“However do you manage to bear living with him?” Kayne asked her, laughing and clapping Grey on the shoulder. Grey frowned, and Jennifer perceived, in a flash of insight, that he truly did resent company. The laughter and cheerful conversation forced him to smile, to forget his absorption in grief and his surly self-centeredness. And yet, she realized as Grey flashed a reluctant smile and pulled the twins’ braids, that the company pleased him also. Grey, she realized, was as lonely as she was.
“I wonder if we could borrow your carriage tomorrow,” Kayne was saying to Grey. The O’Neills had sailed here in a shallop, since traveling by water from Princess Anne County was far easier than traveling by horseback, as Jennifer had once found to her sorrow.
“The carriage? Certainly, but why?”
Kayne looked uncomfortable. “I know we’ve only just arrived, but Sapphira wants to, er, visit with Rebecca and
Trev.” He flushed slightly. “We wondered if perhaps you would like to go to Williamsburg with us. We plan on staying there a couple of days. If you—”
“No,” Grey said flatly.
“But Grey—”
“I said no.” Realizing he had spoken rather sharply, Grey smiled apologetically. “I see what you are trying to accomplish, Kayne—or more likely, what Sapphira is trying to accomplish. But the rift between Trev and myself is one that can never be healed.”
Sapphira, who had been listening intently, broke in. “Grey, I am certain that if you were simply to talk to Trev, he would forgive you. It has been so long. Surely by now—”
“Actually, I saw Trev not two months ago.”
“Really?” Sapphira said, her face lighting up. “And what did he say?”
“He said very little,” Grey said dryly. “He was otherwise occupied.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to break my nose.”
There was an awkward silence. At last Kayne said, “Very well, Grey. We will not push you into coming with us. But we would be very grateful for the loan of your carriage.”
“You can have it, and welcome,” Grey said. “I can certainly understand that Sapphira would like to visit her sister. And now, let me show you to your chambers.” He led the O’Neills up toward the third floor, where there were four spacious bedchambers in readiness for their guests.
Jennifer played the hostess to perfection that night at the dinner table. She and Catherine had worked hard in preparing a suitable menu. The dinner started with peanut soup and ended with slices from one of the watermelons that had been preserved throughout the winter in the dark cellar. The intermediate courses included foods such as stewed oysters, roast duck, and cinnamon-topped syllabub. With Catherine’s help, Jennifer had created a traditional
centerpiece of fruit in an elaborate silver epergne. The topmost tray of the epergne held a pineapple, imported from the West Indies. Catherine had explained that the pineapple was the traditional symbol of hospitality.
In honor of his guests, Grey had limited his intake of alcohol, and he was a reasonably courteous host, laughing almost amiably with Kayne over a story about a horse race in which they had both competed. Jennifer carried on a conversation with Sapphira, a discussion such as any two women of their class might have, about the new fashions from London, and about the correct way of producing linen from flax. Only once did she stumble.
Sapphira had a disconcerting habit of turning her head when people spoke to her and looking very nearly right at them. It was easy to forget she was blind. Jennifer noticed that she was eating her food very neatly from her plate. Forgetting everything Catherine had ever drilled into her, she blurted out, “How do you know where your food is?”
Catherine shot her a quelling look, and Jennifer nearly clapped her hand over her mouth in horror at her tactlessness, but Sapphira did not appear to mind. She smiled gently. “Kayne tells me where it is at the beginning of the meal,” she explained. “We pretend that the plate is a clock face. He told me that the duck was at twelve o’clock, the ham at four o’clock, and the corn at eight o’clock. When other courses are served he tells me where the food is as well. All I have to do is remember.”
“I see,” Jennifer said, too fascinated to curb her curiosity. “Is that how you get around the house so well, too? He tells you where the furniture is, and you remember?”
“Actually,” Sapphira said, laughing, “I have to find out where the furniture is myself, the hard way. After I’ve stubbed my toes a few times, though, I remember easily enough.” She smiled in Jennifer’s direction. “I imagine that remembering the placement of furniture is far easier than everything you’ve had to remember since coming here, my dear.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jennifer said in confusion, alarmed at the sudden change of topic.
“I’m certain it hasn’t been easy for you,” Sapphira persisted gently. “After all, there are so many things that the planter class take for granted. Even the simplest thing can be difficult for those of us with a handicap, such as holding a fork correctly. There are different kinds of impairments, Jennifer. I have one kind. You have another. But we’ve both learned to overcome them.”
In that moment Jennifer knew that Sapphira accepted her as she was and knew the struggles she had suffered in becoming a lady as no one else in the aristocracy ever could. “Thank you,” she said humbly. “I think—I think you see a great deal more than I realized.”
Across the table, Grey watched Jennifer covertly. He was pleased to see that she was playing the attentive wife, engaging the women in conversation and making certain that everyone’s plates were kept full. It was a cozy domestic scene, and it caused an odd ache in Grey’s heart—or, he thought sardonically, the place where his heart ought to be. This was how he had once envisioned his life, with a lovely woman presiding over the dinner table, filling his home with laughter and conversation. Greyhaven seemed like a home tonight, lit by Jennifer as much as by the myriad candles that blazed from the chandelier and the silver candlesticks scattered around the chamber. But it was only an illusion. Greyhaven was merely a house, not a home—the cold mausoleum it always had been.
“Don’t you think I’m right, Grey?”
Startled by the sound of his name, Grey turned his attention back to Kayne, realizing he had not heard a word his friend had said. “Oh, yes, of course,” he agreed fervently, hoping that Kayne would not realize his attention had wandered.
Kayne raised an eyebrow sardonically. “So you do agree I am ten times the horseman you are?”
“What?”
“Ah! So you admit you weren’t listening to me,” Kayne said triumphantly.
Grey glared at his friend. “I was distracted.”
“So I noticed,” Kayne said with a knowing grin.
Tactful man and good friend that he was, Kayne said nothing more about Grey’s “distraction” until they were seated in the study, enjoying port and pipes full of good sweet-scented Virginia tobacco from the engraved silver box that always sat atop Grey’s secretary. The women had gathered in the parlor for further feminine conversation. Carey had been invited to join the men in the study but had curtly declined. Neither man was surprised, since Carey had never made a secret of his distaste for Grey.
“So,” Kayne said as he puffed meditatively on his clay pipe, an especially fine one with a design of tobacco leaves pressed into the bowl. “How is it that you were so distracted during dinner?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Grey said sullenly.
“Oh, of course you do,” Kayne returned. “You had eyes for no one but your wife. A year ago you told me you had no interest in her. Now it is more than apparent that you do. I congratulate you, Grey. She is a lovely girl. I must admit, you were right to marry her.”
“I was a goddamned bastard to marry her!” Grey exploded suddenly.
Kayne lifted his eyebrows in surprise, realizing that there was more here than met the eye. Well, that was generally the case with Grey. His friend was an unusually complex man. “I don’t understand you, Grey. It’s all too obvious that you are fond of her. She seems fond of you. What is the difficulty?”
To his complete shock, Grey dropped his head into his hands in an attitude of despair. “She hates me,” he said in a muffled voice. “She has barely acknowledged my existence these past weeks. I asked you and your family to visit so that she would have no choice but to be thrown into my presence on a daily basis, and then I asked her to pretend that she can bear my company, and she has done so. I hoped that our relationship would improve if we spent more time together, but the fact is that she despises me And it’s my fault. It’s
all
my fault.”
He lifted his head and stared at Kayne with wide, vulnerable eyes. “I’ve done everything I could to make her hate me. I forcibly took her virginity without any regard for her pleasure. Later I humiliated her in public. Then, after she’d told me she loved me, I took advantage of her feelings for me and seduced her, and the next morning I told her she wasn’t worldly and experienced enough for my sophisticated tastes. And still she didn’t hate me. And then—then I accused her of being pregnant with another man’s child. And finally she learned to hate me.”
“She’s pregnant?”
“Yes,” Grey said miserably. “She’s going to have my child, and she can barely stand to be in the same chamber with me. And she has every reason to despise me. After everything I’ve done—”
“What made you do these things to her?” Kayne thundered. “You’ve insulted her, humiliated her, treated her like a tavern wench—good God, man, what were you thinking? She is your wife.”
Grey sighed. “I wanted her to stay away from me. I
wanted
her to hate me. I was afraid that …” He blinked rapidly and dropped his eyes to avoid Kayne’s piercing gaze. “I was afraid that she would come to mean too much to me.”
Kayne remembered the lovely young lady who had presided over the dinner table, smiling and keeping up a lively conversation, and the longing way Grey had watched her. The pain and confusion on Grey’s face were all too obvious. “But it’s too late,” he said slowly. “She already has come to mean something to you.”
“Yes,” Grey admitted wretchedly. “She already has.”
Despite her lack of vision, Sapphira saw more than did her husband. As soon as she was comfortably ensconced in the parlor with Catherine and Jennifer, she asked gently, “You are not happy, are you, my dear?”
Judging from the silence that Jennifer was looking at
her with surprise, she went on, “Oh, come now. I have some idea of what your life was like in that wretched tavern. I was there when you were married, after all. And I know Grey. Despite the fact that you are far more intelligent and kind than he could have hoped for, despite the fact that you are a wonderful wife for him, he has no doubt managed to ruin your relationship. Am I correct?”
“I have no relationship with Grey,” Jennifer said icily.
“Oh, nonsense,” Sapphira returned, sipping at her toddy, which was considered a suitable drink for women. “He is your husband. Like it or not, you have a very permanent relationship with him. Also, he is the father of your child.”
Jennifer lifted her head abruptly and stared at Sapphira. “How in the world did you know that?” she demanded. “Even if you could see, you wouldn’t be able to tell. I haven’t begun to show yet.”
“I heard the longing in your voice when we talked about my children,” Sapphira explained. “I guessed perhaps you were with child. Or perhaps you only wanted children. But I gather from your response that you are going to have a baby.”
“Yes.”
“Is Grey happy?”
“Is Grey ever happy?” Jennifer retorted icily. “Of course not. He accused me of having another man’s child.” “He didn’t mean it, surely.”
“I don’t know,” Jennifer replied slowly. “He has been so hateful these last few weeks, even more hateful than he was when we first married.”
“Being hateful is an area in which he excels,” Sapphira said dryly.
“But Sapphira, he’s grown worse,” Catherine said, entering the conversation for the first time. “You don’t know the horrid things he’s said to her. Truly, I’ve begun to wonder if he hasn’t gone insane.”
Sapphira did not answer for a moment. Then she said, “My husband tells me that Jennifer is very lovely.”
“She is,” affirmed Catherine.
“That is a matter of opinion,” Jennifer interjected.
Sapphira smiled. “Yes. But Grey’s opinion is the only one that matters. I’ve known Grey for a long time. I am certain he is not insane, and I am equally certain he is terribly confused.”
Jennifer frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Consider it from his perspective, Jennifer,” Sapphira suggested. “Why did he marry you?”
“To irritate Catherine.”
“Yes,” Sapphira agreed, “although I wonder if Grey was completely honest with himself when he married you. I suspect he married you at least partially for chivalrous reasons. He knew how dreadful your life at the tavern was.”
“He cared nothing about that,” Jennifer said sharply.
“I wonder. At any rate, he wed a tavern wench. Then he found himself married to a lovely young lady. Is it any wonder he’s confused? I think he loves you, my dear.”
Jennifer stared at her as though she were mad. “Love?” she repeated, choking back a hysterical giggle as she thought of their last conversation. “No, Sapphira, he loves Diana.”
“Diana has been dead for many years.”
“But he still loves her!”
Sapphira smiled slightly. “Men are such idiots, are they not? Yes, he believes himself to be in love with Diana. But let me tell you something, Jennifer. Diana was a beautiful girl and I loved her dearly—she was my niece, you know—but she was shallow and heartless. Not unlike my sister, her mother, in her younger days. Had Grey remained married to her for very many years he would have realized that she did not love him.”
“What?” Jennifer said faintly. She and Catherine exchanged glances. Did Sapphira know that Diana had loved another man?
“Well, it was all too obvious,” Sapphira explained. “Every time she came to visit us at Windward, she talked about the enormous house Grey was building for her, and
how he was having the
best
furniture made by the
best
local artisans and importing the best silver from England. It was really quite wearying to hear her talk about it. She never talked about Grey, just about this pile of bricks. It was painfully obvious that she loved the money rather than the man.”