by Liz Tyner
Her hand fell from his back and she stepped closer so his gaze met hers. This time her chin tilted down and her eyes levelled at him. ‘Would you give up all that you care for to sit and pretend to like the taste of a foreign tea that tastes like weeds on your tongue, while you discuss the brim of a bonnet, and only wear boots that do not fit? For the rest of your life?’
‘Most women like bonnets and tea and those things.’
‘Then they can enjoy them. I do not wish to take theirs. I am quite sincere in that.’
‘Why do you not try?’
‘I have. I have sat in my sister’s house and I have seen her life. For the two years since I arrived in England.’ She held up her fingers. ‘I have travelled to London and made morning calls and walked in her steps. We returned home again. She flutters about there and her face shows that she has been in a garden of nothing but flowers. She says I can be a bee, too, and I understand, but her garden is wrong for me. And you—’ Her voice slowed. ‘You have not truly taken on your new duties. You have stayed in the country rather than go to town to find a wife. Do you not feel trapped?’
‘Do not put words in my mouth.’ He moved. His shoulders turned. He still sat, but his body faced her. ‘There is nothing I want more than to accept my duties. Nothing.’
‘You have not wed—’
‘I merely have not had the time.’
‘You are well over thirty. You’ve had more than ten years to look for a wife.’ She waved an arm. ‘Not enough time?’
‘Apparently not.’ His lips turned down. ‘And I am not well over thirty. I am thirty-one. At first, I was the second son and Geoff was the shining star in the heavens. Every woman I thought fascinating only met me in order to speak with my brother. I could see where their attention went. I remember that well. I decided marriage was not for me—until I met one woman at a soirée and I thought she was the one.’
‘Did she reject you?’ Her voice wisped away at the last words.
‘Not really. I have not asked her yet because… Geoff has not been dead a year. A respectful period of time should be waited. He is—was my brother. And truth be known, I pursued her before he died. Geoff just did not know it. He never missed a soirée where she attended that he did not ask her to dance. He told me he would win her some day—but that she thought him too rakish and said she could not imagine him forsaking his mistresses for a wife.’
Winter’s chill settled in her bones, even though the temperature was warm. ‘You and Geoff pursued the same woman and he did not know?’
‘I have not had a woman in my bed since Louisa said a man must give up his mistress for her.’ He picked up the paper with the alphabet and handed it to her. ‘Geoff had told me what she’d said to him. I mentioned to Louisa, later, that I had made certain conclusions and that I wished Geoff understood my unwillingness to traipse about with him—to disreputable places. She certainly had to know what I meant.’ He made a loose fist and tapped it on the table. ‘I pursued her with more determination than Geoff. I selected every word before I said it to her. Now that he is gone, I don’t know what I think any more. Except I do not like what I did to my brother. When he died, I received the message at her father’s house.’
She looked at the page of letters and wanted to crumple it up, but she didn’t. ‘I believe I have met Louisa. She is one of my sister’s closest friends. We went to the shops. She chose slippers with pink rosettes. When she laughs, no one near can frown.’
‘That would be Louisa.’ Rhys turned away, suddenly fascinated by the unlit lamp. ‘When my brother left the room, I often talked with her. I made her laugh. I did whatever it took to get those smiles. I thought her worth the risk.’
‘The risk of hurting your brother?’
She thought his silence meant he would not answer. He didn’t need to. He’d not wanted to pursue the same woman as Geoff.
‘The risk of—more than that. By then my sister had died. To lose her had been so unfair. I imagined the fire taking her. The pain of it. We’d all loved her so much. I still cannot dwell on it. I did not want to repeat such a thing, and if I married Louisa, how could I keep her safe? But I eventually pushed those fears aside. And then my brother died. And now that I am the duke…’ He tailed off.
‘You should always be a person before you are a title,’ she said, then turned to leave. She’d reached the door when he responded.
‘That is not how it works.’
The quiet emphasis of the words rang in her ears and when she looked back, he still gazed at the lamp.
She wondered if he imagined Geoff’s face or Louisa’s smile.
Chapter Nine
After his morning ride, Rhys walked to the library. A rustle in the room alerted him that someone stood inside.
Entering, he felt a surge of disappointment that Bellona wasn’t there. Guilt replaced the displeasure, but then he truly felt pleased. His mother fussed with a curtain. She’d not shown any care of the house in a very long time and to have her standing with the sunshine about her brightened his own heart.
‘You would think the maids would have learned by now how to arrange the folds.’ She moved them this way and that, frowning.
‘Now I am crushed.’ He moved beside her. ‘I thought you were here to see me and it is only the windows you wish to inspect.’
‘Well, I might inspect you a bit, too. Now that I see you in the light, it appears your valet does not know how to keep a man’s hair properly trimmed. Or you have been leading him a merry dance again.’
‘Guilty.’
She reached up and patted his cheek. ‘Rhys. I am not here to merely note how you have let yourself go because it is possibly a good thing.’
He chuckled. ‘How’s that, Mother?’
‘When you are truly well groomed, it would be so hard for a young woman to keep from losing her heart to you.’
‘You must be sure to tell the young women this. I don’t think they are able to realise it on their own.’
‘Nonsense.’ She frowned and fussed with the curtains again. ‘I think we have one under our very roof who is becoming rather taken with you.’
‘I am certain she might be a bit fond of me, Mother, but I believe she is also fond of the stable master as he has secured archery targets for her. She’s also had Cook prepare a poultice for one of the footmen.’
‘Your valet talks too much of the other servants.’
‘Just as a lady’s maid talks too much to the mistress of the house. You should not believe idle talk when someone suggests Miss Cherroll is taken with me.’
‘This is not idle talk. It’s from her own mouth.’
‘Miss Cherroll?’ He studied his mother’s face, uncertain he heard correctly.
‘Yes.’ She nodded her head. ‘She does not exactly say it in words, but a mother knows. A mother definitely notices when a woman’s eyes change if the son’s name is mentioned. If she speaks differently when he is discussed. It’s obvious.’
‘I’ve seen none of it.’
‘I am not surprised. Only concerned. But please do not encourage this woman, Rhys. Such heathenish ways. But she does make the days bearable and she has a heart of gold underneath all that rubbish she spouts. I don’t want more unhappiness for her. She’s had enough. No parents. Not settled like her sister. I see a poor future for her and I don’t wish more unpleasantness on her, especially not under my roof.’
‘You have nothing to worry about.’
Her eyes batted his words back at him. ‘If you say so. She’s not right for society. You should hear the tales of her life. She is of a different world. If it were not for the earl, she’d be making her way at the docks.’
The image of Bellona walking among the toughs and cutpurses jabbed at him.
He pulled open a desk drawer, searching, for what he did not know, but he would know if he saw it. ‘I am aware of the role I have to fulfil. I know how uncomfortable a woman as spirited as Bellona would be living this life.’
‘How
uncomfortable she would feel? The whole of the ton will be watching whom you choose as a wife, Rhys. They would not be pleased that you have turned your back on their daughters and sisters. They will think you married beneath yourself. And you will have. Remember your father’s last request. He counselled all his children on the importance of marriage. He asked for his name to be carried on. He wanted the family to continue. Wed a suitable duchess, he said. He said that many times. It was one of the last things he asked for.’
‘Those were not his final words to me. They were to Geoff.’ His breaths were quick. Taking out a pen, he put it by the first one. He stared at them and then put one back inside the desk.
She walked to the window. ‘I worry. I can’t help it. I know how easily you could be taken from me. Everything has changed so much. Not quite a year ago, Geoff was here. A year before that, your father was here. He started failing soon after he told me of your sister’s death.’ She looked into the rain. ‘It was like he died on purpose, so he wouldn’t have to…’
‘Mother. He was seventy-eight. I don’t think he had a lot of choice in the matter.’
‘Did you notice the honeysuckle blooming when Geoff died? I’d been in the garden with him the day before and we’d talked about how he loved the scent of them. So do I. His passing was so cruel—taking him in the spring when so much life began around him.’
She pushed back the curtains and didn’t speak for a moment. ‘He loved honeysuckle. When he was a boy, he’d pick the little flowers and bring them to me and I’d sniff them and exclaim to make him happy, but I truly was the most pleased. The two of you grew up so fast, Rhys. I remember how he felt as a babe in my arms. So many of the things I’d forgotten about while he was here, but after he died I remembered them all so plainly. The best children a mother could have. And the three of you so close. You and Geoff always watched out for each other and your sister. No rivalry at all. I couldn’t have been more proud of my children.’
‘Geoff was my only brother.’ The words sounded normal enough—at least to her.
She turned. ‘I wish for the family every hour. Every day I hear myself thinking about how I wish they would return. It’s not asking much. To have my family. They were given to me once, but whisked away. Even the grandchildren they would have given me were taken from me. A home of this size should be filled with family. Instead we have servants and more servants and no one for them to take care of.’
Walking towards him, she smiled. ‘I don’t want you to think you’re amiss. You’re doing a fine job of managing things since they left, Rhys. I appreciate everything you’ve done to take over where your father and Geoff left off. I know how much you cared for them, too. How much you loved your sister. They would all be so proud of you. I am proud of you. I want you to know that.’
‘Thank you.’
A maid crossed by the doorway with a tray, certainly taking it to Bellona’s room. His mother’s attention wavered and she waited until the woman could not possibly hear the conversation. ‘Bellona must leave or you must go to London.’
He let out a loud breath of disagreement.
‘Rhys. I am your mother. It is not only her acting differently. You are too aware of her. You understand quite well what I am really saying. A man’s nature is such as it is. You could ruin her. She does not deserve that. You would hurt her. It is not the best situation for either one of you and you know it. She has told me how she is more comfortable with the servants at the earl’s house than the guests. She has been there two years.’ She paused. ‘Think of her.’
His mother glanced at the statues. ‘They’re just bits of pottery. I don’t know why we thought them anything else. Meant to hold memories of the past. They do. Soot left after the fire is gone.’ She made a motion of sweeping them away before fixing her eyes on him. ‘I don’t know why I kept them.’
She stopped at his side, and reached to the loop of his cravat, straightening it. ‘Think of her,’ the duchess said again.
She left, skirts fluttering at her ankles. The maid moved by the doorway again, tray empty. Rhys called, stopping her.
‘Inform the stable master to be ready to journey to London at a moment’s notice.’
*
Rhys finished his meal, surrounded by empty chairs. The lamps lit the room as brightly as they always had. He sat at the same place he’d always sat.
He lifted his wine glass, sipped and put it down. Echoes of his sister’s laughter, Geoff’s jests and his father’s half-hearted grumbles bounced in Rhys’s memory. His mother, one brow raised in feigned dismay, or lips pressed to hide her smile, had presided over them all.
An infinite world at the time.
If he had known what was to happen, how could he have enjoyed the moments, knowing they were to end? But if he had known the future, the time with his family would have meant so much more.
Nothing could change one second of the time before or since. No oath was strong enough. He’d tried them all.
He stood, took the glass and finished it, sitting it back in the place it had always been and left the room.
No oath was strong enough.
Walking along the hallway, he stepped into the library and picked up one of the statuettes, turning it in his hand before putting it back on the mantel. His grandmother had owned one. His mother had added to the collection and his sister had given one to his mother. The women had thought them precious and he’d seen no value in them at all. None. Except now they’d somehow begun to matter a great deal to him.
Once he’d had to grab his mother’s wrists to keep her from smashing them to the floor. They were supposed to have been passed to a daughter’s daughter.
‘What are you thinking of?’ The question jarred him from his thoughts. He turned. Bellona stood in the doorway, staring at him. Yesterday, the message she’d sent to him had begged off reading practice because she said the duchess insisted on helping her. He knew why his mother kept Bellona at her side. He also knew just how long it had been since he’d been alone with Bellona. Two days. That he had kept count disturbed him. That his senses came alive when he saw her concerned him even more. His mother was right.
He watched her study his face. ‘I was thinking of the statues on the mantel. How long they’ve been there. Most of them, my whole life.’
She walked into the room with the assurance of someone who’d never seen a cloudy day, but her eyes belied her steps.
‘Your mother. I am concerned about her.’
‘She is more demanding?’
Bellona shook her head. ‘No. She’s more pleasant, but still…’
‘The woman you have met is not the woman she was before. She wasn’t gentle, but she wasn’t the same as she’s been. The grief took over. Her worries surrounded her.’
‘I run from mine.’ She only touched her skirt long enough to hitch it up on one side, before letting it flutter into place. ‘Sturdy boots, remember.’
‘You can’t always escape the things that trouble you.’
‘If you say so.’ She stepped to the books, grimaced and began to study the spines. ‘I am thankful I ran from Melos. I am also making certain I do not have to stay in London if I don’t wish it. If I cannot be in my own country, then I have no place to bind me to it. That is why I have decided to learn to read. Your mother said it might be needed some day to write to my sisters.’
‘A good reason.’
She tugged at a book, looked at it and put it back.
‘Where would you go?’ he asked. He hadn’t thought beyond the moment.
‘I have a friend who thinks of me as a daughter, I believe. And she knows a woman who married well, but is lonely. They have written to each other and the woman says I might visit and, if we get on well, I can stay with her.’
‘But you are already a companion to my mother. You must agree you take her mind from her grief.’
‘I do. But she tells me she is so much better already and she is.’
She studied the books. ‘Your
mother said you had another book by the man who wrote Crusoe. I thought I might like it better. What was that man’s name?’
‘Defoe,’ he said, not letting her divert his attention.
‘I do not know how Crusoe ends,’ she said. ‘But he could not return to the same world. When a year passes. Two. So much changes if you do not see the people often. You cannot return to the same world as before. And neither can I. So I will move somewhere else. Somewhere smaller. While I have the chance to make a new life. I want children. But there are many motherless children. Many. I might gather some about me.’
‘You could have your own. Marry.’
‘Marriage.’ She shook her head. ‘Look at the grief that marriage has caused your mother. A husband and two children lost.’ She paused. ‘My mother did not truly have a husband. He was gone most of the time.’ She took another book as she spoke. ‘The woman who thinks of me as a daughter, her husband did not do right by her either. Marriage—’ She shrugged. ‘The pigs and goats and chickens do not marry. And yet women do. They think they can change—’ she looked at him ‘—nature. Yet the males of the species do not seem that particular.’
‘I will be loyal to my wife. A vow is a vow.’
‘You say that.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I have— I made no vow yet to Louisa. But for her I gave up other women…to prove to myself I could do it…’ He had not thought it possible to go so long without a woman. ‘I assure you it has not been easy, but I make no idle promise. I can be a true husband.’
‘I am proud for you.’ She looked at the book she’d taken out and her mouth formed letters, before she stopped, watching him. ‘But I do not know if I can make such a vow.’
‘You jest.’
She shook her head and held the volume towards him, letting it rest in the air between them. ‘Sows. Ewes. Hens. They do not seem particular about their mates. Women, too, change their affections. Widows remarry. Women on Melos… I saw their hearts change. My mother’s did not after she married my father, but I could see that did her no good either.’
