by Edith Layton
She was home. Eve longed for her own home, Far Isle, as she stepped out of the hackney. But at least here she could think her own way through this tangle without the distractions of duty and honor and the only man she’d ever loved.
Her father was shocked. She’d expected that and was prepared.
“No,” Eve said, stripping off her gloves as she sat down in his study with him. “I am not hurt. I was not brutalized. I still love my husband.” She leaned forward and looked at him earnestly. “But I am alone. And I came without his knowledge. Because I need advice.”
Her father winced.
“I won’t discuss anything intimate,” she reassured him. “I just need some counsel.”
Malcolm Faraday sat back in his chair and tried to look competent by taking off his spectacles, and polishing them.
“By the way, before I say another thing,” Eve said. “Where’s Sherry? I don’t want him hearing this.”
“No fear of that. He just left. Off to Tattersalls to see a horse, or off to a friend to talk about a horse, I can’t keep track of him. He should be preparing to go back to University, but he isn’t. I’m glad you’re here, you can try to talk some sense into him.”
“I’ll try, I promise you that,” she said. She looked at her father, and then away from him. The poor man was worried about why she was here. So was she. But it was hard to tell him about it.
She didn’t want to betray Aubrey’s secret obsession yet, and had tried all the way here to think of a way to creep up on it, so that it sounded less terrible. Her father wasn’t a dictatorial fellow. But there was every chance he’d try to keep her away from Aubrey forever if he felt she was in any danger from him. There were such things as madhouses. And her father had friends in high places. For all his wealth Aubrey seemed to know no one, and certainly no one with any kind of judicial power in London. She wouldn’t tell her father about her condition for the same reason. At any rate, it was far too early in the day for that information. Nobody would guess it except for Aubrey’s weird sister, Arianna.
And too, once this was resolved, if she did go back to Aubrey and learn to live with him, Eve didn’t want her father prejudiced against him forever. It might just be a strange turn of mind that sometimes happened with brilliant people, an idiosyncrasy she could live with. She could live with it more easily if no one else knew about it.
“Aubrey is a fine man,” she said as preface. “He makes me very happy. But some things I’ve learned since we married confuse me.” Her expression brightened. “Mind, these were things that Aubrey’s sister hinted at. You never met her. She’s lovely. She lives somewhere nearby, and I’ve discovered that she’s a very strange woman.”
“Ah!” her father said. “A strange sister. Every family has one of those. Why, my own Aunt Elizabeth collected cats. Dozens of them. Her husband, Uncle Roland, moved out of the house because of the stench.” He grew thoughtful. “Now I think back, perhaps she wasn’t so strange. Fifty stinking cats were actually a deal better than one Uncle Roland.”
“She’s not that sort of strange,” Eve said quickly. “She’s charming. Sherry met her and was mad for her. But she’s told me some tales about Aubrey that he doesn’t deny, and they upset me.”
“Aha!” her father said wisely, laying a finger aside his nose. “Now that’s something I know something about. She’s possessive of her brother and worried about your stealing his affections away from her. A common thing, child. It happens all the time. Aren’t you possessive of Sheridan? You’re always giving him advice and looking out for him.”
“This is different,” Eve said. “She told me to ask Aubrey some questions, and I did. I didn’t like the answers. Did he tell you that he’d been widowed three times before he met me?”
Her father’s eyes widened. “No. Never. Did his wives die from some misadventure?” he asked at once.
“I don’t think so, or she’d surely have asked me to ask him about that. He doesn’t lie to me. Perhaps it would be better if he did,” she murmured.
“Then his being so often a widower is solely misfortune,” her father commented. “I don’t like his secrecy in the matter, I can tell you that. But what is the problem? Is it that he grieves for his late wives? Or compares you to them? Is he too possessive because he fears for your life? Is that what bothers you? The longer you’re married, the less that will happen,” he added helpfully.
She shook her head. “No, he never mentions them. He says he loves and has loved only me.”
“Well, there you are. And, come to think on, it does explain why he was so eager to marry you. You’re a fine, healthy young woman, Eve. Anyone can see that. And you’re sensible. Perhaps his other wives were slaves to fashion, always denying themselves good food and dosing themselves with medicines to improve their looks. I hear that some cosmetics are decidedly harmful, and anyone can see you don’t use a pinch of them.”
“But I wish he’d told me before we wed,” she said.
He nodded. “As do I. He should have at least told me, you know. But that’s done and past. Tell me, if you’d known, would you have broken off, would you not have married him?”
She looked down at her fingers. “No,” she said. “But it would have given me pause, and made me more indecisive.”
“As it would have given me pause,” he agreed. “Yet since it’s a sad thing, but a done thing, I suppose I can’t blame him for not mentioning it. It might have presented obstacles, and he didn’t want to put himself in a bad light. You’re sure they died naturally?”
“Yes,” she said, looking up. “I believe him in that. I suppose I could have dealt with his lack of honesty and the fact that he was thrice widowed, in time. The thing is that he also said that he sought me out because of my family history.”
Her father frowned. “A devotee of genealogy, is he? Our family has no stain on our name, but no honors. I can’t see what attracted a man like him particularly. He must have been jesting, Eve.”
“He said it was my mother’s family, and something that happened with them, ages and ages ago,” she said evasively. “Can you tell me anything about them?”
Her father shocked her by leaning back and roaring with laughter. When he stopped, he looked at her, smiling. “That old chestnut!” he said, wiping his eyes. “And he heard about it? I’m not surprised. Your mother told everyone within earshot. Well, life is strange, after all. I wish she were here to hear this. She’d have been very proud. She and her family told the wildest tales about their origins. They were a good solid family from the West Country, mind you. No titles, no honors, but proud of the fact that they’d been here forever. And she did mean that. She said her family had been here in Britain before the Druids. Before the Saxons too! Backbone of Britain, she said. She said that when more and more foreigners, like Angles and Celts and such, came here, her people avoided them, then moved west, and then slowly disappeared. All but for her branch of the family, that is.”
He looked sad. “Their luck did run out. I’m sorry to say there aren’t many left of them now. But if Aubrey sought you out for that reason, it only means that he’s heritage mad and family proud. It’s a common trait. And so you should be proud of them too.”
“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Eve said slowly. How could she ask him more and yet not betray her husband? She’d have to be oblique. “Father, did my mother ever tell you strange tales about any magical abilities in her family?”
He shook his head. “No, never. The reverse, in fact. She said her folk were the most commonsensical in the whole of England, and that they didn’t hold with such nonsense.”
“I see. But did she ever mention any woman in her family, once upon a long time ago, marrying into an even older family?” she asked desperately, thinking he may have forgotten something. “Perhaps one that knew the old magic that folklore tells about? Herb lore and healing or such,” she added quickly.
“Never heard that. Not likely either. Heard about how clever her family had b
een: plain, practical, resourceful, and inventive folk. They were hardworking and honest, she’d say, not a poseur, or a blustering fop, or a climber in the lot. ‘Much done and little noted,’ she said was their motto, although on no coat of arms. They were proud people, but mainly artisans, leatherworkers, smiths and such. They didn’t hold with nobility or royalty. She’d sometimes tell me that they’d be ashamed of her for marrying someone so English as I am.”
He sighed. “That was when she was vexed with me. But, Eve, my girl, you didn’t leave Aubrey and come all the way to London to ask me that, did you?”
“No, not entirely,” she said, rising from her chair. “I might go to see some people here in Town, I might do some shopping too. Mostly I need to be alone. Aubrey can be quite overpowering. He’s gentle and kind, but it’s hard for me to even think when I look into his eyes.”
“Ah!” her father said with vast relief. “Just as I thought. A spat between lovers. Well, feel free to stay on here with me, but not too long, mind,” he said, wagging a finger at her. “The silliest quarrel gains seriousness the longer the silence lasts. Sometimes just a word heals all. You might try it.”
“True, true,” Eve said. “I know. I won’t. I will.”
It was late that night when Eve heard Sherry coming home. He made heavy going of it, humming a little tune as he clumped up the stairs. He bid a cheerful good night to the footman who’d let him in, and from his voice, Eve could tell he was a few sheets to the wind. She’d been waiting for him with her bedchamber door half open. This was a good time for her to talk with him; no one else was awake or about. She stole out of her bedchamber and down the hallway, and accosted him as he reached the second floor.
“Sherry!” she whispered.
He leapt back. She reached for him, but he regained his balance by grabbing on to the banister. “Lord! You frightened me,” he said, one hand on his immaculate shirtfront.
She sniffed. “You’re too drunk to be frightened. Come away, I don’t want you to fall down the stairs.”
“Then don’t leap out at a fellow when he’s on the top step. What are you doing here anyway? Is Aubrey here?” he asked eagerly.
“Aubrey is not here. I am. Are you in any condition for rational speech?”
“I can hold my spirits,” he said proudly. Then he added, “I’m a trifle foxed, but by no means insensible. What did you want to talk about?”
“Come,” she said, and led him to her room. When he’d seated himself in a chair by her hearth and stretched out his long legs, she sat at her dressing table and stared at him. It was true: he was a little well to live, but not terribly drunk. But he was overeager, leaning forward to listen to her. Her heart sank at his first question.
“Is this about Arianna?” he asked. “I’ve written to her, but she hasn’t answered yet. Did she send you with a message for me?”
“I don’t have a message from her,” Eve said blightingly.
“Have you seen her? How is she?”
“I have, and she’s fine. In fact, that’s what I came to talk to you about. I know you’re a bit infatuated with her, but I’ve gotten to know her better, and I just wanted to warn—ah, uhm, talk to you. She’s much older than you are, Sherry. And she…” Eve paused.
She still didn’t know how to tell him the dangers and extent of the family obsession, without telling him about Aubrey’s part in it. She didn’t want to hint at any of Arianna’s possible motives either. Nor did she want to say anything terrible about the woman, because nothing could make a young man like Sherry want to defend her more.
So she compromised, with half-truths. “She’s passionate about genealogy and family, and I think that since her brother found me such a good match, she’s beginning to wonder if you’d be one for her too.”
He grinned. “Capital!” he said.
“Sherry! You’re just a boy, really. Not even at your age of majority yet. A flirtation is one thing. I meant for marriage. You can’t be contemplating that? At your age? At her age? Anyhow, you’re supposed to be going back to University next term.”
He got up from his chair and looked down at his sister, his expression as cold and serious as a half-drunk young man’s could be. “I’m more mature than you realize, Eve,” he said in a hurt voice. “I can decide what to do by myself, for myself, thank you very much indeed.”
He walked to the door with stiff correctness. “So as for your advice, thank you, but no thank you,” he said, and bowed. He swayed, regained his balance, and left her.
Eve lay awake a long time that night. Not because of Sherry. However infatuated he was, he was a long way from Arianna. And time might disenchant him.
But Eve’s body ached all over. It might have been from the constant traveling she’d done, but she knew better. She missed Aubrey so much it was paining her, heart, mind, and body. She lay on her back and put her hand across her flat abdomen, thinking of what might come. She turned over, pounded a pillow, and laid her aching head on it, trying to think of what she could or should do. She missed her husband. She missed his voice, his scent, the solid warmth of his strong body next to hers. How could she sleep in peace without him, wherever she was?
How could she ever rest easy if he took it into his head to let his daft sister help bring up their child? And how could she remain married to a man with such strange fancies?
How could she not?
She turned over in bed again, and closed her weary eyes. They felt sandy, gritty from lack of sleep. She couldn’t go on as things were. This was no way to live, longing for her lover and afraid to go to him. She had to return to see him soon, and not just so she could hold him close and feast her eyes on him once again. She had to go back to tell him what she’d decided. Whatever that was.
The wind blew Aubrey’s black hair and spread his black driving cape streaming out behind him until he looked like an avenging specter. But he only stood still, alone in the night, facing the coming storm. He couldn’t sleep. He’d gone out to the stables to get a horse and ride like this freshening autumn wind to join Eve. Then, once out into the night, he’d decided it was better to take a coach so he could bring her back with him straightaway. But now he couldn’t move from where he stood in the drive. Because he knew there was nothing for him to do. Or rather, nothing he could do.
He knew where she was. She didn’t know that there was no place on earth she could go where he couldn’t find her. She might not yet realize that she carried his child. And though he could easily pursue her, persuade her, bring her home and keep her at his side, it wouldn’t be fair or honest of him. She had to decide without any enchantment or coercion of any kind on his part. Of course, if she stayed from him until she bore the child, he’d have no choice. The baby was his. But he wanted Eve too. And she had to choose him, his life and his decisions, all on her own. His sister might laugh, his cousins might think him mad, but it was, after all, how he’d decided to live his life, long ago.
So now he had to wait, and waiting was never easy for him. He missed her fiercely, he’d never missed a female more—or a male, come to think on it. He worried about her and for her. He wanted her for more than her bright conversation, her warm and willing body, and the delightful workings of a mind that so strangely dovetailed with his own. She also held in her possession two wonderful, incredible things he’d never thought to have in his long lifetime: not only his child, but his heart.
Chapter 18
The physician was well known for his treatment of the insane. He headed a famous and famously expensive private madhouse for the incarceration of the infirm of mind and the hopelessly insane. That was why Eve had hesitated to consult him. But he was everywhere recommended, and he was elderly and seemed wise and understanding. He pretended to believe it was a friend she was consulting him about. She was grateful for that, and for the advice he gave her.
“Do you think this deluded fellow could do your friend, or you, or anyone, any physical harm?” he’d finally asked.
“Never,�
�� she’d said.
“Or harm himself?”
“No, there’s nothing to indicate that.”
“So, in other words, he’s a kind, intelligent, well-bred and wealthy gentleman, who happens to believe he’s nearly immortal, is of an ancient race, and has got magical powers of some sort, but he never presses them on anyone?”
“Just so,” she’d said, tight-lipped now, her color rising.
“And your friend has never seen him try to cast a spell or do magic?”
“Never,” she said, shaking her head. Then she blushed, remembering. “Unless you call the way he charms her, and everyone he meets, magical.”
“I don’t,” he said. “Does he brag about his powers all the time, and bring them up frequently?”
“No,” she answered. “In fact he only told his wife when his sister gave her the questions to ask him, possibly to make trouble. And at that, he was only trying to be honest about his past and his family, he said. He is otherwise closemouthed about it.”
“I see,” the doctor had mused. “And so, apart from the fact that he seems to be a thoroughly likeable fellow, I can’t see how he’s different from many people who have delusions of glory, except that he tells his wife about them. He harms no one, makes no disturbances, doesn’t frighten the neighbors or alarm his relatives. Even his sister seems to accept his nonsense. My dear lady, if you only knew the sort of things I hear and see each day! Half my patients are in my institution, the other half only steps away. From what you say this gentleman seems perfectly normal to me. Well, perhaps not perfectly so. But who is? He hurts no one and nothing, and keeps his secret to himself most of the time.”
“He also says he’s had three wives. But there’s no proof of that and my friend has never attempted to prove it.”
