Love Forever After

by Patricia Rice

  After a restless night battling his conscience, Graham’s humor had not improved. When he came down to find his wife missing and his guests looking expectantly to him for news and entertainment, he descended into irascibility.

  Accustomed to his moods, Adelaide removed herself and her husband from his vicinity, leaving Graham in the grandeur of his loneliness. Even Alexandra failed to amuse him when she escaped down the back stairs from the nursery and demanded to be placed on his lap and fed a sweet roll. His injured leg would not allow the additional weight, and he was forced to command her to sit on a chair like a proper lady. She pouted and regarded him sulkily until Mrs. Haywood came to recover her.

  Graham learned how empty the rambling Hall could be without the expectation of finding Penelope smiling at him. He stayed in his study, catching up on neglected work, but he never heard his wife’s voice floating through the halls, or the patter of her feet on the parquet. He was to be punished for his transgressions by silence.

  By day’s end Graham was prepared to promise almost anything in return for Penelope’s forgiveness. He had missed her savagely for weeks, longed to return to her arms, and knew it was time to make things right. Now that he was here, he should not have to go on suffering.

  When Graham came down to dinner, however, he found himself dining alone. Harley informed him that Lady Trevelyan had sent word she would be dining with the Reardons this evening, and that the Stanhopes had been promised for another engagement elsewhere. Graham cursed the splendor of his long, candlelit table and failed to taste a bite of the dishes the cook sent up for his delectation.

  He looked in on Alexandra before she retired for the night, and she rewarded him with a kiss. The memory of Penelope’s passionate kisses returned some of Graham’s humor. He could not offer her lovemaking just yet, not until this tangle was straightened out and he could explain, but he could indulge himself in a few stolen kisses.

  He wandered into the library and selected a dusty tome for perusing while he waited, but he could not concentrate. By the devil he did not know how he had come to this state, but it was a mixed blessing at best. Not since his youth had he been so beset with such fears and worries. How could one small female succeed in turning his life inside out? He had not anticipated this at all when he had first sought out the vicar’s daughter.

  He had to admit that despite everything, it had all turned out much better than he had expected. He could no longer imagine the cold, empty marriage he had planned last spring. True, last spring he had expected his own demise at any moment and meant only to plan for Alexandra’s future, but living had become increasingly pleasant to contemplate. He had only one more distasteful chore ahead of him, and he hoped that could be resolved in some other manner than originally intended. He did not want to risk Penelope’s displeasure any more than he had. The past was too full of mistakes he didn’t wish to repeat, and the future held too many pleasant possibilities to jeopardize what they were just beginning to build together.

  He heard Adelaide and Brian return and sauntered out to greet them. They seemed surprised that Penelope was not with him but did not linger to keep him company. The hour was late and Adelaide’s pregnancy was beginning to slow her down. Graham wished them a good night and returned to his study to wait some more.

  A carriage pulled up the drive not much after that, and Graham listened with relief as he heard Penelope’s voice greeting the footman at the door. He frowned as he recognized Guy’s low voice making his farewells, but he told himself that it was sensible for Penelope to have an escort on these country lanes at night. Not willing to greet his old friend at this hour, Graham waited until he heard him depart before stepping out into the corridor.

  He had hoped she would see the study light and come to him, but he supposed that was too much to ask after last night. He did not know how he would explain that away. For the moment he had desperate need of a simple, loving kiss and the approval of violet eyes. He entered the foyer only to find Penelope disappearing at the top of the stairs.

  Cursing his lameness, Graham hobbled after her as fast as he could, his great frame lurching up the elongated stairway, probably providing much amusement for the footman below. Not caring about the spectacle he created, he hurried after his wife.

  She had already entered the bedroom by the time he reached their wing of the house. Deciding that was probably best after all, Graham entered his own chambers and threw aside his encumbering frock coat and cravat. Feeling like a new bridegroom all over again, he inspected his face to make certain another shave wouldn’t be required. Grimacing at his scarred, one-eyed reflection in the mirror, Graham felt his hopes gutter a little, but he crossed to their connecting door with confidence. A good-night kiss was all he asked. He could persuade her to that no matter how angry she might be.

  When he encountered the bolted door, Graham could not believe it. Penelope had shut him out only that once. Even when she had her maidenly modesty to protect, she had given him full freedom of her chambers. Her generosity in this as much as any other factor had convinced him she would not object to him as husband in truth. To find the door bolted now, after all that had passed between them, was too painful to accept.

  Admitting that he may have hurt her more than he knew, Graham took his punishment like a man. He endured the humiliation of knocking for admission at the door of his wife’s chambers. He waited. No response. Thinking she had already retired, he knocked louder. And waited.

  It was only when he noticed the light beneath the door flicker and go out that Graham realized Penelope had no intention of answering. He wanted to roar his anguish, but he did not. He had spent too many nights hiding his pain to lapse from the habit now. If she could not tolerate his company any longer, he would not force her.

  With shoulders slumped, Graham blew out the candle and retired to his massive bed, alone.

  Chapter 27

  Penelope disappeared again the next day without a word to Graham, but this time he did not linger about in hopes of seeing her. He greeted his guests, assured himself that they would be entertained for the day, and rode out on his own business. The pain in his leg after a day on horseback disguised the greater pain in his heart quite effectively.

  By evening, Graham was too stiff to do more than retire early. Since that had been his habit for years, Adelaide and Brian took little notice of it. Penelope returned to make the evening interesting, and none was the wiser of their new estrangement.

  When they finally met over dinner the next day, they both played the practiced parts of host and hostess without making it obvious that they were not exchanging two words with each other. Penelope could not even look toward the other end of the table without rendering her heart in two. Graham sat there so cool and imperturbable, it was as if she did not even exist.

  If she tried not to think of him and kept busy, her feelings would eventually go away, she knew. The hurt her father had caused by riding off to London without looking back had eventually faded to a sore place in her memory. Surely her feelings for Graham could not have developed to such a strength that they would take years to eradicate.

  If she could just stay away long enough that she did not have the urge to touch his hand. . . Or if she could quit hoping that he would look up at her with love as if nothing had ever happened—then she might be safe enough to act natural in his company.

  Graham made it easy for her by avoiding her. Without a single harsh word, they managed to quite civilly estrange themselves from each other. It was painful, but not so painful as admitting feelings that could only bring further rejection.

  The invitations to the Reardon rout arrived, but Penelope did not mention it to Graham. She had promised to come but could not bear to do so in his company. They had managed a dinner or two together where they would not be seated in proximity, but the rout would call for Graham to attend to his lady. This was not London. A husband did not desert his wife on these occasions. So it would be better if he did not go. She would exc
use him for health reasons, and Guy would have to suffer as her escort. Or perhaps Arthur. His leg was improving slowly; he might do the honors. That would be perfectly respectable under the circumstances.

  When Penelope wanted an opinion on the orphanage, she asked Guy instead of Graham. When someone suggested that she and Graham come to dinner or for cards or for a picnic, Penelope begged off for one or the other of them. She fell in the habit of letting Guy escort her on her charitable rounds.

  Wrapped up in his own affairs, understanding that Penelope needed help with her project, and assuming Graham did not care to help, Guy accompanied her without question.

  On a particularly fine day, Adelaide decided they needed to take tea on the terrace. The walled, stone structure overlooked the vast expanse of the park at the side of the yard and conveniently gave a glimpse of the carriage road to the house. Resting her maternal plumpness in the glory of the summer sun, Adelaide smiled beatifically while she and Penelope engaged in a discussion of boys’ names. Today she had decided the child was definitely a boy.

  Brian watched his wife with such love and amusement that Penelope felt a stab of longing so severe she could almost label it jealousy. She had dismissed the word love as an affectation of adolescents and poets, but she could think of no other word that described the look exchanged between her guests. When Adelaide touched a hand to her swollen stomach and glanced toward her husband, a fire leapt to his eyes and he bent from his seat to take her hand. The silent communication was so obvious, it was almost as if they had spoken aloud.

  Penelope felt excluded from a world she could never attain, as she had been excluded from so many other pleasures. Tears crept to her eyes and she glanced away to observe a cloud of dust rising from the road.

  Guy had joined them on the terrace, and he followed Penelope’s gaze. “Were you expecting Lady Reardon today? Or do you suppose Dolly has ventured out on her own?”

  The affection growing between the creative young redhead and her more mature suitor had its amusing moments, also, but they only added to Penelope’s current misery. She refused to think that everyone around her had found love but herself. That was the worst kind of self-pity and she refused to succumb to it.

  So Penelope smiled and stepped down to the yard to meet the newcomers. Having already noticed that the Hall’s inhabitants were sunning themselves on the terrace, the carriage driver pulled around so his passengers need not traipse through the front portals and the entire west wing to reach them.

  The reason for this informality became clear when a footman threw open the carriage door and Arthur stepped out. Penelope halted her progress in amazement as the invalid offered a helping hand to his sister. He then limped determinedly toward the tea party with Dolly clinging to his arm in support.

  At the sight of the young man’s brave effort to maneuver the uneven surface of the lawn without crutch or stick, Penelope ran to greet them. Several years younger than Guy or Graham, Arthur still wore the mark of harsh experience in his weather-beaten face. Perhaps once his gray eyes had laughed like Dolly’s and his tawny hair had fallen over even features laced with boredom or humor, but no longer. A shadow hid behind a face worn lean from hard living, and a strong character had eroded the softness of youth.

  He took Penelope’s hand and bowed over it, but he refused her aid in crossing the yard. Guy and Brian rose to greet the newcomers. Arthur made a small fuss over Adelaide propped in her chair, while to Penelope’s amusement, Guy appropriated the task of welcoming Dolly.

  Arthur had not yet taken a chair to relieve his uncertain leg when Penelope looked up and caught sight of a rider galloping headlong around the bend. That proudly erect form racing at a mad pace on a black animal large enough to come straight from hell could only be one person. Graham.

  Remembering the antipathy her husband had shown for his young neighbor, Penelope suffered a qualm of worry, but surely even Graham would not be rude to a guest in his own house. She hoped he would just ignore the party entirely. That would be more like him.

  But of course, he did not. Flinging his reins to a footman, Graham swung his stiff leg over the stallion’s back and strode with great halting lengths across the lawn. The difference between Arthur’s fragile, uncertain gait and Graham’s strong, jerking strides was apparent to everyone.

  There was no mistaking the malice glittering in his uncovered eye, either, as he surveyed the small party on his terrace. The men remained standing, but Penelope laid a restraining hand on Guy’s arm.

  Graham noted that proprietary gesture with as much venom as he noted Arthur’s presence. These last years of isolation had put him out of practice in managing false politeness, and his wrath had a source too great to allow pretense. Ignoring the others, he turned his glare on Arthur.

  “I did not think you would be so brazen as to set foot on my property, Reardon.” Graham hitched his game leg up the stair until he towered over the defiant youth. With ease, he settled on the garden wall. Ignoring the gasps of horror at his rudeness, he removed his felt hat, brushed it off, and lifted his formidable one-eyed glare in anticipation of Arthur’s reaction.

  “I had come to show you I am quite well and ready whenever you are,” Arthur replied coldly.

  “Oh?” Graham raised a mocking eyebrow. “It appears to me as if you could not stand in a strong wind. I would recommend a long, healing journey in a distant climate as beneficial to your health.” With deliberate abruptness, he stood just as Arthur clenched his fists and stepped forward.

  The effect of Graham’s abrupt motion on Arthur’s uncertain leg was immediate. He tried to halt, staggered, came down hard on the bad leg at an awkward angle, and fell.

  The women screamed. Guy, being closest, leapt to break the fall. Graham simply crossed his powerful arms across his chest and waited.

  Penelope could not believe she had witnessed this scene. In all her anger at his selfish, single-minded behavior, she had never believed Graham to be the beast others claimed him to be. With his silver hair standing out about his head and his one unpatched eye gleaming golden in wrath, he appeared fierce and invincible. But she had seen him melt at one of Alexandra’s smiles, had been the victim of his tenderness, and knew he had always meant well even when he roared the loudest. For him to deliberately insult and harm a neighbor and guest was beyond her comprehension.

  “That was uncalled for, Trev,” Guy muttered as he helped Arthur regain his feet.

  Irate, Dolly tried to throw herself between the men, but Guy caught her by the waist and shoved her toward Penelope. Knowing enough not to interfere with that which she did not understand, Penelope held onto Dolly while the men continued to glower at each other, although Graham seemed to be waiting with tired impatience.

  “I’m not running again, Graham. I repeat, I am ready any time you are.” Pale-faced but stoic, Arthur shook off Guy’s steadying hand.

  “You are a fool, then.” With a cold look to Guy, Graham indicated the waiting carriage. “Send the young whelp home. For his own sake, persuade him of the benefits of a lengthy journey.”

  Graham stalked into the house, leaving fury, revulsion, and bewilderment behind.

  In all her wide experience of dealing with people and uncomfortable, emotional situations, Penelope had never encountered one like this. Had it not been for Adelaide, she would have been tempted to flee the scene herself. Instead, she and Grahams’ sister attempted to convey their sympathy and bewilderment to the young Reardons. While not quite pacifying the irate Guy, they did see them all off without further harsh words. Dolly was too shaken to do more than cling to Guy’s hand, but Arthur made polite bows.

  “I apologize that my appearance has ruined your lovely day. I will not let it happen again.”

  There was something so brave and lonely in the way he pulled himself into the carriage that Penelope found a tear creeping down her cheek. How could Graham judge this poor boy so harshly? It did not seem credible.

  Penelope took the coward’s way out a
nd retired to her chambers with a headache. If only there were some way she could sit in the silence of her room and think through the jumble of her thoughts and emotions to come to some understanding of Graham’s behavior, but she could not. Even those who loved him and had known him all their lives seemed bewildered by his irrational behavior. How could she hope to understand what they did not?

  To make matters worse, Alexandra slipped from the nursery to perch like an elf upon Penelope’s bed and regard her with solemn eyes. Uncannily aware of the adult tension in the house, she offered her own solution.

  “Take me riding, Penny. Riding always makes me feel better. And Papa will come, too, if I ask him. We can go to the pond and watch the ducks. I like watching the ducks, don’t you?”

  Penelope gathered the little girl in her arms and held her head against her shoulder. “I like riding and ducks, too. And I love little girls with pretty black hair that gets in their eyes.” She lifted an offending strand and tickled Alexandra’s nose with it. “But sometimes I just need to be by myself, don’t you?”

  Dark, soulful eyes stared up at her sadly. “Don’t you love my papa anymore? You won’t go away, will you? Papa isn’t happy unless you are around.”

  Penelope sighed and cuddled the child on her lap. “I don’t want to go away, Alexandra. I love you, and people don’t like to go away and leave the ones they love. I think your papa would be happy if you were with him, though.”

  “Does that mean you don’t love my papa?” Alexandra persisted.

  Penelope sought for words to explain to a little girl what she could not explain to herself. Why was it Graham she thought of night and day and not the amorous Chadwell or the amusing Guy or any of the other men she had met these past months? Why was it she continued to defend Graham even when he behaved as reprehensibly as he had today? And was it not her desire to defend him now that tore her apart, because she could not find the reason or excuse to give herself? How could she explain those feelings to a child?