by Jen YatesNZ
‘I was pretty certain it was something to do with a woman, or something sexual. I even considered you’d discovered a preference for men. I’m grateful to find that’s not the case. Although it would have made no difference to my love for you if it was.
‘But what Jassie told me of your wedding night tells me something is dreadfully amiss. Violence to women is definitely not something you learned in this house. And the way Jassie explained it, it seems you have no control over what happens. That tells me why you’ve avoided marriage to Jassie. You know this happens and you, quite honorably, chose not to subject her to it.—Am I right, son?’
Incapable of any other response, he simply squeezed her hand.
‘Because of something that happened back when you were about twenty?’
He tried nodding his head though it felt like more of a flinch.
‘Oh Rogan, my love, have you never in all these years talked to anyone of this?’
‘Too ashamed,’ he whispered.
‘It’ll only grow and fester until it sucks all the life out of you if you don’t speak of it. It’s eating you alive, from the inside out. Can you not talk of it—maybe not the details if that is too horrific to put into words, but at least enough that we who love you can understand—and maybe help?’
‘How can you help? How can anyone help? It’s—’ Suddenly he sat up, groped in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief and wiped roughly at his face. Something inside him seemed to break open and he knew there was no holding back any more. But he’d temper what he said, sanitize it if it killed him. ‘Bart has an understanding of it. I—He forced me to talk of it on—the wedding night. He made me see I had to tell Jassie, that it was unfair not to. I told her today—the whole of it—and—now she knows what she’s married to.’
Words ran out and he sat with his head in his hands, just concentrating on drawing breath—and not crying like a small bereaved child.
‘And what is she married to, son?’
Her words were so soft, so filled with love he knew he had to find her an answer.
‘She’s married to a man who—needs—to punish—to—hell, Mama! A woman did something to me that—that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t punish her for it because—because—she was so perverted that she enjoyed every goddamn ugly thing she had done to me—and that I could do to her. I nearly lost my sanity. It’s like something burst in my brain and every time I’m—with a woman there comes a point when that—that—implosion happens again. I lose all control of myself. All I know is I must restrain her so she can’t get away, gag her so she can’t scream, and punish, punish, punish—’ He clutched at his hair, struggling to keep from giving in to the agony that wanted to burst from him in howls of fury. ‘The worst was knowing I could never marry Jassie, never subject her to the beast I’d become.’
In the silence that followed his mother slipped to the floor and knelt before him, clasping her hands gently round his and finally he gave in and let the ghastly unmanly tears flow freely down his face to mingle with hers.
The fire in the grate had died down to glowing embers by the time he had enough control of himself to raise his mother to her chair and throw more wood among the ashes and encourage it to burn again. Dropping back into his seat, he laid his head back and stared up at the ceiling trying to think of what he should say next.
‘Nothing can ever be mended if you keep running away.’
Soft, gentle words delivered in a voice like velvet over steel.
‘You’ve told Jassie. You’ve told me. The worst is over. Did either of us run screaming from you?’
Wearily he shook his head.
‘Did she perchance simply reiterate that she loves you?’
He breathed deep and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the incredible depth of the love that had shone from her topaz eyes.
‘Unconditionally,’ he whispered.
His mother nodded silently for a moment. Then she slipped her hand into his again.
‘As do I.—Jassie is your salvation, Rogan. You have to know there’s nothing weak or insubstantial about the woman you’ve married, however well-bred she might be. She has strength enough for both of you and if her strength fails her you can be certain her love won’t.—But you have to stay. You have to give her a chance; give love a chance!—Will you?’
Oh God!
‘What if—’
‘Talk to Jassie, my son. Ask her what she wants to do. At least allow her some sort of choice here. So far you have decided how it shall be—for both of you. Marriage is a partnership. I know that’s not a generally held belief but all the best marriages I know of have succeeded because they are equal partnerships—welded together with love. At least allow her to tell you how she would like your marriage to proceed.’
Had he just been a selfish bastard rather than a gentleman of honor by sheltering Jassie all these years, never giving her a chance to accept or reject what he was? Had he simply been too cowardly to face the fact there was an even chance he would lose her altogether?
‘You’ve everything to gain, son. Nothing to lose. For nothing is exactly what you have now.’
At last he allowed himself to look into the love that shone for him from this amazing woman who’d borne him—who’d fucked.—The gutsiest woman he knew.
Although—he might just have a wife with a similar strength of character—and depth of love.
‘You’re right—as always. I’ll go and talk to her now.’ Rising, he bent to kiss her brow then said, ‘Thanks.’
He couldn’t leave the room however without turning back one more time and sharing a crooked smile with her.
‘I need to tell you that I’m singularly blessed in having you for a mother—though I’m not absolutely sure I really needed to know you had—fucked!’
Color stormed into her cheeks and she flapped her hand at him.
‘Get out! I suppose that was the only word you heard in all that I said!’
He grinned openly back at her. It felt good to lighten up a little, to let her know he was okay.
‘Not at all. I heard all the rest but I wanted to let you know I heard that word fall from your saintly lips. I clearly recall being severely reprimanded for using it in your hearing once!’
‘And you will be just as severely reprimanded if I hear it again!’ she rattled back at him, her blue eyes dancing with merriment.
Satisfied that she was now in a lighter frame of mind than he’d found her, he stepped into the hallway.
‘Oh. And Windermere?’ she called after him. ‘I meant what I said about the opening day and the ball. The occasion of your marriage should be brought to the notice of the ton, not allowed to slip by unheralded as if it was something to be ashamed of!—You will not return to London—please. The War Office will manage fine without you —and so will Parliament. It has up to now. No more excuses!’
Forcing himself not to think what that would mean for him and Jassie, he nodded. Then realizing she couldn’t see him, he called back, ‘All right, Mama. I’ll stay and—I’ll try it your way. But from here-on it’ll be as Jassie and I decide.’
‘Of course, Windermere!’
Her airy agreement followed him down the hallway but he didn’t miss the note of satisfaction in the musical voice.
Aware that Fran and the Dowager were observing her with concern as she led the way out of the dining room and were both about to launch into a discussion of Windermere’s declaration of intent to return to London on the morrow, Jassie turned to her mother-in-law as she settled in to pour tea.
‘So Mama, have you decided on the colors and patterns for your rooms—or have you changed your mind again?’ she asked brightly.
To her surprise the Dowager allowed her deflection from the topic that had to be uppermost in all their minds and entered into a happy discussion of the different color combinations and pattern styles she was considering. The Egyptian mode was still her favorite.
In the middle of their discussion Ba
rt Matthews entered the room, asking if there was any tea left in the pot. Lady O looked up sharply and asked, ‘Is Windermere not joining us, Barton?’
‘I don’t believe so, Aunt Olwynne. He headed for his study saying he didn’t want to be disturbed.’
Her mouth twisted with annoyance. Jassie almost snorted in disgust. Windermere seemed to have lost any semblance of gentlemanly behavior since their marriage—no, since their memorable contretemps on Neave Tor. She desperately needed another conversational gambit to divert everyone’s minds, but to her relief the Dowager claimed to be weary and made her excuses to retire a little earlier than usual.
As soon as she was gone, Jassie turned to Fran and said, ‘I’m going up too if you don’t mind, Fran. You might as well make use of the fire and the good reading candles in the library, if you want.’
Fran smiled and said, ‘Thanks Jassie. I’m dying to start on that novel by that new author, Emma Parker, so now would be a good time.’
Their eyes met and Jassie knew Fran understood that what she really wanted was just to be alone—in case Windermere came to his senses and to an awareness of his obligations to his wife.
‘It would,’ Jassie agreed. ‘Let me know what you think of it.’
‘Good night, Bart.’
‘Good night, Lady Jassie. I hope it wasn’t something I did! I never meant to interrupt your evening.’
Jassie sent him a wan grin.
‘Of course not. Anyway, Mrs. Lyndon probably wouldn’t mind some company in the library.’
‘I was rather hoping she wouldn’t mind if I accompanied her there. Windermere has some excellent tomes on the Far East and I rarely have the leisure to study them. Tonight would be a good time to indulge—if Mrs. Lyndon doesn’t object.’
‘No objection at all, sir,’ Fran responded, eyes downcast and cheeks slightly flushed.
Jassie hurried out of the room, leaving them to settle the affair between themselves. If she were to say any more Fran would accuse her of match-making. And she’d have had to lie!
Her feet dragged as she climbed the wide oak staircase to the upper floors. A part of her wanted to confront Windermere in his study and tell him she had no intention of being abandoned here at the Abbey while he did—whatever gentlemen did—in the capital. But pride would not allow her. The next move was up to him.
‘Thanks, Ruby, I can manage now,’ Jassie said as soon as her maid had unlaced her gown and stays. ‘I won’t need you any more tonight.’
After building the fire up a little more, Ruby glided happily out of the room, no doubt looking forward to a quiet coze with Randall the footman, who seemed to have taken her eye since they’d settled into the Abbey.
Jassie stripped out of her clothes and laid them over a chair in the dressing room, achingly aware that only a couple of doors stood between her naked self and her husband’s bedroom. Entertaining and swiftly discarding thoughts of settling into his bed instead of her own, she turned back into her room and pulled on a sheer lawn nightgown and matching peignoir embroidered around the borders with dainty pink rosebuds. Settling herself at her duchess with just one candle and the glow from the fire for illumination she unpinned her hair and began pulling the brush through it. Usually Ruby brushed out her hair but tonight she just needed to be alone.
Ruby didn’t need to know her mistress was in the mood to attack her husband. She wouldn’t sit meekly back and allow him to reject, neglect or ignore her. From him of all people she deserved better. Her fury grew, along with the realization that he’d denied her the whole of himself for years and condemned them both to a kind of purgatory without even giving her a say in the matter. She hadn’t even really understood just what he’d done to them.
Until now. It would not be allowed to continue. Scenarios began to play through her mind; herself storming downstairs and flinging the study door open and yelling at him—or throwing herself into his arms and demanding he take her to London with him; walking calmly through the connecting door to his room and settling in among the quilts on the Earl’s high tester bed; Rogan finding her there and being unable to resist—Pshaw!
She was no better than a dreamy-eyed miss just out of the schoolroom. She would do none of those things. If Windermere didn’t deign to come and talk to her of his plans she’d simply follow him to London and install herself in Windermere House.
Leaping up she began pacing restlessly around the room adjusting a chair here, straightening a rug there. All the while telling herself to simply get into bed, so that maybe she could just go to sleep and forget the whole sorry mess. But she knew there was no way her eyes were going to stay closed even if she could convince her body to lie down and relax. Putting out the single candle, she snatched a quilt off the bed, wrapped it around herself and settled into the window-seat, her knees drawn up under her chin.
The room was now only lit by the intermittent leaping flames of the fire and the soft almost-darkness surrounded her with a piercing solitude. She could’ve stayed downstairs with Fran but in her contrary state of mind she knew she’d rather suffer the deepest pangs of loneliness than be with anyone other than Windermere. Beyond the windows the moonlit gardens of the Abbey were a mysterious patchwork of white light and deep shadow and as she stared down into the magical scene she began visualizing scenarios whereby she made Windermere jealous. If she went to London there would be no shortage of soirées and social events she could attend even at this end of the season—with or without the frustrating man.
Such behavior had never occurred to her before and in truth it didn’t appeal to her now. But what else was she to do? How was she to make him see what they could have—together? Besides, did he not deserve to suffer for what he’d put her through? What he’d denied her?
A soft knock sounded at the door and it opened before she’d gathered her thoughts to respond. Rogan stepped into the room, his dark bulk easily recognizable against the glow of the fire.
‘Jass? Are you awake?’
‘Of course not! Why would you think I’d not be asleep? I’m a perfect model of happiness and contentment! What could possibly keep me awake?’
Unerringly he followed her voice to the window-seat and settled beside her, almost sitting on her toes.
‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit, you, Jass. I would’ve come sooner but Mama summonsed me. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated how blest I am to be her son. You know what she told me? That she’d loved, fucked, lived. How many women of our class do you know who could use such language to put her profoundly fucked-up son at ease?’
Awe colored his voice but it scarcely registered with Jassie. Fury fountained in her breast and she felt a terrible desire to launch herself bodily at him, attack and scratch. Dear God, she’d thought she was in control but there was no way she could withhold the words that wanted to spew out of her mouth.
‘You expect to just sit down here and talk about your wonderful mother? Lady O has always been the most amazing woman I know! Nothing’s changed there. And I do know one other woman like her. Me! How could you not have known that you could talk to me about fucking and such? God! We’ve shared rotten egg and spew; talked of mating horses and dogs; dealt with maids gotten pregnant both here and at Brantleigh.
‘Not only could you have talked to me of fucking but you should have! And we should have been fucking way before this! Do you have any conception of what you’ve denied us? Denied me? And now you intend to just swan off to London again tomorrow without alerting anyone—not even your secretary if I interpreted Bart’s shocked expression when you mentioned it—oh so casually over dinner!’
She pulled her foot back and kicked his thigh, hard.
‘Well you needn’t think I’m going to sit tamely here in the country twiddling my genteel Countess’s toes while you—do whatever you do in the city! I will be coming to London too!’
Jassie ran out of breath and words at the same time, suddenly realizing she’d leaned right forward and was shouting into Rogan’s face. Before she
could calm her breathing and huddle back into her corner of the seat Rogan had possessed himself of her hands and raised them to his lips where he proceeded to cover them with hard, burning kisses.
Then gently he pulled her onto his lap and no matter how filled with hurt and anger she was, there was no way she could deny herself the joy of being that close to the man she’d loved from the cradle.
‘I’m so sorry, Jassie,’ he murmured against her hair as he clasped her close against his chest. ‘I know I deserve everything you could possibly throw at me. I thought I was doing the right thing by holding myself away from you—even though I wasn’t able to remain entirely aloof, as I should have. But Mama has made me see how selfish and inconsiderate I’ve been all these years, how—autocratic. That at least has to change. You have a right to some say in how our lives are to be lived.’
Jassie lifted her head and squinted against the darkness trying to see into his eyes but they were just shiny pools of blackness.
‘You’ll talk to me? Ask me what I want? Because your sainted Mama said you should? I get to have a say in our marriage? Is that what you’re saying?—And would you even have listened if I had told you that was how it was going to be? Because I’m informing you here and now, Windermere, that’s exactly how it’s going to be. There’ll be no more secrets however awful, however shameful or heinous. We will be open with one another and make our decisions together.’
‘I freely admit I might not have listened to you. But Mama didn’t lose control and start throwing orders about.’
He had the gall to smile, his teeth white in the moonlight.
Jassie felt the fury building within her again.
‘I’ll not be toyed with, Windermere! I’ve a lot of catching up to do in the decision-making stakes and I don’t intend to be led astray by your ever so charming smile.’
His head tilted a little to one side, he considered her for a moment. Jassie wished desperately for more light to read the thoughts she knew were flashing through his eyes.
‘Um—I thought that was exactly what you were wanting.—Me to toy with you.’
