Love Then Begins (7 page)

He shrugged. “But you were laughing just now. What’s the book?”

“Oh.” Now she smiled. “
The Hindoo Rajah
. I love this book. But I think it is the only one that can be found both in your library and Maman’s collections for exactly the opposite reasons.”

He took the volume out of her hands and turned it around. “Mmm. I would imagine its critique of the New Philosophy is not the reason your mother owns it?”

“No. But Maman used to correspond with the author about the necessity for female education, and I do believe Mrs Hamilton gave her a copy to read to Maman’s ‘perfect pupil’.”

“You?”

“Yes, me,” she smiled.

“But then, it is very anti-Jacobin, too.”

“True. I know those parts by heart, you know,” she gave a mischievous smile, “but it is also very funny.”

“Well, I am glad. I love the way you laugh.”

She smiled. “I love the way you make me laugh.”

He was certain she was referring to the incident yesterday on the stairs. She had that glowing smile and she looked at him without a hint of embarrassment.

“I do, do I?” He laughed. “Well, I’m sure I do. But whether it is from ridicule, silliness or amusement is harder to tell.”

“All of them. And love. You make me happy.”

“Well, if silliness makes you happy, I have no plans to behave myself.”

“Silliness, I think, is highly underrated in marriage.”

“But not before it?”

To his delight she laughed a little.

“Oh, but I’m glad to be out of bed for a change!” she said teasingly instead.

“Be careful, love. That sort of statement could easily be misconstrued.”

“You know I couldn’t possibly mean I don’t want to be in bed . . . Well, with you anyway . . . Or . . . ”

He noticed how delightfully she blushed when he winked his eye at her and laughed.

“But I missed this place,” she said.

“Mmm. And do you still have grand designs for it even though the book shelves are sorted to perfection?”

She smiled. “Not perfection by any means, my love. Love cannot make you that blind! But whatever happens to fashion and taste, I think this place should remain exactly as it is.”

The kiss he planted in gratitude on her temple glided downwards over her eye and cheek and ended up being equally as gratefully received by her mouth. How strange to feel deprived of her presence after a mere hour, he thought to himself. It must be that he not only loved her, he must actually need her.

“I love this room,” she said as the kiss broke. “I love Clyne, too. I cannot believe how strange it is to barely have ventured out of first this one room before I married you and then…that other room when I did marry you and yet I feel I love all of it. As a home.”

“You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” he murmured into her hair.

“And I know you love it, too. You’ve told me so and it is obvious. But . . . Why? Why here? Why this little inconsequential corner of the world? There was nothing before to keep you here that surely could not have been found anywhere else? What is so special about this place? Why did you come to love it?”

He looked at her, still smiling. There was that little frown between her brows that she developed when she was confronted with facts and circumstances she did not wholly comprehend. He had seen that frown develop in very delicious circumstances during the past days and he had come to love it enough not to always want to wipe or kiss it away anymore.

But it was probably too early yet to be completely truthful in his answer. He did not think he had words to explain it well or to make her understand. After all, she knew nothing of London, very little of what his life had been like and even less of what others had thought he was. However, they would be going to London at some point in the near future, so perhaps it was time to begin, very gently, to lay the groundwork for some of the things she might hear. He slipped his arm around her waist and let his fingers run up and down the soft fabric of her gown, revelling in the intimate gesture, a husbandly liberty that he took full advantage of.

“Life in London was always so complicated,” he explained. “Appearances must be kept up, obligations met, all that nonsense. People there care more for what they
think
or
expect
one to be, rather than who one really is.”

He leaned in and kissed her shoulder.

“There’s only so much of that, those thoughts and expectations, that a man can take before needing to get away.”

Holly sat a little taller while meeting his eyes, her curiosity apparent.

“A complicated life in London . . . You said that before and I have wondered about it. What sort of complications?”

“We-ell,” he said carefully. “There was the complication of my name and family. When my father died I refused to assume his name. I wanted nothing to do with it – not the name, the man or his deeds. My whole life and expectations were passed to me by a diseased family member, yet I still did not care to cast it off completely—only certain parts of it—and that is where it becomes . . . complicated.”

She took his hand in hers and lifted it to her lips. “You are nothing like your father,” she said. “Whatever your name is.”

He smiled. “Perhaps. But to deny that it is complicated is foolish, too. The world of the upper ten thousand is limited enough for names to be very important. For that reason alone, I am quite the controversy . . . a puzzle at the very least.”

She nodded.

“And then . . .” he began carefully, “there is the matter of the situations one ensnares oneself in voluntarily to get away from complicated things such as family . . .”

She frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Me. I am not a simple human being. And to protect myself I create diversions, not only for the people around me but I am most proficient at bamboozling myself as well.”

He realised he had never said those words before. He had the thought often enough lately, but he had never told another human being the exact words. He looked sheepishly at her hand still covered by hers.

“At Clyne—then as now—there is no one to deceive.”

He felt her stiffen slightly, and knew without looking that the creases in her brow were just a little bit deeper than they had previously been.

“Deceive?” she questioned, “Are you saying that you have deliberately chosen to live, in other places, a life of deceit? Of falsehood?”

Something in her tone made him feel defensive and he drew back as well.

“Come now,” he snapped. “You made no secret of your opinion of me when we first met. You told me often enough what you once thought of me: that I trifled and charmed and flirted my way through life. Are you saying you haven’t seen through that façade? Are you saying you still think I am that man?”

“Well . . . no. But I didn’t think it was an
act
you put on deliberately. I thought you were just being thoughtless and stupid.”

“Hmm.”

But she could sense he was offended.

“I can understand why you would feel . . . ashamed of your father. But to choose to be deceitful? And to yourself as well? It does not do anyone any good to live a lie.”

He pulled loose and got up. It was a desperate gesture because he could not tell her how her words struck him in a most uncomfortable place. He walked over to the table and fingered her working effects—papers, quills, inkhorns and cards.

“Of course you cannot understand. I don’t expect you to. I hardly understand myself.” He sighed. “And that is just it, Holly. I hardly understand
myself
. How can I understand how long I ignored you and the feelings I so wholeheartedly and selfishly express now? How can I understand why I needed a private refuge in my life of privilege and comfort? How can I understand how desperately I fought to be untouchable? But to revert to your first question, I
know
Clyne saved me and that I needed it. I
know
this is my home.”

He still would not meet her eyes but he knew she was listening to him as he forced the last words out.

“That is why it is complicated.”

Her voice behind him was quiet but her question was piercing.

“Are you saying . . . that I do not actually know you? The real you?”

He still looked down at the perfectly mended quill, waiting for the work it was designed for.

“Now how can I answer that, Holly, after only a few days of marriage?”

She stood and crossed the floor to face him.

“I should hope you could answer it as easily as I do!” She peered into his face and made him meet her eyes, “The person standing before you is the person I am. But now I begin to wonder exactly who is standing before me.”

“So you think I should be like you. Open, unafraid, uncomplicated, trusting, and secure? I’m not saying that I am not the man you see before you. I am saying I am more than that. If you are as fond of the truth as you say, you should admit that goes for you, too. And if the different parts of me are not easily reconcilable, I will not have you fault me for it and accuse me of dishonesty and deceit!”

“I accused you of nothing, sir! The word ‘deceit’ came from your own mouth. I am simply wondering what I have gotten myself into in marrying a man who is an apparent stranger even to himself!”

He turned away from her.

“Well, I suppose you could be right. In any case, you have married me. Whatever I am, I was never a bad man, Holly. And the truth of me and my life . . . the truth . . . is hard. Hard to understand and hard to face.”

Glancing at her he gave a sheepish smile. “I suppose the honeymoon effectively ends here.”

To his distress, Holly merely walked back to the window seat and sat down. The silence filled the room as he waited for her to speak and the tension within him stretched and tightened until he felt that he would snap. He could tell that she was taking her time, thinking something out carefully. Her quiet sigh made him jump and quickly turn in the direction of the sound.

“No . . .” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not being fair. You already told me.”

He took a step in her direction, but then stopped.

“I already told you?” he asked in confusion, “I told you what? I thought all this was about what I have not told you.”

“My heart,” she said, turning her head up to him, “has been a stranger to me until now . . . until you. That is what you said to me, remember? I knew it was true then. I know it
is
true. And now I’m quarrelling with you about it. Perhaps I don’t know very much about
what
you are, or were . . . but I do know
who
you are and what is in your heart. You frighten me to death, but I love you.”

Very slowly he resumed his place beside her, though keeping himself at a safe distance. He swallowed hard.

“Oh,” was all he could say. But then he looked at her. “You have done it again,” he whispered. “You have rendered me speechless, madam. You are, truly, amazing. And you are brave beyond words. And I owe you the same in return. I will give you the same in return.”

She reached out her hand to touch his cheek and in the same instant he reached towards her, too, and pulled her into his arms.

“So what does your heart tell you?” she whispered against his shoulder.

“That I am a lucky wretch of a man. And that you are right.”

“And when I listen to mine, it tells me you are a good man and I am lucky to be loved by you.”

“The first and the only one I have loved so bravely. So completely. So . . . I am still in need of guidance and patience. Please?”

She laughed into his chest.

“Oh no,” she said, “In this, I am not the least bit qualified to be the teacher. I fear, my love, that we must learn to navigate this unknown path together.”

She felt his arms tighten around her, felt his breath in her hair and she inhaled the scent of him deeply as she snaked her arms beneath his jacket and felt his warm skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“But I suppose this honeymoon must end and we must move on . . . ?”

She looked at him questioningly. He nodded.

“Yes. I’m afraid we must. As much as I hate Cumbermere I am afraid we’re obligated. And overdue.

She frowned. “Hate it? Surely not.”

He nodded. “Oh yes. It is a gloomy place and it badly needs that laughter of yours. And mine,” he added smiling.

“Well, if that is the case, you know what to do to make me laugh.”

“Yes. And I have high hopes that against all odds together we shall perform miracles in that place. Together. Although . . .” he said impulsively and took her hand, “I am sure we can delay our departure for another few days.”

“Good,” she smiled, “because there are a few familiar places I should like to go back and visit first.”

“That may be so,” he smiled, “but I seem to remember promising you that, after luncheon, which is still growing cold, there will be no more business today.”