Lady in Rags

Chapter Forty-Nine: Quest for the Past

Over the first weeks of Verity's return, Neil tried his best to play the part of a husband. He breakfasted with Verity; he attended church with her; he spent the mornings with her. It was no more than playing a part – for the both of them. They spoke as though actors on a stage – only he felt as though an understudy, forced into a role for which he was not ready, whose lines he could repeat, but not fully understand.

He was not yet very well. Though his mind was now clear, his body was still weak. At night he still sometimes suffered fevers. At the end of the day, his knees trembled from the effort of walking. He dared not ride his horse, nor drive his carriage. His weekly visits to church tired him, and he could stand to be spoken to for only the barest of minutes before leaving, confirming the villagers' opinions that he was a snobbish, uppity sort of man.

Mostly, he had come to Houglen because he was afraid. He had sought memories, and thought he might discover them here, but they were elusive to him, and he still did not dare ask Verity for the truth about him. Sometimes he wondered if it mattered. No doubt the truth between them had changed. Perhaps it was best if he allowed himself to forget, to try to love her, and to love their child.

With Verity at home, it was not long before Lady Duvalle called upon them, and, upon learning that Neil was not going out except for church, invited herself to tea. She gave her approval to the baby, frowned when she heard about the hasty convent marriage, and sallied that at the very least the marriage should be publicized in the newspapers – months late but better than nothing.

"There shall be another baby before long, of course," she said, wiping a speck of butter from her gloves with a frown. "A boy is vital."

Neil looked at his wife, who was pink-cheeked as she bounced Anne on her knee. There had been no kisses, no embraces, no love making between them. It angered him to think that he had to have a son – a son, when he barely had a family.

"It is too early to think of such things." He nibbled a slice of sandwich, but put it back on his plate, barely tasted. "I should like to recover more of my health first, and Anne is hardly three months old yet."

Verity nodded her head in agreement. "Neither Neil nor myself are very well right now. To simply live quietly here, with Anne, is much better for all of us. We cannot even think of having another child yet. Let alone, persisting for a boy."

When Lady Duvalle had left, and Verity was putting the sleeping baby to bed, Neil cornered her.

"You're not well?" he accused.

She looked up at him from creased and shadowed eyes. "I'm not ill. But it takes a lot out of one, to have a baby. And she is so often awake at night. It is more accurate to say that I am tired."

"Should I hire a nurse?"

"No!" She put a hand to his arm. "Please – I like taking care of her."

"And me? You are up with me some nights too."

"I should be up with you if there was a nurse or not." She hesitated. "Unless you do not want me to be there."

He did not answer that. He went over and played idly with the sleeping baby's toes.

"If you don't want me to attend you when you are ill – or at any other time." She approached behind him. "Neil. You need only tell me. I would understand."

"No you wouldn't. You would uncomprehendingly do as I bade and pretend it did not pain you."

"Well," she said, offended, "Sometimes you are so incomprehensible that that is the best I can do with my intelligence."