She walked to the bed, picked up the mirror where Montgomery had tossed it the night before, and pressed the drawstring bag against her chest. If she were truly courageous, she’d open the bag, examine the mirror again, and look at the image she’d seen there.
Instead, she went to the bureau, placed it in the bottom drawer, and slowly closed it.
The present was confusing enough.
Chapter 17
The morning she’d awakened in Montgomery’s bed marked the beginning of a pattern. Veronica rarely saw her husband during the day. Whatever Montgomery did in the distillery with his airship was a secret shared only with Ralston, the majordomo, who was found more often working with Montgomery than at his post, and the other men from Doncaster Hall.
Nor did Montgomery join her for meals. Every morning, she sat at the family dining table, staring across the expanse of the grand mahogany table, set with a white damask tablecloth, two place settings, and an assortment of fine china. On the sideboard was a selection of chafing dishes, all filled with more food than she could possibly eat. Dinners were taken alone in her sitting room. Sometimes, after dinner, she’d wander down to the library and select a few books to read, including one of the history of Doncaster Hall and the Fairfax dynasty.
Only at night did they come together, sharing a passion that never failed to surprise her.
She’d discovered she liked being touched. She especially liked being touched by Montgomery. His hands were expertly talentedat doing just that. His kisses were drugging, intense, and she found herself craving them.
The previous night, he’d not come to her, and it was the first time he’d ever stayed away for two full nights other than the time she’d had her monthlies. She’d wanted to go to him. She’d even left her bed and entered her sitting room, staring at the connecting door.
If they’d only shared themselves a little more, she might have knocked on the door to see if he needed her. Not her physical self as much as her emotional one. Did he need comfort? Was he in pain?
Why did he walk the grounds of Doncaster Hall? Every night, no matter the weather, he walked, taking the same route. No doubt the servants thought themselves haunted by a dark specter, a shadowed man. Not a drummer, but a warrior, home from war and evidently still pained from it.
They didn’t communicate, and other than their kisses and the pleasure he gave her, they didn’t share anything else.
As the days passed, she became more and more desperate to fill them. She decided to devote herself to good works, perhaps visit all the nearby villages to see if anyone needed assistance from the Fairfax family. Once, she’d written poetry. Perhaps it was time to take up that interest again. She might even plan a visit to those people at Lollybroch who’d been so kind to her a few years earlier. Or take up her needlework again.
She might begin cataloging the precious objects in the Blue Parlor or the Long Drawing Room, ensuring the records of those possessions were as detailed as the weapons in the Armory. Altogether, she could find occupations for her time, none requiring Montgomery’s approval, assistance, or presence.
If she tried, she might be able to block all thoughts of him from her mind during the day, thereby replicating his attitude toward her. He didn’t tell her what captured his attention inthe distillery. Nor did he ever discuss his airships. The only comments she ever heard were from Elspeth about the laundry maids fussing at the oil stains on his clothing.
This morning had been the same as each of the previous mornings for the last three weeks. She met with Mrs. Brody to discuss what needed to be addressed by the lady of the house. Mrs. Brody was expert at her position. The housekeeper managed to feed them all well, and for less, Veronica suspected, than most great houses. The maids worked diligently; the supplies required for the upkeep of Doncaster Hall were purchased with an eye to cost.
In other words, Veronica wasn’t needed.
She halted on the staircase, the wood warm beneath her fingers. How much of this was she expected to endure? The rest of her life? Her spirit rebelled at the thought of spending hours each day attempting to find a purpose for herself. Better she should simply find her own way, her own purpose in life.
She would treat Montgomery exactly as he treated her, as an ornament, perhaps. A prize for a good day’s work. Passion would be a reward, a sweetmeat. The mutton of her life would have to be discovered on her own.
Montgomery stared at Edmund Kerr, annoyed that the solicitor had interrupted his work.
The carpenters had provided the six tables he’d needed with remarkable speed, and they’d been set up in a U shape in the middle of the building. Now, Edmund was standing in front of one of the tables, looking at Montgomery as if he were found wanting.
“You do not wish to tour the factories in Glasgow, Your Lordship?”
“I can’t imagine a greater waste of my time,” he said, glancing down at his notes.
He wanted to fix the propeller to the steering wires, a delicate task requiring his concentration. He’d have to wait until Edmund left.
“Or the fisheries?” Edmund asked.
“Do they require my presence?”
He’d spent hours today bending the fins of the propeller into shape. Converting his written plans for a steering mechanism into a prototype had been easier than he’d imagined. For years he’d worked on this design. Being able to build it and fit it to the top of the envelope was cause for celebration.
He didn’t have anyone to tell.
He’d never divulged to anyone other than his superior officers in the War Department that he was attempting to devise a way to steer a balloon. Doing so would enable them to command the air currents rather than be at their mercy. No longer would they have to remain tethered in place.
He’d never discussed his plans with Alisdair or James. Neither of them would have been interested. Nor would they have understood. Caroline was the only person with whom he’d ever discussed his ideas, and that conversation had taken place only because she’d discovered him working late one night in Gleneagle’s library.
