by Jane Feather
“Listen to me,” he said into the silence. “You have the right to be angry … you have the right to an explanation—”
“You talk of rights, of explanations, when you’ve taken—” “Give me a chance!” he interrupted. “You have only half the story, Theo.”
“Let me go.” She twisted against him, but she knew it was futile.
“When you take back those insults. I’ll not tolerate being called a coward by you or anyone.”
The intensity in his voice pierced her fury and bewilderment. Vaguely she remembered tossing “cowardly” into the seething cauldron of accusations, but it had been one epithet among many. His hands were warm on her wrists, and she could feel the blood in his thumbs beating against her own pulse. His breath rustled over the top of her head, and the power of his frame seemed to enclose her, to swallow her as it did when they made love, and her confusion grew as her body’s memory sprang alive with the knowledge of the hours of pleasure they’d shared.
Sylvester felt the change in her, the confusion tangling now with her anger, the smudging of her hard edges. “Let’s be done with this,” he said. His thumb moved against her wrist.
His closeness was suddenly more than she could bear. It muddled the clarity of her anger, the absolute knowledge of her betrayal. He’d used her body to betray her, and now it was happening again.
“All right,” she said, desperate for release. “All right, I take it back. I’ve no evidence you’re a coward.”
Sylvester exhaled slowly and moved them both out of the corner. Theo glanced up at him and saw no satisfaction at this small capitulation. His face was drawn, his eyes strained. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows.
“Let’s talk about this now,” he said.
Theo shook herself free of his slackened grip. “There’s nothing to talk about. I don’t even want to be in the same room with you.” Pushing past him, she made for the door.
She had her hand on the latch, but Sylvester was on her heels. “No, you don’t!” He banged the door closed as she pulled it open. He stood with his shoulders against it and regarded her with near desperate frustration. “Damn it, woman, you’re going to listen to me.” He closed his eyes wearily for a second, rubbing his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s not going to do any good to run away from it.”
“Why should I listen to you?” she demanded. “You’re a liar and a hypocrite! Why should I ever believe a word you say?”
“Because I’ve never told you a lie,” he said quietly.
“What? You have the unmitigated gall to deny …” She turned from him with an exclamation of disgust. “I loathe you.”
A muscle twitched in his drawn cheek, and there was a white shade around the taut mouth, but he fought to keep his voice moderate. “Just consider for a minute. My actions were dictated by your grandfather. It was your grandfather who concocted the terms pf the will. I can only guess at his reasons.” He explained the details of the codicil.
Theo stared at him as if he were a piece of primeval slime. “You would blame my grandfather for your greed. You agreed to such a despicable trick. You deprived me of my freedom and my sisters of their share in the estate, just so you could have everything. And you set yourself up as a benevolent benefactor, willing to do the right thing…. Oh, I can’t bear it another minute. Let me out of here.” This last was an impassioned demand, and she pushed at his chest as he still stood in front of the door.
It happened with hideous lack of warning. Jagged flashes of white light tore across his vision, and that dreadful creeping sensation crawled up the back of his neck. Why now? he thought on a silent moan of anguish.
“Move out of the way!” Theo shoved at him again, but even through his dread and frustration, he sensed that she’d lost some of her blind certainty.
Why now? The jagged whiteness exploded across his eyes again, and his heart began to beat fast with the panic that he had to hold down. It only made the coming agony even more intolerable.
Theo was staring at him. She’d seen him look like this once before, but she couldn’t remember when. He was shrinking before her eyes, becoming a husk emptied of muscle and sinew.
“All right, go,” he said, stumbling away from the door. “What is it?” “Get out!”
Just like that? One minute he was insisting they resolve this mess, and the next he was throwing her out of the room without so much as an explanation. And now, perversely, she wasn’t sure whether she still wanted to walk away from this confrontation. Perhaps there were aspects that she didn’t yet understand. Perhaps there was some kind of an explanation, a reason that might make sense. Her grandfather must have had a reason.
“But I—”
She got no further. He said nothing, but his expression silenced her; his eyes were ghastly as they rested on her face, his mouth a rictus of dread. She wrenched open the door as Sylvester turned and stumbled across the room, disappearing through the connecting door into his own apartment.
Outside her own room, Theo stopped and drew a deep breath. She remembered now when she’d seen him look like that. It was that first meeting, that afternoon by the trout stream. What happened to him? Was it the same indisposition that had kept him in his room for nearly two days?
She heard the sound of his bell ringing urgently, and a minute later Henry came pounding up the stairs. He brushed past Lady Stoneridge with barely a word of apology and disappeared into the earl’s bedchamber.
Drained and bewildered, Theo went downstairs. She felt forlorn, as if Sylvester had led her into a dark forest and abandoned her. Her anger had somehow dissipated, and without its prop she was left defenseless against her hurt and confusion.
She went outside, into the soft air of early evening, unsure what to do now. Part of her wanted to run to her mother, but something held her back. It would be the impulse of a hurt child, but there was more to her reluctance than that recognition. At this moment she couldn’t face revealing even to her mother that the man who’d pursued and courted her so assiduously would have married her if she’d been a ditch drab. It didn’t matter who or what she was, she was merely currency, the price he had had to pay for his inheritance.
Tears burned behind her eyes, and she blinked them away angrily. She would not cry; neither would she ask for comfort. Maybe later she could tell the story without this searing sense of humiliation, but until then she would find her own strengths.
She wandered toward the rose garden, intending to take the shortcut to the cliff top above the cove. As she reached the springy turf, strewn with bright-blue scabius, she saw a rider coming toward her across the cliff. There was something familiar about him, and she squinted against the setting sun, shading her eyes. Then she was running.
“Edward! Edward!”
The rider urged his horse to a canter and covered the distance between them in a few seconds.
“Theo!” He drew rein. “I was so hoping you’d be in. I was coming to find you.”
“Edward.” She said his name again, smiling up at him, and for a minute there was silence, but it was filled with so much unspoken emotion, so many thoughts, that the quiet seemed a rush of noise.
He still sat on his horse, the empty left-hand sleeve of his coat pinned across his breast, his right hand holding the reins. Then, with an awkward movement that was so unlike Edward’s grace and agility, he swung himself to the ground.
“I still can’t get the hang of that,” he said. “My whole body’s unbalanced, Theo. It makes me mad as fire to be so clumsy and unsteady.”
“You’ll get used to it,” she said, coming into his embrace as he put his arm around her. She hugged him with fierce affection. “Oh, my dear, I have been anguished for you.”
“It was my own damn fault,” he declared, almost squeezing the life out of her. “Of all the goddamned arrogant, stupid things to have done. I should be dead, Theo!”
“Oh, don’t say that!” She stood back and examined his face. He had aged, lines of suff
ering etched indelibly around his mouth and eyes, but the humorous light still glimmered in those green eyes, and his mouth retained its wry quirk.
“Have you seen Emily yet?”
Edward shook his head. “I only arrived home last night. I was on my way to the dower house, but I wanted to see you first.” He ran his hand over his chin, his eyes suddenly stark. “I wanted you to come with me.”
Theo understood immediately. He knew Emily’s sensitive soul, and he was afraid to spring himself upon her as he now was.
“Emily was distraught,” she said quietly. “But she’ll be overjoyed to see you.”
“Will she?” Then he dismissed the self-pitying question with typical briskness. “So will you come with me? Shall we fetch Dulcie, or shall we walk?”
“Oh, let’s walk,” Theo said, realizing that she was unwilling to go back to Stoneridge, to spoil this reunion with a return to the dismal tangle at home.
Edward paused, examining her, and she swore silently. They’d always had an uncanny ability to sense each other’s innermost feelings.
“Shouldn’t I pay my respects to your husband?” Edward asked.
“Not now,” she said. “He’s busy.”
“Oh?” Edward continued to regard her. “I was surprised to hear your news. It seems very sudden.”
“It was,” she said, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. “Four weeks from start to finish. Stoneridge doesn’t dawdle when his mind is set.”
Edward frowned. “What is it, Theo?”
No, she couldn’t even tell Edward … Edward, from whom she’d never had any secrets, before whom she couldn’t imagine feeling embarrassed or ashamed. She couldn’t tell him, not yet, at least. Besides, he had troubles and insecurities of his own, and she would not lay her burdens on him now, even if they were tellable.
“Nothing serious, Edward. We’re just a trifle at outs.” The understatement of the year. “Shall I lead Robin? Then you can hold my hand.” She smiled at him, and there was no further indication of her own turmoil.
Edward allowed himself to be diverted. Apprehension about his upcoming meeting with Emily had preoccupied him for too long to be put aside until it was over.
“Tell me how it happened.” Theo demanded as they walked hand in hand across the cliff and to the drive that led to the dower house.
She listened. She heard the bitter, self-directed anger beneath the light description of his foolhardy stroll to the picket line; she heard the hideous agony behind his brief description of the amputation and the journey across Spain to the coast. But she made no more of it than her friend did. Emily would do the fussing, and Edward would expect it from her. He wouldn’t expect it from his childhood comrade.
When they reached the dower house, Edward’s firm step faltered. “I don’t wish to startle her,” he muttered. “Will you go in and warn her?”
“Warn her of what?” Theo inquired with a raised eyebrow. “Her fiancé’s return? For heaven’s sake, Edward, you used to love to surprise her. Emily loves surprises. She’ll burst into tears, of course, but tears of joy. She loves to cry with happiness.”
“Oh, Theo,” he said. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, of course I do. And I’m telling you not to be such an idiot. Come on.”
She tethered Robin to the gatepost of the dower house, then took Edward’s hand, running him along the path. “Emily … Mama … Clarry … see who’s here.”
Elinor was in her boudoir when she heard Theo’s exuberant tones quickly followed by Emily’s cry. “Edward! Oh, Edward.” And the sound from the hall became a confused turmoil of voices and tears.
Elinor went quietly downstairs, prepared to deal with the inevitable surge of emotions attendant on Edward’s arrival.
Edward separated himself from his betrothed as Elinor descended the stairs. He came forward, holding out his hand. “Lady Belmont.”
“Edward, dearest.” Ignoring his hand, she embraced him. “How wonderful to see you.”
Edward was flushed, and a determined look crossed his face. “Lady Belmont … Emily … I came to say that of course I am ready to release Emily from our engagement immediately.”
There was a stunned silence; then Theo said, “Edward, you great gaby. How could you possibly say something so idiotish?”
Before Edward could respond, Emily had flung herself against his chest. “How could you possibly imagine it could make the slightest difference? Theo’s right, you’re a gaby, Edward!” She was weeping against his shirtfront, and he held her tightly, his eyes meeting Lady Belmont’s. She shook her head at him in mock reproof and smiled.
“Can I see it, Edward?” Rosie’s high voice broke into the tender scene.
“See what?” He released Emily and bent to embrace the girl.
“Where your arm ought to be,” Rosie said matter-of-factly. “Is there a stump? Or does it stop right at the shoulder?”
“Oh, Rosie!” It was a universal groan.
“But I’m interested,” the child persisted. “It’s good to be interested. If you’re not interested in things, you don’t learn anything, Grandpapa said.”
“Very true,” Theo agreed. “But that doesn’t permit such personal questions, you obnoxious brat.”
“I’m not an obnoxious brat,” Rosie declared, not at all offended. “Won’t you show me, Edward?”
“One day,” he said, laughing with the rest of them. Rosie had managed to turn his nightmare into an ordinary, interesting fact of life. She’d somehow managed to puncture his dread that his mutilation would disgust those he loved, would turn love into pity.
“Is it all healed?”
“Yes, but it’s not very pretty.” He glanced at Emily over the child’s head. “It’s very red and raw looking.”
“Does it pain you?” The soft question was Emily’s.
“When the wind’s in the wrong direction,” he said. “Come and walk with me, love.”
Emily nodded, taking his outstretched hand.
“You will dine with us, I hope, Edward?” Elinor said.
“Yes, if I may,” he responded.
“In that case I hope the invitation extends to me,” Theo declared.
“What of Stoneridge?” Edward raised an eyebrow.
“He has a previous engagement,” she said firmly.
For an instant the temptation to pour out her heart to her mother, weep her anger and mortification away, receive the comfort Elinor always had to offer, almost got the better of her. And then she smiled briefly and said, “He went into Dorchester on business. He’ll be dining there.”
Elinor nodded. Her daughter was lying. The strain in the dark eyes, the jangled chords of her unhappiness, couldn’t be hidden from her mother. But Theo always dealt with problems in her own way, and if, as Elinor suspected, this was something to do with her marriage, then it was best that Theo and Stoneridge came to their own resolution. Elinor had no intention of playing either interfering mother-in-law or over-protective mother. It would do far more harm than good where two such strong personalities were concerned.
SYLVESTER FELL INTO a laudanum-induced sleep toward midnight and awoke just before dawn filled with the sense of well-being approaching euphoria that always followed the agony.
It didn’t take long for the euphoria to dissipate as he lay in the semidarkness remembering what had triggered the attack—a mercifully short attack for once, but it couldn’t have come at a more inopportune moment.
He threw aside the bedclothes and stood up, stretching before going to the window, flinging it wide, inhaling the salt-sea fragrances on the light breeze blowing from the cliff top. He stared into the misty, pale light and heard in his head Theo’s voice, despairing in its confusion and rage, hurling those dreadful accusations at him.
He glanced toward the connecting door to his wife’s bedchamber. Presumably she was still asleep. In other circumstances he would have been tempted to go in and wake her in the way he knew she loved, with the lon
g, slow strokes of passion that would bring the sleepy whimpers of delight to her lips, and her eyes would eventually open, deep, limpid pools brimming with sensuality, her mouth curving with amused pleasure.
But not this morning.
Deciding he’d take advantage of the dawn peace to gather his thoughts and marshal his arguments, he dressed rapidly and went downstairs, where he took a shotgun and a game bag from the gun room and let himself out of the house.
Webster’s Pond lay beyond the orchard, through a band of thick undergrowth and massed blackberry bushes. The air smelled of sea and the damp grass beneath the tangled undergrowth. Spiky tendrils from the bushes caught at his buff coat and slashed across his buckskin britches. The sun was veiled in the dawn mist, a suffused reddish glow on the horizon, and the morning was alive with the exuberant calls of the dawn chorus and the indignant chatter of squirrels as he penetrated the undergrowth, disturbing their preserve.
He was following a narrow ribbon where the undergrowth was trampled into something resembling a path, but it clearly hadn’t been used that recently, and the whole feel of the place was of somewhere rarely visited by man. The sport certainly should be excellent.
He caught a glimmer of the pond through the bushes as he pushed aside a tangle of thorny branches with the butt of his gun. It was a large body of water, more of a lake than a pond, thick reeds massed at the edge, lily pads floating serenely across the flat brown surface.
Sylvester took a step forward onto the narrow bank, and something hit him in the middle of the back, sending him crashing to the ground.
“What the hell!” Winded, he stared up at his assailant, more angry than alarmed. A young man stood over him … a young man with the empty sleeve of his jacket pinned across his chest, and a gun on his other shoulder.
“I beg your pardon,” Edward said. “But you were about to put your foot into this vile thing.” He gestured to the oval jagged-toothed trap concealed in the underbrush. “I saw it a second before you took that step.”
“Sweet Jesus!” Sylvester got to his feet, staring at the vicious iron, nausea rising in his gorge as he imagined the bite of those teeth rending his calf, breaking the bone.