He sighed. "He stole from Jonathan," he said. "There were jewels. Heirlooms. Almost priceless ones, though I daresay they did bring a handsome price. Most of them had disappeared. Jonathan knew nothing of them when asked, though he remembered his father showing them to him at one time. Con would not admit to taking them, but he would not deny it either. He had a look on his face when I spoke to him about them, a look with which I was long familiar - half mockery, half contempt. It was a look that told me as clearly as words that he had indeed taken them. But I had no proof. I did not tell anyone. It was a family shame that I felt obliged to hide from the world. You are the first one to know. He was /not /a worthy friend. I had been as deceived by him all my life as I had been by my father. He is not a pleasant character, Vanessa." "No," she agreed sadly.
He closed his eyes. His hand fell to his side again. "Lord," he said, "why have I burdened you with all this sordid family history?" "Because I am your wife," she said. "Elliott, you must not give up on love even though it seems as if everyone you loved betrayed you.
Actually it was only /two /people out of everyone you have known, precious as those two were to you. And you must not give up on happiness even if all your happy memories seem to be hollow ones. Love and joy are waiting for you." "Are they?" He looked wearily into her eyes. "And hope," she said. "There must always be hope, Elliott." "Must there? Why?" And then, as she watched, her palms still cupping the sides of his face, she saw tears well into his eyes and spill over onto his cheeks.
He jerked his head away from her hands and uttered an oath that ought to have brought color to her cheeks. "Damn it," he said, following up the first oath with a milder one. He was feeling around for a handkerchief and found one. "Dash it all, Vanessa. You must excuse me." He was trying to lift her off his lap, push her away, exclude her. But she would have none of it. She wrapped both arms about his neck, drawing his face down to her bosom. "Don't shut me out," she said against his hair. "Don't keep on shutting me out, Elliott. I am not your father or Constantine. I am your wife.
And I will never betray you." She turned her face to rest one cheek against the top of his head as he wept with deep, obviously painful sobs and gasps.
He was going to be terribly embarrassed when he stopped, she thought. He had probably not shed a tear for years. Men were foolish about such things. It was a slur on their manhood to weep.
She kissed his head and one temple. She smoothed her hands through his hair. "My love," she murmured to him. "Ah, my love."
22
ELLIOTT had reserved a box at Vauxhall Gardens. An evening at the famous pleasure gardens just south of the River Thames was something not to be missed when one was in town during the Season, and Vanessa's face had lit up with anticipated pleasure as soon as he asked her if she would like to go there.
Pleasing his wife had become of great importance to him. So had the certain kind of love he felt for her. He could not - or would not - put a name to it. He was surely not /in /love with her - it was too trivial a term. And as for simply loving - well, he had come to distrust love and did not want to put his feelings for Vanessa into that fragile category.
He trusted her. It seemed to him that her life must always have been characterized by the unconditional love she gave freely to all who were close to her, whether they deserved it or not.
He did not deserve her love, heaven knew.
And yet he knew that in her own way she loved him.
She had left him on that evening in the library as soon as he had finally got himself under control, and she had never alluded to the horribly embarrassing incident since. She had given him time and space in which to recover himself and heal.
And heal he did. He came to understand that love - if he dared use that word - did not reside in any one person. His father had let him down. So had Con. But /love /had not.
Love remained to him both as something other people gave him and, more important, as something he was capable of giving.
He was going to love his own children with a steadiness upon which they could rely for as long as he lived. And their mother would teach them, by example if not in words - though there doubtless /would /be words in plenty - that love was something that lived deep inside everyone, a bottomless well, something that could give a happy bent to their lives even during dark and difficult days.
And those children - or the first, at least - would not be too far in the future. Vanessa, he realized, must be with child even though she had not chosen to tell him yet. She had not had her courses since their marriage.
He was beginning to feel a cautious contentment with his marriage.
The visit to Vauxhall had not been arranged purely for Vanessa's benefit, however. It was mainly for Miss Huxtable and young Merton, who were going to go back to Warren Hall within a few days. Vanessa and Elliott were going with them, but as soon as Elliott had seen the boy properly settled with his tutors again, they would return to London for the rest of the Season.
Elliott had been feeling a little concerned by the ease with which the boy had taken to London. He was still years too young to enter fully into the life that would eventually be his, but he had made a number of older friends, both male and female, and was out and about most days - riding in the park, or going to the races, or examining the horses at Tattersall's, or attending the surprisingly large number of social events to which he was invited.
He was too young, and he was perhaps an easy prey to men like Con, who often accompanied him. It was time for him to be reined in and returned home, where his education would resume until he went up to Oxford.
Surprisingly, Merton had been quite willing to go. He put up no fight whatsoever when Elliott took him aside to broach the subject with him. "I cannot join any of the gentlemen's clubs yet," he said, counting the points off on his fingers, "and I cannot buy horses or a curricle or a dozen and one other things without your permission, and I cannot take my seat in the House of Lords or attend any of the most interesting of the balls and soirees. And it has become very clear to me that there are a million things I need to learn before I am allowed to do all these things. Besides, I miss Warren Hall. I scarcely had time to start to feel at home there before coming here. I will be glad to go back." The boy was going to go through a wild period before too many more years had passed, Elliott was sure. But he would come through it all relatively unscathed, it was to be hoped. He had a good character beneath all his restless energy, the result of a good upbringing.