A Lady Most Lovely (35 page)

He knew that he was returning to worries and cares not readily apparent behind the placid façade of the stately old mansion. But he was brimming with renewed determination. He’d seen once again that deep, irrevocable bond between Lizzie and Geoffrey. Their love, respect, and tender care for each other was a shining example of what a true marriage could be. Tom wanted that for his own life, and he was ready to redouble his efforts to win his wife.

As the wagon approached the house, Margaret stepped out the main door. She paused at the top of the wide stone steps, waving and sending him a bright smile that seemed to reach out and latch on to his heart. Had she missed him, perchance? His throat tightened, and blood began to thunder through his veins. Hope could do that to a man.

She hurried over as Tom jumped to the ground. “Welcome home,” she said, drawing close to him.

Dazed by this reception, Tom drew her into a hug, savoring the soft warmth of her body pressed to his. He’d been dreaming of just this kind of tender moment. Far from avoiding his embrace, she had invited it. “Hello, Maggie,” he said in her ear. “Did you miss me, then?”

“Very much,” she replied, lifting her face to his. Her
green eyes danced, and her full red lips lingered tantalizingly close, beckoning for a kiss. He was about to do just that when she reached up and placed a finger on his lips. “If you please, husband, people are watching.” She said it with a flirtatious smile that only made him want to kiss her more.

A thump and a soft whinny startled them. They turned to see Castor tossing his head and tugging at the rope. The driver waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Looks like the stallion’s gettin’ restless.”

Tom shot him a quick grin before turning back to his wife. “Come here, Margaret, I’ve brought someone for you to meet.” He led her around to the back of the cart. The last rays of the late afternoon sun gleamed on the gelding’s bay coat. Even in the fading light it was easy to see he was a magnificent animal. “Mrs. Poole, may I present Bright Star.”

“He’s beautiful!” Margaret gasped. Immediately she began inspecting the animal with practiced care, her hands traveling over him from head to tail. “He’s perfect,” she pronounced. “I can’t wait to ride him!”

“We must go out first thing tomorrow,” Tom agreed.

Gently she traced the star-shaped mark on the horse’s forehead. “Bright Star. It’s lovely.” Tom could have sworn there was a tear in her eye. But it might have been a trick of the fading light. “Thank you,” she said softly.

For once her smile reached her eyes, lighting her face with pure happiness, making her nearly irresistible. More than anything in the world, Tom wanted to hold her tight and kiss her senseless. Only an impatient stamp and a snort from Castor, who could sense that meal and bed were close at hand, kept Tom from carrying out this notion.

Two servants carried Tom’s baggage inside while
Tom paid the driver. “Let’s get the horses settled, shall we?” he said to Margaret as the driver tipped his cap and drove away.

“I’d like that.” She took hold of Bright Star’s lead.

A lamp at the stable door shone like a beacon, lighting their way. As they walked, Margaret spoke quietly to the horse, telling it how happy it would be here and of all the wonderful times they were going to have together. She spoke with the simple exhuberance of a child, and Tom was glad. He had hoped this gift would soften Margaret’s heart, and her giddy rambling seemed proof that it had worked. Remembering the warm greeting she had given him even before she had taken note of the horses, Tom’s heart lifted with thankfulness.

A stable boy who slept above the barn heard their approach and came out to meet them. Tom set him to work grooming and feeding the horses. Margaret spoke to Bright Star once more before they turned to go. “Rest up,” she said, patting his neck. “You and I shall have a good long ride tomorrow.”

“May I come along, too?” Tom asked with a smile as they strolled arm in arm out of the stable. He liked this new, friendlier Margaret. He hoped fervently that it would last.

“Do you think Castor can keep up with him?” she teased.

“I think they are a well-matched pair.”

She looked up at him quizzically. “You speak as though they were carriage horses.”

“Cannot two riding horses be well matched also? They are free to go in any direction, and yet they can move together in harmony if they choose to.”

A flicker crossed her face as she caught the meaning of his words. “I suppose they can,” she acknowledged.

Once again Tom was seized with the urge to pull her close and kiss her. This time, there was no reason not to. He was alone with his wife on a moonlit fall evening. Her lips parted, as though she were thinking the same thing.

He leaned in, ever so slowly, every nerve alive with anticipation. Her breath quickened, but she did not pull away. Dear Lord, she
wanted
this as much as he did. Their lips touched. Tom kept the kiss gentle, savoring it, marveling that she was so willing. Then her arms came up around his neck, pulling him closer, and he was lost.

Her lips opened to him freely, and he deepened the kiss, reveling in the taste of her. She returned the kiss with equal passion, her body pressed against his, igniting flames of desire. Tom began to loosen the pins from her hair, relishing the feel of the silky strands as he ran his fingers through them.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “What will the servants think if I return to the house with my hair in disarray?”

“They will think I have been greeting my wife,” he said, trailing kisses along her cheek. The warm vanilla scent from her skin and hair roused every one of his senses. “There’s no sin in that.”

She placed soft hands against his chest in gentle remonstration, murmuring between his kisses. “But we mustn’t… there should be… propriety…”

Tom relented, but as he stepped back he chided gently, “I’m afraid you asked for it, my dear wife.” He loved how she looked just now, with her hair down around her shoulders, and her softly parted lips swollen from his
kisses. “It’s too late for propriety,” he observed. “They’ll know you’ve been giving me a warm welcome.”

It was too dark to be sure, but Tom imagined a lovely pink blush on her fine, high cheekbones. He sincerely hoped it was there. It was more proof that she was coming alive to him. He took hold of her arm and they began to walk once more toward the house.

Tom pulled her gently to a stop before they reached the front steps. Although he wanted nothing more than to sweep her up the staircase and into his bed, he felt that simple logistics were against them. Lights poured through the open door, and the butler and footman were visible in the entry hall. Margaret had again reached up to rearrange her hair, and already she was taking on the posture of the lady of the manor. Soon her mask of propriety would be firmly in place. This moment they were sharing was a delicate thing that could be easily lost in the glare of lights and the presence of the servants. It would be swept away by the bustle of the maid and the valet and the usual business of turning in for the night. There were things Tom needed to share with her—plans she probably would not like. Perhaps she would be more amenable if they talked now. “Let’s not go in just yet,” he suggested. “It’s a fine night. Perhaps a stroll in the back garden?”

The glow from the house bathed her face in pale light, and she relaxed into a smile. She almost looked relieved. “All right.”

*

Margaret sat in the garden, waiting for Tom’s return. He had gone inside briefly to release the servants for the evening. She ran her fingers along the rough stone bench,
glad for these few moments to compose herself. She took in long, deep breaths, thankful for the way the night air cooled her cheeks.

She had planned to give Tom a warm greeting, to set in motion her plan of winning his confidence rather than trying to force it from him. She had not planned on the particular way her heart had jumped when she saw him, the way his presence only magnified how lonely the house had been without him. Tom’s gift had touched her deeply. He had clearly chosen Bright Star with care, understanding Margaret well enough to pick a horse that was exactly right for her.

He had been gone just a week, and yet she had forgotten how easy it was to lose herself when he was near. The idea that she could remain aloof in her heart, even as she attempted to draw him physically closer, had faded. She realized she was nowhere near being able to play Delilah. She had caught a glimpse of just how intense their physical union would be, and it had shaken her soundly.

“I’ve brought you something.” Tom slid onto the bench beside her. He was holding one of her shawls. He carefully draped it over her shoulders. “I didn’t want you to catch a chill.” His arms wrapped around her along with the shawl, encircling her with warmth.

“I could hold you like this forever,” he murmured in her ear.

She leaned against him and sighed. Perhaps she had been mistaken. Perhaps his trip to London had been just what he’d said it was: an opportunity to handle papers that had come from Sullivan and to visit Lizzie. And yet, as the breeze sent a few dead leaves dancing at their feet, she remembered her discovery at the cabin. “Tom?” she said tentatively.

“Hmm?” He was nuzzling her ear.

“I visited the little abandoned cabin the other day.”

“Oh?” The nuzzling paused.

“I found a box of writing papers. Are they yours?”

“Yes.” He pulled away slightly, though his arms did not entirely leave her. “I suppose you are wondering why they are there.”

“I was.”

“I’ve been doing a bit of writing.” He actually sounded sheepish, not as though he’d been caught at anything underhanded. “It’s just for myself, you understand. Thoughts on things I am learning, or things God is showing me.”

Margaret certainly had not been expecting this. “You mean, like a diary?”

“Of sorts. Nothing formal. Just notes. I find it helps me to write it down. And I like that cabin. It’s quiet, and easy to think there.”

It was a plausible enough explanation, if somewhat unusual. But she wouldn’t mind seeing proof. “Will you show me your notes sometime?”

“If you like. I doubt you’ll be able to decipher much of it, though.” The breeze blew more stiffly, ruffling Margaret’s shawl. Tom settled his arms around her again, and she had the sense that he had dismissed the writing papers from his mind. “And now, Margaret, I have something to ask of you. Would you like to spend Christmas in London this year?”

“London?” she repeated in dismay. “But that’s such a dismal time to be there. The wind howls around the buildings, and the coal dust makes everything filthy.”

“I know it’s asking a lot, but you see, Lizzie is not well. She cannot leave her bed, and we are all deeply concerned about her health, although no one will admit
it.” The pained look on his face showed the depth of his worry. “She will be glad for your company, and you can help her when the baby arrives.”

“Me?” Margaret had no idea how much help she would be. The thought actually gave her some trepidation. “But the baby is due well before Christmas, isn’t it?”

“In early December. The fact is, I’d like to leave here in just a few weeks, if we can manage it.”

“Surely you don’t mean we should stay with the Somervilles all that time?”

“Will it really be such a trial?” He squeezed her gently. “I know I promised you a honeymoon in Scotland. But perhaps we can go in the spring. For now, Lizzie needs us. And isn’t that what’s most important?”

“Of course,” Margaret replied, though without enthusiasm. She understood the need, but still she did not relish the idea of leaving Moreton Hall for weeks on end when she felt like she’d only just returned. She thought, with some small measure of resentment, that it was a hard thing to ask of her. She stood up, wrapping her shawl tightly around her. “Well, good night,” she said. “I’m sure we can discuss more of the details tomorrow.” He looked disappointed, but made no move to follow her as she hurried back to the house.

*

“Here we are. It’s cozy, but comfortable.” Mrs. Claridge, the Somervilles’ housekeeper, threw open the door to the bedchamber where Tom and Margaret would be staying.

Margaret gasped. The room was small. And there was, of course, just one bed. “We are both staying here?” she whispered to Tom.

“I’m afraid so,” he whispered back, looking decidedly pleased at the prospect.

Mrs. Claridge did not miss the look of dismay on Margaret’s face. “We are a bit tight for space at the moment, I’m afraid. We’ve had to convert one of the rooms into a day room for Lady Somerville, now that she is no longer able to take the stairs. And of course, another is being prepared for the nursery.” Mrs. Claridge beamed at the prospect. “But we’ll do all we can to make you feel at home.” She pointed to the far side of the room. “There is a small dressing room through there, to make things more convenient for you.”

Margaret threw a cold look at Tom, wondering why he had not mentioned this arrangement before they’d come. He had to have known. He’d lived here all summer, so he knew full well the layout of the house.

“Thank you, Mrs. Claridge,” Tom said. “I’m sure we’ll be quite happy here.”

As soon as the housekeeper left the room, Tom closed the door and burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Margaret demanded.

Tom leaned against the bedpost and gave her a cheeky grin. “Don’t look so scandalized, my love. You are my wife, remember? Besides, there’s one thing very convenient about this arrangement.”

“Just one?” Margaret asked drily.

He walked over and lightly touched her chin. “I won’t have to go very far to find my good-night kiss.”