No Sweeter Heaven: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 2 (8 page)

“I only hope she can make him happy,” Georgia said, her brow furrowed with worry.

“Happy? Who knows? But if she can bring him back to earth where he belongs, I will be exceedingly grateful to her. You have to admit, being around Pascal is like being around a blasted angel.”

“Nicholas. How can you be so awful?”

“You know
exactly
what I mean.” He gestured toward the window. “Look at the way he walks around, charming the birds out of the trees and the fish out of the water—never mind the rest of the extraordinary things he does. There’s nothing normal about Pascal—not in the way we understand it.”

“Exactly,” Georgia said. “I’m sure that’s why he has tried so hard to find refuge—not that I ever thought him suited to monastic life…”

Nicholas snorted. “Good God, no. What a waste that would have been. He had me worried there—first that Buddhist place in Tibet, then the last two years in St. Christophe. Thinking about it, I don’t know how he’s managed those interminable stretches of celibacy.”

“You wouldn’t,” Georgia said wryly.

“That I will take up with you later, madam,” Nicholas replied with a grin. “Well, all I can say is he will find no refuge in this marriage, and thank God for it. Trying to keep Elizabeth Bowes in line should keep him firmly rooted to the ground. Although I must admit, if anyone can tame Elizabeth, it will be Pascal.”

Georgia regarded her husband thoughtfully. “You might be right about that,” she conceded. “But that still doesn’t make a marriage, Nicholas. Pascal deserves some happiness. He’s suffered enough.”

Nicholas walked over to the window and stood there in silence for a minute or two, looking out over the lawn. Then he turned, and Georgia could see the shadow of pain in his eyes. She knew how deeply Nicholas loved Pascal—they shared a special bond, forged by mutual experience and deep anguish, and it had bound them together as tightly as blood.

“You’re right, of course,” Nicholas said, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re right. He deserves every bloody bit of happiness he can get. It must be damned lonely out there for him, given everything, no matter how much he’s loved by all and sundry. But I wasn’t being facetious, Georgia, not really.”

“Oh?” she said with a half-smile, moving to his side and wrapping her arms around his back, laying her cheek on his broad chest. “How is that?”

“Well … it’s an odd thing, but in a way you have one person who’s halfway to heaven and another who’s halfway to hell. Maybe, just maybe, each could use a touch of the other.”

“You, my darting, are secretly an optimist.” She looked up him, her eyes bright with amusement.

“It’s only common sense,” he retorted. “I reckon that they’ll either kill each other or fall head over heels in love. I very much doubt there will be indifference.”

“I sincerely hope it ends up the latter, although looking at Pascal right now you’d think it was the end of the world. Did you see the desolation in his eyes?”

“Yes, I saw it, and the anger as well, despite how well he thought he was hiding it from us. I’m sure I would feel the same way if I’d been forced into a loveless marriage.”

“You were,” she said, smiling broadly.

“Oh, no I wasn’t. If I had been, I’d have run fast and furiously in the opposite direction. Believe me, Georgia, I was no lamb to the slaughter. I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“You did, didn’t you?” she said happily.

“Yes. But this is different. Pascal truly did have his hand forced, and being Pascal, he did what he saw as his duty.” Nicholas shook his head with sympathy. “Still, we must let him make the best of this on his own, with no interference. He wouldn’t thank us. The only thing we can offer at this point is support.”

“And love,” Georgia said.

“Oh, always love,” Nicholas replied and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly, so as to make his point very clear.

“This is Raven’s Close,” Pascal said, bending down and pulling a key from under a flowerpot that stood next to the front door. “It’s part of the Ravenswalk estate.”

Lily looked up at the house. It had three wings and a gabled roof; the largest wing, where they were standing now, was covered in ivy. It was a pretty place, warm and welcoming, and Lily breathed a sigh of relief, for she had not known what to expect when the wretch had put her back in the carriage without a word of explanation and started down the carriageway. They had turned off before reaching the gates, and it had taken only a few minutes to arrive. Obviously her husband was a favored employee of the family, and he hadn’t let the opportunity pass by for her to see his standing with them.

“Don’t make yourself too much at home,” he said, opening the front door. “The house is only on loan to us. As soon as I find a position we’ll be moving away. Please, go in.”

“Um, what exactly do you plan to do?” Lily said, entering a square, airy hallway. A flight of wide wooden steps led to the upstairs, and off to the left Lily saw a dining room through an open door. The doors to the right were all shut. It was simple, but would be adequate, she decided.

“As you saw at the abbey, I work with plants,” he said, bringing her trunk in and easing it onto the floor. “I will continue to do so.”

“Oh, yes, of course, how silly of me. Can you not stay on here?”

“No. I can’t. In this new set of circumstances such a thing would be impossible.”

“Yes, I can see that it would be awkward, given everything. But surely I could recommend you to people who would be willing to help find you work in a more—a more
elevated
position?”

“I think not, Elizabeth. I will find my own work.”

“You are so proud that you will refuse to take advantage of my many contacts? You wish to continue just as you were? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“That I wish to continue the work in which I was trained? Yes. I do.”

“So. You are telling me that I am to be married to a gardener. That is how the world is to see you?”

“Yes. In essence, that is what I am.”

“And me? I am now to become a gardener’s wife?” Lily tried to sound nonchalant, but inside she was quaking with panic, thinking of that little cottage she’d so fondly conjured up when she’d been sitting high above the abbey wall, the cottage with the smell of baking bread drifting out the door—and the welcoming wife in the portal. Lily could no more bake bread than she could boil water, and she was as far from a welcoming wife as could be found.

Suddenly the entire charming picture changed in her mind. The door hung off its hinges, there were holes in the windows (the few windows that there were), and she was dressed in rags, looking tired and bruised around the eyes, her hair stringy, her hands reddened. Lily had seen such people before on her father’s own estates.

She shuddered at the thought of what was likely to become of her.

“Do you find the idea of having a husband who works repulsive? It is what most men do, those of us who were not born to dukedoms, that is.”

Lily put her chin up. “I know that some men have to work, and as for dukedoms, your jibe misses its mark. My father works hard at keeping his estates—and his employees—in order. It is the idea of physical labor that I find repellent.” She cast a pointed look at his hands.

Pascal followed her gaze and held his hands up, turning them so the palms faced her. “You find these offensive?” he asked softly, his voice heavy with irony.

“I find them coarse,” she replied smugly. “No doubt you wish to coarsen my hands as well, and as soon as you possibly can. You would have been better off marrying a fishwife—she at least would have had some idea how to go about seeing to your humble needs.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall, looking steadily down at her, and Lily swallowed, for he suddenly appeared formidable, even though his face registered nothing but indifference. “It is true. My needs are humble,” he said. “Does that worry you?”

“I suppose you’ll expect me to take in washing to help support us?”

“Take in wash—” He bit off the word and paused, then continued smoothly. “No. I do not expect you to hire yourself out, but yes, naturally I expect you to do the washing.”

Lily stared at him. “I suppose you will also expect me to cook and clean for you?” she asked, her temper rising.

“Of course,” he said. “Who else do you think is going to do it? I’ll be out working all day. You are my wife. Certain things are expected of you. You are not thinking of shirking your duties, are you?”

“I cannot believe you! I have more money than you have ever dreamed of in your life, and it is now by law entirely at your disposal. Why would you refuse to avail yourself of that and at least provide me with the comforts to which I was born?”

“You are married to me now, Elizabeth. My comforts will be your comforts, and those comforts will be determined by what I can afford.”

“I don’t understand you. Do you wish to live in poverty because that is what
you
are accustomed to? Or do you just mean to humiliate me, to punish me for my birth?”

“Why would I want to punish you for your birth? I have no interest in it. I thought I’d made that very clear yesterday, as I did my feelings about your dowry. I’m perfectly happy living a simple existence.”

“Then—then what are you doing at a place like Ravenswalk?” she said irrationally. “Why are we here?”

“I thought I had made that clear as well. This is my home, my family.”

“Then where is this precious family, and why have you not introduced me to them? Are you ashamed? Did you think to impress me by taking me first to Ravenswalk so that I could see you would be received inside?” She gestured around her. “And now you have brought me to this place so I can see that Lord Raven thinks highly enough of you to lend it to you? Well, it makes no difference,” she said with a toss of her head. “There is nothing you can do to impress me, nothing at all.”

“I have no intention of impressing you with anything,” he said coldly.

“Oh? Well, in that case you might as well take me straight to your family and let me see how it really is, what you really come from. As your wife I have a right to know what it is I have married into.”

He looked at her with incredulity. “My God, you really are unbelievable. I thought I had heard it all yesterday, but I was mistaken.” He unfolded his arms and straightened to his full height. “Well, Elizabeth. I hate to disappoint you, but you are also sadly mistaken on a number of counts. As it happens, you have already met one member of my family.”

“Who? James, the footman?” she said, pushing her chin out even further in an effort not to cry.

“No, not James the footman, although I would be proud enough to call him family. I was referring to Georgia.”

“She cannot be of your family,” Lily said, furious at this bald-faced lie, “and it is no good trying to pretend to me, for I, of all people, would know, you idiot. How could you even think to claim such a thing and get away with it? Lord Raven is a peer of the British realm. And you … you are … are nothing more than a low-born French guttersnipe!”

Pascal nodded. “As you say. But this low-born French guttersnipe was nevertheless adopted by that particular peer of the realm and his wife. This is the house where I spent the second half of my childhood, which is why it has been loaned to us.”

Lily paled. The image of Lady Raven hugging Pascal as if he were a long-lost son came rushing back to her, and she suddenly had a terrible feeling that he might be speaking the truth. “Adopted?” she whispered. “You? But why?”

“Do you mean why would they adopt such an ill-born, uncivilized, unwanted creature as myself? Perhaps they felt it was their civic duty. Or perhaps they simply wanted an unpaid servant to black their boots.” He shrugged. “Why don’t you ask them at dinner? We are expected. Oh, and it would be wise to change your dress. They may have had the poor taste to adopt me, but they are reasonably correct in all other ways.”

He bent and easily hoisted Lily’s trunk onto one broad shoulder, starting up the stairs without another word. Lily followed at his heels, feeling like one of her father’s misbehaved hounds that had just been severely chastised without knowing why.

Pascal went to the kitchen and lit the stove, then filled a kettle with water for washing and slammed it onto the stove to heat.

“Damn you, Elizabeth Bowes,” he muttered from between clenched teeth, pulling out a chair from the table and throwing himself into it. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared out the window.

He had never before in his life come across someone with such an attitude—with the exception of her father, but Montcrieff at least kept his tongue between his teeth when it came to outright insults. Oh, he had been called a guttersnipe before, and it had been true enough. That didn’t bother him so much as her unbelievable haughtiness. She had no idea how the rest of the world went on, nor did she have any interest in knowing. Take in washing, indeed. He ought to force her to it just so she would know what it was like … in fact, that wasn’t such a bad idea. She could damned well learn to cook and clean and dress herself, and there was no time like the present.

He’d take Georgia aside after dinner and ask her not to send any servants over, not a single one. Georgia would naturally leap to all the wrong conclusions, which was as he would have it. He wouldn’t want her to think he was displeased with his wife, especially when they had been married only two days. He certainly would not want her thinking he was avoiding his wife’s bed, for Georgia would not understand that at all, not with the relationship that she and Nicholas shared.

Pascal smiled faintly as he remembered all the times over the years that he had come across the two of them in an embrace, unaware that they’d been spotted. It was a great joke among the children, the wanton behavior of their parents. He sighed heavily, then poured the water into pitchers.

He delivered the first pitcher at Lily’s door, gave a cursory knock, then took the remaining pitcher across the hall to his old room, where he’d already tossed his satchel onto the bed. The satchel sat there, a grim reminder of his recent journey. He remembered when Nicholas had given it to him, just before he departed for Oxford, nervous, feeling like a fish out of water. Nicholas had come into his room while he was packing and sat down on the bed, casually tossing the satchel over to Pascal with a few lightly reassuring words and a joke or two.