by Sophia Nash
“Enough of this! All this begging of forgiveness does not suit you. I must be on my way. Good day to you.” He rode back without once turning to look at her. She knew this as her feet felt frozen to the ground, unable to propel her forward.
She resisted the urge to call out to him again. She could not humiliate herself a second time. This miserable exchange would have to do for her final encounter. If her heart had not been so full of wretched pain, she would have been furious at herself for bumbling her one chance. She forced herself to turn around and trudge down the lane, filled with such embarrassment at his rebuffs that she was unable to think properly.
It was done. She had packed her belongings and shuttered the cottage for Clarissa, save the one window in the front room. She sat staring out the window, dressed in her modest gray wool traveling clothes, watching the sun fall lower and lower in the sky. She had convinced herself that with each passing minute she would feel less pain, but that had not been the case. She longed to be on her way, anything but this silence in the gloom, but she stayed and waited, praying for fortitude and peace of mind.
At long last a lone figure appeared, walking through the small grove of trees fronting the cottage. She rose to open the door for her brother but then stopped and stared.
It was he. Whyever had he come? More torture? Her body was numb to it now, not hesitating to face further torment. At least she would have one more memory of him to store in her mind for the long days and nights ahead.
She opened the door before he knocked. He walked the few remaining steps and removed his hat from his head.
“May I come in?” he asked hesitantly.
“Of course, my lord.” She ushered him into the front room, finding it difficult to meet his eyes.
“I am sorry it is so dark. I’ve shuttered the place for Clarissa and expect her at any moment.”
“Ah, yes. She asked me to carry a message to you. She and Sir Thomas have decided to postpone their trip to Chichester this afternoon. It has been decided that a storm is brewing, and my grandmother is adept at convincing everyone to abide by her wishes, as you know. She is overjoyed by all the gaiety, and has persuaded them to spend their wedding night at Hesperides.”
“Thank you for bringing me the message, although I am sure it was unnecessary. My brother will be along shortly, as we are to leave. He could have saved you the trouble of informing me.”
“That is the second message I was to relate. Your brother is having—let’s see, as he phrased it, ‘a bang-up time of it,’ and has accepted an invitation to stay at the Hall as well. My grandmother hastened me here to ask you to rejoin the house party as well, as it appears no one will be leaving tonight.”
Jane sat down on the edge of the small settee, her back rigid. “I see,” she said as she straightened the edges of her cloak. “Please inform Lady Graystock that I am most appreciative of her kind offer. However, I will remain here.”
She had every intention of having the carriage brought from the inn’s rebuilt stables. Her coachman from Pembroke could drive her to Bosham if they could not reach Portsmouth before any storm broke. In fact, looking out the window at the stillness in the trees, she thought the theory of a storm was a ridiculous notion accepted by willing invitees.
Rolfe lowered himself into the wooden companion chair beside the settee and sighed. “I was quite angry with you when I left Seaton.”
Jane looked up from her hands to see Rolfe working the edge of his hat. “Yes. And I have apologized for my behavior. It was very wrong of me. But you have asked me to stop apologizing.”
He looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Jane, I was angry with you because of your blind stubbornness and preconceived notions.”
At his words, Jane jumped up and looked toward the door.
“No, wait. Let me finish,” he insisted.
She could feel herself stiffen, but lowered herself onto the seat, forcing herself to endure this abject humiliation.
“I am going about this all wrong, I know.” He wiped his hand across his brow. “Jane, I had no idea you had not married Harry Thompson until a mere half hour ago. All this time, when I heard mention of ‘Mrs. Thompson,’ I mistakenly thought it referred to you. I did not know the featherbrained Miss Dodderidge had married Harry. It was only when your aunt said you would be returning to Cornwall that I clarified the matter.”
Silence filled the room. She was too embarrassed to meet his eyes again when he continued, “I decided to come here to find out for myself if you are happy with your situation. On the road you said you were unhappy and that you had made a mistake.”
“And you, sir, said it has turned out for the best and everything was quite impossible to change now.” She looked into his eyes and saw sadness in the dark, raw depths. It lanced her stubborn pride. She swallowed and continued, “I swore to myself, and to George, I would not let pride get in the way of my happiness again. I know it is not proper for a lady to reveal her feelings, but all notions of propriety were lost to me some months ago when I met you.” For the life of her, she could not say another word. She hoped it would be enough of an admission.
Rolfe moved to stand in front of her. Grasping her arm, he raised her up to stand before him. He lifted her hand to his mouth, then turned it over and pressed a kiss on the sensitive area on her wrist.
A thread of hope bloomed within her.
“Dearest Jane. Dare I presume to offer for you a third time? Shall you deny me again, or worse yet, rebuke me?” A warm, tender light appeared in his face.
“Oh, Rolfe,” she whispered before her throat constricted. Unable to continue, she moved forward to lay her head on his lapel and wound her arms about his neck. His hand gently smoothed her hair. She persevered in holding back her tears in a grand effort to listen to him. It felt so comforting in his arms. His cologne teased her senses. She stayed there as he told her of all the pent-up feelings he had for her, the feelings he had tried to repress, and the sensibilities that refused to be denied. He also told her of how he had planned to go away, to travel abroad, as he had been unable to keep her from disturbing his thoughts.
After he had told her of all of his regard, Jane confided hers. “I did not love you until after our second meeting when you embarrassed me so hideously.”
“How so, my love?”
“You know very well that I thought you were a groom on that runaway beast of yours. When I saw you in church, I wanted to die of mortification!”
“Yes, that was when I knew unconsciously that I should marry you. You did not wither from the confrontation.” A rare smile appeared on his full lips.
“How little you know! I tried my best to avoid the tea at the Gurchers’, but it was well nigh impossible.” Jane laughed and looked up at Rolfe. As she gazed at his impossibly handsome face, it was suddenly as if time stood still.
“You won’t scratch my eyes out if I steal a kiss, will you?” His smile grew, revealing a beautiful, heartfelt expression. He didn’t wait for an answer as he lowered his lips to hers. Jane felt all the tension leave her body as he deepened the kiss. He was so warm, and the scent of him sank into the depths of her being. His embrace defined the meaning of comfort, and she never wanted to let go. She reveled in the knowledge she would never have to. She hugged him closer and heard him laugh.
“Ah, Jane. How I love you, my dearest, loveliest girl. And how I have longed to say it.” He smoothed the top of her head again with his gentle hands. “However, if we stay here another moment, I fear I will not be able to squash the desire I have to take you upstairs and ravish you properly. But you should know that the looks on your brother, aunt, and new uncle’s faces as I departed force me to desist. If I am not mistaken, they will descend on this cottage—with a large entourage—within the next quarter hour to make sure we are not at daggers drawn.”
Jane smiled to herself and hugged him tighter. She needed just a few more moments to hold him, to enjoy the sheer luxury of feeling his arms around her. “I know.
We must share our good news with my family and yours. My family has been very good about not rubbing my nose in the muddle I made—even my father.” She then forced herself to lean away from him. Rolfe buttoned up her gray coat and motioned her toward the door.
She asked him, once outside, “Did you walk the entire way?”
“No, no. I left my horse at the smithy. We can have another horse saddled for you there, too.” Rolfe’s hand found hers, and he brought it to his lips as they walked through the fruit trees.
“If it is all the same to you, I think I would rather ask Smithy for a pillion,” Jane said.
Rolfe laughed. “My pleasure, darling. Although, are you sure you trust Atlas to get us back in one piece? He has only recently let the weight of the world drop from his shoulders.”
“Is that what you named him? Well, we shall see. If he unseats us, we shall have to walk. All the better for being alone together just a few minutes longer. I fear we will be swallowed up by everyone upon our return.”
The horse was soon saddled and bridled. After a few noises of discontent, Atlas settled to the idea of the extra weight.
Jane wound her arms around Rolfe’s waist and snuggled against his form, debating whether she had the courage to mention his past or not. Finally she whispered in his ear, “Rolfe, I do so love you. Will you be worried and unhappy if I’m ever with child? Your brother has finally let go of his guilt over your first wife. Will you be able to do the same? I hope the horrible experience with Connie will not stand in the way of our having a child.”
She felt Rolfe’s body tighten. “I suppose I will have to let it go, as I will have you as my healing balm every day. And I will remind you, daily, that it is quite safe to let someone guide you occasionally, especially one who loves you as I do.”
Jane smiled. “I shall work at being a meek wife,” she said with the smallest voice she could muster.
He laughed. “I cannot wait to see the transformation.”
“I am quite determined to make you happy,” she said with a smile while nuzzling his neck. “And where shall we live? Please do not say London. I couldn’t bear it.”
“My dearest, we shall face the gossipmongers when we must. With any luck it will be in a little less than two decades’ time, when our daughter or son must have a taste of the beau monde. Until then, you can hide in the stables,” he said with a laugh.
Jane giggled. “I suppose we shall reside here, then? I dread to think of what will become of Pembroke’s stables.”
“Why, if you agree, we shall move the horses here to Hesperides.” He paused and tried to turn around a bit to see her reaction. “Now, if you really love me you will stop this prattling and tell me again about your feelings. I have always wanted to hear bad poetry from the lips of the woman I love.”
“Ah, but you forget my forte. I do not write bad poetry,” she said. “Are you trying to ruin our great beginning with insults already?”
“No, never, my dearest.” He reached around to pat her leg. A small object nudged his hand. “What is this?”
“Why, it is your ring, and now I can return it to you without rebuke,” Jane said.
“We will have to work on your not disobeying me in future. Whyever did you not send it to me when you left Seaton? Did you not know I would have flown to your side in an instant? Had you so little faith in me? I had given you my word.”
“Yes, but you were so angry, and I felt very, very guilty and foolish.”
As Rolfe opened his mouth to argue further, Jane rushed on, “You are not going to continue to read me a lecture, are you? First insults, then a lecture?”
Rolfe laughed as he pulled Atlas to a halt just before the final turn to Hesperides. He moved as far as he could in the saddle to look at her. She felt a warm, comfortable feeling in her soul. At last everything felt right.
His smile faded as she stared into the depths of his mysterious gray eyes. He kissed her before Atlas burst their afternoon reverie by pawing the ground.
“That gentleman is eager for his oats.” Rolfe threw his leg over the front of the saddle and jumped down. He lifted her from the pillion and continued, “However, this gentleman must have one last taste of his sustenance before facing the inquisitive masses.”
As he kissed her, Jane felt the final smudges of emptiness, sadness, and pain wash away from her, to be replaced with an unfurling wholeness and happiness. The rustling sounds of the fall leaves still clinging to their branches were joined by the merest whisper of people’s voices in the distance.
Jane reluctantly ended their embrace. With a smile lurking at the corner of her lips, she knew now how to change the ending of her original story. Enough with the wilting virgin in her manuscript! She must change her to a willful widow who succumbs to an arrogant earl, only to find true happiness in becoming a docile wife. Yes, that was it!
“What are you thinking, my love? Are you plotting an escape from the crowd that will soon be upon us? You cannot stand facing down the comments and questions that will be asked by the Mrs. Gurchers and the Miss Kellerys on this earth?”
“No. Nothing of the sort,” she said, then arched one eyebrow. “But now that you mention it, your rank does give you a natural command of the situation, and perhaps it would be better if I just go around the gatehouse and leave you to it.”
“Coward.”
A gurgle of laughter escaped her. “Ah, Rolfe. You do not know me at all. I wouldn’t dream of deserting you now, at our finest moment. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
A crowd of people poured through the wings of the gate as Rolfe quickly pulled her into his arms, capturing her lips with his own. Some might call him the coward, but he was loath to verbally reveal his emotions to the masses.
Actions spoke louder than words, anyway. He would let the embrace speak his intentions, thereby obliterating the need for a stilted speech about love.
They would be the talk of the town. This would give the gossips something to twitter about for years to come.
He pulled back to look at her. Oh, to hell with it—he was a love-struck fool. She looked so lovely with her sparkling eyes filled with love and laughter; he couldn’t stop the words from pouring forth as the crowd surrounded them. “Yes, well, I love her, as you can plainly see. That’s the way of it. I hope you will all wish us happy.” Not very tender prose—but at least not a hint of poetic drivel.
“Let’s have us ‘nother kiss, yer lordship,” called out Smithy’s carrot-topped lad, dressed in his Sunday finery.
Jane laughed and looked at Rolfe.
“Hear, hear,” said Gooding, grinning as he turned to Clarissa, whose eyes brimmed with tears of joy.
His grandmamma bustled forward. “Yes, do heed the boy’s request. No getting out of it now, you know. I see a parson and leg shackles within a fortnight. Glad I am of it, too!”
All thoughts of propriety and verse vanished as he looked at Jane and encountered the fine light in her eyes. “Most happy to oblige,” Rolfe murmured as he enveloped Jane in his arms and kissed her, thereby sealing his fate.
Bonus Excerpt!
A Passionate Endeavor
by
Sophia Nash
RITA Award Winner – Best Regency of the Year
Romantic Times Reviewers Choice Award – Best Regency of the Year
The Write Touch Readers’ Award
Chapter One
“Nobody, who has not been in the interior of a family,
can say what the difficulties of any individual
of that family may be.” – Emma
Wiltshire, England – April 1814
“SIR, wake up!” The young boy shook the broad shoulders of the gaunt man beside him on the landau’s perch. The vehicle swayed as the gentleman regained his faculties.
“Blast it all, I am awake – now, at least.” Rain sluiced down the back of Lord Huntington’s hat between his greatcoat and neck cloth, drenching the last bit of dryness on his person. “We’ll be at Wyndhurst bef
ore dawn, barring any further disaster,” he said, trying to calm the boy by making light of the matter.
“Yes, sir. Shall I keep readin’ the sign posts to you, then?”
“That’s the most important part of your job, Charley. And poke this infernal leg of mine from time to time. That’ll keep my wits about me.” He wondered if his mind was going off kilter, as the droplets falling on his face seemed to sizzle and turn to steam amid the blanket of darkness. A fresh wave of pain seized his leg and he shivered uncontrollably.
“Perhaps you will let me take the ribbons, sir,” said the boy.
Nicholas looked down at the all too serious eyes of Charley Picket whose innocence was lost too early. “Nay, son. These post horses have mouths of lead. It’s just a few more miles…” A rush of wind sent a heavy downpour from the leaves of the tree branches arching overhead as a nocturnal creature scurried across the road. One horse whinnied its displeasure at the mysteries of the night.
If not for himself, he must try to focus on the road for his small companion. Time seemed suspended as the horses splashed mud in every direction. Finally, the almost forgotten form of the stone gatekeeper’s house loomed ahead. Dim candlelight flickered in a distant window – the only sign of welcome he would encounter.
The darkness started to close in on his mind once more as the unbearable cold turned hotter than Hades. A throbbing seared his leg and hip as the sweet calm of unconsciousness flooded his being. He tried to hold onto the young voice calling to him, but he could not. The warm world of darkness was too inviting.
A feminine voice was like a pinprick of light in the dark abyss. Nicholas shivered as he grasped the slippery world of the conscious – floating above what looked like the acrid smoke of the battlefield. He slipped away from the haunting halls of his mind and focused on the calming voice amid the babble of hushed murmurs.
