Of course, he realized suddenly, /he/ was at home. She was not – not in a place that had had a chance to /feel/ like home yet, anyway. Woodbine Park was a strange place to her. It was understandable that she was a little uncomfortable. "We are not enemies," he said. "No." "Are we not therefore friends?" he asked.
She smiled. "We are /lovers/," he said. "Yes." "But not friends?" "I think," she said, setting down her cup and saucer, "I am just tired." "And a little depressed?" he asked softly. "No," she said. And she laughed suddenly. "That would be disconcerting after I told you earlier that I am always an optimist. I am just tired and forgot for a moment that marriage is a journey, just as life is. I must not expect it to be perfect from the start. If it were, we would have nowhere to go with it, would we?" "Our marriage is not perfect?" he asked her. "No, of course it is not," she said, still smiling. "We married for imperfect reasons, and we have been married for only a few days. I want contentment, happiness with husband, home, and family. You want … well, you want simply not to regret your marriage as deeply as you fear you might. They are not impossible dreams, are they? For either of us?" He had been struck by her honesty from the start of their acquaintance.
She was being honest now. Her expectations were not impossibly high.
Neither were her demands of him. "I do not regret it," he said.
It struck him that if he were here alone now, he might also be feeling lonely – even though Toby was coming tomorrow. He was not feeling lonely now. A trifle irritated, perhaps, but not lonely. And not unhappy. "Thank you," she said. "One day you will say it with more conviction, I promise." "And you will tell me one day," he said, getting to his feet, "that you are not only contented with our marriage, but happy. I promise." He reached out a hand for hers and drew her to her feet. "And one day," he said, "we will be able to sit a whole hour together in silence without you feeling awkward." She laughed again.
And then she drew her hand from his, wrapped both arms about his neck, and leaned in to him, pressing one cheek against his. His arms closed about her. "Oh, how I have /longed/," she said, and paused for such a long time that he thought she would not continue. But she did. "How I have longed all my life for just this – a home of my own, a husband I can like and respect, intimacy, togetherness, the promise of happiness within grasping distance. Duncan, I /really/ am not depressed. I am … " She drew back her head to look into his face. She did not complete the thought. "Lusty?" he suggested. "Oh, you horrid man!" she cried. "You know words like that are not in a lady's vocabulary." He gazed back at her and said nothing. "Yes," she said softly. "/Lusty/. What a deliciously wicked word." Women were complex creatures, he thought as he kissed her – and /that/ was surely the original thought of the century. Lust for them was not the simple need for a thorough good bedding. It was all mixed up in their minds with marriage and home and liking and respect and romance and love.
And for men? For /him/?
He deepened the kiss, opening both their mouths and thrusting his tongue deep, spreading his hands over her buttocks and snuggling her in against his growing hardness.
He too had longed … For a woman in his arms and in his bed and in his –
Life?
Heart?
He did not know and would not puzzle now over the answer. But he /had/ longed.
Yearned. "Maggie," he murmured into her ear. "Come to bed." "Mmm," she said on a long sigh. "Yes. That is a /good/ part of our marriage, is it not?" "Shall we not analyze it?" he suggested, settling her hand on his arm. "Shall we just /do/ it? And /enjoy/ it?" Her lips curved into a smile and her eyes brightened with merriment. "Yes," she said. "To both. I think you are making a wanton of me." "Good," he said.
20
THE morning after her arrival at Woodbine Park, Margaret was ashamed of the way she had allowed herself to be overwhelmed the evening before by the newness and unfamiliarity of everything in her life.
She had found herself during that lengthy silence in the drawing room missing her family, Merton House, Warren Hall, the familiar round of her daily life. And knowing that everything was changed forever with no chance – ever – of going back.
Which had all been quite absurd. Why should she wish to go back? And it was not as if she had lost her family forever. She had merely got what she had longed for all of last winter.
In the morning everything looked brighter – even literally. The sun shone from a clear blue sky beyond the windows of the bedchamber she shared with Duncan, and she could see the view out over the park at the front of the house. And a lovely view it was too with the house situated as it was on the crest of the hill. Beyond the inner lawns she could see the trees that circled the park, the river to one side, the roofs of some of the houses in the village, the church spire, and farmland stretching like a giant patchwork quilt to a distant horizon.
She was filled with energy despite last night's love-making. Or perhaps partly because of it. That aspect of her new life was wonderful indeed and far surpassed any of her expectations. She had expected, and hoped, that it might be pleasant. It was … Well, it was much better than that.
Duncan was a skilled, patient, thorough, and passionate lover. And she had discovered an answering passion in herself. Perhaps it was unladylike to enjoy the marriage bed quite so much. But if it was, then she was content to be no lady – at least during the nights and in the privacy of their own bedchamber.
She intended to spend at least a part of the morning in consultation with the housekeeper and perhaps the cook too. There was much to learn, much to organize, if she was to establish herself as mistress of Woodbine. She would find it easier this time. When she had moved to Warren Hall with Stephen and Kate, she had gone from managing a small village cottage to running a grand country mansion. The two tasks had had very few similarities. It had taken her a great deal of effort and determination.
Duncan arrived in her dressing room before Ellen had quite finished styling her hair. He had been gone from bed when she woke up earlier. He was wearing riding clothes and looked as if he had been out already. "I thought," he said, meeting her eyes in the mirror, "that perhaps you would get lost between here and the breakfast parlor and would wander aimlessly about the house all day before someone found you and rescued you." "And so you came to escort me?" She smiled at his image. He looked as full of energy as she. He looked younger somehow, more carefree, more handsome. It struck her that he was probably far more at home in the country than he was in the city. "I did." He sat down on a chair by the door to wait for her and crossed one booted ankle over the other knee. Oh, yes, and he looked very virile too. Very attractive. "I must spend the morning with the housekeeper," she said when they were on their way downstairs for breakfast. "Mrs. Dowling, that is. There will be a great deal to learn, and I am eager to begin." "But not today," he said. "You must need to spend time with your steward after such a long absence," she said. "But not today," he said again. "Today we will start with the gallery, though we will not spend a great deal of time there when the weather is so good. We will go outside, and I will show you the park." A day of pleasure instead of duty? How irresponsible! And how irresistible! "Is that an order?" she asked him, turning her head to smile at him as they reached the bottom of the staircase and turned in the direction of the breakfast parlor.
He stopped walking rather abruptly, and he was not smiling when he looked back into her eyes. "It was /not/ an order," he said. "You will never hear one of those from me, Maggie." "It will be a holiday because we both wish for it, then," she said, tipping her head to one side, still smiling. "A sort of honeymoon." He raised his eyebrows. "Yes," he said. "Precisely. Though I am not sure I have heard that word more than once or twice in my life." "It is a holiday," she explained, "in celebration of a new marriage." "Oh, yes," he said, "I know what it /is/. It is a span of time in which a newly married couple can give, ah, vigorous attention to their new relationship." "Yes," she said. "Precisely." Oh, she felt very wicked, very carefree, very… /happy/?