First Comes Marriage (40 page)

“Than the gown you are wearing or your newly cut hair?” he asked, looking down at her. “Yes, I have seen something lovelier. Infinitely lovelier, in fact.
You!
”

She turned her face up to his and the familiar laughter lit it from within.

“How absurd you are,” she said.

“Ah,” he said, recoiling. “Did you mean the gardens, by any chance? Yes, I suppose they are rather lovely too now that I spare them a glance.”

She laughed outright, and Miss Huxtable turned her head to smile at them.

“Happy?” he asked Vanessa, touching the fingers of his free hand to hers on his arm.

Some of the laughter faded.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes, I am.”

And he wondered if this was it—the happily-ever-after at which he had always scoffed and that even she did not believe in. Something that had crept up quietly on them, something that did not need to be put into words.

Except that it would be strange indeed if Vanessa did not somehow
find
words and force him into finding some too.

He grimaced inwardly and then smiled to himself.

“Oh, look, Elliott,” she said. “The orchestra and the boxes. And the dancing area. Will we dance? Outdoors, under the stars? Could anything be more romantic?”

“Absolutely nothing I can think of,” he said, “except that the dance be a waltz.”

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“Oh, good,” young Merton said at the same moment, his voice bright with enthusiasm. “There is Constantine with his party. He said he would be here this evening.”

Vanessa was so deeply in love that it was almost painful. For though she had answered truthfully when Elliott had asked her unexpectedly if she was happy, it had been only partly the truth.

He had not said anything since that night in the library, and she had been left to wonder if he resented her, if he felt she had humiliated him by forcing tears from him and refusing to leave when he had wanted her to.

Not that he
behaved
as if he were resentful. There had been a certain tenderness in his manner to her in the week since—and even greater tenderness in his lovemaking. And perhaps actions really did speak louder than words.

But she needed the words.

He had not said
anything
.

She was not one to brood, however. Her marriage was many times happier than she had expected it to be when she had taken the desperate measure of proposing marriage to him so that he would not offer for Meg. She would be content with things as they were for the rest of her life if she must.

But oh, how she longed for...Well, for
words
.

How could she possibly be anything but nine parts out of ten happy, though, when she was at Vauxhall Gardens with everyone who was most dear to her in life?

They strolled along the main avenues of the gardens as a group, drinking in the sights of trees and sculptures and arched colonnades and colored lanterns and fellow revelers, breathing in the scents of nature and perfumes and food, listening to the sounds of voices and laughter and distant music.

They feasted upon sumptuous foods, including the wafer-thin slices of ham and the strawberries for which Vauxhall was famous. And upon sparkling wines.

They conversed with numerous acquaintances who stopped briefly outside their box.

And they danced—all of them, even the dowager.

Waltzing beneath the stars was every bit as romantic as Vanessa had dreamed it would be, and it seemed to her that she and Elliott did not remove their eyes from each other while they performed the steps. She smiled at him, and he gazed back at her with that look in his eyes that surely was tenderness.

She would believe it was that. Words really were unnecessary.

But perversely, though she was mostly happy, and that was happier than any mortal could expect to be in this life for longer than a few moments at a time, there
was
that one other part to mar her joy. And it was not entirely due to Elliott’s failure to say anything of any great significance since that evening in the library.

For Constantine was here—as he was at almost every other entertainment she attended. And avoiding him was as much of a strain this evening as it had been for the last week and more.

He was as smiling and charming as ever. And as attentive, despite the fact that he had come there with another party. He talked with Stephen for a while and danced with Meg. He took Cecily and Kate for a stroll, one on each arm, and did not reappear with them for half an hour. Vanessa would have been downright uneasy if the girls had not been together. As it was, she felt—well, annoyed with him and annoyed with herself. For though she had every reason to warn her brother and sisters against him, she had not done so. She would have had to mention Mrs. Bromley-Hayes if she had, and his theft at Warren Hall when Jonathan was still alive. She was unwilling to mention either, so she had said nothing.

She had avoided Constantine on her own account, though he always smiled at her and would have approached, she knew, if she ever gave him the slightest encouragement. She could have avoided him for the rest of the Season, she supposed, especially as she was going to be away from London for the next week or so. But avoidance had never been her way of dealing with life. When he returned Cecily and Kate to the box and would have returned to his own party, Vanessa leaned forward in her seat. Elliott was talking with a few of his male acquaintances.

“And will you walk with me too, Constantine?” she asked.

He smiled warmly at her, and it struck her that it was a great pity she had lost a cousin so soon after finding him. He was undoubtedly capable of great charm. He bowed to her and offered his arm.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said. As soon as they had moved away from the box, he bent his head a little closer to hers. “I thought you had fallen out with me.”

“I have,” she said.

His face was grave, but his eyes laughed in the lamp-light as they turned onto a broad avenue. He raised his eyebrows, inviting an explanation.

“It was not well done,” she said, “to introduce Mrs. Bromley-Hayes to me and my brother and sisters and Cecily at the theater. And it was not well done to bring her to Cecily’s come-out ball. I expected better of you. You are our
cousin
.”

Some of the laughter had faded from his eyes.

“It was not,” he agreed. “I apologize, Vanessa. My intention was never to hurt you or your family. Or Cece.”

“But you did,” she said. “Cecily and Stephen and Meg and Kate do not know that they were exposed to a tasteless indiscretion for all the
ton
to see. But I do. And I was the one most affected, apart from Elliott, whom I assume you deliberately set out to embarrass. Did you assume, Constantine, that I would not confront Elliott with what I learned from Mrs. Bromley-Hayes the day after the ball, though she lied to me? Did you assume that our marriage would be damaged from deep within, rather as a tumor might silently destroy the body? If you did, you assumed wrongly. My marriage has not been destroyed and my happiness has not been dimmed. Though it has in one way. I was happy to discover you when we came to Warren Hall. I instantly loved you as a cousin and I soon liked you as a person. I would have been your friend for the rest of your life and welcomed your friendship for the rest of mine. We could have been
family
. But you maliciously destroyed any such chance, and I am sorry for it. That is all I have to say.”

All the laughter was gone from his eyes now as he maneuvered her to one side of the path so that they would not be mowed down by a boisterous group that was approaching from the opposite direction.

“Anna
spoke
to you?” he asked. “She told you that she was still Elliott’s mistress, I suppose? She would not have expected that you would confront him with your knowledge and discover her lie so soon. I am sorry.”

She looked reproachfully at him but said nothing.

“And I must confess
my
lie,” he said after a short silence. “For of course I
did
hear about your meeting with Anna in the park. She told me herself. I am sorry, Vanessa. I really am. My quarrel is with Elliott, and I chose to embarrass him without ever considering the harm I would be doing you too. Believe me, that was never my intention.”

“You have a quarrel with him because he knows you for who you are,” she said. “I side with him, Constantine. And your apology means nothing to me. I hope I will never see you again. I will never voluntarily speak with you again.”

“Who I am,”
he said with soft emphasis as they stopped walking. “A thief and a debaucher, I suppose.”

A
debaucher
? Was there something else Elliott had not told her, then? But if there was, she did not want to know.

“Yes,” she said. “And you cannot deny the charge.”

“Can I not?” He smiled, a tight, mocking expression.

She gazed up at him as someone jostled her in passing, hopeful that against all reason he would offer some explanation.

“You are quite right,” he said instead, making her an elegant bow. “I cannot deny either charge, Vanessa, and
will
not. And so I must stand a villain in your eyes. And you are at least partly justified in your opinion of me. I will return you to your box, if I may. I do not suppose you wish to walk farther with me.”

“I do not,” she said.

They turned to walk back the way they had come, not touching or speaking. But they had not gone far before Vanessa could see Elliott striding toward them, a frown on his face.

“I return your viscountess unharmed,” Constantine said when they came up to him, all the mockery back in his face and his voice. “Good evening to you, Vanessa. And to you too, Elliott.”

And he strolled away without a backward glance.

“It was I who invited
him
to walk with
me,
” she explained. “I have been avoiding him. But I realized I needed to tell him how disappointed I was with his behavior at the theater and at Cecily’s come-out ball. I needed to tell him why I will not speak to him again except as strict courtesy dictates. And I needed to tell him that I
know
about him. He mentioned debauchery as well as theft.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, taking her arm and leading her off the main avenue onto a narrower, more shaded path. “But you need not know about that, Vanessa. Ah, but I suppose you do. There are young women in the neighborhood of Warren Hall, some of whom were once servants at the house, who are now bringing up their illegitimate children alone.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, I am afraid,” he said. “But let us not speak anymore of Con, Vanessa. Tell me about Hedley Dew instead.”

She turned her face toward him in the darkness.

“About Hedley?” she said, sounding surprised.

“After I spoke to you about my father,” he said, “it struck me that you now knew a secret part of myself that you ought to know as my wife. Hedley Dew is, I believe, the secret part of yourself and perhaps there is more about him that you need to tell me.”

The path had narrowed, and he released her arm in order to set his about her shoulders and draw her against his side. She was slender and warm, and it occurred to him that he had come to find her body infinitely enticing. Her hair smelled of some subtly fragrant soap.

“He was delicate and dreamy all his life,” she said. “He always preferred to sit in some secluded, scenic spot outdoors and talk than to join the other children in their boisterous games. I befriended him at first because I felt sorry for him—I would rather have joined in the games. But he knew a great deal—he was intelligent and he read voraciously—and he dreamed big dreams. As he grew older, he included me in those dreams. We were going to travel the world and immerse ourselves in the cultures of all sorts of people. He . . . He
loved
me. He had the loveliest smile, Elliott, and eyes one could fall into. He had
dreams
one could fall into.”

They came to a wooden seat beside the path and he drew her to sit on it. He kept his arm about her.

“And then one day I woke up from those dreams,” she said, “to the realization that reality was a far harsher thing. He was ill. He was probably dying. I think I knew that before almost anyone except perhaps him. And he wanted me. He loved me. I loved him too, but not in
that
way. My parents had always told me that I would probably never marry because I was so much plainer than Meg and Kate and other girls from neighboring families. I
wanted
to marry, though, and of course Hedley was a dazzlingly good catch—he was Sir Humphrey Dew’s son. He lived at Rundle Park. I do not think even so that I would have married him if he had not needed me. But he did. Marrying him was one thing I could give him, one dream of his that I could bring true for him. It was so obvious that none of the others would come true.”

She was shivering and her hands fidgeted in her lap. There was pain in her voice. He withdrew his arm from about her, shrugged out of his evening coat, and set it about her shoulders, holding it in place with his arm.

“I did not want to do it,” she said. “He was ill and dying and I was neither. I ...did not find him attractive despite his great beauty. I have felt so much guilt over that. I told so many lies. I told him over and over again that I adored him.”

“And you regret that?” he asked her.

“No!” she said vehemently. “What I regret is that I could never make it the truth. Oh, that is not quite true either. I
did
adore him. I loved him with all my heart and soul. But I did not
love
him.”

Even just a few weeks ago he would have shaken his head with exasperation at such muddle-headedness. Now strangely he knew exactly what she meant. He could understand the fine distinctions between different kinds of love.

“What you
did
give him,” he said, “was the best of all loves, Vanessa. It was the pure gift of a love that gave and gave and took nothing in return.”