Page 14 of A Tryst By the Sea
Chapter Four
“No green ormer,” Gill said, bringing the bag of apple tarts to the table on the terrace. The morning was sunny, as only an oceanside morning could be, and in the bright light of day, Penelope still looked a bit tired. “I have asked Father Triton to surrender that boon to me, and I will continue searching until I find a shell worthy of my lady’s notice. How did you sleep?”
Penelope was swaddled in a dressing gown that looked four sizes too large for her. She wore only old slippers, and her hair was still in its bedtime braid. An entire ocean of frigid water could not douse the interest she held for Gill in such dishabille.
“I slept,” she said, “but I still feel the effects of yesterday’s journey. You’ve been swimming.”
“A refreshing dip to start the day.” And to dash some frigid common sense on Gill’s wayward imagination. “Shall I dress, Pen, or can you tolerate the sight of me in only breeches and shirt?”
She poured two cups of steaming tea. “I am less presentable than you are, and the morning is too pretty to quibble over fashion.”
Gill hadn’t remained in the water long, but the exertion had helped settle his mood. “I did not sleep as well as I’d anticipated,” he said, watching as Penelope fixed his tea—a dash of sugar, a drop of milk. “I became preoccupied with the thought of the tabbies subjecting you to nasty rumors about your own husband. I am sorry for that, Penelope. I am equally sorry that I gave you reason to believe them.”
She adjusted her dressing gown, though it enveloped her from chin to ankles. “For a man of your standing and means, to support a second household is expected.”
Could she sound any more uninterested? “What would be the point?” Gill sipped his tea and wondered where Penelope was going with her observation.
“Pleasure?” she said, her cheeks coloring. “You are vigorous, my lord.”
“There is no pleasure in broken vows, Penelope. Not for me.”Have you missed me?When Gill would have posed the question, Penelope passed him an apple tart.
“Do you ever wish we’d never married?” she asked, gaze on the sea in the distance.
Good God, she was in a fearless mood. “No. I have other regrets—I wish the baby had lived. I wish we hadn’t been so young when we married. I wish… many things, but I haveneverregretted being your husband.”
And that, to his surprise, was true. He and Penelope had grown apart, but he esteemed her, desired her, and in some stubborn way, he loved her. She had been through the fires of sorrow and loss with him as nobody else had been, and that… that mattered.
Gill did not, however, ask her the reciprocal question. Seeing her impassively watch the distant horizon, he did not need to.
Though even as he watched her, her expression did not change, while her eyes filled with tears. “I loathe this time of year.”
He’d mentioned the child. Not well done of him. Gill rose, intending only to pass her his handkerchief, though he wanted desperately to take her into his arms, into his lap, and simply hold her.
She put up a hand, and she might as well have slapped him.
“I hate that you suffer, my lady. I hate that we lost our son. I hate that my father had the bad grace to expire two weeks later, when I was already reeling and hardly in a position to… Damnation, Penelope.”
The first tear trickled down her cheek. She wiped it away with her fingers. “I tend to forget that yours was a double loss. The baby and then his lordship. Bad timing, as you say. Terrible timing. The worst.”
Gill switched seats so he was beside her, and they could both gaze upon the eternal vastness of the sea. He passed over his handkerchief.
“Papa was so happy to know we had a son,” he said. “I worry that when the baby died, the old man gave up too. That, somehow, the two deaths were related.”
Penelope frowned at him as she dabbed at her cheeks. “Your father had lived his three score and ten, Vergilius, and Bella and Tommie already had two sons. The succession was and is secure, and your father was not overly given to sentiment. Besides, your mother lost a child at six months of age. She has mentioned this repeatedly. His lordship of all people knew that such things happen.”
Gill barely recalled the sibling who’d died. He recalled a small, wheezy scrap of an infant, one whose presence had inspired the nurserymaids to prayers and hushed voices. At least the sickliest one was a girl, they’d said, though Master Tommie had been none too robust. At least his lordship had his heir and spare.
At the time, Gill hadn’t understood those comments. Now they offended him mightily.
“I abhor those words,” he said. “‘These things happen.’ War happens, and nobody suggests that’s a passing triviality. Famine, influenza epidemics. Just because something happens with tragic predictability doesn’t mean it’s of no moment.”
Penelope folded up his handkerchief and offered him a small, sweet smile. “You are angry.”
Andthatcaused her to smile at him? “Furious. With nurserymaids who’ve probably long since gone to their Maker. With my father, for dying when I needed him terribly. With my mother, for being so casual about her own bereavement. This is not charming talk, though, and I promised myself that I would be a charming companion to you on this sortie.”
Penelope passed him back his linen, her fingers brushing over his hand.
“Keep it, my lady. A wife should not be without a token of her husband’s esteem.”
