The Marriage Bed (18 page)

Daphne put a hand on her shoulder. "You loved him once. I know that much."

Tightness squeezed her chest, and she grimaced. "That, I believe, is common knowledge. That makes it all the more mortifying to be played the fool, does it not?"

The baby stirred in his mother's arms, and Daphne resumed stroking his back. "It must be hard on a man," she said thoughtfully, "to be despised by a woman who once loved and adored him so much, to watch her turn her back on him. Turn him out of bed." She met Viola's gaze over the sleeping baby's head, her cheeks pink. "The physical side of… of… things is very important to a man, Viola.
Even more important than it is to us.
I think you already know that."

She could not believe what she was hearing. "Are you taking
Hammond
's side?"

"I am not taking his side. I am
seeing
his side."

That her dearest friend in the world would take
Hammond
's part was too much to endure. "He has no side, she flared, at least not a justifiable one. He was a fortune-hunting scoundrel. He lied to me, he walked out on me, and he has been with woman after woman after woman. And society blames me for all of it."

"Not all of it. Society has its share of condemnation for him, too. I have heard the talk. There are many who deem
Hammond
less than a man for not dragging you to bed and forcing an heir on you long ago. Having his masculinity called into question would be a very hard thing for a man to endure, I should think.
Hammond
acts as if he doesn't care what others say of him, but I imagine he covers a lot of his feelings that way."

Viola rubbed the side of her neck with irritation, thinking of those passionate moments in the museum. "I don't see why anyone would question his masculinity. With all the women he's had, he hardly needs to prove it."

"Is it so difficult to imagine why he turned to those other women?"

Peggy and I consoled each other, and believe me, we both needed consolation.

"You are being cruel, Daphne. Cruel to say this is my fault!"

"I did not say any such thing," Daphne answered with her usual calm equanimity. "I am merely speculating on what a man like
Hammond
might have thought and felt during the past eight years. I do not know him well, and I could be com
pletely
wrong about his character. Anthony would say I was, for to his mind,
Hammond
should be hanged, drawn, and quartered for doing anything to hurt his baby sister. Your brother worships the ground you walk on, you know that."

"Anthony hates
Hammond
because Anthony is a very good judge of character. Better than I am, obviously."

"Really?"
Daphne smiled. "You are the one who looked at a plain, shy young woman with low connections and thought she would be a much better wife for your brother than Lady Sarah
Monforth
. Anthony didn't see me in a favorable light at all, if you remember."

"It did take him a bit of time to come around to my way of thinking. But I was right about you."

"If you were right about me, then perhaps you are a better judge of character than you think. You fell in love with
Hammond
, and even though you were young, I cannot believe you were ever a fool. He must have had some good qualities, and you must have sensed them in his character, or you would never have fallen in love with him in the first place."

"I fell in love with him when I knew nothing of his character." She shook her head impatiently. "It hardly matters anyway. I am not in love with him now. That love is gone, and once love is gone, you cannot get it back."

"I did. I fell in love with Anthony twice."

"Daphne, stop this. I do not want to be in love.

Not with
Hammond
. Not ever again. I don't want it, I tell you!"

Her raised voice woke the baby, who stirred and began to cry.

Viola had a most stupid desire to do the same. "All this talk of love is pointless," she said in a more moderate tone.

"And what of the other purpose of marriage?"
Daphne asked as she rocked the baby and tried to soothe him back to sleep. "What about children, Viola? Do you not want children?"

That question felt like a knife going in. She had long ago resigned herself to never having children of her own, had come to accept it. "Society blames me for
Hammond
's lack of an heir. Do you blame me, too?"

"It is not a question of blame, dearest. I simply asked if you want children."

"Of course I did!" she cried, stung. "I always wanted them. All my life, I had known what I wanted. I used to dream of it—a wonderful husband to love who loved me, and we'd have a whole brood of children. When I married
John
, I thought I was getting my dream come true." She choked and her eyes began to blur. "That was when I a stupid, romantic girl."

"There is nothing stupid about wanting a husband and children to love. You have the husband already. He wants children, too. Viola, have you stopped to think that this might be your second chance to have your dream come true?"

"With
Hammond
?"
She shook her head.
"No, Daphne, no.
Even if I did ever develop some… some renewal of affection for that man—which is highly doubtful—what difference would it make? He doesn't love me. He never has and he never will, and I don't love him anymore, and I never will. And that's all there is to that."

"If you say so."

"I do say so. Besides, even if love has nothing to do with it, even if marriage is all about getting along, Hammond and I are doomed by that alone. Let's not talk of it anymore."

T
hank
fully, Daphne let the matter drop, but in her own mind, Viola could not stop thinking about it.

She and Hammond would never be able to just get along. Because he still made her weak in the knees when he kissed her neck or touched her cheek.
Because if she gave him an inch, he'd always take a mile.
Because if she let herself believe in his smile and his laugh and that heated look in his eyes, she would be deceived again. If she let him take her to bed, she would run the risk of falling in love with him again. All of that could only lead to one conclusion.
Her broken heart.
Again.

Viola stared at the pansies in her hat. Wedding vows meant nothing to him. If she gave him what he wanted, he would still leave her in the end. He desired her right now, she knew that, but she also knew that love and desire
were
not the same thing.
Hammond
had desired many women. She was just one of many.

She lifted her fist and opened her hand. The bit of purple and yellow silk floated away on the spring breeze. When unaccompanied by his love, a man's desire was like the wind. It had no substance, and it was impossible to hold onto. She would do well to remember that.

Dylan Moore was already there when he arrived. The two men practiced together almost daily, but they had not done so very much of late.
John
had been too preoccupied with trying to win over his wife to think about much else.

An entire week had gone by since they had seen Lady Darwin at
Bell
's. Since then, he had tried several times to talk to Viola, but she refused to see him. Today, her three-week reprieve was over, but when he went to fetch her, he found her trunks were not packed, she had once again refused to see him, and her damnable brother told him to leave. Unless he wanted to force the issue by legal means, he and Viola were at stalemate. He did not know what to do.

He was feeling like a boiling kettle with the lid on. After leaving
Grosvenor
Square
this afternoon, he had sent Dylan a note asking to meet at
Angleo's
for sparring practice this evening, because he had finally reached his limit and knew if he didn't let off some steam, he was going to explode.

His friend looked up as he entered the practice room. Already down to his shirtsleeves and ready to start, Dylan slashed through the air with the foil in his hand. "You ask me to meet you and then you arrive late."

John
didn't say it was because he was going out of his mind. He didn't say it was because he was preoccupied, frustrated, baffled, and—worst of all—helpless.

He glared at Dylan as he tore off his coat, waistcoat, and cravat and tossed them to the boy standing by the door. The servant then left the room, and
John
took his favorite foil down from the hook on the wall. "You'd best watch your step this evening," he warned. "I'm in a foul mood and I intend to take it out on you." He slashed the blade through the air. "Women are the very devil."

"Matrimonial troubles?"
Moore
asked, looking at him with sympathy.

"You don't know the half of it."

The two men faced each other, stepped into positions en
garde
, crossed blades, and began.
John
lunged first, and the blades of the two men clanged, echoing through the room.

"Gossip is flying all over town,"
Moore
said, parrying the thrust. "I have heard that Lord and Lady Hammond may be reconciling. Or it may be that they are not."

"Reconciling?"
John
pulled back, and immediately
lunged
twice more, forcing his opponent to retreat several steps with the use of his blade. "I am inclined to doubt it myself. It takes two to reconcile."

Once again
Moore
managed to parry, for the two men were equally matched, and
John
was soon the one retreating. Within moments they were back to the center of the room.

"Sitting together at
Covent Garden
,"
Moore
said as they circled each other, foils pointed. "Picnics and carriage rides." He began to laugh. "Kissing your own wife in
Hyde Park
,
Hammond
? Taking her to museums? Going shopping for draperies together? That sounds like reconciliation to me."

"It was more like a temporary lull between battles. Excellent show at
Covent Garden
," he said, trying to divert the conversation.
"Brilliant symphony.
Best thing you've written in years, I thought."

"T
hank
you."
Moore
lunged,
John
parried, and the swords of the two men clanged together. "I did hear that Lady Darwin went shopping last week, too. I take it the lull is over and the battle is raging?"

He might have known
Moore
wouldn't let it drop. The man delighted in needling his friends. "Is my marriage any of your
affair
?" he asked as the two men began circling, gazes locked, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

"No."
Moore
gave him a mocking grin. "Couldn't pet her and soothe her and get her back with a kiss or two, eh?"

John
refused to be provoked. "Apparently not," he answered lightly.

"Told you to go to the devil, did she?"
Moore
knew enough about women that an answer wasn't necessary, and he didn't wait for one. "When you decided you needed a son and approached her with the notion, what did you think would happen? Thought she'd see the necessity of it, did you? That she'd understand and do her duty?"

"Sod off."

Moore
began to laugh, and there was a great deal of sardonic amusement in it. "Or perhaps you thought your wife would just fall back into your bed after a few weeks of wooing because you are such a legendary lover?"

Moore
's mockery on top of Viola's condemnations pushed
John
even closer to the edge of reason. "I don't have a wife!" he said, and struck first. His opponent parried, and the two men paused again, blades pointed down, wrists crossed. "I haven't had a wife for eight and a half bloody years."

"No?
If you don't have a wife, who is that lovely blond woman who goes about calling herself Lady Hammond?"
Moore
pushed with his wrist, forcing their blades in an arc toward the ceiling,
then
he ducked past
John
, turned so their positions were reversed, and lunged with his blade.

Anticipating the move,
John
ducked sideways and evaded it. He stepped around his opponent and, by the time
Moore
turned around, had him dead to rights. He planted the tip of his foil right against his friend's chest. "A hit," he declared, then turned and stalked away.

"You know who I mean,"
Moore
went on as he followed
John
to the center of the room. "Petite," he prompted as the two men faced off. "Hazel eyes.
Pretty mouth.
I seem to remember seeing you marry a woman of that description almost nine years ago."

"Two people living in separate houses and sleeping in separate beds is not a marriage." He lunged, striking
Moore
's foil with his own. "It's a joke," he said, and lunged again. "It's been a joke almost since the beginning, and everybody knows it."

Steel slid against steel as
Moore
parried and spun away. When he turned, both men paused a few feet apart, breathing hard, blades poised.

Moore
looked him in the eye.
"A joke,
Hammond
?
I don't see you laughing.
Seems the joke might be on you."

John
did not reply. He feigned left and thrust right, thinking to catch the other man in the chest again, but his opponent wasn't fooled.
Moore
sidestepped the move, and
John
's blade hit the wall. Before he could recover, the other man came up underneath, and
John
was the one caught in the ribs.

"Hit,"
Moore
said. "You are not concentrating."

"Indeed? Yet I managed to get a hit on you moments ago."

The two men moved to en
garde
, crossed foils, and began again. For several minutes they were silent, the only sound the clash and rasp of striking blades, but it didn't take long for
Moore
to start in on him again. "I have a suggestion for you." He lunged and missed, then pulled back. "It might help you make peace with your wife."

"You've been married for, what, seven entire months?"
John
countered as he wiped sweat from his brow with his free hand. Now it was his turn to be mocking, and he laughed. "Wait at least that many years, then give me advice on the subject of matrimony."

"I am serious,
Hammond
." He stepped back and pointed his foil toward the ceiling to stop their match. "Listen to me, will you? You know I do not usually interfere in the affairs of my friends, but I have a suggestion for you. You won't like it, but it might help things along."

John
heard the sincerity in
Moore
's voice, and it made him curious. "What suggestion?"

"Tell Viola you want to be friends."

That was absurd, and he showed what he thought of it by his sound of contempt. "I thought you said you were being serious.
Viola and I friends?
What an idea!"

"I am in earnest. Become her friend."

"Good God, man," he said with a humorless laugh, "where have you been for the past eight and a half years? Viola loathes me. You are out of your head if you think she and I could ever be friends. In the nine years we've known each other, she and I have been many things, but we have never been friends."

"All the more reason to give it a try, then.
Besides, it worked for me. Grace and I were friends before we ever became lovers."

"She was your mistress."

"After she became my friend."

"If that is so, it was not at your instigation. I know you, Moore. It had to be Grace's idea."

"It was. I loathed it, I admit, but in the end it was the best thing that could have happened to me."

"You were a courting couple. Viola and I are already married. The two are entirely different." He made an impatient gesture with his foil. "Come on. Let us get back to the match."

"Why are they different? I am a married man now, and I do not see a difference. Grace and I are still friends."

"You and Grace don't fight like cats and dogs. She doesn't despise you."
John
moved to en
garde
position and beckoned with his blade. "Are we going to fence or talk?"

"Viola might fall in love with you again. Is that what you're afraid of?"
Moore
mirrored
John
's stance and lifted his blade to cross
John
's. "Or perhaps you're afraid you'll fall in love with her."

Those words caused something inside
John
to snap. "Love, love, love!" he shouted, his simmering emotions finally erupting. "I am sick to death of that particular word!"

He struck hard and fast with his blade, using every bit of his skill to drive
Moore
back toward the wall. Thinking of how many times Viola had thrown her love for him in his face, remembering how she had talked of his liaison with Peggy Darwin as love, he felt savage and resentful, and he took out his frustration on his opponent, attacking until he finally caught a vulnerability and jabbed his foil against Moore's belly.
"Hit."

The other man looked at him, clearly astonished by his vehemence. "I believe I struck a nerve."

Breathing hard,
John
stepped back and lowered his blade. He turned away.
"Love.
People fling that word around all the time, especially women, and what does it mean? When most people use the term, they mean simple, ordinary lust.
Or idealistic infatuation.
Sometimes both together.
Is that love?"

"If you do not know the answer to that question already, I cannot answer it for you."
Moore
followed him to center. "I know I found it."

"How?"
John
demanded, facing him. "How did you find it? And when you found it, how did you know it was genuine? Cupid fired his arrow and angels sang and you knew? Is that it?"

"How disdainfully you speak of love. I never realized just how deep your cynicism runs,
Hammond
. You are more contemptuous of love than I ever was, if that is possible."

"I am not a cynic about love, nor am I contemptuous of it. I just—"