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Oh, how Gwen wished for happiness. If only it didn’t seem such a great distance away.
* * * * *
Aidan walked through the rain to the stables, cursing under his breath at the weather. Their dinner party was to take place tomorrow, and the heavens had seen fit to send down a mixture of ice and rain.
You cannot control everything.
He was coming to understand that. He could not control sunny skies or callous gossip, or his friends’ good-natured meddling. He could not control his feelings toward his wife. He could not tame his emotions into neatness or reason, and the more his friends goaded him, the less self-assured he felt.
He opened the door and walked within the dim interior, down the row of stalls to the one at the back. Eira lifted her head at his approach. “Hello, pretty girl,” he whispered, stroking her forehead. “Have you seen my wife? I thought she might be here.”
Had he been reduced to conversing with horses, then? Things were no better than before his friends appeared. There was only more pressure, and an ever-present shame that they did not rub along so comfortably as the other couples. When he tried to behave comfortably toward her, it always went wrong, or felt awkward. He’d grow embarrassed, which in turn made him angry, and he didn’t want to be angry with her. None of this was her fault. It wasn’t her fault that her father had petitioned the king, who had then requested them to marry. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t at home here.
He heard a sound above, in the hayloft. Was she hiding from the chattering ladies, or from him? He climbed the ladder and found her curled against the back wall, under the window.
“You’re going to get wet,” he said. “You’ll take a chill, and you won’t be able to go to the party tomorrow.”
She looked almost hopeful at that. “It’s not wet here,” she said. “Your stable doesn’t leak, or your windows.”
“I thought you’d be down with your horse.” He walked over, brushed away a bit of straw, and sat on the boards beside her.
“I visited Eira for a while, then I came up here to listen to the rain.” She tilted her head. “You can’t hear it in the house when it rains. I miss the sound of it. I always heard it when it rained at home.”
His lips tightened. Not her fault. “Still miss home, do you?”
“I miss some things about it. I miss the hayloft.” A smile flitted across her lips. “I used to play with my cousin there. Tilda and I would make dolls out of straw, and sew clothes for them. We played the most imaginative games.” She shrugged and turned to him. “Are the ladies looking for me again? I’m sorry. It’s only that I need a break from them now and again.”
“I know what you mean,” he said ruefully. “It’s the same with my fellows. They mean well, as overbearing as they are.”
“I know. I don’t wish to hurt their feelings when they’ve been so kind to us.”
“I don’t think they are hurt. I think they are concerned.” He picked up a bit of straw and split it into pieces. “They wish us to be happy. They want this party to be a success.”
“They say everyone will want to come see me. Am I such an exotic creature?”
He looked over at her in the loft’s dim light. “Yes, you are.” How beautiful she was, and how unknowable, and sad. He reached to trace a lock of her hair, as blue-black as Eira was snowy.
“Why haven’t you come back to my bed?” she asked.
He let the bit of hair go. “I don’t want to trouble you while the ladies are here,” he lied. The truth was, he didn’t trust himself. The more frustrated he got, the more he feared hurting her again, holding her down, taunting her, using her in ways no man ought to use his wife.
He wanted to have a good relationship with her, like his friends had with their wives. If only it was as easy as doing some particular thing, or saying some particular right words, but he didn’t know what those words were. “Sometimes I think about that afternoon in the meadow,” he said quietly. “I wish we could always be those people, Jack and Rose, flirting together without a care in the world.”
“I had a care in that meadow,” she said. “I was to marry a duke the day after the morrow. A man I’d never met.”
He frowned at her grim tone. “So you were.”
“And you were to marry me. You didn’t even care.”
“I hadn’t met you yet,” he said in his defense.
She looked away from him, at the rain pelting the glass. “You speak of that time in the meadow as if it was a pleasant thing, but you took advantage of me. You thought me someone of no consequence, and so you toyed with me, and manipulated me into doing inappropriate things.”
He did not remember it that way at all. He remembered bright sun, charming kisses, and her dark hair blowing in the breeze. “I wouldn’t say I toyed with you.”
“I felt toyed with, afterward. You lied to me in that meadow, and played me for a fool.”
“You lied to me too. You said your name was Rose, that you had a beau named Tommy. You made up any number of falsehoods.”
“Between the two of us, you were more false.”
The depth of her hurt surprised him. “I made you feel good that day,” he said. “There was nothing I did to you that you didn’t heartily enjoy.”
“You believed you had a right to flirt with me, and kiss me, even spank me on my bare bottom. Because you are a duke, you believe you can do anything that suits your fancy, no matter who’s harmed.”
“I didn’t harm you.” He let out a sharp breath and threw up his hands. “No matter how I come to you, we end up in an argument. No matter how pleasant I intend to be, you make me want to snap off your head. I loved our time in that meadow,” he said with injured passion. “I’m sorry you don’t agree.”
“You will not understand,” she said, curling her body away from his. “You’ll never understand. You don’t even hear me when I say things. You only hear what you believe is true.”
“What do you want? An apology?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry I flirted with you that day, and kissed you. I’m sorry I spanked you, no matter if it made you excited.”
“I wish you would not talk about that time in the meadow ever again,” she said. “I wish we could forget it.”
“Why would I want to forget it? It’s the only damned time in our godforsaken history that we ever got along.” He stood with a grunt of irritation. “Very well. I will leave you to your solitude. Perhaps, with the way things go, it would be better if we never tried to talk.”
“Perhaps it would be.”
He went to the ladder and climbed down, trying to convince himself the tears in her eyes hadn’t mattered. She cried all the time, about everything, him most of all. He was damned tired of being painted as her tormentor, the evil duke, when all he ever wished in life was a happy and respectable marriage. He wouldn’t talk to her or go to her bed, if that’s what she wanted. There were plenty of other women who would be ecstatic to accommodate him. Once his friends left, he’d send Gwen to the country for the rest of the winter, and go on about his life however he intended.
As long as she had her damned horse for company, he doubted she’d even care.
Chapter Fourteen: Christmas Dinner
Gwen went downstairs at the appointed hour, in the festive red gown and matching jewels the ladies and Pascale had advised her to wear. She stood at her husband’s side with the appropriate smile and greeted the guests for the dinner party, two dozen or more persons, not counting his friends and their wives.
Arlington had no kind words for her, but he was all smiles for the guests, and she understood that she was to be all smiles too. This world was their stage, and she had to play her part, or he might punish her again in some horribly painful and sexually depraved way.
Minette, Aurelia, and Josephine had certainly done a laudable job with the planning. The ballroom and dining hall were festooned in greenery, ribbons, and hundreds of candles, and holly decorated each place setting. The company was jovial and the musicians
were splendid, playing carol after carol in honor of the season. Even the cold and ice outside couldn’t dampen the celebratory atmosphere.
Christmas was but a week away. If she was home in Wales, she would be relaxing before the fire with her family, enjoying merriment and conversation. She’d be chattering with Tilda and playing with her young nieces and nephews, and looking forward to the cook’s special Christmas pudding. She would not be in this stiff velvet gown pretending to be a happy duchess. She felt so alone.
The duke, on the other hand, was surrounded by friends and admirers. He looked striking as ever, and was so good at his role. Why couldn’t she be shining and confident like him? What if all the discord between them was her failing? If you were prettier, wealthier, with better breeding... It was the same thing she had said to herself in Wales, when no one would offer her marriage. Now she was married and wished nothing more than to go back to Wales.
“Come, Gwen,” said Minette, as Josephine and Aurelia flanked her on either side. “You cannot hide here in the corner. You must walk about and speak to your guests.”
“But I’ve already forgotten their names,” she said, pushing down panic.
“Stick with us,” said Aurelia. “We know all their names. And half of them are active gossips, so once you impress upon them that things are lovely in the Arlington household, it will put all the whispers to rest.”
“You look beautiful tonight,” Josephine murmured, “so lift up your chin and smile.”
Gwen tried to smile, she really did, but she felt so scrutinized. Ladies and gentlemen nodded to her and asked her questions, all of which were a variation on “Aren’t you so very lucky to have married the duke?” She wondered if those couples had love in their marriages. The duke told her that society disdained love, that it was a common pursuit reserved for the lower classes. She watched Arlington, tall and strong and handsome, as he conversed with some of the guests.
I love you, she thought, looking hard at him. I love you, I love you. She wanted to love him, even if it was common or coarse. If she could go back to the meadow and pray again to the vague heavens, that was what she would beg for. Accord. Understanding.
