by Cheryl Howe
James had a sinking feeling that Astra had recounted what had gone on between them this afternoon. Not that he understood it so well himself. He was so sure what he’d witnessed in the mirror was pure lust. All her blushes and hot looks since then had only confirmed his assumptions, not to mention become a crazy distraction. He glanced around the simple room only to discover he had probably misread Astra completely. The room was almost sparse, a cream spread and sheer yellow hangings from the plain cherry wood bed proved the most elaborate adornments. The papered walls in faded pink roses needed replacing. All very innocent, maidenly and understated. Her panic at his kiss already had James questioning everything he’d assumed about Astra. Her bedroom confirmed his error.
“Thank you, Mother. Shall we go to dinner?” Astra marched to the door, refusing to even glance in James’s direction while she tried to slip past him. “I’m sure Wesley is famished. I think he grew accustomed to the meals at an earlier hour. No doubt the change has vexed him.”
James rooted in the doorway, blocking her escape. “I’d like to speak with you alone for a moment, Lady Keane. Please,” he added, determined to clear matters up between them once and for all.
“Of course, James. And by all means, call her Astra. No need to be so formal. I shall wait with Wesley below stairs. Take your time.” Lady Seabrook danced from the room loudly closing the door behind her.
“I don’t wish to be alone with you.” The tremble in Astra’s voice hit him like a blow.
“I’m not going to do anything to offend you. I promise,” James said. “After time for consideration, I suppose I do owe you an apology for my behavior. All of it.” James hoped to avoid specifics and slide by with a general acknowledgement of blame.
“Are those the clothes the tailor brought?” A grin relaxed her tight features and James had the slightest softening for Mr. Rudd. “I’m certainly not an expert on the latest fashion, but I think the cut a bit out of date.”
“I missed the tailor. And I tore my other clothes.” James shrugged, glad to look ridiculous if it made her smile.
Astra’s shocked blink forced him to explain further. “My saddle broke and I had to walk home in the rain for several miles.”
“You could have been seriously injured.” A frown once again marred her pretty face.
“I wasn’t unless you count my pride. It was my own fault for jumping a stone fence. I’m lucky the horse wasn’t hurt. Mr. Rudd squeezed me into this. I feel like I’m wearing the drapes, but it’s no more than I deserve.” James shoved his hands into the large pockets of the skirt attached to his satin coat.
Astra approached him to examine the cream and pink swirls at the lapels and pockets. She fingered an outlandishly large and ornate button. He lifted his arms so she could better ridicule the snug fitting vest crawling with pink and red flowers. His body tightened at her light touch but he scolded himself not to react to it. He’d better get used to wanting her without relief if he wanted to sail away from England without complications. He lowered his arms abruptly and stepped back.
“Mr. Rudd picked this out for you? He must have unearthed these clothes from Lowell’s grandfather’s wardrobe.” She clasped her hands in front of her and appeared embarrassed by her forwardness. Though a no-touching rule for her, as well as him, was in both their best interest, he didn’t want that at all.
“He said the second baron’s clothes would be the best fit.” He spread his arms again, opening the coat, examining the fit, stupidly inviting her to do the same. “I didn’t have the strength to argue when he dragged this atrocity out of a dusty trunk.”
“It suits you.” The hint of laughter that rang through her voice was worth the ruffles poking from his vest. Though she didn’t touch him again, it was enough for now.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said quickly. “I’ve proved myself the brute you expected me to be.”
“Don’t feel you need to placate me, James.” She turned away, but not before her smile collapsed. “I’d prefer it if we acted like what happened this afternoon never occurred.”
“I’m not placating.” James fought the urge to reach out and grip her shoulders, knowing that would only lead him into trouble. He stuffed his hands in his pockets once again. I just want you to know that I understand your position and I know I need your help. I have sisters. I wouldn’t want some stranger barging into their home assuming he owned the place and acting as I did.”
“Please, James.”
He tried not to become aroused by the mere fact she used his given name.
She sighed. “You are entirely too honest. Though I’m glad you told me the truth about the mirror,” she said with an authority he had not expected. “I think we should both know where we stand with each other. And as for the other, the kiss, well, I am only human as are you.”
He stared at her for a moment, his gaze on her pink lips she had recently wet, and tried to stamp down his heated interest in favor of cool practicality. “But as a gentleman, something we both know I haven’t quite gotten the hang of yet, I shouldn’t have taken advantage of the situation. I’ll not do it again. I don’t want you to leave Eastlan.”
“Perhaps if we were at different times in our lives, different positions, your actions would not be so inappropriate.” She gazed up at him and parted her lips. His body instantly argued with his vow to not react to her, touch her.
“If you were not a dependent in my household, nothing would stop me from pursuing you—not time, nor position.” James realized he’d gone too far when she dropped her brave gaze. “But I have asked you to help me and to make personal sacrifices to do so. I won’t let my interest in you interfere again.”
“James, I’m not helping you out of kindness. We both know that. I have something to gain as well.”
“Your inheritance?” he said, suddenly back on solid ground with her. He balled his fists and turned toward the door.
“The family name, though an obscenely large dowry for Lark would serve better, we shall work with what we have.”
“Meaning me?” he said, straightening his shoulders. That he couldn’t touch her, he understood, but that she was somehow above him made him want to prove her wrong in the most primal way. He turned and met her gaze.
“I’m a widow with a child to raise. I can ill afford light flirtations.” She quickly lowered her gaze at his hot stare.
“On reflection, I came to the same conclusion.” James hardened his tone and tried to forget the mutual spark he thought had erupted between them. “I won’t to do anything further to jeopardize our agreement.”
“Very well, then.” She straightened and squared her shoulders. “Shall we go to dinner? We are keeping the others waiting.”
James bowed to keep from staring at the small white mounds at her neckline and took her offered arm as if he were escorting his grandmother. Though that didn’t stop him from stealing a tortuous glimpse at her forbidden fruit. The sooner they completed their business of turning Eastlan around the better. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be for him to keep his word…and his hands off Astra.
CHAPTER FIVE
Astra paused on the stone step and turned her bare face to the sun. Two springs had passed since she’d walked through the village without her black veil. She shielded her eyes from the unusually bright day to marvel at the fat buds of the ash tree that shaded the church’s ancient slate roof.
The arched front door swung open and Astra teetered, almost losing her balance on the granite step. Reverend Fitzgerald darted the short distance to right her. Astra smiled at the young parish priest. “Thank you, Reverend Fitzgerald. I was just admiring the trees. The flowers should be in full bloom for Easter.”
A flash of deep purple caught Astra’s attention and she spotted Ivy Templeton as she slipped past the weathered front door. Not that Astra should be so taken aback. Despite her reputation, Ivy attended services more faithfully than many parishioners, Astra included. Astra straightened and met her old f
riend’s gaze. The hint of warm recognition that briefly softened Ivy’s full mouth soon vanished. Ivy turned her face away from Astra as if she had not been the one to stay up all night comforting her when Astra’s father had passed away on her thirteenth birthday. Astra dropped her gaze to the ancient church’s worn steps, unsure of how to delicately handle the confrontation. Astra had turned away from Ivy in the village before but never in such tight quarters.
“Lady Keane, what a pleasure to receive a visit from you during the week.”
She glanced at Reverend Fitzgerald who brushed a thick chunk of brown hair out of his eyes. He snuck a glance at Ivy before returning his gaze to Astra. Reverend Fitzgerald could not have been but a few years younger than Astra, but his sincere brown eyes always made Astra feel twice his age.
Ivy descended the steps, her shoulders high. Astra turned toward the ash tree, studying it as before, but this time no longer finding the joy in the hundreds of pink-tinged buds.
“Miss Templeton,” Reverend Fitzgerald said, foiling Ivy’s escape, “thank you for stopping by. I realize you have no wish to reap earthly reward for your good deeds, but you have done our parish a great service. I will compose a letter to the artist you suggested without haste.”
Astra’s curiosity won out over common sense and she glanced in Ivy’s direction. Ivy nodded a curt acknowledgement. “No thanks are necessary. Art is its own reward. Good day, Reverend.” Not realizing Astra had chosen that moment to stop ignoring Ivy, her gaze collided with Astra’s and they made intimate eye contact. An unguarded flash of regret shone in Ivy’s eyes. Astra had almost forgotten the unique emerald color, but more importantly, she had forgotten the kindness that had always lurked there.
As if unable to give Astra the cut direct, something Ivy had no doubt received many times since purchasing a house on the outskirts of St. Keynes village, Ivy gave a tentative nod of greeting. She quickly turned away, as if fully expecting Astra not to acknowledge her even while standing less than two feet away.
“Miss Templeton,” Astra called as if it were no more than natural. Her confrontations with James must have emboldened her. Ivy stopped then slowly turned to face Astra. “You have always had a keen eye for art and I must wonder what suggestions you have made for the church.” Astra glanced at Reverend Fitzgerald for support, his pleasure at her words undisguised. Really, he must learn to be sterner if he hoped to make bishop. “I gather you wished to keep this good deed a secret, but since I seemed to have stumbled upon it, I don’t think the benevolent nature of the act would be spoiled if told.”
“I am replacing the stained glass in the nave. Thank you for your interest.” Ivy nodded, her face tight. The simple exchange seemed to pain her.
“Miss Templeton wishes her gift to remain anonymous, but I’m sure our parishioners would welcome the knowledge and be as grateful as I for her generosity,” said Reverend Fitzgerald.
Astra met Ivy’s gaze once more and between them passed the knowledge that their passionate reverend had entirely too much confidence in the godliness of his congregation. In fact, Astra would not be surprised if rumors already abounded about the relationship between the notorious beauty and their unmarried young vicar.
“Perhaps it should be revealed in time, after the people of St. Keynes have learned to love the addition. Change can be slow moving in the West Country.” Astra smiled at Ivy.
“Very perceptive, Lady Keane. Good day.” Ivy nodded curtly once again, but Astra caught a glimpse of a smile before she turned away.
Astra watched Ivy descend the steps and slip into her waiting carriage.
The bundle of Lark’s outgrown dresses, Astra’s donation for the poor and the reason for her outing, remained in her own carriage. She thought the noble mission would be a good antidote for her wicked thoughts about James. In light of Ivy’s anonymous contribution, it paled in comparison. Of course, Astra had not been that wicked—yet.
“This is not the first thing she has done for this community, Lady Keane,” Reverend Fitzgerald said beside her. “I don’t like seeing Miss Templeton sit in the back of the church, shunned and forgotten every Sunday.”
“At least the whispering and the complaints have stopped,” Astra said, but the fire in Reverend Fitzgerald’s eyes told her that was hardly enough. As a member of The Ladies of St. Keynes Servants of Our Blessed Lady of the Holy Well, she had heard some of the matrons wish to ban Ivy from attending services. Fortunately, one of the ladies had seen the unchristian like character in such a request and persuaded the other women not to behave in such a petty manner. Astra just wished she had been the one to speak up on Ivy’s behalf. Would she end her days as one of those judgmental old crows, quick to harshly judge others for fear her own shortcomings would be revealed?
“She does not deserve such treatment. No one does.” Reverend Fitzgerald composed himself. “So what may I do for you today, Lady Keane?”
Astra had to drag her attention away from Ivy’s carriage that lingered at the bottom of the steps while her driver fiddled with one of the horse’s harness. “I have some things to donate to the poor. I’ll have my driver deliver them.”
Astra raced down the steps before Ivy’s man could climb back into his seat. “Miss Templeton, would you care to join me for tea in the village?”
Ivy leaned forward and poked her head out of the window. She placed her gloved hand over the one that Astra had unconsciously rested on the carriage. “Thank you, Astra. Your offer is too kind, but I do not wish to sully your spotless reputation.”
The sadness in her words removed all hint of sarcasm, though only Astra understood the irony. How easily she could have been the one cast out from polite society.
“Then perhaps you would receive me in your home,” Astra insisted. “Carter House is not far from here.”
Only a hint of surprise snuck past Ivy’s ever placid demeanor. “I would be honored. Follow in your carriage. My staff is loyal and discreet.”
Astra paused to watch Ivy’s polished carriage roll down the winding lane, past fields of weathered gravestones littered with ancient Celtic Crosses. No doubt Ivy expected Astra to change her mind. Even as a girl she was timid and found it difficult to make friends during her short-lived stay at a girls’ finishing school. Astra often listened to the headmistress while the other girls participated in some mischief that would land them in trouble. And perhaps Astra would have changed her mind if she didn’t have the guise of a charitable hand reaching out to a fallen sister, encouraged by Reverend Fitzgerald no less. Astra strolled to her carriage, not quite ready to abandon the straight and narrow path, but part of her more than ever intrigued to discover what delights she might have missed along the way.
***
Astra sat in Ivy’s lush garden sipping tea, only slightly disappointed to find nothing more exotic than Ivy’s purple velvet gown and plumed hat. On an arbor a riot of English roses snaked around her head, creeping vines full of tight white buds. Rhododendron already in bloom grew in a thicket around their feet, attracting fat bees that lazily sipped their nectar. A classically designed three tiered fountain gurgled in the distance. Astra was not sure what she had expected behind Ivy’s ornate iron gates, perhaps a replica of the statue of David or frolicking Greek nymphs locked in carnal poses.
“A shame the weather will not last. Surely we’ll have another cold spell before spring actually arrives to stay.”
“Yes,” Astra agreed. They had been going this way, talking of the weather, the church, for half an hour. “My daughter enjoys the out of doors. She’ll not understand why I keep her in again.”
Astra met Ivy’s knowing gaze and blushed. Her former friend had only ever seen Lark from a distance, but she had no doubt figured out the truth long ago.
“Your child must be a comfort since your husband passed away.”
Astra studied the rich china, gold rimmed and painted with red and yellow roses in a typical English fashion. At the very least, Astra would have expected Ivy’s China
to have been brought over from the Continent. “Lark is the joy of my life, though, I feel at a loss to raise her alone. Lowell was so kind.”
“I recall that you two were childhood friends. Surely, he provided well for you.” Ivy tilted her head and studied Astra with clear green eyes.
Though things had been settled with James, the idea of her future as a widow, even a wealthy one, still left Astra a bit queasy. “Your home is lovely. Do you miss London?”
“My circumstances have recently changed. So no, I don’t miss London at the present. I’m content here. Will you take a house in London?” Ivy sipped her tea once again. The kinship in her open gaze closed once more by Astra’s evasion regarding her late husband. Astra had longed for a confident, but some secrets were too damaging to ever reveal. Though if anyone could be sympathetic to Astra’s plight, it would be Ivy.
Rumor had abounded that Ivy had parted company with her most recent benefactor, a duke no less. Supposedly he intended to take a bride and needed his notorious mistress tossed to the country. Astra would prefer it if her mother didn’t spread such gossip, but she could not stop herself from listening.
“I will be staying on at Eastlan for now. The new baron is from America and needs assistance adjusting to his position.”
Ivy grinned wickedly, that same enticing half-smile that no doubt landed her in trouble in the first place. “Oh, I’ve heard James Keane is quite handsome. I’m anxious to catch a glimpse of him. Will you bring him to church this Sunday?”
“He’s my deceased husband’s cousin.” Astra stiffened. The thought of Ivy and James making an acquaintance evoked a sense of panic. “I have not taken undue notice of his appearance.”
“I see.” Ivy laughed. “Well, I’m sure others will. I don’t doubt you caught his notice.”
Astra’s pale features never competed with Ivy’s dramatic looks when they were girls and little had changed, but Ivy was always kind and complimentary.