Love Then Begins (12 page)

“Oh no,” she whispered as her head came down to his bare chest, “I think we can have it all. I think we can safely count on achieving absolute mutual satisfaction, after all. Don’t you?”

H
E FOUND SHE HAD PERFECTED
a most exquisite form of torture. He lay on his back, holding very still, while she moved ever so slowly over him, avoiding any creaks, moans or cries until he knew that any measure of self-restraint and tact that he might possess was long, long gone. He reached his hands down to her hips, to guide her movements into a tempo more to his liking and looked up to see if there was a twinkle of victory in her eye.

Instead he saw that most satisfying frown, the one telling him she was close . . . so close . . . and she was biting her lip to keep from crying out. He kept it up until he heard a sharp intake of breath, small whimper escaping, and then . . . restraint, creaking beds and neighbouring rooms be damned.

He spun her over and gave in to his need with abandon, taking her with him. Her hands on his back, her legs wrapped so tightly around him, he kept at it until she lost all restraint as well and he heard her cries of pleasure and release.

He rolled over, still breathless, and pulled her close, running his fingers lightly up and down that beautiful, flushed and glistening body slowly sinking deeper and deeper into relaxation and peace.

“Holly,” he whispered.

She stirred languidly, but he felt her smile. “Yes? David?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Mmm . . . ” she said drowsily into his neck. “I suppose so.”

“Your thoughts . . . earlier . . . that were troubling you . . . ” he paused and she lifted herself up onto her elbows to watch him in the firelight, “they don’t matter. None of it does. Titles mean nothing, especially mine. Not to me, not in comparison to the one thing, the one person, that means everything to me.”

“But . . . ”

“No ‘buts’,” he touched his finger to her mouth. “Cumbermere is a crumbling and decaying estate; I am sure you will have no more love for it than I. We will go there and we will fulfil our obligations: we will show our faces in church on Sunday, you will acquaint yourself with the staff and I will attend to the books and tenants and then we will leave. It will go one, as it always has, quite well without us. We have a duty, but aside from that duty, that place has no claim on us. It does not define who we are.”

“And that is why you won’t assume the title,” she said, with a dawning understanding.

“Exactly. I am
not
Cumbermere, and neither, thank God, are you. No one there knows us. Nothing there matters.
We
, my love, are David and Holly, husband and wife. Everything else is secondary.”

“So, we won’t stay long?”

“Not a moment longer than necessary.”

“And after that?”

He smiled. “On to Town where I can show you off in style. We’ll go to the theatre—every night if you like—and when we tire of that, we’ll be highly unfashionable and spend all of our time in each other’s company.”

“And when we tire of that?”

“Anything we like, love.”

“That sounds,” she snuggled against his chest, “wonderful.”

“Feel better?”

“Mm hm . . . ” she closed her eyes and her breathing deepened.

It was too hard to resist. “Well, I am happy you are able to sleep now, my lady, because I believe we have made certain that none of our neighbours are doing so any longer.”

Her eyes were still closed and she lay perfectly still with a satisfied smile on her lips.

“Oh yes, I dare say I will . . . ”

But then she sat up abruptly and looked at him.

“Oh no! Do you think they . . . ? Oh, love, we can never,
never
come back to this inn again!”

He could not help but laugh at her.

“If you like,” he said. “However, that probably won’t be necessary since I took the precaution of giving our names as Mr and Mrs Darcy.” She gasped, sitting up in horror, and then she saw his dancing, mischievous eyes and the wicked grin on his face and once again they shared the intimacy of hushed and secret laughter: diving beneath the covers, playfully shushing each other, letting it bubble up and subside in that same natural rhythm they found so easily in their private time together. But the day had been a long one, the hour was late and as the fire dwindled down, so did their levity.

He smoothed the rumpled bedclothes around them and brushed away a few tresses stuck to her glistening face. She was curled up beside him, lying very still. Asleep—his mission was accomplished. Carefully he covered her with the rest of the sheets and spreads. She did not stir. He lay back and folded his arms behind his head and watched the dancing shadows on the ceiling. His own drowsiness that had been creeping up on him before she entered his chamber had disappeared. He felt relaxed and calm but sleep was kept at bay by his scattered thoughts.

There was, he admitted, more to the business of titles and estates than he let on. The words he had just employed to convince her of the very opposite, he had used on himself many, many times, and they did not always work. But . . . it was not just him any longer. In truth, he had never contemplated that by his marriage he was, indeed, creating a countess. He had ignored the duty to his line and the considerations to his title and married Holly because he knew Holly could make him happy. He now feared he had been infinitely selfish in that action. In a short time she
would
be a countess and she was right; he had done nothing to prepare her for it. He did not care for it, but the reality was that she would meet many people who depended on and needed a countess. He had no expectations from her other than her love, but he realised now that was not the complete reality of their situation and his marriage. At Clyne he had been able to ignore it but in the future it would be inevitable.

He looked down at her in her most vulnerable state and was suddenly reminded of her courage, her pride and her intelligence. How she had stood tall and straight and challenged him with the truth. How she had boldly made her way in the world. How she met everything in her path with honesty and integrity and never budged when she dug her heels in. And then he knew: his fears were not for her, his fears were for himself. She would face this like she faced everything; the staff and tenants would love her and she would be a fine countess. It was his weakness, his failings that made him dread their arrival at his family home. Could he overcome the feelings of impotence and resentment that always found him there? And if he could not, what would she think of him? Troubled thoughts and increasing dread haunted him until, exhausted, he too succumbed to sleep.

M
ARRIED LOVE’S FRAGILE NEW PLANTLET
surely bears witness to the surprising strength and vitality that can be found in tender things. When it emerges from the soil of singlehood and sheds its cap striving for light and growth, it may one day grow into a majestic tree despite its feeble beginnings. Such is the hidden power of a humble seed when placed in advantageous circumstances! But while it struggles through its fragile first growth, its strength and life still a distant promise and possibility, it needs its own sheltering hothouse of care.

Such a shelter was the secluded honeymoon of Lord and Lady Baugham. It had served its purpose most admirably and love’s growth was secured and firmly established in a short but very fruitful time. The arduous circumstances of travelling two hundred miles from the Borders to Cheshire in the confined seclusion of a carriage, however, at the end of three days no longer gave nurture but was rather in danger of suffocating the poor, young fledging regard and mutual affection between the two travellers.

His lordship was bored, grumpy, restless and frustrated. Lady Baugham was tired, aching, exhausted and uneasy. Something must be done. They were both painfully aware of that fact long before they reached the busy throughways leading to Manchester, and they watched the growing, industrious city rise before them, as if mocking their frustrations with its visions of chimneys rising on the horizon and the traffic rolling in and out past them. But what? Words that neither wanted to speak hung between them. Neither dared to recognise in the other what they themselves felt so keenly, neither dared to alleviate the growing dissatisfaction with a truthful, if spontaneous, comment.

Thankfully, sometimes fate does not care about intentions or lack of initiative and it was fate that decreed their last stop on the long, weary journey to Cumbermere should be at the crossroads of Cheadle. Fate that made Lady Baugham insist that late arrival or no, she would not ride one more minute in the carriage with such a glum and irritable companion and she would have a proper meal and cup of tea, thank you! before subjecting herself to the further miseries of the final leg of their journey. Fate that, after a meal that had actually done little for either disposition, they should see the road signs immediately upon stepping out of the inn:

And it must be fate that made the husband turn to the wife and jokingly say, “Isn’t it funny that the place we’d rather be travelling to is actually closer than the place we must go? It would be so easy to simply show up at the Darcy’s door unannounced.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, it would . . . ”

And there it was! The words had been spoken, the action suggested and the resolution reached. A sense of relief swept over them that neither of them touched with words, but his lordship took his wife’s hand, kissed it and then put his arm around her while he whistled a little careless tune and she laughed a little and put her hand to his cheek.

Admittedly, the feeling of inevitability was soon replaced by one of rationalisation, but the change was easily accomplished. Lord Baugham knew how much Lady Baugham wished she could be with her cousin at this time. Lady Baugham knew how little Lord Baugham looked forward to long days with ledgers and stewards and tenants’ concerns and complaints. Both wished to postpone the end of the dream that they had, until the past three days, been living.

So the driver was given new directions, the carriage was re-entered with alacrity and mirth, seats were eagerly taken and a spirit of adventure settled upon the travellers where previously desperation had been in danger of settling in.

“Just a few days,” Holly said. “I’m sure they won’t mind. And I do want so much to see Elizabeth!”

“Quite. You know, I think they would almost take offense at our negligence if we didn’t . . . Thirty eight miles! We’ll be there in no time at all!”

It was, of course, pitch black by the time Lord Baugham’s anxious checking of his watch told them they should be close to Lambton. As a consequence, they missed the whole affair despite stealing glances out into the darkening evening from a practically impenetrable window.

“Was that it?” Baugham asked as the faint light of a torch flickered by, a shout by a man and the incessant barking of a dog followed them on. He put his head out of the window but could only report darkness and an icy wind hitting his face. A quick shout to the coachman did confirm their suspicions and both of them felt a little cheated at having missed such a landmark in their spontaneous detour.

“Three more miles,” Baugham said and grinned at Holly.

She could not hide her childish enthusiasm, both to finally reach their destination and to be so near her cousin. Her husband grabbed her hand and together they made a great effort once again to spot any distinctions on the way that would help them pace their arrival at Pemberley.

In the end, it was too dark to enjoy the view from the small slope that led down to the most magnificent prospect of a house so advantageously situated it had caused more doubtfully inclined persons to entertain heretical thoughts of appreciation and regard of the owner of such a splendid erection on the spot.

However, Lord and Lady Baugham were in no need of a conversion of affection regarding Mr Darcy and so the lesser spectacle of a row of lit windows on two floors shining at them through the dark was quite enough to lift their spirits and make them give heartfelt thanks.

It was not quite nine o’clock—late for those who kept country hours—but if Holly had doubts on whether they would be left outside to pound the door in despair, his lordship was confident they had come at just the right time. He proved to be right. Before the carriage had rolled up the long and well-kept drive way to the front door, over the gravel treacherously announcing their spontaneous arrival, the door was already opened and a footman hurried out with a torch to attend to them.