Love Then Begins (2 page)

The night was dark and she could barely make out his features. Perhaps that was why she felt bold and free and adventurous. His horse snorted as if in response to her request. There was also a low laugh from the rider.

“The waltz is a dance for two. Where one leads, the other must follow. And will you follow me, do you think?”

“Of course. I know you are suspecting my stubbornness will make your work very hard, but I assure you I am never sceptical of an authority I respect.”

“I have your respect then?”

“Tomorrow I will promise to love, honour and obey and it will be a joy to do so since, yes, you have my respect and my admiration as well.”

“As you have mine,” he said, “and so much more.”

But such a schoolgirl’s romantic fantasy cannot last, as Holly realised when her limbs started to shiver and her fingers grew numb from the cold. Baugham too, had more and more difficulty handling his horse, who quite obviously was not in possession of a romantic disposition and wanted nothing more than to be on his way. His master was finally forced to yield, but promised that he would have no qualms abducting his bride from this same position if she failed to climb into his carriage outside her house at exactly eight o’clock the next morning and his bride thought he was too charming in his violent threats to be reminded of how silly and unnecessary they were.

P
ERHAPS IT WAS TO BE
expected then that there was little conversation on the way to the church the next morning, each occupant being too full of his or her own private emotions to speak as the dark winter morning slowly surrendered to the greyish light of day, but presently they reached their destination. The Reverend greeted the arriving party and escorted them into the chapel where—hand in hand, in front of God and the necessary witnesses—Lord David William Baugham, Seventh Earl of Cumbermere, and Hortènse Amelie Marianne Tournier de Caisson were joined as Man and Wife, promising to live together in holy love unto their lives’ end.
Amen.

C
ERTAINLY, IF ANYONE SHOULD HAVE
asked his lordship what had happened in that church, he would have been at a loss for an answer. He knew there had been vows and prayers, tears and smiles, congratulations and blessings and also an inordinate amount of time spent manoeuvring around the church register in a horribly small and stuffy vestry. He could not remember half of the solemn words that had been uttered or just what the Reverend had exhorted him to observe about the married state. Even less could he remember his own words or his own answers. He had the distinct impression he had worn a most foolish grin most of the time and uttered nothing but inanities, but no one seemed to expect anything more, and his wife and his mother-in-law had both shown remarkable patience with him.

But when he glanced at the woman standing beside him, he knew all he needed to know. Lady Baugham. His wife. And he was her husband. To have and to hold, which was exactly his intention.

He was aware he had used any excuse to utter that new and wonderful name several times since she had stepped into his carriage again and taken her place beside him. Her presence at his side was magic. Her hand lightly placed on his arm never left him and when there were bumps in the road or clothes needing to be adjusted it was as if she had to tear that hand from its place only to hastily be put back in the exact same spot as soon as possible.

He looked at it with wonder as it returned once more to its rightful place on his arm. It was a possessive and a trusting gesture at the same time and Baugham reflected that the chains of love were far more intricate and gently wound than he had ever imagined. They sat in silence once more and he found that he was grateful for it. They had uttered enough words during their short acquaintance; they had said far too many things sometimes and even the wrong things. Now seemed the perfect time to learn to speak in other ways than with words and even to speak through silence.

Mrs Tournier avoided their eyes as she sat looking out of the window. “There,” she suddenly said and leaned forward. It was the roof of Clyne Cottage rising above a rolling glen and half obscured by trees.

Baugham smiled. “Home,” he said.

“And this is how you see it every time you arrive?” Holly said looking rather more at him than the view. “How appropriate I should see it now for the first time like this today!”

Baugham shifted his gaze from that familiar view to thoughtfully look at her.

“And many more times to come,” she continued smiling at him. “Home.”

Baugham threw a quick glance at his mother-in-law, who returned it with equal speed before she once more returned to the view.

“Actually,” his lordship said, rapping on the roof to get Mr McLaughlin’s attention, “this is not the best way to see it, nor is it the way I saw it the first time.”

Holly looked at him in surprise as the carriage stopped and he jumped out to offer her his hand.

“Come. You must see it as it sneaks up on you and the river snakes around it like a silver band. You must see it as you stand on the slope and look down on it and it suddenly opens up at your feet and welcomes you into it. Regardless of the weather, that is the best way to approach Clyne for the first time. And, in a manner of speaking, this is your first time. The first time you come home to Clyne.”

Holly looked at her mother, who shrugged. “I’ll tell them to keep the tea hot and the food warm for you. Do not hurry on my account.”

“But our guests . . . ”

Mrs Tournier gave a small wry smile. “Since when do our friends consider the absence of a host and hostess an impediment for enjoying themselves? They will be perfectly fine. You go and greet your new home in the right way, dear.”

“Very well. I will.” And Holly could not help but let out a small laugh. She was going to walk to her new home, to Clyne, in her fine shoes and keep her guests waiting just to oblige her husband’s fancies.

“I hope you noticed I obeyed you very well just now,” she said as she watched the carriage roll away and stuck her arm under his. “Considering my shoes, my dress, the weather, the distance . . . ”

“I did,” he smiled. “It was very good of you and I am most impressed. I in my turn promise you will not regret it.”

Slowly he guided her off the road and without giving her shoes and skirts another thought she followed him through the frosty, wilted grass on the side of the road and let him lift her over the ditch before heading towards the trees, but she could not help but laugh as he held his hand out to guide her down the slope.

“You are sure of this?”

He looked at her, smiling but confused, “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“There was a time, not so very long ago, when I was not quite so welcome on these lands.”

Taking her arm, he led her down, “Oh, that. Well, since it was apparent that however hard I fought, I would not be able to keep you out, I thought I might just as well give up the fight and marry you instead. It really was the simplest way.”

“Wise choice, that,” she smiled. “I am not easily got rid of you know.”

“I know.” He looked down at her; she was smiling, eyes closed and letting the cold wind blow on her face. The shadows of the clouds scattered and slipped along the ground as the sun appeared to touch the roof of Clyne Cottage. “To my lasting shame, relief, and happiness—I do know.”

T
HE LATE ARRIVAL OF THE
bride and groom to their celebration, combined with the tendency of Mrs and Miss Tournier’s friends to converse at length and enjoy one another’s company when finding occasion to meet, meant that it was nearly dark—on this the shortest day of the year—when the last guests had taken their leave. The drawing room was empty by the time Sir John was called upon by Lord Baugham’s new mother-in-law to take her back to Rosefarm.

His lordship saw them out, kissed his mother-in-law, who sternly warned him against applying any other name than the one he had always used on her, and sent them off on their way. He returned to find his bride standing by the window trying to catch a last glimpse of her old life leaving before turning to heartily receive her new one.

When he came back in to the room her heart skipped a beat—he was so handsome and so wonderful and he loved her so much and she loved him—she was almost overwhelmed with feeling. And now they were alone, completely alone as man and wife. She looked down at her hands; they were trembling slightly.

He caught her fingers and lifted them up to his lips in a tender kiss.

“Lady Baugham,” he muttered, “Wife and spouse. Finally. Now, in spite of the lovely picture you make here by the window, why does not the lady of the house call for some refreshments before we retire?”

“There is one thing I need right now, before any thought of refreshments, or retiring, or posing a lovely picture . . . I need my husband to hold me.”

“Husband . . . I like that . . . ” and he encircled her in his strong arms and held her tightly against him.

Holly had kept her eyes open, determined to see and to remember every little thing about this day, but it all blurred before the very vivid reality when he held her hands in his and looked through her eyes and into her soul and promised to love her, and to honour her, and to cherish her for the rest of his days on this earth. And now it was done, all the festivities and ceremonies were at an end and she was his wife—and the first thing he wanted from her was for her to call for food! She relaxed a little and giggled into his chest.

He looked down with a smile, “What’s so funny, love?”

“You! I can already tell which appetite you will be favouring, now that you’re a married man!”

The kiss that followed gave her reason to doubt her conclusions.

“On the contrary, Lady Baugham. I am merely trying to forestall any unnecessary interruptions once we do retire . . . ”

She could not help the smile that appeared or the blush that accompanied it, so she turned and rapidly crossed the room to ring for Mrs McLaughlin. The woman took her first orders from her new mistress with composure, but there was a definite twinkle in her eye. Holly stood still, watching her leave and feeling suddenly awkward and tense. She heard movement and she knew he was coming up behind her; she felt herself stiffen and then she cursed herself for being so skittish. She whirled around and boldly walked up to meet him in the middle of the room.

“While we are waiting . . . did you not, last night, promise me a waltz?”

His mischievous smile made his eyes sparkle.

“Oh so you do waltz? How charming!”

He slowly lifted her hand and lay it on his shoulder and then pressed her close with an arm around her waist in a very tight grip. He was so near she could feel his breath on her cheek. The sense of his body that close and in such privacy made her feel faint. As he took her right hand in his, he kissed it once more before he took a sweeping stride out onto the floor and twirled her around. She let out a delighted shriek but found herself quickly and followed his lead admirably.

Soon he slowed down and pressed her even closer to him.

“I knew it would not be impossible,” he murmured. “I knew, however incredible it was to hear you promise it, that if I led, you would indeed follow.”

He gave her no time to answer before he kissed her with such fervour and passion that however scandalous a waltz may still be regarded, its intimacy and forwardness paled in comparison. But just then the door opened and Mrs McLaughlin scrambled in with the now forgotten tea tray.

Holly gasped and instinctively let her grip on his neck and shoulders go, but her husband showed no such inclination and left his arms around her. Not until Mrs McLaughlin raised her eyebrows at him and put down the tea tray with a decided bump did he release his wife, but he defiantly kept hold of her hand.

“Ah, tea!” he said cheerfully. “We are English, we have tea to sustain us on our wedding day! Splendid! And I know you thoroughly enjoy a cup when things are awkward, my love!”

Though she was a little puzzled over his sudden enthusiasm for tea, Holly poured out two cups and mixed them sweet and rich while her husband took advantage of the food offerings.

He looked up from filling his plate, “Are you not eating, love?”

“No, I couldn’t. Not just yet.”

He turned his attention back to his meal, while Holly focused on the cup in her hands, watching the steam rise up from it, curling and disappearing into the expectant air of the room. After a few bites, however, he set his plate down and leaned in close, his face reflecting curiosity and concern.

“Holly? Are you . . . ? What are you thinking?”

Her next words surprised him—though in retrospect he realised they were so true to her character that he should have expected them—she lifted her face and fixed him with her dark eyes. “I am wondering just how long it will take before you are finished eating. This waiting . . . anticipation, worry, expectation, delay . . . I am no good at it . . . ” She dropped her eyes to her cup again, her voice dropped as well, to a near whisper, “
The amorous evening star is rose, Why then should not our amorous star inclose Herself in her
. . . ” Then she looked up and faced him again, despite her blush, “Will you not . . . finish? Or would you . . . rather . . . ?”