She spoke lightly. There was laughter in her voice. But he felt a twinge of something he had been ignoring ever since accepting her proposal a month before-yes, it really had been that way around. They had known each other for a month before that. And ignore it he must. He supposed it was natural to feel qualms about taking such an enormous step as marrying. To him it was an enormous step, even though his best friend had commented half seriously that, after all, marriage was not a life sentence these days as it used to be. If it did not work out, then they could bow out of it and try again some other time with other partners.
That was another thing he hated about modern living- its basic cynicism.
He loved Allison. Certainly he lusted after her. She was tall and blonde and sleek. She was poised and articulate and ambitious and successful. Of course there were differences between them. Many of them. It was natural. They would work through the differences if they wished their marriage to be a success. That was the challenge of marriage.
He turned to look at her. She was lying with her hands locked behind her head, her legs crossed at the ankles. She was looking at him and smiling.
"It was a funny party, wasn't it?" he said, grinning. "An engagement party without a ring." It had taken place at his flat just the day before yesterday.
"Who needs a ring?" She shrugged her shoulders. "And everyone was told about the family heirloom. It will be something to show when we return. Are you going to insure my finger for a million pounds or so?''
"I think you are a little more valuable than the ring," he said. "Why not insure all of you?"
"Gallant John." She smiled at him. "Or mercenary John?" She opened her mouth to say more, hesitated, and then spoke anyway. "Do we have to wait until this evening? I know you have arranged a special candlelit dinner downstairs. But do we have to wait?"
He had the ring in his wallet. He had driven to Reading yesterday and got it from his father. His mother had died eight years ago. The ring was for his bride now. Not many of the family wives during the past three centuries had had the ring in time for their engagements.
He had always had strange feelings about the ring. His mother had not worn it a great deal, as she had had another engagement ring-the family ring had not come to her until fifteen years after her marriage. So he had not seen it much himself. Whenever he had, he had felt-how had he felt? It was almost impossible to put the feeling into words. Breathless? Nostalgic? Excited? Afraid? None of the four words, except perhaps the first, really described his feeling.
And the feeling had returned yesterday. He had thought perhaps it was the value of the ring and the knowledge that now it was in his keeping and that soon it would be on Allison's finger. But it was not so much the monetary value that had affected him as the historic value. Though that word was too cold, too clinical.
He had put it carefully in his wallet. He had checked and rechecked ever since to see that it was still there, even though the wallet had never left his person. But he had not unwrapped it or touched it. There was something about touching it-well, something that made him breathless. He could put it no more clearly than that. And he did not have to. He had never tried to explain the feeling to anyone else.
"No," he said now, reaching for his wallet. "There is no reason to wait. And I would rather do it here in private than in the dining room where someone else might notice and somehow intrude."
"I have not even seen it," she said, sitting up.
He took the velvet bag out of his wallet and the tissue paper out of the bag. He unwrapped it. He had not yet touched the ring with his bare hand. His father had wrapped it yesterday.
He sat down on the side of the bed and held out his palm to her. "You see?" he said. "It can be the something old and the something blue for our wedding." He had said that before. Déjà vu hit him like a hammer blow, catching him somewhere low in his stomach. He must be very tired from the long drive.
It was a large sapphire in a heavy gold setting. His father had had it cleaned just last week and sized for Allison.
"Mm, very nice," she said, warm appreciation in her voice.
Yet for some reason the words cut him. Very nice?
"Well?" She was laughing and holding out her left hand to him, the fingers spread. "Are you going to put it on me or am I going to have to do it myself?"
He did not want to touch it. It was absurd. And he knew now that two of those words about his feelings were correct-he was both breathless and afraid. But afraid of what? Afraid of dropping it? Of losing it? Of sharing his family heritage and therefore himself with a stranger? Good Lord, Allison was not a stranger. She was his fiancée. They had been together for two months. Intimately together.
He picked it up. It felt warm, as if it had been worn recently. The heat from his body had warmed it through his wallet and through its wrappings. He slipped the ring onto her finger.
"There." He smiled at her. "The deed is done. You are mine, body and soul. I love you, Allie."
"I love you too." The tears that brightened her eyes were unexpected. She was not an overly emotional person. Passionate, yes, but not emotional. "I do, John. I know we do not see eye to eye on everything. You half meant it a moment ago when you suggested coming here to live for the rest of our lives, didn't you? And I would die of such an existence. But we do love each other. We will make this work. Won't we?"
Allison did not usually need reassurance. She was abounding in self-confidence. She sounded anxious now, endearingly so. Sometimes, treacherously, considering the fact that he was living through the 1990s, he wished she were a little more dependent. But that was certainly something he would never utter aloud.
"Yes," he said, releasing her hand in order to wrap his arms about her. "Of course we will. We will adjust to each other's needs. Because we love each other."
He kissed her and lowered her back onto the bed. He followed her down until he was lying beside her, his mouth still against hers. Surprisingly, though, he found that it was not desire they shared but tenderness. Passion would come later, in the night. Now was the time for love-in the moments following their official engagement. He reached one hand down to hers, to take her ring between a thumb and forefinger and twist it.
He was not sure at what precise moment he felt the other ring. At first his fingers merely brushed against it. Then they moved curiously to it and felt its smoothness. It was a plain band, like a wedding ring. He stretched his hand out along hers, palm to palm. Hers seemed smaller than usual. It was as if the ring had dwarfed it. Her lips had softened to exquisite gentleness. For the first time he noticed her perfume-subtle and unobtrusive, but unmistakably lavender.
The drive had tired him far more than he had thought. He doubted that he was going to be able to get up for dinner. He even doubted-alarming thought-that he was going to be able to make love to her tonight. He was so tired he could hardly exert any pressure against her hand and against her ring-her rings.
And then, before he opened his eyes, he realized something. He realized that it was not Allison he held in his arms at all. It was another woman. And in fact it was he who was lying in her arms.
Perhaps the most disorienting realization of all, though, was that he knew who she was.
"Adèle," he murmured, and opened his eyes. Even doing that took great physical effort.
She had dark eyes and dark hair, worn rather formally in a topknot with wavy tendrils at her temples and neck. She wore no makeup. She was wearing a dress of some flimsy stuff, low and scooped at the neckline, drawn in by a wide ribbon beneath her breasts. The sleeves were short and puffed. Empire style, he thought. Regency.