The Perfect Bride (10 page)

Simon
could not imagine why he had such thoughts about Miss Biddle's prim chaperon. He
supposed that Miss Fitzhugh would not be considered beautiful by the standards
of the London society in which he would soon be immersed. Her hair was a rather
ordinary brown — though it had shone quite gloriously without its many pins the
night she injured her ankle. Now, though, it was pulled back quite severely. To
be sure, her classical nose and high cheekbones did give her a rather noble profile.
Her mouth was also quite ordinary — lips firmly pressed together, without any
hint of invitation — though he wondered whether a kiss or two would change
that.

Simon
gave himself a mental shake. It was of no import that those sedate spinster
frocks hid enticing curves, accidentally discovered on those growing number of
occasions in which he had been called upon to rescue Miss Fitzhugh from various
precarious situations.

Henceforth
he would concentrate on his betrothed. And he had chosen well. Miss Biddle
would bear him the family necessary to secure Sommersby and to set down the
roots he had never known in his years in the military.

A
man's duty was to a higher goal than the satisfaction of lustful thoughts
entirely inappropriate for a man with a birthright to secure for his children.

In
any case, Miss Fitzhugh was an independent sort. She had chosen to do without
men in her life and apparently was managing very well. Indeed, he could not
think of another female who would readily scramble up onto a chair to
investigate a strange noise or hobble downstairs alone on crutches. Clearly, she
did not think she needed a man, or anyone else for that matter.

In
that, perhaps, they were alike, for Simon had never depended on others for his
needs. Yet others had always depended on him. He could not remember a time when
he had not been responsible for the welfare of his men or, before that, his widowed
mother. He had always taken care of his own — or tried to. Marriage was no different.
It was not a burden. It was simply necessary.

He
would be a good husband and father. He would transform his castle into a comfortable
home. He would fulfill the duty that now called him.

***

The
woman exactly resembled his mother. Though she had been dead for years, she
stood in his bedchamber now — looking as she had eighteen years ago when she
read his father's name off the lists of soldiers killed fighting Humbert's
invasion at Killala. Until then, Ireland had been only a faraway place that
kept his father from home.

His
mother's face was lined and worn from the strain of her growing pregnancy and
the babe she would lose in the agonizing grief that followed the loss of her
husband. At twelve, Simon had understood that his mother needed something he
could not provide. Almost overnight he had become a man, but he could not
shield her from the bill collectors who wanted their due or the other men who
wanted far more. When she died less than two years later, unable to recover
from an assault that sickened her body and heart, Simon had been powerless to help
her. Afterward, there was nothing left but to go, like generations of Thornton
men before him, and fight the Frenchmen who had killed his father. He’d been
young, but the military was happy to have a lad who had nowhere else to go.

But
though Simon had long carried the image of his mother in his heart, never had
he encountered her standing in front of the fire in his chamber looking as if
she had something important to say. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. His
imagination had run amok, undoubtedly because of the port with which he and Sir
Thomas had celebrated the betrothal after dinner, and the brandies Jeffers had
brought to him later.

His
mother was still there. Or something was. In the dim glow of the dying embers
in the hearth, the image grew indistinct.

Perhaps
his vision might have been affected by the spirits he had consumed, but Simon
also began to consider the possibility that there was some foolishness afoot.
Reaching for his dressing gown, he briefly turned his attention away from the
fireplace. When he looked again, he froze.

His
mother's face had lost its weary lines and now looked almost girlish. As she
smiled, Simon held his breath. Only in the dimmest recollection of his
childhood had he ever seen her so happy and carefree. Another image appeared
next to her, that of a young man, a soldier. As the image grew more distinct,
Simon saw that it was his father. The two people rushed into each other's arms,
and Simon felt unaccountably pleased.

Suddenly
the images blurred. Then they were no longer his parents but two people dressed
in the clothing of another century. A voluminous train indicated the woman's
high rank. Her bodice was tightly wrapped and cut in a deep décolletage. The
man wore pointed footgear, clinging hose and a short jacket with heavily padded
shoulders.

Those
images soon disappeared in a smoky haze that quickly condensed into two naked
lovers wrapped in each other's arms. Frantically, the couple tried to
consummate their lovemaking, and the hazy fog that swirled around them grew
more and more agitated as the wild sexual dance escalated.

Something
was wrong, however. The lovers faded in and out, then evaporated into grey
wisps that swirled in the smoky hearth before disappearing up the chimney. The
images of the two lovers had existed only fleetingly, and a sense of
frustration lingered in the room long after they had vanished.

What
a strange, disturbing dream, Simon thought. He’d obviously mistaken the images
of his parents, no doubt because of his thoughts about his mother earlier in
the evening. And the lovers resembled no one he knew.

He
shook off the feeling that something was wrong. It was just a dream, and dreams
held no power. As his head hit the pillow once more, Simon's thoughts were filled
with the frantic, unknown lovers and their desperate passion.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

"I
wonder where Mr. Thornton has got to," Amanda said. "We have not seen
him since our arrival."

Felicity
looked up from her book. "I expect he is away on some business for Lord
Sommersby." She smiled. "Do you miss him, perchance?"

Amanda
colored. "I merely wondered about his whereabouts." In truth, even
the difficult Mr. Thornton would prove a welcome diversion. They still had a
week remaining of their visit, and it seemed that everywhere she looked, there
was the earl in all his magnificence.

"But
you did enjoy his company, did you not?" Felicity removed her spectacles
and eyed her thoughtfully. "I suspect Mr. Thornton would be a kind
companion."

"Just
because you are betrothed, you think that every other female should do
likewise," Amanda said.

Felicity
ignored this remark. "Mr. Thornton is a bit older than your previous
suitors, but that need be no disadvantage. Age has not left him infirm or
enfeebled, and I do believe he must be wise about a great many things that a
younger man may not."

"Mr.
Thornton is not a suitor," Amanda protested. "Where did you get such
a notion? We but exchanged a few words on the journey here. I declare,
Felicity, your imagination is something to behold."

"I
merely want what is best for you, Amanda," Felicity persisted. "I
would not like to see the experience with Mr. LeFevre ruin your life. Not all
men are like that. Why, I imagine that Lord Sommersby will be a very pleasant
and gentle husband."

Amanda
hoped that for Felicity’s sake she was correct about the earl. "Julian did
not ruin my life," she insisted. "The man merely opened my eyes to
the baser side of the masculine nature, and I have chosen to avoid any repeat
exposure."

"But,
Amanda! Not to have children, or to know a husband's embrace — "

“I
imagine I shall survive somehow,” Amanda put in dryly.

“But
listen, Amanda, to what you would miss: ‘A heavenly paradise is that place
wherein all pleasant fruits do flow'..." Felicity trailed off, then
blushed. "I have been immersed in a book of poems. A nice young man helped
me find it in Lord Sommersby's library."

"I
did not know there was anyone else here."

"Mr.
Frakes is cataloguing the earl's books and weapons. He is a student of medieval
texts, but he was very familiar with the works of Campion and Herrity. He found
a beautiful wedding song for me. Only listen — " Felicity adjusted her
spectacles and read — "`I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers;
Of April, May, of June, and July flowers. I sing of Maypoles, Hock-carts,
wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal cakes.' I intend
to have it read at our wedding."

Amanda
doubted very much whether Lord Sommersby's notion of a wedding included a
homage to Maypoles. "Perhaps the earl may have other ideas."

Felicity
waved a dismissive hand. "He has left everything up to me. He does not
care what sort of ceremony we have, just as long as we are wed by autumn. He
says there is no sense in wasting time now we have agreed to have each
other." She blushed. "It is quite flattering to have such an eager
fiancé."

After
her recent conversation with Lord Sommersby, Amanda feared that the earl's
eagerness stemmed not from any ardent desire to have Felicity as his bride — they
scarcely knew each other, after all — but from a determination to have the
thing over and done with. She wondered at the degree to which her cousin’s affections
were engaged. It would be tragic if Felicity fell deeply in love with her
future husband, only to encounter his indifference once they were wed. Felicity
would be shattered if her romantic impulses were not returned.

"I
imagine that you will want to take as much time as possible to get to know Lord
Sommersby," Amanda said carefully. "The whirl of parties and balls in
town afford little opportunity for that. There is no substitute for going into
a marriage with one's eyes wide open."

"Oh,
my eyes are open, Amanda. You need not worry. Papa says that married people do
not sit in each other's pockets, and I know he is right. I shall enjoy the
flurry of parties and then I shall retire with my new husband to discover the
secrets of marital bliss." Felicity smiled mischievously. "I expect
that we shall fall in love and live happily ever after, like Papa and Mama. It
will not happen overnight, perhaps, but it will happen."

"But
what if it does not?"

Felicity
shook her head. "I know that is your practical nature speaking, and that
you have my best interests in mind. But believe me when I say that Lord
Sommersby is everything I have wanted in a husband. It is a fairytale come
true. The handsome hero has stepped off the pages and into my life. It is the
best of fortune to be chosen by such a man."

Amanda
smiled. "I am glad of it, then, my dear. I did not intend to put a damper
on things.”

“I
know that Lord Sommersby may appear a bit...fierce,” Felicity said. "But a
man who has known and survived war must needs be fierce. Fierceness bespeaks
passion, does it not? And passion is the breath of life to love."

"Where
did you hear that?"

"You
have only to study the poets to know that passion and love are inexorably
entwined." Felicity looked down at her book and read: "`What is a
kiss? Why this, as some approve: The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of
love.'"

"Lord
Sommersby has kissed you?" Though the question was impertinent, Amanda
could not stop herself from asking it.

Felicity
colored. "Of course not! I imagine the earl is not one to take liberties,
even with his betrothed."

"Well,
perhaps you had best give him an opportunity,” Amanda said. “After all, you
will be sharing this man's bed for the rest of your life. You had best find out
if that much-vaunted passion is glue enough."

"Amanda!"
Felicity stared at her cousin, shocked. "You are my chaperon. I cannot
imagine you advising such a thing — especially not after your experience with Mr.
LeFevre!"

"’Tis
exactly that experience that taught me how superficial passion can be,"
Amanda said. "Julian took advantage of my naiveté and used his considerable
magnetism to lead me down a road I did not even know existed. When I realized
that he held no feeling for me, it was too late. Had your father not discovered
us, I would have been utterly ruined."

Felicity
shuddered. "What a dreadful man! But Lord Sommersby is not like that, Amanda.
He is honorable."

"Of
course. Still, you have only a few months in which to get to know him. This
visit is an ideal opportunity, absent the crowds and the distractions of town.
Why are you passing an afternoon with me when you should be spending time with
your intended?"

"Lord
Sommersby has been very busy. He is approving plans for restoration of the
castle."

"Then
get him to take you round with him,” Amanda urged. “I should think you would
jump at the opportunity to tour this ancient pile."

Felicity
fingered her book of poems. "He did take me to his library. But then he
left me there. I did not mind, as Mr. Frakes was quite helpful. Anyway, I do
not want to trouble the earl today. He seems much preoccupied with his work. I understand
he is expecting a guest. He ordered the housekeeper to prepare another room. I
believe it is someone who spent a summer at the castle as a boy.”