by Janet Woods
Next the gown. It was a drift of pale lavender silk over layers of tulle petticoats. The gown was simple, the lace shawl neckline falling over narrow sleeves tapering to a puff at the wrist. The veil was a cascade of lilac silk drifting like mist from a tiara of white silk flowers worn high on the crown of her head. The same flowers decorated the hem of the veil as it spiralled to below the waist line.
Siana would look like a beautiful water sprite and, although Elizabeth had instructed Edward to wear a lilac waistcoat and stock, it was the only hint he would get of the vision to be presented to him at the church.
He had sent his carriage and an escort for them. It had arrived the night before. The coach gleamed. The escort and driver would wear full livery for the occasion, the horses would wear white plumes on their heads and halters of flowers would be placed around their necks before they reached the church.
Josh would escort his sister into the church. No longer a child but not yet a man, he would be uncomfortable in his suit of fine clothes and self-conscious in the role as he gave his sister to a man who’d flayed the skin from his back. He’d stood his ground over that, determined to act his part, as was his right. Siana had backed Josh against Edward’s wishes – a decision in which the groom had indulged her.
Siana gave a sigh and turned over. A soft breeze billowed the curtains into the room and the air smelled of hawthorn blossom. It was a well-behaved day, appropriate for a wedding, Elizabeth thought as church bells began to peal in the distance.
Gruffydd Evans was feeling stronger and was allowed out of bed for short periods of time now.
Today, he had the strength to struggle into his clothes, now clean and repaired by the nimble fingers of the good Mrs Leeman. He pulled on the new boots supplied by Reverend White, then he removed them because they pinched his toes. He didn’t need them anyway.
His long beard was white and clean, free of tangles because the housekeeper had given him a brush made of bristles to keep it groomed with. He also smelled clean, as though the sin had been washed from his body, if not his soul.
There had been much activity at the church for two days now. Women had gone in and out with buckets and cloths. Windows had been polished to a high shine. Armloads of flowers and garlands had been carried in.
The local squire was taking a bride for himself, it seemed.
Reverend White walked around muttering to himself as he practised the service of marriage, using different inflections until, to Gruffydd’s ear, it sounded too perfect to be heartfelt. Mrs Leeman, wearing a wide smile, had asked him just ten minutes earlier if he thought her hat was becoming.
‘It’s a wonderful creation of a hat for the first Sunday of May and, surely to goodness, God’s creatures will smile on you,’ he told her. And indeed, it was a wonderful hat, decorated as it was with a pair of humming birds, wings outstretched and nesting on a drift of dried white heather for luck.
Mrs Leeman smiled, dismissing his extravagant compliment, but pleased by it nevertheless. ‘’Tis only a simple hat. Someone will be along later to give you your dinner. Annie, it is. Her who helps out with the cleaning. Not that she’s much good at it, mind, so I have to keep going over it after her. Not like young Siana Lewis. She was thorough.’ The humming birds sprang about in agitation as she bobbed her head and said almost to herself, ‘And to think she be marrying the squire now . . . fancy.’
Gruffydd’s ears pricked up. A peasant marrying the gentry, is it? And one with a Welsh name. Siana Lewis, was it? Now, that was interesting. Very interesting indeed, he thought as he positioned himself behind the lace curtain.
Villagers were gathering outside the church now, the women with children on their hips, chattering and laughing. Carriages began to line the lane. Men strutted about, confident-looking in peacock clothes. Women swayed gracefully, their waists like stalks, their hats blooming into flowers atop their heads.
‘Ah, the vanity of it all,’ he whispered, watching Mrs Leeman march through them all, her humming birds bobbing iridescently as if they were trying to launch themselves into the air.
Gruffydd did so love a wedding, and this one seemed especially interesting. He went downstairs, his legs wobbling from the unaccustomed exercise. His cane took his weight as he let himself out and carefully moved towards the small door at the back of the church, enjoying the feel of the dirt and grass beneath his feet.
The gravestones glistened bone white in the sun. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. He passed the grave of Megan and Bill Skinner and their newly born son, locked six feet under in a grisly embrace. The world was renewing itself, and that was how it should be, he thought, as he let himself into the church.
The eyes of Jesus gazed at him from the cross, accusing him.
The reverend was on his knees. ‘May the sinners repent and find salvation in your house, Lord.’
Amen, Gruffydd thought as he slipped past him. Climbing a short set of stairs, he crawled under a curtain into the pulpit, where he sat on the floor and stared through the lacework of the carving.
The church began to fill up.
Siana was trembling as they approached the church. She felt different today, as if another person lived inside her skin.
‘A right pair of toffs we be,’ Josh said, making her smile.
Elizabeth, dressed in a soft cream ensemble, alighted first. After arranging the skirt of Siana’s gown for the umpteenth time, she kissed her on the cheek and proceeded into the church, slipping into a back pew, where Daisy was seated with the maid, Rosie, in case her teething problems made her fretful.
Siana saw the usher inside the door signal to someone.
‘You can always change your mind,’ Josh said quietly. ‘I be making enough to keep us now if we was careful, I reckon.’
She gave him a quick hug. ‘Don’t talk daft, our Josh.’
‘I reckon our mam would be right proud of you this day.’
‘I reckon she would be proud of us both, Josh Skinner. You look like a dandy, that you do. A right handsome devil too. The girls will be after you like a flock of seagulls in a couple of years.’
‘That’ll make me feel a flaming twerp.’ He ran a finger round his shirt collar, easing it away from his neck, then offered her his arm and said gruffly, ‘Come on, girl, the sooner you be turned into Lady Forbes the sooner I can go home.’
There was a collective intake of breath as they proceeded down the aisle. Siana hoped her legs would carry her all the way to Edward, who stood in solitary splendour waiting for her.
The enormity and solemnity of this moment suddenly occurred to her and she hesitated, but Edward had such a tender smile on his lips that she was filled to the brim with courage. What he had told her had become reality. Not many men in his position would take a girl like her in marriage. He truly loved her, and she was humbled by the knowledge.
Then she was by his side, her hand safely clasped in his, and the words were being said that would bind them together as husband and wife.
‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . .’
Gruffydd gazed at the bride, entranced. She had flowers in her hair, like those Megan Lewis had worn. But this was not Megan Lewis. The girl was too young. This was Megan’s child. This was the fruit of his loins – his sin.
But what was she doing, tying herself to a man old enough to be her father?
‘I require you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed . . .’
Gruffydd whimpered as the pain in his chest came.
‘. . . that if either of you knows any impediment why ye may not be joined in matrimony, ye do now confess it . . .’
The preacher rose, his arms raised high. His voice rang out. ‘I confess before the Lord to the sin of fornication. I was tempted by the pagan woman and the result stands before the altar. All bear witness that Siana Lewis is my daughter. To a
tone for her mother’s wantonness, she must remain pure in body and heart. I will not allow her to marry this man, who looks upon her with lust in his heart.’
There was not a sound as everyone gazed at him. Power came, first filling his chest and arms, then his whole body, with a pain so great it was hard not to gasp as he embraced it.
Peace and forgiveness came in a shining white light. He toppled forward.
From the very back of the church, Mrs Leeman cried out as Gruffydd Evans landed at Siana’s feet. He was face down, his arms outstretched as if worshipping her. Had Siana but known it, the soles of his feet were sad-looking, dusty and callused from the miles they’d tramped to find her.
Giving a startled gasp, she was about to kneel to assist the man when Edward’s hand closed under her elbow, preventing it. He turned to beckon to Francis.
Francis stepped forward, felt for the man’s pulse and shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘His heart is beating strongly enough. A seizure of some sort, brought on by the excitations of Reverend White’s sermonizing, no doubt.’
Siana couldn’t quite stifle a giggle at Francis’s words.
‘Have him removed,’ Edward said calmly.
She whispered, ‘He said he was my father?’
Edward frowned as two men stepped forward to carry the body away. ‘The man was obviously deranged.’
Siana gazed at Richard White. ‘Do you know what his name is?’
In his church, in front of the altar, before his God and his congregation, and especially before his benefactor, who was frowning ominously now, Richard White lied. ‘He was but a poor wandering soul I gave sustenance to.’
Edward’s brow cleared. ‘Good man. Let us proceed with the ceremony, shall we?’
Richard cleared his throat.
‘Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?’
Edward answered firmly. ‘I will.’
18
The last carriage had gone. Outside, the flares illuminating the carriageway were sputtering out one by one. The last guest had departed.
The reception had been beyond Siana’s expectations, with dancing and food fit for a queen. Francis had partnered her in a dance, but it was not the Francis she’d always known. This was a stiff and formal man, who wouldn’t quite meet her eye and called her ‘my lady’ in a mocking tone that made her aware of her humble background. Above all else, that made her ache with the wound of it, for she knew she’d somehow lost his friendship.
Elizabeth had not attended the reception, neither had Josh. They’d left her to her new life, cut her adrift in a sea of strangers, there to float or to sink. During the evening she’d maintained a confident façade she didn’t feel, to earn the approval of Edward, her husband. She’d felt the weight of his eyes following her, watching her performance. His expression every time they exchanged a glance signalled either his approval or his disapproval. It had been a nerve-racking time.
Now she was waiting. Waiting for what? His pleasure? How did real ladies behave? Should she ring for a maid . . . did she even have one? Perhaps she should undress and get into bed? That thought alone made her blush. He might think that too forward. She would wait, she decided – wait for Edward to tell her what to do.
Siana was alone in a room of splendid proportions. Several candles were arranged in groups of softly-coloured glass holders. Their gentle glow reached out to all the corners of the room. The chamber was decorated in the softest of lilacs, the bed and window hangings were of embossed brocade threaded through with silver.
There was a large cupboard in which her gowns were already laid flat, in possession of the many sliding trays. They slept on their backs, elegant and empty. How pretty they were, though. How expensive. The cost of any one of them would have kept a labourer’s family in food for several weeks.
The dressing table contained perfume and cosmetic creams. There were silver-backed brushes, a comb and hand mirror, already monogrammed with her new initials. Her new jewellery box, lacquered and inlaid with mother-of-pearl and decorated with ornate silver hinges, sat in solitary splendour. She flipped open the lid. Her diamond earrings and headband glittered coldly on a tray.
Her pearls were also there, cleaned and restrung, little incandescent moons. She picked them up, running their flawless perfection through her fingers. After that stupid, childish incident where she’d thrown them at Edward, they were still pure and unsullied. Like her.
Everything smelled new. The mattress awaited the imprint of her body, the pillows her head. The velvet on the chair was uncrushed. She sensed Elizabeth’s hand in the furnishing of this room. Lilac had always been Elizabeth’s favourite colour for her.
There was an atmosphere of sadness in the room, like a sigh of regret which had never been expended. It surrounded her, so that her skin absorbed it and it prickled just under the surface.
The silvered surface of the long mirror presented a bland reflection, another room captured inside. Siana moved towards it, gazing at her own reflection, pale and unsure. She seemed to be looking at someone else standing on the other side of the glass. She didn’t know this girl in her splendid gown, only the peasant child looking out through her eyes.
She gazed at the ring on her finger, two golden hands clasped for ever in a circle. She spread her fingers wide. Her hands were soft, the calluses of yesterday gone.
Opening a trunk, she took out her night attire and laid the voluminous white cotton nightdress and nightcap carefully on the bed.
Someone chuckled. She turned to find Edward standing at the open door to the adjoining room. Barefoot, he was dressed only in his trousers and his shirt, open at the neck. He carried two glasses filled with champagne.
A few steps brought him to stand in front of her. He gazed silently at her for a moment, then handed her a glass. ‘Your servant, Lady Forbes. Shall we drink a toast to a happy and fruitful marriage?’
The wine was delicious and she drank every drop. He’d hardly touched his when he set it down on a table. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her so gently she melted with the love she felt for him.
When he reached out to loosen the tiny buttons on her bodice, his lips brushed against her shoulders and he licked delicately at the rise of her breasts. Next the skirt and petticoat were discarded, his fingers sure on the fastenings when hers would have fumbled. He sucked in a deep breath and turned her round to face the mirror, his arms circling her from behind.
She gazed into the eyes of his reflection as he caressed her body, his fingertips sliding over the silk. Her heart was beating like a drum. The laces of her corset were loosened, the garment discarded. Her breasts sprang free, the nubs eager to harden and tingle against his palms.
Her breath shortened, becoming a little gasp of pleasure as his fingers slid inside the flap of her drawers to seek out the treasure they kept hidden. He smiled and gently bit her shoulder.
Siana hardly noticed when the drawers pooled around her ankles, when her chemise followed the drawers to reveal her in nothing but stockings and ribbon garters.
Behind her, Edward surged hard against the cleft in her buttocks. ‘How beautiful you are naked, my petite one.’ He pulled the combs from her hair and it tumbled to her waist in a gleaming dark torrent, releasing the perfume Elizabeth had touched against her scalp.
His hand moved against her, inside her, until she was slick and moist and her eyes were closed with the ecstasy of it. Her knees were weak with wanting . . . wanting . . . As they buckled he caught her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, throwing the night-dress and bonnet aside.
‘Hush,’ he said when she was about to speak, as he discarded his clothes and stood before her, proud in his manhood. She reached out to caress her finger gently against the silky skin.
He shudder
ed and fell to his knees. Cupping her feet in his hands, his lips found the soles and he gently bit each arch. As if a fuse had been lit, fire crackled up her legs to explode into flame in her pelvis. She no longer felt like being passive and gave a small gasp of pleasure and impatience.
Tangling hands in his hair, she dragged his head up. ‘I cannot accept all this pleasure and give nothing in return. What must I do?’
‘On this occasion, nothing, my darling. Just allow me to savour your enjoyment of this night when you become a woman.’ Lowering his head again, he kissed her stomach and thighs, and a moment later flicked his tongue in a flurry of the most intimate of caresses.
Her pelvis arched and her spine contracted as exquisite pleasure teased through her. Swiftly, he took advantage of her helpless state to slide up her stomach and pin her with his body.
Siana felt pain then. Everything in her was raw, and aroused to the point of acceptance. She was helpless, naked and throbbing, like a sacrifice spread out on an altar waiting for the knife to plunge and skewer her. She tensed, placing her hand against his chest to push him away and bring her thighs together.
He made a short, angry sound in his throat. His arm came under one of her knees, lifting it so it wouldn’t impede this first moment of his possession of her. She felt the power of his muscles as they bunched and tightened.
Her initial resistance was plundered by a firmly pressured thrust of possession that caused her to draw in a sharp breath. Then the disagreeable sensation was lost in wave upon wave of pleasure, until her mewing cries became a gasping surrender – until her senses were absorbed in the pummel and thrust of the urgency of his release.
They lay entwined for a short while, her face burrowed against his shoulder. Presently he lifted himself to one elbow and gazed at her. ‘Did I hurt you, my sweeting?’
‘Just a little . . . at first, but the pain was soon over.’
He nodded and smiled to himself, seemingly pleased by her admission.
