Lord Greywell's Dilemma (32 page)

“Sometimes,” Elspeth said, seating herself on the sofa. “But I like to have him around me as much as possible, he’s such a love.”

Francis gazed at her tenderly. “Speaking of love . . .”

“No,” she said, her tone firm, “we won’t speak of love.”

“But he’s too young to understand,” Francis protested. He threw himself down on the sofa beside her and grabbed for her hands, which she obstinately refused to allow him to hold. “This is our chance, Elspeth, with Greywell away. He’ll probably be gone for a week, maybe more. Don’t be shy now that I’m here. I know you sent for me.”

“Sent for you?” Little frown lines developed between her brows. “What are you talking about? I never sent for you.”

“Well, not directly, of course, but I knew. My mother would never have insisted on my coming if you hadn’t pressed her.”

Elspeth gave a tsk of annoyance. “I never spoke to your mother at all, Francis. I’m afraid you’ve completely misread the situation.” But she wondered who had spoken to Lady Treyford.

He rushed on before she could settle this point in her mind. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, obviously not believing her but willing to accept that she wouldn’t confess to such an action. “I’m here now. That’s all that matters.”

As he inched himself closer to her on the sofa, she worked her way in the opposite direction. Finally, when he had her up against the arm, she rose, exasperated. and glowered down at him. “What we did was wrong, Francis. I’m not interested in continuing any sort of dalliance with you. Oh, I’m saying it all wrong. You’re a very sweet fellow, and I’m fond of you, but I’ve . . . well, I’ve fallen in love with my husband. Which is all to the good, as you must realize. What happened before was entirely my fault; I should never have allowed it. I don’t want to question your sincerity, or your motives, Francis, but I can’t really believe you love me, either. It was inspiration you were looking for, not a lasting love. Why, you had hardly met me before you were declaring your eternal devotion. There wasn’t really time for such a strong feeling to develop.”

He sat unblinking on the sofa, thunderstruck. “But that’s the way I am. I know instantly when I love a woman. And if it’s not possible to recognize one’s emotional state so quickly, how does it come that you’re declaring yourself in love with Greywell? He hasn’t been home all that long.”

“Long enough,” she said with a smile, reaching down to pick up Andrew, who had his arms stretched out to her. “I told him about us, Francis. Not everything, at first.” His alarmed look made her say hurriedly, “He didn’t seem particularly upset with you, but he said he wouldn’t have liked to be cuckolded. I feel terrible that I never even thought about that. Did you, Francis? Did you think about him at all?”

Her would-be lover was attempting to loosen his cravat and failed to meet her eyes. “That’s not something we should discuss, Elspeth.”

“How ludicrous! You don’t think we should discuss such matters, but you were willing to have me.”

In his own defense, Francis blurted, “Well, he didn’t care about you, did he? He went off and stayed all that time, leaving you here to take care of his heir. He may even have been with other women when he was there. Did you think about that? Have you thought that he might have gone to London to be with someone? He was quite the eligible parti before he married the first time, you know. You may be sure there are plenty of women who would welcome him as a lover. It wasn’t possible for me to think about him, when it was only you I had engraved on my mind, Elspeth.”

He leaped to his feet and ran long, thin fingers through his hair. “I won’t bother you with my declarations again, if they are offensive to you,” he said stiffly. “I never would have if you hadn’t seemed to welcome them.”

Elspeth placed a hand gently on his sleeve. The baby bounced up and down in her arms, making it difficult for her to present a dignified front, and she sighed. “You were there when I needed you, Francis. Thank you for that. Thank you for caring about me, and please don’t be angry. I was a little confused; perhaps I’m still a little confused. But I do know we mustn’t think of continuing that ill-advised flirtation, and I don’t want to. Greywell has been very good to me; I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt him. He’s suffered quite enough.”

Francis gave an embarrassed shrug. “Yes, well, I suppose he has, but he’s also had every advantage, Elspeth. Wealth, title, understanding. He’s had everything he ever wanted, from the time we were children. He was even older than I was! And now he has you, too.”

“I’m not sure that’s an advantage.”

“Of course it is! You’re not at all the sort of woman anyone would have expected him to marry, and yet there you are, transformed into the perfect wife and mother to his child. And he’ll get all the credit, though I honestly think I had a good deal to do with it. Didn’t I, Elspeth?” he pressed, eager for some commendation.

“Yes,” she said softly, standing on tiptoe to brush his cheek with her lips. He squared his shoulders then, and gave her a bleak smile before bowing formally and excusing himself. Elspeth watched him go with a heavy heart, not because she regretted ending their association but because he had given her several things to think about.

Such as her not being the kind of woman Greywell would have been expected to marry. And the possibility that he would see some other woman in London. They were both rather disheartening thoughts. And she was only stopped from immersing herself in their diverse implications by Andrew’s insistence on her undivided attention.

* * * *

The days stretched out empty before her. A whole week, perhaps longer. He could so easily have taken her with him. That he hadn’t made her prey to grave doubts. Was he going to see some other woman? It seemed to Elspeth that no sane man would leave for London in such heat for the sole purpose of purchasing a snuffbox, even if he was as avid a collector as Greywell was. One more box, more or less, could hardly matter that much to him. There had to be some other reason.

It was several days before she realized what that purpose was, and then she was furious with him. He had deliberately left her and Francis together to see what would develop between them in his absence. The wretch! How could he devise such a pernicious plot? Elspeth was sorely tempted to send a note to Francis on the spot.

But the idea repelled her. Not even for revenge would she do such a thing. And how did Greywell think he would establish whether she and Francis had been up to no good, anyhow? Did he have the servants spying on her? He had taken his valet, and no one else in the household had seemed to pay the least attention to Francis’ visit.

When she had come to the conclusion that Greywell meant only to ask her about Francis on his return, she softened toward him again. He really did place a great deal of confidence in her. Or in his own ability to judge whether or not she was lying. Either way, she waited impatiently for his return, planning her days to keep her as busy as possible. She had refused his offer to return early, but she held some small hope that he would be as eager to rejoin her as she was to have him back. Did he think—could he possibly think—it would take her a whole week to decide whether it was Francis or himself that she really loved? He could not possibly be that thickheaded!

So on the fifth day, and on the sixth, she dressed with special care and sat in the garden in the afternoons with Andrew toddling about the paths. And she listened for the arrival of his traveling carriage, starting at the least sound on the distant road. Several times neighbors came to visit, and she welcomed the diversion, but she began to wonder if he would even be back on the seventh day.

Everyone counted a week differently, after all. Had he meant from one Tuesday to the next, or on the seventh day? She had assumed the latter, but when he hadn’t arrived by ten in the evening she went wearily to her room and allowed her maid to undress her, trying to prepare herself mentally for an even later return than the following day.

The weather had cooled considerably, and a light breeze wafted over her from the slightly open window as she slept. There was a bright moon, but she had turned her back on it before going to bed. What good was a beautiful moon if her husband wasn’t there to share it with her? She slept soundly.

* * * *

The sleep of the virtuous, Greywell thought with a rueful smile as he stood gazing down on her. The moonlight made her skin look luminous and turned her hair into an unlikely halo about her face. He sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Elspeth?” he said softly.

Her eyelids flickered open. “David?” She hastily brushed back the tangled mane of hair that had caught about her cheeks.  “And here I’ve spent the last three days sitting around the garden looking as nice as I could make myself. I might have known you’d arrive in the middle of the night when I was a wreck.” But she turned her face up to him, smiling, for his kiss. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Very successful. Sit up and I’ll show you what I got.” He plumped the pillows, and while she raised herself against them he lit the branch of candles on her mantel and moved it over to the bedside table. Only as he returned was he aware that she had on the lacy nightdress the staff at Lyndhurst had given her as a wedding present. “You weren’t totally unprepared for me,” he teased.

“Well, I did rather hope . . .” she began, and then she frowned at him. “David, you went away to see if I would resume my . . . attachment to Francis, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted, looking slightly shame-faced.

“And you made sure he would be here, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Elspeth was taken aback by how readily he confessed to his treacherous behavior. “Well,” she said, trying to sound angry, “it was very mean-spirited of you.”

“Odious,” he agreed as he seated himself once more on the side of her bed.

“Then why did you do it?”

“Because, my dear, I had to know. You will recall that the last time we talked about Francis you said you loved him.”

“Surely you’re mistaken! I couldn’t have said such a thing, because it simply isn’t true.”

Greywell smiled at her and took her hand. “I’m glad to hear it. And to be perfectly correct, I think it was the first time we talked about Francis, and what you said was that you ‘supposed’ you loved him.”

His wife grimaced. “I didn’t know what love was then, David,” she said shyly.

“Do you now?”

Elspeth reached out her free hand to touch his face, tracing the lines of his brow and cheeks and chin. “Yes, I know what it is now. And I don’t mean just in bed. That’s only a part of it. I thought you would simply know that I loved you. It never occurred to me that I would have to put it in words when it fairly radiated from me.”

She covered his lips with her fingers when he tried to speak. “No, let me say this first. Because of how I feel about you, I can understand how you felt about Caroline. I don’t expect to replace her, David. You’ve let me know that you’re fond of me. You’ve been kind, and thoughtful, and yes, even loving. I was thinking yesterday about my father and Abigail. They needed each other, and I believe you . . . need me now, too. That’s a form of devotion I won’t sneer at again. In its own way it’s as important as any other kind of emotion . . . isn’t it?”

“I’m sure it is.” He kissed the fingers she’d removed from his lips. “But it’s not exactly the sum total of how I feel about you, Elspeth. I don’t think my affection can be compared with Sir Edward’s. Or maybe his is stronger than I think. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve never felt a stronger attachment for a woman than I feel for you, my love. Loving Caroline was like loving sunlight and the sound of laughter. It was a glorious sensation, but it was based on something fleeting and ethereal. Since I’ve known you I’ve wondered how we would have weathered the years together, Caroline and I. I hope that doesn’t sound unkind of me; she was a delightful woman. But she hadn’t your substance, or your perseverance, or whatever it is that makes you what you are.”

“She was still very young,” Elspeth said. “And what I am is not always what I should be.”

“That’s what makes you so incredibly dear to me,” he said, drawing her to him in a fierce hug. “You’re always striving. You’re always questioning and changing, even while you go about your everyday life. Do you have any idea how rare that is?”

Elspeth looked surprised. “No, but I’m glad you like it, because that’s one part of me I don’t think I could change, for you or anyone else. It’s just . . . me.”

He released her in order to dig in his pocket. The snuffbox he withdrew was a beautiful gold-and-enamel one, the cover set with a portrait miniature. “Do you know who this is?” he asked.

“Why, it’s my great-grandmother! We had a painting of her at Lyndhurst. She was a countess, you know.”

Greywell smiled and touched her cheek. “Yes, my love, I know. When I heard the snuffbox was for sale, I thought you would particularly like to have it. Which was another reason I went to London.”

Elspeth took it from him and ran her finger along the cover. For a moment she thought she might disgrace herself and weep, but she blinked back the tears that threatened and smiled tremulously at him. “Thank you. You’re so incredibly good to me, David.”

“Do you think so?” He laughed and buried his face in her hair. “And I thought it was you who were good to me, and for me, my dear. I’ve had the house in London opened, so we can go whenever you wish. We probably shouldn’t put it off too long. The weather is fine now, but it will turn rainy later. Andrew is certainly strong enough to go now, and I want you to have a chance to buy some frivolous gowns.”

“I’d like to go to London,” she said, “but I’m not sure I should buy any frivolous gowns.”

“Why not? I thought you’d developed an excellent taste in finery.”

“Well, there’s . . . That is, I haven’t . . .” Elspeth met his eyes with a wistful gaze. “It seems I may be with child, David.”

His puzzled brow cleared instantly, and an enormous grin enveloped his face. “Nothing would please me more. But surely it’s too soon to be certain. Perhaps we should . . .” His hands moved to caress her breasts through the delicate lace. “Just to be on the safe side.”