Chapter 34
GIDEON
He sat on the rocking chair outside the front door, swinging slowly back and forth. He did not know how long he had been sitting there, but the tea standing beside him had gone cold, which was indicator enough that it had been some time.
A week and a half had passed since Helena had departed.
The house felt quiet. Too quiet. He missed the sound of her footsteps.
He missed her laugh. And he missed the way the servants had not looked at him as though he had done something wrong — because they all did now.
Helena had won the hearts of every member of the household in the short time she had been here, and her departure was of course blamed on him.
He had attempted, along with Heathcliff and Mrs. Storm, to put about a reasonable story — that she had urgently needed to return to London and would be back shortly. But there was chatter.
Chatter had reached the village as well.
The vicar had reported as much. There was talk of strife between the Duke and Duchess.
Some said it was on account of Mrs. Baker’s pies.
Another story held that he did not like Ruby the pig.
It was all ridiculous, of course. But in the absence of fact, people would make up their own.
The pig, as it happened, was the only thing giving him any joy at present. He had taken to feeding her himself, and even let her walk through the house on occasion. He was aware of how that reflected on his current state of mind and chose not to examine it too closely.
He had thought about returning to London.
His friends were there, after all. But Helena was there too, and he did not want her to think he had followed her.
Not that he hadn’t felt the urge. He had packed his portmanteau twice himself and had once ordered his valet to do it.
But he had unpacked each time, knowing that if Helena did not want him in her life, he was not going to make himself a pest to her.
An arriving carriage caught his attention. He scraped his feet across the ground and stopped the rocking chair, then went down the front steps.
The carriage door flew open and James leaped out without waiting for the steps. His feet hit the ground with a bang and he marched across the gravel.
“Well,” he said. “You look dreadful. Positively Friday-faced, and as though you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”
“It is lovely to see you too,” Gideon fired back. “What brings you here?”
“What brings me here? You did, of course — your letter. You sounded dreadful. What sort of friend would I be if I was not here when you were in need?”
“I do not recall asking for your aid.”
“You did not have to. I have known you for years. I can read between the lines.” He fell into step beside him as they went up the stairs.
“And before you ask — yes, I have made sure your wife is well looked after. Frances and her cousins are attending to her, along with Lady Clara. That is dealt with. Now. What are we going to do about you?”
Gideon shrugged. “For the time being, perhaps you can come inside and share a glass of whiskey with me.”
“Whiskey sounds exactly right. I have been longing to wet my whistle since Yorkshire.”
They made their way to the parlor. Gideon poured them each a generous measure and settled into the armchair by the fire. James took the seat across from him and crossed his legs.
“So your wife has made you out to be a menace, if I understand your letter correctly.”
“It seems so. She acts as though I am a barrel of oil that might go up at any moment and take everything with it.”
“Well, you do have a temper. I would not call it explosive as such, but it is there.” James swirled his glass. “What has made her think this of you?”
“Her former husband, I suspect. But she has never truly confided in me — only hinted. Clara was much the same. Hinting at what Huxley was like. I cannot say with any certainty what she endured, but it must have been enough to make her distrust me. Though I will say it did not start until after we were married.”
“Well,” James said, “we do not always show our true selves until after we are married. You should know that better than most.”
A groan escaped Gideon. He was right, of course. James was almost always right, which was one of his more irritating qualities.
“It could be compared to Cassandra,” James said. “She was different how you…”
He stopped. “Although that is hardly a fair comparison.”
“Is it not?”
“No. Because I was not pretending with Helena. And neither did she pretend with me. She saw every part of me from the very beginning — the good, the bad, and the thoroughly irritating. I never put on a performance for her.”
“No,” James agreed. “You did not.”
“So how is it the same thing? Cassandra presented an entirely false version of herself. I presented myself exactly as I am. If anything, she should have run a great deal sooner. Not because of my supposed outbursts, but because of the thoroughly disastrous way I’ve conducted my life.”
“That is precisely the point,” James said. “You were not trying to impress her.”
Gideon looked at him, not comprehending.
“Think about it. With Cassandra, you were always performing to some degree because you wanted to keep her interested in you. Showing your best self. Making certain she saw what you wanted her to see.”
Gideon nodded. This was true. He had wanted Cassandra to think he was exciting, witty, daring. The truth was, a part of him had always felt as though her interest in him wasn’t entirely honest. That she wanted more than he could give.
He shrugged and let out a grunt that was as much as an agreement as James was going to get out of him.
“See? With Helena you were never doing any of that. You argued with her. You made a fool of yourself in front of her on more than one occasion. You told her things about Cassandra you have never told anyone.” He raised an eyebrow. “When is the last time you behaved that naturally with a woman?”
Gideon was quiet for a moment.
“I cannot think of one,” he admitted.
“No. Neither can I.” James took a drink. “And she did the same with you. That is what frightened her. Not you specifically — the fact of you. Of what you had become to each other.”
Gideon leaned his head back against the chair and stared at the ceiling. The fire crackled. Outside, the wind had picked up against the windows.
“I love her,” he said. To the ceiling, mostly.
“I know I have said it before, but I want to say it plainly to another person so that it is entirely and irrevocably out in the world. I love her. I love her determination and the way she argues and the way she handled those two farmers in the public house and the way she held that pig without caring in the least what it was doing to her dress.” He paused.
“She made me want to be better. Not for her approval — I stopped caring about people’s approval years ago.
But because she deserved better, and I wanted to be the person who could give it to her. ”
James said nothing. His countenance told Gideon he was trying not to smile.
“She is the only woman I have looked at with any genuine feeling since Cassandra made a thorough fool of me,” Gideon continued. “Her and Lavinia.”
“Lavinia,” James said.
“Yes.”
“And Ruby.”
Gideon paused. “Yes.”
James uncrossed his legs and sat forward. “Who is Ruby?”
“A pig.”
A silence.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A pig. Small. Pink. Rather filthy. Helena bought her at the Thursday market approximately three weeks ago. She is currently living in the stable, though Helena had some thoughts about bringing her into the house at intervals.” He glanced at James. “Do not look at me like that.”
James pressed his lips together, cheeks twitching. “I would very much like to meet this pig.”
They went. James followed Gideon around the side of the house to the stable yard where Ruby had been given a pen near the gate, close enough to the house to satisfy Helena’s requirements and far enough to satisfy Mrs. Storm’s.
She was rooting around in the corner of her pen when they arrived, and looked up at the sound of Gideon’s footsteps with what he had come to think of as her particular expression of alert expectation.
“Good afternoon,” Gideon said to her.
Ruby snorted.
“She greets you,” James observed.
“She knows me. I have been feeding her since Helena left.” He reached over the pen and scratched behind her ear. Ruby made a sound of profound satisfaction. “She is good company. She does not ask questions and she is never disappointed in me.”
James stood with his arms folded on the top of the pen and looked at the pig for a long moment. Then he looked at Gideon. Then back at the pig.
“Gideon,” he said.
“What.”
“Do you understand what has happened to you?”
“I have acquired a pig, yes.”
“That is not what I mean.” James turned and leaned his back against the pen, looking at him with an expression that was somewhere between amusement and genuine feeling.
“A year ago — less than a year ago — you told me in absolute terms that you were never going to open your heart to another woman. That your days of genuine attachment were done with. That any future marriage you undertook would be a practical arrangement and nothing more.” He paused. “You swore to it.”
Gideon said nothing.
“And now here you are. Standing in a stable yard having genuine feelings about a pig, because the pig belongs to the woman you are in love with, who also has a daughter you clearly adore, and you are miserable without any of them.” He shook his head slowly.
“You are not a rake anymore, Gideon. I am not sure you were ever really a rake, if I am honest. But whatever you were — you are not it now.”
Gideon looked at Ruby, who had gone back to her corner and resumed her investigation of it.
“No,” he said. “I suppose I am not.”
“She did that to you.”
“She did.” He was quiet for a moment. “Or Lavinia did. Or both of them together. I am not entirely certain which came first.” He pushed away from the pen and walked a few steps, hands behind his back.
“I had truly hoped — I know it sounds foolish — but I had genuinely hoped that the three of us might make a family together. A real one. Not an arrangement, not a practical convenience. An actual family.” He stopped.
“I thought we were getting there. I thought I could see it. And then everything fell apart in the space of a single afternoon.”
“Everything did not fall apart,” James said.
“It feels rather like it did.”
“What it feels like and what it is are different things.” James pushed himself off the pen and came to stand beside him.
“She is not gone. She is in London being attended to by four women who between them have collectively managed to civilize myself, Rhys, Nathaniel and Lucien. I would not underestimate what that particular group is capable of.” He clapped a hand on Gideon’s shoulder.
“Do not give up. That is my advice. Simple and unadorned. Do not give up on her.”
Gideon looked back at the house — at the stone face of it, the windows, the drive — and thought of Helena walking through every room of it telling him what needed replacing and what ought to stay. Her hand at the small of her back in the portrait gallery. Her face when she saw the daisy painting.
“I have no intention of giving up,” he said. “I simply do not know what the next step is.”
“Neither do I,” James said cheerfully. “But I find that if you wait long enough, the next step generally presents itself.” He nodded toward the house.
“Now. I have been traveling since before dawn and I would very much like something to eat. Feed me, and then we can work out how to get your wife back.”