by Ruth Regan
"I do hope you'll forgive me, Father," Eliot said, bowing low. "But I feel that marriage is a very private affair. Lady Eliot here shares my sentiments, I do believe."
He shot her a quick smile. She inclined her head in agreement.
"But where were you joined? And when?" Lord Calloway moaned petulantly. "The church has been quiet all morning – the bells were not rung. In fact, Father Timothy was already here at the party when we arrived!" Lord Calloway pointed, and Cara followed his finger to see plump Father Timothy, the parish priest. He was drunk as a skunk, fast asleep at his table in a puddle of spilled punch.
"Quite right, sir!" Eliot assured him. "We were joined by Father Matthew."
"I've never heard of him!" Lord Calloway grumbled.
"I'm not surprised. He leads somewhat of a...hermitish existence in the private chapel and rectory on my lands."
Another murmur went up through the crowd. But this time, it was broken by a new voice – one that was unfamiliar to Cara.
"Why, Q! You never told me you had a private chapel!"
The woman who had spoken was wearing a low-cut gown of a dusky rose color. Her ample breasts were pushed up, her cleavage pleasantly pink. Her golden hair was curled and piled atop her head in an extravagant style, studded with pearls and bedecked with feathers. It was clear she was from town, everything about her bespoke high London fashion and wealth. The fact that she addressed Eliot as “Q” was further confirmation of whence she'd come. Cara thought the woman looked like a beautiful bird ready to sink its talons right into Lord Eliot. Indeed, that's what she did in short order.
"My dear Charmian," Eliot said, bowing and taking her hand to kiss it. When he straightened, his eyes lingered with obvious appreciation and familiarity on the woman's décolletage. Instantly, Cara felt sweat break out on her brow.
"How lovely that you were able to make it!" he continued pleasantly. "And was Mr. Pembroke able to accompany you?"
"Oh, I fear not, dear Q. His business keeps him in town," Mrs. Pembroke replied with a little pout.
"Ahh..." Eliot breathed. His hand was still holding the woman's, Cara noted. Her mouth suddenly felt dry, and she had to clear her throat. The small sound seemed to remind Eliot of her presence. He turned to her.
"Lady Cara Eliot, may I present Mrs. Charmian Pembroke of London."
Cara curtseyed with as much dignity as she could muster. Mrs. Pembroke returned the favor, dipping languidly.
"Let me be the first to offer you my congratulations, Lady Eliot," the lovely bird said. Her voice was husky, low...and mocking. "I suppose you've proved us all wrong."
"I'm not sure I follow, Mrs. Pembroke," Cara said carefully.
"Well, so many of us were certain Q couldn't be tamed. That he was simply a bachelor at heart...forever to roam!"
It was quite an obvious jab, but an effective one, nonetheless. Cara's eyes drifted involuntarily over the crowd. Everywhere she looked, she seemed to see smug female faces – experienced, worldly women, all ten times more beautiful than she. Her vision began to blur as the happiness of the previous night and glorious morning drained away from her. She looked up at Eliot, but he seemed unaware of her now. He was smiling wolfishly at Mrs. Pembroke.
"Who says I've been tamed, Charmian dear?" he said, raising his voice for all in attendance to hear. Then he let loose a throaty laugh. "It's only a marriage!"
The assembly erupted into hearty laughter. They began to disperse, their curiosity sated. Some went for the punch, others went for the hors d'oeuvres. Sanderson the butler signaled the orchestra to begin playing. The conductor took up his baton and began to lead a waltz.
Eliot and Mrs. Pembroke chatted merrily on beside her, but Cara couldn't hear their conversation. She felt as though she'd been dealt a great blow. She was frozen and stiff and deaf to the revelry all around. There was but one thought in her mind. It loomed large, blocking everything else out.
How could I have been so stupid? How?
"Cara, my dear."
Her father's voice. She looked up. Lord Calloway was standing before her.
"Dance?"
She nodded, finding herself glad for the distraction.
Her father did not have much to say as they joined the other couples who had formed lines and were beginning to move in waltz time on the terrace. Cara was certain Lord Calloway's sense of propriety was more than a bit piqued by the wild entrance he'd just witnessed, but he did offer his congratulations, saying that he hoped they would be very happy.
"I hope so, too, Papa," she made herself say with a perfunctory smile. But all the while, she had her eyes locked on Eliot. He hadn't moved from his place. Now several of the other female guests had joined in the conversation between he and Mrs. Pembroke. Cara heard Eliot laugh wildly and call for another glass of brandy. This meant that in the few minutes since their arrival, he was already on his second glass – and she hadn't even seen him take a first. His cheeks were rosy, his honey hair framing his face like a wild halo in the morning sun. Cara thought he'd never looked more attractive in all the time she'd known him. He was masculine and angelic at once. She'd seen the gentle and passionate heart beneath the gorgeous exterior, which made this perverse demonstration all the more painful.
She managed to keep her composure through the dance with her father. Then Colonel Simms stepped up to take Lord Calloway's place when the songs changed. Halfway through this second dance, she could see that one of Eliot's arms was thrown about Mrs. Pembroke. The other ladies were pressing in close to him, their fans batting madly as they giggled and chirped. It was too much.
When the music ended, she bowed quickly to Colonel Simms. He returned the gesture, the medals on his red coat clanging together with an annoying sound.
"Will you excuse me, sir?" she asked as pleasantly as she could.
"Why of course, my dear Lady Boyle! Erm, I suppose it's Lady Eliot now!" The Colonel proceeded to dissolve in laughter, as though his mistake were the funniest joke on earth.
She lost all patience. Her heart was so sore that it spilled over and took control of her tongue.
"Quite right, Colonel. I am Lady Quentin Eliot. To call me by my old name on my wedding day is a gross insult indeed. You're a careless, doddering old man, and a discredit to Her Majesty's service. I'd tell you to retire while you were ahead, but I fear the time for such advice has long since passed. Good day, sir."
She could hear her father – who had witnessed the exchange – calling after her as she turned and beat a hasty retreat into the house.
***
The room of her convalescence was exactly as Cara had left it. This was no surprise. Early on in her stay, Mrs. Cooper had informed her that these were to be her quarters in perpetuity and now she was most grateful for the privacy they afforded. Once inside, she bolted the door behind her and stripped out of the beautiful blue gown that had given her such pleasure mere hours before. She tossed it aside like a dead thing.
But the act of undressing couldn't help but call to mind the previous night – the night of her marriage. The night she had given herself to Lord Eliot and known in her heart that he was hers just as much as she was his. He'd made her feel like she was the only woman in the world he cared about. Dissembler.
Why? Why had he made her believe in such a beautiful fantasy? Why had he comforted her when she'd spilled her most painful memories, and why had he taken her in his arms and given her the greatest pleasure of her life? She decided it was her fault that she hadn't seen through him, just as she hadn't seen through Lord Boyle.
I am a silly, stupid girl. I think I understand the way the world works, but I am fool. Just as he always says.
Her knees buckled beneath her. Clad in nothing but her undergarments, Cara crumpled to the floor and sobbed freely. There was nothing else to do.
For the rest of the afternoon, she slept. She'd had very little rest the night before, and after the shock of the morning's events, she was completely exhausted. When she finally opened her ey
es and felt wakeful, it was dark out and the full moon was streaming in through the windows. The music that had played all afternoon was gone now, and everything seemed to be silent. But she felt sensed that she'd been awakened by a sound in the hall. A soft knock at the door a moment later confirmed her notion. She sat up in alarm and blinked several times. What if it's Eliot?
"Who is it?" she cried, rushing towards the door. She pressed her ear to the warm wood.
"It's Mrs. Cooper, dear," the soft, familiar voice on the other side said.
Cara felt a fresh wave of emotion hit her. She fought to bite it back, but it was no good.
"I've brought you some dinner. Gertie made up a plate for you. Aren't you hungry?"
"No," she said through her tears.
"May I come in?"
"No!"
There was a long pause. Then she heard Mrs. Cooper heave a great sigh.
"I'm sorry, my dear. I thought you understood. This is the way he is. It doesn't mean that he's not in love with you."
"You must think me a fool indeed if you expect me to believe that!" she cried. She was on the point of retreating from the door and pressing the pillow over her ears. But the Mrs. Cooper's next comment stopped her.
"The fact that you've gained his love could not be any greater proof of your intelligence, beauty, and wit, Lady Eliot!" the housekeeper said earnestly. "But there is a scar on Lord Eliot's soul. And it will take more than one night to heal it. Do not despair, my Lady! I know Eliot. I know that his behavior today should be taken with a grain of salt. It's nothing to do with you."
The words angered Cara. But the simple fact that they angered her made her instantly suspect that there was truth in them.
"Goodnight, Mrs. Cooper," she said after a long moment. Her voice was steadier now. There was a pause. And then she heard the floorboards creak outside as the housekeeper moved away down the hall.
She sat on the edge of her bed for a long time after that. Her mind was spinning uselessly. She truly didn't know what to believe, and the worst of it was that she kept picturing Eliot in the arms of those other women. Perhaps he was enjoying their company even now, doing much more than laughing. That thought made her heart break in two.
She suddenly knew that she couldn't stay in her room a moment longer. She needed to clear her head. She got to her feet and set about finding a simple shift dress in her wardrobe. Luckily, there was such a thing tucked in the very back, and she pulled it over her head. She drew a shawl about her shoulders and stepped into some good walking shoes.
Moments later, she was stealing into the hall as silently as she could. She began to make her way down the grand staircase. The ghost of the memory of Eliot carrying her up these stairs not so very long ago rose up before her – the feel of his strong arms, his heartbeat, the warmth of his body shielding hers. But she ignored the specter and kept on.
When she slipped through Hedgeton's great front doors, she made almost no noise.
Chapter Ten
The hedge maze was bathed in moonlight. Cara didn't set out to go there, but it's where her feet took her of their own accord. She walked along the outside of the maze, looking up at its tall hedges and the wispy clouds rushing through the darkened sky above. Despite the breeze and that lateness of the hour – she judged it to be past ten o'clock – it was uncommonly warm. So warm that she dropped her shawl at the entrance to maze, promising herself that she would pick up on her return. After all, there was only one way out and she would be passing this way again when she left. In the days since she'd last been out here, the muddy ground had dried in most places, and although it was dark, she could see that tender shoots of grass had begun to push up from the earth here and there. How quickly things change, she thought to herself. She wanted to cry then, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and picked up her pace, moving into the maze. She'd set out to walk it that very first day at Hedgeton, but she'd been stopped by Lord Eliot. He'd chased her, she'd fled, and then she'd stumbled. And that's what had gotten them into this mess to begin with.
No, she corrected herself. The mess began before that. It began the second I saw him. I wanted him deep down from that very first moment.
She decided that she would try not to think at all for a while. It was simply too painful. The entire purpose of her leaving the house had been to clear her mind in the night air. That was what she aimed to do now.
She walked on, her head held high and her shoulders thrown back. She hadn't bothered to put up her hair, and now it streamed behind her, carried out by the breeze and her momentum. On instinct, she turned left, then right, then left again. Twice she ran into dead ends and had to back track, but she never let it bother her. She was going to conquer the maze, damn it. She would figure out its unpredictable twists and turns...even if she couldn't solve the mystery of the twists and turns of her husband's heart.
She was breathing hard, the sweat standing out on her brow when she finally broke into the center of the maze: the end of the puzzle. The path opened suddenly onto a small circular clearing, perhaps twenty feet in diameter. There was an apple tree, its delicate blossoms white in the moonlight, and a small, old bench of well-worn wood. A little birdbath stood off to the side. The ground in here was richly carpeted with thick, healthy grass. This was the reward for reaching the center of the maze – a lovely little secret garden.
But it was not empty, as Cara had expected it to be.
Someone was sitting on the bench. His back was partially turned to her, and he was leaning forward with his head in his hands. For a moment, she was struck with fear because she didn't recognize him, but then he looked up. His honey blond hair was as wild as ever and his billowing white shirt was open at the neck. She couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw the glint of tears in his eyes.
She turned on her heel to go, praying that he would not try and stop her. She'd walked the entire maze, almost successfully clearing her mind and losing herself in the physical exertion, only to stumble upon the very person she was trying to avoid.
"Cara!" he cried out. His voice was hoarse, and it broke as he said her name. The emotion in it was unmistakable. Something in her heart leapt, but she refused to turn back.
"Please!"
The plea was so earnest, so raw. She had to stop. Slowly, she turned about to face him. He stood on the other side of the little clearing, his hands at his sides. His distress was evident – as was his beauty. Cara yearned to go to him, to fall into his arms. But she wouldn't break so easily. This man had dissembled, had tricked, had hurt her....
"I am not used to humbling myself – it does not come easy to me," he started.
Cara only looked at him, trying to keep her face blank. She would hear what the rake had to say and then she would go back to bed and lock the door.
"But I am asking you now," Eliot continued, "as my wife – as the one consecrated to me: hear me!"
He began to walk toward her, his hands held out in supplication.
"Stop there, sir," she said flatly.
At her words, she watched a pained look color his features. He dropped his hands by his sides again. His shoulders slumped slightly, in an almost defeated way. Cara made no move, only held her ground and looked on him. He seemed unable to speak.
"Where are all your friends?" she asked after a moment. "I'd thought you'd be enjoying revels late into the night. With Mrs. Pembroke, perhaps."
"I've sent them away!" he cried hoarsely. "I don't know why I behaved the way I did this afternoon. No, strike that. I do know why."
Cara waited for him to go on.
"There is something inside of me..." His features were hard as he spoke, his gaze distant. For a long moment, he seemed unable to go on. But then Cara watched him rally. He refocused on her, and continued his explanation. "The pain from losing Sarah changed me. It made me the way I am now. I know I am heedless at times of other peoples' feelings. Selfish." He swallowed thickly, as though he were trying to find the courage to continue. "I saw them, thos
e women gathered at the party. I know they want me – and I used to want them. I used to use them. To drown my hurt. Today, that old part of me took over...like a madness!"
"If this is the way you are, Eliot, then why did you marry me?" she heard herself ask, desperation rising into her voice. "Why did you allow me to believe you loved me and respected me?"
"Because I do!" he insisted, his eyes flashing.
"If that's true, then how could you treat me as you did today?"
Here Eliot lowered his head in obvious shame. His shoulders shuddered, and she watched as he clearly wrestled with some emotion.
"Please..." he said. The word was rent with sorrow and desperation. Hearing it, Cara understood it for what it was. He was asking for her forgiveness in the only way he knew how. In, perhaps, the only way a man of his strength and character could.
Still, she could not bring herself to go to him, as much as she wanted to. The rest of their marriage seemed to hinge on his moment. He had hurt her so badly. And there was yet more for him to say. Looking into his eyes, searching them, she knew it.
"I am a fool," he said finally. "I was with Mrs. Pembroke...I was about to kiss her. But I couldn't do it."
She watched as his hardened expression transformed into one of heartbreaking regret.
"All I could see was your face in my mind's eye," he continued. "And suddenly, I knew that I had hurt you terribly. I dismissed Mrs. Pembroke at once. I denounced her, and her friends! But I understand now that I cannot take my behavior back. I have no right to ask for kindness from you!"
These words touched Cara to her very soul. His heart was bare and naked before her. He'd humbled himself, made himself entirely vulnerable, speaking honestly of his dark compulsions, his pain. It was what she'd done on their wedding night as she confessed what had really happened with Lord Boyle. It made them even, somehow.
She could feel her heart softening as she looked down into Eliot's handsome, pain-ravaged face. She felt a grace come over her. The last bit of hardness in her heart melted. She could not deny that she still loved this man, still wanted him. She believed in the honesty of his contriteness, and it was within her power to forgive him. She took his hands in hers.
