Today's Embrace (11 page)

“And you should have listened—but instead you sat in the pew with your book on Africa.”

“I heard every word he said when he stayed with Scripture. Most times he wandered.”

She ignored that. “Uncle Edmund talked to Grace about everything interesting in the
London Times
, or about whether to plant vegetable marrow or turnips.”

“That's where he went awry.”

She wasn't progressing very well—she had better just jump in all the way. “Why, Uncle Edmund even discussed—Grace's pregnancy.” She glanced at him sideways.
Pregnancy
. Would he pick up the verbal gauntlet?

“Names, I suppose … shall we call him Harry or Harriet. Arthur or Anabelle.”

She narrowed her eyes. He was deliberately teasing her. “No. Not names.” She grew sober, about to unleash the secret. “He discussed her pregnancy.
Their
pregnancy, actually. Uncle Edmund saw it that way.”

“Very astute of him.”

“There! You see?” she half accused. “You didn't even ask me, ‘What pregnancy?' You know they never had any children. Why didn't you ask what happened to the baby?”

“It's rather obvious, darling. She had to have lost it.”

“She did. Aunt Grace was depressed for years about it. I think that was one reason Edmund took me in.”

“Undoubtedly. Good thing he did, though.” He looked at her with a winsome grin. “Just think, there'd have been no girl at the rectory for me to fall in love with. Think of all I'd have missed if ol' Henry hadn't brought you back from Africa on the ship.”

“Yes, like teasing and taunting me all those years.”

“I much preferred to have been courting you, but you made that a challenging effort.”

“Mostly because of what I learned from Aunt Grace and Uncle Edmund,” she said cheerfully. “About her miscarriage … It was very serious to her.” Evy looked at him intensely.

Rogan leaned over and patted the strong neck of his black horse.

She continued. “So Uncle Edmund told her how he felt inside about it all. By talking about their loss, he strengthened her. It was a sorrow they shared.”

His face was unreadable.

Her fingers began to move more quickly over the reins she held. “How would you feel, Rogan?”

He scowled. “About a miscarriage? Good grief, Evy! How do you think I'd feel?”

“No, no, not a miscarriage, about a baby—our baby. That is,” she hastened, “if God should give us children?”

“I surrender,” he said glibly, throwing up his hands in a gesture of
dismay. “I assume I'm failing in some way, and it has to do with communicating. I agree to do better. We're talking now, are we not?”

“Well yes, but—” She stopped.

“There, you see? I'm right.”

“About what?”

“Just this. I'll wager you hardly know yourself what you want from me when it comes to understanding you. And that's what you really mean, isn't it? About talking? You're saying I lack understanding about how you
feel
. You want to
share
heart to heart.”

“Yes, Rogan, oh yes!”

He grinned. “Bravo, Rogan! I've come out of the fog. But, Evy, of course I understand you. I've always understood you. Even when you were a girl, I knew you secretly adored me—since we were fourteen.”

“Oh, what conceit!”

“Not at all. Because I felt the same way. We usually hid it, but you more than I.”

“I wouldn't say that …”

“I understand you now, much better than you think.”

She looked at him swiftly. But he was fussing with the horse bridle again. Deliberately?

“It's not just about understanding
me
. I want to understand you better too,” she said. She tried to judge his reaction again. “And the plans we have for
our
future.”

“That's just the problem, sweet. Right now things are so unsettled with war, and all. We sail in two weeks, but who knows? That ruddy Jameson and Milner might do something foolish, and guns will begin blazing. A pity Her Majesty doesn't know what's going on in South Africa. I'm sure she hears only what the prime minister wants her to hear.” He looked over at her, and his gaze became tender. “You would hardly be interested in war and politics, darling. Haven't you preferable things with which to concern yourself? Elosia claims you don't take enough interest in the social life at Rookswood.”

Evy's temper spiked. “That's another thing, Rogan. You don't help me with Lady Elosia. I've mentioned before how she's part of the problem.”

“Elosia has always been a problem, and no doubt will remain so,” he stated lightly. “She's an old bear, and her cub is Rookswood. She will do whatever to protect it.”

She looked at him, surprised. Then he did understand the tenseness between the two women over running Rookswood.

“Thank goodness I don't need to run the estate now,” she said. “I hardly think I'm ready for that.”

“It's not mine until my father passes on. Let's hope the Lord keeps him around for many years. I'm not ready either. The last thing I want now is to take on the added role of squire. There will be plenty of time later on to settle down with all those responsibilities.”

Her heart shivered. He did not want the added burden of responsibility yet. A baby would change everything.

“Even so, your aunt treats me like a child.”

“She treated Arcilla that way. Arcilla warmed to being coddled. There's the warm, fuzzy word again. No—it was cuddly, wasn't it?”

“I'm not Arcilla. Your aunt adores Arcilla. She doesn't adore me.”

“Of course she does. Who would not adore my beautiful Evy?”

“Lady Elosia—and Lady Patricia, for two,” she murmured dryly.

“Ah,
that
. Forget all that nonsense. It doesn't matter about Patricia. Her chatter is meaningless to anyone with sense. And those who have no sense will believe anything. There's no convincing them of your character. Jealousy can only see through distorted vision.”

She smiled softly. “Thank you for saying that, Rogan.”

He looked at her quickly, regarding her with some puzzlement. “I would have thought you would know how I felt without my saying it. It's so obvious. Your character, I mean.”

“I like to hear you say it anyway.”

“I'll remember that.”

“If I did take a greater interest in running Rookswood the way
your aunt claims I do not, she'd be on me as fast as a crow in the standing corn.”

He laughed. “Don't let her ever hear you compare her to a crow, darling. I should hate to come to loggerheads with dear old Elosia.”

That's just it. No one does
, Evy thought.

“Oh, don't misunderstand. I do love her,” she said. “I really do, but she can be—well, cruel, if you want to know.”

He looked startled and thought about it.

“Cruel? I can hardly imagine that. She means well. She came here after Mother died and took over.”

“
Exactly, and she doesn't want to surrender the reins
,” Evy might have said, but she felt as though she might have already said enough. It was clear that Rogan didn't see his aunt as she did. The trouble had only begun in the last few weeks. Lady Elosia appeared to go out of her way to make her feel inadequate, and even inferior to the Chantry name. Her mind went back to the conversation in the coach, but Evy would not bring that up, for Rogan might ask what she was doing in the village.

Keeping the truth from Rogan is leading to some complications
, she thought uneasily.

Evy remembered when Rogan's mother, Lady Honoria Chantry, died when they were children. Arcilla had taken her mother's death terribly hard, and Sir Lyle had sent for his older maiden sister Elosia, a dowager in London society. Elosia had tried to fill Honoria's shoes, and Rogan's father had been pleased.

Rogan maneuvered his horse closer beside her, took hold of her arm, and squeezed it.

“Darling Evy, you've no reason to feel insecure at Rookswood around my aunt, or around anyone else. You are my wife. I'm proud of you. That's what matters. No one is running me, least of all dear old Aunt Elosia. She's no threat, believe me. So why should we get up in arms about the dear old mistress and her imperious ways?”

That he was proud of her, regardless of the various insinuations,
warmed her heart. She could have told him that his aunt's fussiness smothered her, but she held back out of respect for his family.

She was Rogan's wife, yes, but exactly where did she fit into this old, established household? Anything she may wish to accomplish at Rookswood must first pass muster with Lady Elosia. And Evy was sure that whatever it was, even if perfectly fine, would be deemed inadequate by his aunt.

Sir Lyle was another matter. He treated her kindly, and while he, too, had wanted, or at least expected, his younger son to marry into the Bancrofts, Lyle did not lament or fuss over it. He was much too indifferent for that sort of behavior. Sir Lyle was indeed the very opposite of his sister Elosia. As Rogan told her when they first came home to Rookswood after their honeymoon, “Don't expect much from my father. He doesn't take much concern over what goes on as long as he can work with his myriad books and musty histories in the library.”

Evy knew that and respected his individuality, but she did wonder, as she had for years, how he could have produced Rogan. Sir Lyle's indifference had been clearly shown a day earlier when Rogan had gone to the library to urge him to act on Arcilla's letter.

“I don't think Aunt Elosia has forgiven me for what she believes was my coming between you and Patricia. She liked Patricia and wanted you to marry her.”

He smiled. “You
did
come between Patricia and me. You quite overshadowed her. But I think you're too sensitive when you say Elosia doesn't like you. She thinks highly of you.”

Sensitive or not, it was not her imagination. Rogan just didn't see the change in Lady Elosia when he was not around.

“Elosia wasn't against our marriage, if you remember,” he went on. “Nor was my father, so forget your fears, Evy. Fact is, every one of us must do some adjusting. You, too, my sweet. I cannot very well order Elosia back to London—or is that what you want me to do?”

“Oh no, that's not what I meant,” she hastened, feeling suddenly
beastly because it had entered her mind to wish she might go of her own will. After all, she had come years ago to nurse Arcilla out of her grief, and those days had passed. But Evy could see that Rogan was not ready to hear that.

“I suppose it would be very audacious of me to expect such a thing,” she said.

He looked at her a long moment. “Not audacious, exactly. You are to be mistress of Rookswood when I inherit the lands and title after Father dies. But perhaps it would be unbecoming of you should you insist. Odd, I never thought of any of this before we married. It's not pleasant to think about now.” He scowled to himself.

“That's just it,” she said suddenly. “I need you to think about it. Not just Elosia, but other things as well. What is my place? What is expected of me?”

His lines of impatience showed. She could see that he'd had more than enough of all the new things he needed to consider.

“You should know your place. By my side. Do you want me to bore you with details?”

“Yes,” she challenged.

“What I'm thinking!” The spark of temper suddenly showed in his eyes.

“Yes. About you and me, marriage … Rookswood, having a baby …” She glanced at him. “Would you be very disappointed if we did have a child?”

He turned in the saddle to look at her long and hard, until she felt the warmth in her face.

His inky lashes narrowed. His jaw set. “Are you trying to tell me something, Evy?”

“Well … yes.” She did not know why, but she blushed, which seemed silly, but she could not control her reaction. “What if, after all the nasty gossip on our honeymoon, I—we were going to have a baby much sooner than we anticipated?”

He looked at her in stern silence.

“People would talk,” she said in a choked whisper. “They'd feel they were right. Wouldn't they? They'd say it was awfully
soon
”

Rogan made no comment.

What is he thinking?

“And, of course,” she continued a moment later, “it would be soon, I mean too soon. I mean—that Arcilla and Peter didn't have a baby for two years—and Alice and Derwent, as well.”

The wind blew around them, rustling the yellow and golden-red leaves.

His fingers enclosed around her arm again, while his gaze held hers.

“Are you?” he asked quietly.

Her eyes faltered under his penetrating, heated gaze. Now was the moment. She must tell him. But why this way? She wanted to cry. The news should be a joyful moment as they embraced and loved each other, relishing what the great Creator had done, performing a miracle of life in her womb.

She felt his intense gaze, his fingers tightening on her arm, and her own desperate desire not to let the news ruin her plans to go with him to Capetown.

“I … I don't, I hardly think so.”

“Then why bring it up?” he clipped, his hand releasing her arm, as though irritated she'd introduced something so emotionally disturbing when there was no need.

“I don't know …” She was very tired now. She had withheld the truth from him and compromised. Now she felt disillusioned with herself and depressed.

“You've never mentioned how you'd feel about it if … if I were.” Her voice was but a whisper.

His lashes narrowed. He studied her carefully. “How do you think I'd feel?”

“How should I know? You've never even hinted you knew babies existed.” She was getting angry now. Nothing was going as she wanted.
Their relationship was already tarnished. She had withheld something precious that Rogan had every right to know.