by Becky Riker
She reached for his sleeve and held tight, “It is your sister. She will not be offended if I neglect her momentarily.”
He did not answer.
She did not relent but grabbed his other sleeve in her fist.
“You are angry, Lord Ashley,” she reproached him in a soft tone.
Her astute comment finally brought his eyes to hers.
She stepped back and dropped her hands from him, apparently shocked at the depth of emotion she saw.
He did not stop to discuss the matter further, but turned smartly on his heel and left the room.
Jillian blinked. This was not like her husband at all. He was gentlemanly and kind. She realized she must have done something to upset him but could not think what it was. She had not even seen him since he left the house before daybreak.
She moved slowly back to her own room where Erin was helping Amy to redress.
“Is everything alright, Jillian?” Amy must have seen her face.
Jillian managed a tight smile, “I am sure it will be. I think I just need to speak to Slade about something.”
Amy raised her eyebrows, “Was not that just Slade?”
“Yes,” Jillian sat in the armchair, watching the fire, “but I think I did not understand something.”
Amy laughed softly, “It will be best, then, to clear it up as soon as possible. In fact, I think you should do that rather than go riding with me now.”
Jillian’s smile returned in earnest, “I think it had best wait, Amy. He is in a meeting with Lord Rivers anyway and cannot presently be disturbed.”
CHAPTER 12
Lord Ashley’s good humor had not returned by dinner. Jillian thought it best not to hint at the matter when there were servants around, so she planned to discuss it when they retired for the night.
It was disappointing, then, that he did not come to bed before she fell asleep.
The next morning did not bring any relief from the tension because he was up before her and gone from the house by the time she awoke.
Jillian knew she was not imagining that he was avoiding her.
He sent word with Mr. Tellem that he would be riding into town and she should not wait to dine.
Jillian was unable to eat much of her own meal. She went to her room and dressed for bed, wondering if she should even bother going to her husband’s bed chamber. If he saw her there, he would likely leave.
She paced in her own chambers, waiting for him to return. For three hours she dared not sit and read lest she fall asleep and miss him.
Finally, she heard him stirring. She checked her appearance, straightening her new nightgown and arranging her hair neatly over her shoulder.
“Slade,” she passed through the doorway as she spoke.
He was sitting in his chair, pulling off his boots. He glanced up, his eyes – ignoring his command to look away – casting over her form.
“What do you need, Jillian?” he knew his tone was harsh, but he dared not soften.
He could see she was injured, but she did not back out of the room.
“I am here as I have been here for the past few months,” she seated herself gracefully on the edge of the opposite chair. “I came with the knowledge that you are unhappy with me, but if you tell me what I have done wrong, I can apologize.”
“It is late Jillian,” he pulled angrily at his cravat. “Go to bed.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, “Go to bed? You are sending me away, Lord Ashley?”
He rose swiftly and turned away from her. He knew well enough that he could not look at her and still refuse her.
She rose as well and came to stand behind him, “If I have injured you, I beg you would tell me. Any wound left to fester will only become worse with time.”
Slade knew this as well, “I heard . . .” he stopped and tried to find a way to tell her what he overheard.
He began again, “Did you truly think. . ?” his tongue failed him again.
He was still facing away from her. He wasn’t sure he could continue with the explanation. The humiliation of experiencing it was bad enough, but to tell her what he heard her say would be torture.
She lay a hand on his upper arm, “Slade, please.”
He sighed and was about to try again, but she rested her head between his shoulder blades in the same manner as the first night she came to him.
The memory of that evening along with his knowledge of her perception of it flooded his being. It was too much.
“Please,” he knew he sounded desperate, but he hadn’t much strength left in him, “please just go.”
“Slade,” she lifted her head and pressed her hands against his back, “I am going to leave, but I need to know how I have injured you.”
He hung his head, ashamed he could not tell her, but too embarrassed and wounded to try.
The following morning she was in the sitting room when he left his room.
“It is early, Jillian,” he didn’t look at her. “Why are you up already?”
She rose, “I am up still, Slade. I was unable to sleep.”
He had scarcely slept himself. He had tossed throughout most of the night before finally giving in and rising.
“Will you tell me now?” she stepped to him.
His breath caught at the scent of her.
She noticed. He could tell she noticed because her expression changed from wary to hopeful.
Slade attempted to formulate the proper words, but nothing came. Was he supposed to ask her if his advances had all been truly repulsive or just the first? Should he just pretend nothing happened and resume their physical intimacy for the sake of an heir?
He chose the path of least resistance by turning on his heel and leaving the room.
It was pointless to run from Jillian. He knew he would not escape. The smell of her lingered in his room; the memory of her touch was impressed on his skin.
He also recognized that she was tenacious.
After another long day visiting tenants and rerouting the trench plans, things he only did to remain out of the house, she was waiting for him in his room.
“Jillian,” he had begun to strip his coat from his torso, but stopped once he saw her sitting on his bed.
“Slade,” she didn’t rise, “are you ready to talk to me?”
Her tone told him she was now angry. She had passed concerned or apologetic sometime in the last sixteen hours.
“Why are you in here?” he sat down and began pulling his boots from his feet.
Now she did rise, “Are you done with me then? You have had all you want and you wish I would simply disappear?”
He hated the pain in her voice.
“Perhaps you realize what a great error you have made in marrying me.”
A lump grew in his chest. Was she speaking for him or for herself? He still did not look at her.
“Is it because I am not yet expecting an heir?” the sentence started out as accusatory as the rest, but her voice caught at the end.
Slade looked up. She had tears trailing down her cheeks. He had done this. He had made her believe he didn’t want her for herself. That she was only valuable as a brood mare for his offspring.
He almost extended a hand to her.
“I didn’t force you into this marriage, Slade,” she stopped him. “You could have sent me away to some far-away place. You certainly have the means to do so.”
Then her conversation with Amy came crashing back to him. She did not want him any more than she thought he wanted her. She did not desire his touch. It was simply the means to an end – an undesirable means.
“Jillian, we will produce an heir eventually,” he looked down at his stocking-clad feet. “Go to bed.”
His words cut her to the core. He had just admitted he wanted nothing more than to produce an heir with her. Perhaps he did not enjoy the effort as she assumed and wished to postpone it.
She turned and went to her room, leaving the door open between his and hers.
S
he had just climbed into bed when she heard the door snick shut. Jillian turned her face into her pillow and wept.
She did not rise to greet him in the morning, and the following evening, she debated whether to go await her husband in his room. His repeated rejections hurt, but she had had all day to think about his reaction.
Jillian did not believe her husband was only disappointed over the lack of an heir. He was acting out because of something else, but she had no idea what it was. If he would speak to her, it would help to clear the air.
She dined alone – a habit she was fast tiring of – and then went to wait in their sitting room.
“You look tired,” she commented as he came in.
He was clearly annoyed to see her there.
“You would sleep better if I was next to you,” she forced herself to be bold.
His start at her words nearly made her smile.
But his words drove all amusement away, “You thrash around in your sleep, Jillian. It is more likely to keep me awake than lull me to sleep.”
Jillian bit back the sob that wanted to escape at his harsh words.
He turned to go, but she stopped him.
“I am sorry, Slade. For whatever I did. I am sorry I hurt you.”
He stood with his back to her.
“I know you are not rejecting me because I am not with child or because you are tired of me.”
Slade didn’t turn, but she thought she saw a shudder move through his frame. How she wished to hold him and tell him everything would be right in the end. She remembered how he reacted the last time she touched him, so she resisted.
“I need to get some sleep,” he finally spoke.
Jillian watched him turn the knob, enter his room, and close the door behind himself with a finality that could not be ignored.
Jillian awoke to sounds of confusion in the chamber next to hers.
She wrapped herself in her dressing gown and opened the door between her room and her husband’s.
Slade was directing two footmen to carry out a trunk.
She waited until they had left and then entered her husband’s room.
“Are you going somewhere?” she knew she must be a wreck. Her face probably still had pillow marks and her hair was tangled about her face and shoulders.
The look on Slade’s face, however, was unadulterated desire. He stared at her for several moments before he recalled himself.
“I am going to London,” his voice caught in his throat, but Jillian comprehended them anyway.
“To escape my presence?” she reached up and pulled her hair back from her face.
He shook his head, but his eyes told her different.
She felt a wave of defeat wash over her, “Do you plan to stay there long?”
He shook his head, trying – and failing – not to look at her, “I will be back within a week.”
She closed her eyes, “I will miss you.”
“Will you?” the words were cynical and they cut.
She looked up at him and fought back, “I have already missed you, Slade. Because you have already left me.”
She did not wait for him to reject her this time. She backed up a step before spinning around and dashing into her room, slamming the portal behind her.
He didn’t follow her, but she couldn’t stop herself from the foolish hope that he would.
A week later, Jillian received a short letter from her husband telling her he would be another week.
Amy came over to visit.
“I wonder at Slade staying away so long,” she clearly did not realize the pain she was causing. “He has never cared for London, and you are not even there to ease his boredom.”
Jillian sipped her tea to avoid answering.
“I have some news.” Amy leaned forward.
Jillian set her cup down, “Yes?”
“Anthony and I are going to be parents,” she smiled broadly. “After two years of marriage, we were beginning to think it would not happen.”
Jillian blinked back tears, “Amy I am so pleased for you.”
The other woman smiled, “It means no more horseback riding, of course.”
Jillian knew that was no loss to the other woman as she hardly enjoyed her time on the animal.
“I have not told Slade yet, but I wanted to do it in person. I so wonder at him staying away this long.”
Jillian rose abruptly, “Would you like to see the new puppies? They just arrived two days ago.”
Amy chattered on about her own expected arrival all the way to the barn where the puppies were born.
Jillian tried to find something pleasant in the conversation, but Amy would not stop mentioning how happy she and Anthony were. Finally, Amy noticed her friend’s quiet.
“I am sorry, Jill,” she lay a hand on her arm as they stood in the doorway of the great building. “I remember how difficult it was when other women were bearing children, and I could not.”
Jillian swiped away a tear, “It is not that, Amy,” she led the woman to the corner where the puppies were sleeping, “I just miss Slade.”
Amy lay a hand on Jillian’s arm, “Are you sure that is all? Perhaps you are emotional because you are expecting as well.”
Amy seemed so pleased by the idea, but Jillian dashed that hope immediately, “That is not it, Amy.”
She knelt down and touched the soft fur of the mother, “I know I am not expecting.”
Amy knelt as well, “Why didn’t you go with Slade, Jill? Or go now? Anthony and I could take you.”
“He doesn’t want me there,” Jillian admitted the truth. “He left because he wanted to get away from me.”
Amy shook her head, “That cannot be true, Jillian. My brother adores you.”
Jillian shook her head, “I think he did once, but he does not anymore.”
Amy took her hands, “What happened?”
Jillian felt tears slipping down her cheeks. She shrugged in confusion.
Amy shook her head, “Slade has never been unreasonable, Jillian. Something must have happened.”
Jillian tried not to resent the implication that this disharmony was all her fault, “I asked. He refuses to tell me.”
Amy stood up and pulled her friend to her feet, “We will have to find out by other means, then.”
Jillian followed Amy back to the house to listen to her advice, but she flatly refused to go to London to find her husband, sure that he would not appreciate his sister and brother’s involvement.
“I will just go there with Anthony and speak to him myself then,” Amy declared.
Jillian appreciated the concern, “You will only succeed in making him feel disrespected, Amy. I do not know what the problem is, but I am almost certain it involves his pride.”
“He has been acting like a wounded bear?” she guessed.
Jillian nodded, “I have never actually seen a bear – much less a wounded one, but I am familiar with the concept. I have done something to injure him, but I cannot figure it out, and he isn’t saying.”
Amy hugged her, “I will pray this trip to town helps him to cool down. Perhaps he is missing you enough to let go of his pride.”
He was not.
CHAPTER 13
Slade arrived home the middle of February – a full month after he left home.
“It is good to see you,” she meant it too. The return of his strong presence in the home was welcome even though she could see he was still not ready to reconcile with her.
His face looked gaunt as though he had not been eating properly. His hair had grown longer, and he had clearly not shaved in a few days.
“It is nice to see you as well, Jillian,” his tone was as cold and formal as she had ever heard it.
“Will you be dining with me this evening?” she asked him as Mrs. Bailey was taking his hat from him.
He looked annoyed at having to keep up any pretense, “Yes, I will.”
Jillian smiled at him. It occurred to her she should always ask things o
f him in the presence of servants. His desire to have all look normal would prevent him from refusing her anything.
He did not allow her to glory in her victory very long. He bowed slightly and went into his study, closing the door firmly behind himself.
Jillian waited for him in the sitting room, all the while knowing it would irk him.
He came out, dressed for dinner, and held out his arm.
She would have rather taken his hand, but he did not offer that.
“Did you have a good journey home?”
“I did, thank you,” he walked with his arm as far away from his body as possible.
“It seems as though it is getting colder these last few days.”
He led her down the staircase, “It is.”
“Will we have snow?”
“I believe we may.”
She knew she risked getting him angry, but she assumed it would not be worse the coldness. She spoke again just before they reached the dining room, “I am amazed you came home then.”
He looked down at her in confusion.
She allowed him to seat her and glanced to be sure no staff was yet in the room.
“The roads would have been impassable. You would have been excused from returning for some time to come.”
Jillian was sure her softly spoken words were still heard because she saw her husband’s handsome face turn pink.
“Would that have been an agreeable situation for you?” his jaw twitched.
“Not at all, I assure you,” her polite words answered his civil ones.
He stopped speaking as the maids brought in the meal.
He dismissed them immediately after, but neither party was under the assumption they had any privacy.
“I will begin trenching next week if the weather does not turn foul.”
Jillian swallowed hard. She could not force the fork to her lips, and she struggled to contain the tears that wanted to fall.
Slade did not seem to notice.
“I imagine I will be gone many hours during the process.”
Jillian nodded.
“You do not need to get up in the mornings.”
Jillian understood his message. He would appreciate seeing her as little as possible.