The alarm in her eyes could not be masked, though she forced herself to ask sternly, “Whatever are you talking about, Henry?”
“The reason you don’t go out into Society. It is because of me, isn’t it?” He was almost stunned by the enormity of the discovery he believed he had made.
Relief flooded her face and she smiled. “How absurd you are! It is rather the other way about, is it not? For your sake, I should mingle with the gentry so that you would be brought to their attention, instead of keeping you hidden away here at Shalbrook. I can tell Mr. Rushton thinks that. And very likely he is right. Shall we worm our way back into Society, ingratiate ourselves with our neighbors? Ah, I shall have to polish up my tea-time chitchat and quietly investigate whether half an hour is still proper for a morning call.”
“You know I don’t give a fig for all that nonsense, Selina,” Henry protested. “There is no reason you should not go out a bit more, though. How long is it since you’ve danced or been to a musical evening?”
“Lord, I don’t know,” she replied airily. “You have no idea how dull some of those affairs can be. Fortunately I am far too busy to have to attend any longer. Now if you were to take an interest in such social dallying, I would most assuredly set aside my hesitation and bring you forward to the notice of every hostess I could dredge up. Is that what you want?” she quizzed him.
“No, of course not,” he said disgustedly. Although he was swayed by her banter, the whisper of doubt remained lodged in his mind. He excused himself to his studies when they returned to the house, and with an effort, forced his worry to the back of his mind so that he could concentrate on construing his Greek verbs accurately. When he had accomplished enough work for the day, however, he slipped quietly out of the house and spent the long walk to the village thinking things through.
Selina thankfully settled on the sofa in the gold drawing room when Henry had left her. He was becoming far too clever, that lad. For a moment she had thought he had stumbled onto her most carefully guarded secret. Not that she could not have explained it to his satisfaction, but it would have been a trying interview. And seeing Frank was always unsettling. One of the decided advantages of keeping out of country Society was not meeting him frequently. She found her mind recalling the vision of him in the road, his hat tilted at a rakish angle over the shining blond hair, his hazel eyes glaring at her. Once she had thought those eyes could hold nothing but warmth for her, could promise nothing but happiness. Her throat ached when she remembered the first time he had kissed her and vowed, “We will marry directly I return from the Peninsula, my love. You will wait for me, won’t you?”
And she had waited for him through what seemed an eternity, through her father’s death and Henry’s advent. It was the thought of him which had kept her going during those trying days, months, even years, because when he returned he would share her burdens, he would love her, he would take care of her. Selina gulped back a sob and remonstrated with herself. Bitter as it was to have ended in naught, probably without that dream she would not have managed. For that at least she should be grateful. There was no sense in going over these painful memories, but they insisted on thrusting themselves on her mind.
There was that early summer day when she had stood at the window in Henry’s room—when Henry was an invalid—and looked out over the fields, lost in contemplation, Frank’s last letter in her hand. His letters had changed almost imperceptibly. Although he still declared his affection for her, there was a growing absorption with himself that made her feel as though the letter were from a stranger. Carefully documenting each of his escapades and victories, he never asked of her own concerns or commented on the problems she poured out to him in her letters. As she narrowed her eyes against the sun, she had decided that her letters to him must seem as filled with her own concerns as his did to her. In the future she would try not to be so selfish. She had glanced over to find that Henry had at last fallen asleep when she heard the sound of hoof-beats in the drive. There could be no mistaking that glorious head of blond hair! The letter dropped from her nerveless hands and she stumbled in her haste toward the door.
Before Frank had reached the second terrace, she was outside the house and running toward him. Although his expression was one more of surprise than delight, he caught her in his arms and kissed her. She emerged from his embrace to breathlessly enquire, “Why didn’t you tell me you were getting leave?”
“Not leave, my love. I’ve sold out,” he said cheerfully.
“Sold out? But you never wrote…”
“A surprise, my dear. The old man’s not getting any younger, you know. I could tell that Mother wanted me home... and I thought perhaps you did, too.” He eyed her quizzingly.
“Oh, yes! I’ve dreamed of your coming home! But the fighting seems interminable, and I never thought you’d leave until the last enemy was routed.”
“They’re mismanaging the whole thing,” he grumbled. “No one is willing to listen to how the war should be conducted.”
“But you could tell them, couldn’t you?” she asked playfully, taking his arm as they walked toward the house.
His body stiffened and he frowned down at her. “Damn right I could, Selina. Spare me your teasing. You know nothing of war, and never will.”
Chastened, even hurt, Selina stammered, “I... I’m sorry, Frank. We are so far away from all that horror here. You’ll have tea, won’t you?”
Selina shifted uneasily in her chair as she remembered the days that had followed. Days of treading carefully, of watching her tongue as she was not used to do, of balancing the demands on her time from Henry and Frank. The returned “hero” had made it no less clear than Lord Leyburn that he did not share her affection for Henry. Selina had tried to rationalize that a soldier had seen too many mutilated bodies to be comfortable in Henry’s presence, but she was daily torn by conflicting emotions. Cautiously she tried to explain to Frank her feelings of responsibility for Henry, her very real affection for the boy, her desire to keep him with her. Frank was noncommittal. He bruited their engagement about the neighborhood and took her to tea with his mother.
Most clearly Selina remembered the day they had ridden in the vale. It was unbearably hot, and her nerves were on edge because Henry was having a bad day. She had hesitated to leave him at all, but Frank had insisted. Their horses were tied to a tree and they walked past the stream and into the clearing where the sun shone brightly and the murmur of the water could still be heard.
Frank made a sweeping gesture. “Once we’re married, this will all be Old Hall land—not just the vale, but Shalbrook as well. Lord, what an estate I’ll have when my father dies! I think we should live at Shalbrook until he has his notice to quit.”
Tempted to protest at his cavalier treatment of his father and her own inheritance, Selina refrained in order to once again broach the touchy subject of Henry. “Would you like to do that, Frank? Then it would not be necessary to disrupt Henry’s established routine. And I’m sure your parents would be more comfortable if we weren’t in Old Hall.”
“We shall need the privacy,” Frank suggested as he drew her to him, pulling her to the ground and covering her lips with his. His hands began to wander about her body, as they frequently had since his return from the Peninsula. “You are the most desirable girl, Selina.”
The freedom he took with her person alarmed Selina, but at the same time she could feel her body respond to his touch on her lightly covered breasts. Before he had left for the Peninsula he had done no more than kiss her. Now he seemed to demand more and more each time they were alone. She desperately needed the reassurance that his whispered words of love gave her as he held and caressed her. For so long she had depended on his love, used it as a shield against the difficult days of caring for Henry, and the desperate worry she suffered that her cousin would never walk again, that she was not strong enough to bear the burdens of an invalid cousin and an estate to run. She
wanted
to believe that Frank loved her and would care for her. There was nowhere else to turn.
His kisses deepened as he murmured, “Oh, my little love, my adorable beauty. We have all the privacy we need right now.” He expertly slid the muslin dress down off her shoulders and breasts in such a way that her arms were restricted to her sides.
“Please, no, Frank. You mustn’t.” She felt trapped, panicked, embarrassed.
“But I must, my love.” He touched the firm, white breasts exposed to his view. “White as a lily. The Portuguese girls have a darker skin. You look so pure.”
She caught at his wrists with her hands. “Don’t, Frank. You shouldn’t.”
“Selina, Selina, where is the problem?” He pressed her hands to her sides and smiled down at her. “In a few weeks we’ll be married and I don’t think you’ll be so missish then. You like to be touched, I can tell.” Unaffected by her protest he continued to caress her. “You see, my love?”
“I...I...Yes, I...But, Frank...”
He released one of her hands so that he could lift her skirts. “Oh, my love, I want you.”
“Not now. Not here. Ohh.” Her free hand, with which she had been ineffectually trying to restore her skirts to their rightful place, stilled. The desire had risen in her as he continued to fondle her, until the cautioning voice within her seemed a mere whisper, too faint to recognize the message. Frank released her other hand and was quickly unbuttoning his pantaloons. Struggling for some reason in her chaotic mind and body, Selina clenched her fists and said firmly, “No, Frank. Not until we’re married.”
“Don’t be simple, Selina. What difference can it make?” His brows quirked with annoyance, but he could see from the set of her chin that she was going to be stubborn. Frank was accustomed to having what he wanted, when he wanted it. He played his trump card. “Your cousin can live with us, Selina, if you’ll just let me have you now. You know you want to.”
The bile rose in her throat and her body shuddered. Ever since he had returned home she had been trying to tell herself that she still cared for him, that he was the same man she remembered. It was no longer possible to do so. He was a selfish, inconsiderate boor. Selina slapped him with all the pent-up emotion of the last two years. “Don’t touch me, Frank.”
Astonished, he very nearly struck her back, only managing to control himself by gritting through his teeth, “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, Selina? You’ve been whining at me about your cousin since I returned. Well, you may have a choice, my girl. It’s me…or your cripple. After this, you shan’t have both.”
With shaking fingers, Selina pulled her muslin dress back over her bosom as she rose. “There isn’t any choice, Frank. After this, I wouldn’t have you for anything in the world. Good bye.”
He had blustered and fumed, even halfheartedly apologized. After three years, Selina still could not look back on the scene with equanimity. What a fool she had been not to see him for what he was the moment he returned! How could she have allowed herself to be so deluded? Why had her body responded to his touch? She felt shamed every time the memory forced itself upon her. Never would she allow such a situation again.
Selina rose and went to the rosewood escritoire in the corner. Whether or not her decision was influenced by Lord Benedict, she had decided most definitely to sell the vale to Mr. Rushton.
“What does she say?” Penrith asked impatiently.
“She will sell it to me, on the terms we discussed.” Rushton allowed a slow grin to spread over his face. “You are totally to be credited, you know, Pen. If it weren’t for the weight you gave my arguments, I have not the least doubt she would have kept it. You should have heard how I harassed her: told her the whole neighborhood depended on her to sell the land to me, and that the poor folks dying of starvation would curse her name if she did not.”
“If you had employed such tactics with her, you wouldn’t have your acceptance, my friend. Benedict will be disappointed, of course, and you can’t blame him. It would have rounded out his land. He’s not a hunting man, himself. Don’t know why. I would have expected him to have a go just so he could dash about in a scarlet coat; he was mighty proud of that uniform of his.”
“I take it you are not overly fond of Lord Benedict.”
“Don’t know him very well. He’s more than half a dozen years my junior. Bit of a loose screw, I’ve always thought. Oh, devilishly handsome and all that, but I was glad none of my sisters attracted his attention.”
“I believe you mentioned that Miss Easterly-Cummings was engaged to him at one time.”
“Yes, I rather thought so, even before he went to the Peninsula. Announced it when he returned, but it was called off. All for the better, in my opinion.”
“I sometimes think you held a similar view of my own aspiration for Miss Longmead’s hand.”
Penrith flushed and ran a hand through his auburn locks. “Now, I’ve never said anything of the sort, have I?”
“You never had to, Pen. You are as transparent as glass.”
“Well, well, perhaps it’s just that I don’t relish the thought of you marrying and depriving me of your company in the field,” Penrith quibbled.
“I have never had the intention of giving up hunting when I marry. You know, Pen, you are not getting any younger yourself. Don’t you think it time to settle down and get an heir for Oak Park?”
Exasperated, Penrith scowled at his friend. “Now don’t you start on me. I have quite enough of that from my mother. I’ve told her I’ll look about me in the next year or so. My father didn’t marry until he was six and thirty. What would I do with a wife, for God’s sake? I know all about living with a bunch of women, and it’s no easy matter. They are forever coming to you for the silliest things.” He mimicked, “’Oh, Pen, I have mislaid my needlework. Have you seen it? Oh, Pen, I am just the tiniest bit in debt from the card party at Mrs. Crompton’s. Do you think I might have a little extra? Oh, Pen, would you just speak to the vicar about his sermons? They have become a dreadful bore. Oh, Pen...’”