The Bride Insists (12 page)

“It's no use complaining to me about their manners,” he replied quickly. “I have done every—”

“I have no complaints.” Clare almost smiled at his startled expression. He and the twins had more in common than they realized. They'd grown accustomed to a certain pattern of behavior, and they fell into it automatically. It was a kind of trap. Changing that was the key to her schemes for improvement. “Tamsyn and Tegan are intelligent girls.”

“Too intelligent sometimes,” he muttered.

“I believe that if we show them the advantages of behaving differently, they will do so.”

Jamie sat straighter. The candlelight made an aureole of Clare's pale hair. It brushed her face with warmth.

“They have spent too much time alone.” Clare raised a hand before he could speak. “We needn't apportion blame for that.”

She was charitable, but he was to blame, Jamie thought. In his despair, he'd had no attention to spare for his sisters.

“But I think they're very happy to see an end to that.” Clare was sure of it, actually. She'd glimpsed the yearning in their eyes. They wanted to trust. They longed for certainties. It was just a matter of convincing them that things had truly changed. She started to tell Jamie this, but his expression stopped her. The grim line of his mouth suggested that he would take it as a reproach. “They were interested in the idea of new gowns,” she said instead.

“Gowns? Are you sure? That doesn't sound like my sisters.”

Clare smiled. “I think there is more to them than you know. They simply need encouragement to act as members of polite society.”

Jamie frowned, full of doubt. “Encouragement? I've told them a thousand times…”

It was not the moment to explore the difference between encouragement and harangues. “Perhaps bargain is a better word to use,” Clare went on. “For example, I have told them that Randolph can live in the house if they allow you to help them train him.”

Jamie's jaw dropped. “You what?”

“I know it must be possible. We had dogs about all the time when I was a child. They were quite well behaved. And you said he was good-tempered.”

“But Randolph… Randolph is a…” Various words occurred to him—“rogue,” “lunatic,” “misbegotten mongrel.”

“My brother used to insist that all dogs were trainable.” Clare thought of him with a bittersweet sadness. How he would have laughed at the way the huge dog greeted her.

“Proper dogs, not mismated offspring of—”

“The twins said that Randolph listens to you.”

Seeing the serene confidence in her face, Jamie couldn't protest again. He thought of the way his home had changed, gained new life. Was it possible his sisters could be reformed by the same hand? In that moment, he almost believed it. He'd try to make some time for the wretched dog, though he didn't see where it was to come from.

“Also, I suspect from things they said that Tamsyn and Tegan would love to have ponies,” Clare continued, happily unaware of his skepticism.

“So they can ride off into the countryside like gypsies and play least in sight for hours,” Jamie retorted.

“Gypsies, or tinkers?”

At her roguish look, Jamie had to laugh. But he wasn't convinced. “I shudder to think of the mischief they'd get up to on horseback.”

“For the promise of their own mounts, they would make promises in return,” Clare said confidently.

“Promises!”

“Have they ever broken their word to you?” She was genuinely curious about this.

Jamie started to assure her that of course they had, repeatedly. Then he paused. His sisters had played a host of tricks, exhibited maddening stubbornness, driven him and others to distraction. But had they ever gone back on an actual promise? Running through the years of their history, he couldn't recall an instance. They'd never promised to be good or obedient, he realized. On the contrary, they'd been careful never to promise much of anything. Had he asked them to? Perhaps not. Their conversations tended to be short and acrimonious.

“I believe that if we keep our bargains with them, they will do the same,” Clare finished.

Jamie contemplated the possibility. “We can but try, I suppose.”

Clare smiled at him, satisfied with this beginning of what would undoubtedly be a long process.

Jamie gazed at her, seated across the hearth in his bedchamber. The times when he'd told his sisters that he would be down to see them, and then not come, fled from his mind. He could think of nothing but the moment when Clare had turned from her dressing table and looked at him, and he had touched her silken shoulder.

“I'm glad you agree,” she said. She shifted in the chair. His expression had changed. The heat was back in his gaze.

Jamie nodded with no thought for what he was agreeing to. He stood and took a step toward her. When he saw a spark in her pale green tiger eyes, he took another.

His stare seemed to draw her to her feet, like a hand pulling her up. Clare swallowed. The warmth from the fire suddenly seemed as nothing to the flash of heat that went through her.

Two more steps brought her into his arms. Jamie drew her close and bent his head. With the first brush of the kiss, all other concerns fell away. Her body was lithe and thrilling under his hands. Her arms came around his neck and pressed her nearer.

His lips moving on hers woke a surge of desire in Clare. Memories of the last time he'd held her blurred into the vivid sensations of the moment, setting her skin afire.

Jamie's fingers found the row of small buttons at the front of her gown and undid them one by one. He pushed the cloth down her shoulder and set his lips to that white slope, then slid them up the curve of her neck to find her mouth again. The gown slipped lower, and he caressed her breast, enticingly soft and round. Her breath caught, and he reveled in the sound.

Suddenly impatient, Clare pulled his shirt loose from his breeches and ran her hands up the muscles of his back. He felt like sprung steel sheathed in velvet. Their kiss deepened, and her hands flexed, nails scraping lightly across his torso.

And then both of them were shoving at folds of cloth, slipping out of constricting garments, throwing aside bits of raiment, desperate to be rid of all impediments on their way to his bed. Clare left her gown in a heap on the floor. Jamie tossed his shirt into a corner. She pulled up her shift and yanked it over her head to drop behind her as he shed his stockings and breeches.

Unveiled, they stood for a moment, gazing at mutual nakedness revealed, then they reached for each other. Jamie pressed her back against the edge of the bed, every inch of him blazing. As he kissed her again, he ran his hands up and down the length of her, urging her closer still.

Clare arched to his touch. She was burning up. They fell together onto the bed, and she copied him, running her own lips along his shoulder and back up to his demanding mouth. Her hands roamed the softer skin of his ribs, rousing a thrilling shiver of yearning.

Jamie rose over her. She was so beautiful against the dark coverlet, her green eyes drowning in desire. He eased one leg between hers and exulted as she opened to him. He followed it with trailing fingers, slow up the silken inside of her thigh. When she murmured his name to urge him onward, triumph throbbed in him. He let his hand wander farther, and Clare cried out as he reached his goal. He wanted to drive her as mad with longing as he was; he took her mouth again.

Clare melted into the kiss. She gripped her husband's broad shoulders and soared on a wave of pleasure that went on and on, until it broke into a thousand bright shards of delight. Heart pounding, she pulled him closer. She wanted more.

Every fiber of him concentrated into pulsing desire, Jamie at last let himself go. They moved together in a dance that made everything else in the world disappear, leading and following each other up step after step to a peak of shared ecstasy. It lasted a breathtaking moment, and forever. And then they held on while their hearts pounded in tandem at the end of the race. The world swirled and shimmered and slowly settled.

And then they were once again aware of the crackling of the fire, the whisper of a night breeze outside the windows, the scent of lavender rising from the bed linens. In a delicious languor, Clare didn't want to talk. What could there be to say that would rival what had just happened? She lay there, limbs tangled with his, and drifted toward sleep.

Seeing her eyelids droop, Jamie moved and lifted her so that he could push back the coverlet and slip beside her between the soft sheets. Clare nestled into his bed and up against him, her head trustingly on his shoulder. With every sense satiated, it seemed to Jamie that all his worries had been swept away. He couldn't remember what problem he might have been chewing over before she knocked on his door. Resting his head beside hers on the pillow, he relaxed and let sleep pull him down. And all through all the dark hours of the night, they slumbered peacefully side by side.

Clare woke to the shocking consciousness that she was in bed naked. Where was her nightdress? Why were there hairpins sticking into her scalp, as if she hadn't even brushed her hair before sleep? And most perplexing of all, what was that touch lightly trailing over her breast, circling and circling inward, sending bolts of delicious sensation through her unclothed body?

Clare turned her head and met her husband's dark eyes on the other pillow. They gleamed with satisfaction when she gasped as his fingers finished their circling and began to tease. Sunlight poured between the crevices of the draperies. The fire had died to coals. It was morning, and not so very early from the slant of the light. The household would be up.

Jamie rose on one elbow and looked down at her, reveling in the combination of surprise and arousal in Clare's face. He bent and substituted lips for fingertips. She moaned softly. His hand slid down her ribs to find another spot to tantalize. Her back arched. “Jamie, it's morning,” she managed to gasp.

He raised his head. “So?” He loved watching her amazing eyes begin to soften with need.

“We have to get up. Everyone will be wondering—”

“Let them wonder.”

“But they will know that we are—” Another gasp cut off this sentence.

Jamie smiled. “We
are
married, Clare. I imagine they already suspect.” He bent his head and resumed his previous activity. Shivering with longing, Clare abandoned her concerns and surrendered to the rising tide of desire.

A full hour passed before she gathered up her scattered clothing and slipped through the connecting door to her own bedchamber. There was a can of hot water on the washstand, and the fire had been rekindled. She was thankful for it, but it also meant that Gwen the maid had seen her untouched bed and drawn the obvious conclusion as to her whereabouts. Selina would also know what to think about her late appearance at the breakfast table. It was nothing wrong, of course, but it did make her feel a bit self-conscious.

Moving across the room toward the washstand, Clare caught a glimpse of herself in the dressing table mirror. Her hair was a wild, pale tangle around her face. Her lips were rosy from many kisses, her eyes wide and soft. Bits of pale skin peeked out from behind the bundle of crumpled clothing she clutched. She hardly recognized herself.

Some impulse made her let the garments go. They slid to the floor, revealing all of her to the staring reflection. Sunlight through the closed curtains threw stripes of gold across her body. Every place she looked, Jamie had touched. He'd drawn the most amazing sensations from this slender body gazing back at her. She raised her head and stood straighter, watching her breasts rise naked and proud. This was a completely different person from the reluctant governess who'd worked so hard to escape any sort of notice. There was no longer a need to hide. She could step fully into her life, all facets revealed. The knowledge sent a thrill of joy through her. She'd done it; she'd changed her fate.

Clare shivered. Even with the fire, the room was too cold for bare skin. She needed to wash and dress and begin the work of the day. Her lips curved in a secret smile, she stepped over to the washstand to do just that.

***

Selina and the twins were finishing breakfast by the time Clare came down, and Jamie was well into a piled plate. He gave her a broad smile, but no one else seemed to notice her late rising. At least, no one remarked on it. By the time she'd eaten, he'd gone out to see to the endless list of tasks on the land. Clare found Anna Pendennis and was pleased to hear that she and her husband had found a number of other local people interested in positions at Trehearth. She offered three more maids and several boys for the stables and gardens. The latter had no experience, but Anna thought they would do for a start. Clare, meeting the bevy of young people filling the kitchen, approved her choices. She was able to add that she'd done her part at the small agency in Penzance and engaged a highly recommended cook. By the time these matters were settled, the wagon had arrived with their purchases, and most of her new staff joined in the excitement of carrying the various parcels to their proper places.

Selina established herself in the sewing room, opening brown paper wrappings and spreading out the fabrics they'd bought. She couldn't restrain occasional murmurs of delight; it was such a luxury not to have to scrimp and make do to create the new gowns that filled her imagination. The feel and the clean scent of new cloth buoyed her up and somehow comforted her at the same time.

“I'll have Anna line up the best of the village seamstresses as your helpers,” Clare told her. “You can lay out the designs and cut, but you mustn't be burdened with all the sewing.” She found she was quite eager for a new gown in the pale green muslin they'd chosen. It was to be trimmed with bunches of darker green ribbon. And Selina had urged her to purchase a length of deep blue satin for an evening dress as well. Clare couldn't wait for Jamie to see her in it. She wanted to see his dark eyes go smoky and…

Clare blushed, glad that her thoughts were open only to herself. She turned and pretended to be engrossed by one of the fashion periodicals they'd brought back from Penzance.

***

The Reverend Edward Carew rode slowly along the track that skirted the sea cliff above the village. The morning was crystalline—the deep blue ocean edged with lacy white in the surf, the air crisp and melodic with birdsong. On a spring day like this one, he positively reveled in the beautiful spot where he'd landed. He'd pulled some strings to remove to this place six years ago, unable to remain in his old parish after the death of his wife. Back there, every turn of landscape, every service and meeting, reminded him of her, and it had been unbearable. Here, all was new and diverting, even the lashing winter storms. Over time, his grief had eased, if not disappeared, but his life was still very different without her. Lonely.

His position as village priest made him the confidant of many, a reliable listener who would hold their secrets sacrosanct. He was expected to be a bulwark in illness and despair, and he was glad to fill that role. Part of what had drawn him to the church was a wish to help people, to ease their pain as much as he could and offer hope. But with the loss of his wife, he had no such resource himself. The vicar did not bring his troubles to his parishioners. It was best if he did not appear to have any. A sigh punctuated the thought.

Beyond the strains of his position, there was the simple emptiness of the chair opposite as he ate his meals, the vacancy of the parsonage in the evenings, when his admirable housekeeper had returned to her own family dwelling. He missed the warm presence of another human being, reading on the opposite side of the hearth, sharing a hot drink before bed, breathing beside him through the long hours of the night. Silent companionship could be as comforting as talk.

A gull cried directly overhead, startling his horse. Carew shook himself and sat straighter in the saddle. He'd enjoyed many happy years with Katharine. Their children were grown and well settled. He had much to be grateful for. Indeed, all around his parish people experienced far greater hardships than he'd had to endure. They didn't need a melancholy vicar showing them a mournful face. A bit of cheer and compassion could heal the spirit as much as tangible aid eased the body. It was his profession and his pleasure to offer both, and his bent to be optimistic. At the age of fifty-four, he hoped he had many years of service ahead of him.

Carew's mind turned back to the young farming family he'd just visited. They had two sick children and hardly enough blankets to keep them warm. He could do something about that. More, he was eager to enlist the new Lady Trehearth into his regiment of local helpers, and this seemed a perfect opportunity. Having met her, he was confident she would want to take up the chatelaine's traditional position and offer aid to tenants on the estate. Carew turned his horse onto a path that led to Trehearth.

***

At midmorning, Gwen came into the sewing room and announced that the vicar had called. Clare and Selina, their heads together over a sketch, turned at once. “Thank you, Gwen,” said Clare. “Show him into the solar. We'll be right down. And bring some refreshment.”

“Yes, my lady. What shall I…?”

“Ask Mrs. Pendennis.”

They found Reverend Carew standing before the glass doors at the end of the solar, looking out over the terrace at the sea, hands clasped behind him.

“Good morning,” Clare said.

He turned at once. “Good morning, Lady Trehearth, Mrs. Newton. I hope I'm not disturbing you. I was passing this way, and I thought I would stop in.”

“You're most welcome,” Clare responded. “Please sit down.”

Clare and Selina took the sofa, the vicar an armchair. The furniture looked worn and shabby in the bright light of day, but their visitor showed no sign of noticing or caring. Clare's favorable impression of the man increased further when he said, “This is a very pleasant room.”

“I've taken it for my own,” Clare agreed. “Once we've refurbished it a bit, it will be a lovely place to sit, I think.”

Gwen came in, carefully balancing a tray holding a teapot and cups. “Would you care for tea, vicar?” Clare asked.

“Thank you.”

Clare nodded to Gwen, and the new maid poured with great concentration, then handed round the cups as if they were likely to shatter at a touch. She'd barely finished and gone out when Tamsyn and Tegan came running into the room.

They were back in their breeches, as they had been at breakfast.
Where
did
they
get
them?
Clare wondered. And how could she prevent them from getting more? Edward Carew showed no surprise at this garb. Did they go to the parsonage for their lessons dressed this way? Clare was fairly certain she knew the answer. Perhaps the village was inured to it.

“We heard you were here,” said Tamsyn to their visitor.

“We went to Lescudjack Castle!” her sister chimed in.

“Tegan found the spring.”

“And we walked all around.”

“We saw where the huts were, and the big fire pit.”

Carew merely smiled at this onslaught. “Did you indeed?” Clare stifled her urge to tell the twins to sit down and speak more temperately.

“Tamsyn drew up a plan.”

“It shows the spring,” Tamsyn informed him.

Tegan tugged at his sleeve. “Come and see it!”

This was too much. Clare started to object.

“I should very much like to see it,” replied the vicar. “Another time. I'm talking with Lady Trehearth and Mrs. Newton right now.”

“Oh.” Tamsyn looked around as if she was just noticing the whole group.

“You could bring it along when you come for a lesson,” Carew added.

“Yes. I will.” To Clare's surprise, Tamsyn put a hand on Tegan's arm and pulled her toward the door. Tegan turned to frown at Clare, who hoped her expression was quite neutral, then shrugged and followed her sister out.

“As I told you, the twins and I share a keen interest in the ancient inhabitants of this region,” Carew explained when the girls were gone. “We've had many a good delve through the nearby ruins.”

“They shouldn't be out wandering alone,” Selina said.

“It's perfectly safe,” the vicar assured her. “They're well-known in the neighborhood. No one would harm them.”

“But a fall, or if they should lose their way…”

“Tamsyn and Tegan know the countryside as well as they know this house.” He smiled at her. “Far better than I do.”

He had a truly engaging smile, Selina thought. She couldn't help returning it, though she did not agree with his opinions about the twins. For his part, Carew found that he did not want to look away from Mrs. Newton's sparkling hazel eyes.

“They can't go on as they have,” Clare said. “In just a few years, they will be young ladies.” Wearing breeches at age ten was one thing; at fifteen, or eighteen, it was quite another.

The vicar recalled himself and acknowledged this with a nod.

“So their… reform is left to me?”
Did
he
have
any
idea
what
a
daunting
task
that
was?
Clare wondered.

From the twinkle in his eye, he did. “I suspect you're up to it.”

“Can I count on your help?” Clare thought she could, after their previous meeting, but she found she needed some reassurance.

“Of course you can,” he answered. There was a pause as he sipped his tea. “Actually, I came today with a hope of enlisting
your
help for some of the tenant families hereabouts.”

Immediately diverted, Clare asked for details. The vicar explained some of the most pressing needs, and she at once agreed to provide for them. “Please tell me when anything of this nature arises,” she said. “It will take me some time to get to know the people on the estate.”

This satisfactorily settled, Edward Carew asked, “Did you all enjoy your expedition to Penzance?”

Selina eyed the man. “How did you know that we…?”

“This is a country neighborhood, Mrs. Newton,” he replied. “Novelty is scarce. Discussing the other inhabitants' doings is a common amusement.”

“Gossip,” Selina snorted. She was more than familiar with this drive to dissect the activities and character of one's acquaintances. It was the chief interest of most of the elderly ladies who had employed her. She'd encountered men of the cloth who indulged them, too. And deplored it.

“Oh, I never gossip,” replied Carew with a twinkle in his sharp blue eyes. “I may pass along a few interesting items of news, as I go on my pastoral rounds.”

“How can you joke…?” Selina began.