Chapter 12
S imon lay in bed, watching Hannah as she slept beside him. He knew he should begin his day, yet he could not pull himself away from her. It amazed him every time he woke to find Hannah next to him. He had never dared dream of a life where Hannah belonged in his bed.
There had been dreams of taking her in a moment of clandestine passion, yes, but those dreams had always been a spontaneous moment of passion stolen in secret when pure physical lust overpowered good sense.
His dreams never included the more domestic moments a man and a woman might share. He had never pictured the intimacy of her sitting in his lap on an evening alone at home as he read to her. He never imagined her rubbing liniment on his back after he strained it riding in the Park. It never occurred to him to fantasize of waking to find her head on the pillow opposite, her features softened in sleep.
Yet they had all transpired since their marriage. And each act had rebuilt his hope.
Hope that Hannah might have room in her heart to love someone else.
He should not stoke the fragile ember of hope, knowing the pain of its inevitable loss would be unbearable; yet it flamed to life within his chest, a warm, insistent glow.
You are a foolish, foolish man, Langley. You will only learn from the heartbreak to come.
And this was why he never dared to dream he could have Hannah’s affection. It was too easy for him to get carried away with his imaginings and let it give him false hope that would be ground out by reality.
Hannah’s heart solely belonged to John. She had practically confirmed such during their evening at Drury Lane. One cannot stop the heart from loving who it loves. She loved John and always would. There was no room for anyone else.
He needed to be content with what he could have, and right now, that was Hannah waking up in his bed.
She let out a sigh as her eyes blinked open and she smiled at him. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he echoed as she stretched an arm overhead and then shuffled closer to him. Her hand rested on his chest and his heart skipped a beat, as it always did when she reached for him. As if his heart was surprised she would grant him such a privilege.
“Did you sleep well?” she asked, fingering the collar of his nightshirt.
“I did.” Her finger slipped beyond the linen to stroke at the hair on his chest. An idle gesture that she was likely unconscious of, yet it stoked a fire in him. His voice was a few octaves lower when he spoke again. “And did you?”
She nodded. “Although I had a strange dream.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We were in Hyde Park. You were rowing a boat for us on the Serpentine. Then Caroline appeared on the shore, yelling at me, demanding I come meet her to answer for my betrayal.”
“Betrayal? What did you do to her?”
“That was the worst part. While I could not remember what I had done, I certainly felt the guilt of it. Even now I cannot quite shake the feeling that I have wronged her somehow.”
He ran a comforting hand over her hair. “You would never wrong anyone. You are too kind.”
She tilted her head back to stare at him incredulously. “Did you hit your head and forget how we came to be married? I have no wish to return to those first days of our marriage, but I will risk your wrath to remind you that you were quite cross with me because of my unkindness.”
Yes, perhaps he was being a bit too forgiving of her sins.
Or perhaps he was trying to act blind to them, as the meaning behind her dream was quite obvious to him.
Yet he was in no rush to clue her in when it could mean she might pull away from him and put an end to this.
“Yes, well, I believe that has become a matter of ‘All’s well that ends well,’” he offered, idly twisting a lock of her silky hair around his finger.
“I am happy to hear that,” she said, and he could feel her smile against his chest. “And it did end well. Better than I think either of us believed when we left Cosburn Park.”
That ember of hope flared brighter in his chest and he visibly winced. No, he would not do this to himself.
“Tell me how your dream ended,” he said as a distraction, so his imaginings did not run away again.
“Caroline told me she would meet me at dawn to duel, and then a storm swept over us. Rain slashed down while the waves tossed the boat about the water.”
“Was I not a competent captain of our boat?”
“You had disappeared,” she said, her finger idly drawing a circle in the centre of his chest. “I was alone in the boat when the storm came. It capsized. I thought I might drown, but then, in a burst of sunlight, I found myself in the nursery at Cosburn Park. You were there with John and Caroline. We were all playing The Mansion of Happiness game as we did when we were young. You and the others landed on virtues every turn, but I kept landing on Passion and was sent back to The Water square. It was quite frustrating.”
He remembered the board game with its track of squares marked as vices and virtues that players moved along in their pursuit to reach the Manson of Happiness and win. They had spent hours playing it when they were young, vying with one another to be the first to reach the vaulted salvation at the centre of the board.
“If I recall when we actually played the game, I always landed on The Pillory and The Stocks, and you insisted on punishing me despite the game’s instructions to show compassion,” he said.
“But it made sense that a person who ends up in both The Pillory and The Stocks eventually finds himself in Prison,” she teased.
“And yet when you would land on Immodesty, I did not insist you go to The Whipping Post.”
“That seems a harsh punishment for such an indiscretion.”
“I do not know. A woman who lacks modesty may benefit from being placed over a man’s knee.”
He let his hand glide over the curve of her bottom before giving her a firm pat that made her giggle.
“That does not seem very fair, considering the man is the one who has made her immodest,” she said, throwing a leg over him, her knee brushing against his cock, causing it to stir. His hand cupped her bottom firmly in response, and she hummed happily. “What are your plans for the day?”
The quick change of subject befuddled him for a moment. His mind had been occupied with debating whether to remove her chemise entirely or merely explore beneath the linen.
“I need to review the accounts from my estate,” he said. “They were delivered yesterday evening.”
“Will we go to your estate when the season is over? I have never been there.”
“It is not like Cosburn Park. There are a handful of tenant farmers, but its true profit comes from its coal mines. There is little land to allow for a proper house there.”
A smile played on her lips as she surveyed the room. “So, this house is to be our home.”
“Is that acceptable?”
John would have received a traditional country estate and a title that gave him a secure position in high society. John would have inherited a purpose and legacy that Simon would never have. He would not blame Hannah if she longed for him to have something more to provide for her.
“More than acceptable,” she replied with a grin. “I adore London. I want to see what it is like when the social season is over. And what it is like in the dead of winter. And in the first days of spring. I want to experience it all.”
“You are a city girl then,” he teased.
She bit her bottom lip as she regarded him. “I suppose you’ve made me one.”
He liked the idea that he had such influence over her. He also liked that she could change what she had always thought she was. More fuel for that ember of hope to burn brighter.
“Will your estate business occupy you all day?” she asked.
“No. I shall be free in the afternoon. Do you have need of me?”
“Not need. Want.” Which made his cock jump to life, although that was likely because she was idly brushing a hand across his stomach as she spoke. “I would like a pianoforte for the house, so we might entertain one day. It is a want, not a need, so if you are not amenable, feel free to say no.”
He let out a pleased rumble when her fingers brushed below his navel. “Tell me the truth. Is your hand meant to persuade or distract me?”
“Neither,” she said. “I merely find it difficult to be close to you and not be touching you. Perhaps that is the reason I was always landing on the Passion space during my dream. You have ignited a passion in me I have never experienced before.”
The ember turned into a true blaze at her words. Whatever youthful fumbling kisses and petting she had experienced with John, Simon had been the only one to show her what true passion was.
“If you continue to flatter me like this, I shall not only buy you all the instruments you want, I shall not let either of us leave this bed today.”
“That does not sound like a consequence. It sounds like a reward.”
Her hand slipped beneath the hem of his nightshirt to wrap around his cock. She drew a groan from him as her palm slid down the shaft, fingertips brushing over his sac.
His hand that cupped her bottom pulled her closer just as her grip tightened around his shaft, and she began to stroke him in earnest. He could feel her hard nipples pressed against his side as she nuzzled his neck, the wet tip of her tongue licking over his pulse point.
Her thumb stroked the crown of his cock, gathering up the moisture there to ease her strokes. Her hand was silky and firm, squeezing so perfectly, driving him fast to the edge. It was almost embarrassing how fast his release came. His hips canted and relaxed as he spilled onto his stomach, panting as if he had run a race.
She kissed up his neck and took his earlobe between her teeth to tug on it. “I told you one day I would win.”
He laughed as he fought the sudden exhaustion that came over him. “I never doubted you would.”
“Simon, may I ask you something?” The smug confidence from before was gone, her voice now unsure and that had him forgetting any need for sleep.
“You may ask me anything, Hannah.”
“You enjoy what we do together in bed, do you not? I know I am the only possibility you have to satisfy your needs, but it is good for you, yes?”
Although the evidence of his enjoyment was apparent on his belly, he knew she needed a proper answer. She was vulnerable and honest in this moment, and he owed it to her to do the same.
“Being with you is perfect, Hannah. I can barely contain myself when I am in your presence. I must work twice as hard to keep myself in check with you.” He gestured down at himself. “Why, only a few strokes from you and I spill myself like a green boy because you make me feel so good. I am not with you because you are the only possibility, Hannah. I am with you because I want you.”
Her face lit up, her eyes sparkling as she beamed at him. He lifted his head and kissed her.
“Now, I plan to return the favour, but I shall be quick about it, so you might call on Caroline while I review the accounts.”
Her smile turned slightly puzzled. “How did you know I would want to call on Caroline?”
“Because I know you, Hannah. Even if it was only a dream, you still feel guilty about betraying her and you will not feel better until you apologize.”
She blushed. “Do you think it’s silly for me to feel this way?”
“Oh, I absolutely think you are silly.” He grinned. “But I quite enjoy having a silly wife.”
“Then it is kismet that we are married. We are the perfect set of husband and wife.”
That ember burned even brighter as he kissed his wife, letting the hope warm both of them as he showed her they could both be victors when it came to bedsport.
***
As Hannah entered the house, she found Bailey particularly effervescent as he accepted her parasol and bonnet. “Good day, madam. Mr. Langley is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
She thanked him, wondering at the butler’s wide smile. Not that Bailey was ever particularly glum, but today he was exceptionally gleeful.
Perhaps he was having a good day. She was having one herself. She and Caroline had visited the millinery, spending their time inspecting various ribbons and ornaments to select for their new bonnets. They had then visited the Soho Square Bazaar, strolling past all the stalls displaying their wares.
It had been much like their visits to the village when the market came, although Soho Square offered a hundred times as many wares as the village market and, in a variety she still had difficulty fathoming. She had been overwhelmed by it all, only purchasing a bottle of perfume and a bag of sugar plums for Simon. She would be certain to return to the Bazaar, as she was already regretting not purchasing the parasol painted with delicate morning glories she had seen at a stall.
But that would be for another day. As wonderful as it had been to visit the Bazaar with her friend, it was even better to return home to her husband. She had missed Simon and was eager to tell him about her day.
She went to the drawing room, expecting to find him seated at the writing desk with pen in hand or lounging on the sofa with a book. What she did not expect was to find him leaning against an exquisite Broadwood grand pianoforte that now took up a corner of the room.
“Oh Simon!”
She bounded across the room to run a hand over the highly polished mahogany, as smooth as butter beneath her fingertips. The top had been propped open to reveal the felt-tipped hammers and the strings that made up the heart of the instrument. The keys were perfectly laid and responsive, letting out a resounding note when she delicately tapped the ivory.
“Is it what you wanted?” Simon asked as he came up behind her.
She whirled around and threw her arms around his neck and covered his face with eager kisses as he laughed.
“It is absolutely perfect!” she declared, gazing up at him with adoration. Truly, there was no one sweeter than her husband. “Thank you, Simon.”
“You are very welcome, Hannah,” he replied with a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Now you must ensure we have not been taken for fools and it actually plays well.”
She eagerly sat down on the bench, her fingers finding the keys with practised ease, and began to play, the rich, warm notes filling the quiet space. The instrument played beautifully, the keys responsive to the slightest touch of her fingers, the pedals moving easily beneath her feet, the final note resounding in the air long after she lifted her hands from the keys.
“We were not taken for fools,” she said with a happy sigh. “Oh, it will be wonderful to have music in the house.”
“I agree, although it might be selfish to say so when I would rely on you to play,” Simon said.
“I do not mind,” she said, running an affectionate hand over the pianoforte. “I love to play any instrument.”
“I am heartened to hear that,” he said. “I have another gift for you. It is in the boudoir. May I show you?”
Intrigued, she took his offered hand and let him lead her from the room. She had always been told she had a wild and creative imagination, and yet, even given a thousand years, she never could have imagined what she found in the boudoir.
An exquisite pedal harp stood in the centre of the room, a small velvet covered stool next to it. The bright sheen of the lacquer on the curved neck nearly rivaled the gilding on the fluted pillar. A carving of a winged female figure with a lyre crowned the harp, so detailed that she could make out the figure’s serene smile from where she stood.
She circled the instrument so she might appreciate it from all angles, the strings taunt and dull, yet to bear the shine of many hours of fingers plucking at them. It had been years since she had played the harp, yet her fingers tingled with the memory of the caress of the strings on her skin, the light touch producing such elegant sounds.
“Simon, whatever made you think to buy this?”
“When we were young, you always played the harp in the music room at Cosburn Park,” he said. “You once told me it belonged to your mother.”
“I would listen to her play it for hours,” she said with a sad smile. “Once I was tall enough to properly sit at it, I begged her to teach me. After she died, playing her harp made me feel closer to her.”
“I remember. When I think of our childhood, I always hear you playing it. That is why I thought to purchase you one,” he said. “I thought you might enjoy playing it again.”
“I would,” she said, running a hand along the curved neck. “Although after so many years not playing it, I may need quite a bit of practise before you will want to listen to me.”
“I never understood why you stopped,” Simon said. “You were playing it when I went off to school one year and when I returned at the end of term, you would only play the pianoforte. I asked why and you said the pianoforte seemed a better choice, but I never understood why you had to make a choice instead of simply playing both.”
She ran her fingers over the strings, her touch too light to produce any sound. “Of course, I could have played both, but the harp…well, plucking the strings can be rough on one’s fingers. The keys on a pianoforte or harpsichord are softer.”
Simon frowned. “Were you injuring yourself?”
“No. It is only…” She rubbed her fingers together where once upon a time the skin there had been thick and rough. She had thought nothing of them until the first time John held her bare hand. “I had calluses on my fingers.”
“Why would having calluses matter?” Simon asked. “I would think they would make playing easier.”
“Not everyone enjoys the feel of them,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulder.
Simon scrutinized her. “Did someone say something?”
She did not know why she felt embarrassed at the idea of confessing why she had stopped playing, yet she felt it all the same.
“The first time John held my bare hand, he said they tickled. I know he meant nothing unkind by it, of course, but I did not want to displease him,” she told him. “Besides, he had always preferred the pianoforte to the harp, so I thought it would please him to switch instruments.”
Simon’s frown deepened. “You should not have had to give up something you love simply to please another person, and no one who cared for you should ask you to.”
“To be fair, John never asked me to stop playing. I made the choice on my own.”
“Because you thought it would please him,” Simon said, a touch of disappointment in his voice.
“A lady is taught that a good wife considers it her duty to please her husband,” she said, “And I aspired to be a good wife.”
Simon looked to the harp before turning back to her, his gaze inscrutable. “It would please me very much to hear you play the harp, Hannah.”
She did not hesitate to sit on the velvet covered stool before the harp. It was smaller than her mother’s, yet still felt familiar as she wrapped her arms around the instrument. She plucked a string to test the sound, the familiar hum reverberating through her body. Thankfully, the strings were already tuned, and so she began to pluck out a familiar melody.
The piece was her mother’s favourite to perform and had been the first piece Hannah had learned to play with proficiency. Being so young when she lost her, her memories of her mother were hazy, but the delicate notes brought forth recollections of how she felt listening to her mother play. Endless love, comforting warmth, unwavering support.
Hannah lost herself in the melody, each note a vibrant memory of those happy times when she had been uniquely cherished in the way only a mother could.
The last notes echoed, thrumming through her body, and it was only when she was still again that she realized how much she had missed the instrument.
She opened eyes she had not realized she had closed to find Simon watching her, his expression distressed, and that was when she felt the tears on her cheeks. She let out a watery laugh as more tears fell.
“Oh, thank you, Simon!” she sobbed out, laughing again at how thick her voice sounded. “I love it!”
“Are you certain?” he asked suspiciously as she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped at her tears.
“I am, I am. These are happy tears. Thank you for this, Simon.”
He smiled. “I should thank you. You play beautifully.”
She rose from the stool to move into his space, meeting his gaze. “Thank you. Not only for the instruments. Thank you for giving the music back to me. I did not know how much I had missed it.”
She kissed him again, but this was not the silly affectionate pecks from before, nor even one of the fervent kisses they shared in bed.
This kiss was tender, full of care and wonder and deep affection for the man who had done her the greatest of kindnesses.
“You’re very welcome, Hannah,” he said when they parted, resting one hand on her waist as the other took her hand. “I only want you to be happy.”
He hummed the melody she had just played as he led them into an impromptu waltz. She did her best to keep in step with him as he whirled her around the room, wondering at her life now.
She never thought she would play the harp again, yet now she had.
She never thought she would dance again, yet now she was.
She never thought she could be truly happy again, and yet she was.
And all because of Simon, her husband not from choice but obligation, who, after all her wrongs to him, only wanted her to be happy.
“I am, you know?” she told him. “Happy. And not only because of the harp. I am happy here, in this life, with you.”
For the first time, it was Simon who made a misstep as they danced, stumbling out of time, and she was the graceful one who quickly moved her toes away from being stepped on.
“Steady now,” she said with a laugh. “I am the one who steps on toes in this marriage.”
Simon’s cheeks turned red, but he was quick to recover the rhythm of the dance.
“I am happy in my life with you, too,” he said. “Even if you step on my toes.”
She smiled at him as he twirled her around the room, delighting in her perfect day.
Yes, her life as Mrs. Langley might not have been the life she had dreamed of once upon a time, but she was realizing that living out one’s dreams was not the only route to happiness.