The Hourglass

by Barbara Metzger

  “Yes, you did. You gave me your white muslin gown to wear for my first one.”

  Lorraine looked stricken. “Oh dear, I was so beastly. How can I hope you will forgive me?”

  “Do not apologize again. We are going to take a page from Mama’s book and not speak of the past.” She took another sip. “Mama says I should visit on our way north.”

  “Will you?”

  “I will wait to hear if Father seconds the invitation before asking Ardeth’s wishes. He was not… pleased to hear how our parents behaved, and his memory is long. I am not certain I want to have our parents and Ardeth together under the same roof.”

  “Oh, Mama will be so impressed at having an earl in the house she will be on her best behavior. And Father is growing too absentminded to care. If they should treat you with less than respect, no one can depress pretensions like your husband. I have seen him do it.”

  So had Genie, which was what was worrisome. She did not fancy seeing him angry.

  Lorraine went on: “And I have seen him convince others that he is a saint… a very sensuous saint.”

  “Sensuous? Do you think so? That is, Ardeth is indeed a handsome gentleman.”

  “Handsome? Why if he were not so obviously moonstruck, you’d have maidens collapsing on your door in hopes he’d pick them up.”

  Genie recalled how he’d lifted her so effortlessly, how she’d felt sheltered in his arms. “Nonsense. No one would be so forward.”

  Lorraine laughed at her naivete. “They’d do worse. Your husband’s piercing eyes, his regal bearing, the distant look—they challenge a woman to make him smile, to make him notice her.”

  “They do?” Genie was feeling like the crow, repeating what she’d heard. She wanted to hear more. “Other women are attracted to Ardeth?”

  “Not me, of course. I am quite taken with my own husband, but ladies do talk among themselves, you know. You are considered lucky. And brave.”

  Genie almost choked on a macaroon. “Me? Brave?”

  Lorraine nodded. “Everyone agrees that there is something almost frightening about your husband, something that speaks of confidence and authority.”

  “Well, he is a commanding figure.”

  “One no rational soul would chance to cross, although no one can say they have heard him speak harshly. Cormack says he will not take up sword or pistol, yet men tread carefully around your husband. You must have noticed.”

  Genie shook her head. She seldom watched anyone else when Ardeth was in the room.

  “Men might take caution, but women quiver at the hint of danger… and desire.”

  “For my husband,” Genie marveled. She thought she was the only one.

  “I don’t suppose I should ask if his looks match his expertise.”

  “His expertise?”

  “In bed, goose. What else do you think women speak of over their needlework? Not their stitches, certes.”

  Genie could feel the blush start at her toes. She tried for a countess’s contempt. “No, I do not suppose you should ask.”

  Lorraine burst into laughter. “How well you do that. Who would have thought that my little sister had such nous?”

  Genie checked the watch pinned to her gown rather than answer. “I am afraid I must be going shortly. I had hoped to see my nephew.”

  “I had not supposed you came to see me.” Suddenly Lorraine was again the fatigued, ashen figure she’d been. “My angel is not well today. The physician had to bleed him, so he will sleep through the day. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?” She brightened. “And bring the crow everyone is talking about? Peter would love to see such a sight. He gets out so seldom—the air is too dank and thick for him. He would be thrilled at a new aunt and a talking bird, all in the same day.”

  Genie agreed. Calling on her sister had not been as terrible as she’d feared, and she still wanted to meet the boy.

  When she mentioned the sickly child to Ardeth at dinner that night he scowled, reminding her of what Lorraine had said. He did look intimidating. Luckily he was angry at the physicians who had no idea how to treat a disease except bleeding it out of a body, generally weakening an already-sick patient.

  “A child? They would drain his life’s blood? How is he expected to regain his strength? Tell them to stop.”

  “Me? Who am I to tell Lorraine’s experts how to treat the boy?”

  “You are his aunt. Do it.”

  So she did. And Lorraine laughed, as Genie knew she would. “I heard your husband had some unconventional notions, and I know Lady Vinross quite sings his praises in the medical field, but the gentlemen who consult on Peter’s health have studied in Edinburgh and are considered the finest minds in the nation.”

  “They have not cured the king, have they?”

  “Oh, but that is a mental feebleness, you know. Peter merely has weak lungs.”

  “Just think about it, because Ardeth makes sense.”

  As she led the way up the stairs to the nursery, Lorraine paused. “There might be something in what he says, for it does take Peter longer every time to recover. I will ask Cormack to speak with the physicians. But my boy will perk up to see you and your wondrous crow.”

  Olive dropped the gold-plated sugar tongs. “Dross.”

  The child was tiny in a large bed, looking pale and thin, but he did smile and try to sit up and bow like a gentleman for his new aunt, whose eyes matched his green ones.

  Olive bowed back from Genie’s shoulder, then flew down to walk across the bed, eyeing the starched nursemaid hovering at his side. “Pee on her?”

  “That’s Peter, you naughty bird.”

  Peter thought it a great joke. He gurgled and clapped his hands—then started to wheeze and gasp and cough and struggle for air.

  Lorraine shouted for the nursemaid to fetch the latest prescription, then a footman to send for the physician. She held the choking boy and looked over his head at Genie, through her tears. “I am sorry, but you must go. The excitement is too much.”

  Seeing a crow? Genie left, because she did not know what else to do. She turned at the door. “Do consider not bleeding him, please. He is so weak now.”

  “We will ask the physicians.”

  Who knew no other course of treatment, Genie realized, a great sadness in her heart for the sweet little boy.

  “To the park, my lady?” Campbell asked when she stepped into the coach after so brief a visit. He was concerned that the sisters had come to blows and hoped to wipe that gloom from his mistress’s face. “No? What about Gunter’s, then? We could order more of your favorite ices. Or shopping? You ladies always like shopping.”

  “Just home, Campbell. Just home.” When they were under way, Genie stroked the bird for comfort. “What do you think, Olive?”

  For once the bird had nothing to say.

  Chapter 15

  Genie could not sleep that night, after a rare evening alone at home. Ardeth had gone out on business, he said. That worried her. She could not ask where he was headed, or with whom, because he was such a private person, and theirs was not that kind of marriage, which also worried her. She was coming no closer to understanding him, although she feared she was way past liking him.

  She was also worried about the sickly little boy, her nephew. How helpless her sister had seemed, how frightened. Genie was, too.

  The only man who had ever attempted to allay her fears was Ardeth, who also caused his fair share. Drat the man for not being home for her to talk to, not that she often got an answer to any of her questions. She thought of Lorraine’s words about his appeal, how the unknown was a challenge to roving-eyed women. Well, his inscrutability was Genie’s least favorite attribute in her husband. That and his being gone so much.

  She felt like a princess in a tower. The handsome knight had charged to her rescue, forded the moat, stormed the gates, broken the chains of the dungeon, slain the dragon, freed the damsel—and then he had ridden away again. That was not the way the story was supposed to e
nd.

  Poor pitiful princess, Genie thought, safe and rich among her diamonds and gold and silks. She looked around her own opulent bedchamber in her own treasure-filled house. How dare she feel sorry for herself? She had no right to complain, not with so much to be thankful for. Nothing like constant companionship had ever been promised to her. In fact, Ardeth had practically sworn to be gone in six months. A sennight less than five months now, so she had better get used to his absence. Besides, she was a strong woman. He’d told her so, made her so. She could face whatever flotsam the Fates tossed her way.

  In fact, Genie told herself as she wiped her eyes, she was weeping only because of her delicate condition. Why, she had snapped at Marie this evening for tugging so hard on the corset strings that Genie had not been able to enjoy her dinner. She’d left Miss Hadley and James Vinross alone at the table, claiming a sour stomach. They were concerned, but not enough to interrupt their conversation about some book Genie had never read, making her feel even more blue-deviled. She was glad that they were getting along so well—she’d known they would—but their growing closeness made her feel more of an outsider. What if they married and moved away to live their own lives, without some maudlin pregnant female? She’d be all alone. She’d be glad for them, smug in her successful matchmaking… and miserable.

  She supposed Ardeth would take the crow with him when he left, too.

  Genie blew her nose and gave herself a good mental shake. She would not wallow in self-pity. No, she would get something to eat. That was it—she was hungry. Lack of food and company and light could give anyone the megrims. So she put on her slippers and her wrap—not the tissue-thin one from her trousseau, but an old flannel robe in case any of the servants were still about—lit a brace of candles, and went downstairs to the deserted kitchen.

  She found a ham, a wheel of cheese, and the last of yesterday’s bread waiting to be tomorrow’s toast, all right on the wide wooden worktable. Perfect. The pantry shelf held a jar of stewed peaches, a crock of raisins, pickled trotters, candied walnuts, and salted kippers. Yes! She poured a mug of ale because old wives’ tales recommended it as healthy for infants.

  Eating in solitude was not cheering her up. The kitchen was too big, too empty, with dark corners and strange shadows cast by the hanging pots and pans. The Randolphs’ dog could usually be found in the kitchen during the day, but old Helen slept in their son’s bedroom, so Genie did not have a four-footed friend to share her meal with. Even two-winged Olive had deserted her, either asleep in Ardeth’s book room waiting for his nightly brandy or back in the stable mews, where Campbell and the grooms often diced and drank late at night.

  Genie sighed and fixed herself a tray, a heavy tray, she realized when she carried it to her favorite room. With nearly every surface covered by hourglasses, Genie set the tray on the floor. Then she rekindled the fire, pleased to see the light glistening off the polished glass of hundreds of the sand clocks. She’d miss them when they were gone, too, returned to their owners or auctioned off for charity. No, she would think instead of all the good the money would do, paying for schools and teachers and books.

  Somehow good deeds were not entirely comforting tonight, either, especially when one was sitting on the floor having a private picnic. What she needed was a book to read, the more boring the better.

  First she carried the much-lighter tray back to the kitchen and thought about washing the dishes at the sink: pumping water, heating a pan, disturbing Cook’s tidy workplace to find soap and towels. Then she thought about the dessert that she had not touched at dinner.

  A small degree of searching found the leftover trifle. Cake and fruit and pudding—and a countess did not have to wash her own dishes, did she? To make less work for the scullery maid in the morning, Genie decided to eat out of the bowl. Only one portion remained anyway. Maybe two small ones.

  This time she carried the bowl and a spoon into the library. The room smelled of Ardeth, a bit smoky, a hint of fine soap, his cologne, and leather. The fire was never permitted to go out in here, so the room was warm. That was for the sake of the old, rare books, Ardeth declared. The fire was more for his sake, Genie thought as she untied the sash of her robe.

  She sat in Ardeth’s favorite wide leather chair and looked at all the books on the shelves, wondering if her husband had read many of them. Most likely he had. She’d been limited to her mother’s tastes during her girlhood, then whatever books came her way during the years with Elgin. Books were a luxury she could not afford then, not when money for food and rent were so scarce.

  Now she had more books than a lending library, right at her fingertips, and no one to tell her what she ought to read. She’d better start soon if she hoped to catch up with Ardeth, or even Miss Hadley. Then she laughed to herself, at herself. Why, she could not read half the languages on the spines of the books. Still, she did feel better sitting here with Ardeth’s books. And with the trifle.

  She had not eaten half, or picked up a book, when she heard the door open.

  “Ah, what a lovely sight.”

  So was he, his dark hair slightly disordered, his neckcloth unknotted so the ends hung down his broad shoulders. She felt better already.

  “May I have a taste?”

  Oh. He meant the trifle. “Of course. I can go fetch another spoon.”

  “Do not bother. We can share.”

  Before Genie could move to the sofa Ardeth lifted her, bowl and all, and sat down on the armchair, with her across his lap. She sat stiffly, trying to maintain her dignity with her toes not touching the ground, and too much of her touching the hard planes of her husband. Good grief, her bottom was against his thighs and he was eating trifle!

  He pulled her closer, lifting the spoon to his mouth. “You couldn’t sleep?”

  . “No, and I did want to speak with you. But I can wait until tomorrow. I can see that you are tired.” His eyes were half-closed, even as he handed her the spoon. “You’ll want to find your bed as soon as you finish.”

  “Not yet. I have too much to do.”

  “Do you never sleep?”

  “Only when I must. Sleep is a waste of time. Sometimes I forget that a body needs refreshing. What did you want to speak of, my dear?”

  She swallowed and handed him back the spoon. Instead of handing it to her when he’d had his share, he brought it full to her lips. He was actually feeding her, which had to be one of the most intimate, erotic moments of Genie’s life. She could barely remember her name, much less what she’d wanted to ask him.

  She licked her lips and shook her head when he offered her another spoonful. Genie needed the time to think, and to think about something other than the warmth where she sat, when Ardeth always claimed to be cold. Where to start? Her toes curling in her slippers? No, no. The easiest place to start was with the boy. While the earl kept eating, she told him about visiting her sister and how she had related Ardeth’s warnings about leeches.

  “I do not know if she will listen, but the boy was no better. Worse, if anything.”

  She told him about the child’s coughing fit over a silly trick of Olive’s, and asked if he had any ideas.

  “It sounds as if the boy might be an asthmatic. The condition has been known for centuries, without a successful treatment being found. Odd, is it not, that people know a hundred ways to kill each other, and do so regularly, but they can hardly cure anything?”

  She had to ask: “Could you?”

  He smiled. “No, I do not have that kind of knowledge, either.”

  “But you worked wonders with the soldiers.”

  “Those were wounds. Stitching and sewing, stuffing pieces together.”

  “But you know so much.” She waved one hand around at the shelves that reached to the ceiling. “And you own all of these books.”

  “I could search them all without finding the cure.”

  “You are sure?”

  “Believe me, if anyone anywhere had discovered an effective panacea, I would know it.”


  She did believe his statement, no matter how farfetched. Ardeth was no physician. He did seem relaxed for a change—Genie must remember to tell Cook to make more trifle—so she felt encouraged to ask, “How did you learn so much?”

  “I told you, from my travels.”

  “Many people journey, but few are half as wise.”

  His lips curved up again at the compliment. “I am not nearly wise enough. I would not hold you on my lap if I had half the wit of an insect.”

  She started to rise, thinking she was hurting him, but Ardeth held her firmly with one arm around her waist. “I am not stupid enough to let go.”

  Genie thought she would be wiser to pursue a different tack. “How did you have time to study if you were constantly moving about? Did you attend a university at all?”

  “It is too hard to explain.”

  He did not seem angry or impatient, so Genie persisted. “I would try to understand, to know my husband better.”

  “I appreciate your efforts, my dear, but much of my past is nearly incomprehensible to me, too.” He ate the last spoonful of the trifle and set the bowl aside, obviously seeking an answer to her honest question, so she stayed. Then he said, “Think of a vast place where the greatest minds of all time gather.”

  “Cambridge?”

  He was polite enough not to laugh at her provincialism. “No, bigger. A spiritual space, filled with the knowledge of the ages.”

  “A monastery?”

  “Think larger still, with no walls, no easy answers, only more mysteries.”

  “That sounds like a magic kingdom out of some fairy tale,” she scoffed. “Next you will tell me there are elves and unicorns. No such place can exist.”

  He rested his head against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. “Oh, it does, somewhere between Heaven and Hell, I suppose.”

  “Now you are being enigmatic again.”

  “I told you, it is too hard to explain.”

  “But you could help my nephew, I know you could. He is a beautiful child, and I hardly got to know him. I fear I never will.”