by Sahara Kelly
“Ye’ll be lookin’ ter do that ‘ere, then, lass?” She paused and winced. “Forgive the informality, Ma’am…”
“No need to apologise…” Gwyneth bit back a laugh. “I haven’t been a lass to anyone for far too long. It has a pleasant sound to it.”
Jane just shook her head. “Ma hasn’t quite learned to moderate her speech, my Lady.”
“And I hope she doesn’t.” Gwyneth turned to Mrs Barnsley. “I have always believed that a good solid and honest opinion is worth gold. I anticipate, given your history with this area and the people in it, I’ll be able to rely on yours.”
“Any time, m’Lady. Yer can pop over ter my cottage an’ I’ll make yer a cuppa. Might ‘ave some o’ that gooseberry pie young Evan craves, too.” She grinned.
Gwyneth found her conversational abilities returning. She’d had more than a few such visitors when she became the Countess of Kilham, and discovered that she much enjoyed the down-to-earth way matters were discussed. These were the people who gave life and meaning to the grand estates. She had never too proud to ask their help, their thoughts and their feelings. That wasn’t her way.
“So tell me, how is Wolfbridge faring? Are we thriving? Do we need to grow, to change anything? What lies ahead for this year?”
Jane blinked. “Those are big questions, my Lady. Should they not be directed to…er…I believe it’s Mr Royce who’s taken over from Daniel as estate manager?”
Gwyneth nodded. “Yes, Royce is now dealing with all that. But he’s as recently arrived as I am, so I’m more than happy to ask for your ideas.”
Nothing loth, both the Barnsley women dived right in, chatting away with Gwyneth, offering their thoughts, discussing and even arguing now and again, when Jane’s more progressive suggestions clashed with her mother’s.
For Gwyneth, it was an amazing and delightful experience. She was able to relax, listen and learn. Much of what she heard meant little, but she didn’t ignore it, with the understanding that she was now in control of Wolfbridge. Even the smallest detail, right down to young Bess Martin’s adventures with the piglets…it might all be important in one way or another.
“Yer tired, Ma’am,” said Mrs Barnsley, her eyes on Gwyneth’s face. “And yer not quite yerself yet. ‘Ere we are natterin’ on when yer should be in yer bed.”
Jane rose immediately. “Indeed, my Lady. My mother is right. Please excuse us for keeping you from your rest.”
Gwyneth smiled. “Silly ladies. I have derived much enjoyment from our conversation. Yes, I’m tired and I confess I will probably nap for a while, but my strength is returning apace, so please consider yourself welcome at any time.” She looked at Jane. “I understand you were a help to Lady Adalyn, Jane. Now that you are at Fivetrees, it presumably won’t be possible to continue that service, but any recommendations would be welcome.”
“I’ll think on it, my Lady. And thank you.” She curtseyed.
“Pity, that,” said Mrs Barnsley. “But we’ll find yer someone if’n yer need, never worry.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Jeremy, who must have been eavesdropping, walked in to stand by her side. “I was about to ask if you wanted tea, but I see the ladies are on their way…”
“Get this one ter bed, Jeremy.” Mrs Barnsley eyed him. “None ‘o yer nonsense now.”
He bent over Gwyneth, his arm ready to help her rise. “She is our Lady, Mrs B. Of course there will be no nonsense.” He shot Gwyneth a wicked grin. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Cheeky.” Mrs Barnsley tsk’d at him.
Gwyneth laughed and let Jeremy walk her to the door. “Thank you both for coming. It’s been a most enjoyable time for me. Please feel free to visit again? Perhaps with one of those gooseberry pies?”
The two ladies left smiling, and Gwyneth let Jeremy guide her upstairs to her room. “I hate to have to go to bed again,” she groaned. “It seems as if my entire year has been spent there.”
“Hmm.” Jeremy looked around. “Well, suppose we try this…” He pulled the upholstered chair from the side of the bed over to the window that faced the rear gardens and the woods beyond. “If we put this here…” he followed his movements by picking up a footstool and placing it in front of the chair. “And now, with a couple of these…” he tugged the blankets from the bed, “I believe you might rest, and possibly nap, and yet not be formally in bed.”
She blinked. “Jeremy, you’re brilliant.”
“I like to think so,” he joked. “Just as long as you’re comfortable, my Lady.” He settled her, lifted her legs onto the footstool and draped the blankets over her.
“Oh yes, this is lovely. I can watch the birds,” she sighed, her eyes going to the window. “Thank you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, my Lady,” he touched her hand. “Anything you need—let me know.” He lifted it and kissed it then turned it over, pressing a daring kiss on her palm. His gaze was hot and intense. “Anything.”
She blinked at him, a delicious warmth creeping over her tired limbs. “I will, Jeremy. I promise.”
“Good.” He grinned and left her.
Chapter Fourteen
Each and every day, Gwyneth found herself gaining in strength; she could almost see the flesh returning to her arms and legs, and no longer did her ribs protrude, or her hip bones stand out sharply from the rest of her.
She complimented Evan on his cooking, knowing that he must have spent quite some time carefully selecting menus and ingredients with the sole purpose of enticing her to eat.
She was now able to move around unescorted, although she observed that one of her gentlemen always seemed to be within earshot. Apparently they didn’t really trust her newly discovered abilities quite yet. But one morning, she decided to venture into the kitchens, and thank Evan again. She was also interested to see where he worked and what secrets the Wolfbridge kitchens might hold.
Evan was at the sink, peeling something, and he looked up as she entered. “My Lady,” he quickly dried his hands. “What can I do for you?”
She smiled. “You can let me thank you, Evan. I know I’ve done so before, but I need to make sure you understand that I do not, in any way, underestimate what you’ve done for me and my return to health.”
He seemed at a loss, adorably so in her eyes. Obeying some unknown instinct, she walked to him, put her hand on his chest and went up on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
Except he moved…and the kiss landed on his lips. His warm, firm lips…
His arm encircled her drawing her close. “I like this kind of gratitude,” he whispered against her skin. “Thank me again?”
For a split second, Gwyneth engaged in a conversation with herself. Should she or shouldn’t she? Where would it lead?
In that instant a truth blinded her. She was the Lady of Wolfbridge. These men were hers. It was time to put that statement to the test.
So she lifted her face a little, opened her mouth and kissed Evan, a lingering and sensual moment when lips caressed, tongues met and duelled, and bodies crushed against each other.
He had both arms around her now, she discovered. And she liked the feeling. Solid, warm, his body was pressed against her. Clad only in his shirt and breeches, she felt his heat soaking through her bodice and skirts, a lick of fire searing every place it touched.
Deepening the kiss, he tightened his hold, bringing one arm up to cradle her head in his hands as he angled her against his mouth and explored her with his tongue.
Someone moaned—it might have been her—and she became aware he grew hard against her thighs.
For the first time in years the sensation of desire rippled through her. A need, a wanting that caught her by surprise. He smelled wonderful; a mix of man, mint and spices. Hunger raced through her, an urge to taste more, to devour his kisses and explore his warmth.
Alarmed, she drew back, her mouth tingling and wet, her heart pounding beneath the cotton and lace. “Evan,” she muttered. “Evan…I�
�m sorry…I shouldn’t have…”
He smiled, his eyes warm and tender. “Of course you should have. You are my Lady. Our Lady. We are yours, Lady Gwyneth. Best you understand that right now.” His hand lingered on her cheek. “Your desires are our desires. Your needs are our needs.”
“So it is true?” she asked cautiously. “All of you are here to serve me. To fulfil my every…wish?”
“Your every wish, dream, and yes, your every desire.” The last word was a caress in and of itself. “No matter what they may be, dear Gwyneth.”
Her body trembled and she drew away from him. “I see.” His arms lowered and she felt strangely bereft without their comforting warmth. “I must think about this.”
“Indeed you must.” He smiled and turned toward the sink again. “It is a glorious spring day, my Lady. If you go through that door…” he nodded to one side of the room, “you’ll find yourself in our brand-new kitchen garden. ’Tis a lovely place this time of year, warm and fragrant with all the different plants beginning to grow. There’s even a bench where you may sit and listen to the bees…”
It sounded like paradise. “Thank you. Yes, it does sound appealing.”
“I will be here. If you need anything at all, just call and I’ll hear you.”
“Very well,” she nodded and headed for the door. “Thank you again.”
His grin was as warm as the sunlight. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.”
She couldn’t help but smile back, even as she walked out into the garden and took her confused thoughts with her.
He was right about one thing…this spot was quite lovely.
She found herself surrounded by neat flowerbeds, delineated by pathways made of stone slabs. Since it was already April—something that had surprised Gwyneth when she had asked about the date—many of the beds were fully green with growing things expanding their leaves into the warm spring sunlight.
She recognised parsley, thought those slim spears might be either onions or scallions, and guessed that some others held carrots and potatoes. Although she’d grown up far from here, she recalled a similar garden near her parents’ house. And she also remembered spending some time in it with her mama.
How long ago that was and how much had happened in between.
And yet, in its oddly circuitous way, life had brought her back into a spring garden. As she sat on the promised stone bench, beneath the branches of a cherry tree, she had to wonder at the strangeness of it all. Not to mention what on earth her parents would have thought if they could see her now.
A fine lady with her very own estate. They’d be happy, she knew. And with luck, they’d never have learned what she had gone through to get here. In fact, nobody would ever know. There were matters in her past that were best left there. Buried, forgotten by almost everyone but her. There was nobody left to betray her confidence—the only one was gone now, along with the husband she’d done her best to love.
She was good at pretending. The Earl had been kind, but there was no passion there, no kisses that aroused her body, or touches that made her yearn for more. Certainly nothing like the emotions she was experiencing here at Wolfbridge from her gentlemen.
Gabriel was kind and gentle—and oh so sweetly tender, like the new plants emerging around her. He might be her age, but in her eyes his heart seemed so fresh.
Royce was the opposite. An older soul, with eyes that had seen much and forgotten none of it. He was harsh, she guessed. Edgy perhaps. And a born leader.
Jeremy was laughter and light, unable to resist a joke when the time was right, and sometimes even when it wasn’t. But he portrayed the happy and handsome young man with an eye for a lovely lady. And he did it very well indeed.
And Evan…Evan of the delicious kisses. Quiet, but she believed he was more than observant. His gaze catalogued people as if disassembling them down to their ingredients. There was great kindness there, but also a wall within, perhaps, guarding his private thoughts.
They were all different, all extremely pleasant to look at, and all—apparently—devoted to her well-being.
But although she wanted to, very much, she could not find the strength within herself yet to trust a single one.
*~~*~~*
Having ventured outdoors at last, and loved it, Gwyneth began to encourage the gentlemen to continue to take her out now and again so that she could become familiar with the rest of the Wolfbridge Manor estate. Aiding her in this goal was Royce, who said that her needs corresponded quite neatly with his own.
He too was learning about the estate and such visits or drives were of inestimable assistance.
Giles added his endorsement, knowing that Royce was an excellent whip and would handle the gig, and its valuable passenger, with great care.
They tooled the lanes two or three times a week, and Gwyneth enjoyed every moment.
Spring was now in full bloom, with the branches of fruit trees sagging beneath the weight of their blossoms, and the hedgerows alive with flowers, rabbits and bees. The sun had decided to bless the countryside, showing off the fields of Wolfbridge to their best advantage.
Gwyneth attempted to discuss the current plantings with Royce, but was somewhat irritated to have her words politely listened to, then casually dismissed.
“I should mention, Royce, that during my marriage to the late Earl, I did have occasion to become familiar with some of the Kilham estate business. Crops, rotations…the Norfolk four-field system…these are not things that are foreign to me.”
“An excellent education, Ma’am,” he responded politely.
“It was.” She gritted her teeth. “Therefore, when I make a suggestion, as—for example, rotating turnips with clover—it’s not from a desire to see the fields look pretty.”
“And yet they do, do they not?” He drew the horse to a halt and waved at the scene before them. “Such vibrant spring colours. A good harbinger for this year’s harvest, I’m thinking.” He glanced at her. “It’s good to see a vibrant colour returning to those lovely cheeks of yours, my Lady.”
She sighed. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He frowned at her.
“Stop treating me like a pea-brained ninnyhammer. I don’t want compliments on my cheeks, Royce. I want to be the mistress of Wolfbridge Manor, and to play a role in its ongoing success. I want you to listen when I speak of crops and fields, not look at me as if the only thing I should know about is fashion and flirting.”
“Do I not treat you with respect, Ma’am?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes you do,” she acknowledged.
“And you’d rather I didn’t?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she shot back. “Again, you’re not listening to me.”
“I am listening. I’m also watching the way your eyes light up when you’re angry.”
“Then they must be on fire right now, because you’re making me…bloody furious.”
“And that, sweet lady, was my goal.” He reached for her and pulled her into his side, a rough movement that made her gasp.
“There’s nothing better than a fiery woman in a temper.” He stared at her. “Irresistible.” His mouth came down on hers, hard and fast, demanding she part her lips and admit him.
The fury turned to lust, shocking Gwyneth. She sucked on his tongue as he delved within, clawing at his arms, angry at him for making her feel this way.
He groaned, shifting to get her body closer.
Then the horse moved, the gig rocked and their embrace was over.
“I knew it,” said Royce, bringing the horse to order. “I knew there was fire in you.”
She curled her lip, even though her heart was hammering at twice the speed within her chest. “That wasn’t fire, that was anger. I did not invite your kisses, Royce. I thought you were supposed to wait until I gave you permission.”
She raised her chin at him.
“I’d still be waiting, wouldn’t I? And I wouldn’t know how you taste, or how hard your nipples get
when you’re aroused.”
She refused to blush or to take the bait she knew he dangled with his blunt words. Instead she glanced down at his breeches. “Well, at least I found out that you have the goods to back up your actions.” The hard length distended the fabric between his legs.
He looked down, looked at her—and laughed. “By God, you’re amazing.”
“And you’re far too clever,” she countered. “But don’t think your kisses have distracted me from my opinions. You need to see about rotating more crops and more fields, if you want a good yield this year.”
Royce’s response was interrupted as another gig approached from ahead, and the driver hailed them.
“Good morning…” It was Trick and his wife, Jane. “A lovely day. We were just coming to Wolfbridge to see Giles.”
“My Lady. It’s good to see you out and about.” Jane hailed her with a smile.
“Good day to you both,” Gwyneth answered. “We are just enjoying an argument about crop rotation.”
Trick laughed. “Remind me to instruct you on matters of how to talk to a lovely lady in the spring sunshine, Royce…”
Gwyneth couldn’t resist a chuckle. “It’s all right, Trick. I plan on bringing something hard and heavy with me next time so that he will be forced to listen to reason. I prefer sensible business conversation when I’m seeing Wolfbridge for the first time. Any attempts at polite or flirtatious social chit-chat will result in his ears being boxed. With a brick.”
Jane laughed aloud. “And that’s what makes you a perfect Lady of Wolfbridge, Ma’am,” she grinned.
The lane was too narrow for them to drive side by side, so Royce turned their gig and followed Trick and Jane as they wound their way back toward the house.
“Would you really hit me with a brick?” Royce lifted an eyebrow at her.
Gwyneth met his look squarely. “If you refuse to listen to me, yes, without hesitation.” She stared at him. “If you’re not going to take me seriously, Royce, we will have many such arguments, and some may involve bricks. I’d prefer not to, but I will stand my ground if I believe I’m right.” She let her gaze move to Trick and Jane as their gig rolled down the lane in front of them.