by Liz Tyner
His reflection showed in the mirror and she became self-conscious.
‘Turn away. I need to dress.’
He grabbed a pillow and held it over his face. ‘Satisfied?’
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, donning the chemise and taking a few moments for composure.
‘It doesn’t matter, I can still imagine you.’ His tone was muffled, soft and endearing.
She sat on the bed and picked up a hairpin she’d felt under her foot, absently tucking it in place.
The bed shifted and she knew he’d moved. His hand clasped her side, palm stationary and fingers moving. ‘Vivian. Stay in bed a while longer. A few kisses, sweet words and caresses wouldn’t be remiss.’
‘I want time to think of this—to cherish it...’ She paused. ‘It’s just so private. Last time I stumbled over your father. The servants may be awake soon. People will be waking...’
‘I assure you if they work it out, it will make no difference. It can’t be undone.’
‘Oh, my.’ She didn’t want anyone to know and yet she almost yearned for their union to be written in the sky.
She bent forward, her hand touching his cheek, her contemplation riveted on him. She couldn’t get enough of their closeness and feared it. Feared it might lodge in her consciousness and she would yearn for it all the hours of the day.
She brushed her hand across his unshaven jaw, another connection she could share, if only for a heartbeat.
‘Those are sharp,’ she said, dropping her hand away. ‘I didn’t imagine them so...razor-like. So different.’ She reached out, brushing back the hair above his ear. ‘Soft here and still like little daggers on your cheek.’
Her touch stopped him. Trapped him.
‘Such opposing textures. So near each other.’ She spoke quietly, more to herself than him.
Her fingers left his skin and she felt an ache in her heart.
‘Vivian. I have a feeling you have some things you wonder about?’
‘Is it only in bed that a man and woman can talk freely to each other? And then, only with their bodies?’ she asked. ‘Why do you feel at ease talking with me? Does that mean anything to you?’
He gave a grim smile. ‘Our first meeting. Mavis injured. You dying. I was at a loss.’
When he blinked his regard rested on her in a way that almost made her believe he couldn’t see her, but the past. ‘You were so thin. So pale. I felt I could tell you anything. You were almost a spirit, not a person. Fragile. I knew I could trust you.’
He nodded and spoke without inflection. ‘I talked to you and had no trouble with it. You did not appear to have the strength to spread tales. I felt concerned for you, yet I liked the feel of speaking to you. You listened with your whole body while we were in my town house. But I wish we were there now, instead of here. I hate this house, but yet it is my ancestral home.’
‘It’s melancholy.’
‘It’s never been the same since my mother died, although she wasn’t particularly happy here. She preferred London. But her portrait has always been here.’
He regarded her. ‘You noticed her portrait and I told you the eyes had been repainted. Several days after Mother had died, Father and I were away seeing that her things were sorted through in the town house. While we were gone, Father’s jealous sweetheart scratched over the eyes in Mother’s picture with black. I was furious. I was for sending Mrs Trimble packing, but my father threw himself in front of me and said I would have to go through him. We didn’t speak for months, but he hired an artist to fix the painting. The artist used my eyes as an example to copy.’
‘I’m surprised your father would allow someone to stay who would do such a thing.’
He put a finger against his stubble, in the same place she had touched. ‘I was as well. But the talebearers then told me that Father has always had an affection for her, yet there have never been any tales of her having his child.’
Realisation flashed in Vivian’s mind.
‘You didn’t—you didn’t try to make sure I could not have a child from this encounter?’ Vivian heard her voice and knew she wouldn’t have recognised it if she hadn’t felt her own lips move.
‘No.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t speak at first, holding her waist.
‘I didn’t think of it.’
‘You would force me into marriage?’
He shook his head. ‘No. But I would not want any child to be born without my name.’ He clasped her hand, intertwining their fingers. ‘For those moments...all I could think of was you. And now all I can think of is how I have to say goodbye.’
‘I would think we could still visit...on occasion.’
‘It will be too risky for us to see each other in London, though I would relish it. So many, many things could go wrong. You would never be able to travel back and forth easily from my town house without being seen. The regret I have with touching you, and having to let you go, is nothing to the pain I would feel if I damaged your reputation...your future.’
‘I understand. I didn’t expect anyone to see us before and a whole congregation did. Then, last time, your father surprised us in the hallway.’
The slight movement of his lips, up, then firm, indicated an eruption of thoughts.
‘Will you remember me?’ she asked.
‘I don’t even want to think about how much I will dwell on you.’
‘If you don’t wake up and dislike me.’
‘We could marry and find out,’ he said. ‘We could do this every night.’
She heard the breath through his nostrils.
If he didn’t open his eyes one morning and consider her just another addition to the estate. The woman needed for heirs. She pulled her hand from his.
‘Think about the passion we could share.’
She couldn’t help thinking about it. She thought about it every time she breathed. When she didn’t think about him, then her body reminded her in subtle ways, flashing a memory of Everleigh’s skin against hers or his breath on her cheek or the feel of his hair brushing her body.
His voice softened. ‘You’re very soothing, Vivian. I’m amazed at how differently I feel when I’m with you.’
‘You want an heir. To please your grandfathers. Even though they are dead.’
He opened his mouth and a second passed before he spoke. ‘Yes.’ His words, controlled, slightly louder than his last ones. ‘Of course. It is not abnormal to want to continue a legacy that has been gifted to me.’
Every muscle in his face tightened. His words became soft, but underlying strength rested within them. ‘I cannot banish you from my head. Every interval of the day memories of you are stroking me, heightening my need for you. Work rid me of such recollections in the past. But it won’t this time. Something inside you trapped me, Vivian.’
She didn’t move. Trapped?
He smiled. Part of his face did anyway. Not all of it.
He pulled back the length of an eyelash.
He let his hand trail down, one finger following just above the scoop of her neckline, tracing the last bit of exposed skin.
Everleigh kept her locked in place with his intensity. ‘I won’t forget you,’ he said. ‘I’ll be gone before you wake in the morning. You can think of me as a dream you had.’
He got out of bed and pulled on his trousers.
His voice, sombre, whispered, ‘Stay as long as you wish. I need to wake the coachman and let him know I’ll be leaving at first light, or before if possible.’
‘You don’t have to leave,’ she said.
‘I do. This is the cleanest break. The softest one. If we stay near each other, your reputation will become what I fear you truly want. Unmarriageable. I don’t want to be the one to do that to you. I cannot.’
‘You don’t feel we’ve already done that, in
a sense?’
‘You’re blossoming with life now. You’re vibrant. When you do decide to marry—and I believe you will eventually—you will sweep into a room and there will be a man at your elbow, or many, and they will understand that you have passed the years of naivety and believe that the man who took your innocence and didn’t marry you was a cad.’
‘I will tell the truth.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Don’t. No one needs to know. Let this be our private moment. Our secret for the rest of our lives.’
Then he left, striding out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. The light seemed to fade.
She picked up his cravat and balled it in her hand, but instead of throwing it at the wall she swept it to her cheek.
Chapter Twenty-One
Everleigh was not at breakfast. Rothwilde gave them his son’s apologies, irritation hidden in his words. He explained Everleigh often had financial concerns that he had to attend to, and he seldom stayed at the estate long.
Everyone stole a glimpse at her and continued on as if nothing had been said.
Her father and Rothwilde spent a bit of time commiserating about the weather and, somehow, Vivian felt they weren’t really talking about the clouds, but about their children.
By the time breakfast was over, her mother had suggested returning to London and her father agreed.
The carriage ride proceeded with almost no conversation, each occupant lost in their own world.
* * *
A day after Vivian arrived home everything returned to normal—and she wasn’t sure she liked it. She no longer felt like dancing as she’d expected and her father feared her recovery had ended.
Her mother shook her head and said such things were expected for a woman navigating a life course away from marriage. That Vivian was merely finding her foothold in the world after being ill so long.
The older woman sat in her favourite chair for sewing—the one with a touch of rose colouring in the fabric which she thought went well with her favourite day dresses. Her mother put away her spectacles, pushed her needle into the linen and tapped the frame. A maid whisked it away.
‘It will be nice to have a child around again. I’d planned on it being a grandchild. But I am too young to be a grandmother.’
Vivian sat in the nearest straight-backed chair. ‘I suppose I’ll have lots of time to get to know the little one.’
Even with the family increasing, loneliness surrounded Vivian.
‘I shouldn’t have insisted Everleigh withdraw the proposal. But I don’t want to marry someone who thinks they might wake up one morning and dislike me.’
‘Dear.’ Her mother raised her brows. ‘No one should. And no one could wake up one morning and dislike you. You shouldn’t have needed a courtship longer than an introduction. But if your instincts tell you not to marry, then you mustn’t. You’d have too many second thoughts, and they’d strangle you. Or, at least, they’d kill your marriage.’
Her mother wrinkled her nose. ‘I do like the young man.’ She blinked and shook her head. ‘Can you imagine what it was like for me to hear a gunshot while I was in church, walk out and see the sight, and then realise you were in the carriage? Very dramatic.’ She smiled. ‘Your father was much like Everleigh in his younger days. Then he lost himself.’
‘But now he’s working to regain the man he used to be. He understands the trials he’s given you.’
‘Oh, of course he does.’ Her mother’s lips turned up. ‘We both love each other tremendously. That doesn’t mean we particularly want to disrupt each other’s day. Don’t expect much out of marriage, dear. You can’t have everything and love is rather overrated. I would say it’s better to have good servants—they make your life flow so smoothly. And I do have good servants.’ She tilted her head towards the maid who stood at her side. ‘The best,’ she said.
Her mother turned to Vivian. ‘Do you think Everleigh loves you?’ she asked.
Vivian paused. ‘No.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘He doesn’t. He doesn’t believe it lasts. He thinks it’s always temporary.’
‘Daughter.’ Her mother stood, then walked over and cupped Vivian’s cheeks. ‘He should love you. Any man worth a pence should love you. Leaving him on his own is the best way to get him to realise he cares for you. But I’d say if he’s not here in a week, you’d best consider it over.’
She sighed. ‘If he can’t figure himself out in a few days, then don’t expect a lifetime to be enough time. You need to get on with that life you were so anxious to step into. There are invitations to accept. Do so.’
* * *
Everleigh walked into his town house and handed his hat to the butler before speaking. He glanced at the fresh beeswax candles. ‘Mrs Rush has been working.’
‘She’s had us all decorating about.’ The butler glanced around, making sure no one else was listening. ‘She wanted the house festive. She sensed... Well, you know she’s friends with Mrs Mavis and they spent the whole time you were gone speculating about whether you would... I mean, Mavis came over to help Mrs Rush tidy up and they did speak about the possibility of a bride.’
‘No bride.’
‘But we had heard of your private betrothal from Mavis and we wished to celebrate.’
Everleigh noted the butler’s new cravat, a bright blue that contrasted with his usual black livery.
Nervously, the butler touched it. ‘I allowed it, as it made Mrs Rush so happy, and she advocates this colour as appropriate for your house.’
‘I will tell Mrs Rush how much I appreciate the effort, but there is to be no announcement.’ Somehow, his words wouldn’t stop. ‘As I have been refused.’
Waincott took a stumble back, sucked in a deep breath and spoke quickly. ‘Mrs Rush will not take that well.’
Everleigh’s expression tightened.
Waincott straightened and his arm dropped to his side. ‘You see, sir, she thinks... She thinks no one would dare refuse your proposal.’
‘I like the concept, but it is flawed.’
‘I will inform her.’ He briefly bowed his head. ‘I fear this will end the friendship between her and Mrs Mavis.’
‘There is no need for that,’ Everleigh said. ‘It is a private matter between myself and Miss Darius.’
The butler nodded, observing Everleigh. ‘I understand. But I fear Mrs Rush will not. She had new recipes planned for a wedding breakfast that she had gathered together with Mrs Mavis. It was to be grand, but they just did not know which house to have it at.’
‘We can still eat,’ Everleigh grumbled, moving up the stairs.
He walked into the main drawing room.
Mrs Rush had overstepped her boundaries. Ribbons were tied on the candleholders. The lamps sat on a new indigo scarf. A matching fabric decorated the fireplace mantel and tassels hung from it.
He stepped closer, taking the scarf in his hand. Silk. But not as soft as Vivian’s skin.
‘No.’ He heard Mrs Rush’s voice in the distance. A gasp. She’d been informed.
Hushed mumbles.
He could hardly reprimand her for the decoration, as she sounded to be having a tirade on his behalf.
Striding to the door, he called down the stairway. He couldn’t see them, but knew the staff could hear him.
‘It is a matter between myself and Miss Darius. It should not affect anyone else in this household.’
Mrs Rush’s face scowled around the banister at him. ‘It’s all that Mavis’s doing, getting us all excited about a wedding when there wasn’t to be one. I will not forgive her. I learned so many new dishes to cook and had planned such a celebration.’
‘We will still have a celebration. It’s...for my father. I’m planning to invite him to dinner.’
‘Is he marrying again?’ Mrs Rush asked.
&
nbsp; ‘I don’t think so. You can ask him.’
He put his fingertips to his temples. It would be joyous—he would bribe his father to visit and thank Mrs Rush, and they would watch their temper and he would give his father the gift of a large sum to gamble with. And he would invite his father to bring Mrs Trimble along as well.
An olive branch as big as all England—even though he hated the housekeeper still for defacing his mother’s portrait. His father would be unable to refuse.
Even without the bribe, his father would know better than to decline. Everleigh rarely asked for anything from his father and Rothwilde knew that the funds could vanish.
It would be a solemn event, little different from the ones they’d had since Daniel had left. He considered his brother. Daniel had brought a lot of laughter into their home. Everleigh had always considered his brother too frivolous, but perhaps enjoyment was as equally important as solemnity.
He reflected on seeing Vivian walk into his house and noticing the colours. It would have pleased her. The knowledge that she wouldn’t be there crashed his thoughts to the ground.
He remembered the comments Darius had made about breach of promise.
That irked him. Darius irked him almost as much as Rothwilde irritated him.
Vivian’s mother annoyed him for some reason that he couldn’t quite understand...and then he realised why.
She’d encouraged her daughter to think for herself and let her make her own decisions. An example of bad mothering, in his opinion.
She should have put her daughter’s interests first, instead of letting Vivian make up her own mind. But perhaps her mother was a bit under Vivian’s spell as well.
When Vivian was near, he never wanted her to leave. He relaxed and she soothed his concerns, and the spirit of her took over and the world faded. Finances didn’t matter and nothing else did. She was a balm that erased all cares and worries. Made everything else insignificant, but he had to take care, that could be a dangerous crevasse. Too deep to ignore and treacherous to the people who depended on him.