He answered with a soft brush of his lips, “Say yes.”
“Si, si!” chimed the voice of Sor Francisca Juanita, promptly producing a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab her misting eyes.
Twining her arms around his neck, Salime beamed through her tears of joy. “My happiness this day is complete. Yes, Simon. I will be your wife.”
Wilt thou take me for thy king,
While the sun and stars shall move?
Wilt thou pay me back the homage I have given,
Oh thou dearer unto me than the sun and stars and heaven?
For I love thee as no other man can love.
-Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Chapter Sixteen
Salime sat opposite her dozing husband in their elegantly appointed travelling coach, studying his handsome face with tenderness and bemusement. She wondered how he managed to sleep in the jolting vehicle. Perhaps the weeks of passionate lovemaking had taken their toll? They’d barely ventured from the bedroom for the past fortnight—except to visit DeVere’s hammam. Simon was certainly thinner and paler than before, but neither his desire nor stamina showed the least sign of waning. She couldn’t suppress a smile. Yes, her amorous husband pleased her very well in their marriage bed.
To her joy, Simon had proven every bit as considerate a husband as he was a lover. Following their quiet civil ceremony at the Gibraltar consulate, he’d done a great deal to ease her way as the new Baroness Singleton. First, he’d sent immediate word to his mother informing the Dowager Lady Singleton that he’d taken a Spanish bride.
Although Salime had steeled herself for a snub upon their first meeting, her mother-in-law’s only voiced objection was over Salime’s Roman Catholicism. Once assured her grandchildren would be trained up as upstanding Methodists, she’d taken Salime into an eager maternal embrace. Even the disfiguring scar that Simon chose to explain as a childhood accident, elicited the dowager’s sympathy, rather than revulsion. Indeed, Dowager Lady Singleton reminded Salime very much of a fairer version of the outwardly fierce but inwardly soft convent gatekeeper, Sor Maria Josefa. Yes, the introduction had gone far better than Salime could ever have hoped.
Simon had also sent prior notice to all the London society papers. In it he’d described their chance meeting in the marketplace during his recent Mediterranean tour and the romantic whirlwind courtship that had followed.
Upon their arrival in London, a flood of social invitations followed, but Simon had refused them all to sweep his new bride off to the privacy of DeVere’s Bloomsbury house, which seemed entirely appropriate for their honeymoon. For a full fortnight they had lain together reading poetry well into the morning hours, made love until noon, and slept in a tangle of limbs, only to do it all over again.
Although the first weeks of her marriage had played out like a romantic fantasy, the very real prospect of assuming the responsibilities of her new position, of fitting into Simon’s world, seemed suddenly daunting and intimidating. With each passing day, she realized just how inadequate she was. She’d never moved about in polite society. In her five years at King’s Place, her only company had been ladies of pleasure and the gentlemen seeking it.
Now as the wife of a peer, she’d be expected to be seen and to entertain upon occasion, both roles for which she was singularly unprepared. From the time she’d entered the harem she’d been trained to serve… not to be served. Now she was a baroness with a London townhouse, country estates, a crested carriage, and virtual army of servants. She had yet so much to learn about her adopted country and no one besides Simon to teach her. Above all things, Salime desired to please Simon and to never give him a single reason to regret wedding her.
Her inadequacies ate at her until a surprising solution sprang forth from the most unexpected quarter—the Viscountess DeVere. Just as Salime had once taken Diana under her wing, the viscountess had stepped forward with a proposal to instruct Salime in the manners and comportment of an English noblewoman. It seemed the perfect answer.
She gazed out the window as they approached the DeVere estate. Although she’d been to DeVere’s country house once before, the trees had been barren and the ground frosted. Now the house and grounds unfurled in full splendor. The property was magnificent in the understated English fashion with its broad coach way of packed white gravel, canopied by a long row of majestic English chestnut trees.
The frantic butterflies in Salime’s stomach increased as the carriage passed through the gates of Medford Abbey. How would she be received in DeVere’s household? Would Diana be jealous? Or would she be secure enough in her relationship to overlook Salime’s past with DeVere?
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, my dear,” Simon softly reassured. She’d been so lost in her abstraction that she hadn’t noticed he’d awakened. He clasped her hand as they pulled under the marble pillared porte-cochère of the sprawling Georgian manse. “Please know that Diana only wishes to help you. This is the life you deserve, Salime,” he continued, “to be cared for by those who love you.”
“I swear I’ll do my best for you, Simon. It is what I desire most in the world—to be part of yours.”
“I have every confidence in you, my love. It will only take time for you to adjust to it all.”
They had no sooner descended the carriage than the viscount and viscountess appeared to greet them. For the first time in two years, Salime’s gaze met that of the woman she’d once perceived as her rival for DeVere’s heart—the same woman she’d later assisted to win his.
Holding her breath while the two men exchanged hearty greetings, she let it out on a long gush as a warm smile broke over Diana’s face. The viscountess came toward her with arms outstretched. “Please accept my sincere felicitations on your marriage, Lady Singleton.”
“Sara please, my lady,” Salime insisted. “Or better, Salime, when we are in private.”
“Only if you call me Diana. Come, please,” she took Salime’s arm. “The servants will attend to your baggage.”
With a sudden onset of panic, Salime looked to Simon. “Will you stay also? At least for a day or two?”
Simon came to her, answering with a look of regret. “You know I cannot, my love. There are many things I must attend to.” Taking her hands in his, he brought each by turn to his lips. “And the sooner they are done, the sooner I will return for you.”
“You still will not tell me where you go?”
He smiled. “No, my dear. It is a surprise. Consider it my bridal gift to you. I will return within the month.” He cupped her chin and kissed her lightly. “And I will miss you every moment of it.”
Salime watched the coach depart with trepidation. Gowned in the saffron-colored silk robe Polonaise that Simon had ordered to match her eyes, Salime was to all outward appearances a grand lady, but inwardly, she still felt like a lowly servant. Her new position frightened her in ways she couldn’t even comprehend. A month without Simon would be very long indeed. Yet she was resolved to conquer her fears and embrace her duties as fervently as she’d embraced her new husband.
“Come, Salime.” Diana appeared quietly by her side and looped an arm about her waist. “Refreshment is waiting inside, and afterwards, if you are up to it, I will show you around the house and grounds. I wish very much for you to feel at home here.”
The month passed much more quickly than Salime ever could have anticipated. The DeVere household, much ruled by the tiny despot Lord Valentine, was warm and lively, and both Diana and DeVere extended her every kindness and courtesy.
Having experienced a lifetime of jealousy and rivalry from members of her gender, Salime never could have imagined developing such love and friendship with another woman. Yet the Viscountess DeVere appeared her ally in every way. They soon fell into an easy routine.
A superior horsewoman, Diana personally oversaw Salime’s riding instruction by DeVere’s head groom Pratt. DeVere himself gifted her with a beautiful but gentle Turkish-bred mare. Once Salime became comfortable in the saddle,
the three of them took daily rides over the vast estate.
Following afternoon tea, Diana instructed Salime on the finer points of managing a household, and late afternoons were spent in the DeVere nursery where Diana played with her son. It warmed Salime’s heart to see the noblewoman carelessly sprawled on the floor entertaining her creeping baby. She was further surprised to note how often the infant’s father did the same.
“Is this usual for Englishmen to attend the nursery?” Salime inquired. “In the harem, only women attend to infants. The sultan rarely sees his children unless he summons them.”
“Many Englishmen do the same.” Diana smiled. “I am very blessed that my husband is such a doting father. Do you desire children, Salime?”
“For many years, I never thought of it…or more correctly, I thought only of ways to prevent it. But now…Yes. Every time I look upon your husband’s face as he holds his son, my heart is moved. I yearn for the day I can see the same expression of love and pride in my own beloved’s eyes.” Salime fidgeted with her gold locket, the question she’d been dying to ask hovering on her lips. “Diana,” she finally ventured, “when did you first suspect you were with child?”
The viscountess blushed. “It was not I but my omniscient husband who first knew. I only recall experiencing unusual lethargy and tenderness in my breasts but paid no heed to it. We were in Italy at the time and so very caught up in our affaire d’amour that I had altogether lost track of my menses. Ludovic noticed these things and informed me I was enceinte.”
“I, too, have experience this lethargy and tenderness,” Salime confessed.
“Have you?” Diana’s eyes gleamed. “How long has it been since—”
“I have not had my flux since leaving Spain.”
“But that has to be two months.”
“Nine weeks and three days,” Salime corrected.
“My dear!” Diana clasped her hands. “Have you told Simon?”
“No. I did not wish to raise his hopes…or my own. Do you truly think this means I am with child?”
“One cannot be certain this soon. Have you experienced any dizziness or other malaise?”
“No,” Salime replied, suddenly feeling crushed.
“Not all women do. Count yourself blessed if you do not.”
“So you think it possible?”
Diana patted her hand. “I think only time will tell.”
Salime found herself growing increasingly restless. Simon had promised to return weeks ago, but the month spent apart had stretched interminably into two. Although she’d received numerous letters, filled mostly with sweet nothings, he’d revealed little about the business that kept him away from her. She could only deduce that he was preoccupied with estate matters and repairs.
As each day passed, she grew sicker with worry…as well as with child.
The random attacks of nausea assaulting her over the past fortnight confirmed the hopes she would never reveal to Simon in a letter. For days, every arriving horse or carriage drew her to the window, but each time, her heart had sunk in dismay—until finally he arrived.
With petticoat heedlessly raised, Salime rushed down the marble stairs and through the tiled foyer to meet him under the porte-cochère. Launching herself into his arms, she joyfully rained kisses all over his beautiful face. Simon reciprocated in kind, holding her so tightly she thought he’d crush her ribs.
“I missed you beyond words,” she said breathlessly.
“I’m sorry I took so long, my love, but there were unanticipated delays—a number of things I could not control.” He flashed a self-satisfied smile. “But my mission is accomplished at long last. All is in readiness.”
“What do you mean?”
“You will know very soon. We leave tomorrow.”
“Back to London?”
“No, my dearest. To Bristol.”
“What is in Bristol?” she asked.
“A ship,” he answered with an enigmatic smile. “I will tell you nothing further.”
There were many ships in Bristol, among them a ferry that conveyed their coach and baggage train across the Irish Sea to Waterford, where Simon treated Salime to a day of shopping and sightseeing before they once more departed by coach for County Cork.
“Please,” Salime begged, “will you now tell me why you have brought me here?”
“I told you it is a surprise,” Simon teased, laughing aloud at the pout he received. He leaned forward to kiss her and it quickly melted away.
Hours later as the coach entered the stone-walled gate to the estate, Simon drew the curtain, viewing his gift with a sense of pride and eagerness he’d never before experienced. He’d commissioned the repairs shortly after coming into his inheritance with the intention of leasing the property, but his marriage to Salime had changed everything. Now, after months of careful planning and a small fortune in countless repairs and new furnishings, the manor house with its expansive woodland park was ready to receive its new mistress.
“What is this place?” Salime peered over his shoulder.
“It is called Brookwood Park.”
“It is the home of a friend?”
“No, my dearest. It is my bridal gift to you.”
“A house?” Her topaz eyes widened in incredulity.
“Yes, my love. What better place for our new beginning?”
“In Ireland?”
“Yes. Here you never need fear exposure or scandal over your past. It is my hope that you will find the same peace and tranquility in this place that you once sought in the convent, but without the restrictions. As the mistress of your own domain, you will have the freedom to live and do precisely you please. Of course, we will still spend time in London as circumstances and obligations require, but I have every intention of making this our permanent home.”
“Simon!” she cried, eyes misting, “I don’t know what to say.”
“But there is more, my dear. Much more. There were two reasons for my delay in returning to you. The first was the time I spent tracking down the O’Brian clan. It appears you have family scattered through six counties.” He chuckled. “You will have your hands full if you desire to make acquaintance with all of them.”
“And the second reason?” she prompted.
“The second reason I must show you.”
Simon rapped on the carriage, instructing the driver to continue past the main house to the back where the woodlands began. When the coach halted and the footman lowered the steps, Simon leaped down to assist Salime. Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her hard before lowering her to the ground.
“What do you think?” He watched her face with eager anticipation as she took in the vision of two newly planted acres.
Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. “A vineyard?”
“Yes. And I had a devil of a time finding a gardener who knew anything about grapes. Apparently our fledgling vineyard is one of only a handful in all of Ireland. As a last resort, I had to settle for a damnable French émigré named Pascal. At least his maternal grandparents are Irish.”
“You did all this for me, Simon?”
“Yes, my love. Does it please you?”
“There are no words to express what I feel,” she gushed. “It is a gift beyond all gifts.”
He pulled her tightly into his arms. “No, my dearest…that would be you.”
After meeting the staff who’d eagerly assembled to greet their new mistress, Salime discovered yet another example of her husband’s supreme consideration—in the appearance of a new head footman—her own eunuch Mustafa Ali. After the joyful reunion, Simon took her on a tour of the house that ended at the master suite. Salime’s breath caught when he opened the door.
His surprises for her had not ended with the vineyard.
The sitting room with its silk-draped walls, Persian rugs, and lit à la turque was almost a replica of the chamber they’d shared in the Bloomsbury House. She gazed at the room in wonderment while Simon stood behind her, clasping his
hands on her hips.
Dipping his head, he murmured softly in her ear, “I had it done this way for you, Salime. It is in such a setting that I first saw you. I never want to forget it nor do I want you to lose yourself for me.” His words made her breathless with love. “Let this be our sanctuary,” he said, “the place we make love and dream… the place we begin our new life.”
Salime’s heart nearly stopped beating. The moment she’d waited for had arrived.
“You wished to begin a new life, Simon?” She reached for his hands, guiding them slowly down her hips and over her belly. “That wish is granted, my beloved, for one has already begun inside of me.”
His breathing stilled. “Are you certain of this?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I am quite certain. Are you not happy?”
Simon’s hands trembled as he cupped her face. “Happy doesn’t begin to describe what I feel. Since I have no adequate words perhaps I should show you instead?”
He swept her into his arms and carried her into the adjacent bedchamber. He sat her on the edge of the bed and knelt at her feet to remove one of her shoes, kissing the arch of her foot, and then the other. He slid his hands beneath her skirts to remove her garters and stockings. All of his actions were slow and deliberate as he removed her clothing piece by piece.
Over and above all his lyrical professions, Simon’s gifts had spoken more eloquently of his love than any words. Now she was eager to reciprocate in her own language of love.
“I think your actions make a very long and flowery speech.” Her blood was heating, but her husband still seemed in no great hurry.
He cocked a brow. “Impatient my love?”
“Yes Simon. You were away from me too long. Was your bed as cold as mine? Many nights I burned for you. Sadly, I had no choice but to pleasure myself.
He froze. His pupils flared. “Did you my dear?”
“Yes, but it was most unsatisfactory. My kilif still ached for you Simon.”
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