Sara Craven - Marriage Reclaimed

She was expecting a recriminatory visit from Cynthia, who was bound to be equally displeased at the terms of Lionel’s will. But for once her stepmother seemed to be keeping her distance.

Or at least from me, Joanna amended wryly.

When Mrs Ashby tapped on the door to ask about dinner, she simply requested a bowl of soup on a tray.

‘And then I’m going to have an early night,’ she added quietly. ‘So I’d rather not be disturbed.’

‘Very good, madam.’ Mrs Ashby looked down at the carpet. ‘Although I understand that Mr Verne and Mrs Elcott are dining at the Crown Hotel this evening.’

Which naturally explained a great deal, Joanna thought when she was alone again.

She changed into nightdress and robe, and drank her soup in the chair by the small but cheerful fire—a bedroom comfort to which Lionel had been strongly addicted, she recalled sadly.

‘Radiators aren’t cosy,’ he’d declare.

She listened to the radio for a while, then got into bed and tried to read, but the words of the book danced meaninglessly in front of her eyes. She tried to sleep, but her mind was running in restless circles and would not let her relax. Her body moved uneasily under the covers, seeking a comfort she could not find.

Now there were no more barricades to shelter her from the fact that Gabriel’s kiss had totally unnerved her. And just as disturbing was the realisation that she hadn’t resisted him. She hadn’t even slapped his face afterwards. And she should have done.

She should have shown him once and for all that his behaviour was unacceptable and would not be tolerated.

The warm, familiar taste of his mouth haunted her. Made her shiver again in what was, she told herself defensively, revulsion.

He had no right, she thought feverishly, and repeatedly. I gave him no right.

But then Gabriel had never waited to be granted favours of any kind, least of all sexual. He had always taken what he wanted, right from the first.

He’d forced her to accept his kiss with the same ruthlessness with which he’d imposed the terms of the will upon her.

Tomorrow she would find out about the divorce laws, she told herself broodingly. See if there was any way round the situation that Gabriel hadn’t thought of.

Some hopes, she mocked herself savagely.

She couldn’t really believe that he would contest the legal break-up of their marriage, or make her wait the eternity he’d threatened. He was simply using the possibility as a weapon to make her do what he wanted. But why?

She shook her head, staring into the darkness. He must want to put an end to this sterile situation as much as she did.

Pride seemed the only answer. Gabriel would not want it known that his wife was willing to sacrifice Lionel’s generosity in order to be free of him.

Well, he might have prepared the corner, and forced her into it, but from now on she would state her own terms for enduring this—farce.

At last she found herself drifting in and out of an uneasy sleep, hearing the long-case clock in the gallery chime every hour. And realising that she had not heard Gabriel and Cynthia return.

It was almost a relief when Mrs Ashby arrived punctually with her morning tea and she didn’t have to pretend any more that she was resting.

The housekeeper gave her a concerned look. ‘Are you going to stay in bed today, madam? Shall I call the doctor?’

‘No, and no.’ Joanna forced a reassuring smile. ‘I have a lot of things to see to.’

‘Yes, Mrs Verne.’ The other woman hesitated awkwardly. ‘Will you want me to move your things—to the master bedroom? Mr Gabriel told me last night he wanted it to be prepared, and I didn’t know…’

Joanna’s smile felt as if it had been welded there.

‘Mr Gabriel’s arrangements are his own business, Mrs Ashby. However, while I remain at the Manor I shall continue to use this room.’

‘Yes, of course, madam.’ The older woman’s kind face was a picture of embarrassment. ‘What about all the late Mr Verne’s things?’

Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Gabriel. Ask what he wants done. Then we’ll sort through them together.’

That was one difficult moment survived, she thought resignedly when she was alone again, but there would undoubtedly be more to follow.

She followed her usual routine of pouring her tea, then taking the cup into the bathroom while she ran a bath for herself, scenting it generously with foaming bath oil in a clove carnation fragrance.

By the time she’d finished her tea, the water was just as she liked it. She slipped off her chiffon nightdress and slid with a sigh into the perfumed bubbles, closing her eyes and leaning back against the quilted headrest.

Usually she had her day mapped out, but now, in spite of her positive words to Mrs Ashby, she had no clear idea of what lay ahead of her.

Did Gabriel wish her to go on running the house in the old way, or did he plan to give the orders now?

That was something else she would have to ask him about, she reflected without pleasure. She tried to think of a way to frame the question that wouldn’t sound as if she was pleading for her old status.

‘It’s dangerous to sleep in the bath. Or is this a planned drowning?’

Because she’d been thinking about him, it took Joanna a couple of seconds to realise that Gabriel’s faintly amused drawl was not just in her mind.

She gasped, nearly inhaling a mouthful of bubbles, her head turning in shock towards the bathroom door.

He was lounging in the doorway, totally at ease, the tawny eyes scanning the concealing foam with lazy appreciation.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Joanna remembered just in time not to sit up.

‘I came to tell you I’m going to be away for some while,’ he returned. ‘I have a meeting in Paris, and another in Vienna later in the week.’

‘All right, you’ve told me,’ she said tersely. ‘Now you can get out.’

Gabriel’s brows lifted. ‘I can’t say your manners have improved during our separation,’ he remarked coldly. ‘Not that it makes any real difference. I’ll leave when I’m ready.’

‘In other words, I’m to be allowed no privacy at all,’ Joanna said with a snap.

‘If that was really the case,’ he said gently, ‘you wouldn’t have been alone in that bed last night. And you’d certainly have my company in that bath this morning.’ He watched a wave of indignant colour invade her face and nodded. ‘So stop being absurd and listen.’

She said between her teeth, ‘Yes, master.’

He laughed. ‘You’re getting the idea. Did Mrs Ashby speak to you about Lionel’s room?’

‘She mentioned it.’ Joanna hesitated, the image of him kneeling beside Lionel’s bed in her mind. ‘Isn’t this a—little soon?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want it to turn into some kind of shrine, dusted once a week and everything the way he left it. I want life to get back to normal round here as soon as possible.’

‘You have a strange idea of normal.’ Joanna could feel the water getting colder. She was also becoming cramped through lying so still, but she dared not move.

‘Why, darling,’ he said mockingly, ‘is this your shy way of telling me you’d like ours to be a conventional marriage?’ He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it onto a chair, and began to loosen his tie. ‘Perhaps I’ll join you after all.’

‘You’ll do nothing of the kind.’ The breath caught in her throat as Gabriel moved across to the bath and sat down on its broad rim. ‘Go away.’ Her voice sounded hoarse and uneven. ‘Get out of here. Now.’

He said, ‘No, darling. Not quite yet.’

Paralysed, Joanna watched his hand descend towards the surface of the water. For a moment Gabriel allowed it to hover tantalisingly, barely an inch from her quivering body, then he scooped up some of the fragrant foam, lifting it to his face.