Joan Wolf (10 page)

* * * *

She went up to bed early that night and was half-sitting, half-lying against her pillows reading a book when Mark came through the connecting door between their rooms. He smiled faintly when he saw her and crossed the floor saying, “Didn’t your nurse ever tell you it was bad for your posture to read like that?”

She closed her book. “We all need to have
some
vice,” she said. “Mine is reading in bed.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside her and took the book from her unresisting hand. He looked at the title and his lips pursed a little in surprise. “Hardly what one would call relaxing bedtime reading,” he said, looking at his own copy of Adam Smith’s
Wealth of Nations.

She smiled. “It isn’t quite
Housewifely Remedies,”
she agreed.

He put the book on the bedside table, then reached out to run gentle fingers across her cheekbone, down her jaw and the long slender column of her neck. His touch had its usual devastating effect on her, and she gazed up at him, utterly still under his hand. He began to undo the small pearl buttons of her nightgown, and then, when he had finished, looked for a moment in silence at the bared silk of her beautiful body.

 “All this, and brains too.” He leaned forward to kiss her throat, her breasts. “You’re too good to be true, Laura,” he murmured.

She slid her fingers into his thick hair. “Mark ...” Her voice was husky, and hearing it, he raised his head and found her mouth. It opened under his immediately, sweet and yielding, answering to his desire and hunger with the promise that whatever he might want, he would find it here, in her arms.

* * * *

Later, lying awake while he slept peacefully beside her, Laura thought of the strange double life she had been leading these last few months. During the day she felt she had the marriage she had expected—a marriage of civility, of conformity, of mutual respect for one another’s privacy. But at night, when he came to her like this, then she felt they were truly lovers, truly two people who needed each other and who fulfilled each other. Without him, she felt, she would be only half a person, a rudderless empty vessel scudding aimlessly down the river of her life.

But Mark? Did he feel like that about her? When he held her and whispered love words to her and caressed her with such erotic tenderness, then she felt he did. But was it Laura he turned to like this? Did he come to
her?
Or did he come merely to find the transformation of the world a man always seeks in the body of a woman? She did not know.

He stirred a little beside her, as if aware of her disturbed thoughts, and she turned to look down at him. The lamplight fell on his face, young and defenseless-looking in sleep. He was not defenseless, however, she thought a little painfully. The problem was that his defenses were all too effective.

Hers were not. Her eyes moved from his face down to his bare, leanly muscled chest and broad strong shoulders. He moved again, and in his sleep his hand came into contact with her bare arm. She closed her eyes. No. Against him she had no defenses at all.

* * * *

During the next few weeks Laura was extremely busy planning the orphanage Easter party. The early-spring weather was cold but clear and sunny, and she took to using Mark’s phaeton on her trips to and from the shops in town and the vicarage. Laura drove extremely well. Better than he did, Mark told her admiringly after driving out with her one afternoon.

“Well, I don’t imagine you have had much chance to practice,” she said in response to his comment.

“True. A life at sea rather restricts one from developing one’s horsemanship. You will have to uphold the family honors in that department.”

They were coming back from Dartmouth, where Laura had been to the shops and Mark to see Retired Admiral Falsey, who lived in the town. Laura negotiated a particularly difficult turn with misleading ease and said, “Nonsense. You are a very good driver. You ride well, too.” The tiniest of mischievous smiles pulled at the corner of her mouth. “For a sailor,” she added.

He chuckled. “Thank you ... I think. Shall I propose you for the Four-Horse Club? I understand that is
the
prestigious organization for the horsey set.”

“First of all, they would never let me join because I am a woman. Second, I shouldn’t want to even if they would. They wear the most dreadful outfit, I hear. And third, you sounded odiously condescending when you said ‘horsey set.’“ She imitated his voice as she said the last words and contrived to look down her elegantly straight nose.

“Would you describe that tone as odiously condescending?” he asked with interest. “It was the way you said ‘for a sailor,’ which I was endeavoring to reproduce.”

She laughed. “Touché, you wretch.”

They drove for a few more minutes in silence and then he asked, “Do you hunt, Laura?”

“I used to hunt when I lived at home. I haven’t done much lately, I’m afraid.”

“Why?”

“Oh ... one reason or another,” she answered lightly.

 The fact was, she had not wanted to buy several expensive hunters and stable them at Castle Dartmouth. Before Mark had come home, the stables had been empty except for her hack, Robin’s pony, and two carriage horses. They had not had the staff to look after any additional horses.

“Do you
like
to hunt?” he asked insistently.

“I adore it,” she confessed.

“Well, we shall have to get you some horses, then. There is plenty of room in the stables. Certainly you must hunt this winter, since you like it so much.”

She was silent for a minute and then she said quietly, “Thank you. Mark. I should like that. But I should like it even better if I were busy doing something else this winter.”

Her eyes were on the road in front of her, so she did not see his look of surprise. “Oh? And what is that?”

“Having a baby,” she replied. When he didn’t say anything, she went on, her voice almost too steady, “Are you very disappointed that nothing has happened yet?”

“Disappointed? Of course not!” He sounded astonished that she could think such a thing. But Laura was acutely conscious that having more children was one of the reasons he had given for marrying her. And she had just had depressing evidence this morning that she was definitely not pregnant. Maybe next month....

“Anyway,” she said with an attempt at lightness, “I think I shall hold off buying horses for a while. I do very much want to have a baby.”

“I’m trying, Laura,” he said humorously, I’m trying.” She turned to find him laughing at her. For some reason, she felt immeasurably better.

“I know. I’ve been so impressed by your sense of duty, my lord.” She cast him a quick look out of the corner of her eye.

“Have you indeed?” he said dangerously. “If you weren’t driving this phaeton, I’d give you something to be impressed with.”

Laura raised her hands and the horses increased their speed. “Don’t distract me,” she said smartly. “You don’t want to have an accident, do you?”

He leaned back in his seat. “I’m certain you are far too skillful to have an accident, my love,” he said smoothly.

“I hope so,” she replied, unaccountably warmed by the endearment, even if he was only teasing her.

Chapter Thirteen

It seemed, however, that Laura was not to avoid the accident she had threatened Mark with. And it happened, ironically, the day after their conversation about it.

It was Holy Thursday, and the orphanage Easter party was scheduled for Saturday. Laura was supervising the preparation of the ballroom for the serving of refreshments; she did not wish to ask the servants to work extra on Good Friday. Maria Dalton and Giles Gregory stopped by for a few minutes during the course of the morning to ask if they could assist her, but Laura had things well in hand.

“I’m going to drive over to see the rector later. He has all the children’s pictures for the art contest. I’ll bring them back and we’ll hang them over there.” She gestured to a large board some workmen were erecting between two of the windows. “I’ve got Lady Countisbury to judge the art and award the ribbon,” she said with some complacency.

Giles raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed. Should you like me to get the pictures for you?”

“No, thank you, Giles. I’ve a few things to discuss with Dr. Norris. I’ll get them.”

* * * *

It was about three in the afternoon when Laura left for the parsonage. The sky had clouded up and she was conscious of a hope that the weather, which had been so unusually good of late, would at least hold until Saturday. She was driving briskly down the road toward the parsonage when she saw a gig approaching along the road from the opposite direction. She shortened her reins a little and pulled her horses toward the side of the road.

 The next thing she knew, the phaeton tilted sharply, turned over, and she was thrown from her high seat into the ditch at the side of the road.

She lay still, stunned, the breath knocked out of her. Then, dimly, she heard a voice calling, “Lady Dartmouth! Are you all right? Can you hear me? Lady Dartmouth!”

She opened her eyes and saw an unfamiliar face bending over her. “What happened?” she asked faintly.

“The wheel came off your carriage, my lady. Are you all right? Can you sit up?”

“Yes, I think so.” She was laying half on her side, half on her back, and when she tried to push herself up, a flash of pain went through her left shoulder. “Oh ,..” she gasped.

“Let me help you,” came the strange man’s voice.

“Yes, please.” Two strong hands took hold of her, and in a moment she was on her feet. She swayed for a minute and the hands held her firmly. Her vision steadied and she said, “I’m all right now. Thank you.” She looked up and recognized Robert Bertram, an independent farmer who lived not far from Castle Dartmouth. “Why, Mr. Bertram. I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“I don’t wonder,” he said a trifle grimly. “That was a nasty accident, my lady.”

“Hi, there!” came a cry from the road. “What’s happened? Why ... Lady Dartmouth!” It was Lord Monksleigh, on horseback and alone. Laura and Mr. Bertram were still down in the ditch and Lord Monksleigh dismounted and came over to take hold of Laura’s horses, which were growing extremely restless.

“Lady Dartmouth’s carriage lost a wheel, my lord, and she was thrown.” The broadly built, ruddy-faced farmer turned to Laura. “Do you think you can climb up the side of this ditch, my lady?”

“Of course,” she replied, and took a step forward. Her legs shook. Without a word, the burly farmer picked her up and carried her up the rise.

“Thank you, Mr. Bertram,” Laura said as he put her gently on her feet.

Both men looked at her worriedly. She was very pale. Her tan pelisse was filthy from the ditch, and her long hair had come out of its neat chignon.

“Laura,” said Lord Monksleigh, forgetting formality, “go and sit in Bertram’s carriage. As soon as we unharness your horses we’ll take you home.”

Laura nodded, and Mr. Bertram, who was getting more exercise than he had bargained for that day, lifted her up to the seat of his gig. The single horse that was drawing it, a cob, stood quietly as he had all along.

Mr. Bertram went back to Lord Monksleigh, and the two men proceeded to unharness the horses. Then Mr. Bertram went to look at the wheel. “My lord,” he said in a curious voice, “will you come and look at this for a minute?”

Lord Monksleigh gave the horses to Bertram to hold and looked. He didn’t say anything, but when he straightened up, his face was very grave. “Yes, I see what you mean Bertram.” Both men turned to look at Laura, and Lord Monksleigh lowered his voice. “Don’t say anything to Lady Dartmouth. Drive her home and send someone back here for the horses. I’ll have a word with her husband about the phaeton later.”

“Very good, my lord,” said Mr. Bertram tonelessly. Both men glanced once again, involuntarily, toward the damaged wheel, and then the farmer went over to mount his gig to drive Laura home. What neither man told her was that the shaft that held the wheel had been very neatly sawed through.

* * * *

Mark was working in the library when Robert Bertram escorted Laura up the steps of Castle Dartmouth, to be admitted by a very concerned butler. A footman ran to summon him, and he was in the front hall before Laura had her pelisse off. “What happened?” he asked sharply, and Laura turned to him with obvious relief.

“Oh, Mark!” Monk had her coat in his hands by now, and she half-ran the few steps that separated her from her husband and buried her face in his shoulder. Automatically his arms came up to hold her, but he looked at Robert Bertram.

“What happened?” he repeated.

“The wheel came off Lady Dartmouth’s phaeton and she was thrown into the ditch, my lord,” said the wooden-faced farmer.

Mark’s own face became very still. “I see,” he said quietly.

“I left Lord Monksleigh attending to the horses, my lord. Perhaps you might send someone to assist him?”

“Of course.” Mark glanced at his butler. “Attend to it, Monk.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Laura took her face out of her husband’s shoulder. “Mr. Bertram has been so kind, Mark. He rescued me from the ditch and drove me home.”

Mark inclined his head. “I am much obliged to you, Bertram. May I offer you some refreshment?”

“No, thank you, my lord. I’ll leave you to see to her ladyship. She had a nasty fall; it’s fortunate she wasn’t seriously hurt.” Robert Bertram did not smile as he said, “Good day to you, my lord,” and took his leave.

When they were alone in the hall, Mark said to Laura, “What you need first is a glass of wine to put some color back into your cheeks.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said with a shaky laugh, and allowed him to guide her into the library.

The wine did help. When she had finished the glass, she put her hand up and for the first time realized that her hair had come down. “Good heavens,” she said faintly, “I must look a fright.”

He smiled for the first time since she had come in. “You must be feeling better if you are beginning to worry about your appearance.”