Breakfast entailed a long table draped in white linen, three footmen and the butler, Mr. Hobbs, standing over her as she ate. Mr. Hobbs, in contrast to Mrs. Morgan, was tiny. He hardly came up to Catherine's chin. He had gray wingtips in his brown hair, which was balding on top near his crown. He had a large bulbous nose, which was red and bumpy. He wore a coat and white gloves as he served her from the banquet at the far end of the room. The footmen stood sentry, prepared to jump up and attend to her slightest whim.
Catherine stared down at her platter, the eggs and toast she had selected had appeared much more appetizing when Mr. Hobbs had first served them. However, when she picked up her fork, preparing to skewer her food, a funny notion came over her.
She set down her fork and turned to look at the servants. The first footman, Mr. Fox she believed was his name, rushed forward. He had flaming red hair and skin so pale she wondered if he made it outdoors. He was lean and his coat fit him tight at his slender waist before tapering out, accentuating his long legs. When he leaned over to speak, she could see his dark eyes that were just a bit too close together.
"Is there anything you need, my lady?" he said with a disinterested tone.
Catherine glanced down at her platter. The soft-boiled egg had a broken yoke. Bright yellow bled over the blue pattern upon the china. I had a thought just now as if I was supposed to be somewhere else just before, but I cannot recall clearly.
"My lady?" Mr. Fox prompted once more with a hint of agitation in his voice.
"Will Lord Thornton be coming down to breakfast?" Catherine said after a long pause.
Mr. Fox furrowed his bright orange brows and said, "The master never takes breakfast in the morning room."
Catherine blushed, feeling a fool for asking something the servant considered obvious. There was still much to learn about her husband, she realized. Again, that funny sensation would not leave her. I should know this. It is my second day here. The footman had taken a step back as she said, "Is my husband well?"
"Is he well, my lady?" Mr. Fox said with an arched brow.
An image of Edward lying unconscious on the ground beside her flashed through her mind. Catherine shook the thought away, perhaps a lingering nightmare, nothing more. "I meant to say, it is not good for him to skip meals."
"He does not, my lady," Mrs. Morgan said as she swept into the morning room.
Catherine sank down in her chair as the woman surveyed her. There was something about the high-collared black gown and her severe expression that reminded Catherine of a governess that had terrified her as a child. "Pardon?" Catherine squeaked.
"The master eats his morning meal in the study; he does not skip meals. In fact, the former Lady Thornton took her breakfast in bed."
The statement was meant to shame her. The late Lady Thornton, Edward's mother, was most likely a true lady. Unlike Catherine, who knew nothing about the grand life her husband seemed to lead.
The housekeeper continued seemingly without noticing Catherine's silent reproach of herself. "His lordship will be busy tending to his affairs today and wishes that you be at your leisure." Her lip curled as if the very idea of relaxation was repulsive to her. "He asked that I send you his love, and he says he will see you tonight at the dinner party."
The dinner party, she had been dreading this evening. Edward insisted on having some friends from the neighborhood over to make introductions. I only hope I do not embarrass him tonight. "That would be pleasing," she said, hoping that would be an appropriate response. What did the wife of a gentleman of Edward's stature do with her day? She peered at her eggs once more. She had no stomach for them after all.
She pushed back her chair, or attempted to, as a footman, Mr. Byrd she recalled his name, ran forward and scooted it back for her. She was pleased with remembering the footman's name when she caught her foot on the leg of the chair and tumbled forward. Mr. Byrd, short and stocky, caught her easily. He rested his gloved hand in the small of her back as he helped her stand. She smiled at him in thanks, but he did not return the gesture. His lips were pressed in a thin line.
"Thank you," she murmured as a flush burned her skin along her cheeks and neck. He nodded his head and stepped back in line with the other two footmen. It would take some getting used to the servants; back home they had only the cook and one housemaid, and Catherine still helped with a good amount of the light house chores--sewing and mending, meal planning and the like. She wondered how Mother and Father were getting along without her.
"If you are finished eating, my lady, why not take a walk in the gardens?" Mrs. Morgan said, her arms folded over her chest.
"I thought we might speak about the household management; what is expected of me?"
Mrs. Morgan's expression gave nothing away, but her pause indicated she had not expected the inquiry. "Do not trouble yourself, my lady. I have always managed things here at Thornwood Abbey. If there is an important decision on décor or china, I shall consult you."
I suspect she thinks little of my intellect. Only in her thoughts could Catherine dare to be so tart. She longed for the ability to speak her mind, but the moment passed, and Mrs. Morgan, presumably, had better things to do and headed to the door.
The rain had ceased, and pale gray light was filtering in through the windows of the morning room. "Very well, I shall take a walk, then," Catherine said to her retreating back.
Mrs. Morgan stopped at the door leading out into the hall and said, "Be careful. The lawns can be hazardous when wet. Take care to stick to the marked paths." She took a few steps, hesitated, then turned around and added, "And stay clear of the woods by the south end. They are wild, and there's no pathways."
"Thank you for your kind advice." Catherine made a note to stay clear of that area. She had never like wooded areas; they never set well with her.
After donning an outdoor coat and a pair of boots, provided and draped upon her shoulders by a parlor maid named Miss Larson, Catherine was exalting in remembrance of another staff member's name. After blundering with Miss Smith that morning, she was determined to get to know the staff and have them like her. Mrs. Morgan and the others seemed cold, but she was certain once she got to know them they would be delightful people.
Catherine strolled along the well-maintained garden path. A lingering fog clung close to the ground, swirling about her ankles. The gravel path crunched beneath her boots. Gray dominated the scenery but for the green of the lawn and the shrubbery that fought the encroaching fog. Ash and oak trees loomed above everything, seemingly threatening the cultured spaces. The gardeners must be in a constant battle to keep these hedges from going wild and from the natural flora from encroaching upon the flower beds, Catherine mused. Maybe I can speak with the head gardener. I would love to plant irises. Perhaps I can be of some assistance there, at least. She turned a corner, contemplating the notion, when the chatter of two women stopped her in her tracks.
"I cannot understand it, Miss White. Why would someone of the master's status marry such a girl?"
"I have not the slightest, Miss Brown. The way I heard it, he got this funny idea in his head one day to visit his mother's cousin. Then not a week later, he was off. Next we heard, he's married some girl!"
"Have you seen her yet?" Miss Brown whispered.
"Yes, a pale little thing, dark hair and huge eyes. Utterly average, really, I cannot imagine a gentleman like him settling for someone like her."
"Maybe she has a bit of personality?" Miss Brown offered, though she sounded skeptical.
"Not that I have seen. She's silent as death, and when she speaks, you should hear the airs she puts on, you would think she is Queen Victoria herself!"
"Maybe Lord Thornton is enchanted, growing up next to that forest. I have heard some awful tales."
"Don't be daft. Those are just stories mothers tell their children to keep them minding."
"I would like to see you going for a stroll during a Thorn Dwellers' Moon."
Miss White laughed, but there w
as no humor in it. "Let's take this washing in. It won't dry out here in this wet."
The sounds of the gravel crunching beneath their feet pulled Catherine from her reverie. How disgraceful, to eavesdrop on the housemaids! Tears pricked her eyes, and even trying to blame herself did not take away the sting their words left. She backtracked the way she came, hoping to avoid an uncomfortable run-in with the gossiping maids. If she had been a braver woman, or even a brasher one, she would have confronted the two of them. However, her deeply ingrained manners kept her from doing so.
She hurried along the path, blinded by her tears. The fog seemed to be growing rather than dissipating, and before too long she did not know where she was. She looked up and the house loomed in the distance. A two-story manor, ivy clung to its sides, the turrets erupted through the fog like spears and the shutters were closed. In the swirling fog, one would think no one resided there. Trees lined the path she had stumbled upon. Judging from the overgrown beds, she suspected few came this way. A bench beneath an oak tree promised a good spot to rest and recollect herself.
The sun struggled to break through the haze of the earlier rainfall, and she shivered in her coat. The bench was practically ice as she sat down upon it. The cold seeped through her skirts, but she did not move, too afraid she would be seen tearstained and sniveling. Less than a week married and she was already longing for home. What would Mama think if she saw me now?
A breeze prickled the hairs on the back of her neck. Catherine looked up as the fog shifted and revealed a copse of tangled dark trees. They lay thirty paces from where she sat beyond the line of oaks, and swirled with mist. The branches seemed to reach out for one another, grasping and twisting until she could not decipher where one tree started and the other ended.
It struck her as odd to see such an untamed place among the manicured lawns and well-cared-for hedges and flower beds, well, except for these at her feet. It occurred to her: this must be the place of which Mrs. Morgan had spoken. A fine mess she had gotten into; she could not even follow a simple command. No wonder the servants had thought her unworthy of Edward; she was a simple girl, unfit for a gentleman of his status.
Tears were threatening the back of her lids once more when a faint song drifted on the wind. Catherine lifted her head to listen, straining to catch the tune. It beckoned to her. She stood and edged towards the end of the gravel path where the manicured lawns sloped down towards and crashed against the wild forest. The song grew clearer; if she just stepped a few feet closer, she could hear it better.
"I would not do that," an amused male voice said.
Catherine tensed and then twirled on the ball of her foot. A man with wavy dark hair tied into a knot at the base of his neck regarded her. He had a rake slung over his shoulder, and his white teeth flashed against his olive skin as he smiled at her. He seemed familiar though she was certain they had never met before. His smile was almost lewd, but that could have been her imagination. She ducked her head when she realized she had been staring.
"Haven't you heard the stories?" he asked, perhaps choosing to ignore her stare and failure to greet him.
The sensible thing to do would be to politely excuse herself, but her mouth moved without her consent. "What stories?"
"Those are the Thorn Dwellers' Woods. The locals say there are creatures who live in these woods, and at night they lure the unsuspecting in with their song before they take their heart."
She shivered and pulled her arms close to her. There was a reason she hated the untamed places; they were full of dark strange things. She thought of the vision from the mirror this morning. Her heart raced just thinking about it. Put it from your mind, she thought.
"What an awful tale," she said and hated the haughty contempt of her voice. He smiled again and she squirmed. "I should be heading back. It was a pleasure speaking with you..." She did not know his name and she was not certain she wanted to. A gentleman would never tell a lady such a ghastly tale. She attempted to move past him. It had been anything but a pleasure. Good manners, however, had been ingrained in her like breathing.
"How are you feeling, my lady?" he asked before she could get two steps.
She turned to face him. She had a feeling he meant something more than her state of being. "What do you mean?" She searched his face. He had full lips, high cheekbones, and eyes dancing with mirth. He was handsome. Even she could not deny that.
"You and his lordship had a long journey. I thought you would be tired." He grinned again, and she had the sneaking suspicion that there was more to his question than a friendly inquiry. Her cheeks burned when she realized this must be some sort of joke.
"I know what everyone here thinks of me, and perhaps they are right, but I am not stupid, and if you wish to laugh at my expense at least give me the decency of telling me what is so amusing." She clamped her hand over her mouth. How could she speak like that to a total stranger! What would Mother think if she saw her now?
"My apologies, my lady. There is no trick. I am genuinely concerned for your health." He bowed and extended his arms as he did so. His movements were as fluid as water and as elegant as a dancer.
His canniness should have been alarming. Instead, he intrigued her. "What is your name? We have yet to be introduced properly."
"My name is Ray, my lady."
"You have no surname?"
"It's Thorn, Ray Thorn." He smirked as if he were indulging in his own private amusement. Catherine felt the immediate urge to leave. Despite his assurances, she still felt she were the butt of some joke.
"It is a pleasure, Mr. Thorn. I should be going back now."
"The pleasure is all mine," he replied with a bow from the waist.
Uncertainty hurried her feet up the path, but at the top of the hill, she slid in the wet grass. She came crashing down to the ground, landing on her knees. As she climbed ungraciously back to her feet, she looked over her shoulder, expecting to see Mr. Thorn laughing at her expense, but found the spot vacated as if he had disappeared.
Chapter Two
The brush ran over the fabric of his dinner jacket with a scratch, scratch. Edward lost himself in the ministrations of long practice. Griffin had been in the family employ for the better part of two decades and had served his father before he had served Edward. Griffin's hair was grayer than black nowadays, and he had gone rather thick in the middle, but he still worked hard and had an eye for detail that was not easy to replicate.
Griffin put down the brush with a gentle clack. Edward opened his eyes and looked at the rain-streaked window. The weather had given them only a short reprieve. Once that afternoon, he had looked out his window to see the dim light pushing through the clouds. A glimpse of the sun was a welcome distraction from the tedium of estate management. The wheat was suffering from an overabundance of rain; the roots were rotting in the ground. A dozen sheep on another tenant farm had been killed by some kind of animal. Wolves, the tenant insisted. He swore he had heard howling the night it happened. Of course, that was not possible. It had to be wild dogs. Perhaps I should send out Mr. Wolfe to deal with this problem.
"What cufflinks tonight, my lord?" Griffin asked, bringing Edward back from matters of estate.
Edward was thoughtful for a moment. "I think the pearl." He pointed to the pair in the case that Griffin was standing beside.
"Good choice, my lord," Griffin said in his rumbling baritone. There was something reassuring about the older man that Edward attributed to Griffin's longtime employ in his household. While Griffin worked to dress him, Edward let the day's worries slip away.
Griffin pulled out the cufflinks from their velvet-lined case and was preparing to attach them to Edward's dinner jacket when thunder rumbled through the sky and Edward startled. He knocked the older man's hand aside, and the cufflink went flying. It hit the wall and fell behind a bureau.
"My apologies, Griffin. I don't know why I am so jumpy," Edward said somewhat sheepishly.
"Think nothing of it, my lord. It is n
ormal for a young man to be excited about introducing his bride to his loved ones."
Edward smiled. I suppose I have a right to be excited. I am presenting my bride to my friends and family. I imagine they will all fall in love with her in an instant, just as I did.
Griffin sank down on his knees and was hard-pressed to hide the groan as he did so.
"Griffin, is it your knees again? Let me fetch the cufflink."
Griffin's wide face was awash with shock. "My lord, it would be an insult to me and my profession if I allowed you to get down on your knees and reach beneath this bureau. It is no great pain, just the natural ailments of time."
Edward squatted down beside his valet, watching for signs of pain, prepared to offer assistance if there need be any. Griffin gave pretty speeches, but in truth he was getting on in years. Service was a difficult occupation even for the most stout of men. Perhaps it's time I consider a pension and retirement for Griffin. It would be a shame to lose him; Griffin had been a faithful servant not easily replaced.
"Ah-ha, there you are," Griffin said as he retrieved the cufflink. He pulled his hand out, and though he tried to push away Edward's hand of assistance in getting him back to his feet, they managed it with little incident.
Griffin opened his hand to reveal his prize, and sitting beside the missing cufflink was a silver locket. "My lord, I found this alongside the cufflink."
He held it out for Edward, who was hesitant to take the trinket. It was a pretty item, engraved silver of a tree with bare branches that wrapped around the curved edges. The trunk of the tree had been carved into, and there was a heart with tiny initials there: MLA.
"Let me see that, Griffin." Edward held out his hand, and Griffin dumped it into his master's awaiting grip. The metal was warm to the touch, which seemed strange. Edward ran his finger along the raised metalwork.
There was a small button on one side that, when pressed, opened the locket. Inside was a silhouette of a woman. She had curly hair, a petite nose, and a long elegant neck. She was beautiful. I wonder who this belonged to. It had to be some long-lost heirloom, because he had never seen it before.
Heart of Thorns Page 2