Page 74 of Dare it all for Love

30th August 1839, Holbrook House, Sussex.

“Did anyone see you?” Grace asked nervously as she saw Mr Oak appear from out of the tree line. He was sure of foot, moving so silently through the woodland that she had not heard him approach. Though he was expected, she still experienced a start at the sight of him, her heart giving an anxious jolt, like jumping at a lightning strike in the middle of a storm.

He had got a message to her via one of the laundry maids, demanding she meet him by the stile that followed the path from Holbrook to the village. It was a suitable meeting place as, if anyone saw them, she could say she had just been going to the village on some errand and had run into him by accident.

She felt a little sick and exceedingly nervous at being alone with him. He was just so dreadfully big and fierce and intimidating. Did the man never smile or take a frivolous thought into his head? That she would be bound in wedlock to him soon was so disorientating and bizarre she could hardly take it seriously. It was serious, though. The most serious decision of her life. This gruff, unsmiling man would share her life, her bed, her body.

He gave her an impatient glance in answer to her demand. That look spoke volumes about bolting horses and stable doors without him ever opening his mouth, but Grace just put up her chin. The wretched fellow might put her in a quake, but she refused to let him cow her. If she was going to go through with this insane notion of marrying a man she didn’t know, she had best learn to stand up to him.

“No,” he said with his usual brevity.

Mr Oak would never use a full sentence if one word would do. If possible, he’d just nod or grunt and never open his mouth at all. She’d been in his company for perhaps a few hours and yet she had gathered this much. He would never be a conversationalist. Any fond imaginings she’d had of cosy winter evenings by the fire, talking to her husband, went up in a proverbial puff of smoke. Well, it was her own fault. She’d been an utter fool and fallen for a pretty face and a man who wielded words like confetti, showering pretty nothings upon her with abandon and then leaving them in the dirt like so much refuse. At least Mr Oak’s words seemed sincere, no matter how sparse they were. He had offered her refuge, after all, though she still did not know why.

She stared up at him expectantly. After all, he had summoned her. He frowned down at her, and she fidgeted under the weight of his scrutiny. Somehow, she kept forgetting how large he was and, each time she saw him, it shocked her all over again.

“Well?” she demanded, a little exasperated.

“I gave you one week to speak to your parents. It’s been two. I said we would marry after your birthday.”

Grace drew in a breath. Well, really, what had she expected?

“That is true, though things have been a little complicated, what with murder and mayhem, and then of course there was Florence’s wedding. I didn’t want anything to overshadow her happiness.”

“And her hearing that you were marrying me would be a big black cloud,” he remarked, dry as dust.

She sent him a sharp glance. For a moment it occurred to her to wonder if she’d hurt his feelings with her offhand remark, but he appeared so remote and unreachable it seemed unlikely such a thing were possible. Still, she did not wish to offend him. “I did not mean that. Besides, she already knows I am to marry you. I told her the day you asked me. I just….”

Grace let out a breath and closed her eyes. There was no point in delaying. Indeed, every day she prevaricated was another that would make people question the paternity of her child, and she could not have her baby bear her shame. Everyone must believe she had given herself to this stern, intimidating man. That they had been walking out together and had simply anticipated their vows and nothing more shocking. She was struggling to see how anyone could believe it at all, so delaying would only make matters worse.

“It is my birthday tomorrow. My parents arrive this evening. I will speak to them the day after tomorrow. I will tell them you will call on my father in the afternoon. You have my word.”

He gave a taut nod and turned away, obviously intending to walk off without uttering another syllable, the beast.

“Wait.”

He stopped at once, turning back to her, his dark gaze unreadable.

“Why are you marrying me?” she asked, hearing the desperate note to her voice. “And don’t say your reasons are your own, for that is not the least bit reassuring.”

“You want reassurance?” he asked, and she wished there was some way of knowing what the devil he was thinking, for his face was expressionless, neither compassionate nor judgemental.

“It would be nice, yes,” she said tartly. “I mean, for all I know, your reasons are so you may lock me in an attic or chop me into bite-sized pieces and feed me to your pigs!”

He reared back at that, and at least this time she could read his thoughts with ease. He looked utterly horrified.

“Christ, you’ve an imagination. Is this what you think of me?” he demanded.

Grace threw up her hands, exasperated. “No! Well, maybe… but what am I supposed to think? You tell me I must marry you when we’ve barely spoken two words to each other. I want to feel grateful to you for rescuing me, I wish to know the man I am to be bound to for the rest of my life, but you’ve given me nothing.”

He frowned at her, which seemed to be his habitual expression, but she got the impression he was thinking very hard. She watched as he thrust his hands into his pockets, looking strangely peeved.

“Do you have a looking glass?”

“What? Well, yes, of course—”

“There you are, then,” he answered, as if that was all the explanation she could possibly desire and turned as though to leave.

“Wait!”