The Reluctant Bride by Beverley Eikli

marriage to Angus. Swallowing, he begged her in a low voice, ‘Come, sit down on the bed, Emily. You should rest.’
    â€˜You know nothing of what it is to suffer birth pangs!’ she cried, pulling out of his grasp. ‘I cannot sit down. I’m a prisoner to the pain. I must move.’
    She continued to pace, clutching her stomach while she muttered, ‘I should have known I’d not paid my dues. My father told me I would pay for my sins. He said I got off too lightly by marrying you.’
    Angus stared at her, helplessly. ‘This is not your punishment, Emily. For reasons we’ll never know, the baby is coming too early, but it’s not your fault.’
    She forced a smile and he felt a pang to his very core as she reached out and briefly touched his hand. ‘You are a good man, Angus,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I could love you, but you must leave for France tomorrow and I am glad for it. I don’t think I could have borne this sorrow with you by my side.’

Chapter Seven
    Not even the beauty of the passing elms, bright in their sunset-coloured foliage amidst fields of golden corn in a new and different country, could dispel Angus’s gloom.
    I don’t think I could have borne this sorrow with you by my side.
    Her words scored his heart like the pain of a thousand lashes, but at least she wasn’t going to be alone. The baby had been born during the night and had breathed for half an hour before it had died. Before the priest had come.
    Caroline, as good as her promise, had been there, arriving only an hour after he had. Instead of putting up at the Black Crow in modest comfort, she’d insisted on attending Emily so that Angus could leave first thing in the morning on his mission to France.
    She’d also promised to lay out the dead child.
    Angus delayed his departure until the last moment although Emily seemed not to register his parting kiss.
    He would visit Emily’s father on his return, certain that despite what Emily declared, nothing would be more calculated to restore her spirits than her father’s acceptance.
    With Emily in the good care of his capable sister-in-law, Angus realised he must turn his attention to the future. His and Emily’s. Fantastic possibilities had opened up his horizons. He was about to direct his talents towards the good of his homeland while his personal rewards extended well beyond that. He could provide for Emily: a fine home, a carriage and a wardrobe full of gowns.
    He slumped back against the squabs of his post-chaise. What good were fine trappings if Emily did not love him … and perhaps never would now the reason for their union was gone?
    Restlessly, he shifted in his seat. He wished he’d chosen hard riding to this endless jolting over rutted roads, but he’d decided there were advantages to not arriving travel-stained and exhausted wearing muddied riding clothes. Even if riding clothes
were
pretty much the extent of Angus’s wardrobe these days. Lord knew, he was on few invitation lists.
    He swallowed, his throat dry. He must make an effort and emerge from his reclusive ways to promote his lovely wife into the arena she deserved. Once he’d settled upon a handsome house, ideally not far from Honeyfield House, he envisaged the determined-though-nurturing Caroline directing operations with her usual efficiency, grooming Emily for her new role as one of the foremost ladies of the district.
    If this pleased Emily, Angus didn’t mind swapping his riding breeches and boots for formal attire, on occasion. That was a small price to pay for seeing her smile.
    As he consulted his timepiece he wondered rather gloomily if he’d ever see Emily smile again.
    The countryside was changing and he remembered Woodhouse’s description that indicated the distance covered. He should be at Monsieur Delon’s within the next hour, but exhaustion was fast claiming him. Angus knew his strengths