Joan Smith (12 page)

After a moment, he glanced at the television. “Does that gibbering box not drive you to distraction?”

“Yes, it does.” I turned it off.

“One sees them everywhere. I am surprised at the duration of this novelty. They inhibit conversation and encourage people to live vicariously. Life is too short, and too precious, to waste in that fashion.”

I wished with all my heart I could offer him a glass of wine. I wished he were real. I wished he could have another life, to undo the ills of the first. I sighed sadly.

“Or to waste in any fashion,” he added, with a soft smile of regret.

Beezle began barking, and when I looked at Vanejul again, or where he had been, he was gone. But I felt better for his visit. I knew my writing would be better for it, too.

For the next seven days and nights, Chêne Mow was my world, and I had never known a fuller, brighter, happier one. If London burned to the ground, or hurricanes decimated coastal towns, if monarchs fell and battles raged in that vague place, “the east,” what was that to me? I was beyond the touch of contemporary calamities, writing my way toward a personal tragedy that took precedence over all else for me.

Arabella met Raventhorpe at the weir again the next night, and the next. They arranged byzantine plots to meet here and there during the day, as well as at the weir at night. They met while riding in the neighborhood and strolling in town. It was in the village that they saw the little golden locket in a jeweler’s window, and Arabella admired it. He bought it that same afternoon and had it inscribed. The next time they met, he gave it to her.

They also met by prearrangement at the homes of mutual friends for tea, at the museum at Lyndhurst, in shops, and so on. But these public meetings were never satisfactory. There were too many people present, and they had to be discreet.

They could not say the things they wanted to say. Even intimate looks had to be given slyly.

Rides in the countryside were hardly more private, as Arabella was not allowed out without a groom as companion. The first meeting in the spinney might be put down to accident; after the second one, the groom reported it to Sir Giles, and the rides were forbidden. Indeed any communication with Raventhorpe was heavily frowned upon.

She was desolate to think of Raventhorpe waiting for her in the spinney, fearing she stayed away on purpose. She smuggled a note off to him, suggesting he leave a reply in the blasted bole of an oak tree in the park of Chêne Bay. They were both young enough that the intriguing appealed to their romantical natures, and lent the charm of danger and urgency to the affair. Raventhorpe himself was only twenty-one.

At their next meeting, she announced with some relish that she was forbidden to ever see him again.

“There is nothing else for it, I shall beard the lion in his den—call on Sir Giles and ask for permission to court you in the proper manner, with a view to marriage,” Raventhorpe declared with commendable promptness.

They were at the weir once more. Their meeting place was an arbor formed by the drooping branches of an old willow. It was exceedingly private, for though autumn was closing in, the willow was still in full leaf. The chilly breeze made an excuse for him to protect her in the warmth of his arms.

Arabella smiled proprietarily, pleased with him, and her own powers, and with life in general. It was no mean accomplishment to have brought this dashing buck to heel.

“That might be best,” she concurred.

“And if he refuses—as he undoubtedly will—then what? Will you be a good little girl and do as your guardian commands? Will you stop meeting me?” The words suggested a vulnerability he was far from feeling. He gazed down at her as he spoke, twining a golden curl around his finger. With her bedazzled eyes on him, he had no fear of losing her.

“How can he refuse?” she parried. “You’re eligible—the most eligible gentleman in the parish. Your family is good. Better than mine, come to that. I shall be a baroness. He can have nothing against the match except my youth.”

“Aye, you’ve hit it on the head. That is the excuse he’ll use.”

“Will you wait for me? Wait until my next birthday? Mama married at sixteen, so he cannot set a later date than that.”

He pressed her fingers to his warm lips. “I’ll wait until the moon turns blue, till the well runs dry, and the cows come home—but I shall wait most impatiently. You mustn’t stop seeing me, Belle darling. I need to see you from time to time, to know all is well between us. I’m new at this game of constance you must know. I haven’t looked at another girl since meeting you.”

“You only met me in the spring!” she exclaimed.

“A whole season ago! That is an eternity when you’re mad with love. ‘Time goes on crutches, till love has all his rites.’ Isn’t Shakespeare marvelous? He provides a quotation for every occasion.” He peered down at her. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you, my dear?”

“Of course I do,” she said with a missish look. “I’ve seen the horses do it.”

A bark of laughter rang out. “Good God! That puts me in my place! You think me a stallion in rut. Don’t think of it like that. It is more than a physical attraction. I think of it as a sacrament between a man and a woman.”

She cast a jealous look at him. “How many times have you committed this sacrament, Alexander?”

“Once more, I revert to the Bard. ‘What’s past is prologue.’ From henceforth, you are my only partner in committing that particular sacrament.”

“I had better be. Because if I hear of you carrying on with anyone else, I’ll marry William to spite you.”

“You’d do it, too, minx,” he laughed, chucking her chin. “I shall take good care you don’t hear of it.”

“The only way to be sure I don’t hear of it is by your not doing it.”

“That is what I meant! What a suspicious little thing you are.”

They laughed and talked and flirted, and shared a few innocent kisses that were an entirely novel experience for Arabella, and extremely unsatisfying for Raventhorpe.

Chapter Thirteen

Lord Raventhorpe paid the formal visit to Sir Giles in his study at Chêne Bay, and heard exactly what he expected to hear. Sir Giles pokered up and adopted a righteous tone. The oak-lined office and the handsome desk lent him an air of authority he had not enjoyed before garnering the plum position as Arabella’s guardian. In fact, his reputation had been on the shady side. Raventhorpe bristled at the hypocrisy of this parvenu reading him a lecture on morals.

“Arabella is much too young, milord. No offense intended, but your lordship’s reputation is not all one could wish in a companion for such a young girl, with no knowledge of the world. In another year, perhaps, we shall see. I had thought of presenting her in London.”

Beneath the polite words, the air crackled with suppressed hostility. Their eyes met and held. Raventhorpe’s knowing gaze caused a flush to darken Throckley’s cheeks.

“Am I to understand you are not allowing anyone to court Arabella for the next year?” he asked.

“She will attend the balls and assemblies, properly chaperoned. Private outings will be curtailed. I do not approve of her slipping off into the park for clandestine meetings.”

“That was the only sort of meeting allowed us under your stringent guardianship. I daresay her private meetings will be limited to William?”

Sir Giles bridled up like an angry mare. “What are you suggesting, sir?”

“I am suggesting you would be very happy to see your son marry Arabella’s fortune,” Raventhorpe answered bluntly. “You shall hear from me if you try forcing her hand.”

Throckley reined in his temper. “No one is forcing her to do anything. She is only a child. It is my duty to look out for her best interests. I am extremely busy. I must ask you to leave now, milord.”

“It will be my pleasure,” Raventhorpe replied, and strode from the room.

He continued meeting Arabella by the weir, but it was a great drain on his time and patience and integrity. The distance of ten miles each way was an obstacle, and as autumn advanced into winter, the weir was no longer a feasible trysting spot. Raventhorpe, accustomed to having things very much his own way, thought Arabella did not appreciate the effort he was making to see her, and his great control in not seducing her. He hinted at the former.

“It’s not easy for me either, Alexander,” she scolded, shivering as the chilly blast of a November wind invaded her pelisse. “I had to claim a headache to leave Mrs. Melton’s dinner party just to be here in time to meet you, and now all you do is scold. It was bad enough that Mrs. Meyers made me take a blue pill to fight off a cold,” she said childishly. “And there was to be dancing after dinner at the Meltons' for the youngsters, too.”

“I daresay William was of the party?”

“Naturally she invited us all.”

“Did William bring you home?”

“Yes. Sir Giles wanted a game of whist. I offered to go home alone. No harm would have come to me with John Groom driving the carriage. I told William to stay for the dancing, but he insisted on coming with me. He is very thoughtful that way.”

“Did he take any liberties?”

“William?” she asked, astonished. “Of course not. He’s a tame man in a carriage. Tame as a rabbit.”

“We all know what rabbits are about, despite their timidity. We can’t go on like this, Belle. Throckley’s intention is as plain as a pikestaff. He means for you to marry William. If he cannot accomplish it be fair means, he’ll do it by foul.”

“William would never do anything to harm me! He’s like a brother to me.”

“He’ll do what his father tells him. All it would take is for you to be caught in a compromising situation. They’ll press a marriage on you, for the sake of your reputation. If that carriage had broken down, for instance, and you were obliged to spend the night with him...”

“I still wouldn’t marry him.” She gave a saucy smile, sure of her feminine powers now. “If I’m compromised, I’ll marry you instead.”

“Generous of you to promise me another man’s leavings! Why wait to be compromised? Let’s get married now. We’ll run away to Gretna Green and be married over the anvil. We could be man and wife. I want you, Belle,” he said in a husky voice, as his lips nuzzled the creamy softness of her throat. His arms pulled her against him. When she seemed happy with that, he began stroking her breasts. It was the first time he had done so, and he expected a reprimand.

She didn’t say anything, because she was enjoying the unusual sensation. “I want you so much, Belle,” he said. He backed her against the bole of the willow tree, with the branches forming a curtain around them. When he leaned against her and pressed his hips to hers, she felt something stir between them, and became frightened. A strange heat flamed in her. “Stop it, Alexander,” she said.

“Marry me, Belle,” he said in a ragged voice. His fingers began massaging her breasts in a sensual, hypnotic way. She felt her breaths coming in short gasps. Then he began to move his hips against hers, until she felt all hot and dizzy, and more delirious than frightened.

“A runaway match?” she whispered in a breathless voice, half-thrilled and half-outraged.

“Oh God, if I don’t have you soon, I’ll go mad.”

She heard the deep longing in his voice, and felt an exultation of triumph. She slipped away from him, laughing. “Gretna Green is horrid, Alexander. If you really loved me, you wouldn’t even suggest it. We’d be ostracized from society. Mrs. Meyers says no one but commoners and hurly-burly girls do that.”

Attuned to her every mood, he read the triumph in her tones and stiffened to anger. Why was he letting this chit make a fool of him? “You refuse to marry me, then?” he asked, frowning in displeasure.

“I refuse to make a runaway match with you or anyone else.”

“If that’s the way you feel, then I am wasting my time riding over here in the cold and damp three times a week.”

“It’s every bit as cold and damp for me!”

“Then I shan’t detain you. And I shan’t put you to the great inconvenience of darting from your warm bedchamber a few yards across the park to meet me again.”

She stood arms akimbo, glowering at him. “What are you saying, Alexander? That you don’t love me? Is it all over, then?”

“I shall leave for London tomorrow. Mama has asked me to accompany her. It was my intention to return almost immediately, but as our meetings have become distasteful to you, I shall stay awhile.”

Arabella felt a stab of fear. “I didn’t say they were distasteful to me. I would not come if I didn’t want to. You just want to go on the strut in London, and are trying to put it in my dish. You’ll be out chasing all the girls. I know you.”

“That was the old Raventhorpe. I am marble-constant now, but if I go on seeing you, Belle, something will happen. Even marble can take only so much strain before breaking. I am not so domesticated as William.”

“So you’re really leaving me?” she asked, anger rising.

“For your own good. I shall be back in the spring to reclaim you. Or perhaps earlier—a visit for Christmas. I daresay Sir Giles will take you to the Christmas assembly. He can hardly refuse to let you stand up with me in a public place.”

Her heart pinched in fear. “If you leave now, don’t expect me to be waiting for you when you come back. I’m not a book you can put down and pick up when you feel like it.”

“Much as I love reading, I have yet to drive twenty miles in a howling wind for the sake of a book.”

She resorted to her last weapon in an effort to change his mind, knowing he was fiercely jealous of William. “William never treats me so cavalierly.”

“He sounds as if he would make a very good husband for some Bath miss. Good night, Arabella.”

“If you leave now, Alexander, I won’t be here when you come back. I’ll marry William. I will.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll not be satisfied with that man-milliner after knowing me,” he said cockily.
“Au revoir,
Belle. That doesn’t mean good-bye.”

“Yes, it does. I told you, I’ll not wait for you, and I won’t.”

“Suit yourself.” He bowed and stalked off to the farther reaches of the park where his mount was tethered.