Royalist On The Run

Edward, wallowing in his own misery over his failed marriage to Anne, didn’t know why it should be, but when he had heard of her marriage the thought of Arabella in the arms of another man had made his gut twist. That was when he felt the impact of the mistake he had made.

At the time Anne had seduced him with her beauty and her body. She was exciting, enticing and their coming together had been as swift and as wild as a summer storm, their impulsive wedding the act of a desperate man. He had been unable to resist her. But happiness had eluded him. Just two months into their marriage their passion had burned itself out. He’d known her body, but he’d never managed to touch her soul. Nothing had prepared him for the shame or the pain at her subsequent betrayal.

Meeting Arabella after five years, who would have thought that she would have grown to such beauty? Normally self-assured, strong and powerful, Edward felt a certain unease at the way she made him feel off balance and hungry for something he couldn’t put a name to. She stirred something in his soul, a sense of wonder and yearning that he’d forgotten was possible. The hunger was soul deep and it scared him.

Arabella stood back. ‘There, it is done. The wound will leave a scar, but it should not trouble you much.’

‘Damn the wound. What about us?’ His words were impulsive, spoken in the heat of his roiling emotions and without thought.

She met his gaze levelly, cool, composed and in complete control of the emotions raging inside. ‘Us, Edward? How dare you suggest such a thing? I am no longer that awkward, sensitive girl you knew. I have changed. We both have. You made your choice five years ago, and if you were any sort of a gentleman you would leave me in peace.’

‘Come now, Arabella. The prospect has a certain allure, you must agree.’

‘I am sure you find allure in most things, Edward—and most women.’

‘You accuse me unjustly. I only ask that you do not block your heart against me.’

She stared at him across the distance that separated them, a multitude of desires hanging in the air, a multitude of doubts filling the chasm between them. How could she believe him? How could she believe anything he said? She did not trust this intimacy—it was her own response to it that she feared the most.

‘My heart is my affair, Edward. But where we are concerned, I advise you to look elsewhere.’

Turning on her heel, she swept from the room.

* * *

Returning to the hall, Arabella felt her spirits lift considerably when she saw that her beloved brother Stephen had arrived. Her face broke into a wide smile as she ran into his arms and felt his close about her.

‘Oh, Stephen!’ she said laughingly, drawing back and looking up into his familiar face. ‘I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you again. It has been too long. Far too long.’

It was three years since last she had seen him and she observed how those years had taken their toll. Of medium height and with light brown hair that fell to his shoulders, he was leaner than she remembered, his eyes not so merry as they had once been and his face lined with worry. But with a moustache and small beard in the style of the executed King Charles, he was still a handsome man.

‘It has, Arabella.’ He studied her closely, his eyes tender. ‘How are you?’

She smiled gently. ‘Things could be better, but we get by.’

‘And you have suffered much.’

‘Yes, but I had Alice to help me through it and I’ve had much to occupy my time here. Have you seen Alice?’

‘Not yet. She’s settling the children. Thank God when the Bircot estate was sequestered she was allowed to continue living here and receive a percentage of the income. I gather this is the case with many of the wives of men who fought for the King and continue to support the cause.’

‘That is true, but as you will recall she had to go to London to plead for it personally before the committee concerned at the Goldsmiths’ Hall. Robert may have fought on the King’s side, but wherever Alice’s sympathies are directed, she did not. She has done no wrong and cannot be held responsible for what he did—there can be no guilt by association.’

‘We must be thankful for that.’

‘There have been times when she has been quite desperate.’

‘She is not alone. The taxes and fines imposed upon anyone who supported the king are extortionate. Is she able to pay them?’

‘Yes. I was able to help her there. John’s lawyer managed to save a small property he owned in Bath from sequestration. When I came to live with Alice and the fines on Bircot rose to such a degree that she could not pay them, I sold the house in Worcester to help.’

‘That was indeed generous of you, Arabella. But when your husband’s house was destroyed in Wales, why did you not go to Bath and live there?’

‘I had a child to care for. Alice suggested I come to Bircot. Having no wish to live by myself, I agreed. Alice wrote, telling you that the Roundheads were encamped at Bircot and took almost everything we had. There was also an incident when Alice and the children would have been turned out and the house occupied by a Roundhead officer had smallpox not been rife in the area. One of her children was ill with a fever at the time. Mercifully it turned out not to be smallpox, but Alice did not enlighten the Roundhead intent on taking up residence at Bircot Hall and casting her out. For this reason she was allowed to remain in the house and he left with great haste.’

‘Has she talked about going to join Robert in France?’

‘Of course she would dearly love to join him, but it’s likely they would lose the house and land were she to do that. She finds it hard. Separation from her husband adds a further distressing element to her life.’

‘Poor Alice. I hope it is soon over and some form of order returns to England so those in exile can return.’ He glanced around the hall. ‘Where is Edward? You have spoken to him?’

Arabella’s expression became cool. ‘I have just been tending his wound in the still room. No doubt he will appear when he’s donned his shirt.’

Stephen glanced at her sullen features. ‘I am sorry, Arabella. I know what you must be thinking, but I had no choice but to bring him here. Do you still bear him ill will?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I do, but it doesn’t matter any more. Too much has happened to me in the last five years to spare a thought for Edward Grey.’

Stephen studied her serious face, unconvinced by her remark. ‘Marriage to John was not an easy time for you, was it, Arabella?’

‘No,’ she answered, seeing no reason to hide the truth from Stephen, who had known what John was like. ‘But he is dead now and he can’t hurt me any more.’

‘I blame myself. I was the one who brought him to our home. Had I known Father would seize upon the opportunity to marry you off to him, I would not have done so.’

‘You have nothing to blame yourself for, Stephen. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘It is generous of you to say so.’

She smiled. ‘I mean it.’

‘I—hope you don’t mind Edward coming here, Arabella. He is worried about his son. There really is no one to care for him. It would be a great help if he could remain here for a time—with you and Alice. It will be good for Dickon to be among children.’

He turned suddenly when Alice appeared across the hall. Striding to meet her, Arabella watched the touching and emotional scene between brother and sister as they greeted each other after so long an absence. Margaret was upstairs settling the children.

‘I’m sorry to hear about the troubles you’ve had, Alice,’ Stephen said as they approached Arabella. ‘I’m proud of the way you are coping.’

Alice smiled. ‘I do my best, Stephen, although I confess it isn’t easy without Robert. It’s a comfort and a great help having Arabella at Bircot Hall, and Margaret is a great help with the children.’

‘I look forward to seeing them. They will be well grown, I imagine.’

‘They are and my eldest, Charles—he is seven now—favours you in looks, Stephen.’ Giving him a sidelong look, she said, ‘But is it not time you had a brood of your own? You have been a bachelor too long.’

He laughed, tweaking her cheek playfully. ‘When I meet a woman with your beauty and attributes, dear Alice, I shall, but until then I shall remain single and free.’

Alice sighed in mock surrender. ‘What are we going to do with you? You are strong and handsome and you have many fine qualities, Stephen.’

‘Thank you, Alice. But I am not handsome like Edward, I fear.’

‘Are you not?’ she remarked with a twinkle in her eye. ‘As I recall when we were all at home, the serving maids didn’t think so. Speaking of Edward, have you seen him?’

‘Not yet. I will go and find him.’

‘I trust you and those with you are hungry. We have limited provisions, but I will soon put something together.’

‘That would be appreciated. We haven’t eaten since early morning. And you and Arabella must join us. England may be a dark and dreary place under the rule of Cromwell, the luxuries and amusements we so loved in the past denied us, but we will sit and eat and be a happy family whilst we can.’

‘You are not going to stay long?’ Arabella asked, unable to hide her concern.

He shook his head wearily. ‘We cannot. We only have a few hours here.’

She looked up at him with fear-bright eyes. ‘You are going to join Charles Stuart?’

‘I must, Arabella. I remain loyal to the end. It is my duty.’

Alice expelled a deep sigh as she watched their brother walk away. ‘It is so good to see him again, Arabella—and to have a man in the house once more.’ She searched her sister’s face anxiously. ‘How badly is Sir Edward hurt?’

‘He shall live,’ Arabella replied, sinking wearily into a chair by the hearth and resting her feet on the fender. ‘The wound is clean and will soon heal.’

Alice nodded, sitting across from her. ‘And you, Arabella? Seeing Edward after all this time must have come as a shock.’

‘Yes. I thought I would never see him again.’

‘What will you do about the child?’

‘What can I do? I am left with little choice.’ She looked across at her sister. ‘If I refuse to look after him, you will, won’t you, Alice?’

‘If necessary, yes.’

‘Then it seems he is here to stay for the time being.’

‘The child has lost his mother. So many lives have been ruined by this war. We must do what we can to help.’

‘Yes,’ Arabella uttered quietly. ‘I suppose you are right.’

The two sisters sat silent for a long moment, each with her own thoughts. At length Alice sighed softly and stood up.

‘They’ll be hungry. I asked Bertha to prepare food before I took the children to bed. I’ll go and help her.’

* * *

They dined in the large dining parlour off the hall. A branch of candles stood on in the middle of the great oak table and cast a reasonable light in the high-ceilinged room.

It was a subdued meal charged with emotion. Stephen sat at the head of the table with Alice and Edward seated next to each other across from Arabella. The two gentlemen who accompanied them were introduced as Sir Charles Barlow and Laurence Morrison. Both had seen much action in the King’s service. It was decided that they would sleep in the rooms above the gatehouse, where they could keep watch on the road should unwelcome guests approach the house.

Having already eaten, Arabella and Alice sat and watched the gentlemen hungrily devour the mutton stew, jugged hare and vegetables. Having refilled the drinking bowls, Arabella studied her siblings, wishing that they could be together like this for always. Margaret joined them, slipping quietly into a chair at the table, her eyes wide with awe and more than a little admiration, Arabella duly noted, as they remained fixed on Stephen throughout the meal. It was a long time since visitors had graced their table and, if the rapt expression on Margaret’s face and the vivid bloom on her cheeks were to be believed, never one so handsome.

It was inevitable that with four military men about to ride off and join Charles Stuart marching south in what appeared to be a last attempt to regain his throne, the conversation turned to military matters. Edward, his dark brows drawn together in a frown, contributed little to the conversation as he stared moodily across the table at Arabella. Sitting back in his chair, he studied her with unnerving intensity, the blue of his eyes having turned indigo in the dimly lit room, heavy black locks spilling to his shoulders.

Despite her efforts Arabella felt weakness within as she gazed at that handsome face, the taut cheekbones and that full lower lip with its hard curl. Meeting his eyes, she saw something slumberous and inviting in their depths. He seemed to be reading her mind. Heat suffused her. Immediately she looked away, trying hard to ignore his brooding gaze.

* * *

Later, back in her bedchamber, Arabella eyed her bed without enthusiasm. Tired as she was, she felt no urge to sleep. Her thoughts kept straying anxiously to Edward and what it was he expected of her. Her thoughts and emotions were a jumbled mass of confusion. How dare he put her in this position! How presumptuous he’d been, to assume she would take his child as her own! And seeing him now, after all this time, only served to bring back the anger and confusion she had felt by his rejection.

His appearance had also resurrected unpleasant memories of her marriage to John. Fair haired, reasonably handsome and with pale wide-set eyes, on first sight she had been dazzled by him and hung back shyly. When her father had ushered her forward, John had laughed and said, ‘Modest, I see.’

‘Aye—and dutiful,’ her father had replied, happy with the impending match. When Edward Grey had thrown her over he had worried that he would have trouble finding a marriage for her, so he’d been unable to believe his good fortune when Stephen had brought John Fairburn to their home and John had shown an interest in her.

Arabella remembered how she had smiled and curtsied, prepared to be ruled by her father’s counsel, but when John raised her up and she felt how cold and flaccid his hand, she had shrunk back. Immediately she had misgivings about the match. John had felt her recoil and, apart from a narrowing of his eyes, he had let it pass. When she had voiced her unease to her father, he had told her John Fairburn was a good match and all would be well, but it was up to her to make sure that it was. If John Fairburn did not take her, then there was little chance of anyone else. There was no dowry. After three years of war and support of the Royalist cause, her father had nothing left.

‘He is handsome enough,’ he had told her, ‘an only son with a fine house where you will be mistress. What more do you want?’

Deep-blue eyes, warm firm hands, deep laughter. Someone to swell her heart at the sight of him, to make her senses sing. Edward Grey, she had thought bleakly.

And so she had married John Fairburn. Every time he touched her she shrank away. He boasted of her beauty and everyone said how lucky she was, but no one knew how she suffered in the great bed she shared with her husband, how he would control her every thought.

When she found she was with child it had altered everything. A child, she thought, a child of her own she could love. Desperate for a son, John had left her alone, taking his perverted pleasures elsewhere. When Arabella had produced a daughter, uttering his disgust he left to join the Royalist army.

For the first time since her marriage Arabella had been happy as she held her daughter in her arms and she did not shed a tear when news was brought to her of John’s death. Tragically her happiness was destroyed when her daughter died shortly after she came to live at Bircot Hall.

The pain had almost ripped her in two. She had loved her daughter so much and she missed her. Her arms were empty, her life was empty. In her wretchedness she had told herself there was nothing more to live for. She had prayed that the feeling would pass, that she would learn to live and to love. But Edward’s cruel betrayal, followed by the cruelties of her marriage to John and the loss of her beautiful Elizabeth had left their mark. It would be a long time, if ever, before she would allow herself to be so hurt again and to put her trust in a man enough to marry him.

Restless, her arms aching for her child, knowing there would be no sleep for her this night, she turned her back on the bed and went out. The door to the room where Margaret had put Joan and the child was ajar. Arabella paused and stared at it, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. On hearing a faint whimpering coming from inside the room, unable to help herself she tentatively reached out and pushed the door open just enough for her to peer inside. A candle had been left burning on the dresser and a fire burned low in the grate.

Joan was fast asleep. She was breathing deeply, little snores coming from between her parted lips. The child beside her was clearly distressed. On seeing Arabella he slid off the bed, wobbling towards her and holding out his arms. Not without human feelings and unable to resist an unhappy child, she knelt and looked into his tear-soaked eyes.

There was so much emotion in that face and the sobs coming from the little mouth wrenched her heart. As if it were the most natural thing in the world to do, she picked up the weeping child and cradled him in her arms. Taking up a spare blanket and murmuring words of comfort, she wrapped it about him, the ache in her breast as acute now as when her own child had died.

Holding him close, she crossed to the fire and sat down with him in her arms.

‘Shush,’ she murmured, placing her lips against his curly head. ‘You are safe now, so go to sleep.’

The silky head nestled of its own accord against the warm breast in a gesture so instinctively caressing that it took Arabella’s breath away. The child’s brooding dark-eyed gaze was working its way into her heart, and when a quiet, rare smile crept across his face it was a thing of such beauty that it wrung her heart. As though a window had been flung open, something inside her took flight and she was flooded with so much joy that it brought tears to her eyes. She remembered how it had felt to hold her own daughter so close and, remembering her loss, she experienced an emotion that was almost painful in its intensity.

Shoving his thumb in his mouth, after a short while Dickon quietened and his eyelids fluttered closed, his thick lashes making enchanting semicircles on his pink cheeks. The warmth of the fire and the security of her arms soon sent him to sleep. He was going to be handsome, she thought, just like his father. Instantly there was a resurgence in her of the magnetism that drew her whenever she saw Edward. It burned into her ruthlessly, making her heart turn over. Her eyes continued to caress the child—Edward’s flesh and blood—and she acknowledge him for what he was.

Reluctant to carry him back to bed, she relaxed with him in her arms. The curtains hadn’t been fully drawn and the moon shone through a break in the clouds into the room. She began to think of the strangeness of her life, of her marriage to John and how Edward Grey had come back into her life, a stranger to her in many ways. There had never been a physical closeness between them, but there had been a closeness in other ways. He had always sought her company, but because he was eight years her senior, she had sometimes felt shut out from his thoughts. Clearly she had disappointed him otherwise he would not have cast her aside for Anne Lister.

The tugging of her heart twisted into an ache that flared every time she remembered. She wanted to be more understanding about what he had done, that he had gone on to have a child while her own had died, but she couldn’t no matter how hard she tried.

Suddenly an image of John came to mind and a chill slithered over her flesh. Marriage to John had not been what she had dreamed of. There was no wild searing passion, which, as young as she had been, she had known she could feel for Edward.

* * *

Arabella did not hear the loose wooden floorboard on the landing creak, so absorbed was her attention on the child.

Edward stood in the doorway, transfixed at the sight of Arabella with his son cradled in her arms. There was something so intimate, so ethereal about the scene that he found it difficult to look at the expression of wonder on Arabella’s face. He hesitated a moment, watching as the flickering light from the fire shone on her hair, which hung loose and fell over her face as she bent over his son. He admired the colour and the texture. Her body had the requisite warm softness and she still had the firm-fleshed litheness of youth, the languid grace which awoke his all-too-easily-awakened carnality.

She was unaware of his presence until he walked quietly into the room and stood looking down at her. She started, clearly surprised to see him there.

‘Edward!’ she gasped, her eyes flitting from him to his son, hot colour springing to her cheeks, as though she had been caught out in some misdeed. ‘I—I heard him crying. His nurse is asleep and I did not wish to wake her. See, he is asleep now.’

A ghost of a smile lit his face—his expression softened slightly. ‘How could he not be, cradled in such soft arms? Here, let me take him.’

‘Don’t wake him.’

With infinite care Edward took his son from her and carried him to the bed, placing him beneath the covers. His face was creased with concentration as he performed his task. He stood looking down at him for a moment before moving back to Arabella.

‘Dickon is a lovely boy,’ Arabella said. ‘He favours you.’

‘Yes, I know. I thought I would look in on him before I go to bed. Arabella, I wish to apologise.’

Standing up, she studied him, her eyes, big and luminous in her pale face, inquisitive but cautious. Her head was raised proudly as she looked at him, keeping her hands folded tightly before her. ‘Apologise? For what? That you renounced your promise to me for another woman, or that you have disturbed me here at Bircot Hall?’

‘Both, I suppose,’ he said, combing his hair back from his brow with his fingers. ‘I wronged you, Arabella. I acknowledge it freely. I swear to you—’

‘Oh, no! Do not swear! When you came here you no doubt thought I was ready to forget and forgive what you did to me. In all that has happened in the intervening years, I believe I had forgotten—but you reminded me the moment you walked in the door.’ She gave him a level stare and, not knowing that her words were like knives being thrown at him, she said, ‘There was a time when I trusted you. I was so young and filled with girlish fantasies that I believed we could build a happy life together—something quite wonderful. But you, ruled by an overweening arrogance and pride, betrayed me. I can only say how glad I am that you strayed before we spoke our vows. It spared me a lot of heartache. I weathered the pity of my friends and family because I had lost my intended husband. The humiliation would have been intolerable indeed had you begun an affair when I became your wife.’

Edward had paled, the flesh drawn tight over his cheekbones. Her words created an agony inside him. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her, to say her name, for the thought of her suffering made him wish he hadn’t acted so foolishly over Anne and left her so brutally. ‘I would not have done that.’

‘How can you know how you would have behaved?’ she cried, the pain in her unconcealed. ‘Men make fools of themselves over beautiful women all the time. Anne Lister could not bear not being the centre of attention. Every man had to look at her. All she had to do was cast her eyes at you and you were ensnared.’

He shook his head. ‘Arabella, listen to me.’ Reaching out, he gripped her shoulders and stared down into her face before he went on. ‘With every beat of my heart I regret what I did. I know that you’ve had double your share of troubles for your years. But believe me, I would never wish you harm. Sometimes I can’t help wishing I could go back and do things differently—but then I wouldn’t have Dickon. We cannot change the past.’