‘I did not plan to,’ he admitted, unable to keep from smiling as he looked into her eyes.
‘Well, I am sure everyone will be glad that you are here,’ she said. ‘They have all been asking after you and hoping for an introduction so they might thank you for your generosity.’
Since she had been raised by cits it was probably hopeless to request that she be less free with her acquaintance. It had been clear from watching out the window that she got on well with everyone. And now it appeared that she expected such benevolence of him, as well. ‘That is most kind of them,’ he said, at last, giving up on the hope that he might escape.
‘And there are those of us who already know you that might wish a moment of your time,’ said an all-too-familiar voice behind him.
He turned to face his younger brother, standing beside a woman whom Robert presumed was his wife. And as it always did, when called upon to converse with Jack, he felt his throat tighten and his back stiffen, preparing for an argument. ‘John.’ The one word came out of him with difficulty and was accompanied by a rigid nod of greeting.
‘Robert,’ Jack responded with an ironic smile. ‘I know we were not invited to your home, but I trust that today we are as welcome as the rest of the hoi polloi.’
‘Of course you are welcome,’ he responded automatically. ‘It is an open gathering.’ Inwardly, he winced, for he had made it sound as though his brother would not have been invited otherwise. In truth, he had not even considered that Jack might attend.
‘But we were talking of introductions,’ Jack said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Since you have not as yet met her, may I present my wife, Lucy?’ He made the omission sound like it had been Robert’s fault and not his own. But the marriage had been six months ago and Jack had made no effort to arrange a meeting.
‘Mrs Gascoyne,’ he said, as formal and awkward as if he was meeting a stranger and not a member of his own family.
‘Sir Robert,’ the young woman replied, her smile hesitant, as if she already assumed he would disapprove of her.
There was another pause, as the pair of them stared expectantly at him and he remembered that he also had an introduction to make. ‘And may I present my wife, Emma?’
Unlike the timid greeting of the other woman, Emma seemed oblivious of the tension in the air and reached out to clasp the hands of the other couple. ‘Major Gascoyne, how good it is to finally meet you. And your wife as well.’
‘I take it we have you to thank for this celebration,’ Jack said, greeting her with a warm smile.
‘When the vicar’s wife approached me with the request, I could find no good reason to refuse,’ she said, eyes modestly downcast and a flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
‘I should think Robert would have been reason enough,’ Jack replied, surprised. ‘Under normal circumstances, he would never agree to such a thing.’
‘Emma can be very persuasive,’ he said, sparing her the need to lie and defend him.
Jack grinned, probably assuming that the negotiations had taken place in the bedroom. ‘Well done, Lady Gascoyne. If you can evoke a change in my brother, then you truly are a miracle worker. And now, if you will excuse us, we will leave you to your other guests.’
When they had moved on, Emma turned to him with a brilliant smile. ‘How nice it was to finally meet your brother.’
‘For you, perhaps,’ he said, staring after Jack as he moved off through the crowd.
Emma’s smile faltered when she saw his expression.
‘Do not think to apologise for not understanding my family problems,’ he said. ‘The difficulties between myself and him do not concern you.’
‘I am sorry for them, all the same,’ she said softly, touching his hand in reassurance.
He forced a smile. ‘But we must not let them spoil your day. Show me the festival and convince me that I made the right decision in allowing it.’
* * *
At the end of the day, when the tents were being taken down, Emma was surprised to find that her first timid foray into entertaining had been a major success. Though she had done very little to organise it other than to open the gates and allow the people on the grounds, everyone seemed to think that she was responsible and showered her with gratitude.
They offered similar thanks to her husband, who accepted them with a dazed air, as if he was still not quite sure how he had come to have the entire village camped out on his property.
He must have been even more surprised to meet his own brother there, for he behaved most strangely towards him, as if he was not quite sure how to talk to his own family. And it was clear, despite the fact that they had been married for some time, that he had not met his brother’s wife until today.
Best of all, nothing had happened that her husband might take as evidence of his bad luck. She turned to him, tugging on his sleeve. ‘Now, admit it, the day has not gone as you feared it would.’
‘There have been no problems that I have noticed,’ he conceded.
‘So, you admit it might be possible to entertain without a visit from your family curse,’ she said, trying to keep the triumph from her voice.
‘Such things are not predictable,’ he said, dismissing her argument. ‘That is why it is better not to tempt fate.’
‘Well, in this case, the benefits have outweighed the risk,’ she said, willing him to feel some enthusiasm for the day. ‘And you must admit that you had a good time as well. Did I not see you playing horseshoes with the vicar?’
‘He challenged me. I could not resist.’ For a moment, he let down his guard and grinned, as he had when they were alone together.
‘You could not resist,’ she said with a nod, smiling.
Suddenly, someone on the other side of the yard cried out in pain. At the sound, the colour drained from Robert’s face and he raced in the direction of the noise, ready to help.
She hurried after him. When they arrived at the scene of the problem, it was nothing more serious than a childhood fight. She reached out to soothe the offended boy, then turned back to her husband, eager to prove him wrong. ‘See? There was nothing to worry about after all.’
But he did not notice. He was clutching the nearest tent pole in one hand. The other hand was on his heart, as he struggled for breath. Though sweat beaded his brow, his face was still deathly white.
She reached out to steady him and felt his shoulders shake under her hand.
‘Do not worry,’ he wheezed and tried to straighten up. But as he released his grip on the tent pole, he pitched forward to his knees, unable to stand under his own power.
‘Someone, help!’ she cried as two footmen rushed forward, easing her gently out of the way, linking their arms with his and lifting him to carry him, unresisting, back towards the house.
* * *
It was the first time his wife had visited his bedroom and he could not imagine a more anticlimactic reason for it. He did not want her to see him this way, propped up by pillows like a damned invalid and under the influence of laudanum-laced brandy. But at the moment, he lacked the strength to refuse her.
She was sitting at his bedside, a worried expression on her pretty face, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. At least she was not patting his hand as if he was a sick child. ‘The doctor says it is your heart and that you have had these spells before,’ she said in a faintly accusatory tone.
‘The doctor is an old woman. He knows nothing about what ails me,’ he snapped. And he never would. If he understood the full extent of Robert’s problems, he would have recommended a madhouse instead of rest and laudanum.
‘Why did you not tell me that you had this trouble?’
‘I told you often enough that I did not want to entertain,’ he snapped. It was unfair of him to bark at her, when he was angry at his own weakness. He had known she would see the effects of the curse eventually. But he had n
ot expected to pitch cataleptic at her feet when it happened. He’d not had an attack this bad since Jack had returned from the war.
She was clearly hurt by his tone, but she pressed on. ‘But you never said you were ill. Why did you not tell me that entertaining taxed you so? I would never have agreed to the festival had I known.’
‘I am not sick, nor am I exhausted,’ he replied. ‘There was nothing the least bit stressful about a round of horseshoes and a walk around the yard.’ The festival had not been the problem. Although talking with Jack had been mildly unsettling, it had been the scream that had finished him. He had thought it was a woman’s scream. It had reminded him of the night Beth had died.
‘I suppose you are going to blame it all on the curse, again,’ she said bitterly.
If what happened to him was not a curse, he had no idea what to call it. ‘As I told you, the Gascoynes die young,’ he said.
‘You are not going to die,’ she said. ‘I will not let you.’
Her stubborn insistence did more for him than the medicine had and he laughed out loud. ‘You will not let me die? If you have the power to choose the time of my passing, then I will have gained far more from this marriage than I expected.’
‘I will not let you die over something as silly as cursed luck,’ she said. ‘And I promise not to bother you with any more entertaining...’
‘Because you are afraid that I will faint like a girl and disgrace us both,’ he finished her sentence for her. Hadn’t that been what he was afraid of? And his fears had proved true.
‘That is not what I fear at all,’ she said. ‘And you did not embarrass yourself or me. You simply frightened me because I had no warning.’
‘You have no reason to be afraid,’ he said. He had been quite frightened enough for both of them. As usual, his pounding heart and the inability to breathe had been accompanied by an irrational and blinding terror and the certainty that death was near. ‘I am all right now,’ he added.
But that was not true, either. As always, he was afraid that the uncontrollable feeling would come upon him again, without warning. And the next time, there might be no way to stop it. Perhaps he would die right in front of her, clutching his heart in terror, unable to help himself or anyone else.
She gave him a dubious look.
He set the brandy glass aside and denied his fears. ‘I will be all right once the effects of the laudanum have faded.’
‘For now, you need to rest,’ she said. And this time she did pat his hand, as if he was a babe that needed coddling. ‘And I am sorry for all the trouble I have caused you. I promise to be better in the future.’
He snatched his hand away. ‘How many times must I tell you not to take the blame for things that are not your fault?’
‘But you did not want the festival,’ she reminded him.
‘And I was wrong. Everyone enjoyed it and the day was a success,’ he reminded her. At least it had been up to the moment when they’d had to drag him limp into the house. But that hurt nothing but his pride. Despite the nagging feeling that he was doomed, he would probably survive just as he had after past attacks. ‘My opinions on entertaining have not changed. That said, I do not regret your involvement in it. It was the right thing to do.’
A smile spread slowly across her face and her body seemed to relax, as she remembered. ‘It did go well, didn’t it?’
He nodded and felt his head wobble as the laudanum began to take full effect.
‘But we can discuss that tomorrow,’ she said, rising to go. ‘Right now, you need your rest.’
‘I do not need rest,’ he muttered. He patted the bed at his side and raised his eyebrows in invitation.
‘Certainly not,’ she said, drawing away with a frown. ‘I will not come to you now when you can blame the opium for what happens between us. Now go to sleep and we will talk tomorrow. I am sure you will not want me in the morning.’
‘...tomorrow,’ he repeated as she walked from the room. She was wrong, of course. He would want her just as much. He would simply be too sensible to act on the feeling.
Chapter Fourteen
The previous day had been a strange one. Emma could not help but feel joy at the success of the festival, but it still made her feel guilty that it had come at such a cost to her husband. Of course, he might have had no problem if he’d warned her that he was prone to such spells, which the doctor claimed had occurred on and off since he was a child.
He had insisted that it was not his heart. But what else could it be? After running to help the child, he had clutched at his chest, as if it was about to burst. Perhaps it was the stress of the horseshoe game that had pushed him near to apoplexy.
He might claim it was a curse that kept him isolated from his neighbours, but now she knew better. She must take better care of him, and make sure he did not overtax himself for no good reason. She would begin immediately and make sure that he stayed in his room today and got the rest needed to fully recover. The doctor had recommended plenty of sleep and a diet of broth and milk toast, devoid of foods that might inflame the senses.
But when she went to his room to find him, it was empty except for the remains of a hearty breakfast of forbidden foods. His valet informed her that the master had gone for an early morning ride and had most likely returned by now. He suggested she seek him out in his study. But when she checked that room, she found no sign of him.
His absence frightened her. What if he had strayed too far from the house and had another attack? On such a large property, how long would it take someone to find him? Suppose they were too late to help?
Then she heard a strange noise coming from the ballroom down the corridor. It was a rhythmic pok-patok, repeating over and over, in a way that soothed her jangled nerves.
When she went to investigate, she found her husband in shirtsleeves, racquet in hand, playing tennis against the ballroom fresco. As she watched, he tossed the ball into the air, serving it into the wall and leaping forward to slam it again as it returned to him. The continual sound she’d heard had been that of the ball meeting racquet, meeting wall and floor.
‘Stop that immediately,’ she said, her hand to her mouth in horror.
As the ball returned to him, he caught it easily in his left hand and turned to her, smiling. ‘Are you afraid that I will collapse again?’ He held his arms out wide. ‘As you can see, I am not the least bit impaired.’
He did seem unbothered, even after strenuous exercise. But that did not change the fact that he had seemed near to death just a day ago. ‘You might appear fine,’ she allowed, ‘but that does not mean you should tempt fate.’
He laughed. ‘So, this is what it takes to get you to believe in fate.’
‘I was not speaking of your curse,’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘Were we not? Because I cannot think of a better proof of it than what you witnessed yesterday.’ He served the ball again and it slammed into the fresco hard enough to send a shower of plaster to the ballroom floor. ‘I am as strong as an ox when no one is looking and weak as a kitten when they are.’
‘And that is why you will not entertain,’ she said.
He nodded. ‘As long as I remain calm and alone, I am able to manage the problem. But in society, I cannot predict what might happen.’
‘Perhaps, if you limit yourself to less strenuous gatherings...’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘You still do not understand. It is not the strength of my body that I need to worry about. The problem lies elsewhere.’ He tapped his forehead.
‘You think it is in your mind?’ she said, shocked.
‘The curse of the Gascoynes,’ he replied with a nod. ‘When I am confronted with a problem I cannot solve, or see others in danger and cannot help, I am overcome with terror so complete that I can hardly breathe.’
‘Yet, yesterday, when you thought there was trouble, you r
an towards it, not away,’ she reminded him. ‘And you were quick to rush to the aid of the vicarage fire. If you are afraid of the curse, when an opportunity presents itself to help, why do you take the risk?’ she asked. ‘One would think that any such activity would be more dangerous.’
‘Why do I help people when they need it?’ he said, surprised. ‘Because, despite what you must think of me, I am no coward. If something dire happens to me as a result of my actions, then I am fully prepared to accept my fate. But what I cannot do is watch others suffer. If there is anything to be done, I must at least try to help.’
‘You cannot solve all the problems around you,’ she said with a shake of her head.
‘But I have to try,’ he said, more to himself then her. ‘To be frozen in terror during a disaster and to distract the doctor from his duties with my own infirmities when there was someone else who needed him more? To be told after that there was nothing that could have been done? To be left helpless in the face of an emergency is by far the greatest curse that could be wished on a man.’
He was speaking of the death of his wife and child. As she watched, the hand that held the racquet began to tremble and his breathing changed, becoming laboured at the memory.
He shook his head, trying to clear it.
If he blamed himself for his wife’s death, it explained his over-protectiveness when it came to this new marriage and his fear of becoming intimate.
‘There will always be things that you cannot control,’ she reminded him.
‘And that is why I avoid people,’ he replied, struggling to slow his breathing. ‘If I cannot stop bad things from happening, it is easier not to see them.’
If just the idea of helplessness was enough to bring on another spell, she needed to find a distraction. She glanced at the ball in his hand. ‘But none of this explains why you are playing tennis in the ballroom.’
He glanced down at the ball he was still holding and then at the ruined fresco that had been his target, as if he had not realised that there was anything odd about his behaviour. But his breathing had steadied by the time he answered. ‘I thought, since the space was not being used for dancing, I would find another purpose for it.’
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