Page 62 of Her Wily Duke

Now, as they walked along in silence together under the shade of the old spreading yew trees, approaching the very point at which she had been meant to meet David on that fateful evening, Ariana knew that it was time to speak of it, to tell Benedict of her first love, and hope that he would understand.

For as the weeks moved on, so had her care for him grown, and now, more often than not, they seemed in accord, rather than always on the edge of argument. This conversation might destroy that fragile peace, or it might free her to consider allowing love into her life again.

She did not know, but she had to find out – she could no longer put it off.

***

Benedict was afraid to break the silence as they walked, lest he say something to disturb Ariana and disrupt the spell of cooperation that seemed to have come over them, more and more often of late. For today they were together and wanted to be, although Ariana looked as if she was thinking deeply – and thinking about something which worried her.

They were walking a path which they had never taken together before, following the edge of the river, rather than going across the fields or down the lanes, and, as they continued along the thread of the river Ariana began to grow visibly agitated, her shoulders and hands shaking, until Benedict couldn’t resist asking her what was wrong.

“Ariana, you seem distressed – what is it?”

She didn’t speak at first, and a conflict of wills seemed to be taking place behind her eyes.

Finally, with a resigned sigh she said, “I’m going to tell you of something which I haven’t spoken about since it happened. And I hope that you won’t hate me for it.”

It was the first time that she had ever hinted at truly caring what Benedict thought about her.

“I promise I won’t hate you,” he said, “whatever you tell me.”

“Don’t make any promises until you’ve heard what I have to say.” She seemed to be looking everywhere but in his direction. “Some time ago I had a friend, David. We both hoped that we might become more than just friends, but he died in an accident over two years ago.”

Benedict sorely wished that she had mentioned this sooner: it would have explained why she had been so taciturn and withdrawn since the wedding. Anyone grieving the death of a close friend would have behaved in a similar manner. With a deep feeling of shame about how he had treated her in those early days, he ventured to ask a question.

“How long had you known each other?”

“Since we were very young,” said Ariana. “I remember one day when we were eleven and twelve, we spent the whole day running barefoot through a meadow and picking wildflowers, which we then sketched and painted. At the end of the day, I ran into the house and told my parents that I was going to marry him.”

“How did they react?”

“Not well. David wasn’t poor – his father was a Baron, but nor was he exactly well-off. But Father was not impressed.”

“Why would your father react strongly – you were only twelve!”

She looked at him with wide eyes, and gave a half shaky laugh.

“Father reacted strongly because he was Father – he wanted things to be the way he thought they should be – what else would you expect of him? But I clung to that belief, that we would marry, and we remained friends, although Father discouraged us. Then, a few years later, David’s father died, which meant that he came into the title very young, and discovered that things were bad enough financially that he nearly lost his estate. Through hard work, he saved himself and his mother, and began to steadily grow his wealth, but that wasn’t good enough for Father. So of course, Father berated me any time that I mentioned him - he said that I could do better than a near paupered Baron.”

Ariana paused. The mere act of telling the story seemed to be exhausting her.

“But… you said there was an accident?”

Benedict could sense that she was reluctant to speak about the events leading up to David’s death, though she seemed more than a little embarrassed to have admitted how attached they had been to each other. It pained him to know that she had lost someone she’d loved, though he was quietly thrilled to see her being willing to reveal herself and her deepest emotions to him for the first time.

They had stopped under the wide spreading old yew, its dark foliage harsh looking against the grey winter sky, and she crumpled to kneel in the frosted grass, as if even standing was too taxing as she spoke of this. Benedict dropped to sit beside her.

“We loved each other.” The words were stark, yet spoken almost coldly, as if she distanced herself from their import. “He made the most extravagant promises. He said that one day we were going to run away together and get married, even if Father didn’t approve. Or that he would make enough money, through his estate and his investments, that my father would have to accept the marriage - which seemed like an impossible dream, given how hard it always was to get Father to change his mind about anything. One summer evening, when I was eighteen, he kissed each of my fingers, one at a time, and after each kiss he told me one thing that he loved about me. That was the night I gave him the necklace.”

“What necklace?”

“A lapis blue pendant necklace that had been a gift from my aunt. My mother was furious when she found out that I had given it away, but I didn’t care. He never took it off after that – at least that’s what I thought. I looked for it after he died, but I couldn’t find it.”

“Wasn’t he wearing it?”

Ariana shook her head slowly.

“No. Unless maybe it came off in the water. I never saw it again.”