Those weren't the verses that came to her head. No, the ones that quoted being black and comely repeated in her mind. She shook her head. "We promised Aunt to behave."
He patted her arm and led her a little farther. His tone sounded distant, "A man can try."
Gaia didn't like him downcast because of her ambivalence, but what could she say, except ugly truths that would drive this good man away? "Did you and the late duchess visit?"
"Never." His shoulders shrugged. "I was away in the Peninsula, or caught up in Parliament, handling my uncle's affairs. Always something."
"She would have loved it."
He scuffed his boot and turned over a rock. "I don't think so. Close to the end, nothing I did seemed to garner favor."
William seemed uncomfortable, like a flame of anger existed beneath his cool exterior, but Gaia needed to press to satisfy her curiosity. "Will our arranged marriage be similar?"
"Dear Lord, no." He released her and rubbed a hand through his hair. A dark curl flopped onto his brow.
Knowing it could cause strife, but not able to stop, she asked, "Was there much sentiment?"
"Ah, forthright Gaia, my friend with the impertinent questions has returned." He stared out toward the cliffs. "Oh, fool that I was, I fell in love. Sadly, she did not. I blame myself. I should've done more to please her."
"It is difficult to know what pleases anyone."
A harsh, deep sigh blasted from his nostrils. "But one has to take time to build strong relationships. It's why I promised a long engagement. You are nothing like her, so this marriage will be better."
She adjusted her spectacles, as if that would help decipher his meanings. "Are you still angry with her and your father?"
His mouth twitched, as if he debated responding. How deep was his well of resentment, and would it spill into other areas of his life?
"You must free yourself of anger. You can't wish a memory or live person to change. You can't keep hoping for them to become pleased or supportive." Dressing differently, hiding behind a mask, or even marrying well, changed nothing. Mr. Telfair still didn't seem pleased with Gaia, as if marrying a peer brought no honor to the Telfairs.
Heart dipping low, she cleared her throat and pushed her disappointment to the back of her mind. "What will make our marriage, if we go through with it, different?"
His lips thinned. Maybe he didn't know either, and that frightened her to her core.
"Gaia, I'm wiser now. I'll never take another day for granted with someone I care for."
Care for? She could feel her face trying to form a smile at the thought of him caring for her. Could he learn to love her? And her him? Did he care enough now that her race didn't matter? "We all have shortcomings. Maybe we should pray each day for His blessings to guide us."
"So the lack of prayer wrought so much unhappiness in my first marriage? I'd expect that type of answer from my father, the late Reverend St. Landon." He tipped an imaginary top hat to accent the flourish he did with the pronouncement of the name.
"You like to joke, but guilt is no joke."
He walked behind her and pulled her against his chest. His head rested on hers as they watched the distant tide. "I'll pretend to agree, if it means I can keep you out here a little longer."
She pulled her shawl closer and fought the urge to turn and burrow beneath his jacket. "So we will be happy?"
"You wouldn't betray ... our commitment." The muscles in his forearm stiffened. "A new subject. Let's pretend my gifts pleased you."
Chilled, she rubbed her hands together. "There's no need for pretense. I like them all, but I haven't started helping Mary yet. That makes me feel guilty."
He bundled her fingers with his. "Well, aren't we a pair."
Even with the wind stirring, having him about her, warming her strengthened her. If one couldn't be loved, maybe friendship was the answer.
A sigh left him. "Tell me, why do you think so much of Mr. Whimple?"
"I don't know. It's a hundred little reasons. His family and the Hallows always looked in on us the year we lost my mother. At first, Elliot was like an older brother to Julia and me. I suppose I have always fancied him. He was so kind and strong, and then he rescued Timothy. Yes, that had to be when it changed."
"Being a hero can definitely make a heart swoon." William grunted, as if he disapproved of something. "Didn't I rescue Master Timothy twice? You should admire me greatly."
She was about to laugh when she felt the pressure of his hands sliding from her shoulders to crest at her waist, then planting at her hips. Wriggling, she took a step away.
He hefted his palms in the air. "Sorry; they have a mind of their own, especially with such feminine curves so near."
She bunched the lace about her neck. "This will be a marriage of convenience. Has something changed?"
"A week, Gaia. Days of remembering the smell of your hair, the deepening color of your irises right before I kiss you, and going to sleep in an empty bedchamber, all make me want more."
Her cheeks felt hot, but his words left her speechless.
"I need you to know that I desire you, Gaia. A marriage of convenience is how things start, not how they end."
Gaia swallowed as her pulse raced. "But this was for Lady Mary, to benefit my sisters, to keep me from becoming a governess, a name."
He stepped closer, his hand nestling her ear, smoothing a frizzing lock. "I've hidden my attraction, even denying it to myself for the longest time. If we are to be man and wife, you need to understand that this will be a real marriage, with arguments and expectations. You must be sure when you say your vows."
"Are you that sure? There is nothing that worries you? We barely know each other."
He slipped his hand away, tucking it to his side. His eyes flashed like a turbulent sea. "How did the botanist take the news of our engagement?"
Peering to the cobbles lining the path, she twisted her fingers beneath the soft shawl. "Doesn't seem to have bothered him. He hasn't showed at Chevron, but I was never a priority to him."
"Sounds as if you’re over being tempted by him. Good." Gently, William pulled her close, rocking her. The motion was slow, like a soft, foaming wave. "I will be faithful to you always, and I demand the same. If you can't, or have any doubts, you must beg off and end this engagement. Infidelity hurts too many lives."
Didn't Gaia know that? If her mother had been faithful, Gaia could have had a father's love, not the dread of always missing it.
"Can you be faithful, sweet Gaia? Do you like me well enough?"
He was so serious in his words, but how could she concentrate with his thumb tracing her neck. "Yes, I like you."
"Then you will make a fine duchess, a wonderful mistress to Ontredale. What will you change when you have the run of the house?"
Mistress of Ontredale. A place to belong and a name, a worthy name. A smile bloomed in her heart. "Nothing. It's spectacular. There seem to be many servants, but I suppose you need them for the running of such a place."
"I suspect you like it quiet and more intimate like this. Maybe a spot for your audacious prayers." His voice caressed her, easing the tension in her spine. If he kept at it, she'd become rubbery, like one of those jellies Aunt loved.
His breath warmed her ear. "Have you prayed for anything special of late?"
Except for empty words at mealtime, not a syllable had she uttered in reverence, not since the day near cliff. She was distant from God. So far from Him. She knew that now. "Nothing."
"None in general, or nothing special?"
"Nothing. Maybe your jokes have rubbed off on me, William."
His fingers stilled, locking about her abdomen. "When did you stop? I rather fancied them. Kind of wondered what you'd pray for us."
She glanced up to the clouds and wished with all her might he'd ask no more. It was hard enough finding her way through this day, their first meeting as an engaged couple. A man of almost royal blood and she…
It hadn't settled in
her mind why God would allow so much bad to happen, her older brother and the twin boys' deaths, Timothy's challenges, and her mother, a victim or outright sinner? Why pray?
His lips bussed the crown of her surely-frizzing hair. "It would be hard for me to talk to you about journeying with God when I'm so wayward. I just recommend holding on to the bits of peace He offers. There's no more when you let go."
He slipped his palms to up to her elbows. "Someday you will share your thoughts with me fully."
"And you will do the same?"
A raspy acknowledgement sounded. "Well, today, just tell me what at Ontredale would please you. You can add anything."
What about saying anything? Would he still want to marry her if he knew of her scandalous birth? Would he still look at her as someone worthy to bear his name? Would his eyes darken with the passion of desiring her or fury at her deception?
Yes, standing with him, allowing him to draw her closer, as if nothing was wrong, as if they shared the same race—it was lying.
"Gaia, you are too quiet. No forthright statements. No prayers. Something is very wrong."
Her heart thumped louder. "What about a big classroom, where Timothy could come and learn?"
"Your brother would always be welcome. He'd have his own room, too, if he wanted to stay the night. And there's a big nursery on the third floor that could suit your teaching now."
"Nursery? A place for children?" The thought of a babe, another little person who would uniquely be hers, felt good, but then panic shuttled her spine. What would their child look like? Would he look like William, or be a brown baby, one whose paternity would be questioned? "Well, Lady Mary and Timothy can study there. They are children."
"So they are." He spun her from viewing the coast and waves to the folds of his cravat. "What color will your private rooms be?"
"Mine?"
"I'm not rushing you, Gaia, and I'm not planning the next few months, but a lifetime. We'll have separate bedchambers, and yours should be special." He kissed her forehead, and then leaned further to peck her cheek. "Imagine the color."
"Blue, a sunny blue, like my room now. Sarah had some left- over paint, and I thinned it to make my place special."
"I like blue. The day you invite me in will be one I treasure. You needed to know everything, all my intentions and expectations." His mouth hung dangerously close, but he didn't move. It was as if a line lay etched between them. "Is it acceptable to you?"
"I don't know. You've said a lot."
His arm stiffened as he released her. He started to pivot toward the house. "We should go to Mary."
The second his warmth disappeared she missed him, and the openness of his eyes disappeared, too. She'd disappointed him. "Wait."
"Yes, Gaia?"
"I've never been kissed in a garden. I think that you should add this to the list of firsts."
As he rotated, she leaned into him on tiptoes and claimed his kiss.
Unlike the other times, she wasn't overwhelmed or surprised. No, she wanted William St. Landon to hold her, to partake in the power of his affection, and to make sure she hadn't ruined things. If they were going to be wed, she would tell him of her birth, but not until she was surer of herself, that the wantonness of her mother didn't lay hidden in her bones, waiting for a chance to ruin things. As quickly as her heart was turning from Elliot to William, she wasn't sure.
William folded Gaia deeper into his arms as the kiss exploded into a heated tangle of her hands clutching the folds of his cravat, a button on his waistcoat, his fingers looping into her thick chignon.
She did desire him. He hadn't misread the attraction, but what caused her reticence? What took away her prayers?
A moan left her as he nibbled along her jaw. "William. I like the smell of you."
She'd panted his name; his name, not the botanist’s.
"Good."
The woman shivered and burrowed beneath his jacket. Her nails clutched his shirt fabric. He savored the plumpness of her lower lip, and teased it until Gaia opened her mouth a little wider. Only for a second did he intend to indulge in the sweetness of a deeper kiss. His heart thundered as the second stretched to minutes.
Before his thumbs ruined her chignon, he stopped and just held her close. He needed to slow down before his thoughts wandered to the long list of firsts he'd begun to create, like the first time to make love to Gaia in a garden.
Oh, things would be very well for them if she committed to the marriage, just as she'd committed to his kiss. Could she be happy with him?
Though she fit his chest as if she was meant to belong there, he couldn't risk opening up his heart completely; not until the Whimple business was done.
Yet as Elizabeth taught him, attraction, love, and faithfulness were three different things. As long as there was faithfulness and attraction, love didn't need to coexist.
Gaia wiped at her eyes. "You must think me wild to allow such liberties. I'm not a good example of a demure duchess."
How could she be so unsure of herself or the pleasure he took in being the one to lead her into folly? The change in the wind cooled his neck, prickled her forearm. He stepped back, wrenched off his jacket, and placed it on her shoulders. "We are alone, and you should be free to do and be."
"If only you'd always feel that way."
There was something in her voice. Was it fear? Ridiculous. A little more time and Gaia would settle into their engagement and forget about Whimple. This time William wouldn't lose.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A Routine of Hope
A SECOND WEEK of lessons with Mary hadn't produced much progress, but coming to Ontredale every other day, having tea with William and Aunt, and then escaping with him for a walk in the garden, had become a routine for Gaia; a nice routine, something to look forward to, as was sitting with this sweet girl in her room.
His charm and patience and Mary's exuberance were infectious.
The child looked up at her, offering a silent, toothy grin. The initial dread of everything — being engaged, working with Mary, all had lessened, almost disappeared.
Gaia could be happy in this life. If she helped the child to speak, maybe she could feel worthy of all of it.
Mary wrapped her tiny palm about Gaia's finger. With another chubby grip, she tugged on Gaia's frizzing hair.
The sea air encompassing Ontredale made it a challenge to keep a tidy bun. Williams hands in it as he soundly kissed her didn't help either. "Let's pass the toy, Mary."
The little girl's cheeks flushed as she pushed the wooden horse to Gaia. The wheels of the toy offered a muffled squeak against the thick puce carpet.
William, who stood at the door, watching, had the oddest look on his face. As if to keep his palms still, he put them behind his back. The ash-colored waistcoat puffed out of his olive tailcoat. He was large and well-built. How could she have ever mixed up him and Elliot at the ball?
"Should I sit with you ladies? I so want to help."
"The sweet child spent the past thirty minutes shifting her head betwixt you, me, and the toy. Your anxious grimace surely isn't helping."
Well that comment made his handsome face frown. "William, why don't you go down to my aunt? Let me have some time alone with this pretty girl."
His brow furrowed, but he nodded. He stalked over and closed the window above the child's trunk. "If you think it will help."
"I do. Lady Mary has to become used to me and learn to trust me. I don't think it will happen if she's looking to you for permission. And since I am to be her stepmother…" Gaia swallowed as the weight of her new responsibilities fell upon her. "You must trust me."
He leaned down and kissed the child's head. "Fine. Thirty more minutes, then put her down for her nap." He lifted Gaia's hand and put his lips to her knuckles. "Then you'll join us in the drawing room."
With a final glance in Mary's direction, he walked to the door and wiggled the sticking doorknob. "I'll have the steward look at this. Don't pull it tight." Wi
th another jerk, he opened the paneled thing, exiting.
"Well, Mary, it's just the two of us. Tell me about yourself."
The little girl's luminous green eyes seemed to study her. Then she pushed the toy to Gaia.
"This is an exercise in patience. My own stepmother has been the greatest example of patience." She fingered the coral necklace along her throat. I'm going to try to be like her for you. I hope you will show me how to talk with you."
Clasping the horse and spinning the wheels with her finger, Gaia sent it roaring to the girl. The child smiled big and imitated what Gaia did, turning the doweled circles with her pinkie.
That might be the way Mary could learn, by repetition and example. Oh, God, help me teach this little girl.
They played like this, back and forth; each time, Gaia made the actions a little more difficult, a couple of pats, turning of the toy. Mary did each action, making Gaia's heart soar.
Like clockwork, thirty minutes later, the tot began blinking her eyes. It was time to nap.
Gaia scooped the child up, cradled her, and hummed low in her ear. Leaning over the crib, she put Mary down, but found no blanket to cover her.
A quick look in the closet didn't produce anything but very heavy woolens. Something lighter would do.
Nothing on the shelves. Maybe the trunk? She eased over to it and lifted the heavy lid. Beneath baby caps and a few more toys, there looked to be a woolen blanket. She stuck both hands inside and snagged the Indian silk lining the sides with her thumb. The vermilion red fabric split and two letters fell out.
Pushing up her spectacles, she stared at the blue-tinted paper. It called to her as all good quality foolscap did. She picked it up. It was wrong to read other people's thoughts, but she couldn't help allowing her pinkie to pop the seal.
Undying....
My heart beats only...
Seconds from your side are a torture....
The words of love scribbled on the paper flowed. This must be a love letter from William to his wife. He really did love her as he’d claimed. She must have loved him, for why would she have kept these if they meant nothing?
Unmasked Heart_A Regency Romance_Challenge of the Soul Page 19
