With the coming of spring, the air at Plas Bryn changed. Cate was aware of undercurrents of tension between everyone in the Demery family, herself included. The conversation David had had with Sarah seemed to have started it, or perhaps merely given strength to the currents that were already bubbling beneath the surface. At dinner that night, David spent most of the meal talking about what had happened upstairs with Sarah. He was by turns saddened and angered by Sarah's mercantile and entitled attitude towards him and the house, and Cate, relieved to hear that Sarah did not truly love him, was only too willing to listen to him and try to make him feel better with small words of support, encouragement, and sympathy. She thought she helped, but from then on, there was a noticeable, polite coolness between David and Sarah. In consequence, Sarah tried to grovel to Laurie, and when her overtures of friendship were bluntly rejected, became very close to Mrs Demery and Paul instead. Hardly a day went by when she did not visit either the one or the other. This meant that Laurie spent a lot of time at Plas Bryn, trying to avoid Sarah, but there were tensions here too. Cate wasn't sure if it was because Laurie now knew about Oliver or because she now knew that Cate knew about Wynn, but either way, Laurie was strangely cool towards Cate, and even more strangely devoid of her usual acid remarks.
Even Paul seemed different. He came to visit David several times about business, and took a moment on each occasion to come to speak to Cate and Luke. He was almost too friendly to Luke, which worried Cate because she instinctively felt that Paul did not like him. When David explained to her about the trust he was setting up, that perhaps explained his theatrically genial manner towards Luke, but it did not make sense of the probing way Paul enquired after her health and feelings and home. One time, while having tea with her in her sitting room, he abruptly stood up and tried the door between her and David's apartments.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I thought I would see if David wanted tea."
"He's not in there. And the door is locked."
"I see that." Paul sat down again and took another slice of pound cake. "Is the door always kept locked? What happens if you need David?"
"Then I knock and he opens it."
"Ah." Paul swallowed the last crumb of his pound cake, looking quite depressed. "Yes, I suppose he would."
Another time, when she was feeling under the weather due to some suspect cream cakes, Paul hesitantly, unhappily suggested that perhaps he was to expect a nephew or niece soon. When she protested vehemently that it was not possible, he brightened again.
She could only assume that Paul did not want her to have a child with David. It seemed very selfish of Paul, even if he had his own troubles in that area. All the same, when Paul suggested a small dinner party in honour of Luke's first birthday, Cate could not deny the appeal of the idea.
"Though he turned one over two months ago," she said. "We're very late for his birthday."
"The idea came to me late," Paul said. "To own the truth, I did not realize how old he really was. Nevertheless, I think late would be better than never. Another idea I have had is that we could change his surname, make him properly part of the family."
That was something Cate had long secretly wished for herself. "I would love for him to be a Demery. But what does David think?"
"I'm sure he would approve. He's very fond of the boy."
"I will ask him."
"And about the dinner party? I can think of several families in the neighbourhood who would love to be invited and meet David's wife and son."
"I don't know about inviting strangers. I'm very shy outside the family, and my reputation is still far from unshadowed."
"A small extension of your society would do you good. But never mind. My wife will come, and her sisters and brothers. My wife's siblings can hardly be strangers to you, surely?"
Annabelle, insipid and gloomy, had done little to impress Cate with the force of her personality when they had finally met, but there seemed little danger in her and her siblings' company. "They are, but they should not be. I will invite them."
"And I think your parents should come too. It would be a chance to extend them an olive branch."
"I'm not sure I want to."
"Surely you do not want Luke to grow up without knowing his grandparents?"
"Not if I cannot be assured of their kindness towards him."
"You will never be assured of that if you have no relations with them."
"I don't think it's a good idea," Cate said. "I really don't."
Nevertheless, Paul did not give the idea up. When David came into the room a little while later, he brought it up again.
"I haven't actually thrown a dinner party here since I inherited the place," David said. "Not beyond Mother and Laurie and Paul, that is. I suppose I've got the place looking decent enough now that I could. And it would have advantages, Cate. It would show whomever we invited your position as my wife and mistress of my household. It would help you gain a little respectability, I think."
"That makes it sound quite frightening," Cate said with a shudder, remembering her hopeless attempt at attending an assembly ball. "I don't think society ever will respect me again."
"Then we will keep it to family," David said. "Mine, Annabelle's, and your parents if they will come."
"Oh no, not my father. Nor my mother. They will certainly refuse anyway."
"Then there is no danger in inviting them." David countered her with a smile.
"Nor any point." She smiled back.
Sitting near the tea table, Paul sighed heavily and cut himself a thick slice of apple and rhubarb cake.
"There is a point," David said firmly. "On the slim chance they do come, they will hear that Luke will take my name and be my son in as much as blood. It will give them a strong reason to accept him as their grandchild. Reason to respect him and his place in your life and mine."
Cate hesitated; she was sure that her parents never would respect Luke. All the same, the fact that David was asking her made her want to do it. And, if they did accept, her parents could not hurt her in her own house while her husband was with her. David wouldn't let them.
"I will write and ask them," she said. "I will invite them. But I cannot promise they will come."
"Excellent," Paul said warmly through his mouthful of cake. "Sarah will be happy to hear this. She was saying just the other day that a dinner party would liven things up around here."
"It was Sarah's idea?" David looked suspicious.
"No, but the idea came to me because of her melancholia," Paul said. "She thinks it is sad that Plas Bryn is so quiet these days. When Uncle Lewis owned it, there were so many parties, you see."
"I know. Sarah remembers them very fondly. I was never invited," David said drily.
Paul left a little while later, taking the remains of the apple and rhubarb cake with him, saying they were for Annabelle. David stayed to pour himself another cup of tea.
"There is something strange about Paul," he said. "He's playing at something."
"He has been very friendly to me of late."
"Yes," David said. "I've noticed it too and it is strange. Not that I don't want you to have friends. I do. I just wish I could believe that Paul really does want to be your friend."
"What do you mean? Should I not trust him? He is your brother."
"Exactly. He is my brother, and my heir presumptive, which I don't think he ever forgets when he talks to you."
"Sarah has made you too cynical. If Paul worries about us having a child, which I think he does, it is surely because it is taking so long for him and Annabelle to have their own."
"You might be right. I hope you're right. Because I would be happy if my brother, and even my mother, could genuinely love and accept you one day, and Paul never will if he thinks more highly of money than of you."
There was something in that sentiment that gave Cate a queer thrill of hope. If David hoped that his mother would love her, then surely it meant that David's feelings towards her had changed, warmed, grown closer to forgiveness. She dared not ask him though, and brushed the topic off lightly.
"You must pin all your hopes on Paul then, because I surely have no chance with your mother."
David smiled sadly. "Maybe not, but I won't stop hoping."
Despite Cate's apprehension, Sir William and Lady Balley responded that they would be happy to come to the dinner, and so it was arranged for late April to give them time to travel from London. They insisted on staying for five days after, which gave Cate great anxiety, but she could not tell them to come only for the one night because the journey was so long. Besides, in his letter Sir William had mentioned something about being willing to extend an olive branch of his own, which David thought was very hopeful. Cate, more familiar with her father's controlling nature, felt more trepidation than hope.
It also ended up becoming something of a goodbye dinner for Sarah, who had packed her trunks at last and was insistent on returning to London the day after the dinner. David said he would be sorry to see her go, but Cate could tell by his voice that he was secretly relieved.
Sir William and Lady Balley arrived in the early afternoon. Lady Balley went straight to her room to rest and prepare for dinner, but Sir William, after shaking David's hand and deigning to give Cate a single nod, suggested that they go to the study for a talk. Cate, thinking that this talk would not include her, stepped away to go upstairs and find Luke for comfort. Sir William stopped her with a word.
"You too, Catherine," he said. "My little olive branch concerns you as well."
That was ominous. Cate followed David and her father into the study. The wallpaper had been replaced now, and the dark patches on the walls where Uncle Lewis had hung his grotesque prints were covered by fresh, cream-coloured wallpaper and paintings of horses and dogs. The armchairs had been reupholstered to match the walls, and there was even a squashed and faded cushion on the chair behind the desk.
That was the chair that Sir William took. David sat down in one of the guest chairs, but Cate, feeling less at ease, hovered by the window.
"How is the boy?" Sir William asked.
"He is well. Do you wish to see him?"
"No, no. I'm sure there will be time enough for that later." Sir William cast an enquiring glance at David. "You are decided then, to give him your name?"
"Does it displease you that he loses the name of Balley?"
"Not at all. To bear your name is the best thing for him."
And, Cate thought, for her father, who would no longer have his name attached to a bastard.
"Actually, I am very pleased," Sir William said. "I was doubtful when you first suggested you marry Catherine despite her fall from grace. I thought you would regret your decision. Instead, it seems that you are very happy with her."
David looked at Cate before answering. "Yes. I'm happy. And so is she, I hope."
A strange, fluttery joy swept over Cate at his words. "I am."
Sir William smiled thinly. "Then you will be happier still when I tell you this, Demery. On the birth of my first grandchild, I will settle upon you a small property of mine not far from Oxford, which generates a modest income of some three hundred pounds. I make no stipulations as to what you do with it, but it would provide suitable security for the boy, if you were so inclined."
While he listened to this, the muscles around David's mouth became set and ugly. "Your first grandchild is upstairs, sir. His name is Luke."
"He is a bastard. He does not count."
"He is your daughter's son, and my son in all but blood. He counts."
To Cate's surprise, Sir William did not get angry. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and appeared to think about it.
"Very well then," he said. "Upon the birth of my second grandchild, I will settle this property upon you."
"That is generous of you, sir, and I thank you for it. However, and with the utmost respect, I must refuse such a present. There is no greater gift that you could give me than to recognize Luke as your grandson. That is all I ask."
"Then it is given. But I ask something for myself too. I want a legitimate grandchild out of you both. I want a little boy or girl I can be proud of. I recognize Luke as my blood, but I cannot be proud of him."
David was silent, his face carefully blank. "I cannot promise you a grandchild," he said at last. "If it does happen, I certainly hope you will be proud of them. And of Luke one day, too."
"Hm." Sir William looked at Cate, then back at David. "Well, keep my promise in mind, young man. I will not let you refuse my gift when you are not yet in need of it. But one day, I hope, you will be."
He got up and left the room as if he owned it. Cate met David's eyes. She had not dared speak while her father was in the room, but now she wanted to know what David really thought about the idea of them having children together. Not that she wanted another child just yet, but the process required to make one with David had a certain burning appeal. Had David's prevarication been for her father's sake only or, perhaps, was the door that she had thought locked forever unlocked now? Was it even beginning to crack open? David's eyes gave her nothing. He looked, if anything, slightly upset. She tried to approach the matter delicately, with circumspection.
"He really means that if we have children of our own, he will take over the financial burden of providing for Luke's future," she said.
"I know, Cate. I know. He is hardly opaque." David slumped in the chair with a sigh. "Luke is no burden to me. I have it all arranged."
"David." Cate moved closer to him. "What you said to him about if we have a child... Do you still mean to never consummate our marriage?"
He looked up. "Cate. If I were to change my mind, it would not be because of money. That would be a sinful transaction."
"I'm not thinking of money. I just want you to know if you've changed your mind, or if you still mean that we will never..." She wanted to use the phrase 'make love' but under the pressure of his gaze did not dare. "...never consummate our marriage."
His eyes narrowed under a frown. "Do I have a reason to change my mind, Cate?"
Cate's heart pounded. "You would know."
"But you would be the reason, Cate."
What was that supposed to mean? Was it invitation? Dare she take it as one?
She dared not. "Then you have not changed your mind. But there is a possibility that you will one day?"
He licked his lips. "I am not as certain as I once was."
That was hope and disappointment in one.
"Then let me give you... an open invitation, David. If you ever change your mind, my body is yours. I owe you more than I can ever give, but what I can give, is yours for the taking."
A strange, unpleasant expression flickered in his eyes and she knew she had made a mistake. He stood up, towering over her.
"You think your body is mine for the taking?"
"I am your wife."
He ran his finger down her cheek and over her lips. "My wife." His hand went south, trailing over the swell of her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist and swell of her belly, before coming to a halt between her thighs. Then he drew sharply back. "If I took you like that, I would never have you."
He was gone from the room before she could say he already did. But she didn't think it would make a difference. The rejection had been written in his eyes.
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2023-06-11: I've had a crazy week with my own uninvited relative and I feel like Demery, relieved that she's going at last, lol. What do you think of the last scene? I revised it a lot, and it's improved a ton since I first wrote it, but I'm still not entirely sure.