by Regina Darcy
“I want to believe it.”
“I vow to you that I have,” Arthur replied with a sigh.
“What happened to you that brought this purported change upon you?” she asked.
“Are you in for the night?”
She flushed. “I went to see Atelia,” she said. “I was puzzled by Dr Philpot’s conversation yesterday and I asked her if she had had any occasion to doubt his medical care. She had not. I returned home. I did not expect to find you here.”
“I am tired of being sequestered in the guest room as if I might infect the household were anyone to come in contact with me.”
“That is not my intention.”
“Can you not understand how much I wanted to see my son?”
“You were not so zealous before you left.”
“Tabitha, he was an infant!” Arthur said exasperated. “Surely, you cannot blame me for what you perceived then as a lack of interest. Babies—they are the province of their mothers at such a tender age. What use would he have of me?”
“That is why you paid so little attention to him?” Tabitha asked. It had hurt her deeply when her husband seemed to regard his son as a nonentity, showing no interest in his first tooth, or his first tottering steps, or any of the marvellous events which had thrilled her. Now that years had passed, she supposed that she was being unfair to Arthur.
“I did not mean to slight him or you,” Arthur insisted. “I— There were things then that I failed to comprehend. I tell you I have changed.”
“Tell me,” she said, sitting back upon the sofa and fixing him with a resolute expression. “If you would have me credit your change, you must give me something by which to measure it.”
“Where to begin . . .” Arthur pressed his hands together, bracing his arms upon his thighs. “Do you recall a hunting party that I attended not long before I disappeared?”
“You are not saying that you had your transformation at the Duke of Summersby’s hunting party, I hope!” Tabitha retorted. She did not know why she was so intent on provoking him; she had been wondering about the cause of his leaving ever since he had vanished, even more so since his return. “I should not have thought the hounds and the fox so evocative.”
“It was not the hunt itself,” he said patiently. “You were invited, but Micah was fussing—”
“He had a fever!” she corrected him. “Naturally, I stayed home. What sort of mother would I have been had I gone off on a hunting party when my son might be ill? And I never have cared for hunting,” she added.
“Yes, I know.”
“Then you should not have insisted that I go.”
“But you did not go,” he pointed out. “You would not leave Micah and you stayed at Randstand. We quarrelled, and I went on the party. You cannot think how often I berated myself that our last words were spoken in anger.”
Tabitha, too, had felt contrite when her husband had not returned at the expected time. Her initial assumption that he was punishing her by staying away had soon been corrected when she learned from the Duke of Summersby that Arthur had simply disappeared without a trace and no one knew where he had gone or why.
“One of your friends, the Marquess of Marquenson, was with the Duke when they came to see me. They hoped you had come home without a word to anyone, although they could not conceive of any reason why you should do such a thing. They appeared to be quite concerned, although they endeavoured to assure me that doubtless, all was well and that you would soon be home. It was very troubling.”
“I am sure it was. I would give anything if I could have eased your worries. But I was in no position to do so.”
“What happened?”
“The Prince Regent was also one of the party. His mistress at that time—or one of them—the Marchioness of Orpha—was also a member of the party. She was a woman of significant beauty but . . . I should describe her as rapacious, I think.”
“I do not know her,” Tabitha reminded him. After Micah’s birth, she had preferred to spend her leisure time with her son rather than in the company of the hard-edged, sophisticated members of the ton, with their careless ways and their heedless, licentious habits. She could not attribute such characteristics to Arthur, who was, for all his coldness, a man of moral ways; however, he associated with the members of his class and Tabitha chose not to do so.
Perhaps, she thought, she had been rather priggish in her disdain for the ton. Once she had become a mother, she had employed the reasoning that she would prefer not to take part in the invitations from society’s glittering lords and ladies. Arthur had asked her to accompany him, but she had declined, pleading maternity as her excuse. It was a legitimate excuse, she thought in defence of her actions. Why should a woman, merely because she was a viscountess, choose entertainments which separated her from her duty as a mother, even if her husband expected her to join him?
“She was known for her conquests, and the Prince Regent was fascinated by her. She was, I believe, not circumspect in her choice of lovers and did not realise that when one is the paramour of royalty, one does not entertain other gentlemen.”
He spoke in an even tone. Tabitha wondered why, if this episode was so integral to the mystery of his vanishing, he chose to relate it with so little emotion in his voice. “But she did?” Tabitha pressed.
“The Prince Regent’s advisor, Lord Walcott Overton, was also among the hunting party.”
“Lord Walcott Overton!”
“Yes. Why? Do you know him?”
“I . . . no, but there is talk in London of his behaviour. I believe he was sent away from Court for some sort of folly.”
Tabitha did not wish to elaborate on this explanation, or to reveal that she had seen the disgraced royal advisor the night that she had attended the theatre with Joshua.
“I am sure it is no more than he deserves. However, at the Summersby hunting party, I came back early from the hunt, intending to return to Randstand.”
“Why?’
He did not flinch from her gaze. “The Duchess Georgette, Summersby’s wife, happened to mention that there was illness in the village, a fever which was particularly dangerous for infants. It was my intention to fetch the doctor and return home in case our son might be in jeopardy. I went into Summersby’s library to leave a letter explaining my reasons for leaving early. I came upon Overton and the Marchioness in a most compromising position. I made the mistake—I was quite taken aback by their shameless disregard for observing the proprieties which their host had a right to expect—of blurting out that I would inform the Prince Regent of their actions. I have no memory of what happened immediately after that. When next I came to, I was on board a ship for the United States.
“The United States!” Tabitha exclaimed. “Why on earth were you going there?”
“I was not intentionally going there,” he said. “I realised that I had been knocked unconscious and taken to the ship whilst I was unaware. I was sent there as an indentured servant, sentenced to serve a period of seven years labour. There was no way to protest my innocence, I sounded as if I were addled in my wits when I began to speak of the Prince Regent. I believe that this is often heard among the mad: they claim to be acquainted with royalty. It made no difference that I was acquainted with the Prince Regent; in the garb of a labourer, with no papers of identification, I could not establish either my identity or my innocence. I travelled to Virginia and upon arriving, I was met at the dock by a man who owned a plantation along the James River. I was put to work in the fields.”
Arthur paused.
Tabitha tried to envision her aristocratic husband, the scion of centuries of privilege, bending his back to work the fields as if he were a common servant.
“Virginia is very hot in June,” he went on. “Summer comes early to the Southern states. The first year, I had such a sunburn that I needed the attentions of a doctor. I was fortunate in having a—having a master who bothered to obtain medical care for an indentured servant. After my recovery, which did n
ot take long, I returned to the fields. However, Mr Custis was a kind man. A gentleman, really, even in that provincial society. I did not tell him that I owned land in England, else he might have thought that my wits were still addled from the sun. I said that I was familiar with agricultural matters. I told him about the farming on Randstand and in turn, he told me more about his plantation.”
Arthur turned his palms up and studied his hands. “I never realized until then how hard people work simply to provide food for their meals,” he said. “I don’t expect that I shall ever forget it. I became accustomed to the work, the long hours, the aching muscles. I am still a young man, and I was able to acquit myself well once I learned the tasks. I worked in that manner for four years. Then, Mr Custis released me from my indenture. He said that he felt that he had gotten more than what he had paid for, and it was only fair that I should be allowed to return to my home. He paid for my passage. I had very little money and could barely afford food for the voyage. . . When I arrived in England, I knew that I must not be seen by anyone who knew me. I needed an ally that I could trust.”
“You did not think that you could trust your wife?” Tabitha asked him with a frown.
“I feared for your safety if it became known that I was once again on English soil. I went to Summersby. He’s a reliable man in a difficult situation and he has useful contacts. I told him what Overton had done.”
“I am sure that he was horrified,” Tabitha said, vexed, despite her husband’s explanation, that he had not returned first to her and to his son.
“Summersby is pragmatic. Together, we worked to garner more proof of what Overton had been up to, I, working incognito, and Summersby making use of his contacts at Court. Overton sensed that something was up and just as a cornered animal fights for its life using whatever means are at its disposal, so did Overton. He was like a madman, seeking to find out who was exposing his deeds. He began to suspect that I was involved, even though I had taken care to keep my return—indeed, my very existence—a secret, with Summersby’s assistance.
Summersby was well aware of my concerns and the reasons for them. During the five months that I was hiding on his estate, he made sure that you were safe. You would not have noticed, but you and Micah were under surveillance for your safety. We both feared that Overton might strike out at you or our son to retaliate against our actions to expose him. Summersby provided men to watch over you.”
Tabitha’s eyes were enormous. “Such subterfuge!”
“It was necessary. Overton is a venal and vicious man. Fortunately, he is not as alert as he should be. Summersby and I obtained letters in which Overton wrote of his intimate arrangement with a woman who was the mistress of the Prince Regent. Such folly is not something which the Prince would be willing to ignore. The Prince, learning of the infidelity of his mistress and the perfidy of his advisor, acted as one would expect. He cast off the Marchioness and he banished Overton from Court. It was then that I felt I could re-appear in your life.”
Arthur gave a rueful grin. “I regret that I was unable to do so with more dignity. I did not intend to return to you in such a sorry state. But the voyage had weakened me and while I was hiding out on the Summersby estate, I failed to take care of myself in a proper manner. I fell ill, but I was in such haste to bring the Overton affair to a conclusion that I neglected to follow the doctor’s orders. I was living a rather unorthodox existence at the time, traveling a great deal, always with my true identity concealed so that I could obtain the letters and any damning evidence available.”
“You were very brave,” Tabitha said, her eyes shining with surprise and admiration. “You risked your life to preserve the honour of the Crown.”
“I am not so very sure that there is much honour in the Crown as it now stands,” Arthur said. “But the monarchy must be preserved. The Prince Regent is not a wise king and he is prone to vices which make him the pawn of people like Overton. I confess that I have come out of this with very little respect for the individuals involved. Yet, I believe in England; I believe in what England stands for. I want my son—our son—to grow to manhood in a country where cherished ideals are safeguarded. Throughout this ordeal, I have learned much about the man I used to be, and I have repudiated that man and his narrow, aloof manner of conduct.”
Arthur took her hands in his. She could feel the callouses which still toughened his skin and she knew that, although the callouses would go away, the experience that had created them was not so easily forgotten. Perhaps it should not be forgotten at all, if it had reshaped Arthur Clemens into a man of honour and heroism and compassion.
“I swear on my life, Tabitha, that never again will I treat you as I did when we were first married. I was over-proud and haughty, and I failed to realise what a great blessing you are to me, to our son, and to Randstand.”
Tabitha extricated her hands from her husband’s hold, but she did so almost reluctantly. Both his confession of his trials and the heat that had unexpectedly risen in her at his touch, had left her flustered.
There was so much to consider, so much to evaluate, and she could not do so clearly in Arthur’s presence. What that meant, she could not say. Was he, against all expectations, more of a husband to her than she had realised after the years without him? Was there, after all, a bond between them which, despite the separation of the years since his disappearance and the barriers between them, had remained intact?
“I have much to think about Arthur,” she said, her voice plaintive. “This is all quite startling.”
“Is it startling to learn that I love you and I want to be the husband you deserve?”
At his words, she stilled. Never before had he said he loved her.
Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. “You return after so long, making promises that seem quite fantastical, given the state of our affections when you left. I did not know where you were—”
“I could not write to you. Not only is the reliability of mail service across the Atlantic unpredictable, but I could not risk Overton finding out that I was a threat. I had to let him—and you—think that I was dead.”
“Yes, I understand that now, and I—I am sure that you did not intend to cause me distress, Arthur, but surely you see that you leave me with much to consider.”
“Hendrickson, I assume, is one of those things.”
She could not deny it. “Yes,” she whispered simply. “He is.” Tabitha stood up. “Good night, Arthur. You ought to return to your bed, you know,” she told him. “It is late, and you need your rest if you are to regain your strength.”
She guessed, from the expression on his face, that he resented the reminder that he was still recovering from the ordeal that had sent him to America and then back to England under less than salubrious conditions. But instead of making a cutting remark, he simply nodded and rose.
“Good night, Tabitha.”
She let him go first, watching as he walked down the corridor to the guest room. He halted at the door, turned to look at her, and then entered.
Tabitha went to her room. To her surprise, Micah was there, waiting.
“Mamma,” he said. “Will he be staying with us?”
Tabitha hugged her son close. “Perhaps.”
ELEVEN
The days that followed were unsettling for Arthur as Tabitha struggled to acclimate herself to this undefined marriage. He sensed that, even though there had been an emotional distance between them that was as vast as the geographic one which had parted them, she had made an effort to honour the heritage of Randstand by raising Micah to be worthy of it. In doing so, she had instilled in him the values of a gentleman, young though he was. What Arthur did not know was whether she would be his wife out of duty or because she reciprocated his feelings.
She began to visit him each morning. Mrs Burton brought breakfast trays to them so that they could eat together. It was awkward at first, for they had both too much to discuss and too little. The fabric of daily life had been absent and now
they must repair it, even though there was so little to stitch together.
It was easier to talk of Virginia, that faraway place, than to discuss Randstand or London, which was familiar to them both.
“Virginia is very different,” he said one morning in answer to her question. “It is a society with an aristocracy such as one does not see in the northern states, or so I am told, although to be sure, there are prosperous citizens there as well. But the landowners in Virginia pride themselves on their aristocratic heritage. They are refined; they enjoy culture and books and genteel living. They see themselves as the American transplant of our own English aristocracy.”
“Was it not hard for you to become a servant, and one who worked in the fields, when your ancestry is surely more noble than any of their lineage?”
“It was hard to work,” he admitted ironically. “As an Englishman of degree, it is a matter of pride that my work consists of owning, managing, stewarding. But not doing. In Virginia, I learned to watch the plants after the seeds had been buried in the soil, to detect whether the rains that fell would be sufficient to bring the plant to yield its fruit. As the master of Randstand, I managed my holdings from astride my horse, or from my office. I did not get my hands dirty.”
“I wonder that you were not very angry at your fate,” she said.
Arthur thought this over as he bit into his warm, buttered toast. Mrs Burton had prepared it for him, and she had done the same for Tabitha, serving two meals that provided nourishment for the Viscount and Viscountess and providing them with the opportunity to share the breakfast as they engaged in conversation.
“I was very angry,” he confessed. “I thought myself to be in a godforsaken country, deprived of my status and my identity, separated from my wife and my son. It was some time before I realised that I had separated myself from you and Micah by my own arrogance, long before I arrived in Virginia. I must beg your pardon for that, Tabitha. You did nothing to deserve my conduct toward you and I know it.”