Each night, he came to her and shook her awake, and chased the flames away. Where were you? she asked the night the fire billowed from the wings. You didn’t come for me. He’d looked at her with a combination of worry and exasperation and said, I’m here.
In the mornings, she’d wake and find him still sleeping beside her. She’d study him for long moments, taking in his tawny skin and gold hair, and increasingly familiar features, fascinated, but also afraid he’d wake and demand she perform her marital duties before she got away.
Then she’d creep to her dressing room and wait for Rochelle, and by the time she washed and dressed for the day, he was always gone. Even now, in the afternoon, she could see a little of her exhaustion reflected in his eyes.
“I hope you slept well,” she offered, ignoring the fact that neither of them had.
“I slept about as well as you did.”
She bit back the apology she knew she ought to utter. It wasn’t as if she could help her terrible dreams.
“I had an idea to walk with you about the Abbey’s grounds, since it’s such a gorgeous day,” he said. “I’d like to show you a bit more of your new home. The property is famed for its old gardens and pathways, and wind-blown fields. I thought we might enjoy a picnic, if we could find a nice spot of sun.”
The servants had prepared a basket, which he presented with a flourish. She supposed a picnic was a proper honeymoon activity, even if their honeymoon, thus far, was a failure.
“Of course, I’d enjoy seeing more of the Abbey,” she said. That was not a lie. If this was to be her home, she might as well know the ins and outs of it, if only to know where she might go to avoid him when they were in rivalrous moods.
When she offered her hand, he helped her descend the remaining stair, then led her toward the back of the main floor, to the filigreed iron doors that let out to the gardens in the back. All the Abbey was imposing stone and iron until you went outside, then nature bloomed everywhere. Before she could stop herself, she drew in an audible breath.
It was a lovely, sunny day for autumn, with just a few clouds in the sky. As they walked on to the main path, a gentle wind ruffled her gown’s sheer overlay, and the sun warmed her skin after the house’s stony chill. This was the sort of pretty day that made her want to sing as she used to, with all her heart and breath. Was that what Wescott had meant, about feeling God’s presence in her singing? The birdcalls, breezes, and sunshine summoned her voice to rise from her lungs and harmonize with nature, but she clenched her teeth against it. Why bother to sing now?
“This was my home away from home when I was a boy,” he said. “My parents’ country house is just on the other side of those woods, called Arlington Hall. It’s much grander and modern, but one could never get into mischief there without someone finding out.”
“So you got into mischief here?” She could certainly see it, if he’d been as brash and strapping when he was a lad. “Did you know the house would be yours when you were older?”
“I suppose, although it didn’t mean much to me then. My friends and I preferred the gardens and woods for our childhood games. You met them at the wedding, if you’ll remember, Lord Augustine and Lord Marlow? And Lord Townsend,” he added in afterthought.
Lord Townsend was the gentleman who’d lost his head over her. She’d never forget their fight the day of her betrothal. “You grew up together?” she asked.
“We were closest in age, all the oldest sons.” He chuckled. “But there were many more of us, all our younger brothers and sisters and their friends, tearing about the Oxfordshire countryside when our tutors would let us. We were usually granted freedom on pretty days.”
“Your sisters too?”
“Oh yes, they followed us everywhere, even when we begged them to stay away.”
He said this with good humor, but Ophelia was shocked by the idea of young girls roaming the countryside. She’d been strictly supervised her entire childhood and put to womanly pursuits when she was old enough. Embroidery, letter writing, dancing lessons. She’d been allowed to read the occasional novel, if approved by her Mama. And music lessons, of course.
“It is a beautiful property,” she said. “Is that the pond I see from my window?”
“Yes. There are several in the area. Do you enjoy swimming?”
“Swimming? In a pond?” Was he teasing her? “I…I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”
He said something under his breath, something like “Why am I not surprised?” She regarded the pond with suspicion, wondering how deep it was.