Tangled (33 page)
Authors: Mary Balogh
"Thank you, David. It seems longer than a year, doesn't it? Life is so different."
She knew that he would not have to ask if it was better. Though they never talked directly from the heart, they had both relaxed into the contentment of their life together at Stedwell. He had lost the tight, grim look that he had brought back from the Crimea. His eyes no longer looked as if they were accustomed to witnessing horrors and death. He seemed happy—except for the frequent times when he got up from bed during the night and she knew that he had been having nightmares again. She hoped they too would disappear with time.
"You were a good boy and slept all night again," he
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said, turning his attention to their son, "What are your plans for today? Are you going to lead Nurse a merry dance? No, don't suck Papa's collar. It is clean and freshly starched."
It was a wonderful day on which to hold the picnic and ball, Rebecca thought, relaxing for a few moments more in the rocking chair and gazing down at her gift. Their first wedding anniversary.
She felt a deep contentment— and then got determinedly to her feet.
There was so much to do that the very thought of it all made her dizzy.
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A team of David's laborers was playing a team of his tenants at cricket, though the outcome was a foregone conclusion, Mr. Gundy complained loudly and good-naturedly since the rival team had Joshua Higgins and everyone knew that he had only to show his bat to the ball and a six bounced right off it. Mr. Crispin and Mr.
Appleby were rowing women and girls on the river. Stephanie Sharp and some of the other girls were playing tennis. Mrs. Hatch, the rector's wife, assisted by Miriam Phelps, was organizing the children's games and races. A few other ladies were playing croquet. It was almost time for tea.
David strolled from group to group, his son on one arm, looking about himself with interest. Charles had just woken up from a long sleep and was to favor his father's guests with his company for a short while. He was instantly popular with the ladies and girls. Rebecca was nowhere to be seen at the moment. David guessed that she was in the kitchen making sure that the tea was ready to be brought out.
The day was going to be a great success. Looking about him, he could not think of anyone who was not there. And he could not see anyone who was looking bored or dissatisfied—except for one small lad who set up a sudden wailing and was swept up for comforting by Miriam.
He should have done this years ago, David thought. He should have come home as soon as he reached his majority. He might have been saved a great deal of grief if he had. But then one could never know how life might have turned out if one had made different choices in the past. One had to accept the present for what it was and
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make an earnest attempt to prepare for a contented future. Both the present and the future were looking good to him at the moment.
But his pleasant musings were interrupted by the sight of a plain carriage—a hired one from the village-approaching along the driveway. He must have forgotten about someone, he thought, when he had just made a mental inventory of everyone in the neighborhood. He made his way up to the house in order to greet the late arrival.
But the smile that had been on his face all afternoon, and the words of welcome that had hovered on his lips died an instant death when the carriage came to a halt and Sir George Scherer stepped out and greeted him heartily before turning to hand down his wife.
"Major," he said, "we were passing through again and lamenting the fact that we were cooped up inside a train on such a lovely day.
Cynthia remembered you, didn't you, my love, and insisted that we stop off to see you. I was afraid that you might be away or else busy with other matters, but you know what women are like once they get something into their head. It is easier to give in to them. It looks as if we have chosen an opportune time to come. This looks like a rare party."
"Welcome," David said involuntarily, shaking his hand and turning to Lady Scherer, who was as silent and grave as ever. She ignored his outstretched hand. He felt a sense of deep foreboding. He wondered if he should be bluntly rude and tell Scherer that in fact he was not welcome at all. He had a vivid memory of telling Rebecca that he would never again allow them in his house. But it was easier to imagine oneself doing such a thing than actually to do it especially on such a public occasion. Besides, there was no other train until morning.
"Your child?" Sir George said, smiling broadly at Charles. "Lady Tavistock was safely delivered, then. Your anxieties went for nothing, my love. A boy, I hope?"
"A boy, yes," David said. "He was born three months ago. We are having a picnic, as you can see. Tea is to be served any minute. I'll have you shown to a guest room. Perhaps you would like to freshen up before joining us.
You will join us for dinner too? There is to be a ball this evening."
Rebecca had come up beside him. She greeted their unexpected and unwelcome guests as he fully expected her to greet them—with cool and competent gracious-ness. She took them into the house herself. But David, knowing her rather well after a year of living with her, could feel the coldness and tightness in her.
She thought he had once had an affair with Lady Scherer, he remembered.
Charles, who had been perfectly contented until his mother had come up beside him and totally ignored his smile and his expectation of being transferred to her arms, opened his mouth and bawled.
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Even his wife seemed less reticent than usual and mingled with the ladies to whom she had been introduced.
Perhaps they would stay overnight and resume their journey on tomorrow's train and no one would be any the worse for their visit.
Perhaps it was mean of her to be so displeased to see them.
And yet the knowledge that they had come affected her mood.
They were a reminder to her again of the past that she had put firmly behind her. David's former mistress was there at their house, participating in the celebrations that coincided with their first wedding anniversary. And Sir George Scherer, who liked to taunt both her and David, was there too and one never knew if he was satisfied now or if there was more to come.
Why would he keep coming to the home of the man who had cuckolded him? The question chilled Rebecca as she smiled and tried to continue to enjoy herself. It could not after all be that he had come for an innocent visit, could it?
She wanted them gone. The happiness that she and David had found together was such a very fragile thing.
She had always known that. There was something between them, she knew, that perhaps would not bear the light. Something that might make it very difficult even for them to go on as they were. She did not want to know what that something was.
She was afraid to know.
She and David began the dancing at the ball. It was a waltz. They had danced together before since dancing was one of the favorite activities of their neighbors. But
night there was a full orchestra and a full-sized ballroom, which had somehow lost its shabbiness behind banks of flowers and greenery. This should be the happiest moment of a happy day, Rebecca thought, trying to persuade herself that it really was. David looked magnificent in his black-tailed coat and trousers with crisp white linen. His hair needed cutting—the way she liked it best.
"You look beautiful," he said.
She had had the new seamstress and her assistants make her a gown of shimmering gold silk, its bodice unusually low for her, its hooped skirt ridiculously—and exhilaratingly—huge.
She smiled, aware of eyes on them. Most people were allowing them to dance alone before joining them on the floor.
"I wish they had not come," she said and then wished she had said nothing. It would have been better to say nothing.
"I will make sure they leave tomorrow," he said. His answer was so prompt that she knew their visit was weighing heavily on his mind too.
Perhaps, she thought, the very best course of action would be for the four of them to get together and have everything out in the open.
Perhaps only that way could ghosts be exorcised and forgotten about.
And perhaps only that way could lives be destroyed. But how? They had had an affair. It was over. Perhaps Sir George bore a grudge, but she did not. It had happened long before she married David.
But perhaps . . . She shut her mind to the frightening notion, always there at the back of her mind, that there was something else.
There was a ball to be enjoyed and
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a wedding anniversary to be celebrated. And guests to entertain.
Later in the evening Rebecca found herself beside Lady Scherer at the punch bowl. She smiled. "I hope you are enjoying yourself," she said. "And I hope you are not feeling neglected. It was a strange and happy coincidence that you came on this of all days."
"Oh, it was no coincidence," Lady Scherer said, her voice so low that Rebecca had to bend her head closer. "He knew. He knows everything about you."
Rebecca felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably.
"He knew about the picnic and ball?" she said. "Then I am glad you decided to join us."
"And that it is your anniversary," Lady Scherer said. "And that your son was born on May 15."
Rebecca stared at her, but Lady Scherer was looking coldly down into her glass.
"Watch out for him," she said. "He hates you. All three of you. He will harm you if he can. Sometimes I think he is deranged."
Rebecca's eyes widened and her thoughts focused on Charles, in the nursery upstairs with his nurse.
"I suppose you have guessed at least part of the truth," Lady Scherer said, looking up at her at last. Her voice when she spoke again was low and fierce. "I just want you to know that it was not sordid. To me it was not. And I have hated you too though totally without reason, I must admit. I loved your husband, you see. And I persuaded myself that he loved me."
She turned and walked into the crowd surrounding them, taking the ambiguity of her words with her. An ambiguity that she doubtless had not intended and that Rebecca did not even recognize.
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It was impossible to avoid dancing with Sir George Scherer when he asked. Rebecca was talking with a group of neighbors and could have refused no one without seeming very ill-mannered, least of all the house guest who had arrived unexpectedly just that afternoon.
"Thank you," she said, setting her hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her onto the floor.
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“I can hardly believe our good fortune in choosing this of all days to call upon you, Lady Tavistock," he said.
"It was a happy coincidence," Rebecca said.
"You must be very proud of the success of your party," he said. "It is your wedding anniversary, I understand?"
"Yes." She smiled at Sir Gideon Sharp and Mrs. Mantrell dancing past them.
"You were fortunate to make such a happy marriage," Sir George said. "I understand that Major Tavistock and your first husband grew up almost as brothers."
"Yes," she said.
"And that you were quite a close neighbor." He laughed heartily.
"It must have been difficult to make your choice between them. But as it turned out, you were to be given a chance to choose both."
Only her upbringing kept her quiet. How dare he! What was he insinuating?
"Or perhaps," he said, "it was the major who wished to see to it that you could make a second choice."
"It was not a matter of choice, sir," she said, stung. She knew even as she spoke that it would be far better to keep her mouth shut. "I had always loved Julian."
"Ah, quite so," he said. "Young love, Lady Tavistock. I know all about it. Cynthia and I married as young lovers. We have lived happily ever after since our wedding day. You were not given so long."
Rebecca concentrated on the steps of the dance.
"But then," he said, "you were given a second chance with his brother and seem quite happy.''
Would the music never end? But it had just started. She smiled at Stephanie Sharp.
"I'm glad of it," he said. "Glad for the major's sake. I owe my life to him, you will remember, Lady Tavistock."
"Yes," she said.
"It is strange, that memory, though," he said. "But then memories can be strange, can't they? Sometimes after a while one cannot decide what is real memory and what has been imagined. Have you ever noticed that, Lady Travistock?"
"I am sure you are right, sir," she said.
"Sometimes," he said, "when I remember that Rus-244 Mary Balogh sian soldier, Lady Tavistock, I see him with a scarlet coat beneath his greatcoat. Now is that not ridiculous? Only we British wore scarlet coats. Why would a British soldier be brandishing a sword in my face? And why would the major be shooting him? Right through the heart it was. A very strange memory, would you not agree?"
"Yes." She should not have had the ballroom decorated with flowers. Or not with so many anyway. There was no air left. She could not breathe.
"But I should not be talking of such matters, should I?" he said. "I always forget that it is distressing to some ladies to be reminded of the war. Especially whn they lost husbands there. In just the same way, too, in your particular case. Your husband was shot through the heart as well, wasn't he? Are you all right, Lady Tavistock?"
