Jo Beverley - [Rogue ]

by Christmas Angel

  Chapter 21

  Judith prayed Eleanor was correct, and stuck to her course. She gathered her troops to venture out after greenery. She found a small crowd of local people waiting by the causeway, as if hesitant to cross. They were all looking for work, and some were only children. It was clear many were merely curious, and hoping that a day's casual labor would give them a glimpse of the famous house. Others, however, had the pinched look of the desperate, and worn clothes that were only too familiar.

  Recklessly, Judith employed them all. Some were set to bringing in firewood, and a few of the frailest were sent to help in the house, but most came with her to find Christmas boughs. She was pleased to see Bastian and Rosie mixing in with the village children without any self-consciousness. But then why shouldn't they? They had been village children themselves a short while ago.

  As she wandered with her employees, Judith chatted. The people soon lost their awe, and told her of local history and customs. They were proud of the Temple, true enough, but woven through all they said was a message of neglect.

  The care of a lord for his land and his people had been missing here for nearly two generations. There was no expectation, for example, that leaking roofs would be soon mended, or Christmas bounty would be given to the poorest by the big house. Such charity was now in the hands of the vicar, and a few of the wealthier tenants, but in these postwar times their resources were stretched thin.

  Judith determined that the Temple would do its part as of now; then wondered if she had enough food; then discarded the doubts. If they had to eat bread and cheese at the Temple, she'd make sure the poor had their baskets. She asked Eleanor to supervise the work and set off briskly for the village. She was halfway there when she realized she could have used the gig.

  She laughed. She been used to using her feet.

  The vicar was in, and was delighted and flustered to meet the countess so unexpectedly. Something else Judith had not taken into account. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror, flushed and windblown. Oh, she was doing this countessing all wrong.

  She brushed it aside."You must excuse me coming here like this, Reverend Molde, but I must have the names of the most needy people in the locality who have not yet been helped. I wish to give them Christmas charity."

  The man provided the list with alacrity. "It will be most welcome, Lady Charrington. We do what we can, but times are hard."

  "Yes, and the earl and I are most appreciative. I do assure you, however, that in future we will be taking our responsibilities to the people hereabouts seriously. We hope you will give us the benefit of your advice."

  The man assured her of his willingness.

  "Now," she said, "I must return to the house, for we are very busy there. We will, of course, attend Christmas Day Service. May I hope you will dine with us on Boxing Day?"

  She left with Reverend Molde's delighted thanks ringing in her ears. She knew from her own life in a vicarage how hard it could be to fill all the charitable needs of the parish and still have enough for the family. She knew how flattering an invitation to the big house was.

  On the one hand she felt pleasure to be bringing such joy, but on the other she felt most distinctly an impostor. But she was the Countess of Charrington. If she shrank from these duties, no one would do them for her.

  She enjoyed the brisk walk back, and the brief time to herself. She took a moment to lean against a gate and survey Leander's land.

  Leander's home.

  Their home.

  And he and it were in her loving care.

  * * *

  Back at the Temple she almost staggered with shock. The hall seemed bursting with people, sorting greenery, tying it into bunches, and decorating the place. Though some simply stood gaping. A rumble of gossip filled the air, topped by the high voices of children. She saw one huddle of village children around Bastian, who was showing off his rat.

  An enormous silver punch bowl full of spiced ale sat on a walnut table, and all present were helping themselves as they wished. That doubtless explained the high spirits.

  There were trays of mince pies and cake, half empty.

  Was the whole village here? It was like a marketplace.

  Perhaps this was going too far.

  But the place was positively humming with life.

  Judith grinned and went off to the kitchen. She first sent up oranges for the children, then set to making up the charity baskets. She had the ham cut up and shared among them, but could see no way of quickly dividing the living fowl. Despite Mrs. Pardoe's protests, all the pies went, and a great deal of the fruit and nuts.

  "Their need is greater than ours," she told the woman.

  Mrs. Pardoe smiled. "You're right, there, milady. It's a blessing you're giving."

  "Yes, 'tis better to give than to receive. And better still," Judith added, "to make sure there is no want."

  She made arrangements for all the baskets to be delivered, then ran upstairs to put her mantle away before joining in the fun in the hall. As she was leaving her room she saw the last of the unpacking, Sebastian's poetry—the single volume of each, and the twenty new ones. She picked them up to carry down to the library on her way. She certainly didn't want her first husband's poetry in her bedroom.

  Then she felt guilty at that uncharitable thought.

  Oh, when would she be free of this rift in her mind?

  She found a space on the gleaming mahogany shelves close to Sebastian's portrait, and put the books there. The glossy, expensive volumes looked at home in this elegance. She supposed she could now send one to the Regent, and perhaps he was wondering where his copy was. They said he had a taste for the sentimental.

  She took out one of the new ones, and ran a finger down the heavily gilded border. How sad it was that Sebastian had never realized the extent of his renown. Perhaps he would have been less peevish. How sad, how terrible, that she didn't miss him at all, when she had been the center of his life.

  She opened the book, feeling the new stiffness of it, guilty that she had felt no inclination to open it before. It opened at a sonnet, a form he rarely used.

  The dancing rays of summer sun must fade

  And lark song die, shrill loudly as it might,

  For Judith steps o'er verdant sward so light,

  As raises song as if by angels made.

  She stared at the meaningless words.

  Song as if by angels made? But she couldn't sing, and he knew for he had complained of it.

  It was a revelation. Not one word of this poetry had anything to do with her. Sebastian had written poetry to some ideal woman of his imagining, and complained all the days of their marriage because Judith was not she.

  She collapsed down in a library chair—one of those ingenious types that had so delighted Leander.

  She burst into tears.

  * * *

  Leander hurried in search of Judith. He was aware of a chaos in the house—there seemed a devilish number of people underfoot, for one thing, and a hell of a racket—but he was mainly intent on finding his wife. He and Nicholas had ridden to Redoaks, and finding their wives and children gone, pursued them here.

  A grinning yokel said he thought the countess was in the library, so Leander headed there. He opened the heavy paneled door and heard weeping. He stopped as if frozen. Damnation. He should have known this house was too much for anyone, even Judith.

  She sat hunched over, head in hands, crying as if her heart was breaking. He went over swiftly and knelt by her side. "Judith? What is it? You mustn't cry like this...."

  She looked up, her huge eyes awash with tears, her lids red. "Leander? Oh, Leander, I can't sing!"

  He was about to laugh at this absurd pronouncement when a book slid from her fingers. Rossiter's poetry. Whatever she said, she was sitting in front of that blasted portrait and weeping for her first husband. The pain in his chest was extraordinary. Did hearts truly break?

  He raised her, and took her seat, then drew her down i
nto his lap. "I'll make it right," he said, though it was a damned stupid thing to say. Falling in love seemed to turn everything upside down, and make being an idiot unavoidable. He held her tight as she sniffed and blew her nose on a handkerchief. He stroked damp tendrils of hair away from her eyes. He wanted to kiss her, but she wouldn't want that at this moment.

  "I'm sorry," she gulped. "You must think me a perfect fool."

  The only thing to do was joke about it."Why would I think that?" he teased. "You've just realized you are supposed to live in this mausoleum, and are considering the least painful ways to kill yourself."

  She rewarded him with a gurgle of laughter. "Not at all. I'm determined to tame it." She looked up cautiously. "I ordered the plinths and vases moved. I thought if the children played in the hall it could start the rot nicely."

  "It's worth a try. We appear to have the village fair in there at the moment."

  He didn't seem upset, so Judith gathered her courage. "I did think a billiard table would help, too."

  He grinned. "Excellent idea. I'm very partial to the game. I also bought the children the equipment for battledore and shuttlecock. That should chase the disapproving spirits away."

  Judith smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, Leander, I'm happy you're back."

  He could feel his own besotted smile stretching his cheeks. "Are you?"

  "Very much. What happened in London?"

  He quickly related their handling of the situation, all the while wanting to loosen her hair, and kiss her wildly, to explore her, enter her, and lose himself in her....

  "Thirty thousand pounds?" said Judith, though she could hardly keep her mind on what he was saying. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to smooth the hair that fell onto his forehead, and slide her hand inside his jacket so as to be closer to his skin.

  "Yes, but it's gone." He rubbed his thumb over her lips.

  "Oh dear." She kissed that thumb lightly.

  His hand cupped and cherished her cheek. "I thought of lying to you, and saying we'd retrieved some of it, but I don't want lies between us. I do want to put that much money aside for Bastian and Rosie, though. They need never know it wasn't from their father, and it,"—he looked again at the book on the floor—"it will keep his memory warm for them."

  Judith felt tears welling in her eyes again. "Oh, Leander. Why shouldn't they feel gratitude where it belongs?"

  His thumbs wiped away the tears. "I'll have years to plant love in their hearts if I can. Sebastian has lost you and them."

  Judith shook her head. "He never had us. Leander, I can't sing."

  "What on earth...?"

  Judith swooped down to retrieve the book from the floor. She sought the sonnet and thrust it before him. "Look. All this stuff about voices made by angels. I can't sing, and if I tried, he hated it. Not a word of this poetry is about me!"

  Leander didn't know how to handle this tragedy. She must be devastated. "Do you think there was someone else?"

  She stared at him. "Someone else? Of course not. But I was just an excuse for him to write poetry about this perfect creature. No wonder I could never match the ideal." She laughed for joy. "I really don't need to feel guilty about not loving him, do I?"

  "No," said Leander numbly.

  Judith froze, then leapt off his lap. "Oh, criminy."

  Leander rose carefully. "You've stopped loving him?"

  Judith stood straight. "You said no lies, didn't you? I never loved him, Leander. Oh, that's not true. I loved him, I suppose, at the first, but it was a poor sort of love, for it did not last. I hadn't loved him for years when I let you marry me, thinking I was a grieving widow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. If you want me to leave—"

  He grabbed her and swung her high. "Leave! Not on your life! I'll tie you to a marble pillar first. Do you mean there's a chance for me?"

  "Put me down! Chance for you?"

  He slid her down and said softly, "Chance for me to capture your heart. I've discovered the faculty of love, Judith, and it is all bound up in you."

  "You can't..."

  "I can. I do." He held her tight against his chest. "It's terrifying. I feel as if I would die without you." He pushed her back a little and she saw him struggle for the gloss that had protected him all his life. "Do you mind?" he said. "I'll try not to embarrass you."

  Judith cradled his face. "My dearest love, how could you possibly embarrass me?"

  His eyes lit, and shone a little with tears. "You can love me?"

  "I do love you. Oh, Leander, I'm going to cry again!"

  "Don't! I can't bear it. Why were you crying when I came in?"

  "For poor Sebastian and all he missed." She drew his head down and kissed him. "I'm afraid of this much happiness," she whispered.

  "Don't be. If anything goes wrong, I'll make it right." It no longer seemed a foolish boast. With Judith's love he could do anything. He kissed her deeply, intently, his hands adoring her, as did his lips.

  Judith felt every point of contact of their bodies, close, but not close enough. Her knees weakened, and when she began to sag he let her, and fell with her to the floor.

  He was on top of her, sweet weight. She was on top of him, and could lose herself in the depth of his eyes as his hands dissolved her gown, freeing flesh to his lips.

  She unfastened his waistcoat, pulled at his shirt until she could trace his belly with her tongue, grow drunk on the taste, the smell of his skin. She nipped with her teeth, full of strange hungers, and explored his navel.

  What was she doing?

  He shrugged out of his jacket and waistcoat. Flung off his shirt. "Judith. My God. We shouldn't..." But there was no pause before he brushed her breasts with his lips, and made magic there.

  Judith threw back her head and cried out. He smothered it with his hand, laughing. "Oh love! It wasn't going to be like this." But he didn't stop.

  She pulled at him. "What is it? What?"

  "I'll show you."

  He entered. Her body seized him. "Oh criminy. Oh lord. Oh dear. It aches. It's going to make me sick again!"

  "Oh, Judith. No. Not this time. Come with me."

  "What?"

  "Come to heaven."

  Judith had a flash of crystal awareness that she was on the library carpet, mostly naked, writhing with Leander, and aching for something so terrible that she feared its achievement could kill her. She didn't care.

  His lips captured hers. His hand slid between them.

  Sensation swelled, and swelled. She would explode with it! She did, and kept shattering, and shattering until she broke free of everything, let go of everything, and found everything.

  Her senses circled down like a top, spiraling slowly to earth, to reality, to Leander smiling at her, heavy on her, sweet heaviness....

  "An explosion of pleasure," she said in wonderment.

  "I'm the first, aren't I?"

  "Oh yes. Oh, poor Sebastian!"

  He groaned, but was still smiling. "Why poor?"

  "I don't think he ever felt like that." She glanced at him. "Do men...?"

  "Oh yes. I just did. I was with you, dearest wife. I will always be with you. In sickness and in health. In heaven or hell." He rested his head on her shoulder. "All places. All times..."

  She stroked his hair softly, eyes unfocused on the painted ceiling. "You are everything to me, too, Leander. I wasn't truly alive until I met you...."

  He looked up and grinned. "I had a most elegant bedding of you planned for tonight, sweet helpmeet. Every step worked out..."

  She chuckled. "Tonight is yet to come, and I do want to know how to do it properly."

  "I doubt we'll ever do it more properly than we just did, love."

  Judith's eyes focused on the ceiling. "Leander."

  Caught by her tone, he rolled half off her. "What?"

  "The ceiling. Your grandfather's up there again."

  She instinctively moved to cover herself, and then she started to laugh. "Lord, he looks so shocked!"

&n
bsp; Leander laughed with her. "I think he's grinning. It's probably the most fun he's had in forty years!"

  * * *

  Sometime later, Lord and Lady Charrington decorously joined the rollicking festivities in their hall. Nicholas and Eleanor were fully in the spirit of the decorating, and Arabel was riding on her father's shoulders.

  Nicholas looked across the room at them and smiled. It was almost as if he knew what had been going on, though Judith had checked that her dress was neat, and her hair properly pinned. Leander looked as elegant as always. She slid a look at him, and saw the way he was looking at her. Heavens, no wonder Nicholas had guessed.

  She wanted to hide her face in her husband's jacket, but instead she tugged him under a kissing bough and kissed him, right there in the hall. There was a mighty cheer. Leander laughed, then beamed about like an old-time country squire. "This is perfect."

  Judith, too, surveyed the Temple's perfect hall. It was festooned with greenery and red ribbon. A log fire roared in the huge hall hearth, mixing the tang of wood smoke with that of pine, fir, and rosemary, and the spice of ale and orange peel.

  Smiling faces and happy chatter were the music here.

  Children were hurtling about the open space. Even more children than before.

  Judith saw that the Charles Knollis family were in here in force. She led Leander over to his aunt. Judith hugged the woman, then Leander followed suit. Judith approved of the encompassing way Aunt Lucy returned the gesture. "I hope you are as happy in your new home as I am in mine, Aunt Lucy."

  The woman shook her head and looked around. "I never would have believed it. You're a miracle worker. I wondered if Charles would handle the shock when we walked in, but he seems to like it." She looked to where the haggard man was sitting by the wall with a little one on his knee.

  "He's better?" Judith asked.

  "Much improved, though his speech is still unclear. Getting out of this place has eased him tremendously. He's better day by day now he no longer has this burden on his shoulders. I came over in case you had need of things, dear, so there's a ham in the kitchen, and a batch of damson pies."

  "Thank you, but I hope you don't mind that some of it has gone to the poor. I am determined the Temple will do its duty in the area. Not that we blame you," she said hastily. "I know you have been unable to run things as you would wish."