Page 14 of What the Lady Wants
Isabella locked her list away and climbed into bed, considering and then immediately discarding the idea of commencing a new letter to her mother. Somehow she couldn’t… She’d do it tomorrow, perhaps. Her mama worried if more than a day or two passed between letters, and she had promised to be a faithful correspondent. But as her complicatedreality and the anodyne world of her missives home drew further and further apart, she could see that it would become harder and harder to write and calm her mother’s fears, even though she must.
She felt no desire to lay hands on herself tonight; she was, for the first time since Ash’s death, entirely sated. Her limbs felt heavy, relaxed, languorous, and her breasts, her nipples and her secret parts were still tingling at his touch. Leo’s touch. Ash, Ash, Ash… She realised she was weeping softly. She supposed it was no wonder. She had achieved so much of her aim: when she thought of a man’s hands on her, wreaking precious oblivion, she would no longer think always of that last urgent coupling in their lodging, uniform undone, ballgown pushed aside, before he left her with a swift, desperate kiss and rode off to his waiting death. The memory of that day and its awful aftermath was a little weaker, she thought, and would be weaker still once her list was completed. It was a loss, but it was what she had wanted, what she wanted now, and if it cost her a tear or two it was worth it.
But if she were honest, that was not the sole source of her distress. She had thought herself armoured against all possibilities, in embarking on her mission to take charge of her life: she had resolved to stop at any point if the gentleman’s attentions did not please her; she had been reconciled to the fact that Ash had been a considerate and skilful lover and it was unreasonable to expect as much of another, chosen almost at random as he had been. So she had accepted that the intimacy might be clumsy, awkward, perhaps unfulfilling. She hadn’t expected it to be better.
Not better, she instantly corrected herself. Not better. Never that. But different. She had been a virgin, of course, when she had married. Ash had not been similarly untouched – he had been a man of seven and twenty, and experienced. He had takenthe lead, inevitably, for she had been ignorant and unsure, and had always tempered his desire with gentleness and care for her. They had found themselves well-matched in passion, and explored what gave them pleasure over the months of their marriage, until they met as equals, or nearly so. Everything that passed between them had always been a matter of mutual consent, leading to mutual ecstasy. But having first taken the lead he had always done so afterwards, and Isabella had never thought to question the rightness of it. Perhaps they might have lived a whole happy life together without her ever questioning it: forty years of marriage, a deep mutual satisfaction that endured. Who could tell, since it was not to be?
But now Isabella had her list, and her wish for control – control in her own life, and control in intimate matters. She had not known, when she embarked on this course, that it would set something free inside her, something entirely unsuspected till tonight. Because when Leo had submitted himself so humbly to her wishes, she had realised that his willingness to do so – no, God, much more than that, his intense pleasure in doing so – was more powerfully arousing than anything she had ever experienced with Ash. He had given himself to her without reserve in a way that Ash never had, in a way that she had never dreamed a man could. And she loved it. It was idle to deny that she loved it. She could not help seeing it as a betrayal of her lost husband and all they had shared. And so she wept. She was conscious of the folly of it – if letting another man touch and caress her was not a betrayal of Ash, and she had firmly decided it wasn’t, why should this be? It was just a quirk of her nature that had been revealed to her by circumstance. It wasn’t as though she was in love with Leo. That was obviously quite out of the question. And thatwouldbe treachery.
She turned restlessly in her bed, and with a decisive thump reversed the pillow for a moment’s blessed coolness. This wasnot what she had thought she wanted. How could she ever have envisaged this? But she had tasted it and now she needed it. Her body and her mind and her spirit craved it, all the more because she knew this opportunity was a brief one, never to be repeated. She refused to pick over the whys and wherefores of it and make herself miserable; she’d been miserable for so many months and it had driven her mad. No more.
14
Certain circumstances of a private nature meant that Lady Ashby was able to make no progress with her list for several days. Their next casual meeting naturally took place in front of others, and Leo grew anxious when she smiled on him but made no effort to arrange a further rendezvous. He began to wonder if something was amiss until she contrived to whisper that she was suffering from a feminine indisposition. He was conscious that his face cleared in comprehension and relief – she had not tired of him, she was not regretting all that had passed between them so far, she meant to continue – and he pressed her hand with what he hoped was a very speaking look of sympathy.
He was both sorry and not sorry that their intimacy proceeded no further for a while. Sorry because he was speculating on what might come next; he thought that there were a couple of things that were obvious – but he might be wrong – and he was tormenting his nights with dreaming of them. Dreaming of her. He was in an almost constant state of sexual arousal and was, he knew, responding almost at random to remarks addressed to him. She was a drug to him, and he craved her like any addict.
But he wasn’t at all sure that sexual release would cure him. It hadn’t yet. He’d spilt himself between her lovely breasts and he was still obsessed; he didn’t imagine that coming inside her, greatly though he desired it, was any likelier to set him free. God knows he didn’t want it to. He was a prisoner who dreaded the day of his release and hoped it would be long delayed. He knew with painful clarity that all this must end one day, and he was more than content to wait and postpone the dreadful hour a little. His body might not be so patient, but his heart was. He didn’t want her to cross the last item from her list, whether that was fifteen or fifty or five hundred, and send him on his way. So a pause was welcome. He was, in this as in everything else, her servant.
He was also, he was brought to realise a day or so later, painfully obvious in his affections. Leo did not know if Cassandra had noticed and told Hal, or if Hal – newly attuned to the tender emotions as he was – had observed his sad state, but in any case, one afternoon when they were alone together in Lord Irlam’s library his cousin said abruptly, ‘Not been quite yourself these past weeks, Leo, wouldn’t you say?’
He looked up from his wine glass, startled, and saw that Hal was regarding him with affection, and a little concern. He thought for a moment of denying everything, saying he had no idea what Hal was babbling on about, but it would be futile – Irlam wasn’t stupid – and unfair to one who was the closest to a brother he had, or would ever have. ‘No,’ he said, and took an incautiously deep swig of Madeira that made his eyes water. ‘No, I don’t suppose I have.’
‘Care to tell me about it? There’s no need to reveal to me with a fanfare of trumpets the object of your attentions, old boy – I’m not a complete imbecile.’
‘I never thought you were. Yes. I do love her, Hal.’
‘Of course you do. No reason you shouldn’t. I don’t think she’s indifferent to you, either. You seem to get along famously, the two of you. So why do you hesitate to declare yourself, and why are you so down in the mouth?’
‘She doesn’t want to marry again. Is determined not to.’
Hal made a rude noise and said, ‘Nonsense. The way she looks at you… I’m sure she’s been hurt, had a terrible time of it, poor girl, to be widowed so young. But I’m sure all you need is a little time and patience. Has she explicitly refused you?’
‘I haven’t asked her. I don’t intend to – it’s the last thing she wants from me, and it would ruin everything. It’s far more complicated than you can know, Hal.’
‘It always is,’ said Lord Irlam with weary resignation, as if he spent half his life hearing that something or other was more complicated than he could possibly suspect. ‘Always. It’s this family – touched in the upper works, the whole lot of us, I’m beginning to think. Wouldn’t have said you were one of those with his attics to let, of course, before this, but very little surprises me now. I’m used to dealing with Georgie’s affairs, remember. Nothing you’ve embroiled yourself in could possibly be more tangled than the unholy mess she and Northriding made for themselves a couple of months back, and yet look at them now, smelling of April and May, enough to make a fellow queasy.’
Leo laughed hollowly. ‘You’re wrong, you know. I don’t know the ins and outs of Georgie’s troubles, and Lord knows I don’t want to, but I don’t see how this can be solved. It’s quite hopeless.’
‘I don’t know about that, but I can see it’s causing you pain. I’d like to help, if I can. I can listen, anyway. It might relieve your feelings, you never know.’
Captain Winterton looked at his cousin’s open face and knew that if he were to tell anybody at all of his predicament it mustbe Hal. This was a man who’d shouldered more than his fair share of life’s responsibilities, though he was not yet thirty, and he was utterly trustworthy and unlikely to judge. Setting aside Georgie’s doings over the last year or so, Hal’s brother Bastian and his aunt Louisa, though they were necessarily discreet about it, both lived what most people would consider highly irregular, even sinful lives, with companions of their own sex, and he thought no less of them for it, and loved them both as much as he had ever done. It was probably true that nothing could shock or surprise him. He was sorely tempted, and almost sure he could trust Hal to be discreet – but it was not his secret alone, and so he couldn’t take the risk.
He said, ‘I appreciate the offer, Hal, don’t think I’m not sensible of your kindness. But I can’t go into detail – forgive me. It’s enough to know that I love her, and there’s no future in it. She may, as you say, not be entirely indifferent to me. But it’s of no consequence since her mind is quite made up that she will never marry again. Can we speak of something else?’
Hal, his face troubled, had no option but to agree, and the painful subject was abandoned.
15
Lady Ashby was surprised, and a little disconcerted, to receive a morning visit from the Countess of Irlam. She was not greatly acquainted with that lady, despite their connection by marriage, and at first thought that she must be calling on Lady Blanche, who happened to be absent with her daughter at the modiste’s that day. But no; once the Countess had been admitted to the drawing room – Isabella had had a wild idea of telling the butler that she was not at home, but a second’s reflection told her that this was impossible – she smiled and said, ‘I’m glad to find you alone, Lady Ashby, for I confess it’s you I most particularly hoped to see.’ Cassandra was a little occupied in stripping off her gloves and removing her fashionable bonnet and braided blue velvet pelisse, and so presumably did not see the fleeting expression of sheer panic that passed across Isabella’s face. She murmured some polite response, she could not have said what, and waited. What could this woman she barely knew possibly want with her? She was alone, without even little Billy to keep her company and give her courage.
Tea was brought, and once it had been poured the two ladies regarded each other. Isabella was glad that she was wearingone of her new gowns: the green one, in fact, with the slashed sleeves and habit shirt, which most unaccountably she always associated with her interview with Captain Winterton, in this very room. She couldn’t hope to compete with her ethereal guest in terms of style and elegance and beauty – that had already been established at Mrs Singleton’s party – but at least she was fashionably dressed today, and well groomed, and not wearing brown. She refused to dwell on preciselywhythe idea of competing with Lady Irlam – over what, pray? – should so much as have entered her head.
Cassandra went on, ‘I thought we should become better acquainted, as two ladies from Yorkshire among so many southerners. You’re from Harrogate originally, I understand? I have been there often, but I grew up in Skipton – do you know it?’
Isabella did, and they conversed easily for a little while, discovering that they had some acquaintances in common, and might easily have met on several occasions, had they but known it. She began to relax. Clearly, her wilder imaginings – in which Lady Irlam betrayed an unexpected possessive streak over Captain Winterton, her cicisbeo, and upbraided Isabella in deeply mortifying terms for stealing him away – were ridiculous. They must be entirely preposterous, surely – this was a friendly, happily married lady, who had no sinister intentions whatsoever, and furthermore could know nothing, nothing at all, about her husband’s cousin’s illicit relations with Isabella. Nor could she have the least suspicion of the Captain’s unrequited passion; of course he would have been discreet in such excessively awkward circumstances. These were reassuring thoughts and enabled Isabella to converse with her unexpected guest with perfect composure.
It would be good, she thought, to have a friend of her own age to talk to – and to write reassuringly to her mother about – atleast for the short while she remained in London, and one with whom she had something in common in the way of background, even though their current circumstances were very different. It must pain her somewhat to think that if Ash had lived she and her guest might very well have become bosom bows, through their tenuous family connection, and seen a great deal of each other as the years went by. All this could never come to pass now, of course; she’d be back in Harrogate soon enough, under her parents’ roof. But she pushed that thought aside; she had a great deal of practice at banishing unwelcome thoughts, and barely flinched now when one threatened to assail her.
