Laura Matthews (26 page)

Taking her hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he led her to a tree where he sat and patted the ground beside him. “Lean against me and I’ll massage it, my dear. Sometimes it takes a while for that kind of injury to heal properly. Is the doctor satisfied?”

He was leaning back against the tree, looking up at her with one brow lifted questioningly. Vanessa hesitated before seating herself a little apart from him, but he moved so his legs lay alongside hers, barely touching. Immediately, she could feel his strong hands come to rest on her shoulder, unmoving, waiting. “The doctor thinks it will be a few more weeks before the pain is entirely gone, but he said that’s only to be expected.” She kept her gaze on the patch of bluebells at her booted feet.

The hands started to move, gently kneading her shoulder and upper arm. “Tell me if that’s too much,” he urged. “Do you have your maid massage it?”

“No, I hadn’t thought of it.”

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“When I was wounded at Waterloo, I wouldn’t let anyone touch me except the doctor. Even my valet had to practically beg me to let him change the dressing. I knew I was being unreasonable, but I didn’t feel like being reasonable at the time. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you would. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t think I’m a particularly unreasonable man most of the time, but there are moments when everything seems to come in on you all at once and you aren’t quite ready to cope with it. Decisions are like that, too. When there are a lot of extraneous matters littering up your mind, you would sometimes rather not have to consider a large issue that will affect your whole future.”

“That’s true,” she murmured.

“On the other hand,” he continued gently, his hands still steadily working, “sometimes making the larger decision is the solution to the smaller problems. I’ve noticed that you, for instance, Vanessa, like to take charge of a situation. You like to get to the bottom of the matter, find out all the facts, consider all the possibilities, and then act. That’s an admirable trait. Most people are prone to acting on their instincts, with the relevant facts only partially digested. Your handling of the estate shows a wholesome regard for having the proper information and taking a long-range view of a problem.”

He shifted one hand so it touched her chin, lightly turning her face toward him. “I’m not accustomed to thinking of myself as a large problem, but I can see that you might think I am. The fact is, my dear, I’ve grown to love you, and I want to marry you. I realize that would mean a certain amount of disruption for you and the children, but I think we could overcome the worst of that. We could live part of the year at Cutsdean and part of the year at St. Aldwyns. It’s not ideal, but it’s possible.”

Alvescot waited for her to say something. Her eyes had become large with emotion, but when she spoke, her question was almost irrelevant. Almost.

“Why did you leave without speaking of this? Why didn’t you write something in your letter?”

“I needed to be away from you to consider the matter, my love. Marriage is not a step I take any more lightly than you do, though I’m not so encumbered with family as you are.” It was the truth, every word of it. And yet he could have said more. He chose not to, which was a mistake. Vanessa, tuned to every nuance of his speech, sensed that he was not being completely frank with her.

She waited for him to say more. Instead, he kissed her. He drew her tenderly into his arms, lowered his lips to touch her forehead, her eyelids, her lips. Vanessa was conscious that he cradled her body so as to protect her sore shoulder, barely conscious, but it was important to her, his thoughtfulness. His kisses were long and tender, inadvertently drawing her into participation. She responded to the firm pressure on her mouth, hopeful but undemanding. Her lips craved the contact, sought the reassurance that his nearness brought.

One of her hands stole up to twine in his hair. How long ago it seemed when she’d first thought how she would like to feel the texture of his hair. It was soft and smooth, the individual strands teasing between her fingers. She could feel one of his hands in her own hair, nestling her head against his shoulder. His touch was confident, relaxed. This was the love he offered—gentle, even as his physical involvement grew. Vanessa opened her eyes to look into his. They were touched with desire and he smiled apologetically as he eased himself fractionally away from her.

“No,” she whispered. “I want you to hold me, to touch me, but not . . .”

“Of course not,” he murmured, smiling. “I’m a gentleman, my love. That must wait for when we’re married. You
are
going to marry me, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know, James.”

Alvescot was stunned by her words. There had been little hesitation in her response to his kisses. She had even invited him to continue, nay to progress in his lovemaking. Her smokey eyes didn’t waver for a second from his gaze, though they were filled with a strange mixture of sadness and desire.

When he didn’t speak, and showed no sign of renewing his amorous advances, she flashed him a brief, uncertain smile and shifted away from him. “I’m very fond of you, James. If I had no one but myself to consider, I wouldn’t hesitate. But there are the children, and there’s Cutsdean. Have you thought about children of our own? I conceive rather readily, I’m afraid,” she admitted with a deprecatory wave of her hand. “If I had a son . . .”

“I’ve thought about it.” He leaned back against the tree, wrapping his hands about his bent knees and not looking at her. “It would be difficult for John, of course, having a younger half-brother who would inherit the title one day, and even for Catherine to have a half-sister who bore a title with her name. That can’t be changed, and I’d want to have children. You have to weigh that against your children’s acquiring a man to give them the attention they can never have from their own father. John’s situation doesn’t really change. He inherits Cutsdean whether you marry me or not. I don’t think you can let his peace of mind dictate your decision, Vanessa, especially when there’s no way to tell how much it would affect him.”

“Perhaps not.” She rose, dusting the skirts of her riding habit. What they were discussing was a concern, certainly, but not what really pressed on her mind. She couldn’t shake the idea that he wasn’t telling her everything. “I don’t mean to be difficult, James. As you said before, I like to consider all the facts before I make a decision. Sometimes it feels as though a piece were missing, and it’s harder to reach a resolution.”

Alvescot had risen when she did and now stood staring down at her. His thoughts were tangled with a variety of threads: hurt at the possibility she would reject him, confusion about what she wanted from him, surprise at her behavior. The last was uppermost in his mind. “Do you consider the missing piece to be your physical response to me, Vanessa?”

“No,” she said sadly. “Did I shock you? I’m lonely, James, and I’ve built your few gestures of closeness out of all proportion. All I needed to know was that you would be gentle, and I already knew that. I wanted you to touch me because your touch makes me feel wonderful. It’s not just the excitement; it’s the feeling of being joined with you. I’ve stood on my own for some time now, and I intend to continue doing that, but having someone to make me feel like a woman again . . . I’m afraid I can’t explain it, James. You’re the only one who seems to accept me as the mistress of Cutsdean as well as a woman.”

“I’m sure Paul Burford does.”

“Yes, well, that’s where it’s confusing, I suppose. I don’t regard him in the same way I do you.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” His voice was gruff and he reached down to pick up his riding crop. “But if you decided not to marry me, any intimate contact we had would embarrass you, my dear.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” she retorted, walking to her mare and turning to watch his expression. “It would be something I would treasure, James, something I would look back on with wonder and pleasure. One of my memories to store up against the empty nights. I’m sorry if that upsets you, but it’s how I feel. I’ve had to learn to be proud of my accomplishments here, even when they seemed sometimes to be at the expense of my womanhood. It’s only fair I should be allowed some pride in my womanhood itself.”

“For God’s sake, Vanessa, nothing you’ve done here makes you less of a woman. You’ve done what you had to, and you’ve done it well.”

Her faint smile didn’t warm her eyes. “You don’t quite understand, James. I’m not the same person I was when I married Frederick. Then I thought of myself as a woman, with a woman’s obligations, and a woman’s second-place role. I don’t feel that way any longer. I’ve had all the aggravation and few of the rewards from taking a first-place role, but I can never revert to my former position.”

She eyed him shrewdly as he came to stand beside her. “I think perhaps that’s why you left Cutsdean without speaking to me, and why, later, when you’d been able to block out some of the memory of my abrasive independence, you wrote such a casual letter. You were pretending to yourself that I was no different than other women. But I am, James, and I think it’s something you haven’t come to terms with yet.”

Alvescot didn’t know how to respond. In some ways he even thought she might be right. He
had
managed to forget that she expressed herself so strongly and acted so forcefully. Not imperiously, like his aunt Damery, but with a different sort of personal dignity, an air of assurance that one seldom saw in a woman when she was in company with a man. He could call to mind several occasions on which she had insisted on her right to control events at Cutsdean when he had offered to release her from the burden. Had he fallen in love with her because of, or in spite of, this attribute?

Though he continued to hold her gaze, Vanessa could tell that he was abstracted. With a smile she asked, “Will you hand me up, James? I’m afraid I haven’t the height to mount by myself.”

“But you would if you could,” he said, trying to make his tone teasing.

“Precisely.”

He made a foot hold with his hands and she swung herself gracefully into the saddle. Vanessa arranged the folds of blue cloth to a comfortable position as he mounted. But neither of them made any move to urge their horses forward. As they sat regarding one another, she impulsively reached out and touched his hand. “I haven’t been totally honest with you, either, James. I’m more than fond of you. My whole being longs to be with you, but it may not be the right thing to do. Can you accept that?”

“In principle, my dear,” he said softly, covering her hand. “But in practice it seems foolish and wasteful. I’m sure we could work out any differences between us. I admire what you’ve done here; I’ve told you that before. And I think, Vanessa, that as much as you’ve accomplished, it doesn’t make your life feel complete. You told me you were lonely, and yet you have the children and Paul Burford’s friendship. You want a man to share your love with, and forge that bond which gives strength and purpose to an otherwise unintelligible existence. Even the strongest among us need the replenishment that having someone love us gives. I won’t try to change you, and I don’t think you would try to change me. Society’s conventions needn’t apply to us in our private lives.”

“But they will in our public lives, James, and you cannot help but lead a public life. Your friends would think me a very strange sort of woman.”

“They would think you adorable . . . and a trifle eccentric, perhaps,” he admitted with a grin. “Promise me you won’t reject my offer out of hand, Vanessa. Think about it.”

“I will if you will, my dear. I don’t want it to be easier for you to love me from a distance.”

Alvescot realized she was wholly serious about this request, and though at the moment he was feeling it wouldn’t be possible to love her any more than he did right then, he said, “I will, but don’t expect me to change my mind.”

“I just want you to feel you can,” she replied, finally removing her hand and urging the mare forward.

* * * *

All through dinner Alvescot thought about what she’d said, since Hortense would not deign to speak with him and Louisa politely but firmly indicated she would rather not, given William’s scowling face on her other side. Mabel, fortunately, wasn’t close enough to distract him and Edward hadn’t bothered to come to dinner at all.

Down the length of the table Vanessa smiled at him frequently, the old rueful gleam in her eyes. He remembered the first night he’d sat there, thinking that Vanessa was in need of male guidance. As it turned out, she was in need of no guidance at all and he tried to analyze whether that bothered him. There was a certain self-esteem to be gained from a woman’s dependence on a man’s opinion, of course, but look how ridiculous William and Louisa made such an exchange seem. Where neither opinion carried any weight, talk of guidance was nonsense, and where vanity demanded a flattering degree of attention, it was a hollow sort of victory.

Alvescot knew Vanessa would accord his opinions a proper respect, and what she asked in return was a similar understanding. Not, perhaps, the rule of the day, but an entirely logical arrangement between two intelligent and capable people. Now he came to think of it, he wasn’t at all sure he would be comfortable with a subservient, dutiful wife. Earning your bolstered ego at someone else’s expense was not exactly his idea of an honest way to conduct affairs. A comfortable wife started to look like the worst possible type of woman he could choose!

When the ladies left them alone, he and William eyed each other with a marked lack of enthusiasm. Alvescot took a sip from his glass and settled back in his chair, saying, “I understand you’ve spent some time in London, Oldcastle. Was it pleasant?”

“Reasonably,” William muttered. “I thought you were settled in Sussex.”

“I have been, but I became worried when I didn’t hear from Mrs. Damery. As it happens, she had a shoulder injury which prevented her from writing.”

William threw him a startled glance. “I didn’t hear anything of an injury. How did she sustain it?”