As he slid into his bed, he realized how foolish it was of him to object to a necklace that chafed her neck when his conjugal demands disturbed her far more. He despised himself for taking that which was not willingly given—yet he was not strong enough to prevent himself from going to her again and again. His twice weekly visits were his compromise between guilt and lust.
He stared blindly into the darkness, wondering if he would be able to sleep.
If you would be lonely, take a wife.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Swindon
February 1886
SUNNY ABANDONED HER LETTER writing and went to stand at her sitting-room window, staring out at the gray landscape. In the distance was a pond where long ago a footman had drowned himself in a fit of melancholy. As the dreary winter months dragged by, she had come to feel a great deal of sympathy for the poor fellow.
The loudest sound was the ticking of the mantel clock. Swindon was full of clocks, all of them counting out the endless hours. She glanced at the dog curled in one of the velvet-covered chairs. “Daisy, how many of the women who envied my glamorous marriage would believe how tedious it is to winter on an English country estate?”
Daisy’s floppy-eared head popped up and she gave a sympathetic whimper. Unlike the beautiful but brainless wolfhounds, Daisy, a small black-and-tan dog of indeterminate parentage, was smart as a whip. Sunny liked to think that the dog understood human speech. Certainly she was a good listener.
Sunny’s gaze went back to the dismal afternoon. Custom decreed that a bride should live quietly for a time after her wedding, and at Swindon, that was very quietly indeed. Apart from the newlyweds, Alexandra and the dowager were the only inhabitants of the vast palace. There were servants, of course, but the line between upstairs and downstairs was never crossed.
The best part of the daily routine was a morning ride with Justin. Sunny never missed a day, no matter how vile the weather, for she enjoyed spending time with her husband, though she couldn’t define the reason. He was simply…comfortable. She only wished that she understood him better. He was like an iceberg, with most of his personality hidden from view.
After their ride, she usually didn’t see him again until dinner, for estate work kept him busy. Occasionally he went to London for several days to attend to business. He was gone now, which made the hours seem even longer.
The high point of country social life was making brief calls on neighbors, then receiving calls in turn. Though most of the people Sunny met were pleasant, they lived lives as narrow and caste-ridden as Hindus. Luckily even the most conventional families usually harbored one or two splendid eccentrics in the great British tradition. There was the Trask uncle who wore only purple clothing, for example, and the Howard maiden aunt who had taught her parrot all the basic social responses so that the bird could speak for her. Such characters figured prominently in Sunny’s letters home, since little else in her life was amusing.
A knock sounded at the door. After Sunny called permission to enter, her sister-in-law came into the sitting room. “A telegram arrived for you, Sunny, so I said I’d bring it up.” Alexandra handed it over, then bent to scratch Daisy’s ears.
Sunny opened the envelope and scanned the message. “Justin finished his business early and will be home for dinner tonight.”
“That’s nice. It’s so quiet when he’s away.”
“Two months from now, after you’ve been presented to society and are attending ten parties a day, you’ll yearn for the quiet of the country.”
Alexandra made a face. “I can’t say that I’m looking forward to being a wallflower at ten different places a day.”
“You’re going to be a great success,” Sunny said firmly. “It’s remarkable what good clothing can do for one’s confidence. After Worth has outfitted you, you won’t recognize yourself.”
Unconvinced, Alexandra returned to petting Daisy. Though young in many ways, the girl was surprisingly mature in others. She was also well-read and eager to learn about the world. The two young women had become good friends.
Deciding that she needed some fresh air, Sunny said, “I think I’ll take a walk before I bathe and change. Would you like to join me?”
“Not today, thank you. I have a book I want to finish.” Alexandra grinned, for at the word walk, Daisy jumped to the floor and began skipping hopefully around her mistress. “But someone else wants to go. I’ll see you at dinner.”
After Alexandra left, Sunny donned a coat—not the sables, but a practical mackintosh—and a pair of boots, then went down and out into the damp afternoon, Daisy frisking beside her. Once they were away from the house, Sunny asked, “Would you like to play fetch?” Foolish question; Daisy was already racing forward looking for a stick.
Sunny had found Daisy on a morning ride not long after her arrival at Swindon. The half-grown mongrel had been desperately trying to stay afloat in the overflowing stream where someone had probably pitched her to drown. Driven frantic by the agonized yelps, Sunny had been on the verge of plunging into the water when Justin had snapped an order for her to stay on the bank. Before she could argue, he dismounted and went in himself.
When Sunny saw her husband fighting the force of the current, she realized that he was risking his life for her whim. There had been one ghastly moment when it seemed that the water would sweep him away. As her heart stood still, Justin managed to gain his footing, then catch hold of the struggling dog. After sloshing out of the stream, he had handed her the shivering scrap of canine with the straight-faced remark that it was quite an appealing creature as long as one didn’t have any snobbish preconceptions about lineage.
The sodden pup had won Sunny’s heart with one lap of a rough tongue. Sunny had almost wept with gratitude, for here was a creature who loved her and whom she could love in return.
Naturally the dowager duchess had disliked having such an ill-bred beast at Swindon, but she couldn’t order the dog out of the house when Justin approved. The dowager had resorted to mumbled comments that it was natural for Sunny to want a mongrel, since Americans were a mongrel race. Sunny ignored such remarks; she had gotten very good at that.
As always, Daisy’s desire to play fetch exceeded Sunny’s stamina. Abandoning the game, they strolled to the little Greek temple, then wandered toward the house while Sunny thought of changes she would make in the grounds. A pity that nothing could be done at this time of year, for gardening would cheer her up.
In an attempt to stave off self-pity, she said, “I’m really very fortunate, Daisy. Most of Katie Westron’s dire warnings haven’t come true. Justin is the most considerate of husbands, and he is making the house very comfortable.” She glanced toward the palace, where men were laboring on the vast roof, in spite of the weather. “My ceiling hasn’t leaked since before Christmas.”
She made a wry face. “Of course, it might be considered a bit strange that I talk more to a dog than to my husband.”
One of Katie’s warnings haunted her—the possibility that Justin might have a mistress. Could that be the real reason for his business trips? She loathed the thought that her husband might be doing those intimate, dark-of-the-night things to another woman. She tried not to think of it.
The dull afternoon had darkened to twilight, so she summoned Daisy and headed toward the house. If the best part of the day was riding with Justin, the worst was dining with the dowager duchess. Familiarity had not improved her opinion of her mother-in-law. Most of the dowager’s cutting remarks were directed at Justin, but she also made edged comments about Alexandra’s lack of looks and dim marital prospects. She usually spared Sunny, rightly suspecting that her daughter-in-law might strike back.
Sunny wondered how long it would be before she disgraced herself by losing her temper. Every meal brought the breaking point closer. She wished that Justin would tell his mother to hold her tongue, but he was too courteous—or too detached—to take action.
When she got to the house, she found that her husband
was in the entry hall taking off his wet coat. She thought his expression lightened when he saw her, but she wasn’t sure; it was always hard to tell with Justin.
“Hello.” She smiled as she took off her mackintosh. “Did you have a good trip to London?”
As the butler took away the coats, Justin gave Sunny a light kiss on the cheek, then rumpled Daisy’s ears. He was rather more affectionate with the dog. “Yes, but I’m glad to be home.”
He fell into step beside her and they started up the main stairs. The thought of a possible mistress passed through Sunny’s mind again. Though she knew that it was better not to probe, she found herself saying, “What are all these trips about, or wouldn’t I be able to understand the answer?”
“The Thornborough income has traditionally come from the land, but agriculture is a chancy business,” he explained as they reached the top of the stairs. “I’m making more diverse investments so that future dukes won’t have to marry for money.”
She stopped in midstride, feeling as if he had slapped her. When she caught her breath, she said icily, “God forbid that another Aubrey should have to stoop to marrying a mongrel American heiress.”
He spun around, his expression startled and distressed. “I’m sorry, Sunny—I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Her brows arched. “Oh? I can’t imagine any meaning other than the obvious one.”
When she turned and headed toward the door of her suite, he caught her arm and said intensely, “You would have been my choice even if you weren’t an heiress.”
Her mouth twisted. “Prettily said, but you needn’t perjure yourself, Justin. We both know this marriage wouldn’t have been made without my money and your title. If you invest my money wisely, perhaps our son, if we have one, will be able to marry where he chooses. I certainly hope so.”
Justin’s hand fell away and Sunny escaped into her sitting room, Daisy at her heels. When she was alone, she sank wretchedly into a chair. She had been better off not knowing what Justin really felt. Before she had wondered if he had a mistress; now, sickeningly, she wondered if he had a woman who was not only his mistress, but his beloved. There had been a raw emotion in his voice that made her think, for the first time, that he was capable of loving deeply. Had he been forced to forsake the woman he loved so that he could maintain Swindon?
Sensing distress, Daisy whimpered and pushed her cool nose into Sunny’s hand. Mechanically she stroked the dog’s silky ears. What a wretched world they lived in. Yet even if Justin loved another woman, he was her husband and she must make the best of this marriage. Someday, if she was a very good wife, perhaps he would love her, at least a little.
She desperately hoped so, for there was a hole in the center of her life that the frivolity of the season would never fill.
SUNNY’S DEPRESSION WAS not improved by the discovery that the dowager duchess was in an unusually caustic mood. Throughout an interminable dinner, she made acid remarks about the neighbors, the government and most of all her son. As fruit and cheese were served, she said, “A pity that Justin hasn’t the Aubrey height and coloring. Gavin was a much more handsome man, just as Blanche and Charlotte are far prettier than Alexandra.”
Sunny retorted, “I’ve studied the portraits, and the first duke, John Aubrey, was dark and of medium build. Justin and Alexandra resemble him much more than your other children do.”
The dowager sniffed. “The first duke was a notable general, but though it pains me to admit it, he was a very low sort of man in other ways. A pity that the peasant strain hasn’t yet been bred out of the family.” She gave an elaborate sigh. “Such a tragedy that Justin did not die instead of Gavin.”
Sunny gasped. How dare that woman say she wished Justin had died in his brother’s place! Justin was worth a dozen charming, worthless wastrels like Gavin. She glanced at her husband and saw that he was carefully peeling an apple, as if his mother hadn’t spoken, but there was a painful bleakness in his eyes.
If he wouldn’t speak, she would. Laying her fork beside her plate, she said, “You must not speak so about Justin, Duchess.”
“You forget who I am, madame.” The dowager’s eyes gleamed with pleasure at the prospect of a battle. “As the mother who suffered agonies to bear him, I can say what I wish.”
“And you forget who I am,” Sunny said with deadly precision. “The mistress of Swindon Palace. And I will no longer tolerate such vile, ill-natured remarks.”
The dowager gasped, her jaw dropping open. “How dare you!”
Not backing down an inch, Sunny retorted, “I dare because it is a hostess’s duty to maintain decorum at her table, and there has been a sad lack of that at Swindon.”
The dowager swept furiously to her feet. “I will not stay here to be insulted by an impertinent American.”
Deliberately misinterpreting her mother-in-law’s words, Sunny said, “As you wish, Duchess. I can certainly understand why you prefer to have your own establishment. If I were to be widowed, I would feel the same way. And the Dower House is a very charming residence, isn’t it?”
The dowager’s jaw went slack as she realized that a simple flounce from the table had been transformed into total eviction. Closing her mouth with a snap, she turned to glare at Justin. “Are you going to allow an insolent American hussy to drive me from my own home?”
Justin looked from his mother to his wife, acute discomfort on his face. Silently Sunny pleaded with him to support her. He had said that she was the mistress of Swindon. If he didn’t back her now, her position would become intolerable.
“You’ve been complaining that the new central heating gives you headaches, Mother,” Justin said expressionlessly. “I think it an excellent idea for you to move to the Dower House so that you will be more comfortable. We shall miss you, of course, but fortunately you won’t be far away.”
Sunny shut her eyes for an instant, almost undone by relief. When she opened them again, the dowager’s venomous gaze had gone to her daughter. “The Dower House isn’t large enough for me to have Alexandra underfoot,” she said waspishly. “She shall have to stay in the palace.”
Before her mother-in-law could reconsider, Sunny said, “Very true—until she marries, Alexandra belongs at Swindon.”
“If she ever marries,” the dowager said viciously. Knowing that she was defeated and that the only way to salvage her dignity was to pretend that moving was her own idea, she added, “You shall have to learn to run the household yourself, Sarah, for I have been longing to travel. I believe I shall spend the rest of the winter in southern France. England is so dismal at this season.” Ramrod straight, she marched from the room.
Sunny, Justin and Alexandra were left sitting in brittle silence. Not daring to meet her husband’s eyes, Sunny said, “I’m sorry if I was disrespectful to your mother, but…but I’m not sorry for what I said.”
“That’s a contradiction in terms,” he said, sounding more weary than angry. After a long silence, he said, “By the way, I saw Lord Hopstead in London, and he invited us for a weekend visit and ball at Cottenham. I thought the three of us could go, then you could take Alexandra on to Paris for her fittings.”
Relieved that he didn’t refer to her confrontation with the dowager, Sunny said, “That sounds delightful. Are you ready for your first ball, Alexandra? I have a gown that will look marvelous on you with only minor alterations.”
“That’s very kind of you,” a subdued Alexandra said.
For several minutes, they stiffly discussed the proposed trip, none of them making any allusion to the dowager’s rout. It was like ignoring the fact that an elephant was in the room.
Finally Sunny got to her feet. “I’m very tired tonight. If you two will excuse me, I’ll go to bed now.”
Her temples throbbed as she went to her room, but under her shakiness, she was triumphant. Without the dowager’s poisonous presence, life at Swindon would improve remarkably.
She changed to her nightgown and climbed into bed, wonderin
g if Justin would visit her. Ordinarily he did after returning from a journey, but perhaps he would stay away if he was displeased with the way she had treated his mother.
Though it shamed her to admit it, she had come to look forward to his conjugal visits. One particular night stood out in her mind. She had been drifting in the misty zone between sleep and waking when her husband came. Though aware of his presence, she had been too drowsy to move her languid limbs.
Instead of waking her, he had given a small sigh, then stretched out beside her, his warm body against hers, his quiet breath caressing her temple. After several minutes he began stroking her, his hand gliding gently over her torso. She had lain utterly still, embarrassed by the yearning sensations that tingled in her breasts and other unmentionable places. Pleasure thickened inside her until she had had to bite her lip to keep from moaning and moving against his hand.
Fortunately, before she disgraced herself, he dozed off, his hand cupping her breast. Slowly her tension had dissipated until she also slept. Her rest was remarkably deep, considering that she had never in her life shared a bed with another person.
But when she awoke the next morning, he was gone. She might have thought she had dreamed the episode if not for the imprint of her husband’s head on the pillow and a faint, lingering masculine scent. It had occurred to her that people who could not afford to have separate bedrooms might be luckier than they knew.
She had been mortified by the knowledge that she had the nature of a wanton. The next time she saw Katie Westron, she must find the boldness to ask how a woman could control her carnality, for surely Katie would know. Until then, Sunny would simply have to exercise will-power. She could almost hear her mother saying, “You are a lady. Behave like one.”
Yet still she longed for her husband’s company. She had almost given up hope that he would join her when the connecting door quietly opened and he padded across the deep carpet. As he slipped into the bed, she touched his arm to show that she was awake and willing. He slid his hand beneath the covers and drew up the hem of her nightgown.
The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories Page 8