Catch Me If You Can (30 page)

“Yes, my dear, come, come sit down.”  He took his spectacles off and laid them on the desk. Eleanor took the chair, clutching her reticule in her lap. “You were right my dear, you’re not far along but you’re definitely going to have a baby.”

“Oh, my,” Eleanor exclaimed. The bag slid to the floor and her fingers knotted in front of her excited smile. She was thrilled.

The Doctor chuckled. “I’m relieved it’s such good news to you, Miss Craven.” 

His bushy eyebrows lifted as if mildly amused.

“Yes, it is good news. Thank you, Doctor.”

“I suggest you call again in a couple of month’s time, to see how you are progressing. I shall ask the midwife to visit nearer the end of the term, up at your aunt’s place. Meanwhile look after yourself and eat well. I’ve prescribed you a tonic to keep your strength up.”

Eleanor stood and took the script, then offered her hand to the doctor. He chuckled again and leaned forward to shake it. When she walked out into the waiting room and Frieda’s head lifted, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

Frieda stood and took her hands. “Is all well?”

“Yes, everything is wonderful,” Eleanor replied, grasping her arm and hugging against her, and she truly meant it. She only hoped Rivers would feel the same way.

* * *

The next morning Eleanor took her father’s diary down to breakfast and presented it to Frieda. “It very nearly didn’t make it here...on several occasions!”

Frieda looked down at the worn cover of the diary. “Are you sure you wish to part with it?”

“Yes, it’s for you, it got me here and now I want you to have it…after all, it’s your story.”

Frieda took the book, turned it over in her hands. She gave a wistful smile. “I’ll look forward to reading my own story later, first you must find out about your new home.” 

Eleanor smiled. It was good to be wanted, to be at home.

They spent the morning looking round the house and the immediate gardens, Frieda describing how the place had grown before her eyes over thirty years.

She met the two men that had assumed Rivers’ role in his absence. Cyril Jackson, a sturdy, well-built man with a twinkle in his eye, and John Bridges, a thoughtful, gently-spoken man. It made her smile to think it took two men to fill his shoes, and two such different men. However, where he was strong and handsome to her, he was also thoughtful and gentle.

As the day progressed Eleanor grew increasingly restless, the waiting now seemed interminable. She decided to investigate the estate further and wandered where her feet took her amongst the orchards and vines. She met more of the workers as she walked, and they greeted her with friendly smiles and welcoming words. She walked through the long neat lines of fruit. Harvest time would come soon and some of the fruit already looked ripe enough to eat.

As she looked at the young grapes maturing on the vines, she wondered if they had been brought from Europe. The bloom on their swelling fruits, the leaves curling around them, captured her imagination. They looked European but how could you tell, when they had transplanted so well? The thought made her smile. Narrow channels irrigated the fruit and the vines, she followed them to a ridge. Beyond was a meandering river.

She looked at the shifting waters of the river, the river running through the land, the Craven land, and she thought of Rivers again. She wondered what their reunion held. Would he ever ask her to marry him again, after her dreadful rebuke? Would he still want her, the way she wanted him? He’d sent her on her way with promises of amour. His desires for her were as fierce as ever, and he whispered tender words of endearment at such moments, claiming her as his true love. She thought about the times they had been together and let the scenes drift through her mind, his image filling her thoughts as she passed back along the ridge by the river.

Then she saw him, standing on the hilltop, a tall handsome figure, his hair lifted by the breeze as he stared down at her.

Her legs turned weak.

He walked down the hill to her, as he’d walked toward her in her dreams. He watched her constantly as he came ever nearer. Dust marked his clothes, dust gathered while he’d ridden to be near her again, and she smiled. His eyes were drinking in her face. She lifted her fingers to his lips and touched them lightly.

“Oh my love,” she murmured, emotions surging up inside her, spilling from her heart. He took her fingers and kissed their tips, looking deep into her eyes.

“Are you safe?” he asked. “Frieda told me to hurry to your side. She said that you wished to speak to me urgently.”  He reached forward, drew her into his arms and embraced her.

She let him hold her, her hands sliding up to his chest and closed her eyes to absorb the experience of his body. His proximity made her tremble.

“You’re cold, are you ill?” Concern shadowed his face.

She smiled weakly and shook her head. She tilted her head back, asking for a kiss. He offered her one, long and gentle, first brushing her soft lips with deft movements then reaching into her, drawing her every atom to him. How long they had both waited, for that kiss, that naked kiss, wherein the two of them admitted this thing between them, the power if it, its undeniable grip on their hearts and souls.

When they drew apart, he rested his arm around her and moved as if to lead her back toward the house. “So, my love, what do you think of the estate?”  

She looked up at him and wondered why all the things she’d planned to say seemed to have been erased from her memory. He was so handsome, perhaps that was it. His keen eyes fringed with black, his firm mouth making her melt inside. His hair was windswept and cast out now in the breeze, revealing his beautiful bones to her eager eyes.

“It is all you described and more,” she replied, eventually. She stopped walking again and faced him. “Frieda was right, I’m anxious to speak to you.”

He looked concerned.

She barely dare voice her words. “First, I must apologize. I’ve caused so much trouble for you and Frieda.”

“I knew you were trouble the moment I set eyes on you,” he replied, with a secret smile.

A spark ignited within her as she recognized the desire in his eyes. They stood there, silently absorbed in one another. Eleanor moved instinctively, driven by need, by fear that he should be gone from her again when she told him about the child. She reached out to hold him. She looked up into his eyes. “I love you, Rivers, and I want to be with you.” 

“Good,” he replied, his eyes growing dark. They were the words he wanted her to speak, and they charged his body with unearthly pleasure.

“I…” she stammered.

“Yes? What is it my sweet?”

“I wish to know if you intend to propose to me again.” She blurted it out. Her cheeks burned.

Rivers stared at her, his expression unfathomable. Then he laughed, low and soft.

Eleanor’s vision blurred, confusion edging its way into her consciousness.

“No, my love. I’ve no intention of asking you again.” When he saw the look of shock in her eyes, the look of disappointment and pain, he soothed her with his fingers stroking her cheek. “My wild little minx, why should I? You never answered me the first time.”

“Oh,” she said, relief coursing through her body, and brushed away a tear.

“Now, what is this?” He eased her closer still.

“Do you still, I mean would you, Oh, Rivers.”

His fingertips stroked the curve of her cheek. As they lowered to the sensitive skin on her neck her head dropped back, for his touch drew needles of sensation to the surface of her skin as they passed over it.

“I love you, my little minx.” He smiled, rubbing her gently under her chin.

Her heart ached with joy. The supreme knowledge that their love was strong and mutual flooded her with gratitude.

“I want you, too,” he said, under his breath, his voice deep and resonant. “Now, and forever?” His eyes grew serious as he looked on her. It was part question, part demand. “You never answered my question, therefore I’ll present it again. Will you marry me?”

“Oh yes,” she softly said. “If you will have us.” Her cheeks flamed again. “You see, I’m carrying your child.”

It was his turn to be shocked then, mighty shocked. And yes, he was pleased. He crushed her into his arms, kissing her head and holding her. He gently stroked his hand over the soft curve of her belly, staring at her with awe.

“Is it true?”

She nodded, a lump in her throat. “You are pleased?” It was tentatively asked, she was blissfully happy, but she had to hear him say it, to know it was right for them both.

“Dear god, yes…how long have you known?”

“Not long, we visited the doctor yesterday. It must have happened when you found me in Clearwater Creek.”

His mind passed back over the time at Bella’s house, how she’d come to him, like an angel floating out of the hazy sunlight to claim him.

“I thought it was a dream,” he said, gazing down at her with deep affection.

Tears spilled onto her cheeks.

“It was my love… it was a dream come true,” she replied.

Epilogue

Sussex, England, 1899

The carriage passed under the old oaks that lined the path to the house.

Eleanor peered from the carriage window, eager to catch sight of Oaklands. Her heart was full, brimming with emotion, for this visit to her old homestead, the place where she’d grown up. Rivers called the visit their honeymoon, but it was two years overdue. At long last she’d come back, as promised, and to say goodbye. Her home was now in the new world.

Everything had been arranged by letter. Mrs. Bramley had prepared the house, removing the dustsheets from the reception rooms and making sure everything was spic and span. The tenants had also been readying. They now looked to Lord Brooks as their master, for he’d long since taken their plots into his own estate, but Mrs. Bramley had written and told Eleanor the tenants still wanted to welcome Miss Eleanor, of whom they had such fond memories. The housekeeper reported none of them would ever forget the lovely young lady who could pitch hay with the best of them and wasn’t too high and mighty to give any such task her attention.

There was an inevitable element of sadness, for Mrs. Bramley would retire in a few weeks time, when the house was to be auctioned. Eleanor didn’t want it to be a morose goodbye. Rivers had seen to it that a huge marquee be set up in the rose gardens, in order to include everyone in the celebration. Crates of wine had been shipped from California and plans were under way for a party the following evening.

There it was, Oaklands. On the steps the servants were scampering into place to welcome them. Eleanor could see Mrs. Bramley instructing them.

At her side, Rivers squeezed her hand.

Despite her best vows, the tears were already welling. This moment had been a long time coming. She pulled her lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed it quickly over her eyes.

When she stepped from the carriage, she half expected her father to step out and greet her. The notion undid her, and she paused, suddenly adrift.

“Miss Eleanor has come home,” Mrs. Bramley announced.

She tottered down the steps and grasped Eleanor by the hands.

Eleanor nodded, finding herself overwhelmed. “I promised, did I not?”

“Oh, Mr. Rivers, it is good to see you again,” the housekeeper said, as he stepped easily down from the carriage.

“And you, my dear Mrs. Bramley, in fact my mouth has been watering the entire journey. I’ve been hoping for some of that delicious port-broiled partridge of yours.” 

Mrs. Bramley beamed with pleasure at his remark and the fact that he’d remembered her specialty, the color rising in her cheeks. Eleanor mellowed, as she always did when he was by her side.

“I have introductions to make.” Rivers turned back to carriage and lifted down his son. The boy stared up at her while his feet steadied on the ground. He had big brown eyes and wild black curls. He grinned widely when he wobbled, and brought one chubby fist to his mouth, the other clutched onto her skirts.

“Oh my! Miss Eleanor, what a fine little man he is.” 

Rivers turned back and set another identical little boy down next him.

“Two of you – who’d have thought it!” Mrs. Bramley laughed as the two little boys grappled with her skirts, immediately playing hide and seek around her. “Miss Eleanor, I mean Madame Guillaime, Your boys are such handsome little men they are.”

Eleanor gathered the woman in her arms, beaming. “And there’s another on the way, dear Mrs. Bramley, this one I hope will be a little girl.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself my love, it might even be two little girls, as was our last surprise delivery,” Rivers teased.

Eleanor shook her head, laughing.

Her husband watched her closely as she looked up at her old home with wistful eyes, eyes filled with memories.

* * *

The following evening the music played into the night and the food, wine and ale were heartily enjoyed by all. Toward midnight Rivers rescued his wife from another bout of square dancing for a moment’s private talk. He’d seen her with her people and wondered how it had affected her. They had spent that day visiting with her old tenants and with Lord and Lady Brooks.

Would she still be content to settle, forever, in California?

He grabbed his opportunity as she whirled past, her skirts flying, took her hand and led her to a quieter corner of the marquee where two tired little boys were being nursed by Clare.

“Are you happy, my love?”

“Oh yes,” she breathed, reaching up for a kiss. “Very much.”

“No regrets?” 

She smoothed the frown from his forehead with her fingers, smiling up at him. “No regrets. I told you, my place is with you and Frieda, with our family. It was good to have this one last visit, to celebrate with the people I grew up with.” She looked at him reassuringly. “I want us to be at home for our new arrival, and to bring in the new century.”

He gave a deep, contented sigh of relief. “If you did want to return, I would have to chase after you all over again.”

“I know.” 

She smiled up at him, his beautiful, wayward wife. His lips moved toward hers and he scooped her against him in a possessive embrace. Behind them, a cheer went up from the crowd, and they drew apart, laughing when they realized they had an audience. The tenants and servants and some of the local landowners looked on. None of them could be sad about losing their Miss Eleanor, because she and her family were gifted with happiness and love.

Instead, they lifted their flagons and glasses and cheered them on.

THE END