The Silent Love

by Diane Davis White

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  .

  "But my child, you must submit again. It often takes awhile for these things to happen. Was he brutal? Are you so adverse to him?" The Marquis, seated near the fire with a blanket thrown over his withered legs, spoke softly to his young wife, wanting her to comply but fearing an ultimatum would only worsen her resistance.

  "I would not say that he was brutal my lord. He was just... well, the whole thing was so distasteful." Hannah could not bring herself to express her true fears, nor to discuss such an intimate thing with the old gentleman, though he was her husband, and the thoughts that she withheld brought a high blush to her face.

  Hannah, to her shame, had been torn by a desire to have tenderness with this creator of her child, and at the same time, had been reluctant to let him leave her bed. She had become a wanton, and wanted to repent, but she knew not how. No one must suspect her feelings. No one.

  She worked her mouth, trying to find the words, but none would come, and so she stared into the fire, silent and troubled. For she knew that she had made this bargain, and had sold herself, body and soul, for the comforts that now surrounded her. Her word was given, and she could not turn back. Indeed, there was no place to turn.

  Hannah rose from the small stool at her husband's feet and prepared to ascend the stairs to her quarters. She stopped halfway across the room and came back to him, speaking softly.

  "I shall endeavor to do this duty and not burden you with my concerns. You have been so kind, and I am sure that many women would not be so reluctant. I am sorry I have distressed you, kind husband." She managed a tremulous smile. When he patted her hand in a comforting manner, Hannah leaned forward to press her lips to the papery skin of his forehead.

  "Go then, my dear and pray for a quickening in your womb. Think of the child you will soon have and think well upon the future you will have once this is done."

  Nodding wordlessly, she continued to the stairway and climbed with dragging steps. She entered her chamber and shuddered at the coldness of the room. A fire would have been nice, but a fire would give light to the room. She was adamant that she not see the man who would invade her body. She went to the window and checked the heavy drapery, meaning to adjust it so no chink of light could shine through, for there was a full moon this night.

  Hannah stared for a moment at the lunar glow that bathed the garden below in bright relief, pushing back the shadows as it rose, pale gold and round, into the inky sky.

  Startled by the door opening, she dropped the curtain and reached to turn down the lamp, staying her hand as the maid, Elspeth slipped into the room and dumped a heavy blanket directly over the coverlet then pulled back the top corner. She fluffed up the pillows then began running a warming pan between the sheets. "'Tis nigh cold enough in this room to snow, Milady. Are you sure you don't want a fire?"

  "No. No thank you Elspeth. I've told you... I get headaches from night fires. You... you may leave as soon as you've unbuttoned me. I will do the rest, thank you." She presented her back to the maid who deftly opened the tiny buttons of the dress and loosened the stay tapes for good measure.

  "Good night Milady. Should you be wanting anything, just call." The young woman left the room with a small curtsey and closed the door firmly behind her.

  Hannah shrugged out of the dress, and poured icy water from the pitcher into the basin. Picking up a rough cloth, she soaped it well, and began her ministrations. As she soaped herself she recalled how she had scrubbed at herself that morning, scouring the place between her legs where the semen had pooled, mingling with the blood of her hymen.

  The soreness there was still evident and she wondered if it would hurt as much this night, and shivering—at the cold water and the thought of what she must endure—finished quickly with her French bath.

  Stripping the rest of her garments away and dropping them in the hamper, she donned the voluminous night rail and went to brush out her hair. She began to unwind its length and pulled it over her shoulder to re-braid it, but before she could do so, the scratching sounded at her door.

  "One moment," she murmured, and quickly sped to the bed where she snuffed the lamp and crawled to the far side of the mattress.

  Clearing her throat, she called out softly for him to enter, and watched as the portal swung open and the man slipped into the room. Then it closed again, leaving them in the hollow darkness.

  She waited in the warm bed, rigid with dread, her unbound hair spread upon the pillow. She sat up and pulled the silky mass over one shoulder so she would not pull her hair during the night, and just as she lay back again on the pillow, he crawled beneath the covers, fumbling in the darkness for her hand.

  When he pressed his mouth to her fingertips in a gentleman's salute, then dropped her hand back on the bed, she began to understand that since he could not speak to her, he was merely greeting her. The thought made her uncomfortable, for she wanted no discourse with him, silent or otherwise.

  How to convey that message, she knew not; therefore she shifted onto her back and hiked her gown above her waist to prevent any unnecessary contact of his hands on her flesh.

  Sensing her move and what it meant, David immediately moved over her, placed himself, and without preamble, entered her. She did not flinch at the contact as she had the night before, and there was no sign of pain, and so he continued, reaching his apex quickly.

  He collapsed, as before, and tried not to crush her small body beneath his weight, but he was spent and exhausted—from more than the act he had just done—and he found that his arms could not hold him up. As he lifted his weight and rolled away from her, he drew her with him and pressed her to his side, sliding his hand along her brow with tender regard, as though to convey a message.

  She held herself rigidly in the warm circle of his arms, feeling the strength of him as he held her effortlessly. Hannah forgot to breathe for an instant, her natural woman's desire for tenderness at such a moment surfacing and surprising her with its intensity.

  Coming to herself, she tugged at the hand clasping her waist, and he let go without a struggle and lay upon his back. Hannah lay upon her back as well, her heart beating loudly and her mouth dry with fear.

  Fear that she had actually enjoyed that moment of tenderness.

  Fear that she might somehow come to enjoy the act he had performed upon her person.

  She'd experienced none of the aversion she had expected, and a strange stirring had occurred in her abdomen as he'd moved within her. Strange and warm and not unpleasant. She shifted as far from him as she could and turned into her fetal position, trying for sleep.

  When sleep finally came to her it was nearly dawn, for she had lain awake, thinking and worrying over her reactions, unable to comprehend the fact that she had not resisted him. Of course, she reasoned, she was not supposed to resist, but it was not the lack of physical resistance that worried her.

  It was the sense of completeness that had assailed her when he had pulled her close and hugged her against him, and the tremor of tenderness she had experienced when his hand had caressed her brow. She thought he was trying to tell her something, perhaps put her at ease, and it worried her that he should try to communicate, for strangers they were and strangers they must stay, despite their physical union.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  David lay in the darkness as well, for a much longer time than the terms allowed, but could not bring himself to rise and dress. The warm young body so close, so within touching distance, sent a yearning through him to break her icy reserve, draw her near once more. He was startled to experience a tenderness that was alien to him, and frowned into the darkness, regretting this ruse he and his father had perpetrated upon such an innocent.

  Lust beset him as well, for he'd recognized a response from her, though unwilling, as he had plowed his seed into her body. Perhaps, were he fortunate, he would bring her to glorious womanhood before he had done with this assignment, and thought it the lea
st he could do for her. Reluctantly, he pulled his thoughts away from the young woman next to him and dragged himself from the bed.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  She lay listening to him as he fumbled around in the dark, getting dressed. She heard him cross the room and bump into her dresser, then move away and open the door. As the dim light of the hall shafted into the room, she could see the slope of his powerful shoulders and the fuzzy outline of his regal profile for a brief moment before he quickly closed the door and left her in darkness.

  She awoke at a much later hour and opened her eyes slowly. The day, though overcast and gray, was bright compared to the room in which she lay, reflecting the heavy weight of gloom upon her soul. She fumbled on the night table for her spectacles and put them on.

  A bright splash of color caught her attention, and she turned her head toward the dresser and her breath caught in her throat. Lying there was a single red rose, perfect in its glory, petals open in full bloom. She arose from her bed and went closer, sniffing the marvelous scent wafting about her, a smile on her lips.

  She knew he had left it there, and though she thought it inappropriate for him to have done so, she was pleased. As a woman, she could not help but take pleasure from the tender gesture.

  Hannah looked around for a receptacle and finding no other, took her drinking glass from the toilette dresser, filled it from the pitcher and put the rose next to her bed on the night stand.

  She hurried with her morning ablutions and went in search of her husband, eager to begin today's lesson, for he was teaching her how to preside over tea. Something she had not learned, as her parents had been very reclusive and never entertained.

  The Marquis wanted her to be able to take her place in polite society when the time came—meaning after the birth of her son. She would be expected to bring her child into polite society as well, and she could not do so until she had been properly schooled in the social graces. She moved with a quick step, her mood lighter as she thought of the rose, heartstrings thrumming in spite of her fears. Or because of them, perhaps.

  Her wispy hair shone with a light she had never before seen, the maid having shampooed and rinsed it with the juice of lemons. Her complexion was blooming from the excellent fare at Milord's table, and her lips, normally drawn into a thin line, were quite full and rosy red. She was fast becoming a beauty.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  The Marquis studied her graceful moves as she presided over the tea. Her smile was sweet, and her eyes, behind their horrid spectacles, were shining with a new light. He wanted to ask her about her experience, only to assure himself that she was no longer troubled by her duty. He could not do so, though, for it was long past the time for such questions and she appeared to be serene and content.

  Content, he thought with some alarm. Surely that rascally son of his had not won her over, stolen her heart. It would not do, not do at all. He vowed to have a chat with David this very day and make sure he understood. He would not have this lovely creature harmed by his son's callous disregard.

  Returning to his original purpose, he posed a question. "Do you need those glasses?" He smiled at her benevolently, and waved his hand in dismissal as she handed him a plate of scones. "You have such nice eyes, my dear. Would that you could display them without those... "

  "Yes, Milord. I cannot see well at all without them. Would you have me tumble down the stairs or run into one of your statuettes and break my neck?" She spoke softly, her voice almost teasing, and he was wont to smile in response.

  "Well, no... that would be a disaster. But if I could offer you some different frames, perhaps you might be interested?"

  "Different? How so?" She was puzzled; these were the only frames she had ever seen. "I would love to have something... less plain, if it could be arranged."

  "I can have my jeweler here tomorrow and we shall try for a different look." Satisfied that his words had not been taken ill, he changed the subject. "I have sent for a seamstress from London. She will outfit you as becomes your station. I hope you do not mind. But surely you can see that your clothing is... "

  "Quite shabby, Milord," she finished the sentence, excited at the thought of new gowns. "But you must not spend a great deal upon me, my generous husband, for what if... "

  "What if what, my dear?"

  "Well, has it occurred to you that I might not... there is a possibility that I could be... unable to conceive?" She lifted her head and looked at him, blushing to her roots and spoke in a whisper. "For it is certain that I have not done so yet. Just this morning... "

  "Ah, well then I should send a message, forestalling the nightly visits until you appraise me otherwise. Am I correct?" Knowing what she conveyed, he wanted to be sure that she was comfortable, and that David did not show up inopportunely.

  "That is most kind of you." The relief on her face was evident, for she had obviously been stewing about what to do. A husband, of course, would know these things and there would be no need for such elaborate communications, but she knew that her visitor would have no inkling that it was her woman's time.

  "I want you to know that I am most grateful for all you are doing for me. I shall do my very best to produce an heir." She lifted her chin in a small display of hauteur. "I shall produce one, 'tis certain."

  She then poured a second cup and set it to her lips in the proper manner, showing her ability to learn quickly those things that she must know. "What of my drawing room manner, my lord? Will it do?"

  The old Marquis laughed in delight, the sound echoing through the cavernous room, dispelling the gloom that had lain like a pall over his spirit for so long. "Quite well, you impish child. Quite well."

  Chapter Four

  ~~

  Every day, David paced the fields, his long legs striding out in angry rhythm. Sometimes the woods drew his wandering feet, as he was soothed somewhat by the cool silence in the forest. He went for rides on the excellent mount from his father's stable, charging across the fields in a race with his troubled spirit, though he could not outpace it, no matter how he drove his stallion. Alternately, he sat brooding by the fire, wrestling with his conscience in growing frustration, for he longed for the girl on one hand and longed to be away from her on the other.

  It had been four days and no word from the big house. Would she then never call him back? He worried that she had gone into her monthly cycle so soon after he had breached her. Perhaps she was not experiencing her courses at all and was only avoiding his visits. Fretting at the delay, he lay awake in the small chamber where he had come into this world, his thoughts straying to that other chamber, just a stone's throw away, wondering if she slept peacefully, or if she perchance missed him?

  Of course, she does not miss me, he scolded himself. She can barley tolerate my assault on her person, how could she miss me?

  Knowing himself for a fool, he could not stop thinking about the young woman, wondering what she was really like, if her voice and manner were as soft and gentle as her skin. He wished that he could get a peek at her and had tried on more than one occasion to do so, but there was always a watchful footman or a gardener in the way when he rode too close to the house, for he could not be seen and recognized.

  I will find a way to see her. I will not allow father to continue this charade, he vowed just before sleep overcame him.

  Upon awakening, however, he was of a much different mind. Though he wanted to discover her looks and the essence of who she was, he knew that to do so would be folly, for they had come to far to turn back, and soon he would be an absentee father and she would be lost to him.

  Shying away from thoughts of the sweet, frightened maid he had tumbled in the darkness, he turned instead to his past, probing his behavior and motives rigorously. Mayhap, he should have tried harder to find his own place in society and done less feeling sorry for himself. Would that he had found a means of support by his own efforts, he would not be in this uncom
fortable position.

  He had seen others overcome their want of a birthright, and he was inclined to believe that he had more grit, personal charisma and overall intelligence than most. He had no courage, he decided. He could not get on without it and vowed to cultivate the required boldness that would propel him into the world as a successful man.

  His own man.

  Not merely the bastard son of the Marquis of Darlington. The funds he would receive could be invested and built upon and with any luck at all, he would be able to live without the tainted allowance eventually.

  David had come to loathe what he had done to gain his inheritance and was deeply ashamed.

  On the fifth day, David awoke to the sound of carriage wheels and jumped up, hastily donning his trousers and went, tousle-headed and barefoot to the door of the cottage. Seeing his father alighting from the conveyance with the help of two burly footmen, he reached for his fine cambric shirt and pulled it over his head.

  Striding into the yard, he waved at his parent, calling out, "Good tidings, Milord. Be with you in just a moment." Then he proceeded to the pump in the yard and ducked his head under the icy stream, coming fully awake at once.

  Drying off with the tail of his shirt, David nearly ran to the cottage and it took all his fortitude to compose himself and not behave like an eager boy as he stepped into the dimness.

  Seated comfortably near the fireplace, the Marquis watched as David built a fire. "You are much as I was in my youth," he said.

  David, startled, turned to look at his parent. Eyebrows raised in skeptic surprise, he asked, "How so?"

  "You have my muscular strength to begin with, and you also have inherited from the Strongbow blood as well, with your black hair.

  "I cannot help but wonder how I have spent so many years avoiding you when you are a son to be proud of, 'tis certain. You are a very personable and quick-witted young man."

  David sat back on his heels, astounded by this father's words. He feared he might tear up and cry like a babe, such was the overwhelming emotion that assaulted him. He cleared his throat and returned to the business of building a fire.