“I’m sorry, Joya, but you are not a fit wife for my grandson and definitely not the one I would have ever chosen for him. Nor are you the woman Trevor would have chosen for himself—if he had a choice at all. He may have felt obligated to marry you after that little scene at the mill, but that doesn’t mean he has to put up with your backward notions forever. You can be certain I will tell him about this when he gets home tonight.”
“I didn’t think Trevor would mind my baking bread or I would have never asked Cook to teach me.”
“That is just the trouble. You never think of the consequences of any of your actions. You weren’t thinking that day in the country when you went into the mill alone with Roth. Nor were you thinking when you seduced Trevor after he came to your rescue. Or perhaps you were,” Adelaide mused. “Perhaps you knew exactly what you were doing.”
“I simply kissed Trevor, that is all.”
Knowing when to play the winning hand, Adelaide glanced over at the housekeeper and cook, then looked at Joya again. She lowered her voice, feigning embarrassment. “This is not something we need to discuss here. Clean yourself up and meet me in the drawing room.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Billingsley, have Sims bring us tea and scones.”
* * *
Joya shook with anger and humiliation as she untied the apron that Cook had loaned her and set it aside. Adelaide was old and therefore to be respected. Her status as Trevor’s grandmother gave her a position of authority in the household. But did it also give her the right to be cruel?
The woman had belittled her in front of Mrs. Billingsley and the cook and caused them both undue embarrassment. To what purpose?
“Don’t worry, dear.” Mrs. Billingsley handed her a wet towel. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately, is all. I’m sure she did not mean half of what she said.”
Joya wiped her face and hands. Even if Adelaide meant only half of what she had said, it had been more than enough to wound. What had she meant by Trevor’s having been obligated to marry her? How was that possible?
She thought back to the incident, to the kiss she had given him after he rescued her. They had kissed before—at the warehouse and then in the conservatory—yet he had not proposed to her. What made him obligated at the mill? Why suddenly ask her to marry him if he did not love her? Was there a rule about marrying after a third kiss that she didn’t know anything about?
He desired her enough to deflower her, and afterward they had shared wonderful, blissful nights of passion. At least they had been wonderful for her.
Her hands were shaking by the time she paused outside the drawing room to smooth down her hair. Plagued with insecurity, she would rather ride a goat than face Adelaide again.
The woman’s tirade had breathed life into doubt already haunting her. For the past two weeks, Trevor had found one excuse after another not to make love with her.
At first she had thought it was because he was working too hard and was exhausted, but last night, hoping to inspire him, she danced the fertility dance again. She had been thrilled when she rekindled his desire and he took her to bed. But at the moment of his climax, he completely surprised and humiliated her by withdrawing from her and spilling his seed on her belly.
Later, she had lain in the dark beside him, crying silently, trying to fathom why he would rather waste his seed than make a child. This morning he had slipped away without saying good-bye.
Because she already feared she was somehow failing him, she had gone to Mrs. Billingsley and the cook to ask for help. Repotting the orchids and rearranging the conservatory had not been enough. She had wanted to surprise him with some very productive, domestic accomplishment.
Sims stopped her before she entered the drawing room. He was holding one of her new shawls when she got there.
“I had the upstairs maid bring this down in case you were cold. You’ve not ever grown used to our weather. Now that it’s grown chilly, I thought you might need it,” he explained.
His thoughtful act of kindness was all it took to release the raw ache building inside her. She bit her lips together and blinked furiously, fighting back tears as she reached for the shawl.
“Thank you, Sims,” she whispered. “You are too kind.”
“There is tea waiting inside, and Cook sent along a plate of your favorite cookies.”
She opened her eyes wide as they would go and blinked faster. “Thank her for me,” she said.
She knew Cook and Mrs. Billingsley must have told him about the humiliating scene they had just witnessed when he added, “Don’t worry, miss. Mr. Mandeville will be home soon and all will be well.”
When Sims left her standing outside the door alone, Joya whispered the words of an old Matarangi battle cry. There was no hope for her if she showed any sign of weakness. She squared her shoulders, prepared to face Adelaide and ask some questions of her own. Her mind was crammed with doubt and questions. She held her head high, but she would still rather ride a goat.
She had just stepped inside the drawing room and sat down on a chair opposite Adelaide’s to pour herself a cup of tea when the door opened and Trevor strode into the room.
One look at her husband set her heart plummeting. She was forced to set the teacup down before the amber liquid sloshed over the rim. His expression was preoccupied, just as it had appeared so often of late. He greeted her and then his grandmother.
“Trevor. How nice to have you home early for a change. You are just in time for tea.” Adelaide looked as if she were about to say something more when the door opened again and this time, to Joya’s relief, Janelle came breezing in.
* * *
Janelle crossed the room, greeting them all before she settled herself in a wing chair near the fire.
She had spent a most pleasant afternoon at Cecily’s with five other women discussing the suffrage movement and the women’s rights conventions that had been taking place for the last three years in America.
Garr Remington had arrived just as the meeting ended and the ladies were taking their leave. He had charmed and teased and persuaded her, against her better judgment, to let him see her home. Despite her misgivings and a twinge of disappointment, he had behaved like a perfect gentleman all the way.
“I have a surprise,” Trevor said, claiming everyone’s attention.
Something had not been right with her brother of late. She could see it in his eyes, but had not had any opportunity to speak to him alone. That, she supposed, was part of the problem. Trevor was never at home anymore. Just now, he was looking at Joya wistfully, as if she were a confection he was not allowed to indulge in— and Joya, well, Joya was not looking at Trevor at all. Her sister was clutching her shawl and studying the teacup on the table before her as if she had never seen one before.
Trevor pulled two stiff vellum envelopes from his jacket. One was open. The other he handed to Adelaide.
“In two days, the members of the Orchid Society along with their wives are invited to attend a reception given by Prince Albert.” He looked at Adelaide. “Grandmother, you have been invited to represent Father because of his role in conferring with Joseph Paxton on very early conservatory designs.”
“How wonderful.” Janelle knew that court receptions involved complicated protocol and so really did not envy them a bit.
The sound of Joya’s cup rattling against the saucer drew all eyes. “I cannot go,” she announced firmly.
“Are you all right?” Janelle took her sister’s cup before she dropped it.
“I won’t do it.” Joya shook her head vehemently. “I cannot.”
“She’s right,” Adelaide quickly agreed. “It will be too much for her.”
“Nonsense,” Janelle said.
“Joya, what’s wrong?” Trevor was all concern. He tried to take her hand but Joya refused, knotting her fingers in her lap instead.
Janelle watched her grandmother and Joya exchange a look that she neither understood nor cared for. Trevor was watching his wife closely, ob
viously in the dark as well. Something was going on and she did not like it in the least.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Joya?” Janelle asked. “The prince’s invitation is a great honor. One you shouldn’t turn down.”
“I won’t go. Not even for the queen,” Joya said adamantly. Then she finally looked at Trevor. “Please, don’t make me do this.”
Joya had gone incredibly pale. When she sat back down on the settee, she turned directly to Janelle.
“Will you please go in my place? If you pretend to be me, no one will know that Trevor’s wife has refused the prince’s invitation.”
“That is an excellent idea.” Adelaide picked up a scone, broke off a piece, and popped it in her mouth. “As long as the two of you are not side by side, and without your glasses, Janelle, no one will know the difference.”
“I will know the difference,” Trevor said firmly. He was scowling at Joya. “I want you there with me,” he told her.
“I can’t go,” she whispered. “I won’t.”
“Are you really that uncomfortable with the idea?” Joya reached for his hand, held it between both of hers, and begged, “Please take Janelle in my stead. It will only be for a few hours.”
Adelaide brushed crumbs off her black skirt and got to her feet. “Janelle, come with me and we’ll talk about what you should wear.”
Janelle started to protest, longing to talk to Joya first and determine what was upsetting her so, but one look at her sister’s face and she decided it was better to leave her alone with Trevor.
* * *
Sims was summoned to clear away the tea tray. Adelaide and Janelle left the room talking about the advantages of satin over silk. Joya was finally alone with Trevor. Alone and at a loss as to how to begin.
Taking tea in the Mandeville drawing room always reminded her of the day she first arrived. She still felt as out of place as a goose egg in a hen’s nest. Looking around the room now, she was reminded of how very far she was from her old life and her old home.
If it were not for Trevor and her love for him, for the fact that she was now his wife, she would go to her sister and tell her that she loved her dearly but that she was going home, back to the island where she belonged. “What’s wrong, Joya?”
When she looked into his eyes she almost said that nothing was wrong. But avoiding confrontation would not ease her doubts and fears, nor would it answer her questions.
“Were you obligated to marry me, Trevor?”
“What are you talking about?”
That he did not deny it outright gave her the answer, but she wanted to hear it from him.
“Were you?”
“Where did you get that notion?”
“Were you obligated?”
“I did what honor dictated.”
“What does that mean?”
He reached for her hand. She pulled it back.
“Joya, after Roth attacked you and I was comforting you—”
“By kissing me.”
“My grandmother and the others walked into the mill and saw us. There was nothing else for me to do but marry you.”
“But why? When Janelle saw us in the conservatory you felt no such obligation.”
“Janelle would never tell anyone what she had seen. But that was not the case with Mrs. Sutton and her daughter or even the vicar and his wife. Gossip would have spread, word would have gotten out, and your reputation would have been tarnished.” He must have known she did not completely understand, for he added, “Everyone there would have told others and had I not married you, your good name would be ruined.”
“You married me to keep my name clean?”
“Yes.”
“So that none of them will tell anyone what they saw at the mill?”
“I am sure Mrs. Sutton could not wait to spread the word, but I made everything right by marrying you.”
“You married me thinking that if Mrs. Sutton or the vicar’s wife tells anyone what they saw, that people would then say, ‘Of course he kissed her, she was to be his wife.’ Is that it?” The English were nearly incomprehensible people.
“Something like that. Why are you crying?”
When he reached over to wipe a tear off her cheek, she was too numb to avoid his touch. He cupped her chin and swiped the tear with his thumb. The simple gesture made her feel even more vulnerable. She felt as if they were standing at a crossroads, staring down two unmarked trails that neither of them had ever explored. One-way roads with no return.
“So you thought that you had no choice.” The very idea that he had been trapped broke her heart.
“I did, too, have a choice.”
“No. You are a man of honor. You would never let me walk around with a soiled name. You are the kind of man who would want to make things right, and so you married me.”
“I wanted to marry you.”
She shook her head. She would never believe that now, especially after what Adelaide had told her. Something else dawned on her just then.
“You did it because you felt guilty, didn’t you? Because you broke the rules, and so did I, and we were caught.”
He shook his head, tried to deny it. “I did not feel guilty.”
“You would never, ever have asked me to marry you.”
“That is not true—”
“Look me in the eye and tell me that you wanted to marry me before that day in the mill.”
When he did not answer immediately, she knew it was because he was choosing his words wisely.
“I won’t lie to you, Joya. I had no plans to marry so soon but—”
“You had no plans to marry at all.”
“Yes, but we are married now. Are you unhappy? Is that what this is all about?”
Joya stood and walked to a table by the window. Twilight filled the sky. It was the hour when the lamplighters walked the streets. Darkness gathered.
She faced him again. Her legs were shaking so hard she had to put one hand on the table for support. He had not moved from the floral-patterned settee, a dainty curve-legged piece of furniture that he dwarfed.
“I was happy at first, so happy to think that you loved me. Now I see that I was thinking like a foolish child because I was so ignorant of your English ways. How was I to know a man would ever ask for a woman in marriage, not because of love or desire, but because some ill-mannered, heartless people might spread gossip about her?”
“Joya, please stop this and come over here to me.”
“No.” She shook her head, not trusting herself to take a step closer. “You asked if I was not happy. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not. I have no friends of my own. I don’t dress to receive callers. I don’t even have any callers. I’m not allowed to make bread. Or get dirty.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“Last night, you wasted your seed. If I am not even worthy of having your children, then I want to end this marriage and go back to Matarenga. At least there, when a man wants a wife, he is honest enough to admit that it’s either because he wants to bed her and make many children, or because he needs another wife to help with the work. It isn’t a sin there to kiss before marriage. It isn’t even a sin to lie with a woman before marriage. Your English would say there is no honor on my island, but there is—it’s just not this tangled kind of honor that has to do with gossip and the tarnishing of names. Marriage should be based on an exchange of goods, or love, or best of all, both. You didn’t pay for me, Trevor. You don’t love me. You married me for honor. What good is an honorable marriage without love? What good is anything without love?”
She could see by the troubled look in his eyes that her argument was lost on him.
He stood up and crossed the room until he was near enough to touch her, but he did not even try. When he spoke, his voice was very, very low, so that only she could hear. “What happened to you between the time I left the house this morning and now?”
She shrugged. “I grew up,” she said sadly, f
ighting back tears. “Please, be honest with me now, Trevor.”
“If it’s honesty you want, so be it. I married you because I thought I was doing what was right for you, but it was no sacrifice, for almost from the moment I laid eyes on you, I have desired you. You are the only woman who has ever made me lose control of myself, my thoughts, my emotions. It’s because I can’t keep my hands off you that we came to this.
“It is true I had no intention of marrying you before that day at the mill, but we are married now. There are things I have to do in the next year, plans I made long ago concerning the family business, and I still intend to sail in search of the queen’s orchid. That is why—as you so colorfully put it—I ‘wasted my seed’ last night. I’m trying to take precautions to keep from getting you with child until I return. I’m leaving the morning after the queen’s reception.”
Afraid her heart was about to rip in half, she laid her hand over it and felt her amulet pouch beneath her gown. Did Kibatante’s guidance and protection extend this far from the island, or had the god abandoned her long ago?
“On our wedding night, and then for many nights afterward, you didn’t seem concerned about fathering a child,” she reminded him. “Now you are.”
“You were far too persuasive for me to resist on our wedding night. When your monthly came two weeks ago, and I knew for certain that you were not with child, I decided to renew my resolve.”
“Without telling me why.” Now she knew why he had not wanted to make love lately. She began to hope that from now on, while he clung to his damned resolve, that he found it cold and lonely.
“I was afraid if I tried to explain, that we would argue—and I was right, for that is exactly what is happening now. I didn’t want to leave you upset when I left for South America.”
“You say you are going to Venezuela after the reception?”
“Yes.”
“I will leave for Africa then.”
He looked stunned. “That is out of the question. You are my wife. Your place is here.”
The Orchid Hunter Page 22
