A Companion for Life

by Cari Hislop

  “He won’t.” Her voice was flat as if he’d squished her heart.

  “If this man you love fell in love with you, would you’d leave me?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure if he hasn’t tried to touch you like this?” His hands slid possessively over warm ample curves in search of skin. She was relaxing into his embrace, one of her ears exposed to his lips, when the door opened making Lily leap out of his arms. The maid put the requested towels on the dressing table oblivious to his angry disappointment. “Next time wait until you have verbal permission to enter.”

  “Yes Master Bowen…” The maid then winked at his wife and ran from the room.

  “Why did she wink at you?”

  His wife blushed as she looked away. “I’ve no idea.”

  He didn’t want to think about another man kissing Lily; tugging at his wet cravat he wondered how to lure her onto the bed. Before he could think of an excuse she’d gathered his gifts and reached the door. “Where are you going?”

  “You need privacy to change.”

  The look on her face suggested she thought he needed privacy to sulk. “You could help me…” She paused, but another knock made her jump towards the door. The moment was ruined. She was going to run away and think about the man who owned her heart. He was once more shackled to misery. “What now?” The angry roar made her glance at him in fear as the door opened.

  “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes Master Bowen. Would you like a tray?”

  “I’m wet not an invalid. Will you join me at the table Mrs Bowen or have you eaten too many bonbons?” He winced as his sullen tone earned him an unhappy look from his companion. All the way home his empty stomach had conjured the pleasure of seeing her at the other end of the table. “I won’t force you to endure my company; you’re not a prisoner.” He hadn’t meant to sneer. “Please?” The contrite word didn’t appear to soften her heart.

  “If you wish…” She was gone before he could demand to know what she wished.

  Chapter 19

  “Is my company so disagreeable that you’ve decided to starve yourself to death?”

  Lily looked up to find her husband still scowling at her from the other end of the table. “You barely touched your soup and now you’re sitting there staring at your beef as if I carved it from the poor cow’s neck.”

  Her heart was a brick in her chest, squashing her stomach flat. Her dearest most improbable dream had come true, she’d married Mr Bowen, only it was turning into a nightmare. One day he was the kindest man in the world and the next he was accusing her of wanting to run away with another man like a harlot. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well eat something anyway; I didn’t marry you so you could starve yourself to death in comfort. Jones, pass Mrs Bowen the boiled fish. She can swallow it whole without the fatigue of chewing.”

  “How can I eat? Every time I look up you’re glaring at me as if I deserve the gallows.”

  “You’re misreading my countenance.”

  “I’m thirty years old Mr Bowen, I know a glare when I see one.”

  “I’m not glaring at you.”

  “Yes you are.” She muttered the words to the cold lump of boiled fish freshly spooned onto her plate, but the hand that slapped the table in anger had overheard.

  “I’m looking at you with a worried expression; I’m concerned for your wellbeing.”

  She glanced at the man opposite; his red silk dressing gown made him look like a beautiful devil. “That is not a worried expression.”

  “Is that so? I shall get a second, more knowledgeable opinion. Jones, does my face look like I’m condemning my wife to the hangman?”

  “As a married man Master Bowen, I advise against a second opinion…would you care for more potatoes?”

  “I am not glaring at my wife!”

  “If I was the good lady, it would appear that way to me Sir.”

  “Would it? Well I’m so pleased to know my most faithful servant sides with my wife in a disagreement.”

  “He told you not to ask his opinion. Would you prefer Jones to lie and tell you what you want to hear?”

  “Mrs Bowen, it’s discourteous to correct your husband in front of the servants.”

  “But correcting your wife in front of the servants isn’t?”

  “You’re being intentionally impudent.”

  “And now you have reason to scowl at me.”

  “I’m not scowling at you! I’m just worried you’ll starve to death. Jones, fill my glass before I die of thirst and my widow celebrates my demise by sacking you. And now Madam, you are glaring at me.”

  “How can you think I’d celebrate your death?”

  “Because my company is clearly not as welcome as some other man you refuse to name. If you’re lucky you’ll end up with a widow’s portion that will tempt even the most reticent lover.”

  Lily blinked back tears. “If I’m lucky Mr Bowen, I’ll die in my sleep tonight so I won’t have to spend the rest of my life feeling guilty for being a fat burden. After the initial burial cost, think of all the money you’ll save on not having to clothe or feed me.”

  In the flickering candlelight the man’s scowl faded to an unreadable mask. “I’ve no desire to either bury you or replace you with a thinner woman Mrs Bowen.”

  “I think you’d be relieved.”

  She started as he jumped to his feet and thumped the table. “Is that what you think?”

  Her lips quivered. “You haven’t smiled at me once today; what am I supposed to think?”

  “You could assume I’m feeling melancholy and show me some compassion. I might feel unable to smile. I might feel like a wretch who doesn’t deserve your good opinion. It might be impossible for me to verbally express the pleasure generated by your company, when you aren’t trying my patience. I would not be relieved if you died.” He abruptly sat down and commenced eating with the awful blank look.

  “I’m sorry Mr Bowen. I didn’t know you suffered from melancholy.”

  He looked up at her, his feelings masked. “I am human.”

  “You don’t look very human.” She muttered the words as she poked at her fish and jumped when his glass cracked against the table top.

  “Excuse me?” There was no way he could have heard her. “What do you mean I don’t look human?” Lily turned red with horror. “Well?”

  “That blank look makes you look like a man shaped automaton. I’d rather you glared at me.”

  “So now I’m a heartless automaton?” The chill in his voice made her shiver.

  “Of course not Mr Bowen, you’re an enchanted swan…” Dreaded tears gushed from her eyes blurring the unhappy creature opposite. “You look so beautiful in your white nightshirt I worry you’ll open the window and fly away. I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I can’t say anything right.”

  Her irate husband gracefully relaxed back in his chair and obliged her with a half hearted glare. “One minute you complain I’m putting you off your food and the next you’re seducing me. What am I supposed to make of that Mrs Bowen?”

  “I’m not seducing you.”

  “Then why am I feeling sweetly seduced?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How the hell can you look at me like that and claim to be in love with another man?”

  “There is no other man.”

  His eyes widened as he abruptly sat upright. His mouth opened and closed several times as if trying to utter the unspeakable. “What? You lied to me?”

  “No…”

  “You did.” He leaned forward as if that would emphasize his glare. “You said you were in love with another man.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “You did! I distinctly remember you mentioning being in love with a man. You deny it?”

  “No.”

  He scowled in confusion. “There’s no other man, but you’re in love with a man?”

  “Yes.” Lily studied her half eaten soup as the other end of the ta
ble went deathly silent. Any moment he’d realize he was the man and flatten her heart with rejection. The clock ticked away several long minutes before she dared to glance up at the man in red. He was still glaring at her.

  “If you’re desperate to avoid my kisses Madam all you have to do is tell me to go to the devil. There’s no need to taunt me with riddles. Who is he?”

  “You married me out of pity not because you love me; his identity would make no difference to your feelings.” There, she’d practically admitted it again. This time he’d understand.

  “Make no difference? Do you think me heartless?” He jumped up and unbuttoned his dressing gown with vicious force until he could untie his nightshirt and pull back the linen. “Would you like to come feel it beating in my chest? Will that be evidence enough or shall I cut it out and put it on your plate? That’s what other women want. Shall I pretend it doesn’t hurt knowing my wife wants to kiss another man?”

  “Mr Bowen, you misunderstand me. Your heart is quite safe…”

  “Is it?” Dark eyes flashed with emotion. “How do you know I’m not in love with you?”

  “Because you said so.”

  He looked affronted as if she’d accused him of some heinous crime. “When?”

  “Last night. You told William you didn’t love me.”

  He abruptly sat down and covered up his chest. “Am I going to spend the rest of my life correcting private conversations you happen to overhear? How do you know I wasn’t lying? Why would I spill my heart to my snotty nephew?”

  “Mr Bowen I don’t expect you to love me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because no one ever has.”

  “That is a stupid statement full of self-pity. So all the people who’ve loved you, all the people who love you; they’re feelings mean nothing?”

  “If they’re feelings meant something they’d tell me.”

  “Would they? What if they were unable to tell you their feelings? What if they didn’t know they loved you? Does that discount their love?”

  “Are you saying the only people who love me are idiots who have no idea that that they love me?”

  “You’re being obtuse woman; not everyone verbally translates their feelings with ease. This man you say you’re in love with…what if he’s been in love with you for years only you were too self-pitying to see it?”

  “He doesn’t love me. He said so.”

  “Well, maybe he lied. Maybe he’s afraid of being hurt. Maybe he’s never been in love; maybe he thinks he’s suffering some sort of ailment.”

  “I think he’d know if he loved me and he doesn’t love me because he said so. Now can we please not talk about this? I find it distressing.”

  “Well I wish to discuss it; how will I persuade you to forget him if I don’t know anything about him? Is he more attractive than me? Are his legs more beautiful?”

  “No.”

  “Does he have more money than I do?”

  “No.”

  “Would his kisses give you greater pleasure?”

  “No.”

  “Is he more kind, more thoughtful?”

  “No.”

  “Is he in anyway superior to me?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you love him? He sounds like a dullard.”

  “Because I do; now can we pretend he’s dead and forget the chambermaid ever mentioned my secret?”

  “You can’t really love him if you want to pretend he’s dead. And if he’s so inferior a specimen why would you want him when you have me?”

  “I don’t have you Mr Bowen; you married me out of pity. It’s not as if I led you by the nose to the altar like…some beautiful woman.”

  “You seem disposed to assume the worst Mrs Bowen. I hope you won’t pass this trait onto our children.”

  “I doubt we’ll have any. You look like you’d rather annul the marriage and send me packing.” His face paled as if she’d insulted everything he held dear. Dropping his knife and fork, he scraped back his chair and left the room without looking at her. Her tears splashed her fish and bounced off into the watery sauce forming concentric circles; life appeared to be nothing more than pain within pain. She jumped as a distant door slammed shut emphasizing the thought.

  Chapter 20

  The small sitting room smelled of burning coal and lily of the valley, one of Penryth’s gifts to his wife. Looking at the fire surround he could see his pipe and tobacco jar had been moved from his bed chamber ready for his after dinner smoke. It was very thoughtful of her, but it wasn’t an act of love. She was in love with a dullard who, according to her, wasn’t in any way superior to himself. Pacing back and forth between the window and the door in the firelight, he was haunted by the memory of leaving Lily asleep in his bed the previous evening feeling blissfully content. His sleep disturbed by the news that William was awake he’d lain there watching her sleep, convinced he was the owner of her heart. The woman whose kisses set his blood on fire was mercifully still alive, but he was no longer certain that she was his and the thought caused a wrenching pain, as if someone was trying to rip the heart shaped brazier housing a white hot coal from his chest.

  He couldn’t be in love with his wife. Just because thinking she loved him made him hum Welsh love songs and learning she didn’t made him feel like he was going to die didn’t mean he was in love, though he was struggling to devise an alternative explanation. No, he couldn’t be in love because that would mean he’d spend the rest of his life longing to be loved by his own wife. He’d become a pathetic doppelganger of Lord Gillingham, willing to face death just to win a smile or kind word.

  She’d needed to be rescued and he wanted her; that had seemed adequate reasons to change his life when he’d assumed her blushes and adoring glances had meant he was the possessor of her heart. How could she kiss him with passion if she loved another man? And how could she love a man when there was no other man? It didn’t make any sense unless she’d conjured a make believe lover for comfort. That would be his luck; to compete with a childhood phantom that probably looked like him. That would explain her strange answers to his probing questions. When she kissed him, who was she kissing? The question filled him with horror. How could he compete with a godlike swan-man? He didn’t want to be the embodiment of her mental Zeus; he needed her to love to Penryth Bowen or he’d never sing again.

  His thoughts returned to her hurtful accusation; how could she think he’d annul the marriage when nearly losing her had made him distraught? His chest throbbed in pain, daring him to find her and demand an apology. A knock on the door made him spin around in hope. He swayed unsteady as he made himself presentable. She’d come to apologize. “Yes?” The door opened and his insides slumped in disappointment. It was only Jones. Shoving his hands in his dressing gown pockets he glared at the man closing the door. “If this is a household matter, I’m not in the mood.”