Marjorie Farrell (19 page)

And it was too late. How could he ever know she loved him at last? And why would he even care, for he had no love for her? She could not tell him. She had enough pride left for that and years of practice appearing indifferent. She would go back to her old self, to the Insufferable Arden who stood outside and watched the small world in her hand play out its scenes for her. She would shake the little glass sphere from green to white, the seasons would pass… But the glass had shattered in that moment on the scree when she had fallen to her knees. She had fallen into the world then. Now she was inside, not outside. And it hurt as much as she must have known it would, for why else would she have protected herself for so long? Now she was just one of the others, at the mercy of the elements and of strong feeling. She had found everything she had ever needed, only to see that it could never be hers.

* * * *

When Gareth reached his room, he was still consumed by the desire that had flared up when he saw Arden in her shift. As he had carried her upstairs, she had been so relaxed, had snuggled against him so trustingly, that for a few crazy moments he had thoughts of sharing her bed. When she had crawled under the covers, it had seemed as if she were leaving room for him to crawl in after her. But of course that was absurd, and he had had to turn quickly to hide the signs of his arousal.

Now he stood there, his manhood straining against his breeches, picturing Arden’s willing body underneath him, feeling the softness of her skin and the rough velvet of her hair. He wanted her and loved her. He hadn’t realized how much till now. He quickly stripped and stood in the cold for a moment or two, watching himself shrink, before he crawled into his own bed. His cold feet touched something warm and furry, and he started to laugh. At least Mott was willing to share his bed. But his amusement lasted only a minute, and he lay there, all desire fled, and weighted down by a sadness he suspected would be with him the rest of his life.

Arden awoke late the next morning and by the time she was dressed and downstairs, Gareth was gone. She was disappointed and relieved at the same time. Now that she knew she loved him, she was hungry for the sight of him. But seeing him, on the other hand, would only remind her of what she was losing.

The weather had cleared and the sun was making every blade of grass sparkle like an emerald when she finally stepped outside. She took a short walk down the road to work the stiffness out of her legs, and on her way home was surprised to see her husband coming down the east pasture. He waved to her and waited for her at the stile.

“I see you are recovered from your ordeal, Arden.”

“Yes. I’m still a bit stiff, but my walk has worked most of that out,” she replied. “But what are you doing down here?”

“The sheep are all in at last,” said Gareth with a sigh of relief, “and we will be driving them down into market tomorrow morning.”

“Would you mind if I came along?” Arden tried to sound as though it meant nothing to her one way or another as she made her request.

Gareth lifted one eyebrow in surprise. “Why no, not at all. Although you’d be better off just meeting us at the auction barn. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested.”

“Well, I have been walking and riding among the sheep all summer. And after yesterday, I feel a bit more familiar with them,” said Arden, grinning to herself at the memory of her crawl up the fellside.

“You and Janie can walk down after breakfast. Mind you, it will have to be an earlier breakfast than usual. But Janie knows her way in and out of the barns as well as anyone.”

“Are you coming home for dinner?” asked Arden as they got closer to the house.

“No, I’ve got a few last-minute arrangements to make in town and I thought I’d stop at Dr. Braithwaite’s to see how Gabriel is doing. I’ll have dinner at the pub.”

Arden waved him off and then tried to analyze their conversation. Was there less reserve? Did Gareth sound quite as hostile to her as when he discussed sending her home? She thought not. But then, a lack of hostility was hardly a sign of love, she thought ruefully.

* * * *

The next day, after a quick breakfast of porridge, she and Janie set out for Hawes. The town was even more hectic than on regular market day, and Arden marveled that anyone could recognize his own flock. But the shepherds and their dogs seemed to have no trouble keeping their own animals together.

When they got to the pens, the sounds and the smells were overwhelming, and Arden was beginning to wonder why she had wanted to come. Once they were inside the auction barn, however, things were quieter. There was a small fenced ring surrounded by a few rows of benches where she and Janie found a place to sit. Some farmers were on the benches, but more of them were standing around the ring waiting for the next ewes and lambs to be driven in. The men reminded her of Gabriel. Most looked over middle-aged and were rough-shaven, ruddy-complexioned men with bright blue eyes sparkling from under old felt hats. There were a few gentlemen farmers, smooth-shaven and well-dressed, but for the most part these were the hardworking men of the dales come to buy stock for their small holdings.

When the first two ewes were driven in, accompanied by twin lambs, Arden waited for the noisy bidding to begin. Nothing happened. The auctioneer, who was holding an old thigh bone in his hand as a gravel, would glance around at the farmers who were standing quite still and quite silent and suddenly bring the bone down to signify a sale had occurred. Then the next lambs were brought in and the whole mysterious process would start again.

Arden whispered to Janie, “But no one is bidding. How does he know who wins?”

Janie started to chuckle. “Tha must watch a bit more careful, lass. T’bidding is going on. Tha just must learn how to see it.”

Arden tried again, but no hands or voices were raised, no man changed expression or even moved. They all seemed rooted in place, and yet the auctioneer kept on recording sales and the sheep were herded in and out, in and out.

Arden was beginning to wonder if this was an elaborate joke being staged just for her benefit, when after what felt like hours of watching, quite by chance she noticed a farmer almost directly in front of them. He was standing quietly like the rest, with his thumbs hooked under his lapels. She saw his forefinger lift no more than a fraction of an inch and the gavel came down. She began to watch for small movements and caught another man scratching his nose. “Janie, I think I’ve got it, but how the auctioneer can catch those signals, I don’t know,” she said in amazement.

Janie said, “Aye, it takes a good eye, lass, and ye must know all your customers well.”

“I will have much more respect for an auctioneer’s skill from now on.”

“Does tha want to go and find some lemonade and a bun, lass?”

Arden realized she was both parched and exhausted from watching so carefully, so they hurried out of the barn and made their way up to the high street. As they left the barns behind, Arden noticed Gareth standing and talking to a group of farmers.

It was as though she were seeing him for the first time. He hadn’t seen her, and so she could take him all in at her leisure: his hair, longer than it had been in London and shining nut-brown in the sun, his broad shoulders straining the dark corduroy jacket, not because it was cut to fit fashionably tight, but because he was so muscular, his quick grin at someone’s joke. He was not strictly handsome, this husband of hers, but he was every inch an attractive man. The fact that he was a competent farmer, well-respected by his neighbors, was obvious from the attention he received. How had she seen him only as a rudesby? she wondered. He was worth so much more than those effete aristocrats she had spent her Season dancing with. Dear God, what if she had had a “successful” Season and had ended up with one of them?

She hurried Janie on so that Gareth would not notice them, feeling all the while as she sipped her lemonade and chewed her cinnamon bun that an essential part of herself would remain here with Gareth, no matter where he sent her.

* * * *

That night they had the most comfortable supper of their married lives. Gareth was in a state of exhausted relaxation, now that one of the busiest times of the year was behind him. He drank a little more than usual, and asked Arden for her impressions of her first auction day. He laughed as she described her bewilderment at the seeming lack of bidding, and she found herself telling the story with more drama and humor than she normally would.

“Well, my dear,” said Gareth, “we’ll make a daleswoman out of tha yet,” forgetting in his slightly drunken euphoria that he was returning Arden to Stalbridge. “And now I must get myself to bed before I disgrace myself by falling asleep at the table.” He pulled himself up, only to stagger a little as he let go his grip on the table edge.

“I think that tonight you are the one in need of some help, Captain Richmond,” teased Arden, and she moved over to steady him.

“I would protest my sobriety,” he said, “but in truth, my dear, I could use your arm to get up the stairs.” All he wanted was his bed, he said, and then, as Arden walked him slowly up the stairs, he realized that all he wanted was his wife in his bed.

She stopped outside his bedroom, opened the door and let go, expecting him to stumble in. Instead, he turned toward her, placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned forward and kissed her, gently at first, and then with a desperate hunger. Arden found herself wanting to reach up and tangle her fingers in his thick, springy brown curls, and she had to will herself to stand still and unresponsive. Gareth’s kiss was the result of the combined effects of brandy and exhaustion. He probably didn’t even know whom he was kissing, she told herself.

Gareth, feeling her lack of response, pulled back, sobered a bit by the realization that he had lost his iron-willed reserve which he had maintained all summer. Lose that, fool, he said to himself, and you are truly lost, for then she’ll know how you feel about her. He apologized with as much dignity as he could summon and reassured Arden that he would not impose his caresses on her again. “Take no mind, my dear,” he said, recapturing at least the appearance of indifference, “it is only that I am tired and more than a little affected by brandy. Good night and thank you for your help.” Arden stood there as he quickly closed his door behind him.

Of course it meant nothing to him. He would have kissed any woman who happened to be there. Just because her whole body was now on fire did not mean anything. Just because the taste of him, brandy fumes and all, still lingered, meant nothing. Just because she wanted to be the woman who always happened to be there did not mean she could be. They might be husband and wife, but the way they had begun their marriage had ensured its end.

She didn’t move until she felt Mott entwining himself around her legs. She picked him up and said resignedly, “And I suppose now that he’s shut you out too, you wish to spend the night with me? Well, I should be the one called Motley,” she continued as she carried him into her room, “for I am the biggest fool in this house, cat.”

Gareth decided that the best way to deal with his lapse of control was to pretend it had never happened. After all, he had been a little drunk and Arden probably wouldn’t even expect him to remember it, much less want him to mention it. And so, for the next few days, he was as imperturbable as he had been when they first arrived in Yorkshire. Underneath, he could not keep from thinking about how Arden’s lips had tasted and how it had felt to have his hands wrapped in her hair.

Arden had hoped against hope that the kiss might signal a change of heart, but when Gareth never alluded to it, even to apologize, she despaired of him ever giving her a chance to make something of their marriage. And when he announced over supper a few nights later that he would be ready to take her back to Stalbridge in a few days, it was all she could do to maintain her cool facade. Luckily, she had years of genuine impassivity to draw on, so there was no way Gareth could guess what was going on in her heart. And how could he guess when she wasn’t quite sure herself?

How had it happened, this wanting him close to her, both physically and emotionally? From the first, he had been different. Someone she couldn’t reduce with a witty phrase. Someone, who for one moment, had looked and seen the real Arden, an Arden she had hardly known existed.

Her anger at the moment of the marriage had been real and lasting, but it was burned out at last. What could Gareth or any man have done to woo her? She had kept people at a distance for years, and all the honeyed phrases that he might have poured into her ear would not have moved her. She would not have wanted his mouth on hers then, either in gentle persuasion or rough wooing. No, the only way to win her was the way he had, as a part of a contract. She had needed to have no choice in the matter, for she never would have chosen him. She might not have chosen anyone, she admitted, but with another unsuccessful Season, she may have settled.

But it was not Gareth alone who had caused her change of heart. It was Yorkshire, and she had to admit it, Gabriel Crabtree. A most unlikely angel, she thought to herself. No wings, no light, no glory or ecstasy. Just a dirty old man who had needed her help. Yet those moments of terror on the scree had shattered the barrier she placed between herself and the world. Oh, she was not an entirely different person, she knew that. She was still not overly fond of fools, and she doubted that her tongue had been completely tamed. But she could better appreciate another’s vulnerability now that she had experienced her own.

What would be an abiding sorrow was that it had all happened too late. Gareth clearly had no feelings left for her, if he ever had any to begin with. It was likely only her imagination that he alone had recognized her real self and had availed himself of the only means of making her his wife. She would have to make the best of their separation, and hope that the coming years alone would not turn her into another Millicent.