The Silent Love

by Diane Davis White

  "Might try some dryer kindling... I always had trouble with that flue," he suggested as David struggled with the damp wood. "Did you know you were born here, in this place?"

  "Yes... mother told me." David kept his eyes upon his task, unwilling to discuss his mother with this man who had so callously used her then left her with child. Well, perhaps that is a bit dramatic, he compromised, but it would have been better for all, had she never met him.

  He said as much, unable to help himself.

  "Would that I had not been born... " he mumbled.

  His father, whose hearing was sound, poked him with a short piece of kindling that lay next to the chair, bringing David around with a start.

  "I am glad that you were. Of all my sons—and you have four brothers in the graveyard, you know—I wish that you had been my heir." He looked at David through eyes damp with mist, and spoke again, softly. "Your mother and I were much in love. Damn society, I thought. I shall have this woman to bride and would have defied convention for her... but she would have none of it."

  "She wouldn't?" David raised his eyebrows in disbelief, hardly able to countenance why his mother, who had struggled so hard over the years, would pass up such a sterling chance to better herself.

  "Don't know her well, do you boy?" The Marquis smiled ruefully, for he had removed the young man from his mother at a very early age and David had spent his youth in boarding school, then on to university with only brief visits home. "Guess you can count that my fault."

  "You provided for me, better than some would have done." David, unaccountably defended the man. A far cry from his feelings of just a few moments before.

  "Proud woman, your mother." The Marquis continued as though David had not spoken. "Proud and stubborn. Said she could not fit into my world, and perhaps she was right. But I want you to know that I tried very hard to convince her otherwise."

  He paused thoughtfully and tipped his head sideways, fixing his son with a mournful look. "Have you thought all these years that I had abandoned her? That I had used and discarded your mother?"

  "Of course. What else should I think? Happens all the time." David gave a short bark of laughter and the pain in his eyes was evident. "You'd be surprised how many of us there are in those schools... winding up on the fringes of society. The by-blows of the mighty aristocracy. Not quite of one world and never part of the other. It's a limbo I would not wish on any child of mine."

  "I cannot change what I've done. But you can see that I have tried to do my best for you. I had no idea that you suffered so. Always thought you enjoyed your London life, and it just never occurred to me that you might be less than happy."

  "On the meager stipend you provided for me?" David spoke with more sorrow than anger. "Without an introduction to polite society? What good my classical education and my antecedents if I could not meet the right people? Could not dress and live in the manner to which I should have been born?" His voice held a tinge of bitterness, and, for the first time in his life, David allowed that resentment to spew forth.

  It was a cleansing experience, though he was unaware of it at the moment. He turned back to the fire, busying himself with the kindling and waited for the scorn that would surely be heaped upon him for his impertinence. It did not come.

  "We have never talked before, have we David?"

  "No, I should think not. You have been too busy avoiding me. Tell me sir, was I such a burden to your soul? Could you not have given me at least a modicum of your time? I am a bastard, 'tis true, but I am not deformed or wicked and your indifference has caused me great harm."

  "Yes, I can see that. Would that I could change it David, but I cannot." The Marquis raised a hand in supplication. "Surely we can go on from here?" He looked hopefully at the stiff, unyielding posture of his son's back and waited, in his turn.

  "I would not want to trouble your life, sir. I will just do as you have asked and then return to London. Actually, I have plans for my inheritance and wanted to ask your advice."

  He avoided a direct answer to his father's question, still smarting from all the years of neglect and unwilling to cave in and give the old man his due. Though he was tempted for a small moment to throw himself across his father's lap and be hugged.

  Unwilling as well, to be gainsaid, the Marquis lifted the stick again but before he could poke David in the back he turned around quickly, grabbing the offending object and tugging it from the other man. "That won't be necessary, I can assure you."

  David then eased himself into the chair opposite, having finally managed to draw a nice little blaze. "I think perhaps you have made a peace offering. Am I right?"

  "You are."

  "Then allow me time to overcome my astonishment, and we will talk again soon." David spoke low and soft, his eyes misting as well. "I just need to adjust, father. I am unused to kindness, you see... " and to both of their astonishment, David burst into a great sobbing display.

  Since the age of six, he had been away from the soft influence of women; he was melded from stern discipline and rigorous punishment. His entire life had been spent in the company of school masters without pity, fellow students, sometimes cruel, and later, dissolute companions, bent only on wenching, gambling and idling about, with no thought to the consequences of their behavior.

  David winced at the thought that only a few weeks ago he had been one of them. So much had changed, in so short a time, that he was ill equipped to deal with the onslaught of emotions. Wiping his eyes, he looked into the fire, embarrassed by his outburst.

  "Sorry," he mumbled, his eyes brimming once more. He blinked away the fresh tears, and tried for a lighter note. "Must think me a veritable water works."

  Sensing that his son needed time alone, the Marquis motioned for David to help him up. "I should be going now. We'll talk again tomorrow. Get Dobson for me will you?"

  Standing was not easy for the Marquis, his legs weakened by years of disuse and he swayed a bit. David caught him and instead of steadying the older man, he pulled him into a hug. The Earl of Darlington hugged him back, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "Never mind Dobson, you can get me to my carriage, son."

  David put a strong arm about his father's shoulders, guiding him to the cottage door. Laughing companionably, the pair made their slow way to the awaiting carriage. Aided by his son and Dobson—his personal aide—he got himself situated in the vehicle before he spoke again.

  "David... there is something else I would say before I leave." He looked at his aide with a dismissive glance and the man backed away a respectable distance. "I have noticed a change in my young wife as of late... since your visits have begun, truth be known."

  He hesitated, and then began again, and his words were not those he had planned to say. "She seems happier and well content. Whatever you've done... keep doing it. I would have her happy, even for a brief time. She is prepared to resume your visits, and expects you at nine."

  "Thank you father. I shall." David stepped back and waved them away, his eyes tearing up once more.

  "Damnation!" he barked aloud, startling a pair of robins so they took flight. "I am to old to be doing this."

  Wiping the flow of tears, which now came easily and fully from his emotions, he walked into the cottage and prepared himself for the visit.

  Chapter Five

  ~~

  The following days passed in quiet evenness for Hannah. Her mornings were spent in the drawing room or the library, absorbing the education the Marquis gallantly provided for her. Her afternoons, pouring over the vast array of catalogues and dress material that had arrived from London with Madam La Crosse, the best dressmaker of the ton.

  And then of course, there were her nights in the arms of her silent lover.

  With each encounter, she grew less inhibited, less withheld from him. As a moth drawn to a flame, Hannah had come to depend on his touch, his gentleness and more and more she experienced the urgency of her body. An elusive desire for something more... something unnamed.

/>   Each time he left her now, she was restless and unable to sleep for hours, her body humming with an aching need. It confounded her, for she knew that he had given her all and that she should seek more was unfathomable.

  The following month, much to her disappointment, she began her monthly courses again. Taking courage in both hands, she went to convey the news to the Marquis, whose condition had weakened with each passing day. He had been so kind and she wanted above all things to tell him he had got an heir. Of course, it could be a girl, once she did conceive, but she refused to think of that.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  The Marquis, fighting off the weakness of his age and infirmities, hung on stubbornly, showing no disappointment at the news. It was he, in fact, who consoled her, so down at the mouth was Hannah.

  He went to see David every afternoon, leaving the ladies to their fashion plates and patterns, and with each visit he grew in knowledge of his son. He also grew in regrets that he had waited so long to know him, for he came to love David so much that he was overcome with the intensity of fatherhood.

  With his other four sons, he had been often away, for in his youth he had spent much time in London, either pursuing a mistress or seeking a wife to replace one lost.

  Three of his wives had died in childbed, or of the fever that followed, the fourth succumbing to cholera, along with the heir. Would that David had been born his heir, he often lamented. His consolation was the thought that David would provide the heir, and he must be content with that.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  On the anniversary of the third month of David's visits, Hannah found a small bouquet of wild flowers stuck into a cracked vase from the cottage—though she could not know from where the vase had come. Each night he'd left a rose, sometimes red, sometimes white and once, a lovely black rose, the rare and magnificent blossom giving off the most incredible scent she'd ever experienced.

  Oft times Hannah wondered where he got these beauties. There were none in the estate gardens that could match them for size or perfection.

  This morning, however, the handful of posies and violets were perched upon her dresser, rather lonely and forlorn looking, drooping slightly, for there was no water in the vase. She picked it up to study the vessel more closely and realized that the crack in the vase was not a crack at all, but a grove, once filled with gold, now flaking away.

  Tiny roses and cupids vied for space on the symmetrical surface, painted by a master craftsman. The gilding of gold on the Cupid's bow and the stem of each rose was still there.

  Wondering where he had found such a treasure, she carefully filled the vase with water and set in by her bed, where she would see it first thing upon awakening. For the first time, she wished that she could speak to him and express her gratitude for the lovely gift.

  He came to her that night at the prescribed hour, and she could smell the scent of his cologne, a new addition to his toilette. It stirred her senses, as it was meant to do, and she did not move quite so far across the bed. When he slid beneath the covers he was surprised to find her so near and took her into a tentative embrace, half expecting her to draw away.

  She did not. Encouraged by her seeming acceptance of his wooing, he leaned toward her in the darkness and his mouth grazed along her temple, open and heated, his breath moist against her skin.

  She turned her face up, and his mouth slid down her jaw seeking and finding her lips, parted and inviting him. David kissed her for the first time since their nights had begun—deeply and with longing. He ravaged her mouth, first tenderly, with tiny nips, and then with a thrust of his tongue, claiming her at last.

  Drowning in the sensation of his kisses, Hannah could not think. She curved against him, her body betraying her, and his hands moving over her flesh warmed her, pulling her into a sensual vortex.

  Yet when she heard herself moan in submission, sudden panic enveloped her. She knew well the painful consequences of allowing this, and her hands flailed about in the darkness, as she strove to gain purchase against his onslaught.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and leaned back, drawing away long enough to grasp the hands that pushed against his shoulders, lifting them to his lips as always, for the greeting.

  When he moved to take her back into his embrace she stiffened and swung her head back and forth, a silent no forming on her kiss-swollen mouth. Though he could not see her, he sensed her withdrawal and so fell back, giving her release from his touch.

  He waited, breath shuddering, heart pounding against his ribs, need aching in his loins. The deep silence between them stretched for a long moment, and then she lay upon her back and lifted her garment. She, too, was waiting.

  Ever faithful to his driving need, he searched among the bedclothes until he found her and moved into his performance, unable to gainsay his need. As he took her in a blaze of pounding lust, she stirred against him then retreated, and David knew she was holding back. He renewed his efforts, slowing his pace and trying to coax her beyond control.

  Those tentative movements, however, did not come again and he spilled his seed into a vessel of quiet acceptance. Her tears dropped onto his flesh as he reclined there, her head turned into the curve of his shoulder. He lifted a hand to brush away the tears, and she turned sharply away from his touch.

  His heart broke.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  Hannah awoke to the sounds of the house. A dog barked somewhere on the lawn and the maids in the garden, picking vegetables for today's meals, giggled and chatted. A horse clattered along the cobbled drive, the wheels of a carriage invaded the air as well. Hannah stretched and looked to her bedside table, hoping to see the vase. It was gone. The wild flowers lay in the small basket by the door, tossed there by an angry hand.

  Unaccountably bereft, it were as though he had left her—as he had, in truth—but it was more a feeling that in taking back his gift, he had rejected her, and there would be no other.

  Her eyes flew to her dresser, hoping to see the rose, but alas, there was nothing there—only the dust motes stirring in the shaft of sunlight from the open drapes.

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  David, instead of leaving the house, went to his father's study where he sat in the darkness, aching with the stupidity of his act. True, he had been angry, but he was over it now and wishing himself back in her bed. Had he stayed and not allowed his arrogance to overthrow good sense, he might have wooed her once more.

  She had responded, he knew. She had opened to him like a blossoming flower, and he had hoped, for a brief moment, that they would come together as one. When she had pulled away so abruptly and denied him tenderness, something inside him had gone a bit mad.

  Fingering the vase, stuck in his pocket, he wanted to return it, but it was too late, for daylight had filtered into the room and he was afraid to go back. If she were awake, he would be seen and all would be ruined.

  In the gray dawn light, he penned a small note to her and pushed it into the vase, hoping that someday she might find it. He would put the vase in the cottage, for he knew his father would come there, and he would keep the vase. David's mother had shown it to him once and told him the story of how it came to be in the cottage.

  The Marquis, wanting to give Mary something, had bought her a pearl necklace. She had no place to wear such an expensive bauble. She had returned it to him, explaining that though she loved it, it was not practical and she would prefer something she could keep. He had then brought her this small antique vase, filled with wild flowers from the cottage garden and she had kept the vase in the cottage, for it was where they had loved and lost one another.

  A sad little tale.

  Deciding he must see his mother before he left, he pulled himself from the chair and went quietly from the room, his noiseless exit going unnoticed by all save the scullery maid.

  David stole from the house, creeping a
cross the far side of the manor, treading into the woods, not looking back. His hunched shoulders and bowed head spoke of his pain. Instead of his usual path to the cottage, he took the route to the village and scratched upon his grandfather's door.

  The sun was just beginning to light the sky and somewhere a cock crowed, hailing the day. Mary opened the door, looking sad, but not surprised as she let him into the room, motioning him to a chair.

  "David you should not be involved in this madness. Already it has cost you dearly." His mother, whose speech and manner were more that of a lady than a smithy's daughter—for the old Marquis had tutored her well—looked at her son, her visage stern and implacable. "This sin of adultery alone will cost you your soul, for it is not of love born, but a bargain made. You must desist."

  "But that is just it, mother. I believe I am falling in love with her, and though part of me knows you are right, another part of me longs to go back." He looked at her in helpless pleading, and knowing she understood full well his dilemma, he was comforted to have unburdened himself. He knew as well that his mother would never reveal what he had told her, for she would do ought to harm her grandchild, should there be one.

  As she continued to look at him, her face shadowed, her eyes pinning him with the truth of her words, David made his decision final. He would leave. In fact, he would go today. Putting it off might weaken his resolve and in his newfound manhood, he could not afford to weaken.

  Kissing his mother gently upon her forehead, he hugged her close for a moment and then went to the door. "I don't know when I shall see you again. I am sorry that I have shamed you with this behavior, but I will no longer be a party to my father's scheme. For it is her soul that I would protect, not my own."

  .

  * * * * *

  .

  Hannah went through her day in a fog, not attending her lessons and cutting short her dressmaking activities. Claiming a headache, she withdrew to her chamber and lay upon the bed in a melancholy decline. At the Marquis insistence dinner was served in her room. A dinner that she left untouched, for her appetite had fled.