A Companion for Life (15 page)

“Is my company so disagreeable that you’ve
decided to starve yourself to death?”

Lily looked up to find her husband still
scowling at her from the other end of the table. “You barely
touched your soup and now you’re sitting there staring at your beef
as if I carved it from the poor cow’s neck.”

Her heart was a brick in her chest,
squashing her stomach flat. Her dearest most improbable dream had
come true, she’d married Mr Bowen, only it was turning into a
nightmare. One day he was the kindest man in the world and the next
he was accusing her of wanting to run away with another man like a
harlot. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well eat something anyway; I didn’t marry
you so you could starve yourself to death in comfort. Jones, pass
Mrs Bowen the boiled fish. She can swallow it whole without the
fatigue of chewing.”

“How can I eat? Every time I look up you’re
glaring at me as if I deserve the gallows.”

“You’re misreading my countenance.”

“I’m thirty years old Mr Bowen, I know a
glare when I see one.”

“I’m not glaring at you.”

“Yes you are.” She muttered the words to the
cold lump of boiled fish freshly spooned onto her plate, but the
hand that slapped the table in anger had overheard.

“I’m looking at you with a worried
expression; I’m concerned for your wellbeing.”

She glanced at the man opposite; his red silk
dressing gown made him look like a beautiful devil. “That is not a
worried expression.”

“Is that so? I shall get a second, more
knowledgeable opinion. Jones, does my face look like I’m condemning
my wife to the hangman?”

“As a married man Master Bowen, I advise
against a second opinion…would you care for more potatoes?”

“I am not glaring at my wife!”

“If I was the good lady, it would appear that
way to me Sir.”

“Would it? Well I’m so pleased to know my
most faithful servant sides with my wife in a disagreement.”

“He told you not to ask his opinion. Would
you prefer Jones to lie and tell you what you want to hear?”

“Mrs Bowen, it’s discourteous to correct your
husband in front of the servants.”

“But correcting your wife in front of the
servants isn’t?”

“You’re being intentionally impudent.”

“And now you have reason to scowl at me.”

“I’m not scowling at you! I’m just worried
you’ll starve to death. Jones, fill my glass before I die of thirst
and my widow celebrates my demise by sacking you. And now Madam,
you are glaring at me.”

“How can you think I’d celebrate your
death?”

“Because my company is clearly not as welcome
as some other man you refuse to name. If you’re lucky you’ll end up
with a widow’s portion that will tempt even the most reticent
lover.”

Lily blinked back tears. “If I’m lucky Mr
Bowen, I’ll die in my sleep tonight so I won’t have to spend the
rest of my life feeling guilty for being a fat burden. After the
initial burial cost, think of all the money you’ll save on not
having to clothe or feed me.”

In the flickering candlelight the man’s scowl
faded to an unreadable mask. “I’ve no desire to either bury you or
replace you with a thinner woman Mrs Bowen.”

“I think you’d be relieved.”

She started as he jumped to his feet and
thumped the table. “Is that what you think?”

Her lips quivered. “You haven’t smiled at me
once today; what am I supposed to think?”

“You could assume I’m feeling melancholy and
show me some compassion. I might feel unable to smile. I might feel
like a wretch who doesn’t deserve your good opinion. It might be
impossible for me to verbally express the pleasure generated by
your company, when you aren’t trying my patience. I would not be
relieved if you died.” He abruptly sat down and commenced eating
with the awful blank look.

“I’m sorry Mr Bowen. I didn’t know you
suffered from melancholy.”

He looked up at her, his feelings masked. “I
am human.”

“You don’t look very human.” She muttered the
words as she poked at her fish and jumped when his glass cracked
against the table top.

“Excuse me?” There was no way he could have
heard her. “What do you mean I don’t look human?” Lily turned red
with horror. “Well?”

“That blank look makes you look like a man
shaped automaton. I’d rather you glared at me.”

“So now I’m a heartless automaton?” The chill
in his voice made her shiver.

“Of course not Mr Bowen, you’re an enchanted
swan…” Dreaded tears gushed from her eyes blurring the unhappy
creature opposite. “You look so beautiful in your white nightshirt
I worry you’ll open the window and fly away. I didn’t mean to
ruffle your feathers. I can’t say anything right.”

Her irate husband gracefully relaxed back in
his chair and obliged her with a half hearted glare. “One minute
you complain I’m putting you off your food and the next you’re
seducing me. What am I supposed to make of that Mrs Bowen?”

“I’m not seducing you.”

“Then why am I feeling sweetly
seduced?”

“I don’t know.”

“How the hell can you look at me like that
and claim to be in love with another man?”

“There is no other man.”

His eyes widened as he abruptly sat upright.
His mouth opened and closed several times as if trying to utter the
unspeakable. “What? You lied to me?”

“No…”

“You did.” He leaned forward as if that would
emphasize his glare. “You said you were in love with another
man.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did! I distinctly remember you
mentioning being in love with a man. You deny it?”

“No.”

He scowled in confusion. “There’s no other
man, but you’re in love with a man?”

“Yes.” Lily studied her half eaten soup as
the other end of the table went deathly silent. Any moment he’d
realize he was the man and flatten her heart with rejection. The
clock ticked away several long minutes before she dared to glance
up at the man in red. He was still glaring at her.

“If you’re desperate to avoid my kisses Madam
all you have to do is tell me to go to the devil. There’s no need
to taunt me with riddles. Who is he?”

“
You married me out of pity not because you
love me; his identity would make no difference to your feelings.”
There, she’d practically admitted it again. This time he’d
understand.

“
Make no difference? Do you think me
heartless?” He jumped up and unbuttoned his dressing gown with
vicious force until he could untie his nightshirt and pull back the
linen. “Would you like to come feel it beating in my chest? Will
that be evidence enough or shall I cut it out and put it on your
plate? That’s what other women want. Shall I pretend it doesn’t
hurt knowing my wife wants to kiss another man?”

“Mr Bowen, you misunderstand me. Your heart
is quite safe…”

“
Is it?” Dark eyes flashed with emotion.
“How do you know I’m not in love with you?”

“Because you said so.”

He looked affronted as if she’d accused him
of some heinous crime. “When?”

“Last night. You told William you didn’t love
me.”

He abruptly sat down and covered up his
chest. “Am I going to spend the rest of my life correcting private
conversations you happen to overhear? How do you know I wasn’t
lying? Why would I spill my heart to my snotty nephew?”

“Mr Bowen I don’t expect you to love me.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one ever has.”

“That is a stupid statement full of
self-pity. So all the people who’ve loved you, all the people who
love you; they’re feelings mean nothing?”

“If they’re feelings meant something they’d
tell me.”

“Would they? What if they were unable to tell
you their feelings? What if they didn’t know they loved you? Does
that discount their love?”

“Are you saying the only people who love me
are idiots who have no idea that that they love me?”

“You’re being obtuse woman; not everyone
verbally translates their feelings with ease. This man you say
you’re in love with…what if he’s been in love with you for years
only you were too self-pitying to see it?”

“He doesn’t love me. He said so.”

“Well, maybe he lied. Maybe he’s afraid of
being hurt. Maybe he’s never been in love; maybe he thinks he’s
suffering some sort of ailment.”

“I think he’d know if he loved me and he
doesn’t love me because he said so. Now can we please not talk
about this? I find it distressing.”

“Well I wish to discuss it; how will I
persuade you to forget him if I don’t know anything about him? Is
he more attractive than me? Are his legs more beautiful?”

“No.”

“Does he have more money than I do?”

“No.”

“Would his kisses give you greater
pleasure?”

“No.”

“Is he more kind, more thoughtful?”

“No.”

“Is he in anyway superior to me?”

“No.”

“Then why do you love him? He sounds like a
dullard.”

“Because I do; now can we pretend he’s dead
and forget the chambermaid ever mentioned my secret?”

“You can’t really love him if you want to
pretend he’s dead. And if he’s so inferior a specimen why would you
want him when you have me?”

“I don’t have you Mr Bowen; you married me
out of pity. It’s not as if I led you by the nose to the altar
like…some beautiful woman.”

“You seem disposed to assume the worst Mrs
Bowen. I hope you won’t pass this trait onto our children.”

“I doubt we’ll have any. You look like you’d
rather annul the marriage and send me packing.” His face paled as
if she’d insulted everything he held dear. Dropping his knife and
fork, he scraped back his chair and left the room without looking
at her. Her tears splashed her fish and bounced off into the watery
sauce forming concentric circles; life appeared to be nothing more
than pain within pain. She jumped as a distant door slammed shut
emphasizing the thought.

The small sitting room smelled of burning
coal and lily of the valley, one of Penryth’s gifts to his wife.
Looking at the fire surround he could see his pipe and tobacco jar
had been moved from his bed chamber ready for his after dinner
smoke. It was very thoughtful of her, but it wasn’t an act of love.
She was in love with a dullard who, according to her, wasn’t in any
way superior to himself. Pacing back and forth between the window
and the door in the firelight, he was haunted by the memory of
leaving Lily asleep in his bed the previous evening feeling
blissfully content. His sleep disturbed by the news that William
was awake he’d lain there watching her sleep, convinced he was the
owner of her heart. The woman whose kisses set his blood on fire
was mercifully still alive, but he was no longer certain that she
was his and the thought caused a wrenching pain, as if someone was
trying to rip the heart shaped brazier housing a white hot coal
from his chest.

H
e couldn’t be in love with his wife. Just because thinking
she loved him made him hum Welsh love songs and learning she didn’t
made him feel like he was going to die didn’t mean he was in love,
though he was struggling to devise an alternative explanation. No,
he couldn’t be in love because that would mean he’d spend the rest
of his life longing to be loved by his own wife. He’d become a
pathetic doppelganger of Lord Gillingham, willing to face death
just to win a smile or kind word.

She’d needed to be rescued and he wanted her;
that had seemed adequate reasons to change his life when he’d
assumed her blushes and adoring glances had meant he was the
possessor of her heart. How could she kiss him with passion if she
loved another man? And how could she love a man when there was no
other man? It didn’t make any sense unless she’d conjured a make
believe lover for comfort. That would be his luck; to compete with
a childhood phantom that probably looked like him. That would
explain her strange answers to his probing questions. When she
kissed him, who was she kissing? The question filled him with
horror. How could he compete with a godlike swan-man? He didn’t
want to be the embodiment of her mental Zeus; he needed her to love
to Penryth Bowen or he’d never sing again.

His thoughts returned to her hurtful
accusation; how could she think he’d annul the marriage when nearly
losing her had made him distraught? His chest throbbed in pain,
daring him to find her and demand an apology. A knock on the door
made him spin around in hope. He swayed unsteady as he made himself
presentable. She’d come to apologize. “Yes?” The door opened and
his insides slumped in disappointment. It was only Jones. Shoving
his hands in his dressing gown pockets he glared at the man closing
the door. “If this is a household matter, I’m not in the mood.”

“Olive, the chambermaid who sat with Mrs
Bowen today has something to tell you. She’s outside in the hall.
She says it’s important.”

“I’m in no mood for chambermaids!”

“As you say Sir, but she says this is about
Mrs Bowen’s secret. Come in here girl and be brief; the master
doesn’t wish to hear you grind like a pepper mill.” The young woman
bobbed a curtsey as Jones closed the door behind him leaving the
two alone.

“What is it?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, but
you have to promise me you won’t tell Mrs Bowen I told you. She’d
take my betrayal very hard and I wouldn’t want her to think ill of
me, not while I’m working for her; she’s such a kind Mistress…”

“How many secrets has my wife told my chamber
maid?”

“Just the one Sir, though I feel responsible
for the misunderstanding because I urged her to tell you and I’m
afraid you’ll both die of broken hearts and I’ll never forgive
myself…”

“Mrs Bowen told me her secret; she’s in love
with another man.”