by Rose Pearson
“There is nothing I would not do for you, my love,” Lord Galsworthy replied, one hand now loosening from her hand and resting gently on her shoulder, his fingers brushing her neck and making her shiver. “I have given you my heart, as foolish and as ignorant as I am, and it shall never belong to another.” His hand slid down her back and around her waist, drawing her a little closer to him. Marianne went willingly, her free hand now resting gently on his chest, aware of just how much his closeness affected her. A fortnight seemed almost too long to be apart from him, she realized, almost desperate to be with him without ever having to part again.
“I love you with everything I have, with everything I am, Marianne,” Lord Galsworthy whispered, leaning forward. “You have forgiven me my foolishness and taken me back into your arms, back into your heart. You are everything to me, my love. I will love you every moment of our lives together.”
Marianne tried to reply but found she could not. Lord Galsworthy’s face was inches from her own, her breathing ragged as his lips brushed hers gently. She held her breath, closing her eyes and tilting her face up to his – only for his lips to descend again, but this time, with a good deal more firmness than before. He lingered, his arms tightening around her waist as her own hands swept around his neck. His kiss was warm and soft, sweetness and passion combining together. When he lifted his lips from hers, she let her head rest against his, knowing that this was where she belonged.
“I love you, Philip,” she whispered, feeling the way his heart beat along with her own.
“And I love you, Marianne,” he replied before his lips sought hers once more.
The Long Return
My only true love is gone. I only wish he knew how much I loved him.
Arabella Marchmont was destroyed when she found out that Jacob died in the war.
It was her fault he was there in the first place. She just couldn’t take him seriously when he proposed, and before she could rectify her mistake he was already gone.
The agonizing wait for him to return began, but tragedy struck leaving Arabella to only wonder what could have been. Jacob was gone from this world, and life had to move on.
A long time later, when the Earl of Winchester proposes, everyone understood that it was time, finally even Arabella.
A simple life, free of heartache, might be just all that she could hope for.
But just as she starts to set her mind to the marriage, a familiar face limps back to Grosvenor Square.
Shockingly, her Jacob has returned, but is he even the same Jacob that left all that time ago.? Could he ever even be the same Jacob that proposed to her?
And even if he could be, was he already too late?
Prologue
“Where are you?”
Little Arabella Marchmont, daughter to the Earl of Blackford, giggled as she ran as fast as she could across the garden lawn, hearing her friend shouting out after her. Practically throwing herself into the little arbour and not caring at all about the state of her dress, eight-year-old Arabella tried not to make a sound.
“I’m going to find you!”
Trying hard not to giggle, Arabella clamped one hand over her mouth. Jacob St. Leger, the second son of the Duke of Crestwick, was trying to find her in their game of ‘hide and go seek’, but this time she was sure he’d never be able to work out where she was.
“I’m getting closer.”
Arabella let out a shriek of surprise as his voice rippled through the arbour, making Jacob laugh as he poked her in the back with his finger.
“Found you.”
Arabella laughed and sat up, shaking her head as her dark ringlets danced around her face. “You always know where I am.”
Jacob grinned at her, his light brown eyes glowing with happiness, a sprinkling of freckles over his nose that had been brought about by the hours they had spent playing in the sunshine.
“I’ll always know where you are, Arabella,” he said, sitting down next to her and grinning. “There’s just something about you that always tells me where you’re hiding.”
Arabella rolled her eyes, her grin never fading. “I think you’re peeking when you’re meant to be counting.”
“How dare you?” Jacob said, in mock horror. “I’d never do that.” Laughing, he rose to his feet, his mop of brown hair sticking up in every direction. “Listen, I’ll give you another chance, will I? I swear not to peek.”
Arabella stuck out her tongue. “I knew you were cheating.”
He grinned at her. “Go on then. Run. I’ll count to twenty and then come after you.” Leaning in closer, he winked at her. “But I’ll still be able to find you.”
“Not this time!” Arabella declared, her heart beating frantically as she ran away from the arbour, trying to work out where she could hide so that Jacob couldn’t find her. His voice floated towards her as she hurried away, hearing him counting. Surely, she’d be able to find somewhere better to conceal herself this time?
“You’ve never been much good at hiding.”
Surprised, Arabella looked up from her book, her eyes widening at the sight of Jacob St. Leger leaning lazily against one side of the arbour.
“Jacob!”
Throwing her book aside, she practically launched himself into his arms, more delighted than she could say to see him again. “Jacob!” she exclaimed, as he held her tightly against him. “When did you get back from town?”
He grinned at her as she looked up into his face. “This morning,” he said, with a laugh. “But I couldn’t wait to come by. Your mother tells me that you were meant to be entertaining Lord Fairweather this morning but that you pleaded a headache and went in search of some quiet solitude in order to help it dissipate.” His brow arched, making her laugh. “I know you too well to believe that, Arabella.”
“You have me found out,” Arabella admitted, with a wry smile. “Lord Fairweather is quite set on having me as his wife, and I’m afraid I will not accept him, even though mama thinks he is quite amiable.”
Jacob grinned, tipping his head as he let her go, coming to sit down beside her. “A little too dull for you, was he?”
Arabella rolled her eyes. “Terribly so.”
“And you are, therefore, avoiding him.”
“Of course.” She sighed happily and pressed his arm. “I am so glad to see you again, Jacob.” Her eyes took him in, seeing him for the man he had become instead of the young boy she had once known. He still had those laughing brown eyes, the scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, but he was taller than she now, with broad shoulders and a strong back which gave him the appearance of strength and bravery. She was quite proud of him in a sisterly sort of way, even though she knew that his father disapproved of some of his son’s wilder ways. How often had he come back to the garden to play or spend time with her, sad because his father had chided him once again for being less than inclined towards his lessons, and more interested in being out of doors?
“As I am you,” Jacob replied, with a touch of tenderness in his voice. “Arabella, I have been thinking.”
“Oh?” She twinkled up at him. “You know that can be remarkably dangerous, do you not?”
He rolled his eyes at her teasing. “Do let us try to be serious for even a short time, my dearest Arabella.”
She tried not to smile, setting her hands in her lap, and fixing her eyes on his. “But of course.”
To her surprise, Jacob appeared to be in deep thought for a few moments, for he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a long sigh. “As you know, Arabella, father wished me to go to London for the Season so that I might consider my future.” His face lifted towards hers. “I have been considering it. Arabella, I want my future to be with you.”
She stared at him, a little confused.
“Let me be clear,” he stated, a little more firmly. “Arabella, I want you to be my bride. I want to marry you.”
Blinking rapidly, Arabella narrowed her eyes as she looked into her fr
iend’s face. They had been fast friends for so many years and he was always doing something to tease her. Was this his way of doing so now?
“You are toying with me,” she said, slowly, quite certain that he was trying to make her fall into some sort of trap or other, so that he could laugh at her long and hard later. “You are teasing me, are you not? My goodness, Jacob, I will not fall for such nonsense!”
Jacob frowned, his expression growing a little darker. “I am not jesting, Arabella. Can you not see that I care for you deeply?”
“Now I know for certain that you are teasing me,” she said, stoutly, getting to her feet and refusing to allow him to goad her any longer. “Just because I have rejected Lord Fairweather does not mean that you must then attempt to make a joke of such things as marriage and the like. Goodness me, Jacob, I have never known you to try and make light of such serious things as matrimony before.” She tossed her head, her ringlets no longer bouncing around her face but rather held back neatly. “I consider your jokes in rather poor taste.” Walking out to the gardens, she looked over her shoulder, expecting Jacob to come running after her, a broad grin on his face as he confessed that he had been doing just that.
To her surprise, he did not follow her.
Shrugging, Arabella hastened back to the house, telling herself that Jacob was being much too ridiculous to try to make her believe that such an offer was genuine. He was always playing tricks on her and trying to make her believe whatever it was he wished her to believe, but he would not be successful here. She knew him too well for that and if he wished to sulk over the fact that he had failed terribly, then she was not about to feel any sort of sympathy for him.
Arabella did not give the arbour a single glance over her shoulder, despite her frustrated thoughts towards him. If she had, she might have seen Jacob St. Leger standing by it, his expression utterly wretched, as he watched her walk away.
Chapter One
Eight months later
“Have any letters arrived today?”
The maid shook her head as she finished dressing Arabella’s hair.
“No, my lady.”
Arabella’s heart sank low, just as it had done every day since she had last seen Jacob in the arbour.
“I will inform you the moment anything arrives,” the maid said, encouragingly, as she stepped back. “There, my lady. I think you are ready.”
Arabella nodded, not even looking at her reflection in the mirror. “I thank you.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” Arabella replied, dully. “There is not.” She waited until the maid had quit the room before rising to her feet and making her way to her music box, where she kept her most precious possessions.
Carefully lifting the lid, she took out the same small letter that she had read every day since Jacob had left, sitting down on her bed to unfold it.
Her eyes dragged over the words written there, even though she already knew them by heart.
“I am to leave England,” she read aloud. “The second son of a Duke must have some occupation and so I have had my father purchase colours for me. I do not know when I will return.” Her breath caught, grief tearing at her heart as she read the final two sentences. “I have loved you for a long time, Arabella, and my proposal was truly what I desired. How broken I am to realise that such a thing can never be.”
Her voice cracked, tears pricking at her eyes as she lowered her head, her grief growing all the more as she thought of her dear friend. Jacob, who had meant so much to her, and whose proposal she had thought of as nothing more than a jest on his part, had turned away from her entirely. He had joined the army and she did not know where he had gone.
Of course, she had written to him almost immediately, but had received a note from the Duke of Crestwick, Jacob’s father, to inform her that Jacob was already gone, but that he would forward the letter to London. She could not be sure whether or not Jacob had ever received her letter and yet, even though it had been eight months since their parting, she waited in hope every day for a reply.
Oh, how she had begged him to return to her! How she had wept as she had looked into the depths of her heart and realised that none but Jacob would do for her. To know that his proposal had been genuine, that his words had been true, had quite broken her heart into pieces, regret and disappointment filling every part of her being.
Letting out a long breath and battling against the tears that threatened, Arabella settled her shoulders and fixed her gaze on the window. The dull spring sunshine was doing its best to cheer her, but it was not enough to bring a smile to her face. Instead, she felt her soul grow weary, a heavy weight bearing down upon it.
Knowing that her mother would be expecting her presence at the breakfast table, Arabella rose to her feet and set the letter back in the music box, letting her fingers trace it for just another moment before she closed the lid. She would read his letter again tomorrow, sending up a silent prayer for his safe return and for his forgiveness when the time came. She had to hope that she was not too late to accept his proposal, had to believe that their friendship would be enough to sustain them.
Making her way below stairs, Arabella heard her mother speak sharply to her older sister, Martha, wincing at the harsh tone. Martha, however, did not appear to be too perturbed, for she replied calmly, evidently refuting whatever it was her mother had said. Arabella wished she too could speak to her mother with such surety but she found the sting of her mother’s hard words often too difficult to bear. Her mother, Lady Blackford, had become all the more difficult since her husband and Arabella’s father, had died some seven months ago. Arabella had tried her best to be understanding and sympathetic, especially in light of her mother’s grief, but as time had gone on, her mother appeared to be getting worse instead of improving.
“Ah, Arabella, there you are,” her mother said, her thin face as pale as ever, although her dark eyes were narrowed with frustration and anger. “Come, we must go in. Rosalind will be waiting.”
Rosalind was waiting, even though she did not appear to mind. Instead, she sent a warm glance in Martha’s direction, as though to encourage her. Arabella ignored this, knowing that out of the three of them, she was the only one who was not attached in some way.
Both Rosalind and Martha were betrothed, although the weddings would not take place until after their year of mourning was ended. Their father, Lord Blackford, had not only approved of the marriages but had been quite resounding in his encouragement of them, for he had declared himself to be a great believer that love between husband and wife was the only thing of importance.
Martha was to marry a second son without title or particular wealth, who hailed from Covent Garden. Rosalind was to marry Baron Southend, which, to her mother’s mind at least, was better than no title at all! Whilst Arabella was glad for her sisters, their happiness only made her own discontent and regret all the more obvious.
“Do not eat too much this morning, Arabella,” her mother instructed, as Arabella rose to fill her plate from the dishes that had been laid out on the sideboard. “I must say, we will soon have to send for the seamstress to let your dresses out if you continue on as you are!”
Arabella closed her eyes tightly, battling her anger. Her mother always had something to say about her behaviour, her dress, or her manner, and she was growing rather tired of it.
“Mama, you need not chide Arabella so,” Martha interjected, softly, although there was a strength in her voice. “She is not a child.”
Lady Blackford snorted. “She has made foolish decisions, just as a child might do.”
Deeply regretting that she had ever informed her mother about what Jacob had said, Arabella whirled around to face her mother, the empty plate being gently taken from her hands by Rosalind. “Mama, that is more than enough,” Arabella said, heat crawling up into her cheeks as she battled with her anger. “Do you not think that I am tortured enough already? Do you not consider how I must li
ve with my regret every single day?”
Her mother sniffed and looked away, as though she found Arabella’s display of emotion a little improper.
“I am waiting for Jacob to return from war so that we might make amends,” Arabella continued, aware that her voice was rising but finding that she did not care. “I am saddened over his parting, I am grief-stricken over the loss of our dear father.” Something flickered in her mother’s eyes as she looked back sharply at Arabella, her face going suddenly pale.
“Therefore,” Arabella finished, feeling a small sense of triumph. “I shall eat what I please, dress how I please and act as I please. I have had more than enough chiding from you, mama. Leave me to myself, I beg you, for I cannot bear any more of your sharp tongue.”
So saying, she turned around and practically snatched the plate from her sister’s hand, filling it up with more food than she would ever manage to finish eating. She just wanted to show her mother that her words meant nothing to Arabella.
For the next half hour, breakfast went without argument, without harsh words being spoken and without the appearance of malice. Arabella was mostly silent, as was her mother, although when Martha and Rosalind began to discuss their upcoming weddings, Arabella felt as though she could bear no more and rose from her chair.
