by Hale Deborah
She nodded. ‘On your smile, too. The light of it has travelled up to your eyes.’
‘Fancy that?’ Bennett chuckled. ‘I made no deliberate effort. It happened of its own accord.’
Had she coaxed that eye-shining smile from him? The possibility brought Caroline a sweet sense of accomplishment. Caution tried to warn her that Bennett was only doing this for their son’s sake and that their marriage would soon be over. Guilt tried to remind her of the unforgivable harm she had done to his pride and his cause. But the power of his grasp anchored her firmly in the present moment.
‘If you give a gentle squeeze now and then,’ she demonstrated, ‘it is like a private message of affection.’
As soon as she’d done it, Caroline worried Bennett might take the squeeze as an indication of her feelings for him, but his reaction assured her otherwise.
‘I believe I can manage that.’ When he returned her hand squeeze, he seemed to concentrate on duplicating the precise force and duration of hers. ‘The more private the better. It is open declarations of affection that give me the most trouble.’
‘Were you always that way, even as a child?’ Caroline tried to picture him as a little boy before his mother disappeared from his life so abruptly. The innkeeper’s wife had claimed the countess doted on her son. Surely that must have meant kisses and cuddles and sweet maternal endearments.
Bennett kept his eyes fixed on their son, now standing on top of the low hill, clutching his kite against the greedy tug of the wind. Was he picturing himself in this familiar spot all those years ago?
At last he spoke, as if dredging up memories that had lain buried for a long time. ‘My mother was very…generous with her affections. Far too generous, apparently. After I learned what she had done, it made me doubt the sincerity of all her petting and sweet words.’
Not only his mother’s, Caroline sensed, but all displays of affection. It still troubled her that he had questioned the sincerity of her feelings for Wyn. But since she understood the source of his doubts, they no longer stung so much.
She gave his hand another light squeeze, this time not as a demonstration.
Chapter Ten
They spent a whole glorious morning launching Wyn’s kite in a stiff Scillonian breeze, then watching it glide and swoop through the sky.
Bennett was beginning to wonder if Wyn had had enough excitement for one day when a sudden powerful gust of wind jerked the kite, making the string snap.
‘Oh, no!’ Wyn’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his plaything lofted high in the air and blown off towards the neighbouring island of St Martin’s.
‘Don’t fret. We can always make you another kite.’ Bennett strove to cheer his son as he wound the remaining string back around the spool.
His brisk reassurance did not seem to comfort the child.
Caroline dropped to her knees in front of Wyn and gathered him into her arms. ‘There, now. It is sad to lose something that has given you so much fun. I wonder where your kite will come down? In Cornwall, perhaps, or do you suppose it might fly all the way to Wales? Some boy or girl there might find it caught in a tree and wonder where it came from. They might patch up its tears and tie on a new string.’
By now Wyn seemed less upset about his lost kite and more absorbed in his mother’s story. Bennett could not help but admire her skill at offering healing sympathy while providing an amusing diversion. To think he had spent so many years blind to her unique talents.
‘When the kite has had its spell of fun in Wales—’ Caroline rose to her feet and took Wyn by the hand ‘—it may break free again and fly away to…’
‘France,’ Wyn suggested. ‘Papa once showed me where it is in the atlas. I want to visit there some day.’
‘To France it is.’ Caroline caught Bennett’s eye, then darted a pointed glance toward Wyn’s free hand, signalling that the time had come to practise his latest lesson in affectionate fathering. ‘And as it swoops and soars through the sky over England on its way there, people will look up and wonder if it is a small piece of the sun that broke off and fell to earth.’
As she continued to spin her tale of the kite that flew around the world, Bennett offered Wyn his hand. The child grinned up at him and seized it eagerly. Then the three of them headed back down the hill together. The sweet sense of family harmony persisted until they reached the house and Bennett told Wyn he should take a nap.
‘But I’m not tired.’ The child’s petulant tone assured his father of quite the opposite. ‘Please, Mama, can’t you take me down to the beach instead?’
Though she looked reluctant to disappoint the boy, Caroline surprised Bennett by supporting his decision. ‘Papa is right, Wyn. You need plenty of rest so you don’t fall ill again. Perhaps we can go down to the beach after you wake up.’
Faced with his parents’ united front, Wyn gave in grudgingly, but fell asleep within minutes of lying down.
He woke later in a much better humour, so they took him down to the beach be0tween the Old Blockhouse and Rushy Point. Something about the murmur of the surf caressing the sand seemed to reach inside Bennett and loosen his tightly clenched defences, making him forget all the disappointments and frustrations of the past few years. In this moment, there was only his little family, together in a way they had never been before.
The next several hours passed every bit as enjoyably as their morning of kite flying. As they built an elaborate sandcastle, Caroline laughed and larked about in a way Bennett had not heard in a very long time. It was not the artificial high spirits she displayed at assemblies and pleasure gardens, but a natural exuberance that appealed to him too much for his peace of mind.
Only when they headed home for supper did she glance down at her skirts and notice the ruin she’d made of them. ‘Parker is sure to complain, but I don’t care. It would be worth a hundred gowns to hear Wyn chatting away so happily and…’
‘And?’ Bennett prompted her.
‘And…to play like a child again myself,’ she replied after a brief hesitation that told him she’d meant to say something else instead. ‘My parents used to take me to the seaside when I was very young. I remember games and stories and laughter. After my mother died, Father hired a succession of strict, solemn governesses to care for me. They possessed a finely honed talent for taking all the joy out of life.’
Had she been trying ever since to recapture that joy, Bennett wondered—at the theatre, pleasure gardens and assemblies? Had she sought to give their son a taste of what she had so desperately missed?
Caroline seemed to realise she’d said more than she meant to for she hastened to change the subject. ‘The waves are so much closer than they were when we started building our castle. I suppose it will not be long until they wash it away altogether.’
The wistful note in her voice made Bennett wish he could offer her some comfort, but he did not share her singular skill. Even if he had, how could he deny the truth? By this time tomorrow there would be nothing left to show that their castle had ever been.
‘If it’s something lasting you want,’ he suggested, ‘I have an idea. But it will have to wait until our next outing.’
‘Next outing?’ Those words brought Wyn running over from where he’d been making patterns with his footprints in the sand. ‘Where are you going to take us, Papa?’
‘Do you remember me telling you about Gimble Porth?’ Bennett pointed towards the high ground behind the house where they’d flown Wyn’s kite. ‘It is a cove on the other side of that ridge. Lots of seashells wash up there, and at low tide you can see the outlines of enclosed fields and buildings that were lost beneath the sea.’
The child’s eyes grew big and round. ‘I’d like to visit that Gimble place. Doesn’t it sound good, Mama?’
‘It does indeed.’ She pulled their son close and gave his hair an affectionate ruffle that stirred a faint pang of envy in Bennett.
As they made their way back to the house, hand in hand again, Wyn heaved a s
igh of surpassing contentment. ‘This has been the best day—all three of us having fun together.’
Over their son’s head, Bennett’s gaze sought, met and held Caroline’s. Some deep, wordless communication seemed to pass between them about how a difficult task could yield unexpected rewards.
It gave Caroline a foolish pang of regret to think how the incoming tide must have washed away their lovely sandcastle.
The next day, as she, Bennett and Wyn headed back up the ridge behind the house, she could not help comparing that sandcastle with the home they were making here on the island. Time and events would soon demolish it, too. But while it lasted, she was determined to hoard up happy memories to sustain her in the years ahead.
When they reached the crest, the three of them paused for a moment to look down on the horseshoe-shaped bay, sheltered by steep dunes. It had a wide strip of white sandy beach at the centre, but the shore on either side was thickly strewn with rocks.
‘What are all those places?’ Wyn gazed out towards the many large rocks and small islands jutting out of the sea.
‘That nearest island is Northwethel. Beyond it is St Helen’s.’ Bennett pointed to each in turn. ‘Over that way is Tean. Farther in the distance is St Martin’s.’
‘Can we visit them all?’
‘Some day, perhaps,’ Bennett replied. ‘For now, we have Gimble Porth to explore. Let’s go find out what seashells the tide has washed up.’
Together they collected many shells of every different shape and size.
‘What is this one, Papa?’ Wyn asked over and over as he added some new specimen to his collection.
‘I am no naturalist.’ Bennett examined the latest addition carefully. ‘I must buy you a book on the subject. But look how this one is nearly the same shape as those other two, only wider at the base.’
As she watched her husband and son together, Caroline saw they shared more of a bond than she’d realised. Bennett was clearly committed to fulfilling his fatherly responsibilities with his accustomed diligence—teaching Wyn new things, encouraging him to question and explore. Now that he understood the development of their son’s heart was as important as that of his mind, she sensed he would do everything possible to foster that, too…no matter how difficult.
When the child’s interest in shells began to wane, Bennett suggested they pile some of the stones to make a cairn. ‘It will be harder work to build than our sandcastle and the result not nearly so handsome. But the sea will not wash it away in a single night either.’
‘Why are these stones all round?’ asked Wyn.
Bennett rolled a large one over to make part of the base. ‘Probably from the action of the waves washing over them, year in and year out. All this sand you see is made from the tiny specks of rock that have been worn away.’
‘Fancy that.’ Caroline marvelled at the results subtle, patient action could accomplish given enough time. ‘What can I do to help with your construction?’
As he hefted another stone into place, Bennett nodded towards the water. ‘You could fetch some wet sand to act as mortar.’
He was right about this being harder work than building a sandcastle, she reflected as the tower of stones slowly took shape. But the result was not without its own rugged, enduring appeal. Was it really too late for them to rebuild a strong, lasting marriage on the site of the fragile illusion that had been washed away?
By the time they had finished, their cairn stood almost as tall as Wyn, who seemed very proud of what they’d built together.
‘The tide is at its lowest ebb,’ said Bennett. ‘If we climb up to the top of the rise again, we should be able to see those submerged fields and buildings I told you about.’
The promise of such sights sent Wyn scrambling up the bank at once.
Caroline dusted the dried sand off her hands, surprised to find how soft and smooth it left them.
‘Was that your way of getting our son halfway back to the house without a battle?’ she asked Bennett with a teasing chuckle.
‘It worked well, didn’t it?’ He looked vastly pleased with himself. ‘That was a trick I picked up from Mrs McGregor.’
He extended his hand to help her up the bank. She took it, bracing herself for the unsettling rush of sensation that swept up her arm.
A few moments later, as they looked down on the waters of the bay, she marvelled at all the different shades of blue. ‘Could that be part of an enclosure?’
‘I believe so.’ Bennett hoisted Wyn on to his shoulders for a better view. ‘See how that line of stones meets the other one so squarely? That is the work of man, not chance.’
Caroline gave a little shiver. ‘It feels eerie and a little sad. Think of all that work to build, only to be claimed by the sea. I wonder if it was one great flood or if the waters inched up year by year as gradually as the tide goes out or the stones get worn away.’
This drowned landscape reminded her of their marriage. The scandalous incident at Almack’s had been the sudden flood that swept it away. But any bond of trust that might have saved it had been slowly eroded long before. If there could be any possibility of reclaiming what they’d lost, surely the first step must be trying to understand what had gone wrong between them.
She knew some of it…or thought she did. But Bennett’s surprising disclosure of the true reason he’d abandoned her bed made her question how many of her long-held assumptions about her marriage were correct. Discovering the truth would require talking over a great many sensitive subjects with her husband. The prospect did not appeal to her—she feared it might spoil their pretence of harmony. She knew Bennett would like it even less, for he had often remarked how pointless it was to dwell on past events that were beyond their power to change.
But she was not seeking to alter the past by talking it over, Caroline reminded herself. Rather, it was the present and the future she hoped to set on a new course. As for their feigned felicity, surely it was worth risking for the chance to experience true happiness.
Bennett lifted Wyn down from his shoulders and set the child on his feet.
Wyn rubbed his belly. ‘I’m so hungry.’
‘Building and beachcombing will give you an appetite,’ said Caroline. ‘Not to mention the sea air. We should have brought a picnic lunch with us. Why don’t you go on ahead and ask Mrs Jenkins for a biscuit to stay your stomach until dinner?’
The child evidently liked that idea, for he set off at once, moving much faster than his mother was comfortable walking on the uneven ground.
Bennett must have sensed her misgivings, for he offered her his arm. She was more than happy to accept, for a number of reasons. ‘Thank you for another splendid outing. I enjoyed myself thoroughly. It reminded me of the day you took me boating on the Thames. Do you remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ He gave a rumble of gruff laughter. ‘I blistered my hands raw on those beastly oars.’
‘We were happy then, though, weren’t we?’ She slanted a glance towards him, anxiously watching for his reaction. ‘When did we lose that?’
Bennett’s features tensed, along with the muscles of his arm. Would he remind her that it had been her idea to put the past behind them?
To her surprise he answered in a murmur of wistful regret, ‘I believe you’re confusing happiness with pleasure.’
So she had never made him happy, not even during their brief, intense courtship or the early days of their marriage? Caroline bit down hard on her lip to stifle a whimper of pain.
Then some perverse misery-craving impulse urged her to speak. ‘I thought it started when I didn’t get with child right away. Every month that went by, the distance between us seemed to grow. Once I got pregnant our marriage seemed better…for a while.’
She’d hoped that once she fulfilled her prime duty as a wife, Bennett would care for her again. But the birth of their son had shattered that foolish, fragile dream.
‘That had nothing to do with it!’ The fierce denial broke from Bennett’
s lips. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d fallen pregnant on our honeymoon. We grew apart because we are so different from one another. We see the world differently, we want different things. It is no one’s fault—not yours, certainly. That’s just the way we are.’
It wasn’t her fault. As welcome a thought as that should have been, it brought Caroline little comfort.
‘Perhaps if I’d had more experience of such matters,’ Bennett continued, ‘or if I hadn’t been so besotted, I might have seen that no good could come of a marriage between two such opposites.’
‘No good?’ She wrenched her hand from his arm with such force that it almost made her stumble. ‘Our son came from this marriage and he is by far the best thing in my life!’
As she dashed the last few steps to the kitchen door, Caroline strove to calm and conceal her overwrought emotions so she would not cast a shadow over her son’s happiness. She’d hoped that discovering what had gone wrong with her marriage might help her find a way to correct it. But it turned out the problem was not what she’d done but who she was. How could she possibly fix that? She could not change who she was and she certainly could not hope to change Bennett.
Or could she?
How could he have made such a colossal blunder, speaking as if their son did not matter when nothing could be further from the truth? Bennett added another black mark to the tally against him. It was growing far too long for his peace of mind.
Over and over during their marriage, he’d made Caroline feel as if she’d failed him. When she did not conceive right away. When she had trouble nursing. When he’d stopped coming to her bed. Could those things have been the reasons she claimed to have failed him as a wife? He’d been certain she was referring to the scandal at Almack’s.
As they ate dinner, he marvelled how Caroline could behave as if nothing had happened, while he could not get her earlier stricken look out of his mind. Caution urged him to take his cue from her and try to forget what had happened. They had made that bargain, after all, and he did not want to risk an angry confrontation like the one that might have cost them their son. But since then they had begun to find ways to talk about sensitive subjects without provoking hostility. They hadn’t always succeeded in resolving problems—today, for instance. Yet afterwards he often felt as if he understood Caroline, or himself, a little better.