She knew that she had been rude; there were better ways of telling her sister that Davis was a typical, thoughtless husband and Rebecca needed to accept it. “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I’ll apologize,” she said, deliberately struggling to her feet.
“I’ll talk to her, dear. You rest.” Susanne sat down, grateful not to have to deal with her sister.
Rebecca was outside sitting at the edge of the fountain. She wiped her eyes when she saw Michael and smiled weakly.
“Susanne is not herself today,” he said by way of apology and sat next to her.
“I know. But she is right. Davis has given me everything.” She was staring past him at the road Davis had disappeared down a week before. Michael said nothing. “Did you know that my brother did not have to pay a dowry, Michael?”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head.
“Davis paid him and agreed to take care of my mother. I suppose, at the time, I believed that he wanted me for a wife so much that he didn’t care about the money. But I see now that he was just purchasing me to fill the role of wife, hostess, mother. So I suppose that he didn’t get all he paid for,” she laughed bitterly.
“You know that’s not true, Rebecca. He loves you,” Michael protested.
She turned her eyes directly into his. “I think he did. Once. But I am now the brood mare that cannot produce.”
“Don’t do this to yourself.”
“Except,” she continued, “even a mare that cannot produce can be useful in other ways—plowing or what-have-you.”
Michael clutched at Rebecca’s arms and shook her gently. “You know Davis is like a brother to me; but if I thought that he didn’t genuinely care for you, I would ride down to London and knock some sense into him. I know you two have had your difficulties. But I believe he does love you, no matter the circumstances.” He could tell from her expression, the tears still in her eyes, that she didn’t believe him.
*************************
After lunch, Susanne and Laurence napped. When Susanne did not come down for tea, a concerned Rebecca knocked on her door. She had to knock again before she received a muffled response. Susanne was lying on her side, perspiring heavily and clearly in pain. Cold fear swept over Rebecca, familiar from the day when Laurence was born.
“Are you in labor?” she asked, biting her lip sharply to keep from panicking.
“I don’t think so. It hurts, but it’s not the same,” Susanne replied.
Rebecca went to Susanne’s side and felt her forehead; she was burning up. She ran to the door and called to a drawing room maid. “Get Lord Brooks and tell him his wife is not well; we need a doctor.”
It was not labor pains Susanne was feeling, the doctor told them, but ague and fever from the bad air coming from the pond. How the bad air had traveled from the pond to the house to make only Susanne sick, the doctor could not explain; he left some medicine and instructions and promised to come the next day.
“Quack,” Michael remarked when the doctor left, but instructed Gaines, the butler, and Mrs. Bailey that the Countess was not to be disturbed, and that they were to run the household as they did when the Lord and Lady were in London. Alice, the nanny, must see to Laurence and his needs.
Susanne swiftly recovered from the fever, but still ached badly. The doctor was unwilling to take a chance with the Earl’s child and insisted that Susanne remain in bed until the baby came. She was to rest, he ordered, and not to pick up anything heavy including Laurence. Rebecca stepped up, grateful to have something to keep her mind occupied.
“I will help Michael and Mrs. Bailey,” she added. “It is not as though I don’t know how to run a household.”
The matter was settled and Susanne was happy for the rest.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rebecca had been at Elysian Fields for two weeks before Davis’ first letter arrived. While the colonies were not popular with the people, neither was a war; wars cost money and trade had been unpredictable for too long. He would need to remain in London, indefinitely, his letter said, while he helped supervise the financial measures the government must undertake to pay for the war.
Michael tried not to let Rebecca know that he watched her while she read the letter. He saw every emotion on her face; joy, anger, and then the sadness of defeat. He was at his desk trying in vain to write while Rebecca sat in a wing chair nearby. As she folded the letter and placed it in her lap, she looked up at Michael; he was back at work.
She sighed. “It looks like Davis won’t be able to join us just yet.” She decided that there was no use for false cheerfulness; Michael seemed to be better at reading her thoughts than Davis had been.
He put down his pen and folded his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know that you’re disappointed.”
She cocked her eyebrow and smiled coldly. “It was his choice,” she said.
**************************
The doctor had estimated that the baby should come sometime in October. That gave Susanne almost two months longer to wait in bed. She spent her time sketching, knitting, and sewing. Her visitors, Rebecca, Michael and Laurence, came in to cheer her as much as they could. But Laurence couldn’t understand why his mother couldn’t play with him and Rebecca and Michael had their own duties. Rebecca ran the much smaller household so well that the staff easily accepted her authority.
In the afternoon, Rebecca kept Susanne company; in the evening, Michael took over. When Susanne retired for the night, it was still far too early for Michael and Rebecca. Ordinarily they would gather together in the drawing room for cards or chess, which Rebecca was getting much better at. The night she received Davis’ letter, Rebecca was restless and couldn’t focus. When Michael won in six moves, he pushed the game aside, took her hand and led her to the sofa. She sat down and Michael handed her a brandy. “You really shouldn’t drink when you are depressed, I am told; but when have I ever listened to good advice?”
She sighed and gave him a tired smile. “I’m not depressed; more resigned than anything I suppose.”
He sat next to her. “Resigned to what?”
“That this is how it will be. That happily ever after only exists in novels.”
“Do you really believe that, Rebecca?” He held her hand stroking it gently, familiarly, as he had always done, except that now there was a difference in the pressure of his touch.
He hadn’t intended to be anything more than a friendly shoulder to cry on. He hadn’t realized until the moment he took her hand how much he wanted to be more.
She thought it was the brandy. But when she looked into Michael’s dark eyes, she knew that the fire she felt was for him. She looked down as he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. Her breath came shallower in her excitement. Michael took her glass before she dropped it.
His kiss was very gentle. He tasted different from Davis, maybe the brandy, she thought. He held her face in his hands as their kisses became stronger and he explored her mouth deliciously with his tongue. At first, she wasn’t sure what to do with her hands then she instinctively buried them in Michael’s soft curls. He was kissing her neck, his hands caressing the fabric of her bodice. When he bent to kiss the tops of her breasts, she finally spoke in a breathless whisper. “No, not here; the servants.”
“Where?” he asked.
“Come to my bedroom. In an hour.” She stood up and he kissed her arm as she swept from the room.
She dismissed her maid once her stays were removed and undressed herself. She put on a nightgown and began to brush her hair, wondering if Michael would really come to her. She didn’t question why.
When he slipped into her room, he was wearing a nightshirt underneath his robe and carrying a candle. She stood by the bed and said, “I was afraid you would change your mind.”
He shook his head slowly, dazzled by her beauty in the candlelight. He put his candle down and came to her, kissing her madly. Michael picked her up and placed Rebecca on the bed above the covers. He took
her nightgown off, then removed his clothes and climbed into bed next to her. The only naked man Rebecca had ever seen was Davis. But when they made love, it was usually dark and she had never touched and explored his body the way Michael encouraged her to do.
He made a feast of her breasts, licking and kissing each until she was aflame. As his mouth moved lower, she stopped him, suddenly embarrassed at such an intimate act. But he said with a smile, “Trust me; you will enjoy this.” He was right.
His tongue rolled over and over, nipping, biting and bringing her a pleasure she had never dreamed was possible. Her body was so tender and alive that he had only to brush her delicately and she quivered over and over in fulfillment.
She thought she was spent, but when he entered her, she felt her desire heating up again, every nerve in her body pulsing furiously. She cried out and felt her shudder of satisfaction; Michael felt it too, as she gripped his back and came himself.
After, as she lay in his arms, her only regret was that this could never happen again. She had always been very good at compartmentalizing unpleasant thoughts and now any question of morality was blocked in her mind.
Michael had other thoughts. “Do you know how long I have wanted to kiss you?”
“You did more than kiss me just now,” she answered with a giggle.
“I’m serious.”
“No, I don’t”
“Since the night we first danced.”
She remembered the night of her engagement party. He hadn’t seemed very friendly; he had actually been protective of Davis and a little hostile to her. “You hid it well,” she said.
“What if I had?” he asked. “What if I had kissed you?”
She thought about the question. “I suppose that I would have slapped you and we would never have become friends.”
“Is that what we are, then? Friends?”
“I honestly don’t know what we are now.”
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. “A lover’s words cannot be trusted in the night,” he sighed.
They lay there a long time as the candles burned into nubs. Finally, he said, “I must get to my own room.”
“I know,” she answered.
He dressed and slipped out as quietly as he had slipped in. There had been no lovely words of parting, no promises. Rebecca did not know how to feel, save the most satisfied she had ever been.
She knew she should put her nightgown back on. But every nerve in her skin felt electric at the touch of the cool sheets. She let the gown lay where Michael had thrown it.
*************************
When she awoke, she could tell from the light that it was late in the morning. “Lord Brooks told me that you should sleep,” her maid explained without judgment or question.
After she dressed and ate breakfast, she did not write to Davis. Instead she went to Susanne’s room where she found her sister reading a book to Laurence. “I hope you are feeling better,” Susanne said. “Michael said that you had taken ill last night.”
“Yes, I am better,” she answered wondering if Michael had elaborated further on her ‘illness’.
Susanne stroked Laurence’s hair absent-mindedly and asked, “Is it Davis?”
Rebecca didn’t know how to answer: it was Davis, it was Michael, it was Susanne. She was a mental mess. A catty part of her brain said that this was Susanne’s terrain, not hers. Susanne was the wanton woman; Rebecca was virtuous. But Rebecca felt neither wanton nor virtuous, only frail and human.
*************************
Michael was not in his office. Rebecca was told that he had taken his horse out to examine a break in the fence somewhere on the estate. He had resumed his normal duties, so she decided to do the same.
The break in the fence was an excuse, of course. Michael had not slept and arose unsure of how to behave with Rebecca. Susanne would be easy; she would suspect nothing from him so inured to his infidelity she had become.
He could convince himself that the night with Rebecca had been nothing more than a physical necessity for him and, possibly, revenge for her. But it was more, he knew, for both of them, whether she admitted it or not.
Their connection began with Davis and strengthened with Susanne. At times, Michael saw in Rebecca himself. He understood her anger at believing that she was bought by Davis for his own purposes. Michael had felt this way since the day Davis told him that he had purchased Elysian Fields. He had buried those feelings, his loyalty to Davis stronger. But the myriad problems in getting his second novel published and its subsequent failure made it transparent to him how much he depended on Davis’ largesse to keep his family sheltered and fed. He also felt that it tied him to Davis in a more dependant than friendly way.
He lived at Elysian Fields for Susanne and Laurence. He did the work that was required of him and never let his unhappiness shadow Susanne. His creativity dried up, but he accepted this as a sacrifice for the people he loved.
That morning when he arose, he went to his desk and wrote the first words that came to him. Then he had his horse saddled and went for a ride.
He had not returned by lunch or tea. Late in the afternoon, Rebecca heard his boots as he went up the stairs presumably to Susanne’s room. He had a tray brought to Susanne’s room and ate supper there. Rebecca picked at her meal alone and grateful for the silence, but also dreading the inevitable when she could no longer avoid him.
He came into the drawing room where she worked on a sampler. Throughout the afternoon, she had spent more time tearing out stitches and was no further along than when she had picked up the work after tea. Her back was to the door and she heard him close it behind him.
“Susanne is asleep,” he said.
She didn’t look at him. “That’s good. She needs her rest.”
Michael sat next to her. “About last night,” he began.
“There is nothing to discuss. It happened; it won’t happen again.”
“Is that what you want?”
She put down her needlework. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“I know you don’t believe that,” he whispered. He took her hand, but she stripped it away from him, rising quickly and walking to the window to put some distance between them. He didn’t follow her.
“It was a mistake. It meant nothing.” But as she said this in a hoarse, choking voice, her hand flew to her neck and she twisted her necklace so violently that he expected it to break, pearls flying everywhere.
“I don’t believe you,” he said softly approaching her almost stealthily as though he were afraid she would bolt.
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” she sobbed, knowing that there was no use in lying.
He took her hands and kissed them. She became aware of her breathing and knew she could not hide the passion rising in her.
“I’ve found us a place,” he said, “Where we can meet with no prying eyes.” She stared in silence. He placed a hand on her chest, “I feel that. Your heart.” He placed her hand on his which was beating as hard. “This is what you do to me.”
She cried softly; he embraced her and said, “Come to me tomorrow. At one. If you don’t come, I promise to never ask you again. Ever. I promise.” He touched her cheek where a tear lay and handed her a paper. She took it and left the drawing room for her bedroom. When she was safely behind closed doors, she unfolded it. One page contained instructions on where to find him the next day. The second page was the poem he had written that morning:
“I built my castle of the stones I was given
Halls that emptied into nothingness.
Two rooms open before me.
One light, filled with love and security;
One dark, filled with mystery and uncertainty.
I must choose.
I should choose
The light where life is certain.
But I choose the dark and the chance for more.”
************************
After lunch the next day, Rebecca ha
d her horse saddled, followed his instructions, and rode to Michael.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rebecca never questioned what the servants knew. She and Michael never left or returned together, but they were always away at the same time. Michael, on the other hand, knew that the servants valued their positions too much to indulge in gossip or speculation.
Their daily life did not change much save for the afternoon absences; Susanne did not seem to note anything out of the ordinary.
They couldn’t meet everyday; at night, in the drawing room on those days when they hadn’t spent the afternoon in each other’s arms, the air between them crackled with intensity. Once only, very late and unable to sleep from the tension, Rebecca quietly padded through the halls and slipped into Michael’s room and his bed, awakening him with her curious, roaming hands and kisses.
Otherwise, their desire was sated on the bed of a house Michael had borrowed. Its previous occupant had received a healthy sum of money to make it available to him during the week. It was a simple cottage that had been a residence for the family of the builder of Elysian Fields centuries before. The absent occupant always made sure that the house was stocked with wine, cheese, bread and fruit. The first time they met there, Michael had arrived before Rebecca and covered the bed with yellow rose petals. They made love amongst them, the heady sweetness mixing with the musky heat of their passion. The rest of her life, the scent of roses would cause Rebecca to tremble from the memory.
That first day, once she made her decision, she never questioned it. So eager was Rebecca for his touch that the ride to the cottage was foreplay. Michael stood in the door and she ran to him and drowned him with her sweet kisses. He encouraged her to take the lead, to explore him, and showed her where her touch gave him the greatest pleasure.
She abandoned any pretense of ladylike behavior. She became a tigress devouring her prey and enjoying every bit of him.
They never talked of the future. Soon Susanne would have her baby; Davis would return from London. All that mattered to Rebecca and Michael was now.
Laura Carroll Butler Page 20
