by Joan Wolf
“I know it’s difficult for you to let him run free,” he said. “You’re a brave girl, Georgie.”
Tears stung behind my eyes.
“I try, Philip, really I do.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. And it’s not going to get any easier.”
I sniffed. “It won’t if you get him a pony! He’s only three, Philip.”
His eyes closed again. “He’s three and a half, and I’ll make sure it’s a quiet pony.”
Robin was actually a month short of three and a half, but I bit my lip and said nothing.
As I changed for dinner, I thought about what Philip had said about the Queen’s trial. It was likely to last for months and if he meant what he had said about my not going to London, I wouldn’t be seeing much of him for a while.
I did not like this idea at all.
It wasn’t that I would miss London. We had managed to weather the scandal that had attached itself to the death of Mr. Howard, but it hadn’t been a pleasant time. I had told the authorities how Howard had confessed to me about trying to kill me, and then Claven had brought forward a man who had sworn that Howard had tried to employ him to murder my father. Then the revelation about Papa’s blackmailing the unfortunate young man had been borne out by the moneylenders, who had descended upon the widowed Mrs. Howard like parasites.
It had been very ugly and Philip and I had been very glad to come down to the peace and quiet of Winterdale Park. The scandal had eventually blown over, however, and now we were able to return to London with perfect respectability. Philip attended Parliament when there was a bill pending that interested him, and we always attended a few social affairs during the Season. I also went up to London to shop; there were no shops in Surrey that could match the shops in London.
Otherwise, most of our social life centered around the neighborhood in Surrey where we lived. We had made a number of very nice friends among the neighboring gentry, and though Winterdale Park was certainly the “great house” of the area, neither Philip nor I was too high in the instep to enjoy the company of good-natured, well-bred people who were not of the nobility.
We entertained or went on visits to Catherine and Lord Rotheram at least four times a year. Catherine had a little boy six months younger than Robin, and the two children were fast friends. She was expecting another child soon, and I had promised her that I would be with her when her time came.
Lady Winterdale was queening it over the dowagers in Bath. We never saw her, which suited us just fine.
But it looked as if this business of the Queen was going to disturb the pleasant tenor of my days.
I asked Philip as we sat together over dinner, “How long do you think this trial is going to last?”
He blew lightly on his soup to cool it. “Too long.”
“Will it mean that I won’t see you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get home, Georgie. The trial won’t go on every day, and we’re fortunate that Winterdale Park is within driving distance of London. The poor souls who live in the north and the west are the ones who will really be stuck.”
“I could come up to London without the children,” I said tentatively.
He shook his head decisively. “You don’t know what is going on. London is almost on the verge of a revolution. Nearly every day a procession, as large as that which provoked the Peterloo massacre, marches through the streets, flaunting banners. Day and night the streets resound with shouts of ‘No Queen, No King!’” He shook his head again. “I do not want you in London.”
He had that look on his face which told me he meant what he said.
I loved my husband dearly, but there were still a few flaws in his character that I was working on. One was his tendency to order me around. The other was his tendency to retreat into himself when something was bothering him. Even after five and a half years of marriage, I still had to pry things out of him.
I supposed the habits of a lifetime were hard to break. “Oh, all right,” I said grumpily. “I’ll stay at Winterdale Park. But I expect you to get home when you can.”
His eyes glinted at me across the table. “You can count on that, sweetheart,” he said.
I shot a glance at the footmen who were standing next to the sideboard, then dropped my glance to my soup so that no one should see the response in my own eyes.
After dinner we took our usual walk in the park with the dogs. Then we played a game of chess before the tea tray came in. Then it was bedtime.
This was the time for us to assert our union in the deepest, most intimate way that was possible. As we clung together in the big four poster, where we had made our two beautiful children, I felt the unutterably precious joy of a woman who is happy and who knows it.
I felt him kiss my throat and my collarbone.
I sighed deeply. “Happiness is such a complicated thing,” I murmured.
“Not at all.” He sounded very sleepy. Philip was always sleepy after he made love.
“It’s not?”
“No.” We had blown out the candles because the moonlight was streaming in through the open window. I heard him yawn. “Happiness is actually very simple,” he said.
“What is it, Philip?” I asked curiously.
His voice was really drowsy now. “Happiness is Georgie,” he said.
Tears filled my eyes. What a lovely thing for him to say. I reached over to kiss his cheek and all I heard was a gentle wuffle.
I looked at my husband in the moonlight. He was lying on his back, his hair very dark against the white pillow. His shoulders took up almost the whole of his side of the bed.
Why did he always have to go to sleep on his back? He snored when he was on his back.
I kissed his hard, bare bicep, gave him a shove to make him turn over, and settled myself to sleep as well.
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
