Even Patricia was convivial as they bent their heads over the drawings of elegant dresses and discussed bustles and bows and trains. And since Tessa decreed that all of them must order something new for the ball, it was a cheerful group that went down to supper that night.
Preparations for the party went on apace. Laura had wondered how they could possibly need three weeks to put on a ball, but after she saw the frequency with which Tessa changed her mind, she understood why. Laura was content to leave the other women to it. She preferred a walk in the garden or a quiet hour alone with a book or visiting Abby and the baby. Most of all, she preferred spending time with James.
It was this new closeness with her husband, not the prospect of a grand party nor the anticipation of a new wardrobe, that wreathed her days in happiness. While a walk in the garden was pleasant, it became so much more if James strolled with her, holding her hand or draping an arm over her shoulders, stopping now and then to steal a kiss.
James insisted that Laura learn how to ride, for he had in mind to buy her a horse, so they spent part of each morning on horseback. When he first announced his intention, Laura had a few qualms. James, she feared, would be an impatient teacher who required perfection, and she not only had never ridden but was faintly uneasy around horses.
However, he turned out to be surprisingly easygoing, more apt to smile at her mistakes than to lecture. When she expressed her surprise, James looked taken aback, then gave her a wry smile. “Am I really such a tyrant?”
“No. A bit impatient. And perhaps not entirely given to sympathy.”
“Mm. Not entirely.” They rode on in silence for a moment, then he said, “You think I expect too much from people.”
“No. Actually, I think it’s just the opposite. You expect very little of people.”
“And I am rarely disappointed.”
“There. You see? That is just what I mean. You don’t demand that others be responsible; you don’t even assume they could be. You are so good at everything.” He snorted derisively, and Laura frowned at him. “You are. You told me yourself that you understand numbers.”
“Well, yes, I’m good at that. Business things. Not feelings.”
“No, you are rather leery about those. But it’s not merely numbers. You’re good at anything mental. You’re well read; you can debate on numerous issues.”
“Not a habit that necessarily makes one a welcome companion, I fear.”
“You know a great deal about art and music. Look at you; you even ride well. I suspect you waltz perfectly.”
He shrugged. “I manage to get around the floor.”
“You demand perfection in what you do. But you set such a low bar for everyone else that they are failures from the start. You don’t ask for affection or even friendship from anyone. Indeed, it’s only those who force it on you like Graeme whom you will admit into your affections.”
“Graeme. Of course.” His lips twitched in irritation. “But then Graeme is perfect, isn’t he?”
“Don’t try to distract me. We’re not talking about Graeme. We’re talking about you.”
“I am well aware of that fact,” he retorted drily.
“Have you ever expected Patricia to be anything but silly and flighty? Or for Claude not to be envious? Have you ever asked him for help or advice?”
“No. Why would I?”
“Because he’s your brother.”
“He’s not—”
“Don’t tell me he’s not your brother. So what if you have a different father? You have the same mother. You grew up in the same household. You’re brothers.”
“You think he wouldn’t have tried to murder me if only I’d told him not to?” He raised his brows in cool inquiry.
“First of all, you don’t know that he is the one who did it.” Laura began to tick her points off on her fingers. “Second, that supercilious tone of yours won’t deter me. Third—” She let out a little shriek as his arm lashed out and clamped around her waist, pulling her off her horse and onto his.
“Last, I know that there’s no way I can win an argument with you except this . . .” He kissed her.
Laura made no objection, merely twined her arms around his neck and enjoyed his kiss. When he lifted his head from hers, she smiled up into his eyes. “That’s not winning; that’s just delaying.”
James began to laugh. “I surrender.” He kissed her again, and after that, all other thought fled.
It was the way many conversations between them ended. Whether they argued or laughed or teased, heat and hunger were never very far beneath the surface for them. But later, as they rode home, James said, “What of Walter? How is it I have failed him?”