by Joanna Lloyd
Isabele clapped her hands to her face, a red flush rising from her neck. “Oh, that’s awful. I won’t come down to lunch. I’ll lock myself in my room. I don’t even like boys.”
Electra took up from Shelagh. “What a shame. He is quite a hero around these parts.”
Isabele peered over the top of her hands. “A hero? Why, what did he do?”
“He only fought off a group of bushrangers — they’re like very nasty stagecoach robbers,” Electra explained to Isabele, “and was shot in the leg protecting his sister. But I’ll just tell him you’re not coming down and don’t want to meet him.”
“Maybe I could just meet him for a bit,” she suggested. “I mean, it does seem rude to ignore guests, doesn’t it?”
• • •
They woke to a hot, humid day and, although Electra wanted nothing more than to share Christmas with her husband, she again stubbornly shunned his advances. It would have made more sense to simply return to her own bedroom. But then Charlotte may suspect a rift between herself and William, and Electra refused to give her that pleasure.
The night before, he insisted on making sure Charlotte was comfortable, given her recurring “headache.” He even took a tray to her room, staying there for quite some time. In the absence of Isabele’s mother, Electra put the child to bed and sat with her until her eyelids drooped. With no reason to stay up, Electra went to bed and a short while later heard William entering Isabele’s room. It had become his habit to look in on her before retiring. For Isabele’s sake, she wanted William to have a relationship with the child, but she could not shake the image of him playing a father role with Charlotte beside him.
• • •
The next day, to take her mind off her dreary thoughts, Electra dressed and looked in on Shi Liang’s lunch preparations. No sooner had she entered the kitchen, saturated with different food smells, than a wave of nausea sent her back outside. Shi Liang watched silently and when she finally stepped back into the kitchen, he shook his head, mumbling something incomprehensible. He reached up to a hook, took down a light brownish root, expertly sliced it into thin slivers and tossed them into a cup of hot water.
“Missee drink. Velly good, stop sick from baby,” he said pushing the cup toward her.
She froze, shocked at his statement. “What do you mean? You have no idea what you’re talking about, Shi Liang. What impudence,” she pushed the cup away and stalked out of the kitchen.
Electra walked until she reached the riverbank. She sank to the ground, her mind repeating and denying Shi Liang’s words. Gradually she calmed herself and tried to remember her last cycle. She calculated three times but the answer was still the same. She fell heavily back onto the grass. Shi Liang was right. With all the activity, she had not realised how late she was.
She gazed in wonder at her stomach, elated at the miracle that was taking place inside her. The elation was quickly followed by a gut-wrenching reminder that William did not want her and probably would not want their baby. Logic told her she was his wife and had every right to have his baby, but too much had happened for her to feel she had a right to anything anymore. She could not tell William, not yet anyway. If she did, there was no doubt he would do the right thing and stay with her, rather than going back to England with Charlotte. But she wanted him to stay because he loved her, not from duty. William would have to make a choice between her and Charlotte soon. She would wait. But, for now this must be her secret. Of course, she was not foolish enough to think it would remain a secret for long. Slowly she stood and dragged herself back to the house to face the guests who would soon arrive.
As she passed the kitchen, she stopped and after a moment’s hesitation, walked in. Without looking at Shi Liang, she picked up the cup and drained its contents, surprised at its spicy heat.
Electra lifted her eyes to Shi Liang’s unwavering gaze and swallowed. “I apologise for my outburst earlier. Not a word to anyone, Shi Liang,” she said. He pinched his lips together with his fingers and nodded.
• • •
Despite Electra’s distracted state, Christmas lunch progressed well. Predictably, Charlotte cornered Lord and Lady Percy and shunned those without sufficient status. A number of times Susanna sent pleading looks across to Electra to save her from Charlotte, but Electra shrugged helplessly.
She noticed William move away from the centre of the gathering to a corner of the room with three of the other landholders, including Lord Percy. William’s eyes sparkled and he leaned forward with enthusiasm as he spoke — the subject was obviously a project close to his heart; Electra guessed it was his vineyards. Charlotte’s insinuation into the group interrupted the moment of bonhomie.
“Don’t tell me you gentlemen are talking business on Christmas Day,” she said, tapping Lord Percy on the arm with her fan.
“We apologise, Lady Canby, I suppose it is impolite but there were some matters which needed immediate discussion. However, my attention is certainly diverted from such boring issues with the presence of a lovely lady such as yourself,” responded Lord Percy with a neat bow.
Charlotte giggled and flicked her eyes around the room, presumably to make sure others had heard the pretty compliment. A small nudge accompanied by a groan told Electra that Susanna had been as impressed by Percy’s words as Electra.
Charlotte raised her voice. “Lord Percy, did you hear, the governor is holding a dinner dance in my honour?” This statement was followed by “Ooh’s” and “Aah’s” from different parts of the room as other guests gathered to hear the news. Charlotte tittered and flushed and flicked her fan theatrically, downplaying any notion that she should be important enough to warrant such a thing.
Electra whispered to Susanna through gritted teeth. “I can’t stand it any longer, I need fresh air.” With a slight touch on Susanna’s arm, she slipped out through the French doors to the veranda.
Once she had moved out of earshot of Charlotte’s irritating monologue, she relaxed and leaned back against the stone wall. Electra pressed her back and palms flat against the sandstone, enjoying the cooling sensation of the hard surface. The inviting sound of Isabele’s gurgling laughter made her peek around the corner where she saw Isabele holding court, with Marcus and Annie Holbourne listening wide-eyed to her stories of England. Electra chuckled at the undisguised look of devotion on Marcus’ face. His eyes followed every gesture like a lovesick puppy, and she suspected Isabele’s flushed and animated countenance was due to his attention. Annie Holbourne, although still quiet and withdrawn, seemed also engrossed in Isabele’s stories.
Until that moment, she had forgotten Shelagh’s comments the day before and Isabele’s initial refusal to meet young Marcus. It appeared she and William would not be the only ones to mourn Isabele’s departure.
Electra moved further down the veranda to a quiet, cool corner and settled herself into the soft-cushioned rocking chair. She was pulled from her reverie a short time later by the murmuring of male voices, also on the veranda. She had no interest in listening until she heard the name, “Murphy.” All her senses became alert as she strained to hear the conversation.
“They are getting bolder and the attacks are becoming more frequent,” said an unfamiliar voice.
“It seems they’re desperate for money and don’t care how they get it,” said a very familiar voice. William.
“Our difficulty is in keeping our families safe without causing a panic and unnecessary fear, especially at Christmas,” answered a voice she recognised as Lord Percy’s.
“Perhaps that’s what they’re counting on, that we’ll be less vigilant around this time,” said William.
A cold shiver ran down Electra’s spine. She shook off the feeling, telling herself it was just men being overly concerned about their families. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture and was deep in thought when she was startled by a touch on her arm.
“You heard, didn’t you?” asked William.
She nodded
, biting her lip.
“You have an uncanny knack of being where you shouldn’t and hearing what is not for your ears,” he said, with a slight grin.
Despite the teasing note in his voice, she prickled at his words. Did he mean she was in the way now that Charlotte had arrived? Her response was not rational but neither was her state of mind.
She stood up, raising her chin. “And where is it I should be, William? Somewhere other than here, so you can reacquaint yourself with Charlotte without my interference?”
“What utter rubbish are you going on about now? I swear I don’t know who you are lately, Electra.”
She could think of no answer.
Shaking his head, William walked back inside.
Tears were out of the question with a house full of guests on the other side of the wall. So with all the dignity and courage of her upbringing, she smoothed down her skirt, plastered a smile on her face, and walked back into the sitting room.
Neither she nor William made eye contact for the rest of the afternoon, though she was acutely aware of his strong presence in the room.
She was not the only one aware of William, who looked irritatingly handsome. There was hardly a woman in the room whose eyes did not follow him as he crossed from one side of the room to the other, complimenting, enquiring after family, joking, and teasing. All in all, a perfect host.
That night, William came to their room earlier than usual. She could not feign sleep, she had not been in bed long enough. He sat on the chair by the window and noisily removed his boots. She heard the slide of each boot over his hose, followed by the dull thud as it hit the floor. There was no further sound. It took all her willpower not to turn around to see what he was doing. She imagined him sitting by the window, looking out at the night sky, probably baffled by her recent behaviour. Finally, there was the rustle of clothes being removed and the bed dipped as he lay down. She had her back to him and her heart was hammering so loudly she was sure he would hear it. Despite all indications to the contrary, she yearned only for him to pull her into his hard, warm chest and tell her he loved her, not Charlotte.
Electra lay awake for some time, her hand curved protectively around the tiny life growing within her. The fact that William made no attempt to reach for her, confirmed in her mind the shift of his affections toward Charlotte.
• • •
He knew she wasn’t asleep, her breathing was too irregular but he would not beg for her attention. He lay on his back, his hands behind his head contemplating the two women presently in his home. Charlotte’s beauty still took his breath away as it had always done. Her poise, her charm, her social graces, all made her the perfect companion for any man. Well, almost any man. He turned his head to look at the still form beside him, his body immediately reacting. A shaft of moonlight silhouetted her curved shape under the thin sheet and her hair fell in waves across the pillow, disappearing down her back. Electra made his blood boil, in anger and in ardour, and he wondered if he would ever understand her.
He was not stupid, it was obvious Charlotte had intentions of taking him back to England and probably even taking up where they had left off ten years ago. The fact he had a wife would be no more than a small glitch in Charlotte’s plans. He sighed, let them all go to hell with their histrionics and intrigue. He knew what he wanted and that would not change.
Although, he had to admit to becoming surprisingly attached to Isabele, who was so unlike her mother.
Chapter Twenty-One
Electra lurked in her room.
It was the evening of the governor’s dinner in Charlotte’s honour and the house was in an uproar. She could hear Charlotte’s shrewish voice haranguing Annie, it seemed the poor girl could do nothing right. Tea was rushed into Charlotte’s room and in a clatter of china, was rushed out again. Her hair was wrong, her gown was not pressed properly, the herbs for her bath were not the ones she wanted. Isabele made the mistake of peeking into the room before her mother was ready and was dispatched in tears.
With William’s behaviour and the events of the past few days, Electra considered pleading illness and not attending the wretched dinner. However, in a characteristic burst of determination, she decided she would not let Charlotte win. If escorting them both to the dinner made William uncomfortable, then all the better.
Of course, Electra had not had this change of heart entirely on her own. Two days after Christmas, she had made her way to Shelagh’s and Callum’s cosy, welcoming home and wept her sorrows onto Shelagh’s shoulder.
“I was wondering when ye’d come to me. I wouldna’ have interfered unless ye’d asked lass, but I kent somethin’ was verra wrong with ye,” said Shelagh, after Electra unburdened herself. “But I have to say, I canna agree that William would shift his affections to Lady Charlotte. Why the lad’s besotted with ye.”
“No, Shelagh, I am not imagining it. In fact — ,” she lowered her voice, “he has not wanted to touch me since she came.”
Shelagh shook her head, her eyes expressing disbelief at this revelation.
“Then ye’re to fight fire with fire ma wee lassie and no’ lie down whimpering like ye’ve no’ got a backbone.” She slapped the table with her hand. “Ye’re bonnier, smarter and more worthy of William Radcliffe than ten Charlottes. And we’ll see if our William Radcliffe is worthy o’ ye.”
Shelagh leaned forward and looked at her closely. “I wasna’ born yesterday lass. What else are ye no’ sayin’?”
She had wondered how long it would take Shelagh to guess her secret. Relieved, she shared the news of her pregnancy with her friend but watched her face carefully to see if she had opened up old wounds for Shelagh. There was nothing but joy on Shelagh’s face as they spoke.
“You mustn’t tell anyone, Shelagh. Even Callum. Please promise me.”
“It willna’ be easy to keep that one quiet, lass, aye?” she looked pointedly at Electra’s stomach. “But I’ll keep your secret as long as ye wish it.”
She left Shelagh’s home feeling stronger than she had for days. Her friend would stand beside her and she would fight for her husband, no matter the consequence.
• • •
“My God, you look exquisite.” William’s blue eyes pierced the distance between them and held Electra’s gaze as she descended the staircase.
Her heart fluttered like a schoolgirl’s at his compliment and she felt the warmth blossom on her cheeks. He stood at the foot of the stairs, heartbreakingly handsome in tight cream coloured breeches tucked into black leather boots. A trim-fitting black coat with tails fell elegantly to the top of his boots. Under his coat, his shirt and waistcoat were snowy white, matched by a white cravat around his tanned neck. A leather thong kept his fair hair neatly tied back.
Stepping off the stairs, she smiled and did a half twirl in her low-cut apple green silk and lace gown. Mary had woven green ribbon through her hair, which was piled on top of her head. It seemed William agreed with Mary’s comments that the green showed her red-gold hair to perfection. Electra’s eyes sparkled with undisguised delight as she held his gaze.
Electra ensured she was ready before Charlotte so she could stand beside William when her rival appeared. She had no idea what Charlotte was wearing, but knew only that Mrs. Grenville had made the gown.
A commotion upstairs caused them to turn from each other. Charlotte’s voice could be heard snapping at Annie.
As Charlotte descended the staircase, there was a gasp and a choking sound from William as he muttered, “What game is she playing?”
The gown Charlotte wore was an exact replica of the lilac gown she had worn at her betrothal to William. So that’s what Clara Grenville meant when she told her she would help in any way she could. Electra stifled an irrepressible urge to laugh out loud, find Mrs. Grenville and give her a resounding kiss. Instead, she kept a straight face and smiled benignly, and said how lovely Charlotte looked. The night had just taken a definite turn for the better.
William nodded at Charlo
tte, straightened his cravat and turned, with a look of relief on his face, as Callum and Shelagh entered the room. Electra exclaimed with admiration as the burly Scot did a dainty pirouette, twirling the skirt of his belted plaid. She had never before seen him attired in anything but his rough work clothes and was amazed at the transformation. His usually bushy beard was combed and resplendent over the white linen shirt and short black jacket. At his waist, he had tied an elaborately embossed leather sporran.
“Ah, close your mouth, Electra love. Have ye never seen the like o’ a red-blooded Scot in his plaid afore?” chuckled Shelagh, as she moved to stand beside her husband.
Heat again crept up Electra’s neck, but this time it was embarrassment at being caught out. “I-I really don’t recall. But Callum, you do look magnificent.” She turned to look at Shelagh.
Her friend wore a gown the colour of a clear blue sky in summer with a low, square neckline and short, puffed sleeves. Her dark hair was pulled back with wisps of curl framing her face.
“Oh, Shelagh. You look wonderful. I am so pleased you both decided to come tonight,” said Electra.
“Home by ma fire with a wee dram o’ whisky is where I’d be, no’ preenin’ and prancin’ around Macquarie’s dance floor,” grumbled Callum.
Shelagh pinched his cheek. “Oh, will ye stop your bellyaching. Why, minutes ago ye were twirlin’ like a ballerina with the excitement. It willna kill ye to take me out, aye?” she winked at the others. “And there willna be room for another once he takes to the dance floor.”
William laughed. “It’s true. I’ve seen him. He dances like a dervish and heaven help anyone who is in his way.”