The following morning Bertie helped Ruth pack some food into a spacious set of saddlebags. Bertie seemed almost as excited as Ruth about the prospective day out, saying in earnest, “The two of you haven’t had much of a honeymoon with all that’s been going on here. A day near the sea will be good for the both of you.”
“Perhaps it will,” Ruth said, feeling a little giddy to recall Thomas’s mention of courting. They had come to know each other well in many respects; they even slept side by side. But in spite of an occasional and subtle implication, their relationship had not become what Ruth would ever describe as romantic. Now that the idea of courting had come up, she found the idea of exploring some form of romantic relationship with Thomas intriguing, and it did help to ease her doubts in regard to his feelings toward her. She didn’t know if he could ever love her—but she hoped so. Surely everyone wanted to love and be loved. She only hoped that could be possible within the marriage they had chosen.
When it was time to leave, Ruth felt more than a little intimidated to look up at Thomas mounted on a large, magnificent steed. She was relieved at least that there was only one horse and she would not be expected to ride on her own with absolutely no idea how to do so. Before she could ask him exactly how she was meant to get up there with him, Thomas held out his hand toward her and said, “Take hold of my arm, put your left foot into the stirrup, and swing your right leg over the horse.”
With only a little hesitance, she said, “I’m trusting you, husband. You’d best not let me fall.”
“Never,” he said, and she did as he’d asked.
A breath of exhilaration rushed out of her as she flew—mostly by the force of Thomas’s strength—onto the back of the horse. She laughed spontaneously at her success in ending up exactly where she’d been intended to, and she barely had time to take hold of him before he eased the horse into a trot out of the yard. Once the moors opened up before them, he heeled the horse into a gallop and Ruth’s exhilaration magnified. She wrapped her arms around his chest, as much to keep herself steady as to feel more as if they were one in sharing the experience. Of course, this was nothing new for him. He’d been raised with horses and had traveled with their aid for the whole of his life. But for her—a servant girl raised by servants, for whom a horse would have been a luxury far beyond their means—she had trouble catching her breath as they rode at remarkable speed toward a destination completely unknown to her, but it was obvious he knew exactly where he was going.
“Are you all right?” he asked over his shoulder a few minutes into their ride.
“I’m wonderful,” she said, and she couldn’t hold back a laugh. He laughed in response, and she considered that, so far, being courted by Thomas Fitzbatten was proving to be a worthwhile endeavor.
Just at the point when Ruth began to feel uncomfortable—unaccustomed as she was to straddling a horse—Thomas drew the animal to a halt and dismounted before he turned to help her down by putting his hands at her waist.
“Are you still all right?” he asked.
“Ask me tomorrow when we’ll see how well I’m able to walk,” she said, and again he laughed, a perfectly genuine and delighted laugh that let her know he was truly enjoying himself.
“If that is the case,” he said, “I shall prepare you a hot bath, and once you’ve had a long soak, I shall wait on you hand and foot.”
“How very gallant,” she said. “And do such extravagant privileges end when we are no longer courting?”
His answer surprised her. “I think that once you meet my parents you will stop asking such questions. If you believe that I consciously try to emulate them, you will never need to wonder over such things.”
Ruth just smiled, not wanting to admit that she was very nervous about meeting his parents. Despite all the praise she’d heard about them, she couldn’t help fearing that they might not approve of their son’s choice of a wife. They also might be prone to ask more questions than others had about how this marriage had come to pass. Ruth both dreaded meeting them and longed to have it over. According to Thomas, as soon as he got word that Quincy and Yvette Fitzbatten had returned to Brownlie Manor, Thomas and Ruth would be returning there for her to meet them, and for her to become accustomed to life in the home that would be hers for life. She thought—not for the first time—that she preferred to stay at the cottage forever. But she knew its purpose, and she would simply have to insist they visit as often as possible.
With both feet firmly on the ground, Thomas motioned with his hand and said, “What do you think?”
Ruth caught her breath so sharply she put a hand over her heart. The angle of the hill on which they’d been riding had made it impossible to see the view until now. But here, near the edge of a sharp, rocky decline, the ocean lay before them in all its glory, glistening in the late-morning sun.
“Oh, Thomas!” she murmured. “It’s spectacular!” She took a deep breath; now that she was paying attention she could smell the salt in the air. “I’ve never seen the ocean before.”
“Never?” His astonishment was evident.
“And why would I?” she asked. “I’ve been working to earn my keep for as long as I can recall. We didn’t have the luxury of going on holiday.” Ruth heard her own tone of voice and quickly added, “Forgive me for sounding sharp. It’s not your fault. I should learn to mind my tongue.”
While she couldn’t take her eyes off the continuous roll of waves against the shore, she heard him say, “You should always say whatever you wish to say—at least to me. And while it may not be my fault, that doesn’t mean it’s right—or that you don’t have a right to feel some anger.”
“I’m not angry, Thomas,” she said, looking out over the view. “Right now I’m only grateful. It’s beautiful. It truly is.”
“Let’s walk,” Thomas said and took her hand after he’d tethered the horse in a small grove of trees where it could graze in the shade.
They said little as they ambled slowly along the top of the cliffs, without getting too close to the edge. When Ruth admitted that she needed something to eat, they returned to where they’d left the horse and Thomas spread out a blanket, where he emptied the contents of the saddlebags. Ruth was eager to eat, while Thomas took on the ritual more slowly and seemed more content to observe her. She’d grown accustomed right from the start to the way he often watched her, and she was generally inclined to just watch him in return, as if to maintain some kind of common ground with him. Although she couldn’t figure why. In truth there was a great deal she couldn’t figure out about Thomas Fitzbatten. He was overtly open and forthright in most ways, but there was a part of himself he kept hidden away, and she longed to know what it might be. She could hardly begrudge his keeping secrets when she had some of her own. Still, she longed to know.
Trying to keep her thoughts more in the present, she interrupted the silence by saying, “So, this is courting.”
Thomas chuckled. “Some form of it, I suppose. I can’t say for certain since I’ve never courted a woman before.”
“Not once?” she asked. “There must have been eligible ladies falling at your feet.”
“Assuming you mean falling at my feet as metaphorical, I suppose there were. But it was all so pretentious and utterly ridiculous. I can’t recall a single lady I ever felt any desire to share company with after a few minutes of conversation made it readily evident she was simple-headed and entirely superficial. I can’t blame the women, really. Women of my class are raised to behave like simpering fools, believing that the acquisition of a good marriage is their only worthy goal in life.”
“And by a good marriage you mean wealth and title.”
“Exactly!” he said, pointing at her with a leg of cold chicken in his hand. “And since I had the curse of having both, I often felt like social gatherings were some kind of auction and I was on the auction block. It was expected that I should be perfectly happy to marry a woman who could look pretty in a parlor, serve tea correctly to guests, and embroider cushions and other odd little projects that were apparently of great importance.”
He sounded mildly angry, but Ruth let him speak. He was talking about himself and his views on the life he’d lived. And she felt oddly comforted to know how much he detested the very kind of woman she was not.
“I stopped attending any social events of my class long before I went into the military. They held no interest for me. When my parents and I were invited to some kind of social gathering among the farmers and tenants of our estate, we were generally always pleased to attend.”
Ruth opted to voice something she had thought many times. “It’s as if you were born into the wrong class, husband, and yet your wealth gives you the opportunity and privilege to assist those in need. Far better that someone like you is blessed with wealth than those who would spend it on meaningless frills and nonsense.”
“How observant you are, wife,” he said, smiling at her. “My father taught me that very thing. I’ve often wondered if the attitudes I carry are a result of something born inside of me, or the teachings and example of my parents.”
“I would guess that it’s both,” she said. “Have you not seen cruel and selfish people come from kind and decent parents? And the other way around?”
“Yes, I certainly have.” He took a bite of chicken and chewed and swallowed it. “Like you, for instance.”
“What about me?”
“You have described your father as gruff and occasionally unkind, and your mother turned you out right at the moment when you most needed a mother. I know they both have good qualities, because you’ve told me that as well. And yet I cannot imagine you ever exhibiting any of their negative traits.”
“Perhaps you’ve not yet seen my temper unleashed, Mr. Fitzbatten,” she teased.
“And perhaps I know you better than you think I do,” he countered.
A long moment of silence allowed for a change of topic, and Ruth asked something she’d always wondered. “Why did you join the military?” She was surprised at how quickly he shifted the way he was sitting and looked pointedly away from her. But she ignored his apparent reluctance to talk about it and added, “Given your background, I assume you purchased a commission.”
“I did,” he said.
“And it is quite evidently your least favorite topic of conversation.”
He looked surprised but admitted, “Right you are. They are years I wish I could forever erase from my memory and my life. But you are my wife and you deserve to know why I did what I did. So, I’ll tell you. This dreadful business with Napoleon just never seemed to end, and I considered it my duty to do my part. As you have mentioned, I was blessed with great privilege. And with that comes great responsibility. It was expected of me, and so I was committed to do my part. I served my time and likely would have served longer if it weren’t for my nearly dying.”
“No!” she muttered, horrified at the very idea now that she’d grown to care for him as she did. “What happened?”
“A very close encounter with a saber belonging to an enemy soldier. I was saved by one of my comrades in arms—a man who remains a dear friend to this day. But I spent many weeks in one of those makeshift army hospitals before I was finally sent home.” In a tone of caution, he added, “My parents know nothing of this yet, Ruth. I pleaded with my commanding officer not to send them word of my injury, and since it was evident I would survive and return home, he agreed. It was the reason for my returning earlier than they’d expected.”
“Otherwise they likely would not have been traveling upon your return.”
“Precisely,” he said. “I will tell them when the time is right.”
“I’ll not say a word, of course. Will you tell me what happened?”
“It was dusk and difficult to see, so the details are somewhat foggy in my memory. But I recall facing off an enemy soldier, and I thought I was getting the better of him when the point of his saber pierced me, and I thought I was drawing my last breath. But the man was killed from behind, and my wound was serious but not fatal.”
“You mean your friend killed this enemy soldier?” she asked, sobered by such talk of death and killing. She knew it was a part of war, but imagining Thomas in the middle of it made the horror far more personal.
“That’s right.”
“And had he not, this enemy you were fighting, he would have killed you?”
“Yes, Ruth. That’s the truth of it. When I look back at the battles I fought, I find it a miracle I’d not fallen long before then. But apparently there was some reason I’d been meant to return home alive and well.”
Ruth wanted to believe that reason was her, but she thought it would sound presumptuous to assume his only purpose for living was to care for her.
“Where were you wounded?” she asked.
He wiped his hand on a napkin and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his waistcoat, and then those of his shirt. He pushed both aside to the left, revealing a nasty scar below his collar bone. “Doctor said it missed my lung by less than an inch. If the saber had gone all the way in—as it had clearly been intended to—then it would have pierced my lung and I’d have died in minutes.”
Ruth lifted her hand to touch the scar but hesitated, considering that perhaps he wouldn’t feel that doing so was appropriate. “May I?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said in a tone that implied there should be no need for her to wonder.
Ruth gently fingered the discolored skin that surrounded the cavity that remained as a permanent reminder of the wound—and the incident that had caused it.
Without moving her hand, Ruth asked, “Will you tell me the name of the man who saved your life?”
“Of course,” he said. “It’s Theodore Grayson—although he prefers being called Teddy. I first met him during our training, so we began our service together, and we always ended up posted to the same places at the same times. We joked about it being fate.” He laughed. “Or perhaps some kind of curse that we couldn’t get away from each other.” More seriously he said, “Of course, if it was fate that my most trusted ally was there to save my life, I’ll not give any argument to that. There were other men we became close to through the years, but some had been there longer and had already returned home. Some arrived long after we had and continued their service. Some were posted elsewhere, and of course . . . many died.” He drew a strained breath. “But Teddy and I seemed inseparable.” More lightly Thomas added, “He has plans to travel to Brownlie Manor sometime in the future.”
“Then I shall be able to thank him personally,” Ruth said, still unable to pull her fingers away. For some reason this tangible evidence of how close he’d come to dying had affected her deeply and she was finding it difficult to accept.
Ruth was surprised when Thomas put his hand over hers, pressing it more tightly to the wound. In a quiet voice he said, “It bled so much I thought I would bleed to death there on the battlefield. Teddy promised me over and over that he would not let that happen. The next thing I knew, I was in a bed and bandaged up, with Teddy sitting at my side, holding my hand as if he were my brother.”
“Does it haunt you?” she asked and made no effort to hide a sudden swell of tears.
“Yes,” he said, “but not nearly as much as other things do.”
“What things?” she asked.
“Perhaps another time, my dear,” he said and pulled her hand away before he refastened all of the buttons. “That’s enough talk of war for one day.” He touched her chin to make her look at him at the very moment tears spilled down her cheeks. “You mustn’t be sad, wife. It is all in the past.”
“I was just . . . wondering what might have become of me if you had died that day.”
“There is no need to ever wonder any such thing.”
“And I can’t imagine how horrible it must have been for you.” She touched his face without even thinking about whether or not she should. “I don’t want you to ever hold back from talking to me about your experiences in the war simply because you don’t want to upset me. I would far prefer to share your burdens than to think of you carrying them alone.”
“That is very likely one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me.” He touched her face, as well, and she hoped he would kiss her. But he didn’t. Instead he leaned back on one elbow and looked out over the sea. Ruth wondered what it might be that haunted him, if nearly dying on the battlefield was not the most difficult thing he’d encountered during his years at war. She wanted to ask, but she also needed to believe they were just beginning a life together, and this was likely the first of many conversations they would share about his wartime memories.
When the silence grew long, Ruth decided she would likely get no better opportunity to bring up something she’d thought about far too much. That impulsive moment between them on the night little Warren was born had crept into her thoughts every hour of every day. The memory was pleasant and stirring, but it was also confusing. And truthfully, it had been a strong contributing factor for talking to him just last night about her confusion and concerns regarding their relationship. She’d been hoping that he would bring it up, since it was he who’d done the kissing. It wasn’t like him to let things go unspoken, which made her wonder if he didn’t know what to say any more than she did. And yet it needed to be talked about, and she was determined to make that happen. Here with only the sun and the sea and the sky, there would be no interruptions, and she’d regret it later if she didn’t take advantage of the moment.
“There’s something important I need to ask you, Thomas,” she said, and he immediately drew his attention from the view to look directly at her.
“I’m listening,” he said when she didn’t go on.
She drew in a sustaining breath and let the words out on a lengthy exhale. “Why did you kiss me?” He said nothing, didn’t even change expression. “On the night Warren was born, why did you—”
“I know when you mean,” he said.
Suddenly nervous and made more so by the silence, Ruth said, “Given that the only other time you kissed me was in front of the vicar when we exchanged vows, I should hope you’d know when I mean. But you can’t blame me for wondering why you did that, and why you’ve never explained yourself since. It’s not like you to—”
“Because I don’t know why,” he said and turned again to look at the sea. “At least not in any way that I could put into words.” He chuckled with no hint of humor. “Perhaps this sort of thing is one of the drawbacks when courting is skipped over. If we’d been courting, then perhaps such a kiss might have been expected.”
“If we’d been properly courting we’d not have been left alone without a chaperone—at least not in your world. And we certainly wouldn’t have been working together to help our friends bring their baby into the world.”
“No,” he chuckled, which eased the tension—if only slightly. “We likely wouldn’t have been doing that.”
Thomas looked again at her and said, “I didn’t even think about it, Ruth. I just did it. At the moment it just felt right and I did it . . . without even thinking.”
Ruth could accept that explanation. They’d been living like husband and wife in most respects, and it had been a very husbandly kind of kiss. But that didn’t explain all of what had happened, and now that the subject was opened, she hurried to say, “But you kissed me again. You must have thought about that.”
His silence again provoked her to nervous chatter. “Maybe it’s not that important, and I shouldn’t be making such a fuss over it. Perhaps my wondering over it at all is a silly, womanly kind of thing and I should just—”
“I wanted to,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“It felt so right the first time, that I just . . . wanted to do it again. I did it because I wanted to. And I’m not certain what to think about your categorizing your wondering over this as a silly, womanly kind of thing, because I have wondered every day how I might explain myself, and I’ve never been able to come up with anything. When we were married I made it clear that it was up to you to let me know when you were ready to cross certain boundaries in our marriage. I know you’ve been through a great deal, but the truth is I have absolutely no idea what your relationship was like with the man who fathered this child. I don’t know if you loved or hated him; if he broke your heart or simply left you stranded and alone. I want to forget he ever existed, but his child is a part of our marriage. And I wonder if you think about him. Do you miss him? Do you wish it was him in my place? I wonder things like that, Ruth. Is that silly or womanly? Or just human? I want to believe that you hate him, that you’re glad to have him out of your life for good. But I know what you shared with him is no small thing, no matter what the circumstances—or your feelings—might have been. And I’m afraid to ask. Because if I ask, then perhaps you’ll tell me a truth I don’t want to hear. I kissed you that night because I wanted to, but I immediately felt as if I’d broken my word to you, as if I’d offended you somehow by crossing a boundary I had told you was yours to cross. The things you said last night . . . about being confused and concerned about how our future would play out. I feel confused and concerned, as well. But I don’t know if it’s for the same reasons. I want the kind of marriage I’ve seen my parents share, and I want to believe that’s possible with you and me. I believe we are well suited for each other, but I’m haunted by your memories, Ruth—even though I don’t know what they are. And I’m afraid to ask if you are haunted by them too.”
Ruth took in his string of confessions with a mixture of shock and awe. She felt breathless but fought to disguise it, holding herself upright with her hands planted firmly on the ground, trying to accept the implications of all that he was saying. She had married him for security and the means to erase her shame. She had hoped they could share a marriage of trust and comfortable companionship. She had not expected to feel the way she had come to feel for him, but even less had she expected him to feel such things for her—and so soon. She couldn’t keep herself from staring at him, as if she might find evidence in his eyes that might contradict everything he’d just said. What she found was the opposite. Her heart quickened and her stomach quivered.
The silence between them became so taut she felt certain it could have been struck with a hammer and shattered. He’d confessed a great many feelings, and she could see vulnerability in his eyes. It was her turn to speak, to offer some kind of response. And if she had any concern or compassion for him at all, she would have the decency to reassure him that he was not alone in his feelings. But no words came to her tongue that didn’t sound like girlish nonsense, and the more she tried to think of something to say, the more muddled her thoughts became.
It then occurred to Ruth that no words at all were necessary. Before she had time to talk herself out of it, she moved on her hands and knees toward him and kissed him much as he’d kissed her that night in the hallway.
“Before you ask,” she said, sitting beside him, noting the question in his eyes, “there’s no need to wonder if you offended me. If you were leaving it up to me to cross this boundary between us, I just did.”
“So you did,” he said and kissed her in return. She felt relief in his kiss—both from him and within herself. It seemed to hold promise for both of them that this marriage might yet be everything they had ever hoped a marriage could be.
Since he’d made it clear that it was up to her to declare the boundaries between them, she felt the need to say, “I do believe it would be wise to take matters slowly—or at least not rush too quickly. But I see no reason why a man should not kiss his wife if the mood strikes him.”
“Or the other way around,” he said, seeming more relaxed than he had in quite some time—perhaps since the night Warren had been born. Had this been weighing on him so heavily?
Ruth put a hand to his face, loving the way that being his wife made it acceptable for her to touch him this way. “I think I like courting, Mr. Fitzbatten.”
“Yes,” he said with a little chuckle, “I think I like it very much.” And, as if for good measure, he kissed her again.
* * *
Thomas looked into his wife’s eyes, overcome with a heart-quickening realization that he was not alone in his feelings. And with that realization came the most likely reason he’d felt afraid all these weeks, and why fear had kept him from bringing up what had happened between them. If she’d told him she was agreeable to be his wife in every way—in spite of having no actual feelings of attraction toward him—he believed his heart would have been broken. He’d been unable to acknowledge—even to himself—that his heart could be so completely invested in a woman he’d married impulsively and mostly with a desire to rescue her from a dire situation. He’d told himself that only a fool would become so thoroughly dependent upon—and attracted to—a woman under such circumstances. And it was those feelings he’d been hiding from. But Ruth had challenged his reasons for behaving as he had, and he was more relieved than he could admit that it was now openly acknowledged. But even with the words spoken between them, it was what he saw in her eyes that quickened his heart and brought him to the realization that he was not alone in his feelings. He was not alone in his vulnerability or his concerns. And he was not alone in this attraction that consumed him.
Thomas considered this ritual of courting they had mutually decided upon to be a wise course in their relationship, and he believed even more now that it certainly was good for them to spend the time together that couples usually spent prior to considering engagement and marriage. And yet he was so deeply glad to know she already belonged to him. There was no question at the end of this courtship—only what he hoped would be the evolution into a real marriage in which they could both be happy and content. The attraction and intrigue he saw in her eyes when she looked at him only solidified his hopes on that count.
Thomas wanted to kiss her again. And again. He wanted to never stop. Knowing she was his wife made self-discipline all the more difficult to reason with. So he kissed her once more and shot to his feet, taking her hand as he did.
“Come along, wife. It’s a crime that a woman of your years has never once beheld the sea until today. Perhaps it would be well for you to get a little closer.”
“Truly?” she asked with a girlish excitement as he helped her into the saddle behind him, leaving the remnants of their picnic to be gathered later.
Thomas guided the horse some distance up the length of the cliff, then carefully down a steep trail. He reminded Ruth that he knew every secret of this place, having come here a great deal in his youth. When they emerged onto the beach, she laughed aloud and the contagion of it made him laugh with her. They galloped the length of the beach before he helped her dismount at a place that was dry where he could tie off the horse and know it would be safe. He knelt and began to unlace her shoes.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“You can’t come all this way and not get your feet in the water, Mrs. Fitzbatten. I assure you there is nothing like it.”
Once her shoes were unlaced, he turned his back while she removed her stockings and he sat to pull off his own boots and stockings. He set them all aside where they would stay dry, then suggested she hold her skirts high enough to keep them from getting wet. He considered how scandalous some people might think it to be that he could see her lower legs, but that only made him laugh again. She was, after all, his wife.
“Just stand right here,” he instructed and took hold of her arm. A moment later a low wave rushed over their bare feet and she laughed like a child.
“Oh, it’s cold,” she declared.
“Yes, indeed,” he said, but she stepped out farther, and the next wave came almost to her knees. And she laughed again.
They laughed and played in the waves, and her efforts to keep the bottom of her skirts dry quickly proved fruitless. She was reluctant to put her shoes and stockings back on, but it was late enough in the day that he insisted they had to leave soon or they’d not get back to the cottage before the sun went down. They stopped to gather up their belongings from the picnic, and Ruth was glad to find some bread and butter wrapped in a napkin still in Thomas’s saddle bag. She ate it while he kept the horse at a steady gallop toward home.
“It was a lovely day, Thomas,” she said when the cottage came into view in the distance. “I shall never forget it.”
“Perhaps you can tell our grandchildren about it,” he said.
“Perhaps I shall,” she said and laid her head against his back while she tightened her arms around his chest.
Thomas headed up the hill toward the cottage, firmly deciding that he liked the idea of courting his wife. In fact, he concluded it was likely a tradition they should manage to observe for the rest of their lives.
* * *
Thomas and Ruth returned to the news that a letter had arrived by way of a courier from Thomas’s parents. Since it had been addressed to Barclay, he’d taken the liberty of reading it.
“And a good thing I did, too,” Barclay said. “Otherwise we’d have not been ready nearly in time.”
“In time for what?” Thomas asked, snatching the letter from Barclay’s hand.
“What does it say?” Ruth asked, and he read it aloud for her benefit.
“My dear Mr. Barclay, we have just returned this morning from the continent to the news that our Thomas has come back from the war far sooner than we had anticipated, and he is now on holiday at the cottage. As anxious as we are to see him, we will be setting out straightaway and plan to stay at the Rutherford Inn tonight. We should then arrive sometime tomorrow before noon, and hope that this will not pose any imposition upon you and your good wife. We understand congratulations are in order for the recent birth of your son, and do so look forward to meeting the little one, as well as seeing you and dear Bertie again. We also offer our condolences at the passing of your mother and find peace in knowing that she is surely now with your dearly departed father in some great heavenly realm.”
Thomas stopped and looked at Barclay with a smile. “I suppose we don’t need to wonder which of my parents actually wrote the letter.”
“No, sir,” Barclay chuckled. “Your dear mother certainly does have a way with words.”
Thomas cleared his throat and continued. “Since we have read the letter that Thomas left for us, we are also aware that he has taken a wife prior to his return home, and we are filled with delight at the prospect of meeting her. Perhaps some time at the cottage will give us all an opportunity to become acquainted. As ever, we don’t wish for you or Bertie to fuss over our visit. We will be glad to offer our assistance upon our arrival, as needed. With fondest anticipation, Yours Respectfully, Lord and Lady Arrington.”
“Arrington?” Ruth asked. “That’s a name I’ve not heard before.”
“You’d best get used to it, my dear. It will one day be your title.”
Before she could question him further on that, Barclay reported, “Me and Bertie have got the rooms that the lord and lady prefer all aired out and ready for them, and we went into the village and got some extra food, proper things we know they like. You needn’t worry about a thing, sir. We’re all set for their arrival.”
“And how good it will be to see them!” Bertie said, as if nothing could have made her happier.
Thomas felt rather happy about it himself and was thoroughly pleased with the prospect of Ruth finally meeting his parents—and vice versa. During supper and long afterward they speculated about where Thomas’s parents had been traveling, how thrilled they would be to see Thomas again, and how the news of Thomas’s marriage would have surely made them happy. Bertie was quite set on how thrilled the lord and lady would be over the prospective arrival of their grandchild, and Barclay mentioned there was surely hope that it would be a son to carry on the family title and traditions.
Later that night, after Ruth had doused the lamp and climbed into bed, Thomas said to her, “You’re nervous.”
“Are you a fortune teller now?” she asked.
“It doesn’t take a fortune teller to see that you’re nervous. You cover it well, mind you. But I can tell. And I assure you there is absolutely no reason to be. They will adore you.”
“Are you certain, Thomas?”
“I am very much like my parents. If I’ve managed to tolerate your company this long, I doubt it will be much of a problem for them.” He laughed at his own sarcasm, then laughed harder when she slugged him in the shoulder. “Although I wouldn’t suggest behaving like that when they’re around.”
“I’m certain they’d not deserve it,” she said with a little laugh and settled back onto her pillow.
“It will be all right,” he said. “I promise.”
When several minutes passed, he thought she might have fallen asleep, but she said, “We’ve never come up with a story of how we met and married. No one has asked the details of us. But I suspect your parents will want to know. I hate lying to them, but I suppose it’s necessary.”
Thomas leaned up on his elbow to look toward her silhouette in the darkness. “Let’s not think of it as a lie; let’s think of it as you said—as a story. Our little secret.”
“A secret we should be letting my uncle in on once we return to the manor.”
“Yes, we likely should.” He sighed. “So, where did we meet, wife? I was recovering from a war wound. Where were you?”
“Oh, I know,” she said, also leaning up on her elbow so they were facing each other, even though it was too dark to see more than shadows. “Is it plausible that you were staying with one of your comrades in Portsmouth who had gone home on leave, getting your strength back before returning home?”
“I don’t believe I have any comrades from Portsmouth, but we could pretend that’s possible.”
“And I went to Portsmouth on holiday, because I have an imaginary cousin there who was ill and needed my assistance. I looked familiar to you because I’d once been to Brownlie Manor to visit my uncle and we had crossed paths briefly.”
“Excellent,” Thomas said. “And we shall have to inform your uncle of his part in the story at the first opportunity.”
“So, we met again in Portsmouth and knew right away that we couldn’t live without each other, and so we were married. When you returned to the manor to tell your parents of the marriage and surprise them with your return, I went to see my mother and brothers to tell them the same, and it was our plan all along to meet up and come to the cottage.”
“That sounds fairly convincing,” he said, and they talked a while longer, coming up with names of their imaginary friends and relations in Portsmouth and the actual date when they were supposedly married, which would have been some weeks before Ruth’s baby had been conceived.
“Do you feel less nervous now?” he asked when she relaxed onto her pillow. He did the same, wishing this bed weren’t quite so large—but at the same time feeling grateful that it was.