He took the shirt from her and tossed it aside, taking her into his arms and kissing her in the way that made her forget sending him away. “We’ll talk about that. There is nothing quick we can do. Do you mean to promise me more such nights?”
“Enough to fill your life.”
“Lilly, will you make me a promise? A real one?”
She tilted her head and looked at him strangely, finally nodding.
“When the time this is not a good thing for you comes, will you tell me?”
“Oh, Andrew! Do you have to spoil the morning?”
“Promise,” he demanded.
“If that day ever comes, yes. Now dress. I have to visit the couturiere since I’ve come on the pretense of having dresses made. I’m staying in New York, you know. For as long as you are. I hope you’re in no hurry!”
“Do you intend to keep me from work?” he asked, shrugging into his shirt and finally accepting his pants. She didn’t answer immediately. The devil was in her eyes.
“If possible,” she said.
“I can’t keep you if I’m poor. You’ll become weary of a man who clutches your wealth and lays about doing nothing.”
“If I could keep you a prisoner, I would. I’ll have dinner here at nine. That will have to do, for now.” She walked to the small writing desk and opened a drawer. She pulled out a key. “You needn’t knock,” she said.
He took it. “How long have you known it would come to this?”
“Six years. I didn’t know when or how.” She put her arms around his neck. “Andrew, you tried to be wise. I tried to forget. I simply don’t know what else there is. If we could be together--”
“Shhh,” he said, the finger on her lips then replaced by his mouth. “Give me some time. Perhaps there is a way. Let me think about this.”
“But you won’t leave me?”
“I can’t,” he said. “I told you--it can’t be undone.”
Elizabeth’s fork brought her eggs to her lips stiffly. She lifted her coffee slowly. She avoided Lilly’s eyes. Finally, disconcerted, Lilly slapped her own knife onto the small breakfast table in her sitting room. “Very well, Elizabeth, get it out. Anything you want to know--ask it and be done with it. I can’t take a lot of this.”
“There’s nothing,” the woman said evenly.
“Oh hell, there’s plenty. Is it because he’s married? Is that it? Well, his wife is ill, you know, and will probably never recover--”
“And if she does?”
“If she recovers, he will divorce her! You just don’t understand all the circumstances! I’ve been in love with Andrew since I was a girl! We’ve always wanted to be together. It was never possible!”
“Lilly, this way is wrong! I heard what you told him, about Woodhull, Sand. I’m afraid you’ll be punished!”
“I’ve been punished, you old ninny! Elizabeth, I love him. Far too much! Don’t you see,” she asked more softly, “that this isn’t really what I hoped for? Don’t you think I’d rather marry him, have his children, sleep beside him every night? Don’t you know how hard I tried to care for someone else--anyone else? Oh, Bethie, darling, I don’t want to be a fallen woman! A mistress! I want to be a wife, a mother! What choices are there for someone like me--to pretend to love some poor man so I can have a family or to trade a family to be with the man I love?”
Tears came to Elizabeth’s eyes.
“Bethie, I’ve thought about this for a long, long time. If Andrew thought I had surrendered, he would run. He loves me, he can’t bear to think of my hurt. But I don’t want to live my whole life with this one part empty. I tricked him, you know. Andrew is too good to let me sacrifice myself. This is all I can have of him, all there is left after…If I’m happy, can’t you be happy for me?”
“If I could pretend he was your husband--”
“That’s what I pretend,” Lilly said softly. “Perhaps one day it can be true. I was simply too afraid to wait for him any longer. I was afraid I would hurt inside for the rest of my life.”
“And all that business about free love and hypocrisy and--”
“Hogwash. I do know that what I’m doing isn’t perfect. But what I had was less so.”
“Oh, Lilly, can we keep everyone from knowing?”
“We have all this time, darling. We will a little longer.” She reached for Elizabeth’s hand. “Now don’t worry. Andrew’s a lovely man who is very kind to you and a great pleasure to be around. You’ll see, everything will be all right. If it becomes too much for you, I’ll give you whatever settlement you want.”
“I could ask you for a fortune! I could threaten to--”
Lilly burst into laughter. “Oh, Bethie! Would I have brought you with me for this if I were unsure of your love? All I really have to do is keep you busy, make you laugh, and give you books! One day you’ll build your own hotel and go to the lending library looking for a good assistant!”
Elizabeth reluctantly smiled. “Are you so sure?”
Lilly’s eyes glowed. “That little bit of doubt and fear is gone, now. This is how it will be.”
Elizabeth had heard those words before. When Lilly made a decision, there was no discussion. “This idea of being happy,” Elizabeth said, “is reminiscent of Patricia’s--”
“Patricia’s quest for happiness? Lord almighty! Do us a favor, Bethie, make no final judgment on Andrew and me just now--and don’t even bother to mistake an affair for happiness! Affairs can become hopeless, you know. Endless, dire, hopeless, dreary exchanges of love between two people not allowed to be in love. That’s why I’ve done what I’ve done, will do what I will do. Because what I think would give me total happiness is completely out of my reach.
“Patricia will never be happy, you see, because she keeps thinking if one more person will do one more thing for her she will finally be happy! I want only what is possible--this is all that is possible. Before you decide I’m crazy or wicked or selfish or as impossible to please as Patricia, just consider that I might be taking the only joy there is and making it enough. I do love him!”
At nine that night, when Lilly was in her bedroom and dinner had been set up in the sitting room, Elizabeth heard the key in the lock. She waited just inside the door for Andrew to enter. He smiled, closed the door, put his key in his pocket, and stretched a bouquet toward Elizabeth.
“I’ll put them in water for you, and then I’ll--”
“They’re for you, Elizabeth,” Andrew said. “I should give you gems. I know what we’re asking of you.”
“You must not ever hurt her, Mr. Devon,” she said solemnly. “Lilly is the most important person in my life. She is my dearest friend. I love her too much to see her hurt.”
He made a half bow. “I share your feelings, Elizabeth.”
Lilly did not lament those things she was without. She could not attend the theater with Andrew, nor dine in public with him without her entire family present to shield her from gossip. But she could have him in her arms, in her heart. Her eyes were brighter than ever, her laughter quick and joyful. Two weeks in New York put something of a strain on Elizabeth, but she endured bravely and slowly overcame her worries. It didn’t take long for her to become a conspirator. Lilly grew radiant and Elizabeth was a witness to the good health and vitality that love provided.
In time even Elizabeth was converted by Andrew’s charm and thoughtful gifts. After the first flush of passion had been spent and the lovers were not so desperate to be alone together, it was not unusual for the three of them to share a Saturday luncheon or a late dinner in Lilly’s suite. It was impossible to ignore the fact that Lilly thrived.
In June Elizabeth accompanied Lilly to Saratoga for a week-- a week spent enjoying days at the races, evenings of music, and every night by nine Andrew would arrive, and Elizabeth would excuse herself to leave Lilly and Andrew alone together.
In August Lilly returned to New York with Elizabeth, but this time the assistant was left in Lilly’s suite at the Astor. Andrew had made pr
ovisions for a small, secluded house on a strip of beach near East Hampton where there would be no servants, no work, no distractions.
Lilly hired a trap and, following directions left for her at the hotel, was taken to the cottage on a Saturday morning. The driver was instructed to return a week later at the same time. The little stone cottage was surrounded by trees and flowers, water for cooking and washing came from a well. Smoke from a stove curled pleasantly from a chimney. Her bags were left on the stoop. No one was about.
She dismissed the carriage, unlatched the door, looked inside, and smiled. The interior was compact with settee, cold hearth, floral draperies. There were two chairs and a small wood table, on it a vase filled with flowers from the vine outside the door. A kettle sat on a wood stove, and through a doorway she could see a bed, a wardrobe in which some of Andrew’s clothing hung, and a commode holding a pitcher and basin. The cottage was simple and quiet. Though far smaller, it was as homey and neat as her mother’s boardinghouse. Sunlight poured through three small windows and an ocean breeze cooled her warm cheeks. She walked through the small cottage, touching the worn furniture, tugging off her gloves. She looked out the window to see the sea stretch before her to infinity.
How could he have known, she wondered, that this tiny cottage would please her more than anything? She had seen richer, larger homes as the coach brought her; she could afford a fancy house as well as Andrew. Yet he had chosen something modest and quaint.
She heard him whistling as he came up the path to the house and she felt a familiar, delicious anticipation that she knew would never go away. When he entered the cottage, his arms heavy with wood for their stove, she filled her eyes with him. His fancy shoes were gone; he wore gardener’s boots. No starched shirt with studs, but a white flannel work shirt opened at the neck and rolled up to above his elbows. His breeches were snug and worn. His hair was tousled and a rough beard had begun to darken his face.
He smiled at her only briefly before carrying the wood to the bin, then turned to her. “Are we really, truly alone?”
“All alone,” he said. “For a week. And for other weeks, whenever it’s possible. I bought it, Lilly. It’s ours.”
For an instant it occurred to Lilly to send a message to the Astor, sending Elizabeth home. She briefly considered never leaving, staying forever, washing his clothes and cooking his meals and having his babies. Who would know? Would they come for her, carry her away, and lock her up, a mad woman, drunk on love and pleasure?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, embracing her and beginning the delightful task of unbuttoning her blouse, starting at the neck. “This might be all we ever have.”
“Do you read my mind?”
“Our mind, Lilly. Don’t let greed cause you to make bad choices for yourself. You can still have both--work and love.”
“I wonder sometimes, how do lovers work? How do they stand a few hours apart? Does this hunger ever cease? Is there ever a final, glorious moment that fills the cup forever?”
He laughed at her, opening her blouse. “The cup is filled again and again, Lilly. Every morning it is magically empty! Forever is in the mind.” He kissed her deeply. “Forever is how I love you. Take this off. I want to love you in sunlight. I’ve been here for four days, waiting, aching with impatience.”
“It’s been two months, darling. The same amount of time for me as for you. If we could be together all the time, would we get tired of this?” she asked, scampering off to the bedroom, pulling at her clothing.
He followed, tossing his shirt to the floor, trying to balance well enough to tug off boots, unfasten breeches. He pulled the pins from her hair, tumbled with her on the bed, unmindful of opened windows and unlocked doors in a place he had determined was completely safe.
Lilly’s pleasure was quick; he had but to touch her to bring her that blinding, amazing joy of fulfillment. Lilly did not know what kind of lover she was; she looked to Andrew for the instruction he was more than pleased to give. She felt as though the two of them had created this. She had no way of knowing that her abandon was rare, her freedom remarkable. She had talked to him of her sister’s dread of coupling, a thing Lilly had decided was due only to the absence of love.
“I love to watch your face when that happens to you,” he told her. “You just don’t know, do you, how many women never feel any power, any satisfaction, anything like that? Look at me.” She would then watch his face, his intense eyes, and her body would quiver like the strings of a musical instrument, her lips would part, her cheeks would flush, her eyes grow large just before they closed. He would smile, as thrilled by her achievement as she; her fulfillment caused her face to glow as if there were a candle within. There was nothing so great to him as making her feel all that could be felt. Before he would take his own pleasure, he coaxed her into many freeing, exhausting, shuddering orgasms.
Lilly had long ago spurned nonsense about false modesty, and no one had ever shared the secrets of the bedroom with her. Besides what she had read in John Giddings’s letters to her sister, her knowledge was all at the hands of Andrew. She didn’t know about taboos; she couldn’t be shocked when she was filled with trust. Therefore, she didn’t know that Andrew experimented himself, did things with her he had never before done, pushed himself farther than he had ever tried. This was the single danger here; it had nothing to do with pulling closed the curtains or locking the door.
When he opened her legs and put his mouth on her, it never occurred to her to resist or decline. He was only good to her. She moaned with incredible pleasure that was spontaneous, wild, convulsing. He lifted himself quickly, plunging into her. She saw his face taut with the work of control, his eyes pinched closed as they often were, taking in all the wonder of being bonded with her. But this time he had gone too far. He had never attempted to share that moment with her, but had always treated her first, many times, then finally himself. She was more than hot and deep to him; he was in her grip and felt her pulsing, throbbing pleasure surround him. He was too late. He lost himself inside her, and when he knew it was done, he could do nothing but push himself deeper.
Lilly felt not only the heat, but the beauty of it. She lost her breath for a moment; her body was damp and hot. He moaned deeply and lay his head down on her breast, trying to keep his weight from crushing her. When the trembling stopped, she gently stroked his hair.
“Damn, Lilly, I’m sorry!”
“Oh, Andrew…”
“I meant to be so careful with you.” He began to pull away.
“It’s too late, darling,” she whispered. “Don’t move now. You can’t fix it. We’ll be lucky this time. It can’t be undone.”
He touched her lips and lay with her, quietly, a part of her. There was no talk, only the tired breathing of spent lovers. He relaxed, and his body lost power. They might have dozed. Time was gone. After a long while, he lifted his head to kiss her lips.
It had been his privilege to teach her the kiss; he had taught her this erotic motion of lips and tongues. She touched her tongue to his mouth; she opened her lips and felt his heat inside her mouth. He regained his power while still inside of her. Her hands were firm on his back, moving slowly from his shoulders to his buttocks. She grasped him, pulling him hard into her. She opened herself more, bending her knees to give him depth. He moved, slowly at first, considering what they were doing. He looked into her eyes. “Oh, what the hell,” he said. “Pray it’s a good day for bad judgment.”
And he proceeded to move, skillfully, slowly, quickly, slowly. Thrusting, rotating inside of her, until they could share the moment again. When her pleasure clutched him, he let himself go.
That one day he lost control, but not again. Still, the week was idyllic. They walked on the beach. Farther south there were more houses, but all inhabitants were strangers who might have thought them a newly married couple. They cooked their own meals, played in the surf, collected fresh berries, talked late into the night under clear, starlit skies, and slept
late in the morning. Lilly grew lazy and content. “I’ll stay here forever,” she said, and he didn’t argue with her.
Since they didn’t have to separate and go to their own quarters, there was finally time to talk about many things. She told him of the letters she had read; he asked about John Giddings’s novel. But since Andrew had entered her life as a lover and all troubles and curiosities had fled, she had forgotten about the novel and her sister. Nothing could disturb her. She asked him about Brenda, but what she ultimately learned about was the childhood that led him to his marriage.
Andrew had no self-pity, though his early years would have certainly given cause. Lilly was the only one ever to be told the truth--that the man he knew as his father had been the priest his mother loved. He remembered the giant, tender man to this day; he had loved him. Later, he thought he hated him. His mother took him to Philadelphia when the priest was gone. Andrew shared a room and a bed with his mother until the age of seven, when she died of a winter illness; she died as he held her hand and wept.
The stone beach house reminded him of the little cottage outside Dublin. In those early childhood years he had been happy, well fed, and loved.
Andrew’s mother had been one of the Montaine maids, and it was Wilson who had buried her in a decent plot and let Andrew stay and work. He took an interest in the orphan and let him be tutored along with his own motherless son. Soon he took pride in Andrew’s accomplishments and gave him more room to study, work, grow. Despite Dale’s jealousy and frequent harassment, Andrew had a chance to be a success.
“It wasn’t until Brenda became ill that I realized money wasn’t the only thing I needed. I had been hungry, you see. My mother died in poverty. I had no food and thought I would have nowhere to sleep. It wasn’t ambition that drove me, Lilly. It was nothing but fear. I was afraid to die hungry.”
“What are you afraid of now?”
“Of dying lonely.”
When Saturday morning came, she grudgingly packed her satchel and put on her good dress. Andrew planned to stay one more day to close up the house. When they heard the sound of the carriage coming up the drive, her eyes became glassy with tears.