come.
When Christopher was with them, she loved sitting on the bank and watching as he and Quinn played naked in the water. Christopher, full of courage and squealing with delight, splashed furiously with his chubby arms and legs, confident that if the water came too near his nose, a strong set of arms would catch him up and hug him close. When he had played long enough, he arched back from his father's glistening, sun-bronzed chest and reached out for softer comfort.
'All right, my friend,' Quinn would chuckle, stepping from the water and handing Christopher over to his mother, 'I know what you want, and I can't say I blame you.'
While she put Christopher to her breast, Quinn would slip on his pants and then sprawl beside her. With their bare feet, sun- darkened skin, and wet, tumbling hair, they looked more like a family of gypsies than the Copelands of Cape Crosse.
They returned home from the pond one July afternoon with Christopher asleep on his father's shoulder. 'It was a perfect day, wasn't it, darling?' Noelle said, bestowing Quinn with the shattering smile he'd so often envied others for receiving. Then she kissed him. Christopher awakened and protested. Setting him on the grass to play, they resumed their pleasant pastime, not hearing the carriage until it was nearly up to the house. Noelle reluctantly pulled away from her husband and stepped toward the front of the drive. 'Who on earth can this be?'
The carriage drew to a halt, and a groom jumped down to open the door. Noelle saw a small, embroidered slipper emerge, then the hem of a rose-colored gown and then Constance Peale Copeland herself. Her bouncing auburn curls were as thick and lustrous as ever, her emerald-green eyes as sparkling.
'My darling, darling girl!' Flying into Noelle's arms, she brought the familiar fragrance of violets with her.
'Constance!' As she hugged her, Noelle saw Simon step down from the carriage. Constance gave her another squeeze and then, chattering all the while, swept on to Quinn.
Noelle looked up into Simon's blue eyes. He had not aged at all in the past two and a half years. If anything, he seemed more youthful.
'Hello, Noelle.'
She sensed him holding back and remembered the strain between them those last months in London. It all seemed so foolish now. If it weren't for this man, she would have nothing. He was the only father she would ever know, and she loved him.
She stretched out her arms. 'Oh, Simon, I'm so glad to see you!'
He swept her up then, pulling her feet off the ground and hugging her until she had to gasp for breath. He finally relinquished her with a kiss and went on to greet his son.
Quinn was turned away from her, so Noelle could not read his expression, but she could tell by the rigid set of his back that nothing had changed.
The moment between the two men did not last long, for Simon spotted Christopher sitting on the grass, a dandelion clutched in his grimy fist.
'Will you look at this, Constance,' he exclaimed. 'Will you just look at this!'
'Oh, my dear, he's perfect!'
For Simon, the dream was complete. And Christopher, as if he sensed the importance of the occasion, ignored everyone except his grandfather. He held out the dandelion and, solemnly, Simon accepted it; then, kneeling down on the grass, he hugged the child to him.
Christopher soon had enough of that and, accustomed to the delights of his father's pockets, began investigating his grandfather's. It was not long before he held Simon's gold pocket watch.
Noelle turned to her husband, and her smile froze on her lips. He was standing off to the side, once again a stranger in his own family.
She went to him at once. 'Quinn?'
It was as if she didn't exist. Staring at his father and Christopher, Quinn's eyes were bleak and hard, and she could read his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud. His father had triumphed after all.
Abruptly he turned to leave.
She reached out for his arm. 'Please don't go now,' she whispered. 'They've only just arrived.'
'I'll be back later.'
Simon stood up. 'You going somewhere, Quinn?'
'To the yard. I have to check on a few things before the men go home.'
Simon planted a swift kiss on Christopher's head. 'I'll come with you.'
'Suit yourself.'
Without speaking, the two men walked toward the stables. Constance and Noelle exchanged a long; unhappy look.
'Oh, dear,' Constance sighed. 'I confess I had hoped things would be improved by now. It was a foolish idea of mine, arriving here unannounced.'
'Don't be a peagoose!' Noelle said. 'I can't think of anyone I'd rather see. Let me deposit this little ragamuffin in the nursery while you freshen up, and then we'll curl up with a pot of tea and have a nice, long chat.'
Constance smiled at her fondly. 'I'd like nothing better.'
Chapter Thirty-nine
'Damn him!' Quinn seethed as he slammed the bedroom door behind them.
'I take it you're referring to Simon.' Noelle sighed wearily.
Dinner had been a catastrophe, and the strain was catching up with her. The fact that Quinn had appeared at all was, she suspected, only a mark of his affection for Constance, for he had treated his father with thinly veiled contempt and turned his full attention to his stepmother. Noelle had tried to compensate for his rudeness by entertaining Simon with stories of his grandson, but she knew by the sadness in his eyes that he saw through her efforts.
'He has no business being here!' Quinn jerked off his coat and threw it down on the bed. 'Did you see him out there this afternoon, gloating over Christopher as if he were personally responsible.'
Noelle's laugh was bitter. 'He was, ducks.'
'Are you trying to be funny?'
She was immediately contrite. 'I'm sorry. Of course not. I'm just tired, that's all.'
He stalked into the dressing room, the chasm between them widening. While he was gone Noelle removed her gown and petticoats and slipped on a gold silk robe. She was sitting in front of her dressing table taking down her hair when he returned, still dressed in his trousers with his white shirt open to the waist.
'I want him out of the house tomorrow.'
He was spoiling for a fight. Noelle picked up her hairbrush and began jerking it through her hair. 'And Constance? Would you like me to throw her out, too?'
'Just whose side are you on, anyway?'
She gritted her teeth. 'I'm on your side.'
'It certainly didn't seem that way at dinner tonight.'
'What are you implying?'
His eyes raked her with their old arrogance. 'You're my wife. I expect your loyalty.'
'Loyalty! Why don't you say what you mean? You want me to be as rude to Simon as you are. You don't want loyalty, Quinn. You want obedience!'
'Put it however you like.'
She slammed her hairbrush down on the dressing table. 'You go to hell!'
In two long strides he was at her, pulling her up from the dressing table by her arms, his fingers biting deep into her flesh. The planes of his face were stark and furious.
'Quinn!'
He froze, horrified by his own anger.
She threw her arms around his neck. 'My darling. Oh, my dear, dear darling. I'm so sorry.'
He clutched her to his chest, she who was more precious to him than life itself. 'Don't. Please don't. It's me.
