A Companion for Life

by Cari Hislop

“Why doesn’t Goosey-girl want my heart?”

  The naked woman climbed back into bed next to him. “I know…it hurts…”

  He could feel her hand caressing his chest, but the emptiness remained. “I stood there for five minutes and she didn’t see me. She said she loved me.”

  “I know…” The hand continued to caress him as if it could soothe the ache.

  “How can a woman say she loves a man and then change her mind before the next meal?”

  “Some women are heartless; they only want men to think they’re loved.”

  “Why?”

  “So they can control them, but Miss Philips is a fool if she thinks she can tame Morley’s heart; he doesn’t have one.”

  “Why didn’t she want my heart? I’d do anything for her…I’d walk to the moon!”

  “She clearly doesn’t want the moon. Morley won’t walk anywhere unless he knows he’ll get to kill something along the way.”

  “But she said she loved me. She said she’d do anything to be my wife.”

  “Sometimes circumstances occur outside a woman’s control that affects her heart without her knowledge.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “I suspect Miss Philip’s heart was broken when she arrived home to find her beloved Aunt Lily gone without any word of explanation. The woman she thought of as a second mother, who’d helped raise her from the cradle, the woman who was a pillar of her life was there one hour and then gone without a word. How could her heart not be devastated?”

  “Uncle Penryth married her…”

  “I know. Miss Philip’s heart must have been aversely affected by her sudden loss. Sometimes it takes a few days for pain to be digested by the heart and when it settles it corrodes the surrounding love like an acid. She must have loved you very much to lose her love so quickly.”

  “I felt pain the moment she didn’t hear me announced.”

  “You’re a sensitive soul William. Not every man can feel the way you do.”

  “It hurts…Grace said her mother was going to give her Lily as a wedding present. Grace said I had to get Uncle Penryth to give her back or she wouldn’t marry me. Grace must love her very much and that heartless woman has her claws in my uncle.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. Miss Philips was devastated by losing her second mother, a second mother who, I understand, left without bidding farewell and didn’t have the courtesy to invite her family to the wedding. It must have been a heart-rending experience. Grace probably doesn’t even understand why she can’t love you. It’s a tragedy; your poor uncle has lost his heart to a cunning woman who doesn’t love her own flesh and blood. His life will be ruined.”

  “I told him Aunt Lily was a schemer. He refused to believe me when I told him she’d fallen down the stairs. Mr Philips would know what happens in his own house, wouldn’t he. She’d often fall down the stairs in the night trying to raid the larder, but uncle wouldn’t listen. His voice went all cold like death because she convinced him someone pummeled her. That’s why he rushed to rescue her, but he didn’t have to marry her. He could have given her a small annuity and sent her on her way.”

  “Shall I tell you a secret?”

  “A secret?”

  “Your uncle, he’s in love…with his wife.”

  “Uncle Penryth? In love with Aunt Lily? Impossible! Have you seen her? She can’t look a body in the eye. She can barely talk above a whisper…she’s embarrassing. People are going to look at her and think Uncle was blackmailed into marrying her. I tried to tell him, but he gave me that look that chills the soul.”

  “I told you, he’s in love with her.”

  “He can’t be in love with her. What is there to love? She’s fat with orange hair like coarse spun wool. When she wears it down it looks like an orange felted blanket draped over her head.”

  “She wears it down because he likes it.”

  “No one could like it, it’s hideous.”

  “I paid your Aunt Lily a visit. I thought I could help your Uncle by easing her entrance into Society. I asked her why she was wearing her hair down and she told me it was because he liked it that way. I believe her hair must have some sort of hold over him. She could be a witch. Perhaps her hair has been enchanted? I’ve heard of potions that a woman can drink to enslave a man. What if she’s discovered one of these potions? What if your uncle is unable to consider Miss Philip’s demands because he’s affected by a magic spell?”

  “He has been acting very strange. Why would a man kick in a woman’s door when she looks like Aunt Lily? I found him sitting on her bed. She was lying there like a…”

  “Like a beached whale?”

  “Yes, and Uncle Penryth was next to her like a slave awaiting her command.”

  “I told you, he’s in love with her though he doesn’t know it. When I tried to tell him he was in love with his wife he categorically denied it. I don’t think he knows what’s happening to him. He may be under a spell, but if he hasn’t bed her there’s still time to save him. There may be time to persuade Miss Philips that she loves you if you can break the spell over your uncle before Morley makes his move.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Cut off your Aunt Lily’s hair.”

  Through an alcoholic haze William eyed his naked companion with horror. “Uncle would kill me!”

  “He won’t, he’ll be released from the spell.”

  “What if he’s really in love with her? You’ve never seen Uncle Penryth angry.”

  “I thought you said you’d do anything to win Miss Philips’ love. Perhaps she’s right not to marry you.”

  “Don’t say that! I love her.”

  “Do you? How can you love her if you won’t even try to save her from Morley? Do you know what he does to young ladies who find themselves in his web? He didn’t earn that evil face by sucking on lemons.”

  “But uncle might kill me.”

  “Life is a gamble Mr Bowen. Are you going to throw the dice or keep them in your pocket knowing you might have rolled a double six? Are you a man or a boy too scared to take action?”

  “I’m a man.”

  “Well then…you’d better have another drink to steady your nerves.”

  Chapter 15

  It was nearly noon; the London traffic had ground to a crawl. Penryth couldn’t hear the cursing coachmen or the groan of the wheels pulverizing bones of hungry rats that had strayed from the safety of the gutter. His body was in his carriage, but in his mind he was standing beside his bed. He could see long stiff hair jutting out over the bedcovers like an orange pennant identifying the occupant and proclaiming her right to be there. Stepping closer he could see part of her pretty face emerging from ugly bruises. Penryth tightened his folded arms as if they could restrain the overflowing warmth in his chest. She’d left the door unlocked. Feeling the handle turn and the door open had sent bliss coursing through his veins; she’d let him in. He was still silently debating whether to wake her or let her sleep when the maid had entered to feed the fire more coal an hour later. He abandoned his watching, collected clean clothes and retreated. The sooner he finished shopping, the sooner he could tempt his wife to exchange a few kisses for bonbons. The odd motion of one carriage wheel riding over some obstruction brought his mind back to his uncomfortable body with a jerk. Instead of watching his wife sleep he was a prisoner enduring a form of torture worse than anything the Chinese could invent. Not knowing how long it would take before he reached Lily’s lips was agony. Casting his eyes at the seat beside him he smiled at the large box of bonbons and the large pile of smaller packages. Just when he thought he’d finished he’d seen something else he thought she might need or like. The intended hour had somehow become three and now his pocket watch was threatening to make it four.

  Twenty minutes later his carriage steps were finally being lowered. Grabbing the box of bonbons he instructed the footmen to bring in the other packages. He was humming a waltz until the front door was opened by a weeping c
hamber maid, causing instant unease. “Where’s Jones?”

  “Upstairs…attending Master William…”

  “Is Mrs Bowen awake?” The young lady merely cried harder. Penryth wasn’t aware of the box of bonbons slipping from his hand. Was he running up the stairs or were the stairs moving underneath his feet? An ominous drum beat warned him to hurry. His bedchamber door was wide open. She wasn’t on the bed. She wasn’t near the fire. “Lily?” There was no answer. He was several feet inside before he consciously saw the large trail of blood leading to a far corner of the room. The drum beat faster as he realized the mound of white silk in the same corner was his wife. Sliding over the gruesome path he fell on his knees beside the body slumped forward against the wall. |Blood covered hands lay limp beside her as her open eyes stared unseeing out of deathly pale skin. “Jones…Jones!” His tight throat screamed the name as his shaking hand pressed against her chest. Her heart was still beating; she was alive. “Lily! Can you hear me?” There was no response. Her face was cold and clammy. Automatically smoothing back her hair his hands felt no resistance. The orange crop had been scythed away without skill or feeling. He could see the healing lump on the back of her head and several small freckles near the hair line. “Where are you hurt?” There was no answer. She was too heavy to pick up, but he had to get her warm. He careful unfolded her onto her back and quickly examined her gown for stab wounds, but it was sound. He tried to pick her up by the shoulders, but her head lolled back. He grabbed the bottom of her nightgown and took hold of cold clammy legs and pulled her across the room to the fire. “Jones! Where the hell are you? I need smelling salts…” There was only one way to warm her quickly. Tearing off his coat, he thought he’d die of agony before he could remove his tight muddy boots and pull off his trousers. He hesitated not knowing whether his actions would save her or kill her, but to do nothing held the same odds. Carefully lying on top of his unresponsive wife he slid an arm underneath her neck and tugged at the choking knot in his cravat as the ominous drum roll threatened ruin and despair. He took a deep breath and tried to pretend he didn’t want to sob into the remains of her hair. The beautiful wild creature on her head had been brutally butchered. There was nothing left, but orange wooly clumps. Her hair would grow back, but would she recover? “Lily…I beg you don’t leave me.” He kissed her cheek and then explained in choked Welsh that even though he wasn’t in love with her he didn’t want another wife. He was supremely content with his chosen companion and had no desire to exchange her. She couldn’t die; he’d bought her three dozen bonbons. He needed her smile. He needed her kisses. He paused to demonstrate with a tender example and then thoroughly warmed her lips until her dark lifeless eyes slowly focused on his face. “Lily?” He smiled as his body went rigid with hope. “Is my weight is hurting you?”

  “I killed him.” The words were weak and flat.

  His smile faded as his nerves were tangled with fear. “Killed who?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve ruined your life. I want to die.”

  “To ruin my life you’d have to stop breathing or run off with another man. Who cut off your hair? Who did this to you?”

  “I didn’t mean to kill him. There was a knock on the door. I thought it was you so I said he could enter. He was drunk.”

  “Who was drunk?”

  “Your nephew.”

  “William?”

  “He said I was a witch. He said I’d enchanted you. He said he was going to save you by cutting off my hair. He came at me with a knife. I fainted. The next thing I knew was the smell of burning hair. I got up and tried to push him away…he kept swearing by Lady Gillingham’s breasts that he’d save you and win back Grace. He cut off more hair. I tried to get away. I screamed for Jones…he came at me with the knife. I pushed him over. He hit his head. There was blood…I killed him…”

  “Jones! I want you here like a cat on his way to hell!”

  Running footsteps entered the room and slid to a stop. “Yes Master Bowen?”

  “Is William dead?”

  “He’s on the land of the living. The barber’s stitching him up.”

  Penryth exhaled fear and inhaled rage. “Put one of the maids in his room. I want to know the moment he’s awake day or night.”

  “As you say Sir. Is there anything else Master Bowen?”

  “Bring the green settee from the sitting room and send for a pot of chocolate and a couple cans of warm water. Lily…I’m going to help you up.” Panic filled eyes watched him stand and rolled as he disappeared behind her.

  “Mr Bowen!”

  “I’m right behind you Cariadon.” The Welsh endearment slipped off his tongue as if she really was beloved. His heart beat faster as he waited for her to demand an explanation, but she didn’t speak Welsh. He might as well have called her Cloud or Chair. “I’m going to lift you into a sitting position…” Heaving her upright he kneeled behind her, oblivious to the cold floor, and wrapped his arms around her. A lingering kiss on her neck was abruptly ended as she turned her head to offer parted lips. Absorbed by her tantalizing half kiss he was unaware of the servants returning with the requested settee until they dropped it nearby with a loud thud. Penryth suddenly felt too warm; as if he’d been hanging over the fire as he silently cursed his servants for their promptness and pulled his wife to her feet. After wrapping her in a blanket he ordered her to sit down and put her feet on the fender. Alone again, he sat beside her and pulled her close so he could rest his cheek against the remains of her hair. His Cariadon had nearly died of fright; the feelings in his chest surged into his veins filling him up to the throat, making it impossible to speak.

  Chapter 16

  Starting awake, the night air was cold in her throat even with a roaring fire in the grate. Lily shivered with fear as frightening shadows flickered across strange reflective surfaces. Touching her throbbing head her fingers found stubble. Her hair, it was gone. Sitting up, she could see the bedclothes beside her had been recently occupied. Yes, they were still warm to the touch. Had she shared a bed with Mr Bowen? Had he just risen? Where had he gone? The last thing she remembered clearly was magical eyes insisting she finish the glass of water that tasted of laudanum. She had a faint memory of having her face and hands washed and the smell of blood. She absently looked down at her chest; it was pristinely white. Her eyes widened in horror as she remembered; her husband had removed her bloody nightgown and helped her into a clean one. It happened so quickly she’d barely had time to register the heat of the fire on her skin and then she was in his arms being kissed and it didn’t matter that he’d seen her unclothed. If only Mrs Jones had delivered the tray without slamming it down. The kiss had abruptly ended and the housekeeper had said something in Welsh. Mr Bowen had given the woman that cold frightening look and told her to mind her own business, but he didn’t resume kissing her when the door closed. He’d wrapped her back up in the blanket and spoon fed her cake with a smile that held her spellbound. If he’d asked her to sprout wings and fly away with him she’d have thought it the most reasonable request.

  Where was he? The thought of being at the mercy of her mad nephew made her panic. Swinging her legs out of bed she pulled on her dressing gown and tottered towards the door to find her protector. In the hall she could hear the timbre of Mr Bowen’s voice muffled by a closed door. Following the sound, she stopped outside William’s room and heard him say, “Tell me the truth or I’ll kill you.” If Mr Bowen killed his nephew he’d be hung for murder and she’d die of loneliness. She impulsively opened the door. Her husband was leaning over the bed, his voluminous white nightshirt bristling behind him like puffed up wings. The swan was about to attack.

  “Mr Bowen!” Both men turned to look at her; the younger man’s eyes glinting with tears and surprise.”

  “Who is she?”

  “You know perfectly well who she is; you attacked her yesterday morning with a knife and cut off her hair. Cariadon, it’s cold, go back to bed.” Lily ignored the order and
approached the bed and stared at the younger man’s shaved head. The baldness somehow emphasized the terror in his young eyes.