9
Music was playing from the sitting room when Robert joined Jo after dinner. He had not lingered over port, since it was just the two of them, but had excused himself to answer the call of nature and allow her a chance to do the same.
He stopped at the doorway to the sitting room and watched as Jo sat on the bench in front of the piano by the window and played.
She leaned forward for emphasis, when the melody demanded it, as if leaning into the music, and the melody flowed without her looking up at the notes in front of her.
It took him a minute to realize that she was playing with her eyes closed.
It was a mesmerizing sight.
It surprised him that she played so well. She was so much in her mind, it seemed, with her lists and her books. But there was something sensual about her too, that aligned with being skilled at the piano. A sensuality he did not need to remind himself of at the moment.
Earlier in the driveway, he had felt the air crackling between them.
The way they both wanted to linger even though neither he nor she could come up with a reason to do so.
And might as well. He was aware that he had broken her rules about touching her the first week of their marriage, yet each time it had felt paramount that he should offer his support and comfort.
When she met his family, when she was nervous over their questions, when they had faced her odious cousin.
Robert clenched his fists by his sides as he lingered in the doorway, looking at the graceful curve of Jo’s neck and the way her light green dress subtly enhanced her bosom. He could not believe anyone could find her unwomanly. She was the very image of womanly to him.
Although he could not show her yet. At least only very discreetly.
He did not want to frighten her – nor give her the wrong impression about their marriage.
Women often confused desire and emotion, he knew from Thornston.
Which was why Robert needed to be careful with how he treated Jo these first months of their marriage.
Eventually, they would find a balance that suited them both, he assumed.
This constant concern was the reason he had refrained from commenting on her appearance both this morning and when she came down for dinner, even though he had wanted to.
When the month was up and he could take her to bed, he knew he would want to do so as often as she was willing.
Thornston might have been right that lying with a new woman would be what finally pushed Lucretia from Robert’s mind, even though Robert knew his friend had not meant for that woman to be his wife.
The song came to an end, and Jo opened her eyes as if waking from a dream, then startled when she saw him.
“I had no idea you were there,” she said in a breathy voice that did not help the path his thoughts had just taken.
Robert gritted his teeth as he entered the room and forced his mind away from her body and focused on her face.
“I did not want to disturb you. I had no idea you played,” he told her as casually as he was able to and walked over to the side table where he kept his decanters of spirits.
It was mostly to busy himself and take his eyes off her for a moment.
He had already had a couple of glasses of wine for dinner and did not want to be inebriated tonight.
“I play a few songs reasonably well. It seemed the smartest choice, since I do not have any particular gift for music. I thought if I practiced a few songs relentlessly, I would be able to perform them well. And I do.”
Robert liked how she stated this as a fact. Other women might play coy to make him compliment them, but Jo knew her own abilities and did not need him to bolster her confidence, which was surprisingly attractive.
He was losing his mind, Robert thought, when he found a woman’s ability to know her worth attractive.
He accidentally poured too much whisky into a glass and cursed under his breath. He would be close to drunk if he drank all of it. Which he did not need. He needed all his wit about him when he faced Jo.
It was going to be a very long month.
“Do you want anything?” he asked a little too loudly.
“Madeira, please,” she answered. Her voice sounded a bit distracted and when he reached her, she was rifling through one of the books he had left on the side table by the sofa. His servants knew that they were not to remove them when they were lying there.
Jo placed the book back on the table and took a large gulp from her glass. Was she nervous? Had she felt him ogling her before? He hated that he might make her feel uncomfortable. The whole point of her list was to make her feel at ease with him. Enough for her to sleep with him.
Robert took a large swig of whisky.
“What he said earlier, my cousin,” Jo began hesitantly, while looking at her hands.
Robert was relieved to find that he was not the source of her discomfort but would have preferred that they did not have to discuss Ambrose Hawkins further tonight.
“Which part?” he asked as he tried to keep his voice steady. He already loathed the man and was glad that Jo would never have to be beholden to him again.
“The… the one about our children… my children being morally corrupted.” Jo looked up and licked her lips before she continued. Robert did not like what the sight of her pink tongue did to him. “He is wrong, you know?”
“Jo,” Robert said patiently as he leaned forward.
He was unable to reach her, the distance between the chair he was sitting in and the sofa she was on was too great, but it was probably for the best. “I did not believe a word of what he said. He evidently sees the world through a very contorted lens.”
Jo nodded as she still looked at her hands.
“I just… I wanted to be certain that you did not think so. I know my most important role in this marriage is to birth your children and make certain that they are aptly equipped to face this world.”
Robert wanted to protest to this but did not know why. It was every wife’s role, was it not?
“And I know we do not know each other well, so I wanted to make certain that…”
“Jo,” Robert interrupted her gently. “If I had any doubt that your moral compass was wrong, that my children would be morally corrupted as your cousin said, I would never have agreed to marry you. But even knowing you for an hour and knowing him for five minutes it is evident that his moral compass is askew and not yours.”
Jo offered him a brief smile, before taking another sip of her madeira. Smaller this time, but the glass was almost empty.
“Do you want another?” Robert asked and gestured to her glass, but she shook her head.
“I better not. As I told you, I am not used to drinking. My uncle took laudanum on an almost daily basis to cope with the pain in his leg. It does not mix well with alcohol as you might be aware, so he did not drink and I refrained as well.”
“What happened to his leg?” Robert asked, relieved at the change of topic.
“He was out riding on his estate and came upon a few of his tenants who were cutting down trees in the forest. They were stacking the logs into piles, until they could transport them.
Uncle Horace asked if they could use an extra hand; he liked to learn more about the work of his tenants, when he could, and they agreed.
“One of the logs slipped and my uncle got stuck beneath it. It crushed his lower left leg. I was only eight at the time and still lived with my father, but I heard afterwards that it had become infected and they had feared for his life for several weeks because of it.” Jo sighed wistfully at the memory.
“Was he able to walk?” Robert asked tentatively.
“Slowly and with a cane. By the time I moved into his estate, the whole house had been rebuilt to accommodate him so that he never had to use the stairs.”
“Philomena suffers with using the stairs too, if they are too steep,” Robert told her. It was not his intention to change the subject but to let her know that he understood.
“What happened to her, if you don’t mind me asking? Was she born that way?”
Robert took a deep breath. He did not like talking about what happened to Philomena, but he had brought it up himself, and he would rather that Jo heard it from him than someone else.
“She fell ill when she was five. From polio. Xavier and I were away at school, Maggie and Rafe were sent away as my mother and stepfather feared they would contract the condition as well. Like your uncle, she lingered between life and death for weeks.” He gulped at the memory and had to collect himself before he spoke.
“Thornston had to open our letters from home, because we were terrified that it would be bad news.”
“How awful,” Jo muttered, her expression pained and far away. “For him as well. I cannot imagine not knowing whether I had to tell my friends that their sister had died.”
Robert tried to remember but could not recall that Thornston had ever shown any fear. He had been his usual unflappable self when he was handed the letters. But Robert knew now that it was a way his friend used to hide his emotions.
“I have never thought of it,” Robert mused quietly.
He should probably thank Thornston, next time an opportunity for a deeper conversation arose. Even though it was rare.
“But she did recover, as you can see. Except her right leg is partially paralyzed,” Robert quickly told Jo to turn his own attention away from the painful subject.
He took a gulp of his whisky and found that it was almost empty. He could feel the content buzz of inebriation in his veins and knew he should be careful now. Robert leaned back in the high-backed chair as if he might anchor himself to it and prevent any foolish actions.
“So, 20,000 pounds?” he asked to change the subject yet again.
Jo looked up with a surprised expression on her face.
“Your cousin mentioned that you have 20,000 pounds,” he elaborated.
“Actually, it is 24,632 pounds now. The 20,000 was what I inherited at the age of one and twenty. I have been investing it, remember?” Jo sounded almost defiant as she said the last part. Daring him to contradict her.
“Impressive,” Robert muttered. “Perhaps I should let you invest my money as well.”
It obviously put Jo at ease and she smiled.
“Perhaps I will accept,” she said and sounded almost flirtatious.
Robert’s instinct was to flirt back but knew it would not be wise. Unless he could take her to bed, he had no business flirting with her.
He struggled to think of a neutral reply.
One that was friendly, yet not suggestive.
It did not help that he had been drinking; it slowed his mind, made him overeager to flirt, yet uncertain whether he had misjudged his tone.
By the time he saw the almost horrified expression on her face, he realized it was too late.
Jo’s eyes were wide, her lips pinched, and her cheeks pink.
She stood abruptly and rushed toward the door.
“I… well, I will retire now. Goodnight, Robert.”
Jo left the room in a hurry without waiting for his reply. Robert cursed out loud.