The Loves of Leopold Singer (35 page)

Elizabeth trimmed the roses while her boys, now eleven and nine, played with the servants’ children. “One, two, three ...” While Geordie covered his eyes and counted, Wills disappeared through an opening low in the hedgerow.

“How different those two are,” Philly said from a lawn chair near Elizabeth.

Elizabeth sat down on the grass beside the chair. “Cousin Susan says Geordie is of the earth and Wills is of the air.”

“They reflect their two fathers, I dare say,” Philly said. “But pray both inherit your good sense.”
 
The glare of the midday sun showed her age, though it seemed Philly had always been old. It must be wonderful to be done with it all, past life’s disappointments.

Elizabeth said, “Philly, do you ever wish that you had married?”

“My dear, under what inducement? I had the estate to run my way, and the child to raise my way. No man to beat me or belittle me or ignore me. Not that your husbands were—or are—bad men.”

“Not that they were or are. Here is our tea.” Elizabeth wasn’t terribly unhappy. She would like to reconcile with Sir Carey but, as the Duchess of Gohrum once let slip, he continued on with Lady Whitley and others besides. She could have her pride or she could have her husband in her bed, but she couldn’t have both.

She had chosen her pride. Months became years, and Sir Carey hadn’t tried to win her back again. It was embarrassing, in a way. She missed his touch, and ironically the smell of him. But she had learned long ago you don’t get something you need just because you need it.

She bit into a scone and a whole, sweet raspberry. She closed her eyes and listened to the children’s laughter as she slipped into her favorite guilty pleasure, a daydream in which she at last learned what it would be like to feel Dr. Devilliers’s lips upon her own.

“We should have asked my cousin to join us.”

-oOo-

Honeysuckle infiltrated the hedgerow, making it the perfect place to hide. Unseen, Wills would still be able to spy through the green vines and yellow trumpet-like flowers. Unfortunately someone had already claimed the prime spot.

“Wills, come in.” Abby, Mrs. Johns’s granddaughter, pulled him through the break and moved close to him, giggling.

“Quiet, Abby. He’ll find us.”

“He’ll never. You’re too clever.” She put her arms around his waist.

“Abby, move back. You’re smothering me.”

She laughed again and kissed him full on the lips. Wills stared, transfixed.

“I see you!” Geordie called. “You behind the hedgerow there, I saw you move!”

“You win!” Abby jumped up and gave herself away, never intimating there was another with her.

-oOo-

Susan shifted the basket she carried onto one arm and opened the rectory gate. The smell of hot raspberry scones mixed with the fragrance of lilacs in full bloom. The sun shone, the birds sang, it was Tuesday morning, and the world was a beautiful place.

Dr. Devilliers opened the rectory door. He couldn’t suppress his smile. “Good morning, Susan.”

Susan.
Not Mrs. Peter. It was their little game. If the housekeeper was gone to visit her sister for the day—as she often did on Tuesday’s—he’d greet Susan with her Christian name.

“Good morning, Jordan.” She knew she was grinning like a silly girl, but she didn’t care. “I’ve brought fresh scones Cook made not half an hour ago.”

She brushed past him through the doorway, close enough to feel his chest against her shoulder as she walked by.

“I’m famished,” he said, thick with innuendo, and followed her.

She opened the cloth that covered the scones and broke off a part of one. Trembling, she pushed it into his mouth.

He smiled for her like for no one else. He smiled for her like a devil, like a demon lover who knew her every dark secret, loved her just as she was, asked for no more than she could give, and would never let her go.

“As St. Augustine once said,” he slipped his arms around her waist and pressed her to his chest. “Lord grant me continence.” He kissed her and pushed his tongue into her mouth greedily. “But not yet.”

1819, Carleson Peak

Geordie Carleson was as good as his brother, William Asher, was beautiful. Where Wills was light and ephemeral, Geordie was dark and solid. His brown hair accentuated his gentle eyes. He spoke rarely, but when he did he was pleasant to hear. He developed his broad muscularity working with Laurelwood’s men from the time he could carry a basket. Now sixteen, he held his own in the estate’s management. The tenants had begun to call him
young squire
. He had all the desired attributes: the old family name, a substantial property, a manly sense of service to his land and his people.

Just as his mother felt no need to avoid man’s work, neither did Geordie shy away from woman’s province. He visited the sick and needy, bringing along a chicken or a pudding made by Cook. He was no master of poetry or art, but his goodness and his estate recommended him. More than one county mother remarked to her husband that Geordie Carleson would make a fine husband for their daughter.

But the woman in Geordie’s life was still his mother. He gladly played second officer to her in preparing for his brother’s birthday celebration. Today he was particularly determined to make himself useful. He had to show why he must not be sent away. Last night he’d overheard Lady Asher and Sir Carey talking about Wills’ birthday. It was rare enough to hear them speak more than two words to each other, but this had been a bona fide conversation. Of course, he’d listened. One thing led to another until they came to the subject of the boys’ education and the alarming news that he was to attend Cambridge.

“The tables are put out, Mama.”

“You’re a great help, dear,” Elizabeth said on her way to the carriage house.

“Yes. I am.” He followed her through the kitchen, snatching up a biscuit. “Too useful to be sent to school, don’t you think?”

“Sir Carey wishes it.” Elizabeth stopped at the door. “And he is right.”

“I can’t bear to think of being away from Laurelwood.”

“I know.” She brushed away biscuit crumbs from the corner of her son’s mouth. “But you will bear it, dear.” She couldn’t believe she had a sixteen-year-old child. “Console yourself. It will be a while yet. Now will you collect vases for the tables? I am going to fly over to The Branch to bring back the baroness and as many of her roses as she’ll spare.”

“Good luck.” Geordie watched his mother ride away then went in search of Mrs. Johns. “Abishag.” He found the housekeeper’s granddaughter instead. “Collect what vases you can find. Lady Asher will be setting out flowers.”

“Yes, Master Geordie.” Abby curtsied and showed him the bowl and towel she carried. “Sir Carey has called for a shave. Shall I get the vases when I’ve finished?”

“Very good.” Geordie felt much better. He was safe from Cambridge for now, and Sir Carey might change his mind. He went to see if Cook had what she needed for the punch—knowing she did, and wanting a taste.

-oOo-

Sir Carey watched the girl prepare for his shave and felt how long it had been since he’d shared his wife’s bed. He found comfort with women in London. There were always women in London. There was always Lady Whitley. They satisfied him in the way he had been satisfied before his marriage.

But he missed Elizabeth and the easy rush of warm love he felt watching her sleep. He missed the sudden friendliness of her hand on his at the breakfast table or surprise of a quick kiss in the garden. He often watched her with the boys and longed to join their conversation.

Abby had been coming to him for half a year. He reached for her, and she moved his hands to the arms of the chair and opened the front of his robe. She kissed his birthmark and climbed onto his lap, making no sound. He soon felt he would burst inside her. She made a quiet, animal-like growl and he felt her spasms. He strained to thrust everything into her. He felt wretched, even as he found release.

This woman-child had seduced him, though none would believe it. He wasn’t her master. She owned him though he paid her ten pounds a year plus the odd gift of a cap or ribbon. She sat still now, on his spent lap, her breasts free. She smiled like the victor, scraping his whiskers away as he absently caressed her. Abby would never be called beautiful, but she was a pretty girl. Her skin was tight and her ample bosom needed no support. The natural perfume of her youthful skin was intoxicating.

“You are quite handsome today.” She finished and kissed him on the cheek fondly when he gave her a coin. “Everyone is going in to The Peak after the party, but I’ll stay behind.”

“Is that so?” It was the custom at Laurelwood to give the household servants a half-day off on the boys’ birthdays.

“In my room.”

He swore he wouldn’t go to her later, just as he’d sworn he wouldn’t do what he had just done.

-oOo-

“Fourteen years ago, when I christened William Philo George Asher,” Dr. Devilliers addressed the gathering, “I thought
who is this marvelous child?
The babe fairly glowed with a kind of magnetism ...”

Devilliers’ voice trailed away, as did his listeners’ thoughts. Each remembered seeing Wills for the first time: the sharp intake of breath, a sense of something uncanny, the absolute beauty in his face and figure. His hair was golden like straw—or a halo. His eyes were blue like cornflowers, yet they glittered like sunlight on the sea. His skin was pale and perfect, never a blotch or blemish, and the hint of rose blush on his cheeks.

When Wills looked at you, you felt as if your soul had come home. He delighted in everything that made you happy. In a world where children were neatly stored away with a governess or at school, Wills was included in every invitation.

“I shouldn’t be surprised to be told in a few years,” Devilliers’s voice was vulgar compared to his audience’s daydreams, “that our Wills has accomplished the noblest of deeds and captured the heart and hand of a princess. To Wills.” He raised his glass. “Your health and happiness.”

“Health and happiness,” the gathered friends repeated, along with cries of “Speech!”

Wills addressed his admirers like the shining prince that he was. “I am very glad you have all come to help me celebrate my birthday. I especially like the prediction about capturing the heart of a princess.” He searched for his friend beyond the table and gave her a special smile, then turned to Lady Asher. “But I promise you, Mama, it will not be for a few years yet.”

Abby was refilling the glass of a friend of his father, some MP. He pulled Abby close, but she escaped his grasp without spilling a drop. Wills fixed on the old man and held him in a blank stare. The man reddened, flustered, disfavored without knowing why. Wills dropped his gaze.

Hours later when the guests had left and the servants were gone for their evening off, Wills went to see if Abby had stayed behind. At her door, he heard laughter. Good. They could go for a walk or play with the new puppies. He heard a strange grunting sound as he opened the door. Abby was nude on her stomach, draped over the end of her bed, her face turned away from him to the wall.

Sir Carey stood behind her, rutting. Wills lived in the country. It wasn’t the sex that repulsed him. It was the picture of his old father ramming into the tender flesh of his young friend. It was the destruction in a moment of a lifetime’s camaraderie. It was that Abby had kissed him first, years ago.

Sir Carey’s heart-shaped birthmark seemed to swell and deepen in color until the old man’s shudder broke the spell and Wills fled.

Wills had been like a minor god, above mere mortals, perfect and golden. It wasn’t that he’d ignored the baser things but that he hadn’t seen them. Believing the world beautiful and good, he was all the more destroyed by the discovery that it was not.
He became a perverted version of his former self. A cruel streak formed. He ignored Abby and took pleasure in the discomfort of others. He enjoyed no one’s company but his brother’s.

1825, Boston

During the day, The Black Swan catered to ladies. Igraine and April met there on Tuesday afternoons to drink coffee, gossip, discuss the rift between Trinitarians and Unitarians. For a few hours once a week, they escaped the unending demands of employers and other people’s children.