“It belonged to my grandmother,” Tasia replied. “From the time of her baptism until her death, she always wore a cross around her neck. This was her favorite.” Obeying a sudden impulse, she removed the necklace. She took the duchess's heavily veined hand in her own soft one and pressed the cross into her palm. “I would like you to have it, ma'am.”
The duchess was clearly startled by the gesture. “I have no wish to rob you of your keepsakes, child.”
“Please,” Tasia said earnestly. “You've given me a gift more precious than anything in the world…your son. I should like to give you a token in return.”
The duchess looked from the gold cross in her hand to Luke, as if debating their respective worth. “There may come a day when you'll decide you've been shortchanged,” she said dryly. “Nevertheless, I accept your gift. You may place the cross around my neck, child.” She cracked a smile as Tasia fastened the chain. “I approve of my son's choice,” she said. “You remind me of myself when I was a young wife. I will lecture Luke later about being a respectful and sympathetic husband.”
“He treats me very well,” Tasia assured her, glancing impishly at her husband. Luke appeared to be dumbfounded by his mother's comments. Sternly Tasia held back a smile. “Your Grace, would you allow me to walk with you to the lavender suite? I took the liberty of having it prepared for you.”
“Yes, indeed. I do have a fondness for those rooms. Lavender is flattering to my complexion.”
The two women walked away arm-in-arm, while Emma and Luke watched in openmouthed silence. Emma was the first to speak. “She made Grandmother like her. Grandmother doesn't like
anyone
.”
“I know.” Suddenly Luke laughed. “She may be a witch after all, Emma. But don't tell her I said so.”
The next few days passed in a pleasant fashion, although Tasia was dismayed by the amount of time Luke was gone. When he returned late every evening, his clothes reeking of cigar smoke, his breath tainted with port, he offered only cryptic explanations of the business meetings he had been obliged to attend. “Only men are present at these meetings?” Tasia had asked suspiciously, helping him off with his boots as he sat on the bed.
“Old, gray-haired men with big bellies and yellow teeth.”
Tasia examined his shirt collar closely. “That's a relief. I should hate to start examining your clothes for traces of perfume and rouge every night.”
Slightly drunk, and happy to be alone with her, Luke pulled her on top of him. “Feel free to examine everything,” he invited, burying his nose and mouth in her sweet-scented hair. “Nothing to hide. Look here, in fact…and here…” He rolled and crawled amorously over his giggling wife.
In the daytime Tasia was usually busy with the duchess and Emma as the three of them shopped for house furnishings and paid calls to acquaintances. The duchess had undertaken to introduce Tasia to her most favored friends, old society lionesses who were charmed by Tasia's inflexible good manners. Such a modest, gently bred girl, they exclaimed approvingly. So different from the frivolous modern misses who knew nothing of how to employ a needle and thimble, and often didn't bother with gloves or curtsying. Tasia's decorum pleased the old ladies to no end, causing them to declare that their faith in the future of civilized society had been restored.
The duchess spent the afternoons resting in her room while Tasia oversaw Emma's lessons. To Tasia's delight, Emma had started writing a play. “I'm going to be a stage actress,” Emma informed her. “Imagine me, treading the boards at the Theatre Royal…I would make the most splendid Lady Macbeth ever!” She demonstrated her thespian talents by performing the sleepwalking scene from Macbeth with an enthusiasm that sent the duchess reaching for her smelling salts.
Upon receiving an invitation for a party to be given by Lady Walford in honor of her daughter's birthday, Emma declared violently that nothing short of an apocalypse would make her attend. “I'll be the tallest one there! I'll be taller than all the boys! And someone will say something about the color of my hair, and I'll be obliged to hit them in the nose, and there'll be a terrible scene. I'm
not going
.”
Luke's fatherly talk with Emma failed to make any impression on her. He looked perplexed and vaguely harassed as Tasia questioned him about the conversation. “She doesn't want to attend,” he said shortly. “Forcing her to go will only make her miserable.”
Tasia sighed. “I don't think you understand, my lord—”
“You're right,” he said darkly. “In spite of my best efforts I stopped understanding Emma when she reached the age of seven. You handle her.”
“Yes, Luke,” she said, restraining a wry smile. Luke was a devoted father, but when Emma's problems could not be solved with presents and kisses, he seemed at a loss about what to do.
Tasia went to Emma's room and tapped gently on the closed door. When there was no response, she pushed the door open and looked inside. Emma was sprawled on the floor, sorting through her doll collection. There was a mutinous expression on her face.
“I suppose you're going to say you want me to go to the party,” Emma muttered.
“Yes.” Tasia sat beside her, her skirts billowing and setting in a shimmering green pool. “It's an excellent opportunity for you to make friends with some girls your age.”
“I don't need friends. I have you and Papa, and everyone at Southgate Hall, and Samson—”
“And we all adore you,” Tasia said, smiling. “But that's not enough, Emma. I know from experience. I grew up every bit as sheltered as you've been—more so—and I never had friends my age. I don't want you to be as lonely as I was.”
Emma scowled. “I don't know how to talk to them.”
“All you need is some practice.”
“Papa said he wouldn't insist that I go if I didn't want to.”
“
I
insist,” Tasia said quietly. She saw the flash of surprise on the girl's face, and continued before Emma had a chance to respond. “We'll have a new dress made for you. I saw a beautiful color of silk in Mr. Hodding's shop, the shade of a ripe peach. It would be perfect with your hair.”
Emma was shaking her head. “Belle-mère, I can't—”
“Just try,” Tasia coaxed. “What's the worst that could happen?”
“I'll have a dreadful time.”
“I think you could survive one dreadful evening. Besides…you may even enjoy yourself.”
Emma groaned theatrically and occupied herself with rearranging the row of dolls. Tasia smiled, knowing her silence meant she would attend the party.
Luke sighed in relief as he closed the bedroom door, shutting out the rest of the world. He had spent yet another full day in meetings with bankers, lawyers, and businessmen. The endless haggling had tired and annoyed him. Not only did he serve on the boards of a railway company and a brewery, but he had reluctantly accepted a directorship at an insurance office.
He disliked the world of finance, preferring the role of gentleman landowner that had been passed down through his family for generations. He was not inspired by stocks and shares. He took satisfaction in plowed fields, growing crops, and a good harvest. But it was no longer possible to survive on agricultural rents alone. For the sake of his tenants as well as his family, he had invested in urban properties, factories, and railway stock, which brought in enough money to allow him to keep the rents low and make improvements on Stokehurst land.
The old gentry had mocked Luke for succumbing to the vulgar mercantile pursuit of wealth, but he had seen their estates shrink, their rent rolls plummet, and their tenants go bankrupt. Society was transforming rapidly, the aristocratic way of life crumbling as industrialists rose to prominence. Many a noble family who had once possessed unthinkable wealth had become penniless, because they wouldn't react to the changes around them. Luke wouldn't let that happen to the people who depended on him. His land would never turn to overgrown weed. And his daughter would never be obliged to marry someone for his wealth. With all that in mind, becoming a businessman—unappealing as it was—seemed a small price to pay.
Luke smiled at the sight of his wife dressed in a modest white nightgown with white lace at the throat. Tasia's beautiful hair was loose and flowing, shining in the lamplight. She sat in bed with a book in her lap. “You were missed at supper,” she said.
There was something different in her voice, a note of tension. He wondered if she was angry at having seen so little of him lately. “I wish I'd been here,” he replied. “Instead I passed the time with a group of men who spent the evening arguing over the price of wheat and the comparative merits of their stockbrokers.”
“And what did you all conclude?”
“That the old order is vanishing, as well as the concept of farming for profit.” Luke frowned pensively, shrugging out of his coat. “I won't have the kind of life my father and grandfather had. Certainly not their leisure. My father has spent his life pursuing women, hunting, and shooting, and occasionally dabbling in politics. He thinks my involvement in trade and industry is tarnishing the family honor.”
Tasia left the bed and came to help him with his clothes. She unbuttoned his shirt as he spoke. “But you are doing it for the good of the family, yes?” Spreading his shirt wide, she pressed a kiss to the hard, smooth surface of his chest.
“Yes.” Luke smiled and tangled his fingers in her hair, tilting her head back. “And I resent every minute I have to spend away from you.”
Tasia slid her arms around his lean waist. “So do I.”
“Is that what's bothering you?” he asked. “That I've been gone so much of the time lately?”
“Nothing is bothering me. Everything is absolutely fine.”
“No lies,” he reminded her quietly, and she blushed.
“There is something I've been concerned about…” Her throat worked as she sought the right words. “I'm late,” she said, her face bathed in hot color.
Luke shook his head, puzzled. “Late for what?”
“My…monthly time,” she said with difficulty. “It should have come a week ago. I've always been…irregular that way, but still…it's never been this long. It's nothing, I'm certain. I really don't think it's a…a…”
“Baby?” he suggested softly.
“It's too soon for that. I don't feel any different, and I'm certain I would feel something if it were
that
.”
He was quiet, stroking her hair, fondling the curve of her ear.
“Would you mind?” Tasia asked in a small voice.
Luke stared at her until she was dizzy from the blue intensity of his eyes. “It would be the greatest joy of my life.” He leaned his forehead on hers. “Whatever happens, we'll face it together. All right?”
She nodded. “You want a baby, then?”
His brow furrowed as he contemplated the question. “I haven't thought about it very much,” he admitted. “I never expected to have any children except Emma. The idea of another…” He paused and smiled crookedly. “Half me, half you…yes, I want that. But I would prefer to have more time alone with you before we start having children. You're hardly more than a child yourself. I'd like to give you the chance to be young and carefree—something you've missed until now. I want to make up for the hell you've been through. I want to make you happy.”
Tasia nestled against him. “Take me to bed,” she said, her voice muffled. “That would make me very happy.”
He arched his brows in surprise. “Why, Lady Stokehurst…this is the first advance you've ever made to me. I'm fairly overwhelmed.”
Busily she occupied herself with unfastening his trousers. “Not
too
overwhelmed, I hope.”
He laughed. “Just don't complain when I keep you awake all night.”
“I wouldn't dream of it,” she whispered as his mouth came over hers.
“What a pity Papa doesn't smoke,” Emma remarked, inspecting the objects poised inside a glass-covered shelf. “That's the handsomest cigarette case I've ever seen.”
“I am glad he doesn't,” Tasia said. “I've always regarded tobacco as a disagreeable substance.”
Alicia, who had agreed to join them at Harrods for an afternoon shopping expedition, met them at the shelf. “I wish Charles had never taken up the habit. Still, it
is
an elegant case…”
The engraved silver cigarette case was inlaid with gold and set with topaz stones. As the three women stared at it with appraising interest, a store attendant sped toward them. The waxed ends of his mustache twitching with eagerness as he reached them.
“Would the ladies care for a closer look?” he inquired diffidently.
Tasia shook her head. “I wish to purchase a birthday gift for my husband…but not that.”
“Perhaps he would appreciate gold mustache scissors and comb in a leather case?”
“He's clean-shaven, I'm afraid.”
“An umbrella? One with an ivory or silver handle?”
Tasia shook her head. “Too practical.”
“A box of Italian-made handkerchiefs?”
“Too impersonal.”
“A bottle of French cologne?”
“Too smelly,” Emma interrupted.
Tasia laughed at the attendant's perturbed expression. “Perhaps we'll continue to browse,” she said. “I'm certain we'll find
something
appropriate, sooner or later.”
“Yes, madam.” Disappointed, the attendant left in pursuit of other customers.
Alicia gravitated toward a table laden with beaded handbags, baskets of gauzy embroidered scarves, and rectangular boxes of gloves. Tasia wandered in the opposite direction, drawn by the sight of a painted rocking horse. It was positioned on the floor, beside a row of handsome carved cradles. Carefully she nudged the horse with her foot, causing it to rock gently. A small, private smile touched her lips. With each day that passed, she was becoming more certain that she was pregnant. She imagined what their children would look like, tall, black-haired, and blue-eyed…
“Belle-mère?” Emma said, having followed her and noticed the child's toy. “Now that you are sleeping in Papa's bed, are you going to have a baby?”
“Someday, I expect.” Tasia rested a light hand on Emma's shoulder. “Would you like to have a brother or sister?”