An Improper Companion by April Kihlstrom Page A

Another reflection joined mine and I realised Leslie stood beside me. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
    “If any of this exists. You. The castle. This stream,” I said quietly.
    “And I wonder if you exist,” he said with a hint of laughter in his voice, “for I know the rest does. Including this rock which I would suggest that you sit upon. Unless you prefer to stand?”
    Since my limbs felt strangely unsteady, I chose to sit. I could not explain this to Leslie and I answered his questioning gaze simply with a smile. But for once he did not smile in return. This surprised me and I wondered if he were preparing to be disagreeable again. He seemed to be searching for certain words and I realised that perhaps he wondered if I were breeding. I blushed deeply at the thought, aware that from this morning I could set his mind at peace. Yet modesty made it difficult for me to speak of such a thing even to my husband. Nevertheless, it was his right to know. “Leslie,” I spoke hesitantly, “I thought it best you know. There ... there will be no child from ... from...”
    “You are sure?” he asked urgently.
    “Yes, my ... the ... yes,” I replied.
    He glanced away, at war with himself, I realised. Though he felt relief that this would not be another problem in our lives, he also felt disappointment. He knew it had been his only chance for an heir. Yet when Leslie spoke, the words were proper enough. “I am glad, Heather. It would have been one more reason for you to hate me. And even if you did not resent the infant, I would not wish a child to grow up in such a home as ours will be. Children are quick to sense moods and ours might have felt tom between us.”
    I felt unaccountably bold as I asked, “Yet if matters had been different you would have wished for children?”
    He answered frankly, “Yes ... if matters had been different.”
    I became bolder still, “And you have none?”
    He flushed. “None. In general I am a careful man. I would not wish for the birth of a child as handicapped as a by-blow must be. But Heather, you should not speak of such things.”
    “They should be outside my knowledge?” I suggested sarcastically. “Oh, I know well enough not to ask such questions of anyone else. But I felt that with you I might be frank.” He did not answer and I sighed. “Very well. I don’t understand, but I shall endeavour not to shock you in the future.”
    ‘Leslie laughed. “Heather! There never was such a woman as you! What would Mrs. Gilwen say if she could hear you?”
    “Don’t speak to me of Mrs. Gilwen,” I retorted. “She taught me to believe the world was gentle and that one could never find oneself in a position too difficult to cope with!” Leslie did not answer, nor did I truly expect him to. His words, when he did speak, were of an entirely different matter. “I ought to warn you, Heather, I expect another guest within the week.”
    “More family?” I asked in dismay.
    “Are they so difficult to bear?” he asked laughing.
    I blushed. “No, of course not, it is simply, well, a bit of a strain occasionally.”
    “Well, you need not fear. This guest is no relation of mine. In truth, I do not know him very well. He is coming from London on a business matter. The Earl of Pellen. He shall not be staying above a day or two,” Leslie explained.
    “Well,” I said equably, “perhaps he will prove a calming influence.”
    “Hmmm,” was all he said.
    “What tale will you tell him of our marriage?” I asked.
    Leslie, shrugged, staring at the ground. “None. There will be no need. He is not the sort to ask such questions and his wife will not be with him.”
    “But if he should?” I persisted.
    “I shall tell him the truth: that I married you straight from the schoolroom.”
    I was far from reassured, but there was that in Leslie’s manner which warned me not to pursue the matter. And in truth I could not say Leslie was mistaken concerning Lord Pellen. I had so little