by Regina Darcy
Tabitha sipped her tea. Mrs Burton knew just the right amount of sugar to add to the brew. “I did not know what I could do to win your approval,” she said, summoning the painful memory of those months when she felt herself to be an unwanted wife. “I tried so very hard to please you and yet all I seemed able to do was to make you despise me. When I told you that I was carrying a child, there seemed to be hope. I could tell that you were pleased at the news. But . . .”
“I was pleased to have sired an heir,” he admitted. “I gave no thought to his own personality. He was my heir. He was your son. I have learned a hard lesson, but a valuable one. Micah will be the next Viscount of Randstand, but in the meantime, he is a boy who deserves my love and protection. When he is a man, he will have a foundation for his character that will make him all the more suitable for his responsibilities. But I did not harm Micah. I was not there to do him harm. It is you that I damaged. You will scarcely conceive of it now, I suppose, but when I saw you among all the other debutantes, and I knew that I wanted you for my wife, I instinctively sensed that you were unique. You were not like the others. There was no coyness in you. You were the prettiest of the season’s debutantes—”
“I was not,” she told him, smiling “The fashion was for slender, willowy maidens and I have ever been short in height and round in form. My hair is not the desired shade of yellow and my eyes are grey, not blue or green or brown, such as earns the laudatory rhymes of poets.”
“No,” he said stubbornly, “Tabitha Greane was the loveliest of all the debutantes. I saw it very plainly and I admit that I regarded myself as quite a fine fellow for approaching your father at once to seek your hand in marriage. I wanted to be the first, you see.”
Tabitha looked up, startled. Their gaze locked.
For some inexplicable reason her mouth felt dry. She started chewing her lower lip.
“You never indicated anything of your feelings to me,” she told him nervously. “My father told me that you wished to marry me and that he had accepted your proposal. I felt as if I were not a significant part of the transaction.”
“I am sorry,” Arthur said softly, his gaze lingering on her lower lip. He recalled seeing her at the ball and knowing, without even speaking to her, that she was the woman he wanted to marry and bring home to Randstand. But there was a world of difference in obtaining a father’s permission to court his daughter and wooing the girl and Arthur reckoned that he had failed miserably at the latter.
“I did not know how to reach you,” he admitted. “You were different from the other girls. Of course, that was why I found you so very attractive; it was because of that difference. But I did not know how to convey my feelings. I have never been good at expressing myself. After we were married, you were so quiet and withdrawn that I thought you must be very unhappy with me. I regret that I responded by erecting a wall between us so that I would not be hurt by what I assumed to be your distaste for me.”
“We were at cross purposes,” Tabitha said. She would not so easily be swayed by his honeyed words. If he had held affections for her, surely, she would have noticed. Once upon a time, she’d longed for them desperately. “I thought that I was so displeasing to you that you could not endure to be in my company. I considered myself quite frowsy and dull compared to the other debutantes. I was not one of you. I was not an aristocrat. My father has an impressive clientele among the aristocracy, but he has no title and neither do I. Marrying me did not enrich you. It benefitted my father,” she said accusingly.
“It was not your father whose affections I sought to win,” Arthur told her. Privately, he’d considered Peregrine Greane overbearing but one could not speak so unkindly of his father-in-law.
He was mystified by the silence which fell after his words. He had said nothing objectionable, so far as he knew, and yet shortly after that comment, Tabitha rose from her chair and said that she had errands to run. Yet again rejecting his affections.
“Does one of those errands include Joshua Hendrickson?” he could not help but ask.
“Joshua is my friend,” she told him evenly. “Are you forbidding me to have him as a friend?”
“I cannot stop you,” he answered. “You are entitled to choose your own friends without my interference. I will not override your choice. I hope—”
He interrupted himself. What could he say? That he wanted to be the man she loved, and he wanted to be the husband she cherished, and he did not relish competition from Hendrickson?
Could he tell her that he expected her to remember that she was a married woman, not a widow, and by that definition, obligated to uphold the vows she had made before God? Ought he to remind her that Micah deserved a mother who represented goodness and virtue?
He could say none of these things because they violated the pact he had made with himself. He would earn Tabitha’s affection and regard and he would do so on his own merit, not by commanding her to behave in a particular way. She had proven her worth as a wife and mother during his absence. Now it was up to him to demonstrate that he deserved her affection. It was only fair that she maintain her friendship with Joshua Hendrickson because, Arthur knew, if he were to win her back, it had to be under circumstances which allowed her to compare her husband to her friend. He could not win her if he forbade her to have contact with the man he saw as his rival for her affections.
He leaned forward and took her hand. Her delicious scent washed over him. He had to mentally restrain himself. He longed to kiss her rosy lips and make them both remember that fire that had once been between them, however briefly.
“I hope that you will permit me to try to redeem myself in your eyes,” he said instead. It was not what he had intended to say, and he could see in her eyes that she knew it.
He leaned in slightly and watched as her eyes turned into saucers. Tabitha might have become a wife and a mother, but she was still intoxicatingly innocent. Arthur sat still, willing her to take the first step.
Desperately needing her to take the first step.
Like a moth to a flame, Tabitha leaned in and brushed her lips against his. It was only a kiss on the cheek. Startled by her own actions, she abruptly rose and left the room.
Arthur let out the breath that he had been holding. It had taken more effort than he expected to stop himself from pulling her into his arms and finishing what she had started.
But he was not seeking a quick tumble around the bed sheets with his wife. He wanted her complete and total affection and devotion. To achieve that, he would have to employ stealth and patience. Arthur looked around the room. It was time to leave the sickroom. Even though he knew he was not yet welcome in his wife’s bedchamber, he did not intend to remain here all day. He pulled the bellrope.
Mrs Burton came in response.
“Mrs Burton, in the absence of a valet, I would like to ask Sutherland if he will assist me. First, will you have a footman bring up hot water for a bath? Then, I will shave. Then, I will dress. I shall endeavour to do all of these things on my own, but I admit to being a trifle unsteady these days. Therefore, I would ask Sutherland to come to my aid until a valet may be hired.”
“Oh, he’ll be glad to help, sir,” Mrs Burton assured him. “’Tis time for you to take your rightful place, being that you’re alive after all.”
“Yes . . . it shall be a confusing time, no doubt, but I am done with being bedridden.”
He was in the drawing room, reading the newspapers, when Tabitha returned that afternoon.
“Arthur!” she exclaimed. “You are out of bed.”
“Yes. And dressed. I shall need to purchase new attire. My past garments do not quite suit me in my present state.”
“That is because you have acquired quite a bit of muscle from your labours,” she said. “All of the gentleman who strive to magnify their physical capabilities at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon might be advised to spend some time on a Virginia plantation instead.”
Arthur laughed. “I do not think our London dan
dies would find the substitution to their liking. I should like you to visit Virginia one day, however.”
She opened her eyes in mock alarm. “So that I may undertake the housekeeping tasks which are now done by the maids?”
“No, not at all,” he said. “But I should like you and Micah to see the country. Perhaps when he is older, I shall reveal to him the adventures that his father had working in the fields.”
“Micah might enjoy the stories. He is very fond of learning about other places and Miss Allen is a very good teacher. Geography is his favourite subject.”
“Is it? That’s impressive for one so young. I wonder . . . since it is only the three of us, and to the rest of the world, I wonder if the three of us could sit down to supper sometimes? It would be pleasant, would it not, to take advantage of this time when no one knows that I have returned, and I have not reinstated myself among the living.”
Tabitha smiled. “It does seem so very peculiar, does it not, that you must petition the courts to declare you alive.”
“It is one of the caprices of the law that a man who has been declared dead must be declared alive, even though he is breathing, before he can reclaim his rights. I am fortunate,” he said, “that you have done such an exemplary job of managing everything during my absence.”
“Mr Ochsbury will be very glad to be dealing with you rather than me,” Tabitha said wryly.
“I shall make a point of remarking upon your qualifications.”
“He is unlikely to be convinced. But in answer to your question, yes, I think it would be quite nice for us to dine en famille.”
Micah was pleased when he was informed that he would be dining with his mother and father. Because of his early bedtime, Arthur suggested that they move up the hour for the evening meal. She agreed, and by seven o’clock, the three of them were in the dining room, sitting at the table while the servants brought food to them. Arthur dismissed the servants after the food had been served; although he was more accustomed to a formal setting, he found that he wanted to spend this time with his family only.
“I see that there is a strawberry tart for dessert,” Arthur remarked.
Micah had already noticed the dessert which was waiting to be enjoyed. “Oh, yes,” he said enthusiastically.
“Be sure to eat your soup,” his mother said indulgently. “Then, your meat, and your vegetables, and eventually, you shall make your way to your dessert. Your father told me that your grandmother, his mother, was also very fond of strawberries, just as you are.”
“There is a portrait of her at Randstand,” Arthur said. “It is in the library.”
“That is your mother?” Tabitha said, turning around to look at him. “You never said so.”
“I can’t think why I neglected to mention it,” Arthur said. “It was painted two years after I was born. I am the child leaning against her skirts.”
“When we go home, I will look at the painting,” Micah promised. “Mama, when are we going home to Randstand?”
“Do you miss home?”
“I like it here,” Micah said politely, “and I enjoyed going riding in Mr Hendrickson’s company. But at home, I may ride as often as I please.”
Tabitha’s eyes met Arthur’s gaze. They had not discussed the subject of leaving London. It was time, Arthur knew, for the Clemens family to plan its future. He found himself eager to return to the family estate and after the meal was over and Micah had gone up to bed, he broached the subject with Tabitha.
“I suppose that you ought to settle the legal issues first,” she told him. “Otherwise, it may become very complicated. I have been handling the financial matters in your absence. I am sure you will wish to take that on.”
“You have done a capital job,” he said. “I believe that we may share the responsibilities in the future.”
“Oh?”
“I would be a fool not to be impressed with how well—Yes, Sutherland?”
The butler appearing in the living room, looking very uncomfortable.
“I beg your pardon, my lord, but Mr Greane is here to see—”
“See here, Tabitha, this has gone on long enough.”
Sutherland’s expression showed shock at the manner in which Mr Greane had not waited to be announced but instead strode past him into the room.
“You need a man’s strong hand to oversee—” Tabitha’s father stopped short. “Arthur?”
“Hello, Peregrine,” Arthur said casually. “We’ve just finished dining, but you are welcome to join us as we enjoy our coffee.”
“But—but—I was told you were dead!”
Peregrine Grene looked to his daughter with a baleful demeanour. “Tabitha, do not tell me that you somehow managed to muddle up matters again and had your husband declared dead although he is alive?”
“Peregrine,” Arthur said in a voice like velvet over steel. “Far from muddling anything, Tabitha has been a model of fortitude during my absence. As you see, I am alive, but that fact is not generally known and will not be for the immediate future. I prevail upon you to keep the confidence, as it involves weighty matters which I am not at liberty to divulge.”
“You tell a woman that you are alive, and you keep it a secret from me?” Tabitha’s father was incredulous.
“The woman is my wife,” Arthur said. “Of course, I told her first. Who has a better right to know?”
“If this is a matter of confidentiality, you would be better advised to tell me, not Tabitha. I am a member of a profession renowned for its ability to keep a secret, whereas a woman will run squawking like a hen to tell the news to every passer-by she meets.”
“I am sorry that such has been your experience, Peregrine,” Arthur said. “Fortunately, I have been blessed with a wife who possesses the utmost discretion. She—Yes, Sutherland?”
“My lord—my lady, Mr Hendrickson is here to see—Mr Hendrickson is here.”
“Hendrickson!” Peregrine exploded. “He has no business being here. I just left his house after warning him to stay away from my daughter. He has no business—”
“Hello, Mr Greane,” Joshua breezed into the room as if he were looking forward to an encounter with the irate Peregrine Greane. “I knew I was right to come here straightaway to alert Tabitha of your impending visit.”
“I have even more reason now to be here,” Peregrine said triumphantly. “When I went to you tonight, I thought my daughter was a widow. Now, as you can see, she is a wife and you have no business being involved in her life. She is a married woman and a viscountess.”
“Joshua already knew that Arthur is alive, Father,” Tabitha said quietly.
“What? What do you mean, he knew? How dare he know and not I? You foolish girl, have you no respect for morality?”
“Peregrine, I must insist that you mind your tongue and your manners when speaking to my wife. I have returned to England after what I can only describe as an ordeal not of my making. As I was gone so long, I cannot fault Tabitha for conducting herself as if I were dead. She has behaved with the utmost propriety, as you ought to have known that she would.”
“You surely cannot condone her meetings with this man!” Peregrine exclaimed.
“Mr Hendrickson has been a friend to her and to my son.”
“Married women do not have friends! As the head of the household, it is your duty to order Tabitha to abandon her friendship, as you term it, with this man, and return to her suitable position as your wife, subordinate to your will and subject to your commands. I must insist that you take your place as the man of the house so that my daughter will obey you once again as she did before! She has thrown off my fatherly guidance. You must restore her to her rightful place as your dutiful wife!”
TWELVE
At her father’s belligerent manner, it was as if Tabitha had been reduced to a child once more, with her father’s imperious tantrums ruling the household. Perhaps Arthur sensed her discomfort because he stood up and approached his father-in-law.
“P
eregrine, you are my father-in-law and welcome in my house. But I remind you that you are in my house. You will not give either myself or Tabitha orders on how we ought to conduct ourselves. I have learned, to my everlasting chagrin, that Tabitha doubted my affection for her because I was so intent upon ruling the household that I neglected to think that a wise husband never stops wooing his wife. She has grace, dignity and integrity. She also has my full trust and confidence.”
Tabitha looked up startled by the admission.
“Do not tell me that you approve of her dalliance with this man! Look at her now, in his arms!”
It was a mistake to say that Tabitha was in Joshua’s arms. He had wrapped a protective arm around her when he saw that she was trembling at her father’s outburst. He wanted to speak in Tabitha’s defence but knew that the point would only be made if Arthur was the one to make it.
Arthur looked and saw. He had no way of knowing that Joshua’s embrace was offered for Tabitha’s protection from her father and that fear that had risen within her at the sound of her father’s demanding tone of command.
The sight of her with another tore at his heart, but he forced himself not to react. Nevermind how much he wanted to rip her out of Hendrickson’s embrace.
“I am sorry, my dear,” he said. “I see where your heart is and I cannot force you to love where your heart cannot follow,” he said simply. He turned to look at his father-in-law again, “Peregrine, you cannot speak in such a manner to Tabitha. I forbid it. She is not your child; she is my wife. Furthermore, she is her own woman and she has proven her capabilities.”
“She is a woman—”
“Yes, she is. And as the Viscountess of Randstand, it is within her right to order you from this house. But I will do it instead.”
“What— You cannot be serious! You are ordering me from the home where my daughter lives?”
Arthur took his father-in-law by the arm. “Until you acknowledge Tabitha’s right to independence and acknowledge her authority, yes, you are denied access to this house. Sutherland, make it so.”