Page 53 of The Obedient Bride

“No, you have not,” he said. “I knew that you loved me, Fran. But I wished you to know it too. And now you do, you see. Give me another kiss quickly before someone comes along this road and has an apoplexy.”

Frances obeyed her intended husband’s second command.

Arabella was perched awkwardly on the horse’s back in front of her husband. She had no choice but to lean sideways against his chest. But she did not feel any great reluctance to do so. After a few moments she rested her head against his shoulder. They rode in silence for several minutes, across a pasture, past a marsh, through some trees.

The horse slowed its step—almost of its own volition, it seemed. And Arabella raised her head without ever planning to do so. Lord Astor kissed her slowly, lingeringly, allowing the horse to pick its own slow way through the trees.

The horse had stopped walking altogether by the time he lifted his head and sat looking down at Arabella as she snuggled her head against his shoulder again.

“Arabella,” he said, “words are so very inadequate. I have done you a terrible wrong. And the worst of it is that I did not even admit it to myself until very recently. I thought it my right to retain my freedom even after vowing to both you and God that I would keep myself only for you. I thought it my right to wrong you and to feel angry with you for feeling hurt. I have treated you as a possession, not as a person at all. If I get down from this horse and beg your pardon on my knees, will you ever be able to forgive me?”

“Yes,” she said, turning her face in to his neck. “You are already forgiven. And you need not get down.”

“But I have hurt you,” he said. “You will never be able to trust me again, Arabella. Our marriage will always be marred by the memory of its beginning. You will never be able to forget.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Arabella said. “I have realized something about life, my lord. Everything that happens has a purpose, I think. It is how we grow, perhaps. We cannot grow on just the pleasant things. I think I know both you and myself better for what I have suffered in the last weeks. And I cannot think that is a bad thing.”

“But does our marriage have a chance?” he asked. “Can we start again, Arabella, as I suggested yesterday? Can we become friends?”

“I think so,” she said. “I think our marriage perhaps has a better chance now than it had a month ago. At that time I thought you perfect and I was terrified of you. It is hard to love someone who is not quite human. But now I know that you are human, and I do not feel inadequate any longer. I feel free to love you and be your friend.”

He rested his cheek against the top of her head. “I did not think you would forgive me,” he said. “I do not deserve forgiveness, Arabella. Will you ever be able to trust me again?”

“Yes,” she said. She withdrew her head from his shoulder and looked earnestly up into his face. “Trust is not blindly believing in someone. It is knowing and loving that person and expecting what one knows is best in that person. Yes, I trust you, my lord. You told me the truth when I asked. You did not lie to me. I want to do what you suggested. I mean about going to Norfolk, just the two of us together, and getting to know each other and becoming friends. Oh, may we? Please?”

He hugged her to him suddenly. “Arabella,” he said, his voice not quite steady, “what have I ever done to deserve you? I love you so very much.”

“I think I am going to scream very soon,” Arabella said quite calmly. “Your saddle is digging so hard into my hip, my lord, that the pain is becoming unbearable.”

One moment later he was on the ground and lifting her down so that she slid along the full length of him. She twined her arms around his neck and looked eagerly into his face.

“Do you really love me?” she asked. “It is quite all right if you do not. I know I am not pretty or very elegant and I will undoubtedly become plump again since you commanded me to start eating. And I know you married me in order to do a kindness to my family. If we can be friends, I will be happy. If I can just make you comfortable, I will be happy. You do not have to feel that you must love me.”

“Arabella,” he said. Her face was framed by his hands. “Will you remember last night? Were my actions then those of a friend merely? Or of a man who was looking for comfort from his wife? Look into my eyes. Are they the eyes of your friend only?”

She looked and shook her head slowly.

“My actions were those of a lover,” he said. “I loved you last night. And I will tell you in all truth that I have not loved another woman as I loved you then. And these eyes are the eyes of a lover. I love you, unworthy as I am to do so.”

“Oh,” she said, “I think I am going to cry, my lord.”

“Don’t,” he said, bringing her forehead against his and continuing to hold her face. “I gave my handkerchief to Frances. Kiss me instead. But after you have called me what you called me last night. Will you, Arabella?”

“Geoffrey?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “Say it again, love, please.”

“Geoffrey,” she said out loud. She flushed.

He smiled and brought his lips to hers. “Will you call me that from now on?” he asked.

“Yes, Geoffrey,” she said.

“We now have a very serious choice to make,” he said. “We can either climb back onto that horse and ride back to Farraday’s for luncheon, or we can stay off that horse and not ride back to Farraday’s for luncheon and for whatever activity he has planned for immediately after. Which will it be, Arabella?”

She looked around her at the shady trees, the grass underfoot, and the horse grazing a few feet away. She looked up at her husband and flushed again.

“I am not very hungry, my lord,” she said.

Lord Astor wrapped his arms around his wife and drew her full against him. “What a dreadful thing to say to your own husband, Arabella,” he said, “when you have just declared that you wish to make me comfortable. I will just have to create a hunger in you, it seems.”

“Oh,” she said, “I thought we were speaking of food. How foolish of me! Yes. I have just realized that I am quite ravenous, my lord—Geoffrey.”