Page 10 of Tamed By a Passionate Lady
“It’s that friend of the master’s, isn’t it?” said Tillie suddenly, staring at her in the mirror. “He is a snake in the grass, that one. Be careful, madam.”
The maid had said no more, putting down the brush and curtseying.
Adaline sighed again. How did Tillie know what Reuben Montgomery was really like?
Suddenly, she had the urge to call the woman back in. She wanted so deeply to confide in someone that it was almost overwhelming her. But as she kept staring at herself in the mirror, she told herself, for the hundredth time, that it was impossible.
A snake in the grass.
Tillie had been spot on, as always. Reuben Montgomerywaslike a slithering snake, always watchful, waiting for his chance to strike. How James could be unaware of the true character of his friend was beyond her, but then, the man was clever with it.
If only she could talk about it with her husband. If only they were close enough that she could ask him about his friend, and confide in him how deeply uncomfortable the man made her feel. But that was impossible too.
She blinked, as she kept gazing at herself in the mirror. Her hair was loose, hanging down to her waist, a straight black curtain without even a kink in sight. Her father had always teased her about her hair when she was a little girl, saying that she obviously did not eat her crusts at all because she had not one single curl on her head.
“You are my little Spanish senorita,” he had often said, picking up her hair, and letting it fall down. “Where do you get your straight black hair from, my Adaline?”
“She is a changeling, I am sure,” her mother would laugh. “There is no one who looks like our Adaline on my side of the family!”
She smiled, thinking about her parents. She missed them, so much. Lancashire was a long way from the Midlands where she had grown up. It took days of travel for them to visit here, from her family home in Coventry. And she had not been back, even for Christmas, since she had left.
She could go anytime, of course. James would hardly care and had said to her a few times that she should visit her family. But she had always demurred, clinging to the belief that she was needed here. That perhaps, he might even want her to stay.
The woman in the mirror blinked back tears, her bottom lip wobbling. Perhaps sheshouldarrange a trip to Coventry. Perhaps he would miss her, and when she came back he would finally notice her and how much she loved him.
A single tear fell down her cheek. Hastily, she wiped it away. He would be coming into the room very soon, silently heading towards the bed. He would be already dressed in his nightshirt, and climb into the bed without a word. The most that she was lucky to get was a solemn good night, before he blew out his candle, turning to the wall.
It had been ever thus, since their wedding night. The same painful routine, over and over. It was like sharing a bed with a stranger.
She grimaced. Who was she fooling? Hewasa stranger. He had never let himself be anything else. And yet, still, like the fool she was, she loved him.
She did not know why they persisted with this charade. She did not know why she did not just say to him that she wanted her own chambers, and to sleep in peace without being tormented that he was lying right next to her. That he was so close, and yet so far away.
Maybe it was for the same reason that she hadn’t gone away to visit her family. Perhaps she still believed, somewhere deep inside, that one night he might turn to her, and love her, the way that a husband should love his wife.
He would be here any moment now. She knew his routine. He always made sure to let her undress for bed privately. He would be in his study, doing whatever he did in there. It was sacrosanct – she hardly ever disturbed him there, and when she did, he always looked eager for her to leave. So, she had learnt to give him the space he craved.
Her heart started to beat faster, anticipating his footsteps down the hallway, heading towards the room.
She should get up, now, and get into the bed before he arrived. It was often safer that way. He always looked slightly uncomfortable if she was still sitting there, in her nightdress, when he came in. He would smile awkwardly, as if she were a passing acquaintance on a street that he had no particular interest in stopping to talk with.
But she did not move. Slowly, she reached out a hand, touching the face in the mirror. Her face. The face of a woman who was a respectably married woman, now.
Her heart constricted. She did not feel married. And she had never felt as if she was truly wed, not from the moment that he had first slipped the wedding ring onto her finger.
***
The sun had been shining brightly, unusual for a late autumn day. She recalled that she had turned her face up to the sky, quietly thanking the Lord for it, feeling as if he had made this day special, just for her.
Her mother had fussed for weeks over the gown that she was wearing for the ceremony. There had been five visits to the dressmaker in Coventry. And it had been packed as if it was a rare and precious thing, for the long journey to Lancashire - the journey to the local parish church, where she would exchange vows with the man who was about to become her husband.
The whole congregation had turned, almost as one, when she had stepped into the church on her father’s arm. But the one that she wanted to turn around, and gaze at her as she walked down the aisle towards him, kept his face firmly to the altar.
She should have known, then She should have intuited, that it would always be thus. But like the fool that she was, she had glided towards him, oblivious.
Turn around, she willed, gazing at that firm, strong back. Please, turn around and look at me.
He didn’t turn, not even once.
