Chapter Seven #2
The man, Mr. William Trench, was the architect Rhys had hired three months ago, when he had come for his initial visit to survey the house.
It had taken him some time to sketch up what needed to be fixed, and this meeting was to confirm all the details.
Rhys had insisted that Louisa take the reins on the project, but seeing the two of them now, shoulder to shoulder, not covered in mud or dripping with sweat, made him insecure.
But without understanding that, Rhys only felt annoyance mixed with shame.
Just then, Louisa laughed heartily, more so than he had ever made her laugh and as her head dropped back, she caught sight of Rhys. Her mouth dropped open as her eyes scanned the length of him, and when Mr. Trench saw her expression, he turned as well. His brows bounced upward.
“Lieutenant,” he said, standing up as he made his way toward Rhys, hand outstretched. “I believe congratulations are in order. Mrs. Carlyle was just telling me about your nuptials.”
Rhys blinked, his eyes glancing over the man’s shoulders at his wife.
“An amusing story, is it?”
“Hm? Oh, no, not at all,” Mr. Trench said, stepping to his left to allow Louisa room. “Mrs. Carlyle is terribly witty.”
“Is that so?”
“I wouldn’t claim to be terribly witty,” she said smiling. “A pun is barely worth recognition.”
“But it was very clever—”
“It was silly—”
“Perhaps I might be the judge of that, since you two are at an impasse.” Rhys tried to control the tone of his voice, which had sounded confrontational. Mr. Trench seemed unaware of it, but Louisa’s entire focus landed on him, the smallest of creases appearing between her brows. “What did you say?”
“Well—”
“Terribly charming, it was,” Mr. Trench interrupted.
“I was laying out my architect instruments to fix some changes Mrs. Carlyle requested. My triangles, protractors, pencils, and the like. She then asked out of all my tools, which one did I think was the king? I was confused at first, but then she picked up the ruler, and well…” The man chuckled again.
“It’s a clever thing to say, is it not?”
Rhys blinked and Mr. Trench’s smile faltered.
“Yes, well.” Mr. Trench cleared his throat. “Em, regarding the third floor, Mrs. Carlyle had some ideas of replacing the windows in the servant rooms, considering some are cracked and have started to come unsealed.”
“Very well,” Rhys said, his demeanor still reserved. “Is that all the changes?”
“Not quite. You remember from our last meeting that the ceiling would be the most laborious part of the renovation?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Mrs. Carlyle thought to move it to the forefront of our list. It will be the most expensive, of course, but I believe she’s correct. It would make little sense to start on the fireplaces since the summer is upon us.”
“But I had planned to hire servants this autumn,” he stated, looked at Louisa.
“And you still well could, lieutenant. The roof, if started on immediately, should only take two months. That will leave a good portion of the summer to finish the fireplaces and come early autumn, Mrs. Carlyle thought to add wallpaper to each of the servants’ rooms.”
“Wallpaper?” Rhys repeated.
Wallpaper was significantly more expensive than painting.
“Yes,” Louisa said. “I was talking to Mrs. Crawford, and she mentioned that while visiting her sister and niece in Brighton, she learned that her niece’s employer, the Viscountess Eastleigh had all the servants’ rooms lined with wallpaper.
A frivolity, Mrs. Crawford said, but she was very adamant that her niece was pleased working for the viscountess. ”
“And you think wallpaper was the cause of her servant’s happiness?”
Louisa’s smile faltered for a moment, and Rhys hated himself for dampening her spirits.
“I suppose not, but I had thought…”
Rhys glanced at Mr. Trench.
“Whatever she wants, see that it is done,” he said firmly before turning on his heel.
A mumble of words sounded behind him, but Rhys wasn’t interested in them.
He felt like a bully in that moment, tired from two days’ worth of work finished before noon, agitated that Louisa should appear so relaxed in the company of another man, and frustrated with his own lacking that she might not perceive him in the same light as her precious John.
It was enough to drive a man to drink.
Upon reaching the second-floor landing, he was halfway to his room when he felt the vibration of the floor beneath his feet. Rhys stopped in his tracks. Turning around, he saw Louisa, staring him down as she walked purposely towards him.
“Yes?”
“What was that?” she asked, her expression perturbed.
“What?”
“You were inhospitable to Mr. Trench.”
“Was I?” he asked sarcastically as he entered his room, not wishing to argue.
“Yes, you were,” she said, following him into the room. “Significantly so.”
“My apologies then.”
His tone was anything but apologetic, but he was fast coming to his wits’ end. He was tired, dirty, significantly less posh than the man sitting in his receiving room. It hadn’t ever bothered him before, but then Louisa wasn’t in his life before. All he wanted was for her to relax in his presence.
Yet seeing her now, her shoulders drawn back, her spine pin straight, and the apprehensive look she was staring at him with, well, he didn’t much have the patience to correct himself.
Why was she here? In his room, arms at her side, her hands clenched as if she were marching into battle. She might have done well on the battlefield with so much determination. But while they were worlds away from war, Rhys suddenly felt as though he were standing on the front lines.
“Have I displeased you in some way?” she asked suddenly.
“No,” he answered instantaneously. “Why do you ask?”
“You seem distressed by my meeting with Mr. Trench.”
“I do not mean to seem so.”
“Then I have done something else, I am sure of it.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you’ve… Well, no… That’s not quite fair. You’ve been working hard. We all have, and I shan’t wish to complain about unavoidable tasks.”
Rhys tensed.
“Like being forced to work as a scullery maid by your husband?”
“I am not being forced to do anything. I want to help.”
“It’s beneath you.”
She took a step towards him.
“Is it beneath you?”
“No, but—”
“Then it isn’t beneath me either. Am I not your wife? Your helpmate? I do not care for sitting in a room all day waiting for visitors. It has never been my goal to placidly exist.”
“What of your goals?” he asked then, removing the muddy shirt from his torso. “You’ve heard mine, but you’ve not mentioned yours.”
“My…my…” She stuttered, her eyes locked on his filthy body. Disgusted, he was sure as she swallowed. “My, what?”
He took a step towards her.
“What were your dreams, Louisa? Before you were gambled off into a marriage with a man like me.”
Louisa’s mouth felt open, her eyes unable to focus on his. Did he repel her that much?
“I don’t know… I mean, I told you. I’ve only ever wanted for a simple life.”
“A simple life,” he repeated, washing his face in the basin of water at the window.
He dipped a torn piece of cloth and scrubbed it along his rough stubble, neck, face, and hair.
He hadn’t been able to shave in a week. “A simple life with a gentle man.” He soaked the dirty rag in the water again, before repeating his washing.
“And here I’ve afforded you a complicated life with a damn peasant. ”
He tossed the rag across the room in a fit of bitterness before placing both hands on either side of the basin. He was having a tantrum, like a child, and she was just standing there, second guessing every moment they had spent together.
To his utter shock, in the next moment, he felt the cool touch of her hands on his sweaty back. He remained perfectly still, his breath shallow as he tried to understand what exactly this woman was doing.
Her hands moved up to his shoulders, and trailed down his arms, stopping just above his elbows.
“What you have afforded me, Lieutenant Carlyle, is an honest life. Uncomplicated by superficiality. Do you think so little of me that you would believe I would stomp my foot and complain all day long about working?”
“I do not think little of you at all.”
“And yet you accuse me of being without strength of character. I am happy here, Rhys. Every day, we are working to create a place of peace and purpose and I’m quite proud to be able to do what I can, albeit less than you.”
He turned, regretful that her hands dropped away from his skin.
“You’ve already done so much, Louisa. And you shouldn’t have to do any of it.”
She smiled at him ruefully.
“Because I’m so precious?” she asked sarcastically.
“Yes, you are.”
Louisa’s self-deprecating smirk melted away as the air shifted around them. It was a small confession, but Rhys was being sincere.
“Oh,” she breathed as her gaze dropped. He wanted to touch her, was damn near desperate to, but he had promised himself that a gentleman was expected to behave a certain way and he had not climbed the ranks of the British army by doing otherwise.
It was becoming a familiar stalemate between them. A close encounter, a touch here or there. Rhys would ask her what she wished for, but every time Louisa wouldn’t be able to even bring herself to formulate the words that—
“Ask me what I wish, Rhys,” she said suddenly, her eyes downcast. “Please.”
All of Rhys’s sensibility flew out the room as he watched his little wife painstakingly rush through her words.
“Louisa,” he said softly. “What do you wish?”
“I wish that you’d kiss me,” she whispered so softly that he barely heard her. “Please.”
He had told her that he wouldn’t touch her unless she asked him to do so, and blessedly the moment had finally arrived.
Without hesitating, Rhys stepped forward and slowly raised his hand, his fingers trailing along the edge of her jaw.
Her eyelids lowered as she pressed her cheek into his palm, causing Rhys to exhale.
“Do you know about pleasure?”