Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

OXFORDSHIRE

T he countryside of Oxfordshire was much like that of Buckinghamshire. Hester knew it must be so, but as she had never, in her memory, been much beyond Goddington or her family home at Audley, she could not be certain.

The coach rode smoothly along a road that wound between fields and meadows with the rising sun behind them. Villages appeared and disappeared, the road they followed running by them but not through them. Off to the left, she could see a large line of hills, dark against the pale morning sky.

"Langley Grange is there, right at the foot of Langley Peak, that's the hill you can see," Middleton pointed out.

He was sitting next to her and they had spent the journey thus far with one last rehearsal of Hester's story. It was the story that Dorian had been told and that she would reinforce. Her grandmother, Lady Cynthia Purcell from York, had fallen ill and Hester, or rather Sophia, had been obliged to take care of her. The old lady had sadly passed away. This would explain any odd behavior from Hester, the vagaries of grief. Hester had spent the last three days learning about Sophia Bennett and her marriage to Dorian Fairchild. Her interests and passions, her accomplishments, and foibles. She could recount the occasion of Sophia's first meeting with Dorian and the key moments of their story, at least those that Middleton was aware of.

Presently, Hester was a tumult of emotions.

Excitement was chief among them at the moment, but trepidation was not far behind. Anger ran through it all like the streaks of color in marble. Anger at the Haskett's who had treated her like a servant and lied to her. Anger towards Arthur, but only to a degree. He had allowed himself to speak of love and elopement while knowing that he could not carry through his promises. She could not paint him a liar though, merely a man whose head and heart were at war. It did cut her deeply that his feelings for her had not been strong enough to win through against what his head told him to do. She thought herself a fool for believing him and a fool for agreeing to this escapade. It was so patently ludicrous that it could not possibly work. Nor could she promise herself that she would be able to continue with it. The idea of deliberately lying to an innocent person, and such a monstrous lie at that, for weeks on end was unthinkable to her.

"Remember, this is all for Dorian's own good. And, selfishly, for me. So that I do not risk losing my only son a second time," Middleton had told her on more than one occasion.

Hester clung to that and told herself that the only alternative was to return to Goddington and face punishment. In all likelihood, a lifetime of punishment. There was no alternative.

A dark speck against the looming Langley Peak began to grow larger. They had turned from the west and were heading more towards the south, but angling towards the great peak. Hester could see that it rose from a chain of hills that ran more or less north to south. Another series of rolling downs reached towards that line of high ground from the east, meeting it at right angles. In the gap between these ranges was the dark speck that soon became a mass and then a crenelated shape of stone and mortar.

Langley Grange.

The house was of dark stone, giving the appearance of an antique structure and bearing none of the hallmarks of modern, fashionable design. It was square and rose to three stories in height. Its front door was housed in a huge, stone arch, appearing distinctly medieval. A forest of chimneys rose from a multitude of rooftops that rose at all angles from the simple structure.

The road passed between an ornamental gate, entwined with ivy, and standing open with the air of not having been closed for years. Gateposts were almost swamped by ivy too. Aspen and alder stood dotted around the long grass of the park, pioneers of the woodland that loomed behind the house and reached out as though to embrace it.

"It has been somewhat neglected of late," Middleton observed with a distinctive blush, "there has been a high turnover of staff due to my son's condition. Initially, it made him somewhat unpredictable. But, that has improved greatly, have no fear."

His words degenerated into a cough, then a series of coughs until he sat back in his seat, gasping.

"Your Grace, are you quite well? You are very pale," Hester exclaimed, her hands hovering in the air just before the elderly Duke.

Middleton nodded and forced a smile. "Age, my dear. Just age. And this damnably inclement weather. Damp air plays merry hell with the lungs. If you'll pardon my French. At least the gout has subsided for the time being."

The coach came to a halt before the imposing, medieval doorway. It opened, and a man strode out.

Hester found herself staring. He wore black, but so elegantly that it did not seem plain at all. A silk brocade waistcoat was accentuated by a silver watch chain, while silver thread had been worked into the collar of his coat and its sleeves. A cravat of dark purple was held in place by an onyx-headed pin. His hair was long and dark, hanging from his temples to his shoulders. An aquiline nose and a sharp jawline gave him an angular and exotic face. Like that of an Italian prince. His shoulders were broad and he was tall, surpassing the height of his father. There was an air of strength about him that Hester had not encountered before, from any man. Her heart beat faster as his dark eyes fell on her. His brows were drawn down, intensifying his stare.

Time slowed as Hester's blue eyes met his impenetrably dark stare. She felt stripped by that stare, as though he saw through her clothes to her naked skin. As though he stripped away her pretenses to see the real her beneath. The feeling was intensely exciting. She had thought, while kissing Arthur, that she knew of the excitement that a man could cause in a woman. That she had experience of it from Arthur's embraces. But they were cold compared to the heat that she felt rise within her at her first sight of her ‘husband.' For that is what she would now be pretending that he was to her. This enigmatic, darkly handsome giant was to be her husband. In name, if not face. But what if he wanted to make her his wife? What if he wanted to take her? The idea had her gasping, clamping a hand over her mouth.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Middleton inquired anxiously.

"Quite well," Hester replied in a whisper.

Dorian had reached the coach and pulled open the door. With one booted foot, he released the catch that unlocked the steps. They folded to the ground and he held out a hand for Hester. She wore no gloves and felt a thrill as her skin touched his. His hands were smooth, though she could feel the lines of scars upon them. His grip was firm, making her feel that if she swooned without warning, she need not fear. He would catch her and his strength would support her without effort.

With her feet on the ground, Hester looked up at Dorian. It was as though their eyes had held each other since the first moment, without a break. This close, she could see that his eyes were the color of chocolate with hints of hazel. For a moment, he stared at her with blank incomprehension on his face.

"Dorian. I have missed you," Hester choked out.

Hardly believing her own daring, she stood on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek. Her head spun. He wore cologne that was spicy and musky at the same time. Its sheer maleness was overwhelming, making her think of his body, his muscle. He was an immensely physical man. She could well imagine him on the battlefield, atop a charger, holding a sword and leading men into battle.

Dorian suddenly smiled and it was like sunshine breaking through clouds. His brooding demeanor vanished as though it had not existed. The smile lit up his face. It was boyish and roguish by equal measures. Both exciting and endearing. She could not help but return it.

"My dearest wife. My Sophia! How I have missed you so!" Dorian exclaimed.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms about her waist and lifted her into the air to spin her around. Hester screamed in delight, smiling, and laughing, clutching at the bonnet she wore. It was pale blue to match her dress. She had not tied it and Dorian seized it, pulling it from her head and tossing it aside.

"My golden-haired princess!" he declared.

Putting her back on her feet, he ran the fingers of both hands through her hair, making her skin tingle in delight. Then, he kissed her on the lips. Compared to Arthur's, Dorian's kisses were suns compared to a candle. Hester rose on her tiptoes to press her lips tighter against his. His hands were strong, holding her against him, slipping from her hair to hold her body in a tight embrace. All the while, his lips set her entire body afire.

"Now, now, children. Remember, your old father is waiting to get indoors in front of a fire, and with a warm drop of brandy. Save such behavior for when you have retired to your bedchambers," Middleton exclaimed.

The kiss ended, though Hester remained poised on tiptoes, eyes closed. Finally, she opened them and found herself staring into Dorian's eyes.

"Welcome home," he whispered. Then he raised his eyes to the carriage where the footman was helping Middleton down, "Thank you for bringing her back to me, Father. And it is good to see you back on your feet."

"Just in time to partake of your excellent wine cellar," Middleton chortled.

"Now, now, Your Grace," Hester spoke, adopting his own colloquialism and tone, but remembering that she had been told that Sophia was also most solicitous of Middleton's health, "that is what brought on the attack of gout in the first place. Dorian, you must make sure that your father is moderate in his habits while he is here."

Dorian grinned. "You know him as well as I. Could anyone ever make him do something he did not wish to?"

"You will, I command it."

It was another aspect of Sophia's playful and confident nature. But it was also not far from her own. She had grown fond of Middleton in the last few days and the concern she expressed for his health was genuine.

Dorian nodded gravely. "Your wish, as ever, is my command," he said, taking her hand and kissing it.