Forty-eight
The light was dim in the bedroom of the Marmaduke Suite. James had turned out most of the lights, had left only one on. But there was firelight in the grate, and moonlight streaming in, so she could see him quite clearly.
He was standing in front of the window, looking out at the long stretch of park toward the lake. He had not heard her come in, and she remained there in the doorway, studying him intently, wanting him so much, but wanting to savor every moment of her wedding night.
James was so still he seemed like a statue. She was aware this stillness was part of him, an internal calmness that was natural. Perhaps it was even part of his success. He had hardly moved onstage when she had seen him in Hamlet, taken just a few steps. But he had been riveting. That stillness was a powerful tool. And it added to his natural elegance, refinement, and grace. She also understood that his voice was his greatest gift of all.
He happened to turn around as she walked into the room, and was startled when he saw her, exclaimed, “I didn’t hear you come in. How long have you been standing there?”
“Only a minute.”
A smile flickered around his mouth. “It took more than a minute for you to get out of that wedding dress.”
“I know, but I’m here now.”
He came toward her. She saw that he was wearing a dark blue silk robe, tightly belted, and he was in his bare feet as she was. She did not move, suddenly awed by him, and his great fame, and an unexpected shyness came over her. She was frozen to the spot.
James noticed her sudden hesitation; he also noticed how ethereal she looked in a filmy white peignoir that floated around her. But it was short, fell just below her knees and showed her shapely legs provocatively. He hurried to her.
James grabbed hold of her and pulled her into his arms, then stood there breathing in the smell of her hair, the scent of roses on her skin. She was his. They were married. What a blessed relief.
He tilted her face to his and looked down at her. Her eyes were a deeper blue in this light, and he saw in them a yearning for him. It was a yearning he shared. How he had ached to be with her like this, able to make love to her properly, without any rushing, or anxiety, or later, regret.
His heart turned over. But oh God how young she was. Only nineteen. So innocent, untouched, inexperienced. For a split second he was almost afraid to make love to her. She was so vulnerable, defenseless.
As if reading his mind, she said, “I took two minutes instead of one, because I asked Cecily what I should do to you in bed.”
This startled him. “You didn’t!”
“I did. And she said I shouldn’t try to do anything. Because you were thirty-three and obviously you were an experienced man, you would know what to do to make me happy and you would look after me.”
“I do. And I will,” he said. He bent down and brought his mouth to hers. She moved into him, her shyness evaporating. He was already aroused. He held her away, and exclaimed, “Don’t move.”
“Where are you going?” she asked as he rushed out of the bedroom.
“To lock the door of the suite,” he answered, and a moment later he was standing in front of her again.
She stepped forward and laid her head on his chest, put her arms around him. “Do you remember when I did this in Ceci’s shop? I told you I wanted to make sure you were real.”
“Well, am I?”
“Oh yes, very real.” She stood back, looking up at him. “I know I’ve been a temptress, that I’ve driven you mad, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to make love to you so much, whenever I saw you, actually, and whatever time it was.”
“Do you think I didn’t?” he asked softly, his dark eyes fixed on her, his brilliant gaze quizzical.
“No, I knew you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”
He couldn’t wait any longer. He was fully aroused, his heart clattering in his chest. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her to him, took off her peignoir and the filmy nightgown, slipped out of his robe.
Their eyes met and locked. They moved at the same time, stepped into each other’s arms. He held her very tightly, she pressed her body against his, moved slightly and felt his hardness. Her heart quickened as heat rushed through, her desire for him flaring.
“I love you, James.”
“I love you, too.” Against her hair he said, “That bed we’ve needed since the day we met is over there. Let’s not waste any more time.”
They lay down next to each other and the world exploded around them. Their hands were all over each other, their sexual desire, their need to be together a driving force between them. They couldn’t wait to possess and be possessed. Their passion soared. He kissed her deeply, their tongues entwining, their hearts clattering in unison. He stroked her breasts; her hands roamed over him greedily; not an inch of him was left untouched by her.
He was experienced and deft. She was his eager pupil, giving herself up to him willingly, asking him to touch her, to arouse her any way he wished. He did. When his fingers found the golden silk between her legs, she gasped. He felt her relax eventually, and he knew he was giving her pleasure. And this aroused him even more.
Suddenly there was no time left for him. He slid his body on top of hers, took her to him swiftly and with some force, knowing this was the best way to ease any pain for her. She stiffened almost instantly, and gasped, but he paid no attention, went deeper. And when he heard her sighs of pleasure against his cheek he knew she was all right.
Her hands were on the nape of his neck, in his hair, sliding down his back. A moment later, she was gripping his shoulders, wrapping her long legs around him. Instantly they found their own rhythm.
He discovered she was as sensual as he was, and her eagerness to please him, to make love without any inhibitions, only served to inflame him more.
When she began to quiver, found his mouth with hers, and tightened her grip on his shoulders, he moved against her swiftly. She met his need, cried out with pleasure, said his name over and over again.
James thought he was falling through space … faster, faster, moving with her, giving himself to her without restraint. Her hands pressed the small of his back, and as she cried out yet again, he was burning up, then dissolving into her, and cried out himself, whispering her name.
James was still trembling as he lay on top of Dulcie, his face resting against hers. He knew he had not made love like this ever before, not with any other woman. It had not only been overwhelming physical pleasure, but he had loved Dulcie with his heart and soul and mind. He belonged to her, and she to him, and they were well matched. A sense of contentment he had never experienced flowed through him, and he knew it was because of her.
He moved, slipped off her.
She touched his face, almost tentatively. He noticed she looked anxious.
He frowned. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I was just wondering if I was worth waiting for. Was I all right … in bed?”
He couldn’t help it—he started to laugh. He took hold of her, brought her close, “Oh, my little temptress, my very sweet seductress, of course you weren’t all right. Wrong word altogether. You were wonderful.”
She smiled, leaned closer, and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “When can we do it again?”
“Not just yet,” he answered, stifling his laughter. He brought her into his arms, cradling her against him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, darling?”
“No. You made it fast, and I was fine.”
He pushed himself up on one elbow. Looking down into those glorious blue eyes, he said, “You are my first wife and my last. I just want you to know that. I told you once that I was playing for keeps, and I was. I am. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“Just try to escape!”
Nestling against him, she said, “I’m glad we’re having our honeymoon on the Aquitania. Because on a ship there’s nowhere to go. Except back to the cabin.”
“Yes, I’d already thought of that,�
� he murmured, although he hadn’t. What a wondrous girl she was, his Dulcie. Full of surprises … and certainly in bed. Inexperienced though she was, she had been ardent, passionate, and responsive. He had found the love of his life, as she had hers.
* * *
It was quiet in the bedroom, the only sound the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, which James had thrown on a short while ago. He had pulled the bedclothes over them, turned out the lamp at his side, and brought her close to him. Dulcie had fallen asleep with one arm thrown over his stomach.
Feeling drained, he had dozed on and off, but now he was wide awake, his mind turning endlessly. But there was a deeper contentment in him. He was relaxed, at ease, at peace.
There had been moments in his life when James had had flashes of insight into himself. He had known instinctively that he did not want to spend his life with any of the women he dated, or even those he had had longer relationships with. It wasn’t that they weren’t beautiful or nice or loving; they just weren’t right for him.
He hadn’t been able to pinpoint what right was. Until he had met Dulcie standing in his dressing room looking lost. They had exchanged long and knowing looks, and had understood everything. They had recognized each other as being … right. It was a coup de foudre, and it had never happened to him before.
He felt differently about her than he had about anyone else. He was protective of her, wanted to shield her, take care of her, and her instincts were perfect when it came to him. She understood him, knew him without benefit of time. For all of her cheekiness, bold comments, and forthrightness, she was highly intelligent, serious-minded, and entirely reliable. He wanted to be with her all the time. She satisfied a deep need in him, entirely fulfilled him emotionally.
She stirred next to him, whispered, “James, are you awake?”
“Yes.”
There was a silence. He said softly, after a moment, “I belong to you, Dulcie. You’ve put your imprint on me … for life.”
He felt her smile against his shoulder. She slid on top of him and lowered her head, finding his mouth with hers. And so it began again, their passionate lovemaking, and that was the way it would always be with them.
Forty-nine
“We just made it under the wire,” Charlotte said. “Much to everyone’s relief, and most especially mine. Charles was truly filled with anxiety for weeks.”
“I realize that,” Lady Gwendolyn said. “I was ready to turn my few investments into cash so that I could give it to him.” A wide smile spread across her face as she finished, “But it wasn’t necessary, thank God! The Ingham luck held. We are fortunate in so many ways.”
“We are indeed. Charles believes he has the best sons-in-law in the world. It was awfully generous of Hugo to sell some of his investments in Wall Street and give the money to Charles. Helping to wipe the slate clean, Hugo calls it. And it did take a bit of a burden off Paul.”
Leaning forward, Lady Gwendolyn said, “I never quite understood why the Drummond family bank were only willing to go so far, lend him half of the money he asked for. Nobody ever really explained that to me, except to say it had to go before the board.”
“Ten million dollars is an enormous amount of money to lend one man, even if he is a Drummond and a shareholder in the bank. Paul’s not stupid, so he took the five million immediately, without quibbling, and then Hugo jumped in, and supplied five million of his own money.”
Charlotte hesitated for a moment, then murmured, “Daphne gave me the impression Hugo felt just as responsible as Paul, because it was their decision to put the money from the Cavendon Trust into Transatlantic Air.”
“I understand, and thank you for filling me in, Charlotte. I’m relieved you’ve finally taken over from Daphne completely. She needed a rest.” Eyeing Charlotte, her head on one side, Lady Gwendolyn said with a smile, “And of course you’ve settled in as chatelaine of this great pile of ours with the greatest of ease. And you handled Dulcie’s wedding with enormous grace.”
“I’ve still a lot to learn.”
“Not too much, my dear. Let’s not forget, you’ve lived at Cavendon all of your life.”
“But I was not running it. Thankfully Hanson is by my side whenever I need him.”
Lady Gwendolyn said, “I must change the subject, Charlotte. The real reason I wanted to see you today was to tell you a story.”
“A story about what?” Charlotte asked, giving her husband’s aunt a searching look.
“About the Inghams and the Swanns. A story from long ago.” Lady Gwendolyn sat back in the chair and forced herself to relax. She had been longing to confide in Charlotte ever since giving her the swan brooch, had subsequently regretted not having told her at that time. Now, unexpectedly, she felt nervous.
“First, I would like to ask you a question, Charlotte. Where do you keep the famous Swann record books?”
“They’re in the safe at my house across the park. I didn’t take them with me to Cavendon Hall because there are so many. And it’s best to leave them there, because when I die Cecily will be in charge of them.”
“Don’t talk about dying, for heaven’s sake; you’re a young woman.”
“Why did you ask me where they were?”
“Just curiosity, that’s all,” Lady Gwendolyn replied, leaning against the cushions. “The reason I really invited you to come to Little Skell Manor this morning is to show you something. But first, the story. However, I must begin with a question.”
“Ask me anything you want, Lady Gwendolyn.”
“Aunt Gwendolyn from now on. You’re family. Well, in a way you always have been, but it’s official since your marriage to Charles. So to continue, this is my question. Am I mentioned in any of the record books?”
“No, you’re not. Some names from a hundred years ago appear, but that’s all. Why do you ask?” Charlotte frowned, thinking this conversation somewhat strange.
“Long ago I was in love with a Swann,” Lady Gwendolyn announced, her eyes fixed on Charlotte. “And he with me.”
Flabbergasted though she was, Charlotte just nodded. Wanting to know more, she sat forward in her chair eagerly.
“Eventually, he and I came together, and became lovers. It was a grand love affair. He was a widower, and I had been widowed six years earlier—my husband died when I was thirty. My Swann was very proper and had loved me from afar, but had never approached me. He was always a gentleman in his behavior. But one day I couldn’t stand it any longer, I wanted him so badly. And I became bold, Charlotte. I manipulated things so that I could be near him as much as possible, and one evening, in a moment of sheer madness, I just stepped up to him and kissed him. We were alone, of course. Instantly he understood that I shared his feelings. And so it began.”
“I never guessed it was you!” Charlotte exclaimed, still stunned by this admission.
“What do you mean?” Lady Gwendolyn gaped at her, genuinely taken aback by this comment. Who had known about them?
“There’s something in one of the record books, a notation, but no mention of your name. Was your lover Mark Swann?”
“Yes … Mark and I were together for some years.”
“I’m going to run over to my house. I want you to see the record book. I won’t be a moment, Aunt Gwendolyn.”
Once she was alone, Lady Gwendolyn got up and went over to the black lacquered Chinese chest of drawers and opened a drawer, lifted out a letter case, and took it back to the chair where she had been sitting.
True to her word, Charlotte was back very quickly, coming into the parlor holding a record book in her hand. She opened it to the correct page, and handed it to Lady Gwendolyn, who stared down at the page and began to read.
In mine own hand, July 1876.
I loveth my ladie. Beyond all.
The swann fits the ingham glove tight.
I have lain with her. She is mine.
She gives me all. I got her with child.
Oh our joy. The child dead in her belly.
<
br /> Destroyed us. She left me.
She came back to me.
My nights are hers again.
’Til the day I die. M. Swann
Lady Gwendolyn blinked, sudden tears filling her eyes, and held the book next to her body for a moment, clutching it to her. She closed her eyes and sat very still for a while. Then she handed the book back to Charlotte without saying a word.
It was obvious she was very moved.
Charlotte said, “I can see you loved him.”
“With all my heart … until the day he died.”
“It must have been heartbreaking, losing his child.”
“I was devastated. And so was he.”
Clearing her throat, hesitating, Charlotte finally asked, “What would you have done with the child, Aunt Gwendolyn? Surely that situation would have been horribly difficult to handle. Especially in those days, forty years ago.”
“We did think about it a lot, and never came up with a proper solution. And then it didn’t matter, because the baby was stillborn.”
“Thank you for telling me.” Charlotte sighed. “Dulcie’s forever announcing that a lot of messing around must have gone on between the Inghams and the Swanns over the years. That’s her rather blunt way of putting it, but I believe she’s correct … there must have been many involvements over these many, many years.”
“I agree. How could there not have been? The two families were living side by side in the country, practically under one roof most of the time. They were thrown together constantly, and they were all so compatible, and good-looking, and more than likely highly motivated sexually.”
“And now we have Cecily Swann and Miles Ingham,” Charlotte said. “Joined at the hip forever. And no divorce in sight. A different situation. They won’t give each other up, you know. Not again.”
“It will come right in the end, believe me it will, Charlotte,” Lady Gwendolyn reassured her. “We must all be patient. As you so often say, what is meant to be is meant to be. And things only happen when the time is right, in my experience.”
The Cavendon Women Page 31
