Anabelle closed her eyes as she leaned against Mr. Fielding's chest, listening to the comforting drum-like beat of his heart. The unfamiliar masculine aromas of coffee, polish and some kind of spice tickled her nose, and her fingertips grazed the soft lapel of his coat until she reached the top button, embossed with a raised design.
The only tangible remnant of their kiss was a slight tingling across her bottom lip, but she would never forget how her breath caught in her throat as she felt the gentle caress of his mouth upon hers.
The silence in the clearing lengthened as he cradled her within his protective embrace. She never imagined that being held in a man's arms would generate such contentment.
Yet this perfect state of happiness could be no more than a brief moment; a pause in time where even the most unlikely of events are possible before her life resumed its inevitable course. The disappointment rising from that thought escaped as a sigh. "I wish we could remain like this forever."
His quiet laugh echoed inside his chest. "It might get a little chilly once the evening draws in, but I am willing to brave the elements if you are."
As appealing as the idea was, Anabelle knew she could not stay. She had already tarried for too long and paid the price—losing the last piece of her heart to the man holding her so tenderly. "I think Mrs Latimer would have something to say about that." She tried to smile and laid a comforting hand upon his arm. "Besides, you will soon be returning to Yorkshire and will quickly forget the friends you have made here."
He stilled beneath her fingers then released her and sat back, the better to look into her eyes. "I have no intention of forgetting you. On the contrary, I had hoped you would come with me. You could even continue Joe's lessons if you desire. I am sure he would be happier accepting the position in Yorkshire if he knew you would be there."
An image of young Joe, devouring the education he so craved, could only be a minor consolation. "You paint an attractive picture, but we both know it cannot be."
The lines across his brow grew more pronounced, his voice tinged with frustration. "I am not making sport of you, nor toying with your affections. I love you, and I want you for my wife."
His declaration hit her like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky. She had never imagined Mr. Fielding would be so bold as to make her an offer. "Y..your wife?"
An impatient hiss escaped from between his teeth and he shook his head. "I did not intend to speak so bluntly. My heart whispered the desire that my head had barely considered. Yet now those words are free I have no wish to reclaim them." He reached out, his fingers resting upon hers as he turned to face her. "Miss Latimer, would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?"
Any spark of pleasure Anabelle might have felt at the earnest nature of his proposal was smothered by the knowledge that she could never accept what would be the greatest wish of her heart. She jumped up and staggered back from the log, until she felt the rough, sandy texture of the barn wall behind her.
"Mr. Fielding, I am sensible of the compliment you pay me, but it is not necessary, I assure you. I may be unworldly, but am not so innocent as to think myself ruined by one kiss."
As he moved towards her she deflected him with her outstretched palm, and he held himself back. "Please do not mistake my intentions. I did not make you this offer because of my behaviour, as reprehensible as it may have been. I want to marry you because I cannot imagine leaving Blackwood without you by my side."
She was already shaking her head before he had finished. "You know I must decline."
"You do not mean that."
"Indeed I do."
Mr. Fielding's complexion paled; the shock he felt at her response visible in every feature. While he struggled to master his emotions, the dead air stretched between them. "Are you promised to another?" His face contorted as another thought crossed his mind. "Tell me you do not love someone else."
"No...no, there is no other."
He straightened his back and lifted his chin. "In that case," he said, in the same imperious tone she had heard from him before, "I can only wonder why you consider yourself unable to accept."
Anabelle had hoped to spare them both the embarrassment of touching upon the one insuperable barrier between them. She threw her hands up as anger strengthened her voice. "How can you question my choice when I have none? You know it is impossible. The disparity of our status and our relative positions in society forbids it."
He paused, weighing her words, and the expression around his eyes softened even if his voice did not. "I do not think we are so dissimilar that it should concern us."
"Mr. Fielding, please do not continue down a path that will only prove painful for both of us. You must realise that anything between us would be wondered at...talked about. We would both become objects of cruel speculation."
He nodded, as though accepting her argument. "I agree that a union between us may occasion remark in some quarters, but such scrutiny will not last for long. Do not think I failed to take these differences into consideration. I have thought of little else, but every objection raised was as nothing once I came to realise how much I loved you."
Hearing those words made her long to relent; to give her heart to him, despite the consequences. Yet there were feelings other than her own to take into account. "However strong the affection we might bear for each other, it can never be enough to bridge the two very different spheres we inhabit. You may have had little difficulty in overcoming your scruples, but I can assure you that my parents will not overcome theirs. Even if I chose to go against my family's wishes, I am still of an age that I need my father's permission to wed."
"You believe Mr. Latimer would withhold his blessing?"
"I am certain he would."
His eyebrows rose as he looked at her with an expression of mingled incredulity and mortification. "This is ridiculous! I cannot believe your father would be so unreasonable."
She could only shake her head as she looked away. Regardless of her emotional attachment, a marriage between them would never work. Her indifferent accomplishments with embroidery, piano and watercolours would be of little practical use as a steward's wife, and she would not give him the opportunity to regret his choice, or resent her useless presence in his life.
Two large hands seized her shoulders in a firm grip, but it was the anguish in his voice that startled her. "Tell me you do not love me. Look at me and say you have no love for me. Only then will I believe it."
She breathed in as she lifted her eyes to meet his. Mr. Fielding's dark gaze, as implacable as flint, stared back, echoing his challenge. "I...I..." Her throat closed on the words she could not speak. Like a fragile spider's web blown in a gale, her thin veneer of calm disintegrated as another tear crept down her cheek. "Please accept the answer from my heart, for both our sakes, and let us say no more. This situation is wholly impossible. I beg you will not importune me further on the subject."
The colour drained from his face as he released her. Pursing his lips he held himself still as he let out the breath he had been holding. He shook his head, still disbelieving, and then raised his hand to brush the solitary tear from her cheek. "I shall remain silent, but only because you ask it of me. I am yours to command, and I would do anything in the world to avoid causing you further distress."
She swallowed the disappointment that that had risen within. "Thank you, Mr. Fielding, for being so understanding. You are truly too kind. I do not deserve such generosity."
For a moment it seemed that he would launch into further debate, but again he brought his emotions under control, and she hoped he had finally accepted the futility of their situation. She was only a little surprised when he said, "May I at least escort you home?"
Anabelle shook her head. "I think it would be best for us to part here, as friends." She needed some time alone to compose herself, knowing that her tear-stained countenance might raise uncomfortable questions at Woodside. Bidding him adieu, and receiving a muted farewell in return, she collected her basket. Leaving Mr. Fielding in the clearing she turned away from him and headed down the track that would take her back home.
The painful memory of his heartfelt declaration intruded upon her contemplations as the tumult of her mind overwhelmed her. How could fate have been so cruel as to provide her with a proposal of marriage from a man that she could never accept?
When the enormity of her decision crashed down upon her, Anabelle knew not how to support herself, and before she had covered a third of the distance towards home, she crumpled against a tree and cried for half an hour.
~<>~@~<>~
Fielding held himself firm until Anabelle passed beyond sight. Then, a sudden lethargy pressed upon his shoulders and he staggered back, collapsing onto the log they had recently vacated.
Although his proposal had been unplanned, he never imagined that the object of his affection would refuse him, or would offer such incomprehensible reasons for her decision.
He imagined the reactions in the drawing rooms of London to the news that Anthony Fielding had married an unknown country miss from Hertfordshire. Of course there would be speculation—spite and curiosity were the ton's raisons d'etre after all—but the support of his aunt and uncle would ensure they received Anabelle with every outward appearance of respect.
It was understandable that she would have some qualms about marrying into his family, for she would be moving into a world quite different from her own. He could not imagine how his noble relations would react when introduced to her country attorney uncle. Likewise, he struggled to picture how anyone in his family could hold comfortable discourse with a shopkeeper from St. Albans.
But there could be no objection to Anabelle. He would not allow it. If he closed his eyes and imagined her at Meltham it felt like the most natural thing for her to be there, with him. He did not doubt that his sisters would soon come to love her almost as much as he.
Had he given her cause to question her suitability to be the Mistress of Meltham Park? Might he have unconsciously suggested that she was somehow unfit to bear his name? He could think of nothing in their conversations that could give rise to that belief. Indeed, they had not spoken of Meltham at all, so he did not see how she could yet be daunted by the prospect of managing such a large household.
The one part that rang particularly false was Anabelle's insistence of parental disapproval. He knew Mr. Latimer had no cause to refuse his suit, not when his daughter would have everything her heart might desire: clothes from the most fashionable Bond Street modistes, jewels from Rundell and Bridge, and sufficient pin money to enjoy all those little elegancies befitting her position as Mrs Anthony Fielding.
Why else would he have promoted young Joe's career? Such a lad would have normally been beneath his notice, but he sensed Anabelle's desire to encourage the boy to better himself. That was enough for Fielding to take an interest in securing his future prospects.
Shaking his head, he left the barn behind and made his way back to Blackwood Hall. She had all but admitted she loved him, and he could not mistake her distress as she spoke of him leaving. Therefore, there had to be some other external constraint that stopped her from accepting his offer. The only possible solution to his dilemma was to speak with Anabelle's father and, if necessary, request permission to pay his addresses to her. If there was a genuine reason why they could not wed, Mr. Latimer would make it known.
Fielding was determined. He would allow an hour for Anabelle to recover her composure, and then he would ride to Woodside to request a conference with her father.