Born for Thorton's Sake Page 3

  Maria took several more steps backward. She felt ill and close to fainting. “I’m…I’m sure your mother will want to see you immediately. I’ll let her know you have come home,” she stammered. Turning, she walked to the library as calmly as she was able.

  “She seemed quite overjoyed to see you home, Brock,” Maria heard Rebecca giggle in a hushed tone.

  Was it upon her then? All she had come to fear, Brock’s necessity to take a wife—was the loathsome nightmare upon her? So soon?

  “He’s home,” Maria stated upon entering the library.

  “Is he?” Lady Thorton exclaimed. She seemed to immediately note the lack of color and the expression of utter shock on the girl’s face, however, and asked, “Why…whatever is the matter, darling?”

  “Nothing. He’s in the entry. He’s brought…a guest. I think I’ll go riding.” Then quickly crossing the room, she fled through another door, ignoring Lady Thorton’s calling after her.

  Once outside, she ran toward the stables. Tears of grief flooded her cheeks, and her heart threatened to stop for the pain stabbing at it.

  She was relieved to find no one in the stables, and throwing her arms around the neck of her beloved mount, she cried, “Oh, Valerian! I am most certainly not prepared for this!” She took the horse’s head in her hands and caressed its velvety nose with her own, allowing rivulets of tears to travel down her face and onto that of the cherished mare. The animal whinnied, understanding her mistress was in distress.

  Maria sobbed bitterly. “Valerian! Whatever will I do? I cannot…I cannot watch him love another woman! I shall surely die of it! I believe I will literally die of it, Valerian.” She sobbed, wiping her tears on the soft fur of Valerian’s face. “How could he?” she continued, feeling as if her breath had been stolen from her somehow. “No forewarning! She simply came walking in like she belonged here. ‘You must be little Maria,’ she said. Oh, Valerian…she’s too beautiful! You should see her. Hair as spun gold and eyes as the finest emeralds. He did not even forewarn me, Valerian. He gave me no indication.”

  “She’s a family acquaintance, Maria.”

  Maria startled, gasping at the sound of Brock’s voice behind her. Tightly clenching her teeth, she did not turn to face him.

  “Whatever are you talking about, Brock?” she asked, attempting to sound unflustered.

  “Rebecca,” came his answer, and the sound of his voice caused excess moisture to flood Maria’s mouth. “Her mother and mine are dear old friends,” he continued. “She’s just come for a brief visit of a few days until her mother arrives for a visit as well. That is all.” Maria sensed him take several steps toward her.

  “It’s fine. You do not have to explain everything to me. She is quite divine, is she not?” Reaching over, she took a comb from its hook on the stable wall and began grooming Valerian’s mane. She stiffened, however, when Brock’s hand appeared over her shoulder and began stroking Valerian’s jaw.

  “You’ve no reason to be angry with me, Maria. It is all quite innocent,” he whispered in her ear. Again goose flesh erupted over the entire surface of Maria’s body, and she closed her eyes against the euphoria of it.

  Quickly turning to face him then, not caring her face was streaked where tears had cascaded, she asked, “You do not understand, Brock! She’s a friend of the family is all very well and good. But someday…someday you will…you will…”

  “Take vows of marriage?” he finished for her as a frown manifested itself on his brow.

  Maria could only nod as she brushed the tears from her blushing cheeks. “You will tell me first, won’t you?” she whispered. “You won’t simply come back one day with a…with a…”

  “Wife?” he finished, still frowning.

  She nodded. “Promise me, Brock. Promise me this very minute, Brock Thorton. Promise when the day comes—and I am not ignorant; I know that it must come—yet promise me you will tell me first. Promise you will let me know before you simply arrive one day…with a…with a…”

  “Wife.”

  “Yes. Promise me, Brock. You’ve no idea how important it is I be given the time to…prepare myself for the…change.”

  Brock looked down into Maria’s tear-filled, pleading eyes. “Maria…I…” He paused, seeming to reconsider what he had meant to say, and then continued, “I promise to you, Maria…that when the time comes for me to announce my engagement, you will be the very first person to know of it.” He reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek, and Maria thought she might melt at his feet, undone in a puddle of sorrow and joy mingled. “There now,” he said, brushing at the strand of hair on her cheek once more. “Do you feel better?”

  Maria turned from him and began combing Valerian’s mane once more. “I…I suppose,” she stammered. Yet the ache in her heart only intensified. In that moment, he had openly admitted he would indeed one day marry. In that moment, it had become a genuinely agonizing reality to Maria.

  Taking her shoulders, Brock turned her to face him once more. “Now, come into the house with me,” he said, tenderly brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of one powerful hand.

  Maria shook her head, wiping her remaining tears on the sleeve of her dress. “No. No, I am in utter shambles. I look as a child who has only just finished a tantrum.”

  He chuckled. “Pretty lady, I doubt you have ever borne even the slightest resemblance to a child. Now, come along and see what I’ve brought you.”

  “I do not care what you’ve brought, Brock. I just wanted you home,” she admitted to him.

  “What an ungrateful thing to say! And after I spent days finding just the right…come along, my pet,” he said, taking Maria’s arm and linking it with his own.

  “It is not another golden-haired woman, is it?” she asked, forcing a smile at last.

  Brock chuckled. Removing Maria’s arm from his and pulling it around his waist, he held her protectively against him as they walked. “No, Maria. I promise to warn you next time, no matter the circumstance.”

  Once they had returned to the house, he said, “Now, run upstairs and open that parcel. If you detest it, there isn’t much time to replace it. I’ll go in to Mother now.” He placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead and left.

  Maria seemed unable to keep new tears from traveling over her cheeks, for in truth, what comfort was there to be gained from his promise he would tell her when he planned to wed? It was simply further affirmation the nightmare had truly begun. Still, as Maria walked to her chamber, she tried to hope—hope the day would never come when Lord Brockton Thorton would take a wife.

  Going to her bed, Maria smiled as she gazed down at the parcel Brock had tossed to her through the open window. She thought of the joy that had washed over her when she first heard Stetson’s gallop. She closed her eyes and envisioned Brock astride his mount, smiling up at her the way he had only a short time before. She determined it would be the vision she carried of him—fresh, handsome, and thinking only of her in that moment.

  Rather unwillingly, she picked up the parcel and untied the string holding the paper and whatever was within.

  Maria gasped at the sight of the gown, its soft, silken folds falling elegantly through the air as she held it up before her. Brock had always brought her a new pair of slippers or boots when he returned home. He insisted she have as many pairs as she could fit in the bottom of her wardrobe. He had always sworn her feet would never be so cold as they were the night he had carried her from her aunt and uncle’s loveless cottage. In truth, he would often bring gifts to accompany any new slippers—a dress, a pretty memento. But this dress! Maria could not believe the pure elegance of it. There was no doubt he intended this to be her dress for her coming-out ball. In its white brilliance, it teetered on having the appearance of a wedding dress. And the lace! Never had Maria seen so fine, so delicate, such exquisite lace! Yet there was a sophisticated simplicity about the dress as well.

  Carelessly, she dropped the dress she had been w
earing to the floor, squealing as she worked at the buttons of the fresh gown. It was a bit more revealing than any frock she had previously worn. Indeed, the bodice of Brock’s gifted gown lay ever so slightly off her shoulders. Still, she did not mind. It was beautiful and chosen by Brock’s own hand.

  She gathered her hair up on the top of her head studying herself in the looking glass. Certainly there was no other way to wear her hair with such a gown and to such an event, and she pinned her raven locks in place. Smiling at her reflection, she turned once more to the package on her bed. Brock had, of course, purchased slippers as well, and they were there within. Maria unwrapped them, marveling at their loveliness. They appeared to be made specifically for the gown, corresponding to it perfectly. As Maria turned the slippers over to examine them further, something caught her eye as it fell from one of the slippers and onto the floor.

  A dainty, exquisite string of pearls lay at her feet. She was so astonished at their appearance she paused before picking them up, afraid she had dreamed them, that they might disappear if she attempted to touch them. She gathered her senses quickly enough, however, and picked them up at last. Drawing the precious ornaments to her soft lips, she kissed them and lovingly clutched them to her bosom. Here, indeed, was a treasure from Brock! Not a gown, which would yellow with age, nor slippers, which would wear through. This was something she could always keep near, something to remind her that at one time she had been significant to Lord Brockton Thorton. Such a gift spoke of a deep and abiding affection. Certainly, Maria knew well enough Brock cared for her as his ward, his friend even. He did not care for her as more, certainly not as a lover, though pearls were often the first choice of a gift a man would give to his beloved. Still, Maria chose to fancy it was so, chose to fancy Brock had gifted her a lover’s strand of pearls. Each time the lovely pearls caressed the soft skin around her throat, she would pretend it was his intent—to tell her he loved her.

  THE FIRST

  Maria peeked around the corner into the library. There they sat, Lady Thorton, Brock, and the beautiful Rebecca. She winced at the sharp pain in her bosom at the sight of Rebecca but drew strength remembering Brock’s assurance to her that Rebecca was merely a friend to the Thorton family.

  “Close your eyes,” Maria called to the occupants of the library. “I am going to practice my entrance into the ballroom.”

  “Wonderful, darling!” Lady Thorton called, clapping her hands with excitement. “We are ready. Completely so!”

  Carefully, Maria stepped around the corner, fairly floating slowly and elegantly, into the room.

  Lady Thorton gasped with delight, and Rebecca looked as if a ghost, rather than a young woman, had just entered the library. Brock was somehow successful at smiling and frowning simultaneously.

  Maria could bear it no longer. Abruptly, whirling around and dashing to Lady Thorton, she squealed, “Is it not simply divine? And pearls! Can you imagine it? Pearls, milady! Real pearls!” Maria’s smile faded when tears began pouring profusely from the woman’s brilliant eyes. “Milady, what ever is the matter? Does the gown not suit? Brock has always been perfect with his selections for me before and—”

  “No, no, darling. I love the gown,” Lady Thorton sniffled. “It’s simply…my little girl…oh, why does time rush by so?” The great beauty leaned forward, planting a kiss on Maria’s cheek. “Look at you! Simply look at her, Brock! Hair pulled up…graceful as a butterfly.”

  “Indeed,” Brock muttered, clearing his throat as he rose and went to stand near the fireplace.

  “My, my, my, Brock. So this is your Maria. How perfectly that gown fits her. It is amazing…your judging her size so well,” Rebecca said. “It is a beautiful gown, Maria. I only hope Mother and I can remain long enough to see you wear it at the ball. But if you will excuse me now, I am rather fatigued and would like to rest.” Rebecca stood, haughtily raised her chin, and walked from the room.

  “If you will excuse me, as well, darling…I’m in utter distress,” Lady Thorton cried, fleeing from the room in tears.

  Maria stood, bewildered. “Is…is this a positive response to the gown, Brock? I’m not certain,” she asked, unsure as to whether to feel flattered or burst into tears.

  “Of course it is,” Brock rather grumbled.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asked, for he sounded quite agitated. “I know I was so childish out in the stable. But you do forgive me, do you not, Brock?” She could not have him angry with her! She valued his good opinion far too much; it mattered far too much to her.

  “Nothing to forgive,” he said, seeming to dispel his momentary struggle with gloom. Turning, he smiled and said, “You are going to allow me the first lingering waltz, are you not?”

  Maria felt as if an entire flock of doves had taken flight within her bosom. His attention always rendered her breathlessly delighted.

  “Oh, yes!” she giggled, too thrilled with his attention and request of a lingering waltz to contemplate heartache for a brief moment. “Shall we practice it now? I’m a bundle of nerves about this whole affair! Please, let’s do practice,” Maria pleaded.

  His smile faded for a moment but returned quickly. “Very well, muffin. We begin thusly. ”He took her in his arms, and instantly she felt more alive, joyous, and aflutter.

  “Do you know, Brock…you do not seem to tower above me quite as much as you once did. Though I still get an ache in my neck from looking up at you,” she giggled.

  He smiled, chuckling as they continued to dance. “You flatter the gown,” he said.

  “It’s a beautiful gown. It would look lovely on anyone,” she told him, delighted with his compliment.

  “Perhaps. Yet on anyone else, the gown would flatter the girl. In this instance, the girl flatters the gown.”

  “’Tis you flatter me so, Brock. But I think it’s the dance partner who makes the girl, in this case.”

  Brock exhaled a heavy sigh as he continued to smile at Maria. “Oh, Maria,” he breathed. “Sweet, sweet Maria. Nearly sixteen. It is hard to fathom it. How is it said?” he asked. “‘Sweetest at sixteen when never been kissed.’ Is that what is said?” His eyes were full of mischief as they always were when he teased her.

  “Perhaps it is said as such,” Maria said, mischief blooming in her own mind. “Still, however could you be assured it is aptly applied to me, Brock?”

  “Assured what is aptly applied to you?” he asked.

  “How can you be assured I have never been kissed? For I’ll tell you…I have,” Maria whispered, as if sharing secrets with a fellow conspirator.

  “What?” Brock nearly shouted, instantly ceasing their dance and glaring down at her.

  Smiling, she said, “Brock! I do pronounce you are such fun to tease! Look at you, appearing so serious and infuriated.”

  “You’re only teasing me then, Maria?” he asked. All signs of mischief or mirth had abandoned his countenance as he glared at her. Yet Maria smiled, knowing him too well to take his serious expression to heart.

  “Maybe,” she giggled.

  Brock then took her shoulders firmly, his smoldering, angry eyes burning into her own. “Tell me you are only teasing me, Maria,” he growled.

  She realized then he was truly unsettled, truly angry. Guilt washed over her, yet she wondered why it should. He wanted no claim to her. Why should he concern himself as to whether she had ever before been kissed?

  “Brock, it is not a sin for a young girl to have a kiss stolen before she is sixteen, is it?” she asked him.

  Brock rather forcefully released Maria and turned away, his massive chest rising and falling with restrained anger.

  Maria walked around to stand before him once more. Taking one of his large, strong hands between her own hands, she said, “Brock, are you truly angry with me? I promise…I was only teasing. Do you think less of me somehow? Please talk to me. This…this has been such a miserable day thus far. I cannot bear to have you angry with me twice in an hour.”

  She under
stood then: she was his ward. Her actions reflected upon him, and any bad or improper behavior on her part would find him the bitter bump of gossip.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply once more, and then looked down into her concerned face. Shaking his head, he managed a slight grin as he said, “I am sorry, Maria. It’s simply that…you’ve got to promise me you won’t let anyone steal your precious kisses. Ever.”

  Maria smiled and giggled nervously. “Brock…what do you mean to say? Surely you would not have me an old spinster lady. Someday someone may think enough of me to—”

  “Promise me, Maria. No one. Ever.” His grin had faded, and he was again sternly glaring down at her.

  It was Maria whose anger was kindled then.

  “No! I cannot promise you something as ridiculous as what you demand! You will marry. You’ve told me as much today! I will marry also…and with marriage surely comes a kiss.” She was hurt by his hypocrisy for the of sake society’s good opinion. In truth, she had no desire for anyone ever to kiss her, save the very man standing before her. As long as she could have Brock’s tender kisses on her forehead, she was contented. But the premise was unjust.

  Brock appeared greatly unsettled, though his anger seemed to have lessened. He looked away for a moment. His next utterance astounded her as he said, “Then, sweet Maria…I would ask you allow me to kiss you first.”

  Had she heard him correctly? She was bewildered. Was he, in truth, suggesting he would kiss her? Was he, in truth, implying he wanted to kiss her?

  “The…the first?” she stammered. “We…you and I…we kiss one another quite often. Each time you return from an absence, whenever we have had a fun story together, each time you bring me a gift…”

  His expression changed again. Maria was astonished as the air of utter confidence and determination he wore almost constantly was lost. “Am I too old then?”