The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV) (18 page)

“Do not move or we shall both be dashed,” he
said in a tight voice. He scooped her up and Fiona clung to his
broad shoulders.

Fiona held her breath as Robert moved over
the boulders at a cautious rate. Soon they were standing on the wet
sand at the water’s edge. Robert placed her gently on the ground,
his hands still on her waist.

“Thank you, my lord,” Fiona said, relieved to
be off the only safe way to the water’s edge. “Is there no path
that could be built? A bridge perhaps?” She turned to the massive
outcropping of giant boulders and stones. Heaps of seaweed covered
the tops as well as in between the crevices in the great wall. It
remained slippery and wet from the constant waves, even at low
tide. To the left, the land sloped to form a swampy marsh that
filled with ocean as soon as the tide changed. The outgoing tide
formed furrows of small channels to release the sea from the basin.
Farther beyond another fearsome outcropping of stone, the shoreline
lay flat and tranquil.

“A path? A bridge?” Robert asked. “How do you
suggest I build such a thing? And with what? These boulders were
placed here by God. Do you think I have the same engineering skill
as the Almighty?”

Fiona faced the ocean and put up her hand to
shade her eyes from the water’s glare. “I should think if one could
start from the firmament at the top of the rise, a path of stone
could be laid, and then a wooden bridge atop.”

Robert looked where she had suggested. She
turned and faced the estate. Pointing with her gloved finger she
said, “There, where the two trees overlook the marsh. Do you not
think that would be the best place to begin laying the stone?”

“Fiona, ‘tis a great undertaking.”

She continued not even hearing him. “And then
the path would become part of the great outcrop there.” She swung
her arm to point at the monstrosity dividing this shore from the
other. “You would have then, the whole of that shore to work at or
play, or perhaps just walk. Do you not see how this would benefit
The Cottage?”

Fiona walked down the small strip of
beachhead having to stop before a rivulet that poured out from the
estuary. There was no way to jump over and Fiona was determined to
walk along the other shore. She sat down on the sand and began
untying her boot.

“What do you think you are doing?” Robert’s
shadow fell across her.

“I am taking every opportunity to enjoy this
outing, my lord. I do not know when or if I shall ever see the
ocean again and I am determined to feel the sand beneath my feet
the same as I did with the land in Peebles. If you do not wish to
accompany me further, then by all means, do go back to the house. I
shall find my way later.” Fiona continued to make fast work of her
other boot, slipping it off to join the first on the sand. When she
stood and lifted her skirt to remove her stockings, Robert put his
back to her and shouted at the same time.

“Good God woman, what do you think you are
doing now?”

Fiona laughed. “Oh for Heaven’s sake, do not
fash yourself so. I cannot be expected to ruin a perfectly good
pair of leg wear.” She pulled the wool down and over her ankles.
“There now,
that
feels much better.”

Robert turned back to her with an incredulous
expression.

Fiona dug her toes into the sand. “Does it
always move so? I feel as if I were in a great hourglass.” She
retrieved her boots and tucked the stockings in one of them, then
took a step toward the inlet.

Robert placed his hand on her elbow. “Where
are you going?”

“Across the creek, my lord. That
is
the only way to get to the other side.”

“Fiona, do not be daft. You cannot wade
through the water, ‘tis freezing and you will catch your
death.”

Fiona shook free of his hand. “My lord, I
have swum naked in the silver lake in Peebles in February and I did
not catch my death. Walking through this little bit of water will
do me no harm.” As she plodded through the sand to the water’s
edge, she hiked her skirts and took a tentative step.

“Wait for me, damn it,” Robert yelled.

Fiona turned and found Robert stripping off
his boots and stockings. She waited for him as he stormed up the
beach.

“I shall catch my death,” he said as he
reached her side. “If you have forgotten, I have been ill.”

“Nonsense,” Fiona retorted. “’Twas only a
sniffle. And if you would care to recall, ‘twas I that nursed you.
Now, shall we stand about all day arguing, or are you coming?”

Fiona placed her foot into the water and
hop-walked through the shallows to the other side. She heard Robert
splashing behind her and faced him as he slogged up the bank.

“See, ‘twas not so hard, was it?” she
asked.

Robert said nothing, but followed where she
led. As they gained the next giant outcropping of rock, Robert took
her hand to pull her up the last part of the embankment. Sand and
beach weeds had formed along the top to make a small plateau where
they both stood and took in the landscape before them.

“Breathtaking,” Fiona said then sighed. “I
should give all the money in the world to be able to look upon this
sight for the rest of my life.”

She could see The Cottage some ways behind a
copse of trees to the north. The estuary lay behind them with the
boulders that formed the great elbow protecting it. The land in
front of them sloped down to the shore, reeds, and canes along with
brush pine and wild blue flowers that stretched to the sky. Along
the tide line, great white herons and small furtive brown birds
picked among the flotsam. Sunshine sparkled over the waves, a light
breeze played with her hair. Fiona breathed in the salt air.

“This is what I think Heaven should look
like,” she said.

“I think you may be right,” Robert
agreed.

She turned and found him staring at her with
a puzzled expression.

“Come,” he said, and held out his hand. “Let
us go down and see what creatures we may find. Perhaps a treasure
for Mrs. Hastings.”

*****

As they walked along the beach, Robert could
not remember a more relaxing time. For all her exasperation, Fiona
was nothing more than a child. An old child perhaps, but a child
nonetheless. The delight she took in everything he showed her knew
no bounds. When he chased after her with a dead crab, she shrieked
and ran down the beach, feigning hysteria. Her joy at discovering a
plover nest with eggs set her on her knees, the damp sand
forgotten. She played a game at the water’s edge of jumping over
the ocean’s ebb and flow.

After walking the good mile or more down to
the end of the beach where it met with another round of mountainous
boulders, they returned to where the journey began. Robert looked
at the outcropping.

“Oh, must we return so soon?” Fiona asked. “I
should have thought to take a picnic.”

“Perhaps a little longer, then, if you like.
The tide will be turning though, and we must return before we are
stranded.”

Fiona plopped down on her stomach on the
sand, startling Robert. How could a woman not have a care for her
clothes? Robert had never in his life met another woman like her,
as if nothing mattered more to her than the enjoyment of the
moment. She pulled at the sand and allowed it to flow through her
fingers with the breeze.

She looked up at him. “Will you not sit
down?”

Robert sat next to her and gazed out over the
ocean. His thoughts landed on Sonnet Fifty-Six.

…Let this sad interim like the ocean be,

Which parts the shore, where two contracted
new

Come daily to the banks, that when they
see

Return of love, more bless’d be the view

Robert had no idea he’d spoken until Fiona
remarked, “What beautiful poetry. Tell me, is it yours?”

“No,” he said. “Shakespeare. I confess I have
not the aptitude for penning sonnets.”

Fiona rolled over and sat up, her knees under
her skirts, arms wrapped around them, her head resting against
their top. “I should have liked to study Shakespeare, but my father
would not let me. He claimed Old Will ‘twas nothing more than a
scrivener of drivel. Robert Burns graced our library.”

Robert smiled. “My father would have debated
the argument to the death. He loved Shakespeare.”

“So I saw in his library.” Fiona shifted on
the sand. “Would you tell me how he passed?”

Robert stiffened.

“I’m sorry. If it is too painful, I
understand,” Fiona said.

Robert took a deep breath. “I killed
him.”

Fiona said nothing and Robert looked at her.
Her face held no lines of censure, no condemnation. She waited,
composed, for him to continue. He returned his gaze back to the
sea.

“My father was a great man, better than any I
have met thus. He had a lust for life, a zeal for the everyday that
I do not share.” He glanced at her. “You remind me of him in that
regard. Fond of everyone, and everyone fond of him. His only fault
lay in his temper, which was rarely shown, although when it
appeared, you would do best to hide.” Robert picked up a small
stone.

“I respected my father, as would any man in
my position. I was raised to handle the responsibility of the
duchy, although I had not planned to do so for many years. My
father was hale and hearty, and we had no thought he would ever
die.” Robert cleared his throat.

“I had found a small estate I wanted to buy
as an investment, but my funds were low, and I asked my father for
a loan. He refused, said the land was bog, and the manor nothing
more than a pile of rotting timber waiting to fall. You see my
father, unbeknownst to me, had already thought about purchasing it,
and had inspected its condition more thoroughly than I had. He knew
it to be worthless. We entered into a colossal argument. I swear
the whole of Mayfair heard us. I stormed from the house, cursing
him and his pigheadedness. I went to my club and got snockered,
never knowing what was to become of him. A massive attack on his
heart. By the time Edwards found me, it was too late.” Robert
pitched the stone out to the sea. “I never got a chance to tell him
how sorry I was. I never had the chance to tell him…how much….I
loved him.”

Robert pressed his fingers to his eyes. He
never spoke of his father because this always happened. He always
cried. At the memorial service, it had been acceptable, but here
now, almost three years later, to be hit with such emotion. It was
not to be borne.

He felt Fiona slip her hand through his. “I’m
sure he loved you very much and forgave you as well.”

“My mother was with him at the end and she
said that he did forgive me, only I cannot forgive myself. My
foolishness killed him.”

“No. You must not blame yourself. Does
nothing but cause nightmares. Your father loved you, just as my
mother loved me. I only wanted to ride my wee pony. Had I known the
impending storm would cause her horse to spook, of course I would
not have begged to ride that day. Just as you did not know arguing
with your father would cause his attack. We can only see these
things in hindsight, but it does no good for us to dwell there. We
would go mad.” Fiona paused. “You must remember his love for you,
and all that he wanted you to achieve. You are a very good man. Do
not become mired in the past. It will destroy you.”

Robert took comfort in Fiona’s words. They
were very much the same as his mother’s.

“Come,” he said and stood. He helped her up.
“The wind has changed, and so has the tide.”

The trek back to The Cottage was subdued,
Robert’s mind on his father. Fiona’s suggestion of walking back by
way of the middle rocks proved to be shorter and safer and before
he knew it, they were walking beneath the two trees at the bottom
of the meadow.

Fiona stopped and turned back to the ocean.
Her hair had come loose while playing on the beach and now danced
behind her as the wind from the ocean grew. Robert took in the
sight of her gown, damp and sandy in spots, its hem stuck with bits
of seaweed and dirt from the ledge. He knew of no other woman who
would care to be seen thus.

“Are you well?” he asked as he walked to
her.

“Oh, aye.” She turned to him with a bright
smile. “I am only trying to memorize this day. I shall never forget
it as long as I live. Thank you for indulging me.”

Fiona’s eyes shone clear in the sunlight. Her
cheeks held a rosy glow. She was too damned beautiful even in all
her wrinkled dirty state. Robert cupped her cheek.

“No, Fiona,” he said softly. “Thank
you
for indulging me. This afternoon was one I shall not
soon forget as well.” He couldn’t help himself. He kissed her
gently.

Fiona leaned into him and Robert wrapped his
other arm protectively around her back. He breathed in the scent of
her, salt from the ocean, lavender from her soap, the fresh air
that surrounded them. Fiona placed a hand on his chest, close to
his heart, and her other hand at his neck, her fingers tangling in
his hair. Robert deepened the kiss, not knowing why, only wanting
to melt into her embrace. He lost all track of time as his lips and
tongue joined with hers. She felt good, and right, and this kiss
was not born of anger, or worry, or passion, but something Robert
had never felt before, an emotion that was as foreign to him as
Siam or Africa. He was not afraid of it, nevertheless, it
overwhelmed him. He broke off the kiss and stepped back.

Fiona opened her eyes and smiled. “Shall we
return to the house?”

Robert took her hand in his and they returned
to The Cottage.

Their last days in Swansea proved to Fiona,
at least, she and Robert could maintain an affable accord. The walk
on the beach seemed to have soothed Robert’s rough edges and they
talked and laughed throughout the remainder of the stay. There were
no more shared kisses, but Fiona was content that they had somehow
gotten past the irritability each had found with the other. She
looked forward to the return to London hoping the tranquility they
had found would last. She promised herself she would do her best to
preserve it.