Chapter 26 #2
Blushing deeply and unable to enter the conversation, Frances sensed Euphemia Wilson’s eyes upon her.
“What fine healthy girls they are, Melinda,” said Euphemia, coming over to inspect the two little ones, and, to Frances’ relief, turning the conversation in a more comfortable direction. “Sometimes twins are so small and slow to grow but yours are thriving.”
Compliments on the two baby girls, and general observations on twins followed, sweeping away the gentle ribaldry that had threatened Frances’ peace of mind.
The rest of the afternoon passed easily and Frances and Winnie were returned to Westall Park at seven o’clock, in one of Lord Levene’s carriages.
By then, Winnie was almost asleep on the carriage seat, her head on Frances’ shoulder and a whole well-wrapped orange cake clutched in her arms from the Levene Hall kitchens.
Frances was so exhausted that she did not last long after reading Winnie’s bedtime story, declining Mrs. Betsworth’s offer of supper and retiring to her own suite by nine o’clock.
Opening her eyes abruptly, Frances realized that she must have fallen asleep while reading. A candle still burned on her bedside table and her book lay on the floor by her bed. Perhaps it was the sound of the book falling that had woken her?
Her heart was racing and her skin felt warm although she did not know why. Then, Frances remembered her dream.
She had been lying in a bed with Ambrose, sunlight streaming in upon them from the window. They were under the covers and Frances knew that both of them were naked beneath the sheets, although there was a small space between them as they lay facing one another.
“Shall we have little ones of our own at Westall Park?” her husband had asked in the dream, his midnight blue eyes deep, kind and full of a magnetic longing that pulled at Frances’ heart and other portions of her anatomy.
“Yes,” Frances had answered in the dream and Ambrose had reached out a hand to touch her face.
Then, the sound of footsteps approaching had startled and distracted her, before she woke up in her own bed alone.
As Frances marveled at the oddness of her dream, and blew out her candle, her ear detected the faint sound of footsteps passing along the corridor outside her room, and her mind immediately identified them as belonging to Ambrose.
The sound that woke her had been real. Ambrose had come home and paused outside her door on his way to his own suite. When Frances had blown out her candle, he had continued on his way. But why? Why any of it? Her heart pounded and her mind raced, bewildered and still heated from her dream.
If she had left the candle alight, would Ambrose have knocked on her door? Had he hoped that Frances would hear his footsteps and open the door to him? Was he disappointed that she had not?
Lying in the darkness, Frances listened as her husband’s footsteps passed onwards to his own suite, followed by the sound of his door opening and closing.
She could go to him now, she realized with a shiver that was not one of fear.
She could unlock the door between their suites of her own volition.
For some seconds, it almost felt possible, but then her courage waned again.
She gave a small sigh, but did not feel entirely disheartened. Not yet, but soon, Frances felt she would be able to open the door between them. On the other side of that door, Ambrose would be waiting; solid, reliable and capable of exciting her beyond measure with his touch.
This mingled security and desire was something more than Frances had ever felt before, and finally seemed attainable, if not tonight. She fell asleep on the wings of hope and slept until morning.
“I heard you going to bed last night,” Frances said when Ambrose joined her at breakfast the following morning, her heart lifting slightly with the sound of his footsteps before he even appeared. “I hope your day in London was not too long and tiring.”
“I did all that I needed to do,” he told her, as he poured out coffee for both of them from the steaming silver pot newly brought by the maid. “I don’t suppose I enjoyed my day as much as Winnie enjoyed hers, however, and hopefully you also. Levene Hall is always a jolly place.”
“Yes, it is,” returned Frances, with a laugh. “I liked your step-relations very much and Winnie acquired a whole orange cake from their cook on the strength of your partiality to it. I believe it could only have been a better day if you were there.”
When Frances spoke these unthinking words, Ambrose’s smile made her question her intent. Had she meant that the day would have been better for Winnie, or for herself? Both of them, if she were honest. Well, however Ambrose took her statement, it certainly seemed to please him.
“I shall be here all day today and tomorrow too,” he hold her. I must not neglect either of you, regardless of other responsibilities. I brought presents from London too. I did think of giving you your present last night…but it was too late and I did not wish to disturb you.”
“Oh,” Frances acknowledged, now coloring as she remembered his footfall outside her room and imagining him hesitating there with some gift in his hands. “That is very kind. You need not buy something for me every time you are in town.”
“I need not, but perhaps I wanted to,” he returned, his smile so warm and handsome that Frances could neither look away nor stop herself from returning it. “I only hope I have not overstepped. I am trying very hard not to, Frances.”
“I shall look forward to receiving your gift,” Frances told him and his smile broadened again, making her think of the rays of sunlight falling onto their shared bed in her dream.
London, gossip and the past all seemed very far away today. There was only Westall Hall, its good-looking and solicitous duke, and her sweet little stepdaughter who would be eating luncheon with them in the dining room rather than nursery that day. Frances wished that it could always be like this.