The Silent Love (8 page)

 "You are."

 "Then allow me time to overcome my astonishment, and we will talk again soon." David spoke low and soft, his eyes misting as well. "I just need to adjust, father. I am unused to kindness, you see... " and to both of their astonishment, David burst into a great sobbing display.

Since the age of six, he had been away from the soft influence of women; he was melded from stern discipline and rigorous punishment. His entire life had been spent in the company of school masters without pity, fellow students, sometimes cruel, and later, dissolute companions, bent only on wenching, gambling and idling about, with no thought to the consequences of their behavior.

David winced at the thought that only a few weeks ago he had been one of them. So much had changed, in so short a time, that he was ill equipped to deal with the onslaught of emotions. Wiping his eyes, he looked into the fire, embarrassed by his outburst.

"Sorry," he mumbled, his eyes brimming once more. He blinked away the fresh tears, and tried for a lighter note. "Must think me a veritable water works."

Sensing that his son needed time alone, the Marquis motioned for David to help him up. "I should be going now. We'll talk again tomorrow. Get Dobson for me will you?"

Standing was not easy for the Marquis, his legs weakened by years of disuse and he swayed a bit. David caught him and instead of steadying the older man, he pulled him into a hug. The Earl of Darlington hugged him back, patting his shoulder awkwardly. "Never mind Dobson, you can get me to my carriage, son."

David put a strong arm about his father's shoulders, guiding him to the cottage door. Laughing companionably, the pair made their slow way to the awaiting carriage. Aided by his son and Dobson—his personal aide—he got himself situated in the vehicle before he spoke again.

 "David... there is something else I would say before I leave." He looked at his aide with a dismissive glance and the man backed away a respectable distance. "I have noticed a change in my young wife as of late... since your visits have begun, truth be known."

He hesitated, and then began again, and his words were not those he had planned to say. "She seems happier and well content. Whatever you've done... keep doing it. I would have her happy, even for a brief time. She is prepared to resume your visits, and expects you at nine."

 "Thank you father. I shall." David stepped back and waved them away, his eyes tearing up once more.

"Damnation!" he barked aloud, startling a pair of robins so they took flight. "I am to old to be doing this."

Wiping the flow of tears, which now came easily and fully from his emotions, he walked into the cottage and prepared himself for the visit.

Chapter Five

~~

The following days passed in quiet evenness for Hannah. Her mornings were spent in the drawing room or the library, absorbing the education the Marquis gallantly provided for her. Her afternoons, pouring over the vast array of catalogues and dress material that had arrived from London with Madam La Crosse, the best dressmaker of the
ton
.

And then of course, there were her nights in the arms of her silent lover.

With each encounter, she grew less inhibited, less withheld from him. As a moth drawn to a flame, Hannah had come to depend on his touch, his gentleness and more and more she experienced the urgency of her body. An elusive desire for something more... something unnamed.

Each time he left her now, she was restless and unable to sleep for hours, her body humming with an aching need. It confounded her, for she knew that he had given her all and that she should seek more was unfathomable.

The following month, much to her disappointment, she began her monthly courses again. Taking courage in both hands, she went to convey the news to the Marquis, whose condition had weakened with each passing day. He had been so kind and she wanted above all things to tell him he had got an heir. Of course, it could be a girl, once she did conceive, but she refused to think of that.

.

*  * * * *

.

The Marquis, fighting off the weakness of his age and infirmities, hung on stubbornly, showing no disappointment at the news. It was he, in fact, who consoled
her
, so down at the mouth was Hannah.

He went to see David every afternoon, leaving the ladies to their fashion plates and patterns, and with each visit he grew in knowledge of his son. He also grew in regrets that he had waited so long to know him, for he came to love David so much that he was overcome with the intensity of fatherhood.

With his other four sons, he had been often away, for in his youth he had spent much time in London, either pursuing a mistress or seeking a wife to replace one lost.

Three of his wives had died in childbed, or of the fever that followed, the fourth succumbing to cholera, along with the heir. Would that David had been born his heir, he often lamented. His consolation was the thought that David would provide the heir, and he must be content with that.

.

*  * * * *

.

On the anniversary of the third month of David's visits, Hannah found a small bouquet of wild flowers stuck into a cracked vase from the cottage—though she could not know from where the vase had come. Each night he'd left a rose, sometimes red, sometimes white and once, a lovely black rose, the rare and magnificent blossom giving off the most incredible scent she'd ever experienced.

Oft times Hannah wondered where he got these beauties. There were none in the estate gardens that could match them for size or perfection.

This morning, however, the handful of posies and violets were perched upon her dresser, rather lonely and forlorn looking, drooping slightly, for there was no water in the vase. She picked it up to study the vessel more closely and realized that the crack in the vase was not a crack at all, but a grove, once filled with gold, now flaking away.

Tiny roses and cupids vied for space on the symmetrical surface, painted by a master craftsman. The gilding of gold on the Cupid's bow and the stem of each rose was still there.

Wondering where he had found such a treasure, she carefully filled the vase with water and set in by her bed, where she would see it first thing upon awakening. For the first time, she wished that she could speak to him and express her gratitude for the lovely gift.

He came to her that night at the prescribed hour, and she could smell the scent of his cologne, a new addition to his toilette. It stirred her senses, as it was meant to do, and she did not move quite so far across the bed. When he slid beneath the covers he was surprised to find her so near and took her into a tentative embrace, half expecting her to draw away.

She did not. Encouraged by her seeming acceptance of his wooing, he leaned toward her in the darkness and his mouth grazed along her temple, open and heated, his breath moist against her skin.

She turned her face up, and his mouth slid down her jaw seeking and finding her lips, parted and inviting him. David kissed her for the first time since their nights had begun—deeply and with longing. He ravaged her mouth, first tenderly, with tiny nips, and then with a thrust of his tongue, claiming her at last.

Drowning in the sensation of his kisses, Hannah could not think. She curved against him, her body betraying her, and his hands moving over her flesh warmed her, pulling her into a sensual vortex.

Yet when she heard herself moan in submission, sudden panic enveloped her. She knew well the painful consequences of allowing this, and her hands flailed about in the darkness, as she strove to gain purchase against his onslaught.

He lifted his mouth from hers and leaned back, drawing away long enough to grasp the hands that pushed against his shoulders, lifting them to his lips as always, for the greeting.

When he moved to take her back into his embrace she stiffened and swung her head back and forth, a silent no forming on her kiss-swollen mouth. Though he could not see her, he sensed her withdrawal and so fell back, giving her release from his touch.

He waited, breath shuddering, heart pounding against his ribs, need aching in his loins. The deep silence between them stretched for a long moment, and then she lay upon her back and lifted her garment. She, too, was waiting.

Ever faithful to his driving need, he searched among the bedclothes until he found her and moved into his performance, unable to gainsay his need. As he took her in a blaze of pounding lust, she stirred against him then retreated, and David knew she was holding back. He renewed his efforts, slowing his pace and trying to coax her beyond control.

Those tentative movements, however, did not come again and he spilled his seed into a vessel of quiet acceptance. Her tears dropped onto his flesh as he reclined there, her head turned into the curve of his shoulder. He lifted a hand to brush away the tears, and she turned sharply away from his touch.

His heart broke.

.

*  * * * *

.

Hannah awoke to the sounds of the house. A dog barked somewhere on the lawn and the maids in the garden, picking vegetables for today's meals, giggled and chatted. A horse clattered along the cobbled drive, the wheels of a carriage invaded the air as well. Hannah stretched and looked to her bedside table, hoping to see the vase. It was gone. The wild flowers lay in the small basket by the door, tossed there by an angry hand.

Unaccountably bereft, it were as though he had left her—as he had, in truth—but it was more a feeling that in taking back his gift, he had rejected her, and there would be no other.

Her eyes flew to her dresser, hoping to see the rose, but alas, there was nothing there—only the dust motes stirring in the shaft of sunlight from the open drapes.

.

*  * * * *

.

David, instead of leaving the house, went to his father's study where he sat in the darkness, aching with the stupidity of his act. True, he had been angry, but he was over it now and wishing himself back in her bed. Had he stayed and not allowed his arrogance to overthrow good sense, he might have wooed her once more.

She had responded, he knew. She had opened to him like a blossoming flower, and he had hoped, for a brief moment, that they would come together as one. When she had pulled away so abruptly and denied him tenderness, something inside him had gone a bit mad.

Fingering the vase, stuck in his pocket, he wanted to return it, but it was too late, for daylight had filtered into the room and he was afraid to go back. If she were awake, he would be seen and all would be ruined.

In the gray dawn light, he penned a small note to her and pushed it into the vase, hoping that someday she might find it. He would put the vase in the cottage, for he knew his father would come there, and he would keep the vase. David's mother had shown it to him once and told him the story of how it came to be in the cottage.

The Marquis, wanting to give Mary something, had bought her a pearl necklace. She had no place to wear such an expensive bauble. She had returned it to him, explaining that though she loved it, it was not practical and she would prefer something she could keep. He had then brought her this small antique vase, filled with wild flowers from the cottage garden and she had kept the vase in the cottage, for it was where they had loved and lost one another.

A sad little tale.

Deciding he must see his mother before he left, he pulled himself from the chair and went quietly from the room, his noiseless exit going unnoticed by all save the scullery maid.

David stole from the house, creeping across the far side of the manor, treading into the woods, not looking back. His hunched shoulders and bowed head spoke of his pain. Instead of his usual path to the cottage, he took the route to the village and scratched upon his grandfather's door.