Mary Balogh - Timeswept Brides

“There it is," he said, easing his foot off the accelerator, partly because they were at the top of a steep slope and partly because he wanted to savor-and wanted her to savor-the sight below.

"Mm, wild," she said. "But lovely for a week's holiday away from the rat race." She stretched her arms above her head and her legs out ahead of her, and yawned.

He did not want to admit that the mildness of her reaction disappointed him. "The Cartref Hotel," he said, moving over to the far left of the road so that faster traffic could pass them. He pointed to the large whitewashed building at the foot of the hill. " 'Cartref means 'home' in Welsh, you know."

"Yes." She laughed. "You have told me so a million times, John-and that many moons ago it was one of your family homes. It is no more than a cottage in comparison with the others, though, is it? And it is so remote from civilization that I wonder anyone ever came near it. And they would have had to come by carriage, wouldn't they? It must have taken days. Ugh!"

"Everything was sold off or given over to the National Trust by the beginning of the century," he said. "This was the last to go-my grandfather sold it in 1920."

"Probably because everyone had forgotten all about it until then," she said, laughing again.

He pulled right over onto the shoulder of the road and stopped the car. It was not the safest place in which to do such a thing, even though he put on the hand brake, but it was something he wanted to do. Every time he had been here as a boy they had zoomed down the hill, glad to be at the end of their journey, eager to be at the hotel and relaxing in its old-fashioned but luxurious rooms.

To him it had always seemed the loveliest place on earth. He had never minded its remote location on the coast of Cardiganshire in West Wales. That had been its main charm, in fact. And there was an added seclusion to the particular location of the Cartref Hotel because it was located at the bottom of steep hills rising to either side of it. Across the road from it were grassy dunes, a wide golden beach, and the ocean. Behind it was a high fern-covered hill. The hotel itself, once a family home, was a small and elegant mansion.

It had always hurt him to know that it might have been his one day if he had lived in a previous age. It was something he did not feel for the other ancient homes and estates that had once been in the family. Just this one.

"Can you understand why I wanted to bring you here for this particular week?" he asked, reaching for Allison's hand and holding it tightly. "Is there a lovelier place on earth?"

"Oh." She laughed. "I am sure I could think of a dozen without even having to try too hard. But this is very picturesque and I know it is special to you. And I suppose there will be no chance to feel boredom. Not this week." She turned her head and leered at him, waggling her eyebrows.

He lifted his sunglasses and dipped his head to kiss her, despite the fact that one passing motorist leaned on his horn-with the hood down on the car, they were in full view, of course. No, this week there would be no boredom. This week, they had both agreed, would be spent largely in bed, with the occasional walk or drive for relaxation. This week was for themselves. He was to forget his law practice, knowing very well that all his outstanding cases were in quite capable hands for the coming week, and she was to forget her thriving boutique, which had been left in equally capable hands.

This was the week of their engagement.

He released the hand brake, flicked on his signal light, and pulled out onto the road before continuing on the way down the hill. At the bottom he made a sharp right turn onto the horseshoe driveway that led up a slight slope to the front of the hotel. There was parking off to either side, but he stopped in front of the doors. He would park later, after they had settled in.

It was over twelve years since he had been here last. He had come with his parents at the age of sixteen, despite their assurances that they would understand perfectly if he did not wish at his age to go on holiday with them. He probably would have remained at home or gone to stay with a school friend if they had been going anywhere else but Cardiganshire. But their destination had been irresistible to him.

"Mr. Chandler?" The owner of the hotel and his wife were both in the foyer to greet him and Allison, even though there was a receptionist behind the desk. Huw Jones held out his right hand and smiled broadly. "I would have recognized you anywhere, though you were just a pipsqueak the last time we saw you. Hasn't changed at all, has he, Blodwyn?"

His wife laughed. ' 'Only that he has got taller and darker and handsomer, Huw," she said. "How do you do, Mr. Chandler?"

They had long memories, these people from one of the more remote areas of Wales. Not only memories of his last visit with his parents, but the memory that his family had owned Cartref for two centuries.

"This is my fiancée, Allison Gorman," he said, setting an arm loosely about her shoulders. "Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Allie."

They were upstairs in their room ten minutes later, their suitcases and bags just inside the door. Huw Jones had gone himself to park the car. It was a front room at the center of the house, the one John had specifically asked for, the one he supposed had been the master bedroom in a former age.

Allison plopped down on the bed after kicking off her shoes. It had been a long drive. They had come all the way from London with only one meal stop. She sighed with contentment.

"Wake me for dinner," she said.

He strolled to the window to look out. It was a perfect view. The slope of the hills on either side of the valley was almost geometric. Whoever had built this house had taken great care with its exact placement. There were masses of flowers in beds between the horseshoe driveway and the road. The tide was half in, but there was still a fairly wide expanse of sandy beach. The late afternoon sun made a shimmering band of light across the water. There was an old lighthouse on a small island beyond one of the headlands. He remembered that one could walk out to it at low tide.

He hunched his shoulders. If he could just ignore the hotel sign and the traffic on the road…

There had always been a funny feeling about the Cartref Hotel. Perhaps it had something to do with the name- home. And yet it was not entirely a feeling of homecoming he felt here, though that was definitely a part of it. He had always had a feeling of-nostalgia. He was not quite sure that was the right word. He had it now, powerfully strong. He felt the ache of tears in his throat.

Maybe it was merely curiosity, the desire to look back in time to see it all as it had been. Though he never had that feeling when he visited any of the other former family properties. Mr. and Mrs. Jones must be close to retirement age. He had found himself wondering lately-it was what had made him bring Allison here, perhaps-if they would be interested in selling. It was a foolish idea when his life and Allison's were so much bound up with their careers in London.

Sometimes he wished… Oh, sometimes he hated modern living. He hated the global village idea. He hated computers and instant communication, though, as Allison had pointed out when he had said these things to her, he would probably scream to have it all back again, if deprived for only a day.

"Wouldn't you like to live here for the rest of your life?" he asked now without turning. "Forget about the rat race? Bring up children close to nature and the ocean, away from the ugly pull of civilization?"

"Telephones, television, modern transport," she said after yawning, "they are all here, John. You cannot escape them. And, no, I would not like to live in a country backwater, picturesque as it may be, thank you kindly. I am not the back-to-basics type. Don't get any ideas."

She spoke lightly. There was laughter in her voice. But he felt a twinge of something he had been ignoring ever since accepting her proposal a month before-yes, it really had been that way around. They had known each other for a month before that. And ignore it he must. He supposed it was natural to feel qualms about taking such an enormous step as marrying. To him it was an enormous step, even though his best friend had commented half seriously that, after all, marriage was not a life sentence these days as it used to be. If it did not work out, then they could bow out of it and try again some other time with other partners.

That was another thing he hated about modern living- its basic cynicism.

He loved Allison. Certainly he lusted after her. She was tall and blonde and sleek. She was poised and articulate and ambitious and successful. Of course there were differences between them. Many of them. It was natural. They would work through the differences if they wished their marriage to be a success. That was the challenge of marriage.

He turned to look at her. She was lying with her hands locked behind her head, her legs crossed at the ankles. She was looking at him and smiling.

"It was a funny party, wasn't it?" he said, grinning. "An engagement party without a ring." It had taken place at his flat just the day before yesterday.

"Who needs a ring?" She shrugged her shoulders. "And everyone was told about the family heirloom. It will be something to show when we return. Are you going to insure my finger for a million pounds or so?''

"I think you are a little more valuable than the ring," he said. "Why not insure all of you?"

"Gallant John." She smiled at him. "Or mercenary John?" She opened her mouth to say more, hesitated, and then spoke anyway. "Do we have to wait until this evening? I know you have arranged a special candlelit dinner downstairs. But do we have to wait?"

He had the ring in his wallet. He had driven to Reading yesterday and got it from his father. His mother had died eight years ago. The ring was for his bride now. Not many of the family wives during the past three centuries had had the ring in time for their engagements.

He had always had strange feelings about the ring. His mother had not worn it a great deal, as she had had another engagement ring-the family ring had not come to her until fifteen years after her marriage. So he had not seen it much himself. Whenever he had, he had felt-how had he felt? It was almost impossible to put the feeling into words. Breathless? Nostalgic? Excited? Afraid? None of the four words, except perhaps the first, really described his feeling.

And the feeling had returned yesterday. He had thought perhaps it was the value of the ring and the knowledge that now it was in his keeping and that soon it would be on Allison's finger. But it was not so much the monetary value that had affected him as the historic value. Though that word was too cold, too clinical.

He had put it carefully in his wallet. He had checked and rechecked ever since to see that it was still there, even though the wallet had never left his person. But he had not unwrapped it or touched it. There was something about touching it-well, something that made him breathless. He could put it no more clearly than that. And he did not have to. He had never tried to explain the feeling to anyone else.

"No," he said now, reaching for his wallet. "There is no reason to wait. And I would rather do it here in private than in the dining room where someone else might notice and somehow intrude."

"I have not even seen it," she said, sitting up.

He took the velvet bag out of his wallet and the tissue paper out of the bag. He unwrapped it. He had not yet touched the ring with his bare hand. His father had wrapped it yesterday.

He sat down on the side of the bed and held out his palm to her. "You see?" he said. "It can be the something old and the something blue for our wedding." He had said that before. Déjà vu hit him like a hammer blow, catching him somewhere low in his stomach. He must be very tired from the long drive.

It was a large sapphire in a heavy gold setting. His father had had it cleaned just last week and sized for Allison.

"Mm, very nice," she said, warm appreciation in her voice.

Yet for some reason the words cut him. Very nice?

"Well?" She was laughing and holding out her left hand to him, the fingers spread. "Are you going to put it on me or am I going to have to do it myself?"