A Companion for Life (14 page)

“Maybe, but I’ve seen him kiss you and I
don’t think any man would kiss a woman like that unless he was in
love with her…well not unless she was a living goddess or he’d been
to sea and hadn’t seen a woman for six months, but I’d wager a gold
guinea Master Bowen is in love with you and I’m sure I’d be the
richer.”

“Why would he love me?”

“I don’t know…why did my Da fall in love with
Aunt Suzie? She’s a good woman, but she looks like God forgot to
put on his spectacles if you know what I mean. Love doesn’t always
make sense. Don’t tell a soul, but I happen to know that one of the
footmen is in love with Mrs Jones…”

Lily forgot she was crying and started
laughing. “Mrs Jones…the woman who always looks like she’s been
dragged backwards through a hedge and then stuffed into over
starched linen with pleats as sharp as knives?”

“Yes, he watches her with the most sickening
longing if Mr Jones isn’t in sight. He’d do anything she
asked…anything…and if Mr Jones found out he’d kill him. Mr Jones
likes to pretend he married her because she’ll inherit her father’s
farm, but really he adores her. I’ve seen her rebuff his affections
and he stands there like a heart broken chicken.”

“Is there such a thing as a heart broken
chicken?”

“My Aunt Suzie had one, but a nasty fox ate
it. At least the chicken went the same way as her beloved cock.
Love is like that…”

“Like a dead chicken?”

“No, we have to scratch and peck together
while we can. You never know when a fox is going to break into the
henhouse and eat your lover. At least that’s what Ma says and she
should know. She fell in love with Mr Potter and they enjoyed three
passionate years before his wife poisoned him. Mrs Potter denied it
of course, but she did marry Mr Harding a month after the funeral
and seven months later had a child who was unmistakably a Harding.
Poor Mr Potter, he made love to Ma in the evening and the next
morning he died at the breakfast table. Ma was heartbroken, just
like the chicken.”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

The maid’s eyes went wide with excitement.
“Oooh, I love secrets…I won’t tell a soul!”

“I love Mr Bowen. I’ve loved him since the
first time I saw him. I was playing in the garden. He’d come to
call on my sister; they’d become engaged. He was so kind…”

“How romantic…he fell in love with you and
married you years later…”

“He was in love with my sister.”

“Your sister? He nearly married that vicious
fishwife who tried to kill Mr and Mrs Jones? But you lived with
her…is she the one who beat you?”

“Yes. Mr Bowen rescued me.”

“Oh that is romantic…you should tell Mr Bowen
that you love him.”

“I couldn’t…it wouldn’t mean anything to
him.”

“Of course it would. You should tell him. My
cousin Becky knew this lad who worked on the next farm. She didn’t
think anything of him ‘til someone told her he was in love with
her. She started talking to him whenever they happened to meet
because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. A few months later he
asked her to walk out with him and after six months she was in love
with him. It turned out he wasn’t in love with her to begin with;
it had all been a jest, but he fell in love with her and they’d
still be happily married if he hadn’t been run over by a herd of
cows. That was an unpleasant funeral. I kept imagining his pleasant
face covered with hoof prints. If you tell Mr Bowen you love him,
even if he doesn’t love you he’s bound to think better of you for
thinking so highly of him. He may be rich, but no amount of money
can buy love.”

“Everyone loves Mr Bowen…”

“I don’t love him. He’s a good master, but
that doesn’t mean I’d want to marry him. I’d rather marry Mr
Potter. He’s the son of Ma’s lover by his wife who poisoned him.
The young Mr Potter makes my heart dance. Even if he is
half-brother to my half-brother; I could die in his arms a happy
woman, but I think he has his eye on Mary Dooley. That would be a
waste of a good man, but you should tell Mr Bowen that you love
him.”

“I couldn’t…I’d feel stupid. What would I
say? ‘Mr Bowen, I’ve loved you since I chased your hat in the
garden.’? I’m his wife, what difference does it make if he knows I
love him or not?”

“I think if you told him you love him he’d
start thinking what good taste you have and before long he’d think
you the most wonderful woman in the world and wouldn’t you be
happier knowing he loved you?”

“It would be a dream come true.”

“How is he going to know if you don’t tell
him?”

“I could do kind things for him.”

“It’s not the same. You have to tell him so
he knows why you’re doing kind things. He might think you’re being
kind because you feel obliged; that would never make a man feel
loved. The next time you’re alone with him you should just say it
like you said to me, say, ‘Mr Bowen can I tell you a secret?’…he’ll
think it charming.”

“I can’t. What if he thinks it amusing or
worse, what if he says, ‘That’s nice dear.’ and sounds like he
couldn’t care less? I couldn’t bear it.”

“Perhaps you should eat a few bonbons and
open his gifts…maybe you’ll decide to risk it.” As Lily’s tongue
wrapped around sweetness she remembered Mr Bowen’s kisses. The
thought of saying those three little words to him made her blush.
What if knowing she loved him put him off kissing her, but what if
she told him and he was pleased? She’d think about it and if she
felt brave and he was smiling at her she’d think about it some
more. Opening his gifts gave her courage. Each little package
revealed a thoughtful kindness that had come straight from Mr
Bowen. Even if he didn’t love her, he’d clearly spent hours
thinking of her. That lifted her spirits. Each one reminded her why
she loved him and strengthened her heart. She wiped away her tears
on one of her new silk handkerchiefs and tucked it into her bosom.
Opening one of her new books she read it out loud to the maid
sitting on a stool at her feet savoring a bonbon. Each time she
turned a page she imagined greeting Mr Bowen with a kiss. She’d
make sure he knew she appreciated all his kindnesses and that would
put a smile on his face. Maybe when they were alone she’d be able
to tell him that she loved him.

Penryth cursed the weather as the wind picked
up forcing him to close his umbrella and pull his hat tighter down
onto his head. The lashing rain was bringing the day to an early
close. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon, but it was
starting to get dark. In an hour or so night would descend and he’d
be at the mercy of hungry pick pockets and cut throats. The smell
of wet wool and overflowing gutters made him wish he was in Wales
where the green winter hills undulated towards the mountains and a
man could find peaceful solitude to think. Walking around London
only accentuated the fact he was miserable. In need of both comfort
and peace, his feet moved homeward as the rain stung his lips
recalling more pleasant sensations. He felt overwhelmed with the
need to hold his wife, but he felt no jealousy or possessiveness.
Why would he? There was little fear that some other man would
desire Lily’s bed; she was too quiet, too shy, and too fat. With
Lily there was only peaceful contentment. She made him feel
comfortable; as if he’d never left Wales to become a polished
gentleman. It wouldn’t make a romance worth reading. He couldn’t
possibly be in love with his wife.

A blustery wet wind pinned him up against his
door. Slamming the knocker with force until it was opened; the
footman appeared oblivious to Penryth’s wet scowl. “My wife?”

“She’s in your chamber. Goodman hasn’t left
his post…” Penryth handed over his umbrella and marched up the
stairs dripping water. He dismissed the footman with a wave of the
hand and entered his chamber without knocking. A maid sitting on a
footstool in front of the fire turned to look at him with surprise
and then Lily’s head hesitantly appeared around the side of the
wingchair.

“Mr Bowen?”

“Fetch me two towels and tell Mrs Jones I
want dinner in half an hour.” Lily jumped out of the chair and
started for the door. “I meant the maid, Mrs Bowen…”

His wife turned red as she stopped and forced
a smile. “Of course…”

The maid curtseyed to her master and
whispered, “Tell Mr Bowen your secret!” His wife blushed and
studied the floor boards as the door closed leaving them alone.

“What secret?”

“I’ve been reading her a romance; one of your
lovely gifts. She’s being silly…”

“What secret?”

“It’s nothing…”

A combustible liquid flooded Penryth’s
veins. “Are you in love with some man?” He hadn’t meant to sound so
cold or suspicious. Heat gushed into her cheeks setting his veins
on fire. “Who is he?”

“Someone who doesn’t love me so what
difference does it make?”

“The difference Madam is I have no desire to
share my wife. Who is he?”

“You have nothing to fear Mr Bowen. I’d never
betray my vows or your past kindnesses.”

“Are you insinuating that not wanting to
share my wife makes me unkind?”

“You misunderstand…”

“This man is your secret?”

“Mr Bowen, you’re working yourself up over
nothing.”

“It won’t be ‘nothing’ Mrs Bowen, when my
heir looks like this other man. Tell me his name so I can flatten
his nose when he comes sniffing around your skirts.”

“Has Lord Gillingham ever flattened your
nose?”

“We’re not talking about me. Who is he?”

She burst into tears and hid her face in
her hands. “I don’t want to love him anymore.”

Penryth scowled in confusion. Feeling like a
heartless wretch he struggled to remove sodden layers and flung
them at the floor with force unable to define why he was so upset.
The world wouldn’t end if she took a lover or got with child by
some other man, so why did he feel like he was living through
Armageddon? He wanted that peaceful contentment that bred laughter
and smiles and sweet kisses, not this choking misery. His eyes
slowly slid away from the pile of discarded black clothes, across
the floor and up over his wife’s generous curves. More than
anything, he wanted his wife to love him. “Does he know you love
him?”

“No.”

“Will you promise me you’ll never tell
him?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking…”

Irrational rage surged into his chest. “How
can you deny me this one small request?”

“My heart would die.”

Penryth felt the words enter his ear and drip
into his soul like poison. He would have sworn that her smiles and
blushes over the past weeks had been for him. How could she be in
love with another man and kiss him like a besotted lover? Had he
married a heartless hussy? Was she merely an accomplished actress
like her sister? “Has he bed you?”

“No.”

“Would you let him?”

“I’d never do anything to dishonor you.
Never!”

“Then promise me you won’t bed him.”

“I can’t!”

“
Why the hell not?” She burst into tears
and cowered near the bed waiting to feel his wrath. “I’m not going
to hit you…I’d never hit you.” His exasperation only made her cry
harder. “Cariadon, please don’t cry like that because of me.” He
left wet footprints as he crossed to her in his shirtsleeves and
coaxed her into his arms until she was crying into his shoulder.
“I’m a beastly cad…” Her quiet sobs agreed that he was. “…but you
don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m cold, wet and hungry. I didn’t
mean to shout at you.” He caressed her back until she ran out of
tears and shuddered into silence, his only comfort was her hands
clutching his linen shirt. “I’ve no right to demand your secrets,
but what if the man who owns your heart suddenly realizes you’re a
treasure and tries to steal you away?”

“He won’t.” Her voice was flat as if he’d
squished her heart.

“If this man you love fell in love with you,
would you’d leave me?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure if he hasn’t tried to
touch you like this?” His hands slid possessively over warm ample
curves in search of skin. She was relaxing into his embrace, one of
her ears exposed to his lips, when the door opened making Lily leap
out of his arms. The maid put the requested towels on the dressing
table oblivious to his angry disappointment. “Next time wait until
you have verbal permission to enter.”

“Yes Master Bowen…” The maid then winked at
his wife and ran from the room.

“Why did she wink at you?”

His wife blushed as she looked away. “I’ve no
idea.”

He didn’t want to think about another man
kissing Lily; tugging at his wet cravat he wondered how to lure her
onto the bed. Before he could think of an excuse she’d gathered his
gifts and reached the door. “Where are you going?”

“You need privacy to change.”

The look on her face suggested she thought he
needed privacy to sulk. “You could help me…” She paused, but
another knock made her jump towards the door. The moment was
ruined. She was going to run away and think about the man who owned
her heart. He was once more shackled to misery. “What now?” The
angry roar made her glance at him in fear as the door opened.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes Master
Bowen. Would you like a tray?”

“I’m wet not an invalid. Will you join me at
the table Mrs Bowen or have you eaten too many bonbons?” He winced
as his sullen tone earned him an unhappy look from his companion.
All the way home his empty stomach had conjured the pleasure of
seeing her at the other end of the table. “I won’t force you to
endure my company; you’re not a prisoner.” He hadn’t meant to
sneer. “Please?” The contrite word didn’t appear to soften her
heart.

“If you wish…” She was gone before he could
demand to know what she wished.