by Sahara Kelly
“Non-fluffy and with no danger of soiling your hands, my Lady.”
She glanced at Royce. “Thank you.”
He bowed, his grin widening into a smile. “I am here to serve.”
“My gloves are, at this moment, sending you their profuse thanks.”
Gabriel sighed loudly. “If you two are quite done…” He opened the box to reveal a stack of small scrolls.
“Oh…” Gwyneth looked in, her fingers itching to see what they were. “May I?”
“Of course.”
She pulled out one of the rolled pieces of paper and stretched it between her fingers, revealing a tidily written notice.
“To you, valued tenant of Wolfbridge.
This note guarantees a position for any and all children of Wolfbridge tenants within a new school. It is soon to be available in the renovated dwelling on the south-east corner lot, formerly known as the Carter house, and our hope is that it will be ready for your children in January.
With our thanks and best wishes,
Sincerely,
Gwyneth, Lady of Wolfbridge.”
Gwyneth rolled the paper up again and looked at the two men. “It’s…it’s so splendid.” Her eyes stung. “To be able to do this for our tenants? I am so very happy at this moment, I could just burst.”
Gabriel came to her side and hugged her. “Don’t cry, love.”
“I’m not,” she sniffed. “Well, if I am, they are happy tears, Gabriel.” She held out her hand to Royce, wondering if he’d take it. He did.
“And you. Managing to put this together. Thank you. Thank you both.”
“Well, don’t thank us yet. You have to sign each and every one,” Royce grinned, giving her fingers a squeeze and then letting go.
“I will. With joy in my heart.”
Evan’s head popped around the door. “Tea, anyone?”
Harry joined him. “Damn well hope so. This tray is heavy.” He walked in past Evan, grunting as he set down the large silver tray and its contents with a clatter.
“Yes, perfect.” Gwyneth flashed him a glance of thanks. “Come and see, you two. Tell me what you think.” She indicated the box of scrolls and both men walked over to investigate.
Harry nodded to Royce. “Nicely done. An excellent touch for a good idea.”
Royce nodded back. “Actually, most of it was Gabriel.”
At the mention of his name, Gabriel blushed. “Oh well, ’twas merely a thought that became an idea that became…well, this.” He waved his hand at the box. “It seemed we should give everyone something they could keep and show to their families. Something to pass along, if you know what I mean.”
“I do, Gabriel,” said Gwyneth, pouring tea. “And you have my thanks for such an excellent notion. I am half in love with it already.”
“Thank God,” said Jeremy from the door. “I’ve just spent half an hour rummaging in the attic to find ribbons.” He entered with an armful of ribbons, some on spools, some loose. “Will these do?” He wrinkled his nose at Gabriel. “Because if not, you can go and find more. I’m done with spider’s webs and dust.”
The laugh was general, the tea excellent, and the next hour passed quickly as Gwyneth signed every scroll and Gabriel was joined by Evan in tying a bow around each of them.
Royce, Jeremy and Harry argued about the presentation.
“I would rather have Lady Gwyneth pass out the scrolls from the terrace,” insisted Royce. “Asking her to wander around a muddy field is a bit much, given the numbers of people.”
“Well, I suppose so.” Harry nodded.
“Perhaps we should ask her. Lady Gwyneth…” Jeremy attracted her attention. “Would you rather pass out the scrolls from the terrace or walk around the bonfire with them?”
She looked up from her quill. “I’d like to walk around, but I would worry I’d missed somebody.”
“Good point.” agreed Jeremy. “We could set up a table quite easily, and you could pass out the scrolls, and one of us could jot down the name of the recipient. That makes sure nobody gets two, and also if anyone isn’t there they can get theirs later.”
Once this suggestion had been debated, discussed and finally agreed upon, Gwyneth—who had kept silent during the whole conversation—raised her head. “Er, might I ask…do we have a plan for if it rains?”
Silence fell.
Royce leaned forward and put his head in his hands with a groan. “We move to Jamaica.”
*~~*~~*
“Fine lad, that.” Mrs Barnsley looked over her teacup at Harry as he walked down to the bonfire.
She and Gwyneth were sharing an afternoon tray at the window overlooking the terrace, and hence the field where the mound of wood was reaching massive proportions.
“He is,” answered Gwyneth calmly. “And the others seem to like him as well. He has fit in with our little family very nicely.”
“Yer blessed indeed, m’Lady.” She put down her cup and saucer. “’Ow’s ‘e betwixt the sheets then?”
Gwyneth nearly sputtered seed cake over the tray. “Mrs B. I’m astonished you asked such a thing.”
“Why?” The old woman grinned at her. “I mebbe ancient, but I ain’t dead.”
“You know I can’t possibly answer that.” Gwyneth shook her head in amusement.
“’Aven’t tried ‘im out yet, then? C’mon, lass. I dunno ‘ow many years I got left. I’m relying on yer to keep ‘em interesting.”
“Sorry. Maybe you need some kittens around the house.”
Mrs Barnsley glanced at Darcy, who snoozed at Gwyneth’s feet. “Well, at least they’d earn their keep, ‘specially in the barn. Mice are all over the place right now. Our two moggies are fat as flawns.”
“Darcy works too,” pouted Gwyneth. “Why just last night he let me know there was a fox on the lawn.”
“Didn’t chase ‘im, though, I’ll wager.”
Gwyneth sighed. “No, he didn’t. And it was well past midnight, too. Little devil woke me.” She rubbed him gently with her foot, whereupon he moaned in pleasure, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
“Wake anyone else, then, did ‘e?”
“You’re not giving up, are you.” It was a statement, delivered with a grin.
“Nope.”
“All right,” sighed Gwyneth. “For the record, Harry and I have not…er…become too closely acquainted.”
“Yet.”
“Yet.”
“That’s better.” Mrs Barnsley nodded. “And I always knew yer was smart. Yer wait a bit, take yer time, and then…” she clapped her hands together. “Boom.”
A shudder ran through Gwyneth as she thought about “boom” with Harry. Wisely, she changed the subject.
“How’s Jane, Mrs B? Have you seen her this week?”
“I have,” nodded the older woman. “Big as a house, God bless ‘er. An’ the babe kickin’ like a pig in a sack.”
“She is due to deliver in—what—less than a month?”
“Six weeks,” answered the future grandmother. “Though I’m thinkin’ she’ll go sooner. Babe’s dropped, yer see…”
“Oh, yes. Right,” answered Gwyneth, who didn’t see at all. “And how is Trick? Is he ready to be a papa, do you think?
At that, Mrs B laughed aloud. “Says ‘e’s ready, ‘e does. But I’ll believe that when I sees it.”
Both women shared the humour, and their conversation continued until Mrs B finally stood, brushing off her skirts.
“Well, I gotta go, m’Lady. But yer knows ‘ow much I enjoy our chats.”
“And I, Mrs B.” Gwyneth also rose. “Oh. One thing—and I would ask you to keep this to yourself, if you don’t mind—we are working on something for the tenants, and we may need some men to help over the next month or so. Do you know if that would be possible? Are the harvests all in? Will there be spare time for a few of them, d’you think?”
Mrs B raised her eyebrows. “Well now, that’s a good question.” She cocked her head to one side. “Got summ
at up yer sleeve then, do yer?”
“Yes, and I’m not revealing it yet. I just need to know if help would be available.”
“All yer gotta do is send word, m’Lady.” Mrs B smiled. “We’ll be ready an’ willin’ for whatever yer need.”
“That is wonderful. I thank you most sincerely.” She gave Mrs B a little hug. This woman had been a lifeline and had rapidly become a friend whose honesty and trustworthiness could always be counted on.
Gabriel poked his head around the door. “Excuse me, my Lady. Evan was wondering if Mrs B would mind stopping by the kitchen on her way home?” He smiled at the older woman. “He’s trying a new recipe and would love your opinion…”
“That lad,” said Mrs B. “Gotta magic touch wi’ food and ‘e’s askin’ me?” She guffawed. “Sure, I’ll come. Mebbe I can talk ‘im into tellin’ me what’s in it.”
“Would you share your pie secrets?” Gwyneth passed Mrs B her shawl.
“Hah.” The snort was quite explanatory.
“I thought so,” chuckled Gwyneth. “Thank you for the visit, dear Mrs. B. Give our regards to Jane and Trick, won’t you? I doubt Jane will want to attend the Hallowmas Bonfire.”
“I will.” Mrs B reached the door. “Lizzie an’ Mary will be by Thursday as usual.” She waved her hand and vanished with Gabriel.
Gwyneth tidied the tray and finished off her piece of seed cake. It was really very good. She would have to remember to thank Evan.
Walking back to the window where the light was beginning to fade, she sighed, wondering yet again at the twists of fate that had delivered her from almost certain death to the position of Lady of the Manor. And into the arms of her gentlemen.
She was physically healed, and most certainly satisfied. Her mind was calm, her sense of security unsurpassed.
What had she done to deserve such wonders?
And fast on the heels of that thought came another.
How long would it last?
Chapter Nine
The first day of November dawned cold and clear, and showed no signs of changing its mind, to the relief of the bonfire watchers.
Harry noted more than a few pairs of small feet appearing now and again and then disappearing as they confirmed the mighty pile of wood was snug, dry and ready for the festivities. The grass beneath was dormant now, mostly grey instead of green, and the ashes from the blaze would be ploughed in come planting time, adding valuable fertilisers to the surrounding area.
While he knew little of farming, he had a smattering of chemistry in his background, picked up from an uncle who had been fascinated with such things. A long time ago now, it seemed.
But this little tradition, lingering from the Middle Ages to now, intrigued him. And so it was with a small measure of entirely adult excitement that he joined those little ones who were eagerly awaiting the night.
There would, of course, be food. No celebration ever lacked food, especially at Wolfbridge.
Evan had been extra busy preparing soft bread rolls that would go into the oven early and pile up on wooden trays during the late afternoon. Many of the women would bring dishes and there would be a vat of mulled wine, thanks to Harry’s suggestion. A smaller fire would hold the largest cooking pot, and Mr Barnsley had been volunteered by his wife to oversee distribution.
All was in order, realised Harry.
And he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. What was his place here, in this tiny bit of England? An ex-soldier, with the scars to prove it, a middling ability to handle legal and financial matters and a way with horses. What was he doing here, within this oddly domestic family, tucked far away from all that he held familiar?
Then there was the matter of the Lady.
She would be his for the taking, and his loins liked that proposition. A lot. She was a petite woman, but her appeal lay not in her stature, but in that look she had when she was asserting her opinions. Her chin would go up and she would meet one’s eyes with a straight and determined look. He’d not seen temper, but he believed it was there.
Her body appealed to him on a purely male level. All the right curves in all the right places. But he probably would have been interested had she been tall and skinny or anything else, for he was a man attracted to a woman who could think and talk and argue with him—and occasionally win.
It was intelligence, he’d been told. And he’d known immediately the statement was quite correct, regardless of the fact that he was talking to a very naked courtesan at the time. She’d been intelligent, and his dalliance with her had been most enjoyable.
Gwyneth was cut from the same cloth when it came to her mind. And she tasted sweet, fresh and most desirable.
Harry sighed. As a soldier, his sexual adventures had wandered considerably from the straight and narrow, as a soldier’s are wont to do. He had shared women a time or two. Now, he had the option of doing so again, with Lady Gwyneth and those she referred to as her “gentlemen”.
His common sense told him this might not end well. But the rest of him told his conscience to go fuck itself and leave his loins to do the job.
So he turned his attention away from the sensual charms of his Lady and back to the duties of the day. Darcy, for some unknown reason, had formed the habit of attaching himself to either Royce or Harry. He was happy to be with anyone, but these days his preferred choice of human companion remained the two of them. So Harry made sure to take Darcy out as much as possible, knowing that come nightfall, the pup would be safest tucked up indoors.
By the time the sun neared the horizon, all was prepared, and Wolfbridge shone with lights. Branches of candles lit the dusk from behind many of the windows, and outside several torches rimmed the terrace, thanks to both Royce and Harry, who called upon their military experience to create them.
Darcy snored by the fire, well away from the festivities.
“How long will they burn?” Gwyneth stared at the torches.
“I have no idea,” answered Royce with a grin. “But a couple of hours at least.”
Harry couldn’t help but think Royce was every bit as excited as the children who were now running freely onto the field. The tables were set, the scrolls ready.
“My Lady.” One of the oldest tenants, Joe Fillwell, approached Gwyneth.
“Mr Fillwell. I’m glad to see you,” she replied, her smile broad and welcoming. “Are you going to light our bonfire for us?”
“Yes’m,” he bowed, cap in hand. “You got a taper then?”
“I do.”
With great ceremony, Gwyneth took the large taper from Jeremy’s hand. “Here you are, Mr. Fillwell. Please light the fire with my blessing, so that we may all be warm during the coming winter.” She touched the lighted taper to the unlit candle and grinned as the two wicks met and flared into brilliant life.
She’d memorised the words, Harry knew, but they seemed natural coming from her lips.
He moved to her side, along with the other men, as Mr Fillwell made his way carefully down the terrace steps and across the lawn to the field.
“I hope he makes it all right,” muttered Jeremy.
“If he takes any longer, the flame will go out,” said Gabriel, worry in his voice. “D’you think I should…oh, there. He’s met the others. They’ll help.”
And within moments a spark could be seen at the base of the bonfire, a glimmer of red that turned gold very quickly and spread upward, finding more fuel from the dry twigs and short branches that had been stacked inside. Within five minutes it was a happy blaze and ten minutes later it was more of a warning beacon, shooting sparks high in the air and bringing cheers to the throats of the crowd surrounding it.
Harry found himself cheering as well, although he had no idea why.
The night shone with the brilliance of the massive bonfire, and it reflected its glow on the Lady of Wolfbridge as she stood between two tables at the edge of the terrace.
Harry watched as the gown she had chosen glittered brightly; her neckline edged with som
ething sparkling, her cape featuring a matching trim, and in her hair some little pins flickered like glowworms.
She handed out the scrolls; a quick word or two to everyone who queued up, a laugh and a nod here and there. If he’d been asked to describe the scene, the word “queen” would have been mentioned. She stood there so calm and happy, not a bit of pretence or snobbery, treating every single tenant as if they were the most important person she would speak to that evening.
It was a natural grace, a charm that could not be taught.
And it impressed the hell out of Harry.
“Amazing, isn’t she?” Jeremy appeared next to him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the like,” he replied, honestly.
Jeremy cleared his thought. “Look, we’ve been talking. The others and I.” He shifted a little as Harry turned to face him. “It’s time you…erm…spent some time with Lady Gwyneth.”
“Some time?” Harry’s eyebrow quirked. “As in have a cup of tea with her?”
“No,” snorted Jeremy. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
Harry nodded. “So how does it work?”
“Royce didn’t say anything?”
“No. Not directly.”
“Well…” Jeremy gazed at Gwyneth. “Sometimes she’ll make her preference clear. Other times, if she’s tired, she’ll just say goodnight. We’ve learned to understand her signals, and I’m not even sure if she knows she gives them. But there are also times when she needs what one or two of us can offer in the way of support, or sympathy. Royce knows those signs and he will mention them.” He shrugged. “Then there are times when she’ll ask for company.”
“She hasn’t asked me.”
“No, but she is curious about you. So tonight the rest of us will be in the kitchen with Evan, finishing off whatever mulled wine is left and maybe washing it down with a brandy or two. The coast will be clear for you, Harry.” He punched the other man’s shoulder. “Make us proud.”
Harry’s gaze returned to watch Gwyneth.
Yes. He would do his best to make his new friends proud. But beyond that, he’d do his damndest to satisfy this amazing woman. As if she’d heard, her head turned toward him.