“We would be honored if you and the captain and Miss Simpson would join us at the opera tomorrow evening, ma’am,” he said.
Ellen’s eyes met Lord Eden’s, and he grinned.
“Poor Charlie!” he said. “It would almost serve him right for not coming this afternoon if you accepted for him, ma’am. I am afraid that Charlie Simpson marches into battle with far greater eagerness than he attends any social function, Edmund. But I hope Mrs. and Miss Simpson will accept.”
“We would be delighted, my lord,” Ellen said, glancing at the flushed and eager face of Jennifer.
“Colonel Huxtable is also to be our guest,” the earl said. “I shall invite young Lieutenant Penworth as well, perhaps, to make up numbers.”
Ellen smiled her agreement.
And so, she found, the arrival of Jennifer was having an immediate effect upon her own life. For the previous five years she had lived as quiet and domesticated a life as her husband’s. And she had never had a complaint. She was never happier, she had always felt, than when she was at home alone with Charlie, his arm about her shoulders, talking about the day’s events, or sometimes reading a book.
But there was something exhilarating about being included in an evening party. The opera with the Earl and Countess of Amberley! And with Lord Eden and Lady Madeline. And the colonel and the lieutenant, who were unknown to her. It all sounded very grand.
“You don’t mind, Charlie?” she asked him that night when she lay beside him in bed, her head resting on his arm. “There will be four ladies and four gentlemen. You could have been one of them, but Lord Eden refused for you. And I thought you would be relieved. You don’t mind?”
“Four ladies and four gentlemen, eh?” He chuckled and kissed the top of her head. “Should I be jealous, lass? Are you going to run off with one of them?”
“Only if I cannot persuade two of them to run off with me,” she said.
He chuckled again. “You go and enjoy yourself, Ellen,” he said. “I am the one who should be asking you if you mind. After all, Jennifer is my daughter, and she needs to be taken about. But you are a good mother to her, even if you are young enough to be her sister. And a good wife to me. Lift your face to me, sweetheart.”
She lifted it. “I would far prefer to stay home with you tomorrow night,” she said. “You know that, Charlie. I am happiest when I am with you. Things will not change between us with Jennifer here? We will not grow apart?”
He looked at her in the darkness of the room and smoothed one large hand over the side of her head. “I have room for the both of you in my heart, lass,” he said. “I don’t love you one whit less because there is Jennifer. Is that what you are afraid of? You know that you are my treasure, my very greatest treasure. You are the one who gives me my reason for living.”
“I wasn’t questioning your love,” she said. “Oh, I wasn’t doing that, Charlie. I have never done that. I am just very selfish. I don’t want things to change. And they are changing. But I don’t resent Jennifer, either. I don’t want you to think that. I love her dearly, and I am very happy for the both of you that you are together at last.” She laughed suddenly and leaned forward to kiss him on his bare chest. “I don’t know what I mean. I am talking a lot of nonsense. I am very happy, Charlie. Happy to be home again. Happy to see you happy.”
He raised himself on one elbow and leaned over her, smiling warmly down into her shadowed eyes. “I love you, lass,” he said. “That is not ever going to change. Not ever, do you hear me? And these arms are always here for you. And I’m always here for you.”
“Charlie.” She reached up and touched his cheek with her fingertips. “Kiss me. Make love to me.” She opened her arms to him.
“WELL, I LIKE THEM,” Madeline told her brother that same evening. “Mrs. Simpson is very lovely, is she not? I was surprised. And I suppose you are quite in love with Miss Simpson already.”
He grinned. “Why do you suppose that?” he asked.
“Because she is just your type,” she said. “She is small and has those large eyes and blushes easily. Though I believe she has more sense and more spirit than your usual flirts, Dom. I approve.”
“Ah,” he said. “That is something, at least. You actually approve of something in my life.”
“You are in love with her, then?” she asked.
“Let me put it this way,” he said. “I am thinking about it. What surprised you about Mrs. Simpson?”
“I expected a pale, wilting creature,” she said, “or else a manly, insensitive Amazon. She seems sensible. Edmund and Alexandra were much impressed. What on earth is she doing married to Captain Simpson?”
He grinned again. “Loving him and caring for him, apparently,” he said. “He is one of the happiest men of my acquaintance.”
“Well,” she said, “I have to admire women like Mrs. Simpson. I’m afraid I am swayed a great deal by what a man looks like. Do you think that is one reason why I am an old maid, Dom?”
“You?” he said. “An old maid? Hardly, Mad. You have half the officers in Brussels sighing over you. Don’t you fancy any of them?”
She shrugged. “I fancy a large number of them,” she said. “That is the whole trouble. It used to be different, Dom, didn’t it? For both of us. We always used to be deeply and painfully in love with someone. That does not seem to happen any longer.”
“Because we are older and a little wiser,” he said. “Do you ever think of Purnell? Was he the last one you were in love with like that?”
“I scarce remember him,” she said. And then, after twisting and turning her teacup on its saucer, “Sometimes I wish I did not have a twin. There is no lying to you, is there, Dom? Of course I think of him. And I always feel a little sick every time Alexandra has a letter from him. He has been gone three years and is making a life for himself in Canada, by the sound of it. Well, good luck to him. I just wish I had never met him. I wish he were not Alexandra’s brother. I wish he had not spoiled my life.”
“Those are strong words,” he said. “Did he really do that?”
“I have never been able to fall in love since,” she said. “Although I constantly try, Dom.”
“You don’t still love Purnell, do you?” he asked curiously.
“I don’t believe I ever did,” she said. “I disliked him intensely. I was a little afraid of him. And I was obsessed by him. I really never knew him at all. That is not love. There was nothing about him that was lovable. Only the mystery of what it was that made him so morose, so untouchable. No, I don’t love him or pine for him, Dom. Of course I don’t. So you are to escort Miss Simpson to the opera tomorrow. And are to dance with her at the duke’s ball next week, I would wager. Do you feel any of that old magic, Dom?”
She leaned her chin on her hand and gazed at her brother. She looked remarkably like him except that all the attributes that made him a handsome male made her a lovely female. She was tall and slender with short fair curls and a face that was made beautiful by the glow of life that animated it.
Was he feeling any of that old magic? It was a question that Lord Eden had asked himself from the moment of his first meeting with Jennifer Simpson, and a question that he was to ask several times in the coming days. He saw a great deal of her. He went home with Charlie almost as often as he had always used to do. And apart from the visit to Alexandra and Madeline, and the evening at the opera, he took her walking twice, once in the park and once in the botanic gardens. Always with Mrs. Simpson as chaperone.
He enjoyed the outings. Very much. The girl was pretty, becomingly modest, and shy. And yet, as Madeline had observed, she had sense and character. If he could be alone with her for a short while-even alone in a crowd-perhaps he would find her an intriguing companion.
Perhaps he would fall in love with her. He did not know.
As it was, he seemed to spend more time talking with Mrs. Simpson than with her stepdaughter. He would have thought that after five years of meeting her so frequently at Charlie’s, he knew her well. He had always thought of her as a quiet, serene, dutiful woman. He had always liked her, admired her, respected her.
But he did not know her, he was discovering. She was an interesting conversationalist. She had a lively sense of humor. They laughed a great deal over memories of Spain. And she did not dwell on the horrors of life there, he found. She had a gift for recalling the small, absurd incidents that he had forgotten all about. The incidents that helped him to remember his years there with some pleasure, horrifying as they had been in the main.
The evening at the opera was amusing. A little annoying too, perhaps, but basically amusing. Lieutenant Penworth, it seemed, had a passion for Madeline, and monopolized her company, completely cutting out Colonel
