man really did that to his family? Five times? Why didn’t a member of his family
just shoot him?”
“I would think that there would be the temptation, but Lord Pontly died of just
plain old age in his bed, his sixth wife, only a third his age, holding his hand
when he passed, a peaceful look on his face, to the hereafter.”
“I wonder,” Thomas said, and I thought even his voice was beautiful, so filled
with unconscious charm even the blackest sinner would be tempted to repent, “if
perhaps Lord Pontly was on to something, sir.”
“What do you mean, Thomas?”
“Well, if he died of old age, not some vile illness, then perhaps having all the
sham wives kept him healthy. It must have added to his vigor, improved his
outlook on his lot in life.”
“At least a sham wife could be tossed out the window when the man tired of her,”
John said. “That would certainly go a long way to improve a man’s contentment.”
Amelia threw her buttered roll at him, which he handily ducked. “What a dreadful
thing to say. You will take it back, John, right this minute, or I will think of
something dreadful to do to you.”
John raised his hands, splaying his fingers. “Acquit me, Amelia. Consider it
unsaid. I apologize if you mistook my words.”
“There was nothing at all to be mistook,” I said. “If I had a roll I would be
tempted to throw it at you, except that if I had one, I probably would eat it.”
Thomas laughed, a delightful tolling of human bells, utterly charming to the ear.
Did nothing the man do grate on one’s nerves?
John said, “You must admit, Amelia, that occasionally women are fickle. Maybe
more than occasionally.”
I looked down to see that a roll had appeared on the edge of my plate. I looked
to see Brantley removing himself once again to the dining room door. I picked up
the roll and waved it at him, grinning. He had no expression whatsoever on his
face. What was he thinking about all of us? Had he given me a roll so that I
could throw it at John? Was he amused?
“I have never met a fickle woman in my life,” Amelia said. “And your apology,
John, rang as false as a sinner’s third promise to reform. No, I believe it is
you men who are the fickle ones.”
“The reason Lord Pontly lived so long,” Lawrence said easily before Amelia could
throw another roll at John, “is because he was such a dreadful man the devil
didn’t want him. Finally, though, so many years had passed that even the devil
had no choice but to fetch him home to bask at the devil’s own hearth.”
“That was quite clever,” I said, and lifted my wineglass to toast my husband. He
just shook his head at me, as if to say, Young men, what is one to do with them?
I knew the answer to that. One shot them.
Thomas said, “Amelia, my dearest, you were fickle. Think back, and you will have
to admit it.” He turned to say to me, “She was charmingly fickle, however. I saw
it as a challenge and worked to overcome her adorable capriciousness, although
it did take me the better part of six months. I wrote poems to her, my very best
titled ‘Without You I Am Done For.’ I believe it was that poem that made her
place her hand in mine.”
Amelia patted her husband’s arm. “No, Thomas, it wasn’t that poem, although it
evoked startling images in my mind, it was the song you sang beneath my
bedchamber window that quite won me over.” She looked over at me. “Perhaps, if
his lungs are properly pumped up and healthy, Thomas will consent to sing his
song at your window, Andrea.”
“It’s Andy,” I said. “I would like that, Thomas. Perhaps you can tell me the
theme of your song?”
He frowned a moment over a spoonful of peas. “It was one of my better efforts,”
he said finally, a slight flush on his lean cheeks. Then he opened his beautiful