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London, Easter Saturday, 1822
Tension thrummed through Alistair as he guided his curricle through the gates of Hyde Park. Beside him sat Margaret, dressed in one of the fashionable new dresses that Elizabeth had gifted her. Its pale muslin material fluttered against his trouser leg from time to time, making him even more aware of her presence. The scent of rose water clung to her, evoking memories of previous high summer days spent in her company.
Today he planned to propose to Margaret again. His campaign to marry her had required several re-calibrations during its execution, and still he hadn’t achieved its primary objective. While courting her during the previous two months of the London Season, he had had to compete for her time and attention while she met many potential suitors.
Watching gentlemen drive her in their fancy racing phaetons or dance with her at balls strained his patience and made his stomach constrict with fear that she would choose someone else. At her coming-out ball hosted by Elizabeth a few weeks ago, he had nearly stalked across the ballroom floor to punch the Earl of Falsher in the face when the blackguard’s hand had crept too low on Margaret’s waist.
If he wanted to rid himself of the uncertainty and hollowness that filled him without Margaret’s love and promise to marry him, he must propose now—before another day passed.
It was early afternoon. The park had not yet filled with the crowd that congregated later in the day to parade their finery and meet their friends and acquaintances. A cool breeze lifted the manes of Alistair’s carriage horses. The clop of their hooves on the paved roadway of the park rang out. Leather reins sliding through his gloved hands, Alistair guided the team along the curving road that lead towards the privacy of a clump of trees in the distance, leaving behind the sounds of people enjoying the fine weather.
All around, the freshness of Spring greeted them. Beds of daffodils and crocuses gayly waved their bright and colorful faces, but none could match Margaret for beauty.
Finally, he had his chance to propose, but he had limited time to convince Margaret that he was the right man for her, if she had any remaining doubts. She was due home in less than an hour. He groaned at the thought he might have to wait for another opportunity in her busy social schedule to talk with her alone. He sat up a little straighter in his seat, trying desperately to steady his nerves.
Over the last two years he had learned that his friends didn’t require him to be a charming and larger-than-life character at all times, which he had in the past achieved with too much alcohol. He hoped that over the last two months he had convinced Margaret that he had truly changed and she could trust him to love and care for her in the way she truly deserved.
Anxious but hopeful, he still feared she wouldn’t accept him yet, or at all. Under his well-made frock coat, every muscle in his body was tense. His heart raced, while his stomach burned with anxiety-induced dyspepsia.
Anticipation ruled him—optimistic, doubtful, painful—as they approached his target location. When they reached the seclusion of the dense avenue of trees lining a bend in the carriageway he brought the horses to a halt.
When Alistair had planned this moment, he’d envisaged a meticulous lead-up to his proposal. He had heard himself provide a convincing recounting of his attributes and a compelling affirmation of his love for Margaret.
Alistair turned to her, gazing at her beautiful face as she smiled back at him. He opened then closed his mouth as a lump formed in his throat. Now the time had come, he had nothing to say.
His overwhelming unrequited love for Margaret, submerged for years, burst free of its dam walls. “Margaret, will you marry me?” Like an idiot, he just blurted out the question. No preamble...no enumeration of his ability to support her in the lifestyle she deserved...and no convincing protestation of his love.
Her wide-eyed look of surprise sent his stomach plunging. He stared at her in horror. She was going to say no again. “Margaret, I’m so sorry. Of course you won’t marry me when I can’t even—"
“Yes!” She cut off his words of self-recrimination and launched herself into his arms. Their noses bumped and their lips met with a clunk of teeth. Margaret let out a bubble of laughter. “I love you, Alistair.”
The words swirled in his head. She loved him! Elation coursed through his body. Alistair eased back and grinned at her, his gaze fixed on her darkened eyes. They revealed the feelings he had yearned to see there for so long.
Alistair leaned towards her. He framed her face with his hands and tilted her chin, aligning her mouth for his lips. Suddenly breathless, he lowered his mouth to hers.
This time, their heads gravitated together as they sank in each other’s arms. Their lips landed in perfect unison and began a soft, slow-motion exploration. With each stroke and sip, the pressure of their lips increased.
Soon their mouths opened for the deepest of kisses. Their tongues spoke of coming home at last and unspoken longings. Alistair’s heart pounded against his ribs.
Time stood still as they learnt new things about each other. Finally they eased apart. Alistair sighed with deep satisfaction. Holding her tight in his arms, he tucked her against his chest and rested his chin on top of the cloth bonnet she wore.
“I love you, Margaret. I have for so very long. But I couldn’t tell you, and get your hopes up, when I had nothing to offer you. Stupidly, like an idiot, I tried to numb myself with drink and wildness.”
“You’ve proven that’s in the past.” Her words were a balm to him.
“Long gone now.” He knew that with absolute certainty.
She tipped her head back and gazed into his eyes. “I know you’re the only man for me.”
“And you’re the only woman for me.” He swooped in to place another kiss on her upturned lips. “Ever.” Finally, he knew Margaret loved him. For himself...the man he had grown into, not the reckless youth that he had been. He never wanted to let her go. His lips found hers for another long kiss, one that made promises for the future.
Eventually they broke apart, heated and breathless, to gaze into each other’s eyes. His love-swollen heart filled his chest.
Margaret smiled up at him, with eyes that mirrored all the love he felt for her. “Take me home, Alistair. Now! I can’t wait to tell Elizabeth and Edward our news.”
With a bark of laughter, Alistair released her. He took up the reins of his forgotten horses and set them into motion with a flick of his wrists. Margaret snuggled against him. He lived in bliss.
***
With a sigh of satisfaction, Margaret leaned into Alistair’ solid warmth. Her body hummed with excitement. He truly loves me. Despite her cruel refusal of him at Christmas he still wanted to marry her. Despite making him wait while she enjoyed her long-delayed, first London Season.
Without Alistair in her future she would be bereft and heart broken. Now filled with happiness, hope, and excitement, she felt like bouncing on her seat. She was certain her enduring love for Alistair, and her belief in him, would never die.
During this time in London, she had come to a life-changing insight. Although her eldest brother and his wife valued her only for what she could do for them, others—Edward, Alistair, and a handful of true friends like Elizabeth—treasured her for herself. She realized her future happiness would come from surrounding herself with those people.
At last she could close the door on years of relentless devotion to her family and grasp her dream of a husband and children with the man she had loved for so long. She knew with every fiber of her body that marrying Alistair was the right decision for her. Her elation at the decision was in stark contrast to her emotions after accepting Squire Jenkin’s proposal. Her future now held love and passion and absolute contentment, all things she had never dared to hope for.
They arrived at Elizabeth’s Berkeley Square home in time for afternoon tea. Hand-in-hand, they burst into the sitting room and announced their news to Elizabeth and Edward.
“I knew it!” Elizabeth exclaimed. A wide smile of delight lit her face as she bounded to Margaret. “We will be sisters in name as well as of the heart,” she said pulling Margaret into her arms.
Edward leapt to his feet to shake Alistair’s hand then turned. Then he turned and pulled Margaret into a bear hug. “At last,” he murmured in her ear.
The tea things sat forgotten on the side table as their siblings peppered them with questions about the proposal and their plans for a wedding. Margaret couldn’t have felt happier, except perhaps on her wedding day in the near future.
***
On May Day, a few weeks later, Margaret floated down the aisle of St George’s Church, Hanover Square in a cloud of happiness, clutching Edward’s arm. Elizabeth, her solitary bridesmaid, led the way. Vases of spring flowers filled the church. Close friends and family populated the front pews, but didn’t come close to filling the large interior.
Charles and Portia had refused to attend her wedding. Portia cited their newborn daughter as the reason they couldn’t leave Farley Hall. And Margaret may have believed that to be the case, if Charles hadn’t made it abundantly clear in his response that he would never recognize her marriage to the man who had kidnapped her and stopped her Christmas wedding.
A good chuckle with Edward and Alistair about her brother’s labelling of their being flooded-in as a ‘kidnapping’ quelled Margaret’s disappointment. And during the weeks of her engagement she gained more than enough comfort from the goodwill of Edward and her friends, who eagerly anticipated the wedding, to overcome the residual disappointment about the absence of Charles and Portia from the event.
She had hoped that they would change or soften once they became parents, allowing her to rebuild their relationship for the sake of her niece. For now, it was not to be, but she would not allow her disappointment to dampen the joy of her wedding and her future happiness.
Outside the church, Londoners were enjoying a beautiful sunny day. Everywhere, new leaves decorated tree branches, fresh spring flowers bloomed, and green grass flourished in the parks. Bird song erupted from trees and shrubs across the city, heralding spring.
Margaret’s gaze held Alistair’s as she approached him down the long nave. His dark eyes were full of love and admiration. She knew hers must reveal the same emotions.
Edward transferred her hand from his arm to Alistair’s, symbolically passing her into Alistair’s care. She slipped her hand over the superfine wool of Alistair’s black frock coat into the crook of his arm and a sense of calmness filled her. Her home and safe harbor would be beside Alistair for the rest of their life together.
The well-known words of the service filled the flower-scented air. Unable to tear her gaze from Alistair’s, she made her vows in a steady voice full of certainty. Alistair’s words were every bit as unswerving.
The service concluded and the register signed, Margaret walked back down the aisle with Alistair, bestowing wide smiles on the congregation. Her heart sang with so much joy, she was practically bursting with it.
They emerged into the sunshine. A crowd of interested onlookers had gathered outside. The future beckoned and she headed into it with a bold step and a heart full of love. Alistair caught her in his arms and kissed her, right there in front of everyone. And she kissed him right back.
Being “kidnapped” from Farley Hall by Alistair had saved her from the lifelong consequences of a desperate decision and set her on a path to happiness. If she was forever known in her family and throughout her home county as the “Kidnapped Christmas Bride”, so be it. She was as happy with the title as she was with the outcome.
***