by Mary Balogh
“And you came,” he said, “not knowing what awaited you.”
“No.” She sat down almost on the spot where they had picnicked that day, and wrapped her arms about her knees. He sat beside her, and Muffin bobbed down to the brook and snuffled about among the stones.
“You are wonderful with the children,” she said. “I have never heard Davy laugh until today. I think you must have had a happy childhood, Aidan. Did you?”
“Oh, yes, indeed,” he said. “Our parents worshipped each other and loved us all unconditionally. We played and fought together with energy and abandon. We were hellions.”
She still knew so very little about him. She was hungry for knowledge—now, before it was too late.
“The duke too?” she asked. “Did you play with him too?”
“With Wulf?” He draped one arm over his knee and gazed down the slope at the brook. “Yes, the two of us were very close as boys. Almost inseparable, in fact. I adored him. He was bold and daring and mischievous. I followed him happily into every conceivable scrape.”
It was something she could not even imagine.
“What happened?” she asked him.
He shook his head slightly, as if coming out of some reverie. “Life happened,” he said. “I said our father loved us unconditionally. That is not strictly true, I suppose. He was the Duke of Bewcastle and therefore bound by the duties and responsibilities of his position. Wulf was his heir, and he was having health problems. Wulf had to be trained from the age of twelve to take over those duties and responsibilities after his death. And so he was separated from the rest of us to all intents and purposes and put very much under the strict control of two tutors and our father himself. Poor Wulf.” He had gone into his reverie again. “Poor Wulf.”
“Why so?” she asked softly.
“He hated being heir,” he said. “He hated the land and the thought of being bound to it and to the family as its head. He hated the idea of having no choices at all in his life. He wanted adventure and freedom. He wanted a military career. He pleaded and pleaded with our father—until he accepted reality.”
This was the man she now knew as the Duke of Bewcastle? Could it possibly be true? But it must be.
“You both wanted military careers?” she asked.
“No.” He was silent for a while. Eve could hear birds singing an evening chorus from their hidden perches among the trees. “No, that was the irony of our lives. I was the one born for the military—the second son—but I fought against my fate all through my childhood and boyhood. I abhorred violence. I loved the land. I loved Lindsey Hall. We used to plot together, Wulf and I, when we were very young lads, to dress up in each other's clothes, to exchange identities, to exchange lives. We looked enough alike, we thought, to fool everyone. We must have been very young at the time.”
Eve suddenly remembered a moment from the morning, when they had approached a fallow field and Aidan had explained to Davy how and why it had been left uncultivated. He had stooped down and taken up a handful of freshly turned earth and shown it to Davy. This is life, lad, he had said. This is the stuff from which all life comes. And he had closed his hand about the earth, squeezed it hard, and closed his eyes tightly for a moment.
I loved the land.
“Did your father insist that you have a military career, then,” she asked, “even though it was against your wishes?”
“I believe I was his favorite,” he said. “I used to follow him around like a puppy, much as Davy has been doing with me. He was very involved with the workings of his farms. I learned from him and with him. I drank it all in. I wanted to spend my life doing what he did. I believe he was coming to realize that his choice of career for me was not in my best interests after all. But he died.”
“Then what happened?” She frowned.
“I was fifteen when he died,” he said. “Wulf was seventeen. I was still at school for a few years, but when I left and went home, I carried on where I had left off before our father died. I busied myself about farm business. I considered Wulf's steward unimaginative, even incompetent. I offered—” He stopped abruptly and Eve thought he would not continue. “Foolish boy that I was, I thought that if I explained everything to Wulf, everything that was wrong with the running of the farms, and offered to take the steward's place, he would be grateful. One week later he called me into his library and informed me that he had purchased a commission for me, as our father had always intended.”
“Oh,” Eve cried. “What unspeakable cruelty!”
“Cruelty?” he said. “I think not. It was Wulf's way of telling me what I needed to know, that there was not room for both of us at Lindsey Hall. Had I stayed, we would have been at daggers drawn for the rest of our lives. He was quite right, you see. There is room for only one master on any estate.”
“But you did not want the commission,” she said. “Why did you not refuse it?”
“I might have,” he said. “But what was the alternative? I had to leave Lindsey Hall. That was clear. And I was a Bedwyn, you see. I had been brought up with a strong sense of duty. One of my duties at the age of eighteen was to be obedient to the will of the head of the family. Wulf was not just Wulf, you see. He was the Duke of Bewcastle.”
“And so you went.”
“And so I went.”
All was suddenly very clear to her. Two brothers, very close as children, had been driven asunder by circumstances, leaving one with power over the other. Each of them had wanted the other's life, but circumstances had made it impossible for them to make the exchange. And so life—the realities of life—had driven an irrevocable wedge between them, destroying or at least submerging the love they had once felt for each other and making one of them cold and dutiful, the other harsh and dutiful.
If she had ever thought of the privileged life of the aristocracy as easy—and she probably had—she changed her mind at that moment. Aristocrats were perhaps less free than anyone else in England. It was a strange realization.
“But you became reconciled to your life?” she asked him.
He turned his head to look directly at her. The twilight was deepening, but she could still see the harsh angles of his face quite clearly.
“Oh, yes, of course,” he said briskly. “It has been a good career. It still is and will be for years to come. I will end up a general, I daresay.”
“Are you looking forward to going back?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said again. “It is always pleasant to take leave. I look forward to it—to the relaxation, to seeing England and my family. But I am always more than ready to go back. There is a restlessness that comes from being idle too long. Yes, it will be good to go back.”
She felt deeply, horribly wounded. He was ready to go back. He was restless. It would be good to leave her and get his life back to normal. What had she expected?
What had she expected?
She got to her feet and walked down to the brook, now more silver than gold. Muffin rushed around her for a few moments before going off on his own explorations again. Aidan came to stand beside her.
“This is a beautiful part of the park,” he said.
“Yes.” It seemed dark in the dell, but looking up she could see that the sky was still blue.
“What happens now, Eve?” he asked her. “After I leave, I mean? Will your life here satisfy you?”
She stooped to pat Muffin's head though he had not demanded the attention.
“Oh, yes,” she said. “I will be wonderfully happy. I have my children, and now they are officially mine. Ringwood and my fortune are indisputably mine. I have my aunt and my friends and neighbors. And you have made all this possible, Aidan. I will always remember you with deep gratitude.”
She could no longer see his face as he looked back at her, tall and broad, with very upright military bearing.
“With gratitude,” he said softly. “Well, then, I am amply rewarded.”
His voice sounded very much as it had that fir
st day and the days following it. She could not detect in it the voice of the man who had laughed with Davy and teased him this afternoon, or the voice that had called Becky sweetheart a few days ago.
She swallowed, her throat and chest suddenly sore with unshed tears. What if she were to blurt out the truth? she wondered. I love you. Don't leave me. Come back to me. Have children with me. Live happily ever after with me. She bit her lip lest she give in to the horrifying temptation.
“You have been more than kind,” she said after drawing a steadying breath.
It felt final, like a farewell.
“You are chilly,” he said as she shivered. “We had better get back to the house.
“Yes.”
But a few moments passed before he offered her his arm. As if there were more to say when, of course, there was not.
CHAPTER XXI
THE FOLLOWING MORNING BROUGHT WITH IT A SPECIAL delivery in the form of an invitation to Colonel Bedwyn and Lady Aidan Bedwyn from the Countess of Luff to attend a garden party at Didcote Park two days hence.
“I have no wish to go,” Eve said after reading it aloud to her aunt and Aidan at the breakfast table.
“Oh, but you must,” her aunt said, clasping her hands to her bosom. “It is the first time you have been invited. Serena will be delighted—you know she has been vowing not to go herself unless you will be there too, my love.”
Aidan looked at Eve and raised his eyebrows.
“It is an annual event,” she explained. “Very exclusive. Only the best families get invited. The Morrises have never been among their number. Of course, now I am a Bedwyn and eminently respectable.”
“And you have been presented to the queen,” her aunt added.
“Yes, that too.” Eve's eyes were twinkling with amusement. “Last year I was not good enough, but this year I am. I will not go.”
“I beg your pardon,” Aidan said. “Does the invitation not include me too? What if I wish to attend?”
She grimaced. “You could not possibly. Could you?”
“The thing is, Eve,” he said, “that you will be living at Ringwood for the rest of your life. All your neighbors appear to be also your friends—with the exception of Luff and his countess until now. Why not be on good terms with them too if it is possible?”
“The invitation has arrived almost indecently late,” she said. “The others were sent out a long time ago. Of course, you called at Didcote Park, and the Duke of Bewcastle himself put in an appearance at the assembly rooms. Suddenly I am a pariah no longer.”
“Are you bitter?” he asked.
“No, of course not.” She laughed at him.
“Then prove it,” he told her. “Accept the invitation—for both of us.”
Mrs. Pritchard still had her hands clasped to her bosom. “That's it, Colonel,” she said. “You make her see sense. I want to hear all about it down to the smallest little detail when you come home. And a garden party is such a romantic thing, with all sorts of groves and arbors and grottoes for people to disappear into—in couples, of course.”
“Why would we want to do that,” Eve asked, though Aidan was interested to notice that she blushed, “when it is a social event we would be attending?”
“Will be attending,” Aidan corrected.
He had promised Davy that they would take his cricket set outside this morning if the weather was still fine—and it was. They would set up the wickets on the lawn, he had said, and he would teach the boy enough of the rudiments of the game that they could play and enjoy themselves. Later he was going to give Davy a riding lesson in the paddock behind the stables, having discovered that he had not yet learned to ride. He excused himself from the breakfast table.
He had had a night of disturbed sleep. He had stayed too long. Oh, not in one way, perhaps. He had helped relax the children after the disturbing experience of being hauled away from their new home by the village constable. He had helped provide them with some pleasant summer experiences, some sense of family and stability. He had redeemed himself in Eve's eyes, he hoped, after his often high-handed behavior in London, so that she would perhaps have kinder memories of him than she would otherwise have had.
But he had stayed too long. He had fallen deeply in love with her and would suffer for a long time after leaving her, he knew. But just last evening, when they had walked down into the dell, she had told him that she would be happy after he had gone and that she would always remember him with gratitude.
Gratitude! The word had cut him as deeply as the ugliest curse would have done. At least there would be passion in a curse. She would always remember him with gratitude.
He was going to have to do the honorable thing and stop delaying his departure, he had decided while he tossed and turned in bed, trying to find some release in sleep. Yet now he had found a reason to stay three more days. But was it reason or excuse? It was important for Eve to be fully accepted socially in her neighborhood. But . . .
But there was a cricket game to organize.
HE HAD TOLD HER THAT HE WOULD BE LEAVING THE morning after the garden party.
Freyja had written to her, Eve. It was a witty letter, filled with perceptive and rather caustic observations on the people and events involved in the victory celebrations she had attended. But her letter also announced her intention of leaving town and returning to Lindsey Hall. She wondered if Eve would care to join her there for the summer. Eve was firmly determined to stay at home, but Aidan had decided to go and spend what remained of his leave with his two sisters.
“It is time for me to take myself out of your life, Eve,” he had said.
“Yes.”
“And return to my life.”
“Yes.”
She had been unable to form any other words, but had concentrated upon smiling at him with what she hoped was just the right degree of cheerful acceptance and polite regret. Yes, it was time. If he stayed much longer, she surely would not be able to let him go at all, but would disgrace herself by clinging to him and begging him not to leave her.
There were two days left, the first already well advanced after a vigorous game of cricket, in which Eve and Becky took part as well as the Reverend Puddle, who had come to Ringwood on some flimsy excuse and proved himself to be a very creditable bowler, especially when Aidan was in at bat. Thelma, Benjamin, and Aunt Mari formed an enthusiastic cheering section, applauding both sides indiscriminately. So when Aidan told Eve that he would be leaving, there were really just one and a half days left, to be followed by the garden party day. And then . . .
Eve concentrated upon enjoying to the full what time was left, cramming it with as many activities as she could dream up, trying desperately to live for the present moment and not look ahead to a time that would come soon enough anyway.
She and Becky watched Aidan give Davy a riding lesson in the paddock. When the boy looked reasonably confident, Eve suggested that they all go riding, and they did, Davy's pony on a leading-rein held by Aidan, who settled Becky up before him on the saddle, Eve riding her horse alongside. Later they went strolling through the wilderness walk and ended up playing a game of hide-and-seek among the trees and bushes, the children's shouts of laughter and merriment betraying their hiding places every time.
They played cricket and rode again on the second day and later took a picnic tea down into the dell with Aunt Mari, Thelma, the vicar, and Benjamin. Before tea all of them except Aunt Mari walked one behind the other along the middle of the brook, Benjamin astride the Reverend Puddle's shoulders, stepping from one stone to another, their arms out to the sides for balance—even Muffin ventured off the bank to search for fish. There was an occasional exclamation from one of them as a stone was missed and a shod foot was immersed in the water, and laughter from the others. After tea they sang—led by Eve and Aunt Mari, who added a rich contralto harmony to Eve's soprano. Aidan commented in apparent disgust that he might have known two Welsh ladies would burst into song sooner or later—and then he joined in
with a very creditable baritone harmony. The others added their voices with varying degrees of musicality.
On the morning of the garden party, they took Aunt Mari driving along country lanes and stopped to pick her so many wildflowers—Eve and the children did the picking—that she looked rather like a flower bush that had sprouted a head, according to Aidan. There was a great deal of chatter and laughter, a fair share of it coming from Davy, Eve was delighted to notice. He had blossomed into a little boy during the past week. How was Aidan's departure going to affect him? But she would not think of that today. Tomorrow would be soon enough. By this time tomorrow . . .
For a moment she felt as if the bottom were falling out of her stomach.
DESPITE HERSELF EVE WAS RATHER EXCITED TO BE attending the garden party at Didcote, about which she had heard so much in past years. And this year the weather was perfect for an outdoor entertainment. It was sunny and hot with just a slight breeze to provide some welcome coolness. Eve wore a pretty sprigged muslin dress with a flower-trimmed straw bonnet, both part of her newly acquired wardrobe, neither of which had been worn before. Aidan was dressed smartly, though not in his uniform.
The terrace before the house was decked with a profusion of brightly colored flowers in large pots. There were tables in the shade, covered with crisp white cloths and laden with large jugs of lemonade and stronger drinks and plates of small delicacies, both savory and sweet. Smart, liveried footmen waited behind the tables to assist guests with their choices. Huge pots of flowers had been set out on the newly cut lawns too, and a few smaller ones had been hung from tree branches. Tables and chairs had been set out, some beneath the shade of trees, some in the sunshine but with umbrellas to provide protection from the sun. Some colorful blankets had been spread on the grass for those who preferred to recline more at their ease.
There were already a number of guests present when Eve and Aidan arrived, some sitting, others strolling or standing in groups, conversing. A few of the more energetic were playing bowls on a flat side lawn. Two couples with racquets were hitting a ball back and forth across a net that had been set up beside the bowling green. The Earl and Countess of Luff were standing on the terrace, receiving newcomers.