The Adventurer's Bride. June Francis

      ‘Aye, lad. I want you to stable my horse,’ said Nicholas, ‘and, if you could feed and water him and brush him down and cover him with the blanket after doing so, I’d appreciate that.’ He reached for his money pouch and handed several coins to Matt.

      The lad thanked him and was about to follow Margaret across the room towards the back of the house when Nicholas indicated he come closer. There ensued a low-voiced conversation between the two males.

      Jane overheard but a few words as she emptied the bloodied wine into a slop bucket and so they made little sense to her. She burnt the rags on the fire and then washed her hands before taking up a ladle and stirring the contents of the cooking pot. By the time she returned to Nicholas’s side, Matt had left to perform his allotted tasks.

      ‘Sooo,’ she said slowly, picking up the goblet containing the remains of her brandy.

      Nicholas raised an eyebrow. ‘What is it, Jane? You have a question to ask me? I am also waiting for an answer to the one I asked you.’

      ‘What question was that?’ she queried.

      ‘The one you told me I had no business to ask. Does Master Mortimer want you for his wife?’

      She sighed exasperatedly. ‘Do you not consider him a man who would respect the period of mourning that is customary in my case?’

      ‘So he has not yet asked you. Do you believe he might do so in the future?’

      She hesitated and glanced at the children, not wanting them eavesdropping. Nicholas might not be speaking loudly, but even so she did not want the girls in particular overhearing such talk. ‘Why must you persist with such questioning?’

      ‘Because it has occurred to me that we could make a match of it,’ said Nicholas abruptly, remembering at least three women he had considered marrying in the past, only to discover other men had got there before him. ‘Marry me and I swear I will take care of you and the children. You will not have to worry about spinning and where your next penny is coming from if you accept my proposal.’

      ‘And who will take care of you, Master Hurst?’ she said faintly, unable to take her eyes from his bruised face. She might have dreamed of his making love to her and she had her hopes, but she had never believed he really could want to marry her. He might not be as handsome as his brother Philip, but she did find him incredibly attractive.

      ‘I will take care of myself, knowing I have a family dependent on me,’ he said seriously. ‘What do you say?’

      She did not reply.

      ‘Mama, are you all right?’ Elizabeth’s voice seemed to be coming from a distance. ‘Is there anything more I can do to help you?’

      Jane stammered, ‘G-go and see t-to the hens!’ She hoped her stepdaughter had not heard Nicholas’s proposal because she could not possibly accept. It was too soon after Simon’s death and she must honour his memory by adhering to the year of mourning. Besides, there was only one reason he could wish to marry her and that was unacceptable to her. He wanted a mother for Matilda. Yet she was finding it difficult to voice her refusal. She felt as if the intensity of his stare would burn through her clothing and skin to her heart and reveal to him the secret she carried within her. What would he think of her if he knew it? There had always been one rule for men and another for women.

      ‘Well, Jane?’ he demanded. ‘I mean what I say.’

      ‘Do not rush me,’ she said in a low voice.

      ‘You need a few more moments to think?’

      ‘Aye!’ retorted Jane. More than a few moments! Perhaps he wished to marry her for more than one reason and might want to truly adopt her little family? How clever he was to word his proposal in such a way.

      She was reminded of a winter day when she had stood, shivering, outside a church. She had been seventeen to Simon’s forty-two years. He had told her to her face that he needed a mother for his daughters and was prepared to accept her without a dowry, her brother having mentioned that it was time she married. She had been glad at the time that Giles had not told Simon that she desperately needed to marry. She had felt terrible at the time. She had wanted to tell Simon Caldwell the truth, but it had taken more courage than she possessed.

      It felt odd, thinking about how she had fallen madly in love with Willem Godar, not knowing he was already married. Strangely he, too, had Flemish blood just like the Hurst brothers, but he came from Kent. Once upon a time the very thought of Willem would have filled her with pain and anger, but gradually she had thought less and less about him.

      Now Nicholas’s proposal reminded her of the foolishness and headiness of being a young girl and in love for the first time. What a fool love made of people. And what would Nicholas think of her if he were to discover the truth? No doubt he would be disgusted. She should be thankful that she was not in love with him, but only lusted after him. No longer in her first bloom of youth, she would not be fooled again by that treacherous emotion. As for Nicholas feeling such an emotion for her—it was not possible! She had never been what some would call desirable as Louise clearly had been, to judge by her daughter, so she could only believe that he wanted to marry her for exactly the same reason that Simon Caldwell had done. So far he had been too clever to say that he wanted to marry her so she could be a mother for his daughter, but she was certain that was the main factor in his proposing to her.

      She did not utterly hold that against him and she would be lying to herself if she pretended that she would not enjoy being the wife of an heroic, rich explorer. Yet something inside her rebelled against the very idea that he saw in her only that maternal aspect of her femininity.

      Yet if she turned down his proposal, no doubt there would be other women who would leap at the chance of becoming his wife. Oh, Holy Mother, she certainly did not want him marrying someone else! He would be such a catch for a woman in her position. So why be churlish and hesitate to give him the answer he obviously wanted?

      ‘What do you say, Jane?’ he rasped. ‘It is important that I have your answer now.’

      His tone of voice stung her and she reached for the brandy and poured a little more in her cup and gulped it down. It gave her the courage to look him in the face. ‘You’re unreasonable,’ she gasped. ‘Expecting me to give you an answer just like that.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘I have already reminded you that I am still in mourning.’

      His mouth set firm. ‘I have not forgotten! I was there with you the day your husband died.’

      ‘Then can you not be patient?’

      ‘Not when I am aware that Rebecca’s father is taking an interest in you. Now Berthe has betrayed me, I need a woman who will be part of Matilda’s life for as long as it is necessary, which made asking you to be my wife more difficult than you can ever understand.’ He seized her hand and pressed it against his bare chest. ‘Can you feel my heart beating? It took much for me to propose to you a few moments ago. I realise now that I made a mess of it. For that I ask your forgiveness.’

      Chapter Three

      Jane’s fingers shifted beneath his hand. It was true she could feel his heart pumping and it gave her a peculiar but exciting thrill to know that she could affect him in such a way.

      ‘This is foolishness,’ she said breathlessly, ‘and yet you are so clever. No doubt you are practised in the art of persuading women to do what you will. But how can you talk of marriage when you have only just arrived here, wounded and exhausted? Marriage is a serious matter and needs much consideration before a decision can be made.’

      Nicholas gave her a weary look, but there was also a hint of bewilderment in his hazel eyes as he released her hand. ‘If there is one thing I have learnt on my travels it is that one has to seize the moment as it might never come again. Ask yourself a question: If I were to die, would you be filled with regret?’

      She felt threatened again by the very idea of his dying. ‘How dare you ask me such a question? Most likely