Chapter Eight For Honor

Chapter Eight

For Honor

B y luncheon’s end, the last of Fortenbury’s family and guests were gone from Cairwyn, departing with terse thanks for the manor’s hospitality. But none of Elizabeth’s friends or family made plans to leave.

No, they lingered and ate and whispered amongst themselves, waiting. Furtive gossip traveled from table to table, that an unwed family friend might propose to the jilted bride. They spoke of a Welsh marriage license, expedited by the duke’s influence, and a wedding that might proceed in Cairwyn’s chapel before the week’s end.

August’s friends knew the “family friend” was him. They dined with him, rode with him, played cards with him in the cozy salon as the hours ticked by, sending him occasional approving glances and silent support. Even Wescott, who knew the worst of his vices, seemed secretly grateful.

Elizabeth did not appear in company until the second day after the wedding, and if she heard the whispers about an impending proposal, she did not let on. She kept to her small circle of friends, not her usual effusive self. She seemed muted by her recent shock.

She may not accept me , he wanted to tell the gathering. It was a lot of pressure. It was also strange, for once, to play the hero, since he was not generally the heroic sort. Steady, yes. A good friend, certainly. But a lauded hero…

The third day after the wedding, before breakfast, he received a note card from the duke with a gold A embossed upon the front.

Dear August,

We have spoken to Elizabeth about the possibility of a marriage between you. Her mother and I believe she might be convinced. You are free to proceed with your proposal.

Arlington

“You are free to proceed” meant something more like “I expect you to proceed at once,” but August was prepared for speedy action. Ever since the parents had converged on him in his chambers, he’d been silently rehearsing genteel proposals, as well as arguments in the event she should resist.

When the tables were cleared after luncheon, he nodded to his friends and expressed a desire to take the air. It would be cold air, but privacy must be secured. In the time it took the butler to bring his coat and hat, his friend Wescott was able to alert the duke and duchess.

So, shortly after he walked, alone, to the edge of the balustrade overlooking Cairwyn’s back gardens, he heard the door open. He turned and regarded Elizabeth, who was bundled up for the weather in a fur-lined bonnet and elegantly trimmed winter-blue cape.

How easy things were made, when marriages were arranged. She was sent out to him just like a pretty package delivered to his door. He considered her as she walked to him. Slow steps, hesitant, halting. Still a bit pale and sad.

A wife. His wife.

Why not? Why the fuck not, if it would solve their problems and lift the gloomy droop to her shoulders? He would worry about the rest of it later—whether it would work, whether they could successfully navigate the path from friendship to romantic love. If things went awry, he’d just spank her. That was proven to work between them, at least.

He blinked away a stab of carnal lust, a memory of her trembling arse cheeks as he’d switched her a week ago. There was always that to build on. Discipline, structure, the infliction of pain and the comforting afterward. He could spank her, then hold her and whisper to her, cradling her in his lap. How far was it from that to…?

Well, he really shouldn’t think too far ahead this cold, bright afternoon. His tastes were regrettably base and perverse, but he could govern those impulses if necessary, to be a proper husband.

Not that any of this mattered if she told him no.

He managed a natural smile as she came to stand beside him. “Good afternoon, Lisbet.”

She turned into the wind, blinking at the sun’s brightness. “Good afternoon. Did you enjoy lunch?”

“Very much.” He watched her, noting what the past few days had done to her soul, her spirit, and felt confirmed in his purpose. “I thought I might have a walk around the back gardens. Perhaps you’ll join me?”

“Of course. If you like.”

She said this with rather tepid energy but accepted his offered arm and walked with him down the stairs to the cobbled stone path. He tried to relax, tried not to think about the curious onlookers hiding behind the multipaned glass windows along the south face of the keep. He took a deep breath and turned toward her, patting her hand.

“Well, Elizabeth. It seems there’s been a new and unexpected development.”

“Has there?” Her tone was dark and light, like cold air together with sun.

“Indeed.” He forged on despite her obvious ambivalence. “Both your parents and mine have asked me to marry you. To propose marriage to you, anyway. They crowded right into my parson’s room at the chapel to put forth the request.”

“That must have been daunting.”

“It was. And vaguely threatening, though your father assured me he found me deserving of your hand. Which is an important part of this.”

She stared down at the wintry grass, suddenly interested in the desiccated blades. “How silly of them, to cajole you into proposing to me.”

“Surprising, but not silly. They care about you and wish you to be happy.” He stopped their forward progress and nudged her chin up until her eyes met his. “I care about you, too. I would like you to say yes to my proposal. They advised you to say yes, didn’t they? When they sent you out here to talk with me?”

“They did.” She swallowed hard, her throat working against emotion. “Poor August. They mean to trap you with me, since no one else has worked out.”

“I don’t think of it like that, like a trap. As it happens, I should very much like to marry you. It would be my honor.”

She shook her head, though not enough that the watchers in the window could see. “Of course you’re willing to marry me for honor, August, but you’re not in love with me.”

“How many are in love when they marry?” he countered. “Not many. Did you love Fortenbury?”

He saw his point land, saw how it annoyed her. She glared up at him from beneath her lashes, his dark little Welsh imp. Yes, his. Now that he’d made it his business to marry her—to rescue her—he’d grown fully invested in the idea.

She frowned at him, openly emotional, her feelings always laid bare like no other woman of his acquaintance. “You’re proposing to me because my parents asked you to, because you feel obligated to help me. I have no way of knowing if you really want to be my husband.”

“You do have a way of knowing.”

He took her hand, not sure himself what he felt, with the maelstrom of morality, uncertainty, and conflicted longing that crowded his brain. She was the one with the exquisitely tuned senses. Let her work it out.

“How do you think I feel?” he prompted. “Tell me what your visions reveal.”

“I told you before, I’m not some mystic with a crystal ball.”

She tried to pull away, but he stopped her, held her hand fast. With his other hand, he removed his hat, letting the cool breezes disarrange his wavy hair.

“Look at me, Lisbet. How do you think I feel?”

She made a frustrated, indignant sound, but finally met his gaze. He watched her resist, then soften, then begin to seek within the intimate space between them. He laid himself open to her scrutiny.

I am who I am. I hold few secrets.

And I warn you, I intend to rescue you whether you wish it or not.

Elizabeth perceived warmth from the man before her. Kindness. A bit of anger, which surprised her, for she’d never seen easygoing August lose his temper. He wasn’t angry at her, but at Fortenbury.

His anger made her feel protected. Understood. She could see in his gaze that he cared for her, that he wished to do the honorable thing. She thought of the dark-haired knight in her book of legends, that paean of chivalric deeds. She’d hunched over the book and thought, this knight could be Lord Augustine .

Had she brought all this to pass with such musings? Did the world spin that way?

Now that she’d opened herself to feeling his warmth, the intensity nearly burned her. She pulled away from him, took her hand back.

“I’m sorry, but my answer is no.”

“No?” August frowned at her. “Why?”

“There are two very important reasons. First, you have been my friend all these years, not just a friend, but a brother and father figure rolled into one. I cannot think of you as a love interest, and even if I could…”

His frown deepened. Yes, August could be angry.

“I do not want a husband who will…” She lowered her voice, though they were quite alone. “Who will spank me any time he deems it necessary.”

“What? You don’t want a husband who will spank you?” He made a short, exasperated sound. “You have goaded me to spank you on numerous occasions, most recently a week ago.”

“Yes, perhaps, because I wished for it in those moments, but I don’t want it for my entire life!”

She could feel herself blush. She knew she was only making excuses, that she was really just afraid of the way August’s spankings made her feel.

“Women speak amongst themselves, you know.” She tilted her face from him as she spoke, hiding her red cheeks. “I’ve heard my friends talking about their husbands. Hazel is not spanked, nor Louisa, but the women who’ve married your friends…” She twisted her hands together, lowering her voice again. “Just the other day I overheard Rosalind say in the garden that Marlow has spanked her twice since they’ve come to Wales, then Ophelia, my brother’s wife, said he spanked her more times than that. Then Jane said they were fortunate they hadn’t married Lord Townsend, for he’d recently instituted a nightly spanking regimen. Nightly!”

August barely reacted to these unsettling revelations. “I can only be pleased they’re so satisfied in their marriages.”

“Satisfied?” She set her feet when he tried to start her moving again. “To be spanked so often?”

“Yes, it’s satisfying when a wife and husband settle their differences in such a sensible, time-honored way.” He finally compelled her to walk a bit farther. “Discipline is a joy in marriage.”

“It’s just as I fear. You’ll behave like them, spanking me right and left.”

“Yes, perhaps nightly. Townsend has got the right idea, though Jane doubtless wishes such personal gossip to be kept private.”

She accepted his chiding with a lift of her chin.

“Did you hear this talk in the garden before or after you came to me for your midnight spanking?” he asked quietly.

“Before,” she admitted.

“You see? In your own mind, you realized that it can sometimes solve problems.”

Her mind worked as they walked. She knew August, trusted him. She’d been spanked by him and survived it, but to be married to him, always subject to such whims? She was far too prone to problematic behavior, and there’d be so many opportunities for him to…

Oh dear. It would never do.

“Lord August,” she said, her voice as brisk as her walk. “There’s no chance of my marrying you unless you promised you would not spank me again. Or at least, not very often. Perhaps once or twice a year, at most.”

“There’s no way I’m promising that. Why, I’d like to spank you right now. And you’d appreciate it afterward,” he said, ignoring her small gasp, “because you’d be thinking clearly again. You want to be married, and I’m offering marriage. I’m a mostly civilized gentleman, and very well off. I do love you, Lisbet.”

“As you love Felicity?”

She dared a look at him, saw his eyes widen, his nostrils flare. He composed himself quickly, not missing a step.

“Your father brought up Felicity with me, and I told him what I’ll tell you. That obsession is done and past. She’s blissfully married with lovely children, and I’m happy she’s happy. This is not about Felicity. This is about you.”

Elizabeth didn’t know what to do. She liked August, even loved him, as he loved her through their longtime acquaintance and family connection. She wanted to be married, but she’d pictured some unknown prospect, someone who came to her as a suitor, not a friend.

“I’m overwrought,” she said, her voice softening. “I just don’t know. What if our marriage is a failure?”

“We can’t be more a failure than the gentlemen who’ve come before me.”

It was a pointed reminder that she was out of options. She hated him for saying it aloud, but she loved him too, for offering to save her. She looked down at her hand on his strong, steady arm.

A dark-featured knight, tousled as if coming from battle. The possibility of violence. The solid stance.

Protection.

Those were fantasies, memories of ancient legends. The keep behind her was ancient, as were these gardens, these grounds. She’d come to this magical, ancestral place to be married…

A tremble ran through her as she remembered something else: her sure feeling that August must come to Wales, that he was meant to meet his destiny in a woman here. Was she that woman?

Her gifts were many and mysterious. She hated it when they spooked her.

“You can’t say no at this point,” said August, stopping to face her. “There are a hundred people watching us from the windows. I’ll never outlive the shame and embarrassment if I’m denied in front of all of them.”

“I was denied in front of all of them,” she said, holding his gaze. “I survived.”

“Elizabeth.”

There was a world of feeling in the way he uttered her name. Sympathy, poignancy. Exasperation.

“There is a rightness to it,” he said, as the sun’s scrutiny bore down on them. “We’ve both had our hearts broken.”

“Yes, and I don’t think I can bear it to happen again.”

“Nor can I. Say yes to me. We’ll protect one another.”

“But our friendship—” she pleaded. “What if it’s ruined?”

“It won’t be ruined. We’ll figure things out. We’ll make everything work.” He sighed. “I’ve wanted to get married, Elizabeth. My friends are all married now, so I need to marry too, but I wasn’t sure how to carry it all out. Now I know. The choice, in some way, is being made for us by…” He waved a hand in the air. “By whatever makes choices and fates.”

She looked at the space he sketched with his waving hand, saw possibilities in that whirl of air.

“It’s a bit arranged, yes,” he went on. “Your parents sent you out here, and I was given my marching orders. But I do care for you deeply. It’s not entirely forced.”

He persisted, convincing her, fighting for her. It was so stolid of him. So unselfish. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Of course I will have you,” she said. “Oh, August. Of course I will marry you, but you may live to regret it.”

“Never.”

He opened his arms, and she turned to him, into the solid expanse of his chest. He held her, his gloved fingers curving against the back of her neck where her bonnet didn’t quite meet her cape’s collar. Their onlookers must be smiling. Her parents would be relieved, thinking this a problem solved.

But it would bring more problems. She and August would need to learn how to relate to one another in an entirely new way. She became aware of his size as he held her, the broad strength of his body. She knew that strength, from his spankings if nothing else. She was as frightened as she was ecstatic. She was going to be August’s wife.

“It will be all right,” he murmured, and she realized she was weeping, her face buried against the front of his coat. “We’ll do it today. Tonight. We’ll have them put the decorations back up in the church. You deserve a beautiful wedding, to someone who loves you just as you are.”

“You truly love me?”

“If I didn’t love you,” he said wryly, “I’d be snug in my chamber, wouldn’t I? And not out here in front of everyone, having my favorite coat ruined with tears.”

*

The wedding did not take place that night, but the next day, so a new, appropriately festive nuptial breakfast could be thrown together, and the hidden decorations replaced. August put away his tear-soaked coat and donned his formal one again, this time as the bridegroom. He arrived early to wait at the altar, for he didn’t want her to question for a moment whether he would be there.

I’m present, Elizabeth. I’m ready in spirit if not in soul.

For all of it had happened very quickly. He was doing the right thing, he knew that. But watching her walk down the aisle in her dazzling velvet gown, he was suddenly overcome with nerves. In sickness and in health. Until death do us part.

His father had taken his place at the harpsichord, to play the processional song. August hardly heard it, for all his attention was fixed upon his bride. She looked different than last time, perhaps by intention. Instead of her regal crown of braids, her black locks were undone, falling down her back. No ornate bouquet today, no pearl-studded ribbons. She carried a simple spray of pink cyclamen and winter heather, bound by…ah, there was the pearl ribbon.

Her trembling hands made the flowers shake, though everyone pretended not to notice. If the good wishes of the onlookers were enough to steady nerves, she should be the steadiest bride ever.

He smiled in an attempt to calm her when she finally stood before him. She returned a tremulous grin. Just over her shoulder, he could see the old baron, her doting grandpa, scowling at him. August made it his mission to assure everyone there that, despite the exigent circumstances, he wanted nothing more than to make Elizabeth his wife. It would not erase the humiliation of being left at the altar, but it might make new memories for both her and the guests.

To that end, he uttered his vows with vigorous intent, and gazed steadily at Elizabeth when she repeated hers. He took her hand when the parson told him to, and held it tight, glove against glove. He thought of her bare fingers upon the piano keys in his music room, and then imagined his bare fingers upon…

Ah. He must not let his mind wander to other, more lurid activities right now. He focused on the parson’s words about love, honor, and fidelity, still gripping her hand. A great cheer went up as the ceremony ended, and he walked her back down the aisle.

Well, it was done. She stood beside him out in the sunshine as the guests filed by, full of congratulations. Everything seemed good and bright again. He could tell they felt matters had been “fixed,” and that he was a fine man for doing it. There would still be gossip back in England, in London especially, but they could cope with that.

His friends hugged him and punched him on the shoulder, and Marlow said, “it’s about time, cousin!” Wescott called him brother, though there was also warning in his crooked smile. His parents beamed, and her parents, the vaunted Duke and Duchess of Arlington, were practically reduced to tears as they congratulated the couple.

They left the church together to go to the wedding breakfast in the manor’s great hall, trailing in lines across the frosted lawn. They’d gotten sun today, instead of rain. The flowers in her bouquet weren’t shaking anymore. When he reached for her hand, she switched the flowers to her other hand and gave him an adoring smile, her deep green eyes alight.

Have I done the right thing? he thought. Can I love this girl as she deserves? Can I protect her? Can we build a family and create a legacy together, when she’s as incomprehensible as an ancient rune?

The wedding must be enough for now. The rest they could build over time, when he got over the shock and suddenness of their nuptials. Her fingers tightened around his and he knew he could protect her, at any rate.

She was so sweet. So young.

So innocent, for God’s sake.