she had never heard before, "I want you to forget your regrets. For tonight. Tomorrow you may take them up again. I won't blame you. But you've given me back my home, little girl. You've given me another chance. For that…" He stopped, and his fingers closed harder on hers. He said fiercely, "God—there aren't words to make you understand what that means to me. I want to show you." He lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. "For tonight—forget what I am, forget what you know of me. Let me make everything perfect. This one time. Before the world comes back to haunt us."
She stared at her hand in his. Gratitude. It was not what she had wanted, but anything… anything that would fill this terrible void…
"I'll try," she said.
"Thank you."
The relief in his voice surprised her. He sat back, but kept her hand in his lap, and held it there for all the long ride to York.
Firelight sent huge shadows against the low ceiling of the inn's best chamber. Roddy watched them move and listened to the occasional creak of the floor under Jane's busy feet. A simple mind Jane had, with no room for fine speculations on gentlemen's reputations. To Roddy's maid, a man was at worst a brute to be endured and at best a mild annoyance. Jane's thoughts as she hustled Roddy into the bedroom, clucking around her as she changed out of the wedding dress and into a taffeta gown, were divided between sympathy that Roddy would have to suffer a woman's duties and the hope that those duties would soon result in another child for Jane to fuss over. The maid said nothing of either, though, and kept her moon-shaped face neutral.
Won't do to frighten the girl
, she was assuring herself.
Only make things worse
.
Such grim presentiments made Roddy's knees feel a little shaky. Deliberately, she called to mind another opinion, this one held by a scullery-maid: the one who seemed to be caught so often in the pantry by one of Roddy's brothers.
She
had no quarrel with male importunities. She was proud of the fact that she had introduced each of the Delamore boys in turn to the delights of love. Standing there with Jane fussing about her gown, Roddy felt her face grow hot as she recalled jumbled pantry scenes that had leaked into her awareness, try as she might to block them.
In the midst of these agitating reflections, a light knock on the door made both Roddy and her maid stiffen. Jane stood upright from buttoning one of Roddy's lacy cuffs, pursed her lips, and stalked resolutely to the door.
A stalwart young girl entered, carrying a tray, followed by the innkeeper's wife with another. They arranged the dishes on a round table near the fire, lit new candles, and then retired. With one hand on the door, the innkeeper's wife paused and looked at Jane. "If you please, I've been asked to see you to your room, ma'am. If you'll come with me now?"
Jane's face went blank, covering her instant affront at this thinly veiled order. But its source was obvious, and she obeyed, leaving the room with her jaw set and her eyes glued resentfully to her feet.
Left alone, Roddy stood staring into the fire a moment, and then sat down. Her hands felt cold, and though a pleasant smell drifted up from the covered dishes, all appetite had left her. She poured herself a generous portion of wine and stood up again, wandering restlessly around the room.
The bright reflection of her hair in the dressing-table mirror made her stop. She turned, frowning critically at her image in the candlelight. There was nothing there to surprise her, nothing different from what she had seen reflected in the minds of her parents and brothers and friends all her life.
She was not beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. She was… intense. Contradictory. Her hair shone dull gold and angelically curly, but her eyebrows were two dark wings that tilted upward, like the faces on the demons carved in the chapel at home. Her chin was too pointed, her mouth too apt to smirk, and her eyes—well, her eyes
She stared at her hand in his. Gratitude. It was not what she had wanted, but anything… anything that would fill this terrible void…
"I'll try," she said.
"Thank you."
The relief in his voice surprised her. He sat back, but kept her hand in his lap, and held it there for all the long ride to York.
Firelight sent huge shadows against the low ceiling of the inn's best chamber. Roddy watched them move and listened to the occasional creak of the floor under Jane's busy feet. A simple mind Jane had, with no room for fine speculations on gentlemen's reputations. To Roddy's maid, a man was at worst a brute to be endured and at best a mild annoyance. Jane's thoughts as she hustled Roddy into the bedroom, clucking around her as she changed out of the wedding dress and into a taffeta gown, were divided between sympathy that Roddy would have to suffer a woman's duties and the hope that those duties would soon result in another child for Jane to fuss over. The maid said nothing of either, though, and kept her moon-shaped face neutral.
Won't do to frighten the girl
, she was assuring herself.
Only make things worse
.
Such grim presentiments made Roddy's knees feel a little shaky. Deliberately, she called to mind another opinion, this one held by a scullery-maid: the one who seemed to be caught so often in the pantry by one of Roddy's brothers.
She
had no quarrel with male importunities. She was proud of the fact that she had introduced each of the Delamore boys in turn to the delights of love. Standing there with Jane fussing about her gown, Roddy felt her face grow hot as she recalled jumbled pantry scenes that had leaked into her awareness, try as she might to block them.
In the midst of these agitating reflections, a light knock on the door made both Roddy and her maid stiffen. Jane stood upright from buttoning one of Roddy's lacy cuffs, pursed her lips, and stalked resolutely to the door.
A stalwart young girl entered, carrying a tray, followed by the innkeeper's wife with another. They arranged the dishes on a round table near the fire, lit new candles, and then retired. With one hand on the door, the innkeeper's wife paused and looked at Jane. "If you please, I've been asked to see you to your room, ma'am. If you'll come with me now?"
Jane's face went blank, covering her instant affront at this thinly veiled order. But its source was obvious, and she obeyed, leaving the room with her jaw set and her eyes glued resentfully to her feet.
Left alone, Roddy stood staring into the fire a moment, and then sat down. Her hands felt cold, and though a pleasant smell drifted up from the covered dishes, all appetite had left her. She poured herself a generous portion of wine and stood up again, wandering restlessly around the room.
The bright reflection of her hair in the dressing-table mirror made her stop. She turned, frowning critically at her image in the candlelight. There was nothing there to surprise her, nothing different from what she had seen reflected in the minds of her parents and brothers and friends all her life.
She was not beautiful. She wasn't even pretty. She was… intense. Contradictory. Her hair shone dull gold and angelically curly, but her eyebrows were two dark wings that tilted upward, like the faces on the demons carved in the chapel at home. Her chin was too pointed, her mouth too apt to smirk, and her eyes—well, her eyes
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