“Congratulations, Aunt Mildred,” Richard said, starting a round of applause. The older woman might not be gracious in victory, but her observations about her opponents casting up their accounts was alarmingly true, and something he very much wanted to avoid.
“Well done, Mildred,” Uncle Horace said enthusiastically. “This is turning out to be a capital holiday. All we need now is a blanket of snow and a sleighing party to make it truly special.”
“It would be a mistake to set your heart on having snow for Christmas,” Aunt Mildred warned. “My knee is aching something fierce, which means cold blowing winds and torrents of rain. Typical British weather.”
“Now, Mildred, that aching knee could just as easily mean snow is going to fall,” Uncle Horace said.
“It does not,” Aunt Mildred countered.
Ignoring the continuing argument, Richard turned to Dixon. “I must commend you on your valiant attempt at victory,” he said, hoping the other man could see the humor in the situation. He offered his hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Dixon reached out and grasped it. “I’d forgotten how much I can’t abide the taste of raisins.”
“I won’t consider it any great loss if I never see, let alone eat, another one.” Richard grinned. “Care to try your luck in a game of billiards?”
Dixon wiped his brow with his forearm. “Are the women invited?”
“Absolutely not!”
“Then I’m in.”
Though she would have preferred he accompany her upstairs, Juliet was nevertheless glad to see Richard and Mr. Dixon, along with a few of her male cousins, slip away to the billiard room. She had long given up trying to understand the strange masculine compulsion to engage in competition, deciding it was easier to accept it.
The debate between Uncle Horace and Aunt Mildred over the possibility of snow continued to rage. Hearing their childish squabbling reminded her of Edward and James, spurring a need to see the children once more before retiring to her own chamber. Saying good night to the remaining guests, Juliet left the drawing room.
The nursery hallway was well lit, and a single candle burned on the window ledge in the main area of the room. Juliet checked the flame, making certain the glass fixture designed to protect against fire was properly in place. She then went to the room Edward and James shared, opening the door slowly to keep it from making any noise.
The fire was banked and nearly out, creating a pleasant chill in the air—perfect for deep sleep when snuggled beneath a pile of warm blankets.
Edward was cocooned inside his bed snoring lightly, but James had kicked away his covers as usual, a testament to his restless, ever-active nature. Even in sleep her younger son could not lie peacefully.
Juliet carefully tucked the blankets around him, then placed a soft kiss on his brow. She stayed a much longer time in Lizzy’s room, the sight of her daughter stirring deep emotions. She smoothed her hand lightly over the little girl’s curls, marveling at how quickly she had grown.
She’s not a baby anymore. And there will be no others unless I can convince Richard otherwise. A surge of ardent need clutched Juliet’s heart. Though she had tried to ignore it, she knew that Richard’s objection to another child was dividing them. And as she gazed at Lizzy’s innocent face, so sweet and dear, Juliet knew she would not easily relent to Richard’s wishes.
Having Richard’s babe would complete their family; it seemed almost unnatural for him to have such an adamant position against it.
She went to her bedchamber, not surprised to find it empty. In all likelihood Richard would stay up very late again tonight, entertaining Mr. Dixon. Juliet changed into a nightgown and matching satin robe, then sat at her dressing table, pulling the combs and pins from her hair. After shaking out the tresses, she picked up a brush and rhythmically drew it through her hair.
Her head lifted in surprise when she heard the bedchamber door open. She stood, her gaze widening as she saw her husband saunter into the room. He paused at the sight of her and smiled. Juliet’s heart began to thump madly.
“Am I disturbing you?”
The deep softness of his voice sent a ripple of awareness up her spine. But his formality bothered her. They should be sharing a bedchamber, not asking permission to enter one. She blinked, trying to accept that it was yet another part of this complex man she had married.
“Has Mr. Dixon gone to bed?” she inquired, deliberately ignoring Richard’s question.
“Yes. Just now. I decided to take your advice and allowed him to beat me in a game of billiards.”
As he spoke, Richard stripped off his black evening coat and dropped it on a chair. His cravat came next, followed by his silver waistcoat. Lit by candlelight, his face was cast in half shadows, the masculine profile handsome and classic.
There was a tap at the door. Since he was closest, Richard pulled it open. Juliet saw a housemaid standing with a long-handled covered pan. “Would you like me to take the chill from the bed, madam?”
His back to the servant, Richard cast a suggestive glance at the ceiling. Juliet barely contained her giggle. “The warming pan won’t be needed tonight, Mary. Thank you.”
“Hmm, I feel as though I should make some remark about keeping you warm all night,” Richard said after the servant had left.
“That would be undignified,” she joked.
He regarded her dourly. “Isn’t vulgarity expected from the uncouth, inferior American?”
She almost answered the comment with a teasing remark, but his expression told her this was a subject that should not be lightly dismissed.
“I have never once thought of you as inferior,” Juliet said sincerely. “There might be some people who believe that by marrying you I made a tremendous sacrifice for my children’s future. What they fail to understand is that I went into this arrangement willingly, almost eagerly. The truth is that I married you because I am selfish. Because I wanted you. I wanted you, Richard.”
“Ah, wanting and having.” He listed to the left, slightly unsteady on his feet. “Have you discovered that you no longer want me now that you have me?”
“I hardly have you, Richard.” He raised his brow and she continued. “All right, perhaps physically I do have you, but we both know there is more to a relationship than sex.”
“I’m trying, Juliet.”
“Are you?” Her sudden frustration made her agitated, pushing her to say things she would normally keep hidden. “We seem to achieve a level of closeness at times, yet it disappears like a wisp of smoke and once again I feel that I must struggle to find it.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I? Be honest, Richard. You shut me out. Not always, but enough that it hurts.” Annoyed at the quiver in her voice, Juliet strove to sound calm and dignified. “Why do you feel so strongly about not having a child?”
He sat down on the small upholstered chair near the fireplace. “I’m too old.”
“What rot! Who said that you were too old?”
“Me.”
“I’m serious, Richard. Please don’t insult me with sarcastic quips.”
“You don’t know what you are asking of me, Juliet.”
“Then explain it to me, Richard. Tell me why. Please.”
A stark, sad expression slid across his face. Breath held, Juliet waited quietly for him to explain. But he remained silent. She stared at him, desperation growing at the sight of his teeth and lips firmly pressed together.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t keep yourself so distant from me.”
He was quiet for several more moments. The only sound in the bedchamber was the rhythmic rise and fall of their breaths. He isn’t going to answer. The realization depressed her. She had thought, nay, she had believed that he was starting to care for her, that he—
“I was married many years ago.”
His voice was hoarse, the words rusty. The darkness in his eyes told her that he rarely, if ever, shared this part of his past with anyone. J
uliet went very still.
“What happened to your wife?” she asked, almost afraid to hear his answer. Details about death were never easy to impart, and judging by the bleakness in Richard’s eyes, she knew this was going to be an especially tragic tale.
“She died giving birth to our son.”
Juliet’s knees buckled. That was the very last thing she had expected to hear. He had a child somewhere?
Why had he never told her? “Where is the boy?”
The pain in Richard’s eyes deepened. “He’s buried in an unmarked pauper’s grave. I begged to have him placed beside his mother, but her common grave site had already been covered, and there was no money to make other arrangements. He lived only a few days after she died.”
A lump of sorrow caught in Juliet’s throat. She could not imagine the magnitude of misery Richard had endured, losing his young wife and an innocent babe who never had a chance at life.
Juliet did not say another word. She crossed the chamber and knelt before him. She sank to her knees, set her head in his lap, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.
The hollow bleakness that always took hold deep inside him whenever Richard dared to remember his wife and infant son was sharp and fierce. Yet as the moments passed, he allowed himself to draw comfort from Juliet’s arms. The warmth of her touch, the soothing sound of her quiet murmuring.
He knew her gentle heart would be sympathetic to his pain, his loss. What he hadn’t realized was that it helped. That it would make him feel less alone, less adrift.
“It was my fault that they died,” he confessed, acknowledging the guilt that had weighed him down for so long it had become a part of him. “I vowed to take care of her, to cherish and protect her, yet in the end I did none of those things.”
“It was not your fault that she died, Richard. It was horrible and unfair, but it was God’s will.”
“No!” He could feel his body begin to shake as he fought to gain control of his emotions. “It was my job to provide for my wife. She was so young, so sweet. I adored her. She didn’t want to marry until I was more established, more financially secure, but I loved her so much I couldn’t wait and convinced her otherwise.
“She became pregnant right away. It sickened and weakened her and then there was a strike at the mill and I lost my job. No wages, no money for proper food, proper medical care. The baby came weeks early. She labored for almost two days, using the last of her strength to push the child from her body.”
“Oh, Richard.”
He laid his hand on Juliet’s head. “The babe was so tiny. He never had a chance, really. The midwife said he would have been bigger, healthier, if my wife had eaten a proper diet during her pregnancy. Good food, a warm home, worry-free days—these were the basic essentials that I failed to provide for her, because I was foolish and reckless.”
“You were young and in love, a combination that almost always guarantees impulsive behavior.”
“Two lives,” he whispered. “It cost two lives.”
She lifted her head and looked up at him. In the faint moonlight that beamed through the window he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes as they contemplated each other.
“I was numb when Henry died, barely able to function. But later the guilt set in and stayed for months,” Juliet confessed. “Why was I still alive? Why did he fall ill? Why wasn’t it me?”
The pain in Juliet’s eyes was achingly familiar. For too many years he had seen it reflected back at him whenever he chanced to look in a mirror. She does understand. A sob tore at his throat. Christ, how unmanly! He contained the cry in a shudder that shook his entire body, holding his emotions in check.
Barely.
“I, too, often felt it would have been better if I was the one who had died,” Richard admitted.
“Alas, we don’t get to choose. Yet another frustrating, unfair aspect of life.” She moved her hand and laced her fingers with his. “But there are still opportunities for happiness and joy. Even for love. If we allow it.”
He shook his head slowly, wanting to be convinced, yet not fully believing he had the right to that kind of happiness. “I’ve worked tirelessly to become a rich man, finding small comfort in knowing that a lack of money will never again hinder the care I can provide for the individuals that are my responsibility. Still, none of the success I have achieved will ever ease the guilt.”
“Perhaps it shouldn’t. The pain, the sorrow, the guilt are all a part of who you were, are very much a part of what drove you to become the man you are today.” Her features grew pensive. “You never struck me as the type who would embrace martyrdom. Being alone and miserable for the rest of your life won’t atone for the past. Nor will it bring back your wife and son. Trust me, Richard. I know that to be the truth.”
Was that what he had been doing? Channeling his grief into his business had created financial security and independence, had brought him a measure of satisfaction and pleasure. But happiness? Nay, that had eluded him. Or had he simply refused to embrace it?
“Tell me about your wife,” Juliet asked gently. “What was her name?”
“Lillian.” A sob choked his voice. “I called her Lily.”
It was painful, yet at the same time it felt good to remember. Richard began talking slowly, allowing the memories to surface. Time slowed, rewound. He could hear the rasp in his voice as he spoke, could feel the emotion in his chest as he remembered.
It was like unlocking a trunk that had been buried for decades. There was dust and dirt and unpleasant smells, but there was also treasure to be found, the kernels of youthful delight and first love.
Richard had no idea how long he talked. It could have been an hour. It could have been ten minutes. When he was done, he inhaled slowly, then let the breath out with an audible sigh. His eyelids fluttered, feeling uncomfortably heavy.
I drank too much brandy tonight.
He tried to shake away the lethargy, giving his wife a sheepish smile. For several moments they sat in reflective silence. Then Juliet pushed herself up from her knees and pressed her mouth to his.
The kiss was soft, tender, and loving. Caring, not passionate. She didn’t try to entice him or arouse him; instead she was comforting him, loving him. Unselfishly and completely. It was devastating. Her caring ignited a longing buried so deep inside him, Richard believed it no longer existed.
Yet Juliet just proved that it still did.
“Come to bed, Richard.”
He bent to place a soft kiss on her lips. “I fear I’ve had too much brandy tonight to be a proper husband.”
She reached up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead, her hand lingering at the side of his face. “You sent the maid with the warming pan away. My bedchamber has grown chilly. Therefore, you must warm my bed. I require nothing more than your nearness.”
“As I recall, it was you, dear wife, who dismissed the servant.”
She smiled slightly. “Only because I expected you in my bed.”
He grinned, pressing forward until their noses touched. “That is the most ridiculous example of rationalization I have ever heard.”
“Isn’t it just?”
He leaned into her hand. Her sexual touch was always thrilling, exciting, but it was this sweet, gentle touch he needed. It seemed to reach through the layers of pain and offer a sense of healing.
The mattress sagged as they lay down. He was acutely aware of her nearness, wondering if it was the excess of brandy that kept him from an instant sexual response. Or if it was the excess of emotional highs and lows.
He never spoke of Lily and the baby. Never. Yet sharing his past with Juliet had felt almost natural. Still, it was embarrassing to be so vulnerable in front of her. He felt raw, exposed. Terror gripped him for a moment as he realized what he had risked, but then he felt her cuddle close, burrowing herself into his shoulder.
After such a tumultuous evening, he ought not to have been able to sleep, yet the moment he cradled Juliet in his arms, R
ichard felt himself relax.
Within minutes he was snoring softly.
Chapter 15
Richard awoke the next morning to cloudy skies and chilly temperatures. The bed was empty, the sheets beside him cool. Juliet must have left some time ago. He was disappointed that she hadn’t woken him, but perhaps that was for the best. His emotional revelations last night had a lasting, raw effect that he could still feel.
Yet while the events of the previous night might have seemed like a restless dream, Richard was determined to begin the day with optimism. It was past time for him to accept what he had lost and move forward with what he now had in his life—a wife and three stepchildren.
Richard left the warmth of the bed, grinning when he realized he had slept in his evening trousers last night. Hallet would have fits when he saw the state of the garment, proclaiming it would be nigh on impossible to have them ready to wear again this evening. Fortunately, Richard owned several sets of formal clothes.
As he left Juliet’s bedchamber, he could see the frost forming on the window glass and wondered idly if Uncle Horace would get his much-wished-for snow. It would make the perfect excuse for additional outdoor activities and even more holiday merriment. Sledding, sleigh rides, ice-skating on the frozen pond, even a few snowball fights.
Oh, joy.
Not certain how he felt about the addition of more holiday festivities, Richard turned away from the window. Freshly bathed, shaved, and dressed, he ate a solitary breakfast in his room, then headed for his study, intent on reviewing the partnership papers he wanted to discuss with Dixon today. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of James and Edward hurrying down the hallway. They came to a complete stop when they saw him, then glanced at each other warily.
Richard locked gazes with the boys. “Edward, James. Good morning.”
“Good morning, sir.”
They replied in unison, in a perfectly polite tone, but Richard could almost feel the boys backing away from him. It was a jarring sight, yet he couldn’t entirely blame them. He had not bothered to make any friendly overtures to either of them, though to be fair he had tolerated their pranks with no censure. Or acknowledgment. Perhaps that was also part of the problem.
Tis the Season to Be Sinful Page 21
