Free The Heart Denied by Linda Anne Wulf Page A

persist in this? I'm quite fond of the lady, Arthur. I want to be with her, protect her. I want her to bear my children. And I believe with all my heart--my head as well--that those things constitute a firm foundation for marriage." He gulped down some of his ale and set the tankard down hard, unable to conceal his wounded pride. "I'd hoped for your blessing before now, but I see you still have your doubts."
    Arthur's brief smile did not patronize. "You have my blessing, M'lord, if you truly want it. As for my doubts" --he touched his tankard to Thorne's-- "here's hoping you'll prove me wrong."

EIGHT
     
     
    "There it is, Caroline! There is Wycliffe Hall. Oh, and look! There, alongside the road!"
    Caroline leaned forward to look out the coach window, but saw nothing to warrant squealing like a peasant.
    "The roses...oh, Caroline, the roses!" Gwynneth clutched at the curtain. "I smelled them, but I thought it must be my imagination. 'Tis the surprise he promised me. There must be thousands of them!"
    "Well, hundreds, at any rate." Caroline hoped her disparaging sniff passed for a sampling of the floral perfume pervading the coach interior. For her, the profusion of pink, red, yellow and white blossoms lining the drystone wall only served as a bitter reminder that Horace used to weekly send her enough roses to fill every vase in their home.
    "'Tis rather like a bridal path, isn't it?" Gwynneth clasped her lace-gloved hands under her chin and inhaled with the serene rapture of a yogin.
    Caroline fought an urge to slap her. "A thoughtful man, your Lord Neville." And if there is any justice in the world, one of those bloody bees will fly in here and sting your lily-white skin right through those pastel silks.
    "He is very considerate," Gwynneth allowed with a blush. "And quite romantic, I think."
    Caroline dug her nails into her palm. "I do hope my presence won't foil his romantic bent," she said smoothly.
    "Oh, Caroline, don't be absurd!" Gwynneth's laugh sounded sweetly indulgent. "I know his lordship will want you here."
    Yes...here and anywhere else he might have me! Caroline feigned an apprehensive smile. "I hope so, Gwynneth. I truly hope so."
     
    * * *
     
    Thorne and Arthur watched two coaches and three drays tarpaulined in oiled canvas roll to a stop. As footmen and maids streamed down the steps of the terraced lawn to take numerous trunks and bags, William the kitchen-boy and young Henry unhitched the horses to lead them in pairs to the beck. Thorne waved Radleigh's coachman aside to open the door himself.
    "Thank God. My bones have turned to powder." The portly man heaved a sigh as his future son-in-law helped him down with a chuckle.
    "Come now, Radleigh, we've filled in ruts and potholes nearly all the way to Northampton--what more could you ask?"
    "Paving," Radleigh grumbled, his breath reeking of brandy fumes. "The Romans weren't entirely barbaric, you know. Just wait 'til you're my age, Neville, and see how well you travel these bloody country roads."
    Thorne clapped a hand over a big shoulder. "A bath and a cool mug await you, my friend, but first I must greet my bride."
    Gwynneth nearly melted into his embrace, crying out softly, "Oh, my lord, the roses, they're beautiful! Where did you get them, and however did you plant so many?"
    He smiled down at her, his loins stirring at the worship in her eyes; his costly gift had paid off. "They came from the finest hothouses in London, along with a team of horti-" he broke off, his attention suddenly riveted beyond Gwynneth, his pulse slowing to an erratic thud. The extra coach. Of course. Monogrammed for Sutherland , not Stowington. "-culturists," he finished, his mouth snapping shut.
    Caroline stepped down with queenly grace, her gloved hand sliding off the footman's arm as she reached the ground and smiled, first at Gwynneth with a conspirator's air, then at Thorne with perfect aplomb.
    Gwynneth looked gleeful. "Are you surprised, my lord?"
    "Utterly," he muttered,