The Gamble (27 page)
I wiggled a little on his lap. “When did you first know you loved me?” I asked, eager for more confidences.
“The day you walked into my library and said that you were there to blackmail me,” he returned promptly.
My eyes flew wide open. “What?”
He grinned at me, that boyish grin I loved so much. “You stood there, and looked at me out of those huge brown eyes, and you were so brave and so sweet and so determined.” He kissed my nose. “Surely you don’t think I spent all that money just to get back at Aunt Agatha?”
“You’re joking,” I squeaked.
“Not at all.”
“You were horridly rude to me.”
“Of course I was rude. I knew I couldn’t marry you myself, and I had no intention of torturing myself by fostering any kind of a friendship between us.”
By now I realized why he thought he couldn’t marry me.
He was such a wonderful idiot.
“It took me a little longer to fall in love with you,” I offered. “It was seeing you with Anna that did it, I think. I knew then that you were not the cold-hearted man you liked to pretend you were.”
I reached up and smoothed his hair. I smiled at him. “Oh, Philip, I am so happy.”
“In a very short time, you are going to be happier still,” he growled in my ear.
“I am?”
The words were scarcely articulated before his mouth was on mine once again: hard, probing, seeking, wildly erotic.
My whole body went up in flames. I wanted him so badly that it frightened me. I wanted to taste him, to touch him, to fill my senses with him. I wanted him to enter me, to possess me, to be one with me, as only he would ever be. I wanted us both to climb together to the heights of volcanic passion, and afterward I wanted us to lie together in each other’s arms, fulfilled and quiet and at peace.
Philip lifted his mouth from mine long enough to say, “Come to bed with me?”
“Yes,” I said wholeheartedly. “Oh, yes.”
EPILOGUE
I
T WAS A WARM SUMMER AFTERNOON
,
AND
N
ANNY
and I sat on two lawn chairs under the wide-spreading oak and watched my three-year-old son play with Anna. We were in the section of Winterdale Park that my husband had created as a play area for the children, although Marcus, our one-year-old, was not yet grown enough to take advantage of all the exciting opportunities that this small domain afforded. He was still perfectly content to sit on the grass in front of me and dig in the dirt and hunt for worms.
Robin, on the other hand, was perched on the wooden platform of the tree house. It terrified me every time he climbed to that high perch, but I forced my fear down and made myself be content with watching him like a hawk. I knew that I was inclined to be overprotective of my children because of what had happened to my sister, but I could not seem to help it. I had nightmares sometimes of Robin tumbling to the ground from that damn tree house and striking his head.
I had been angry with Philip when he had had it built. He had paid no attention to me, however, and as I watched both Robin and Anna scramble nimbly up and down the ladder that led up to the platform, I reluctantly admitted that my husband had been right. The tree house was an enormous success, and kept not only Robin and Anna, but any visiting children, busy for hours on end.
Now that I was a mother, I found it hard to forget all the dangers that stalked our seemingly innocent world. I had only to look at my sister, trapped in her eternal childhood, to know that fate was not always kind to children.
All of a sudden Robin’s clear, childish treble came piping through the air from the heights of the tree house. “Papa’s home, Mama! I can see him coming from the stable!”
I smiled. There had been an important debate in the House of Lords that Philip had gone up to London to attend, and while he was in the city he had planned to see his man of business. I had not expected him home for at least another day.
Robin and Anna both scrambled out of the tree house and disappeared in the direction of the stable. The dogs followed them, woofing excitedly.
“His lordship is back early,” Nanny said comfortably.
“Yes,” I replied. “The debate must have been over sooner than he anticipated.”
My husband came around the corner of the donkey barn. He had Robin riding on his shoulders and Anna skipping at his side. The dogs trailed behind, tails wagging eagerly. He came over to me, lifted Robin down, bent to kiss me lightly on the mouth, and said hello to Nanny.
Robin said eagerly, “Did you bring me anything, Papa?”
I said, “Robin, it is very rude to ask people for presents.”
Robin said, “Papa isn’t
people
, Mama. He’s
Papa!
”
“An incontrovertible fact,” Philip said gravely. He reached inside his rust-colored coat and came out with a small carved figure of a pony for Robin and two dyed red ostrich feathers for Anna.
“One day soon we will get you a pony just like that one,” he said to Robin.
Robin yelled with delight. He held the pony in front of him and began to gallop around the play area, making loud whinnying noises.
Anna jumped up and down, and said, “Please, Nanny, may I go and put my feathers in my hair?”
“Go along with you,” Nanny said.
As Anna fled toward the house and a mirror, I looked at my husband. “You know she will wear those feathers like bunny ears, Philip.”
“But she will love them.”
She would.
He bent down and picked up the baby, who had been lifting his arms to him. “How’s my best little boy?” Philip said. Then he tossed Marcus into the air.
The baby shrieked with delight.
Philip tossed him again. Once more Marcus shrieked.
I hated it when he did this, but I forced myself to say nothing. Philip took such obvious delight in his children, was so interested in their lives, was so clearly determined to be different from his own father, that I felt I had no right to let my fears interfere in this precious relationship.
After the third toss, Nanny mercifully said, “That’s enough now, my lord. You’re going to make him sick.”
She held out her arms for the baby, and Philip obediently handed over his son.
He looked at me. “Come for a walk?”
I stood up, put my hand on his arm, and we left the children under Nanny’s guardianship while we went along the path that led to the lake. We ended up in our favorite spot, a small sheltered glade that looked out over the water and the island and the temple. I sat with my back against a large oak tree and Philip flung himself down next to me and laid his head in my lap.
“So what happened?” I asked.
His eyes were shut. “The Lords voted to commence the trial of the Queen on August 17.”
The Prince Regent, newly crowned as George IV, was suing his wife for divorce, which required an Act of Parliament.
“Oh no,” I moaned.
He sighed. “Oh yes. It is going to be utterly hellish. London is in a state of chaos.” His eyes opened and looked up at me. “I will have to attend, unfortunately, but you and the children are to remain here at Winterdale. There is already great unrest in London. The populace is disgusted with both the King and the Queen, neither of whom is exactly blameless in this situation.”
In fact, the history of adultery on the part of both the King and Caroline was extensive and disgusting.
“What a wretched situation,” I said.
“It certainly is,” he returned feelingly.
I ran my fingers through his thick black hair, and his eyes closed again. Silence fell. I looked down at Philip’s relaxed face. His long lashes lay quietly on his cheeks. He was clearly enjoying the touch of my hand.
“Has anything happened here since I’ve been gone?” he murmured.
I told him a funny story about Robin. He opened his eyes, looked up, and gave me the sweet smile that always made my insides turn into liquid. He picked up my hand and kissed it.
“I know it’s difficult for you to let him run free,” he said. “You’re a brave girl, Georgie.”
Tears stung behind my eyes.
“I try, Philip, really I do.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. And it’s not going to get any easier.”
I sniffed. “It won’t if you get him a pony! He’s only three, Philip.”
His eyes closed again. “He’s three and a half, and I’ll make sure it’s a quiet pony.”
Robin was actually a month short of three and a half, but I bit my lip and said nothing.
As I changed for dinner, I thought about what Philip had said about the Queen’s trial. It was likely to last for months and if he meant what he had said about my not going to London, I wouldn’t be seeing much of him for a while.
I did not like this idea at all.
It wasn’t that I would miss London. We had managed to weather the scandal that had attached itself to the death of Mr. Howard, but it hadn’t been a pleasant time. I had told the authorities how Howard had confessed to me about trying to kill me, and then Claven had brought forward a man who had sworn that Howard had tried to employ him to murder my father. Then the revelation about Papa’s blackmailing the unfortunate young man had been borne out by the moneylenders, who had descended upon the widowed Mrs. Howard like parasites.
It had been very ugly and Philip and I had been very glad to come down to the peace and quiet of Winterdale Park. The scandal had eventually blown over, however, and now we were able to return to London with perfect respectability. Philip attended Parliament when there was a bill pending that interested him, and we always attended a few social affairs during the Season. I also went up to London to shop; there were no shops in Surrey that could match the shops in London.
Otherwise, most of our social life centered around the neighborhood in Surrey where we lived. We had made a number of very nice friends among the neighboring gentry, and though Winterdale Park was certainly the “great house” of the area, neither Philip nor I was too high in the instep to enjoy the company of good-natured, well-bred people who were not of the nobility.
We entertained or went on visits to Catherine and Lord Rotheram at least four times a year. Catherine had a little boy six months younger than Robin, and the two children were fast friends. She was expecting another child soon, and I had promised her that I would be with her when her time came.
Lady Winterdale was queening it over the dowagers in Bath. We never saw her, which suited us just fine.
But it looked as if this business of the Queen was going to disturb the pleasant tenor of my days.
I asked Philip as we sat together over dinner, “How long do you think this trial is going to last?”
He blew lightly on his soup to cool it. “Too long.”
“Will it mean that I won’t see you?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get home, Georgie. The trial won’t go on every day, and we’re fortunate that Winterdale Park is within driving distance of London. The poor souls who live in the north and the west are the ones who will really be stuck.”
“I could come up to London without the children,” I said tentatively.
He shook his head decisively. “You don’t know what is going on. London is almost on the verge of a revolution. Nearly every day a procession, as large as that which provoked the Peterloo massacre, marches through the streets, flaunting banners. Day and night the streets resound with shouts of ‘No Queen, No King!’” He shook his head again. “I do not want you in London.”
He had that look on his face which told me he meant what he said.
I loved my husband dearly, but there were still a few flaws in his character that I was working on. One was his tendency to order me around. The other was his tendency to retreat into himself when something was bothering him. Even after five and a half years of marriage, I still had to pry things out of him.
I supposed the habits of a lifetime were hard to break. “Oh, all right,” I said grumpily. “I’ll stay at Winterdale Park. But I expect you to get home when you can.”
His eyes glinted at me across the table. “You can count on that, sweetheart,” he said.
I shot a glance at the footmen who were standing next to the sideboard, then dropped my glance to my soup so that no one should see the response in my own eyes.
After dinner we took our usual walk in the park with the dogs. Then we played a game of chess before the tea tray came in. Then it was bedtime.
This was the time for us to assert our union in the deepest, most intimate way that was possible. As we clung together in the big four poster, where we had made our two beautiful children, I felt the unutterably precious joy of a woman who is happy and who knows it.
I felt him kiss my throat and my collarbone.
I sighed deeply. “Happiness is such a complicated thing,” I murmured.
“Not at all.” He sounded very sleepy. Philip was always sleepy after he made love.
“It’s not?”
“No.” We had blown out the candles because the moonlight was streaming in through the open window. I heard him yawn. “Happiness is actually very simple,” he said.
“What is it, Philip?” I asked curiously.
His voice was really drowsy now. “Happiness is Georgie,” he said.
Tears filled my eyes. What a lovely thing for him to say. I reached over to kiss his cheek and all I heard was a gentle
wuffle
.
I looked at my husband in the moonlight. He was lying on his back, his hair very dark against the white pillow. His shoulders took up almost the whole of his side of the bed.
Why did he always have to go to sleep on his back? He snored when he was on his back.
I kissed his hard, bare bicep, gave him a shove to make him turn over, and settled myself to sleep as well.
CONTENTS
