One Night with the Major

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘Mostly?’ She teased softly. ‘What does that mean?’

  Cam lowered his eyes and let out an exaggerated breath. ‘It means there’s something you should know. Something that you might find shocking.’ She could tell from his tone, he was having fun with her, paying her back perhaps for over-dramatising her earlier confession. ‘I hate green beans, passionately, all because of what happened in this room.’

  She played along, a smile flirting with her mouth as she gave a dramatic whisper. ‘What happened in this room?’

  ‘I’d been taught to eat the food I liked least first, so I could enjoy the rest of the meal without the unlikeable food hanging over me,’ he explained. ‘One evening, the Hughleys came to supper and Mrs Hughley brought green beans, which I have never cared for. I ate them first, of course, since that was the rule, only to have Mrs Hughley take note at how fast they’d disappeared. She said, “Oh, you liked them so much, here’s another helping”.’

  ‘Oh, no, what did you do?’ Pavia waited breathlessly for the conclusion. Her husband was a born storyteller, entertaining and funny—what an interesting and delightful revelation to make.

  ‘I ended up having to eat both servings to be polite. It was the last time I used that strategy. But to this day, Mrs Hughley thinks I love her green beans.’

  The last caught Pavia’s attention. ‘She still lives here?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Most folks in Little Trull have never left it, never been more than ten or fifteen miles away from home. It’s different now, for my generation. The train makes it possible for people to travel about the country if they wish. Many don’t wish to. Some of the boys join the military and see a bit of the world. Most don’t. Most take up their fathers’ occupations.’

  Pavia looked down at her hands, the mirth of his story fading. ‘Then I will be quite foreign to them. What will they think of their hero coming home with an exotic bride?’

  Cam took her hands. ‘They will love you.’ But secretly, Pavia worried. What would these people think of their baby? She had been protected by her father’s money. What would protect her child? Society could be cruel to those who were different. Could she count on Cam to be their champion? It was simple to say one thing when honour was easy. What would he say when the sacrifices never ended? She searched her husband’s face. Did he understand life wasn’t like a military campaign? It didn’t have a definitive beginning, end and outcome. The battle he’d fought to marry her would be just one of many and they would never end.

  She squeezed his hands and smiled. ‘I hope you’re right.’ He had to be. She’d staked everything on it.

  * * *

  That first morning established a rather decadent routine in the days that followed: intimate breakfasts in the kitchen in their dressing gowns, Cam standing behind her, one hand at her waist, the other covering hers on the handle of a skillet as he taught her how to scramble eggs and turn the toast, his mouth at her ear, her neck, stealing kisses. Breakfast itself was a time to talk, to plan their day, which involved a tour of some part of the house or the property.

  Technically, they were making lists of supplies needed to make the house habitable: curtains for the front parlour, furniture, carpets. Nothing too luxurious, but enough to see the house made comfortable. More importantly, though, they were learning one another. Planning the house gave them time to share, to know one another, to rub off the strangeness of being together, to dream together. This house was becoming ‘theirs’, a blank slate they were imagining together. It might not be an elegant town house in Mayfair, but it was theirs and they were determined to make a family home, full once more of braided wool rugs and comfortable furniture, a place where their child could run and play as Cam had.

  The house was full of happy memories for Cam, but Pavia was learning her husband had other memories, memories he preferred to keep hidden. Her husband didn’t sleep well. Too often at night, she woke to find him absent from their bed, pacing in front of the windows, his torso bathed in moonlight, the deep look on his face suggesting he wanted to be left alone. So she did. She would respect his privacy and hope that, in time, he would come to her with his troubles.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, their week passed amiably. They’d saved the sitting room at the back of the house for last and Pavia approached this final room with trepidation, knowing that it signalled the end of the honeymoon. It had been seven days since Cam had brought her here. They were out of spaces.

  ‘I loved this room best.’ Cam came up behind her as she surveyed the space, his voice quiet at her ear. She was getting used to this; the ease with which he touched her and held her was yet another product of this nearly perfect week. They’d begun to figure out how to be together in and out of bed. There was much to be thankful for, but always the blemish on the edges of Pavia’s happiness was the fear of reality. They would have to leave this world soon and rejoin the real one. There would be more tests, harder tests. But those could wait, just a day longer.

  Pavia sank back against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and craned her neck upwards to smile at him. Like the other rooms, this one was empty now, devoid of even a single chair. ‘Tell me about this room, then.’ This, too, was part of their ritual; Cam’s stories of his childhood visits here.

  ‘Aunt Lily and I would curl up in this room on rainy days and she would read to me.’ He pointed to the fireplace with its painted-white wood mantel. ‘There was a big, overstuffed chair near the fire, done in a red-checked upholstery.’ Her husband was smiling now as he told the tale. ‘It was old even then and it sagged a bit, but there was room for two of us in it. To this day, I have never since sat in a more comfortable chair.’

  ‘Your great-aunt sounds like a lovely woman.’ Pavia was already envisioning a rug and two chairs at the hearth.

  ‘She was. I have fond memories of her. I was thrilled to receive the property when she passed. I think my grandfather was hoping it would simply disappear after she died, or that I’d sell it. After all, what does a travelling military man need with a property? But I kept it, although there was never time to visit.’

  ‘I’m glad you kept it.’ Pavia turned in his embrace, hugging him close. ‘It will be a wonderful home for us.’ She looked up at him and he smiled down at her, a different smile than the one he wore reminiscing about Great-Aunt Lily. This was a wicked smile, one that said they wouldn’t be decorating much longer. His hands flexed at her hips.

  ‘I can see our children now, playing on the carpet with a ball and jacks, laughing. You in a chair, a book in hand or maybe some needlepoint, relaxing by the fire of an evening. Me in another chair, just there, pretending to read through the newspaper, but really I am looking over the top of it, watching you and wondering when I can have you again.’

  It was a warm image, an inviting one, a glimpse into a future they had not yet created. ‘Children? That might be presumptuous given that we haven’t had the one yet,’ Pavia teased.

  ‘I am not an advocate of only children, having been one myself. I don’t think it has much to recommend it. You wouldn’t mind? After all, you’re an only child, too.’ Cam sobered suddenly, a line creasing his brow. ‘We’re both only children. I just thought of that. Our children won’t have any aunts or uncles.’

  Or grandparents at this rate, with both sides having refused to acknowledge their marriage. Their children would be born into a contentious, difficult family situation, whether she and Cam willed it or not. That die had already been cast. Pavia shoved the thoughts away and smiled brightly, determined to think only of the present. There were enough troubles in the immediate future without borrowing more. ‘No, I wouldn’t mind.’ There were other interesting aspects of the image he painted, full of underlying assumptions they’d not yet talked about like his military career and their income. But Pavia pushed those thoughts away as well. Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither was a marriage. They had hurdles enough to face and
they would face them in due time. They would not conquer the world today.

  She took his face between her hands and kissed him, meaningfully.

  ‘There’s no furniture in this room, Pavia,’ Cam cautioned, divining the message of her kiss correctly. Several of their planning sessions had ended like this—a kiss, a caress and then lovemaking on a worn piece of furniture. It had become their ritual just assuredly as scrambling eggs in their dressing gowns.

  ‘Are we dogs, marking our territory?’ Cam laughed.

  ‘Dogs!’ Pavia shook her head and wrinkled her nose in distaste at the metaphor. ‘Hardly. We’re christening each room. That’s a much more civilised concept.’

  He nipped at her neck. ‘Where shall I take you, then? The floor?’

  ‘There’s four good walls. Pick one, Cam.’ She sucked at his earlobe. ‘But hurry.’

  He chuckled. ‘Because walls are so civilised, my dear? Are you sure we aren’t dogs?’ But he was already lifting her, her legs already about his waist as he backed her to the wall, his dressing gown already open.

  ‘Civility is overrated,’ Pavia murmured huskily, clinging to him. She didn’t mind. There was nothing terribly civilised about the wall or about her husband thrusting into her, hard and hungry, nor was there anything civilised in the thrill of moaning her pleasure as he took her. Passion was a glorious, greedy thing, Pavia had discovered in the early days of their honeymoon. Once one had it, one simply wanted more. Thankfully, Cam was an inexhaustible lover.

  Too bad the house wasn’t as inexhaustible. They’d run out of excuses to live like romantic hermits. Perhaps Cam felt it, too. There was an edge to his lovemaking this morning. It was rougher, deeper, his groans more primal than usual. Not that she minded. The desperate razor of sex matched her own feelings. Sooner or later, they’d have to emerge from their cocoon, an eventuality that grew closer with each passing day. Pavia gripped him tight, her body overriding her mind, her thoughts, as Cam drove them relentlessly towards pleasure, towards forgetfulness. As long as they were in pleasure’s grip, they didn’t have to think, didn’t have to plan, or reckon with the outside world. He came into her, hard, once more. She shattered with an unrepressed scream and a selfish wish that it could it be like this for ever. No worries, only pleasure.

  Cam held her against the wall for a long while afterwards, their bodies still joined, his head on her shoulder, in no hurry to leave her. ‘I love the way you smell. Jasmine and lemongrass and what else? There’s something else there.’ He breathed deep at her neck.

  ‘Citrus,’ she whispered. ‘I mix it myself.’

  ‘Yes, I can smell it now.’ Cam sighed, his body shifting, a sign his muscles were tiring of the position at last. ‘I have an idea. I know a place where there are wildflowers you can pick. There’s no jasmine, of course, but you might discover a new scent you like. Shall we take a picnic and go? We’ll take a honeymoon from the honeymoon.’

  ‘Right now?’

  ‘Well, yes, since I have to put you down anyway.’ Cam gently disengaged and her legs unwound from their post at his hips.

  Chapter Eleven

  A honeymoon from the honeymoon was most apt. Pavia took Cam’s hand and let him lead her down the sloping path beside the waterfall to the pool beneath. ‘It’s like our own Paradise,’ she murmured softly, unwilling to break the silence around them. That silence was penetrated only by the trill of kingfishers hiding in the trees.

  Cam spread out a blanket and deposited the basket. ‘My great-aunt brought me here once. I’ve never forgotten it.’

  ‘Thank goodness, there are no signs. One would never know it’s here.’ Pavia settled her skirts about her, breathing in the fresh air.

  ‘It’s supposed to be enchanted. There are stories of the waters having magical powers to restore youth.’ Cam leaned back on his elbows. ‘Do you see the island in the middle of the pool? It’s a love heart. We can walk out to it if you want.’

  Her stomach took that moment to gurgle loudly and intrusively. ‘It seems I’m hungry all the time, if I’m not being sick.’ Fortunately, the morning sickness had not become a regular occurrence. She hadn’t been nauseous since the first day of their arrival.

  Cam reached for the basket. ‘Maybe we should eat now. Ham sandwich?’ He passed her one of the sandwiches they’d made together in the kitchen before setting out.

  She bit into it with relish, tasting the sweetness of the meat and the soft cream of the cheese. ‘These are so good.’

  Cam’s eyes were on her, a smile on his lips. ‘Enjoy it. That’s the last of the ham until we go into town.’ It was meant as a tease, but the words shifted the ease between them. ‘Perhaps we should arrange for that cook-cum-housekeeper to start work when we go into the village?’ Cam asked neutrally.

  She met his eyes, her own response reluctant. She knew what that meant. An intruder in their little world. But she couldn’t argue with it. ‘I suppose we should. We can’t live on ham sandwiches and scrambled eggs for ever.’ She tried for a laugh but managed to conjure tears instead. Sweet heavens, what was she crying for? Over a ham sandwich? Over her husband wanting to hire help? It was nonsensical. Those were not reasons to cry. She brushed at the ridiculous tears and got to her feet.

  ‘Pavia?’ Cam reached for her, but she shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, I need a moment.’ She moved to the edge of the pool to collect herself but it wasn’t long before Cam’s arms were about her, pulling her close.

  ‘I’ve upset you.’

  ‘No, it’s nothing. I am just being silly.’ She dashed at the tears. ‘I know we have to rejoin the real world some time.’ She tried for a smile. ‘We’re out of rooms to plan and food to eat.’

  ‘But you wish we weren’t?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Pavia sighed. ‘This has been nice. I don’t want to give it up.’ She paused. Her words didn’t do the sentiment justice. ‘We are not so much strangers any more, are we? I don’t want to lose that, Cam.’ That was her real worry. What would happen to this fragile, precious ‘togetherness’ they’d cobbled, once the world intruded with its opinions?

  ‘We won’t,’ Cam insisted. But how could he be sure? She wished she had his confidence.

  ‘The world will test us. I am not entirely English and I don’t look English.’ They’d not talked of that. It had never been an issue between them, but the world would notice and make them accountable for it. ‘People will cut us.’

  ‘People have already cut us—family has cut us.’ She felt Cam’s shoulders lift and fall in a shrug of dismissal as if those things were of no consequence. She could not dismiss that reality so casually.

  ‘Cam, it is not so easy to be alone, to be shunned by everyone from butchers to dressmakers.’ She’d not forgotten how hard it had been when her family had first arrived. Not everyone was eager to serve her mother.

  ‘You are borrowing trouble, Pavia. That hasn’t happened yet and maybe it won’t. Perhaps the rest of the world is less judgemental than the ton. Besides, once they meet you, they will love you.’ She wished she shared Cam’s optimism but she’d seen how London responded to her mother when they’d first arrived and how they’d responded to her. If not for the buffer of her father’s money, they’d not have been welcomed. She didn’t want to argue, so she let it go. They would see soon enough what the world had in store for them.

  ‘We’ll have to start wearing our clothes more often, with help under foot,’ Pavia said with a disappointment that wasn’t all feigned. She would miss these heady days of discovery, of pleasure. These days gave her hope as to what they could be to one another. Never mind that they’d started as strangers. They might, in time, become something more. This week had demonstrated the potential was there, if they had a chance to explore it. One week was hardly enough to build something that could stand up to the outside.

  ‘I suppose we shall have to concede on t
he clothing.’ Cam laughed softly. ‘Will you come back and finish your lunch?’ He took her hand. ‘I don’t want the ham to go to waste.’

  Pavia let Cam lead her back to the blanket, let him tell her tales of English fairies and the magical powers of the waterfall, but the ambiance of the day had ebbed and she never quite got it back. Still, her new husband’s optimism was much appreciated. She yawned and Cam patted his leg. ‘Come, lay your head on my lap. I’ll keep guard so that no one invades our fairy glen.’

  * * *

  Invasion would come, though. His bride was not wrong on that account. They had to surface from playing honeymoon house and join the real world. Cam stroked Pavia’s hair, watching the soft rise and fall of her as she slept. While she was worried about what the world would tempt them with, he was worried about the threat from within. What would they do to themselves?

  They had yet to discuss the future. The present had been full of enough hurdles to negotiate, the most important being that his child and its mother had a name, that they were protected from society’s slander. But now that was accomplished and it was time to turn thoughts to what next? They had a home. His child and his wife would have a roof over their heads no one could take away. But would he be there with them? Would he share that home with them? Would he even have a choice?

  These thoughts had niggled at the back of his mind all week as they’d gone through the manse, making their lists, imagining their home. His leave only lasted until August. He would be expected to rejoin his men and take up his command in Sevastopol. When his child came in January, he would be a continent away, isolated by snow and ice. It could be spring before he had word of the child’s birth. Unless...

  Unless he gave it up. How could he be the father he’d vowed to be if he was absent, engaged in a career where the goal of any encounter was to simply survive until the next time he was shot at? He’d never thought of his soldiering career in such dreary terms before. No one else had ever been counting on him the way Pavia and his child were. But what of the search for Fortis and what of his men? Staying here meant ending his personal mission to confirm Fortis’s death. He would have to rely solely on letters, which would take weeks to travel. Time would be lost, time that might be crucial in locating Fortis if he was still out there. If he did not continue that mission, who would? No one else believed there was a chance. It was a deuced difficult spot to be in, having to choose between one’s best friend and one’s family. Both deserved his loyalty, but only one could fully have it.