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Before
The flames burn. They take and take and take. Bellamy stands by, helpless, watching hundreds of years of Blake history burn to ash.
His stepfather was right. He is inadequate. He’ll never be a real Blake - he doesn’t deserve to have inherited Blake Manor.
“Are you well?” Clarke asks, as she stands at his side and they watch the Manor burn.
Clarke. Poor precious, innocent Clarke. He doesn’t deserve her. And she most certainly doesn’t deserve to be bound to a wretch like him.
Is he well?
No.
No, he is not well at all.
Now
Bellamy rides directly into the midst of chaos. He rounds a corner and finds his horse shying to a stop at the sight of what looks to be a highway heist in progress. A gang of ruffians surrounds a carriage, pointing blades and even a couple of pistols. Goodness - that one at the front, with the pistol - that appears to be a woman.
He’s never seen a highwaywoman before.
He frowns, wonders what to do. The carriage is black-painted, plain, without any obvious identifying mark. Should he -
Good God. There’s a young girl being dragged roughly from the carriage - no more than twelve years old, he would guess.
He doesn’t think twice. He’s always had this instinctive need to protect children - memories of raising his sister, and the guilt of doing a bad job of that, most likely. He gallops his horse at full speed into the highwaywoman, knocking her flat - and knocking her pistol straight out of her hand.
He jumps from his horse, lands a square punch to the nearest jaw. He picks up the dropped pistol, kicks another highwayman aside. He’s gaining the upper hand, here.
But then, all at once, a shot rings out.
There’s a startled cry from inside the carriage. He dives over there, knocking out the last highwayman as he goes - a man with a mask and a strange hairstyle, who seems as surprised by the pistol shot as he is.
And then he sees inside the carriage, and he feels the Earth shift under his feet.
That’s Clarke.
That’s his estranged wife. That’s the woman he loved so very much, the woman he used to think deserved more than he could offer - yet he now knows her to be no better than a flighty whore.
That’s Clarke, and her hand is bleeding steadily.
He shakes himself, forces his mouth to wrap around some words. He senses it’s important to get the upper hand here.
“How bad is the wound?” He asks her, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He won’t let her see that he cares about her bleeding. He won’t.
“Not serious. A graze more than anything. It burns something awful but it should heal nicely. I should go to our luggage and find something to wrap it in.” She muses, her hand held carefully aloft at arm’s length from her pretty dress.
She has enough money for pretty dresses? He should cut her allowance. He doesn’t really want her looking this beautiful, doesn’t want her to take another damn lover.
“No need.” He says gruffly, pulling his cravat clean off. “Here - use this.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Can’t have my estranged wife bleeding to death. I would be the chief suspect.”
A gasp behind him. Too late, he remembers the child. He spins around, catches her stunned expression.
“You are Bellamy?” The girl asks.
He nods, slow, considering. He’s not sure what to make of this child. He heard five years ago that Clarke had a child - he remembers that well, because he remembers being devastated that she took up with a lover so soon after they had resolved to live separate lives. A child one year into their separation means an affair just a couple of months after she left him, doesn’t it? That means that she was with another man even while Bellamy was still naively hoping that they might be able to live together once again, when he had sorted out his troubles.
He was much more annoyed about that than he was about being troubled for money to support some girl he had no intention of ever meeting.
But this child is no five-year-old. As he noticed earlier, she is perhaps just on the verge of adolescence.
“I'm Madi. Clarke has told me so much about you - such good luck that you were here to save us when you did. I say -”
“Thank you, Madi. I’m sure Mr Blake will want to go on his way now.” Clarke cuts her off firmly.
Bellamy is more stunned than ever. Madi. That really is the name he was given, when his accountant told him Clarke had demanded more money for a child. But this girl is clearly no lovechild of Clarke’s.
And what’s all that Clarke just said about him going on his way? Preposterous. Clearly she doesn’t think much of his character - that’s why they have been living apart for six years. But does she honestly think he is such scum that he would abandon his wife and her strange ward by the roadside after being set upon by highwaymen? There is simply no chance he can walk away now. Their carriage was badly damaged in the ambush. The driver is only now stirring on the ground, looking rather dazed.
He ought to have paid Clarke a large enough allowance to keep a manservant. Then she’d have had some protection and this might never have happened. She might never have been shot.
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“We’ll be quite alright. I don’t wish to impose -”
“No. I’m not leaving you.” He repeats, stubborn to the last. He’s left her too easily before now, hasn’t he? He should have insisted on staying with her, six years ago, when they fell apart.
He realises that now. Or, to be honest, he realised it some time ago - he was considering writing to her and begging her to return until he found out about the child.
The child which, he now realises, she cannot possibly have given birth to herself.
He presses on before he can fall into maudlin thoughts, before Clarke can voice some contrary opinion. “Allow me to escort you to the nearest inn at least. And we ought to make sure these criminals are apprehended. And you cannot take the carriage - that wheel looks quite destroyed. And -”
“Thank you, Bellamy.” She interrupts him, and her lips are perhaps twitching with the slightest hint of amusement, even under these painful circumstances. “We’d be delighted to accept your help.”
Delighted. She’d be delighted, would she? He’s quite convinced she has never found anything about him delightful before now.
Nevertheless, he sets about making plans. He copes quite well, while there are things to be done, tasks to keep his head and hands busy. His heart cannot roar too loud while he is distracted by tying up the unconscious highwaymen or giving instructions to the driver - a helpful man he now recognises as Mr Miller, who used to work in the household Bellamy and Clarke shared before they went their separate ways.
But at last he runs out of distractions. Mr Miller has been sent riding one of the carriage horses at top speed towards the nearest inn to seek help and call for the magistrate. Now Bellamy is left all alone with his wife and her ward.
“Madi - you should ride my horse. He’s called Hermes.” Bellamy offers, careful, not quite sure how to speak to the girl. He raised his sister, yes, and he likes to think he is always kind to the tenants’ children. But he has no prior experience of interacting with a child who is somehow connected to his wife.
“Could I? Could I really?” Madi asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Would that be alright? Are you sure?”
“Certain. He’s quite a gentle beast really.”
“Thank you! Thank - oh.” She breaks off, frowning suddenly. “Surely Clarke should ride? She’s hurt. I can walk.”
Bellamy nods, with what he hopes is an understanding expression on his face. “Yes - but that is why I will ride one of the carriage horses with Clarke. She shouldn’t be riding alone with an injured hand. It will be difficult for her to -”
“May I speak for myself, perhaps?” Clarke interrupts him, harsh and angry. He doesn’t like it. His anger upsets her today every bit as much as it upset him six years ago.
He swallows hard, tries to pull together some words. “Are you saying you do feel able to ride with an injured hand?” He challenges her.
She snorts. “No. Of course not. But there is no need to make my decisions for me, Sir.”
He wants to weep. He genuinely wants to start sobbing fat, salty tears. He’s standing here at the roadside, and it’s growing somewhat cold, for the record. And now his damn wife is criticising him when he just saved her life.
He thinks that’s partly why he wants to cry, actually. The combination of relief that she’s safe, frustration at her attitude, and grief for what he used to think they shared. It makes for an ugly mess.
“I apologise, Madam. Might I invite you to ride to the nearest inn on a carriage horse? I should be only too pleased to help you ride while you are injured.” He offers carefully.
She nods, curt. The look in her eyes is all wrong. Maybe her hand is hurting her badly, he wonders.
“Then - with your permission - I will help your… Madi up onto her horse.”
“My daughter.” Clarke tells him firmly. “She’s my daughter - and yours, too, if you would ever read the papers your lawyers send you.”
He gulps loudly. He’s assaulted by a sudden barrage of images, countless visions of himself and Clarke raising a happy family together.
His daughter.
“Yes. Of course. Very well - come on, Madi.”
That’s the easy part. Helping an enthusiastic, lively child onto a well-behaved horse. Madi seems quite unperturbed by all these strange events - and she seems oddly happy to see him, he cannot help but think.
He’s not sure what to make of that.
The more difficult task comes next. It’s physically difficult, in some ways, because the carriage horses are not set up for riding - still less for an injured woman and a short-tempered man to share. But he does his best. He uses the tumbled carriage as a mounting block to get Clarke and himself seated on the horse.
There’s no side-saddle, so Clarke rides bareback and astride. He can feel her skirts bunching around his legs, could probably touch her bare calves if he wanted to.
Not that he does, of course. He has no interest in entertaining such fantasies. She’s his estranged wife, and he would like her to stay very much estranged.
Hmm. Well. He’s not fooling anyone, there, is he? He’s not even fooling himself. Quite without his permission, he finds that his cock is growing hard simply from riding a horse with Clarke.
That’s…. Inconvenient, to say the least.
“Are you well?” She asks, some few minutes into their journey.
He startles a little. “Yes. Yes - quite well.”
Did she mean that as a tease? A hint that she has noticed his half-aroused state? A genuine, civil question from an injured lady to her rescuer?
“It’s a long way to the inn.” Madi pipes up, from where she is doing a creditable job of riding Hermes. She looks quite comfortable, Bellamy thinks. Has Clarke been spending his money on riding lessons for her?
And who on Earth is this girl, anyway?
“It’s not so far, Madi.” Clarke counters.
“It is. It’s a very long way. We stopped there ages ago when we came through, didn’t we?”
“It was less than an hour ago. You were just getting bored of travelling and eager to reach your destination.” Clarke tells her, and there is definitely more affection than reprimand in her tone. However she came to travel with this girl she claims as her daughter, they certainly love each other.
Bellamy finds himself very jealous of that. He’s quite sure there is no one left in the world who loves him.
“Where was your destination?” He hears himself asking. He doesn’t mean to ask the question, not quite. But it seems that he instinctively wants to join in, wants to be part of the warmth and love they share.
Isn’t that pathetic?
“Blake Manor.”
He nods instinctively. He nods because that’s what you do, in a conversation, to show that you have understood and accepted a piece of information.
But then he catches up with himself. Then he truly hears what Clarke just said, takes stock of the implications.
“Blake Manor?” He asks, stunned.
“We were on our way to see you.” Madi says, as if that’s just obvious. “I’d been asking Clarke to bring me to see you for years but she always said no - because you don’t live together any more, you know? But I so wanted to meet you. It is much better having a mother than having no one, but I always did want a father as well.”
So is she an orphan or foundling? That would explain a lot, he supposes.
I always did want a father.
Yes. Well. That’s something Bellamy can certainly sympathise with.
Madi is still speaking, meanwhile. She really does seem to be a most unique child.
“So I kept asking and asking and asking.” She explains, as if it were some great struggle. “And then finally, a week ago - Clarke suddenly said yes. She decided we could come to visit.”
A week ago? That would be six years to the day since they parted. He knows that, because it’s an anniversary he mourns every year.
He tries to take some deep breaths, but it’s difficult. It’s all he can do to focus on guiding the horse straight and keeping hold of Clarke while he wonders what to say.
Clarke. Clarke. She hasn’t spoken in some time. Is she feeling faint from blood loss? Why didn’t she make some strident attempt to stop Madi’s story? That would be far more like the Clarke he knows.
“Clarke? Are you well? Why so quiet?” He asks, urgent, shaking her a little as they ride.
She turns slightly, throws him a sharp glance over her shoulder. “I am perfectly fine apart from my sore hand.” She tells him, clipped. “I am only quiet because I see no sense in hiding the truth from you. You were bound to find out where we were going and why eventually.”
“So you truly were coming to the Manor?”
“Yes. I knew you had rebuilt the house in recent years, and that you would be here. And Madi has always wanted to visit so… here we are.”
There is more to the story than that. He knows it. There must be. Clarke is not in the habit of cheerfully making spontaneous trips to see people who have hurt her - and he knows he must have hurt her dreadfully.
Well. She left him more than a little heartsore, too, thank you very much.
But at least she wasn’t unfaithful to him. That’s a thought which strides rather rapidly through his mind, now, as he turns to watch Madi ride. If the girl is some orphan Clarke took in, then that means his wife has been faithful to him. That means -
No. It means nothing. She could well have had an affair but been careful and discreet - as he has been. His mistress Echo had no children in all the years they were keeping company.
“You really came to see me?” He asks it once more, for good measure.
“Yes.” Madi offers him a bright smile.
“You have perhaps come to ask me in person for more money for the girl’s expenses?” He asks Clarke in a careful whisper.
She stiffens. She goes more rigid and still than she has been, even all this time while she’s been riding injured.
“I cannot believe you even feel the need to ask that question.” Clarke mutters, tight and unhappy. “I am a frugal housekeeper and we live well within our means. And I would not do anything so underhand. We are truly here because Madi wanted to meet you - although I fear that, at this rate, you will not live up to her expectations.”
Yes. He rather fears that too.
Too late it occurs to him. Why would Madi anticipate anything good about him? Why would she have high expectations?
Because Clarke must have spoken kindly of him.
It’s a realisation which has his head spinning, which almost knocks him clean off his horse. His wife has told their daughter something hopeful and happy about him, at least, somewhere along the line.
His wife has no lovechild, isn’t being greedy with his money, and has come all this way to see him - and introduce him to the daughter she seems to have adopted along the way.
Those are some quite big shocks to adjust to in one afternoon.
He doesn’t know what to do. He simply has no idea how to handle it. Clarke’s here, in his arms, occasionally hissing in pain when her hand is knocked about by the motion of riding. There’s a girl riding a horse next to them - a girl who unwittingly offers every ideal of family life he has ever craved.
Is this a miracle? He always imagined a miracle would involve fewer gunshots, though.
…….
By the time they arrive at the inn, Bellamy is in a sorry state. He’s tired and dusty from the road, his breeches filthy from riding bareback. He’s been in a state of partial arousal since the moment he mounted this horse behind Clarke. And his nerves are frayed thin from the shock and confusion of finding Clarke in trouble on her way to visit him.
But despite all this, he’s feeling somewhat hopeful. There’s a foolish, naïve idea which has taken root in his heart during the ride and now he cannot shake it off.
This could be his chance to win Clarke back.
She’d be angry if she knew he was thinking of her in those terms, he supposes. She would hate to be seen as a prize in some sort of marital competition, would be horrified to know he’s thinking in such simple terms about getting her back - as if she were some stolen painting, not a living, breathing woman.
But all the same, that’s where he finds himself. As he dismounts his horse and helps Clarke down, then turns to do the same favour for Madi, he is determined to act the perfect gentleman. He’ll be a devoted husband, a protective father.
He’ll do the very best he can, and pray to God it’s enough.
He has some small chance of success, surely? Clarke would never have agreed to take Madi for a visit if she was determined to avoid him. That must mean she is willing to cooperate with him, at least for the child’s sake.
Maybe he can work with that.
“Let me secure rooms for you both.” He offers, because that’s the sort of thing the man of the house should do, if he’s being caring and protective. “And then I shall ask whether there is an apothecary or a physician in the village for your hand, Clarke, and then -”
“Two connecting rooms for you upstairs, ladies.” Miller bustles onto the scene, all bright smiles and good humour. “There’s water to bathe on the way up for you. Mrs Blake - the innkeeper’s wife has sent up salve and cloths for your wound. Will you be needing more than that?”
“Thank you, Miller. I’m sure that will suffice.”
Bellamy frowns, the wind quite taken out of his sails.
He tries again. “Clarke - I’m sure I can be of some assistance. Please, allow me to -”
“What - do you intend to help with my bath, Sir?”
He flushes. He wouldn’t mind helping her bathe, to be honest. She’s every bit as beautiful as she was six years ago - although he thinks her hair is styled slightly differently. He noticed that, during the long ride pressed close behind her.
He watches, mesmerised, as she catches herself. She coughs, shakes her head, speaks in a hurry. “I - that is to say - I don’t imagine you will be carrying hot water up the stairs. We will be quite alright without your help, thank you.”
“Very well. But at least let me take a room here in case you do need my assistance.” He says, desperate. He can’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers without a fight.
And apart from anything else, he doesn’t have enough daylight or energy to ride his horse all the way home tonight.
“Yes. Of course. I’m sure we’d welcome your company at supper.” Clarke rushes through the words, sounding rather more nervous than he is used to hearing her.
Perhaps she doesn’t want Madi to miss out on her visit with him after all this.
“There’s a room for you, too, Sir.” Miller says, matter-of-fact, as if it is simply obvious that he secured accommodation for him as well.
That makes Bellamy want to weep again, somehow. Everything makes him want to weep today - even the sudden, unexpected loyalty of a servant he has not seen in years.
“There is?”
“Yes. Of course. I thought you’d want to get the ladies settled first, what with Mrs Blake’s injury and all. But there’s a room spare on that same hall and I took the liberty of asking the innkeeper to save it for you. I hope I did right.”
“Yes! Yes, that’s right, thank you. Ah - well done, Mr Miller. Thank you for your service. Tell me - where will you sleep tonight?”
Miller laughs. “I’ll do alright with the horses, Sir.”
“Will you eat with us at least? I think that - perhaps - this is a chance to catch up on news of old friends. Tell me - is your father still well?” He definitely remembers that Miller senior used to work in the gardens at Blake Manor, many years ago. Did he go with Clarke’s household as gardener? Or has he retired or passed away? Bellamy honestly cannot remember.
He really is a hopeless master.
“He’s well, although elderly now. He still looks after Mrs Blake’s roses.” Miller says fondly.
Bellamy nods, swallows hard, tries desperately for a smile.
Miller will insist on calling Clarke Mrs Blake all the damn time, and that’s beginning to make him feel unsettled.
He shakes himself, tries for something useful to say.
“Very well - ladies, can I help you upstairs? I would offer to take your luggage but I suppose that will follow when we send some men to recover the carriage. Can I -”
“Bellamy. Please - be calm. I have only been shot in the hand. I am quite capable of managing a staircase by myself.” Clarke tells him, and she sounds more tired than angry, he thinks.
“Yes. Of course. As you like. I suppose - I will see you both at supper.”
“Perhaps you should take a bath yourself. A moment to rest and relax might do you good.” She says, pointed, her brows raised at him.
He does weep, at that. Just a couple of silly, sentimental tears which he dashes away - and which he manages to hide, he thinks, as Clarke and Madi are already walking away to their rooms.
It’s only that, when she speaks to him in that tone - as if she’s exasperated with him, but she also cares about his health - that hurts more than anything.
Damn it. He might have hidden those tears from Clarke, but he’s quite sure Miller saw all.
…….
By the time Bellamy has finished bathing and changing, he has something resembling a plan. He’s going to suggest that Miller rides to Blake Manor first thing tomorrow morning to fetch a carriage - that will be quicker than waiting for Clarke’s carriage to be repaired. And then Clarke and Madi can have their visit - Bellamy will escort them to the Manor himself and make a point of showing the child who was apparently so keen to meet him a warm welcome. He will invite the pair of them to stay several days, in fact.
And then, hopefully, before that time is up, Clarke will miraculously fall in love with him once again.
Or - sorry - perhaps fall in love with him in the first place. He’s never quite sure whether she ever loved him, back when they were a real couple. She said she did, once or twice. But these days he finds himself wondering whether she used to say it simply because she felt obliged.
A woman who truly loved him wouldn’t have walked out of his life quite like Clarke did, he thinks.
Never mind. That’s not what matters, not any more. He has his plan. He will invite his wife and this girl who is, in her view, his daughter to stay with him. From there he will do all he can to win his wife back.
That’s why his composure is almost restored, as he leaves the bathtub and starts drying himself. He has a change of clothes here, too - spares lent to him by the innkeeper. They won’t fit him very well, and they look more practical than pristine, but that is hardly the end of the world.
He only hopes Clarke doesn’t think him unattractive when he’s dressed so roughly.
No. All will be well. He still has confidence in his brooding good looks, even after all these years. It’s what’s on the inside which he’s less proud of. It’s his stubbornness, his rudeness, his monstrous tendency to -
There’s a knock at the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me. It’s Clarke.” She says, as if he might not recognise her voice after so long apart.
He gasps, pulls his shirt roughly into place. He can’t greet her in a state of undress. And the hurry to right his appearance is helpful in some ways - it keeps him distracted from wondering why the hell his wife has just appeared at the door of his room.
Within a couple of seconds of her knock, he is calling out to her to enter.
She does. She strides straight into the room as if she owns the place - she has none of the tentative shyness another person might show in this situation. That’s his brave princess.
Did he used to call her that, once upon a time? That feels like a fairy tale, now. It feels like another life, worlds away from the tense sadness which now lies between them.
“Can I help you with something?” He asks carefully.
She shakes her head. “No - thank you. You have been most helpful. But I - I wanted to speak to you. I thought to catch you before supper because - honestly - I do not believe I can sit opposite you at the dining table, in front of my daughter and my driver, and maintain a calm countenance.”
“I am sorry for making you uncomfortable. If you prefer to eat alone in your rooms -”
“No! No, thank you. That is not what I meant.” She sighs. “I mean - there is much we ought to discuss. I find that the weight of things unsaid is weighing on me. I would be uncomfortable making polite conversation with you under the circumstances - I thought it better to clear the air.” She says.
She says it too carefully. She says it with her eyes downcast, her hands clasped firmly before her. She says it in the tone he remembers all too well from the worst day of his life - the day they agreed to spend some time apart.
He considers her words. He’s not sure anything good can come of talking to Clarke, at this very moment. He had only just pieced his composure back together and formed a plan, and it all fell apart the moment she strode in here and demanded to talk.
But he wants to talk, damn it. He has missed her conversation and company every bit as much as he has missed her body. He thought they were starting to entertain each other well enough, before it all went to pieces.
“What was it you wished to say?” He asks cautiously. “If you wish to argue as we did before -”
“No. Not that.”
Good God. She does have an unfortunate habit of interrupting him, since he stumbled across her this afternoon. Was she always so rude? Or did he overlook that, while he was so pathetically in love with her, at first?
“Then, pray, enlighten me.”
“I suppose there are many things we ought to discuss. But I thought we might start with Madi and her demands to be introduced to you. I - I am sorry, that we started driving to the Manor without writing ahead. I suppose I was concerned that you would refuse to see her and she would be devastated. But I counted on you still having that fondness for children, that you would soften if I presented her to you in person.”
He finds himself smiling somewhat, quite against his better judgement. “A sound tactic, Clarke. Well judged. You are right - I would not have turned you away. I ought to tell you that I made some plans while I was bathing. I intend to invite you and the child to stay at Blake Manor for a visit - I will send for a carriage to take you there in the morning. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with her.”
“Could you not call Madi that, please? The child? Always her? She has a name. And she is your daughter in the eyes of the law, even if you are hopeless at reading all the documents your solicitors send you.”
“Sorry - yes. I suppose - I must own I have been thinking of her as the child for a long time because I thought - you know - I thought she was yours. By blood.” He swallows hard. “I thought you had a bastard child by some lover you had taken after we parted ways.”
Clarke simply stares at him, cold, disappointed.
“I realise my mistake now, of course.” He presses on. “I understand that she is too old - and she does not look much like you.”
No. That’s probably the wrong thing to say. He ought to have said something more affirming about Clarke’s character - that he understands, now, that she would not rush to be unfaithful to him.
But it’s too late now.
“Are you going to ask for the real story of how she came into the family? Or do you prefer to treat her like an awkward sort of object forever?” She asks, still audibly disappointed in him.
“Tell me, please. I’d like to know.” He says - not just in some desperate hope of winning Clarke’s favour, but because he would like to know. Madi strikes him as a lively and engaging girl, and he’d be proud to call her his daughter.
He’d be proud to raise a daughter with Clarke - end of story.
“Her story caught my attention not long after - after we went our separate ways. Her family were tenants on your land at Forest Lodge.” She says, referring to the home he has had her live in these last six years. “And then - then they were lost in a fire. All of them. Her mother, her father, two brothers. She was six years old.”
Bellamy doesn’t mean to start crying, but it happens anyway. Of course it does. He knows what it is to lose things to the flames - he lost his family home, but more than that, he lost his marriage, and the last tatters of his troubled relationship with his sister. Because he was never quite the same after the Manor burned down. He was angrier, more short-tempered, harder to live with. He was harder on himself, too - furious that he had let such a disaster happen. He knew his stepfather would have been most disappointed in him.
He’s doing a little better, these days. He’s had some time and space to come to terms with the disaster. He has realised it wasn’t a sign from the heavens - just a fact of life.
In the last couple of years he has even managed to clean his act up a little, leave his mistress, and start thinking that he might like to make contact with Clarke again, one day.
So - yes. He understands why their marriage was unsustainable while he was at his most monstrous, after the fire. And he grieves for the life he could have lived every damn day.
It sounds like Clarke is grieving too. And it sounds like her choice to take in a child orphaned by fire was deliberate.
He doesn’t realise just how much he is weeping until Clarke steps closer, until he feels her fingers brush lightly across his cheek.
“I knew you’d be like this.” She murmurs. “I knew your heart would be touched as soon as you heard her story. Is this really the first you are learning of her past? You thought she was my bastard? You didn’t get the whole story from your lawyers?”
He shakes his head, takes damp, careful breaths. “No. I knew nothing of this. Perhaps they tried to tell me - in the early days of our separation I was worse at attending to my papers than ever.” He admits, heartily ashamed of himself. “I just saw that you were demanding money for a child and - and I thought the worst.”
“You truly believed I would take a lover? And so soon?” She asks, as if disgusted.
That makes him more disgusted with himself than ever, because he did take a lover - and barely days after he heard she had a child.
“I understand that I was wrong, now. I am sorry for judging you so harshly. And I am sorry for condemning Madi to six years without a father for my mistake. If I had known....” He trails off, shaking his head.
She frowns at him. “You are saying you might have taken an interest in her? Perhaps invited her to spend some of the year with you? Or -”
“No. Not that.” His turn to interrupt her, now, firm and clear. “I am saying that, if I knew the truth, I would have tried harder to win you back. I would have wanted us all to live together.”
For a moment, shocked silence reigns. Clarke stares at him, her jaw dropped slightly open, her eyes bright with something he hasn’t seen in quite some time.
And then she’s kissing him. She’s reaching up on the tips of her toes, her arms flung around his neck, bandaged hand and all, and she’s pressing her lips to his as if her very sanity depends on it.
He’s never known so much eagerness in a kiss. In all the months they were married in truth, she never once kissed him like this. She was always very polite in bed - yet rather rude outside of it. And he liked that about her, in some ways. He liked the warm fire she brought to his home - a better fire than the one which destroyed everything. But he never liked that paradoxical nature of hers, the way she was so still and quiet in bed. He was never convinced that was the real Clarke, to be honest - he always had the sense she was holding back for some reason.
She’s certainly not holding back now.
He does his best to match her. He kisses her with all the urgency of six years apart, all the passion of his bittersweet heartbreak. It’s beautiful to have her in his arms again, yes - and yet it hurts so much. It pains him deeply to know that they have already wasted so much time, and that even tomorrow is not guaranteed.
But the triumph of kissing her trumps all that, and so he keeps kissing.
He starts bunching the fabric of her borrowed dress in his hands on instinct. That’s wrong, probably - greedy, selfish, brutish. He ought to invite her to make love with him once again, not start pulling at her clothes. He needs to show her he’s better than he used to be, that he’s learned and grown and -
“Wait!” Sure enough she stills him with her one good hand over his.
He sighs, crestfallen. She is not ready to take him back so soon after all.
“I do apologise - I shouldn’t have.” He mutters, flustered, as he withdraws his hands.
“No - I want this, too. I only think we should finish talking first. I am sorry for kissing you when we were still partway through a conversation.”
“Never apologise for kissing me.”
She grins at that. It’s a full, cheeky smile, with her eyes lighting right up.
“So could we speak a little longer and then - then get back to it?”
“I like the sound of that. What did you -”
They are interrupted - again. Of course they are. This has been the most interrupted day of his life, he thinks - apart from that one which was interrupted by flames.
A knock on the door, a hurried voice.
“Mr and Mrs Blake - your supper is waiting in the parlour.”
Bellamy watches Clarke nod and take a step back, putting physical distance between them. He hates it. She’s been too far away for too long, now, and he’s craving her closeness so much it hurts.
He takes a steadying breath - or tries to. It doesn’t steady him much. If anything, he thinks, it makes him feel even more giddy and dizzy and overwhelmed.
“I should fetch Madi and Mr Miller - one is watching over the other in our suite.” Clarke explains quietly.
“You mean Madi is checking that Mr Miller doesn’t get himself into trouble? Very wise.” Bellamy tries teasing.
To his surprise, it works. There it is again - Clarke’s pleased grin.
“I’ll see you down in the parlour.” She tells him.
“No. I think not. I think I will walk with you.” He gathers his courage. “I intend to spend our suppertime this evening showing you that I can be a rather more polite companion than I used to be.”
She’s grinning wider, now. “I look forward to it. And - ah - I mean to do the same. At least, I think I do. I set out for the Manor intending to be a very polite wife to you for the duration of our visit. But now we are together it seems I must always argue with you.”
“I think that’s only because we’re both hurting.” He dares to suggest. “I think perhaps we could do better, with time and - and reassurance.”
She reaches for his hand. She actually stretches out, tangles her fingers with his own, squeezes lightly.
And then - the greatest miracle of this miraculous day - she walks out of the room still holding fast to his hand.
…….
Supper is the best meal of his life, put plainly. He enjoys it from start to finish.
It is good to reacquaint himself with Mr Miller. The fellow strikes him as a good servant - loyal and happy to help. Bellamy cannot help but feel that he owes the man a favour - or several - for watching over his wife and daughter all these years. He ought to increase his pay at the very least, and perhaps find him a more comfortable position than driving and sleeping over the stables.
If Clarke and Madi move back to Blake Manor, they will need more footmen, perhaps even an under-butler. Is that something Mr Miller might like to do?
No. He’s getting ahead of himself. No sense in planning a happy household which does not even exist yet.
Bellamy is delighted to spend time with Madi, as well. She’s a wonderful child - and now that he is feeling more relaxed, and he understands her place in his family, he warms to her so much more easily.
Perhaps that’s wrong. Perhaps he ought to loathe himself as much as ever for reserving judgement on this girl until he knew of her tragic past.
Perhaps he is still a monster, when all’s said and done.
No. He’s doing well enough, today. He manages to hold a lovely, bright conversation with Madi. She seems to have heard a lot about him - she even enjoys some of the books he liked as a child. Clearly Clarke must have told her a great deal of stories. That surprises him, in some ways, because he and Clarke were together scarcely a year. And yet, apparently, that was time enough for her to build a bank of tales to raise Madi on.
It is not all so light and easy, of course. At one point Madi asks after his sister, and that is uncomfortable. Bellamy is forced to admit that he has not spoken to Octavia in quite some years. He doesn’t give the full details - that she has become more scandalous than ever, but that she had the gall to accuse him of wilfully throwing away his own happiness and said quite a lot of hurtful things besides.
But he does concede the basic truth. They quarrelled. They don’t speak now.
But painful subjects like that feel less painful than usual, tonight. Whenever he peers across the table at her, Clarke is looking back at him with something in her eyes which is almost a smile.
That’s good enough for him.
It is near the end of the meal when things get truly interesting. A lull in the conversation, and he looks up to see Clarke’s smiling face.
“What is it?” He mouths at her silently.
She smiles wider, shakes her head. And then she catches Madi’s attention with a pat on the arm.
“Madi, dear - I believe Bellamy has some news for you about our future plans.” She says, with a pointed look in his direction.
He nods. This is the moment. “Yes. I would like to invite you and your mother to stay at Blake Manor - I will send for a carriage in the morning, if that suits you. Do you still want to visit?”
“When you say stay, do you mean stay for a week? Or do you mean stay forever?” Madi asks outright.
“Madi, you mustn’t -”
“It’s quite alright.” He says, setting his fork carefully down. “I must admit that your mother and I have not made it that far in our discussions, yet, Madi. You know it has been some time since we saw each other last. But please be assured that both of you will always be welcome to visit the Manor, even if you do not choose to live there. That is to say - I suppose I hope we might all live there - but if not…” He trails off, admits defeat. He did his best there.
“I think what Bellamy is trying to say is that we would like to think we can all live at the Manor together, but we have not discussed the arrangements yet, and we would not like you to be disappointed if that doesn’t work out.”
“It’ll work out.” Madi says, simple, with utter conviction.
“You sound very sure of that.” Miller says - most impertinent of him, Bellamy thinks.
“Yes. I am.” Madi gives a solemn nod. “I know my mother still loves you, Mr Blake. She talks about you all the time. Sometimes she even talks to you. She tells me she’s saying her evening prayers but I know better. God is not called Bellamy. So - I suppose I was a little worried about coming to see you. I didn’t want you to break her heart again. But now I think everything will turn out nicely - you cannot seem to stop looking at her.”
A beat of silence. Bellamy stares, stunned, at this wonderful child who has just walked into his life.
Clarke clears her throat. “What have I told you, Madi, about interfering in other people’s business?”
“I suppose it is her business too.” Bellamy says mildly. “We are all one family - or we ought to be. And Madi - please don’t feel the need to call me Mr Blake all the time. Bellamy is perfectly fine, since we are family. Or - or if you would like to call me your father, of course you may. I know I have been an absent and inadequate one, these last six years. But I mean to do better at it now.”
Madi frowns at him, considering. “You are already off to a better start than I expected. You chased off those highway robbers when I always feared you would chase us straight from the house if we presented ourselves.”
Clarke snorts out an undignified laugh. “You did not need to chase off those ruffians, truly, Bellamy. I had it all under control. Diyoza and I understood one another perfectly.”
“Diyoza? Who is Diyoza?”
“She was the woman who led that gang - the one you galloped straight into? I’ll have you know I was in the midst of a complex negotiation.”
“You were in the midst of a lie.” Madi says baldly. “You were telling her that we were expected at your husband’s home, and that he was a powerful man who loved us very much and would stop at nothing to find us if we were kidnapped. You were, I suppose, almost right.”
“Yes. I was not expecting you, but the rest is not far wrong.” Bellamy forces the words out, his jaw tight.
That was the right thing to say. Clarke is quite simply beaming at him, now. Madi looks to be full of sunshine. And Mr Miller is hiding a grin behind his hand.
“Shall we retire for the evening?” Clarke asks now.
“Only if we can finish our conversation.” Bellamy counters.
She nods, smiles wider still - and then, of all things, she pokes playfully at his leg with her toes under the table.
He flushes deeply, his cheeks burning red like a besotted schoolboy.
…….
Bellamy thinks that Clarke is probably coming to this conversation with a plan. He remembers her being gifted at running a household, a keeper of lists and accounts like no other. So that seems like the sort of thing she would do.
He’s not like that. He’s coming to this conversation equipped with only his foolish, hopeful heart.
He wonders where to start, as he knocks at the door of her room. He wonders whether to begin by saying he never wanted them to stay apart forever, or whether to jump straight to the fact that he thinks he might still be in love with her.
To be honest, he’s not sure she believes he ever loved her the first time round, at this point.
She calls out in welcome, so he pushes the door open carefully.
“Welcome. Have a seat.” She offers, gesturing to the small couch which sits along one wall of her room.
That’s the only seat in here - it is a rented room at an inn, after all. So it looks like they will have to share, sitting side by side.
“Madi’s already asleep.” Clarke explains now, as she settles in to sit next to him. “So - so it is only the two of us. We will be able to speak without interruption.”
“Yes. That’s good. I believe we have a lot to discuss.” He tries, tentatively feeling out the territory, here.
She nods urgently. “Yes. I have - ah - prepared a few words, if I may? Could I say my piece? May I say all I wish to say uninterrupted - and then perhaps you may take a turn?”
He nods, grinning to himself slightly. Typical Clarke. “By all means.”
She smiles at him for that - a sad smile, perhaps, but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you. I suppose - I wanted to start at the beginning. I never meant for us to stay apart forever, you know. When I suggested that - that you seemed overwrought and we should spend some time apart for your peace of mind, I did not mean six years.” She gives a tight, hollow laugh. “I meant perhaps six weeks. I thought you might go to your hunting lodge to take some air and come back feeling rather better. I - I did not mean - I did not mean this, but of course -”
“Six weeks?” He asks, stunned.
“You said you would not interrupt.” She reminds him, lips twitching with the slightest hint of exasperated amusement.
“Sorry! Sorry. Yes. I did. I did not mean - only -” He shakes his head. “Sorry. Do go on. I will not interrupt again.”
“Thank you.” She’s definitely amused now. “So - I always hoped we would not be apart forever. But then - when I adopted Madi, I heard ever fewer messages from your solicitor after that. And I - I heard you had taken up with a mistress. So I suppose I presumed our marriage was over.” She swallows loudly. “That hurt. As the years went by, Madi asked ever more often whether she might meet you. And then - then last week I suppose I broke. Six years. I couldn’t do it, Bellamy. I simply - I had to try. So - there you have it. I have said my piece. If you still want that distance between us I will go away after our visit and -”
“I have had quite enough of distance.” He interrupts her, firm, yet smiling. He just cannot help himself smiling at this point. “You really did intend to be apart only for a little while? I thought you were simply trying to placate me when you said we should try again when I was calmer.”
“I meant it! I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. You - you weren’t well, and we were upsetting each other…” She shakes herself. “If something like that happened again I wouldn’t leave, Bellamy. I understand better now - I should have stayed with you and helped you rather than suggesting time apart.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself.” He swallows hard. “That time at the lodge did help. I did need some rest and - and peace, I think. But what helped me more than anything was rebuilding Blake Manor and coming to understand that it didn’t matter what my stepfather thought it meant to be a Blake. As I built my own home, so I can build my own family.” He swallows hard, looks away as he comes to the sticking point. “I would still like to build a family with you, if we can.”
She nods, apparently eager, yet with a few stray tears streaking down her cheeks. “I would like that.”
He sags in relief. “Thank God. I promise I will love you better, this time, Clarke. I have grown more patient, and - and easier to live with, I hope. And I cannot tell you how sorry I am for giving up on you and taking a mistress -”
“It is quite forgiven.” She says, with a wave of her hand.
He frowns at her. “I cannot forgive myself so easily.”
“Then you must try, and practise, and get better at it. We both must. I believe forgiving oneself is always healthy.” She says, brisk, pragmatic. Clarke.
“I will do my best. I - I will do my best with all of it. You truly want to try again?” He checks.
“Yes. I do. I’m sorry for my part, too - I hope I have grown more mature and less inclined to argue, perhaps.”
“No. I won’t have it. You must promise always to argue with me.” He dares to tease.
She laughs. She actually sits there next to him and laughs, loud and free. “I promise to argue with you more in fun than in anger, then.”
“And you - ah - you seemed rather more confident when we were kissing earlier.” He tries. He’s not trying to accuse her of taking a lover, not quite. It seems unlikely that she has hidden something like that amidst this conversation - but he is at a loss as to how that new confidence has come to her.
“Yes. I suppose - I was very glad to be kissing you after so many years.” She bites her lip for a moment, then takes a deep breath and carries on. “Before, when we would try kissing and touching - there were too many other problems. We were both so unsure and frustrated. I could never feel comfortable. And I never knew what you wanted from me - nothing I did seemed to please you. But today there was none of that trouble. There was only relief.”
“Then I hope to make you more comfortable in future.” He swallows hard. “You really did please me, you know. Always. I am sorry I never showed you that.”
“That’s forgiven, too. I forgive you for all of it and - and I am sorry for my part, too.”
“I forgive you.” He passes the words straight back to her. In his mind, there is nothing to forgive. She was a young woman, scarcely more than a girl, trapped in a marriage with a man who wasn’t ready to relax and embrace happiness and love. What else was she supposed to do, but suggest some time apart?
For a moment, as they sit there on the couch together, he wonders what happens next. He wonders whether he ought to simply lean in and kiss her - kissing was going well for them earlier. But perhaps she regrets that, now? Perhaps she would rather spend longer becoming reacquainted before they tumble into kissing and bedding?
Perhaps he ought to ask her. Perhaps they could communicate better, for this second chance.
“Clarke? Is there more you wished to discuss? Did you have some other plan in mind? Or - may I kiss you?”
She laughs, bright and true. “You may definitely kiss me. And may I observe that we have a most convenient bed in this room? If you want to do more than only kiss, I - I would like that too. The wall between us and Madi is thick and she is sound asleep. As long as we are quiet…” She trails off, brows raised in invitation.
“Yes, please.” He croaks the words out, throat dry. She is really so keen to welcome him back into her bed?
“I suppose we may find it inconvenient while I have my hand bandaged, but -”
“Yes, please.” He repeats louder, more playfully. “Yes to all of it - injured hand and all. We will make it work, Clarke. No more hesitation.”
She smiles cautiously at him, and he watches her shoulders fall slightly as if relieved. So it seems that, perhaps, she does still feel some discomfort about intimacy with him - even if she said just now that it was not as bad as before.
Hmm. So perhaps he ought to leave it, and simply talk for this evening, and they might try again with making love another day.
Or perhaps he ought to press on, and do everything in his power to make her comfortable. She did say she wanted this, did she not? So if she wants it, yet feels nervous, surely he should try to be a good husband and support her through that.
He reaches for her, slow, careful. He cups one hand around her cheek and leans in gradually, giving her all the time in the world to pull away.
She doesn’t. The opposite, in fact - at the last moment, when he is scarcely an inch away, she leans forward to close the distance between them.
It's a good kiss. There is less urgency than the one they shared earlier, but it is all the better for that, Bellamy thinks. It doesn’t feel frantic or hurried or panicky. Clarke still feels eager, yes, but more genuinely relaxed with it. There is a soft warmth to her kiss he has simply never known before.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, a whisper against her lips.
“Impatient. Eager. Yet perhaps also nervous.” She admits.
He kisses her more intently than ever, for that. He has never known honesty like this from Clarke, not even in the early days of their marriage. They had moments when they got on together quite well, perhaps. But they never did learn how to communicate fluently.
Apparently that is something they are both resolved to do better at, this time around.
“You have nothing to fear from me. I swear it.” He tells her fervently. “I only want to be a good husband to you.”
With that she starts kissing him again. She reaches for him, too, her good hand combing through his hair. He likes that. There’s a sort of confident possessiveness to it which has warmth shooting right through him. She’s never actively taken the lead between them before - not even a small gesture like this.
“Shall we - that is - do you want to…?”
“The bed?” She completes his rambling question.
“Yes. Exactly. The bed.”
“We are rather overdressed for that.” She observes drily.
He grins, kisses her again, all at once, so it ends up smudged and messy. They’re both laughing against each other’s lips by the time he reaches for the buttons on her borrowed dress.
“May I?” He asks.
“Yes. Please.”
She half-stands, hovering over the couch so he can start undressing her - and she pulls him with her, likewise, until they are both scrabbling urgently at each other’s clothing.
“Bed?” She suggests, half way through removing his shirt.
“Bed.” He agrees, still chuckling.
They are both naked by the time they arrive there. They’re touching hungrily, too - as if this was their first time together. Or rather, this has all the relaxed eagerness he wishes their first time had, all the joy it ought to have had. But despite their urgency, there is still a real sense that things are calm and comfortable between them. Clarke is soft and welcoming under his hands in a way he has never known before.
He doesn’t know what to do next. Sometimes he would try to pleasure her with his mouth or hands, before, in some vain hope that it would make her more relaxed or welcoming in bed. But it never did, and he’s not sure whether to try it again now.
“What can I do for you?” He asks softly, in between kisses.
“Could we perhaps do something quite simple? Perhaps holding one another close and… and making love? That always felt good, but I think it will feel even better now we have cleared the air.”
“I’d like that.” He agrees - the understatement of the year, perhaps.
He doesn’t keep her waiting any longer. They have both waited long enough, he thinks. He rolls on top of her, slips his cock into place. And this time she is not stiff or unresponsive - rather, she rocks her hips up towards him as if eager to have him even closer.
“Comfortable?” He checks.
“Yes. In every way. Thank you.”
“I should be thanking you.” He tells her, with a stiff laugh. “This is - it’s perfect, Clarke. It feels so good to have you in my arms again.”
“It feels good to have me keeping your cock warm, you mean.” She teases.
His laugh is more relaxed and genuine, this time. And then he’s getting to work, moving his hips, gradually pushing the pace as he reads her body and finds his own confidence. He’s not hurting her or scaring her. She really is happy to be here - she’s clinging to him tightly and making the sweetest little moaning noises.
He thinks she can be louder. He thinks the spirited, almost wilful wife he loves - yet is only just starting to get to know, in truth - is capable of being far more outgoing in the bedroom. But he knows he needs to be patient with her, and let her find her voice.
For now, he simply needs to show her that they can be good together.
He starts to lose his control, his rhythm, a little at a time. He feels himself spiral closer to the edge, careering closer to his climax. He hasn’t made love to a living, breathing person in a couple of years. He hasn’t touched his wife like this in six years - but that feels like half a lifetime, to him. So he’s somewhat overwhelmed by the magnitude of the moment, here, and in danger of spilling his load.
Never mind. There will be other days for taking their time, for lingering over every touch and caress. Today he senses that Clarke feels almost as urgent as he does.
He dares to urge her on a little, reaching a hand down between them to tease her, to help her along. She likes that, mewling and bucking her hips into his fingers, as well as taking his cock as deep as she can.
She’s there. She’s clenching around him, hard, and he’s letting out the most undignified stream of curses.
He doesn’t think that will frighten her, though. He trusts she can hear that he’s speaking this way through pleasure, not through any sort of anger or frustration.
He cries out her name as he falls apart in turn. He doesn’t really mean to - it’s simply something that happens, a word snatched from his lips in a moment of pure pleasure.
But then, in the aftermath, he says something even worse. As he comes down the other side he lets slip the most foolish words of all.
“I love you.” He tells her.
Then he hears himself. Then his own breathless confession really hits him, and he’s suddenly horrified. He made a mistake there. He threw too much at her, in a most critical moment, when all is still not quite resolved and -
“I love you, too. Next time we quarrel, I shall try to remind you of that rather than suggesting some time apart.” She says mildly.
He gulps. It’s her tone which makes it even more special, he thinks. The way she just says it, after all these years, as if the words come as naturally to her as breath. As if years and flames and a misunderstanding about a child do not lie between them.
She loves him. She loves him, and she really doesn’t mind admitting it.
“I - I think I always did love you. Ever since my stepfather arranged our marriage - I loved you and I didn’t know what to do about it.” He dares to admit. “I hope I will do better now. I have had much time to think and to - to learn my own mind.”
“Me too. I believe I have grown up, if nothing else.”
He nods, settles in by her side to hold her close. She was scarcely eighteen when they married - he can well understand that was too young. He certainly wasn’t ready for marriage at that point, even though he is six years her senior.
This is good. Peaceful. His wife is in his arms, and she loves him, and they intend to make a second attempt at married life.
He’s feeling quite optimistic about their chances, in all honesty. Perhaps not confident, not yet. But at least hopeful.
That’s why he dares to ask one last, precious question.
“Did you really talk about me so very much? Madi seemed to suggest you did. And - and what was that she said, about you talking to me?” He asks it in a carefully light tone, almost as a jest. As if he’s saying that he understands it cannot possibly be true.
But -
“It’s true.” She says, plain and simple. “I did talk to you. It started out as part of my evening prayers - I would mention one or two things I wished I could say to you, or messages I hoped you would somehow feel through the love of the Lord, I suppose. And over time - that changed. It became a routine where I would close each day by listing the things I wished to be able to tell you that night.”
He swallows hard, holds her a little tighter. He breathes carefully for a moment, trying to remember how to speak.
He knows no one else has ever loved him so deeply as that.
“What would you say to me tonight, if you were speaking to me now?” He asks. It’s a silly sentimental question, of course. She is here. She has no need to pretend to pray about him. But all the same, that hurt, loving part of him wants to know.
“I would tell you that I like lying in your arms - and that one day I think this place at your side will come to feel like home.”
He tears up at that. The latest emotional shock in a long, trying day. But they are happy tears, more or less, and he copes with the moment by pressing a few slow kisses to her hair while he allows himself to calm down.
He’s calmer in general, these days, than he used to be.
“I didn’t speak to you or pray for you.” He mutters, hoarse. “I’m sorry. I don’t have your faith. And - I suppose in some ways I gave up on us sooner than you did.”
“No. I disagree. You spent some time recovering and coming to terms with your own place in the world - that was a precious contribution to our marriage.”
“Yes. I can see now that my stepfather has much to answer for.” He gives a hollow laugh. “I will be a better father to Madi than he was to me. That is all I can do now. And - and I suppose to any other children we might have.”
“Yes. I should like to fill the nursery.” She agrees easily.
He falls asleep that night in his wife’s room, her body warm and relaxed in his arms, her heavily bandaged hand resting over his heart. He falls asleep with her words of love ringing in his ears, listening to endless echoes of her talking about her hopes for the nursery and for building a new home in his arms.
Gunshot or not, this is most definitely a miracle.
After
They do fill the nursery - but they do not fill it in quite the way that so many aristocratic families pride themselves on. Old Mr Blake, Bellamy’s stepfather, would certainly be ashamed if he could witness the changes at Blake Manor.
Yes - well. That’s one of the reasons Bellamy likes it this way.
Their approach to filling the nursery? They raise as many orphan children as they can manage. He and Clarke are determined that each of their children will be raised with love and with plenty of attention from their parents - he doesn’t want to lapse into the neglect he grew up with by taking on too many responsibilities. But they get on rather well, with a brood of five so far - and perhaps they will welcome more in the future.
Clarke has given birth to no children, even now. They are both beginning to suspect that she never will - it is something they talk about often, since they communicate so much more fluently about the difficult issues, these days. But that’s fine. It’s the way of the world. They want to love children, and they have taken in five children who want to be loved. An ideal solution for everyone.
Or - perhaps it would be ideal to have just one or two more.
Bellamy really does love children, and cherishes having a family with Clarke. But his wife sometimes looks quite tired, from running around after all their little ones, so he doesn’t want to push her. It’s important to him to take care of her and keep his marriage happy.
That’s why he makes a point of starting each day with her, asking when they might spend time together in between their duties and childcare. That’s why he takes the time to truly listen to her when she’s trying to speak to him, to hear what she is actually saying rather than jumping to his own insecure conclusions.
And that’s why he wholeheartedly worships her body, each and every night, as they fall into bed together. It’s important to keep a marriage fresh and lively and affectionate, he thinks.
It’s important to show his wife that he still burns for her - and to show her that’s a good thing, that she need have no fear of the flames.