The Chevalier (25 page)

There was a knock at the study door and when he called out to enter, Lydia walked in. He stiffened his spine as he always did when she came into the room. She looked so much like his father that he could not feel any affection for her. She was a tall, almost gaunt woman with clear, penetrating dark blue eyes. She rarely smiled and that made her different from the Duke who had always laughed a great deal. Where the Duke had an easy charm, his sister was rarely one to banter. He could not recall his mother smiling or laughing very much either. The Duke would often say that Gareth reminded him of his mother. He could still remember his father speaking to him when he was a small boy.

“Come now,” the Duke would say, “you are too grave a fellow. I fear the Dane in you makes you tedious.” Then the Duke turned to his mother, “Helen, you and the boy take yourselves much too seriously. You must learn to laugh at life.”

Gareth readily admitted it was something he’d never learned to do, but then neither had his father’s sister. At the moment, she was regarding him solemnly.

“What do you want?” he asked. He realized that he sounded irritable, but he had felt despondent because of Madeline and couldn’t seem to shake his bad mood.

“I trust the accounts are in order, Nephew.”

“Perfectly so as always, Aunt. Was there something else?”

She seemed to hesitate but then spoke right up. “It’s about your wife.”

“Forgive me, I do not wish to be curt, but I have no desire to discuss her with anyone.”

“I just wanted to tell you that both Gwenda and I approve of her.”

“Indeed?” He raised a brow, not expecting her comment.

“She’s a lovely young woman. I hope you will be kind to her. I believe she will bloom with the proper ministrations of affection.”

Gareth had the clear notion that his aunt was trying to tell him something but did not wish to come out directly with her advice or opinion. Suggesting by indirection was her usual approach with him.

“Thank you. I am glad that my choice of a wife pleases you.” He gave her a nod of dismissal and she quickly left him.

How could he make his wife happy? She obviously detested him. As much as he desired her, it seemed evident that his attentions made her miserable. Where Madeline was concerned, he felt a lack of self-assurance, uncertain that it would ever work out between them. The Scot had talked of wooing her; should he try to do so? Now there was a novel idea, a man wooing his bride after the wedding ceremony was performed, after he’d bedded and wedded her!

He went back to examining the accounts, thinking that financially things were going better than he ever would have expected. He’d been steadily making money from his shipping investments in the American colonies. Even as he soldiered, his investments had grown rapidly. His analytical skills seemed as keen in business as they were in military matters. How absurd that he could prosper so well in affairs which demanded exercise of the intellect yet do so badly in affairs of the heart. Bloody ironic! He who prided himself on never getting emotionally involved with any woman now had a wife who presented nothing but difficulties.

He could, of course, go to London and ignore the situation for a time. In Madeline’s condition, she could not possibly expect to come, nor would he consider taking her. He had business there that he’d been postponing because of her. There were any number of ladies who would welcome his presence and bestow their favors generously upon him. Not one of them would have cried after the pleasure he had given, not one of them would make him feel like a villain. He suddenly realized that he was very angry with his wife.

He tried to bring his mind to the business at hand, deciding whether to buy more livestock for the farm. Sheep, cows, horses? Perhaps some of each, although sheep had proved the most profitable. Farming in the north required both talent and luck. He understood the principles of farming well enough, having read the most modern tracts on the subject, but he preferred raising livestock. His farm in Cumbria was devoted to sheep, though here, for Gwenda’s sake, he thought to diversify.

He had built up the value of the estate considerably in the past ten years. That gave him a certain sense of pride and self-satisfaction. He could not give Gwenda legitimacy, but he could make certain that she would never want for anything. He was fiercely determined that her husband would be someone worthy. English gentry would overlook a great deal if a young woman were an heiress. He would buy his sister the very best sort of fellow. Long ago he’d vowed that she would be denied nothing of importance. The fact that he made certain she never knew her father was a benefit. Hadn’t it brought him only grief? He sought to protect Gwenda from that.

Gareth closed his account ledgers and put them away. He was feeling tense and uneasy, though he could not understand why. His sense of restlessness made him consider taking a ride on his stallion, but thinking of the beautiful black coat of his horse made his mind drift to thoughts of Madeline’s glossy black hair. How he loved to touch the silky softness of it. Where was she now, he wondered? They had hardly spoken to each other since arriving at his farm. The tension between them had been palpable. He could barely tolerate it and wondered if she felt the same.

He rang for Yarber and inquired in a nonchalant manner as to his wife’s whereabouts.

“I believe the lady is resting, sir,” Yarber replied.

Gareth thought that the old man looked more wrinkled and shriveled than ever then quickly dismissed the depressing thought from his mind. He would always keep the butler on. It was Yarber who had seen to him that day after he found his mother. He had never forgotten and he never would.

Quickly and quietly, he negotiated the steps. He wanted to see her, perhaps talk to her. Really, he very much wanted to make love to her. His body ached for her. If he’d thought about it, he wouldn’t have gone to her room, but moving as he was, taking two steps at a time, he hardly had time to think at all and decided that was for the best.

He knocked quietly at the door to her chamber, but when no answer was forthcoming, he tried the handle and found the door unlocked. The draperies were drawn yet there was enough light in the room to see her lying on the bed. She was fast asleep, looking like a little girl with her hair spread across the pillow and her thick, black lashes feathered against her rosy cheeks. He seated himself on the edge of the bed, watching, studying, admiring the swan neck and the perfect alabaster of her skin. He leaned down and kissed her rosebud lips ever so gently. She reminded him of a princess in a fairy tale.

At that moment, Madeline’s silver eyes flickered open and she looked at him in surprise. “Why are you here?”

 
Twenty-Five

“I’ve come to ravish you of course.”

At that remark, she sat bolt upright and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, her great gray eyes opening wide. He threw his head back and began to laugh at her reaction; her face turned red.

“I said it in jest, only to tease you.”

“To provoke me you mean.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her delicate hands in his own. “We’ve been behaving like strangers toward one another and I confess that I do not like it.”

“If you mean that you wish to have your way with me again then…”

He interrupted her irritably. “Perhaps I would like it, and what would be wrong with it? We are married after all.”

She looked at him thoughtfully and he was sucked into the quiet quicksand of her gaze. “You are right; we really don’t know each other, not the way a husband and wife should. We’ve barely held a conversation, hardly ever, at least about the things that matter to us.”

Gareth wondered with sudden alarm if she were right. He had not actually considered opening himself to her in the manner she suggested. Such a thing meant total trust and he could trust only himself. Sharing his innermost feelings with this mere chit of a girl, making himself wholly vulnerable to her, the very thought was terrifying.

She was staring at him pensively still and he couldn’t help noticing how her large, soulful eyes had an otherworldly quality about them, a touch of the spiritual. John Donne would have surely written a poem about them, Gareth mused, if the poet had known her. Madeline’s large, luminous eyes were celestial orbs worthy of metaphysical contemplation.

“Gareth? What are you thinking about?”

“How much I would like to climb into bed with you right now.” He said it more to break the train of his thinking than anything else. He did not want to regard her too highly or think too well of her; that would certainly be a mistake. It could only lead to greater hurt for him.

“That is a most rude notion,” she said. “Besides, I promised to help Gwenda with her harpsichord practice after lunch. I believe I shall go now.”

“Your notion could most assuredly be postponed,” he said, grinning wickedly as he ran his large hands suggestively along her slender arms.

“I don’t think it would be proper,” she responded, trying to rise.

He put his arms around her waist and held her to him. “There’s been nothing proper about our relationship until now so I don’t suppose we should change anything.”

How wonderful she smelled, like fresh lilacs. He had an overwhelming desire to taste of her as if she were a sweet, juicy summer fruit. He had wrapped her into his arms and just begun kissing her when a knock sounded at the door.

“Madeline, are you awake?”

It was Gwenda’s voice and it caused Madeline to push him away. He gave Madeline a leering mock grin that promised much and then allowed her to move away from him. She called out for Gwenda to come in. As soon as his sister saw him sitting on the bed, she flushed slightly.

“If this is not the best time for me to be here, I could leave,” she offered in a diffident voice.

“No,” Madeline responded firmly. “Of course it’s fine. I was just telling Gareth about our practicing music together. It’s been some time for me.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Gwenda replied. “I have no musical talent whatever, but Aunt Lydia says I must practice in an effort to develop all the abilities expected of a young lady.”

“She’s quite right, of course. A lady is admired for her accomplishments. My Maman insisted that I play, sing, paint and even write poetry, besides working at my studies. However, my embroidery leaves much to be desired.”

Gwenda laughed, completely put at ease by Madeline’s friendly manner. “I’m not much good at that either,” Gwenda confided.

“Then we shall get along extremely well,” Madeline said with a smile.

“May I escort you two beautiful young ladies downstairs?” Gareth asked, extending an arm to each.

“I need a few moments to freshen myself,” Madeline said, “but I will join you presently.”

“Aunt Lydia says it is time for the midday meal, so we have a brief reprieve on our music practice.”

As Gareth and his sister left Madeline’s chamber, Gwenda turned to him. “She’s incredibly nice, Gar, genuinely warm and vivacious. ‘Tis wonderful to have her here.”

He did not reply but was glad that Gwenda was getting on with his wife – now if only he could manage the same feat.

♥ ♥ ♥

The main meal of the day was generally served between noon and one o’clock. Often, it was lamb since they did raise sheep, and today was no different. A joint of lamb was being served with boiled potatoes and green beans. There was in addition, a fillet of veal with mushrooms and a cucumber salad. The cooking was rather plain fare but that was Lydia’s preference, as he well knew. They began with a clear consommé while waiting for Madeline to join them.

He and Gwenda were soon joined by his aunt and Madeline. He wondered if Madeline would comment on the bland fare, but she seemed determined to be pleasant to his aunt and avoid interfering in the running of the household. He wondered how long that might last. Madeline, as his wife, was now mistress here, after all. Yet she was young and inexperienced, how much could she know about running a large house such as this? Perhaps she would be just as content to abdicate such responsibility to his aunt. Then too, Lydia could be quite formidable and intimidating at times, especially for a young girl.

As lunch progressed, Gareth observed that his aunt was treating Madeline as if she were another child, in fact, speaking to Madeline in just the way she spoke to Gwenda. He frowned deeply, but he realized that it was not up to him to intercede on her behalf with his aunt. The two women would have to come to some sort of mutual understanding on their own.

“And when will you be eighteen?” Lydia asked Madeline.

“In another month,” his wife responded.

“We are little more than a year apart,” Gwenda observed.

Lydia gave him a sharp look that he comprehended perfectly but chose to ignore; it suggested that he had snatched his wife from the cradle and ought to be ashamed of himself.

“I noticed that you arrived without a maid. Do you want us to provide you with one or will you be requiring someone of your own choosing?”

Gareth marveled at how his aunt had an eye to every detail. He himself had not considered his wife’s need to have a personal servant.

“Where is that woman of yours – Marie, wasn’t it?”

She turned to him anxiously. “Marie was my mother’s maid. I left her at the house in London.”

“Would you like me to send for her?” he asked.

“
Mais non
!” she responded hastily.

He wondered at Madeline’s response and then thought she probably didn’t want the woman to see into what reduced circumstances she had married. He tended to forget that Madeline was the daughter of a French count and as such would have lived in grand style in Paris. That, of course, was one of the many things they had never discussed. How she must despise him for turning her life upside down! He was beginning to doubt his ability to win her; though why he should care to, he did not understand.

Gareth concentrated on his meal instead of the conversation which was decidedly too feminine for his tastes anyway. With disdain, he pushed aside the custard he considered an appropriate dessert only for invalids and announced he would be taking some exercise. Then he went out for a ride, leaving the women to their own devices. He was relieved to be away from the house and the fresh autumn air did him a world of good. He rode out and checked on each of the tenants, something he had no opportunity to do in a very long time. He was welcomed warmly by most of them, although many had concerns they wished to discuss with him.

“‘Tis good to see the squire back home.” Dan Phillips, his manager, clasped his arms, welcoming Gareth warmly.

“How’s the farm been doing?” he asked.

“Well enough, though some years are better than others. This mixed farming you have us doing works out much better than the old ways. The wheat and barley aren’t always good, but then the livestock makes the difference.”

Gareth had spoken with each tenant farmer at length, realizing that his time away had led to neglect of his responsibilities. It was nearly teatime when he returned and he was feeling satisfied with himself.

As he entered the house, he encountered beautiful strains of music filling the large entry hall. He followed the sound to the drawing room, listening to the sweetest soprano he had ever heard in his life. It was with some surprise that he saw Madeline playing at the harpsichord, her incandescent eyes in a separate world as she sang. She had never looked or sounded more like a seraph and yet she stirred in him the most carnal of reactions. The earlier sexual frustration he’d been forced to endure came back with a vengeance. He felt a powerful surge of need when he looked at her.

Suddenly, she became aware of his presence, flushed becomingly, and stopped playing and singing altogether.

“That was so beautiful,” Gwenda exclaimed. “Please continue.”

“Perhaps another time. I sometimes get carried away by music; it tears my emotions in the extreme.”

“Gwenda is right,” he observed. “Your lovely voice filled the room with sweetness. I venture neither nightingale nor thrush ever sang as well.”

Madeline laughed at his comment. He thought the trill of her laughter as silvery as her eyes.

“Such high praise, I did not think you a music lover. I am sure my talents are only middling at best.”

“Do play and sing some more for us,” Gwenda urged. She sat beside Madeline on the bench.

“I quite concur,” Lydia said. “You’ve real talent.”

With a shy look to him, Madeline continued her performance. He thought her sensitive in a way he hardly fathomed, for music usually did not hold much of an interest for him nor did it generally effect his emotions. Yet he enjoyed her performance more than he could say. It was all the passion that went into her playing and the velvet smoothness of her voice. He could not recall desiring any other woman as much.

Suddenly, he realized that she was done and they were all looking at him, waiting for him to say something. “I did not intend to interrupt,” he said in a deep, thoughtful voice.

“You haven’t,” Madeline replied, the ethereal gray eyes meeting his directly.

He looked away, trying to maintain an air of relative detachment. He did not like the way her very look could stir such strong feelings in him; it was frightening. The smoke-eyed siren must never discover the power she had over him.

“Ladies, would you care to go for a walk with me?” Gareth asked.

“Take your wife,” Lydia said. “Gwenda and I have a vigorous routine in the early morning and evening, two miles rain or shine. I have always felt that walking aids the digestion and the complexion. Madeline should most certainly be taking a stroll around the park; it will do a world of good in building up her strength.”

Gareth often found his aunt opinionated, but he did concede that she was probably right. Her outspokenness did not seem to phase Madeline in the slightest, and so there seemed nothing for it but to take his wife for a stroll.

Madeline, it seemed, very much liked the garden. “English gardens are so lovely,” she told him enthusiastically.

He picked a late blooming rose and handed it to her. “That’s probably the last one we shall see until next spring,” he said.

“Gareth, your finger!”

He looked down at the source of her concern and saw that a thorn had caught his finger and it was bleeding. Strange, he had hardly noticed until now.

“You remind me of this rose,” he told her. “The perfumed fragrance of it is like your scent, the petals smooth as the velvet of your cheek, the color just as crimson, and when I draw too close, you both prick me with your thorns.”

“I have no thorns,” she denied hotly.

“Indeed, my love, your tears are like thorns to me.”

She sat down on a gracefully carved, white marble bench and looked down, her eyes obscured by her dark, sooty lashes so that he could not read the expression in them.

“If I ever hurt you, it would never be intentional,” she said in a subdued voice.

His lips twitched at the childlike candor of her exclamation.

“I sometimes behave in an impetuous manner. The nuns at the convent chastised me for my impulsive disposition.”

With that, she rose as quickly to her feet as her altered condition would allow and hurried off down the lane ahead of him.

“Mind, don’t you go getting lost in that maze for it’s been many a year since I’ve gone through the hedges and I’ve forgotten the way.” He was beginning to think her headstrong enough to do exactly the opposite of what he told her just to prove her independence.

Sure enough, she followed a path through the garden maze. It seemed as if he had a wife who rashly courted trouble more surely than any raw recruit who had ever served under him in the army. He had managed to live as long as he did, a veteran of many battles, because he was cautious and did not hanker after unnecessary danger. He kept his nerves cool and his mind alert. Madeline, he decided, would have made a dreadful soldier, though he could never doubt her courage.