The Forced Bride. Sara Craven
way he’d looked at her that awful night, and it was galling beyond belief that he should be the first man to see her even semi-naked.
One of her first acts after his departure had been to wrap that horrible underwear in newspaper and add it to the incinerator in the garden where the last of the dead leaves were burning.
Gone, she’d told herself. Over and done with. Only, somehow, it didn’t seem to be that simple, and she didn’t know why.
She tried to give her thoughts a more positive turn as she cycled back to the house, telling herself that it was a good thing that Simon was looking for work—the first step towards the future they were planning. Although it didn’t mean, of course, that her father would fall over himself to give them his blessing. But it was a start.
And as for Jilly’s remarks—well, Emily decided, she shouldn’t give them credence. Simon’s cousin had been spiteful over their relationship from the start. And her disappointment over Raf Di Salis hadn’t sweetened her disposition either.
Over dinner that evening, she said, ‘We aren’t having visitors for New Year, by any chance, are we?’
‘No one. Why, is there someone you wish to invite?’ her father asked.
‘No,’ Emily said too vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I was just—checking, that’s all.’
Sir Travers examined the wine in his glass. ‘Did you hope, perhaps, that Rafaele might be joining us?’
‘On the contrary,’ Emily denied quickly.
He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Why do you dislike him?’
‘Does there have to be a reason?’ Her tone was defensive.
‘I suppose not,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer it if you were friends.’ There was a quiet, almost stern note in his voice that Emily knew of old. ‘I expect him to be a regular guest here, and as his hostess, my dear, you will make him welcome.’
Emily’s heart sank, but she managed a neutral, ‘Yes, of course.’
At the same, she surreptitiously crossed her fingers that there would be no return visit from the Count until she was safely back at school.
And it seemed her luck was in, because Raf Di Salis continued to stay away and Emily found the latter part of her holiday truly enjoyable, in spite of Simon’s absence.
She was packing to return to school when she eventually heard from him. Simon was back at High Gables just to collect his things, having found work with an import/export company in the City.
Over a snatched lunch at the village pub, Simon explained that, although he was starting at the lowest level, the job could be a stepping stone to real money.
‘And I could travel,’ he told her exultantly. ‘The company has branches all over the world.’ He paused, then put his hand over hers. ‘And in a few months I’ll be earning enough to come back for you.’
Emily smiled and tried to be thrilled for him, but there was a bleakness in her heart that she could not explain. It occurred to her that his words had a hint of afterthought about them. That maybe if he hadn’t had belongings to collect from his uncle’s house, she might not have heard from him at all.
Also, there seemed to be a tacit agreement between them not to mention the Boxing Night party, and although she was prepared to accept this, she still felt she deserved an explanation, if not an apology.
After all, Simon must know that he wasn’t the only one to suffer the embarrassment of an encounter with Raf Di Salis that night. Wasn’t he even curious?
But she swiftly told herself she was being unfair. His life was undergoing some sweeping changes, and part of the reason he was undertaking them was for her.
She watched him drive away, clinging to his promise to call her every weekend.
He will come back to me, she whispered to herself, as she waved to him. He will come back. I—I know it.
But clearly not immediately, because he was far too busy. And gradually the phone calls crammed with news of his successes at work, and the friends he was making, began to dwindle away until they stopped completely.
At Easter there was no sign of him, and Emily, hurt and bewildered, could not bring herself to ask for news when she met any of the Aubreys. And, a week or so later, she was completely devastated when the announcement of his engagement to a girl called Rebecca West appeared in The Times.
‘He’s done well for himself,’ her father commented curtly over breakfast. He passed the newspaper to Raf Di Salis, who was staying with them again. ‘Her father’s Robert West, of course, the South African media tycoon.’
The Count returned some non-committal reply, but Emily was aware that he was watching her across the table. Which made it utterly essential that she stayed in her seat, eating her toast as if it was all that mattered, when what she really wanted was to escape to her room and give way to the tears tightening in her chest.
But she could not—would not break down in front of Raf Di Salis, of all people.
I hate him, she thought childishly. I hate him for being here. For—knowing how I must feel, because he might just pity me, and that would be unbearable.
But when Simon eventually did return, he had no wife with him, tycoon’s daughter or not. It was Emily herself who had been married for over two years. And she was hesitant at first when Simon rang and asked if he could see her.
‘Nothing heavy, Em,’ he persuaded. ‘Just a chat about old times over a drink.’ He paused. ‘Unless your husband would object.’
She said curtly, ‘He’s not here to express an opinion,’ and the die was cast.
Simon had been frank about his engagement, which had been broken after only a few months.
‘It was never right with Rebecca,’ he said. ‘And I always knew it. Her father encouraged me because her previous fiance had a cocaine habit, and I seemed marginally more acceptable.
‘Plus it had also been made clear to me that your father had very different plans for you. That, all along, he intended you for his aristocratic Italian financier and I had no chance. By asking Rebecca to marry me, I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t care. That I’d moved on. And when I heard you’d actually married Rafaele Di Salis, I felt almost justified.’
He shook his head. ‘But it was hopeless, because I knew in my heart that nothing would ever change the way I felt about you.’
He shot her a keen glance. ‘People in the village say that he’s hardly ever around. That you rarely see him.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Apart from the gossip columns and the pictures in glossy magazines.’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Doesn’t that hurt you?’
She shrugged. ‘No, why should it? I didn’t marry for love and, as soon as I’m twenty one, the trust will end and I can get a divorce.’
He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. ‘My God, Em.’ His voice was barely a whisper as his hand closed round hers. ‘Are you saying you’re going to be free quite soon—and that you and I might get a second chance?’
She disengaged herself gently. ‘I can’t possibly say that. It’s far too soon and too much has happened.’
He said quietly, ‘I want you back, darling. I should have stayed and fought for you, but I had so little to offer. But now I’ll move heaven and earth to get you back, so be warned.’
And now he has me back, Emily told herself. And we can consign the last three years to well-deserved oblivion, and—be happy.
Starting now, she thought, as she heard the chime of the front doorbell. She uncoiled herself from the chair, smiling in anticipation as she walked across the room