The Terms of Their Affair

by Clare Connelly

  She waited until he left and then let go of the enormous sigh she’d been holding. What had she got herself into?

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I have no idea where Maddie is,” Elizabetta husked, her vodka cradled in one elegant hand. “She has been looking forward to seeing you.” It was a lie. Madison had been too grief-stricken to compute that her half-brother was due at Bagleyhurst.

  He set his scotch down and stared beyond his step-mother, to the grand piano in the corner. How long since he’d last played?

  “It’s late,” he said with a shrug of non-concern. What was Finn doing? And where was she staying?

  “Not that late. She’s nine, not nine months,” Elizabetta chided softly. “How was your flight?”

  “Fine. I arrived two days ago.”

  “Did you?” It surprised her. “I had thought you’d come directly here.”

  “No.” He forced a smile to his face. “I had business in London to deal with.”

  “Your father’s will?” She prompted bitterly, causing curiosity to flare in his gut.

  “No. What of it, though?”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks pinkened. She was a beautiful woman. Naturally. Gower was as well known, in his day, for his taste in women as Caradoc was now. “I only presumed …”

  “No.” He turned to face her, and really studied her. Tall. Slim. Elegant, with a face that was kept youthful through good genes, excellent diet and with the deft hand of a top cosmetician. “I have an office there.”

  “Do you?” She murmured, something strange sparking inside of her at her stepson’s obvious appraisal. “Your father never said.”

  “I’m not surprised. Why would he? As you know, Gower took little interest in my affairs.”

  “He was proud of you,” she demurred.

  “Yes, at the end, perhaps he was.”

  “He knew all of your biggest successes.”

  “Most of the finance-literate world knew of my biggest successes,” he said, without boastfulness or false pride.

  “Even now you hate him, don’t you?”

  Caradoc turned his hard stare away from her. “I don’t know,” he said finally.

  Elizabetta wanted to speak in defence of her late husband, but she was cowered by Caradoc. He was an intimidating man. He had been even years earlier, when she’d first met him. Then, he’d been starting his career, but he’d had the puffed chest and bravado of the success he would become. His arrogance had draped him like a cloak.

  “The woman who drove me here from London,” he said with a dark note to his voice. “Where would she be staying?”

  Elizabetta frowned. “A woman drove you?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Can you find out?”

  “The housekeeper might know.”

  “Fine,” he said impatiently. “Do not trouble yourself.”

  * * *

  In the end, it was the library that brought them together. Three souls, all completely different, with one common link.

  The library.

  Finn had barely been able to contain her excitement as she sat through a noisy dinner in the domestics’ kitchen. She’d met almost the whole team, but she couldn’t have recalled more than four or five of their names if interrogated. They were a nice group though, and she found herself hoping, as the meal progressed, that Caradoc would do nothing to unsettle the balance.

  Then again, what must it cost to employ so many people? A small fortune, she’d have bet. Whether he could afford it or not, would he think it was an extravagance beyond bearing to pay such a sum for the comfort of a widow and her daughter?

  Somewhere after the roast pork had been cleared away, but before the steaming bread and butter pudding was brought out, the library was mentioned. Her eyes flew to Dougal’s face and he winked at her over his coffee.

  “It’s the grandest private library in the South,” one of the women was saying. “They open it up twice a year to the general public. Just for looking at, not for takin’ books or nothin’, you understand. It was built hundreds of years ago. The shelves are all uneven and shinin’. Takes me a good day a week to keep it dust-free.”

  “Oh,” Finn exclaimed with a breathless sigh. “Where is it? Do you think I could have a look?”

  “O’ course you can,” the woman smiled good-naturedly. “Only be careful not to make a mess. Old Gower was prouder of the collection than any other room in the house.”

  “Was he a keen reader then?” She asked, wondering if perhaps Caradoc’s father might have enjoyed books almost as much as she did.

  “Him? Eh, no. He liked to boast about it, though.”

  Conversation swirled on around them, but all Seraphina could think of was the room of books. She ate her pudding with almost indecent haste then scraped her chair back.

  “Excuse me,” she said to no one in particular.

  But Dougal stood and walked with her to the door.

  “Which way is it?” She asked, her excitement a tangible force.

  “I’ll show you. It’s over the other side of the building.”

  She looked down at her clothes with a frown. She had changed into a pair of jeans and a fitted black sweater. Though perfectly neat, they were obviously casual. “Am I likely to see any of the family?”

  “Not in the library, I doubt,” he said with a droll shake of his head.

  She laughed despite herself. “Okay, thanks so much then.”

  He led her down yet another corridor, this one with a timber door at its end. He pushed it inwards and the feel of the surroundings changed instantly. Timber floor gave way to tiled, and the walls were painted with a gloss sheen. The lights were elegant gold and pearl, and the furniture was obviously expensive. “The private residence,” he said unnecessarily. “This way.” He led her to a central staircase with a glistening crystal chandelier suspended in the centre, and up onto the first floor landing.

  “You’re sure no one will see us?”

  He shook his head. “You clocked the size of this place, right? Mrs Moore’s room is right down the other end of the house. She has a private dining room they’ll be eating in tonight. Maddie’s rooms on the other side of her mother’s.”

  “And Caradoc’s?” She prompted, hating herself for the weak enquiry mocked up as lazy interest.

  “Somewhere near Mrs Moore, I’d guess.” He frowned. “I don’t ever remember him coming to stay before so I couldn’t say with any certainty. Though he used to live here, that was when he was a tot, and he had a nursery upstairs.”

  That was news to Finn. Placated though that she was out of danger of seeing Caradoc, she fell back into step beside the mechanic.

  “You said you’re working on a Daimler?” She prompted after a few silent moments.

  He let out a low whistle. “A nineteen thirty five mint-condition. Leather and polished walnut interior. Runs like a dream, but for a slight shake when you change gears.”

  “Sounds beautiful,” she said honestly.

  “You’ll see her tomorrow.” He paused outside a wide set of glass doors with brass detailing. “Here y’are.”

  “The library?” She peered through the glass and the sight of so many books in the dimly lit room made her heart turn over in excited anticipation.

  “Go on. Have fun. Be careful of the ghost…”

  She laughed with a small shake of her head. But she was already mentally searching the shelves. “See you in the morning,” she waved, pushing the door inwards.

  It gave with an easy nudge and she stepped inside slowly, breathing in the wonderful smell of books, dust and furniture polish. “Oh, heaven on earth,” she said, moving through the room with a growing sense of awe.

  She glided towards the nearest shelves and ran her fingers over the bindings. The books themselves were glorious. From what she could see, they covered a wide range of subjects. Many of them dated back hundreds of years; some of them were in Latin. She lifted a Shakespeare out and gently fingered the gold-edged pages.
/>   “Remarkable,” she said, pushing it back. What a room! What a house! She moved down another aisle, her sense of awe growing with each step she took.

  There were so many she’d love to read, but she didn’t feel comfortable doing so without asking first. Her face was marred by a frown. But asking whom? The housekeeper? Caradoc? She shied away from that.

  Perhaps if she selected one and read it here, in the library? That wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, surely. She bit down on her lip as she studied the spines and finally selected an illustrated copy of War and Peace from the shelf.

  “Hello, old friend,” she murmured, clutching it in her hand and re-tracing her steps. In the middle of the room, there were two armchairs. She settled in one, and flipped open the first page.

  “Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes.” She read, tracing her fingers over the words not to aid her reading but out of reverence for the text.

  She read and she read, and she forgot completely where she was or what time it was. Only a small, unnatural sound broke the trance of the novel, and caused her to lift her gaze from the yellowing pages.

  “Hello?” She said, a frown on her face. She scanned her finger down the page until she reached the numbers and then closed the book carefully. “Is someone else here?”

  She stood up, her heart beating fast. She didn’t really believe in ghosts. So what had she just heard?

  “Who are you?” A small voice, with perfect diction and inflection, came from amongst the books.

  Finn walked towards it with a small frown on her brow.

  After a few paces, she saw her. A young girl with straw-coloured hair and brown eyes so like Caradoc’s that they caused her breath to snag in her throat.

  She regained her composure as quickly as she was able. “My name is Seraphina,” she said, her smile encouraging. For the other girl was meek and shy, and her cheeks were stained with tears. “What’s your name?”

  The girl’s expression was loaded with haughtiness despite the fact she’d obviously been caught mid-sob.

  “I am Madison Moore,” she said with an excellent imitation of the lady of the manor. “This is my house.”

  “Oh,” Finn hid her smile. “What an honour it is to meet you, Miss Moore,” she said earnestly. “I drove your older brother here earlier today.”

  “You? A driver?” She said in disbelief. “But you’re tiny.”

  “So?” Finn laughed, crouching down in front of the pint-sized child.

  “How can you drive? My dad used to say that our Dougal could fight wars with his bare hands. You don’t look like you could do that.”

  “Don’t I?” Finn said, pleased at least that disbelief had overtaken the child’s sobbing. “I could, I assure you.”

  “But you’re tiny,” she repeated, more emphatically.

  “I’m not that small,” Finn denied. “And size doesn’t matter, in the scheme of things. Not when you’re strong like I am.”

  “Are you strong?” Maddie demanded huskily.

  Finn nodded with a grave sense of importance. “Very.”

  “Show me.” Maddie spoke with the confidence of a child who was all too used to being obeyed.

  “I can’t show you,” she insisted with a shake of her head. “At least, not here.” An idea occurred to her and it made her smile. “Perhaps tomorrow Dougal would let me demonstrate on him.”

  “You could fight Dougal?”

  “Well, Miss Moore, I don’t think your father would have wanted Dougal to fight anyone, just as I don’t intend to really. But I can use Dougal to show you that you don’t need to be big to be strong.”

  “Okay, yes. Yes, please.” The little girl’s face dropped again as if, conversation over, she was remembering that she was sad.

  “I don’t know any girl chauffeurs,” Maddie said after a minute. “All our lady domestics are cleaners and cooks. And one gardener, but mother always says she’s built like a man.”

  “I see, does she?” Finn tried to keep the disapproval out of her voice. What a rarefied environment this child was growing up in. “That’s odd.”

  “Is it? Why?”

  Finn wrinkled her nose and pretended to think about it. “I know lots of girl drivers,” she said finally. “And girl police, and girl fire-fighters, and girl lawyers and doctors. I spent a summer driving one of the smartest people in England around a couple of years ago. She’s a judge and she was presiding over a very difficult and high-profile case. I drove her everywhere, and she would have made you lose your breath for how smart and strong she was.”

  “My mother says smart is irrelevant,” Maddie said with a shrug.

  Finn swallowed. “Perhaps you misunderstood.”

  “No. She tells me I’m wasting my time reading so much when I could be playing with my friends. My mother doesn’t like me very much, Seraphina.” She was silent a moment. “What a strange name that is.”

  Finn smiled, but her heart was breaking for this odd little child. “You can call me Finn, if you’d like. That’s what my friends call me.”

  But Maddie shook her head. “I like Seraphina. It’s strange, but it’s pretty. What does it mean?”

  Finn’s smile was transient. “It comes from the word seraphim; do you know what that means?”

  Maddie shook her head.

  “Well, we’re in the perfect spot to find out. Will you help me find a book?”

  “Oh, I know all these books,” Maddie said enthusiastically. “Which in particular would you like?”

  “Something on faery lore and angels,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Goblins and trolls, witches, that kind of thing.”

  Maddie was warming to the theme. She’d never had someone spend so much time talking to her for the sake of it. She had been a neglected child, borne to a father who was in poor health and a mother who’d only had a child as a safety net in the event of divorce.

  “I know just the one. At least, I think I do. But you shall have to help me get it. It’s up very high.”

  “It is?” Finn queried. “Then how do you know about it?”

  Maddie’s cheeks flushed pink. “I come in when they’re dusting. I’m not supposed to. But it’s the only time they pull the books down and I can see all of them.”

  “I see,” Finn smiled. “Good thinking.”

  Maddie was surprised. “I like you. You’re not like other grown ups.”

  “No,” Finn agreed after a moment. “I suppose I’m not.”

  “I thought you’d reproach me for being where I’m not supposed to be.”

  “Heck no,” Finn demurred. She stopped walking as Maddie did. “I’ve spent my life being where I wasn’t meant to be. If you ask me, that’s a child’s prerogative.”

  Maddie repeated the word as if hearing it for the first time in her life and liking very much how it sounded in her mouth. “It’s that one,” she said finally, pointing at a very old looking book with ruby leather and gold writing on the spine. “Can you reach it?”

  “I think so,” Finn frowned. Though she was petite, she didn’t want to undo all the good feminist instruction she’d just been giving. She stood on tip-toes and wiggled her fingers beneath the bump of the spine, hooking it loose and catching it in the palm of her hand.

  “Good job,” Maddie smiled encouragingly, and her exhalation of breath echoed Finn’s as she brought the book lower still. She crouched so she was nearer in height to Maddie and opened the front cover. The frontispiece was an exceptional illustration of several river fairies with leaves for hats and nuts for shoes. She ran a finger over it admiringly before flipping to the back of the book.

  She scanned the index until her eyes alighted on the word seraphim.

  “There,” she said exultantly, turning to the page it suggested.

  Maddie craned closer, placing a hand on Finn’s shoulder in an entirely natural state of curiosity. She leaned in and smiled when she saw the picture. “She looks just like you,” Maddie exclaimed.
/>
  “Do you think so?” Finn studied the illustration. The fairy was indeed similar, at least in terms of size and complexion. Her eyes were green and her hair was long and red; her skin was pale as cream and her figure dainty. Her wings were made of leaves and spider’s web silk, and little specks of sand from the bottom of the river made them shimmer.

  “Oh, yes.” Maddie begin to read aloud from the page. “Seraphim,” her voice was husky and reverent. “The most powerful and highest ranked of all the angels.”

  Seraphina smiled. “Yes, and faeries like to borrow from the Seraphim from time to time,” she nodded towards the picture.

  “You are an angel,” Maddie said, turning to study the woman curiously.

  “No,” she shook her head sadly. “But it was very important to my mother than I be named for them.”

  “Oh, why?” Maddie’s hand still rested on Finn’s shoulder, and Finn understood the sensitivity in the young girl. She didn’t want to do anything that might suggest she wished to discourage their friendship.

  “Well,” she said earnestly, her eyes seeking Maddie’s. She forced herself to ignore the similarities to Caradoc’s. “My mother died only a month after I was born.”

  “Oh,” Maddie exclaimed, clasping her spare hand to her mouth. “That’s very sad.”

  “Yes,” Finn agreed. In so many ways, but none of them bore discussion at that point. “She liked to think that she would become an angel, and through my name, I might also.”

  Maddie exhaled a breath slowly. “That’s lovely.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “But the name is quite cumbersome, which is why most everyone calls me Finn instead.”

  “It’s the same with my name, Madison,” she said ingeniously. “You can call me Maddie, by the way.”

  “Thank you, Maddie.” Finn reached up and squeezed Maddie’s hand. “You want to know the real reason I became a chauffeur?”

  Maddie nodded earnestly.

  “Because I love to read. I always have. When I was your age, I used to lie for hours with a book in my hand, imagining I was anywhere but London.”

  “Did you really?” Maddie crinkled her nose again. “I’ve never met a grown up who liked to read.”