Lament for a Lost Lover (36 page)

I felt dazed, as though I were floating in midair. He picked me up and carried me as though I were a baby. He was sitting in the chair holding me, rocking me tenderly, and I felt comforted.

So we sat thus and I heard him telling me that he loved me. That there had never been anyone he wanted as he wanted me, that everything was going to be wonderful for us both. I had not lost anything. Instead I had found that which would compensate me for everything I now thought I had lost.

I felt him gently unbuttoning my dress. I felt his hands on my body. He lifted me and, kissing me with the utmost tenderness, lay me on his bed.

Then he was with me and I felt dazed and yet somehow happy. It was as though I was escaping from bonds which had been restraining me for a long time. I heard him laugh in the darkness. His voice came from a long way off. And he kept calling me “His love, his Arabella.”

W
HEN I AWOKE, FOR
a few seconds I felt dazed and bewildered. I looked about the unfamiliar surroundings. Memory came back. I was in his room. I sat up in bed. He was not there. I saw my clothes lying on the floor where they had been dropped last night.

I closed my eyes, childishly trying to shut out memories with the sight of that room. Last night … I thought of Carleton holding that piece of paper in his hand … that revealing paper which was positive proof of the deception which had been carried out against me. The desolation … how could I describe it? My dreams, my ideals on which I had lived for seven years had been demolished by one single stroke.

And afterwards … I could not fully remember how it had happened. He had comforted me. He had soothed my wounded vanity, perhaps. He had given me something to drink which had warmed me and at the same time dulled my resistance.

I had been like a wax doll in his hands—no will to resist, I just gave myself up to him. How could I! How
could
I!

And yet I had been unable to do otherwise.

Where had he gone? What time was it?

I got out of bed, and horrified by my nakedness I slipped my gown over my head. I went to the window. The rain was still falling. It was probably later than I had realized because it was a dark morning. I thought of the maid arriving at my room with hot water, finding my bed unslept in. Strange that at such a time I should be thinking of the proprieties.

I snatched my things from the floor and opened the door. I looked out. The house seemed quiet and I sped along to my room.

To my relief I saw from my clock that there were a good fifteen minutes before they would bring my hot water. I took off my dress and threw it into a cupboard with the rest of my things, then putting on a nightgown I got into bed.

Now I gave myself up to contemplation of what had happened. I wished I could stop thinking of that piece of paper writhing in Carleton’s hands. The words on it were indelibly written in my mind. How could they have deceived me so! How could I ever trust anyone again? But my overwhelming preoccupation was with my surrender. He had arranged it purposely. He had come to me when he knew that I was weak with misery. My conception of my marriage had crashed about my head, and he was there seizing the opportunity to offer me tender comfort, to daze me with his beverage, whatever that was, to weaken my resistance to him, to remind me that I had to turn to someone, to seek comfort somewhere, and he was there. Opportunity. No. He had contrived it. The idea must have come to him when the family coach was stuck in the mud and he knew they would be away for the night. He was cunning, he was devious, and I had given way to him.

I was trying to ignore those memories which came back to me. A wild and searing joy to be with him … Ecstasy there had been with Edwin, but different somehow. … Perhaps because with Carleton there was more than love and passion. There was a kind of mingling of love and hate which was surely wrong and yet … and yet …

I was a little afraid of myself. I was thankful that he had not been there when I awoke and realized how my life had changed overnight.

I thought then of my mother and my father in the days when he had been married to my Aunt Angelet. The passion which had flared up between them, of which she had written so vividly that even before I had experienced such emotions I had understood.

I was like her. I needed that which was called fulfillment. During the last years since Edwin’s death I had been only half alive. I had been living in a false world. I saw that now, and how inevitable it was that sooner or later I was going to let Carleton become my lover.

Why Carleton? Why did I not accept Geoffrey’s honourable offer of marriage? Because instinctively I had known that Carleton was the man for me. His virility could call forth a response in me. That I disliked him seemed to be no deterrent. Physically we were a perfect match. That I had discovered, and it was something he—with his knowledge of women and the world—had known immediately. He might feel that marriage with me was good for his ambitions, but at the same time it suited his physical needs.

I had grown up overnight.

Perhaps that was something I should be grateful for.

There was a knock on the door. The maid came in with hot water.

She said “Good morning, mistress,” and drew back the curtains.

I expected her to show by some way that she noticed the change in me. Surely I must seem different after my experiences? But she set down the water and brought me a note.

“Master Carleton went off early this morning, mistress. He left this note for you.”

I wanted to tear it open but had no wish to appear overeager.

I yawned, I hoped convincingly.

“Not a very good morning, Em,” I said.

“Still raining, mistress. I believe it’s been raining all through the night.”

Yes, I thought, the patter of rain against the windows … lying there with him … just not wanting to move away … forgetting everything but the need to be there.

“Tis to be hoped milord and milady and the others will get the coach set to rights.”

“I daresay they will, Em.”

She went out and I opened the note.

It was brief. “I have had to go out on Court business. I shall return during the day. C.”

No indication that anything unusual had happened. I felt a rush of disappointment. How could he go like that after what had happened? Was he implying that there was nothing extraordinary? It was all very natural that he and I should become lovers? It was what he had always suggested. Was he laughing in triumph now?

I felt angry with him and with myself. How could I have been so weak, so foolish!

It was the impulse of a moment, I told myself. I had had a shock and he was there. He had dulled my resistance with his strong wines. What was that he had given me? It had acted like some witch’s love potion. Perhaps it was. I could hardly imagine his trafficking with witches. But he was capable of anything.

I washed and dressed. I was thankful that I did not have to face him yet.

I was very pale. I found a little rouge and rubbed it into my cheeks. That was better. I thought how I had loved Harriet. She had been as a sister to me. I had been really upset when she had gone away. If I had known …

But what a stupid innocent I had been!

How long and dreary was that day. Nothing happened. I stood at the window watching the raindrops. The grass was sodden. The last of the leaves were rapidly being tossed to the ground and there was a wet bronze carpet on the grass.

Why didn’t he come in? How like him to go off on business. I didn’t believe it. Where was he? I wondered if he were with a woman. A feeling of intense rage possessed me. I should hate her … and him. I could never trust anyone again. Oh, Edwin … Harriet … how could you? How could I ever bear to look at Leigh again?

In the early afternoon a messenger came to the house. I ran down to greet him, sure that he came from Carleton.

He did not. He was from my mother-in-law. They had had greater difficulties with the coach than had seemed likely yesterday. A spoke in one of the wheels had been damaged and was being repaired. This meant that they would be away for one more night. If the rain would stop it would be easier. They would be with me tomorrow without fail.

The evening came and Carleton had not returned.

I was angry with him. He had succeeded as he always said he would. Was that what he wanted? One single victory.

I ate alone—or made a pretence of eating. How different from last night. I found myself longing to see his dark, clever, wicked face opposite me. I wanted to hear his voice mocking me. I wanted to respond.

I retired early. I went to bed. I tried to sleep but I could not. I could not read because I kept going over the events of last night.

It must have been nearly midnight when my door opened and he was there. He wore a loose night robe.

I felt faint with baffling emotions as he looked at me.

“I did not know you had returned,” I stammered.

“Did you think I could stay away? There was much business, but I was determined to be with you.” He blew out the candle he was carrying. “We shall not need it,” he said.

I struggled up, but he was beside me, pinning me down.

“There is so much to say.”

“We shall have the rest of our lives in which to say it, Arabella. I have been thinking of you all through the day. At last. At last … My heart’s desire …”

I heard myself laugh. “To hear you talk so … it is unlike you. Sentimental …”

“I can be sentimental, romantic … foolish … with one woman in the world. You are that woman, Arabella. At last you know it.”

“You should not be here,” I said.

“There is no other place where I should be.”

I suppose everyone wonders at himself or herself at some time. I wondered then.

Afterwards I could tell myself that I was so unhappy, so wretched that I had to stop myself thinking. I had to be shocked into forgetfulness.

In any case that night, without the aid of spirits or love potions, I was submissive … no, not that … responsive … and I knew that in the morning I should despise myself for giving way so blatantly to the sensuous demands of my nature.

When I awoke I was alone in my bed, and as before with the coming of daylight, I was surprised at my behaviour on the previous night. It seemed that I had two natures—one daytime and one my nighttime other self. Carleton filled my thoughts so that I even forgot to brood on Edwin’s deceit. What was the outcome to be? There seemed an inevitable solution. Marriage.

Marriage with Carleton, who clearly wanted it so that as Edwin’s stepfather he could have a stronger control over the Eversleigh estates. I had been married once for convenience. Should I do so again? Oh, but with Edwin … I thought of those delightful interludes which had seemed to me the expression of pure romantic love. I shivered. I would never again allow myself to be so used.

When I went to breakfast Carleton was already there.

He smiled at me. “Good morning, dear Arabella.” One of the servants was hovering and he went on with a lift of his eyebrows: “I trust you slept well?”

“Thank you, yes,” I replied.

“The rain has stopped at last,” he added. “Let us take a turn in the garden after breakfast, shall we?”

“I should like that,” I replied.

When we were a little way from the house he said: “The question now, Arabella, is not will you but when will you marry me?”

“I … am not sure about marrying.”

“What! You do not want to remain my mistress, surely?”

I was angry with him just as I used to be. He had the power to make me so. In place of the passionate lover who could be sentimental and romantic just for me, here was the cynic, the Court wit, the man I always wanted to do battle with.

“Let us forget what has happened.”

“Forget the most wonderful nights of my life! Oh, come, Arabella, that is asking too much.”

“You are mocking me as you ever do.”

“No, I am serious. When my uncle returns I shall tell him the good news. He will be delighted. I know he has long decided that a marriage between us would be an ideal solution for Eversleigh.”

“I am tired of being a pawn in this Eversleigh game.”

“Not a pawn, my darling. I told you once before, you are a queen.”

“A piece then … to be moved about this way and that. I am not at all sure that I want to marry you.”

“Arabella, you shock me. Remembering what I shall never, never forget …”

“You tricked me. You shocked me … and then you gave me something to drink. What was it?”

He laughed at me and lifted his eyebrows again.

“My secret,” he said.

I turned away. “I am undecided,” I retorted.

“At least there is some hope.”

“After what happened …”

“And it will happen again.”

“I don’t want it to.”

“Oh, Arabella, still deceiving yourself! There was no magic in a glass last night and yet, and yet …”

“Oh, you … you …!”

He took my hand and kissed it. “Tonight when they return we shall tell them?”

“No,” I said.

“You are surely not thinking of my rival Geoffrey
now,
are you?”

I was not, but I could not resist the impulse to let him think I might be.

“Because,” he said, “there would be trouble. Don’t think that what has happened between us is an isolated incident. When we are alone together it will happen again. We’re drawn together like the moon and the sun …”

“You are the sun in this partnership, I presume?”

“What does it matter which is which? It’s the drawing power of which I speak. Our being lovers is inevitable. It was from the first. I knew it. I wanted you. I wondered I didn’t take you down to the arbour and show you how your husband died. Taken in adultery.”

“Stop it!”

“I’m sorry. You arouse the worst in me … and the best, because you are the most maddening woman on earth … and yet I adore you.”

I softened as I always did when he showed me affection. I wanted to say: “Yes, I will marry you. After what has happened I must marry you.” On the other hand it would be for the convenience of them all, and after having been so cruelly deceived by Edwin, how could I be sure that Carleton was not deceiving me in the same way?