Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The next few days settled into a serene routine.
Sebastian would lie with her at night, and once she fell asleep, he would carry her back to her own bed, so when she woke, it would be alone.
Although at first this made her sad, he gave her so little else to complain about—it felt almost petty to take offense.
On the surface, everything seemed perfect, and Aurelia felt as though she had nothing in the world left to wish for.
If only she could shake the feeling that Sebastian was still hiding something from her. Something of his past.
But no matter how hard or gently she pressed him, he offered her no insight into the deeper workings of his mind, and she was forced to let the matter rest.
And so, she turned her attention to the house.
Alongside the new drawing room curtains, she was having the wallpaper replaced.
Instead of entirely replacing the furniture, she was merely having it reupholstered, and she was rearranging the room a little.
It was a shame to relegate the rather beautiful pianoforte to the corner of the room.
Of course, they might not entertain often, but if they did, it would be good to have the musical options widely available.
When she informed Sebastian of these intended changes—and a few others she had in mind for the entrance hall and the library—he merely teased her about how much this marriage would cost him.
“It will cost you a wife,” she shrugged. “They are never cheap, you know.”
“So I am discovering.” He flicked the end of her nose. “Will these changes make you happy, little mouse?”
“Yes.”
“Then what else have I to say about them?”
“I hope,” she murmured, suddenly shy, “that you will like them too.”
“I’m certain I will, if you chose them.”
Aurelia beamed up at him, her heart full to bursting. He made such casual comments of affection and adoration; it was hard to believe he could mean none of them.
She played the pianoforte for him later in the evening, and then they would curl up beside the fire, his arm loose over her shoulders as she lay against his side. And she felt at peace. Sometimes, he would lie her down on the sofa, or on the plush carpet, and make love to her there, too.
Aurelia bathed in her happiness. And Sebastian, too, seemed content.
Sometimes, there was a distance in his eyes she didn’t like, and he took plenty of walks to the lighthouse still.
After everything he’d told her about Catherine, she couldn’t believe he still loved her.
But perhaps there would always be guilt.
Perhaps he even felt guilty for marrying Aurelia and entering a state of marital bliss.
Regardless of the reason, she prayed that he would forget whatever troubled him and fully engage with the present, with her. Not merely when they were lying together, but every moment they spent.
Sebastian stepped out of the library side door onto the lawn. After the last time Aurelia followed him, he made sure to only leave when he was certain she was otherwise occupied—and he could hear her practicing the pianoforte for her little evening showcases for him.
The guilt gnawed at him more than ever with all the changes she made to his house. She treated it as though it were her home too, and he supposed that for now, it was, but that wouldn’t last forever.
So why hadn’t he told her?
The sky scowled in agreement as he made his way along the old, familiar pathway to the lighthouse.
The first time he had come this way had been in the depths of winter, when the world had been plunged into an icy storm that had threatened to swallow everyone inside it.
This time, although the wind was cool and a few drops of rain splattered against his cheek, there was no chance of freezing to death.
Not like Kate.
Something about Aurelia made it impossible to keep Catherine from his mind.
Whenever he spent too long with Aurelia and felt himself feeling too contented, her memory would arise like a specter, haunting him.
Reminding him that he had been the reason a lady had died, and he should never feel too content with his life without her.
And he certainly could not invite another wife to spend her life with him.
The lighthouse rose to greet him, painted in swathes of red and white, the lantern flashing at the top.
On occasion, he had spoken to the lighthouse keeper, but the man worked alone, and Sebastian preferred to keep to himself, too.
Thus, these visits were largely conducted in silence—just as he liked it.
As he stepped to the edge of the cliff, the wind picked up, battering him.
Below, the waves flung themselves, white-tipped, at the cliff sides.
Spray mingled with the rain as it dampened his cheeks, salty when it dripped into his mouth.
Here, he felt on the edge of the world, and although he knew France was not too far in the distance, he could never see it. Everything felt more raw.
When he looked at the rocks jutting through the water below, his stomach churned.
Kate may not have fallen here, but she had certainly ended up in this water, her body battered and bruised.
Dead.
Because of me.
He tipped his head back to the rain and the scowling, dark sky above. The clouds vied for prominence, and the wind howled. A reminder that nature was far greater and grander than he would ever be.
A much-needed reminder.
The lighthouse keeper, a gruff man named Mr. Samuel Pickford, came to join him, an unlit pipe jutting out of the side of his grizzled mouth. “Storm’s coming,” he commented. “Going to be a bad one, aye.”
Sebastian nodded. “Always are.”
“Suggest ya go back home, Your Grace.”
“I shall shortly.”
Back home, back to his life and his wife.
The problem was, when he didn’t feel this guilty, he felt something approaching happiness. And that was far worse a sin.
Mr. Pickford tipped the cap on his head. Of everyone in the surrounding area, Pickford seemed most at ease with Sebastian. At least, he had never shouted at him or thrown rocks and called him a murderer.
That was where his standards had fallen.
Alone once again, Sebastian watched the horizon and the way the darkened clouds swallowed it.
Yes, there would be a storm—and it would be a bad one.
He could only imagine how bad it would get out here, right on the edge of the cliff, sitting in a lighthouse with the wind howling around, doing its best to unseat everything in its path.
He remained there several more moments before finally turning back along the path home. The wind dug at his clothes, vicious and demanding, and by the time he reached the house, the rain came down in sheets.
“Fellows,” he muttered as his butler arrived to take his coat. “Tell me, have you made any progress on finding members of Her Grace’s family?”
“Nothing substantial yet, sir, but I believe that we are making progress. The investigator will write a report of his findings when he is certain of what they are.”
“Good.” At least when he cast Aurelia off, she would have somewhere to go and someone to care for her. Perhaps, as a sign of his dedication, he would house them all in one of his properties. An apology, of sorts. Then she would have someone, and perhaps she would not despise him for his betrayal.
No, she would most certainly despise him.
As though summoned, Aurelia gusted through the drawing room and into the great hall where he stood, her eyes widening at the sight of his sodden clothes.
“What happened?” she demanded. “Why did you go out when you knew the weather would be bad?”
“I’m all right,” he coaxed, catching her hands before she could reach for him. “Don’t get yourself wet, Aurelia.”
“But—”
“I’m all right. The rain is coming down hard now, but I returned before it became too bad.” As he spoke, lightning forked the sky. The light had dimmed, thanks to the darkness of the clouds, and the flash of light lit the room with a brief, eerie glow.
Aurelia shuddered, and he had to resist the urge to sweep her into his arms. “It looks scary out there,” she murmured.
“I’m sure it is,” Sebastian shrugged with one shoulder. “But I’m not out there.”
“Come on, let’s get you dried off.” She took his arm despite his protests. “I had Mr. Fellows bring your papers to your bedchamber, too.”
He recalled that he had not read through them all that morning at breakfast. She had noticed and brought them up for him.
Now was not the moment to inform her that he was primarily checking to see if there was any mention of him after the masquerade.
So far, there had been nothing, and he fancied they had emerged from the event unscathed.
Not that he minded so much for himself; it was easy enough for him to bar the doors to all visitors and to stop reading the papers.
Yes, there would inevitably be some letters from busybodies who thought it their duty to pass moral judgment, but he always consigned those to the fire.
No, he worried about Aurelia.
She did not have his power, and if the world turned against her, he would be unable to protect her. He couldn’t even protect himself.
“You are so dedicated when it comes to staying abreast of the news,” she said as she led him upstairs. “My uncle was quite the same. He said a man ought to know what his country is doing, and the ways in which he can act to improve matters for himself and his community.”
“Your uncle sounds like he ought to have gone into politics.”
She gave a wistful half-laugh. “I expect he would have done, if it weren’t for Mother and me. She came to him when she was with child, and he dedicated himself instead to providing for us.”
Pity stirred in his chest. “Then I’m sorry to hear it.”
“So am I, although I never understood the scope of his sacrifice until after he passed.” She sighed.
Uncle Roger had given her stability when her father had given her nothing.
That meant everything, even if she'd been too young to understand it then. “Still, I’m grateful for the home he gave us while he could. He could have thrown us out, you know. His reputation suffered for housing us, I am certain of it.”
“And you have truly no idea who your real father might be?”
“None,” she said emphatically. “I’m not even sure my uncle ever knew.
Mother kept her cards close to her chest, and it was impossible to know who he had been…
” Words failed her. Sebastian had several crude ones to offer, but he decided against them.
Now was not the moment. “Well, we didn’t know.
And so I have always been in the dark about my heritage.
“He is a man of nobility, which is why he was so adamant about not admitting to his progeny, and I expect that’s why Uncle could never have done anything to persuade him to acknowledge me.”
“The cad,” Sebastian muttered. “One must always acknowledge one’s bastards.”
“Do you have any?” Her hand tightened on his arm. “B-bastards, I mean.”
“How wild do you think my youth, Aurelia?” He pinched her cheek teasingly, pushing the door to his bedchamber open. “No, I have no bastards—to my knowledge. Back when—when I was younger, that is—I was always very careful.”
“Good.”
He glanced at her stomach, still round and flat, although he knew it would take more than a few days of lying with her to produce a result—and even if he had, it would be too soon to tell. “Jealous, little shepherdess?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. “And I would be sorry for it if you had sired a bastard. I know what that feels like.”
“I would not be like your father,” he said, suddenly so racked with guilt he could hardly breathe. “Aurelia, you must believe that.”
She studied him for a moment before nodding. “I do. Truly.”
He allowed her to lead him to the bed, and to painstakingly remove his clothes, piece by wet piece.
By now, she knew what she was about, and it was easy to give her the lead.
And there, on the floor by the roaring fire, as the wind howled around them and torrential rain pounded the windows, they made love until all the water had dried from his skin, replaced by sweat.
She looked down into his face, her knees pressing against the carpet on either side of his hips, and smiled, kissing his nose lightly. “Did you have a good time at the lighthouse?”
“Yes.”
No.
Even now, sated, he felt restless, as though he ought to be doing something else other than being with his wife. Could it be about Kate?
No. The answer came to him immediately. Another flash of lightning snapped nearby as if to affirm that thought.
“Good.” She rose, still half-clothed, and found a cloth to clean herself with. After having done so, she rang for his valet. “Join me for dinner, Sebastian. We can discuss further improvements I want to make with the house.”
That sense of restlessness only deepened, and he fought the urge to shake her and tell her that there were more important considerations to be made than merely improving the house.
Except, to her, that was the thing of primary importance. And what else was he itching to do, anyway?
He shook off the lethargy in his limbs and gave her a small smile. No need to burden her with his ambivalent mood. “Of course. That sounds lovely, shepherdess.”