by Gail McEwen
After at least an hour of deliberation and still unable to come to an immediate solution that could be satisfactory to all parties, he and Mrs Tournier agreed to put the subject aside for the time being; she picked up her book again and he turned his attention back to his lovely, but now silently staring, beloved. As he sat watching her gaze thoughtfully at the passing scenery through the window glass, contemplating just how much he was looking forward to wedded bliss, and so quickly back to the same distressing dilemma as before, he felt a pair of sharp eyes peering over the book at him. He coughed, fidgeted, smiled sheepishly and turned his own attention out the window, and at the next roadside establishment they passed, rapped on the roof of the carriage with his walking stick.
His fiancée had not been very understanding of his sudden desire to hire a horse and ride ahead to secure lodgings on this last night before they were forced to part ways, and she made no secret of the fact. In fact, it seemed to him through their heated exchange of words while the horses were changed and he was procuring his own mount, that she was dissatisfied with his every gesture and word. The quarrel that took place out in the lawn before the tavern had not only attracted the amused attention of several other travellers, it also reinforced his desperate resolution that a separation was indeed for the best.
After securing three more than adequate rooms, and partaking of a warm meal and a hot bath, he felt much better, and when his carriage arrived, he greeted the occupants with equanimity.
His future bride met his greeting with a narrowed-eyed look of frustration.
“Well, I see you obviously have benefitted from our separation, my lord,” she said tartly. “You have me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid.”
Her mother gave her one exasperated look before she swept up the stairs to the building and away from the rush of horses, vehicles and traffic around them
“You need a bath,” she told her daughter, “though I might just take the opportunity of washing out your mouth myself!”
Baugham had the good sense to hide his amusement behind a wide-eyed incredulous look and said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” he said and then concentrated at drawing his betrothed away from the menacing movements of the horses and ostlers rushing around them. “I am a miserable traveller, but I should not have expected your sufferings to be considerably eased by just removing myself. I wish I could have made you fly.”
“Fly!”
Holly’s frustrations at having been forced to sit with all her objections and pent up frustrations for the better part of the afternoon came out in a disgusted cry. It now was impossible for his lordship to ignore it.
“You’re still upset with me.” Once again he was awarded with a disgusted noise. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He took her arm and gently steered her up to the front of the Inn. “Now about that bath . . . ”
Her eyes flew open. “Don’t tell me you’ve arranged that, too!”
“I’ve arranged it all. It is what we agreed, after all,” his lordship defended himself, not a little perplexed. “What? You don’t like to bathe?”
“It is what you agreed,” she retorted with a sigh. “I have scarcely been able to draw breath lately without something being agreed about me.”
His stare intensified and had she known him a little better there would have been enough warning signs in the way he looked at her to realise she had tread on sensitive matters.
“You resent my actions on your behalf?”
“Not really,” she muttered, fully aware she was pouting like a schoolgirl, but desperate to regain some control. It seemed she had given up every semblance of that in her life lately. Since agreeing so happily to marry him, so much was already being decided for her, she felt she was not her own mistress anymore — not of her feelings, her thoughts, her obligations . . . What would happen to her if she no longer could rule herself? Would she disappear behind a strange noble title and Holly would be no more? Would she be sent around to strange estates among strange people in strange carriages with or without her husband? Would she float away at the mercy of her husband, society, unknown persons and expectations, and be lost to herself for ever? Who would she be then? And would she become forever completely helpless?
“But,” she said hesitatingly, “there is so much! You have no idea! My whole life . . . and all in a short time . . . You and Maman in that carriage . . . it will all be gone and I don’t know . . . Oh, I suppose I am frightened!”
They stayed away from the door where people were walking in and out. Standing in the shade of a nook in the ancient building, Holly felt his arm settle lightly around her waist.
“Not of me, I hope.” There was a softness to his tone, and even a playfulness, that refuted any possibility of her being so, but this time it was evident from the way he looked at her that he was thinking of other things, too.
She stepped slightly away and fixed her gaze steadily on him.
“Of you most of all,” she admitted. A look of concern flashed across his face but she continued, “I am afraid of how very much you mean to me . . . the power you have even now over my heart and happiness and the power you will soon have over everything else. And when you plan out my future above my head as if I am not even there . . . it frightens me how willing I am to place everything I am in your hands and how little and how futilely I object.”
His first reaction was to protest, to question her trust in him and be hurt in the standard convention of lovers, but before the words reached his lips he realised that she was putting a name to the same fears that he, too, knew and struggled with. That she would look him in the eye and share those fears with him so plainly, spoke of more trust and love than he felt he had any right to expect. He reached out and lightly took her hand, brushing the twisted willow ring lightly with his thumb.
“You’re right. You will not regret it,” he promised, “I cannot swear that I will always be right or perfect, but if your heart and happiness are in my hands, they are also inescapably joined with my own, which are in yours. I think, I know, we will be very, very careful with each other, and therefore ourselves.”
He brought her hand to his lips and he saw her expression soften.
Both of them concentrated on that little piece of twisted wood, already so fragile and abused in love and affection.
“The willow ring stays?” he said.
“The willow ring stays,” she said firmly.
“Can I give you another one, too?”
“Another willow ring?”
He shrugged. “Or whatever material seems appropriate and is available.”
She suppressed a smile. “Oh, very well. As long as you stop speaking so harshly about Scottish weddings and embarrassing me with monetary details. I felt like you were going to put a price on my head next!”
“I’m sorry. Those matters are important, though.”
“But not in closed carriages.”
“No,” he conceded. “Now,” he said with a tender smile, “shall we venture back inside and see if we can’t make the most of this last evening together?”
LORD BAUGHAM WAS AS OBSESSED with horseflesh as the next typical gentleman, but his interest often took curious detours out to strange stables where he could chat with professional handlers, and quietly observe as they carried out the familiar, soothing rituals of caring for the dependable beasts. While waiting for his fellow travellers to take the baths he had so imperiously arranged for them, he walked up and down the stables at the back, paused to witness the dance of coordinated chaos as horses were changed and led away and then sat himself outside the inn to watch the busy road out of Nottingham gradually quiet down in the growing dusk of the early winter evening. Soon, there was nothing left to see. Even the dogs had gone home and the few people venturing out at all were bearing lights against the dark, even though it was barely dinnertime.
That thought awakened expectations in both his lordship’s stomach and mind, so he got up and sauntered back to the inn. With the last of the po
sts departed and most of the cold and weary travellers having retired to their well-earned rest for the night, the stately Clarion Inn was very quiet. There was sure to be more life in the taproom, but his lordship realised he was not in a taproom frame of mind since he was waiting for his bride-to-be and her mother to join him for dinner, so he hung about the stairs, at first politely answering inquiries and looks from staff and fellow inhabitants but soon growing restless and unable to ignore the growling noises from his stomach.
Then he heard a door close and footsteps in the gallery above his head; it surprised and pleased him to realise that, even in such a place, he immediately recognised to whom they belonged. He turned on his heel and took the first three stairs in one go on his way up the narrow stairwell to meet the one who was long overdue to spend her time with him.
The moment he set foot on the landing, he saw her disappear into her room. He walked down the hall and just as he reached the doorway, the door was flung open and he was face to face with a flurry of light coloured skirts and a whiff of a feminine smell he knew very well. Nearly losing his balance, he caught her in her rush, taking several steps forward to steady himself until he was pushed against the wall just inside her room with a bump. Not deterred in the least, he noticed to his delight he had caught hold of her around her waist and that she was leaning against his chest with only her shawl in a bundle between them.
“Oh!” she said faintly
“Well, oh, indeed!” he said and smilingly raised her up again, leaving the support of the wall behind him, but not loosening his grip one bit. “In a hurry somewhere, madam? I am, perhaps, in your way?”
A slow smile spread across her face. He was the last person she had expected to run into upstairs, but though she was very surprised, it was a most pleasant surprise.
“What are you doing up here? You should not be in here. I was coming down to meet you.”
“Too late,” he smiled slyly. “Too slow. I had to find you most urgently.”
With one hand still holding her shawl, she leaned into him and looked up into his face with an amused expression.
“Well, now you have found me. What do you intend to do with me?”
“Hm, well let me see . . . I could tease you with the fact that I have taken it upon myself to order your entire dinner for you and insist you come down to the dining room and eat it this instant. Or I could jealously ask you if you have made plans to escape my tyranny since you are clasping your outer garments so passionately to your person . . . Or I could begin the difficult work on trying to balance my faults with my virtues and keep you right where you are . . . ”
“Ye-es, you do have a great many faults for which to atone. Perhaps a recitation of your virtues would be beneficial to your cause.”
He tightened his hold on her just a little and was pleased to notice her breath quickening slightly and a faint blush creeping over her cheeks.
“On the other hand, actions speak louder than words. And, of course, if one would persuade, one must appeal to interest rather than intellect . . . ”
Giving him a look that could only be described as saucy, Holly tilted her chin up in playful defiance.
“I will have you know that I highly prize my intellect and I fail to see how a right and proper listing of your good qualities would fail to convince me.” Her smile turned sly, “And I’m sure I do not know what you mean when you accuse me of having interests.”
An overwhelming feeling welled up in him; he could not tell if it was love, appreciation or gratitude, or perhaps all three, but he delighted in the fact that she was there with him, alone and playful, yet without a hint of playing games.
“At this moment I find the thought of pursuing anything remotely intellectual, tedious in the extreme.” He leaned in closer. “As for your interests . . . perhaps you would allow me a small demonstration. I believe it will prove my point.”
And indeed his point was well made. There were a number of things she was suddenly very interested in — his arms, his hands, his mouth, his scent, his warmth, his ability to make her feel so completely out of control and beyond her own knowledge.
She lost her grip on the shawl as she wrapped her arms around his neck and it fell to the floor between them in a flutter. Neither of them paid it any attention. He walked her back against the wall and along with the hard panelling against her shoulders, she could feel him pressed against her on the other side, just as hard and unyielding — and yet she found she wanted to draw him even closer still. When his lips released hers and moved over her temple and down her cheek and over her ear, she moaned slightly and then gasped in surprise.
“Holly,” he murmured in her ear, his breath tickling her, his elbows moving to both sides of her head, leaning against the wall behind her. “Oh Holly . . . ”
“Yes,” she said without really understanding what she meant by saying it, but it was an answer to something and it came instinctively from deep within her. “I . . . yes . . . ”
He lifted his head and met her eyes. She was shocked by what she saw in them. His eyes, a dark violet with unimaginable storms raging behind them, bored into her and she almost lost her ability to breathe. In fact, she was distinctly short of breath and her body trembled with something . . . something deep within her spreading throughout her stomach, down to her legs, arms and finally head, making her eyes lose their focus and her cheeks flame with heat.
When he kissed her again, she did not even flinch when she opened up to him, so ready to have him come even closer, even further, even harder . . .
But then suddenly he broke off and she grabbed the lapels of his coat in desperation as he pulled back, certain she let out a cry as well. His breathing was rapid and harsh. His hands were on the wall behind her again and he held himself away from her.
“Oh Lord,” he said in a strangled voice. “This won’t do. It won’t do. I think I must go . . . ”
“No, don’t go. Please.” Struggling for control herself, Holly tried to speak evenly. “I am sorry. I should have . . . I should have not . . . ”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Holly,” Baugham took a step backwards and ran an agitated hand through his hair, “No shoulds, no should nots. My mistake, my fault . . . When you are this close, I lose all sense of myself. I lose all sense of anything but you . . . I should just leave now . . . ”
“No, you can’t. Please don’t leave like this. We’ll have dinner. We can walk down, talk, wait for Maman . . . ”
He looked at her smilingly, a little calmer.
“No, my dear. We cannot, you cannot, go in right now. Look at yourself.”
While she blushed, tugged, straightened and adjusted in front of the mirror, he looked up and down the hallway and tugged at his coat and waistcoat nervously.
“It really is quite a good thing I will go tomorrow,” he said quietly. “To Cheshire. It is no use, I cannot . . . We have some time yet to get through until we are married — everything must be done properly, arrangements, settlements, matters of great importance that I will not allow to be rushed or poorly done just because I cannot control . . . it has hardly been four days and look what I am doing. Look at what a desperate fool and graceless cad I am. It is your mother’s garden all over again . . . ”
She finished her adjustments and he held out his arm to her.
“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered, taking it cautiously and allowing him to lead her slowly down the stairs. “About now and . . . about earlier, when you left. I don’t want to lose my temper with you but when you . . . something just happens . . . ”
If she could have seen his face fixed on the stair ahead of them she might have felt slightly offended again, because Baugham indulged in a wide, impish grin.
“I know, my love, something does.”
“I suppose it is because you break through every wall I have built around me that I feel the need to defend myself, to lash out at you. In a good way, I mean.”
Baugham’s smile turned tender and he look
ed at his bride-to-be. “A very good way, love,” he said, addressing her in a soft voice. “You’ll see. All will be perfectly well. We will just have to wait a little while longer and I am certain that when we . . . get to know each other even better, everything will be just as it ought.”
“I do love you,” she muttered, “and I don’t understand why I should . . . ”
Baugham shushed her and in a quick gesture, just before rounding the last corner of the corridor, turned her chin upwards, kissing her soundly and holding on tightly to her elbows, both to keep her near and far enough. For now.
“But soon,” he said while looking down at the increasing floor space between them. “On St Thomas’ Day . . . my wife.” A smile spread across his face. “In everything and every way.” Only then did he dare look at her and she saw he was almost physically hurt with the effort he had just displayed.
“I cannot wait,” she whispered. “I . . . I want so very much to . . . ” she dropped her eyes, “In every way . . . ”
“I thought that was my confession to make,” he smiled impishly. “I very nearly did not just now . . . wait, that is. You are . . . you are all that I could wish for.”
She reached out her hand and he took it, once again putting it through his arm but keeping the distance between them. Holly looked at him awkwardly and he returned it with a sheepish smile. She was bewildered, disoriented and a bit short of breath.
“I think dinner,” he said gesturing towards the door to the dining room. “Don’t you?”
THEY WALKED THROUGH THE DOOR and found Mrs Tournier already seated at a table close to the fireplace. Her expression changed from irritation at being kept waiting to expectation when she noticed their entrance to curiosity upon their coming closer. She said nothing as Lord Baugham pulled out the chair for her daughter, but when they were both seated she noted dryly, “You were quite right in forgetting your shawl after all, my dear. I think even you will have to agree that his lordship did splendidly in his highhanded arrangements this evening, providing us with seats close to the warming fire.”
