Chapter 10
On the other hand, time spent at home was time to brood, time to face how infrequently her husband was in the house, day or night.
Her plans to avoid his company had been all too successful.
Now that she sought an opportunity to rebuild some kind of understanding there seemed to be an unbridgeable gulf between them.
Occasionally she had attempted to span it, but he seemed able to slip out of any situation.
She wished Amy were back to provide some kind of company.
She wished Nicholas didn’t look so tired and worn. She wished she didn’t care.
The grand celebrations finally fizzled out and the days slipped by quietly. The Rogues seemed to be aware of her low spirits and attempted to find activities to tempt her. She wondered what they made of their friend’s behavior toward her, but that was one subject that was never discussed.
When she lost interest in social events they devised other entertainments, such as picnics and drives into the country. Lord Arden and Lord Middlethorpe, as usual, were her most frequent companions.
The former was always able to raise her spirits with his high spirits and teasing, though she sensed at times that he did not take her situation at all lightly and was turning against Nicholas as a result. That distressed her, but there was nothing to be said that would help.
Her feelings for Lord Middlethorpe ran deeper. She knew that in other circumstances she could have grown very fond of him indeed, but she was careful to keep their relationship within bounds. She needed no more complications in her life.
And, she had to confess, despite his behavior, she was not indifferent to her husband.
When he spent what she thought of as his “duty time” with her, always in company, he could still make her heart turn with a smile, a witticism, or just the movements of his body.
She suspected that if he were suddenly to turn his charm upon her again she would fall into his arms without cavil.
The thought should horrify her, and yet it didn’t. She must have no pride at all.
She was always aware of Nicholas if he were nearby. If she knew he was somewhere in the house it would take great willpower not to seek him out, just for a moment spent in his presence. When they were together, though, they behaved so coolly that it hardly seemed worth the effort.
As she was browsing the bookshelves in the study one day, he entered. She started with surprise and broke into speech to cover it. “I’m afraid I’ve bolted through all my novels, and I’m driven to seek my reading among the heavier matter.”
“Very intemperate,” he said with his impersonal smile. “Another visit to Hookham’s is obviously called for.”
Grasping at the chance of his company, she continued the conversation. “I feel I should make the attempt to read something more improving. Do you have a book you would suggest?”
His smile warmed. She noted with a jerk of the heart that it seemed genuine for once. “Improving?” he repeated. “Well, I don’t think we run to sermons. Would some philosophical essays do as a substitute?” He ran a hand along a shelf. “Here. Some Letters on the Subject of Conscience.”
She took it doubtfully, suppressing a cutting comment that rose to mind. “Would I enjoy it?”
“No,” he said with a grin. “It was given me by a friend who’s now a don at Oxford. An act of spite, I think.”
She replaced the book. “I hope you are not trying to pass that spite onto me,” she said lightly, wondering at his sudden friendliness. Her foolish, hopeful nerves were all tremor because of it.
She scrutinized the shelves. “Experiences in Portugal. Would I enjoy that?”
“I doubt it. It’s amazing how some people can travel through an exciting country and see only the most mundane aspects.
You might try this.” He took another volume from the crowded shelves.
“It’s a lively account of the lives of the Bedouin, the wandering tribes of North Africa.
I’ve never been there, so I can’t vouch for its accuracy, but it makes a good tale.
Or there’s The Voyages of Marco Polo. One of the most interesting books of travel, even though it was written so many centuries ago. ”
As she prepared to leave with the two volumes he had given her, he said, “I understand you fainted one day, Eleanor. Are you quite sure you are well?”
She turned back, touched by his concern. “I’m very well, thank you. Who on earth told you? There was no need. It was the merest dizzy spell.”
“I think I have the right to know if you are ill, Eleanor. Jenny told me. I usually ask how you are.”
She hadn’t known this. “Thank you. There’s no need for concern, though. I must merely learn to avoid crowds, which is easy enough now London is thinning out.”
“Would you like to go to the country?”
She considered this. “To Somerset?”
“Or you could go to Grattingley, if you would prefer that.”
She looked hard at him, trying to read his impassive countenance. Why on earth would he think she wanted to go there? Was he handing her over? “I would choose Somerset, I think. Would you be with me?”
“I would escort you, of course, but I’d have to return to town for a little longer.”
It was tempting to think of having him to herself for a long, slow journey into the West Country, and she thought it would do him good. But having him return here for heaven knows how long would be a heavy price to pay.
“I would like to leave town,” she replied.
“But I would find it lonely. I know no one at the Somerset house. I’ll wait until you’re ready to go with me, I think.
” She was quite pleased by the polite challenge this represented.
He was not going to shuffle her off so easily.
“Would it be a suitable place to have the child if we stay there?”
“I’ve only visited Redoaks twice. I’m told the local midwife is excellent, but it will be for you to say when you meet her. I want the best care for you, my dear.”
Eleanor acknowledged this with a polite smile, but her thoughts had taken another turn.
She decided this was the best opportunity she was likely to have to raise a delicate subject.
“I’m afraid this will seem rather morbid, Nicholas, but I have found myself wondering what would happen to me and the child if you were to die. ”
He looked fully at her. “Do you fear to find yourself in poverty again? You and the child will be provided for in my will, independent of my brother. There will be an adequate inheritance for the baby, and you will have an income of your own. It should amount to some six thousand pounds a year. Kit will be a trustee for the child, that is all. I should have explained all this to you before. I’m sorry. ”
Eleanor was overwhelmed both by the generosity of the settlement and by the fact that he had obviously given thought to the matter without prompting.
“I’m to be left in charge of my life then,” she said. “You show great faith in my ability to manage.”
He came over to rest his hands upon her shoulders. “I have great faith in you, Eleanor.”
She searched his face and saw honesty. “Then why do you not trust me?”
She sensed his withdrawal, though he did not move. “But I do.”
Having begun a confrontation of sorts she was determined to persist with it. “You don’t trust me enough to tell me what is wearing you down so. You avoid me. Perhaps,” she continued, summoning all her courage, “you don’t trust me not to do this…”
She pressed forward and raised her lips to gently touch his. She felt the air pass as he inhaled sharply. His hands tightened on her shoulders.
“Eleanor.” His lips moved against hers as he spoke.
She did not know whether the word was protest or plea, but she took strength from it. He was not indifferent.
Carelessly she let the books fall, and raised her hands to cradle his worn face, moving back a little so she could look at him. Oh, the pain in his eyes!
She spoke softly. “I don’t know what’s going on, my dear. I don’t understand anything except that I have nothing. Give me a little of yourself, Nicholas.”
He surrendered.
She saw it in his eyes a moment before his forehead came to rest against hers and his arms surrounded her. “Oh, Eleanor. Do not do this now. I can’t bear it. Give me just a little longer.”
She moved to lay her head upon his shoulder and held him tight. The warmth from his body and the spicy scent that was his alone seemed to surround her. What did he mean? She had begun in a selfish search for her own comfort, but now she wanted his.
After a while, as if struggling against a great force, he drew back a little. “Can you, Eleanor? Can you endure it just a little longer?”
“Can you not be a little kind to me, Nicholas?” she begged, not understanding, seeing only his need and knowing only her own.
He seemed to gather some reserve of strength. “Yes, of course I can,” he said with a genuine smile that didn’t quite relieve the pain in his eyes. “Why don’t we go for a drive?”
And so, in the summer sunshine, they drove through the streets and around Hyde Park, which still contained some of the buildings erected for the great celebrations and was still cluttered with stall and sideshows catering to those who came to gawk.
There were quieter areas, however, and they found them.
They met few members of Society so late in the year.
They talked of politics, in a light way, and of flowers and the weather.
They laughed at the antics of children and animals.
They admired the clean lines of the new buildings and the baroque details of the old.
They discussed nothing personal, but for once he laid his social skills, his charm, and the treasures of his mind before her as a gift.
Eleanor took the golden hours and stored them in her heart.