by Lisa Torquay
“Why did you marry me, after all?” Came her close-range shot of a question.
His dark eyes snapped to hers, and their attention hooked on each other for more long instants.
“My father had been pressing me to marry for years.” There remained no pride in the explanation, he realised. “When I did not comply, he threatened me with disinheritance.” How he wished his parents were still alive, so he could apologise for his mistakes.
“I came to the conclusion that any woman would do years ago.” She revealed. “But why me specifically?” She reformulated.
“You were there.” He shrugged. “I acknowledged you fancied me. It made things easier.” If he had forecast said unwitting, dismissive choice would come to be one of the most painful of his life, he would have faced poverty!
She eyed him with a touch of sadness in her as if she had stabbed him with the sharpest sickle. “How dim-witted of me.” She issued as if the most obvious fact on the planet.
“Bottom line, the moron in the story is me.” He used her unmarried lady’s illusions to his own ends. No wonder she despised him now. “You have become an accomplished woman.” One who would force him to leave as soon as an heir was born. And one who would have a string of willing men to become her paramours. The possibility bled inside him, draining him of clear thoughts.
“Thanks to lessons learned.” She placed one hand over the other in that restrained way of hers.
He hurt her. Once more. She asked a question though. How was he supposed to answer if not with the truth?
“I didn’t mean to upset you.” He said aloud. “But your question required honesty.”
“Doubtlessly.” She answered to the window. “I would expect no less.”
What little remained of the way, they made in silence.
Their carriage advanced through the tree-sided driveway. The Baron of Middleton’s estate did not compare to the Viscount of Strafford in size. Smaller and with fewer resources, the produce of the land resulted enough for a comfortable lifestyle which did not comport lofty luxuries. The manor had been an upkeep originated in medieval times. New constructions joined along the centuries making it a patchwork of architecture.
As they walked in the entrance hall, Aurelia still felt the effects of their conversation on the way. His confession he had not even chosen her for her own qualities left her rather disheartened. During his absence, she wondered what made him decide to marry, and pick her. As of this afternoon, she obtained her answer. Nothing. She had been there; his pressed him to marry. And that was the whole of it. To realised she accepted him for so different reasons. Even if, after these years, she recognised she had been under romantic delusions and learning she had been merely a name on a certificate hurt. She preferred he spoke the truth though not a pleasant one.
Her ramblings got interrupted brusquely by the entrance of her mother. The butler had shown them to the drawing room where they stood at that moment.
“Aurelia!” Her mother, a petite plump lady with elegantly dressed grey hair, approached her and took her hands. “It’s a long time we don’t see each other!”
“How are you, mama?” Aurelia held her hands. She missed her mother, she realised now. She should have come sooner, she owned up, but her life scrambled into a swirl since her husband re-entered his manor.
“Not too bad, I suppose.” Then she turned to Conrad. “Oh, so the wastrel came back!” She needled. “Money was over, I reckon.” She turned full to him.
Unruffled, Conrad bowed. “It is good to see you too, my lady.” He took her hand.
Her mother’s quizzical expression almost comical, were it not for the concern she showed her daughter with her nagging. “He has the nerve!” Lady Middleton hissed.
Aurelia must admit he took said nagging with utter charm, without a shred of impoliteness. As his tall, attractive frame bent to her mother, his aristocratic profile turned to her marvelling, and shook her insides in a way she preferred not to think about, ever.
“How is papa?” She asked to dispel the atmosphere.
Lady Middleton turned to her, a perplexed smile on her graceful wrinkled face. “Doctor Morrison is operating a miracle on your father!” She gestured for them to sit and sat beside her daughter. “I never imagined your father could get any better!” She rang for tea.
“I am happy to hear it, mama.” Her eyes twitched to her husband; he watched her. They exchanged a glance full of mixed meaning. She could not help the gratefulness for his hand in this.
“Oh, you have to see him exercising in the sun, merry as a child!” Lady Middleton joined her hands in awe.
“Speaking of which, mama, I have news.” She looked again at Conrad, his attention still on her.
“Do tell!” The older lady coaxed.
“You are going to be a grand-mother.” She said seriously, but inside joyfulness manifested.
“That is auspicious news, Aurelia!” Her mother rejoiced. Turning suddenly serious, she directed her stare at her son-in-law. “Wasted no time, did you?”
“I would say we were fortunate, my lady.” He answered amenable. Only Aurelia saw the scorching gaze he sent her, making her insides boil.
At the moment, Lord Middleton and Doctor Morrison entered the drawing room. Not much taller than her mother, her father was a kind-hearted person who did not take her mother’s distress too seriously.
“Our Aurelia has finally remembered she has parents!” He teased her as he came to greet her cheerfully.
Aurelia saw he moved with a lot more ease than before his treatment. Almost no limping whereas he could hardly remain standing more than a few minutes before Doctor Morrison intervened.
“Papa! I missed you!” She smiled openly at him. “How are you faring?”
“Oh, this fellow here knows a few exceedingly useful tricks he’s playing on me!” He said, an expression of gratefulness on his round face. “I feel like a teenager!”
Aurelia laughed then, eyes straying to her husband, who directed his whole attention on her. Scalding heat washed her insides and flushed her face. She snapped her eyes off him for fear of doing something shameful in public, like devouring him. Her traitorous body found no qualms in wanting him even after what he told her.
The conversation turned to her father’s treatment and the contribution Doctor Morrison brought to its progress. The doctor and Conrad sat to talk together while she listened to her parents over tea.
Such a congenial afternoon, she realised, as they sat on the carriage, driving back to Strafford manor under a pouring rain. She should do this more often, she told herself, and promised she would.
Conrad entered his bedchamber in the evening rather late as he had been drafting ideas for the manor in the study and lost track of time. His bedchamber exhibited the fire burning in the fireplace, its warm light illuminating Aurelia’s form on his bed. His blood rushed faster in his veins. When it came to his wife, his desire always responded with prompt fuel.
In one of the lacy nightgowns he ordered for her, she lay on her side of the bed motionless, as if sleeping. Too motionless. She was not sleeping, he deduced, just shelling herself from him and his pig-headed, immature actions. Would she have accepted his marriage proposal if he had told her his reasons for asking? Not likely. His she-wolf would not have settled for less than she deserved. The consequence being she would have married someone else, god forbid it! Selfish as it should sound, he would have none of it. Out of his coat and boots, he neared the bed, removing the covers and lying at her back. Breeches, white shirt and all.
“Aurelia.” He muttered in her ear, pleased to detect goose bumps spreading on her skin.
She did not move.
“I know you’re awake.” His lips grazed the rim of her delicate ear, her breath caught.
Still no answer.
He did not bear the idea of her leaving him adrift, indifferent to him tonight. He wanted her, body and stubborn woman, damn it! Destiny hell-bent on a payback for his former actions and i
t did not feel good. Not at all!
“Don’t pretend to sleep.” His sensuous thin lips explored behind her ear. “You don’t need it.”
She moved at last, turning to him. God, but she was beautiful. The lacy fabric let him envisage through it, her skin and her delectable breasts.
He would never understand this… pull she exerted on him. It had been weird enough that the memory of her pursued him during his years in service. On the background of his married life, her residence imprinted an imperceptible impact on his own life. As if he got used to her busy-bee presence, running around his house always with a chore at hand. If someone asked him what exactly he remembered from that time, he would not be able to answer. He had been seldom home, recollections sparse since his carousing did not allow for lengthy nostalgia. Her inhabitancy, though, never left his reminiscences.
“What is it now?” She said, eyes full blast on his.
“Nothing in particular.” He tried to disguise his state. “Perhaps talk to my wife about the day’s events.”
“Go on.” She replied detached.
He took her shoulders and made her pivot to him as he lay on the pillow and brought her head to rest on his chest. Starchy, she let him do it, not holding him as he did her.
“In hindsight, I would have preferred poverty to marrying for the sake of marrying.” Distractedly, his fingers undid her long tress, revelling in the silky rosewood strands.
“You did, though.” She answered stiffly. “And I fell into the trap like a duck in autumn!” She frowned, regarding him dully. They exchanged stares, hers unyielding, his searching.
He gyrated to her, enfolding her in his arms. “It was my omission.” He eyed her beautiful face. “You accepted me in good faith.” He drank in her for long seconds.
“Much good it did to me.” Her splendid body relaxed a bit, as he held her gaze.
“On the other hand, I gained an exuberant bride, only I was too blind to see it.” He rolled a strand of her hair around his finger.
“There’s nothing one can do about past mistakes.” She stated, as it was the most obvious conclusion on the planet.
“No, unless one lives an eye-opening experience.” He devolved, trying to make her understand his actions. He nibbled the curve of her neck. To be close to her compelled him to touch her, he wished his hands on her for centuries to come. He also wanted to talk to her lengthy; both conflicted in him. In the end, the attraction to her overpowered him. No news there.
“Life will continue to happen. Dwelling on these matters is useless.” She would not give way, would she? Maybe she did not ‘dwell on these maters’, but they certainly kept her from trusting him now.
“You might be right.” He answered vaguely. He had no desire to convince anyone of anything. People must let the past rest and take the present as the rule. His lips roamed back behind her ear. A sigh came from her.
He lifted his head to fix her eyes, hazy with want. No man would resist her allures. Without taking his eyes from her, his hand undid the ribbon at her neck. He removed one side of the lacy thing, fastening his mouth on her delicious breast. She arched towards him with a throaty moan.
“Damn you!” Her hands held his shoulders. “Why do you have to be so…” She stopped when he nibbled her nipple. She held his head on her.
“So…?” He murmured on her tender skin.
“Appetizing.” She breathed weakly, her head falling back.
He rumbled a laugh and shifted to give attention to her other sensitized breast. If he was appetizing, she was a banquet to feast on with every sense.
The craving for her soared sky high. When he leaned all his body on her curvaceous form, his hardness became evident. ”I cannot help it.”
“You arrogant beast!” She mumbled before he plundered her mouth.
Chapter Fourteen
“Lady Strafford.” Hughes bowed at the housekeeper room’s threshold, where Aurelia and Mrs Hughes planned the chores management, over tea.
Conrad had already ridden back from the fields, she saw him walking in the direction of the study.
“Yes, Hughes.” She turned to him absent-mindedly, attention still on the chores on the list.
“I came because I thought you might want to hear it.” This time Aurelia focused all her attention on him. “Mrs Somersby came to visit Lord Strafford, my lady.”
That woman in this house? A flash of pure anger crossed her. “And you allowed her entrance, Hughes?” She asked appalled.
Mrs Hughes’ chin fell, as flabbergasted as her husband.
The butler made a helpless gesture. “She just strode inside when I asked her to wait, so I could announce her.”
Barely containing her fury, she turned to the housekeeper. “Excuse me, Mrs Hughes; I must see to this.”
The middle-aged woman nodded, understanding.
Aurelia darted from downstairs as a lioness ready to fight. Oh, no! Not in her territory! There would be no other pernicious people in her home. She bore enough of such people for a lifetime.
She literally scampered to the study where her husband had been for tea, and crashed the door open, without even knocking. And froze. So immovable, she would be mistaken with the garden statue of Persephone.
The woman’s alien arms snaked around her husband’s neck, her generous body glued to him. Her eyes looked up to him; mouth provocative and ajar in a half smile. His head down, eyes no doubt able to peer in the widow’s agape neckline. His back to the door, his hands on her shoulders in mid-movement. His head turned to the door instantly, dark eyes knotted to hers.
Unrushed, Mrs Somersby’s common blue eyes met Aurelia’s, and took on an amused glint. With irritating slowness, her arms slid from his broad shoulders and she used several seconds to separate from his tall frame.
“Oh, Lady Strafford.” Her contemptuous flossy tone unruffled. “Timely, as usual.” The woman did not bother to curtsy.
She dressed expensive garments, if not elegant. A dark-blue dress that made justice to her ashen blond hair.
On the corner of her eye, she perceived Conrad take distance from her, but Aurelia drove her attention fast on the widow.
He motioned to speak. “Nothing hap…”
“I know.” She interrupted, eyes unblinking on the other woman.
“An assertive lady, to be sure.” The widow issued in a dismissive tone, a seductive smile on her comely face.
“I am afraid you’ll have to find… gratification somewhere else, Mrs Somersby.” Aurelia’s level voice blunt.
The woman should not be blamed for aiming her… inclinations at the Viscount of Strafford. She understood better than anybody else did how her husband was capable of relieving cravings as much as inflaming them. She herself found it impossible to remain cold when he touched her at night, squabble or no squabble. And, drat, she revelled in it, mortification be damned!
For sure, Aurelia would not stomach anyone of his old troupe in her presence, let alone in her residence. Often enough she caught gossip of his debauchery which got her in a state of dismay, shame and self-reproach she did not care to repeat.
“Of course, not.” The widow responded insolent. “One can go back to a mistress arrangement!” She smiled and tilted her head smugly.
Conrad again. “I did not…”
Aurelia faked a rather unladylike guffaw, interrupting her husband again. “My husband has never kept a mistress!” She said in a sarcastic way. “He was too… distracted for such arrangements!" She managed to giggle as if the widow spoke in jest.
From the corner of her eye, she perceived Conrad widen his eyes in surprise at her perceptiveness.
Mrs Somersby glanced at her awed; a trace of respect entered her stance. “There’s always a first time.” She tried less convincing this time.
The lady turned dead serious again, her eyes shooting daggers at the widow. The woman had the nerve! Bile suffused in Aurelia’s guts, ready to go into the air as an explosive volcano. She made it remain inside with
herculean effort, maintaining her expression unmoved.
“You are not welcome in this house.” Low voice lethal with indignation.
The widow drew in audible air, looking at the Viscount in search of support. Which did not come. In a blink, she recomposed herself.
“My lord.” She curtsied. “My lady.” She stared at Aurelia stonily, pivoting to the door and leaving in haughty paces.
Her exit left a vacuum surrounding Conrad and Aurelia. This episode, unimportant as it might seem, sowed a tempest inside her. She could barely look at him.
He stared at her, as if waiting for a reaction. He received none. Air exited forcefully, he raked his midnight hair, pacing to the window where heavy grey weather came on display.
"This is a typical instance where your past comes back to you!" She issued to his broad back before she turned to stride out and close the door with an unforgiving click.
Conrad registered the door shut as his attention filled with the lead colour of the clouds in the horizon. This was the worst it might have happened since he stepped in this house after service. Martha Somersby never had anything to do with him. She used to accompany one of her lovers in their nightly dissipation in Colchester. He and his “friends” used to travel there, a mere two-hour drive from his manor. They drowned in the nights and wasted away during the day, for days in a row. He never exchanged more than platitudes with the contumelious woman. Why she deemed she should pay him a visit here was a mystery he produced no will to pursue.
He had a notion the smallest occurrence would disgrace the precarious balance his marriage had vanquished. Would he never get rid of his calamitous past mistakes? He sought to be the man he imagined himself he would become as a lad. He went ashtray, all right, and partied too much for too long, sweeping others’ feeling to the gutter in the process. He stopped being that rascal the time he set foot in the ship to India, managing to keep up with it since then.