There was silence then. No one spoke until Jacob at last suggested, “Let’s rest, all of us,” he suggested. “The hour is late, and it is such a long way.”
“You must indeed be tired, Miss Holt,” Brockton said. “To be awakened as such in the dead of dark night. It would be wise to at least rest your eyes.”
“Yes,” Maria said, feeling disappointed somehow. “Yes, I suppose I am tired.” Though how sleep would ever come she did not know. She had only just been liberated! And now she sat in a carriage with the most handsome man the heavens had seen fit to place on the earth, and she was expected to sleep? She was on her way to a new home, to meet with strangers! However did they expect her to slumber?
Yet inside the coach all was quiet as it moved rhythmically along. Before the quarter of the hour had passed, Maria was indeed deep in contented slumber.
“She’s a beautiful girl!” Jacob whispered, assured the girl slept.
“Yes,” Brockton agreed, studying the sleeping miss. “I had heard stories of her mother’s beauty. Still…I did not expect…she’s only thirteen, after all.”
“The blackest hair and bluest eyes,” Jacob whispered. “The heritage of Spain is certainly apparent.”
Brockton smiled as he watched his friend adjust his spectacles and examine the napping girl again. Brockton studied her a moment as well. He could only ineptly attempt to fathom what the child’s beauty would be once she was a grown woman. Judging from that beauty that she already possessed, it would be unsurpassed.
Her lips were red and her mouth rather the shape of a heart. Thick, ebony, and exceptionally long lashes fluttered every now and again as she slept, hiding the brilliance of her eyes. Her hair was lush and long and held a bluish tinge, so black was it. The form of her figure was unsettlingly developed as well and further manifested evidence of the faultless, feminine contours that would be hers in matured womanhood.
“It is no doubt the woman resented her, Master Brockton,” Jacob whispered as he continued his survey of the girl.
Brockton quietly chuckled. “I believe she’s bewitched you, Peterson. I’ve never seen you stare at any person thus previously.”
Peterson smiled, removed his spectacles, and began polishing the lenses with a handkerchief. “Yes. And noticeably…she’s a sharp little chit in the parcel.”
“And so it would seem,” Brockton agreed, smiling as he closed his own eyes, resting his head against the back of the conveyance.
A rut in the road and the accompanying jolt of the coach awakened Maria. She looked about, momentarily forgetting where she was. Yet in a moment, her memories flooded her consciousness, and her eyes were drawn to the remarkable form of Brockton Thorton.
As Jacob Peterson snored quietly at her side, Maria could only stare at Brockton, awed as she considered him. She found his great height somewhat intimidating, but masculine all the same. She wondered at his age. Twenty and five years, perhaps? Surely at least twenty and two or three, for there was no mere boy possessed of such large stature and squared jaw. A straight and perfect nose to match the chiseled lines of his face, as well. Oh, he was a handsome man! Though his eyes were now closed, Maria remembered their deep, mapled brown. His dark brows and eyelashes and perfect painter’s-portrait mouth were visible, and she smiled at the sight of them before her. Her smile broadened as she thought of this epitome of masculinity exposing one charming dimple at his left cheek when he had first smiled at her. The dimple lent a touch of boyhood to his otherwise wholly mature appearance, and she liked it best of all his features. As she studied him further, she noted his hair was exceedingly unusual in its tint. For the most part it was brown, but now and again a fleck of gold appeared midst the abounding chestnut. Maria thought it charming in its distinctiveness.
Suddenly pulling her gaze from him, she felt herself blush. She wondered if her mere thirteen years and dependent circumstances named her attraction to Brockton Thorton exceedingly “inappropriate.”
In an effort to distract herself, she turned her attentions to the man next to her. Instantly she smiled. What contrast! Jacob Peterson was not a handsome man in the least of it. Maria thought him somewhat cute, however—like a puppy newly birthed. Yet for all his stiffness and severity, he was pleasant. He owned thin, very fair hair, barely a line for each lip, and a rather unfairly pronounced nose. Maria continued to smile all the same. She knew she was much better off in the care of the two men with whom she shared the carriage than living with her uncle and aunt. Surely life would be happier, full, and carefree in the home of Lord Thorton.
Closing her eyes once more, Maria tried to imagine a new life—a life filled with warm hearths and those who had been friends to her parents. A life filled with a thing so wonderful as Brockton Thorton to gaze upon every day.
The halting of the carriage woke Maria once again, and she blushed as she found Brockton studied her unwaveringly. He did not look away until the coachman opened the door.
“At last. I’m as stiff as a corpse,” he grumbled, stepping out of the carriage.
“Thorton Manor, Miss Holt. After two years, you are home at last.” Jacob exhaled, adjusting his spectacles and smiling warmly at her. He stood down from the coach, and Maria began to follow.
“Only wait. The mud is deep here,” Brockton said as he glanced around at the ground. Maria gasped as he took her hand, pulling her from the carriage and into the cradle of his arms. As he turned, Maria’s mouth gaped in astonishment as she saw, for the first time, the beautiful grandeur of Thorton Manor. It was a vast and wonderful work of stone with four high-reaching turrets and a lovely dressing of ivy vine. The windows glowed warm, an enchanting invitation through early morning shadows.
As Brockton carried her toward the manor house, a beautiful and elegant woman came fairly floating down the steps to meet them. She was a tall woman, with hair the unique tints of Brockton’s.
“Oh, Brock! Darling, you’ve found her! You’ve brought her to me!” the lovely woman called. The woman was undeniably Brockton’s mother, for Maria noted she bore a dimple on one of her own cheeks.
“Yes, Mother. Indeed, I’ve brought you a girl to primp and pamper and dote over. Now, let us in. We are chill-bitten and voracious,” he chuckled.
“Of course! Oh, of course,” Lady Thorton cooed. “Darling! You must be frozen through and through,” she said to Maria.
“No…no, milady. I…I am quite well,” Maria stammered, feeling all the more abhorrent of her appearance than ever she had before.
“Well, darling…we’ll warm you straight away,” Lady Thorton said softly. Her smile was like sunshine, and Maria felt glad to be near her.
Once inside the manor house, Brockton let Maria’s feet fall to the floor, and she quickly curtsied to his mother.
Lady Thorton’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, Brock, darling…she’s simply enchanting! The very image of her mother!”
“So I gathered,” Brock muttered.
“The very image! Hello, Maria,” Lady Thorton said quietly, extending her hand toward the girl. “I’m Emeline Thorton…Brock’s mother.”
Maria tentatively offered her own hand, expecting the woman to grasp it in welcome and release it. Instead, Lady Thorton clutched Maria’s hand tightly and enticed the girl nearer with her maternally entrancing smile. Drawing in her breath, Lady Thorton donned an expression of utter joy. Looking past Maria to her son, she said, “Lovely, Brock. Isn’t she?”
“Yes, Mother. She’s adorable,” he chuckled. “No doubt we’ll need an entire room for the wardrobe Mother has in mind for you, girl.”
Maria smiled, feeling as if warm syrup were being drizzled into her mouth as she gazed up into Brockton’s face as he smiled at her. The dimple in his cheek was entirely charming.
Maria looked away from Brockton, her eyes widening in surprise as Lady Thorton suddenly squealed with delight. “Oh! I’m so happy to have you here with us at last! Lord Thorton,
my husband, will want to see you the moment you’ve eaten and rested. It is all too exciting!” The ecstatic woman smiled at her son, fairly beaming resplendent joy.
“Now, Maria, let’s go up and draw a warm bath for you. Then…I cannot wait to get my hands in that hair of yours!” Lady Thorton giggled. Taking hold of Maria’s hand, she led Maria toward a high winding staircase.
Maria paused, however, and, turning to the two men who stood watching, said, “Thank you. Thank you both for your trouble. How can I ever—”
“Do not trouble yourself with thanks. For no doubt the day will come when you may regret…” Brockton began, his smile fading, the charming dimple in his cheek disappearing all at once.
“Thank you, Miss Holt. For trusting us,” Jacob Peterson finished.
Maria almost frowned, puzzled by Brockton’s response to her thanks. Still, donning a grateful smile, she allowed Lady Thorton, chattering excitedly all the while, to lead her along up the stairs.
“Perhaps we should not have sought her out…delivered her. Perhaps, Peterson, we should have left her there. When the day comes…when she’s told…” Brockton muttered, watching his mother lead the girl up the staircase.
“Not to worry, Master Brockton. When the day comes, I believe she will bless it,” Jacob said. He patted the young man on the shoulder and turned to seek out the father. Lord Thorton must be informed of a task fulfilled.
RETURNING
Nearly three years had passed since the blessed day Maria arrived into the loving care of those who dwelt at Thorton Manor. Three years filled with love, joy, and treasured companionship, three years in which Maria had lived happily secure and without worry.
Lord Richard Thorton had wept when first he set eyes on Maria the night Brockton and Jacob Peterson delivered her to the manor house. He spent hours apologizing to her for the time wasted and for being so long in finding her. He often spoke of her father and the deep friendship they had shared. The great Lord Richard Thorton passed away only one year after Maria’s arrival at Thorton Manor. She had mourned him as deeply as she had her own father at his passing.
Brockton then inherited the title, lands, and all else that had been his father’s, including his responsibilities to his father’s ward, Maria. And yet even with his frequent absences due to duty and business, Brockton always set his ward as a priority. Brockton taught Maria to ride and to play cards, helped her to improve her dance. On her fourteenth birthday, Brockton himself gifted Maria her beloved chestnut mare, Valerian. Ever and always Brockton was the stone, the foundation in Maria’s life. Even though he was nearly six years her elder, in Maria’s mind he had fast become her greatest friend. All the while he was attending her, she knew he must at times grow weary of her. Yet he masked his boredom or weariness, seeming thoroughly content with her company. And Maria valued nothing above Brockton, Brock as he was known to her then. He was her joy, her security, her confidant, and, secretly, the vital craving of her heart, mind, body, and spirit. Brock Thorton had become breath to Maria Castillo Holt. A breath she knew could never be entirely respired.
Thus three years passed, and in three weeks Maria was to reach sixteen. Arrangements had been ongoing for months in preparation for her coming-out. Brock would be returning from the business that had kept him away for nearly three months to attend the event, and Maria thought she might die of the anticipation of his arrival.
Maria had been restless the entire day, constantly attempting to discover methods of entertaining herself as the minutes ticked until he arrived. She had ridden Valerian early and very long in the morning, helped old George in the gardens, and baked bread with Matty in the kitchens, and still Brock was not expected for hours.
As Maria paced anxiously in the library, Lady Thorton chuckled. “It won’t be much longer, peach. He’ll be riding up at any moment.”
“I loathe the waiting. It seems ages since he was last here,” Maria sighed, smiling achingly and kneeling at the woman’s feet.
Lady Thorton cupped the beauty’s face in her hands. “You’ve been happy here, haven’t you, darling?” she asked, her expression suddenly serious.
Maria frowned, puzzled. “Oh, ever so blissfully happy! How could you doubt it?”
Lady Thorton sat back in her chair and sighed. “And Brock. He is dear to you, isn’t he, Maria?”
Maria laughed. “Of course! Dearer than anything!”
The grand mistress of Thorton Manor seemed relieved. “Yes. I can see it. I don’t know why I worry so.” Maria frowned and shook her head, puzzled. Lady Thorton had not been entirely happy since her husband’s death, and it saddened Maria to see her worry.
Maria stood and kissed the woman affectionately on the cheek. “I’m going up to my chamber. Maybe I can occupy myself somehow. I just loathe this waiting!” Maria made her way up the winding staircase, humming to herself as she walked to her chamber.
Once there, she sat at her window, gazing out into the beauties of new spring. Yet her anxieties began to whisper in her mind. She felt grateful Lady Thorton had not seemed to sense the actual depth of her feelings for her son, Brock. Maria had only recently admitted silently to herself how deeply in love with him she was. However, she had become skilled at giving the appearance of mere friendship with Brock, while in reality the fact of it nearly broke her heart.
But she was a sensible girl. Brock was much older, and now he had the title and the properties to pass on. No doubt the day would come—and all too soon—when he would marry. At the thought, Maria’s hand encircled her throat as she fought the constricting sensation beginning there. Each pulse of her heart offered her an odd pain. She swallowed hard, tried to push the musings to the back of her mind. Yet there was more to breed anxiety, for she was to have her coming-out in a matter of weeks! Then what? Would she have suitors? And Brock, being now her guardian—would he be the one to give her over to those who wished to court her? She couldn’t think of it! She wouldn’t.
She heard it then: the unmistakable rhythm of Stetson’s gallop approaching. She leaned through the open window to watch him ride in, tears filling her eyes as he approached. Brock glanced up and caught sight of her. A smile instantly spread across his face, his beloved dimple creased one cheek, and he waved.
“Brock!” Maria couldn’t help calling out his name; the feel of it was pure confection to her lips.
Brock reined Stetson to a halt just beneath Maria’s window. “Hello! Have you missed me?” he called, still smiling and looking up at her.
Maria only smiled through her joyous tears, vigorously nodding her assurance.
“Oh, you simply like the gifts and trifles I bring back for you,” he said, reaching into his saddlebag and withdrawing a package. He tossed it up to her and smiled as she caught it.
“It’s for your coming-out! I chose it with that in mind. Now, come downstairs and meet me.” With another mesmerizing smile, he signaled Stetson and rode off toward the stables.
Maria tossed the package onto her bed and stood before her looking glass. “Oh. I’m so…so…” she grumbled. She smoothed her hair and pinched her cheeks to blush them, though it was hardly necessary, for Brock brought a blush to her cheeks easily enough.
Maria left her chamber, resigned to descend the staircase slowly and elegantly to greet him this time, instead of in the impatient leaps and bounds as were her standard. After all, she was a young woman now.
However, when she had descended half the distance of the staircase, Brock entered through the main door. Maria was overcome with excitement, springing at him as a happy sparrow. He caught her in his wonderfully familiar embrace as she threw her arms around his neck.
“You’re home! You’re home,” Maria whispered into his ear. She could feel Brock’s roughly shaven face nuzzle her neck, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice the goose flesh breaking over her because of it. Her senses were overcome—thoroughly and entirely overcome! She found her body trembled, within and without, her mouth watered, and her breathing was labored. O
h, how she loved him—loved the scent of him, the feel of his cheek against hers, the power of his arms around her! Another moment and she would be undone, confessing her true feelings for him aloud.
He held her gently away from himself, his eyes narrowing as he grinned rather mischievously at her. “What? Tears?” he asked then, his own eyes brilliant with overabundant moisture.
“You’ve been gone so long this time,” Maria whispered. As he pulled her into his powerful embrace once more, she fancied for a moment the young lord of the manor could no longer hold her at bay. She fancied he felt her a soft, tempting, fragrant beauty. She fancied he did not want to further deprive himself of the blissful sensation of having her in his arms. But these were only fancies, and she knew it.
Still, she clung to him tightly, drinking in the scent of his hair and skin, the sense of his proficient embrace as his muscular arms locked her forcefully in their binding strength. Absolute exhilaration reverberated throughout Maria as Brock nestled his face against her neck, causing her to tremble as the sensation of his hot breath on her flesh heated her soul with ravenous fervor.
“Maria,” he whispered, and she gasped quietly at the extreme emotion evident in his voice.
The ardent enchantment threatening to consume her immediately evaporated as Maria opened her eyes, catching sight of the beautiful woman entering through the front door. Releasing Brock, Maria stepped backward and out of his beloved embrace.
“Maria?” he asked, a puzzled frown puckering his brow.
“Hello. You must be little Maria,” the woman said, approaching with the grace of a great lady indeed.
Brock turned to look at the other woman and said, “Oh. Maria, this is Rebecca Dellancy. And, Rebecca, this is my…this is Maria.”
“Hello,” Maria managed, bending a respectful curtsey.
“Rebecca has come for a visit until her—”Brock began.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Maria!” Rebecca interrupted. “Brock talks of you endlessly. And I’ve never known a man to spend so much time and consideration on purchasing a—oh! I almost forgot. It’s to be a surprise for her coming-out, is it not, Brock, darling?”
Born for Thorton's Sake Page 2
