamed through the stained glass windows, casting multicolored shadows on the oaken pews and stone floors. Fine white linen and autumn flowers adorned the altar with its gold candlesticks containing pure beeswax tapers. The two women proceeded to the front ducal pew and settled themselves. Calandra’s sedan chair had been set in front of the pew so she might see everything from the best possible vantage point. St. John joined them, a quick smile on his lips as he greeted Cally, the dowager, and Aurora. The duke was to act as George’s best man.
Lady Elsie nodded to them from across the aisle. Her eyes were red from weeping, and she clutched a sodden handkerchief. Her look was so woeful that the dowager leaned over, whispering softly to Aurora, “You would think her daughter were being forced into marriage with a monster, the silly woman!” Before Aurora might reply, however, the organ began to play a stately anthem, and the congregation arose to watch as the wedding ceremony began.
From the sacristy the bridegroom and the duke came forth to await the bride. Down the aisle tripped Misses Isabelle, Suzanne, Caroline, and Maryanne Bowen in yellow and white striped gowns, wreaths of late yellow roses in their hair. Now came Master William Bowen, aged ten, escorting the bride, who was radiant in her creamy taffeta gown with painted blue forget-me-nots, her hair piled atop her head, dressed with silk flowers and strings of pearls and lightly powdered. And awaiting them before the altar with George and the duke was the bride’s father, who would marry the couple.
The ceremony was elegant yet simple. It was only the second wedding she had ever attended, Aurora thought as she watched her brother and his glowing bride. The church was peaceful, and it all seemed so right. How different it was from Cally’s wedding in the hallway of the plantation house on that long-ago early spring day. Perhaps with God’s blessing George’s marriage would be a happier one than Cally’s. Aurora hoped so with all her heart, but then, she knew Betsy and her brother would be happy. They already were, and it could only get better between them as the years went by because they were so well suited.
The newlyweds came down the aisle, smiling, the service over, their union formalized. They walked from the church to the cheers and good wishes of the villagers, the rest of the wedding party, and the guests following behind them to the vicarage, which was located on the other side of the churchyard. Aurora walked next to her sister, who despite her sedan chair looked exceedingly uncomfortable.
“Are you all right?” Aurora asked.
“How could I be all right with this creature inside me?” Cally grumbled irritably. “Having to sit like this is horrible, and I can only imagine that I look a fright!”
“You can recline on a settee at the vicarage,” Aurora said soothingly. “George and Betsy are so happy that you made the effort to come to the wedding, Cally.”
“Why does George have to leave us?” Cally whined. “I don’t want him to go, Aurora. I am afraid without George.”
“That is so much nonsense, Cally,” her sister chided her. “You were without George all those months before we arrived in England. And you know why George is going. He must run the plantation. Besides, do you want Mama left alone forever on St. Timothy?”
“I wish I could go with him,” Cally whispered. “I wish it were two years ago, that Papa were alive, and we had never heard of Valerian Hawkesworth! If I had only known, Aurora, I would not have agreed to marry him. What if this creature I carry is not the son he wants? Then it will begin all over again, and I do not believe I could bear it!” Her voice had begun to have a hysterical edge to it.
“Calm yourself, Cally,” Aurora said sternly. “This is our brother’s wedding day. It is a happy time, and I will not have you spoiling it with an attack of the vapors! You will put a smile on your face, and you will speak politely with all who greet you. If you do not, I shall convince St. John, and believe me it will take little effort, to elope immediately, and I will leave you!
You will not enjoy being alone with your dark thoughts and bad temper, I promise you!”
Calandra’s defiance crumbled in the face of her sister’s threat. She forced a wan smile onto her face. “You are hard,” she murmured.
The front and rear drawing rooms of the vicarage were decorated with autumn flowers and branches of colored leaves and evergreens. Here the bride and groom received their guests and the many congratulations offered them. In the dining room the table was set with antique Irish linen and lace, silver candelabra, a silver bowl of late roses, and the bride’s cake in the center of the table. There was champagne served from the duke’s own cellars. Sir Ronald, a man of modest means, was extremely grateful for the Hawkesworths’ generosity. A usually reserved man, he was expansive today in his delight over his daughter’s excellent marriage. Betsy’s union now joined his family in a tenuous marital connection with the Hawkesworths. This meant that he might seek just a bit higher for his other girls.
The wedding cake was cut, served, and eaten. The toasts were drunk to the couple’s good fortune and happiness. Betsy discreetly hurried upstairs to remove her bridal finery and get into her traveling costume, aided by her sisters and her still-weepy mother. George was also nowhere to be seen, having gone to change from his satin breeches into something more practical for the road. The young couple would spend the next few days upon the road, making their way to London, and the vessel that would take them to St. Timothy.
Again Valerian Hawkesworth had shown an openhanded munificence. George and his bride would travel in the duke’s large traveling coach. A baggage wagon would follow, overseen by Wickham and Betsy’s maid. The newlyweds would spend three days in London at Farminster House before boarding the Royal George for their trip to St. Timothy. The duke had paid the first-class passage for the bridal couple so they might travel in the utmost comfort and privacy on this, their honeymoon voyage.
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