An Improper Companion

by April Kihlstrom

  I blushed and bent my head. “ Tis ... ’tis not a thing that comes easy to tell.”

  “But I am your husband!” His voice was a protest.

  I murmured, “Even so, a well-bred woman finds it difficult to speak of such things.”

  Too late I saw how he would take my words. He pushed back his chair and, after a moment, stood, tossing down his napkin. “I see, madam. And, of course, I have had so little experience with well-bred women that I could not know it. I understand you well enough. And I grant you, madam, the women I am accustomed to speak more honestly than do ladies.”

  Then, with a mock bow, he was gone. Once more I had driven him from me. I, too, fled the room.

  The next few days continued in much the same manner. I would pay calls or others would call on me. Between times, I would read or bend over my needlework. Leslie appeared only at meals, and not always then. He had taken to dismissing the servants as soon as they had served, that we might speak more freely. Such conversations were usually half mocking, half angry. As the days passed I grew more and more unhappy. I could not understand the depth of Leslie’s anger at me. Annoyance, yes, that was to be expected. But not this constant, half-suppressed fury. I was sure he spent his evenings with other women. Though not the Duchess of Carston. Several friends took care to mention that her Grace had left for the duke’s estate shortly after the ball.

  It was one such evening, as I sat stitching at one of his shirts, that Leslie came into the drawing room. He had not been home for the evening meal. It was a cold, stormy night and I had ordered a fire. I was sewing by its light. At first, I kept my head bent over my work, afraid of what he might say. He walked slowly to the fireplace and stood there looking down at me, until I had to lift my eyes to meet his. He was smiling gently, and in spite of myself, I smiled in return. His voice was soft as he said, “A lovely domestic portrait. What are you working at?”

  “A shirt.” I smiled, lifting it for him to see.

  A shadow crossed his face, then he said, jestingly, “I wonder whose it is? Ought I to be jealous?”

  I laughed uneasily, puzzled by his words. “Why, yours, of course.”

  “Of course.” He hesitated. “Are you happy here?”

  I bent my head as though it were a difficult stitch I must place. “Happy enough.”

  Leslie seemed uncomfortable. Guilt? I wondered. Frustration that the duchess had been gone this week? He frowned. “If there is anything you need...”

  “There is not,” I replied shortly.

  For several moments we did not speak. Then, unable to keep my tongue between my teeth, I said, “They say the Duchess of Carston has deserted you for the countryside.”

  Leslie gave a snort of disgust. “If I have ever seen a spoiled woman, it is she! Lovely enough, but with such a soul I cannot imagine any man wanting her.”

  I bent my head still lower to hide my smile and the relief I felt. I knew there must still be women, but perhaps only passing fancies. And in time ... Leslie was speaking again, “... Crewes?”

  “Oh,” I said indifferently, “I have told him he is not to call.”

  “Yet you meet him often enough elsewhere!” Leslie’s voice was cold.

  “I would not be rude to the man,” I protested.

  “Oh? And is that why you have taken tea with him in private? I suppose you call it accident he frequents the same houses you do?”

  I stared at Leslie, my mouth gaping wide. As always at such times, I was helpless to defend myself. He turned and strode to the door. Pausing, he said, “Really, madam! You take me for a nodcock! I pray you will have a care to show more discretion in the future.”

  Anger grew. In my mind, I reviewed all the times I had encountered Reginald. Reluctantly I admitted they were too many for coincidence. Grimly I vowed that when next I saw him, I should make him understand his attentions were not welcome! I would not forgive him for giving Leslie cause for suspicion and anger. With this resolve, I put away my work and ascended to bed.

  Chapter 19

  We were dining together, next morning, when the note came. William handed it to Leslie without a word, then left the room. With a slight frown, Leslie opened the note, glanced at the signature, and sat up sharply. As I watched his eyes, I could tell he read with a growing sense of urgency. When done, he hastily rose, letting the note fall to the table beside his plate. He muttered something to me and left the room. For some moments, I stared at the paper, knowing I should not touch it, but unable to let it be. Finally, I picked it up and read the words written in a delicate hand.

  My Dearest Leslie,

  I know you must remember me in Anger. But I beg of you that for the Sake of What You Once Felt, you will speak with me now.

  Jane

  I read it twice, unable to believe what I read. She could not be here! Not now. Perhaps a different Jane? No, recalling Leslie’s face I knew it was not. Trembling slightly, I stood and walked to the drawing room, trying to calm myself. The door stood open. Leslie’s back was to me and he was kissing her. She was tall and slender, with a blond beauty that could rival the Duchess of Carston’s. As I watched, Leslie released her but kept hold of her hands as they smiled at one another. I stood, still as stone, wanting to cry. Jane saw me first and said something to Leslie. He turned quickly, crossed to my side, and drew me into the room. “My wife, Heather,” Leslie murmured. “Heather, this is Mrs. Keith.”

  “Hello,” she said prettily.

  I smiled mechanically. “Good day ... Jane, is it not? Mrs. Jane Keith?”

  She and Leslie looked at one another. Then Jane nodded awkwardly. Leslie was frowning. We stared at one another in silence for several moments. It was clear that they wished to be alone. From some reserve of strength, I summoned my dignity. I smiled at Jane. “I pray you will excuse me, as I have household matters to attend to. I shall order tea for you, however, as it seems a cold morning. Is there anything else you would like?”

  “No, no thank you,” she said with some confusion.

  I nodded and turned to go, pausing only to kiss Leslie on the cheek, tears stinging my eyes. I did not doubt he was startled and displeased that I should do such a thing before Jane. But I could not stop myself. It would be the last kiss I should ever have of him.

  Somehow I found my way to my room. It was deserted, as Ellen was in the kitchen with the other maids. I began to pull clothes from the wardrobe, sorting which I should need and which were unimportant. And I dragged out, once again, my poor bag. But I also intended to take a trunk. This time I should be leaving by the front door. At some point, Ellen entered and stood staring. “My lady!” she gasped.

  “Fetch me a trunk,” I ordered.

  “Yes, my lady. Are you taking a trip?”

  “Stubble it, Ellen! Just do as I say and fetch a trunk!” I retorted, fighting tears.

  She turned and was gone. Time passed. A great amount of it, and still she did not return. I was about to ring angrily for her when I heard footsteps. I turned and saw Leslie standing in the door. His mouth was set and his eyes were hard as he stepped forward, closing and bolting the door behind him. “I suppose,” his voice slashed at me, “you have an explanation, madam?”

  I backed away, though he did not move. “I ... I am leaving!” I stammered.

  His lips twisted. “You have forgotten, madam, you gave your word you would not.” I flushed, for there was no answer I could give. His voice was soft now. “Well? Have you no explanation to give? Why you must go? Or where you will go?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “No? I believe I do!” In three steps he was beside me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me round to face him. “You are running away with him, aren’t you? You’ve planned this all ahead.”

  “Who?” I demanded.

  Leslie’s other hand bit into my shoulder as he shook me impatiently. “Reginald Crewes! Why must you pretend to misunderstand!”

  His gaze was dark with rage. But now I felt my own anger growing. “How dare yo
u! Crewes means nothing to me ... do you hear? Nothing! Let us speak plainly, sir. You think to cover your own infidelity with accusations. Well it won’t serve. If you must know, I am leaving because of Jane!”

  “Jane?” His astonishment was unfeigned.

  I His hold slackened and I tore free. I went to the wardrobe and began dragging more dresses from it. His voice was harsh, demanding. “What the devil do you mean?”

  I turned to face him defiantly, my arms full of clothes. “I saw you kiss her. And I saw how you both looked at each other. I am not such a wet-goose that I cannot see you still love her!”

  As I flung these words at him Leslie’s face grew angry again. “And if I said, madam, that she came to see me because of my marriage? Because she felt she could now explain why she left me in the church? Because she felt that having found someone else I could now forgive her? Perhaps even understand?”

  “Liar! She came to intrigue you!” I retorted. But his eyes frightened me and I said hastily, “Perhaps not. But you ... you still love her. And I cannot stay, wondering when you will slip out to meet her. Or some other woman.”

  I was crying again. Leslie’s voice, when it came, was thoughtful. “And why should you care?” I turned away, still crying, but he came and shook me by the shoulders, his voice harsh as he demanded, “Why should you care? You knew very well this was to be a marriage of convenience!”

  My head hurt as he shook me and I could no longer be quiet. “Because I love you!” I spat out. In amazement, Leslie stopped shaking me and I continued, “I didn’t want to! Indeed, I tried to hate you. But, God help me, I love you! And I cannot bear to be your wife in a marriage of convenience, wondering always where you are or whom you are with. I’d rather be alone. So I’m leaving!”

  Without words, he took the gowns from me and threw them on a chair. I stared at him, uncertainly. Then suddenly his arms were around me, drawing me close to him. And his face was buried in my hair. After a moment, he spoke, gently, “Forgive me, Heather. I love you. There are no other women and there will be none. I swear it.”

  In astonishment, I lifted my face to meet his eyes. They were grave as he bent closer and kissed me. It was a tentative kiss, but I met it joyfully and the second one was sure. At last he stopped to speak. “All these weeks, Heather, I’ve loved you and been consumed with jealousy. First of Philip and later every man you smiled at. Above all, Reginald Crewes! Do you remember the day I gave you the Kinwell emeralds? That was the day I knew. The Kinwell heirs have often married for money or policy, rarely for love. Only if the Kinwell man came to love the woman would she be given the emeralds. There were wives who never wore them. But I could not tell you then what they meant.”

  I shivered and held him tighter. He smiled down at me, and even in my ignorance, I knew his desire matched mine. Trembling at my audacity, I said softly, “I ... I know it is midmorning, Leslie, but ... but we ... I ... love me?” I looked at him, then at the bed. He threw back his head and roared with happiness. And then I was being swept off my feet and carried to the waiting couch.

  About the Author

  April Lynn Kihlstrom was born in Buffalo, New York, and graduated from Cornell University with an M.S. in Operations Research. She, her husband, and their two children enjoy traveling and have lived in Paris, Honolulu, Georgia, and New Jersey. When not writing, April Lynn Kihlstrom enjoys needlework and devotes her time to handicapped children.