Bless Us With Content

by Tinnean

  “From the time I was a boy, and for four years.”

  “How would he feel upon learning that I was now in your bed?”

  “He’d most likely pity you.”

  “What?”

  “He would assume it was for the same reason he had been in my bed: because he couldn’t have the one he truly wanted.”

  “He told you that?”

  “No, but then he didn’t have to. I’m not stupid, you know. I can read between the lines. He allowed me to… he allowed me the use of his body, but that was all.”

  “But you loved him in spite of that.” He gazed down at me, his expression a mixture of pity and exasperation.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I’ve some acquaintance with unrequited love.”

  I was startled by the unexpected pang that tore through me. It was not that I’d expected… dreamed… wished… that the man in my bed would love me—I’d learned my lesson too well with John Hood—but to realize that I would never even have that opportunity dashed any possible hopes.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “That you loved someone who did not return your affection.”

  He laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound. “Oh, no, it was not I who loved unwisely but too well.”

  “Who then?”

  “My mother, poor lady. She loved but one man her whole life, my father, and her devotion was rewarded by his indifference.”

  “I have heard she went into a decline.”

  “A decline? Yes, I suppose it could be called that. She could no longer bear to be the object of pity and derision.”

  “Who would do that?”

  “Have you no experience of the ton? They commiserate to your face and mock and sneer behind your back. Even here in the country they will not let her be!”

  I wanted to put my arms around him and hold him, as I had yearned to be held when I’d realized Mama and Papa would never be coming home, but I was afraid he would rebuff my silent offer of compassion, so instead I said, “I understand she was quite lovely.”

  “Yes, she was. She had russet curls that flowed down her back and eyes the color of violets. Such beautiful eyes, fringed with lashes as thick and black as soot. She could have had any man she wanted, but the only man she wanted was my father.”

  “It must have been difficult, with him being away so frequently and for such long periods of time.”

  “Such long periods of time.” He laughed harshly. “He would come home, stay with us for a fortnight or so, and then with the excuse that he must attend to business, he would disappear into the country, where he would spend the rest of his leave. When he returned, there was only time for him to re-outfit himself, and what a mad dash that was. Then he would be off, gone from our lives for two or three or four years, she and I left behind.”

  “Was it not a fact that she did not travel well, and so your father sought to spare her the travails of an ocean voyage?”

  “That was the reason he gave when he returned for her funeral. I have my doubts as to its veracity. Have you any brandy? If I must tell this maudlin tale, I may as well have a drink.”

  “There’s no need, Geo.”

  “Yes, there is. I can see you’re agog to hear all the details.”

  I wasn’t, but what I could see was that for some reason he needed to speak of this.

  “I’ll have to go down to the study to get the decanter.”

  He raised a questioning eyebrow, but I wasn’t going to tell him of my stupidity.

  John’s birthday was the same as mine, St. Stephen’s Day, the day after Christmas. The second winter after the start of my affair with him, I’d commissioned the jeweler in Guilford to craft a tiny silver bugle to be worn on his watch fob.

  He and Robert came down from Oxford for the holiday—William had as yet to complete his studies at Harrow, but he’d be arriving shortly as well. No matter where else Robert might spend the rest of the holiday, he was always here with Aunt Cecily that day, and so were his brothers, for where one was, there, generally, were the others.

  I gave John the gift on his birthday, when he came to me that night. “Oh, er… thanks.” He tossed it on the lowboy and stripped off his trousers. “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

  We “got on with it,” but when he left shortly after he regained his senses—because yes, I had loved him into insensibility—he left the bugle behind. The next morning after breakfast, I found him in the conservatory, staring broodingly out at the barren winter landscape. “You forgot this, John.”

  He looked around frantically, afraid someone would see, but I’d already made sure we were alone.

  “No, I didn’t,” he snapped at me.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t you understand? I don’t want it! Men don’t give men gifts!” And he stormed out, leaving me feeling as if he’d struck me. None of my uncle’s physical blows had ever hurt to such a degree.

  I found a cache of brandy in the wine cellar that I knew my uncle wouldn’t miss and took the bottles to my room. After throwing the bugle into the fireplace, I began drinking.

  I drank steadily throughout the rest of the holidays, but John never came to me and said, “You’re dipping too deep, Ashton. I want you to stop.” I doubted he even noticed. Certainly no one else did.

  Finally, I grew tired of waking each morning to cast up my accounts, with a headache and a vile taste in my mouth. I bathed and shaved, returned the remaining bottle to the wine cellar, and vowed to treat John as if the incident on St. Stephan’s Day had never occurred.

  Now I started to get out of bed, and Geo gripped my wrist and peered into my eyes. For what was he searching? “Geo?”

  “Pay me no heed. Don’t be long.”

  “I’ll be back quicker than the cat can lick her ear.”

  That made him smile. “Will you have a glass with me?”

  “If you like.” I drew on my dressing gown and stepped into a pair of slippers, then went down to the study, placed the brandy and two snifters on a tray, and returned to my room.

  He had the pillows stacked behind him, but he must have risen to rekindle the fire, for it was burning brightly, casting shadows on the wall.

  “Was that quickly enough for you?” I set the tray down on a small table and poured a measure of brandy into each snifter.

  “Yes. You must be anxious to hear this pathetic tale to rush so.”

  I tried once more. “Geo, if you’d rather not—”

  “The matter is of no great importance, but if you would hear it….” He shrugged and took a snifter. He raised it to his lips, and I couldn’t take my eyes from his throat; I watched his Adam’s apple ripple as he swallowed. “Would you mind?” He held the snifter out to me. It was already empty.

  “Here; take mine, if you’re in such a rush to get drunk.” I scowled at him when he actually did take it. “I see I had best keep my dressing gown on, since I’ll most likely need to go down to the wine cellar for another bottle.”

  “Fill the glass for yourself. I promise you this will be my last.”

  I wasn’t sure if I believed him. I’d never seen him like this before, although granted, I’d only known him a little longer than a sennight.

  I poured a scant amount into the snifter and returned to the bed. Geo leaned forward and took the snifter from me, and I sighed. He seemed determined to get bosky. I removed my slippers and dressing gown and got back under the covers, and to my surprise, he handed me my brandy.

  He was silent for so long that I wondered if he was going to continue at all. I took a sip of brandy and almost choked when he did begin to speak.

  “So my father sailed away, and my mother remained at home, forgoing the beautiful dresses she would see in the shop windows, telling me with forced gaiety that once Papa was home again and able to spend the time with us, then would be the time to purchase them. If he wasn’t there to see her wearing them, she’d wait until he was
there. She never said a word against him. Never once. And if anyone else did, she would find excuses for his behavior. He was an important man, whose work was exceptionally important.” He gave a mocking laugh. “So very, very important.”

  He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and observed it as if it held the answers to all the questions in the universe.

  “Compared to this important man’s important work, my mother and I could not even hope to hold a candle.”

  “Geo….” I didn’t know what I could say, but it made no difference; he went on speaking as if I hadn’t tried to interrupt him.

  “The first time I saw my mother cry….” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “There was one particular gown, the color of her eyes. Did I tell you they were the color of violets after a rainstorm?”

  “That’s very poetical. You did tell me they were violet.”

  “The most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. If I was the marrying sort, I’d look for a girl with eyes that color. Every day on our way to Hyde Park, we passed the shop where it presided in the window in solitary splendor, and every day she would pause to admire it. On this particular day, two ladies stopped to examine the gown. ‘I think I’ll have it,’ the one said to the other.

  “‘But it’s frightfully dear,’ the other said. ‘Won’t your lord be cross?’

  “‘I can twist him ’round my little finger.’

  “‘Unlike that scrap of an Irish chit whose husband hastens to Surrey whenever he is in England?’ They both laughed, and their laughter was cruel.

  “‘Never tell me she has no idea!’

  “‘None whatsoever, my dear!’ To this day, I can remember how her voice dripped with condescension.” While Geo’s voice was harsh and bitter.

  “‘But it’s common knowledge the man has been in love with Cecily Marchand since her come out!’ They made no effort to lower their voices. What did they care if they were overheard?

  “‘And he spent this entire leave at Laytham Hall?’ The first woman tittered, Ash. The bitch tittered, while my mother stood on that goddamned pavement and listened to them tear apart the fabric of her life.”

  “Did she… did she truly not know?”

  “Perhaps she did; she never spoke of it, but if she was happier pretending that he was in the country on the King’s business, who were they to shred her beliefs?”

  “Please, Geo. You needn’t say any more.”

  “I’m almost at an end.” He took a final swallow of his brandy and looked about as if for someplace to put the snifter. I took it from him and set it on the bedside table, but he scarcely seemed to notice. “I had to speak, draw their attention to my mother, although that wasn’t my intent. ‘Laytham Hall? Isn’t that where Papa was staying, Mama?’ My mother’s hand tightened on mine.”

  He closed his hand about my wrist as if to demonstrate, squeezed, and I felt myself turn pale from the pain. “Geo. Please.” He released me, unaware that he had hurt me, and I rubbed my wrist, knowing there would be bruises on it on the morrow.

  “The two women whirled to face us, and they looked mortified. Not because of what they’d said, you understand, but because my mother had had the ill manners to overhear them. They turned and hurried away, the violet gown forgotten. My mother stood like a statue, and when I glanced up at her, I saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, then dropped his hand to his lap, and I covered it with mine, seeking to give him some solace. He stared down at where my hand rested on his, and carefully I drew it back. “In the end, even what love she bore me was not enough to lessen the pain of my father’s careless treatment of her, and she simply faded away.”

  “You have never loved anyone?”

  “A useless emotion. I will never allow that to happen to me.” He cast aside the bed coverings. “I must go now.”

  “Of course.” Dawn would be breaking shortly, and much as I wanted him to remain beside me, I knew he was correct. “You had best take the candle.”

  “Yes.” He pulled on his nightshirt, which he’d never had the opportunity to don, and limped to his walking stick.

  “Your clothing?” It was on the floor, mingled with mine.

  “Kincaid will retrieve everything.”

  “I think not.” I could not depend on the man to get them away before one of my servants arrived. I rose and went about the room, plucking up each article of clothing and folding it, and when I had them all, I handed them to him.

  He had been watching me with his lips curled in a small smile.

  “What do you find amusing, sir?” I bent and picked up his shoes, grateful that he could smile after telling me such a sad story.

  “Ah, Ash. You’ve your spectacles on and not a stitch of clothing.” Geo’s smile broadened at my blush, and he ran his thumb over my cheekbone, then took his shoes, and opened the door. He didn’t stick his head out and peer cautiously up and down the hallway as John had been wont to do, for he didn’t care tuppence if he was seen or not. “Goodnight, Ashton.”

  “Goodnight, Geo.” I held my breath, hoping that he would return to me for a final kiss, but no. With a soft snick, the latch caught as the door closed.

  I returned to bed, and curled over onto my side, staring at the curtains that closed out the remainder of the night, but seeing nothing. His words reverberated in my brain. “I will never allow that to happen to me.” Now I truly knew where I stood. Or lay, as the case might be.

  However, he found me appealing; he had said as much. He enjoyed the time we spent in bed. And he’d told me about his mother.

  I was going to pretend he liked me. I was going to mind my tongue and not rip up at him and perhaps….

  Perhaps it might one day even become true.

  I had little doubt I would find any rest for what was left of the night, for with my lover gone, my bed felt shockingly empty, but I did fall asleep.

  However, Geo had woken me frequently and had lov—rogered me thoroughly, leaving me with a satisfying ache deep within my bowels and in no doubt of his possession, and the result was I was late rising.

  I washed and dressed with haste and hurried down to the morning room, wondering if Geo might be lingering there.

  “Good morning, Aunt.”

  Aunt Cecily, the remains of her breakfast before her, was just raising her cup to her lips. “Ashton.” Her lips tightened, her eyes grew wintry, and she set her cup down with a snap.

  “Er… I seem to be late. My apologies.”

  “Humph.” I’d never heard her make such an unladylike sound. “Bring Sir Ashton his hot chocolate, if you please, Colling.”

  “Yes, m’lady. I’ll have Cook prepare a fresh pot.”

  As soon as he was out of the room, Aunt Cecily snapped, “Were you aware of Mr. Geo Stephenson’s condition?”

  “Condition? What condition? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Do you not?” She glowered at me. “You must have got a good deal of amusement out of all the plans Arabella and I made during the last few days.”

  “I don’t believe I ever exhibited the least trace of amusement.” I glowered back at her, becoming very tired of having the weight of the estate on my shoulders and no one with whom to share that burden. “Whatever is going on?”

  “Apparently that injury Geo received on the Levant has put an end to any possibility of his… his ever having children.”

  I gaped at her. “But… but… that would mean….”

  “Oh, do please stop looking like a landed fish, and at least try to act as if you had an ounce of intelligence! What it means is that he has—”

  Colling entered just then, and she bit back the rest of her words. The butler knew something was going on; good servants always did. He poured my hot chocolate and placed the pot at my elbow.

  “That will be all, Colling. I’ll ring if we require anything else.”

  “Very good, m’lady.” He left the morning room once more.

  “Wha
t it means,” Aunt Cecily immediately took up where she had left off, “is that he has lost his manhood! And since he cannot perform the marriage act, he cannot give Arabella children!”

  I started to choke on my hot chocolate. “I… I see. That is I think I….” I floundered. If what she was trying to say was that Geo no longer had the use of his organ, then of course she would think that Geo could not perform.

  “Do you mean to tell me you two gentlemen did not discuss this?”

  “Precisely, Aunt. I mean, it is hardly likely that Geo would talk about something like that with me. We… we are barely acquainted!” I was not about to tell her that his performance with me was more than adequate!