His Compromised Countess

by Hale Deborah

  Whatever his true motive, there was one thing they must discuss first. ‘If we are going to share this little house for that long, we need to come to some understanding.’

  Bennett raised one dark eyebrow. ‘What sort of understanding?’

  ‘Wyn ran away after he heard us arguing,’ Caroline reminded him…and herself. ‘Then when he had the fever, he talked about us not shouting at each other. If the past few days have taught us anything, it’s that we both made our share of mistakes over the years.’

  Staring off into the fire, Bennett gave a vague grunt that might have been agreement or chagrin.

  ‘When Wyn first fell ill,’ she continued, ‘you said that blaming each other and ourselves for it would not make him better. You said we must concentrate instead on what we could do for him. I believe the best thing we can do for Wyn during the next month is to make every effort to get along with one another.’

  Bennett glanced towards her suddenly, his look almost accusing. ‘I was so done in, I hardly recall anything I said the whole time. I’m amazed you can.’

  Her first impulse was to resent his tone and deliver a stinging reply, but that contradicted the very point she was trying to make.

  Though it was not easy to put aside the habits of many years and give a soft answer, Caroline knew she must try. ‘I remember, because what you said made me feel better and helped me do what Wyn needed.’

  Her reply appeared to catch Bennett off guard, as if he’d drawn his pistol only to discover it had no ammunition. ‘Well…that’s good. Do you propose we stop blaming each other for all the…mistakes we made in our marriage? Spend the whole month pretending they never happened?’

  It was clear he doubted they could do it, perhaps questioned the wisdom of even trying. After all, focusing upon each other’s failings had long made it easier for them to justify their own less-than-admirable behaviour.

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’ Caroline strove to keep any bite of sarcasm from her words, offering only a sincere question and willingness to listen if he proposed an alternative. ‘In the end I suppose it comes down to whether we love our son more than we hate each other.’

  Not that she hated her husband, Caroline conceded privately. Her marriage and her life might have been easier if she could have felt that way about him. Then he would not have had so much power to hurt her—the kind of power she was determined never to give him again.

  Bennett considered her proposition. His handsome face might have been a wax mask for all the feeling it betrayed. His inscrutable dark eyes had never guarded the secrets of his heart more resolutely.

  Finally he extended one large, powerful hand towards her. ‘You have a bargain. This coming month, for our son’s sake, we will put on a performance of marital harmony worthy of Edmund Kean and Sarah Siddons!’

  Caroline hesitated for an instant before grasping his hand, steeling herself against the tingling sensation she knew his touch would provoke. Though she was pleased Bennett had agreed to her plan, she must remember that any attention he paid her during the next month would be an act and nothing more.

  This was all meant to be an act, Bennett reminded himself during the next two days, as their son was allowed out of bed but remained housebound. He had long been skilled at disguising his true feelings—appearing calm when he was seething with anger, indifferent when he was grieving, aloof when he was passionately attracted. It was a different matter altogether to display emotion of any kind, let alone emotion he did not feel. Yet, as he watched Caroline make such a determined effort to be a better mother to their son, he found it perilously easy to act as if he cared about his errant wife.

  The first real test of their temporary alliance came three days later. Wyn had been content at first with simply being allowed out of bed and permitted to eat the same meals as his parents. But before long he began to chafe at the restriction of being kept indoors, insisting he was recovered enough to go on an outing. Bennett and Caroline finally agreed to take him on one the following day, only to have the weather suddenly turn foul.

  ‘I want to go out!’ Wyn cried when he was told they would have to postpone their excursion.

  ‘But it’s raining, dearest.’ Caroline strove to pacify the child. ‘Remember how ill it made you the last time you went out in the rain.’

  ‘But you promised.’ Wyn pressed his nose against the parlour window. ‘Can’t we go to the Blockhouse? It’s just over there. We wouldn’t get very wet going only that little way.’

  Bennett sensed his wife was beginning to waver. It seemed she could not bear to have their son vexed with her. Did it remind her of those long, lonely, exhausting nights when Wyn was an infant screaming in her arms, resisting her efforts to nurse him? Bennett acknowledged that he had not given her the support she’d needed then. It was an omission for which he now felt compelled to atone, while he had the chance.

  ‘Perhaps we can go there tomorrow…’ Caroline wrapped her arm around the child’s shoulders ‘…if the weather improves.’

  Wyn refused to be consoled. ‘You said we could go today. It’s not fair!’

  A look of annoyance mixed with chagrin twisted Caroline’s comely features at hearing her own frequent complaint hurled back at her by her fractious little son. She cast Bennett a pleading glance.

  Not long ago, he would have taken a certain vindictive satisfaction in seeing her get a taste of her own medicine. But Wyn’s illness and its aftermath had shown him a side of parenting he’d never experienced before. If he had to put up with much more of Wyn’s bad temper, he might seek any possible excuse to escape the house. He could only imagine a squalling infant must have been a hundred times worse.

  Now Caroline was appealing to him for help and he could not let her down as he had in the past.

  ‘If you insist on going out today,’ he addressed their son in a firm tone that he hoped was not too severe, ‘I suppose your mother and I cannot stand in your way.’

  Caroline’s eyes widened in a look of dismay as she silently mouthed the word, No!

  Bennett met her anxious gaze with one that begged her to trust him.

  ‘But remember,’ he warned Wyn, ‘if you catch another chill and fall ill again, you will have to stay in bed a great many more days, drinking a great many more cups of yarrow tea.’

  His son’s small face creased in a frown of deep concentration as he weighed the possible consequences. Clearly deciding it was not worth the risk, he heaved a pathetic sigh. ‘I’m never going to get to see the island.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Bennett replied, proud of his son for making the prudent choice. ‘And you need to be prepared.’

  ‘Prepared how?’ The child sounded dubious.

  ‘Well…I was planning to take you up on the heath to fly a kite—there’s always a good stiff breeze blowing. But first we will need to make a kite for us to fly. Would you like to help me?’

  ‘A kite?’ Wyn brightened. ‘Oh, yes, Papa!’

  The cook offered to let Wyn help her bake while his parents scoured the house for kite-making materials.

  As they headed up to the attic, Caroline said, ‘That was quite a risk you took telling Wyn we wouldn’t stop him going out. What would you have done if he’d called your bluff?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Bennett admitted with a shrug. ‘Appealed to you to rescue me, perhaps. I’m relieved it didn’t come to that. Consider it a lesson in setting limits without seeming like a tyrant: Give him choices when you can. But either make one choice much more attractive or give him a choice between two things, either of which you can tolerate.’

  ‘I like that.’ Caroline gave a nod of approval. ‘Though there is a certain deviousness about it that I would not have expected from you.’

  Her voice carried a teasing note, which he might once have resented. Today it only made him grin. ‘An unfortunate consequence of my frequent dealings with politicians.’

  Caroline laughed as she opened a large brass-bound trunk and began rifling thro
ugh it. Bennett had not heard her laughter in quite some time. He’d forgotten how sweet and melodious it sounded. Having succeeded in coaxing it from her brought him a curious sense of satisfaction.

  In a corner of the attic, behind a rolled-up rug, Bennett found several pieces of thin wooden strapping. He held them up in triumph. ‘These should do nicely for the kite frame. Now it is your turn to provide me with a lesson about how I can show Wyn more affection.’

  She dug deeper into the trunk. Was it a deliberate effort to hide her face from him? ‘I have a feeling you know what to do, if only you wouldn’t stop yourself from doing it when the opportunity arises.’

  ‘That is not terribly helpful.’

  ‘You want rules and procedures for showing love?’ Caroline peeped out at him from behind the trunk lid. ‘Very well, then. Rule one—scowl less and smile more. Is that helpful?’

  ‘Very much.’ His wry grin blossomed into a full-blown smile. ‘Have you any more nuggets of wisdom to impart?’

  ‘I would not want to overwhelm you with too many lessons at once,’ Caroline answered with feigned solemnity. ‘Let us see how you get on practising this one before we move on to more advanced skills such as holding hands.’

  Though he chuckled at the quip, Bennett could not deny the eagerness that reared in him at the prospect of practising that particular skill with her.

  ‘Look here,’ she cried, holding up a large scrap of golden-yellow cloth. ‘Fine silk. There isn’t enough to make anything else, but plenty for a kite. And what’s this?’

  The question drew Bennett to her side. That, and an unaccountable hankering to be near her.

  From the bottom of the trunk, Caroline lifted out a small wooden casket with the image of a rose cleverly carved into the lid. She opened it to reveal some old coins and fragments of jewellery. Though Bennett could tell that none was of any particular value, they still gave the illusion of a small treasure hoard.

  ‘None of this will be any good for your kite.’ Caroline let a tarnished silver chain trickle through her fingers back into the box. ‘If we had a daughter, I think she would have been happy to stay indoors for days on end, dressing up in some of these old clothes and playing make believe.’

  A whisper of yearning in her voice made Bennett ask, ‘Did you ever wish we’d had a daughter instead of a son?’

  ‘I would not trade Wyn for a hundred daughters.’ With a hard snap Caroline shut the casket. ‘But I did once think that if we’d had a daughter first, we would have been obliged to keep on trying for an heir.’

  Her reluctant admission reminded Bennett of other references she’d made to their son being his heir. The implication provoked a response from him before he had time to censor it. ‘You thought the reason I didn’t get you with child again was because I was satisfied at having bred an heir?’

  ‘Of course.’ Caroline replaced the wooden casket at the bottom of the trunk. ‘Why else?’ She didn’t sound angry about it. Only resigned…and rather saddened.

  This was not the time to air such contentious issues, Bennett reminded himself. They had agreed to forget any problems between them and pretend all was well. But wasn’t that what they’d been trying to do throughout their marriage, without success? By contrast, he recalled recent times when they’d lowered their guard and confided in one another. He had never felt closer to Caroline, not even in the deepest throes of passion.

  ‘Because…’ it was too late for him to back out now ‘…I didn’t want to put you…and me…through that whole ordeal again. At least not right away. Then later I didn’t think you wanted any more children.’

  Slowly Caroline closed up the old trunk. ‘Which you concluded because I wasn’t paying enough attention to the child we already had.’

  Bennett gave a halting nod. He wasn’t proud of the harsh misjudgements he’d made about her over the years. ‘I would have quite liked a little daughter. I might have found it easier to show her affection.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ A subtle inflection in Caroline’s voice betrayed her grave doubts. ‘As long as a son was born soon afterwards. Otherwise....’

  Her words trailed off as she rose and brushed the dust off her skirts.

  ‘Otherwise what? Do you think I am so hardhearted that I would have held the child to blame for being a girl?’

  ‘Not to blame…exactly…’ Caroline’s hand moved over the folded piece of silk she held in a restless caress. ‘But you would have been disappointed. And that disappointment would have influenced your feelings.’

  Would it? Bennett wanted to protest otherwise with the utmost vigour. But when he recalled how he had let the experiences of his past affect his feelings towards her, he found it harder to defend himself.

  Why had Bennett brought up that wretched subject? Caroline strove to push their conversation from her thoughts while the two of them helped Wyn construct his kite, but the memories stalked the edges of her mind, waiting for any lapse in concentration to pounce.

  Somehow she and Bennett contrived to keep their son amused through that long rainy day. As soon as they’d tucked him in for the night, she quickly slipped away to her bedroom before Bennett asked any more questions she could not bear to answer. But with no one and nothing to distract her, she could not keep from going over and over their earlier conversation.

  Talking about fathers and daughters had revived unwelcome memories of her girlhood. It also saddened her to realise that her failure to be a good mother to Wyn had convinced Bennett she would not want any more children. When she questioned the effect another baby might have had upon their family, she was torn between hope and fear. Hope, that she might have learned from her mistakes and been able to be a better mother the second time. Fear, that she would have failed again, compounding her guilt and making their present situation even worse.

  In hindsight, Caroline recognised one consolation she’d scarcely noticed at the time for which she was now deeply grateful. It was the knowledge that Bennett had not abandoned her bed because he was satisfied to have bred a healthy heir on a wife he no longer desired. Instead, her husband had denied himself the pleasure of her favours because he did not want to put her through the ordeal of bearing more children.

  If only she’d known his true motives at the time, would it have made a difference? Might they have been able to salvage their marriage before it was irreparably broken?

  Tantalising glimpses of what might have been had flitted in and out of her dreams that night, yet somehow Caroline still woke feeling rested and renewed. Perhaps it was the return of the sunshine that lifted her spirits, she mused as she rose from her bed that morning and glanced out her window.

  Just as Bennett had predicted, a fine breeze was blowing. There should be nothing to keep Wyn housebound today. They would be able to take him out kite flying, keeping him happily occupied with far less effort than it had required in recent days.

  ‘How soon can we go out, Mama?’ the child demanded when she went to get him dressed for the day.

  ‘We’ll need to eat breakfast first.’ She helped him out of his nightshirt and into his white skeleton suit and blue jacket. ‘After that we’ll see what your papa says.’

  ‘But I’m not hungry,’ Wyn protested. ‘I want to go now before the wind dies down or it starts to rain again.’

  Caroline sympathised with her son’s fear that something might come along to spoil his fun yet again. But she could not let him go on his first outing since his illness with an empty stomach. She feared they were in for another upsetting argument. Then she recalled the advice Bennett had given her about choices.

  Surely it was worth a try. ‘Would you rather have porridge for your breakfast or a boiled egg and toast?’

  Just then she glimpsed Bennett peeping into the room. He gave an approving nod to the choice she’d offered Wyn.

  The child hesitated for a moment, then answered in a rather put-upon tone, ‘Egg and toast.’

  ‘That sounds like a fine breakfast for kite-fliers,’ said
Bennett as he stepped into the room. ‘I believe I shall have the same.’

  When Wyn spun around to greet his father, Caroline prompted her husband with an exaggerated grin. He took her cue, arching the corners of his mouth upwards in a smile that looked quite sincere.

  Together they headed for the kitchen. Wyn’s feet hardly touched the stairs as he raced down them. When Mrs Jenkins served breakfast, the child bolted his portion in his eagerness to be off. His parents ate theirs more slowly, but did not dawdle over their tea in deference to his impatience.

  A few minutes later they followed their son as he scrambled up the rise behind the house, clutching his colourful kite.

  ‘You did a fine job,’ Bennett praised Caroline, ‘putting my lesson about choices into practice with Wyn.’

  His tone of respect heartened her, though she did not feel the desperate craving for his approval she had once had. In her own heart, she knew she’d done well and that nurtured a precious feeling of capability. So did the realisation that there were lessons she could teach him—lessons that would benefit their son. ‘So did you with your smile.’

  ‘Do you think I am ready to move on to more advanced skills?’ Before she knew what was happening, Bennett reached out and took her hand in his. ‘I reckon myself a quick study.’

  Her start of surprise made him smile. Caroline’s insides fluttered as breathlessly as the very first time he’d smiled at her.

  ‘I meant our son’s hand.’ She nodded towards Wyn, but made no effort to extract her fingers from her husband’s firm, warm grasp.

  Bennett shrugged. ‘I thought it might be better to practise on you first. That way you can evaluate my technique and offer suggestions for improvement.’

  ‘It is quite good, actually.’ She concentrated on the sensation of his touch but strove to suppress the intense reaction it kindled in her. ‘Not too tight, but not too tentative either.’

  ‘So I’d receive a passing grade, would I?’