A Companion for Life (17 page)

“I’ll wait here. Don’t forget your pocket
book or your pipe…”

He leaned over and whispered, “I certainly
won’t forget my wife; even if I’m only gone a few hours I’ll be
hoping for an enthusiastic welcome on my return. Will you miss
me?”

“Yes.”

“Good!”

The woman at the bottom of the stairs
glared up at them as if their whispered
tête-à-tête
was interrupting her life. “Do
you expect me to stand here and wait while you pleasure my sister
on the stairs? We’ll find Grace dead in a ditch at this
rate.”

Mr Bowen turned a raised eyebrow towards his
sister-in-law. “Harm my wife in any way and you’ll face Morley on
your own.” Lily smiled her gratitude into dark eyes and then the
man in red was running up the stairs and calling for Goodman to
help him dress. He might be gone for hours or days. She stood there
for an eternity staring down at her sister before taking a deep
breath. With trembling knees she descended. Holding her head up she
stepped down to stand next to her sister, her muscles tight with
fear.

Rosamund’s eyes glinted with hatred. “He must
have put you on a diet; you look thinner. Did he find his food bill
expanding with your hips?”

“Mr Bowen likes my hips.”

Rosamund snorted in contempt. “Married men
are known to say anything for the privilege of taking their
pleasure before rising. It costs nothing to lie to ‘the little
woman’, or in your case ‘the fat woman’. It’s the easiest minute of
pleasure they’re bound to find.”

“If Mr Bowen didn’t want a fat wife he
wouldn’t have married me.”

“You’ve always been delusional; that’s why
Papa left me everything. He knew you’d waste his fortune feeding
orphans or stray dogs. Mr Bowen only married you to ruin my plans
for Grace. Of course he’s hoping you’ll shrink to a more manageable
size; a man wants a wife not a cow.”

“Then why did this evening he demand I eat
more at dinner?”

“Doubtless he was being ironic. When you meet
his beautiful mistress, Lady Gillingham, you’ll find your husband
prefers his women anything, but fat.”

Lily ignored the verbal slap. “I don’t think
it’s any of your business what my husband prefers.”

“You were never an amiable girl and now
you’ve become an uppity wife; how predictable. Don’t bother
inviting us for dinner. Mr Philips can’t stand the sight of you;
you remind him of one of those strange beasts from Africa that look
like giant pigs. What happened to your hair? You look like an
overfed nun.”

“William cut it.”

“Why?”

“You’ll have to ask him the next time you see
him.”

“It looks awful. Can’t Mr Bowen afford to buy
you a cap?”

“He bought me some ivory silk and lace
yesterday so I can make some. He’s very thoughtful and kind…” The
sound of footfalls on the stairs drew Lily’s eyes up towards her
descending husband looking magnificent in his hurried toilette, a
lit pipe in the corner of his mouth. “…and beautiful.” Rosamund’s
eyes followed glinting with envy.

“Are you referring to my legs Mrs Bowen or
were you telling your sister how much I love your hair?”

“You can’t possibly love that impenetrable
orange fleece.”

“I like everything about my wife; orange
fleece and all.” Lily flushed with pleasure as her heart threatened
to burst with gratitude. “Mrs Bowen makes me feel like Zeus. One of
these nights I’m going to visit her in the shape of a swan and
convince her to fly away with me.” Rosamund’s grimace of disgust
deepened as he put an arm around Lily’s waist and pulled her up
against him. With those dark eyes glinting unfathomable longing
Lily forgot her sister was sneering at her. Lily briefly tasted
sweet tobacco and the essence of kindness and then her husband was
winking at her.

“You don’t have to put on a lovey-dovey act
for me Mr Bowen. You’re the fool who married her; if you wanted a
nursery of piglets you’ve chosen the right bride.”

His arm remained around Lily’s waist as he
turned to give Rosamund his coldest expression. “If you want me to
help you retrieve your snotty brat, keep your vile tongue leashed.
Cariadon…I may be gone several days. If you need anything ask
William to show you where I keep my money. You won’t run off with
another man?”

“No.”

“Good.” He kissed her cheek and then removed
his arm and shoved his pipe back into his mouth. “The sooner we
leave, the sooner I can return. Don’t worry Cariadon; I’ll be back
demanding worshipful kisses before you can think of a single reason
to leave me for my rival.”

Rosamund looked at her sister with
exaggerated disbelief. “Rival? What rival?”

“None of your business Mrs Philips.” Lily
blushed with hope as she imagined her sister ranting on the whole
time about how Lily had been in love with him since she was a girl.
There was only time to smile as he caressed her cheek with a soft
sigh and he was gone. With the front door half closed, she could
hear his voice shouting directions at the coachman. Then the
carriage doors were closed and the steps folded. Mr Bowen was
driving away alone with Rosamund. People were going to talk and not
just about Grace.

“
Jones, I feel unwell. Will you ask the
maid to prepare Mr Bowen’s bed for me? I hope I sleep until Mr
Bowen returns…” Her eyes filled with tears. “…if he
returns.”

“Master Bowen hasn’t spent thirty-nine years
searching for happiness to die on finding it.”

“But what if the carriage turns over? People
die in accidents every day.”

“A man in love doesn’t fling himself into the
jaws of death unless it’s to protect his beloved; Mr Bowen will
return safe and sound.”

“But Mr Bowen doesn’t love me…”

“Madam, a Welshman wouldn’t call an
Englishwoman Cariadon unless she was truly beloved. I’ll have the
chambermaid warm the bed…”

Lily was left standing at the bottom of the
stairs feeling as if she’d been spun in circles. It couldn’t be
true, but what if it were? What if the enchanted swan had fallen in
love with his fat bride? Her heart swelled with hope and then
slowly deflated. For Mr Bowen to fall in love with her would take
more than magic; it would take a miracle. But he had admitted he
liked everything about her; it would be enough. It was more than
she’d dreamed possible. Muttering wishes under her breath for her
beloved to return safely she put her hand on the banister, but
before her foot could reach the first step she was lost in memories
of his kisses, the sound of Mr Bowen’s husky laughter reverberating
in her heart making her smile.

“
Must you smoke that foul pipe? You’re
stinking up my carriage.”

“I’m so glad you jilted me.” Penryth blew a
lungful of smoke towards his sister-in-law. “It saved me the shame
and expense of petitioning parliament for a divorce.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you make
love to my fat sister or do you pretend she’s me, my figure bloated
by fourteen Bowen brats?”

“You don’t inhabit my thoughts.”

“What was it you said to me in the garden as
you fumbled my breasts for the last time? I believe it was, ‘Oh
Rosamund…’ You may not remember, but you were breathing heavily.
‘…I can’t wait three months. I think of you all the time. I wake up
from dreams of you sick with longing…if you knew how much I love
you, you’d marry me tonight…”

“What a coxcomb. No wonder you ran off with a
taciturn drunk. Has Philips ever noticed your darling Grace
resembles a Grayson or had the drink already made him impotent when
he married you? That must have made for a boring honeymoon.”

“Well I didn’t miss your disgusting wet
kisses.”

“So, do your children have the same father or
do they each have a unique pedigree?”

“They’re all Graysons. Mr Philips didn’t care
who fathered them as long as his legal heirs were fit to become
dukes. It’s a shame my sons all came out looking like my father.
They’re all going to end up fat and bald by the time they’re
thirty.”

“Lyndhurst fathered your children?”

“No, idiot, his bastard brother. Thomas knows
about Grace, but I could bear to tell him the rest of his offspring
came out looking like my sister. He thinks they’re the
footman’s.”

“Your sister is a very pretty woman.”

“No one with orange hair is ever thought
pretty or handsome. I don’t know how I’m going to find wealthy
brides for my sons. I’ll probably have to blackmail some wretch
into handing over his daughter.”

“
You never know, Carlisle and his infant
son might die in an accident and then your unlovely eldest son will
be deluged with offers. I understand most women value the
possibility of a grand title over mere love or kindness. Why didn’t
you set your cap at Lyndhurst? You could have been a Duchess, or
didn’t you want to bed the Devil’s Corpse? At least your children
could have claimed their name.”

“I tried; the devil wasn’t interested in a
permanent relationship. I’d have been the next Duchess of Carlisle
if that old lecher hadn’t married his nurse.”

“Such is life. Who’d have guessed I’d outlive
my uncles, older brothers and cousins to become the next Earl of
Carmarthen?”

“You’re not the Earl of Carmarthen yet.
There’s still time to die and I’d rather my children were bastard
Graysons than boring Bowens.”

“And yet you were desperate to marry your
favorite child to my brother’s son.”

“A mother has no influence on her child’s
heart.”

“If Grace has a heart it’s a crudely stitched
patchwork of bank notes over a Lordly coat of arms.”

“Save your abuse for your churlish nephew. If
he’d kept his fall buttoned this would never have happened.”

“Yes, it must be William’s fault. It couldn’t
be yours for instructing Grace to seduce the boy. He might not know
how he came to be on the bed, but I can easily imagine it. The next
time Grace elopes with a fiend you can persuade Grayson to pull on
his boots and do his duty. Oh good we’re stopping. Stay here.”
Penryth opened the door and jumped down before the drenched footman
could pull down the steps.

“You can’t tell me what…” He closed the door
and sighed with relief to be standing upright and momentarily free
of Rosamund. He pulled down his hat and smiled at the thought of
returning home to his pleasant companion. She’d run into his arms
with adoring eyes and return his wet kisses. Thinking of kissing
his wife made his blood race as if he needed a visceral prompting
to hurry and complete his obnoxious task.

Five minutes later he was climbing back into
the carriage. “Good news if you can call it good; Morley and a
pretty young lady of Grace’s description stopped here briefly, but
he didn’t like the bed or the menu. We should find them at the next
Inn.”

“You’re making the seat wet.”

“Move closer to the window.”

“I’ll catch a chill. If you were a gentleman
you’d move to the other bench.”

“If you were a lady you’d appreciate that I
didn’t make you wade through the mud to spend your own money paying
a drunken Innkeeper to tell you if he’d seen your daughter eloping
with a murderer.”

“You’re a man. You’re expected to wade
through the mud; what else do you wear boots for?”

“I’m so glad to know my sacrifices aren’t
going unnoticed.” Penryth sighed in relief as if he needed one more
reason to be grateful he hadn’t married Rosamund.

“Helping your niece isn’t a sacrifice, it’s
your duty.”

“My duty Madam is to my wife whom I left at
home to aid your foolish brat and if anything happens to her while
I’m chasing your silly goose you’ll wish you’d never had
children.”

“You’re a beast. I don’t wish to speak with
you.”

“Good.” Folding his arms, Penryth bit down on
his pipe. The rain knocked incessantly on the windows trying to get
in as passing trees creaked in fear of the approaching storm. The
temperature was dropping, rain hardening into sleet. The muddy road
would start to freeze; the once pliable ruts becoming treacherous
to weak wheels and tired horses. He didn’t want to die in a
carriage accident with Rosamund. He wanted to hold Lily in his arms
and tell her… There was no fanfare no angels proclaiming that a
miracle had occurred. A long sigh of resignation emptied his lungs
accentuating the sweet ache in his chest; he loved her. She was his
Cariadon. The thought of dying before he could tell her made his
hand itch for the door handle; jumping out of a moving carriage
into the dark wouldn’t be the most intelligent way to ensure life,
limb and happiness. They couldn’t be more than twelve miles from
London. He’d hire a mount and ride back in the morning after
breakfast. She’d throw herself into his arms and smile at him with
those enchanted autumn eyes and without a word she’d return his wet
kisses with innocent passion. The ache in his chest spread through
his limbs like a disease whose only cure was momentarily out of
reach. He wouldn’t eat breakfast. He’d leave first light and be
home in time to wake his beloved with a kiss.

The rain had become an icy sleet mixed with
snow as Penryth climbed out of the carriage relieved to be alive.
Shivering, he pulled his collar up around his neck and turned back
to help Rosamund out of the carriage. His outstretched hand was
ignored.

“I can’t walk through the mud I didn’t wear
my country boots. You’ll have to carry me across the yard.”

Penryth hoped she could see his cold
expression in the fractured light cast by the carriage lamps. “I’ll
fetch your footman.”

“Don’t be obtuse. He’ll be sopping wet. Do
you want me to catch my death?”

“What you catch is of no interest to me. Do
you want to save your daughter or play damsel in distress?”

“I hate you.”

“Good. I won’t feel guilty if the footman
slips.” He waved over the footman. “Your mistress wishes to be
carried to the Inn. Try not to drop her.”