Bound with Love

by Megan Mulry

  At the mention of husbands, Nora became even more acutely agitated. She couldn’t imagine ever again wanting a man’s hands on her own body. And now there were other reasons. One particular reason who happened to be sitting across the room staring into the fire. Nora didn’t want anyone’s hands on Vanessa’s body either. Anyone else’s hands, she amended with a rapidly beating heart.

  “I shall never marry . . . for obvious reasons,” Nora snapped. “And neither should you!” With Vanessa not looking directly at her, she was able to work up a bit of courage. “Y-you are perfectly capable of running your own life without a man around to tell you what to do!” Her hand flew to cover her mouth. She had said far too much, and her heart hammered with a delirious mix of audacity and what she finally realized was pure, physical desire. She had been learning to speak her mind over the past six months—at Vanessa and Uncle Fitz’s constant insistence—but it always seemed dangerous. She blushed furiously whenever she said anything even remotely opinionated.

  Vanessa looked back from the fire and slowly met Nora’s eyes. Lord Fitzwilliam Montagu had raised Vanessa to voice every opinion that crossed her fecund mind; Nora knew that, as a result, Vanessa frowned on her timidity.

  “Really?” Like an uncoiling cobra, Vanessa rose from the sofa to her full, formidable height. Nora remained pinned to the spot on the carpet where she’d been pacing and now stood stock-still. “And you know about all this independent running of one’s life, Nora?”

  “N-no.” Nora was fueled by an intense mix of trepidation and hope. Vanessa’s fiery, accusatory tone should have frightened her, but instead it made Nora want to rile her even more, to draw her out and finally take what she so dearly wanted, consequences be damned.

  Moving a slow step closer, Vanessa taunted, “You think I should pass the rest of my life in a solitary bed without the warm arms of a lover to soften the edges of a jagged day?” When Vanessa said the word lover, Nora’s body heated and swelled with awareness. She wanted to be the lover in Vanessa’s bed. It all seemed so obvious to her now.

  “Y-yes.” She shook her head confusedly. “Or rather, n-no.” She did know about solitary beds, and a loneliness so keen it echoed in her womb every night when she fell asleep and every morning when she woke.

  “So,” Vanessa pushed on, in that seductive tone that hinted at anger, but also made Nora shiver with increased desire. “So, after bickering children and account balances and precarious investment schemes and the general management of two very large households—after all that, do you wish me to be alone at the end of a day like this, Nora?”

  Nora’s breath hitched—this was her chance. Her breasts were swollen and heavy against the bodice of her dress; her sex throbbed desperately. “You are not alone now,” she whispered. It was the truth: Vanessa was never alone, because Nora followed her from room to room, shamelessly getting as close to her as possible. Vanessa had become the physical embodiment of everything safe and good in Nora’s world. At first, it hadn’t been anything remotely sexual. Vanessa was her savior. Nora was profoundly grateful. Devoted. But lately, Nora’s feelings had nothing to do with gratitude and everything to do with palm-tingling desire. Nora needed to be near Vanessa, to be physically connected to her. And the need was not abating or even leveling off; in fact, her body was on fire most days, craving Vanessa’s slightest attention.

  They had often napped together in the sunny afternoons, close and warm in the summer sunshine, beneath the shade trees at Camburton Castle where they’d first gone to rusticate after escaping from Madrid. Uncle Fitz had gone straight to London, and Nora, Vanessa, Archie, and Georgie had spent an idyllic late summer and early autumn in the countryside. Nora had never known such freedom existed.

  The age difference between Nora and Vanessa seemed to narrow over the passing months of their acquaintance. As Nora’s health improved and her faculties returned, she and Vanessa discovered they shared many of the same ideas about art and food (try everything! love everything!), science and economics (exercise caution, always ask questions), and the roles available to women in their narrow society (do what you must, damn the consequences).

  So it was that Vanessa had given Nora her first set of paints and brushes with the note, You must share your vision.

  But when they’d come to London, Vanessa had withdrawn. She was still loving and sweet when they spoke, but it was as if she no longer wanted any bodily contact between them. Vanessa was still a very physical person with everyone else, so Nora felt the lack of her touch even more keenly. The way Vanessa tumbled with her children, Archie and Georgie rolling and giggling under her constant tickles and horseplay; the way Vanessa embraced Uncle Fitz each morning with an exuberant hug before sitting down to breakfast; even the way Vanessa stroked the horses firmly and kissed them lightly on their sweaty necks after a long ride in the park. Nora was jealous of every creature in the household—and the stables—it seemed.

  Nora wanted to be the one hugging Vanessa before breakfast, to be the one playing with her on the floor with the children and the dogs, to be the one leaning on Vanessa’s forearm while they walked—but it was not to be. Perhaps in the city, Nora had initially thought, such physical affection was simply not done. Yet, when they walked in Hyde Park or strolled along Bond Street, Nora frequently observed other ladies walking arm in arm, smiling and conversing with passersby. There seemed to be nothing untoward in that type of friendly intimacy among lady friends here in London.

  “Tell me,” Vanessa demanded, jarring Nora from her reverie. “Do you want me to be alone?”

  The crisp air vibrated between them, all of the unsaid words whipping through the ether like tiny sparks. “You are not alone,” Nora repeated, then whispered tightly, “I am with you.”

  Vanessa’s eyes darkened, and she licked her lips. If Nora didn’t know her so well, she’d think she was nervous, but Vanessa was never nervous. “Are you? Are you with me, Nora?”

  The way she emphasized the word with made Nora feel rather intimidated, but she held her place. Now was her chance to be utterly honest, and she wasn’t going to let Vanessa’s confrontational veneer rob either of them of the glorious truth. Having escaped death by such a narrow margin, she was that much more aware of every precious moment of life. She might be embarrassed or unused to saying what she thought, but she certainly wasn’t going to dissemble.

  Smiling timidly, Nora waded in. “I am devoted to you. You must know how much I care for you.” She looked at Vanessa directly when she said the words, but she couldn’t help touching her own lips with her fingertips, her old habit of covering her mouth as if she could somehow take back her words.

  Vanessa grabbed Nora’s hand violently, pulling it away from her mouth. “Stop that! Stop it at once! I hate when you close yourself off like that, when you keep yourself at bay.”

  Nora was confused and exhilarated. Vanessa was touching her, holding her hand hard. “What would you have me do?” She reached her other hand up to finger Vanessa’s beautiful blonde hair. “You never touch me anymore. We never even hold hands. What can I do but . . . hold myself at bay?”

  Vanessa dragged Nora’s fist to her lips and groaned, kissing the knuckles desperately. “I can’t touch you for fear of what I’ll do to you if I allow the slightest brush of your skin against mine.”

  Love made Nora brave. Pushing her fingers into the strong muscles at the base of Vanessa’s skull, Nora pulled her close, then trailed her lips against Vanessa’s. “A slight brush of skin like that,” she whispered, continuing to stroke her lips lightly, back and forth several times. Then she traced her tongue along the edge of Vanessa’s pouty, full lips—the lips she had dreamt of for so many nights, the silky skin even warmer than she had imagined. “Or like that—”

  Vanessa made a sound that was part growl and part groan, then kissed Nora with a passion and drive that nearly knocked both of them over. “God, I love you, Nora. I’ve loved you since the moment you opened your swollen, bruised eyes and looked at me
with all that beauty and love in your soul and I was—” Vanessa kissed her feverishly between declarations. “I was— I am— I love you so.” She grabbed Nora’s head roughly, as if she were trying to shake some sense into her.

  Nora pressed her hips and breasts, thighs and stomach flush up against the welcoming curves of Vanessa’s body. “And I you.”

  There was no sin in it; Nora knew that for a certainty. A love that flowed so easily between two people could never be wrong in the eyes of God. Just like the nun who had saved her life that dreadful night in Madrid, Nora didn’t believe in a heartless God.

  They were entangled like that in one another’s arms—kissing, laughing, whispering, touching—when the door to the drawing room flew open and Uncle Fitz strolled in with a novel in hand. “Oh! I beg your pardon! I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

  Nora tried to pull away, flushed and flustered that they’d been caught doing something Uncle Fitz might consider venal and despicable, but Vanessa smiled and held her tight and close. When Nora looked up at Vanessa’s face, the only word that came to mind was victorious: the woman appeared as if she’d conquered Rome. And Nora flushed hot with gratitude and pride, that the woman she loved—and who loved her—saw Nora as someone worth winning.

  “Nora and I are in love,” Vanessa told her uncle matter-of-factly.

  “Well, it’s about time you two got that sorted,” Uncle Fitz replied with equal practicality. “Now about this Sicilian Romance; it’s anonymous, but I believe it’s Mrs. Radcliffe’s.” He held up the leather volume. “I think we’d best read it if we are going to judge it harshly, don’t you?” He proceeded to the chair by the fire, sat down comfortably, and cracked the spine of the book. When neither woman moved—Nora in giddy, bubbling shock, and Vanessa awaiting some form of congratulation most likely—Uncle Fitz looked up and blustered impatiently, “Well, sit down, sit down. Yes, yes, I’m happy for you—falling in love and all that ephemeral emotional business—quite nice, quite nice. But books—” he held up the novel again and shook it in their direction “—books are forever.”

  July 1810

  Nora opened her eyes slowly, hoping the light wouldn’t trigger another deadly headache. The fabric of her dress rustled as she stretched her legs.

  “Ah, you’re awake.” Vanessa was there as always, pen in hand, scribbling away at her ledgers and correspondence.

  A small tray of meats and cheeses and summer fruit sat on the table next to the chaise, along with a large pot of tea. The scent of bergamot wafted through the studio, mingling with the other whiffs of oil paints and turpentine.

  “I am.” Nora sat up slowly, smoothing the bodice of her dress before reaching for a plump grape. “And I feel remarkably well, before you ask. It was a bit of a shock, but I think I am—no, I know I am—deeply grateful and pleased at the news. But how do you think we should go about replying to the Dowager Duchess of Mandeville’s letter?”

  Vanessa set down her pen, very precisely near the edge of the ledger she’d been updating, then turned to face Nora. “You do look well.”

  Nora’s heart sped up a bit when Vanessa spoke to her in that particular way, appraising and loving and suggestive. Vanessa was seated so her back was to Nora, but she’d twisted at the waist and her hands rested on the back of the desk chair. She looked splendid, thought Nora with a jolt of desire.

  Nora swallowed the grape, suddenly very conscious of her mouth. “So do you.”

  Vanessa blushed. Still.

  “Look at you, blushing, after all these years, when I pay you the meanest compliment.”

  Vanessa got up and crossed the short distance to the red chaise, then knelt in front of Nora. She reached for her, placing her hands tenderly on her cheeks and leaning in to kiss her lightly. Nora experienced a sharp spike of pleasure, far more than a simple kiss in the middle of the day normally provided. She gasped when Vanessa deepened the kiss, and responded in kind. They finally pulled apart a few minutes later.

  “What was that for?” she asked.

  “I love you, Nora. That’s all. That’s everything.”

  Nora admired Vanessa as she stood up and set about pouring the tea. She held the pot perfectly steady—something Nora had never been able to accomplish. “That is everything, isn’t it?”

  Vanessa smiled over her shoulder after she’d set down the pot. “It is, I think. And from that everything else springs forth. Archie came in while you were sleeping, by the by, and I told him a bit of the facts. I hope that’s all right.”

  Reaching for a slice of beef and putting it in her mouth, Nora spoke around the bite of food. “Of course. Oh!”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, this means Archie and Georgie have a sister—or a cousin by blood, of course, through Dennis and Martin. But don’t you think any children of ours are brother and sister, by rights?”

  Vanessa beamed. “I do. I think it’s wonderful.” She passed the teacup and then Nora noticed her face clouding.

  “What else is bothering you, lovely? Come sit.” Nora patted the couch and waited until Vanessa was sitting by her. “Tell me.”

  “I feel responsible somehow, I suppose—for not trying harder to learn whether your child survived. I feel selfish.”

  “Well, that’s hardly news.” Nora took a sip of tea.

  Vanessa gave her a light nudge, thigh against thigh. “That’s a terrible thing to say.”

  Nora smiled. “But you’re the first to admit it. And your selfish desire for me is one of the great gifts of my life, so I’m certainly not one to criticize it.” She took another sip, then set the cup and saucer on the side table. “In my heart, I feel terribly guilty as well. For not trying harder, for not returning to Spain to make sure of what had happened to the babe. But the count—”

  “His threats were not idle, Nora. Uncle Fitz repeatedly told us Floridablanca was nothing short of a murderer. There was no way we could go back. Even so, I’m sorry, my love. I should have pressed. There were rumors among the servants . . .”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  Vanessa inhaled. “Rumors of a baby and nuns leaving Floridablanca’s house in the middle of the night.”

  Nora thought the blood would drain out of her body, but she refused to faint again. She was a mother now, and she wasn’t ever going to be weak again. “You knew?” she whispered.

  “I will never forgive myself—”

  “How could you? How can you live with yourself?”

  “I can’t! That’s why I am begging for your forgiveness!”

  “Oh god.” Nora stood up and paced around the studio. “I need to think. I know you are not a cruel person, but this is cruel. You are thoughtless sometimes, Vanessa. But this is willful. All these years of watching me suffer—especially around the anniversary of her birth—and not once did you think to tell me that, perhaps, there was a sliver of a chance that the baby had survived?”

  “Nora! It wasn’t like that! It was whispers below stairs. The faintest hearsay. And you were so frail, you were nearly dead. In fact, I think you would have died if you thought she lived. You would have dragged yourself from the house in Madrid and crawled back to Floridablanca’s. You were mad!”

  “But it was my right to be mad! Berserk! To go insane with grief!” Nora punched her own chest. “Don’t you see? You robbed me of that!”

  Vanessa stood up and grabbed ahold of her. “Please forgive me!” She fell to her knees. “My first and last thought has always been for you—”

  “Stand up. I can’t bear it.” Nora didn’t recognize her own brittle voice.

  “Please don’t—”

  “Vanessa. Stop.” She pressed her palms against her temples. “I have to deal with one thing at a time. She is alive. That is all that matters now.”

  “Please,” Vanessa whispered desperately.

  “God, Vanessa, stop it. This is no longer about you.”

  Vanessa’s head jerked back as if Nora had actually struck a blow. “Do you want me to leav
e?”

  “Of course not! But give me a bit of time, just sit and be still. This is not something you can fix.”

  Doing as she was bid, Vanessa simply sat on the red chaise. Nora eventually smiled because Vanessa never sat still doing nothing and the image was nigh on ludicrous. She made a mental note to force Vanessa to do nothing more often.

  Standing in the middle of the room, Nora spoke plainly. “Vanessa Cambury, I adore you, but we have never been of the same mind on this topic of forgiveness and redemption. Some of us, for better or worse, find peace in our penance. I must contemplate my shortcomings in order to move beyond them. If you can forgive yourself more easily, then that is your business.”

  “That sounds horrid! Like I am letting myself off some hook of responsibility.”

  “That’s not at all how I mean it!” Nora could barely contain her exasperation. “I need to mull and ponder, probably for the rest of my life, not how I could have changed what happened, but how it must feel for Anna, how I can be what she needs now.” She turned impatiently and began pacing. “I don’t intend to wallow in what might have been, but to be mindful and caring about the future. I’d go to her now if the duchess hadn’t specifically warned against it.”

  “I think the dowager duchess is right to give the girl fair warning, don’t you?” Logistics. Nora paused to see Vanessa was immediately more comfortable. Plans could be made. Solutions.

  She knew it was right to wait, but on the other hand she wanted to get on a horse and ride to Cambridgeshire this instant. “I don’t want Anna to think I’m unmoved, patiently waiting out of some nod to propriety.”