Chapter 25 Return To Staineybank
Jamie took six steps before he froze, his father’s words ringing in his head.
‘No one knows anything, not for sure, unless the words are spoken. Just talk to her, openly. Tell her how you feel.’
He turned round and paced the six steps back to the grave.
She stood beside it, tears pouring down her face, her arms wrapped around herself as if she were trying to hug herself, looking so forlorn that he ached to take her in his arms and hold her tight and kiss away the tears.
But he dared not. He had no idea why she was crying, no idea what was wrong between them, no idea, even, what he was going to say.
He only knew that something had to be said.
“Georgie,” he began, and his heart was thumping so hard surely she must hear it?
“I have to say this, because if I remain silent, I have a dreadful feeling I will regret it for the rest of my life. I want you to be happy, and you must do whatever you need to make yourself so, but for myself, I… I do not want you to go anywhere.”
Her eyes widened, and she gave a little gasp.
Was that shock? Or pleasure? He had not the least idea.
He was so at sea, adrift in an ocean of wild emotions — of hope and terror and a deep ache of loss.
He could not well understand his own feelings, still less guess at hers.
But she said nothing, so he stumbled on.
“My life was a miserable prospect of endless years of nothing but the duke’s letters and the duke’s diaries and the duke’s memoirs, until one day I will be found dead in my bed and not a soul will mourn me.
And then you came along and brought light and hope and a glorious future where I mattered to someone, and perhaps there might be a purpose to my sorry existence, and it has been wonderful.
It is wonderful, and I cannot regret a single moment of it except the baby, for your sake.
I would be content to walk beside you for the rest of my life, on whatever terms you choose.
If you will stay… that would make me very happy.
But if you want to go… if that would make you happy…
well, then I will not stand in your way. That is all.”
And then he turned and walked away from her again, because his voice was not at all steady and he very much feared he was going to cry too. He wanted her… no, he loved her so much, and the thought of losing her, perhaps forever, was too painful to be borne. But bear it he must if—
“Jamie! Wait!”
He stopped, his treacherous heart jumping in excitement. Did she—? Would she—? He dared not turn round, but she ran to catch up with him and placed herself in front of him, her face aglow with… no, he would not name it. Let him not be disappointed again.
“Do you mean it?” she said breathlessly. “You want me to stay? You want me?”
Wordlessly, because he could not trust his voice, he nodded.
“I was so afraid that you had abandoned me forever. Oh, Jamie! I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t know how to fix what is broken between us.”
He gathered her into his arms then, and she wept all over again, but this time she wept into his coat and he had not the slightest objection to that.
“We can fix it — together,” he murmured into her bonnet.
“Can we?” She lifted her lovely face, and he could not resist. His lips found hers without any conscious thought and they stood, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing and kissing and kissing again, until they both ran out of breath.
They clung together, half laughing and half crying, not caring who might see them.
Somewhere in the churchyard, the rhythmic sound of a spade suggested that the sexton was hard at work, and beyond were the usual rumbles and calls of city life, but Jamie cared for none of it, for Georgie was with him and all was well with his world.
“But why—?” she began, then stopped, pulling away from him a little.
“Why what, my love?”
The words just slipped out, but her face lit up and for a while, they fell to kissing again. Then she sighed. “Why have you been… avoiding me? If you feel that way, I mean. Even last night, when we shared a bed. I thought you hated me.”
“Never that, but you did not want to risk another baby… another heartbreaking loss. You were very clear about it.”
“Was I? I can’t remember what I said then, but people say strange things when they’re grieving. I may have said something of the kind, but that’s what marriage is for, Jamie. For children and the possibility of them… and the closeness, because otherwise we might as well be brother and sister.”
“I would never insist on my rights as a husband, you know,” he said softly. “But if you want to try again…”
“I do, I do! There are risks, of course, of grief and pain and… and even death, but it’s God’s will, isn’t it?”
“That is in the Bible, is it not? ‘In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children.’ Yet it may also be God’s will to give you a successful confinement next time, Georgie, and think how happy that would make you. The joy of a child of our own… of being a family… surely that must weigh with you?”
She nodded. “Oh yes!”
“Then we are agreed?”
Another nod, and a tremulous smile. “And that will fix everything, won’t it?”
“Yes, my love. It will.”
***
Lance was in no hurry to return to Staineybank.
For one thing, Denny’s family wished to see more of him and hear all about his adventures as Denzil Pendleton, and Lance had no wish to deny his friend this pleasure.
The two spent a pleasant fortnight furnishing Denny with a gentleman’s wardrobe, then enjoying a succession of dinners and evening parties with his family, friends and an array of curious acquaintances.
Denny grumbled about it, and muttered that he preferred to spend his evenings as just another anonymous manservant, but nevertheless he went meekly wherever he was asked and basked in the warmth of his family’s unstinting affection.
As for Lance himself, he was keen to postpone the day when he would once more join the duke’s household.
He had agreed to it, however, and to discuss the possibility of painting the ceiling of the new ballroom.
That was a commitment that would keep him at Staineybank for some years, and he knew perfectly well that he should refuse it, for the sake of his own peace of mind.
He would consider it, but he would not be browbeaten into anything.
The delay gave him an opportunity he had longed for ever since Payne had arrived with that strange letter from the duke.
‘Pray indulge an old man’s whim to enjoy your company a while longer, in honour of your dear Mama.
’ What on earth did he mean by that? His mother had said she remembered the duke well, and clearly he remembered her, too, but the duke’s words implied something more than mere acquaintance.
It was some time, however, before he managed to get his mother alone.
The Chamberlain family had soon tired of town and drifted away to the countryside, but the shops, theatres, exhibitions and evening entertainments continued to draw them back for short visits all summer long.
One such visit brought his mother alone, and after dinner, the two settled down to a cosy game of backgammon.
“You will be going back to Staineybank soon, I take it?” she said.
“I will, although I take no pleasure in it. I am by no means prepared to contract myself to a project that will take me several years to complete, even once this orangery is built, which it is not, not yet. But the duke wants me back, and I do not like to be disobliging.”
“Quite right, dear. He can be kindness itself, but these men of power can also be vengeful if they are thwarted. If he likes you, it would be wise to do nothing to offend him.”
“It is you he likes, I should say, Mother. He wrote of you in the letter asking me to return.”
“Did he?” Her eyes widened, and she went a little pink. “I am not sure I like to be mentioned in private correspondence between two gentlemen.”
Lance smiled and shook his head. “There was nothing untoward in it. Here — read it for yourself.”
She set down the dice shaker and took the letter he had pulled from a waistcoat pocket. Unfolding it, she quickly read it, then laughed. “A man of few words.”
“He has a secretary who writes most of his letters. I am honoured that he scribed this in his own hand. But his words are curious — ‘in honour of your dear Mama’. What does that mean, do you suppose?”
She went a little pink. “Oh… he is an outrageous flirt, you know. He made me the object of his gallantry, once, long ago, and I suppose he remembers it still.”
“Mama! Do you tell me that he was one of your cicisbeos?”
“Cicisbeos! Heavens, Lance, you are mistaking me for a great society lady! I have never moved in the sort of circles where married women had cicisbeos, and your father would have had an apoplexy if I had even thought of it. Goodness, no! We Chamberlains are a respectable family, and always have been. But the duke was a good friend to me at a time when I was at a low ebb. We had had a horrid year altogether — terrible flooding across the western fields, for one thing. The home farm and half the village was under water, a dreadful business, and then two of your uncles died within three months of each other, Swithin and Miles.”
“Oh, the famous Uncle Swithin? Aunt Kitty’s Swithin? The saint?”
She laughed. “Well… not so much of a saint, but one cannot speak ill of the dead, naturally. Kitty was distraught, but she wanted the twins brought out that year, for they were nineteen already and she was convinced that if they were not married by twenty their chances would be gone forever. You know what Kitty is like.”
“I do indeed. So… you were called upon to bring out the girls?”
“Exactly so. Two girls without much to recommend them. Alice was pretty enough, but Jane was a hoyden, and no money, of course.”
“The sainted Swithin having left his family destitute.”