Falling for Chloe

by Farr, Diane

  Gil and Chloe, seated across from one another on twin settees, were providing comic counterpoint to Robert and Tish’s melodrama. Chloe, like Tish, had arrayed herself in what surely must be her most becoming dinner dress; Lady Gilliland had never seen her look so beautiful. She perched on the settee, doing her best to appear unconscious and at ease, while Gil sat across from her and stared in frank admiration. Lady Gilliland had to bite back a laugh as she watched them. Since Gil’s gaze was riveted on Chloe, whenever she glanced at him her eyes caught his. They would both immediately look away, blushing hotly, and then, since Chloe seemed better able to command herself than Gil, she would determinedly fix her gaze on someone else and attempt to join in the conversation. At which point, Gil’s eyes would irresistibly return to Chloe, and stay there until the dance repeated itself. Friendship, pish-tosh! The entire room smelled of April and May!

  She supposed that she would be the only member of the party who would be aware of what was served, or taste the dinner at all. In fact, she was fairly certain that the others would eat little and spend their time stirring their food this way and that, going through the motions rather than actually chewing and swallowing. This supposition proved true, for the most part, but one member of the party defied her expectations. Gil may have been unaware of what he was eating, since his attention was fixed unwaveringly on Chloe throughout the meal, but he ate steadily, with a young man’s appetite, and managed to put quite a bit of it away.

  The Dalrymples’ servants had outdone themselves. Lady Gilliland wondered cynically if they were feeling some concern over which household, if any, would employ them if and when the Master left the Mistress. There was never any hope of hiding marital discord from the servants, of course. Doubtless rumors had been flying all day. The dinner certainly appeared designed to remind its consumers of the excellence of the present staff. Fresh flowers adorned the table, which was perfectly set with gleaming china, highly-polished silver, wax candles, and sparkling cut crystal. The linens were spotless. The meal itself was excellent, and the service attentive and unobtrusive. What a pity, thought Lady Gilliland, that she was probably the only person at the table who noticed any of it.

  Conversation was sporadic and desultory. Lady Gilliland peacefully consumed her dinner and bided her time. Eventually Robert turned to her, with an obvious effort, and politely inquired how she had left Sir Walter, and whether things were going well in the neighborhood. Lady Gilliland smiled.

  "Sir Walter is quite well, as always, thank you. Everything has been most quiet; scarcely any news or gossip to report. Except, of course, for the Ewings."

  A pause ensued. Lady Gilliland tranquilly sipped her wine and waited. It was Tish who asked, "Who are the Ewings, Mama?"

  Lady Gilliland opened her eyes in what she hoped would seem an expression of mild surprise. "Surely you remember Mr. and Mrs. Ewing, Tish? Such a lovely couple, and so fond of one another! I believe you missed their wedding—well, of course, you would have been in London. What a picture they made! I believe I never saw a couple more besotted, and their feelings perfectly mutual. Why, everyone expected them to live in blissful harmony! But, alas, it was not to be. As Shakespeare said, ‘the course of true love never did run smooth.’"

  Four pairs of eyes fastened on her. Tish, especially, seemed painfully interested. "What happened to them?" she asked, sounding as if she dreaded the answer.

  "Oh, nothing, my dear. Nothing in the world. It was what they thought had happened to them that was nearly their undoing."

  Aurelia’s eyes traveled round the table. Certain that she held everyone’s undivided attention, she blandly continued. "No one seems quite sure how it began, or which of them was more at fault, but a certain distance crept into the Ewings’ marriage. Little misunderstandings arose. Feelings were injured. Doubtless each of them contributed to this, of course; that is always the way of it. I never yet knew a marriage that soured through the fault of one spouse alone."

  She paused again, ostensibly to sip her wine, and covertly noted the arrested expression on Robert’s face. Robert was no fool! She continued, still in the same gentle, off-hand way.

  "Be that as it may, eventually people began to notice that the Ewings scarcely ever appeared in public together. We all commented on it, of course. It seemed a shame, after such a promising beginning. And any fool could see that both of them were unhappy, but what can one do?" She shrugged. "Fatal to interfere in someone’s marriage, even with the best intentions! I daresay there were any number of us who were simply longing to give them both a good talking-to, but naturally one does not dare. I hoped that Mr. Ewing’s mother might intervene, but unfortunately she was a jealous, spiteful woman and had taken poor Mrs. Ewing in dislike. So the last thing she was inclined to do was help her daughter-in-law. If anything, she made matters worse by continually finding fault with her. And, I am afraid, she had no hesitation in complaining to her son about his bride. Most unfortunate. You can easily imagine the damage that was done."

  Robert’s color was a trifle heightened. "I suppose Mrs. Ewing was completely blameless in every way," he said drily.

  "Oh, by no means!" said Lady Gilliland promptly. "Quite the contrary. In fact, it was Mrs. Ewing’s behavior that brought matters to a head."

  "What did she do?" asked Tish. Her voice quavered a little.

  Aurelia shook her head gravely. "Indeed, I hesitate to tell you, for it’s enough to make you all think ill of her. And I believe she meant nothing by it. In fact, I thought it rather pathetic, for everything she did was merely an attempt to regain her husband’s attention. But the foolish creature deliberately began dressing in the most outlandish mode—really, some of the things she wore were nothing short of scandalous! And I’m afraid she adopted a flirtatious manner to match her wardrobe. And several of the young men in the neighborhood received quite the wrong impression."

  "Oh, dear," said Tish. She was blushing fierily. "Mama, would you care for a little more of the duck? Allow me to—"

  "But the worst of it was," resumed Aurelia, smoothly quashing Tish’s misguided effort to change the subject, "that there was one man in particular whose attentions she encouraged. And he had a most unsavory reputation."

  "Did he?" said Robert grimly. "Pray continue, ma’am. You interest me extremely."

  "Well, it is an interesting tale," said Aurelia modestly. "At any rate, I believe this dreadful man would not have hesitated to ruin Mrs. Ewing. And the silly creature was so innocent, at heart, that she ran headlong into danger."

  "She sounds a perfect idiot," said Gil. Seeing that her son’s eyes were alight with unholy laughter, Lady Gilliland shot him a quelling glance.

  "She was not, I am afraid, very wise," said Aurelia repressively. "And I always thought her stubborn, and unwilling to take the advice of those older and wiser than herself. But I am convinced that her heart was ever in the right place. And I am perfectly sure that, despite all appearances to the contrary, she never allowed this man to take liberties with her, even when alone with him." Aurelia touched her napkin delicately to the corners of her mouth. "Mrs. Ewing," she said softly, "never, for one moment, stopped loving her husband."

  Tish, motionless, stared at her dinner plate. Chloe’s blue eyes never left Lady Gilliland’s face. "How did things ever come to such a pass, between two people who loved one another?" she asked quietly. "I always thought that mutual love brought understanding."

  "Oh, my dear, nothing could be farther from the truth! Love brings misunderstanding, more often than not."

  "Why is that?" asked Tish, almost inaudibly.

  Aurelia smiled fondly at her daughter. "Because to love someone, Tish, means giving that person the power to hurt you. It is really rather frightening to love anyone as much as the Ewings loved one another. The more one loves, the more power the beloved has, for good or ill—to make one happy, or to make one desperately unhappy. Tiny flaws become magnified. Slights are imagined. And then pride rears its ugly head, and soon the entire relatio
nship is poisoned."

  Robert’s brows rose. "Pride?"

  "Oh, yes. Simple human pride. One feels wounded, and often the other person has no notion of it, and that hurts even more. And one tells oneself, well, I sha’n’t let on. So instead of having it out, one is silent, and nurses the injury, and broods, and allows it to fester. Eventually one tries to get a bit of one’s own back. And everything goes from bad to worse. A little of that happens in every marriage, you know."

  Robert set his fork carefully beside his plate, and took a deep breath. "What happened to the Ewings?" he asked quietly.

  "Oh, they came very near the brink. Very near indeed. Each of them believed that the other had stopped loving, you see. I believe they actually had plans to separate, although they were both heartsick about it. Such a pity! So much needless suffering! All that was really required was a simple, honest confession of feelings. But pride kept them silent."

  "You say they came near the brink. They did not separate, then?"

  Aurelia smiled serenely. "No. They swallowed their pride, and spoke their love before it was too late," she said. "And all’s well that ends well."

  A brief, but pregnant, silence fell. It was broken by the scrape of Robert’s chair as he pushed it back from the table. He was pale, and moved awkwardly, but he rose and held out his hand to Tish.

  "May I speak with you alone for a moment, Mrs. Dalrymple?" he asked, none too steadily.

  Tish raised her eyes to her husband’s face. She did not speak, but placed her hand in his and rose. Robert faced the room, said, "Pray excuse us," bowed, and led his wife out the door. It closed behind them, but not before Lady Gilliland, Chloe, and Gil saw Robert’s arms go round Tish in a crushing embrace.

  Another silence fell in the dining room. Lady Gilliland looked extremely pleased with herself. Gil shook his head admiringly. "Mother, you are the most complete hand," he exclaimed softly.

  "Nonsense," said his mother, keeping her mouth very prim. "And I haven’t the foggiest notion what you mean by that remark," she added belatedly.

  Gil chuckled, and threw his napkin down beside his plate. "Well, if the host and hostess see nothing untoward in abandoning their guests in this shocking manner, I daresay you will not take it amiss if Chloe and I compound the error by leaving you quite alone?"

  "Not at all," said Lady Gilliland graciously.

  Chloe looked up at Gil, her eyes suddenly wide with apprehension. "I will stay here with Lady Gilliland," she said.

  "No, you won’t. Come along, Clo! Step lively, or she’ll start spinning another tale to pull us out of the briars. And I mean to pull myself out, thank you."

  "Run along, my dear," said Lady Gilliland placidly. "I daresay Gil has something very particular he wishes to say to you. I shall meet you later in the drawing room."

  Chloe’s knees felt unaccountably wobbly as she rose. Gil took her hand and led her from the room. A bar of light beneath the library door informed them that Robert and Tish were closeted there, so Gil took the lamp from the hall table and began pulling Chloe peremptorily up the stairs.

  "We’ll try the morning room," he whispered.

  "There won’t be a fire there."

  "We’ll light one. Come on, Chloe—what’s the matter?"

  "Nothing!" Chloe lied. She still hung back. "I don’t know what you can possibly have to say to me that you couldn’t say in front of Lady Gilliland."

  "Come with me and you’ll find out," Gil promised.

  She followed him up the stairs, guiltily aware that the clasp of Gil’s strong, warm hand secretly gave her much pleasure. How often would she feel his hand closing over hers after this night? she wondered wistfully. Not often enough. She could not bring herself, therefore, to waste this precious opportunity by deliberately pulling her hand out of his. Instead, she swallowed her misgivings, clung to his hand, and accompanied him to the morning room.

  By now, she had realized what Gil had to say to her, and why he did not wish to say it in his mother’s presence. He was going to tell her his idea of how they might end their engagement. And no matter what his idea was, Lady Gilliland would oppose it. He was right, of course; it would be best to tell Chloe alone. Perhaps they could present it to their families as a fait accompli, thus avoiding a series of tiresome scenes. She hoped so. It would be difficult enough to maintain her resolve without being buffeted by conflicting opinions.The morning room was, as she had predicted, dark and cold. Gil closed the door behind them and knelt to light the fire the servants had laid ready. She watched, her heart aching with love for him, as the light bloomed beneath his fingers and illuminated the strong, clean planes of his beloved face. It was almost as if she had never really looked at Gil before. Why had she never noticed these little things about him? How could she have seen him day after day, for most of her life, and remained oblivious to his manifold perfections? Soon she would return to Brookhollow, and he would be out of reach. While she could, she would look at him, and commit every detail to memory.

  When the fire was burning to his satisfaction, Gil rose and glanced back at her. She looked hastily away, afraid that he would read her thoughts.

  "You’ll be cold," he told her. "Come closer to the fire."

  She moved to a spindle-legged chair near the fire and sat, clasping her hands in her lap. Here it comes, she told herself.

  To her surprise, Gil did not sit in a neighboring chair, but on the footstool at her feet. He took her hand again and gazed into the fire, frowning a little. "Do you remember, the morning the engagement notices were posted, Tish said that we might enjoy being engaged?"

  Chloe nodded, not trusting her voice.

  "Well, I have enjoyed it. I didn’t expect I would, but there it is."

  "Yes. I didn’t expect to, either, but . . . " Her voice trailed off.

  "But you did?"

  "Well, yes. I’ve liked not having to worry about—about keeping fortune-hunters at bay. Or raising anyone’s expectations. Or things of that nature."

  Gil’s frown was now fixed on their linked hands. "It hasn’t been so awfully bad, has it, Clo? Spending time with me? You haven’t grown tired of it, have you?"

  He sounded almost hesitant. Instinctively, she pressed his hand. "Of course not," she said warmly. "Why, I’d rather spend time with you than anyone."

  His frown cleared. "I feel the same."

  Chloe felt herself to be on dangerous ground. She forced herself to pull her hand out of his. "But we can’t stay engaged forever," she said bracingly. "What was it you were going to say to me, Gil?"

  He faced her then, his expression troubled. "You won’t like it."

  He rose and began pacing the room restlessly. After several moments had passed and Gil still had not spoken, Chloe prodded tentatively. "Is it the idea you had? The one for ending our engagement?"

  "Yes," he said curtly.

  She could not bring herself to encourage him further, or beg him to explain it. Her thoughts churned chaotically, trying to think what on earth it could be. Something she would not like! Oh, dear. It must be really dreadful, to throw Gil into such a taking that he dared not even tell her! She watched in increasing alarm as he prowled back and forth, aimlessly picking up small objects and setting them back down. He finally jammed his hands in his pockets and faced her. His expression was grim.

  "We can’t stay engaged," he said.

  "No."

  "And if we cry off, it will cause the very devil of a scandal."

  She nodded, mystified, and waited for his solution.

  "So I think we should marry."

  Chloe’s jaw dropped. She felt the color draining from her face. But Gil raised a hand, as if to ward off argument, and rushed into speech. "Now, hear me out! I know you don’t wish to marry, but I always thought it was because you were afraid some fortune-hunter would cast out lures to you, and you’d find yourself in your mother’s situation. Well, you can’t think I care about your stupid fortune! It’s you I care for, Chloe. Always have. Always will.
" Gil’s voice was choked with emotion.

  And suddenly he was back at her feet, both her hands in his. "Please, Chloe. I was never more in earnest in my life. Please. Will you think on it?"

  She stared dazedly down at Gil’s face. There was a strange roaring in her ears. She wondered if she were about to faint. "Marry you?" she repeated. She could barely get the words out. Her lips felt numb.

  "Yes, that’s right. Marry me. I—I know it’s not what you wanted, and I daresay the notion comes as a bit of a shock, but—"

  "M-marry you?"

  "Yes, dash it! Why not?"

  "Because—because—oh, Gil, you don’t want to marry me! Friendship isn’t enough. Yes, I know you love me, and I love you, but there’s more to marriage than—"

  She barely had time to register the fact that Gil had pulled her to her feet before he was kissing her, kissing her with a ferocity and a tenderness that robbed her of all reason. Objections vanished, reservations melted away, and all hope of hiding her feelings from him utterly disappeared, forgotten. After the swift, initial shock of astonishment—or perhaps because of it—she was powerless to control her response. Far from hiding her feelings, she found herself expressing them, responding to his touch with an abandonment she would have thought shameful, had she been able to think. Gil did not appear to be thinking clearly, either, for he did not seem to find her eagerness the least bit repellent or shocking. On the contrary, it was evident, amazingly and wondrously evident, that their passion was entirely mutual. It was surprise, more than anything else, that caused them both to eventually tear themselves apart and open their eyes, blinking at one another like creatures who had lived their lives underground, never knowing what sunlight was until this moment.