Stella Rosa

Part VIII

These were the Hester Birthdays:

January 5, 1793--Lady Henrietta Alexandra Amalia Lyons MacGregor Hester
March 15--Sir Isaiah Edward Lucius, Lord Hester (1775) and Mrs. Vanessa Fenwick(1821)
August 17, 1813--Sir William, Lord Hester.
September 28, 1824--Miss Alexandra Hester
November 14, 1817--Mr. Samuel Hester.

In addition, my birthday fell on December 31, and Mr. Fenwick's--sometime in the spring. It so happened that William's birthday was the first one I was to celebrate among the household, and as it neared, I was all aflutter. I did not know what to give my husband for his birthday, as he seemed to have everything, and everything he had was of the superlative kind.

I asked Vanessa, but she only shrugged and said that "Will was never much for things." I asked him, as well, but he only waved his hand at me.

"I really do not care," he said. "Give me whatever your heart desires, but I need nothing."

About this time, he had come up with an idea to have my portrait painted. I did not like the idea at all--my patience was far too thin, and the weather--too hot, to sit straight for hours while the artist painted my likeness. William, however, would not be mollified: he simply had to have my portrait to add to the family gallery. To this purpose, he commissioned a talented young artist, a German named Mr. Kredel, to come to Bloomfield Park. To make myself feel better, I asked William to join me--after all, we did not have a wedding portrait together. To my great surprise and disappointment, he refused.

"Dearest, I cannot be expected to sit still for hours at a time," he laughed. "I have an estate to run!"

When I complained of this to Vanessa, she only shrugged her shoulders.

"Will is forcing you to do this, isn't he? He made all of us do this, last year. It pleased Father, as it was adding to the family history," she shrugged again. "Now we all hang in the gallery, and nobody ever goes in there."

It was not the whole truth: I went into the gallery quite a bit, marveling at the noble family of which I was now a part. The Hesters were, indeed, a formidable group. Their family history went back eight centuries, to a Norman officer, one Gillaume D'Astaire, who fought alongside William the Conqueror. For his services, William's forefather was knighted; his grandsons, Cedric, Peter and Wilfred, died in the first Crusade. To this end, I had to wonder whether one of William's ancestors perhaps brought ruin or death to one of mine during a siege of Jerusalem; but such thoughts, I drove away.

The family lived on, as Wilfred D'Astaire left a son, John, and a daughter, Diana, who was later rumoured to become a mistress to the King of France; yet she bore no children and died, from everyone's estimation, from being poisoned. John, a knight in the service of king Richard the Lion Heart, changed his old Norman name to a newer English one and became Sir John Hester. He had many children; soon, his family prospered and excelled in just about everything.

Two hundred years later, the Black Death devastated all of Europe, and the only one to survive from the entire family was a boy named Will, a fourteen-year-old orphan, whom a dean at Cambridge took under his wing. Thirty years later, the first William Hester replaced his benefactor and became one of the most learned men in England. He never took orders, but married and spawned a large number of children, if only to revive his family.

0ver the next five centuries, the Hesters numbered many and included statesmen, soldiers, ladies-in-waiting, men of learning, a cardinal and a viceroy of a tiny island in the West Indies. Somewhere along the line, one of them was granted the estate in --shire, where the Old Castle was promptly built; it stood in place of Bloomfield Park until a hundred years ago, when William's great-grandfather tore it all down and built the new home, comfortable and modern.

And it was that line of rather illustrious personages that my likeness was now to join in the gallery. William's hung there as well, but I never liked it much, for he looked stiff and somber on it, from the high collar of his coat to the way his hand grasped his ivory cane. If I could make a portrait of him, I would catch him relaxed, smiling, sitting astride Zanzibar, or, perhaps, reading, the collar of his white shirt open to reveal the manly neck. This was the way I loved him; never, not even in the very beginning of our courtship, did he look as formal to me as he did in his portrait.

Mr. Kredel proved agreeable to me, as he talked little and allowed my thoughts to wander. Once, I asked him what he'd heard about the new art of photography.

"Well," he said. "It is rather new. Monsieur Daguerre only came out with it a year ago. There are a few studios in London. It is rather expensive, but is somewhat like a painting in that a picture is a once-only affair--in order to repeat a picture, you would have to station two cameras, side-by-side--or to reenact the entire scene again."

Since I still wanted to have a portrait together with William, and since he still refused to allow Mr. Kredel to paint us together, I started thinking that perhaps, a daguerrotype was the answer. I knew of a photographer in Whitechapel, a young woman, named Miss Rosina, who was of some relation to Elena's da Silvas, and I wrote to my sister to ask her to inquire about her.

To be sure, a photograph of us would make a delightful present, but it was not enough (but of course, nothing could ever be enough for my beloved husband). Finally, because William really did have everything a man's heart could desire--and my own allowance, though considerable, did not extend so far as to purchase him yet another Lippizaner--I resolved that my gift to him should be in the very least, original.

I enlisted his sisters to come to town with me, and we looked through curio and book shops, looking for something special. For several days, we returned to Bloomfield covered with antiquated dust; William, of course, pretended not to notice, but Samuel laughed heartily as he drew his finger down Alexandra's arm and held it up in the air, as if to check for dust.

"Look what trouble the ladies are going to for your sake, Will!" he said. William feigned complete ignorance, and Alexandra hissed angrily at Samuel to quiet down.

The sisters soon despaired, for nothing they showed me was good enough, original enough, novel enough. "Just buy him a nice new saddle for Zanzibar," Vanessa sighed. "His is really quite old."

"You buy him a saddle," I riposted. "I need something else..."

William's birthday was but a week away, and I still hadn't found him a good gift--something to touch his heart and to show the depths of my affection for him. Elena wrote me back, saying that she had secured Miss Rosina's agreement to come to Bloomfield in week's time with all her equipment. The fee the young lady charged seemed large to me and Elena, but when I told Vanessa, she dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

"It is nothing compared to what that German is charging Will!"

I was beginning to lose hope, when, one day, while rummaging through a curio shop, I looked in an old jewelry box, which contained a number of strange and mismatched items, and spied a familiar design on one of the rings. It was a very old one, darkened with time, yet, a jeweler's daughter, I was able to tell that it as made out of high-grade gold. It was also obviously a man's ring, a heavy signet, and--I could barely believe my eyes--it was crowned with a Hester family crest.

I called Vanessa over; she looked at my find and grew very white:

"Oh Lord!" she said. "This is Father's old signet, Stella!"

She told me she remembered it from her childhood, when her father wore it constantly, until, one day, it was lost. The entire Bloomfield Park was turned upside down as the household searched for it--the ring had been worn by generations of Hesters, and was of great sentimental, if not material, value to its owner. It was never found; perhaps, it was thought, an unscrupulous servant had stolen it. The shopkeeper, when queried, could not give us a satisfactory explanation as to how the ring had come to be there.

"I think it has been here for a long, long time," he said, examining it through a magnifying glass.

I was thrilled; there could be no better present for my husband. I paid the hefty price the shopkeeper called--for it was impossible to miss our excitement at my finding the ring--and took the gift home with me. The next day, I returned with it, bringing along with it William's Cambridge ring, which I had managed to spirit away while he was sleeping. The shopkeeper sized the ring and cleaned it thoroughly; so, I thought, my gift to my husband was complete.

Yet it was about that time that I realized, finally, that I would be giving William yet another present for his twenty-seventh birthday.

The birthday celebration was a smallish affair, which nevertheless gathered most of our neighbors, the London Hesters, Mrs. Sheridan, and the Scottish Cousins; all in all, over three dozen guests. I had thought how wonderful it would be if I could also invite Elena and her husband; but I dared not broach the subject with William, not after what happened in London. That is why I was exceedingly pleased when one morning, he, himself, asked me:

"Have you written to your sister yet?"

"Why?" I almost chocked on my piece of toast.

"Isn't she coming to my birthday?" He stared at me quizzically. "By George, Stella, how un-sisterly!"

Jumping from my seat, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him gratefully. He must have noticed how carefully I was tip-toeing around the subject; he must have guessed how dearly I wanted to see Elena at Bloomfield; it was most generous of him.

William welcomed this opportunity to show me off as the Mistress of Bloomfield Park; he also deferred to my choice when it came to choosing the menu and the entertainment. I suspected that he simply had many other affairs on his mind; but, having never planned a ball, I felt grossly inadequate, and deferred to Vanessa. My sister-in-law never ceased to amaze me: she planned the entire affair with admirable quickness and efficiency.

Which was a good thing, as well, since I was growing more daytime, I became irritable and, one morning, was woken up by a wave of intense nausea. It was far earlier than the time I usually rose; William, who commonly left our bed an hour or two before me, was still asleep. I barely made it to my dressing room; afterwards, as I sat on the floor, breathing heavily, I was afraid to let myself hope. The disappointment of the previous month still haunted me: perhaps, I told myself, I had eaten something unsavory the night before. In any case, I did not want to share this with William just yet; quietly, I crept back into our bed.

But that day, I could eat nothing but fruit; even looking at meat made me nauseous. The party-planning vexed me greatly and when Vanessa approached me, asking whether I wanted the cook to serve Russian salmon before or after the partridges, I had to look away lest the nausea get the best of me.

Secretly, I wrote to Dr. Younge to come and see me. I told him I did not want William to know just yet; he wrote back, inviting me to come and see him instead. This, he said, was the best way to avoid William's prying questions. So, the next day, having stopped at Hereford to pick up Vanessa as my escort, I took the carriage to Dr. Younge's house, a mile away from the other side of town.

"My, my," the good doctor said after he finished examining me. "And just in time for your husband's birthday!"

"What?" I cried, not daring to believe his meaning.

"I was right after all, Lady Stella," Dr. Younge turned away tactfully as I straightened out my clothing.

"Right?"

"Yes, madam. During our discussion back in July, after which you so tearfully informed that you were not with child--do you remember?"

Did I remember! I shuddered to think. But now--what--how--

"You are about six or seven weeks with child, Lady Stella," Dr. Younge said. I sat on the sofa, shocked--though, by all estimation, there could be no other reason for the way I have been feeling lately. But six or seven weeks! That means--

"That means that I was with child all along!"

"That would appear, yes."

"But sir, what about the bleeding last month?"

"Nothing," he shrugged his shoulders. "It happens perfectly often that the woman's menses do not cease straight away. Believe me, my dear, it portends no trouble for your child."

Six or seven weeks, I thought, feverishly. London. London. Oh, my, I thought, Lady Hetty's library? With whatever sense of humour remained in my shaken self at the moment, I thought that perhaps, he will be a reading man. Or, for that matter, she--a reading woman.

"Congratulate your husband for me, madam, and do not tire yourself needlessly. I shall call on you in a few weeks."

He walked me out of his study. Vanessa, eagerly awaiting my return, was leafing nervously through a magazine of some sort, hardly even looking at the pages. At the sight of us, she rose.

"Well?" she asked.

I could only nod, still shaken and happy beyond reason. Vanessa exhibited a degree of excitement unusual for her quiet nature, embracing me with all her might, and then asked Dr. Younge an important question, I, in my shock, had neglected to ask.

"When?"

"April or so," he replied, "we shall see. Now, Mrs. Fenwick, dear girl, when shall I be able to bestow similar news upon you?"

...Elena and Pedro arrived the day before William's birthday. I ran out to meet my sister, and, as she exited the carriage, we embraced. Oh, what a moment it was: I had the best news in the world to share with her.

But it would have to wait, for, following Elena and Pedro, a slight, dark-haired woman exited the carriage.

"Stella, this is Pedro's cousin, Miss Rosina," Elena said, still holding on to my hand. The girl curtsied. She was about my age, very swarthy, with lively eyes and a good smile.

"Thank you ever so much for coming, Miss da Silva," I said. "Let us all go into the house now."

I made orders to have our guests' things taken to their respective rooms. William soon joined us, returning from a meeting with Mr. Preston; he was rather surprised to find, in addition to my sister and her husband, a stranger standing in our drawing-room. Yet he behaved with admirable forbearance as he waited for the introductions.

"Dearest sister," he said warmly, kissing Elena's hand. As we introduced him to Pedro, whom he had never met, the men shook hands cordially.

"And this is my cousin, Miss Rosina da Silva," Elena said.

"Miss da Silva is a photographer," I said. "She is here to make our portrait."

William smiled. "A portrait?"

"Yes," I said. "The kind, which would not require you to sit through a torturous portrait session."

"Right," William said, laughing. "Whatever you want, Lady Stella. Welcome to Bloofield Park, Miss da Silva."

Later that night, William and I took our guests on a tour of the house and the grounds. As the men strolled ahead, Miss Rosina seemed captivated, beyond anything, by the natural beauty of the place.

"Lady Stella," she said, turning to me, "should you mind terribly if I made some photographs of your beautiful grounds? They are incredibly picturesque."

I told her that it should be our pleasure and to please feel herself at home. She walked slightly ahead of Elena and myself, taking in the surroundings with an artist's eye. Elena and I finally had the privacy we so desired.

My sister's reaction to the news of my pregnancy was that of happy surprise.

"But sh-sh," I whispered. "William does not know yet--I'll tell him tomorrow."

One thing Elena could always be trusted to do was to keep a confidence.

The Fenwicks came to supper, bringing with them Miss Anabelle. I sat there, fuming, expecting her to begin abusing my sister in some dreadful manners. I could tolerate incivility towards myself, but should she say anything of the sort to my Elena, I would not hesitate to turn her out of doors. She must have sensed my resolve--or, perhaps, her malice did concern me alone, as the woman, who, by her estimation, took her suitor away--for she was unusually pleasant and amiable.

That night, after the Fenwicks left, having promised to return early in the morning, my sister and I sat in the drawing-room, talking in front of the fire.

"How does it feel?" she asked me, timidly drawing her hand across my stomach.

"Numb," I said. "I cannot believe it. And sickly, too--I should tell William quickly, before he figures out why it is I have been dashing from his bed like mad each morning..."

"Oh, how wonderful," she whispered, her eyes misty. "I cannot wait to have a child myself... do you wish for a girl or a boy?"

Honestly, I did not know, though I surmised that a son, an heir, should be preferable to William, and so I told my sister.

"Tell me the news from home," I asked. In her last letter, Elena had intimated that certain things had happened, which would be better discussed in person.

Elena shifted on the couch, pulling her knees to her chest like a little girl. "Well," she said, "Father--he is not well, Stella. I did not want to tell you this, but I think you need to know. He has been ill lately and has retired from the Deputados. Oh, by the way, Sir Moses Montefiore, the Chair, visited us recently. He told Father that he had met you and Sir William at a ball in June--and gushed for a good ten minutes about how delightful you were." She chuckled. "You should have seen Margarita's face!"

We laughed quietly, but our laughter soon withered, as the subject of our Father's illness returned. "I should dearly like to visit him," I said. "Perhaps I could beg his forgiveness and thus ease his sufferings."

"But will your husband--"

"I do not now. I doubt that. Not after what happened in July--and probably not now that I am with child."

"Well, when Beni is gone--"

"Gone?"

"Yes, I forgot to tell you--he is moving to Palestine!"

"Poor Father!" I cried. "Poor Mother! Why is he doing that?"

But I knew the answer as well as she did; our brother's one desire was always to live in the Holy Land. And though I felt even bad thinking so, perhaps, when he is gone, I could attempt to re-establish a connection with my family.

"Yes, well," Elena continued. "He and Enrique are barely talking, now that Enrique has joined Pedro and Isaac Duran in the Progressive movement. Stella, it is so wonderful!" she smiled. "There are no galleries there--women sit next to men in the congregation--I am able to hold my beloved's hand during the services!"

I smiled, and Elena continued with her news.

"Viola has gotten as big as a whale--" she was saying, when the two of us heard a light rapping on the door. It opened, and I saw both our husbands, standing there. William was informally dressed, the collar of his shirt was open, and he had a brandy glass in his hand. I noticed that he felt sufficiently at ease with our new relation. OF that, I was exceedingly glad, for more than anything else, did I wish to establish a warm relationship with Elena's family.

"Um, Lady Stella," William said, "perhaps our guests are tired from their long journey--perhaps they should rest."

He gave me a meaningful look, and I rose immediately, not wishing to deny him what he had come to ask for. Tomorrow, there would be time to be with my sister; right now, it was my husband's province.

Having said good-night, we all retired. In our bedroom, William gathered me in his arms and looked at me with such longing that I worried.

"What is it, my sweet?" I whispered, caressing the side of his face.

"I am just thinking back to my birthday a year ago," he whispered, and a look of pain crossed his handsome mien. "My father--" his voice broke and he sighed. "He was in so much pain then--Dr. Younge fed him morphine, and it slowly dulled his wits--it was just so horrid, Stella--it seemed that things would never be right again..."

He paused to place a gentle kiss on my lips.

"Yet," he whispered, "here I am, a year later, and I am happy! Sometimes, I wonder if I should be so happy so soon after such a great loss--"

"I am sure your father would have wanted you to be happy, dearest," I said gently. "My love," I sighed, "come to bed. I can barely wait until tomorrow to give you your gifts, William."

"Gifts?" he laughed. "Are there more than one?"

"Yes, my love, there are."

"Oh, Stella," he pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck, "You are the greatest gift I have ever been given."

With this, he commenced undoing the clasps of my dress; that task accomplished, it fell, lightly, to the floor. He carried me to our bed before continuing to remove the rest of my clothing. I wondered if he could notice that I was with child and as he moved to kiss the skin around my navel, I tensed inwardly, pulling my stomach in.

"What are you doing?" he laughed. "Let go, Stella, darling--you do not need to do this--you are so beautiful--" To make me lose control, he tickled my sides; moaning with laughter, I writhed and tried grasping his hands, failed at that, and in turn, reached for him. But he was still dressed, and I could not tickle him as effectively through the thick fabric of his coat.

"Unfair!" I cried. "You have all these clothes on!"

"Well," he laughed, "why don't you remove them, then, if they are so much in your way?"

That I did; and, looking at his taught body, thought longingly that very soon, his figure would be quite superior to mine. But I chased these thoughts away as shallow and ungrateful, and proceeded to love my husband with all the passion I had in me, and that night, I had passion enough for two.

The next morning, I woke earlier than William, as had been my usual custom for the previous week. Sitting on the floor in the dressing room, completely bowled over by the nausea, I smiled to myself, gently rubbing my hand against my stomach. How could I have mistaken this for anything else? I thought, leaning my head back against the bath tub.

Having splashed my face with cold water and brushed my teeth to make myself presentable to the birthday boy, I returned to the bedroom. From my jewelry box, I retrieved Sir Isaiah's ring and went back to bed.

William was still slumbering, and I tickled his sides gently, taking vengeance for the night before. He moaned and laughed, waking up.

"Happy birthday to my love," I whispered into his ear. His eyes flew open as I kissed him.

"Good morning, sweet," he pulled me to him and kissed the tip of my nose. "What a welcome site you are to wake up to!"

"Are you ready for your gift now?" I asked. He nodded, propping himself up against a pillow and squinting sleepily at the light. "Close your eyes and stretch out your hand, palm up."

He did as I asked, intrigued. I placed the signet in the palm of his hand and closed his fingers over it. William opened his eyes, looked at what he was holding in his hand, and, as the look of recognition registered in his eyes, gasped.

"Stella, this is--where did you--my Lord!"

His shock and delight were obvious to me.

"This is the best gift you could have made me!" he whispered, staring, fixedly, at the ring. "I was seventeen years old, when it was lost! And it fits me, too--did you have it sized?"

I nodded, beaming, incredibly proud of myself. I told him how I found it, and how Vanessa recognized it, and how I stole his Cambridge ring to have this one sized properly. He was moved nearly to tears and embraced me with passion.

"Thank you, love, thank you," he whispered. "You know not what this means to me!"

Some time later, he released me, and asked, smirking, what my second gift was. Taking a deep breath, I took his hand and placed it slowly on my stomach.

For a second, he stared at me, as if struggling to figure it out, and then his eyes widened in mad surprise.

"Really?" he whispered. I nodded. "When?"

"April."

"Are you certain?"

"I went to see Dr. Younge a few days ago," I said. "He said sometime in April."

"Oh, Stella," he whispered, opening his arm to me. I immediately came to snuggle against his chest, laying my ear against his thumping heart.

"I take my words back," he said, hoarsely, as he kissed the top of my head, "This is the very best gift you could have given me..."

Sometime later, we were taken out of our happy reverie by Mrs. Livesay, who came in with the dress I was to wear tonight at the ball, ironed and starched. Throwing a robe about his shoulders, William went to open.

"We have news to tell you," he said, and his old nurse and housekeeper became the first person to learn from him that he was soon to have a child...

....

William and I were the very first at the breakfast table. We were soon joined by Lady Hetty, who had arrived the day before, as well as by Elena, along with her husband and Miss Rosina, Samuel and Ali, who rushed ahead of everyone else and threw her arms around her brother's neck.

"Happy birthday, Willie!" she cried, as he laughed in delight and kissed her forehead. He was positively beaming; I thought I knew the reason for that!

My husband was given gifts and he accepted them, sheepishly. A new saddle for Zanzibar from Samuel, a pair of fine leather gloves from his mother, and a set of handkerchiefs from Ali, embroidered with William's initials and a family crest. Elena and Pedro gave him an engagement for a series of boxing lessons, for the next time we were in London--I was rather sore with my sister for that, as I did not wish to have my husband beaten and bruised, but William was thrilled. As it turned out, he had been quite a devotee during his Cambridge days and had longed to return to the sport.

I was proud to see that it was Sir Isaiah's ring, which caused most of the noise, was most looked at and most admired.

Lady Hetty saw it first and turned deathly white; as William explained to her that I had chanced upon the ring in a local curio shop, she looked at me with some strange new respect, as if I had a sort of a Midas touch, which made well-loved and long-lost things re-appear out of nowhere.

"How wonderful, dearest," she said, sounding suspiciously close to tears. "And how fitting that you should wear it now! The Master of Bloomfield Park! Your father would have been so happy."

The family spent another five minutes or so admiring the ring. Finally, after Samuel handed the signet back to William, my husband stood up, motioning for me to rise as well.

"Stella and I have news for you all--" he started saying, but was interrupted by the arrival of Vanessa and Mr. Fenwick.

They entered with a flair, the latter carrying a large covered basket. Vanessa kissed William on the cheek and announced that the contents of the basket were their present to him. Mr. Fenwick put the thing on the floor near the chair, and as Vanessa knelt in front of it, she motioned William to join her there.

"Come see," she said, flipping the lid open. A sigh of surprise and delight quickly circled the room, as she dipped into the basket and retrieved a lappy-eared, marble-colored, tail-wagging creature.

"A puppy!" Alexandra cried in great agitation. "Oh, he's adorable!"

It was indeed adorable, still sleepy from the road, but already eager to please. And it was indeed a he, as became obvious as Vanessa raised the puppy in the air.

"Here," Vanessa said, thrusting the little beast at William. "He's all yours. Fenwick and I thought that you might like a dog. I remember you used to like them."

William took the puppy from his sister and looked at him from all sides.

"Look at these paws," he mused, obviously pleased. "Is he going to be a large fellow!"

"They all are," Mr. Fenwick said. "His parented are exceedingly large--both champion breeder Great Danes."

"Well," William said, obviously touched, as he placed the puppy back into the basket. "I am really quite at a loss for words..."

I knew that he loved animals; Zanzibar, his snow-white Lippizaner stallion, was particularly beloved by him. Though he never spoke of it, Vanessa had mentioned to me that a long time ago, his adored mastiff Napolitano died after being run over by a carriage.

"He was just inconsolable," Vanessa told me. "Father had offered to buy him a new one, but he wouldn't have it."

I rang for Mrs. Livesay and asked her to take the little beast away and make him comfortable in the kitchen with a saucer of milk. As we sat all sat down to breakfast, everybody was in pleasant spirits and the chatter was most joyous.

"What are you going to name him?" Alexandra asked William.

"Aslan," he said, thoughtfully. "It means Lion in the Mahreb."

In the middle of the dinner, as everyone drank an early toast to my husband, I barely touched the champagne glass with my lips.

"You are not drinking to your husband's health, Stella," Lady Hetty noticed, pointedly.

"It is far too early in the day for that," I said, smiling. "And I have another reason as well." I rose, and William followed me. I walked around the table and together, his arm looped around my waist in a gesture of unprecedented familiarity, we made the joyous announcement. A clamor rose, and I was kissed on both cheeks, numerous times, held and touched, as the entire family, including Vanessa, who had known everything for several days, converged on me. Even Lady Hetty abandoned her usual coldness and kissed me gladly on both cheeks. The only one of William's family to sit back, smirking, was Mrs. Sheridan. Later, after I was released and took my seat between her and Elena, she squeezed my hand affectionately and said quietly:

"Good girl! That is precisely the way to go!"

I was nonplussed by her comment, as I had not planned this, but even that could not take away from my most excellent disposition that day.

After breakfast, Vanessa and I went about the house, giving orders in regards to the ball tonight. All of the reputable local

families were to be here--the Fenwicks, of course, the Whitneys, the Charltons, the Dixons, the Sheratons, the Nevilles,

the St. Charles, the Milburns, and the Musgraves. And the Featherstonehaughs, whose name I tried to pronounce, to William's delight, for a good twenty minutes, until he pitied me and told me that it was actually pronounced as Fanshaw. And in addition, the Hester cousins from London and the Scottish cousins from Edinburgh--whom I have never met. It was my first function as the Mistress of Bloomfield Park, and I was considerably nervous; in addition, by about four o'clock in the evening, as the preparations were going full speed, my nausea was getting the best of me. I relinquished overseeing the kitchen to Mrs. Livesay and the rest of the preparations to Vanessa and retired to the library. Lady Hetty, concerned about my well-being now that I carried her future grandson, practically shooed me away.

I thought to find William in the library, but he was nowhere to seen, and I lay down, exhausted, on a rather comfortable sofa. At first, I tried to read, but the latest novel of Mme Sands failed to capture my attention; the book soon fell out of my hand as I, myself, fell into the bottomless pit of sleep.

..."Just look at her--so pretty--"

"And all normal--Dick Bruce told me that they have hooves and tails--"

The voices sounded as if their owners had just recently crossed into adolescence. I was not sure whether to be furious or to laugh out loud; so I kept quiet, pretending to be asleep.

"Ha!" one of the boys said, "Maybe we should raise her skirt and take a look--"

"Uh-uh," the other one replied, "and have Cousin Will catch us? She is his wife, after all..."

"How strange it is--I thought she would be ugly--Mother said their women are exceedingly ugly--"

Capital, I thought, just capital. What a lovely beginning for a familial relationship.

"Stop drooling, Arch!" one of the boys laughed. "You could never get a chit like this--"

"Daresay I should not want one like her, Al," Arch answered thoughtfully as his eyes explored me--thought mine were closed, I could feel his hungry gaze on me perfectly well. "Too much of a princess, she is. And also--Mum said that for their Easter, they kill Christian babes and make some kind of flat bread out of their blood--"

I had had enough. With a loud wail, I sat up on the couch, turning both boys--from what I could see, both about fourteen years of age--to pathetic flight. As they fumbled with the door, whimpering, I caught up with them, grabbed each by the ear and dragged them back to the sofa.

"Well, well," I said. "And this is the respect you show the lady of the house. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." Only then did I notice that not only the two rascals were brothers, they were also twins and impossible to tell from each other. "You must be my husband's little cousins from Scotland," I concluded. "Exceedingly bad upbringing! I gather I shall have to punish the two of you presently."

One of them threw a bold look at me. "You are not the mistress of us!"

"No? I am a mistress of this house, and you are my guests, and should pay me the respect due! And if I were to tell my husband everything you have just said, what do you suppose he would do?"

They stared right in front of themselves, and I marveled at whoever was their mother to so ill bring up two sons.

"Which one of you is which?" I asked them.

"I'm Archibald," one of them replied.

"He's Archibald. I'm Alasdair."

"We are the Lyons-McGregor brothers."

"Well, well," I walked around them, enjoying myself quite a bit. "How shall I punish you, then? Perhaps, I should make you wear a tail and hooves at the ball tonight--since you were so interested in mine. Or, perhaps, I should have you steal a Christian babe for me."

"What would you do with it?!" Archie, the more gullible of the two, stared at me in horror. His brother elbowed him sharply.

"She's making light of us, Arch, don't you see?"

"Why? Didn't you yourself say that we Jews murder Christian babies and make flatbreads out of their blood?" "It's an old wives' tale!" Alasdair said reluctantly.

"Is it now? Then perhaps you shouldn't be walking around repeating it, what do you think?"

They stared at their shoes now, gloomy. I was suddenly very tired.

"La!" I said. "I do have a punishment for you. Go and fetch my husband."

They stared at me. "Are you going to tell?" Archi--I think--asked me, glum.

"We shall see about that," I said, falling back onto the sofa, quite exhausted. Rest had done me good, the nausea had gone, and I was of a mind to share my husband's delightful company for a while. The two daft nincompoops needed not know that I had no intention whatsoever to tell William anything, as that would most certainly spoil his birthday. "Go, go!" I said, pointing at the door. "And the door opens that way."

I fell back into the pleasant slumber, feeling slightly guilty that I did not participate in any of the preparations for the ball. But if any excuse ever counted, miner certainly did...

I was awoken by William's lips on my face--a gentle kiss, a brushing, really, across my closed eyelids, down my nose and cheekbones and finally, resting contentedly against my own lips. That I used, and pulled him into a passionate kiss of my own.

"Mmm," he whispered, resting his forehead against mine. "How shall I ever do without you till April?"

"You shan't," I said, lazily. "I do not intend to remove myself from your presence--that is, of course, if you can stand the sight of me running for the basin for the next three months."

He slid behind me on the couch, sliding his arms around my waist and kissing the back of my neck. We lay there, nestled quietly, the two, nay, now the three of us. I wondered at this amazing thing: I was no longer just me, there was more to me than before, a new life nestled in the depth of me. I felt motherly, strong, and very happy.

"Your young cousins are delightful young men," I chuckled softly. "Where did they find you?"

"I had only just come back--I was showing their father some improvements I have recently made. That was when they caught me and told me Lady Stella wished to see me in the library."

"And were you not frightened?"

"Frightened?"

"Have you forgotten our last meeting in a library?" Smiling like a cat, I put his hand on my stomach and covered it with mine.

"Really?" He laughed. "You think?"

"I am almost certain."

"Oh my Lord," he said, snickering against my neck. "Mother would kill me if she knew."

"But perhaps we should soon reward her with a fine grandson--that should alleviate her angst."

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "A fine grandson--or a granddaughter--"

"But you should like an heir, William. An heir to Bloomfield Park--shall you not?"

"I should not care," he said softly. "I am just so happy, my sweet--you have made me so happy. If this one turns out to be a daughter, we can always make a son later."

"Pray, wait!" I giggled. "Let me see how I like carrying this one!"

"I am afraid, Lady Stella, that you shall have little choice in this matter."

"And why is that?" I asked cockily.

"Because," he replied, just as cockily, "Children are the natural result of certain very pleasurable activities, which I will be archly unwilling to give up--and which you, I should hope, should hate to give up as well," having said so, he nibbled on my ear. "If you can think of a way to continue to engage in them without making a child--please, do enlighten me, I'm all ears."

"There are some ways," I said, reluctantly, "but the most effective seems to be the keeping-of-husband-out-of=bed one."

"Hm," he said. "No. I do not like that."

"Very well," I agreed, "we shall have to think of something else."

"Ah," he sighed, burying his face in my hair, "I do so love you when you are so agreeable--when you do not tease me."

We lay like that for a short time, and then I asked him what he wanted to name our child.

"Isaiah," he said firmly. "After my father."

Isaiah suited me fine; it reminded me of the London juderia and my people. "And if it is a girl?"

"In this case, you can pick," he said, yawning.

"Ellen," I said. "After Elena."

"Perfect," he agreed. "Ellen Hester, Miss Ellen Hester, Ellen Stella Hester," he mused. It sounded delightful, and I sighed, contented.

"We should probably get out of here, love," he said. "The guests are to arrive soon, the London Hesters are here, and I need to introduce you to the Scottish cousins."

Grimly, I thought that if the parents were half as delightful as the sons, I would most certainly enjoy the acquaintance. But I obeyed him, unclasped his heavy arms from around my waist, and sat up.

Just before we were to leave the library, William held me back by the hand and said,

"Kiss."

He pushed against me, playfully, trapping me between himself and a large mahogany desk. I reached up to kiss him, arching my body against him and feeling, momentarily, his passionate response, when, quite in spite of it all, he moved away from me and said sheepishly:

"Stella, we really shouldn't."

"We shouldn't do what?" I laughed, slipping my hands under his waistcoat, and was mortified when he removed them. "So excite each other--are we not about to enter a lengthy period of abstinence?"

"Well, not quite yet!" I laughed. I had never felt better; in the morning, I knew, nausea would reclaim me, but tonight, slightly dizzy with happiness and love, I felt magnificent. "Come," I said, pulling him closer. He obeyed as I pushed myself up and sat on the corner of his desk. Hitching my skirts high above my knees, I wound my legs around his and pulled him against me. I kissed him squarely on the mouth and put my arms around his waist. He kissed me back, nearly losing all of his equanimity and resting one hand against the wall for balance. Reaching behind my back while still kissing me, William moved an ink-holder(?) where it could not be knocked over.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, and he immediately pushed me onto my back and climbed on top of me.

"William, what are you doing?" I laughed. "What if someone walks in--the help--the guests?"

"Well, then, they will know that I married a positively loose woman--" He said against my neck. Resting himself on his elbows, he looked in my face, earnestly and removed a stray lock from my eyes.

"Stella, I am a little worried," he said. "What if we harm the child?"

"No, we shan't," I said stubbornly. I was not willing to do without him for the next eight or so months. "Soon," I said, tracing my finger along his jaw line, "very soon, I shall become fat and ugly--"

"Never," he said passionately.

"--oh, you'll see! And then you'll think back to today and be exceedingly sorry!"

"You could never be ugly to me," he said softly. "I love you much too much for that..."

Suddenly, there was a sound of the door opening, and a muted female "oh!". William immediately slid off of me, quickly enough for me to catch a glimpse of a woman rushing out of the room.

"Well," I said brightly, sitting up. "Who was that?"

"My cousin Victoria Lyons-McGregor. A nosy old thing," he said. "Serves her right for not knocking."

"Would she be, by any chance, the mother of the two fine gentlemen who delivered you to me?"

"She would."

"Ah!" I said. So that was the Mum who had told her two young sons I ate Christian babies. As we straightened up our disheveled appearance and returned to the drawing-room, I said nothing about it, but inside, determined to introduce myself to Cousin Victoria in no uncertain terms.

....

The Scottish Cousins proved to be a most interesting bunch. There was Uncle Persival, Lord McGregor-Lyons, Lady Hetty's brother--a gruff sort of man with uncouth sideburns; his wife, Lady Louisa, a quiet, gentle sort of woman, who said little and smiled so much that it became obvious, after awhile, that she knew not why she was smiling; their son Percival, whom everybody called Percy to tell him apart from his father, an amiable and simple man and the father of two young whippersnappers; Mrs. Victoria Lyons-McGregor, the "Mum", as I have come to think of her--a dried up, neurotic woman with thin lips, who constantly yanked at her sons' and husband's clothing to straighten it out (even when it was perfectly straight); Percy's younger sister Miss Agnes, an old maid of gentle disposition, several years older than William; and the children. All of the latter belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Lyons-McGregor, and included the two young whippersnappers, Archie and Alasdair, their older brother Mungo, a somewhat pimpled youth of about seventeen who, immediately after we left the library, burst there past us and remained there for the rest of the evening; and finally, their younger sister Christabelle, a quiet eight-year-old. Their manner of introduction to me differed: Sir Percival squeezed my shoulders roughly with his gigantic hands; his wife smiled, her eyes downcast; his son bowed to me and greeted me warmly as his "favorite cousin's wife"; his daughter-in-law curtsied haughtily and the whippersnappers looked at me with quiet terror in their eyes.

The London Hesters were already there as well, and I overheard Samuel saying to Vanessa that he though Uncle Lazarus was going to get drunk again, and that William promised to never invite him again if he up and threw a drunken row like he did last time. Apparently, Uncle Lazarus' drunken rows were singular, as nobody would actually fight him--after all, he was of a respectable age of five-and-fifty and frail of frame--but a larger row always managed to start in his place; eventually, the younger generation, or, to be more precise William and Captain Hester, were left to deal with the whole infernal mess. Mrs. Anne Hester, his wife, was so obviously disgusted with her failure of a husband--especially compared to his very impressive, though dead brother--that she barely spoke to him at gatherings, preferring the company of Lady Hetty, her own sons, Alec and Cedric, or else, whoever happened to have their ear free.

Now, their sons I liked. Captain Hester was a military man, a rather handsome redcoat, and it was in his company that I first met William. He was a good-natured, calm, jovial man, though somewhat coarse at times. That I forgave him, knowing that it was he who brought William to my father's shop in Whitechapel.

The London Hesters' younger son Cedric was but a youth, just about to depart for Cambridge; he was exceedingly shy, quiet, and, as it seemed to me, madly in love with our Alexandra, who did not even deign to notice her poor cousin. I made a notice of that to William, and he said, quite curtly, that it was a good thing Ali did not fancy Cedric.

"Why?"

"Because she could never marry him." He said, and that was it. I wondered about it, but did not wish to press William for an answer. After all, when it came to his sisters, he was a most doting guardian to them.

Soon after I was introduced to the Scottish Cousins and chatted a bit with Captain Hester, we all retired upstairs to dress.

William, of course, intruded upon me in my dressing room, and, as I sauntered to and fro in my undergarments, sat in a chair and observed me, wearing an amused mien.

"I cannot see it at all," he said, finally.

"You cannot see what?" Since he chose to join me, I let my maid go, and was now standing with one leg on the ottoman, pulling on a silk stocking. He watched me, captivated, and I made my movements deliberately slow. My hair was already done, set high on top of my head and decorated with small glittering gems.

"Pardon?" He tore his eyes away from my leg. "I meant that," he said, drawing his hand across his own midsection.

I explained to him that I was not to get big for a while yet.

"Curious, is it not?" I asked him. "At first, I cannot keep any of my food down; and then I grow out of my proportions and become a balooooon..."

"Come here," he said, patting his knee. He was already dressed for the evening, and looked devastatingly handsome. It took me all my forbearance to tell him no at that moment, but the integrity of my hair was more important than his momentary gratification.

"Stella!" He cried in a mock fit of pique. "How dare you, you impudent girl! Come here right now!"

"No," I said, as I finished tying my second stocking. He stood up and approached me, slowly; what was he about, I did not know, since he was already dressed himself and could not risk messing up his perfectly pressed clothes. After all, tonight was the first time we were to host an ball at Bloom--

After skipping for a bit around the room, William finally backed me into a corner. I tried slipping under his arm, but he knew me too well, and, as he pushed me against the wall, one of his rather large hands remained on my shoulder, keeping me in place.

"Aha," he said. "Now I've got you, you little imp."

William kissed me; I leaned back against the wall for support against his passion. It was an exhilarating contrast--he, so formally dressed, and I, wearing but my underthings.

"Just do not touch my hair," I whispered, all undone, after he let me go.

That he did not; but he still touched me plenty, which left me, even though I was leaning against the cool wall, immediately flushed. Yet nothing could prepare me for what he did next. When I was sufficiently out of my mind for him, William, all of a sudden, withdrew and stood aside. I stared at him in utter disbelief.

"What?" he asked. "Shall I help you dress now, Lady Stella?"

"What are you doing?" I almost cried. "How am I to host this ball in this state?! My heart's about to burst!"

"Well, we do not have the time," he laughed, as he retied my corset. He was laughing at me! "I shall see you tonight after the ball, love, we shall finish it then."

I was fairly shaking with anger; very well, I thought if you wish me to play games like this, I shall, but pray do not regret it after!

"Well, then, sir," I said. "In this case, to be completely fair, I shall ensure that I am not the only one left yearning tonight!"

And, before he could say a word, I did, leaving him trembling and as mad for me as I was for him.

"Stella, do not toy with me thus," he said in a warning voice.

"Why, Sir William, I am only giving you a taste of your own medicine!" I said, giving him my most innocent look. He could have easily stopped me, but instead, he only sighed, leaning his head against the doorframe, his eyes glued to my face--though I took it he knew, perfectly well, where it all was going.

I soon went back to my bedroom, where a lovely dress of blue silk lay, pressed, on the bed.

It was high time for me to give a ball!

William

This was, by his estimation, his happiest birthday yet.

He was greatly surprised and a bit ashamed at his own great happiness, for barely a year ago, his 26th birthday was celebrated very differently. He, Vanessa and Ali sat around the dinner table, onto which Mrs. Livesay placed a cake she had baked for him.

"Happy Birthday, Master William," she said softly, and he knew that even she pitied them. His father was already bedridden at this time, and his mother rarely went anywhere but his bedside and her own bed, where she often collapsed for and lay, bowled over, for two days in a row. That morning, both his parents wished him a happy birthday; kneeling by the bed, he kissed his father's withered hand, sharply realizing how old he now was. His mother, leaning over, patted his head.

"You are our hope, William," Father said from the bed. "It would have been far more trying for me, if you were not around."

"Happy Birthday, my love," Mother said to him, but did not lean to kiss him; it was as if her affection for her children had been frozen by her grief...

..."Cousin William!" He looked down and saw Christabel, his niece, Percy and Victoria's daughter.

"Yes, dearest?"

"Shall you dance with me?" The girl asked seriously. William bowed, perhaps a little lower than he normally would, accounting for the diminutive stature of his partner, and offered Christabel his hand.

They danced a polonaise; Christabel knew most of his steps and in general, did very tolerably for an eight-year-old. It so happened that he and Christabel were first in the set, and Stella, on the arm of Captain Hester, resplendent in his red coat, was right behind them; as he danced with Christabel, William caught Stella's eye, one eyebrow raised whimsically, and felt himself coloring furiously as he remembered what she had done to him before they came down to welcome their guests. Embarrassed to be thinking of such things when in the company of his young cousin, William chased the impure memories away and hurried, as soon as the set was over, to deposit Christabel in the care of her father.

As he was coming back, intent on taking Stella away from the Captain, he was overtaken by his neighbors John Dixon, Edward Sheraton, and Henry Featherstonehaugh, who congratulated him on what fine hostess Lady Stella was. William beamed with pride and happiness: though, when he married Stella, he was prepared to defy everyone and everything, it pleased him to no end that the society in --shire--the people whom he considered his good neighbors--accepted her so readily.

Indeed, the party was great. Truffle soup, partridges in white wine and Russian salmon, the best wine and champagne from the Hester cellars, and finally, abundant fruit and Italian sorbet for dessert. The best local musicians were invited to play; dancing happened before and, on a grander scale, after dinner; and for those gentlemen who were not as enamoured of dancing as the Master of the House, or did not have wives as pretty as his, the library was stocked with generous amounts of brandy and finest cigars.

While Stella was rather agreeably engaged in taking a small excursion of children of various ages to look at William's new dog, he joined the gentlemen in the library. William noticed how different the conversation in --shire was from that, which flowed in chic London salons. If there was much politics, it was mostly local; but mostly, it was all estate and tenant issues and discussions of the impending hunting season. All of these people were landowners, staunchly devoted to --shire.

As he walked around among his guests, they all smiled at him, wished him a happy birthday and congratulated him on his choice of a wife. Most of them had met her during a morning visit or two, but none of them had seen Lady Stella in an evening gown and bestudded with diamonds. William was intensely proud of her.

William noticed his new brother-in-law, Mr. da Silva, engaged in an animated conversation with Lewis Ashcroft, one of his neighbors to the north; William was glad that his new city relative did not feel out of place among the country circle of gentlemen.

He was approached, soon enough, by Fenwick, who handed him a brandy glass and lead him to the window-seat. There, they were met by Samuel, along with the Captain and Percy Lyons-McGregor.

"We have not yet made a toast to the future heir of Bloomfield," Fenwick said. William raised his glass, sheepish. "To mother and child, Hester!"

They all drank, reflecting on his good fortune. The dashing Captain said, in his usual crude manner, proclaimed:

"A capital job, cousin! And so soon, too! If I ever marry, you must share your secret with me!"

Usually, his cousin's jokes made William cringe; today, however, he was feeling particularly benevolent, and laughed it off.

"Aaah, we all know his secret," Samuel said, smirking. "It is called my sister, Lady Stella---his beautiful---"

William nodded. "---my beautiful, lovely wife."

"Good God, cousin!" the Captain cried. "If Fenwick here gives me the same pleasing intelligence as regards the felicity of marriage, I may still marry some day!"

Fenwick smiled, puffing contentedly on his cigar. "I wholeheartedly concur," he said. "The happiness of a good marriage is vastly superior to anything I might have experienced during my bachelor years."

"Oh, we all know what you might have experienced, Fenwick!" Samuel laughed. "Vanessa should up and give you a good going-over!"

"Seeing you so satisfied with married life gives me hope!" The Captain said. "And cousin Percy, what do you say?"

Percy, somewhat confounded, said nothing, sipping on his drink. "Good marriage is a great thing," he sighed, finally. His distressed mien caused his friends to laugh: after all, he was married to the infernal Victoria. He said, sounding miffed. "Well, I have been married for nearly twenty years! We may return to this conversation in another twenty, gentlemen, if you are so wont to make light of me!"

William, slightly drunk on brandy and happiness, thought, hopefully, that in twenty years, he should be as much in love with his wife as he was today. Which, naturally, brought his thoughts back to the recent occurrence in Stella's dressing-room. It was incredible, how much she affected him! He gathered that her recent cruelty he had brought on himself---it served him right for toying with her---but for the first hour or so of the soiree, standing next to her as the guests arrived, William remained in the painful state of unrealized desire. It was eased a little bit when they moved to different sides of the room to entertain their guests, but it only took him one look at her to remember it all. William preferred not to dwell on that---for the evening was far from over, and it was difficult to play a gracious host when all he wanted was to throw his wife over his shoulder and carry her upstairs.

He soon returned to the ballroom. Immediately, she came to be near him, flushed from dancing and so beautiful in her blue silk gown, one look at her took away all of his equanimity. He demanded to see her book: it was all full---he saw the names of all his neighbors. B******, William thought, I am not lining up to dance with their wives.

"I may yet regret the day I taught you how to dance," he said with a smile, admiring her beauty. A pealing laugh escaped her lips as she flung the book away.

"May I have the honor of this dance, sir?" She asked, dropping a graceful curtsy.

"Oh, Stella," he whispered. "But you are promised for tonight!"

"I should much rather dance with you," she said, stepping closer. "All your friends are such dreadful stiffs!" He took her hand, knowing that he was lost for the rest of the evening, and lead her to the dance floor.

"Do you really think my neighbors are, um, stiffs?" he asked, as he turned her around the floor in fluid movement.

"No," she laughed, throwing her head back, "They are all perfectly pleasant, though, I do have to admit, your Scottish relatives are a bit strange!" she pointed towards the wall, where the neurotic cousin Victoria was once again pulling on her husband's coat. "But," she added, "All I wanted was to dance with you, all night."

There was something else he wanted to do all night, but the it was still too early to let these thoughts take over him.

"How are you feeling tonight?" he asked her.

"Beautiful." It was only too right that she should feel that way, for, with her face glowing and a wayward lock escaping from her hair-do, she certainly was. "Were you able to eat at all?"

"Enough not to starve tonight," she replied, as the two of them walked under a hand arch, to stand as the last couple of the set, next to the beaming Miss Elena and her young husband. As they exchanged partners, his sister-in-law thanked him, blushing, as she was wont to do, for inviting them.

"Oh, it is my pleasure to have you here, my dear Miss Elena," he said warmly. "I am in your debt, forever and ever, for the way you conducted yourself in April. It was only too easy for your to refuse to help us," he added, turning her around under his arm.

"You made my sister's entire happiness," Miss Elena sighed. "How could I stand in your way?"

"I love her ever so much, Miss Elena," he confided to her, earnestly, as he looked over at his wife, on Mr. da Silva's arm. "She is my entire happiness---I confess I should have been quite lost without her."

All in all, the night was perfect: the food was exquisite, the music was enchanting, and the gardens outside were afire with swarms of lightning-bugs. Vanessa sang, delighting them all with Mozart arias, and his mother, for once, seemed happy. Even the vexing state of unsatisfied desire had to it a pleasant accompaniment of knowing that very soon, he would finally slake his need with Stella's generous help.

The soirée ended in the early hours of the morning. After all the local guests left and all the out-of-town guests went to their rooms, William bounded upstairs, jumping over two steps at a time.

He found Stella in their bedroom. Though assigned initially to her alone, the blue room has long turned into their bedroom, as, since their wedding, he had barely slept outside of her bed.

Stella was standing near the window, her back to him, her both hands resting against the glass.

William approached from the back, quietly. She had to see his reflection in the glass; however, she did not turn around. He placed both his hands over hers, and pressed himself against her back.

With a deep sigh, his wife arched her back against him, and it drove him wild. That she desired him was most surprising to him--he had been brought up to expect a certain degree of coldness out of a woman--but it was also unequivocally delightful.

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he slowly turned her around, at the same time leaning to kiss her neck. It was so white and graceful, and the skin there was so soft and silky--William desire was now getting the best of him; his hands and lips now moved on an impulse.

"You have come to avenge yourself on me, sir," she whispered. He pulled away and looked at her, slightly unnerved by the language she chose.

"I have come to make love to you," he said, his voice hoarse. "But if you should rather think of it as some sort of a vendetta--very well, that it shall be."

Later that night, as they lay together in one close embrace, William, as was lately his custom, ruminated upon his incredible fortune.

"Happy birthday, William," she whispered, already drifting away.

Yes, he thought, as he kissed his wife's bare shoulder, it was the happiest one he had ever had. It was so incredible: that his life should change so completely with the arrival of one person! Stella once translated him a passage from Zohar, a fourteenth-century religious commentary: "After G*d made the man," it said, "he realized he could still do better, and so he made the woman..." William sighed, thanking the powers that be for the amazing woman who now slept so restfully in his arms. As the passage said, the world had come alive with the creation of the woman; for himself, William knew, that his world certainly did.

© 2002 Copyright held by the author.

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