“You must marry ‘er,” the Comte had said. “If her father were ‘ere ‘e would tell you so ‘imself. As ‘e is not, I regard myself as taking ‘is place.”
And Luke’s angry refusal – “I’m not going to marry a woman I don’t love. Particularly when I’m in love with another -”
It had all seemed so clear at the time: her godfather telling Luke to marry her because he had compromised her on the ship, where she had not had the benefit of a chaperon, and Luke refusing. Why, if he was in love with her, had he refused to marry her? And why had he said he was in love with another woman. At the time she had thought he meant Nicole, but if that was not so, then who was the other woman? It was so perplexing that she had to distract her thoughts, because they were going round and round in circles.
At last daylight broke through the crack in her drapes, and dressing herself quickly – a difficult task, since she did not want to disturb Trudie, and therefore had to manage her hooks and buttons alone, and dispense with her corset, which it was simply impossible for her to manage without help - she went downstairs, slipping out of the door into the grey morning. She felt too restless to stay inside, and longed for a ride. The fresh air and exercise would do her good, and perhaps help to soothe her troubled spirit.
Before long she was in the stables, and then, mounting Dapple, she set out for the seashore. Dapple was a little sluggish to begin with, but the mare soon began to enjoy herself, and by the time they had crossed the fields to the seashore both horse and rider were feeling better.
The beach was spread out before them, a vast expanse of dampened sand. The tide was almost out.
Marianne walked Dapple to the edge of the beach and then dismounted, using a boulder as a mounting block. She tethered the mare loosely so that the animal could wander about a little and nibble the coarse sea grass, before taking off her boots and stockings and walking across the sand towards the sea.
The sound of the waves was calming. She went right to the water’s edge, letting it wash over her feet. It was cool and refreshing. The sun was up, and had a considerable amount of strength for the time of year. She stood there for some minutes, watching the receding mass of blue water, which was touched with patches that sparkled in the early morning sun.
Would she ever understand the events of last night? she wondered.
She shook her head, and then turned and walked slowly along the beach.
* * * *
Luke was slouching in a wing-back chair in the library, his manner dark and brooding. He had not been to bed that night. By the time he had returned from the Travis’s it was already after two o’clock and he had not felt like sleeping. He had had a hell of a night. He had finally had an opportunity to offer Marianne his hand, and what had happened? Had she agreed? Had she told him she wanted to be his wife more than anything else in the world? Had she melted into his arms, giving herself up to him with words of love and longing?
He gave a harsh bark of laughter. No indeed. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.
She had first of all told him she was engaged to Jem Cosgrove – Jem Cosgrove! – and had then insulted him deeply by telling him she knew he was in love with Nicole. Nicole! His cousin, of all people! How could she have had so little faith in him? Had she really believed that he would go straight from the arms of one woman to another?
If he had not been in love with anyone, then yes, he might have done, although not if one of them had been a gently-bred young lady, for wantonly seducing innocents was not in his nature. But once he had fallen in love? Once he had given his heart and, but for an interruption, his hand?
How could she think it?
But underlying his anger was something far worse; a very real pain. He felt betrayed. He had believed in Marianne utterly – hadn’t he laughed when she had told him she was engaged to Jem Cosgrove? - and yet she had not believed in him. She had thought he was in love with Nicole. And so he had stormed at her, telling her that, as she did not believe in him, it was a good thing they had not become betrothed.
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a good thing at all. He loved her. God, how he loved her. Why had she not trusted him? At the very least given him the benefit of the doubt?
He had passed the night in an angry state of mind, and as the darkness finally gave way before the new day he felt no better. After all they had shared, for him to find that Marianne had no faith in him, in his love for her; it hit him hard.
At last, he began to stir. The house was coming to life all around him and he felt he must rouse himself. The servants were already up and about, starting the new day. He went out into the hall, and there was Nicole, coming down the stairs, looking so fresh and innocent. Who would have believed she could be the cause of so much pain?
But it was not her fault. Nicole was the one good thing in his life at the moment, the one happiness. Her escape from France was his one source of unalloyed contentment.
He met her at the bottom of the stairs and went forward to greet her, putting his arms around her and embracing her as she turned up her face trustingly to his and gave him a kiss on the cheek. As he held her close, he happened to catch sight of himself in one of the gilded mirrors that hung on the wall.
He froze.
This was the scene Marianne had witnessed. This was how she had seen him embracing Nicole.
What was it she had said to him? “I saw love in your face.”
Yes, she had seen love. He was seeing it himself now, reflected back at him in the glass: his arms around Nicole and an expression on his face of love.
Good God! No wonder she had felt betrayed.
And he had blamed her for it, he thought with a twist of his mouth.
How could he have done anything so monstrous? he wondered as he gently pushed Nicole away from him.
For the first time he saw their argument of the previous evening from Marianne’s point of view. She had drawn an obvious conclusion from something she had seen, and what had he done? Explained it to her? Reassured her? Told her that Nicole was his cousin, and that although he loved the young Frenchwoman dearly he was not in love with her? That he could only ever be in love with Marianne?
No.
In fact, he had never told her he was in love with her at all.
The realisation hit him with full force. He had never once told her he loved her. And yet he had railed at her; accused her of a lack of trust. He had told her that as there was so little understanding between them it was a good thing they were not to marry. He cursed himself. So little understanding! Of course there was so little understanding between them, he thought grimly. How could there be any understanding between them when he had never told her about his feelings for her? And when, realising she had been shaken by something she had seen, he had refused to explain? When he had never told her anything about Nicole? He had been a fool.
‘I have to go out,’ he said to Nicole. ‘I shall be probably be gone for most of the morning.’
‘Ah! Bon,’ said Nicole. ‘You wish to see Marianne? I understand.’
‘Make yourself at home. Enjoy your morning. I hope I shall be back before lunch.’
‘Oui.’
Taking his leave of her, Luke strode out to the stables and saddled his horse.
* * * *
Marianne was walking along the beach. Shells and pieces of driftwood scattered the sand between low and high water marks, and here and there gulls stalked, looking for food. Finally she felt she had found a little peace. Until she saw, as yet far off, a horseman, and recognised him immediately as Luke.
He had had the same idea as her, it seemed, and had ridden down to the beach, was her first thought. But no. They were on Travis land. Had he ridden out here, then, specially to find her?
Seeing him dismount and stride towards her across the sand she was filled with a sudden awkwardness. Part of her wanted to run towards him, and part of her wanted to run away . . .
With difficulty she fought down the urge to run and stood st
ill, although filled with a strange restlessness, waiting for him to reach her. She must be cool; calm; no matter how much her heart felt to be in her throat.
‘Marianne,’ he said as he approached her.
‘Lord Ravensford,’ she replied.
There was a moment of awkwardness. He looked at her. She looked at him. And suddenly their misunderstandings meant nothing. Communing on a level where words were unnecessary, as they had done before, they instinctively knew that nothing else mattered; nothing except their love for each other.
Luke smiled, the old, wicked smile which set her pulse racing and made her legs turn weak. And then he swept her into this arms and kissed her as she had never been kissed before. It drove all thought out of her mind; all doubt; so that when he let her go –
‘You love me,’ she said, her face wreathed in smiles.
‘Did you ever really doubt it? Yes, Marianne, I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul.’ He looked down into her eyes with a wicked smile on his face. But beneath the wickedness was something warm and inviting; something deep and sincere.
‘You’re . . . you’re not still angry?’ she asked, although she could already tell by his expression that he was not.
‘No, I’m not angry. How could I be, when the argument was all my fault?’
‘Your fault?’ She shook her head. Their argument seemed a million miles away, but still she could not let him take all the blame.
‘Yes. My fault,’ he said tenderly, stroking her windswept ringlets back from her face. ‘Because I never told you what you needed to know. I never said the words you needed to hear. I never told you I loved you. But I am telling you now, so that there need be no more misunderstandings between us. I love you, Marianne, and I was a fool not to say so before now.’
‘But . . . Nicole?’ she asked, her mind in a whirl.
He shook his head. ‘Marianne, I was such a fool last night. I was so taken aback by your ridiculous tale about being engaged to Jem Cosgrove – you’re not, are you, by the way?’ he asked, with a look that said if she was then it was no more than a minor irritation that he would easily sweep out of the way.
‘No,’ she admitted, smiling ruefully.
‘I thought not. But I was so taken aback, and so hurt by what I saw as your lack of trust in me, that I didn’t explain. Nicole is my cousin, my dearly beloved cousin, but nothing more. I love her; but I am not in love with her. I should have told you so last night. But I was angry with you. Angry with you for not knowing that I loved you, even though I had not said the words.’
‘But I did know,’ she said with a sigh. Her eyes went to his. ‘It’s just that, when I saw you with Nicole, the expression on your face, it didn’t leave any room for doubt. It was obvious you loved her.’
He ran his eyes over her face; her smooth forehead, her raven ringlets, her gentian blue eyes, her beautiful nose and enchantingly curved mouth, and smiled, but tenderly this time.
‘You’re right. I do love Nicole. But not in the way I love you. Nicole is my beloved cousin. You are the love of my life.’
‘Oh, Luke,’ she said, leaning her head against his shoulder as they walked along the beach, too happy for the moment to think of anything else. But presently she asked, ‘What changed your mind? What stopped you being angry and make you decide that I wasn’t to blame?’
He held her closer. ‘It was because I saw myself. This morning, when Nicole came downstairs, I embraced her, and as I did so I caught sight of myself in one of the hall mirrors. I saw what you had seen, and I saw that you had been right there was an unmistakeable expression of love on my face. And I knew that, at my first meeting with Nicole, it must have been even more pronounced. I thought I had lost her, you see. But then, Henri told you that.’
‘Yes. He also said young love was a beautiful thing, and that he was sure I was too generous to begrudge you your happiness.’ She sighed. ‘I misunderstood.’
He was startled.
‘Is that what he said? Then it’s hardly surprising you misunderstood. Henri’s English is not very good, at least not when it comes to the finer points of the language. He probably didn’t even realise that his words could imply that Nicole and I were lovers. He knew the truth, of course. Even so, didn’t your heart tell you that I was in love with you?’
‘Yes, it did,’ she admitted. ‘But my reason told me that it was wishful thinking. If you had told me you loved me, then things would have been different, but you had never done so.’
‘Because once I had discovered that fact for myself I had never had the chance. It was not until the Frenchman levelled his pistol at you, you see, that I knew for sure. It’s strange, I had been envying Kit his love for Adèle when this whole situation began. I realised that he had found a woman he loved so much he would gladly risk his life for her, whilst I had found only shallow affairs. And I thought that I would never fall in love like that; that I would never find a woman I would willingly risk my life for because life without her would be meaningless and hollow. But when I saw you in danger I knew with an all-consuming certainty that I was in love with you, and that nothing mattered except your safety. Because my life without you would be meaningless.’
He pressed her tightly to him, and she felt a deep and profound sense of satisfaction at his words.
‘There’s still one thing I don’t understand, though,’ he said thoughtfully as they walked along the beach. ‘Why did you say you were going to marry Jem?’
She sighed. ‘I overheard your conversation with my godfather. I didn’t mean to, but I was in the library when your were in the adjoining room, and the door was not properly closed. I was going to close it, but once I overheard the Comte saying you had compromised me and that you must marry me, I froze. And then I didn’t like to close the door in case it made a noise: I did not want to draw attention to myself as the conversation had been about me.’
‘You thought the conversation was about you?’ asked Luke in surprise.
‘Yes.' She was curious. 'Wasn't it?'
Luke burst out laughing. ‘What a tangle!’ he said. ‘You thought I was refusing to propose to you! Oh, Marianne, I was refusing to propose to Nicole!’
‘Refusing to propose to Nicole?’ she asked in astonishment.
‘Yes. The Comte felt protective of Nicole. They had escaped from France together, in fact that is how I managed to track him down. When Nicole at last managed to make her way to England she sought me out, and whilst telling me of her adventures she mentioned that she had escaped with a number of other people, two of whom matched the description of Adele’s parents. I didn’t want to say anything in case I was wrong, but I made up my mind to track them down. Sure enough, they were Adele’s parents, and we travelled back from London together. Once here, the Comte discovered that Nicole had been staying with me unchaperoned and he felt that I should marry her. He said that, as her father was not here - her father was sadly killed - he must make me see my duty.’
Marianne gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘So that's what he meant. I thought it was odd that he should say Papa wasn't there, but I assumed he meant that as Papa wasn't in the room he must make you see your duty himself!’
Luke threw back his head and laughed. Now that there was a perfect understanding between them he could afford to find Marianne's mistake a subject for mirth!
‘But did you not hear the Comte saying that I must marry her because I had compromised her?’
‘I did. But I thought he was talking about you compromising me on our trip to France.’
Luke smiled. ‘Nothing so dramatic. He did not even know about your - our - trip to France. But I couldn’t possibly marry Nicole. She has always been very dear to me - I don’t have any sisters, you see, and Nicole, as my closest cousin, filled that rôle – but as for offering her my hand in marriage? No. I love her, but only in the way Kit loves you; with a protective and caring love. But not as a man loves a woman, not as I love you. And so I told the Comte. And when I had explained the situat
ion fully he understood. It is just a pity that you didn't overhear the entire conversation. Besides, Nicole would not have had me even if she had not been my cousin, and even if I had asked her, because she is shortly to be married herself.’ He shook his head. ‘She will be mortified if she learns that she nearly came between us. It is only because she wanted to meet you that she has stayed in Sussex so long. She is eager to return to Oxford, where her betrothed is waiting for her.’
Marianne shook her head. ‘What a tangle it’s all been!’
‘And all because Jem interrupted us when I was introducing you to Nicole. Another moment and I would have told you she was my cousin, saving us both a painful episode.’
‘Poor Jem!’ laughed Marianne. ‘He was so determined not to miss the start of the dance!’
Marianne stepped over a piece of flotsam, holding up the skirt of her riding habit so that it would not get wet.
They fell silent. The tangled situation was at last unravelling, and their tensions were ebbing away. Above them the sun was shining with the promise of spring, and the sand was damp under their feet.
‘But why did you say you were going to marry Jem?’ Luke asked at last.
Marianne sighed. ‘I wanted to free you. I thought you were going to propose to me because you felt you had compromised me on our trip to France, and I could not bear it. I thought, you see, that my godfather had persuaded you to offer me your hand, and I wanted to free you from any feeling of obligation so that you could marry Nicole.’
‘And had you told Jem?’
‘That I would marry him? No. It was said on the spur of the moment.’
‘Good. I don’t want Mrs Cosgrove glaring at me over our wedding breakfast!’
‘As to that, I’m sure I hope Mrs Kilkenny will not look too sour,’ teased Marianne, matching his bantering tone.
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