The scent of the sea seemed stronger up here. A good sturdy tree grew right outside, but to the left she could spy part of the flower gardens. Beyond a shrubbery at the back she glimpsed the blue of the lake that Audrianna had mentioned.
“It will suit me very well,” she said, since it appeared the housekeeper was waiting for approval.
Audrianna entered then, along with a young woman. The new servant was introduced as Susan, who would serve as her lady’s maid. Susan began unpacking under the housekeeper’s keen eye. They both showed no reaction on seeing how little Verity had brought, and how plain and lacking in embellishment it all was.
It did not take long to settle her. They left her with water for washing.
Audrianna fingered two stacks of letters and papers on the bed. “These must be the letters that you told me about in the carriage. The ones Lizzie Smith received when she queried the archbishop’s men and those proctors about annulments. What are these newspaper cuttings?”
“I have been saving notices and such that address the area around my home.” Verity opened a drawer and slipped the letters inside. “I suppose I should hide them. With Hawkeswell’s chambers so close, he may wander in.”
“I could hardly put him in the other wing, Verity. He may guess that you have confided to me about this bargain you struck, but it would be better not to make it blatant that you did.”
“He has given his word. He is not without honor. I do not think it matters which chamber he uses.” She believed that in her mind, but his proximity would do her nerves no good.
“I suppose if his honor appears to be wobbling, you can have one of your headaches.” She smiled conspiratorially.
“I truly do suffer from them in the spring season, Audrianna. I did not lie about that.” Her face warmed. “Not as often as I claimed last spring, when I needed to avoid Lord Sebastian, of course. Do you and the others hate me for lying to you? It was not a big lie, and I had little choice, but a lie is a lie, of course.”
Audrianna took her hand and encouraged her to sit on the bed with her. “It was a small deception. I am glad that you told me, however, and also confided about this bargain you have struck with the earl. Daphne, Celia, and I were honored that you shared all the rest with us that last night in Cumberworth too. I will do what I can to help you with your plan, because I do not believe any woman should be forced into a marriage.”
Audrianna spoke hopefully, but another emotion showed in her eyes.
“You do not think it will work, do you? You think that this marriage will stand,” Verity said.
“I think that he is an earl, and that it will stand or not according to his preference. Celia and Daphne told you that too, and they are far more worldly than I am.”
Celia and Daphne had indeed said as much, and it had discouraged her. She had spent two years planning how she would resurrect herself and petition for freedom. It would have been hard, and possibly not successful, but she would have had a fighting chance at least.
Now she feared she had very little chance to even get a hearing, because Hawkeswell could stop her at the outset if he controlled her movements. Unless, as her friends said, she won him over to the idea too.
She had these few days in Essex to achieve that. One week at most, with no danger of a consummation of the marriage. Those letters in the drawer indicated an annulment could be granted even with one, if the evidence were clear, but that lack of consummation would help. Furthermore, lack of children was almost essential.
Celia had suggested that Hawkeswell’s preference would hinge on the money. Verity had been contemplating that for two days now.
“No matter what happens with Hawkeswell, now I can at least set about discovering just how Bertram carried out his threats, despite the bargain he deceitfully struck with me. Now that I am of age, Bertram can no longer touch me, whether I am married to Hawkeswell or not.”
“And if you do learn the truth of it? What then?”
“I will make amends to that family as best I can, and seek to rectify any injustice done because of me.”
She would have to do much more than that, of course. If the worst had happened to Michael Bowman, she would have to change the plans she had made for her life after she procured that annulment.
She wondered whether Hawkeswell might be sympathetic if she explained matters more fully. Not the part about Michael, of course, but the rest of it. Surely he would understand that the life she needed to live would be nigh impossible if she remained here in the south and if she were Lady Hawkeswell.
Perhaps if she revealed her dreams and her heart, he would realize just how much they did not suit each other. Maybe he would decide being rid of her was a good idea after all.
Audrianna scooted off the bed. “I will leave you to rest, and see you at dinner. The servants will escort you to the lake if you fear getting lost.”
“I can see it from my window, so I am sure that I will find my way.”
No sooner had the door closed behind Audrianna than Verity went to the secretaire in a corner of the sitting room that flanked her bedchamber. She sat down amid the varied green hues decorating the room, to compose the first letter to the world of her childhood that she had written in two years.
Hawkeswell surveyed his apartment while the valet did his duty with the baggage. It was a comfortable set of rooms, but then, he expected no less of one of Wittonbury’s properties. He judged the carpet to be from Brussels and the silk at the windows from India. The furniture was old enough to possess a nice patina, but new enough to indicate the property had been redecorated not many years ago.
He could not help but compare it with his own property, or what was left of it. Not a thing had changed at his country seat in more than a generation, except for the Titian that had mysteriously gone missing after one of his father’s gambling disasters.
Fortunately, his grandfather had bought well, with a good eye that equaled his extravagance. Except for some worn upholstery and drapes, the house did not look too bad because quality always holds up to time. Still, it all begged for maintenance too often deferred, and for re-modeling to bring it into the current century in both appearance and conveniences.
The valet hummed while he pressed in the dressing room. Hawkeswell listened for other sounds, from the apartment next to his own. He had half expected Audrianna to put Verity and him at opposite sides of the house. Perhaps Audrianna had not been plotting with Verity on managing him after all.
He left the valet to his duties, and strolled out to the corridor and down to Verity’s door. He knocked and waited a good while before the latch turned. She appeared startled to see him.
“Have you been made comfortable?” he asked. “Are your chambers adequate?”
“More than adequate, and I will be very comfortable, thank you.”
Silence fell. She half hid behind the door, refusing to open it entirely.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.
“I was just about to write a letter, and—”
“I do not have to ask, Verity. I do not have to knock.”
She bit her lower lip, then pushed the door wide. “Won’t you please enter?”
The main chamber seemed comfortable enough. Not quite as large as his own, it held some chairs and a large bed draped in silk the color of green apples. He went to the windows. His own had better prospects. A large tree that he had noticed grew right outside one of hers. A bird at its top chirped melodically.
“This tree is too conveniently placed. I suspect you know how to climb trees, for all your practiced etiquette.”
She smiled, and almost laughed. He wished she would do so. He had never heard her laugh, he was very sure.
“I was once a good tree climber, but I was a child then.” She rose on her toes, and peered past him, out at the one in question. “I would say that is a four-minute tree for someone in practice. I, on the other hand, would probably fall and break my neck. Did you come here to judge its conve
nience?”
“I came to make sure you are pleased with the accommodations, and to say that I am going to take a turn in the garden. Join me.”
She glanced over her shoulder, to a secretaire visible in the attached sitting room. “As I said, I was going to write a letter.”
“I think that you will enjoy the garden more. You do like them, don’t you? Gardens?”
She flushed. “Yes, I do like them. The letter, however—”
“Can be written tonight.” He strolled to the door, stood aside, and gestured into the hall with his arm, by way of both invitation and command.
Whether she accepted the first he did not know. Her expression, however, indicated that she recognized the latter. She joined him.
Verity stepped down the stone stairs, into the garden that stretched beyond the house’s veranda. Hawkeswell took her hand and guided her, to ensure she did not trip. She could hardly object to the familiarity implied by that touch, but it did disconcert her.
She had been careless in forging their agreement about this house party. She should have found a way to make him accept that while they were here, they would act as if they were not wed at all, with all that meant, and not merely delaying the physical consummation.
If she had been more thorough in her requirements, he would not now be acting as if he was a husband who could demand her time and attention, and enter her chambers whenever he chose, and take her hand at will.
He had made it clear that he assumed he could do all those things. She suspected that he had arrived at her door, and invited her to accompany him to the garden, specifically to make the point.
It was a lovely property, however. This house was not used much, but the gardeners maintained these acres meticulously. The veranda descended to a large courtyard garden flanked by two back wings. Along with the two in front, it turned the house into a gigantic H.
The ground sloped gradually away from the house; then the garden spilled out of the courtyard and spread wide, so one could see vast stretches of late-summer flowers. At the far end, at least five hundred yards away, a shrubbery in turn gave way to a screen of trees that marked a transition to wilder plantings, and to the little lake that Audrianna had mentioned.
“Does it meet with your approval?” Hawkeswell asked.
“It is more formal than I prefer, but a superior example of its type.”
“Then you were probably more pleased by what has been done to Wittonbury’s garden at the family’s town-home.” He caught himself, and smiled wryly. “Except that you have never seen it, have you? You would not have wanted to visit Audrianna there, and risk her husband recognizing you.”
“No, I have never visited her there.” She instinctively paused by a late gladiola and flicked a dead head off one of its tall stalks.
“You were very clever in keeping your secret, I will grant you that. It is a wonder that the ladies rallied around you, rather than feeling deceived.”
“You do not understand the acceptance we all give each other, and the rules by which we live. None of us dwells on the past so it works fairly for all.”
“That house is a damned peculiar place. There are rules, you say now. Like a convent, or an abbey or school?”
“Much like those. Deliberately so. For example, as independent adults, we do not require explanations from each other regarding what we do and where we go. We do not pry into each other’s personal affairs. Also, we all contribute to the house’s finances, as we are able. Audrianna gave music lessons, and Celia has a small income. I work in the greenhouse and garden.”
“More peculiar yet. It would be necessary for everyone to have secrets, I suppose. You would accept the vagueness in the others because you would want them to accept it about you.”
“It is not secrets that allow it to succeed, but mutual sympathies and the good it creates. I do not think anyone there has many secrets, anyway, except me.”
“I suspect you are wrong about that. For example, did it never occur to you that perhaps Mrs. Joyes did not demand an accounting of your life because she did not want to give one of her own?”
She stopped walking and looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Only that she has a very handsome property for the widow of an army captain, which is the history Summerhays gave me. In not demanding an explanation of your movements and history, she also protected her own privacy.”
“You are insinuating something scandalous, I think.”
“I am musing aloud; that is all. Do not pretend to be shocked. You may not have asked, but you had to have wondered.”
“You are implying, not just musing or wondering. I will not have it. Daphne is like my sister, and all goodness. You just want to think badly of her because you blame her for taking me in.”
“Quite possibly, and that is not fair. My apologies.”
He gave in awfully fast. She doubted he really thought himself in the wrong. He was just appeasing her, so that she would like him more.
They had reached the back of the flower gardens. Shrubs, trees, and wilderness lay ahead. “If you will excuse me, I will return to my chambers now, to rest before we gather for supper.”
“And to write your letter?”
“Perhaps.”
“With whom are you so impatient to correspond? Since you demanded I keep your resurrection a secret while we are here, I am surprised that you intend to inform someone on your own so quickly.”
“I am writing to Katy Bowman. She is the mother of the family whom Bertram threatened. She was my father’s housekeeper for years, and like a mother to me too.”
“It must be she whom you fear grieved for you. I can see how you would want to correct that sad error.”
He prodded at her guilt. She carried quite a bit of it on this point. Since Katy could not read, the letter would have to be read to her. The vicar would do that. Maybe he would also let Katy dictate a response.
Verity hoped so. It would be wonderful if a letter would come that said Nancy had lied, and Bertram had done nothing to Katy’s son Michael, that Michael still plied his skills at the forge the way her father had taught him. She dared not count on that, but she could pray for it.
“I will take my leave, Lord Hawkeswell, and see you this evening.”
She turned to walk back through the garden, but he took her hand and stopped her.
“Not yet, Verity. I will have a kiss first. Several, in fact.”
“Several! It is supposed to be three kisses at three different times, not all three at once.”
“You left that clause out of our contract. How careless of you.”
He gently tugged. She found herself tripping toward a cluster of tall rhododendrons. She really did not want to go behind those shrubs. She tried to dig in her heels, but even his gentle pull proved stronger than her best resistance.
“You are not being fair,” she objected.
“Be glad I demanded only three kisses a day, and not many more. As it happens, I am not claiming any of today’s kisses, let alone all at once. I am claiming the ones you still owe me from yesterday.”
“We did not agree that you could save them up, and catch up on Tuesday if you forgot to use them on Monday.”
“We never said I could not.”
“I am saying it now. Why, if that were the rule, you could go half a week and I would have to suffer twelve or fifteen all in one day.”
“What a pleasant thought. However, it will be easy for you to avoid such a fate. Simply make sure that I am kissed three times before the day is out, and you are safe.”
The devil was in his eyes as he teased her. Only it was the devil that also suggested he was not only teasing.
How had the perfectly sensible agreement to three small kisses led to such a disadvantage? One where it might be wise to kiss him instead of him kissing her?
“Three, then,” she agreed. “So we catch up.” She quickly stepped toward him, rose on her toes, and planted a quick kiss on his lips
. She tried to peck him again, but he angled back, out of reach.
“That is one,” he said. “Two to go.”
He appeared to be having a fine joke at her expense. She held herself straight and tall and prepared for the other two.
To her shock, he took her face in his hands. The hold was gentle enough, but very intimate. The sensation of his warm palms against her cheeks startled her. “We did not agree that you could touch me like this. You are just supposed to—”
“Hush,” he muttered, his lips hovering near hers, but not exactly kissing her. “When I kiss a woman, I do it properly.”
Properly meant he watched while his thumb caressed her lips in a manner that made them sensitive and tingling. It meant nipping her lip, creating a jolt to her body much like an arrow of sensation spiraling downward. It meant a stunning closeness that made her too alert and too aware of him. When his lips finally touched hers, her breath caught.
She did not step back at once. Being held like this, she was not sure she even could. But the kiss provoked something inside her that caused her to forget momentarily that she wanted to get away.
Still cradling her face in his hands, he looked down at her, those blue eyes watching, watching, and darkly pleased with whatever he saw. “That is two.”
“That is enough!”
He shook his head, then kissed her again.
The kiss, his closeness, the giddy tickling sensations, all distracted her. She had no idea that kisses could be so long and involved and . . . busy. A series of delightful little changes and movements, to her cheeks and jaw, to her lips again, nips and varying pressure and even his tongue playing devilishly in sensitive, tiny ways. This kiss was very different from the ones she had shared with Michael when she was a girl. Far more dangerous, and she responded differently too.
Her fascination dismayed her even while she dallied more than was wise. Finally, however, she realized she had permitted a kiss that could be considered several if one were strict, and that he would never give her proper credit on the account.
Provocative in Pearls Page 5