“I would do it gladly. If you'll allow me,” he answered, his hazel eyes shining. “Of course, you’d have to give up these apartments.”
Suddenly, all of Brian’s concern and kindness took on a new meaning. “I love you,” Brian said, confirming Arden's realization. “I know you don’t love me,” he continued, “and if you want, it can be just for respectability. I know I can’t provide for you like Lord Robert, but if you want to bear your child in the honorable state of matrimony, I’m your man, Arden. I want to do this. Please say yes.”
Relief flooded Arden as she granted her friend’s request. After he left for the evening, Bonnie went to her little room to sleep. Arden, now alone, could not push either pair of eyes from her mind: Brian’s honest, hopeful hazel ones, nor the passionate, smoldering black ones of Lord Robert.
Chapter Fourteen
The day after Arden accepted Brian’s proposal, she moved back into her old room at the Davenants’ house. She also returned the purse of money to Peter Shire’s offices, and gave him notice she had vacated the apartments Lord Robert had provided. Arden told him her “agreement” with Lord Robert had now formally terminated, and she even told him why. She had expected all manner of impertinent remarks and outright taunts from the solicitor, but received none. Shire took the purse back quietly, and in Arden’s last backward glance at him, appeared visibly relieved. Why? What kind of threat could she possibly be? Maybe he was one of those men, like Brian had hinted. But even so, he’d need more than her absence to ever gain joy of Courtenay himself. He was obviously not to Lord Robert’s taste.
When she had resettled herself at the Davenants―who proclaimed their joy at the news of the impending marriage, with much cheering from multiple little boys―Arden invited Brian up to her room. Much needed to be discussed and agreed upon.
“Brian,” Arden began, leaning against her bed when he took the chair she insisted upon. “I thank you again for your kind offer. But we have to come to some understandings.”
“Anything you wish, Arden,” said Brian softly.
“You said you love me, but this could be a marriage of mere respectability if I wanted.”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“Well, I don’t want it, unless you do,” Arden announced. “I won’t have you marry unless it is to be a real marriage. I can’t ask that kind of falseness from you―unless, of course, that’s what you desire. I’d never expect you to bother a woman you didn’t want to.”
“Oh, I want to,” Brian assured her, flushing. “Arden, do you mean it?” he demanded, springing from his chair and throwing his arms around her. “Can I even hope you could love me, too?”
“How could I not love you?” Arden smiled. An inner voice, however, whispered “love Brian you might, but it will never be the same as loving Lord Robert.” She didn’t have the heart to tell Brian about the voice. Instead she allowed him to initiate their first kiss, a kiss he had not taken until knowing her will. Though Arden liked Brian's kiss, though it made her warm and happy, she could not but compare it to Lord Robert's. Brian had decidedly less experience, but this did not necessarily make him inferior. His kiss proved sweet and enthusiastic, tender yet hungry. Arden allowed her lips to part, and Brian knew what to do. Arden was not alarmed in the least when the hand caressing her cheek lowered itself to her breast.
Brian alarmed himself, however. He drew back not only his hand but broke the seal of their lips as well. “I’m sorry, Arden, dear. I did not mean to dishonor you,” he said.
“But I’ve been dishonored already,” Arden chuckled.
The seriousness in his long-lashed hazel eyes cut her laughter dead. “All the more reason I should not,” he told her. “Arden West, I vow this to you. You will have one man who will treat you with the respect and love you deserve, and that man will be your husband,” Brian finished.
“Then you could never dishonor me, Brian,” said Arden. Fighting tears, she kissed him again. “What I ever did, to deserve a friend like you—”
“Must have been the same thing I did, to deserve such a fine lady,” interrupted Brian. His face, alight with more wild joy than Arden had ever seen before, stirred awe in her. How could betrothal to a used hussy pregnant with another man’s bastard bring out such emotion in him? I will deserve him, Arden vowed, and I will never do anything to cause him pain. At least, no more than what’s already done and can’t be changed.
“Arden, dear,” Brian said, “now that you give me the gift of a true marriage, I must ask you for another gift. Of course we will wed in the Church of England, to be legal and proper, but will you do me the honor of letting Father Fernaut wed us, too? I won’t feel entirely right, otherwise.”
Arden had seen mixed marriages back home, though, and she knew the easiest procedure. “No, Brian, Father Fernaut will be enough for me. We will simply give the priest of St. Giles-in-the-Fields a large enough donation to persuade him to register our marriage in his parish records,” she replied.
Arden did not consider her condition an urgent enough reason to speed Father Fernaut’s monthly visit. The priest could conveniently perform the Catholic ceremony after he had ministered to the needs of his other parishioners. Neither she nor Brian wanted to wait for yet another of Father Fernaut’s visits, however. Thus the pair had less than a month to prepare for their wedding. Since Arden no longer had Courtenay’s support, they could not afford to make it a grand affair. But Madame Davenant promised to help the couple make things as pleasant and as elegant as could be done cheaply. She offered to let Arden borrow a gown the young actress had often admired―a deep green silk with panel inserts of pale lilac that ballooned extravagantly out from the waist. A bit too large in the bodice, though Arden wondered how large it would seem in a month. On tall Arden, the dress didn’t have the appropriate length, and exposed her shoes and ankles. Madame insisted Arden alter it, but Arden was equally insistent that Madame be able to wear it again with minimal fuss. They would pin it in the back―Arden didn’t think she’d expand that much before the wedding. As for the length, Arden assured Madame that dancing afterwards would prove much easier without the usual excess fabric to trip her up.
Meanwhile, Arden struggled through her performances. Though she did not show yet, she thought her face and hands puffy enough to be a perfect bloated drowning victim in Hamlet. In another play, she rushed retching from the stage in the middle of the action―fortunately, it was a comedy. Her opposite player described, albeit in bright, witty language, a grisly carriage accident. The audience thought Arden’s discomfort a clever pantomime and mad applause followed her into the wings.
Arden and Brian made plans for their life after the wedding, as well. After Brian objected to Arden parting with any more of her diamond jewelry, the actress gave Bonnie the option of finding a new position or staying on with no wage but room and board.
“Oh, I shall stay with you, Arden,” Brian’s cousin replied. “Gleanings may be sparse at present, but I bet you and Brian will come out on top one day, and be fabulously rich. And I’m sure you’ll reward loyal service then.”
Her faith provoked Arden’s merry laughter. “Well, I hope you are correct about the wealth,” she replied. “You are definitely right about rewards for loyal service, if the means exist.” Bonnie would sleep in one of the Davenants’ cleared-out closets until the wedding. Afterwards, the Davenants promised a bigger bed in Arden’s room as a wedding gift―Bonnie would then move into Brian’s old room. Her board would come out of both Brian and Arden’s salaries, but Sir William added enough to both of these so that they did not miss Bonnie’s keep. “After all,” he said gruffly when Brian and Arden thanked him, “the two of you will have a family soon.” The Davenants had been apprised of Arden’s condition. That Brian had not actually caused it never seemed to merit mention by either couple.
Brian suggested they should move to the country when Arden became too large to work. “My family has a middling-sized freehold sheep farm in Oxfordshire,” he to
ld his intended. “They can always use an extra hand about the place, and Bonnie’ll be welcome, too.”
“You can’t mean to give up murdering the Bard,” protested Arden. “Whatever for?”
“London is nasty in the summer, Arden. All sorts of illness and plague running riot. Not the place at all for an expectant mother. And the people in the farm next to ours? Well, they are Quakers, but they’re a good sort, and the mistress is a competent midwife.”
“But what about your work?” Arden repeated.
“Davenant can scrape along himself, or find another lad to help him until we come back. We will come back, as long as you don’t take so well to living in the country that you don’t wish to leave.”
“I don’t think you need fear on that account,” Arden said dryly.
“Besides,” Brian confided, “I can work on my own play in Oxfordshire, and maybe it’ll be finished by the time we’re ready to return.”
“All right, then,” Arden agreed. “As long as there’s benefit to you, as well as to me.”
“And the child,” said Brian softly. Arden could not help smiling at the tenderness with which he stroked her ever-so-slightly rounding abdomen. What should have caused Brian regret only provoked love from him.
*****
Following the last performance before the wedding, Arden washed the heavy makeup from her face and loosened the strings of her gown’s bodice. She flung her cape over her back, then steadied herself as the sudden movement brought a wave of nausea lapping over her. How much luncheon could a girl lose in one day? That she’d already emptied herself a few minutes ago helped fight the urge more than any great power of physical control. The last actress out of the dressing room, Arden finally entered the common area in search of Brian. She found him seated at a far table―a lone male surrounded by many of the actresses of the company. The deep red blush on his face attracted her attention from across the room.
Arden quietly followed the wall until she could approach the gathering from behind Brian. She stepped softly. A few actresses noticed her, their variously-colored eyes growing bright with fun, but they did not otherwise betray her presence. As she moved closer, Arden heard the famed Kitty Brinks expounding, sotto voce:
“Be sure you warm her up first, luv. A lady likes her titties played with a bit before you stick it in.” With more strength than it had taken to overcome her nausea, Arden managed to halt a squeaky giggle attempting to pass her lips. Kitty had a coarse enough turn of phrase, but so far Arden could not fault her basic line of reasoning.
“And licking. Licking helps a great deal,” added another of Arden and Brian’s colleagues.
“You mean—?” asked Brian, gesturing at the general vicinity of his chest as the fire in his face rose higher.
“Well, that’s nice, too,” answered Kitty. “But I think she meant a mite lower, didn’t you, Francy?” The actress in question vigorously nodded her agreement, practically wriggling off her stool in her vehemence.
“What makes you think Brian needs this sort of advice, ladies?” asked Arden, still struggling to suppress her laughter. Plus, the conversation produced entirely inappropriate recollections of Robert Courtenay.
At the sound of Arden’s voice, Brian’s head turned so fast she thought it might snap from his neck. She had thought further roseation of his countenance impossible. She had erred. Mistress Brinks, however, lost not a smidgen of her own composure. “Because he asked for it, luv,” she answered Arden.
The walk home with Brian began in unusual silence. Arden longed to tell him not to worry, everything would come naturally, but she didn’t want to embarrass him further. Besides, she busied herself with stern self-admonitions that she must not entertain images of the magic Lord Robert had wrought upon and within her body. No! Instead, remember him as the rake who left you pregnant, not even willing to allow the child’s birth. Don’t think of him whenever there is lewd talk. Think of him when you are bent over the chamber pot, retching up your dinner.
With this thought, Arden blindly reached out her hand to her fiancé. Brian started at first, then accepted it gratefully, squeezing it. Then the words came rushing. “Arden, I didn’t mean to be unfaithful—”
“What?” Arden asked, pulling her hand away. “You mean you took one of them, while I finished the last act? The conversation was commentary on your actual performance?” She did not believe it, but who knew how far he would go, thinking to please her?
“Oh, no! Arden, love, how could you even—!” Brian dropped to her feet, necessitating a halt. “I mean, unfaithful even for speaking of such matters with other women.” Arden let her breath out, not realizing she’d been holding it. “I couldn’t confess my ignorance to any of the actors,” Brian continued. “Besides, I wanted to make you happy, and I thought, ‘who would know best what pleases a woman but women?’”
The hazel eyes gazing up at her glistened earnestly in the torchlight, and Arden’s heart constricted in her chest. “Oh, Brian,” she whispered. She offered her hand again, pulling the young man to his feet. Oh, Brian, if you had taken one of them, at least we would be even. But then you would not be Brian. Aloud, Arden asked: “What monumental thing is it that you think you must do to please me? You love me, you want to marry me. What could please me more than that?”
“But—”
Arden knew Brian’s “but” was Lord Robert, and she stopped him before he could express it. “But nothing,” she countered, placing a finger to his lips. The hairs of his mustache bristled against her skin. “The rest is easy and natural. You will see. Tomorrow night.”
Chapter Fifteen
Father Fernaut had arrived by the time Arden and Brian returned to the Davenant house. The priest counseled both future partners. When Arden’s turn came, the priest sat down in her room and informed her of the accommodations she must make to be allowed to marry a Catholic. Any children of the union must be baptized Catholic, and brought up in that faith. Arden agreed easily. After all, Courtenay shared Papism as well, and would want his child raised accordingly. If, indeed, he had to have a child at all. Besides, Arden knew one could do little to change an individual conscience. While upbringing swayed the odds in favor of a certain faith, the ultimate decision lay with the soul in question. Her children, Lord Robert’s or Brian’s, would be what they would. And though many in England seemed to forget it, Catholics and Anglicans did worship the same God.
“Now, I know mademoiselle is not Catholic,” Father Fernaut began, after the matter of future children had been settled. “But I have confessed Brian, and I would offer you the same comfort. I do not see the harm, and it would help you go to your wedding with clarity and peace.”
“You may be right, Father,” Arden acknowledged. “But I don’t know how to begin. Will you help me, please?”
“Do you scruple to kneel, my child?”
“No, my family was High Church before the advent of my Puritan stepfather,” Arden replied, quickly shifting to kneel beside the priest’s chair.
“Good,” Father Fernaut murmured, smoothing the silken dark hair on top of her head. “As for the rest, I don’t think we need adhere to the formalities, since you are not of our faith. I think kneeling sharpens our attention to God. Beyond that, just offer up anything that troubles you, mon cherie.”
Arden took a deep breath and sighed, beginning. “I am pregnant, Father Fernaut.” She thought perhaps she should keep her eyes closed, but she could not help looking up at the priest. No surprise marked his visage―Brian had apparently discussed similar matters.
“Brian is not the father,” Arden continued. “Lord Robert Courtenay is.”
“Does Lord Robert know?” asked Father Fernaut. Arden had hit unexplored territory.
Even confessing to his priest, Brian had thought to shield her from the shame of carrying one man’s baby while marrying another. But perhaps he’d been trying to shield his own shame as well. Perhaps she shouldn’t have foiled his efforts.
Answering the
priest, Arden related the devastating encounter she’d had with Peter Shire. “But what remains, Father,” she said, after explaining Courtenay’s lack of involvement, “is that I feel so unworthy of Brian. How do I do penance, how do I repay him for claiming another man’s bastard as his own? What can I offer him that compares with his rescuing me from such a horrible choice?”
The priest’s blue eyes reminded Arden of the ponds near her old home, peaceful and welcoming. But the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting merriment. “Well, mademoiselle, if you wish to make a grand gesture, I’m sure Brian would be quite pleased if you converted.”
Before Arden could make a coherent response, however, Father Fernaut repented of his jest. “Of course, if it were truly in your heart, I’d be happy to assist you. But I think there is no need―as far as the debt you own your soon-to-be husband. Your repentance in this is a simple matter. I hope, for your sake, it will be a pleasant one. All you need do, mon cherie, is resolve to love him, and make him happy. Teach this child―and all the others after―to revere and love him as you do. Brian will thus be well repaid for his kindness.”
Arden sincerely hoped the priest was right. She had reason to hope, because he had at least been correct about the virtues of confession. She slept peacefully the night before her wedding.
*****
The rain came as Arden slept, and lasted throughout the morning. She stared out her window at seeming sheets of water as she breakfasted alone in her room. She saw more rain following her long, scented bath as Bonnie brushed her mahogany hair to a brilliant sheen. The servant, soon to be Arden’s cousin, fastened the veil to the cascading dark magnificence framing her face. Hair down and glorious―the traditional manner in which maidens went to wed. The pretense troubled Arden, but then, appearing the brazen strumpet would shame Brian more, would it not?
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