The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

  There had always been a change in the Lady once she knew that not only was she safe—she was loved.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It had been a rare afternoon of sunlight and pleasure for Gwyneth. She couldn’t remember ever enjoying herself as much, and found herself confessing to an ache around her ribs from laughing.

  Her gentlemen had teased, joked and played with everyone who gathered by the pond, and they’d all take a quick dip, regardless of clothing, to cool off their overheated bodies.

  Many of the women had brought dishes to feed the weary workers, and by the time Gwyneth and Giles arrived, a wagon filled with covered bowls was hiding in the shade of the willows. Once the fieldwork was finished, the wagon was drawn out, the back let down, and the dishes circulated.

  Mr Marsh, whose wife was known for her roses, brought a barrel of his own cider, and that was tapped with relish. So as the sun slowly set, it was a happy, noisy, laughing crowd that began to gather tired children and head towards home.

  She watched Trick—who had dropped by for an hour or so—chatting with Jeremy. Jane was resting today, tiring more easily now that she carried a babe. He looked happy, and there was a measure of contentment about him that she guessed might only have come with his marriage. He’d been a gentleman at Wolfbridge, she knew. Had he…

  She turned that thought aside. It was of no bearing on her situation what they’d done before she arrived. Now she had her own four gentlemen—knights, as she considered of them occasionally. They stood guard over her, protected her and helped her in any and every way,

  Gabriel had spent a lot of his afternoon talking with people, getting to know them, and she noticed how easily he made them smile.

  Jeremy and Evan were already well known and welcomed as old friends by almost everyone.

  Royce…he’d had a quieter time, watching what was going on, and occasionally nodding and shaking hands with some of the older tenant farmers. They knew he was the estate manager now that Daniel had left, and the conversations there were less lighthearted.

  But as the afternoon wore on, Gwyneth noticed a few more ladies, young ones, finding their way to Royce’s side and engaging him in conversation. She wasn’t sure he liked it, but he seemed to adapt well and they withdrew with smiles on their faces.

  She herself had met so many of her tenants that their names blurred in her mind. Mrs Barnsley had arrived and introduced a steady flow of well-wishers, all of whom had something pleasant to say in the way of a welcome. Once again she rediscovered her strengths as Lady of the Manor, a role she’d learned at Kilham. Here, it was so much easier. The difference of course lay in the fact she was happier to be at Wolfbridge than she’d ever been at the Abbey.

  She’d watched people leave, some as families, others in ones and twos—holding hands briefly, exchanging smiles—the warm spring sun had awoken not just the fruiting raspberry fields, but also the interest in other more intimate fields as well. Giles and Trick had said their farewells…Giles had work to finish and Trick was eager to return to Jane.

  She had to smile as they departed along with the courting couples, since she too had once enjoyed a warm spring day in the countryside, not unlike this one. It had been idyllic, but sadly had not led to happiness.

  “My Lady,” said Gabriel dropping down on the grass beside her bench. “I cannot possibly allow such a serious face on such a glorious day.” He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a long and lingering kiss on her knuckles, and then kissing each finger for good measure.

  “You’ve enjoyed yourself, then?”

  “Enormously.” He settled himself. “My back will probably ache tomorrow, and I expect I’ve a wee bit of burn on my nose from the sun. My clothes are damp, but the swim was worth it.” He sighed. “Yes, I’ve had fun.”

  “I’m glad.” She resisted the urge to run her fingers through his soft pale hair. It had dried to a tangle of silk and she itched to touch it.

  “Can I get you anything, my Lady? Food? Drink?” Evan strolled up, looking every bit as tasty as the food he’d contributed to the day’s events.

  Gwyneth eyed him, her thoughts growing warm, and not from the setting sun. “What would you suggest?”

  He let a little wicked smile twist around his lips. “Wine, perhaps? I think you’re healthy enough to enjoy a glass…”

  “I’m healthy. Can I have a glass as well?” Jeremy was wringing out his shirt as he crossed the grass to join his friends.

  His chest was quite beautiful. Gwyneth watched the reddening light play on the muscles and planes of his chest. He sported just enough hair to be interesting—the sort that made a woman’s fingers tingle at the thought of twining through it.

  “Wine for everyone, I think,” declared Royce, sitting down on the other side of Gwyneth’s chair with a thud. “I’d forgotten what a toll field work can take on one’s muscles.” He stretched, arms above his head, wet shirt clinging to what was beneath.

  Gwyneth was surrounded by men, bombarded with the sights and sounds of their lithe and handsome bodies. It was a moment she could almost taste on the back of her tongue and she willingly accepted a glass of wine, hoping it might quench the flames she could feel flickering in parts of her that had been dormant for far too long.

  “This is so lovely,” she leaned back and sipped the rich sweet drink. “And the pond looks perfect for a swim.”

  “Indeed it is,” said Jeremy, lying down flat in the grass. “The water has warmed from the sun, and what a pleasure it was to step into it.”

  Gwyneth sighed. “I’m sure it must be.”

  Silence fell for a few moments.

  “Gentlemen,” said Jeremy, laughter in his voice. “It sounds very much as if our Lady is jealous of our dip in the pond.”

  “I was just thinking that,” agreed Royce.

  “You know, you’re right,” Gabriel chimed in.

  “Well then.” Evan walked to Gwyneth. “Let’s do something about that, shall we?”

  The field was empty now as the first stars twinkled in the dusky sky. She looked at Evan. “You mean I could…”

  “Why not?” Gabriel stood beside her. “I know you have a chemise beneath your dress because I laid it out for you this morning.”

  “And there’s nobody here now. They’ve all gone home.”

  “It’s your pond, my Lady,” Jeremy grinned. “Why not enjoy it?”

  She rose, looking at them, four handsome faces, four delightful bodies, all waiting on a single word from her. In that moment, she realised she was about to fully accept what Wolfbridge offered. Affectionate and loving attentions from men who were devoted to her well-being.

  “Then by all means, take me to the pond,” she whispered, breathless with anticipation.

  Gabriel unfastened her gown as Evan bent to remove her shoes and stockings. His grip was firm, his hands deft, and his touches exciting.

  The air touched her bare arms and back as her garment fell away and Royce extended his hand as she stepped out and away from most of her clothing. “Come, my Lady. Let’s get wet…”

  His words were an erotically sensual invitation her body accepted with willing alacrity.

  With Royce now shirtless on one side and Jeremy on the other, she could sense the warmth emanating from their bare skin. Gabriel and Evan had also shed their shirts and hurried up behind her as they all walked to the tiny bridge that extended out into the pond.

  “It’s not too deep, is it?”

  Jeremy jumped in with a splash, the water coming barely up to his waist. “Not at all. See? Just ideal.” He dropped down, letting the water sluice over his bare shoulders. “Oh, this is truly wonderful.” He stood once more, the water drips glittering in the first rays of moonlight. “Come, Gwyneth-love. Take my hand…”

  Gwyneth-love. Had anyone ever called her that? She didn’t think so. Which was a pity, because she rather enjoyed it. Of course she’d never been called anything by anyone who was half naked while she wore only
a thin chemise and stood in the moonlight next to a pond.

  The circumstances were indeed unique. And she was enjoying them enormously.

  Taking a breath, she jumped, splashing into the pond next to Jeremy, and followed by almost simultaneous splashes as the other three joined them.

  It was chaos, laughter, soft warm silky water and moonlight.

  She could swim, something she’d learned as a child. Living not far from a river, most of the local children were taught at an early age, just in case. And now, surrounded by her gentlemen, Gwyneth’s past returned. The feel of the water against her body, the floating kiss of her thin cotton chemise…sensual pleasures that drove everything else from her mind.

  She struck out, a natural movement of limbs propelling her across the pond, followed by similar strokes as her gentlemen escorted her on her steady progress.

  “Don’t tire yourself.”

  Evan was beside her, his naked skin gleaming, his smile flashing white against the growing twilight. She couldn’t help reaching for him, aching to feel the heat of his body.

  “Not too far, Gwyneth,” Royce closed the distance between them. “You’re not at full strength yet.”

  She tossed her head, letting the droplets from her hair spray around her. “This is magnificent,” she laughed aloud. “Wonderful, wonderful…”

  Rolling in the water, she leaned back and floated, a trick she’d mastered at the ripe old age of five. “The stars. Look at the stars coming out…” She gazed upward into the deep blue sky, where tiny dots of light twinkled at her. The final flames of the sun were turning the horizon to vivid purple, making way for the pure blue white of the moon which would rise soon.

  She felt them move close, four bodies, ripples touching her—and then hands, beneath her, holding her as she drifted on the surface.

  An arm went under her shoulders, another touched her back and slid to her bottom, a heated caress. Hands found her thighs and calves; she floated still, but now held by the loving touches of her gentlemen. Could there be anything more magnificent than this?

  It turned out that yes, there was indeed something even better.

  When four warm bodies touched hers, when lips found skin, fingertips stroked cool flesh…Gwyneth closed her eyes and surrendered.

  They held her but now they also played with her, tugging at the wet cotton, pulling it away from her body, finding her sensitive places beneath.

  Two hands cupped her breasts, one from each side, her nipples responding to tiny tugs and abrasions. Who was it? Whose thumbs were making her squirm? She didn’t know, nor did she want to. The sensation was more than enough. Another hand found her bottom, squeezing, tickling, running fingertips along the crease and tugging on her cheeks, making her gasp a little at the strange feelings it evoked.

  As her gown floated to her waist, a hand slid down, down between her legs, finding moisture that had nothing to do with the pond and everything to do with Gwyneth’s aroused desires.

  This was what she’d wanted.

  She allowed the confession to seep into her thoughts as she parted her legs, inviting whoever was touching her to explore whatever he wanted.

  She moaned, the waters around her splashing little waves over her skin, reminding her that she was all but nude in their arms.

  “So sweet,” someone whispered.

  “So warm,” another answered.

  “Gwyneth,” breathed Gabriel. She could recognise his voice—the wonder in his words.

  “Ohhh…” Someone lifted her a little and the water ran down either side, then there were shoulders between her legs and a mouth and tongue replaced fingers.

  “Oh God,” she cried out. The sensual assault increased as lips suckled on her breasts and hands ran over every part of her body. She tensed as that magic tongue laved the sensitive bud of her pleasure, teasing and tempting and finally pushing her up and over the edge.

  Her cry startled birds in the willow tree and the rustle of leaves took the sounds and whispered them on the night breeze.

  She was moving, being carried back to the bridge, four strong bodies acting as her ferry. Limp and relaxed, she let them guide her through the water, still shivering from the after effects of her experience.

  Her lower body still tingled, the memory of the fierce spasms fresh, the exquisite release leaving her weak physically, but with a renewed sense of her own emotional strength.

  She had survived the worst life could offer. She had lost everything and nearly lost her soul.

  But she had survived.

  And now she was going to thrive as the Lady of Wolfbridge. In any manner she chose.

  *~~*~~*

  Unaware of Gwyneth’s emotional awakening, Giles sat in his study with the windows open, enjoying the evening air and listening to the melodies of birds, insects and the occasional frog. Country sounds that soothed him and had become a steady accompaniment to times like this.

  Beside him, on a small table beneath the window, was a glass of his favourite whiskey. The house was quiet, and he was alone but for his thoughts—and the letter next to the glass.

  He had yet to open it.

  Another lay beside it, this one addressed to the Dowager Duchess of Kilham, Wolfbridge Manor.

  Both letters troubled him greatly, and he frowned as he reached for his glass, took a hefty swig of the warming liquor and pondered the questions running through his mind.

  Who could’ve known Lady Gwyneth was now at Wolfbridge? Anything local would have been delivered as a message or in person, and besides, she wouldn’t be the addressee for estate business. That would all go to Royce. There was no sender, or seal, or identifying information, just an envelope sealed with perfectly ordinary wax and a stamp that one could find anywhere. From Randschen, perhaps…but if not, who else might have known her whereabouts?

  Giles was at a loss.

  He was uncomfortable at the thought of opening it himself, and rightly so. He might run Wolfbridge, but that did not offer him a licence to open her Ladyship’s post.

  So, slowly, he reached for his own letter, both eager and afraid of what it might contain.

  The marks and scuffs on this small package told of a long journey, and he knew for certain that it had indeed travelled many miles to reach his hand.

  He lifted it to his nose, wondering if he could detect a trace of the scent that had once been so familiar—the salty floral air of Jamaica.

  But he could detect no sweet jasmine or spicy smell, no touch of the ocean or rich deep mountain forests. Perhaps he was imagining that he might recall those fragrances, or perhaps it was all just wishful thinking. How far away it all seemed sometimes, and yet then one night he’d dream—and it was all there.

  Nearly thirty years. So much time had passed since his sojourn in a part of the world so different from England it looked like a vision from some fantastic painting.

  The light, the colours, the heat—all strange manifestations of a realm he could never have imagined, and yet found himself travelling through, surrounded by a teeming and boisterous town, soldiers, slaves and settlers; an endless ocean of humanity washing the beaches of an endless ocean of blues that dazzled the eye.

  So long ago.

  Some things a man could never forget.

  Giles sighed, reluctantly recalling himself to the present. He had never regretted becoming part of Wolfbridge Manor. He loved the house, the estate and the people who had lived and worked and loved here for generations. How could he not? It was his home and had been for more than two decades. He had made it what it was today, in many ways, and was proud of what he’d accomplished.

  He was even prouder of the women he’d stood beside over those twenty years. Right up until today, when Lady Gwyneth showed every sign of becoming a true Lady of Wolfbridge.

  He’d seen that light come into her eyes today. The one that inevitably dawned when the sheer pleasure her gentlemen took in making her life better turned into an awareness, the beginnings of desire.

&nb
sp; Gwyneth was one woman who would definitely be strengthened by this knowledge, and by acting upon it. She had received the worst treatment possible at the hands of a man, and this was after a marriage that had brought her little in the way of joy.

  Yes, she would learn how to hold her head high, how to be better than she was. She would learn the depths of pleasure that hid within every woman, and again, that learning would add to her self-confidence.

  How little it took to make a woman raise her chin and be proud of herself. And how seldom men realised that fact.

  Giles took another drink. Whiskey helped at times like these; times when his thoughts girdled the earth, as it were, and when they delved within his Lady’s psyche.

  Many might have viewed his position as butler, plain and simple.

  In fact, it was more. A great deal more. And sometimes his shoulders ached with the burdens he carried.

  The letter in front of him might add to, or ease, those burdens. If he didn’t read it, he’d never find out.

  Putting down his glass, he reached for the small packet, picked up his paper knife and slit the strings.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Journal of Gwyneth, Dowager Countess, Lady of Wolfbridge - May 1818

  I know I am supposed to keep a daily record of my life in this journal. And I shall try to at least record some of my thoughts more often than every other month. But with so much of my time spent on recovering my strength and learning about Wolfbridge…there hasn’t been chance or, indeed, a need for such a thing.

  After all, I have to wonder what sort of Lady would be interested in the megrims of her predecessor? Would any of them care that Evan has made me some of the most delicious meals, many of which I truly believe have helped me attain my current state of well-being?

  They would probably be more interested in knowing how Evan’s lips taste and how masterful are his kisses. And they might also smile as I report that he is not alone in these skills. Jeremy’s hands are cleverer than any man’s has a right to be, Royce shows no hesitation in revealing his desires, and Gabriel? Gabriel is quite extraordinary.