Bound with Love

by Megan Mulry

  Instead, Nora fell back to the grass and laughed and laughed, gripping her stomach with her free hand as the ripples of mirth coursed through her abdomen. “Oh my dear! And here I was so worried about what you would think of my irregular relationship with Vanessa. By comparison to your two, I feel quite pedestrian with my single partner.” Nora gave a little harrumph, and Anna giggled.

  “Let’s not forget Farleigh!” Anna laughed even harder.

  “I thought I was the wild artist, and it turns out your entire life is a work of art. Aren’t we a pair?”

  When they settled down from their giddiness, they held hands and stared up at the sky, and it wasn’t awkward or forced or any of the things Nora had dreaded over the past few weeks. They were each filled with curiosity about the other, stumbling over questions and answers to exchange a lifetime of information as quickly as possible.

  “Do you enjoy being a painter?” Anna asked.

  “What’s it like being a mother?” Nora asked.

  “Do you ever miss Spain?” Anna asked.

  “Why, do you?” Nora asked.

  “Never!” they both answered in unison and laughed some more.

  The next three hours unfurled in that way, with breathless sharing and joyful discoveries, from the smallest habits—strong tea, no sugar—to the largest emotional truths—life is to be celebrated, not endured.

  When dusk settled and they finally headed toward the castle, Anna turned to Nora. “I have always thought myself keenly alive, but for the rest of my life, I believe, I shall look back on this summer afternoon as the moment some integral part of me was born.”

  The remaining weeks of summer passed in a blissful haze. Painting the portrait of all six of them created an ideal schedule, almost an enforced intimacy. The process allowed Nora to get to know each of them separately, during individual sessions, and then to see how they interacted as a family, when she had them all together to work on the composition of the large canvas. Sebastian and Anna were dynamic, Pia was calming, Farleigh was a sweet troublemaker, and the two toddlers were—well, divine. Nora had fallen quite in love.

  Her granddaughter Dolores had been named after Sebastian’s mother, but the somber name never stuck. Everyone called her Lola, and she danced and cooed and smiled like a little angel. She had her father’s dark ringlets and her mother’s strong will. And Nora was completely smitten with her. Lola was inseparable from Farleigh and Pia’s little boy Teddy. To keep them both close while she worked, Nora had one of the castle carpenters build a miniature worktable where the two toddlers could make a mess with berry-dye finger paints and flour-and-water sculpting clay in Nora’s studio.

  Lola’s first birthday, in early September, was cause for both celebration and a tender sadness, as it was time for Farleigh and Sebastian to return to London for business.

  Nora had broached the idea that the mothers and children remain at Camburton Castle indefinitely, but the look of shock on Sebastian’s face was enough to make everyone in the small family dining room laugh uproariously.

  “Very well.” Nora patted her son-in-law on his forearm gently. “I see the idea of being parted from your family, even temporarily, is not one to be borne. I’m sorry for suggesting something so untoward.”

  Farleigh gave a dramatic sigh, mocking Sebastian’s emotional reaction. “Well. That was a near thing. I don’t know how Sebastian would survive without Anna for even a day.”

  Sebastian smiled and shrugged, not minding the gibe. “I embrace the truth of my feelings, rather than trying to repress everything like all you strange English. I shan’t be ashamed of how much I love my wife!” It came out almost like a rallying cry.

  “Hear, hear!” Vanessa cried, lifting her glass of wine and smiling at Nora, then back at Sebastian.

  Sebastian smiled at her and raised his glass as well. “Vanessa knows what love is.”

  “Indeed I do, Sebastian. Indeed I do. If someone suggested I go to London while Nora remained here, they might as well be speaking Icelandic. I would not even know what they meant.”

  “Precisely,” Sebastian agreed.

  Nora shook her head, but she reached for Vanessa’s hand and clasped it. “I know, darling. But I’m going to miss everyone so much. How quiet my studio will be without Lola and Teddy to make a ruckus.”

  “And how tidy,” Anna added.

  “At my age, I realize I’ll take lively chaos over deathly order any day.”

  “Lively chaos for a few more days, then?” Anna asked with a smile.

  The season was winding down, and many of the artists and writers had already packed up and left. There’d been plays and recitals, gallery exhibits and lectures, but the first autumn leaves were falling and Nora welcomed the bittersweet promise of the long winter to come.

  The summers were for Vanessa: packed with energy, fervor, productivity, and growth.

  The winters were for Nora: contemplative, quiet, regenerative, and mellow.

  The next day, as Nora glanced around the drawing room where they were all settled in after lunch, she felt a deep sense of peace. She would miss Anna terribly, but they had promised to write one another every week, and Vanessa and Nora planned to visit London in two months’ time. Anna was happy, and that was all that mattered to Nora.

  Archie, on the other hand . . . Her eye scanned across the room to where Archie was trying to be part of the family circle. It always seemed an effort, poor lamb. He was so smitten with Selina Ashby of late, Nora wasn’t sure he heard half of what other people said to him.

  “Archie?” she called.

  “Yes,” he answered kindly, turning his attention from the fire.

  “Will you come to London with us in November, you think?”

  “Oh, difficult to say. Mayhap. I will need to see where my experiments are at that point.”

  And if Miss Ashby was still in residence, Nora suspected. Vanessa, the manipulative beast, had invited Selina and her good friend Beatrix Farnsworth to stay on at Camburton for the winter. Selina had received an encouraging reply from a publisher in London, and she was going to spend the next six months revising her novel and starting the next. Beatrix would only stay a few more weeks, then she was going to be performing in Europe for several months.

  Archie looked to the door before Nora heard any noise, and he was up out of his chair in a flash. “Georgie is here!” he exclaimed. The twins had always been connected at some cellular level. Of course Archie would sense his sister’s presence before anyone else would.

  Vanessa was sitting next to Nora on the couch, and she sprang from her seat as if bitten. Nora stood up and enjoyed the gust of Lady Georgiana Cambury blowing into the room. She was simply dazzling, a wild, dark thing—her skin smooth and tanned like fine leather, her eyes a penetrating amber that seemed to glow from her face. She was dressed in a jaunty assemblage of men’s and women’s clothing: a frilly white blouse beneath an intricately embroidered velvet riding jacket with a long tapering tail, atop a pair of fitted buckskins and boots. She was also wearing a stylish lavender riding hat, like a compact stovepipe, with a long ostrich feather sticking out the back and a convoluted paisley bow tied around her chin.

  “As-salām 'alaykum!” Georgie called cheerily to the general assembly.

  Everyone stood up in a bustle of greetings and hearty introductions. Archie presented Sebastian, Farleigh, Anna, and Pia. Georgie and Anna were already talking over one another, laughing and holding hands as they became quickly acquainted. Pia looked simply awestruck by the effervescent Lady Georgiana Cambury.

  “Look at our two daughters together, Vanessa. Aren’t they lovely?” Nora watched as Vanessa tried—bless her heart—to see her daughter with the openhearted affection she yearned for, but could never fully express. Underlying Vanessa’s love, there was always a litany of improvements. Nora could practically hear the maternal gears ticking off Georgie’s faults, even after such a long absence when sheer, unadulterated love should have been a mother’s only reaction. The
gulf would continue to widen between Georgie and Vanessa unless they agreed to accept one another as they were. Until then, none of them would find peace. “You promised.” Nora sensed her hesitance, then put her palm against Vanessa’s lower back, and shoved her gently toward her daughter. “Acceptance, remember?”

  Vanessa grumbled and walked toward Georgie.

  “Mother!” Georgie cried, turning away from Anna after giving her one last quick kiss on the cheek and calling her “sister.” Georgie embraced Vanessa in a hard, very brief hug, then stepped back. “How are you?”

  “Oh, how I’ve missed you! Where have you been all this time?” Vanessa reached for her and hugged her again.

  Georgie laughed off her mother’s emphatic nature, but even Nora could hear how Vanessa’s tone seemed to hold more than a hint of complaint.

  “I’ve been everywhere, Mother. Simply everywhere! I will catch you up on all of my adventures, but first you must tell me everything that has happened at Camburton while I’ve been away.”

  “Well, you’ve been gone five long years, so quite a lot has happened.”

  Georgie was pulling off one of her riding gloves, and her smile froze for a second, then returned. “Then you must have quite a lot to tell me.” Her eyes glanced toward Nora.

  Oh, Vanessa, Nora thought, why must you be this way with Georgie? Always with that nasty bit of censure?

  They all settled back into their places, and Georgie squeezed in at the edge of the sofa next to Anna, adjacent to the settee where Nora and Vanessa were seated. On the edge of her seat, ready to dart out of any situation, Nora thought sadly. Would Georgie ever let herself become rooted to a spot? Even if it were a world away in some far-flung desert, would she ever find contentment in one place?

  “Where is your luggage? Have you been traveling for weeks? You look quite refreshed after such a long journey. Pray tell.” Vanessa was settling down; Nora could feel the tension beginning to ebb. They could discuss the particulars of Georgie’s journey. Perhaps that would be a good place to start. Particulars were good.

  Georgie finished taking off her second glove and held them both tightly in her fists, sort of tugging on them as she composed her reply. “My things are over at Mayfield.”

  “Mayfield? Why in the world are your belongings over at Mayfield?” Vanessa already sounded strident, and Nora casually reached behind her upper arm and gave her a quick pinch.

  Georgie began undoing the dramatic sash at her chin. Well, I had to deliver the two Arabians to Mayson and Rushford—did you get my letter? I mentioned the horses, I believe.”

  Vanessa nodded and smiled, but she sounded peevish. “Yes. I got that one letter.”

  Georgie shrugged as she worked at the knot with nimble fingers. “So I merely remained there at Mayfield for a few days while Saladeen and Cyrus got settled in the stables. I’ve only been there about a week.”

  “A week?” Vanessa shrieked. “You’ve been staying next door for over a week and you never even sent word?”

  It was all simply too much! Vanessa didn’t care if Nora pinched her or not, it was simply not on that Georgie had chosen to stay at Mayfield instead of coming straight back to her own suite of rooms at Camburton Castle! But one ought to be charitable . . . at least her hat was quite lovely. Probably one of Rushford’s latest confections, not that Georgie would appreciate it.

  “I had to make sure the horses were comfortable, Mother. They’ve been frantic from the journey, and I need to stay with them day and night. They’re impossibly devoted to me.”

  Finally prying the knot free, Georgie set her riding hat on the spindly side table next to where she sat at the edge of the sofa. Vanessa stopped breathing. What in the world had Georgie done? Where she’d once had a cascading, auburn mane that complimented her strong features, she now had a mannish crop. Vanessa’s deep sense of loss went far beyond vanity—it was as if her beautiful daughter had been abducted, and this shabby imposter had returned in her stead.

  Her daughter raked her fingers along her scalp, through the closely cropped frizz. She let her eyes drift shut for a moment while she scratched, as if she were some sort of animal. When she opened her eyes with a relieved sigh—Vanessa knew that Georgie had always abhorred British hats of all description—she was confronted with a roomful of dumbstruck relatives. “What?”

  “Where is your hair? What have you done?” Vanessa cried, practically weeping. Nora reached for her hand—whether to physically restrain her or attempt to calm her frayed nerves, she wasn’t certain. Anna and Pia gave Georgie a complicit smile; Farleigh and Sebastian looked, well, titillated, damn them. And Archie, poor Archie, looked genuinely appalled.

  Turning back to her mother, Georgie explained, “This is actually three months’ growth. I knew better than to return to Camburton as bald as Uncle Fitz.”

  “But it was your best feature. You were so beautiful. How could you?” Vanessa whispered.

  “Vanessa!” Nora cried.

  Georgie looked at Vanessa, and all Vanessa could think was that she had failed as a mother to her daughter, to have raised such a coldhearted girl. There was so much judgment in Georgie’s eyes, as if she hoped the ensuing uncomfortable silence was a suitable punishment for Vanessa’s sins. Her sins? All Vanessa had ever wanted was for Georgie to be happy, for everyone to be happy. Vanessa had tried to create a world for them that would foster their joy, a childhood that would teach them peace. Where had she gone so horribly wrong?

  “But mother dear, you always raised me to believe that a person’s beauty came from the inside.” Georgie crossed her legs, one trousered calf over one trousered knee, and paused before she eventually spoke again. “When the sun is hot enough to bake bread and each grain of sand is an insidious pest, like the smallest ant that can find its way into any crevice . . .” Georgie lifted one shoulder. “Either the hair had to go or the sand had to go.” She let her shoulder drop. “And the sand wasn’t going anywhere.”

  “I think it’s splendid . . . and very practical.” Pia beamed with admiration, and Georgie turned to give her a closer look. “In fact I think I’d like very much to shave my head.”

  “No!” Farleigh, Sebastian, and even Anna, all cried in unison. Vanessa would have laughed if she weren’t so appalled. It was as if Georgie had actually willed herself to be as unattractive as possible—the raffish attire, the mannish hair—as though, little by little, Georgie was attempting to destroy herself.

  Pia laughed at them all. “Easy for them to say, right Georgie? I’ll take that as a compliment”—she glanced meaningfully at Farleigh—“and I suppose I shan’t approach the sheep shearer quite yet, but oh, how I wish to.” She dug her long fingers into her intricately braided coil. “It’s such a time-consuming nuisance.”

  “Precisely!” Georgie exclaimed, apparently finding an ally in Farleigh’s wife. “As soon as it’s long enough to get in my eyes, I can’t tolerate it.”

  Vanessa caught a glimpse of Archie standing near the fireplace. He looked as if he was formulating something to say that would prove to be both kind and honest, and finally came up with, “Well, you are still you, after all.”

  “You’re right, Archie, I am still me.” With that, Georgie got up from the sofa and crossed the room to join him at the mantle. Vanessa tried to look at them objectively. They were the same height: tall—which meant Archie was just the right size for a man (formidable) and Georgie was just the wrong size for a woman (bulky).

  “You will walk me back to Mayfield, all right?” Georgie asked. It was a promise that they would talk at length about whatever was weighing on him. Georgie had that kind of easy intimacy with everyone—except Vanessa.

  “So, other than my coiffure, any news?” she asked no one in particular.

  The uncomfortable silence was once again broken by the lovely Pia. “Well, I believe I have some news. I’m going to have another baby.”

  The room erupted in hoots of congratulations and hugs and kisses all around. Yet still, Vanessa
remained apart in some critical way. The world—her own family, damn it—was galloping on without her, and she didn’t know how to catch up with it.

  Vanessa watched as Georgie turned to Archie while the rest of them were still fizzing with Pia’s news. “Shall we walk back to Mayfield now?” she heard her daughter say.

  “Now? Oh, Georgie, but you’ve only just arrived,” Archie said. “We should at least stay for dinner.”

  “I’ll return for dinner in the carriage. Please walk with me now. I can’t look at you with all that yearning in your eyes and not know the source. Let us go.”

  “Very well,” he agreed. He turned to Sebastian, Farleigh, and their excited wives to explain that he was accompanying his sister to Mayfield but they would all return for dinner.

  Vanessa stood silently by. Georgie finally turned to face her and Nora. “I’m going to walk back to Mayfield and then, if it’s all right, I’ll be back for dinner. Do you still ring the bell at eight, Mother?”

  “Yes,” Vanessa hissed. “Nothing ever changes here, Georgiana. One boring meal after another. A veritable prison of repetitious nonsense. The bell drones at eight, night after night.”

  “Vanessa!” Nora was appalled, no doubt, but Vanessa was at her wits’ end. Georgie made her feel like their solid, contented life was tantamount to a lifetime sentence in the hulks.

  “No, Mother’s right. I didn’t mean it to come out that way, but that’s how it must’ve sounded. I’m sorry, Mother. I’d love to join you for dinner. At any time. If you’ll have me.”

  Vanessa wanted to cry. Would they ever have a simple conversation where there were no misunderstandings? No veiled threats? “Of course I’ll have you, you strange girl. I’m your mother.” She pulled Georgie into an enveloping hug that she hoped would convey physically what neither of them were capable of conveying with words. Instead, Georgie’s stiffness made Vanessa feel like an unwanted snake who’d wrapped herself around her prey. Gently patting her mother’s back, Georgie slowly extricated herself from this prison of maternal affection.