Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense

by DeWees, Amanda

  Impulsively, I reached my hand out to him across the desk, and he took it. I smiled at him, trying to extend encouragement to him, and for a moment we shared that intangible kinship I had felt once before. Then he released my hand, and the moment passed.

  “In any case, I can assure you that your father has had no hand in this proposal,” he said more briskly, straightening his shoulders; it seemed a relief to him to return to the topic of his astonishing errand. “Indeed, he knows nothing of it. Charles said he had spoken only to me.”

  “Why did he speak to you?” I could not help asking. “Why did he not approach me himself? It is unlike him to be so—so squeamish.”

  “Squeamish?” His father chuckled. “I can’t wait to see his face when I tell him you said so. It was his thought that, since he had not spoken to you of his feelings, you might appreciate some time in which to accustom yourself to the idea before being confronted by him. His intention was only to spare you embarrassment.” I felt ashamed of myself, even more so when he went on, “I thought it very considerate of him. If you had rather not face him at all, I shall be glad to convey your answer to him.”

  “Oh, no, I would not ask you to do that,” I said hastily. “It would be unfair to Charles; he should be the first to know my answer.” Lord Claude’s frankly inquisitive raised eyebrows made me laugh self-consciously. “And no, sir, I do not yet have an answer. I need time to consider.”

  I rose, and he was on his feet at once, never questioning my wish to end the interview. “Of course,” he said warmly. “Charles will understand perfectly. Only do not keep him on tenterhooks too long, my dear.”

  I could not help but smile at the incongruity of the image his words conjured up: genial, unflappable Charles, wasting away in a pale languishing fever of love denied. “I’ll not draw out his agonies, I give you my word.” Then, as we reached the door, I thought of one more thing to ask.

  “What do you think of his wish to marry me, sir?”

  He took my chin in his hand. “I think,” he said, “that I raised a very bright son.” And, with a little shake of my chin, as if to chide me for a foolish question, he bade me goodnight.

  I could think of nothing the next day except that baffling proposal. I had wondered if Charles’s manner toward me would be changed, if he would even (heaven forbid) ask me directly what my answer was. But he treated me with the same friendly courtesy he had ever shown me, as we conversed about the weather, my ride with Felicity, the new books to be ordered for the library. It was I whose manner had changed; I felt unnatural, awkward around him, suddenly conscious of hitherto unguessed possibilities between us. It was bewildering trying to divine what his thoughts might be, and making the pretence of normality; by the time dinner was over I was exhausted and glad to take refuge in the solitude of my room.

  Once alone, however, I found my mind was still teeming with questions. I was too restless to retire, but nonetheless I changed my dinner dress for the comfort of one of my velvet dressing gowns. As always, it was a relief to shed my corset and take my hair out of its net and remove the pins. All the weeks of my new life had not accustomed me to wearing my hair up; often my head ached from the pins, or from the sheer weight of my hair, and it was always with a sense of release that I unbound it in the evening and brushed it out. This evening I brushed it for a long time, as I thought.

  I could not help feeling slightly annoyed with Charles for not having made his offer in person. This was unfair to him; he was only being tactful and considerate of my feelings. Nevertheless, I felt somehow cheated. It was so difficult to take his proposal seriously, offered as it was through an intermediary; had he spoken to me himself, perhaps I would have been more convinced of his sincerity. Unless he had doubts himself about his choice, and had sent his father in order that he might have another’s opinion as to the wisdom of proposing to me? Perhaps he was being cautious.

  As well he should be. The hairbrush stilled in my hand. He was, in fact, taking quite a risk in asking me to marry him, knowing so little about me. Having discovered me half naked in compromising circumstances, he had every right to entertain doubts about my suitability for marriage. And he knew of my attachment to Herron. Most gentlemen would never even consider proposing marriage to a young woman who had been so intimately connected with another man. No wonder if he had chosen to court me with such caution; it would not be like him to take so important a step impulsively.

  But it occurred to me that I might not know Charles as well as I assumed. I knew he was kind, tactful, considerate; he had proved that beyond a doubt on the disastrous night of the ball. He was amusing, sometimes even silly, but undeniably intelligent and perceptive. He had never seemed prey to self-pity, even when he had been half crippled by illness. But of his feelings I knew little. Certainly I could not imagine what would lead him to pursue marriage with an obscure, undowried girl whose father was suspected of uxoricide. True, we did seem to get along well. But could there ever be between us what I saw in the duchess’s face when she looked at Lord Claude, or what I had felt for Herron?

  Impulsively, I put the brush down on the dressing table and slid my feet into chamois-soled slippers. It was late, but not so late that he would have retired. Most likely he would just be returning from the drawing room. I peered around the edge of my door; a solitary maid vanished around the corner with a stack of linens, and then the hall was empty. I made my way to his room silently and, in my sapphire blue dressing gown, almost invisibly.

  “Come in,” he called at my knock, and when I entered he swung around with a friendly smile, evidently in expectation of a valet, for it faltered when he saw me. To my dismay I saw that he was already undressing; his coat and waistcoat were discarded, and his hands had frozen in the act of unknotting his tie. I felt blood mantle in my cheeks, and realized too late how my own attire might be construed at such an hour. But his first words reassured me.

  “You must have come to discuss my offer,” he said. “Won’t you have a seat? Please excuse my informal dress; I was not expecting to entertain.”

  “Thank you.” I took the chair he indicated, and he seated himself opposite me. I was suddenly at a loss as to how to conduct this conversation; we were meeting on such different terms than usual. I was still having a difficult time reconciling the Charles I knew—or thought I knew—with my impulsive wooer.

  For his part, Charles seemed determined to conduct himself as if this unconventional visit were a normal occurrence. He was regarding me with a pleasant, amiable expression as he attempted to reknot his tie. Had he not mentioned his proposal, I would have thought it the furthest thing from his mind. Certainly I saw no evidence that he was anxious to be put out of his suspense, and his next words did nothing to change that impression.

  “Would you care for some refreshment?” he offered. “I’ll be happy to ring for some tea.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You’re right, that wouldn’t be wise. Sherry, perhaps? But I don’t keep any in my rooms. I could brew you a nice cordial of hydrogen peroxide and formaldehyde in my laboratory, but I’m afraid that is all I have to offer.”

  I had to put an end to this; evidently the only way was to be direct. “I won’t keep you long,” I said. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I had to speak with you alone.” He nodded as if this were perfectly natural, but again I paused, watching his continued efforts to put his tie in order. By now it was in a hopeless state, but when he ceased struggling with it, he seemed not to know what to do with his hands.

  At this rate I would never accomplish what I had set out to do. Mentally giving myself a shake, I plunged in before I could stop to think about what I was saying. “Your offer of marriage is very generous, and I’m certain it was kindly meant. But we have known each other so short a time that I wondered how you could have any idea of whether we would be compatible.”

  “Compatible?” he repeated, his eyebrows climbing. “I think we have been acquainted long enough to have an idea
of that. We both enjoy dancing, narcissus, strawberry preserves, the works of Sir Walter Scott…”

  A sense of depression began to steal over me. “Yes, of course; you are perfectly right.”

  “That is not what concerns you, is it?” His deep voice became serious for the first time during this interview. I shook my head, grateful for his perception.

  “Tell me what you are thinking, then,” he requested.

  Now that he was regarding me so steadily and expectantly, I found it difficult to be as frank as I would have liked to be. I kept my eyes on my hands, which were pleating and unpleating the fabric of my dressing gown. “Your aunt has a theory about marriage—perhaps she has shared it with you?—that it should consist of a, shall we say, more than temperamental compatibility. I daresay you find the idea unorthodox.”

  “On the contrary, I think it a very sound theory.”

  I darted a look at him, but failed to catch even a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. He seemed perfectly grave. This was heartening, and I was able to continue with more confidence. It should be possible, after all, to conduct this experiment in a matter-of-fact, intelligent fashion; we were both sensible people, and he seemed receptive to reason. “Had you considered whether that, er, compatibility is present between us?” I asked bravely.

  He nodded, again with perfect composure. “For myself, I can assure you that I anticipate no disappointment in that quarter.”

  “Oh?” I hoped I was not blushing. I had not expected to hear that he had even thought about the matter.

  “But I would hate for you to feel any uneasiness,” he said cheerfully. “If you are uncertain of my charms, you have only to say so.”

  “I have wondered,” I admitted. “That is not to say that I dislike you, or anything of the sort. But I had never thought of you as—as a—in that capacity, and…”

  “Perfectly understandable. What can I do to assist you? I am at your disposal.”

  A hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up in me; he might have been offering to carry parcels for me. “I think it might be a good idea if I were to kiss you,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said readily. “An admirable suggestion.” This time I knew there was an undercurrent of laughter in his voice, but it had the strange effect of easing my nervousness; it reminded me that this was Charles, after all, not some stranger.

  “You are too kind,” I said, and at my tone he smiled outright. This would not be so difficult after all; I thanked heaven he had a sense of humor. I rose, and he followed suit. “If you will just stand there…”

  “Your wish is my command.” He stood straight, his eyes fixed on the distance, as if awaiting a firing squad—not a comparison very flattering to me, but one that removed any threat of unwelcome familiarity. “I think I had better keep my hands behind my back,” he added, clasping them together. “I wouldn’t want them to… well, I think it would be best,” he ended lamely.

  I surveyed him. He was certainly a good deal taller than I had realized. “I shall have to ask you to stoop down a bit,” I said. “And if you don’t mind I’ll put my hands on your shoulders.”

  “That seems reasonable. Would you like me to close my eyes?” I gave him a look, and he said humbly, “Never mind; I’ll do what I think best when the time comes.”

  With my hands braced on his shoulders I was able to raise myself comfortably to tiptoe. In my preoccupation I forgot to close my eyes at once, and had time to notice that Felicity had been right about his long eyelashes before being distracted by other observations.

  The kiss was delicate at first, almost tentative, as if each of us was afraid to startle the other. I was fleetingly aware of the not unpleasant tickle of his moustache. His lips were gentle, but at their touch tendrils of warmth began to uncurl through my veins. My lips parted under his. Hardly aware I was doing so, I moved in closer to him; I could feel his shiver at the instant our bodies touched, and he murmured my name before his arms slipped around me to hold me closer still.

  Minutes passed, or hours, or seconds. Finally he sighed against my lips, and raised his head to look at me. The intense blue of his eyes filled my sight. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart, or perhaps it was my own.

  After a long moment we released each other. Without speaking, he turned and went to the washstand. As I watched, he soaked a towel in the basin, wrung it out, and applied it to his face. “I owe you an apology,” he said, his voice muffled through the linen. “The last thing I wanted was to offend you.”

  I found my way to a chair; my legs were quite incapable of supporting me any longer. “Did I appear to be offended?” I demanded. My response could have left little room for such misinterpretation.

  His smile kindled his eyes to such a blaze of azure that it made me breathless again, and I had to look away. “Perhaps that was a poor choice of words. Let’s say I was afraid that I might have seized privileges you aren’t ready to bestow on me.”

  “To bestow on anyone but Herron, you mean,” I interpreted, and after a moment’s pause, he nodded. “I did not think of him until this moment,” I admitted, surprised, pleased, and slightly ashamed to discover that this was true. While Charles held me in his arms no comparisons or memories had thronged to me; I had not thought of Herron for an instant—indeed, I had scarcely been capable of thought at all. I dragged myself back to the present.

  “You needn’t worry that you were too forward. Believe me, you have nothing whatever to reproach yourself with.”

  At this emphatic speech, a smile tugged at his lips again, and I found myself smiling as well. Well, there was little purpose now in trying to disguise my reaction. “And I,” he said, his voice rumbling with suppressed mirth, “must return the compliment.”

  At that, we both burst into laughter, and the shyness that had threatened to come between us was vanquished. He dropped into a chair opposite me, and we regarded each other with something like our former camaraderie, although tinged now with a new awareness. I noticed for the first time that his hair was tousled, and realized that it must have been from my fingers. “So,” he said, “where does this leave us?”

  The laughter died in me; I was still for a long time. “I wish I knew,” I said at last. “I had not bargained for this. I thought it would be so simple.” Even to me my voice sounded plaintive. “I was going to accept you.”

  “Was?” I think he said, but I was not paying attention.

  “It would have been so easy simply to accept all that you offered: a home, security, companionship, with no need for any depth of feeling on my part. I was willing to use you in that way, I admit it, to marry you without any emotion other than affection and gratitude.” Ashamed of the sound of it, the callousness of it, I dropped my eyes. “I suppose you will wish to withdraw your offer now. You must think me completely without scruples.”

  “I think I know you better than that,” was all he said to this; then, “What feelings did you suppose prompted my offer, if those were the feelings that would have motivated your acceptance?”

  I had not come to any satisfactory conclusion about what he felt. I had to cast about me now for a likely answer. “You are of an age to be looking for a wife,” I ventured. “And I think you are fond of me.”

  His mouth twisted in a wry smile very like Herron’s. “Is that all? I am not certain which of us you are undervaluing.”

  “I’m sorry; I don’t seem to be thinking very clearly. I should have waited until a more appropriate time to speak to you.” I rose to go, and although he seemed on the point of protesting, in the end he accompanied me to the door without any attempt to detain me. I gave him my hand in farewell. “I’m very grateful to you, Charles, but I can’t give you an answer just yet.”

  “Wait, Oriel, please; I’d like to say something before you go.” His eyes dropped to my hand, which he still held. His fingertips moved lightly over it, tracing my veins, my bones. “I know you love Herron; I also know it will probably take you a long time to stop loving him, even after w
hat he did to you the night of the ball—yes, I knew it was he,” as I started to speak. “I understand that you can’t be ready to think about loving me. But I couldn’t help but see how things have changed between the two of you, especially since that night, and I thought I might have a chance.” He was still concentrating on my hand, as if memorizing it, and his words seemed to come from far away. “Perhaps it was conceited of me, but I even wondered if you might find me a pleasant change after my cousin’s cruelty.”

  The tender pressure of his fingers had lulled me into a half daze; the last words wrenched me out of it. “Cruelty!”

  “I don’t mean that he’s cruel by nature,” he said quickly, his eyes holding mine, willing me to listen. “I still believe that Herron’s a good fellow at heart. But he is very young yet, and sometimes acts without considering others—and, unfortunately for you, you were one of the people closest to him, and so most at risk from his thoughtlessness. I call him cruel because that is what his treatment of you was. But it was not consciously so.”

  I had never before thought of Herron in this way. But was it not true? I myself had seen his growing detachment from us change his treatment of his family, of me.

  “It is true that he hurt me,” I said slowly, groping my way through this new perspective. “Not deliberately. But without meaning to, without even realizing that he did. He is so consumed by his own distrust, by suspicion, that I don’t believe he really understands how his behavior can injure those around him.” I had been gazing into space as I thought this through; now I realized that Charles was watching me attentively. “I think he did love me, though; as much as he could love anyone, when he was so absorbed in his own anguish.”

  He nodded, his brows drawn, as if he had come to the same conclusions and had found them as troubling as I did. “I know he loved you. But I believe you’re right in thinking that there was little of his heart left for you, when the greater part of it is occupied with thoughts of his father and himself. I hoped that you would come to see that before…”