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“I don’t think you have much choice at this point, Lucinda.” Her father tried.
Why the deuce should a woman marry after she had…lain with a man while men did not marry all the women with whom they were intimate? A question she would not voice or her mother might come down with apoplexy.
She stood up from the chair, her body prepared for battle. “I will not marry him!”
The rebellious minx! Tariq’s temper began to boil.
“I’m sorry, Lucinda. But the deed is done and you have to follow through with it.” She’d always admire her father for keeping calm in straining situations.
A father always had the final word in an unmarried daughter’s life. At this Lucinda had nothing more to do, but acquiesce. Against her will. She’d not defy her own father, the man who’d taught her so much. Hurt her as it might, she’d not hurt him.
A deeply sad expression covered her face, she lowered her head. “As you wish, papa.” Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed hard. Her greatest wish granted, she’d marry him, promising a stretch of bitter rejection in the end.
It might look like she behaved as a spoilt chit, but no. Tariq would take her far. To his country, its laws and customs. Ones she must follow and obey. The other option would be to stay and choose a ‘milk-sop’, as the man referred to the ton’s gentlemen. With her parents learning of her…situation concerning Tariq, marriage with an Englishman diminished visibly. Not that she was sorry for it, but still…
Tariq, though, never mentioned love. Neither did she, for that matter. She still believed he would tire of her and she would have no chance of coming back home when it happened. A married woman belonged with her husband. In England and in Tunisia. But Tunisia lay in another continent, far from everything familiar to her. In short, wedlock
With a disheartened sigh, she spoke. “May I ask for one thing?”
“You certainly may.” Lord Lancefield half-smiled at his daughter.
She looked at her dear father pleadingly. “As my dowry, I’d like a house in Syracuse.” When Tariq tired of her, maybe he’d allow her to go live there, as a discarded concubine. An escape route, so to say.
“You don’t need to ask your father.” Tariq intervened before Lord Lancefield could answer. “I’ll buy you a villa if you want!” He talked to her bent head.
Alfred and Alice exchanged a meaningful glance. This did not list as a match they’d dreamed for Lucinda. But the foreigner appeared besotted enough with her. Seemingly, he’d provide for her and protect her, they fathomed. More than that, their beloved daughter would have the chance to travel as she so much enjoyed. She seemed as taken with this Mr Al-Fadih as he with her.
Tariq found himself utterly intrigued
by the sadness in her beautiful eyes. She’d never said she didn’t want to marry him, she’d affirmed the laws in their countries would make it difficult. Now they’d encountered a way, so why all the sadness? He’d ask to talk to her in private and try to procure an answer.
“Thank you.” Her weak murmur grateful for his offer. She needed to get out of here as soon as possible or else the tears would start falling. Unwilling to give Lord and Lady Lancefield the worry of seeing her miserable, she uttered. “If you excuse me, I have to begin preparations.” With a curtsy, she left, without waiting for permission.
What a frustrating woman! He needed to talk to her, damn it! An inward curse bloomed as he watched her leave the study in a hurry. He turned back to his future father-in-law, at a loss what to think. Lord Lancefield just shrugged, as if used to his daughter’s attitudes.
Her parents and Tariq proceeded to plan the details of what would come.
Lucinda barely had time to shut her bedroom door as her tears rolled down her face abundant and regretful. She sat on her bed, face on her hands. The tears streaked her cheeks until they slowed. No! Stop it, Lucinda! She banned her tears from her face with trembling hands. The match figured as much more than she’d expected. She did not need to conform to a lukewarm life, after all. Not with him. Not if she married the man she loved with an intensity she never knew to be inside her. She’d try to be happy with him for as long as he’d have her. Then, and only then, she’d shed her tears, wash her sadness in them and move on, she decided. Had she his children, she’d find contentment in them, because they’d remind her of her joyful days.
Tariq’s carriage rattled through a road which looked more like a country lane around Carlisle. They’d been travelling for three days. The weather had varied from warm sun, to grey, to rainy. Right at this minute, a cool watery sun shone just past midday.
Lucinda’s parents agreed it’d be better if they travelled alone, as if they’d eloped. It’d make for a more plausible tale. Thus, they had set out from London the day after Tariq called on the Lancefield town house.
Tariq observed Lucinda, opposite to him. She sat attention glued to the scenery out her window. As she’d done most of their journey, hands folded on her lap. They’d talked too little since the trip started. They’d taken one room in the inns on the way, but her aloof countenance made him take a distance from her. He woke up holding her, nonetheless. During the cold nights they’d ended up snuggling, and he drank in the scarce physical contact with her. He got up before she awoke to avoid the temptation of taking her. He predicted she wouldn’t deny him since she showed the same inexorable attraction. But he didn’t wish to cover up eventual problems with it. He held his passion forcefully.
“Lucinda.” She snapped her eyes, wide and green, on him as if startled. “What’s the matter, you’ve been too quiet all this time.” His velvety voice filled the carriage.
Lucinda didn’t have a clue how to answer, or how to begin. Assuming they’d be bound by marriage, it was better to be honest with him. “I don’t know how many wives you’re taking,” she eyed him evenly, trying not to act like a drama queen, “or how many concubines for that matter.” One hand came to her bosom. “I haven’t got the slightest idea how to deal with it.”
A wave of relief flooded him at her answer. He’d very much feared she’d changed her mind about staying with him. In a liquid movement he shifted seats, coming next to her. He gently took her shoulders. “Lucinda.” Her eyes downcast. “Look at me!”
She didn’t want to di his bidding. Because her stomach would tighten, and the need she’d had for him these past days would overflow. He waited; she had no choice. Slowly, she lifted her enormous pepper-mint eyes to his cognac-against-fire ones. She identified sincerity in them, boldness. The midday sun lit them to a luminous colour, highlighting the golden rim around them. She’d always love his beautiful eyes.
“The moment I decided to ride to Greta Green with you, I made a choice.” He bent his head lower and their eyes got closer. “I chose to abide by your marriage laws!”
Utter surprise covered her expression, she hadn’t thought about it. The vows at Gretna Green stood with unshakable validity everywhere; they’d have the certificate that’d say they had married under European laws. “Oh.” She managed to breathe. “But in Tunis—”
“It doesn’t matter!” He interrupted her. “This is the way I want it!” He wouldn’t be able to touch another woman in a thousand years! His body, his mind, his heart craved only her. How could she not realise that?
