Journey to Victory, page 26
He leaped out of bed, his gaze doing a quick circuit of the room, hoping for some clue to her whereabouts. Then he raced to the thickly frosted windows. Scratching and rubbing with his nails and palm, he cleared a peephole. There she was, just rounding the gate and heading south. She’s going to get her mare and leave! In stark panic, he sped around the room, pulling on a shirt, breeches, boots, and coat. He thundered down the front steps.
Racing out the gate, he saw her two corners ahead. He put his effort into running swiftly and silently over the snow-packed street. The distance between them shrank. He ignored the startled looks the other early risers as they watched him, a disheveled English officer chasing a girl down a main street in broad daylight. He closed the gap and from behind took hold of her arm. He startled her into a gasping scream.
“What do you mean by leaving me like that?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
She struggled against his grip. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me why you chose now to leave.” His hold did not loosen.
She stopped twisting. “Please, people are staring.”
He thought rapidly. He could not hold onto her indefinitely, but he had the irrational feeling that if he let go of her she would disappear and the night before would have only been a dream. He had to have time to persuade her to stay. “Please take the time to explain why you are leaving now. I think you owe me that much.”
“Major,” she said in a warning tone.
“Please.” He couldn’t stop the desperation that tinged his voice.
She frowned. “Very well,” she said grudgingly.
He released her, alarm still rippling through him.
“I’m not going back to your room,” she insisted.
Scanning the street, the Major spotted a corner inn. “How would you like some breakfast?” He had to have time to plan what to say to her. He must, above all, avoid telling the truth.
Her stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “I would like it,” she admitted, still sounding put out.
In spite of her lack of enthusiasm, he stood taller, squaring his shoulders. Now he had time. Though very aware of his unshaven and rumpled appearance, he politely offered her his arm and escorted her into the inn. The common room was filled with working men quietly eating breakfast. The men looked up and, seeing the disheveled couple, grinned and muttered comments to each other. Christiane blushed and looked away. The Major cast the room a reproving glance and addressed the innkeeper, “Your private dining room, please?”
The man scratched his head but nodded and directed them to a door down the hall closer to the kitchen. He opened the door, ushering them into the frigid room. “Girl will be right in to make the fire,” he said and left. The two of them stood like uncomfortable strangers. A girl appeared almost immediately and kindled a fire on the cold hearth.
Next a large woman bustled in with a tea tray. “Since the room be so cold, I brought ye tea right out.”
“Thank you,” the major said, and motioned Christiane to sit at the lone table near the fire. She obeyed and accepted her tea with a smile.
“What can I get ye now?” the woman asked.
“Ma’am?” he asked politely.
Christiane ordered: eggs, rashers, porridge, and muffins. Though he had no appetite, he requested the same. The woman left and he sat down across from Christiane, took his tea, and considered his plan. What to tell her? As little as necessary. His urbane pose slipped back into place.
“Now, madam, will you answer my question? Why did you leave me without so much as a word?”
“I apologize. It does seem ungrateful, but I thought it would be best, less trouble for you.”
“I am surprised at your decision. There is no reason for you to leave now at all.”
Her eyebrows lifted. At this juncture the young serving maid entered, carrying a heavy tray. Quickly the meal was placed before them. As the girl turned to leave, the major told her, “We do not wish to be disturbed again, please.”
“Yes sir,” the girl said softly and exited, closing the door firmly behind her. Not to betray himself, he began to eat in spite of the tension between them. In between untasted bites, he repeated, “There is no reason for you to leave now.”
“Nothing has changed, Major,” she responded mildly. “I am going.”
“Why? To be a companion to some old lady? I can offer you so much more.”
“Major, I told you. I have no desire to live the life of my mother. I am leaving.”
A little of the desperation that had propelled him out of his bed returned. His tone became more serious. “Madam, I am not suggesting a casual liaison. I am not that kind of man either. You would be with me as long as you wished and you would be well-provided for when we parted.”
She studied his face. One night of passion? How could it mean so much to him? True, he was not like most of the other officers here, but still. Silently she considered him. “I’m sorry, Major. My mind is made up.”
His appetite died and his palms began to sweat. What more could he offer her? Then unexpectedly something totally out of character happened. Tears sprang into his eyes. Angrily he brushed them away and stood up.
Turning his back to her, he went to the mantel and leaned his hands against it, fighting for control. Six years of agony, six years of trying to forget completely, trying not to feel the pain, the guilt, or anything at all, welled up inside him. Last night had been his salvation, his blessed release from the prison he had been forced into. And she had been the key. Though he struggled, his tears would not be denied.
Christiane set down her fork. Just as he had last night, he was weeping in earnest now in that clumsy, unpracticed way men had. She had to do something. His pride would be dreadfully wounded. There was something he had not told her. That was the only explanation.
“Major.” She spoke as calmly as possible. “Please come back to the table. Evidently you are keeping something from me. Come and sit.” Her unemotional tone had struck the correct note. She watched as he began to gain control. Soon he sat across from her, though he would not meet her eyes. “I will freshen your tea,” she continued matter-of-factly. She handed him his cup. Soberly he sipped it. Finally she rested her hand on his arm. “Please tell me,” she entreated softly.
He did not want to. Only he knew the truth, but he was caught. Perhaps she would stay if she understood how important, how incredibly important she’d become to him. “I don’t know where to start,” he said in a resigned voice.
“Tell it all.”
“Very well.” He sighed deeply. He looked up and into her eyes. “I never intended to reveal this to anyone, so I will depend upon your discretion.” She nodded and then he continued, “I am the only son of the Earl of Gresham. Two years after I was born, my mother died with a miscarriage. My father and I never got along well. I won’t go into the reasons. All you need to know is that my father’s driving passion is family pride. You see, he and I are the last of the Easthams.”
Christiane tried to read between the lines.
“As I came of age, he made it quite clear to me that I had only two purposes in life: not to disgrace the family and to provide one or more male offspring to carry on the line. That was all he needed me for, nothing else.”
He paused, recalling a past scene. He shook his head as though to clear it. “Anyway, I married young. I was only twenty-one, but I found someone I cared for. Father approved of her, or I should say, of her family. And I thought I would fulfill the old man’s demand and get it over with.” He stopped again.
“What was her name?” she prompted softly.
“Mary Ann. She was very sweet.”
“Did you love her?”
“Apparently not enough. If I had I would not have treated her as I did.”
“How did you treat her?”
He looked directly into her eyes. “I killed her,” he said coldly.
His words hit her like a musket ball. “You don’t mean that.”
“Oh, I didn’t plan to. I didn’t put a knife to her throat, but the way matters ended, I might as well have.” He looked down and froze into a statue, one bent in pain.
She stared at him intently. “Go on.”
“My father’s plan did not go as I had expected. We were married six years and still no child was born to us. The old man became more and more put out. Finally he called me into his study. We had a terrible row.”
He stopped again to remember, raking his hands through his hair. “I shouldn’t have let him bother me. I should have broken with him then and there. But I didn’t. And having children was important to Mary Ann and me. We were both only children and wanted a large family. I had always been pushed aside as a child. I wanted children to love and be with.” He paused again.
“I went off to London alone. I felt a complete failure and the tension had wounded my marriage deeply. To tell the truth, I had started to doubt my ability to father a child. Uncharacteristically, I began to move in society lavishly. The parties, the gaming. I could forget my shortcomings. I was alone and for the first time I strayed. I had an affair, then another, and another. Perhaps I hoped to prove to myself that I was not at fault, but in the end, my most awful fear was realized. I couldn’t even sire a bastard.” He put his head in his hands.
For some reason Christiane’s mind cast back to Jakob. The memory of that day in Manhattan he had been forced to accept the loss of his only son. “Poor Mary Ann,” she whispered.
“You haven’t heard the worst,” he started again, his voice hard. “Mary Ann followed me to London then. I had been gone the better part of a year. She, of course, realized that after six years of faithfulness, I had strayed. She begged me to tell her what she had done wrong. I finally told her what had happened. And hearing the truth crushed her. She already felt at fault for our childlessness. Even in the face of my adultery, she tried to insist that the problem lay with her, not me. But I knew differently. I treated her terribly even though I was the transgressor. My father was as persistent as ever. I took all my frustrations out on her.
“I drove her…to someone else. In a way I think it was out of her unhappiness, and in another way somehow to prove to me that our barrenness wasn’t my fault.” He stopped, unable to go on.
She waited silently, not knowing what to say to this intimate revelation.
Then he began again, talking quickly as though to finish it and get it over. “I did nothing to stop her. In one way I felt she was entitled and in another I wanted to know if it was her after all. That she was barren.”
Christiane spoke. “And she became pregnant?”
“Yes, of course, later that year. God forgive me, I couldn’t look at her. We lived in the same house, but we lived parallel lives. No one, not even my father guessed. We stayed to ourselves in our misery. My father was delighted.” His face twisted itself into a distorted imitation of a smile. “Mary Ann’s part of it ended fairly quickly. She died in childbirth.” He fell silent, exhausted, staring past her deep into the past.
She had wondered about his contradictions, his reticence. Now she understood. “Why are you telling me this?”
He focused on her face once more. “Because my pain continued. After the funeral I went back to London to forget. I never wanted to see Easthaven, my home, or my father again. How I hated him for his coldness, his single-minded desire for Mary Ann and I to produce like breeding stock. I hate him still. But most of all, I hated myself. I did things I had never done before with people I despised. I disgraced my father at every opportunity.
“But I avoided women. I wanted nothing to remind me of my unfaithfulness or Mary Ann’s. One night, though, I got unusually drunk and for a lark my so-called friends took me to a brothel. They thought a woman was what I needed. That was when the final blow came to me. Not only was I sterile, I was impotent as well. I couldn’t accept it. I went back to one of the women I had had an affair with. I could do nothing. I was a eunuch.”
At first she could not take in what he had said. “I don’t understand.”
He spoke haltingly, stressing each word, “For the last six years I have been unable to perform as a man. Last night with you was the first time since well before my wife’s death that I have been able to make love to a woman.”
She was stunned. Now she comprehended his sobbing at the end of their lovemaking and his pursuit of her this morning. Though she was only nearly nineteen, after two husbands, she knew how important it was for a man to be able to satisfy his desire and please his wife. She was deeply moved. For a long time neither of them spoke. Why did her life always become more complicated? In earnest she regretted leaving the shelter of the Richardsons’. This morning again she had broken her resolve not to behave impetuously. Her failure had caused this emotional scene.
“Will you stay with me?” His simple request startled her.
She looked into his sad eyes. What could she say to him? I can’t stay because I am your enemy. I can’t stay because I am engaged to marry another man. Either would damn her. She took a deep breath. “I told you I cannot live my mother’s life. My life has been difficult, but that much I know about myself. I can’t explain it. Last night was the first time I…” She stopped, unable to put her sin into words. “I understand your pain, but why do you assume that I am the only woman that will do?”
“I want no woman, but you,” he said, taking both her hands. “What a woman you are, Christiane. Graceful, sensible, intelligent. Other women bore me. Not since Mary Ann have I known a woman whose company I enjoy more. You are a unique creation. I am more than a wealthy man. Be mine, Christiane, and I will make this world a wondrous place for you. I will shower you with anything your heart should desire. You will never want for anything again.”
When he flattered her sense and intelligence, he almost won her. She was tired of men overlooking everything but her outward appearance. Jakob had appreciated her mind. However, when the major added an appeal to her selfishness, he lost her. It made too close a comparison to Mrs. Loring. She pulled her hands away. “Don’t you understand? I’m not the kind of woman who only associates with a man because of what he can give her.”
The words had barely left her mouth when they came back and stabbed her very heart. Wasn’t that what she was doing with Henry Lee? Was making an advantageous marriage any more holy than achieving a lucrative liaison? Her discomfort was almost physical as she wrestled with her conscience. Did a woman have to be in love to marry a man honestly? And what about this man who sat across from her?
In the world at large, Lord John Eastham was more wealthy and more prestigious than her fiancé. She had to admit that she favored the man before her, but why? Was it because she had shared an important event of her life with him? After all, he had arranged her first marriage. Now they had lived together for over two weeks. He knew her better than Henry, that was certain. Her face grew warm when she remembered last night. But she could not stay. The night before she had slipped from her goal, to be the cherished wife of one man. It would be her only slip.
The major had wisely given her time to cool down. Finally he interposed, “I did not mean to offend you.”
She turned her head to face him. “I know.”
“Stay with me, Christiane,” he pleaded.
She looked at his face. Suddenly she felt very tired. She knew what she should do. Leave. But somehow she could not. Twice in her life he had come to her aid, and he had just revealed his innermost soul and darkest secret. She couldn’t just up and walk away.
“Stay,” he whispered. “Stay.”
“There are things about me that you don’t know.”
“Stay. Please.”
For a moment she bowed her head. Then she looked him directly in the eyes. “I have no intention of being your mistress,” she said precisely. “In honesty, I cannot blame you for last night.”
She paused and went on. “I wanted you, too. When we had just begun, I could have stopped you, but I didn’t. You did not take me against my will and I refuse to pretend that you did. And I do not regret our making love, if it was so important to you. But I am the woman I am. If I stay, it will be as a friend only. Can you accept that?”
“I will try,” he whispered.
“I will make you only one promise. I will stay as long as I can. No longer.” She would need a few days to convince him that she was not the only woman that could arouse him and then she would leave. Or if he remained unconvinced, at least she would not have left him in a rude or unkind way.
He studied her, trying to comprehend her inner struggle. Then he nodded. He would take her on any terms.
Chapter Sixteen
As usual the windows, even this late in the afternoon, were still delicately frosted. Christiane looked through the lacy patterns to the scene below. Tomorrow would be Christmas and her nineteenth birthday. The mood of the passersby below was more than cheerful; it was ebullient. She watched soldiers carrying Yule logs and wreaths, bakers making special deliveries, poulterers bearing large geese and turkeys to the kitchen door, and officers greeting one another. Not even a war in a strange city could dampen their holiday spirit. Christiane felt set apart from them by her inner morass of emotions. She had hoped that some graceful way of leaving would present itself, but none had. And she had failed to convince the major that he did not need her.
Before Smith’s ball, the major had been distant and sardonic. Now he was eager to share his attention, approval, and wealth. She was astute enough to recognize that he was showing more than gratitude, more than infatuation. If only she had not left the Richardsons’ unprotected. If only her plan to leave that morning after the ball could have succeeded. If only she had possessed the strength of will to go despite his pleadings. “If-onlys” she had in abundance. She could have strung them like beads and made a chain of them.
A sigh rushed out. She could not believe that any other woman on the North American continent had a life more confused than her own. She was an American patriot, living with an English officer. She was engaged to marry, yet she had slept in another man’s bed. How could she ever look Henry in the eye again? Every time she tried to take control of her life, it slipped just a little further from her reach.
