“I do?” Sunny tried the idea on, and was shocked to realize that it was true. She was happy in Justin’s presence; on some deep level that had nothing to do with their current problems, she trusted him. “But he doesn’t love me—he doesn’t even respect me. Last night he said that since I had behaved like a…a woman of no virtue, he would treat me like one.” A vivid memory of his mouth on her breast caused her to blush again.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No, but he…offended my modesty.” Sunny stared at her hands, unable to meet her godmother’s gaze. “In fairness, I must admit that I did not behave as properly as I should. In fact…I was shocked to discover how wantonly I could behave.”
“In other words, your husband made passionate love to you, you found it entrancing as well as alarming, and are now ashamed of yourself.”
The color drained from Sunny’s face, leaving her white. “How did you know?”
Setting aside her coffee cup, Katie said, “The time has come to speak frankly. I suppose that your mother told you that no decent woman ever enjoyed her marriage bed, and that discreet suffering was the mark of a lady.”
After seeing her goddaughter nod, she continued, “There are many who agree with her, but another school of opinion says that there is nothing wrong with taking pleasure in the bodies that the good Lord gave us. What is the Song of Solomon but a hymn to the joy of physical and spiritual love?”
Weakly Sunny said, “Mother would say you’re talking blasphemy.”
“Augusta is one of my oldest and dearest friends, but she and your father were ill-suited, and naturally that has affected her views on marital relations.” Katie leaned forward earnestly. “Satisfaction in the marriage bed binds a couple together, and the better a woman pleases her husband, the less likely he is to stray. And vice versa, I might add.” She cocked her head. “If you hadn’t been raised to believe that conjugal pleasure was immodest, would you have enjoyed the passion and intimacy that you experienced last night?”
The idea of reveling in carnality was so shocking that it took Sunny’s breath away—yet it was also powerfully compelling. She had come to look forward to Justin’s visits and to long for more of his company. The idea that her response was natural, not wanton, was heady indeed.
More memories of the previous night’s explosive passion burned across her brain. Though the episode had been upsetting, there had also been moments of stunning emotional intimacy, when she and her husband had seemed to be one flesh and one spirit. If such intensity could be woven into the fabric of a marriage, it would bind a man and woman together for as long as they lived. And if passion made a marriage stronger, surely fulfillment could not be truly wicked.
There was only one problem. “I’d like to think that you’re right, but what does it matter if I love my husband and he holds me in contempt? Justin has never said a single word of love.”
Katie smiled wryly. “Englishmen are taught to conceal their emotions in the nursery, and the more deeply they care, the harder it is for them to speak. In my experience, the men who talk most easily of love are those who have had entirely too much practice. The more sparingly a man gives his heart, the more precious the gift, and the less adept he is at declarations of love. But deeds matter more than words, and an ounce of genuine caring is worth a pound of smooth, insincere compliments.”
Abruptly Sunny remembered that Justin had said that he hadn’t looked at another woman since meeting her. She had thought that was merely a riposte in their argument, but if true, it might be an oblique declaration of love. Hesitantly she said, “Do you think it’s possible that Justin loves me?”
“You would know that better than I. But he seems the sort who would be more of a doer than a talker.” Katie’s brows drew together. “Men are simple creatures, and for them, love and passion often get knotted up together. If he does love you in a passionate way, the kind of restrained marriage you have described must be difficult for him.”
And if he was finding the marriage difficult, he would withdraw; that much Sunny knew about her husband. She had regretted the fact that he had never reached out to her with affection—yet neither had she ever reached out to him. Perhaps she was as much responsible for the distance between them as he was. Attempting lightness, she said, “I suppose that the way to find out how he feels is to hand him my heart on a platter, then see whether he accepts it or chops it into little pieces.”
“I’m afraid so.” Katie shook her head ruefully. “All marriages have ups and downs, particularly in the early years. I was once in a situation a bit like yours, where I had to risk what could have been a humiliating rejection. It wasn’t easy to humble myself, but the results were worth it.” She smiled. “A witty vicar once said that a good marriage is like a pair of scissors with the couple inseparably joined, often moving in opposite directions, yet always destroying anyone who comes between them. The trick is for the blades to learn to work smoothly together, so as not to cut each other.”
That’s what she and Justin had been doing: cutting each other. Feeling a century older than she had the day before, Sunny gave a shaky smile. “Apparently I must learn to speak with American bluntness.”
“That’s the spirit. But first, you might want to ask yourself what you want out of your marriage.”
“Love, companionship, children. I certainly don’t want to withdraw entirely from society, but the fashionable world will never be the center of my life, the way it is for my mother.” Her brow wrinkled. “Perhaps if my parents had been happier together, my father would not have worked so hard, and my mother would not have cared as much about society.”
“I’ve often suspected that many of the world’s most dazzling achievements are a result of a miserable domestic situation.” Katie considered. “You might want to wait until both you and Thornborough have had time to recover from what was obviously a distressing episode. You were about to take Alexandra to Paris, weren’t you? In your place, I would carry on with my original plans. That will give you time to think and decide exactly how to proceed.”
“I’m going to need it.” Sunny rose and hugged her godmother. “Thank you, Aunt Katie. What can I do to repay you?”
“When you’re old and wise like me, you can give worldly advice to other confused young ladies.” Katie smiled reminiscently. “Which is exactly what I was told by an eccentric, sharp-tongued Westron aunt who sent me back to my husband when I was a bewildered bride.”
Sunny nodded gravely. “I promise to pass on whatever womanly wisdom I acquire.”
But before she was in a position to give good advice, she must fix her own frayed marriage. And that, she knew, would be easier said than done.
CHAPTER TEN
ALEXANDRA LOOKED EAGERLY from the carriage window. “Almost home! It’s hard to believe that it’s been only a month since we left Swindon. I feel years older.”
Sunny smiled, trying to conceal her frayed nerves. “Paris has that effect on people. You really have changed, too. You left as a girl and are returning as a young woman.”
“I hope so.” Alexandra grinned. “But I’m going to go right up to my room and take off my wonderful Worth travel ensemble. Then I’ll curl up in my window seat and read that new Rider Haggard novel I bought in London. Though Paris was wonderful, there’s nothing quite like a good book.”
“You’ve earned the right to a little self-indulgence.” Sunny gave her sister-in-law a fond smile. Petite and pretty, Alexandra would never be called the Gargoylette again, and the difference was more than mere clothing. Now that Alexandra was free of her mother’s crushing influence, she was developing poise, confidence and a quiet charm that would surely win her whatever man she eventually honored with her heart.
The carriage pulled up in front of the palace and a footman stepped forward to open the door and let down the steps. Even though Sunny had lived at Swindon for only a few months, and that interval had been far from happy, she felt a surprising sense of homecoming. It helped that the ful
l glory of an English spring had arrived. All nature was in bloom, and the sun was almost as warm as high summer.
As they entered the main hall, Sunny asked the butler, “Is my husband in the house or out on the estate?”
She assumed the latter, for Justin was not expecting them to return until the next day. But the butler replied, “I believe that the duke is taking advantage of the fine weather by working in the Greek gazebo. Shall I inform him of your arrival?”
Sunny’s heart lurched. She had thought she would have several hours more before confronting her husband about the state of their marriage, but perhaps it would be better this way. “No, I shall freshen up and then surprise him.”
As she walked toward the stairs, a black-and-tan whirlwind darted across the hall and leapt against her, barking joyfully. “Daisy! Oh, darling, I missed you, too.” Sunny knelt and hugged the slender little dog, feeling that such a warm welcome was a good omen.
A moment later, the wolfhounds thundered up and greeted Alexandra eagerly, then escorted her upstairs. Canine snobs of the highest order, they could tell aristocratic British blood from that of an upstart American, and they reserved their raptures for Justin and his sisters.
Sunny didn’t mind. Her charming mongrel at her heels, she went to her room and changed from her traveling suit to her most flattering tea gown, a loose, flowing confection of figured green silk that brought out the green in her eyes.
She chose the costume with care, and not just because it was comfortable. The free and easy design of a tea gown was considered rather daring because it hinted at free and easy morals. She hoped that Justin would see her garb as the subtle advance that it was.
Because he always seemed to like her hair, she let it down and tied it back with a scarf. She needed all the help she could get, for she was terrified by the prospect of baring her heart to the man who could so easily break it. Apart from a brief note that she had written to inform Justin of their safe arrival in Paris, there had been no communication between them. For all she knew, he was still furious over Paul Curzon’s kiss.
Fortunately, she had news that should mollify any lingering anger. God willing, it would also bring them together.
Chin high, she sailed out of the house and down the path toward the gardens.
A BREEZE WAFTED THROUGH the miniature Greek temple, carrying exuberant scents of trees and spring flowers. Justin scarcely noticed. He was hardly more aware of the pile of correspondence that lay on the cushioned bench beside him, for thoughts of his wife dominated his mind. All of his grief, guilt and anguished love had been intensified by that night of heartbreaking passion, when he had briefly thought that their spirits and bodies were in total harmony.
Sunny had sent him a single impersonal note from Paris. Though it gave no hint of her feelings, its civility implied that she was willing to go on as if nothing had happened.
Yet he feared her return almost as much as he longed to see her. Having once found passion in her arms, it was going to be almost impossible for him not to try to invoke it again, whether she was willing or not.
Absently he slit an envelope with the Italian dagger that he used as a letter opener. Before he could pull out the folded sheet inside, a soft voice said, “Good day, Justin.”
He looked up to see Sunny poised on the edge of the folly, her right hand resting on one of the Ionic columns that framed the entrance. She wore a flowing green tea gown that made her look like an exquisite tree nymph. The garment was distractingly similar to a nightgown, and the breeze molded the fluttering, translucent layers of fabric to her slim figure.
For an instant all his tormented desire must have showed in his face. He wanted to cross the marble floor and draw her into his arms and never let her go. But he didn’t. She looked ready to run if he made a move toward her, and it was unbearable to think that she might fear him.
He set the pile of letters on the bench beside him and courteously got to his feet. “I hope you had a good journey. I wasn’t expecting you and Alex until tomorrow.”
“Rather than spend another night in London, we decided to come home early.”
“I’m glad. The house has seemed empty without the two of you.” Afraid to look at her because of what his expression would reveal, he turned the dagger over and over in his hands. The impact of her presence had driven away all of the eloquent, romantic speeches he had been rehearsing in his mind.
After a strained silence, she said, “I have good news. I’m almost certain that…that I am with child.”
His first reaction was delight, but that was instantly shadowed by the implications. Augusta Vangelder had told him that once her daughter conceived, she was not to be troubled by husbandly lust. The fact that Sunny was brandishing the possibility of her pregnancy like a shield was clear proof that she welcomed the excuse to ban him from her bed.
His fingers whitened around the handle of the dagger. If she bore a son, her obligation to the Aubrey name would be fulfilled, and their marriage would effectively be over. Driving the dagger into his belly would have hurt less than that thought.
During the last lonely month, he had resolved to take advantage of the quiet intimacy of the marital bed to speak more openly to his wife. If she was willing, perhaps they could build a closer, warmer relationship. Now that hope was gone; any discussions between them must endure the harsh light of day.
Knowing that the silence had been too long, he said, “Excellent. I hope you are feeling well?”
She nodded.
After another awkward pause, he said, “Good. We shall have to get a London physician here to make sure that your health is all it should be.” He laid the dagger precisely on top of his correspondence so that the letters would not blow away in the wind. “You need not worry that I will continue to…force my attentions on you.”
“Very well.” She bent her head, and a slight shiver passed through her. Relief, perhaps. “I’m a bit tired. I think that I’ll skip dinner and have a tray in my room.”
Thinking that she looked pale, he said, “Of course. You must take good care of yourself.”
Back straight and head high, she turned and started down the grassy path. Every inch a lady, and as unapproachable as Queen Victoria herself.
He watched her leave, very aware of what an effort it was to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. He had been breathing all his life, yet never noticed before how difficult it was.
There was a tearing sensation deep inside, as if his heart was literally breaking, and he knew that he could not let the deadly silence continue. He called out, “Sunny!”
She halted, then turned slowly to face him. In the shadows cast by the tall boxwoods that lined the path, he could not see her face clearly.
He stepped from the folly and moved toward her, then stopped when she tensed. “Sunny, I want to apologize for what I did at Cottenham. I am profoundly sorry for distressing you.”
“You were within your rights, and your anger was justified,” she said expressionlessly.
“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it right to mistreat you. It won’t happen again.”
“Should I be grateful for that?” she said with sudden, chilling bitterness. “That night was upsetting, but it was also the one time in our marriage that you have shown any feelings about me. I have begun to think that even anger is better than indifference.”
The gay ribbons on her gown shivered as she bowed her head and pressed her fingertips to her brow. When she looked up, her eyes were bleak. “We can’t continue to live together as strangers, Justin. I can’t endure it any longer.”
Her words struck with the force of a blow, nearly destroying his fragile control. It seemed impossible that their marriage could be ending like this, on a day full of sunlight and promise. Yet he could not hold her against her will; somehow he must find the strength to let her go. “If you wish to be free of me,” he said tightly, “I will set no barriers in your way.”
Her mouth twisted. “Is that what you want—t
o end our marriage now that you have your damned roof?”
“I want you to be happy, Sunny.” Hearing the anguish in his voice, he stopped until he could continue more steadily. “And I will do anything in my power that might make you so.”
The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with indefinable emotions. Then she said passionately, “What I want is to be a real wife! To be part of your life, not just another expensive bauble in Swindon Palace.” Her hands clenched at her sides. “Or perhaps I should wish to be your mistress, since English lords seem to save their hearts for women who are not their wives.”
Stunned, he stammered, “I don’t understand.”
“It’s a simple matter, Justin. I want you to love me,” she said softly. “Do you think that you ever could? Because I’m horribly afraid that I love you.”
He felt as if his heart had stopped. Her declaration was so unexpected that it seemed she must be mocking him. Yet it was impossible to doubt the transparent honesty in her eyes.
Before he could find the words to answer, her face crumpled and she spun away from him. “Dear God, I’m making a fool of myself, aren’t I? Like the brash, vulgar American that I am. Please—forget that I ever spoke.”
Justin’s paralysis dissolved and he caught her arm and swung her around before she could dart down the path. To his horror, tears were coursing down her face. The sight delivered a final, shattering blow to his reserve. Crushing her in his arms, he said urgently, “Don’t cry, Sunny. If you want my love, you already have it. You always have.”
Though her tears intensified, she did not pull away. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and hid her face in the angle between his throat and shoulder. She was all pliant warmth, honeyed hair and the promise of wild violets.
He groped for the best way to tell her how much he loved her until he realized that words had always failed and divided them. Action would better demonstrate the depth of his caring. He raised her head and brushed back her silky hair, then kissed her with all of the hunger of his yearning spirit.
The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories Page 11