Candice Hern (5 page)

"Of course he would not. You're a young woman, Marianne. You must get on with your life. Live for today and for tomorrow. Do not waste time pining after yesterday. It will only make you bitter and lonely, like Mother. You are too young and too lovely not to live life to the fullest. Have you thought of marrying again?"

"Good heavens, no. I cannot imagine ever being married to anyone else."

"Perhaps it is too soon. But I expect you will change your mind one day. You will want to find happiness again."

"I doubt I will change my mind, Evelina. And there are many other ways to find happiness."

Evelina stopped and stared at her, then flashed a broad smile. "Indeed there are."

Oh, dear. Marianne knew exactly what she was thinking, and it wasn't what she had meant at all. "I have the Benevolent Widows Fund, for example, which gives me a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction."

Evelina chuckled and said, "Yes, there is pleasure and satisfaction in that,
too
, of course."

Marianne felt a blush color her cheeks. Evelina was beginning to sound just like Penelope. Or was it simply that blasted pact again that made her imagine sexual undercurrents in every conversation?

"Please do not worry about me," she said. "I promise you I am not lonely or unhappy. At least, not very often. I am quite busy most of the time."

"I am glad to hear it. But you cannot blame me for wanting to see you have more. Someone to love. Children, perhaps."

As they walked through Green Park, she went on to speak of her own children and some of their recent antics, while Marianne's mind wandered back to the pact and the conversation with her friends. Until that day, she had never given much thought to physical relations with a man. She'd had a good marriage, but the physical aspect was never the most important part of it. Yet, since listening to her friends talk about the joys of the bedroom, she had become more and more convinced that she'd missed something, that David, who'd been the love of her life and the perfect husband, may not have been the perfect lover.

They walked past a man and two women who stood beside the gravel path in conversation. Marianne noticed the man surreptitiously touch one of the women on her lower back. It was a fleeting touch, but the woman straightened ever so slightly, and brushed a hand against his hip. There was an air of intimacy about those brief touches that Marianne would never have noticed before the Merry Widows had altered her perception.

As they walked past the threesome, they came upon a man on horseback in polite conversation with a woman whose maid stood a few steps behind her on the path. As they neared, Marianne could hear they were speaking of a new pantomime at Drury Lane, but their eyes seemed to hold a different conversation altogether. The woman had the same sort of incandescent glow they'd all noticed about Penelope. Was the horseman her lover?

What nonsense. She was being foolish, seeing lovers everywhere these days. It was all Penelope's fault, blast the woman. But it seemed a great many people were living a fuller life than Marianne. Evelina with her devoted husband and children. Penelope with her young lover. Even Adam, whose life was about to become more full with his ninny of a fiancée and doubtless the onslaught of children.

Marianne really had nothing to complain about. She'd had a great love, even if it was cut short, and would never marry again. But did that mean she had to end up like her mother-in-law, her life a sad memorial to her late husband?

No, by God, it did not.

"Marianne? Have you heard a word I've said?"

She had not, in fact. She shot Evelina a sheepish look. "I'm sorry. My mind was wandering."

Evelina smiled. "In an interesting direction, I trust."

"I was just thinking about something we discussed a few days ago at a meeting of the trustees of the Benevolent Widows Fund."

Thinking hard about it, in fact. Marianne began to wonder if the Merry Widows' pact was not such a bad idea after all.

Adam watched as Marianne paced the sitting room. This wasn't going as he'd expected. She was clearly distracted. Something other than his betrothal was on her mind.

He'd climbed the balcony again tonight to talk this out once more with her. He hated that she was so upset about his engagement to Clarissa. He'd given a lot of thought to her reaction to the news. He'd been angry that she'd been so quick to judge. Yes, Clarissa's conversation was less than brilliant and her education was limited to the usual feminine accomplishments. But, damn it all, he liked her. She was sweet and quiet and very innocent. That innocence — something of a novelty for him — was one of her attractions. She was a beautiful girl and he had visions of all that white skin laid bare for the first time just for him.

He wanted to make Marianne understand his decision. He disliked being at odds with her. But she barely paid him any attention.

"What is it, Marianne? What is troubling you?"

She stopped pacing and looked at him. "Nothing is troubling me. It is just ... there is something I want to tell you and I don't know how."

"You may tell me anything, my dear, as you well know. Has something happened?"

She gave an odd, sheepish little grin. "Not yet."

"Tell me, then. What is it?"

Marianne chewed on her lower lip for a moment and furrowed her brow, as though measuring the words before speaking. Her fine brown eyes sparkled with suppressed excitement, and he realized that whatever she had to tell him, it was not something dreadful. She had the air of a child with a rousing good secret, and looked much younger than a woman approaching thirty. It had been a long time since he'd seen this side of her — not since David's death, in fact — and Adam was utterly charmed as he watched her.

She walked back to her favorite wing chair, retrieved the ubiquitous paisley shawl, and wrapped it around her shoulders as though girding herself for battle. Standing tall, she looked Adam square in the eye and said, "I am going to take a lover."

Adam stood stunned and silent for a long moment. A lover? David's wife was going to take a lover? It was the very last thing he might have expected her to say.

"You are shocked," she said. "I suppose I should not have blurted it out like that. Perhaps you should sit down." She took her seat by the fireside and nodded toward the matching wing chair on the other side of the hearth that had been "his chair" for as long as he could remember.

"Yes, perhaps I should." He took the chair and sat rather stiffly, too tense for his usual comfortable sprawl. A small knot of anger tightened in his gut. "This is rather big news, is it not?"

"Are you disappointed?"

It was something of an understatement, though he was not sure why this news should affect him so strongly. He supposed it was that he'd always thought of her as David's woman. To imagine her in another man's arms was almost blasphemous.

"Do you think less of me for wanting to take a lover?"

"My dear Marianne, I think the world of you, as you know, and nothing could ever make me think any less of you."

"You do not believe it to be a betrayal of David's memory?"

Adam fell silent. It was precisely what he thought, but it seemed churlish to say so. Especially since he knew it to be an irrational, emotional reaction. David was dead, after all.

"You
do
believe it." Her hand balled up into a fist and pounded the arm of the chair. "Blast it all, Adam, I thought you, at least, would understand. You are acting just like Lavinia Nesbitt."

"Good God. Do not tell me you made a similar bold announcement to David's mother."

She snorted in disgust and glared at him. "Of course not. I am not
that
stupid. But apparently you want me to spend the rest of my life as a martyr to David's memory, just like she does."

Did he? Adam did not want to think so. What had he expected? That she would remain alone, and possibly lonely, for the next forty or fifty years? As he looked at her, he realized how ridiculous a notion it was. Marianne was a strikingly beautiful woman. Naturally other men would want her. Hadn't he always harbored a twinge of attraction for her himself? But she'd been David's woman, and always would be.

"No, I don't want that for you," he said. "I am sorry, but it is difficult for me to imagine ..."

A blush colored her cheeks. "You don't want to think of me with any man but David."

Adam shook his head. "It's a complicated notion to get my brain around, that's all. The two of you are inextricably linked in my mind. It's hard to think of you without him."

"But he's gone, Adam. It's not as though I'm planning to be unfaithful to a living husband. You know I would never have done that. But David is dead. I wish everyone would stop thinking that I am, too."

"I've never thought of you as dead, Marianne. And I don't want you to be a martyr to David's memory. Frankly, I'd assumed you would marry again one day. You're still a young woman, after all."

"I have told you I have no intention of marrying again."

"So you have said. But I must tell you that this business of a lover is likely to be a mistake. It will lead to nothing but heartache for you."

She frowned. "How can you say such a thing? You cannot know that, and it is very presumptuous of you to make such a statement."

"Do you remember what David said to me just before he died?"

Her shoulders hunched inward, cringing at his words. "I find it painful to remember anything of that day."

"He told me to look after you. And that's what I'm doing. He would not want you to plunge into a potentially disastrous love affair."

Her chin lifted a notch and her eyes narrowed. "But recollect what he said to me. This I
do
remember. He told me to be happy. I couldn't imagine it at the time. My heart was breaking and I could not envision a happy future without him. But when he knew he was dying, he told me not to waste my life in grief, as his mother had done. 'Be happy,' he said. Well, that's what I'm doing. Taking a lover will make me happy."

"No, it won't. Trust me in this, Marianne. I have much more experience in these matters. You are not the kind of woman to casually give her body to a man. You could never be content with a mere love affair, or a brief dalliance. You will always want more, need more of a man than that."

"You presume to know what would make me content?"

"I know you."

"I wonder. Do you?"

Adam stared at her in astonishment. Did he? Had he never really known her as well as he'd thought? He could recite her opinions on art and literature and politics. He knew she had a passion for lemon ices and that she preferred her tea with milk and no sugar. He knew where she banked and what investments she held. But did he know her heart?

He thought he did. He knew how much she'd loved David, and how devastating his death had been for her. He knew the efforts she'd made to come to terms with it and make a life on her own. But he did not know what she felt when she lay alone in her bed at night.

He reached out and touched her hand. "Listen, Marianne. I know you are missing David. You had a warm body curled up beside you every night for eight years. You are missing that perhaps most of all. But if you take a lover, he will only get dressed and leave you alone in your bed again. Why not look for a new husband instead? David would understand that better than a lover."

"I don't want another husband. David was the one true love of my life. He can never be replaced in that way for me. Besides, it is likely I can never bear a child, and a husband will want an heir."

"A man who loved you would not care about that."

"But I do. And besides, if you know me so well, then you would know that I am quite serious. I've decided to take a lover, and that is the end of it."

One thing he did know about her was that once she made up her mind about something, it was difficult to shake her determination.

"Then we must both accept each other's decisions, mustn't we? I will take a wife and you will take a lover. Though each of us seems to think the other is making a mistake, let's try to move on. Our lives are changing, but I hope we can still remain friends."

She reached across and laid her hand over his. "Of course we can. I have already decided I was too quick to judge Miss Leighton-Blair. I have determined to become her friend, too."

Adam turned his hand over and grasped hers, then brought it to his lips. "Bless you, my dear."

She gave an odd little shiver and gently pulled her hand away. Another blush colored her cheeks. How very interesting. Having spent years seducing women, Adam knew the signs well. But Marianne had never reacted to him physically before now. It must be all the talk about lovers.

"So tell me. How did all this come about? This business of taking a lover." It was really the last thing he wanted to know, but he could sense she was fairly bursting to tell him and so he offered an encouraging smile.

She gave a little shrug and suddenly looked bashful. "I'm not sure I can explain. You know I am not interested in marrying again. But that doesn't mean I ... that I shouldn't ... that I don't ... Oh blast, you know what I mean, Adam."

He did indeed. She missed having a man. She missed sex. Of course she did. How could he have been so stupid not to have realized she still had desires — desires that were not being fulfilled?

"I believe I understand." He flashed her a teasing grin. "But you really ought to have mentioned it sooner. I would have been happy to oblige, you know." More than happy, if he'd ever thought for a moment she would have considered it. Or if he could have done it without feeling he'd betrayed his best friend. "It is too late now, unfortunately, for me to do so. Now that I am betrothed to Clarissa."

She returned the grin. "Yes, what a pity."

"And who, may I ask, is the lucky fellow?"

"I have no idea."

What?

"You don't know?" He shook his head to jiggle loose anything that might have blocked his hearing. "Forgive me, Marianne, but I am afraid I don't understand."