She frowned at the envelope, for there was no name or direction written on it. There was one sheet of paper inside. She read:
My dearest Juliana,
I trust you haven’t forgotten me. I wished to send my condolences about your poor husband’s blindness. I am near to you, my dear, very near. Do think about me, Juliana, and know that soon I will have you again.
It was signed with a bold J.W., nothing more. Jules dropped the paper as if it were a snake to bite her. She felt the familiar fear building, and wrapped her arms about herself, as if for protection. Her eyes went toward the windows, but the streaking rain prevented seeing outside. She thought vaguely that Lydia hadn’t missed the rain after all. Slowly she walked to the sofa and sank to the floor beside it. She heard a small, broken sound, and realized that it was from her own mouth.
26
Thomas sat behind Bunker’s large, ornate mahogany desk, a medical book propped open in front of him. He realized that he’d read the same paragraph at least three times and hadn’t taken in a single word.
He looked up with a snort of disgust and eyed the opulent library. Three walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with impressive tomes that nobody read. A thick bright red Aubusson carpet covered the floor, a lovely carpet, he thought, if one could but see more of it. His mother-in-law had covered it with heavy, clumsy furniture that depressed him. He wondered for a moment how his wife would have decorated the library.
Penelope. His wife. She was upstairs with her mother. My beautiful bride of three days, he thought, and sighed. It had never occurred to him that Penelope wouldn’t enjoy the marriage bed as much as he. His only experience with women had been with native girls on Maui. They had been loving, giving, and not at all reticent o
f telling him how to pleasure them. He’d learned a great deal, particularly from Kani, and when he’d finally gotten his new bride to bed, he was confident and anxious to begin his pleasure, and hers. She’d allowed him to kiss her and fondle her breasts, but when his hand moved downward, she’d acted as if he were insane—no, worse, he amended bitterly to himself: as if he were a disgusting animal. He’d breached her maidenhead finally, his teeth gritted at hearing her sobs of pain. And afterward, as he’d held her and stroked her and told her how much he loved her, she whimpered against his shoulder. Still, Thomas was optimistic. The first time couldn’t be very nice for the woman, but surely when he made love to her again, she would welcome his caresses. She hadn’t.
He realized, sighing more deeply, that he hadn’t even seen her naked. Her modesty dictated that the room be utterly dark. How could she love him, he wondered, and not want to see him or enjoy him physically?
He forced his attention back to his medical book. Surprisingly enough, it had been his father-in-law who, only three days after his stroke, had presented Thomas with the needed medical books, mumbling that if Thomas wanted to be a damned sawbones, he might as well get started, since Bunker fancied he’d need him.
“Not exactly yet, boy,” Bunker said. “Maybe later, when I really get ill.”
“Mr. Thomas.”
Thomas started at the sound of Ezra’s deep voice coming from the library doorway. The man walked as softly as a prowling cat, he thought. “Yes,” he said, but moved a bit in his chair, uncomfortable with a bloody butler.
“It’s your sister, sir, Mrs. Morris.”
Thomas rose quickly, undefined fears churning in him. “For God’s sake, man, show her in!” Was Saint blind permanently? No, that couldn’t be it. He’d spoken to Dr. Pickett and knew that Saint was healing.
When he saw her pale face, he rushed to her, every positive thought plummeting to his toes.
“What’s wrong, Jules? It isn’t Saint, is it?”
She shook her head. “No, he is resting at home,” she said. “He must rest, you know, Thomas.”
Thomas cocked his head at her. “Then you’ve come to see how your newly married brother is faring?”
“Not really,” she said. “Here, Thomas, read this.”
She thrust the paper into his hands. Frowning, Thomas unfolded the paper and read.
“That damnable bastard!” he said, his face darkening with fear and sharp anger. “Jules, when did you get this? Was it Wilkes himself?”
“No, a boy delivered it to me about an hour ago. I couldn’t worry Michael with it. All he could do is rant and rave and worry, and I can’t allow that. Thomas, why is Wilkes doing this? What am I going to do?”
Thomas was silent for a long moment. “Have you shown this to Thackery?”
“Not yet. I wanted to speak to you first, but Thackery suspects something is wrong. And no, I didn’t come here alone, Thackery is outside.”
“Wilkes is insane, he has to be to keep after you like this.”
“Thomas, I’m afraid.”
“Come, love, and sit down. Let me think about this. Would you like a cup of tea?”
She agreed, not really caring.