by Wolf, Bree
To Christina’s dismay, her family was less convinced. Her father had told her in no uncertain terms that should she choose to end the engagement at any time, he would support her. She knew he wanted her to know that she had every option, that as soon as she had doubts, she was free to change her mind. Christina loved her father for his devotion and loyalty, but his own doubts also served to feed hers.
Because, of course, she had doubts. How could she not? Of course, there were moments when she worried she was making a monumental mistake. Still, whenever she thought of changing her mind, there was always something that held her back.
She could not quite say what it was, but it was enough to keep her from reconsidering.
Her sisters were no better, constantly urging her to think things through, to not rush into anything. Christina could see that they were worried; however, no objection they brought forth truly unsettled Christina.
Under the circumstances, she was thinking that she was walking into this marriage with her eyes wide open. Far more often than not, women did not know what would await them after their vows were spoken. With Mr. Sharpe, however, Christina believed to have a fairly accurate idea of what life with him would be like. Indeed, his character was not unlike her own. Perhaps that was why they managed to communicate with such ease.
Only Grandma Edie refrained from questioning Christina’s decision. Indeed, her grandmother said little on the subject. Every now and then, she would pat Christina’s hand, smile at her and assure her that all would be well.
It often seemed as though her grandmother knew more than everyone else. How that was possible she could not begin to fathom. However, over the course of her life, she had learned to trust her grandmother’s instincts. It seemed they were rarely wrong, and Christina drew strength from the certainty that lingered in her grandmother’s steady gaze.
Christina looked up as a knock sounded on her door. “Come in,” she called and set down her quill. She had been in the process of writing to her aunt in France, unable to find the right words, afraid that Aunt Francine would be disappointed in her. After all, her aunt had all but fled England, leaving behind a husband and her entire family, in order to be who she was.
“Do you have a moment?” Christina’s mother asked as she stepped over the threshold. A small smile lingered upon her soft features, and the hand that moved to close the door seemed to tremble ever so slightly.
“Of course, Mother.” Christina rose from her chair and moved over to meet her mother halfway. “Are you all right? You seem…unwell somehow.”
Her mother heaved a deep breath into her lungs before her hands reached out and grasped Christina’s. Yes, they were indeed trembling. “There is something I need to speak to you about.” Her words came fast, and yet Christina heard reluctance in her mother’s voice.
“Is it about Mr. Sharpe?” she inquired, surprised that her mother would seek her out now with barely a fortnight left before the very day. “Will you, too, urge me to reconsider?”
A warm smile came to her mother’s face, and the trembles in her hands ceased as she looked upon Christina, her eyes beginning to glow in a way they sometimes did when she looked upon one of her children. “You’ve become a most determined young woman,” she said rather quietly as though more to herself than Christina. “You know what you want, and you’re not afraid to go out into the world and claim it.” Her eyes settled upon Christina’s, truly seeing her now. “I am glad for it, but I also know that there is another side of the medallion for determination can often turn into stubbornness.”
Christina chuckled despite herself. “Are you calling me stubborn?”
Her mother sighed. “I am not certain. That is precisely why I’m here. I need to know why you chose to marry him. I’ve watched you most carefully, and I am uncertain whether you are simply determined to marry him because you genuinely want to or if you are too stubborn to change your mind because you believe you must not.” The question, daring and unwavering, lingered in her mother’s gaze as she looked at her daughter with those seeing eyes of hers. It was a way mothers often looked at their children as though they could see into their hearts no matter how hard their children tried to shield them.
Christina frowned, trying to ignore the soft shiver that snaked down her back. “I’m not certain I know what you speak of.”
Her mother’s hands clasped more tightly over her own. “Are you doing this for yourself? Or for Sarah?” Her brows rose meaningfully, letting her know without a doubt that she was well aware of the conflict that existed within Christina’s heart.
Christina heaved a deep sigh, wishing she did not have to defend her decision to her mother. Always had her mother had a way of reading between the lines and understanding with perfect clarity what it was Christina did not dare to admit to herself. “Does it matter? Does there need to be a difference? Perhaps I’m doing this for myself as well as her.”
“Are you?” her mother pressed, something determined in the way she looked at Christina. Or should it be called stubbornness instead? Where was the difference?
“Why don’t you tell me what objections you have?” Christina replied instead of answering her mother’s question, uncertain if whatever she might say would satisfy her mother. “Why is it that you do not want me to marry him?”
For a moment, her mother remained quiet. Then she inhaled a slow breath as though she needed strength for what she was about to say. “Come, sit with me.” Seating herself at the foot of Christina’s bed, she urged her daughter to sit down beside her.
Christina watched her mother carefully as moment after moment slowly ticked by. There was a hint of reluctance and perhaps a touch of mortification upon her mother’s face as she tried to find the right words to voice what was on her mind. Christina felt herself grow tenser with each moment that passed, beginning to get worried about what aspect of Mr. Sharpe’s character or perhaps of married life itself she had failed to consider.
After a small eternity, her mother finally spoke, her gaze now steady despite the hint of hesitation in her voice. “You may or may not be aware of this—perhaps you’ve already spoken to Louisa or Leonora—however, there are…certain intimacies shared between husband and wife that you need to consider.” Her mother swallowed, and Christina could not help but think that she was relieved to have said what she had.
Christina frowned. “What do you mean?” Of course, she had observed heated looks exchanged between spouses—or even strangers at a ball—as well as passionate embraces and the occasional kiss between her parents as well as her sisters and their husbands. What else was there?
From comments she had overheard here and there, Christina deduced that the marriage bed might be a somewhat different matter; however, would it not be the same no matter whom she married?
For a moment, her mother looked down at their linked hands and inhaled a deep breath. Then she looked up again, the look of hesitation once more upon her face. “My dear, you know that I love your father dearly and, therefore, of course, I do not mind the moments when he pulls me into his arms. Quite on the contrary, I cherish them.” A smile full of longing and joy came to her mother’s face that Christina felt her own heart skip a beat, a stab of envy distracting it from its normal rhythm. “I married him because I loved him, and I love him still. Every day is more beautiful because he is with me and I am with him.” Her mother’s hands no longer trembled but were warm and steady upon her own. “That is what marriage is supposed to be. I cannot imagine how it might feel if the person to pull me into his arms were someone I did not care for. I know that most marriages begin like that. It is the way of the world. However, I do not even want to contemplate such a life. I don’t want to live with a stranger, always finding myself tensing when he draws near. After all, who would feel comfortable sharing anything intimate with someone one does not hold to heart?”
Christina bowed her head as her mother’s words slowly sank in. The Whickertons marry for love. It was a family tradition, and q
uite obviously, it was one based on sound reasoning. The question was, did she care for Mr. Sharpe enough to feel comfortable with him?
Christina did not know. Although she did enjoy his company, she could not be certain how she would feel if he ever…kissed her. Embraced her. Admittedly, in the library, he had drawn close, remarkably close, and as far as Christina remembered, she had not been reluctant. Yes, her heart had hammered wildly in her chest, and yet it had not been out of reluctance, had it? In fact, she believed that she had been tempted in that moment. Did that mean she would feel comfortable being his wife…in every way?
Her mother’s hand squeezed hers. “I suggest you speak to your sisters.” A youthful smile came to her mother’s face. “After all, I am an old woman. I have been married for decades, and perhaps it would be more helpful for you to speak to someone who has only just started upon the journey you, too, are determined to embark upon. Ask them and hear their answers.” Her mother’s eyes became imploring. “There is no rush. Please, think this through for it cannot be undone once you have made your choice.”
Christina nodded, unable to utter a reply. Still, she had given her word, and the wedding was to take place in less than a fortnight. If she went back on her promise now, would she rob herself of her only chance to ever be married? Would this be the final scandal to ruin her family’s good name?
“Be absolutely certain of what you want, my dear,” her mother urged, something lingering in her gaze as though she, too, had once stood at the same fork in the road. “Marriage cannot be undone, and sometimes we find ourselves swept off our feet by a charming smile and kind words only to discover later that no true bond exists, especially not one that would last a lifetime.”
Christina looked more closely at her mother, feeling the sudden need to ask for more details, sensing that there was more her mother was not telling her. Still, whatever it was that lived in her mother’s past seemed well shielded, buried almost, and she knew that her questions would not be rewarded with answers.
“Speak to your sisters, please.”
Smiling at her mother, Christina nodded. “I will.” Perhaps it would be wise to do so. Of course, she had a fairly good idea of what Louisa and Leonora would say. Especially Leonora seemed terribly upset by the idea of Christina marrying Mr. Sharpe. After what her sister had been through, Christina was not genuinely truly surprised. Yes, Leonora had experienced forced intimacy with a stranger, and it had wounded her in ways Christina could not even begin to understand. Only her new husband’s kindness and patience had given her the strength to rise above and once again stand tall.
Yes, Christina thought. Perhaps it would be wise to speak to her sisters and find herself better prepared for what might await her.
Chapter Seventeen
A Well-Kept Secret
The world seemed aglow as the sun streamed in through the tall windows of the drawing room. Thorne stood with his hands linked behind his back, his gaze focused out at the grassy hills, the tall stalks swaying gently in the summer’s breeze. It was a peaceful view, calm and soothing, and he could imagine living his life out here. Was this the life his future bride had known since birth?
Thorne heaved a deep sigh, wishing that every child in the world could grow up in a place like this. A place full of warmth and kindness, full of space and endless horizons. A place filled with a loving family and guiding hands.
His own life, of course, had been far different from this magnificent place and all it promised, all it inspired. It had been cold and harsh and painful, and it was like that for countless other children all over the country. Never would they know the meaning of undisturbed sleep, of sweet dreams and wonderful awakenings. Too harsh was the reality they faced every day, and it was that thought that never failed to stir anger in Thorne’s heart. Yes, he had come to London to do something.
To accomplish something.
For them.
He needed to garner support and influence. New laws were needed. Laws that would require cotton mill owners to uphold safety measures and take health requirements into account.
That was why he was here.
Only ever since Thorne had laid eyes on Christina, a dormant part of him had reawakened. He could not even recall if that part had ever known life before. Perhaps as a child. Perhaps when his parents had still been alive.
It was a dream.
Hope.
Thorne sighed for although he knew his duty and responsibilities, he could no longer deny that all of a sudden there was something that he wanted.
For himself.
He wanted her.
He had wanted her from the first moment he had laid eyes upon her.
Still, it was not all that he wanted. He did not simply want her in his bed or even as his wife. He knew very well—had observed it countless times—that marriage was no guarantee for…closeness.
In truth, what Thorne wanted was love and family. People that were his to protect and provide for. A wife and children he could dote upon and whose smiles and laughter would bring him joy.
His gaze swept over the windswept hills outside the window once more, and he heaved another deep sigh, one full of longing and desire.
Perhaps this was the place. Perhaps they could all be happy here.
Thorne knew that Christina was close to her family and always would be. He would not have it any other way for he was beginning to grow quite fond of them as well. They were her family, and perhaps one day they might be his as well.
Only too well did Thorne remember Christina’s reaction to the idea of him taking Miss Mortensen away from London and back to Manchester. He could only imagine how upset she would be if upon their nuptials she would find herself whisked away to the north. No, he was certain she would want to stay close to her family.
And this estate—Pinewood Manor—was everything he thought she would want. Although it was sizable, it was not overly large, giving it a somewhat cozy character where it sat nestled among gently sloping hills. It was no more than a day’s ride from Whickerton Grove, her family’s estate, which would ensure that his future wife could remain close to those she held dear.
Footsteps drifted to his ears, small and swift ones racing with no regard for care or caution down the large staircase in the hall. Happy giggles accompanied those footsteps, immediately followed by words of caution from Mrs. Huxley.
Despite himself, Thorne smiled. “In here!” he called, turning away from the window and toward the door the moment Samantha crossed over the threshold.
Her sparkling eyes were full of mischief and her blonde curls danced wildly upon her shoulders as she came skipping toward him. “This is a wonderful place!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together as those wide round eyes rose to meet his.
At five years of age, of course, Samantha did not even reach up to his midsection, forcing Thorne to kneel down if he wished to look into her eyes. “Do you like it?” he asked, reaching for her little hands. “Are the stairs in the hall not too steep?”
Her eyes lit up like fireflies. “No, they are perfect. Perhaps another year or two and I will be able to slide down the banister.”
Panting under her breath, Mrs. Huxley finally reached the drawing room. “You are not under any circumstances to do that, young lady!” she admonished sternly. However, the effect of her words was somewhat lost considering the heaving gasps rattling from her chest.
“Quite right,” Thorne agreed with a quick glance at Mrs. Huxley. However, when he shifted his gaze back to Samantha, he winked at her. “Not under any circumstances!”
Samantha giggled, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes. “Of course not!” Then her gaze traveled past his shoulder to the window, and her round eyes grew even wider as they swept over the grassy hills. “Is this to be our new home?” she asked, awe tinging her voice as she drew her hands from his and stepped around him up to the window.
Thorne nodded, allowing his gaze to follow hers. “Would you like that?”
With her nose
almost pressed to the glass, Samantha nodded. “Oh, yes, I would.” She glanced up at him over her shoulder. “Do you think your new wife will like it here?”
Thorne heaved a deep sigh. Then he moved to stand next to Samantha, one hand braced upon the wall. “I very much hope so.”
“Tell me her name again.”
“Christina,” Thorne whispered, cherishing the feel of her name upon his tongue. Thus far, he had only occasionally uttered it out loud. Of course, he had called her Chris as her sisters were wont to do. He had done it to tease her, and he had quite liked the result. As had she, he suspected, despite her objections.
“It’s a beautiful name,” Samantha marveled, saying it once, twice. “Like that of a princess.” With her little hand still resting upon the windowpane, Samantha slowly turned her head to look at him. Something serious rested in those green eyes of hers, something vulnerable, and Thorne found himself drop to his knees once more, his large hands reaching for her small ones. “Do you think she will like me?” Samantha asked then, an almost desperate need swinging in her voice.
Thorne swallowed hard, afraid to raise Samantha’s hopes, when, in truth, he had yet to mention the little girl to Christina. “Of course, she will,” he told her nonetheless and without delay. After all, when her wide eyes so full of hope and trust looked into his, he found himself unable to deny her anything.
She was a child, one of many out there in the world, who deserved everything. A family. A home. A future without backbreaking labor.
