A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  She pushed her bottom lip out, pulled a long face, and indulged in a bit of self-pity. Her royal status affording her everything she wanted the instant she wanted it, she was unaccustomed to the dismal feeling of not having what she desired now—namely, Jourdian.

  And what of her subjects? All of Pillywiggin was waiting for her to fulfill the terms of the betrothal and conceive Jourdian’s child, and all she’d managed to do was infuriate the man.

  “Three months,” she whispered. “’Tis all the time I have.”

  Sinking more deeply into the soothing shelter of haze, she lost track of time as she pondered the way to enchant Jourdian into wedding her.

  She thought about the bed activity he mentioned. He could deny his interest in it for a million years, but she’d seen the truth in his eyes. There was something about her being in the bed with him that roused his senses. Excited him.

  Whatever it was he wished to do with her in his bed, she suspected that it would not only give him joy but it would also enchant him.

  Somehow, some way, she had to get into his bed with him. After he’d done to her whatever exciting thing a man did to a woman, he would marry her. She was sure of it. And perhaps then he would allow her to partake of the pleasure that came from his leg again. She certainly hoped so, for she remained curious over and hungry for the full blossoming of the magnificent sensations.

  Anxious to begin her plan, she stepped out of her sparkling haze and saw that dusk had fallen. Sweet everlasting, she’d stayed in her mist nearly all day long!

  “Oh! Oh, I d-didn’t see ye there!” a man exclaimed. “Who might you b-be? D-don’t ye know this is pr-private pr-property? B-belongs to the d-duke of Heathcourte, it d-does.” He waited to see if the pretty girl would ridicule him over his stutter as so many other people enjoyed doing.

  Splendor turned and saw the man who spoke to her. His clothes were soiled, straw was stuck in his gray hair, and he held a long leather strap, at the end of which was attached Jourdian’s big, beautiful black horse.

  She decided the man was the servant who took care of the horse. “My name is Splendor, and I assure you the duke knows I’m here. How are you called?”

  He smiled when she didn't even seem to notice his stutter. “I’m Hopkins,” he said, glancing at the purple garment she was wearing. He didn’t know much about women’s fashions, but the clothing she was wearing looked like a lounging robe. Rubbing his grizzled chin, he thought for a moment, then smiled again. “Yer the naked g-girl he found in the meadow!”

  “How is it you know of me?”

  “Oh, word t-travels, Miss Sp-Splendor. Not much g-goes on in that mansion that d-doesn’t soon make the rounds. His lordship’s b-been the t-talk of the c-county for years. Some might sp-speak ill of him, b-but not his own servants. We’re loyal to him, we are, and so are his t-tenants in Mallencroft. It’s where I live, Mallencroft.”

  Splendor warmed toward the friendly man who chitchatted in spite of his stutter. “He’s good to you then?”

  “I g-get my pay regular. His Gr-Grace… Yes, miss, he’s g-good to us. B-but he’s… Well, I mean no dis-disrespect, mind ye, b-but he’s a d-difficult man, his lordship. He d-didn’t used t-to b-be so st-stern, though. When he was just a lad, he’d c-come b-be with me in the b-barns, he d-did. Never said much, b-but he seemed t-to enjoy my c-company. Once he even smiled at me.”

  “But he doesn’t smile anymore?”

  “No. B-but then, he’s p-perishin’ sad, and p-perishin’ sad people d-don’t smile. I d-don’t t-talk t-to him much b-because… well, his b-being the d-duke… I g-get nervous with him. B-but I d-do wish he c-could b-be happy.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Splendor saw Hopkins’s wish soar into the sky. She couldn’t see the stars yet, but she knew the man’s wish had found one. “’Tis a good deed to wish something nice for another. You’ll be rewarded for such unselfishness.”

  And I know just how to reward you, she thought, recalling his stutter.

  “Have a c-care when ye go b-back to the house, Miss Sp-Splendor,” Hopkins warned, looking around as if a host of spies were listening to his every word. “His lordship’s knowin’ no joy t-today, he’s not. I c-can always t-tell when he’s in a wax. He st-storms into the st-stables like a wind that could flatten anything in its p'path, and then he rides his horse as if every fiend in hell was after him. He d-did just that earlier, and rode fer hours. Sometimes after a ride like that he comes b-back put right again, but not t-today. Nay, when he finished his ride he was in a worse hump than he was b-before he left, he was, so it might b-be b-best if ye left him b-be fer a while.”

  Splendor closed her eyes.

  His lordship’s knowin’ no joy today…

  No joy…

  Overcome with a sense of failure, she hung her head, her chin touching her chest. “I want so much to make him happy,” she confessed. “But he’s so angry all the time.”

  “Here now, Miss Splendor, it’s not as b-bad as all that, now is it? Leave His Gr-Grace to his thoughts fer a while, and he’ll c-come out of it. Ye’ll see. Once ye g-get t-to know him, ye’ll understand he’s not a b-bad sort, b-but only a b-bit stern now and again.”

  “Get to know him?” Splendor asked, raising her head.

  “Ye have a b-better chance of that than the rest of us. Except for Mr. T-Tate. Why, stayin’ in the manor house with His Gr-Grace as his g-guest…ye’ll c-come to know more about him than we’ll ever know. And once ye understand him, ye c-can g-go about makin’ him happy, can ye not?”

  “But I thought I did know him.”

  “Oh?” Hopkins scratched his whiskered chin. “D-do ye know what he likes t-to d-do when he’s on holiday? D-do ye know what his favorite c-color is? What his favorite b-book is? What he hopes t-to accomplish with his life? It really d-doesn’t matter what ye find out about him. Every little b-bit will help ye t-to make him smile.”

  “Aye,” Splendor whispered, realizing she knew very little about Jourdian’s dislikes, habits, fondnesses, and dreams.

  “You’re right, Hopkins. I must make every attempt to know him better. I shall ask him questions and watch what he does! I shall memorize everything about him!”

  Hopkins chuckled. “Ye do that, miss— Here now, Magnus!” he shouted when the horse nudged his back and nearly toppled him over. “This is Magnus, Miss Splendor. I—I don’t t-talk g-good, but His Gr-Grace’s horse understands me.”

  Splendor longed to stroke the huge stallion’s ears, but dared not. Circles of iron held together the leather straps that fashioned his halter.

  “Magnus is a fine animal, b-but he’s g-got a b-bit of a mean streak in him, he d-does. He b-bites.”

  Splendor peered into the horse’s black eyes. “Why do you bite, sweetling?”

  The horse nickered softly. Once, then again, and a third time.

  “He doesn’t sleep well at night,” Splendor said. “And that makes him irritable. His stall is too close to the barn doors, you see. In autumn and winter he feels a draft at night that keeps him from getting proper sleep. In spring and summer, the firefly lights he sees outside keep him awake. Move him to a stall in the middle of the barn, where he won’t feel the bite of the wind and won’t see the firefly lights. Then he’ll get more rest and stop biting.”

  “What? How d-do you know that’s what’s wrong with him?”

  Splendor smiled. “He told me.”

  Hopkins’s eyes opened so wide that they watered with the need to blink. The girl was demented, he realized. That, or she was…

  Or she was fey.

  “Hopkins? Is something troubling you?” Concerned by the distressed expression in his eyes, Splendor smoothed her fingers across his whiskery cheek.

  At her touch, all fear, all care fell away from him and he felt a profound sense of well-being. She was good, he knew then. Sweet as an angel. “I’m thinkin’ you c-could charm the b-birds from the tr-trees, Miss Sp-Splendor.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes twinkl
ing. “But first I must charm My Grace. Good day to you, Hopkins.”

  He watched her turn and glide out of the pasture. She slipped beneath the fence fluidly, as if made of mist, and when she was on the other side, a sparrow flew down from a sycamore branch and settled on her shoulder.

  Hopkins smiled. “She c-can charm the b-birds from the tr-trees, Magnus! His Gr-Grace d-doesn’t stand a chance! G-good d-day, Miss Splendor!”

  She waved to him and continued toward the mansion, renewed determination filling her entire being. She would make Jourdian happy, and leaving him to his thoughts was definitely not the way to do it.

  Quickly, she found a lovely white-pebbled path to follow. Colorful pansies lined the stony trail, as did a few apple trees and scrawny blackberry vines. She picked three apples and pondered the dried-up berries. Brushing her hand across the wrinkled berries, she watched as they became plump and juicy once more. After picking as many as she could hold, she dropped all the fruit inside the top of her robe before returning to the house.

  She arrived at the front of the manor house, and there she saw a tall, well-built man alight from a shiny black carriage. But well-built though he was, he didn’t look as strong as Jourdian, and that observation pleased her in a way she didn’t understand.

  “Hello,” she greeted him, taking care to stay away from his carriage, which appeared to have a great many iron items attached to it. “Have you come to visit My Grace?”

  Percival Brackett took one look at the robe-clad girl, and didn’t know whether to frown or smile. She was beautiful. Extraordinarily so.

  But she was running about in a dressing robe whose top was filled with fruit. A robe, he noticed, that had the Amberville crest stitched upon it.

  Interesting. How very interesting. “I am Percival Brackett, duke of Bramwell,” he said, reaching up to pat his perfectly styled and combed hair.

  As soon as he spoke, the sparrow flew off Splendor’s shoulder and disappeared into the sky. Splendor suspected then that the man who stood before her was not kind through and through.

  Peering up at him, she realized he was a handsome man. His eyes were a striking shade of green, like newly sprouted grass, and his abundance of thick, wavy hair reminded her of the color of rich, dark soil.

  But his face had a pinched look that somehow detracted from his good looks. It was a look that made her wonder if he’d just smelled something terribly disagreeable. “My Grace is a duke, too.”

  “My Grace? Do you mean His Grace?”

  Splendor wrinkled her nose. “I imagine he could be Our Grace since we are both speaking of him.”

  “Eh… Yes, I imagine so,” Percival muttered, his gaze dipping down her form and catching sight of one pale calf, slim ankle, and small, bare foot.

  “You are looking at me the way My Grace looks at me.” Quickly, he raised his gaze back up to her face.

  “And how is that?”

  “Like a famished frog. As if he would like nothing better than to eat me up. And do you know that even when I am wearing this piece of satin, he remains a famished frog?”

  “Indeed.” Percival’s mind began to whirl with the beginnings of delicious suspicions. “Are you living here with Jourdian?”

  Splendor nodded and reached out to caress the leaf of a chrysanthemum. “He gave me the yellow room, but tonight I am going to sleep in his chambers.”

  Percival pretended to scratch his upper lip, actually hiding his huge smile. Oh, what a marvelous piece of gossip this was! “And when did you come to live with Jourdian?”

  “Yesterday. I’ve done my best to give him joy, but I—My Grace is hard to please. I will please him tonight, though. I’m not quite certain what it is he will do to me in his bed, but his excitement fairly shone from his eyes. So I will give him pleasure in his bed. Are you coming inside? If you are, you may come with me, for that is where I am going.”

  Percival smiled behind his hand again. He’d come with the hope of slyly finding out what Jourdian knew about the fruit orchards in Gloucester, but in the face of the positively scintillating news now in his possession, his business could wait.

  The girl was a maiden, that was certain. The lovely little thing had no idea of what Jourdian planned to do to her.

  And what of Jourdian? He hadn’t bothered to discreetly settle his virgin mistress in a London town house the way other noblemen did their paramours, but had brought her directly to his country seat…directly beneath the noses of most all the lords and ladies of the realm, many of whom would be highly insulted over his preference for a common trollop in his ducal home rather than one of their daughters as his proper duchess.

  Well, she wasn’t a trollop yet, Percival amended silently, but she’d earn the nasty title tonight in Jourdian’s bed. And an uncivilized little twit she was, too, running around outside wearing nothing but her lover’s robe.

  Percival could barely contain his glee when he realized the full significance of what he’d come to learn this afternoon.

  Marianna Chesterton might yet be his.

  “Will you come insider’ Splendor asked again, wondering what thoughts had seized his attention.

  “No. I—I’ve suddenly remembered that I’ve no time to visit Jourdian.” He pulled his watch from his pocket. “Oh my, it is nearly half past five, and I’ve a dinner to attend at seven! I must be on my way now, miss. It was a pleasure meeting you. A sheer pleasure.”

  Chapter Seven

  Miss Splendor has returned, Your Grace,” Ulmstead announced.

  Standing in front of one of the windows in his office, Jourdian turned and saw his butler waiting in the doorway with Splendor.

  He drank in the sight of her, so relieved she was back and unharmed that a long moment passed before he noticed the tortoise in Ulmstead’s bony hands. “Ulmstead, you are holding a turtle.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I found him in the kitchen devouring a head of broccoli.”

  Jourdian frowned. “You found a hog sleeping on the billiard table, a donkey running through the foyer, a seal in the linens, and now a tortoise eating broccoli in the kitchen.”

  “Yes, your lordship.”

  “How have all these animals gotten into the house?”

  “I’m afraid I do not know, sir.”

  “Put that thing outside.”

  “At once, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, and Ulmstead? Has there been any word from Reverend Shrewsbury?”

  “No, your lordship.”

  “Be careful with the turtle, will you, Ulmstead?” Splendor asked, caressing Delicious’s shell.

  “Yes, Miss Splendor.” With a gentle push, Ulmstead urged Splendor into the room, then closed the door.

  “My Grace, what is your favorite book?”

  “What?”

  “Your favorite book.”

  She’d been gone all day and she wanted to discuss his preferred reading material! “Where the blazes have you been?”

  She lifted her chin a bit. “I asked you a question first, My Grace, therefore you are obligated to answer me before I answer you.”

  Her audacity was not to be believed. “While my servants searched every inch of this house for you, I scoured the countryside—”

  “Sweet everlasting, there is that cat! Oh, please take him away!”

  Jourdian glanced at Pharaoh, who was asleep on the sill of one of the windows. “He’s sleeping.”

  As Splendor backed up toward the wall behind her, Jourdian could actually see her fear. Her entire body trembled. Knowing he would not be able to carry on a conversation with her until he did something with Pharaoh, he marched to the window, scooped the cat off the sill, and deposited the Siamese in the corridor.

  He then shut the door. “While you are in my house I am responsible for your welfare, and you’ve been missing for hours! Didn’t it cross your mind that I might wonder where you were?”

  Her fear ceased to quiver through her, but she felt he had hurt her feelings. “Did it cross your mind that the reason I l
eft was because you were shouting the same way that you are now? ’Tis that uncivil streak of yours, and you would do well to take heed when you feel it begin to swell.”

  With great effort, he gathered patience—not because she’d suggested he do so, but because he didn’t want her fleeing the house again. He’d been frantic with worry when he hadn’t found her, and guilt had been his companion as he’d searched for her.

  “Where were you, Splendor?” he asked, his voice cool and controlled.

  Her injured feelings repaired themselves instantly, and she smiled. “In a pasture. The big one beside the stables. I was in need of solitude for my thinking time.”

  What was it with the woman and fields? Jourdian wondered. He’d found her in one, and now she’d spent all day in another. “You left after breakfast, and it’s now five-thirty. Are you telling me that you remained in a field thinking for eight and a half hours?”

  “Aye, that is what I am telling you. My Grace, I did not have to answer your question before you answered mine. However, I deigned to do so, and now, to be fair, you must answer two of mine. What is your favorite book, and do you have a color you are particularly fond of?”

  “I rode all over this estate, and I did not see you in the pasture.”

  Splendor moved her heavy mass of hair off her shoulders. “I was in the pasture, and there I met Hopkins. You may ask him if he saw me, and he will say that he did. He is a kind and gentle man, and he says that you have smiled at him but once during all the years he has been here. Does that not make you feel a bit ashamed, My Grace?”

  Now that she’d moved her hair off her shoulders, he could see the top of her robe. “What are those bulges in your robe?”

  “Berries. And apples.” She pulled out a plump berry and held it out. “Do you care for one?”

  “No.”

  She pressed the fruit into his hand anyway. “If you do not feel ashamed for not smiling at Hopkins, you should, especially since he made a very special wish for you. He wants you to be happy, as do I. What do you hope to accomplish in your life? Do you prefer to bathe at night, or in the morning? Does walking through the first snow of winter please you? What do you dream about?”