Читать книгу The Paper Marriage - Bronwyn Williams, Bronwyn Williams - Страница 12

Much to her amazement, Rose couldn’t remember a time in her life when she had felt so utterly content, not even in the early months of her marriage, before she had learned that she was no more than a means to an end.

Against all her expectations she found herself in the ideal situation of having a baby without having to deal with a husband. No matter how she tried to protect her heart, there was no way she could keep from loving Annie. Her own baby, if she’d lived, would have smacked her lips the same way, would have gazed up at her with the same innocent look—would have fit the curve of her arms the same way. The men obviously doted on her, but they were just as obviously relieved not to have the responsibility.

As for Bess, she spent most of each day in the village, returning in the late afternoon with any mail that had come in on the boat and whatever supplies had been ordered, along with pages of notes to be woven into a series of articles. If anyone thought it strange that her secretary took no part in the process, they didn’t bother to mention it.

Luther, still shy, but increasingly friendly, showed her a sheltered place high up on a wooded ridge overlooking the sound where she could sit for hours, gazing out over the water. From a safe distance, the Pamlico Sound looked remarkably benign. The sunsets in particular were spectacular, each color faithfully reflected in the waters below. So far she’d counted several wildflowers she had never before seen and almost as many birds.

Annie loved it, too. Crank had fashioned a carrying basket with sturdy rope handles and padded it with a pillow. With the weather growing warmer each day, Rose had delved into her steamer trunk to find her old summer gowns, most dating from before her marriage. Sometimes it seemed as if she’d been in mourning forever, first for her parents, then for her baby, and even now for her grandmother. But black was not only depressing, it was hot, and here on the Outer Banks the ordinary conventions seemed irrelevant.

Wearing an old blue muslin that was snug across the bosom and loose at the waist, she settled herself on the bench Peg had built and Luther had carried up to what she thought of as her private garden. She’d been warned against snakes, sunburn, sandspurs and prickly pear cactus. Bess had mentioned ticks, and Rose watched diligently to see that no insect, large or small, crawled into the basket.

Adjusting a light spread over Annie’s basket, she unfastened another button at the neck of her gown. “Annie, my sweet, I could get used to this life of indolence, couldn’t you?”

Annie kicked and gurgled in agreement.

As was too often the case when she had nothing better to occupy her mind, Rose thought about Matthew Powers. After three weeks, she still didn’t know quite what to make of the man, but at least she was no longer intimidated by his size. In fact, she rather enjoyed the novelty of looking up to a man. It made her feel…well, hardly delicate, but still, it was a pleasant feeling.

She had learned at an early age that men couldn’t abide tall women. Even her father, once she’d grown a full two inches above his respectable height of five and a half feet, had avoided standing beside her whenever possible. She had understood intuitively, but it had hurt, all the same.

Matthew avoided her, too, but it had nothing to do with her height, or even her lack of looks. According to Bess, he simply didn’t care for women. Which suited her just fine, as she wasn’t overly fond of men. Once this trial period was over, if she decided to go through with the marriage, at least she wouldn’t have to worry about the marriage act.

She hated it. It was painful, demeaning and embarrassing. A friend had once confided that she enjoyed it every bit as much as her husband did, and Rose had thought she must be lying. When, a year into her own marriage, Rose had learned that Robert kept a mistress, she’d been relieved rather than angry, thinking that he might leave her alone.

He hadn’t. Especially when he’d been drinking, in which case he would grab her with no warning at all, shove her down on the bed, even in broad daylight, and do it to her.

She had hoped her pregnancy would end all that, for he’d been eager for a child right from the first. For a while he’d seemed delighted, seldom snapping at her, even paying her some of the same small courtesies he’d shown during their brief courtship.

She’d been nearly five months along when Robert had come home one day in a rage. “Guess where I’ve been, my dearest little wife.” Sarcasm was one of his favorite weapons.

“I can’t imagine. At the club?” He reeked of strong drink, and it was barely past noon.

“Right you are. I happened to meet the trust officer who handled your father’s estate. Would you care to explain yourself?” His eyes flashed dangerously in his pale, narrow face.

She couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “I—I’m afraid I don’t remember him very well. I believe he was in Switzerland when Mama and Papa—after they—”

His control snapped. Waving a fist, he shouted, “Why did you lie to me? What in hell did you hope to gain?”

“B-but I’ve never lied. Why would you think that?” She’d been truly mystified.

“Oh, no? What about your trust fund, what about that?” By that time his face had been fiery red, spittle flying from his thin lips.

“Robert, please don’t shout, I don’t think it’s good for the baby. I won’t be twenty-one until September, you know that.”

“What good will your blasted brat do me, when there’s not a damn copper penny left to inherit? All that money, wasted! Blown away!”

That was when she’d learned that he’d married her for the fortune he’d expected her to come into on her twenty-first birthday, insuring it with a son.

“It’s gone, I tell you! Every single investment cashed in and wasted by your cheating scoundrel of a father!”