Mary Balogh: The constant heart

"I know," he said, and his mouth was on hers, both arms bent beneath hers so that he held her head with both hands.

Rebecca did not fight his kiss or the hot passion that soon had her arching her body against the heat of his, tilting her head, and opening her mouth beneath his. She could not love him as she had in the past. She could not forgive him. But for this moment she did not care what her rational feelings might be. Her body knew that it was with the only man who would ever stir her, and she did not care what he was or what he had done. He was Christopher.

He released her mouth finally and gazed down into her eyes. He was not smiling and he was quite untriumphant.

"I can't ever forgive you, Christopher," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "I knew it more than six years ago. I knew it when I made the hardest decision of my life. I knew not only that I would lose you forever, but also that I would be hated and despised forever by the one person I love more than life itself. I made the choice. I have to live with the consequences."

He bent down and kissed her softly on the lips again. "Some kind angel must have granted me these few encounters with you in the past weeks," he said. "I will live on the memories. But I fear I have done you a great disservice, Becky, churning up old hurts when I had promised never to come near you again. Come, love, let me walk you back to the village. We have wandered too far already. Tomorrow I shall be leaving. I shall not trouble your peace again."

He took her hand and drew it under his arm again and they turned back in the direction of the village from which the sounds of music and merriment could still be heard. Rebecca felt totally powerless either to slow their progress or to say another word.

They had almost reached the church on their way to the area of the village where the dance was still noisily in progress. There was no one else at this end of the street. No one visible, that is. But there was the sound of voices raised in fierce argument coming from somewhere behind the parsonage. Christopher gripped Rebecca's arm a little tighter and would have hurried her past. But she stopped suddenly.

"Hush!" she said. "Listen."

He looked down inquiringly at her, but her face was intent.

"That is Harriet," she said. "One of those voices belongs to Harriet. She must be in trouble."

Christopher released her arm without another word and raced up the pathway leading to the parsonage and around the side of the house. Rebecca followed close on his heels. They both came to a stop when they rounded the back corner of the house and saw the scene before them. Mr. Bartlett's curricle and grays stood ready for travel in the laneway that ran the length of the village behind most of the buildings. Harriet stood beside it, wearing a pelisse that she had not worn all day. Mr. Bartlett stood at the horses' heads and in front of him, almost nose to nose with him, in fact, stood Mr. Carver.

"I shall say it only once more, Mr. Carver," Harriet was saying shrilly. "You cannot stop us. What we do is absolutely none of your concern. Stand aside immediately."

"And I shall tell you only once more, ma'am," Mr. Carver said, an unaccustomed menace in his voice, "that I shall deal with you after I have dealt with this scoundrel."

Mr. Bartlett was looking quite relaxed, almost amused. "I have been very patient, Carver," he said, "but now I am afraid it really is time for Miss Shaw and me to leave. We have a sizable distance to travel tonight. I really will have to consider removing you with my whip if you will not stand aside of your own volition. Of course, I suppose I should render you senseless and bind and gag you, because doubtless you will run squawking your story as fast as your legs will carry you as soon as we have left, but pursuit may be difficult. There are those crossroads a mere three miles away, and it would be tricky for our pursuers to decide which one we will have taken." He smiled.

Mr. Carver did not shift his ground by so much as an inch. "You may leave anytime you please, Bartlett," he said, "and good riddance to you. But you ain't taking Miss Shaw with you. If she wasn't such an addle-pated female, she would know better than to have considered it. Eloping with a penniless good-for-nothing! Chit needs to be soundly thrashed."

"Oh!" Harriet said, her hands clenched into fists at her side, "You are always saying that. You are beginning to sound like a parrot who has learned only one phrase. Get away from here, Mr. Carver. I do not need you or anyone else telling me what I should do."

Rebecca finally regained the use of both her feet and her voice. She rushed forward. "Harriet," she hissed, "what is going on here?"

"Oh, not you too, Rebecca," Harriet said crossly. "The whole militia will be here soon."

"You were not really planning to elope, were you?" Rebecca asked incredulously, but she glanced at Harriet's pelisse and at the two bandboxes that had been half hidden beneath the seat of the curricle, and looked back accusingly at her cousin. "Oh, Harriet," she said, "how could you? I did not think that even you could be so lacking in conduct. You must come back with me at once to Maude. We must be very thankful that you have been discovered before it is too late."

"Ah, and here comes Sinclair too," Mr. Bartlett said. "The whole righteous crew. Are you forever to dog my footsteps, Sinclair? I quite fail to see what concern Harriet is of yours. However, it does seem that there is to be no elopement tonight. One can hardly wave good-by to a farewell party when one is eloping. The effect would be quite ruined."

Rebecca, glancing briefly at Christopher, was amazed to see just how furious he was. She was suddenly afraid and caught at Harriet's arm in an attempt to remove her from the scene. But Harriet shook off her hand impatiently.

"Leave me alone, Rebecca," she said. "And all of you can go to the devil for all I care."

To her chagrin no one appeared to pay her the least attention except Rebecca, who caught at her arm again.

"Come away, Harriet," she said urgently. "There is going to be violence here."

Christopher had moved across to stand in front of Mr. Bartlett, beside his friend. "Stand back, Luke," he said. "This is mine. Your behavior here is very much my concern, Bartlett," he said, his voice shaking with such anger that Rebecca pulled anew at Harriet's unresponsive arm. "I should have killed you several years ago, or at least punished you to such a degree that you would never have attempted anything like this ever again. I let you go then, thinking you were beneath my contempt. This time you will not escape so lightly. This time you have committed the mistake of making an innocent though headstrong young girl of good family your victim. You had better prepare to defend yourself."

He began methodically to remove his coat and roll back his shirt sleeves. Without turning around or removing his eyes from his adversary, from whose face the unruffled calm had vanished, he said, "Becky, will you take your cousin away from here, please? What is about to happen is not for the eyes of ladies."

Suddenly Harriet's arm was no longer resistant. She looked at Rebecca, bewildered, the beginnings of fear in her eyes.

"Stop them!" she said. "Stop them, Rebecca."

"Come," Rebecca said calmly, "we will go and find Maude. I don't believe there is any way to stop this fight, and 1 am not sure I would try even if I thought there were."

Harriet allowed herself to be led around to the front of the parsonage and out into the street. It seemed something of a shock to both that the crowds and the noise and the dancing were proceeding just as they had been all evening.

Yet they were not the only ones who were not involved in the festivities. As they drew closer to the crowd, they became aware of Mrs. Sinclair and Ellen hurrying toward them.