A Momentary Marriage(113)
“A typical male response.”
“Probably typical of anyone. How many times do you see a mother scold a child because he was almost hurt?”
“True. It frightens one so.”
“Exactly. I realized that he was angry because he was scared. So he was running away to London. Unfortunately, I blurted that out.”
“Oooh.”
“You can imagine how well he received that notion.” Laura smiled wryly. “Then, to compound my mistake, I went on to say that he loved me and that his love was what frightened him.”
“It was all true, I imagine.”
“Maybe. But not exactly tactful.”
Abigail chuckled. “I would think James de Vere, of all people, would understand a lack of tact.”
“Receiving it is different from dealing it out.”
The footman had set the box of books on the chest at the end of Laura’s bed. But Abigail was drawn to the smaller boxes piled on the dresser. “Are these his other presents?”
“Most of them.” Laura set down the book on the bed and came over to show Abigail the jewelry inside the boxes.
“Oh! What beautiful drops!” Abigail held up a set of earrings that cascaded small sapphires, moving on to examine an onyx and ivory mourning brooch, a strand of lustrous graduated pearls with matching earrings, a filigreed gold hair ornament.
“Yes, they’re all lovely.” Laura opened an enameled box lined with red velvet and filled with more jewels. “He even sent this jewelry case to hold them, but as you can see, I haven’t nearly enough room for them all. Look at this.”
Laura went into her dressing room and returned wearing a hat, charmingly turned up on one side and lined with deep blue velvet.
“A Gainsborough!” Abigail exclaimed in delight. “It’s beautiful. That color makes your eyes so wonderfully blue.”
“I love it,” Laura admitted, giving in to the temptation to admire her image in the mirror.
“I’d be tempted to forgive him, just for that hat.” Abigail cast her a teasing glance. She went on more seriously. “Surely this shows the depth of his feeling for you.”
“It shows the depth of his coffers,” Laura replied lightly. “The excellence of his taste.”
“I cannot help but think there’s more than that to these gifts. James doesn’t seem the sort to spend hours prowling about jewelry stores.”
Laura laughed. “No. I’m sure not.”
“Look at these; they’re perfectly suited for you. These sapphires, that cameo, all of them indicate a great deal of knowledge of you—your looks, your taste, your nature. Not to mention a sizable amount of time spent choosing them.” Abigail chuckled. “And what must it have taken for Sir James to go into a milliner’s and buy you a hat!”
“I wish I could have seen it,” Laura admitted.
“Some men—some people—have trouble saying how they feel. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel it. Sometimes they can only express their love in what they do. They give you things. Protect you. Provide for you.”
Laura walked over to the bed and reached down to touch the book James had sent her. Tracing the gilt lettering, she said, “I can put the other things down to his liking for beautiful things, to knowing what should be done, to having enough money that it’s no hardship for him to buy them. But this . . .”
“What is it he sent you?”
“A book on Baroque music.” She glanced at Abigail and grinned. “Not the thing to capture most women’s hearts.”
“Or even their attention.”
“But it’s something I would like, and he knew it. This is a thing he spent time and effort to purchase, something he thought about. And it gives me hope.”
“Do you love James?” Abigail asked quietly.
Startled, Laura’s eyes flew to her friend’s. “I—I’m not sure. I thought I would be fine with the sort of marriage I could have with James. I’m practical. Sensible. No longer young and starry-eyed. I wasn’t eager to give my heart to anyone, and James would never ask for it. It seemed a reasonable bargain. I like him; he’s easy to converse with. He has a wicked sense of humor, which I am wicked enough to enjoy. A bit difficult at times, but who is not? And he is, I think, worth the trouble.”
“But?” Abigail prodded.
“I’ve found I want more. I think I have fallen in love with him.” She sighed. “He’s not the only one frightened. I don’t want to be hurt again. I don’t want to love a man who will never love me back. And I’m afraid James never will. He’s wrapped himself so tightly around with protection—hardness, indifference—I don’t know if anything can ever penetrate that.”