Chapter 8

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*****Apologies for taking an extra day for this, but I had to work yesterday and this chapter did not want to come together during my usual writing time.*****

"Are you certain you feel up to this? You still look a touch pale."

Ben shifted the reins in his hand, his eyes fixed on the road ahead to ensure he did not lead his horses through too much mud. It had been some time since he drove a curricle and he did not want his wife to have one more thing to protest.

His wife. It was going to take some time to get used to thinking that.

"I assure you, Gerry, the fresh air will be better for me than remaining cooped up in that room where you and Betty can coddle me."

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her lips press into a tight frown.

"We are just trying to take care of you, Ben."

"I know that," he muttered. They had been taking care of him for three days, and a man could only take so much. He was already late on his promise to check on the Harveys' roof, he needed to talk to the old widow Agatha about May Day, and he wanted to see if Fletcher's puppies had been born yet.

Gerry made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat.

Ben lifted his eyes skyward in invocation of something. He was not entirely certain what. With Gerry, he was beginning to realize he never knew what was going on. She was tediously kind and gentle when trying to take care of him, but she was also stubborn and sarcastic when he resisted her care. She wished him a good night every evening and never asked about when he would wish to consummate their marriage, although he suspected she was thinking the question every evening she stood outside his doorway in that nightdress and blanket. He was certainly thinking, and he rarely gave much thought to anything that was certain to turn his blood to ice.

Tell her the truth. Tell her what happened and she will understand.

He pinched his eyes shut and, after holding his breath for several moments, exhaled and opened his eyes. He could not tell her, not yet. He wanted a bit more time to try to show her that he was not always weak. It did not help that she had now seen him sick more days than he had been healthy. He needed to know that she would not mock him, that she...if she could love him, maybe...

Gerry suddenly made a noise of delight and Ben obligingly stopped the horses so she could admire the view. They had been surrounded by the woodlands around Eastondale, but now the trees concealed the manor behind them and the land before them sloped down towards the valley where patchwork fields and stone cottages with chimneys puffing peat smoke marked the land his tenants farmed. The road leading to those fertile areas wound through an expanse of wildflowers; at the bottom of the valley, a timid stream chipped its way towards a narrow lake. He had run wild through this land as a child, chasing his younger brothers and being chased in return. The summers before he went to university were devoted to fishing and swimming and riding like a heathen through the valley.

"Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful!"

He smiled in agreement, his eyes fixed on her profile. She did look beautiful, her expression alight with joy and her grey eyes almost a soft periwinkle. He shifted the reins to one hand so he could use the other to brush a wayward mahogany curl behind her ear.

"Beautiful indeed," he murmured.

Her cheeks warmed to match the red campion dancing between the bluebells, daisies, and a dainty yellow flower he had never known the name of.

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