Chapter Seventeen
“A daughter.”
“Yes, so you’ve said.”
“It’s a girl.”
“That would follow, yes.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with a girl.”
Kit shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, grinning. “Colin, you’ve spent quite a long time with our sisters, I think you can manage a girl of your own.”
His brother rolled his head to look at him blearily, striving for his usual sardonic glare. “A daughter is not a sister, Kit, and you know what a muck I’ve made of the girls.”
Kit snorted and took a drink of the brandy before him. He’d already drunk too much, but not nearly as much as Colin had. Colin had been so anxious for the entire duration of Susannah’s labor and progression that his friends had plied him with the stuff, and still he had not been himself. When the word had come of the successful and healthy delivery of a daughter, and of Susannah’s own health and safety, Colin had sunk into a chair and sobbed like a child. Only after he had calmed himself would he go and see his wife and daughter, and he’d stayed for hours, leaving Kit with his friends.
“Is that a normal response?” Kit had asked them with a wry smile.
That had prompted stories of their own reactions, some of which were far more amusing than he had expected.
Colin was away for most of that day, tending to his wife and child, and probably making himself quite a nuisance. Kit had spent the time with his sisters and nephew, once the guests had departed for Nathan’s estate only a few miles away. They’d come back the day after for more visiting and well-wishes, and the ladies had wanted to check on Susannah, as well as spoil the other children in the house, much to their delight and Kit’s hesitation. But he was assured that it was their duty, and he really had no choice in the matter.
The children were all in lessons now, some attempt at reestablishing normalcy, and Colin had descended from the upstairs rooms with a peculiar sort of grin and said that he desperately needed a drink with his brother, and here they had sat for the last hour, at least.
Kit shook his head as he looked at his brother once more. “You’ve not made a muck of anything, Colin. We have delightful sisters, and between the pair of us, we do a fair job of raising them.”
Colin considered that, then leaned his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m a father, Kit.”
That drew a smile from him. “God help that poor thing,” he muttered good-naturedly, to which his brother merely held out his glass for Kit to clink with his own. “She’s a pretty lass, if I do say so myself.”
“The most beautiful child on the face of the earth,” Colin announced with an imperious finger in the air. “No matter what Derek or Kate have to say on the subject.”
“And you know,” Kit said slowly, swirling his brandy carefully, “you already were a father.”
Colin opened his eyes and looked over at Kit in confusion, then his expression cleared and a warm smile spread. “Yes… yes, I was, wasn’t I?” He laughed softly and sipped from his glass. “Freddie. There’s a lad after our hearts for you. He’s got your brains and honor, yet my knack for mischief and fun. He’ll either become Prime Minister, or a pirate captain. And he’ll do a fine job of either. Perhaps both.”
Kit chuckled and sat back in his chair, looking up at the painting that hung above the mantle. “He’s a fine lad. He’ll do you proud.”
“Aye, he will. And he’s already asking when he can read to Olivia.” Colin grinned and shook his head. “I love him as if he truly were mine, Kit. No father could be prouder of his son.” He bit his lip for a moment, his brow furrowing in thought. “I don’t think I really understood until now. Seeing Olivia, knowing that she is mine… It changes a man, Kit. I never even dreamed what this would feel like. I’m destined to be a much better father to Freddie for feeling what Olivia has brought me.” He shook his head and leaned it back once more. “And if she’s half as pretty as her mother, I will have a devil of a time in about sixteen years.”
“She’ll have Susannah’s wit and intelligence, too, if God is merciful,” Kit reminded him ruefully. “That will save her a lot of trouble.”
“Or give me more.”
“Well, if she needs some help, I am sure her uncle Derek will prove quite a powerful ally.”
Colin shuddered and downed the last of his drink. “He’ll be a duke by then. Can you imagine?”
Kit actually could, but he thought it best to keep silent about that.
“How is Marianne?”
He couldn’t keep from jerking a little at the sudden question, somehow managing to feel guilty being asked about her. “What?” he asked sharply, his voice several notches too high.
Colin gave him a curious, slightly devious look. “Do you normally look like a poorly behaved schoolboy when asked about your wife?”
Kit glowered and sat forward, setting his glass on the table nearest them. “No.”
Colin smiled briefly. “So how is she? Well, I presume, as you are alive.”
“She is very well. She is…” He trailed off, wondering how he could possibly describe what exactly his wife was now. He’d thought of her a thousand times at least since being here, wondering what she was doing, how she fared, remembering how she’d looked when he left, curious if she missed him… Something about seeing his niece, holding her in his arms, had tugged at something in his heart, and he wanted Marianne by his side at that moment more fiercely than he’d wanted anything in his life. Bitty had even asked him about “Mrs. Kit” and if he thought she’d like her new dress, and he’d fumbled his way through an answer, which apparently had delighted her.
Marianne had told him before she was not particularly fond of children. Could that change?
He’d never thought himself particularly partial to them before his sisters had dropped into his lap, but now everything was different. Suddenly he wanted what his brother had, was envious to an untold degree. He wanted to be a father.
Could Marianne experience the same change?
“I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”
Kit shook himself and looked back over at his brother with a half smile. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Colin said with a slow shake of his head and a bit of a smirk. “I enjoy seeing you like this. It’s not often you look so completely lost and indecisive. I like it.”
Kit groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, then glanced at Colin. “Things are complicated. With Marianne.”
“I rather expected they might be.”
Colin’s drollness made him laugh and he shook his head. “Not in the way you think, actually. The last week… perhaps two, have been quite enlightening.”
“You’ve only been there three, how could two of them be so illuminating for you?”
Kit shrugged and attempted to explain things to Colin, without giving him too many details. Colin was really only seven years of age and would not properly handle the information. But he could tell him about the horse racing and their dealings with the tenants and the statues and the music room, about their times reading in the library, about Marianne’s unfortunate incident in the rain, about his venture to save Fanny Hayes, and then, quite suddenly, he was talking about how Marianne had changed. How he had changed. How it was harder and harder to find fault with her, how much fun he was having… well, having fun with her. And how he’d found himself confiding in her without fear or resistance.
“I don’t know what happened, Colin,” he said with a hoarse whisper. “I don’t know what is happening. All of a sudden, I’d rather be home than anywhere else. I know who and what she is, I always have, but it suddenly doesn’t matter anymore. Or, at least, it’s mattering less and less.”
“You like your wife.”
The soft murmur from his typically ebullient twin caught him off-guard, and he had to fight the tightness in his chest. “You know how I feel about her, Colin,” he scolded with a derisive shake of his head.
Colin sat up and was also shaking his head, but he also bore a soft smile that Kit did not like. “You have loved her, yes. You have hated her, and you have hated that you love her. You loved her with such single-mindedness that you’ve forgotten to even like her.” Colin tilted his head a little, letting the smile spread, as if something amused him greatly. “Now you are enjoying the great privilege of both. When the passion in your heart combines with the friendship you treasure… real friendship, separate and distinctive from all of the romance and flowers and madness… that is when the beauties of life truly unfold before you.”
Kit stared at him in awe for a moment. He did like his wife. Very much. And he had not liked her in years, and certainly never while he had been in love with her. And now… now…
He shook his head, then cleared his throat and took a swift drink from his glass. “I still don’t know if I can stand her,” he muttered.
Colin laughed once and sat back again. “Yes, well, that comes with it, right up until you accept it and just enjoy it.”
“It’s too soon to trust it,” Kit said with a wince. “I may go back to Glendare and find her completely changed.”
An echo from two nights ago came back to him. Her face in his hand, her eyes warm and bright, telling him that she wouldn’t change. She knew his fears before he ever had to voice them. Their friendship, their… attraction, dare he call it, was too fresh, too new, and what if it slipped through their fingers?
“I promise that the wife you leave is the wife you will return to… Perhaps even a little better.”
He could hardly imagine better. He barely comprehended the wife he had now, but if she was willing to try for it, he would encourage it.
With open arms.
Wide open.
Suddenly, he didn’t want to be sitting in his brother’s drawing room, comfortable and content with brandy in his hand. He wanted to be at home with his wife. He actually wanted to ride the mad distance across two counties to see her, to tell her everything, and hear her laugh when he told her of the girls’ antics, of Colin’s behavior, of Susannah’s droll wit… She would love every detail, and he had to commit them all to memory. The way he presented them would be just as important as the details themselves, and he’d never been a particularly good storyteller. Still, there was time enough for that.
“I would pay an absolute fortune to know what is going on in your head right now,” Colin said, shaking his head and grinning like a cat with a bowl of cream.
Kit raised a sardonic brow and grinned. “I am not inclined to let you know.”
Colin’s face changed in an instant to surprised delight. “Bravo, Kit, you look positively wicked at the moment. There’s hope for you after all.”
“That makes one of us, then,” he muttered as he drained his glass. “I think I’ll be heading back to Glendare now.”
“Already?” Colin laughed. “You’ve only been here less than two days, what’s put you in such a rush?”
Kit rose and gave his brother a knowing look. “Time, Colin. And too much brandy. Your wife will have to wring you out before you’ll be of any use to her.”
“She’s abed for the rest of the week, at least,” he retorted. “She’ll be fine.”
“It’s Susannah. She’ll eat you alive.”
Colin shuddered delicately. “Says the man who’s married to Marianne.”
And for the first time in his life, Kit grinned at that.
Colin’s eyes widened and he sat up eagerly. “One question before you go. Does your wife still come to breakfast sans proper attire?”
Kit folded his arms and smirked a little. “I am not telling you.”
A slow smile crossed his brother’s face. “You just did. And I can see you are no longer shocked by it.”
“No.”
“Good heavens…” Colin breathed slowly, eyes widening further still. “You don’t even care anymore.”
Kit fought a smile and shrugged. “Not particularly.”
“You enjoy it, don’t you?” Colin hinted with a devious grin.
“I am leaving now,” Kit announced as he turned on his heel, striding from the room.
“It’s perfectly natural, you know!” Colin called after him. “A man should enjoy seeing his wife in all states.”
“Goodbye, Colin,” he retorted over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but grin as he strode from the house at a rather easy lope, going to the stables himself rather than waiting for his horse to be readied for him. The sooner he could be off, the better. Colin would make his excuses to his sisters, and things were so brilliantly confusing at Amberley at this moment, anything would be permitted.
He could make it home tonight. Very late, but he could.
Home. What a peculiar idea. He hadn’t had a true home in years.
He would have laughed had he not been suddenly breathless.
And there was a bit more quickness to his step as he neared the stables.
Marianne couldn’t sleep. She had spent two days refinishing every room that was left, visiting every tenant she had not yet managed to, read four books, and played hours of the pianoforte, and still she couldn’t manage to fully occupy herself. She was filling her days with more activity and occupation than she had in her entire life, but still it was not enough.
Still she lay here, entirely awake and alert, and entirely unsatisfied.
She knew what the problem was, of course. She’d known it the very first night.
She missed Kit.
Which seemed all too bizarre a thought. She’d gone ages without Kit before. She’d gone days without him even while they’d been here without any sort of twinges.
But that was before she actually enjoyed having Kit around. Before he’d become a fixture in her days.
Before he’d kissed her.
She groaned and buried her face into her pillow. She was going to become completely addled if she kept this up. Imagine centering one’s days and life around a single person! What a waste of time and energy! And yet, here she was, unable to sleep for the wandering nature of her thoughts, and the dissatisfaction with her days. What else could she do?
She rolled over and flung the heavy bedcovers off of her with a dejected sigh. She would just have to do what she had done the last two nights, and read in the library until she could not keep her eyes open.
If she kept this up, she would get through all of the novels in the Glendare library before they returned to London, and what would Kit have to say then?
She grinned and clambered out of bed, fetching Kit’s thick dressing gown that she had purloined from his room two nights ago. It was warm and comfortable, and it smelled like her husband.
She inhaled softly as she wrapped it around her, smiling to herself.
What a girlish sort of fool she was.
With a nonchalant shrug, she tied the sash, took her candlestick from the bedside table, and quietly ventured out of her room. She hardly expected to meet anyone on her way, given she had gone to bed so very late, but late night escapades always seemed to require stealth in tread and manner.
The hallways were dark and vacant, as she expected, and her path towards the back stairs was virtually clear. It was nearly a straight line from them to the library, and the fire should still be burning well enough there for decent light.
Encouraged by the ease of her way, she hurried a little faster down the hall.
She reached the top of the stairs and started quietly down the massive set, only to hear a faintly echoing set of steps from somewhere beneath her. The servants had long been abed, and they had their own stairs to use, which led exactly where any of them would wish to go. Why should anyone approach the back stairs, particularly so late at night?
She hesitated nearly halfway down the stairs and pressed herself against the wall, hoping to see a little better this way, and held her candle up higher.
A strong hand came into sight first as it grasped the railing of the bottom stairs before the first turn, and then a dark head with tousled, windswept hair. He trudged up the stairs wearily, and seemed unaware of the light, or her presence. Then he came fully into view as he turned on the landing and raised his head, squinting a little in the candlelight.
“Kit!” Marianne gasped, grinning broadly.
A tired smile spread across his face and he ventured up the stairs towards her. “Marianne.”
She lowered the candle to the steps behind her and folded her arms, leaning back against the wall once more. She looked him over with a cursory eye, taking in the lines on his face, the disarray of his clothing, the weariness in his body, and shook her head. “You look terrible.”
He laughed low and leaned against the wall a few steps below her. “I feel terrible, come to think of it. The ride is not nearly so pleasant at breakneck speeds on horseback.” He tilted his head back against the wall and sighed. “But it is good to be home at last.”
Her heart gave a faint little leap at his words, for she, too, thought of this as home. “How is everyone?” she asked quietly.
He smiled again and tugged at his wilting cravat, loosening it and pulling it out completely. “Very well, and they all send you their best. Bitty has a new dress she thinks you’ll approve of, and asked me at least a dozen times if I thought you would.”
Marianne smiled and shook her head. While she might not know anything about Rosie, and may never, given the girl’s temperament, Bitty was the sweetest, most endearing creature on the planet. They would have their hands full with her.
“The baby is healthy,” Kit continued, brushing off the jacket over his arm, though his eyes stared ahead at nothing, “and in possession of some very powerful lungs. Given that Colin is the father, that is to be expected.”
That drew a giggle from Marianne and she watched Kit with fondness. “And what is it?”
His smile grew soft and he looked up at her. “A girl. They’ve decided to name her Olivia Eloise.”
“For your mother?” she asked, remembering how fondly everyone had spoken of the late Eloise Gerrard, Lady Loughton. When they recollected her.
He looked surprised, and nodded. “Yes. How did you know?”
“You told me once,” she replied with a faint switch of her hand. “What does she look like?”
“She’s two days old. She looks like an infant.”
Marianne rolled her eyes and snorted. “Kit… Who does she favor, Colin or Susannah?”
He shook his head, his smile turning quizzical. “I have no idea. By the time I see her again, she’ll be more in possession of features to determine that. Right now, she looks like a new infant. Though she does have some pert little lips, and fairly rosy cheeks, and a very fine head of thick, black hair.”
“All Gerrard, then,” she murmured, her smile warming at the thought. “I am glad to hear it. I’d never put much thought into what those features would look like on a girl, though I doubted they would suit. But having seen your sisters, my doubts are unfounded. They are beautiful girls, and I have no doubt Miss Olivia will be quite as pretty as her aunts.” She chuckled and paused in thought. “Livvy Gerrard? Good heavens, we’ve quite the stock of nicknames, haven’t we?”
Kit was watching her with apparent interest, a faint smile on his lips. “How so?”
“Freddie, Rosie, Bitty, Ginny, and now Livvy, if they choose to call her such.” She shook her head. “Adorable names, all. And you, sir, are Kit and never Christopher. We shall have to think of some clever names for our children. At least one of them should have a name that cannot be shortened.”
She did not miss the slight stiffening of Kit’s frame, nor how his breathing had gone still. Perhaps it was too soon to talk about children, but it seemed almost appropriate now.
Pretending she had not seen, she continued. “I rather like the Gerrard features, come to think of it. I would not mind if all of the children took after you. The girls would be quite pretty, and the boys would be very handsomely featured. I’ll have quite a bit of trouble with the lot of them, being so attractive, and no doubt witty as well. Perhaps none of them will take after me, and I can’t find anything wrong with that. Imagine smaller versions of me running about.” She shuddered and grinned playfully. “I do hope at least one of them is a little plain. I think it would do her a world of good, and I’d love her better for it.”
She fell silent as she looked at Kit again. He had gone completely still and his expression was perfectly arrested. Gone were the lines and strain of the day, gone was all sign of weariness or fatigue. He was thriving with energy, and the sight of such intensity in her direction was enough to steal her breath.
She swallowed with difficulty. “H-how is Colin?” she half-whispered, suddenly desperate for a more comfortable topic.
Kit blinked at the change, but he did not move, nor did his expression alter. “Colin is still half-drunk,” he murmured, one side of his mouth finally giving way to a small smile, “but I think his bliss will far outlast his hangover.” His eyes lowered in thought. “I’ve never seen him so at ease, and it had nothing to do with the drink. He’s so… contented. I didn’t think he could become more so after his marriage, but he’s changed again. He is more, somehow.”
“More Colin?” Marianne murmured with wry amusement. “God save us.”
A low chuckle escaped Kit and he looked back up at her with a smile. “I saw this part of him when he adopted Freddie, and we’ve all seen the change since the girls, but…” He shrugged and shook his head a little. “I can’t explain it, I’ve tried all day. And I find that I am…”
“Envious,” she whispered, hugging herself more tightly.
His gaze sharpened on her. “Yes. Exactly.”
She nodded, all too familiar with the sensation. When her brother and Annalise had Tillie, she had felt something stir in her. Nothing she could have identified then, she was far too proud and set in her ways, but now she could freely admit a pang of longing when she had held that darling child in her arms, when she had seen the indescribable joy in her sister-in-law’s face, how tenderly Duncan had seemed to worship Annalise and his daughter… So many things that had never occurred to her to want.
And now…
Now…
“And Susannah is well?” she asked faintly, no longer looking at him, feeling unable to.
“Perfectly. She was a little put out that I did not bring you with me.”
Marianne made a soft noise of amusement and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “She shouldn’t worry about such things at a time like this. Perhaps we might go for a visit soon, when she is more recovered.”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
“I want to see Susannah, and to try to make amends. I want to be her friend, and I want to hold Olivia, and I want…” She broke off as she realized she was rambling, and had been nearly about to confess all sorts of things she wanted, none of which should dare to be spoken aloud yet.
“What do you want?” Kit asked very quietly, his tone low and rumbling.
Something in his voice was doing strange and delightful things to her, and the effect was disconcerting. “Did you notice the great hall when you came in?” she asked quickly, feeling her cheeks heat.
His voice did not change in the slightest. “I did, and I was delighted by the new amount of space. Ten statues gone, but not the other two? Are you fond of them?”
She giggled and ventured a glance at him. “I thought you might feel the need to hit one of them with something sometime. Perhaps when I have driven you to a breaking point.”
He tilted his head in consideration, his eyes and expression all warmth, and dare she call it tenderness? But with an underlying tension that sent her pulse racing. “How very considerate of you, but I hardly need two.”
She smiled and shook her head slowly. “No, the other is for me. When I need to hit something. For when you drive me to my breaking point. One good swing and who knows what damage will occur? Perhaps we should have a contest to see who can completely demolish their temper statue first. It may take us several months, given their weighty mass and size, but I think…”
“You’re wearing my dressing gown.”
Marianne’s voice faltered to a halt at his low interruption and her eyes widened even as her breath caught in her chest. So she was, but she had completely forgotten about it, and now she was standing here before him in it. Mortified, she ducked her head. “Yes,” she replied as softly as she could.
“Why?” His query was just as soft as her reply, and full of some unspoken emotion that she felt surrounding them both.
“It’s warmer than mine,” she murmured, her suddenly shaking fingers moving to push another lock of hair behind her ear. “And it’s thicker, softer, better quality…” She didn’t have to look at him to know he was waiting, that he knew there was more to it than that. She closed her eyes and turned her face away as her cheeks heated. “And it smells like you. I… I missed you.”
She was suddenly, and forcefully, pushed back against the wall with a gasp, as Kit bracketed her with both arms and his body. His breath snagged in his throat as his mouth found her hairline, and there he waited, each frantic pant of breath sending fire racing across her skin.
He smelled of road and sweat, and of brandy, and through the sudden fog of her emotions she wilted a little at the implication of that. “Kit,” she gulped anxiously, “are you drunk?”
He shook his head almost imperceptibly, his lips moving just enough against her skin to give her answer. His body trembled and she felt an echoing tremble course through her, drawing with it all ability to breathe.
“Kit?”
With sharp exhale, his mouth moved to her ear and he leaned a little more against her. “Don’t talk,” he rasped, scorching the rim and lobe of her ear. “Don’t think.” His lips slowly danced down the side of her neck, wringing another potent shiver from her. “Don’t say anything…”
The button at her throat was suddenly popped open, and Marianne gasped as Kit’s clever mouth found the frantic beating of her pulse there. She had never felt more raw or exposed than she was now, yet she was perfectly covered and decent. But this was no mere matter of fabric or skin, this was far, far deeper.
She felt herself arching her neck as he lingered there, his mouth drifting back up towards her jaw. She was lost and falling, wandering in all the sensations he was provoking. And suddenly, it was not enough. Suddenly, she wanted more.
A hoarse moan rose within her and her hands, once trapped against his chest, now rose and slid themselves forcefully into his hair, tangling in the sweat-dampened chestnut locks. She tugged his face up and fused her mouth with his, straining upwards against him, sighing in relief when one of his arms locked around her and helped her to meet him.
Her pulse heightened, her toes curled and flexed, and there was no need for air, or thought, or anything else in the world but Kit. He was a man lost to everything, wild and frantic, yet so focused and intense, it consumed them both. His passion fueled hers, his need gave hers voice, and a clawing, clamoring ache was swiftly and steadily rising within her. Something only he could soothe.
She whimpered as his mouth left hers to play at her throat again. She toyed with his hair, holding him to her, eyelids fluttering as she was awash in a sea of sensations and feelings. Her skin was aflame, her lungs scorched with each breath, and her legs shook wildly beneath her.
“Kit,” she managed to gasp as he found a particularly sensitive spot below her right ear, eliciting a sharp shiver from her.
Somehow, that broke through his haze, and he froze. His mouth lifted just enough to no longer touch her skin, yet he made no move to leave her. His breathing slowed and steadied, and she felt the hand locked around her tighten into a fist, gathering the slightest bit of her nightgown with it. A slow tremor crossed his body, and slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his body away from her.
She exhaled a half-sob of disappointment.
Slowly, almost apologetically, he nuzzled against the last spot he’d kissed, then softly kissed her jaw. As if in a daze, he grazed his face and brow against hers, his lips brushing hers faintly, and then he was gone, trudging unsteadily up the stairs into the darkness, never once looking back or saying a word.
When she heard his bedchamber door close, her legs finally gave out on her and she sank to the stairs with a hoarse, “Whuff.”
It was entirely dark now, her lone candle apparently having gone out, but she barely registered that fact.
She pushed her hair back from her face and clenched handfuls of hair at her neck, staring at nothing, willing her body to cease its onslaught of torment.
She swallowed several times, with great difficulty, staring off at nothing between the spindles of the stairs. Slowly, she drew in a long, shaking breath, then said, to the emptiness of the dark, “What the hell was that?”