Chapter 7 #2
They drifted into silence, but it was not a silence borne of discomfort but rather the opposite.
Sam had never felt so at peace, so comfortable with another person in his whole life.
He had had mistresses, like any gentleman of his social standing, but they had passed by insignificantly.
He could barely remember some of their names, but he was already memorising every inch of Maggie.
She was so real, more real than anything had ever been.
Sleep was fast approaching and Samuel did not try to fight off his closing eyelids when a question was stammered into the darkness.
“Sam, did you…d-did you leave any family back in England?”
It had been but a few days since they had first met, but he knew her well enough now. Maggie only stammered when she was nervous, and not just nervous, but afraid that she was to receive a bad response. A harsh word. A shout.
“Did you?”
She had not expected the response, and she blinked slightly before speaking.
“No. My parents…my mother married below her station, outside of her class, and her family abandoned her. When they became unwell, they were unable to pay the doctor’s fees for treatment.
My Great Aunt took pity on me when no one else in the family would take me in. I…have no other family.”
It was best to be guarded then, to speak truth only when it worked in his favour. The last thing that he needed was for her to know the truth.
“I have no siblings still alive,” he said quietly, guarding every syllable. “My mother died when I was young, and my father a few years ago.”
He spoke in tones that brooked no further questions, or so he thought.
“What were their names?” came the soft question. “I-I would like to know. Names are so fascinating. Is Samuel a family name? Where did you live?”
“Why all these questions?” Samuel snapped, unable to help himself. Why must she pry, when everything was so perfect between them? He tilted his head upwards to look at her, and saw nothing but honesty and openness in those blue eyes.
Maggie smiled shyly. “We are to spend the rest of our lives together, Sam. It would be nice to know more about…about where you came from. About what made you the man that I have wrapped in my arms today.”
“All that matters is the here and now.” Samuel untangled himself from her warm arms and found himself bereft. “We shall make our own history, Maggie, our own memories. What does the past matter?”
He had hoped that his harsh tones would prevent any more questions, but he seemed to create the opposite reaction in her. She sat up slightly, breasts rocking as she leaned against the headboard, and looked at him closely.
“Why will you not tell me anything about your life before you stepped onto this ship?”
“Because I have no wish to!” exploded Samuel, his ability to keep his wild temper under control completely lost. “God, Maggie, do I have to spell it out to you? ‘Tis private, and there is privacy even betwixt a man and wife, even if you do not like it.”
“But – ”
“You took a vow of obedience, on our wedding day,” he said firmly as he sat up himself.
There was a gap of about three inches between them now, and although he wanted to close it, he wanted to protect himself more.
She must know, she must understand from this moment onwards that conversations about his past were never to happen again.
“I am telling you, Maggie, no more questions.”
It was then that Samuel chanced a look at her, and saw to his horror that she was cringing away from him, and she had that beaten down and oppressed look that he had seen when she was ordered about by her Great Aunt.
Confusion, hurt, they were mingled in her blue eyes, and Samuel hated himself for being so harsh with her. But how could he help it? It was becoming all too easy to fall for her soft kindness, that special Maggie way that she looked at him and made him want to melt all over.
And she would not look at him if she knew the truth. She would never look at him again if she knew the truth, perhaps would fear him, and he could never live with that.
But…but if he looked carefully, did he already see something like suspicion in her gaze? Did she already suspect, could she even now be planning to ask him that dreadful question that he simply could not deny: that he was accused of a terrible crime?
Sam rose from the bed and sighed deeply. “I apologise, Maggie. I am tired, I am not myself. I…I will sleep on the chaise longue tonight.”
“But Sam,” Maggie protested, moving across the bed towards him. “Your place is here, by my side, in our bed!”
“Your bed,” he corrected, hating himself for the two syllables, and laid himself down on the chaise longue facing away from her.
Neither of them spoke another word that night, but Samuel lay there, awake for what seemed like hours.
It was difficult to fall asleep when you were busy hating yourself, but it became impossible when you were also hating your inability to trust the woman that you had, accidentally perhaps, but now irrevocably fallen in love with.