Authors: Alyssa Everett
A changed man, but still a remarkably handsome one. Her eyes roamed over him, from his dark, chiseled features to the long, lean length of his body. It had felt so good to press tight against him the night before, so thrilling to kiss him and feel his warm lips on her skin. Recalling it, her heart beat faster, and a strange heat stole over her, concentrating in the place between her legs. How many more days would she have to wait until he overcame his reluctance to consummate their marriage? If he needed her to be patient, she was willing to be patient. She only hoped she wouldn’t have to be patient for long.
Oh, dear, that seemed dreadfully like ingratitude. Now that she had the home and the settled life she’d always longed for, she ought to be counting her blessings, not aching for still more. But she did want children, and even if she and David were never blessed with a child of their own, it would be so exciting to share that kind of closeness with him. His body fascinated her. She loved to watch the way he moved, and how even the most elegant tailoring failed to disguise the hard muscles beneath. They’d been married nearly a fortnight now, and she’d yet to see him in his shirtsleeves. Imagining him in far less made her go warm all over.
Poor man—if he only knew what shocking thoughts were running through her head. Fortunately he was safe from her lecherous designs for the moment. They could hardly consummate their marriage out here, atop this hill. At least, not without fear of ants and grass stains and—
“Something is amusing you,” David said, bringing her back to earth with a thud, “but I haven’t the faintest notion what it might be.”
“Amusing me?”
“Yes, you were grinning just then like an angel with a particularly delicious secret.”
An angel? What a lucky thing he couldn’t read her thoughts. “Just good cheer, that’s all. Have you ever seen a more perfect afternoon? I can scarcely imagine meeting with anything but good fortune on a day as beautiful as today.”
“I’m glad to see you happy, but take care you don’t tempt Fate. Some of the brightest days in my memory have also turned out to be the darkest.” At her questioning look, he said, “My father killed himself on a day much like today.”
Her face fell. “Oh, David—I had no idea.”
“I know, and I certainly didn’t mean to chase away the smile you were wearing.”
But all thought of flirtation had fled with David’s revelation. “You remember the very day it happened, then?”
To her relief, he didn’t look away or turn cool as he usually did whenever conversation turned to an uncomfortable topic. Instead he fixed his eyes on the grass between his boots. “I remember every last detail. I’ve often asked myself, looking back on the hours just before he pulled the trigger, if there was any sign I should have noticed, any opportunity I might have missed to change his mind. If I’d only said the right thing, he might still—”
“Don’t.” Rosalie set a hand on his shoulder. “You were only a boy, and no parent wishes to burden a child with adult troubles. You of all people can be confident he gave you no cause to suspect what was in his mind that day.”
David was silent for a time before looking up at her, his head tilted slightly to one side. “Do you know, you possess the most extraordinary talent. You have a way of saying precisely the thing I most want to hear—so sympathetic it would sound like a mere empty platitude, coming from anyone else. And yet, when you say it, I find myself believing it must be true. I suppose...”
She waited, but he didn’t finish. “You suppose what?”
His brow wrinkled. “I don’t know. I was trying to describe what it is about you that lends the things you say that kind of weight, but I can’t quite...” His words trailed off again.
“You trust me.”
A look of peace spread slowly over David’s features, wiping away his frown of concentration. “Yes, I believe that’s it.” He turned his dark eyes on her and broke into a smile. It was the first time she had ever seen his face completely open and unguarded. Her heart gave another of those silly, unsophisticated bounds, and this time he hadn’t even touched her.
“Because I’m the least Machiavellian young lady you know,” she added, recalling his words aboard the
Neptune’s
Fancy
.
“So you are.” He plucked a wildflower from the grass beside him and began pulling off the petals, one by one. “She loves me, she loves me not; she loves me, she loves me not...”
Rosalie laughed, not because the gesture was the least bit witty or original, but because she’d never seen urbane, self-possessed David so playful before. “Be sure to end on ‘she loves me.’ Otherwise, I’ll have to call your flower a liar.”
“Well, look at that.” He held out the denuded stem for her to see. “She loves me.”
Rosalie beamed. “Of course. I could have told you that without your making a sacrifice of that poor stitchwort.”
She realized it was the first time, aside from the vows they’d taken during their wedding ceremony, that they’d ever spoken of love. Her feelings for David had been building since the night her father died, yet they’d grown so steadily, it surprised her she’d never said the words aloud before.
Looking about her—at David, at the cloudless day, at the storybook view below—a wave of unadulterated gladness welled up inside her. Her cousin Charlie had accused her of being too forgiving by half. If that was a failing, she didn’t regret it. If she’d never looked beyond David’s reserve, if she hadn’t pushed to get to know him better, she wouldn’t be sitting here now. David wouldn’t be sprawled on the grass at her feet, and his world wouldn’t be spread out before her like a gift.
He twirled what was left of the flower between his finger and thumb, examining it. “I believe I’ll keep this.” He tucked the plundered stitchwort into his breast pocket. “In case I should ever be required to produce evidence of your devotion in a court of law.”
At the unaccustomed note of teasing in his voice, Rosalie laughed. “I thought a husband couldn’t be compelled to testify against his wife.”
“Very true. We’re one, under the law. But I mean to keep the flower, just the same.”
“For a man with an interest in language, you’re not very nice in your distinctions. One can hardly call it a flower any more.
Stem
is more like it now.”
“Stem, then,” he agreed affably. “I’m keeping it.”
They sat together for a time in companionable silence, gazing out at the house and countryside. David leaned back on one elbow and the sun flashed off the gold signet ring he wore.
He’s
my
husband
. Her sense of well-being bordered on bliss.
We’re
married
,
and
I’ll
find
a
way
to
show
him
just
how
useful
I
can
be
.
She had an urge to lean down and kiss him—a long, hungry kiss like the one they’d shared the night before—but she made herself sit quietly until it passed. As much as she wanted to be a real wife to David, he was beginning to lower his defenses around her, and that was even more important than that other aspect of their marriage. It would be a mistake, pushing him.
Instead she turned her thoughts once again to his father’s suicide. “You don’t really believe your father was mad, do you, David?”
He glanced at her with an expression of surprise. “I’m not sure what to believe. I do know he lacked any compelling reason to kill himself. He’d suffered no political or financial reversals. He wasn’t embroiled in any scandal. It had been years since my mother’s death, and I expect I would have heard by now if he’d met with some added heartbreak. What possible explanation does that leave, except madness?”
She leaned toward him, propping an elbow on one knee, her chin cupped in her hand. “Perhaps he was simply lonely.”
“Lonely?” David shook his head. “If that were the case, he might have remedied it easily enough. He could have gone to London, or at least played a larger part in local society. He might even have remarried. Even with a young son at home, he was an eligible widower.”
“But when one is profoundly unhappy, it can be hard to make a change. Change requires the energy to strike out in a new direction and the conviction that matters are likely to improve. Perhaps your father lacked that conviction.”
David reflected a moment before giving an almost imperceptible shrug. “Perhaps you’re right. My uncle Frederick often said my father gave others the credit for his successes, yet took his failures personally. I can even remember my father remarking that he envied my uncle his ability to go through life without doubts, regrets or second thoughts of any kind.”
“Your father and your uncle were very different, then?”
Restless, David plucked a stalk of grass and rolled it between his fingers. “Completely different. That’s what I meant when I said my father could have taken a greater part in society if he’d wished. He cared about the people he met. He
felt
things. My uncle, on the other hand, was thoroughly practical and matter-of-fact—and, much to his credit, quite the sanest and most rational man I’ve ever known.”
“But not very popular with your neighbors.”
“Well, he was not only of a naturally more dispassionate character, he was also plagued by one besetting sin—pride. To my uncle Frederick, duty and lineage were everything, and the greatest sin of all was admitting weakness.”
“It’s no crime to feel things, David.”
“No,” he said after a moment, as if he’d never seriously considered the question before. “No, it’s not.”
Silence settled over them again, David gazing thoughtfully into the distance.
After a time, Rosalie said, “So you and your uncle didn’t see eye to eye?”
He tossed the stalk of grass away. “We never clashed openly—that would have been beneath the vaunted Linney dignity—but we were as different as chalk and cheese. I’d inherited something of my father’s thin skin, I suppose, as well as my mother’s love of poetry and language. My uncle, on the other hand, was a stolid, unexcitable sort. His hobby was collecting pocket watches, taking them apart and putting them back together again, scrutinizing their inner workings through a jeweler’s loupe. He took more interest in the springs and dials of his timepieces than he did in the people around him.”
Rosalie privately thought David was not so much thin-skinned as sensitive, but most men regarded the word as an insult. “Then why did your father choose him as your guardian?”
“He didn’t—that is, not until Fate stepped in. It’s customary to appoint a maternal relative, someone who doesn’t stand to benefit in the event the heir should suffer some misfortune. But my mother’s father and her only brother died a scarce few weeks before my father’s suicide, and my father neglected to change his will. He never really intended Uncle Frederick to be my guardian, but as the only surviving designee, my uncle acquired the position by default.”
“How wretched you must have been, left in his charge.”
With a faint, wry smile, David shook his head. “No, my dear. I can see I’ve put too much emphasis on his flaws, if you imagine he was anything less than a model guardian. The terms of my father’s will put no restrictions on his guardianship, but my uncle nevertheless went before the officers of the Court of Chancery every year and gave a full accounting of the decisions he’d made on my behalf. He was as honest as he was exacting. I couldn’t have asked for a more scrupulous protector of my interests.”
“Yes, but one would expect any estate manager or man of business to conduct himself with the same correctness. One looks for other things from one’s family, and your uncle was the only real family you had left.”
“Deep down, he wasn’t a bad fellow. On those rare occasions when some willful act of disobedience earned me a birching, he always seemed more reluctant to deal out the punishment than I was to receive it. He made sure I had only the best tutors and instructors, and every possible comfort and advantage. My allowance would have been the envy of any boy my age. And when I was at Oxford and came down with scarlet fever, he rushed to my sickbed with a prominent physician he’d all but waylaid and forced to accompany him. Beneath the cold exterior, he really did care for me. He simply had trouble showing it.”
Rosalie remembered the way David had pulled away the first time she’d set her hand on his. Had he acquired his distaste for physical affection from his uncle? No, there had to be some other explanation for David’s reaction. That day on the ship, he’d seemed more than merely uncomfortable. He’d looked positively unnerved.
She clasped her hands around her knees. “Very well. I accept that your uncle was a good man at heart. But I still think he was the wrong guardian for an impressionable boy who’d lost his father in such a harrowing fashion. What you needed most was kindness and sympathy.”
David smiled with strained good humor. “It’s a good thing my uncle is no longer alive to hear you suggesting a Linney might
need
anything, least of all sympathy.”