The Portrait

by Joan Wolf

  She smiled.

  We ate dinner in a lovely room. All of the leaves had been taken out of the table and Henry, another one of our footmen, waited on us. The food was quite decent.

  “Who is the cook here, Henry?” I asked.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson do the cooking, my lady,” he answered. “They be the ones cooking for us these last days.”

  I looked at my new husband. “What do you think of the food, Leo?” I asked innocently.

  He gave me a wary look. “It’s good.”

  “Do you notice that the roast has pink in the middle? That’s why it’s so tender. It hasn’t been overcooked.”

  He took another bite of roast and didn’t answer me. I decided my wedding night was probably not the best time to advocate for a French chef.

  After dinner we took a walk to the stable so I could check on Alonzo. He was eating his hay, but when I called his name he came to the front of his stall. I gave him some sugar and rubbed along his neck under his mane, the way he liked. My little session with Elisabeth and now seeing Alonzo made me feel more like myself, and when Leo came to stand behind me I turned my head and smiled at him.

  Chapter Thirty

  As we walked along the path leading to the house I said wistfully, “This is such a nice little house. Too bad we can’t live here all year round.”

  I could hear the smile in Leo’s voice. “There isn’t enough room here for a stud and a riding school.”

  He was right. What had I been thinking? Camden Hall was the perfect location for what Leo had planned. Suddenly I thought of something I hadn’t told him yet. “Papa told me he might be able to get one of the horses from Saumur who is due for retirement. A horse like that would be perfect for the school.”

  We talked enthusiastically about the prospect of getting a Saumur horse, and by the time we reached the house I was actually looking forward to getting back to Camden. We entered the house by the side door and went up to our respective dressing rooms. Elisabeth was sitting in the same chair working on the same embroidery piece when I came in. “Did you eat dinner?” I asked.

  She put down her embroidery. “I ate in the kitchen with Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and the rest of the staff. The food was quite good.”

  “I know.” I lowered my voice. “I am trying to get Leo to retire Mrs. Sarett and hire a French chef.”

  Elisabeth lowered her voice too. “That would be wonderful, Isabel. I have a cousin who is an excellent chef. He would be thrilled to work in the house of an English noble and he would be much cheaper than any of these puffed-up ‘geniuses’ who make far more money than they’re worth.”

  “I’ll tell Leo.”

  She laughed. “Not tonight, mon ange. Please do not talk about cooks tonight.”

  I smiled and let her unbutton the back of my dress. When she had me out of my dinner dress and into my very flimsy nightdress, I walked to the door that led from the dressing room into the bedroom and put my ear against the wood. “I don’t think Leo is there yet.”

  “I think he will probably wait for you to be in bed before he comes.” Elisabeth had been married once when she was very young, so she knew about these things.

  “Oh.” I felt a strange reluctance to enter that room. It wasn’t that I didn’t love and trust Leo. It was that I was completely naked under a gown that clearly showed my body and I was…embarrassed.

  Elisabeth kissed my cheek and opened the door. A maid had turned down the covers and plumped up the pillows. “Isn’t that bed rather small for the both of us?” I asked Elisabeth. “Leo is a big man.”

  “I’m sure you’ll fit.” She gave me a little push and I realized I was being a baby about this wedding night. I wasn’t afraid. It was just that my body had belonged to just me for all my life. I tried to conjure up how I felt when Leo kissed me, but I had had my clothes on then.

  “Get into the bed, Isabel.” Elisabeth’s voice was soft but definite.

  I walked to the side of the bed, which was so high there was a step stool next to it. I stepped on the stool and sat on the bed. I sat up against the pillow and arranged my nightdress so that the folds covered me. Then I pulled the covers up to my waist. Elisabeth had left my hair loose and it tumbled down past my shoulders. She said, “You look lovely, mon ange. Don’t worry. His Lordship will take care of you.”

  She closed the dressing room door and I schooled my thoughts. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved Leo. He was a wonderful man. I liked it when he touched my shoulder, or my arm. I liked holding hands with him. I liked kissing him very much.

  On this last thought the other dressing room door opened and Leo came into the room. He was holding a candlestick and he put it down on the table next to the bed. He wore a black brocade dressing gown and he sat next to me on my side of the bed. He didn’t have to use the step stool.

  His blue eyes looked directly into mine, and what he saw caused a line to appear between his eyebrows. “Are you nervous, sweetheart?” he asked.

  His voice was so gentle. He looked so concerned. I loved him so much. “Just a little. I’ve never done this before you see.”

  He reached out and gathered me close to him, so close that I could feel the beating of his heart. I looked up and said. “I love you, Leo.” I repeated Elisabeth’s words, “And I trust you to take care of me.”

  “I will always take care of you, my love. I will spend the rest of my life taking care of you.”

  The candle on the side table picked out the cleanly chiseled bones of his cheeks, nose and jaw. He bent his head and kissed me. It was a kiss that started tenderly but deepened when I responded. He laid me back against the pillow, still kissing me. I buried my hand in the thickness of his golden hair and everything in me answered to that kiss. His hand moved to cover my breast and I was shocked by the spasm of pleasure that shot through me.

  He kissed my ear, my temple, my cheek and then his mouth moved down to my breast. I felt the touch of his lips all the way down in my stomach. He slid the strap of my nightdress down my shoulder and said, “Perhaps we could discard this very pretty nightdress.”

  I helped him take it off me with no thought of embarrassment. He stood to remove his dressing gown and I stared in wonderment at his broad chest and shoulders, his narrow waist and hips, his long, muscled legs. He was so beautiful. When he came back to me I raised my arms to receive him. I ran my hands up and down his bare arms and felt the strength and power of him under my fingers. I said his name and he kissed me again. After a moment my tongue began to follow the rhythm of his until I was so dizzy I couldn’t think. I was drowning in sensation. I felt my hips arch up toward him and he moved until he was poised over me.

  He looked down at me and in the candlelight his eyes looked almost black. “This might hurt, sweetheart,” he said in a husky voice. “The first time usually hurts.”

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  He groaned and moved and then he was in me. And he was right—it did hurt. And I was right—I didn’t care. I gave my body to him because I loved him, and when he was done, and I held his sweaty body close to me and felt the hammering of his heart and the heaving of his breath, all I felt was happiness that I had been able to give this to him.

  We fell asleep in each other’s arms, and Elisabeth had been right again, the bed was big enough for both of us. When I woke in the morning Leo was lying next to me, propped up on his elbows, his chin on his clasped hands, his eyes on my face. When I saw him there I smiled.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you all right?”

  His hair was hanging over his forehead and his beautiful blue eyes were full of concern. Oh, how I loved this man. I gave him a smile I knew must be radiant. “I am so happy that now I am really your wife,” I said.

  He reached out and drew me close. “Thank you, Isabel.” His voice was grave. “Thank you for loving me.”

  I understood what he meant, and I said, “I will always love you, Leo. And I will always stand by you.”
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  He kissed the top of my head. “I believe you. That is the miracle. I believe you.”

  We lay together in peace until my stomach growled.

  “Are you hungry, my love?” he asked in amusement.

  “Starving. How about you?”

  “Starving. I suggest we go down to breakfast.”

  “First we have to put on some clothes.”

  “True. But that means I have to let go of you.”

  “It does.”

  He sighed loudly. “Very well.” He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed presenting me with an impressive view of well-muscled shoulders and back. He picked up his discarded dressing gown and I watched as he walked to his dressing room door. I got out of bed myself and put on my discarded nightdress. Elisabeth would be waiting to help me change and I suspected she would know from one look at my face that Leo had taken very good care of me indeed.

  Epilogue

  One Year Later

  It was warm and sunny the day my son was christened; a perfect September day for his first journey. He was not going very far, only to St. Michael Church to be baptized. I had been there for a baptism only a few months before when Robert and Margaret’s baby girl had been christened. They had asked me to be godmother and I had been deeply touched.

  They were living now in the Dower House and Margaret and I had become good friends. My attitude toward my sister-in-law had changed dramatically when we found out who was the real murderer of my brother. This occurred as soon as we returned from our honeymoon. One of Leo’s tenants told him in confidence that John Brace, another tenant of Leo’s, had shot Henry because he had raped Brace’s thirteen-year-old daughter Ellen. When she had come home crying hysterically and the bloodstains had sustained her story, Brace had gone berserk.

  A few of Brace’s good friends knew what had happened. They hadn’t spoken up because they knew Leo would never be charged and they had sympathy for Brace. “They probably would have done the same thing themselves,” Leo had said when he told me.

  So Henry’s murder went unsolved and I felt terrible that I had suspected Margaret. We became quite close when she found out I was expecting a child as well. She and Elisabeth had been with me during the birth. My mother had come to Camden as well and arrived in time to hold a squalling infant in her arms.

  Leo wanted to call the baby Peter after my Papa, and I cried when he told me that. I cried quite a lot while I was pregnant. But I rode into my seventh month (to the loud disapproval of Aunt Augusta) and Alonzo carried me as carefully as if I were a basket of eggs.

  I stood on the front steps with Elisabeth as the christening party set off for the church. Margaret was holding Peter in her arms as Robert carefully guided the two of them into the carriage Leo had presented them with as a gift for their new home. They were to be Peter’s godparents. Sir John and Mother went in their carriage; Susan, Aunt Jane and Sir Alexander Repton went in their carriage; and Leo went with Papa and Aunt Augusta in our carriage. It was only two weeks after Peter’s birth, and I had not been churched yet, so I remained at home.

  Elisabeth remained with me. She adored Peter but I was still first with her. It was probably selfish of me, but I was happy I was still first in her heart.

  “You should rest until the christening party returns,” she said as Hobbs closed the front door behind us. “I will check in the kitchen to make certain that everything is in order.”

  I was feeling tired. I, who could ride forever and still feel energetic, was feeling tired at nine o’clock in the morning. I sighed and said, “Thank you, Lisa.”

  She put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “It’s natural to be tired after childbirth, mon ange. And the bebe took a long time before he decided to be born.”

  He certainly had, I thought. I had first felt pains during dinner and Peter hadn’t been born until eleven the following morning. Robert told me that Leo had paced ceaselessly for the entire time I was in labor. Even Papa, who was nervous himself, had tried to calm Leo down. After the baby had been born, and Elisabeth finally let Leo into the room, I had taken one look at his face and thought he looked worse than I must.

  The riding school and accompanying stable had been built and Saumur had sent three mares to be bred to Alonzo. I had been afraid that being a stud might interfere with Alonzo’s interest in equitation, but he was his old wonderful self whenever I got into the saddle.

  Papa was happy. Elisabeth and I had dinner with him and Estelle at his house once or twice a week, and of course we worked together with the horses. Gypsy was doing remarkably well, especially for a thoroughbred. We had three enthusiastic young men whom Papa was teaching to ride properly. Magnus, our Saumur retiree, had proved to be perfect for a beginner.

  And we had a French chef! When Leo asked Mrs. Sarett about retiring, she had been thrilled. It seems her sister had a cottage near the coast in Hampshire and if Mrs Sarett had a pension she could go to live with her. So Leo hired Elisabeth’s cousin, who was a marvelous cook. Even Leo admitted the food was much better.

  Aunt Augusta was still with us, but I knew she loved us and that thought made her “advice” easier to tolerate. She watched me like a hawk the whole time I was pregnant and was ecstatic that Leo now had an heir.

  The christening party returned, and the luncheon went well. Everyone would be staying for at least one night so the house was full. I loved my new family. It was wonderful to know that Peter would grow up with all of these people to love him.

  I went to up to bed early. I was nursing Peter (to Aunt Augusta’s horror) and my schedule now revolved around him. He had just finished and was asleep in my arms when Leo opened the door. He crossed the bedroom floor to the chair where I was sitting and knelt beside me.

  I smiled up at him. “He’s had his dinner and now he’s sleeping. He’ll wake up in a few hours and want to nurse again. Infants have a very simple life.”

  He knelt, looked at the child sleeping in my arms and said, “I never told you this, but I was so afraid of your giving birth. I was afraid that God would punish me for wanting Catherine and her child to die by taking you too.”

  I was astonished. I had never once suspected he might be harboring such a fear. “Robert said you were frantic when I was in labor. Was that the reason?”

  He nodded. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind.” He gave me a crooked smile. “They were the worst hours of my entire life, Isabel.”

  “Oh darling.” I used the same soft voice I used when I spoke to my baby. “God isn’t like that.”

  “I know that. But…” He heaved a deep sigh. “I will thank Him every day for the rest of my life for the gift of my wife and my son.”

  Of course the tears sprang to my eyes. He bent and kissed them away. Then he kissed the baby’s head—so softly, so gently, that more tears fell. He lifted his head and looked at me with brilliantly blue eyes. He said, “When are you going to introduce Peter to Alonzo?”

  I laughed through my tears. “How about tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow it is,” he said, and slipped his arm along the back of the chair to cradle both the baby and me. I rested my head on his broad shoulder and thanked the good God for giving me this joy.

  About the Author

  Joan Wolf is a USA TODAY bestselling author whose highly reviewed books include some forty novels set in the period of the English Regency. She fell in love with the Regency when she was a young girl and discovered the novels of Georgette Heyer. Although she has strayed from the period now and then, it has always remained her favorite.

  Joan was born and brought up in New York City, but has spent most of her adult life with her husband and two children in Connecticut. She has a passion for animals, and over the years has filled the house with a variety of much-loved dogs and cats. Her great love for her horses has spilled over into every book she has written. The total number of her published novels is fifty-three, and she has no plans to retire.

  “Joan Wolf never fails to deliver the best
.”

  —Nora Roberts

  “Joan Wolf is absolutely wonderful. I’ve loved her work for years.”

  —Iris Johansen

  “As a writer, she’s an absolute treasure.”

  —Linda Howard

  “Strong, compelling fiction.”

  —Amanda Quick

  “Joan Wolf writes with an absolute emotional mastery that goes straight to the heart.”

  —Mary Jo Putney

  “Wolf’s Regency historicals are as delicious and addictive as dark, rich, Belgian chocolates.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Joan Wolf is back in the Regency saddle—hallelujah!”

  —Catherine Coulter

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