One Night with the Major

by Bronwyn Scott

  She was back to that. The estrangement she felt with Cam. Therein lay the one crack in the foundation of their marriage. The base they’d laid during their honeymoon had failed to progress. As soon as she thought such traitorous things, Pavia felt selfish wishing for them. Cam had been good to her. She expected too much because of that goodness. But in truth, he’d already exceeded expectation. He’d offered her a marriage of convenience, not one of romance. Many would argue it was more than she deserved and here she was wanting more, wanting her husband to love her. It was an unseemly want when, if not for her escapade at the Tiger’s Tooth, they never would have met. They’d been meant for other people, for other lives. For him, other loves.

  Pavia gathered up the post and delivered it to Cam’s office. She set the packet of letters down on the desk, as she usually did. Normally, she did not linger. This was his domain and she respected his privacy. She had the little sitting room at the back and he had this office. But today, his desk wasn’t cleaned off as it normally was. An opened letter remained on top.

  She should walk away. But in her current mood, she found she couldn’t resist. Her curiosity would not be swayed. It was just one letter. It wasn’t as if she was going to rifle through the drawers, deliberately searching for things. This letter was open. It gave every appearance of already having been read. Why shouldn’t she read it, too?

  Pavia picked it up and froze, recognising the seal. Cam’s grandfather had written. Her pulse sped as she read. She sank into the nearest chair, overwhelmed by the letter’s contents. It was essentially a bribe. The Earl of Aylsbury was offering Cam a fortune and land to return to the city, to live apart from her and eventually divorce her, claiming the child wasn’t his. He would be free to wed Caroline Beaufort this time next year. Caroline and the Beauforts were willing to wait. He could have his old life back if he was done with—how had the old man put it?—‘rusticating in the country with the Indian whore’.

  That had been bad enough, but the worst of the letter was the postscript Aylsbury had added.

  I am told you met her dancing in a tavern. Blood will always tell, my boy. Cut your losses now before she drags your good name any further through the mud.

  He knew. Of course he knew. He was a man with power who could command men and information. Moreover, Cam knew that his grandfather knew and Cam had said nothing to her. Pavia looked at the date on the letter. It had arrived over a week ago. For a week, Cam had possessed this information and let her go on with her life, thinking the worst she had to worry about was Mrs Browning’s disapproval. In reality, her marriage was being tested by Aylsbury, who threatened to expose her if Cam didn’t comply. He’d have Cam’s obedience one way or another. Pavia folded the letter and put it back on the desk. It was time to confront Cam about this and much more. She drew a breath and smoothed her skirts. She would do it tonight, over a supper she cooked herself.

  * * *

  Cam was late. She knew because the tapers had burnt down an inch since she’d lit them an hour ago. Pavia paced the entrance hall. Dinner was going to be cold at this rate. She peered in at the dining room, the table she’d set so carefully with fresh flowers and candles. The room had been beautiful at summer twilight. It was darker now. How dare he be late, tonight of all nights when she needed him home, when they had serious issues to discuss! He’d never been late before. Her anger warred with worry. Was he hurt? Had his horse thrown a shoe? Or worse, had his horse thrown him? It seemed unlikely, but even cavalry officers fell off once in a while.

  By the time she heard hooves on the drive, she’d worked herself up with worry and her first words to him since breakfast came out more sharply than intended. ‘Where have you been? Do you know what time it is?’

  The smile on Cam’s face faded. He stopped where he was, not coming forward and giving her the usual kiss. ‘I apologise for my tardy arrival. Business took longer than anticipated.’

  ‘And what business is that?’ Pavia snapped. They might as well get to the heart of it. There was no sense putting it off.

  ‘Alpaca wool. I can tell you over dinner.’ Cam offered an olive branch, his brow furrowed in genuine concern and Pavia immediately regretted her shrewish offensive. ‘Are you well, Pavia? Did something happen today?’

  ‘Yes, everything happened today.’ The dam of her restraint broke entirely. ‘I made you dinner, but it’s cold now, ruined because I didn’t know when you’d be home. I don’t know where you go, or what you do. I only know that I don’t see you any more, I don’t know you any more. Maybe I never did. I know this marriage was not what you’d planned, but I thought I knew you, at least a little. But now you get letters from people I don’t know. You spend the day out somewhere. You’re planning things, but I don’t know what.’

  ‘For you and the baby. I am planning things for you and the baby, for us.’ Cam strode forward, taking her hands. ‘Look, I am sorry I am late. Might we sit down for that dinner you made and talk about it?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  He’d eaten worse in the military on campaign. Cam scooped a glob on to an edge of a round chapati and choked it down. The bread cold was one thing. Cold potato-and-cauliflower curry was another. But he was going to eat cold aloo gobi even if it killed him, as long as it brought a smile back to Pavia’s face. Cam reached for his mug of ale and took a big swallow to wash it down. He wasn’t certain her upset was entirely due to his being late for dinner, but if eating was a way back into her good graces, he’d do it.

  ‘As I said, I was discussing alpacas with a friend, actually.’ Cam took a smaller bite this time, hoping the chapatis wouldn’t run out before his serving of aloo gobi did. ‘My friend, Viscount Taunton, has an alpaca farm and a mill where he turns the fleece into wool. From there, they sell the fleece abroad to all the great weaving capitals. They also make their own alpaca products—blankets, shawls and such.’ He took another long drink of his ale. ‘He is starting a syndicate of investors and I thought it might be a good opportunity for us.’

  Pavia stopped pushing her food around her plate. ‘In what way? You want to farm alpacas here?’

  ‘I suppose we could, eventually.’ Cam shook his head. ‘I meant for investing. He needs capital and we need an income. He’s invited me to visit tomorrow to go over his books. He turned a decent profit with his first shearing last summer.’ Cam paused. ‘Would you like to come? You could meet his wife, Sofia. She just had a baby in March and apparently she’s the mastermind behind the business end of their venture.’

  Pavia nodded. ‘It would be nice to spend some time with you, just you.’

  Cam fixed his wife with a penetrating stare. ‘We do spend time together. We have breakfast every morning, dinner every night. We go to church on Sunday.’ He tried for a charming smile. ‘We go to bed together every night.’

  ‘To sleep.’

  ‘We do other things besides sleep,’ Cam reminded her.

  ‘I am talking about our waking hours. You’re gone every day until dusk. I don’t know where you go or what you do. And now you’ve shown up with this idea to invest in alpaca. But I don’t have any idea what kind of money we’re talking about or where it would come from. I was under the impression we had a comfortable but limited income.’

  Even more limited now that his grandfather’s allowance, which had supplemented his military income, had been cut off. He earned three hundred pounds annually as a major, but his grandfather had paid out over six hundred pounds to offset the need for uniforms and other expenses of military life. ‘I’ve saved some money over the years.’ Cam explained. ‘And there’s been a few small investments I’ve been able to take advantage of. There’s enough.’

  But Pavia had gone very still, her face paling. ‘You have not taken money from your grandfather, have you?’

  ‘He’s cut me off entirely,’ Cam replied.

  ‘Has he, though?’ Pavia was watching him carefully. ‘You’ve had
no contact with him since we married? Tell me the truth, Cam. Have you had contact with your grandfather? Please, don’t lie to me.’

  She knew about the letter. There was no reason for her to push this hard otherwise. His gut tightened. He could only imagine what she was thinking, feeling. None of it good. ‘Let me be clear, Pavia. He has cut off financial support. That is not the same as cutting off contact, as I think you well know.’ Cam met her gaze sternly. ‘I have taken no money from him. However, he has written, as I think you also know. Now it’s time for your truths. You’ve seen the letter? On my desk? You went through my things?’

  ‘Yes. I saw it today when I took the post in. It was just lying there. I did not ransack your desk as you imply.’ She was not penitent. A quarrel was brewing. Their first. He ought to head it off and make a judicious response, but his patience failed him. He did not like being accused.

  ‘My wife has a healthy dose of curiosity.’ That letter would have hurt her. He remembered every vile word of it: the assumption that he could be bought, that he would not honour his commitment to his child in exchange for money; the assumption that Pavia was not worthy of him. There was the postscript, too, the subtle threat to expose her if Cam didn’t come to heel. Cam understood the deeper root of her anger tonight. She’d had to stew on this, to worry on this latest development, all afternoon with no one to share it with while he’d been out riding with Conall and talking about alpaca. ‘Did you think about why I hadn’t shown you the letter?’ He should have burned it. This conversation wouldn’t exist if he had.

  ‘Why? Because you hadn’t made up your mind?’ Pavia was defensive. Good lord, did she actually think he was considering his grandfather’s offer? After all these weeks, did she not know him better than that?

  ‘Is that what you think of me? That I would walk away from my responsibilities to the mother of my child? That I would denounce my own blood? Force my child to live as a bastard?’

  ‘Cam, you know how hard it is for children without fathers, without names. Without you, your child will be nothing, have no chance. He needs you.’ Pavia held nothing back. ‘As for the rest, how can I think anything of you? I don’t know you. We married a month ago, entirely strangers to one another. And we are strangers still.’ Her voice broke and she needed a moment to regain her composure. ‘If we were more than that, you would have told me about the letter when it came over a week ago. You never meant for me to know about it.’

  ‘I was protecting you. That letter was hurtful and it means nothing to me. Why would I show it to you if means nothing? There was nothing to discuss. It changes nothing. We are having a baby together and it will have a mother and father. It will have a loving home.’ Cam’s fist banged down on the table, rattling the mugs. ‘It will not grow up like we did, two children raised to be the pawns of our fathers.’

  Cam put his head in his hands. This was not the homecoming he’d been expecting tonight. All the way home, he’d imagined telling Pavia about the alpaca, Pavia being excited about his news. They would eat dinner, they’d go upstairs and make love and afterwards she would lie in his arms and they would weave alpaca dreams. Instead, he’d ruined her dinner with his tardiness. She’d found his grandfather’s letter and spent an afternoon worrying that he would leave her until that worry had erupted into this mess of accusations and uncertainties they weren’t prepared to weather in their short time together.

  ‘We’re having our first fight.’ Cam looked up, remorsefully.

  ‘It was bound to happen.’ Pavia sighed. The angry fire in her dark eyes had banked to sadness.

  ‘I didn’t want it to, though. I liked things the way they were,’ Cam confessed. He wanted the honeymoon. How had they lost that? How had all that happiness slipped away?

  ‘Fairy tales aren’t real, Cam. In real life, people quarrel. I suppose having a “first” fight implies there will be others.’ Pavia rose and began to collect the dishes of their half-eaten dinner.

  Cam rose with her, putting a hand on her wrist to stall her departure. ‘I am sorry I didn’t tell you about the letter. I wanted to protect you. I am sorry I haven’t discussed business with you. I didn’t want you to worry about money. I didn’t want you to feel responsible.’ That wasn’t the right word and Pavia knew it.

  She cut in. ‘Responsible? For what? For stealing your old life from you? For getting you cut off? For costing you the perfect Caroline Beaufort and all the money you could imagine?’

  ‘No! I don’t want Caroline Beaufort, I don’t want any of it. I never have. I told you as much before.’ This life was different than the one he’d been bred for, but that didn’t mean it was bad or wrong. Cam rose, his own temper overcoming his regret. ‘I want you. You captivate me. You are giving me a child. I want the life we will make together, whatever that looks like. But if we’re going to succeed, you must stop thinking the worst of me. I did not ask my grandfather to write. I cannot stop what comes in the post.’

  ‘Me? This is all my fault?’ Pavia glared at him. She wrenched her hand free and set the dishes down with a clang that nearly shattered them. ‘You’re the one with secrets! You can’t stop what comes in the post, but you invite it, with all your letters. You have to let me in, Camden. You have to let me know you. You have to tell me about Fortis, about your nightmares, why I wake at night to find you gone from our bed and why you don’t return until dawn. You have to tell me about what comes in the post, who you write to with such regularity that it requires hours of your morning every day. You have to tell me about your grandfather’s shenanigans. We are all each other has. You have to let me in, but you don’t. Every day you choose to shut me out. Well, tonight, I shut you out. You can sleep in your dratted office.’ Pavia stormed from the room.

  Dear God, all of that had been beneath the surface and he’d missed it. He hadn’t known. Cam slumped in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. There would be no reasoning with her now. He’d best wait until morning and try again. But what a hash he’d made of it. He had commanded troops of men and yet he couldn’t command his wife. Not that Pavia would ever tolerate being commanded, even when it was done subtly. Perhaps that was the problem. He’d tried to run his marriage like he ran his troops—making decisions, issuing orders and expecting Pavia to abide by them. But he hadn’t understood what it was like for her at all here. He’d thought she was happy. He’d been wrong and now, for the first time since his marriage, he would be sleeping alone.

  * * *

  Sleeping alone did not recommend itself. There were several times in the night when Pavia almost gave up and went downstairs. Having Cam beside her would be far better than tossing and turning, only to wake tired and disgruntled in the morning. But going to him was tantamount to admitting she was wrong. She was not ready to do that.

  Regardless of how this marriage had come about, she was not willing to be treated as anything less than equal in it. She felt she had a right to know her husband’s thoughts, his business, to be a part of the decisions he made about their finances. She would not make her mother’s mistakes and be rendered powerless. They were both products of a convenient marriage, but that’s where Pavia promised herself the similarities would end. Her mother had given up her power when she’d let her husband shut her out of his business dealings. Now her mother sat quietly by, letting her husband decide everything, even who her daughter would marry. Her mother had allowed her husband to send her daughter away, cut her off entirely. Pavia put a hand over her stomach. She would not make that mistake either. When a mother ceded her power, she ceded her children’s power by proxy. Who would fight for a child if not their mother?

  She was going to be a mother.

  Pavia turned on her side and tucked the pillow under her head. Every day it became more real as June marched towards the beginning of July. She was three months gone, by her count. Maybe she could feel a bit of a belly starting to form, after all. This week, her dresses had got tighter. Up
until now, it had been hard to think of the baby as growing inside her when there was no visible, physical proof yet. But it was coming. She would love this baby. She would protect this baby. To do that, she needed a strong marriage. She and Cam would need to find a way to be more than bed partners.

  She saw now that the bliss of their honeymoon had been an illusion. It took more than pleasure to make a marriage. Theirs had cracked at the first challenge. Cracked, not broken. But she wasn’t sure how to mend the crack. Cam simply had to choose to let her in. If not, the rift tonight would not be healed. This had to be his choice. There was nothing she could do. She didn’t like to feel powerless, didn’t like the thought of her husband deliberately rendering her powerless with his choices.

  * * *

  Neither of them had slept. Cam was already at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and perusing newspapers with dark circles beneath his eyes. Pavia was sure she looked no better. Breakfast was a terse affair, at odds with the usual, easy atmosphere that accompanied their mornings. Even Mrs Bran was taciturn when she brought Pavia’s toast. Mrs Bran did not linger, as if she knew what had happened last night.

  ‘Would you like jam?’ Cam offered her the pot.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Pavia replied and went back to buttering her toast. She tried not to remember other times he’d offered her jam, other things they’d smeared it on and licked it off. Those had been more pleasurable mornings.