“So that’s what you were up to.” Sir Gideon’s laughing voice came from behind her. She glanced round, saw Harry Talgarth standing there, and quickly turned back to the fireworks.
“Ten years’ worth of birthday celebrations wrapped into one,” he said. “My man has been scurrying about to set them up since darkness fell, to keep the secret from you.”
As if the man from Vauxhall Gardens knew he had everyone’s attention, he set off a flurry of fire-lances, gold and silver stars, and Roman candles; squibs and crackers banged; serpents crawled along the ground, spitting sparks; the smell of gunpowder drifted up the slope. Even as Letty wondered at the ghastly, ghostly sight of faces illuminated by the glare of blue lights, she was very much aware of Harry standing close behind her.
At last there came a pause. “Keep your fingers crossed,” he murmured in her ear. “The fellow wasn’t sure he could get the set piece right in a hurry in the dark, with untrained men helping him.”
Then to one side appeared a French
tricouleur
. Beside it a ship in full sail blossomed. Opposite, another ship took shape, followed by the white ensign of the Royal Navy flying from the stern. The ships shot balls of fire at each other until the French flag winked out. The French ship faded and a cheer went up from the audience. The British ship spluttered out, and then the ensign, but before it was quite extinguished, a fiery red, white and blue Union Jack flourished in the centre.
The crowd roared a huzza.
“Capital!” said Harry. “Gideon fought at Trafalgar, you know.”
Letty turned and impulsively held out her hands to him. “It was simply splendid, Harry—Mr Talgarth,” she said as he took them in a gentle clasp. “I shall never forget it.”
The twins, having watched the last spark die away, hung on his arms, forcing him to drop her hands, to her relief. “It was...it was
slap up
,” Daphne breathed.
“
Famous
, sir,” Donald agreed.
“Mama, may we go and see if the potatoes and chestnuts are done?”
“Don’t burn your fingers.”
“We won’t.” They dashed off.
“I must go down to thank the men,” Harry said, adding tentatively, “Will you walk with me?”
He had not changed his mind. Letty froze, thoughts racing frantically: she loved him; by going with him alone now, she would prove that she trusted him; it was not fair to keep him waiting for an answer; perhaps—surely!—telling him her doubts and fears would be easier in the dark; she loved him.
He took her hand again, holding it as if she were a child, making her feel safe and protected. Hand in hand, in silence, they walked down the hill. As he distributed thanks and shillings among the undergardeners and stableboys, she added her words of praise, scarcely knowing what she was saying.
Harry sent the men to get their share of meat pies and mulled ale. Letty found herself strolling along the edge of the lake, her hand on his arm.
“You had my letter?” he asked, his tone conversational on the surface, yet with an undercurrent of deep feeling.
She nodded, realised he could not see her, and said, “Yes. Th-thank you for returning my locket and...and the other things.”
“I have nothing to add to what I wrote to you, except that I shall not press you for an answer, but if you choose to honour me with your confidence, I shall hold it infinitely precious.”
As they reached the jetty, she stopped and turned away from him to face the lake. The still surface was bright with reflected moon and starlight; beneath, the dark depths lay undisturbed. Then a fish jumped, falling back into a widening circle of ripples. The reeds rustled, and from the far side of the lake came the whistle of an otter.
The brief disruption of the fireworks was over. The night world returned to its familiar course.
Hugging her cloak about her, Letty took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I was only married for a very short time,” she said without looking at the silent figure who stood beside her, not touching her. “Only three weeks, really, before he went away. But then I had the twins, so...so you know that I...that we...”
“I know, of course. I have always known, and that in itself makes no difference.” Harry paused, then went on hesitantly, “You never speak of him, as your mother does of Sir Jeremy. Do you still mourn him so deeply?”
“
No!”
The denial exploded from her, followed by the dreadful confession. “When I heard of his death, I felt like a bird set free from a cage.”
“What did he do, that his death came as a release?”
The suppressed violence in his voice reminded her that he had survived in the wild places of the world. She felt almost as if she ought to protect Bart.
“He was...not very kind. I suppose he did not find me attractive. He was out a great deal, and when he did come home, he...he hurt me. Not on purpose. I cannot believe it was deliberate. He just...took what he wanted without...without caring...without even noticing that he hurt me.” She bit her lip hard to stop a sob.
“My poor, poor girl,” said Harry, very quietly, not moving.
Letty turned and moved into his arms. She laid her head against his chest. The gentle, undemanding strength of his embrace comforted her, kept her safe, protected her from harm. He held her, and the tension ebbed away, the memories faded. Her whole reality was his warmth. A sense of vitality held in check, of passion under firm control.
“I love you,” he whispered into her hair. “I want you. You are beautiful, and I cannot pretend I don’t want you in every way. I shall never hurt you. Can you learn to trust me?”
She looked up at him, his shadowed eyes, resolute mouth, face pale in the reflected light. With one finger she touched his cheek, then his lips. “Harry,” she murmured, “I love you.” Her hands crept to the back of his neck, pulled his head down to her.
His kiss set her on fire.
* * * *
White ash, black charcoal, and a few red-glowing coals were all that was left of the bonfire. Charred, half-raw potatoes and sweet floury chestnuts had been consumed with gusto. While tenants and villagers thanked Sir Gideon for the treat, Catriona shepherded the gentry back to the house.
She had provided light refreshments in the drawing room. One or two ladies took a cup of tea, and one or two gentlemen a glass of wine, but most had eaten and drunk their fill by the bonfire. It was time to take weary children home to bed—the twins sat nodding in a corner, for once exhausted by the excitement. The guests were just waiting for their host’s return to the house before taking their leave.
Catriona moved from group to group, chatting with her friends and neighbours, her mind elsewhere. Harry Talgarth and Letty were missing. Harry might be with Sir Gideon, bidding farewell to the local people, but Letty had no reason to do so. More likely, the two were together.
All Catriona could do now was pray she had given the right advice.
Sir Gideon came in. Meeting her gaze across the room, he smiled. She wondered unhappily how cast down he would be if Letty and Harry came to an understanding. Her answering smile must have reflected her thoughts, for he frowned in concern. Then his guests surrounded him, and the vicar’s wife spoke to her, demanding at least part of her attention.
The first carriages had just been sent for when the missing pair entered the drawing room. Letty’s radiant face told her mother everything.
Departing guests fell silent and stopped their movement towards the door as Catriona met Letty in the middle of the room.
“Mama, you were right.”
They hugged each other, tears in green eyes and blue, hearts too full for words. Harry spoke briefly to Sir Gideon, who joined mother and daughter while Harry went to the twins’ corner. He knelt there talking to them for a moment, then brought them with him, an arm about each sleepy, confused child’s shoulders. Catriona took their hands, and Harry moved to Letty’s side, putting an arm about her waist.
Sir Gideon held up his hand to ask for a silence he already had. “As you may have guessed,” he said dryly, “I have an announcement to make. It gives me the greatest pleasure to inform you that my cousins, Letty Rosebay and Harry Talgarth, are engaged to be married.”
“Grandmama, does that mean we’ll have a daddy?” Donald piped up.
“Will Mr Talgarth be our daddy?” Daphne asked.
“Yes, my loves.”
The twins exchanged a glance. “Bang
up!”
they chorussed.
Everyone laughed and crowded round with felicitations. Gradually the good wishes turned into goodbyes, and Sir Gideon ushered his guests out to the hall. Letty and Harry together took the twins up to bed.
Catriona lingered in the drawing room, standing by the fireplace, warming her hands. She felt cold, hollow, more alone than she had ever been in her life.
Sir Gideon was losing both the girl he loved and the cousin who was more like a younger brother, with whom he had travelled the world. He had taken the news well, his disappointment well-hidden. Catriona vowed that Letty should never see her loneliness, only her joy in her daughter’s happiness.
From the hall came a last flurry of goodbyes, the sound of the front door closing. Catriona recognised Sir Gideon’s footsteps behind her, but she continued to gaze into the flickering flames, her head bowed, unwilling for him to see her despondency. He came to stand beside her, leaning against the mantelpiece.
As if he read her mind, he said, “You won’t lose her, you know, her and the twins. Harry means to make his home here at Marchbank. There’s plenty of room for two families.”
“Two families?” Startled, she glanced up to meet the steady regard of his dark eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I shan’t insist on children, but if we were to produce one or two, I shan’t complain.”
“
We?”
“I’m hoping you’ll marry me, Catriona.”
Her heart began to race, thundering in her ears. “But I am forty-two!” she cried tragically.
“An excellent age. I look forward to it.”
“Nearly forty-three.”
“I trust I shall reach that, too, in the not-far-distant future.”
“But you are only forty and you can never catch up.”
“Not catch up, but grow closer and closer. At present my age is roughly ten elevenths of yours. When you are forty-eight and I am forty-five, I shall be eleven twelfths of your age. And—”
“You are laughing at me, Gideon!” she said, indignant. “I never learnt fractions.”
“Then let me explain. Imagine cutting a cake into twelve slices. Each slice will be smaller than if—”
“Pray don’t trouble yourself to explain.” She looked away from his mirthful face. “Do you truly wish to marry me?”
“I do.” He sounded utterly serious.
“Because you cannot have Letty?”
“Letty! Good gad, woman, she’s young enough to be my daughter.”
“Not unless you were excessively precocious,” she said tartly. “Anyway, that is no barrier to love.”
“Catriona, why in heaven’s name should you think me in love with Letty?”
“You have several times told me how charming you find her and how much you enjoy having the twins about the house.”
“My dear, I was under the impression that the way to a woman’s heart is to praise her children, not to mention her grandchildren. Not that I spoke anything but the truth.”
“Oh.” Feeling foolish, Catriona peeked up at him sideways. He looked just as good-natured and gallant and altogether attractive as always. “I thought you would be the perfect husband for her,” she confessed.
“Not for her, for you. I have written proof, my sceptical love.” Gideon took a paper from the inside pocket of his coat and unfolded it, handling it with care. “See,” he said, holding it out to her, “a special licence. I obtained it while we were in London, and the names on it are Gideon March and Catriona March.”
“Gideon, how could you!”
He grinned. “You may justifiably condemn me as precipitate and overconfident, conceited even.” He paused, but she failed to take advantage of the permission. “However, though the banns will do very well for Harry and Letty, at our age we cannot wait so long.”
“You said you don’t mind about my age!”
“
Our
age, my sweet, or our ages, if you insist. Catriona, my dear love, will you marry me?”
Jeremy had called her his dear love. She felt tears rise to her eyes, and she whispered, “I want to, oh, so very much, but I feel dreadfully disloyal.”
“To Jeremy? My dear, I know you loved him, and I don’t expect you to forget him. I do believe you have room in your heart for me, too.”
“He always wanted me to be happy.”
“Then I shall do my best to fulfill his wishes,” he said gently, “if you will marry me. Have you any further difficulties to raise?”
“You don’t just need me to be your hostess?”
“Catriona, you try my patience!
That
is a rôle you fill very well without my needing to wed you. Any more reasons against marrying me?” As she shook her head, he enquired hopefully, “I suppose you cannot think of any reasons
for?”
“Only one.” Her face burning, she turned away from him. “I love you.”
“That will do for a start,” he said philosophically, but with a laugh in his voice. He came up behind her and put his arms round her waist.
A frisson of desire shook her, and she leant back against him. “There is another reason,” she admitted in a strangled voice. “I
want
you.”
“My odds are improving.” His hands slid up her body to cup her breasts.
“And I cannot imagine life without you.”
He bent his head to nuzzle her neck. Passion exploded within her. With a moan, she turned in his arms. “I can’t wait, Gideon. Must we?”
“No, love. After all, we are both
mature
adults.” He picked her up, and disregarding the scandalised servants, he carried his respectable widow up the stairs.
A Conformable Wife
“Benedict! My dear, how delightful to see you.” Juliet Faulk beamed up at her tall brother from the chaise longue in her pink and white boudoir. She held out her hand and he bowed over it correctly, then unbent sufficiently to lean forward and kiss her cheek. “Pull up a chair and sit down.”