Page 26

Chapter 25

‘This, that, these, those,’ Mr Humphrey said, standing ramrod straight and enunciating the words with elaborate movements of his mouth and tongue.

Rory’s knees bounced anxiously beneath the table in the tutor’s room as he wrestled with his distracted thoughts. When Mr Humphrey gesticulated meaningfully at him, he drew in a resigned breath and, on the exhalation, repeated, ‘This, that, these, those.’ He didn’t imitate Mr Humphrey’s exaggerated diction, but he did make an effort to pronounce the words with the proper ‘th’ sound, and not to fall back on the more comfortable ‘d’ sound he had used for most of his life.

‘Very good, Mr Carey,’ the tutor said, beaming. ‘Please repeat several times over while I check on the young masters’ progress.’

Jack and Gus were seated on the opposite side of the table, toiling over open books containing arithmetic equations. Jack’s head was bent in concentration as his pencil scratched at the paper, while Gus chewed on the end of his pencil and stared dolefully down at several empty spaces on his page.

Mr Humphrey cast an eye over Jack’s calculations and gave an approving nod. ‘Excellent, Master Jack. Keep working like this and you’ll do splendidly where your future studies take you.’

Jack coloured with quiet pleasure, but his expression faltered as his gaze flickered to his oblivious younger brother. Then Mr Humphrey peered over Gus’s shoulder and clicked his tongue, not in annoyance but in sympathy.

‘Let us decipher these equations together, Master Angus,’ he said cheerily, seating himself on the chair next to Gus. ‘We shall soon unravel their mysteries.’

He cocked an encouraging eyebrow at Rory as he took possession of Gus’s pencil. With some reluctance, Rory began to recite ‘this, that, these, those’ multiple times, taking care not to let his pronunciation slip and reminding himself that his elocution needed to be flawless whenever the Duke of Desmond was obliged to make an appearance.

After five or six repetitions, he let his voice trail away. Mr Humphrey didn’t notice, preoccupied as he was with explaining to Gus how to identify the lowest common denominator in a set of fractions. Rory pressed his palms to his bouncing knees in an attempt to still them, but his mind would not settle.

Emily had returned to Bewley Hall with her father the previous evening, her air of melancholy palpable. In the presence of her brothers and the servants, she had explained that her father’s spontaneous visit to Yorkshire had been fortuitous as she’d been feeling a little unwell and, not wanting to be a burden to her kind hosts, she had thought it best to spend a week or so at home until she’d recovered. But later, in the privacy of their suite, she had confessed the distressing truth to Rory: they had suffered another bitter disappointment in their efforts to conceive.

She had wept in his embrace until a troubled sleep had claimed her. This morning, she’d permitted Jennie to dress her but had chosen not to join the family at breakfast, although she had urged Rory to follow his normal routine, which he had done without enthusiasm. Now, sitting here in the tutor’s room, he wished he had ignored her gentle insistence. Every instinct clamoured at him to go seek her out and offer her whatever scrap of comfort he could.

He stood abruptly. Mr Humphrey looked over at him in surprise.

‘I’ve got something I need to do right now,’ Rory said. ‘’Tis important.’

‘ It’s important,’ Mr Humphrey corrected.

Rory repeated the words properly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Mr Humphrey squinted at him in concern and then nodded. As Rory hurried towards the door, he heard Gus say, ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got something important to go do as well, Mr Humphrey.’

‘That may be,’ replied the tutor with a chuckle, ‘but I’m afraid masters don’t have the same liberties as misters.’

Gus grumbled as Rory let the door swing shut behind him.

He strode along the corridor, heading first to Emily’s parlour, certain that this was where she would have retreated in her despondency. However, when he pushed open the door, he found an empty room and a blank sheet of paper clipped to the drawing board on her easel.

He hesitated. Perhaps she was with her mother, confiding her sorrow. If so, Lady Bridget would be far better equipped than Rory to offer counsel on such intimate female matters. The thought eased his mind and he was almost about to retrace his steps when, glancing out the parlour window, he spotted Lady Bridget herself skirting the lawn in her riding habit, a crop in her gloved hand. His momentary relief vanished. If the lady was heading out for a ride, then Emily would certainly not be in her company.

Guessing that her preferred companion was probably solitude after all, he made his way upstairs to their private suite and, indeed, that was where he found her, huddled on the window seat in their bedchamber with her knees drawn up beneath her skirts. She was slow to turn her head towards him in the doorway, giving him enough time to see that she had been staring listlessly out the window. How long had she been in that forlorn position? Since he had left her before breakfast?

He closed the door behind him and crossed the room to the window seat. Instead of sitting beside her, he leaned against the wooden panelling on the wall next to the alcove. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. She usually filled any silence between them with animated chatter, but today she was mute. He was no good with words and he cursed that failing now more than ever. Still, he had to try.

‘You’re sad,’ he said, deciding to start with the obvious.

The corner of her mouth quivered upwards as though she were attempting a brave smile. In the end, she only managed a rueful wince. ‘I am.’

He swallowed. ‘I know ’tis hard, but d’you want to talk about it?’

He wasn’t disposed to correct his pronunciation outside of Mr Humphrey’s presence, not when there were more important matters to focus on. It felt like a bit of a cheat to put the burden of speaking back onto her, but she took a shaky breath.

‘I haven’t told you about a disconcerting conversation I had with Louise last month,’ she admitted. ‘With the kindest of intentions, she helped me to see that I was harbouring two incompatible ambitions. Though both could co-exist for the time being, I realised that I would ultimately be forced to choose between pursuing my art and raising a family. And so, after much contemplation, I chose.’ Her voice grew softer. ‘I decided I wanted to be a mother more than anything else, and I was prepared to set aside my other dream for the sake of this one. And when I returned home to Bewley Hall and you and I lay together, I felt certain that this was our time at last. It had to be, for I had finally committed myself wholly to the goal of motherhood, in mind as well as body. I believed my divided heart had been all that held us back.’

He remembered the happiness she had radiated upon her departure from Bewley Hall – she had seemed almost brighter than the sun.

Now, a swell of anguish moistened her blue eyes. ‘I was thus devastated when my courses came a few days ago—even heavier than usual, to add insult to injury.’ She bowed her head. ‘It seemed to me the definitive sign that my dearest wish simply cannot come true. I am grieving for a future that will never transpire.’

Even as his heart cracked for her loss and his own, he floundered for some words of solace. ‘Just ’cause it didn’t happen this time doesn’t mean ’tis never going to happen.’

She sighed. ‘Only it wasn’t just this time, was it? It was last month too, and the month before that, and the month before that.’

She could have kept going but she didn’t need to; over a year and a half into their marriage, it had been more months than either of them wanted to count.

‘Sometimes these things take a while,’ he tried limply.

‘Most of the time they do not,’ she countered, looking up at him with a little more fire in her expression. ‘My mother conceived her very first time. She confessed as much when she came to me here after breakfast, though I had to pry it out of her.’

He shifted uncomfortably, the panelling digging into his back. He had no inclination to picture his parents-in-law engaging in that private act. While he knew, of course, that it had been essential in order to bring his beloved Emily into the world, it only reminded him that all parents were implicated in that deed, which made him think of his own mother, and that was most certainly not a thought in which he wanted to indulge any further.

He moved on swiftly. ‘You’re still really young. We both are.’

Her gaze dropped to her knees. ‘Mama was already with child at my age.’

‘But you’re not your ma,’ he said forcefully. ‘Comparing yourself to her doesn’t help.’

She swivelled away to the window, clearly wounded.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said at once, scrabbling to recover. ‘I just meant that your body is different to hers, in lots of ways. You can’t ride a horse as well as her, and she can’t paint as skilfully as you. It stands to reason that there must be other differences too.’

He was glad when she turned back to him and he discerned the tiniest flicker of hope in her countenance.

‘That’s true,’ she said. ‘I ought not to expect our situations to be exactly the same.’

He tried not to wonder just how many intimate details she had shared with her mother in her attempt to find comparisons. ‘I hope it helps, even a little bit.’

‘It does,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

She put out her hand to him and he stepped away from the panelling to take it. As their fingers touched, she grimaced. He pulled his hand back as though he had burned her.

‘What did I do?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ she said wearily. ‘It’s just a particularly bad cramp.’

She withdrew her own hand to massage her belly. He stood immobilised in place. Yes, he was her husband, and yes, they had participated in extremely familiar activities with each other’s bodies. Still, her secret aching and bleeding seemed like a female area into which he was not entitled to intrude.

And yet, he yearned to do anything he could to ease the contours of pain on her face. Cautiously, he stepped close and let his hand hover above hers in the space between her torso and her bent knees. She peeped up at him and her eyes filled with tenderness. Sliding her hand away, she allowed him to press his own to the flat plane of her stomach. He felt the stiffness of her stays beneath her dress and negotiated his way below the rigid material, seeking a softer region of her flesh but taking care not to venture too far downwards. He didn’t want to signal the wrong intention – he knew she was in neither the mood nor the condition to engage in passionate pursuits today.

Gently, he rubbed the lower part of her belly and watched her eyelids flutter shut. The lines on her forehead softened and she looked more like her youthful nineteen-year-old self. They stayed like that for a long time, his palm massaging her without pause and her breathing becoming slow and relaxed.

At last, she murmured, ‘I feel so much better. I think I am tranquil enough now to try to sleep.’

He didn’t say anything. He just slipped his arms under her knees and her back, gathered her up in her mass of skirts, and carried her over to their bed. Laying her down on top of it with the utmost care, he tugged the covers over from his side and draped them across her fully clothed figure. She mumbled something unintelligible. He kissed her forehead and backed away from the bed. By the time he shut the door, she was asleep.

Over the next two days, Rory spent much of his time in the company of Mr Comerford, who had scheduled a meeting with Lord Sinclair’s land agent, Mr Longridge, to discuss an area of tree felling that would benefit both the Bewley and Sinclair estates. They rode out both days to conduct lengthy surveys of the site in question and drafted preliminary plans to determine the most efficient way to carry out the work, including the construction of a sawmill to process the timber. However, the morning after that, he rejoined Jack and Gus for another bout of Mr Humphrey’s tutoring, although he sorely wished he hadn’t when he entered the room and saw that the table and chairs had been pushed to the side. He knew which component of their lessons required moving the furniture, and he always dreaded it.

‘Now, now, no long faces,’ Mr Humphrey trilled. ‘Every young gentleman must know how to dance.’

Rory recognised his own reluctance in Jack’s slumped posture. Gus, on the other hand, sprang to attention, straightening his shoulders and his tricorne.

‘I want to be a good escort when the time comes for me to accompany a lady to a ball,’ he declared.

Rory and Jack were more than happy to let Gus be the primary beneficiary of Mr Humphrey’s instruction, encouraging him to serve as the volunteer upon whom the tutor demonstrated all the dance moves. Still, they could not avoid participation entirely and in due course Mr Humphrey beckoned to them to perform the steps themselves. Adopting the proper stance for bowing at the introduction of a dance was bearable, but Rory wanted to sink into the floor when the tutor made him take his hand and turn in a circle one way and then the other.

‘You must be lighter of foot, Mr Carey,’ said Mr Humphrey. ‘Remember that you are a noble gentleman, not an elephant.’

Although Rory was in no doubt that his humble origins had far more in common with elephants than noble gentlemen, he suffered on, stumbling through the movements to the tune of Mr Humphrey’s indefatigable enthusiasm. Next to him, Gus received praise for his exuberance, though the tutor tempered it with a gentle caution that excessive energy could result in the inadvertent crushing of a lady’s delicate toes. A stoic Jack persevered quietly alongside them without drawing too much attention.

Mr Humphrey’s patience was greatly tested throughout the dancing lesson and yet he somehow managed to reach the end with a bright smile still affixed upon his face. As soon as he brought the proceedings to a conclusion, Jack and Gus tore out the door – the former looking relieved at his escape, the latter chirping that he couldn’t wait to tell his ma what he had just learned – leaving Rory and Mr Humphrey to push the table and chairs back into place in the centre of the room.

‘Don’t glower like that, Mr Carey,’ the tutor said in an amused tone. ‘Dancing is not as torturous as you imagine. You will get better. And you never know—someday you might even enjoy it.’

Rory endeavoured to shake off his frown as he shoved a chair under the table. ‘I’m no good at it,’ he muttered. ‘If I ever try to do this in public, I’m going to make a fool of myself. Worse, I’ll make a fool of Emily.’

‘Aye, you certainly will,’ Mr Humphrey agreed, ‘at your current level of ability. But I have a reputation to preserve, so I won’t permit you to dance in public until you’re ready. And I promise that you will improve with practice. First, though, you need to remove this pressure you’ve put upon yourself. You cannot hope for positive results when you are wound so tight with the strain of striving to meet the expectations of others. Allow your body to loosen up and eventually it will find its natural rhythm.’

Rory thrust the last chair into place and didn’t respond. How could he explain to the tutor that the expectations had not been put on him by others but by himself? He knew Emily and her parents wouldn’t think any less of him if he proved to be utterly incapable of keeping time in a waltz, but he would not forgive himself if he couldn’t achieve those standards. Emily deserved only the best. If that wasn’t him, then he’d had no business marrying her at all.

After leaving Mr Humphrey’s room, he went in search of her; he suspected his dancing woes would amuse her and he longed to bring a smile back to her face. Once again, she was not in her parlour, so he made his way to their suite of rooms. He dreaded finding her curled up on the window seat in another state of melancholy, but this time the seat was empty and instead the sound of voices drifted from the adjoining bathing room. As he dithered in the centre of the bedchamber, Jennie emerged through the bathing room door with an armful of wet towels. There was a briskness to her step, which always grew more pronounced whenever her mistress was back in residence. She came to a surprised halt at the sight of Rory.

‘Oh, Mr Carey,’ she blurted. ‘Um, Mrs Carey isn’t disposed to—’

‘It’s quite all right, Jennie,’ Emily called through the doorway. ‘I am decent enough for my husband’s eyes.’

She appeared from the bathing room enveloped in a long, thin, cream-coloured wrapper, knotting its sash around her waist. Her feet were bare and her hair was damp, its golden hue darkened to a deeper shade of caramel.

‘There’s no need to come back for now,’ she said to Jennie, her tone light. ‘I should like to take a nap before I get dressed. I’ll ring the bell when I’m ready.’

Whether Jennie believed the excuse or not, she didn’t betray any reaction. Curtseying, she left the bedchamber with the wet towels. As soon as she was gone, Emily skipped across the room to Rory and wrapped her arms around him.

‘I had a bath and now I feel clean and wonderfully refreshed,’ she said, beaming. ‘It was quite ridiculous of me to be so dismal these last few days. My spirits are much better again.’ She squeezed him happily and peeked up at him through her eyelashes. ‘In case you didn’t guess, the nap was only a pretence. I’m not sleepy at all.’

He tried to chuckle, but even to his ears it sounded false. When he endeavoured to loosen her grip on him, she tightened her hold.

‘I’m ready to try again,’ she said eagerly. ‘Let’s make a baby. I know it will happen this time. I’m sure of it.’

He detected the subtle vein of desperation beneath her eagerness and his heart dropped. Even before they had begun, she had already placed so much expectation upon the act. And to what depth of despondency might she sink next time if they were once more unsuccessful? They couldn’t keep going through this same cycle of highs and lows month after month.

With a more determined effort, he detached himself from the circle of her arms and backed away. Her brows knitted together.

‘Rory?’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’

He didn’t know how to say it – he never had the right words. But then the solution came to him with sudden, striking clarity.

Mr Humphrey had given him the words.

‘You need to remove this pressure,’ he said quietly.

She blinked. ‘What pressure?’

‘The pressure you’ve put on yourself. On us.’ He drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he sorted through the things Mr Humphrey had said, trying to choose the best way to communicate them to Emily. ‘Every time we join, we’re wound up so tight with expectation, hoping against hope that it’ll finally happen. But ’tisn’t fair on either of us. How can we expect a positive result when our bodies are under such stress? Surely the more we strain towards it, the less likely it becomes.’

She stared at him, utterly silent. To his alarm, her chin began to tremble. But then she said in a small, choked voice, ‘You’re right, of course. We cannot force it through will alone.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘In truth, it is only wishful thinking at this stage. I am convinced it will never come to pass.’

His alarm increased even further. ‘I didn’t mean for you to lose all hope,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Just to take the weight off our shoulders. We have to give it more time.’

She pressed her palms over her abdomen. ‘But I yearn for a child so very much,’ she whispered. ‘How long will our bodies make us wait?’

He stepped close to her again and folded her into him, her cheek resting against his chest, the damp curls on her crown grazing his jaw. ‘Maybe if we stop asking the question, it will be answered sooner rather than later.’

She sniffed and nodded. ‘We shall continue to be patient. It may yet transpire when the time is right.’

In the silence that followed, he found a small, selfish comfort: Emily was safe. Childbirth was fraught with danger – it had almost claimed her mother’s life when Gus was born. If Emily never conceived, at least they would be spared that terror.

The thought didn’t mend the hurt, but it softened its edges, just a little.

She made to step out of his embrace but he held onto her, clasping her slender frame against him.

‘There’s something I’d like to do,’ he said softly.

She peered up at him. ‘What is it?’

‘I want to show you that your body isn’t just for making babies. ’Tis important for you to remember that you can just enjoy it as it is, without pressuring it to live up to any expectations.’

A faint pink colour bloomed in her cheeks. ‘Oh,’ she said, the corners of her mouth curving upwards. ‘Yes, perhaps that is a lesson worth learning.’

Her fingers skimmed down his chest, reaching for the buttons on his coat, but he caught her by the wrists and shook his head.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ he said. ‘Today is just for you.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Oh,’ she said again, her tone pitched higher this time. ‘B-but that’s not an equal way of going about it.’

‘’Tis the way I want to do it,’ he said firmly. ‘Will you let me?’

She bit her lower lip. Then she gave him a bashful nod.

He released her wrists and reached for the sash of her wrapper. He wasn’t inclined to speak any more words for now; it would be far easier to show what he meant by revering her body with his own. He was determined to demonstrate to her that, regardless of what additional joy might or might not come to them in the future, what they already shared was truly enough.