by Anna Jacobs
‘It’s not at all fair, I agree! Look, I know you want to travel, but please, Xanthe, take care where you go and with whom.’ At any other time he’d have delayed his own journey to escort her, but he didn’t want to do that. Not this time. Who knew what state everything would be in back at Ardgullan?
She looked so downhearted he ached to take her in his arms. But he didn’t. She was right that their worlds were too far apart. But apart from his duty to his family and the estate, he knew that other people would look down on her if he married her and make her life a misery. Or else they’d treat her as an oddity, just as some of the gentlefolk on the ship did.
‘Being sensible isn’t as much fun, is it?’ he said with a sigh.
‘No. But I will get to Greece one day. Whatever else happens, I intend to do that for my father. I shall investigate Mr Cook’s tours once I’m settled in England again. I’ve read that they take tours to Switzerland now. Surely going with a group would be a safe way to travel? There has to be a way.’
A few days after Mrs Largan’s death, Maia sat at the kitchen table, toying with her food and watching Conn eat his evening meal. He seemed lost in thought and hardly said a word. Afterwards he wandered out towards his library without offering his usual thanks for the meal.
He’d eaten very lightly, claiming he wasn’t hungry, saying he’d eaten plenty at midday. But he hadn’t. She’d prepared his tray herself and taken it into the library and she’d seen the tray when Nancy brought it back to the kitchen, with the food rearranged, but not much of it eaten.
In her usual cheerful way Nancy had suggested offering the leftovers on the various plates to the three stable lads, who came in daily from their nearby homes, one of them staying each night in case help was needed. They had no qualms about clearing every scrap of food and she was smiling as she brought it back. ‘I’ve gone hungry too often to see good food going to waste.’
When Maia went to bed that night she couldn’t sleep. She lay worrying about Conn, who hadn’t even gone out riding today, claiming he had accounts to attend to. But she’d walked along the veranda a few times to check on him and had seen him staring into space each time, not even aware of her presence outside the window.
She was just dozing off when she heard a door open and footsteps move along the veranda. The sounds had come from Conn’s bedroom. She could hear leaves rustling underfoot, which meant he’d gone out into the garden.
Getting up she hurried across to the glazed door that led out from her bedroom to the veranda and was just in time to see him disappearing along the garden path. She could guess where he was going: to his mother’s garden, the one he’d had cleared for her but which had never been finished because Mrs Largan had preferred to sit on the veranda. He’d gone to stand there a few times since her death.
Maia hesitated. It was none of her business if he chose to go walking at night. But whose business was it, then? Who was there now to care how Conn was feeling and jolly him out of his sad moods as his mother had? Ronan had gone back to Ireland, leaving no one but her. Such a lonely man, her Conn.
Well, she was here still, had refused to leave and go to live with Cassandra, because she knew he needed her. Flinging her shawl round her shoulders, she left her hair flowing freely down her back. Mrs Largan had worn little night bonnets and so had Mrs Kathleen, but Maia didn’t like being trussed up to go to bed. Even her nightgowns were simple affairs that she’d learned to make herself, hanging loose from a shoulder yoke, sleeveless in summer.
The night was chilly, with not even a memory of the heat of summer, but luckily it wasn’t raining and the three-quarter moon gave enough light for her to follow Conn along the path.
She stopped at the edge of the cleared space with its rough bench. He was standing there, hands thrust deep into his dressing-gown pockets, bare feet thrust into the felt slippers his mother had instructed Maia in making. She wasn’t a skilled needlewoman but was competent nowadays, thanks to her former mistress.
He didn’t even notice her, heaving a sigh and gulping as he pulled out a handkerchief and scrubbed at his eyes.
‘Oh, Conn!’ She’d spoken before she realised it.
He swung round. ‘Maia! What are you doing here? Is something wrong?’
‘No, nothing’s wrong. I heard you get up and followed you. I was worried about you.’ She moved forward, sure he needed a loving touch.
He took a step backwards. ‘Go back to bed, Maia. It’s not right for you to be out here alone with me. It’s not right for you even to stay at Galway House now.’
‘You need someone to look after you and your house with Xanthe gone – and someone to talk to, as well.’
His voice grew harsh. ‘Don’t you understand that I’m trying to do the right thing by you? I want you, Maia, and have done for a long time. But I’m not free yet. It’d be wrong to take advantage of you. Love isn’t enough; you deserve marriage. If I can one day, if you’re still free, I will – but not now.’
‘Even if you get your marriage annulled, you can’t marry a woman from my background. I’ve always known that. Oh Conn, I love you so much. Surely we don’t need to pretend any longer?’
‘It’d ruin you if we . . . if I . . . and I won’t do that. Not only am I a married man, but I’m a convict and can’t be sure of getting my conviction overturned. You came free to this colony and can hold your head up in any society. I should give you the chance to find someone else.’
‘What does that matter to me?’
‘It ought to matter. You should leave Galway House. In fact, I’ll take you to your sister’s tomorrow. It’s for your own good, Maia.’
‘I won’t go. It’d tear me apart to leave you. You say you love me, Conn. Has that changed?’
‘Of course it hasn’t.’ He took another step backwards as she moved towards him. ‘I love you too much to ruin you, Maia. If I manage to free myself from Kathleen, and if you’re still free then – and it’ll take years – I’ll ask you to marry me and to hell with what other people think. But I’m not free now.’ He moved again, bumped into a tree and could go no further.
Smiling she moved close to him and put her arms round his neck. ‘I’m being shameless, I know, but if you love me, that’s all that matters to me. We’ve waited long enough to show our love.’ As he tried to pull away, she tightened her hold.
He stared down at her and slowly, so slowly she thought she would die from waiting, he bent his head and kissed her, a long loving kiss, not a devouring one, but a kiss that seemed to say everything he felt.
Conn drew back and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. ‘Are you sure, my darling?’
‘Very sure.’
He’d tried to resist her, but he was only human and couldn’t summon up the strength to keep pushing her away, especially not with her looking at him with that loving expression. ‘Then become my love, darling Maia, and to hell with the world.’
With a laugh that was almost a sob she took his hand and let him lead her into the house, into his bedroom and into his loving embrace.
She began to unbutton her bodice.
‘Let me, my love.’
The darkness no longer seemed hostile and heavy, but warm and enfolding. Her body felt so right in his arms. But before he made love to her, he held her at arm’s length and asked one final time, ‘Are you still sure?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’
‘Every day for the rest of my life. And Maia, darling . . . I may not be able to marry you now, but when I can, when this annulment comes through, I shall do so joyfully.’
‘But I’m—’
‘Shh! You’re my love, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.’
‘Then stop talking and make me yours.’
As they lay together afterwards, he thought he hadn’t been so happy for a good many years and knew that his mother would have understood. He vowed that he’d love and protect Maia while ever there was breath in his body.
On th
at thought he frowned. That wasn’t enough. He must make sure she was protected financially in case something went wrong and he was no longer there. She and any children they might have. He was still lawyer enough to draw up a will and would do that the very next day, get it signed . . .
She murmured and nestled closer in her sleep and he laid his head beside hers, smiling in the darkness. Tomorrow he’d think carefully. Tonight was for loving.
17
Ronan and Xanthe called a truce and went sightseeing together in Alexandria as they waited for the ship to leave. They had two days to spare and he wasn’t going to leave her to the mercies of some chance-met travelling companions or a local guide who might be a murderer for all he knew
They didn’t even discuss it, they simply let themselves enjoy everything the guide showed them, the ancient buildings, the people in the streets who looked so different from people in England or Australia, the markets which surely sold everything on earth.
‘Many English and French people come now,’ the guide said proudly. ‘Since the Cairo railway opened ten years ago is easier to travel. I speak both these languages. Très bien, monsieur.’
A little later he said, ‘You don’t complain about too hot.’
‘I love the warmth,’ Xanthe said.
His eyes slid over her uncorseted body, not offensively but as if assessing her. ‘You dress wisely.’
That evening some of their fellow passengers complained bitterly about the heat. What else had they expected in this part of the world? Ronan wondered.
When they got back to the hotel on the second evening, Xanthe looked at him sadly. ‘So it ends.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’ll be back to the confines of a ship with people watching every look we exchange.’
‘Does that matter?’
‘Yes. I’m not a loose woman and I’m not going to act like one. It’s been . . . delightful . . . but now I have to pack my bag ready to board the ship early tomorrow.’
When she didn’t join the others for the evening meal, he knew she had gone back to avoiding him. He understood why, respected her for it – but he missed her. It felt as if half of him was missing, the half that laughed and teased and was just – there. Making him complete.
Three days out from Alexandria Xanthe sat on deck, ostensibly part of a group of ladies but not listening to them. It had happened again. A man had grabbed her on deck at dusk the previous night, fumbling with her breasts in a way that disgusted her. For a moment shock had held her dumb, then she’d started kicking and scratching, screaming for help at the top of her voice.
He’d run away before anyone got to her, but it had caused talk and she felt dirtied by the encounter, still shuddered when she remembered what he’d done. He’d had a checked cloth tied round his head, like some of the Arabs she’d seen in Alexandria, so she’d not known who he was.
After that incident she hadn’t dared walk about the deck on her own unless there were other people nearby, and certainly not at dusk, however much she longed for a breath of fresh air.
The stewardess assured her that a careful watch would be kept in future and she’d be quite safe. Safe this time, Xanthe thought. Safe while I’m on the ship. But what about next time? What if this happened again in some far-away place where there was no one to rescue her? Some would say the man had done nothing, but he had! He’d left her feeling nervous.
Her plans were beginning to seem utterly naïve and unrealistic. How could she travel on her own when some men treated her that way? She wasn’t rich enough to hire bodyguards and a female companion, even if she’d known of suitable people. She was even beginning to worry about how safe Mr Cook’s tours would be for a woman on her own. They had seemed the answer to her desire to travel. But how could she be sure?
She was furious about all this, but she wasn’t going to let it stop her doing something. At the very least she could travel around her own country and could afford to hire a sturdy lass from her home town of Outham to go with her. But it wouldn’t be the same. She wanted to do so much more, see so much more.
One day she might go back to Australia to see her sisters, then visit the eastern side of the continent, Sydney and Melbourne. When she was older. When men had stopped looking at her like that.
Perhaps she wasn’t the stuff of which lady travellers were made, after all?
‘A penny for them.’
She jerked in shock and realised that Ronan had sat down next to her. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her, almost as if she’d done something wrong. So she put her chin up and stared right back. The other ladies were talking in an animated fashion and she doubted anyone would hear them if they kept their voices low, but she wasn’t going to speak first.
‘I heard about your trouble yesterday evening.’
‘The whole ship’s heard of my trouble. If you intend to say I told you so, I’ll remind you that I fought him off even before help arrived.’
‘Yes. I’m glad about that.’ He went back to staring.
‘What do you want?’ she asked in the end.
‘I don’t know. But I’m not here to say I told you so, just to see for myself that you’re all right, not too upset by the incident.’
‘Of course I’m upset. And mostly because you were right. I’m trying to work out how to travel without facing such incidents again.’
‘There is no way. You’re too beautiful.’
‘Then I’ll find a way to make myself ugly.’ She glanced at the other ladies, but they were laughing about something. ‘Shh. Keep your voice down.’
‘It’d be impossible to make yourself ugly, because part of your beauty comes from inside. Oh hell, Xanthe, I can’t bear to see you at risk.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘I think it is. I’ve fallen in love with you. Surely you realise that?’
She loved him too but she wasn’t going to say that, so shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll get over it. You have to. I do understand your situation, Ronan. You have your duty to your family and I’m not going to become your or anyone else’s mistress.’
‘I wouldn’t ask that of you.’
‘Then we should both agree to stay away from one another, shouldn’t we?’
‘Not exactly. What I’m going to ask is that you wait until I’ve had time to visit my estate and think about my future in the light of what I find there. Don’t . . . go travelling abroad, not yet. Please?’
‘Sit and wait for you,’ she mocked. ‘In case you beckon to me. Then what do I do, come running like a tame puppy dog?’
‘You know that I can’t just rush into marriage. Dammit, Xanthe, you said you understood that.’
She sighed and the fire went out of her. ‘I do, really. Dad read us enough Greek tragedies for us to understand how people like you feel about family duty. You don’t just have a house to think of, but your land and your dependants.’
‘Yes. The trouble is, I still don’t feel that I own Ardgullan. All my life I’ve known it would belong to Hubert, that one day his sons would inherit. But although he became the landowner, he didn’t marry and he didn’t have sons, so that duty has now passed to me. And I wasn’t prepared for it. I’m still not sure I even want it.’
‘You do have another brother. Perhaps he could take it on.’
‘Patrick’s so English, he’d sell Ardgullan, I’m sure. He enjoys living in England, says he’d never live in Ireland again and is bringing up his children to be very English. And that’s a good thing, I suppose, because his wife is very scornful of the Irish and she’d make a dreadful châtelaine for Ardgullan. How she lowered herself to marry him, I don’t know – except that he’s a handsome devil and women have always flocked to him.’
‘You’re quite good-looking yourself,’ she said coolly. ‘You must have had similar success with women.’
‘A few. Not that many. But not one of them made me want to spend the rest of my life with her. I’d think how suitable a
young lady was, like choosing a horse, really, birth and breeding so important. My mother would be urging me to ask her hand in marriage and I’d think seriously about doing that, because I would like to have children one day. Then I’d realise I couldn’t bear to spend my whole life tied to her, listening to her prattling on about nothing. It was too high a price to pay.’
‘Well, one day you’ll have to choose one woman and put up with her.’
Her mocking tone might have fooled others, but he could hear the pain behind it.
She looked at him, trying to smile and failing, so being Xanthe she got to her feet and with a curt, ‘I’m tired’, hurried off towards the cabins.
And he let her go. Because he was so confused about what would be fair to her that he didn’t know what to think.
After that, however, she avoided him completely, finding excuses to get up and leave if he took a seat next to her, so that he learned to sit opposite her at meals, to sit nearby if he wanted to join the same group of people, and never ever to stand beside her at the rails, because she’d immediately walk away.
She was wrong, though. She didn’t understand why he was still hesitating. He didn’t think he could live happily with anyone else but her, even out of duty. But he didn’t want to subject Xanthe to a lifetime of snubs and social snobbery. That was what worried him most, the thought of seeing her glorious spirit broken.
He kept trying to tell her that, to explain, but she wouldn’t listen. Perhaps she didn’t understand how cruel his class could be to those they considered their inferiors. But he did. And they could be even more cruel to those who had fallen from grace, like Conn.
The visit to Gibraltar was quite short and though Ronan tried to get Xanthe to go ashore with him, he found she’d already arranged to visit the place with some other passengers. He walked round on his own, scowling up at the huge rock, glaring at anyone who tried to invite him to buy something, and returning to the ship before the others.
He was sitting on deck when she came back. Their eyes met and she looked away first. She hadn’t been looking happy lately. It was as if some fire within her was half-quenched.
