matters considerably.’
‘I’m only surprised you don’t have another theory,’ Lucy said through her teeth. ‘That wives can be schooled and trained like horses. Or is that still to come?’
‘Provided you get them young enough, it could be a possibility, even though you were so spoilt and indulged by your father,’ he said indifferently and shrugged again. ‘Lucy, how much longer do we have to wait to eat? We’ve had all this out before. And you were the one,’ he said with sudden impatience, ‘who accepted my proposal. Which to my mind, if we’re really discussing moral superiority, puts us on a par. Although you mentioned earlier that I threatened you with something like poverty. In fact I offered to buy you out, and that would have been a long way from poverty, my dear.’
‘But I didn’t want to be bought out. I decided to fight in the only way I could think of for my birthright, Justin. My great-grandparents happen to be buried here, and my mother and now my father, I love every acre of Dalkeith and sometimes, when you love something enough, you’re prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to preserve it. Besides which, it occurred to me,’ she said softly, ‘that you’d find it not considerably simpler but much more difficult to dispossess a wife, Justin.’
‘A wife, yes, Lucy,’ he said. ‘But there are certain things you have to do to become a true wife.’
‘It’s only your word against mine—ah,’ she said to herself. ‘So that’s why you haven’t forced me to go to bed with you! You’re keeping your options open, aren’t you, Justin? But while an annulment on the grounds of non-consummation may entitle me to less of your property, it is only your word against mine.’
He lay back in his chair and watched her. ‘Would you lie about something like that, Lucy?’
‘Where you’re concerned, I might. Don’t forget, I have to put up with your mistress parading herself around my home—who knows what flights of fancy the mere fact of that might prompt in me—where is Sasha, by the way?’
‘She’s gone back to Riverbend and she’s not my mistress.’
‘Then she’s dying to be your mistress.’
‘She happens to be an employee, my private assistant in charge of the stud at Riverbend, as you very well know, and she’s extremely good at her job, that’s all; what makes you think she has...the ambition you’re accusing her of?’
Lucy turned to the sideboard at last. ‘You’d probably have to be a woman to understand that. But I would have thought even you could see the sort of censorious way she treats me.’
‘There are times when you lay yourself open to that, Lucy.’
Lucy heaped a fragrant portion of lemon chicken on to a plate, and some steaming, fluffy rice, and laughed. ‘Perhaps I do. But she does so obviously hold this conviction that you were mad to marry me whatever else she is or isn’t, you see. On the subject of mistresses, by the way...’ She turned and carried his plate over to him, not unaware that his gaze was following every move she made, then went back for her own. ‘At thirty, you must have had some, probably dozens. You’re successful, you’re good-looking when you’re not being critical and superior—did none of them prompt you to think of marriage for all the right reasons?’ She sat down and helped herself to salad then courteously handed the crystal bowl to him. ‘Take Joanna Madden, for example.’ she added pointedly. ‘I’m sure a lot of people thought that was a fait accompli.’
‘So did I—once upon a time,’ she said musingly after a while when she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
‘What happened? Did she have nothing as enticing as the other half of Dalkeith to offer you?’
‘She—had her reasons.’
‘You don’t seem particularly perturbed,’ Lucy said witheringly.
He smiled fleetingly. ‘One lives and learns, I guess. Lucy,’ he said after a pause, ‘considering our feelings on the subject of Dalkeith—and while I acknowledge mine aren’t as unaltruistic and loving as yours, none the less it is very important to me-considering that we have its best interests at heart in other words, would it be so hard to see whether we couldn’t make a go of this marriage?’
She considered for a long time then she said rather bleakly, ‘That’s like asking a nation to love their invaders. I don’t think it’s possible. I mean, for another thing, there’s the problem that you don’t respect me—you surely couldn’t if you really believe that regular sex is all I need to keep me happy—’
‘There’s a difference between regular sex and satisfying sex.’
She shot him an oblique look. ‘Your ego is really monumental, Justin, even for a man. All right, but I’m still just another giddy girl to you, aren’t I?’
‘I suppose it wasn’t a help possessing such stunning looks on top of a father who spoilt you rotten, but you certainly don’t go out of your way to dispel that image, Lucy.’
She looked across at him and there was something curiously haughty in her eyes. ‘Perhaps not, but that might not be all there is to me. For example, I do know quite a lot about Dalkeith and how it runs—if young men can sow their wild oats, why can’t girls have a few giddy salad days, anyway?’
He put his knife and fork together and stared at them for a long moment, before raising his eyes to hers. And then there was something curiously enigmatic in them as he said, ‘I’ve told you, what’s history can remain so. Your legion of lovers and my—multitude of mistresses. Unfortunately, you’ve got into the habit of sending out unmistakable signals—you’re probably right about young Mr Lang and the kind of thoughts he’s having about you now.’
Lucy grimaced.
‘Not picking up the bait, Mrs Waite?’ Justin said softly but with an undercurrent of mockery.
She tightened her mouth and subjected him to a deep blue look of considerable scorn.
He only laughed quietly. ‘Just one more thing, Lucy. In case you haven’t already got the message, if celibacy is becoming irksome then I am your only alternative. Remember that:
She burst into speech. ‘What about you? You don’t really expect me to believe I am your only alternative.’
‘Well, you are, so bear that in mind as well, my dear. But I’m afraid celibacy, inside marriage, certainly won’t suit me forever.’ He stood up. ‘And you know, Lucy, while I give your devotion to Dalkeith full credit, there’s no way a twenty-year-old girl could run it. There was no way you could have gone on without the kind of cash it needs again—and Dalkeith has become a rather expensive pastime for us Waites.’ He stopped and watched her as she took the point and looked away uncertainly. Then he went on quite gently, ‘But this way, here you are, mistress of it, and if you’ve got as much sense as I think you have in your more rational moments you must know it’s in good hands. By the way, I’m taking a couple of weeks off and we’re giving a house party this weekend. You might need to get in extra help. Goodnight.’
A couple of hours later, Lucy walked into her bedroom and closed the door.
As part of the austerity measures her father had been forced to introduce before his death, there was no live-in house help on Dalkeith. In fact Lucy had cut short her bachelor of arts degree to come home and look after her father six months ago and after her marriage, a curious marriage to say the least, she’d decided to keep it that way. It gave her something to do, and she’d discovered that, in lieu of her deep interest in Dalkeith being taken seriously, her interest despite herself in the crops Justin planned to grow and the sheep it still ran across its thousand acres of outback western New South Wales, that only left her horses for her to occupy herself with. And two mares in foal and two gelding hacks, devoted to them though she was, didn’t take up a lot of time.
She did have a cleaning lady who came in daily and a farmhand to tend the fireplaces, but it had come