Andrew Lord of Despair(14)
“I suspected you were putting a good face on things,” Felicity said, pushing the draperies back to let the sun shine through a pair of French doors. “I feared you tolerated Herbert, and I can’t figure out why you chose him. You had other offers.”
“I did love him, Lissy,” Astrid said, sinking down onto a couch. And why did this assertion sound so forlorn? He’d seemed steady at first, not dull. Dependable, rather than boring. Fair, whereas Andrew was dark.
Whatever that had to do with anything.
“Of course you loved him.” Felicity joined her with the sort of undignified descent common to ladies on the nest. “You weren’t in love with him.”
Rather than meet her sister’s gaze, Astrid instead studied Felicity’s hands, and noticed the lack of a wedding ring.
“I was not in love with my husband,” Astrid said, her own ring feeling abruptly tight on her finger. “I can’t go around admitting that, or I will be consumed with guilt.” Or possibly with anger. “I miss the man, I am sorry he died so young, and I am, in some ghastly moments, relieved, all at once—you will forget I said that. But then there is this pregnancy too, and it all gets tangled and uncomfortable. I cannot say I like being a widow any better than I liked most aspects of being a wife.”
Felicity had taken the place beside her, which meant Astrid could read her sister’s expression only in profile. “Will it be very difficult, putting up with me and Gareth?”
Ah, the blessed comfort of sibling honesty. “Pretending my marriage was more than it was is wearying. In truth, even David sensed my husband was, to use David’s words, a crashing bore.” In the drawing room and in the… elsewhere. Hadn’t Herbert’s mistress taught him anything?
Felicity hugged her, a tendency toward affection being another of her sister’s symptoms of impending parturition. “I am sorry, for you and Herbert both. You are young, though. We can find you a more dashing fellow next time, right?”
Astrid slipped off her ring and tucked it into a pocket. Yet more honesty was in order. “None of that talk, if you please. I have something few women my age can dream of, Felicity. I have the independence of widowhood, with my whole life ahead of me. I do not seek to ally myself with another man in the foreseeable future, if at all.”
Felicity began fussing the tea service, a pretty blue jasperware ensemble that included—thank God and the kitchen staff—a sizable array of cakes.
“Then you will allow your life to be guided by Douglas Allen’s whims until such time as your child is grown to independence?”
Sometimes, one honest, insightful sister and one honest, insightful brother were more support than a grieving, pregnant widow ought to have to bear.
“My life has become complicated,” Astrid said. “This child becomes more precious to me with each passing day, but the future you describe, one as Douglas’s poor relation, holds no appeal whatsoever.”
“Then marry a fellow who will stand up to Douglas and protect you and your child,” Felicity said. “You will esteem greatly any man who protects you and this baby from Douglas’s interference.”
That was the uncomplicated, optimistic reasoning of a woman happily married.
“Marriage for the rest of my life is a high price to pay for the simple privilege of raising my own child.” And if the child were a boy, he could go off to public school as young as age six. The idea made Astrid positively ill, as ill as the thought of eel pie made her—also livid.
Felicity passed her a plate of cakes even before pouring the tea. “All you need contend with now is enjoying your stay here and letting us love you. You should feel free to discard your blacks, tame the squirrels, spend the day grooming horses or lying about reading Sir Walter Scott. I am thrilled you have come to Willowdale, and I know Gareth is pleased as well.”
“He won’t be when I’ve beaten the pants off him at billiards a few times.”
“Oh, please,” came a masculine voice from the doorway, “if anyone is to lose his pants to you, Astrid, why not me?”
“Andrew!” Astrid rose from the couch and wrapped her arms around him, unable to quell a bolt of delight at the very sight of him. “You rapscallion, lurking in doorways and sneaking up on us. I had no idea you would be staying here when I decided to visit.” And this was the best of all, because had she known, she’d likely have declined Felicity’s invitation. “I shall be ever so willing to beat you at billiards as well, or darts, or cribbage, though you may keep your pants.”
“Yes, yes, or backgammon, or piquet, or what have you. I come to renew my acquaintance with my brother’s family, and instead I’ll get a trouncing on every hand. Perhaps I’ll cut my visit short.” His tone was teasing, while his eyes were serious.