Regret Not a Moment (26 page)

“Aren’t you a filthy thing!” exclaimed Alice when her mistress entered the bedroom.

“Aren’t I though,” Devon agreed with a tired smile.

“I don’t know how you get so dirty out there. Just like when you were a little girl,” Alice chided, taking the clothes that Devon handed to her.

“I had a fall today. That’s why I’m so dirty.”

“A fall!” said Alice, in an alarmed voice. “In your condition!”

Devon’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean, miss, so don’t be acting like you don’t,” said Alice in her no-nonsense voice.

“How do you know?” asked Devon in wonder.

“How could I not? You suddenly start taking naps every afternoon before dinner, when you usually complain about there not being enough hours in the day to do what you want. And then, there’s the changes in you…”

“You’ve noticed?”

“I’ve known you for twenty-seven years, Miss Devon. I would have to be a pretty dim character if I hadn’t noticed.”

“I thought everyone would think I had just gained a little weight.”

“Well, it’s not very evenly distributed, if you know what I mean.”

Devon laughed out loud at the sly expression on her maid’s face. “I know what you mean; I can barely fit into some of my undergarments anymore.”

“Yes, miss, I’ve noticed.”

“Well, if I don’t have my bath right away, I’ll be tempted to put my dirty body on those nice clean sheets without it,” Devon said with a yawn.

She went naked into the bathroom and sank into the hot, sudsy water.

“Will you be needing anything else, Miss Devon?”

“No, thank you, Alice,” she replied, pouring a generous measure of shampoo into her palm.

A few minutes later, she emerged pink and glowing, wrapped herself in the thick white towel that rested on a brass stand beside the bath, and dried herself quickly.

She crossed the white marble floor for one last look out the window at the stables and track. She surveyed the activity below with pride and a sense of accomplishment. Feeling content, she went to the bed and slipped between the cool white sheets. She drifted off to sleep thinking of the Blue Grass Stakes.

“Sleeping Beauty.” The familiar deep voice awakened her just as John leaned down to kiss her.

“John!” Devon exclaimed, excitedly throwing off the sheets and jumping to her knees so she could put her arms around her husband.

“Darling,” he said, giving her a long, warm kiss.

“What a surprise!” she said breathlessly. “Did you just get in?”

“About a half hour ago, but Alice ordered me to allow you to nap a bit.”

“I’ll thrash her!” Devon declared in mock anger. “Imagine not letting me see you immediately.”

“I’m teasing. But she did tell me that you had just lain down and that you were exhausted, poor girl.”

“Well, I’m perfectly rested now, but I would like to return to bed, if you please,” said Devon suggestively.

“Good idea. I could use a nap.”

“Oh, you!” Devon said, throwing a pillow at him.

John, laughing, quickly undressed and slid into bed with his wife. “Mmm… delicious,” he said, drawing her close.

“You too.” Devon sighed.

John’s hands slid over her breasts. For a moment, Devon held her breath, waiting to see if he would comment on any difference, but he simply went on caressing her. Devon relaxed and returned his caresses, enjoying the feel of the down on his arms.

They made love hastily, both eager after ten days of separation. Once they were finished, Devon closed her eyes and felt herself drifting off to sleep again. John snuggled close, turning her so that her rear end was encased in the cup formed by his bent body. His arm went around her waist. They slept in that position for almost two hours, awakening after dark.

John rolled away from Devon and stretched, reaching for the small porcelain clock on the bedside table. He squinted in the dark.

“Seven thirty!” he murmured in surprise. He replaced the clock and turned to his wife, burying his face in the curve formed by her neck and shoulder.

“Wake up, darling,” he whispered, kissing her warm rosy skin.

Devon moaned and turned on her back, reaching for her husband and kissing him.

“I’m sleepy,” she protested.

“I know, but it’s time to dress for dinner.”

Devon pushed herself up on one elbow. “Already?”

“Already! From what I can tell, you’ve spent all day in bed. How much more sleep do you need?” John teased. He rolled out of the soft bed, pulled the sheets gently off Devon, and lifted her from the warm cocoon.

Here was the perfect opening for Devon to tell John her news, she thought. But how would he react?

“Actually, John, about that…”

John kicked open the bathroom door and set Devon down on the fluffy white area rug adjacent to the bathtub. He leaned over to put in the stopper while Devon turned the brass fixtures until she had achieved just the right mix of hot and cold water.

“Yes?” he queried absentmindedly. “About that…you were saying?”

Devon sat down on a small tuffet covered in black-and-white-striped polished cotton. She wound her hair into a bun, using hairpins from a crystal box on a shelf near the tub.

“You look beautiful with your hair that way,” John said softly, looking down at his wife. “In fact, you look particularly beautiful today,” he said, really examining her for the first time since his homecoming.

Devon smiled back, but feeling a sudden urge to cover herself, she went to the mirrored closet next to the pedestal sink and put on one of the monogrammed terrycloth bathrobes she found there.

She turned abruptly back to John and blurted out, “John, I love you.”

“And I love you,” he said automatically, leaning down to test the water in the bathtub. He sat on the tuffet and swirled the water about to mix the hot with the cold. Devon came toward John and stopped directly in front of him. She put one hand on his shoulder, causing him to look from the water up to her.

“What is it?” he asked, reading the serious expression on Devon’s face.

“I have some good news,” Devon said in a voice so quiet that it was difficult to hear her over the running water.

John turned the brass knobs and stepped into the tub, motioning for Devon to join him. Instead, she sat on the tuffet. Trailing one hand in the water near John, she looked into his eyes. He was so dear to her. And she knew that he felt the same way about her. Yet he had been so disappointed at the idea that she had been pregnant two years ago. Since then, she had faithfully used the device her New York doctor had given her. Except on a few occasions, the most recent one being the evening of John’s birthday. Sometimes their passion had been too great, sometimes the moment too precious for Devon to interrupt.

Now she wondered if John would berate her for her carelessness—berate himself for his impatience. If he would regret those unions.

He was looking questioningly at Devon now. Wondering what her news could possibly be. His first thought was of the racing operation. Devon had been completely enthralled by it for the past several months. Surely her news pertained to that.

“What is it?” he urged.

Devon raised her head and looked John straight in the eye. She tried to brace herself for any reaction, hoping for the best but expecting the worst. Always forthright, she could think of no way to cushion the shock she knew he would feel.

“John, we’re going to have a baby.” She said the words evenly, but with a touch of defiance. She wanted this child. And, though she would be disappointed if John did not feel the same way, she would not let his attitude spoil her joy in her pregnancy.

John’s face was transformed. With a huge grin of delight and surprise, he leapt to his feet and, though soaking wet, engulfed Devon in his arms. “What wonderful news!” His voice resounded in the huge marble bathroom.

Devon, giddy with relief, hugged John’s slippery body to her. No response could have made her more ecstatic. A rush of love for him filled her heart. “Then, you’re happy?” she asked breathlessly.

“Happy. Proud. Overcome. Oh, Devon, this is wonderful!” He squeezed his wife even more tightly to him, then suddenly pulled away as he reached to her waist to untie the robe. Slipping it off her shoulders, he pulled her into the tub with him.

It had come off just as he had practiced it. She had been convinced. Now, lying beside his wife in the dark, listening to her deep, regular breathing, he could allow himself for the first time to reflect on his true reaction to the news.

It had not been as unexpected as he had let on. Each time that he and Devon had made love without contraception, he had worried afterward that this might be the result. And, inevitably, their carelessness had caught up with them. As he had known it would.

He could recall one occasion when he had been alone at their New York town house on a quiet Monday evening. There hadn’t been anything of interest on his social calendar. He had found himself thinking about the possibility of Devon being pregnant. He knew that he could not, absolutely could
not
, react as he had the first time. Two such reactions would seriously damage their marriage, he had concluded. So, he had put his book down, gone into his dressing room with its full-length cheval glass, and practiced assuming a surprised and delighted expression to such news.

He would hug her first, in order to give himself time to compose his features. He would then grin broadly. Like this, he practiced. No, too phony—like this. Yes, just like this, he said to himself, as a charming dimple played around the right side of his mouth. He would raise his eyebrows, widen his eyes, and grin. He would hug her and appear to be overcome with joy. Like this, he demonstrated to himself in the looking glass.

He practiced for some time because he knew that it was vital to his marriage that he do so. He knew Devon would be apprehensive about telling him she was pregnant, and he could not bear the thought of hurting her as he once had done. Even more frightening was the thought of losing her.

But, he thought to himself, he had, in effect, lost her now.

“She won’t be the same.” He was surprised to hear the words actually come out of his mouth. Quickly, he looked at Devon to see if she stirred in her sleep. No, she slept the deep, addictive sleep of the mother-to-be.

She wouldn’t be at all the same. She would grow heavier and heavier. He could already feel his physical attraction to her waning. He turned once more to look at her. His eyes, wide open for more than two hours in the dark, could easily see her features. She was beautiful. Still beautiful.

I’m being absurd, he said to himself. She’ll always be beautiful. Why should she change? He could think of many wives of friends who had remained alluring after childbirth.

Our child. Hers and mine. A product of our love. I should be happy. It’s perfectly normal. Everyone wants children, don’t they?

He pulled down the crisp linen sheet just far enough to expose her breasts as she lay on her back.

“Beautiful,” he murmured almost soundlessly. He leaned toward her and put the tip of his warm tongue on one of Devon’s exposed pink nipples. Although she remained unconscious, the nipple hardened at the contact. He took more of her breast into his mouth. He felt simultaneously comforted and stimulated.

Soon her breasts would flow with milk, he thought. Soon there would be no place for him there. They would belong to the infant.

Suddenly he felt ashamed of himself, as though he were furtively doing something wrong. As though he were sinning. His hardening member at once lost its rigidity and he drew away from his wife.

He wondered if his lust for her would ever rise again.

“COME with me to Kentucky,” Devon begged, “it’s just for a few weeks.”

“Darling, I can’t. I’m negotiating the sale of the Thirty-sixth Street development and I have to be in New York.”

Devon paced back and forth in front of John’s huge Chippendale writing table. Sometimes she felt that his study was the only room in which John felt truly at home at Willowbrook. It was a typical man’s room, with deep green leather furniture, and bookcases lining two walls.

“But Firefly and Fearless Leader are going to run in the Blue Grass Stakes. And we’re going to the Keeneland auctions. This farm is your business too.”

Devon stopped directly in front of John and turned to face him, her hands on her hips, her entire posture one of frustration. “Everyone will be in Kentucky until the Derby. The Whitneys, the Coopers… everyone.”

John smiled indulgently. “Some people will be there, I grant you. The horsey set.”

“That’s everyone we know,” Devon said emphatically, resuming her pacing.

“Do sit down, dear. It’s very distracting for you to be shuttling back and forth like a wooden duck at a shooting range.”

Devon and John both laughed at the comparison, easing the tension between them.

“You say the funniest things sometimes,” Devon said, sinking into a leather chair in front of her husband’s desk.

John picked up a cigarette and put it to his mouth.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that in here, John. It’s such a filthy habit and it leaves an odor in the room,” Devon said with exasperation.

“I won’t smoke in any other room then, Devon, but this is my study and I choose to smoke here,” John said firmly.

“Oh, fine. It doesn’t matter anyhow. What we were discussing was more important than smoking. I don’t understand how you can always have time to go off and visit one of your friends in Oyster Bay or some such place, but when it comes to devoting some time to the racing operation, you never seem to be available.”

“You know the racing operation is really yours,” John said.

“By default! You don’t show an interest.” Devon sat on the edge of her seat, leaning toward John as she made her point.

“To be frank, my interest is not as keen as yours,” he said, sitting back and exhaling a stream of blue smoke. Devon watched the smoke break apart into curly wisps then waft toward an open window.

Fixing her eyes on John again, she said, “I’ll be in Kentucky almost six weeks if Firefly does well at the Blue Grass Stakes.”