In My Lady's Chamber

by Laura Matthews

  “Only because he considered it valueless,” Edward said disgustedly. “I hope he leaves early in the morning and never returns.”

  Steyne laughed. “Both events are unlikely, my dear fellow. But after a wholly disappointing sojourn here, I doubt he’ll be in a hurry to return.”

  The writing desk still stood open and Edward picked up the golden bowl as though it were fragile as an eggshell. He would be the first to really study the treasure after its long exile, to read the words that might offer a solution as to its origin. “Thank you, Lord Steyne, for all your assistance.”

  “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself,” his companion assured him as they left the writing room. They silently made their way across the hall and parted at the head of the stairs, each to conclude the business most important to him at the moment.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Theodosia’s door was locked. Steyne knew because he tried it before he knocked. In fact, he had to knock several times before she answered. Really, she had a wonderful capacity for sleeping at the most unlikely times, he decided. When she asked softly through the door who it was, he said, “Marc.”

  The door opened to a room in total darkness. She had struggled into a dressing gown, but had not taken the time to strike a flint and light a candle. Her hair was loose and rumpled, her eyes blinkingly sleepy. “Is everything all right?”

  He nodded as he shut the door. “Everything is fine. Obviously I woke you. Would you rather we talked in the morning?”

  “No, I don’t mind. Just give me a moment to gather my thoughts together.”

  Standing there staring blankly at the buttons on his coat, she did look rather disoriented. Steyne set down his candle, making no attempt to light any others in the room. He went purposefully to the wash-hand stand and dipped a cloth in the now-cold water, rung it out and proceeded to rub it gently over her face as she stood with it patiently lifted, like a child. Her alertness was not visibly improved.

  “How in heaven’s name do you deal with the children in the middle of the night?” he asked with mock exasperation. There was only one way to clear her head, he decided, as he lifted her chin and leaned down to kiss her. And a light, passing kiss would hardly serve his purpose, of course. If he was to get her full attention, it had to be by arousing her interest or her wrath. His lips on hers were demanding.

  Theodosia was instantly shaken from her drowsy trance, but it seemed wisest for a moment to appear otherwise. Her response to him might then be mistaken for a rather long-abandoned habit; she had been in the habit of responding quite admirably to him in the old days. If she was going to draw away from him—indignant, offended—she would have to do it soon. It hardly seemed worth the effort. Eventually he gathered her to him for an extravagant hug and then determinedly urged her to a chair.

  “Now we can talk,” he informed her, drawing another chair so close that he could, and did, hold her hand. “What would you like first—the story of the treasure or a declaration of love?”

  Theodosia observed his delighted grin and shook her head mournfully. "What a romantic you are, Marc! Tell me about the treasure.” When his brows rose, worried, unhappy, she explained, “I like to save the best for last, like a child.”

  “And my sister could never understand why I ate the turnips first. It will be so comforting to have someone who understands me.”

  Ignoring this juxtaposition of last on first, Theodosia folded her hands and asked, “What happened this evening?”

  As concisely as possible he related the discovery, the substitution and James’ search. Theodosia expressed appreciation that Edward had been the one to find the golden bowl but offered no comment on Steyne’s part in the adventure.

  He eyed her warily. “On the other hand, it may be difficult to live with someone who takes my few good qualities for granted. My sister always praised me lavishly for doing something useful.”

  “Your sister didn't mind spoiling you, Marc. Older sisters have a tendency to do that, I think.” But her eyes were dancing. “I hope you know how grateful I am that you managed everything so well.”

  "Faint praise! And here I thought you would tell me how clever I am, how much you admire my resourcefulness, how . . .”

  “All of that, certainly,” she laughed, raising a hand as though to stop the flow of his self-congratulations. “I thought I would spare myself repetition by saving my admiration for your declaration of love!”

  “Did you? Well, then, we should get on with it!” But he dropped his bantering tone immediately and took both her hands in a firm grip, his eyes wandering fondly over her animated face. “Oh, Lord, I hardly know where to begin. Should I apologize for my lack of understanding and my pigheaded behavior?”

  “No.”

  “Good. It’s very difficult for me to do that, but I’m sorry for all this wasted time and my part in it. And I'd like to wring my aunt’s neck! Doe, if I had known when your father died, I would have come to you. I want you to believe that.”

  “I do,” she said softly, pressing his hand.

  “When I thought you had married someone else I was hurt and confused. I felt you hadn’t given me a chance, but I confess I didn’t blame myself until coming here. Of course I’ve been spoiled—all my life. I usually think I know what is best for other people and I have a tendency to tell them what to do. Believe me, it doesn’t stem from disdain but from caring for them.”

  “I know.”

  He held her eyes intently. “If I’ve acted as though I didn’t respect your judgment, I never meant to. No, I suppose that’s not entirely true. When you were eighteen I did question your decision, but I can see now that you only did what you had to do, and I made it harder for you. I would like to leave that behind us. Is that possible?”

  Theodosia nodded but an impish light gleamed in her eyes. "Marc, if you don’t get around to making this declaration of love fairly soon, I am going to expire of anticipation.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Doe! I love you! There, I’ve said it in all its simple elegance. I love you to distraction! (That’s with a little more passion.) I want you to marry me. (That’s the part that makes the passion acceptable!)” He had pulled her to her feet during this recital and now kissed her rather warmly. “That’s to demonstrate the passion, the love, etc. Well, have you anything to say for yourself?”

  “I am, of course, sensible of the honor you do me . . ."

  “Not that!” he protested, unable to keep his lips from twitching. “A simple yes or no will do, my love.”

  “Well,” she sighed, “if you won’t allow me to respond to you properly, I suppose it will have to be a simple 'yes.’ But it’s very unfair of you, Marc.”

  “How can you say so?”

  “Why, you haven’t given me the opportunity to list all your admirable qualities in the course of my acceptance speech. I was going to drown you in rhetoric, just as you have been attempting to do. And, of course, I was going to tell you that I loved you, too.”

  "Do you?” he demanded, his lips close to hers.

  She managed to murmur a shaky “yes” before she was unable to say anything further.

  It was some time later, when she sat on his lap (two chairs seeming redundant), that he said, “I think, if it is acceptable to you and Lady Eastwick, that I will bring Ruth here to meet you. They were great friends and they could both use some companionship just now.”

  “Will you go up to London with James in the morning?”

  “I should, but I’ll stay if you wish it. I need only be gone three or four days.”

  Theodosia pondered this information. “Will that give me a chance to keep my appointment with Mr. Oldbury for a drive?”

  “Hussy! The only appointment you are going to keep with Mr. Oldbury is one that I will arrange in the morning for him to marry us.” He regarded her with one quizzically raised brow. “If that is acceptable to you."

  Her retort had not quite been formulated when the door burst open and Edward exclaimed, “I thou
ght you would be here! When you weren’t in your room this is the first place I thought to come!”

  “We are going to be married,” Theodosia said faintly, unable to rise from Steyne’s lap since he refused to let her.

  Edward did not appear to hear her. “It does have to do with Arthur! The Latin inscription is most definitely Mons Badonicus, Arthur’s most famous battle, and the single word ‘Arthur’ is on the other side with a man carrying a shield! Imagine!”

  With the greatest presence of mind, Steyne suggested, “I think on such an auspicious occasion you would be justified in waking your mother to tell her. And do close the door after yourself.”

  “Oh! Yes, of course."

  When Edward had departed, with a sheepish grin and a mumbled, “Congratulations!” Theodosia sighed. “I shall miss the Heythrops. Have you ever seen such single-minded purpose?”

  “Yes,” he told her as he drew her back into his arms.

  Epilogue

  Theodosia stood by a window looking out over the rolling Kent landscape. The sun had set but the sky remained rainbow-hued near the horizon, casting an enchanting light over the lawns. She turned slowly as she heard the door open. “It’s beautiful here, Marc. I wish we had arrived a little earlier so we could have wandered through the grounds.”

  “Tomorrow, my love. Any one of a thousand tomorrows.” He joined her by the window and pointed to a distant body of water. “That’s where I shall take you in the morning, if you like. You can skip stones there to your heart’s content.” He had begun to remove the pins from her hair, allowing it to cascade through his fingers. "Do you like to swing? There’s a swing by the lake. I have always had it kept in good condition because Ruth enjoys it so much.”

  "Marc . . ." Theodosia paused as he kissed her and turned obediently so he could undo the fastenings at the back of her dress. “Ruth seemed very happy at Charton Court, don’t you think? She was so kind to me. I . . . would have suggested that she come here with us, except for our being just married.”

  “Hmm.”

  Theodosia tingled to the touch of his warm hands on her bare shoulders. “Marc? Did you think she seemed happier? I mean . . . being with Lady Eastwick and all.”

  "Much happier.” He grinned at her averted face and continued to remove her clothing.

  Unembarrassed, Theodosia stood before him disrobed, her eyes warm with love, but determined to discuss his sister. “She doesn’t really like town life, I think, except for contact with serious people, people like those she knew with her husband, you know.”

  “Yes” he agreed, drawing her to him, “Ruth likes people with some purpose.”

  After awhile, Theodosia sighed contentedly, but drew back a pace to say, “It didn’t sound as though there were very many people like that at her estate in the country. I don’t mean they aren’t good people! She spoke of them with real affection, but she needs someone to . . ."

  “Yes, my dear, I know,” he assured her as he began to remove his own apparel.

  But Theodosia didn’t think he understood. He spoke absently, the light in his eyes fired by desire, not by concern for his sister. Well, it was a stupid time to bring up the subject anyway, she told herself. And what did she know of the need for physical contact, except for these last few days? She could hardly be considered an expert on the subject of marital relations and she felt rather naive trying to discuss them with her husband on such a short experience. But what an enlightening, ecstatic experience! Frankly, she had never guessed the least part of it!

  Still, to think of poor Ruth who had enjoyed this bliss with her husband for fifteen years, only to be bereaved, denied his presence, his love, his companionship . . . and this incredible physical sharing. How Theodosia ached for Ruth’s sorrow. She could not help but compare it with her own joy.

  “Marc, what I mean is . . .”

  “Come here, Doe,” he said gently, holding his arms open to her.

  Nothing could keep her from him. How quickly the body learned to crave this overwhelming sensation. His hands were so gentle, his lips so soft, and yet the fire they created raged through her until almost every other thought was banished. Almost.

  “Marc love, we have so much . . ."

  He was carrying her toward the bed, cradling her against him, her long brown hair falling on his arms and chest. “More than I had dared hope,” he agreed, his voice husky. She could not see the quizzical tilt to his brows in the darkening room.

  “Yes, well, when we have so much I was thinking of poor Ruth, so alone, you know.”

  “She’s with the Heythrops. One can hardly consider that alone.”

  “No, of course not, but . . .” There was no use fighting the urgency now, Theodosia admitted to herself. You could not feel sympathy for even the most deserving creature on earth when in the grip of this delicious fervor.

  Suddenly his touch ceased and he drew slightly apart from her. “But what?”

  Theodosia was appalled that through her insistence on pursuing the subject she was now left suspended. Confused, her body a turmoil of need, she could not for a moment remember what he was asking.

  He prompted her. “Ruth is not alone since she’s with the Heythrops, but what?”

  “Ruth?” Theodosia scoured her mind for what she had meant to say. Momentarily every thought had fled, dispersed by euphoria. "I . . . I don’t remember. That is, I will remember but I can’t seem to think just at present.”

  His hands had returned to her—thank heaven! The desire which had leveled began to mount again. And then, as though suddenly remembering something, he paused and said meditatively, “Perhaps you were going to say that you thought Ruth should remarry.”

  Remarry. Yes, that was it. Theodosia thought Ruth should remarry. Return to this state of bliss. Why must Marc move away from her when he spoke? He seemed to be awaiting her reply. "Yes, yes. That’s it. I think Ruth should remarry.” And she reached out to tug him tentatively toward her.

  Although he allowed himself to be drawn to her, in fact lay pressed against her side, he obviously was not ready to abandon their dialogue. “It’s all very well to say Ruth should remarry but eligible men aren’t found on every road, Doe. You have to remember her age. And she was in London for months and thought the selection of gentlemen extremely meager. She can’t just marry anyone to be married.”

  Theodosia put her arms about him. “I’m sure we can discuss it later.”

  “Oh, no,” he replied, and there was the first hint of laughter in his voice. “You were the one who was so determined to pursue this line. And I am just as determined to prove to you that my passion for you does not outstrip my respect for your concerns. Now tell me, love, whom did you have in mind for Ruth to marry?”

  "I'll tell you afterward, you unreasonable man,” she groaned. “How can you talk at such a time?”

  “Unreasonable? I promise you I am being the ultimate in reason, and sensibility as well. When my adorable, romantic wife shows a preference for discussing my relations to . . ."

  His body was shaking with laughter against hers and she pummeled his chest lightly with her fists until he managed to control himself. “Wretched man! I’m sorry I brought up the subject at an inconvenient moment, but there really was something I wanted to say.”

  “I assure you I am all attention.”

  “But I don’t want to say it now!” she protested, aggrieved. “Dear Marc, I am prepared to admit your perfect reason and sensibility, your consideration and fortitude, but I must also confess that you are the most attractive, lovable, enchanting, exciting man . . ."

  “Say no more,” he suggested gallantly.

  * * * *

  "Marc?"

  “Yes, my love?”

  “I think Ruth and Mr. Oldbury were attracted to each other.”

  “Yes, I noticed.”

  “You did?” Theodosia raised herself on one elbow and stared at him indignantly. “You mean you let me go on all that time and you knew precisely what I wanted to sa
y?”

  “Of course. You married a gentleman, my sweet.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  Copyright ©1981 by Elizabeth Rotter

  Originally published by Fawcett Coventry

  Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.