Page 28 of A Momentary Marriage

It had been a relief when the man finally left. But now he felt restless . . . yet the thought of doing anything seemed far too great an effort. James shoved himself to his feet and wandered to the window.

He wondered where Laura was, what she was doing. His mind kept returning to those moments in the garden this morning. She had felt so soft and warm in his arms; he’d had a cowardly urge to hold on to her and bury his face in her hair.

Her lips had tasted sweet. And for an instant, he had thought that if only he were well . . . but, of course, that was nonsense. He wasn’t well, and if he had been, Laura would never have agreed to marry him. Nor, for that matter, would he have wanted a wife.

He turned away from the window, irritated at his wandering mind, and started back toward the desk. His solicitor would arrive tomorrow, and he should get his thoughts in order. But before he reached his chair, he was distracted by the sound of music down the hall.

Curious, he opened the door. Notes danced through the air, light and melodic. He started along the corridor, inexorably drawn to the music, and paused in the open doorway. Laura was seated at the piano, her fingers moving nimbly across the keys, and his mother stood beside it, one elbow propped on the instrument.

“Oh, lovely! Do play more!” Tessa exclaimed as the giddy tune tumbled to a close.

Laura, smiling, began a ballad, and after a moment, Tessa began to sing. She had a pleasant alto voice, and on the chorus Laura joined in, her bell-toned soprano mingling and twining with Tessa’s through the sweet, sad lines. James leaned against the doorjamb, watching them, and his chest swelled with a fierce yearning pleasure.

They finished, and Laura raised her face, beaming at Tessa, her face glowing. Tessa clapped her hands together like a child, crying, “How beautiful!”

“It’s Graeme’s favorite song,” Laura told her.

Of course. She played for Graeme. He should have known.

Laura glanced across the room and saw him. “James!” She smiled and started to stand. “Come in.”

“Darling, join us,” Tessa added gaily. “Your wife is so talented.”

“Yes, I know.” James knew he sounded stiff and he added a brief smile to soften it. “You play beautifully, Laura. I should love to stay, but I fear I must return to work.”

He turned, retracing his steps. He could still hear her playing if he left the door to his office open. And, really, that was the best option. Safest.

Laura had become a lady of leisure, and she found herself with a great deal of time on her hands. It was a delight, of course, to have ample time for her music, and she spent several hours every day at the piano or her violin.

She chatted politely with Tessa and the other ladies of the house almost every afternoon. Her relations with Patricia were no less strained, but at least they were polite. She saw the boy Robbie now and then, pelting down a hallway or playing in the gardens, but in the way of noble families, the nursery was well separated from the rest of the house.

She strolled in the gardens daily and took longer walks down to the old ruins. She explored the house. The huge library was a delight, but it was the galleries that took her breath away. The long sunny halls were lined with statues and paintings. Indeed, every room seemed to offer another beautiful work.

Laura understood now why James had spoken of the things of beauty he wanted to leave in her care . . . and equally well why he would not consider Tessa or any others of his family adequate caretakers.

Strangely, after that close moment in the garden, James had become more remote. His manner was aloof, and he stayed closed up in his study most of the time, first meeting with his attorney, who came down from London, and after that with the estate manager.

It was clear that James was determined not to accept help and equally determined to give his illness no quarter. His carriage was always straight, his face only rarely showing a flash of pain. He was at dinner every evening though he ate little, mostly pushing food about on his plate. He was the last to retire, sitting on the terrace with Demosthenes after everyone else went to bed. If Laura awakened in the night, she heard him pacing restlessly in his room or up and down the corridor. But when she went out one night to ask if she could help him, he rebuffed her efforts so sharply that she left him to his own devices.

But pretend as James might that all was normal, it was obvious he was rapidly growing more ill. He looked hollowed out—his face drawn and pale, his eyes bruised with shadows. Laura was not sure whether she felt more pity for his condition or irritation at his stubborn refusal to accept sympathy or aid.

One night, unable to sleep, Laura slipped down to the library after everyone else had retired. As she left the library, she saw James climbing the stairs. She hung back in the shadows, watching as he trudged upward, Demosthenes at his side. He gripped the banister, pulling himself up each step, exhaustion in every line of his body.

She knew then why he went to bed after the others. The stairs taxed his strength, and he didn’t want anyone to see his weakness. The man was so stubborn and contrary it made her want to scream, but she could not help admiring his dogged determination. James would go down fighting.

Sorrow welled up in her chest. Blast him. She didn’t want to feel anything for James. She already missed her father with a steady ache. It seemed most unfair that she must add sorrow for James as well.

He paused on the landing, bracing himself against the railing, his head hanging. Demosthenes gazed up at him and whined softly. Laura could no longer stand still. She darted across the entry and up the stairs. He turned at the noise of her footsteps and frowned.

“What the devil—”

“Don’t,” she told him crisply. “I am not going to stand by and let you act like a fool just because you’re too proud to allow anyone to help you.” She lifted his free arm and hooked it over her shoulders, sliding her arm around his waist.

For once James made no protest, just started up the remaining stairs. Demosthenes bounded up before them and stood waiting.

“What happened?” Laura kept her voice crisp, knowing that sympathy would only make James more resistive.

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then he said, his whisper quick and harsh, “I felt dizzy, and . . . I couldn’t see. For a moment, I was blind.”