It had seemed very simple then. Now he was actually married he was discovering nuances of emotion and feeling he had not considered for a moment. Sophia made him think of Dan and he realised that once the first raw grief had subsided he had avoided doing that. It was painful, but it was also strangely soothing. People avoided speaking of his twin, but Sophia did not, although he could tell she was still distressed over her realisation that she had not loved him.
It was more difficult than he had imagined it would be to have someone living so close, so intimately. When he stayed at Flamborough Hall the place was so big that he and Will virtually had to make an appointment to meet. In their succession of bungalows in India life with Dan had been so normal, so relaxed, he had hardly thought of it. They had each gone their own way, known how the other was feeling.
But in the little Mayfair house he was forced into domestic intimacy with his wife at every turn. And that was both pleasant and, when he suspected that he had upset her, uncomfortable. He had not wanted to become close to her and yet he was, day by day, finding her entangled more and more in his life. And on the whole that was oddly pleasant. But the danger was always there. It was one thing to enjoy the company of his wife, another to give over his heart to be broken. It was all right, he told himself, he had his feelings under control.
A porter sent out a messenger boy to hold his horse while he unbuckled the saddlebags with the day’s papers and then led it away, a big smile on his face at the size of the tip Callum had tossed him. Yes, he was feeling good today, better than at any time since that moment when the Bengal Queen had struck the rocks and his world had shattered.
‘Morning, Pettigrew,’ he said as he walked into the office he shared.
‘Morning.’ The Honourable George Pettigrew glanced up from his desk as Callum strolled into their shared office and tossed the saddlebags on to a chair. ‘You sound on good form, Chatterton.’
Callum grinned. He felt it. Staggeringly good sex, Averil and Luc d’A
unay back in town and the house in Half Moon Street beginning to feel like home.
‘I’ve got the latest China trade figures for that report you’re doing for Arbuthnott. I need to go down to the counting house, but I’ll hang on until you’ve checked them through in case there are any queries.’ He unbuckled one of the bags, passed over a fat budget of papers and watched the other man skim through the summary and conclusions. He was impressed by Pettigrew. The man was intelligent, steady, but not stodgy, and worked hard. He’d invite him for dinner, he thought. Sophia would like him.
‘Thanks, this is just what I need.’ The other man tapped the papers back into a tidy pile and pulled some folded sheets from his portfolio. ‘Don’t want to buy a ship, do you?’
‘A what?’ Arrested, Callum stopped checking through the morning’s post and stared at the other man.
‘Big thing with sails, takes cargo back and forth. Makes money.’
‘Oh, that kind. Sinks occasionally.’ His stomach knotted even as he made the wry joke.
‘That’s what insurance is for. I’ve got a chance at a quarter-share in an East Indiaman, but that’s far too rich for me. Wondered if you’d like to come in with me and split it? I’ve got the details here.’
Callum pushed aside the post and reached out a hand for the report. ‘I’m interested. Tell me more.’
Chapter Sixteen
He was not a bachelor any longer, Callum reminded himself that evening as he watched Averil and Sophia sitting with their heads together in companionable discussion. He had a wife now. And yet now he woke at night in a cold sweat, dreaming that something had happened to her, that he had grown to love her, that she would break his heart. It was almost as bad as the old nightmare, the one about the wreck.
‘No doubt discussing their unsatisfactory husbands,’ d’Aunay said with a chuckle as he poured more wine into Callum’s glass.
‘No doubt,’ he agreed. ‘I have been found wanting only this evening—arriving just in time to change when we had been invited here for supper is obviously unacceptable behaviour.’ Instinct told him to keep Sophia at a distance, not to let her into every aspect of his life. And when she objected he felt guilty and then he wanted to resent her and somehow he could not.
The other man grinned. ‘You have responsibilities. Sophia will learn that and learn to forgive you for them.’
‘I suppose so; at least I did not have a vase thrown at my head.’
‘In my experience that is mistress behaviour,’ d’Aunay said with a chuckle. ‘I think wives are too aware of the value of their household objects and are more likely to punish us in more subtle ways.’
‘True.’ But this had not been a tantrum. Sophia was hurt that he had not remembered to let her know. He did not want to hurt her. His resolution not to care was melting away.
Callum watched one ringlet slide free of its pins and fall to Sophia’s shoulder. The skin was very soft there, silken under his lips, and her hair smelled of rosemary and lemon and … There were sure to be many enjoyable ways to make up a domestic tiff. Too many ways to become closer and closer to the stranger he had married, too many ways to lay his heart open to the knife again.
He turned to the man beside him. ‘When do you go back to sea? Or is that confidential information?’
‘Not in general terms. It will be a month, perhaps. I must go down to the dockyards at Chatham in a few days to inspect my new command. They are refitting and I have learned not to trust the quality of work to chance—not after the time we unfolded the spare sails at the bottom of the sail hold and found a damn great cannon hole through one.’
‘I wonder if you would be willing to look at a ship on my behalf,’ Callum said, thinking aloud. ‘I’ve been offered a share in an Indiaman. The reports look good, but I’d appreciate a professional eye on it. She’s in the East India docks now.’
‘Yes, of course. That’s an interesting investment.’ D’Aunay sat back and crossed his long legs, very much at ease, except that the assessing look in his eyes was not lost on Callum. ‘Any more shares going?’
‘There might be,’ Callum said. ‘Are you free on Monday? We could go and look at it with Pettigrew—he’s the colleague who put me on to it.’
‘Are you working at home today?’ Sophia asked on Monday morning. Callum had spent much of Sunday closeted in his study, emerging only for meals and to escort her to the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace for morning service. Now he lingered far longer over his coffee and newspaper than he usually did.