Susan Johnson - Again and Again

Daphne’s mouth firmed for a moment. “He’s quite involved, actually. Will you be visiting Monkshood soon?” she shot back.

As capable as Daphne at dissembling, Simon turned to Caroline and smiled. “What do you think, dear. Should we go and visit mother?”

“I’d love to.”

There was an audible gasp. Isabella had been heard to tell Caroline on more than one occasion, that she would never allow her son to marry a woman with a drunken father and no money.

“Mother may be off for Florence soon, Gore tells me,” Simon noted with a smile. “Perhaps we’ll drive down before she leaves and bid her adieu.”

If the visitors hadn’t known better, they might have thought Simon actually talked to his mother other than on those instances when their business affairs required it.

The visit was turning out to be more entertaining than a performance at Covent Garden.

“Will you be staying in London long?” The young Earl of Dalhousie asked.

And those friends of Simon’s who had come today to see the rare wonder of Simon married knew Dalhousie was asking-without your wife.

Caroline glanced at Simon. “I’m not sure,” she said. Although she would have left for the country tomorrow if Isabella were gone. The pettiness and insincerity of society held no appeal.

The duke smiled at his wife and then cast his gaze on all the expectant faces. “It depends,” he said. On how long he could stand to play the husband. On how long it took his wife to get with child. On whether either of them could truly withstand the day-to-day obligations of marriage.

“Brookes isn’t the same without your high play,” Dalhousie noted.

Simon knew what Douglas had been asking the first time. “Perhaps after the honeymoon,” Simon murmured.

Caroline blushed furiously.

“Did I mention Caro has taken on the task of redesigning the gardens here?” he smoothly interposed. “You must all ask her about Villa d’Este, which is her favorite. Tell them, darling, about the grotto you’ve planned.” And he placed his arm along the back of the settee and leaned toward her slightly.

It was a protective gesture. He was telling them all to be kind to his wife or risk his wrath. A strange new role for a man who had always been charming but relatively indifferent to the woman on his arm.

The afternoon continued apace, with probing questions and temperate answers, the avid curiosity seemingly boundless until finally Simon had had enough. Coming to his feet, he bowed faintly to the visitors. “Thank you all for coming to welcome us back to the city. But my wife and I have a pressing engagement” Drawing Caroline to her feet, he slipped his arm around her waist and then kissed her gently not on the cheek, but on the mouth. After which he escorted his wife from the room.

The guests were left wide-eyed with shock.

The duke’s fondness for his wife, and more titillating, his sexual ardor was undisguised.

It was the most delicious scandal.

Imagine, the infamous Duke of Hargreave in love with his wife!

Everyone tumbled from the room in haste to spread the news.

Within another fortnight, Simon was visibly chafing at his bonds and the naysayers were smugly quoting the old saw about a leopard’s spots. He’d escorted Caroline to countless entertainments in the weeks past, attended several plays with her, had even gone shopping with her in Bond Street on numerous occasions. He hadn’t once visited his clubs, nor any of his usual haunts and the constraints on his life were taking their toll.

He was edgy and short-tempered.

Even Gore, who was the most mild-mannered of men, found himself the object of Simon’s displeasure one afternoon.

Immediately apologizing for his outburst, Simon flung himself into a chair and swore under his breath for a lengthy interval.

“Is there anything I can do, sir?” Gore inquired once Simon had stopped cursing, although he cautiously stayed near the door.

Thank you for asking, but no.“ The duke sighed.

“Now give me the bad news. What’s on our schedule for tonight?”

“A dinner at the Eustices, sir.”

Simon groaned.

“Thalia tells me Lady Hargreave is resting now though-a headache, she thought Perhaps Lady Hargreave may not wish to dine out tonight”

Simon looked up, his gaze examining. “Really,” he said, coming to his feet. The faintest of smiles played across his mouth. “Thank you, Gore. That will be all for today.”

As he entered their bedroom, Simon took note of the drawn shades and stood for a moment in the doorway, a look of concern creasing his brow. Moving quietly, he walked to the bed.

Caroline’s eyes came open.

“Gore said you had a headache.” She looked pale, he thought “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“It’s just a stomach upset I haven’t felt well all afternoon.”

“Grantley’s wine was poor last night Do you think it might have affected you?”

“Perhaps.”

Her tone struck him as odd. “Something is wrong.” Sitting down beside her, he gently stroked her hand. “Tell me now and if I can’t help, surely we can find someone who can.”

“I didn’t want to say anything before… that is…”

“Good God, Caro,” he exclaimed, seized with trepidation, her pallor suddenly looking more pronounced. “If something’s amiss, you must tell me.”

“I don’t think it’s anything serious… like- er-an actual illness.”

“Well, something obviously is wrong when you’re lying abed looking peckish.”

She took a small breath. “We’re going to have a baby.”

At first he thought he must be mistaken; she’d spoken so softly. Or perhaps the statement was so foreign to his life, he couldn’t immediately comprehend its significance.

“A baby, Simon.”

Her words suddenly hit him like a hammer blow. He drew in a breath, a dozen possibilities racing through his brain, none of them benign.

His freedom was restored.

He no longer had to play guard to her virtue.

Or protect the Hargreave dynasty.

His former way of life beckoned, lured, tempted… the siren song of dissipation ringing in his ears.

He’ll be gone soon, she thought, back to the freedoms he missed. He’d been like a tethered animal of late. No one in his presence could have been unaware of the hindrance marriage had become for him.

And said or unsaid, spoken or not, she’d always understood the reason for his flagrant possessive-ness, for his not allowing her out of his sight.

But she’d wanted a child too.

For reasons as selfish as his, although their motives had differed.

“Are you pleased?” he asked, sitting very still, his gaze watchful.

She nodded and smiled. “And you?”

More than you know. “Yes,” he said. “I am.” Tears welled into her eyes. “I’m glad.”

“Don’t cry, darling. I’ll take care of you both,” he said, gently. “Always.”

And he would, she knew, although he may not be able to give them his heart. But who in the ton was granted their husband’s heart? she reminded herself. “I’d like to go to Monkshood as soon as your mother leaves.”

“If you wish, I’ll have her out tomorrow.” Caroline shook her head. “There’s no need to make her life difficult.”

“I don’t want her near you.”

“I know.”

He inhaled, looked away for a moment, trying to decide how honest he should be. His mother had written to him twice since they’d returned to London; neither note had contained good wishes on his marriage. “Why don’t I have Gore go down and see that mother leaves in a day or so.” He’d buy his mother the very expensive villa in Florence she’d been wanting. With the stipulation she stay away from Monkshood. He’d throw in all the belongings she’d taken from his house in the bargain. “We could plan on driving down the end of the week? How would that be?”

“Perfect. Thank you.”

“You’ve been wanting to get away, haven’t you?”

“I so dislike society,” Caroline murmured. “I always have.” “As do I.”

“You’ve been very patient, escorting me about.”

“My pleasure, darling,” he replied with the effortless charm that was his hallmark. “Now, tell me, how do you feel? How do you know for certain we’re having a baby? And what can I do to help?”

Stay with me at Monkshood, she wished to say, but knowing better, she said instead, “Once this nausea has passed, I would very much like a-”

“Piece of chocolate cake, no doubt,” he said, grinning.

“Actually, a dish of macaroni.”

His grin broadened. “Am I going to be obliged to hire an Italian chef?”

She shook her head. “Bessie knows the kind of macaroni I like.”

“And Mrs. Tiffen knows how to cook it, I suspect” As children, they’d spent a great deal of time in the kitchen at Monkshood when their parents were away.

“She makes the most perfect creamy macaroni with the local cheddar and lots of butter…”

He heard the note of longing in her voice. “I’ll have mother out by nightfall. Just say the word.”

“No… no, I can wait.”

He laughed. “As long as I find you that perfect macaroni.”

“And perhaps just a very tiny piece of beef roast, sliced very thinly… no fat-or I’ll throw up… with maybe a very small dollop of horseradish sauce on the side.”

Simon was chuckling as he rose from the bed with his commission. “And I suppose by the time I return, you’ll have some other item of food on your mind.”

“A servant can do this, Simon. You needn’t fetch and carry for me.”

“I don’t mind, darling. Now rest. I’ll be back directly.”

But on the way downstairs, he found himself thinking about the play at Brookes and then the play afterward that had nothing to do with cards. Quickly repressing those images, he descended the stairs to the main floor, but there was a new lightness to his step.