strength to go on, the strength somehow came to them in that incredible need they had grown out of nothing for each other and they would again be in each other's arms as though this was their last night on earth.
Finally they slept, in each other's arms.
* * * * *
"It'll be only a few more hours until we arrive, mum," said Bessie in a froth as they boarded the carriage.
"Aren't you excited to be going to your new home?"
My new home, thought Belinda. My home is The Blue Teal and The King's Sword and The Black Horse—the inns in which they had stayed and where she had felt the only true happiness she had ever known.
Not even at her parent's home had she ever felt at home. Her mother had always made her feel inadequate. She had lived practically ignored while Roselle lived and basked in general adoration. And she knew that if it had been she who had died rather than Roselle everyone would have been happier.
Even her bedroom had not been to her taste, but to her mother's, her mother not trusting her judgment in anything concerning decorations or clothes, or anything at all for that matter. Books were her only domain, for her mother never ventured there, and even these had to be read in stealth, for her mother's opinion on "bluestockings" was quite set in stone.
Flora Liston managed Winterhill, and from the way she spoke she was not going to relinquish the reins to it any time soon. She considered it her rightful home and had stated bluntly to Belinda that she hadn't the training to run a great house. Belinda had said nothing to this, in the only time that Flora had deigned to speak to her more than her usual three or four words at a time concerning her wedding.
Flora was a handsome woman of twenty-eight years. She was fashionable and had a brusque manner with Belinda, which she softened up in the presence of Lord Berrington. She had an elevated idea of her worth and social status and had a wide acquaintance with which she socialized constantly, as she was a childless widow.
She had married Berrington's half-brother Harry and lost him in a curricle accident two years later. She spoke of Lord Berrington with the familiarity that being his sister-in-law gave her, yet with a somewhat more, Belinda felt, and she wondered if Flora had set her cap on winning his heart—but no, that could not be possible. It must be her own imagination, for loving him as she did, thought Belinda, she feared all women must fall in love with him too.
Flora had also mentioned Irene, Berrington's younger sister and who also lived at the house, for Berrington was the girl's guardian still. She was thirteen or fourteen years old.
"She quite worships her brother," Flora had said. And Belinda had found these words ominous, not in themselves, but in the way Flora had said them, as if they held a hidden meaning.
And from the small talk between her and Lord Berrington in the three-days' journey, Belinda had gathered that he intended to return to London as soon as she was settled at Winterhill, for he had to resume his duties at Parliament.
Belinda had not been surprised or offended at his plans to leave her so soon after the wedding ceremony, nor would she have dreamed of asking him if she could go with him. She was very much aware that he had been trapped into marriage and that he had expected her to refuse his offer. Yet she had not, and she knew that resentment boiled inside of him however much he had suspended it with liquor during their dark nights of passion.
She was well aware that she had made the decision to marry him with her eyes wide open and that however much her mother had tried to coerce her into marrying Lord Berrington, her decision had been made without the slightest consideration of her mother’s words. For she knew herself well enough to know that had it been consideration of her mother her only reason, she would not now be married to him.
In truth, she had faced her future and decided that she had no future without
Finally they slept, in each other's arms.
* * * * *
"It'll be only a few more hours until we arrive, mum," said Bessie in a froth as they boarded the carriage.
"Aren't you excited to be going to your new home?"
My new home, thought Belinda. My home is The Blue Teal and The King's Sword and The Black Horse—the inns in which they had stayed and where she had felt the only true happiness she had ever known.
Not even at her parent's home had she ever felt at home. Her mother had always made her feel inadequate. She had lived practically ignored while Roselle lived and basked in general adoration. And she knew that if it had been she who had died rather than Roselle everyone would have been happier.
Even her bedroom had not been to her taste, but to her mother's, her mother not trusting her judgment in anything concerning decorations or clothes, or anything at all for that matter. Books were her only domain, for her mother never ventured there, and even these had to be read in stealth, for her mother's opinion on "bluestockings" was quite set in stone.
Flora Liston managed Winterhill, and from the way she spoke she was not going to relinquish the reins to it any time soon. She considered it her rightful home and had stated bluntly to Belinda that she hadn't the training to run a great house. Belinda had said nothing to this, in the only time that Flora had deigned to speak to her more than her usual three or four words at a time concerning her wedding.
Flora was a handsome woman of twenty-eight years. She was fashionable and had a brusque manner with Belinda, which she softened up in the presence of Lord Berrington. She had an elevated idea of her worth and social status and had a wide acquaintance with which she socialized constantly, as she was a childless widow.
She had married Berrington's half-brother Harry and lost him in a curricle accident two years later. She spoke of Lord Berrington with the familiarity that being his sister-in-law gave her, yet with a somewhat more, Belinda felt, and she wondered if Flora had set her cap on winning his heart—but no, that could not be possible. It must be her own imagination, for loving him as she did, thought Belinda, she feared all women must fall in love with him too.
Flora had also mentioned Irene, Berrington's younger sister and who also lived at the house, for Berrington was the girl's guardian still. She was thirteen or fourteen years old.
"She quite worships her brother," Flora had said. And Belinda had found these words ominous, not in themselves, but in the way Flora had said them, as if they held a hidden meaning.
And from the small talk between her and Lord Berrington in the three-days' journey, Belinda had gathered that he intended to return to London as soon as she was settled at Winterhill, for he had to resume his duties at Parliament.
Belinda had not been surprised or offended at his plans to leave her so soon after the wedding ceremony, nor would she have dreamed of asking him if she could go with him. She was very much aware that he had been trapped into marriage and that he had expected her to refuse his offer. Yet she had not, and she knew that resentment boiled inside of him however much he had suspended it with liquor during their dark nights of passion.
She was well aware that she had made the decision to marry him with her eyes wide open and that however much her mother had tried to coerce her into marrying Lord Berrington, her decision had been made without the slightest consideration of her mother’s words. For she knew herself well enough to know that had it been consideration of her mother her only reason, she would not now be married to him.
In truth, she had faced her future and decided that she had no future without
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