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“The estate appears to be in excellent conditions.” Bennett commented. “How did you manage that, being away?”
“Oh, not my doing. You should praise my wife for that.” She deserved several tons of praise, for certain.
“Indeed?” He crossed his legs. “And here I was thinking I should have checked on her these past years.”
“Immaterial, as you can see. She did very well on her own.” He did not bother to disguise his admiration for her.
Conrad reckoned it too early to disclose her condition, too.
“She must be alleviated you’re back to handle things now.”
“To tell the truth, she was alleviated I was not here at all.” He conceded, raking his midnight hair with his hand.
“That bad, huh?”
“A man harvests what he sows, I suppose.”
“She’ll come about, surely.” His brother tried to lighten him.
“Easier said.” He answered simply.
“Oh dear!” His brother interjected. Conrad must have revealed something in his expression because his brother lifted his brows quizzically. “Don’t tell me you developed a kind of… attachment to her?”
At this, Conrad sprang from the sofa and walked to the window. Answer enough to his perceptive brother. “Poor older brother!”
“Life couldn’t be more ironic if it tried.” Conrad conjectured to the window, contemplating it had been she who had been infatuated with him in those years. Now, she only held her distance.
“Can’t disagree with you there.”
Conrad shrugged; lamenting would not be of any use. “Fancy a walk around to see the changes?”
“It would do me well, since I sat in a carriage for hours.” They left the study in the direction of the orchard.
Aurelia came home for luncheon to receive news her brother-in-law arrived for a visit. And to find Madame Tourneau awaiting her with a myriad of plates, fabrics, ready attires and other paraphernalia of a modiste.
She had completely forgotten Conrad had made the appointment with the Madame. Her morning passed in a blur. The night in his bed had been a guilty delight, to say the least. Although the early morning part had shaken her to her core.
First, his tenderness in greeting their child in such a warm way almost smelted her to disintegration. She had never thought she would laugh in his presence in that abandoned form. Much less that her throat would clog with overwhelming emotion at the same time. Her guts turned all knotted and rumpled with that. A wave of sympathy invaded her, which clashed resonantly with her long acquired suspiciousness of him. The duality rendered her overwhelmed.
His revelation about his time away, and the lessons it had taught him came next. She listened to it studiously. His stance so truthful as if he made a confession. She started to understand many things about the reasons he left and his return. His admission he had wanted her during that time made her hot entirely. Who was that man, for heaven’s sake? She did not know what to think anymore! Each time, each night, her defences crumbling in enormous chunks around her, as a castle wall bombarded with catapults. She did not want to surrender. Not to him, not to what he represented. On mornings like that one, the flood of warmth became virtually impossible to ignore.
She summoned Madame Tourneau to her dressing room. She would acquiesce only to a few dresses, so Conrad would stop insisting on such things. Clothing she would not wear in her daily dealings in the estate were superfluous and foolish. She did not do foolish anymore!
Days later “foolish” would lose its meaning completely at the number of boxes which arrived to her chamber and the delicate pieces they contained. Conrad had splurged, damn him! He had sent order for the modiste to use her measurements to make tons more than what she had agreed on for herself. This was not very practical. Her shape would modify soon, given her condition. Unpractical actions did not list among her favourites any longer!
When Aurelia reached the dining room, both men had already taken their places. A estate matter had delayed her and she ran late.
“I am sorry, I am late.” She sat at the other end of the table as the custom when they had guests. “An urgent matter demanded my attention.”
She dressed one of her new dresses, suggested by Abigail. A dark-green model, with a too low neckline for her taste. Madame convinced her it was the rage in London. She did not resist wrapping a shawl around her shoulders for modesty’s sake.
“Do not worry, Lady Strafford.” Bennett interposed. “We have just sat.” He smiled friendly.
A glimpse at Conrad and she realised he eyed her fixedly as if he could not take his dark eyes from her. In a rushed movement, she lowered her lashes, blushing.
“Oh, please. We are family, call me Aurelia.” She said to Bennett searching to disguise her reaction.
Bennett observed both alternately, a secret smile behind his napkin. Not all was lost, he fathomed.
