Royalist On The Run. Helen Dickson

Her brief reply to his question told him she had not. Edward had never met John Fairburn, but he had the impression from others that he was not a likable man and harsh in his treatment of others. When Arabella had spoken about the death of her daughter he had seen a look of total desolation in her eyes. It was the sort of look that could break even the hardest heart. It had taken everything in him to stop his hand reaching out to her, to tell her again how sorry he was for her loss but, all things taken into account, it was wiser to sit still while she tended his wound—and watch and listen to her breathe.

      He couldn’t believe how changed she was. The awkwardness had gone and even though she was as slim as a willow sapling, she was the most stunning creature he had seen in a long time. No matter how his eyes searched her face and form, he could not find that gangling girl from before they were betrothed, who had hid behind her mother’s skirts and skittered shyly away when he approached.

      In the past, of course he had seen her, been aware of her, had always enjoyed her company once she had lost her shyness of him, but he had never really looked at her, not properly, not deeply, as he was doing now. But he had not forgotten how bright her eyes were, how soft and generous her mouth and the small, tantalising indentation in her round chin. Nor had he forgotten the softness of her heart, her genuine warmth, and the trust he had seen in her eyes when she had looked at him. They were the things he had remembered when, in his desperation to find somewhere safe for Dickon, he had thought of Arabella. Dickon was the most important person in his life. He would sacrifice or endure anything for his son.

      Even after everything that had happened in the past, he knew she was the one person he could trust with his son.

      From the moment he’d recognised her in the hall, he’d found her nearly impossible to keep from openly staring. Her red-gold hair tumbled freely about her shoulders, a shining, flaming glory to the torch that was her beauty. Her amber eyes had called to him. Her smooth, creamy skin, glowing beneath the softness of candlelight, beckoned his fingers to touch and caress.

      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?’