by Mary Wood
Ruth being musical was something Frederick still couldn’t take in. Who would have thought it?
Although he was more than willing to pay for her education, as she’d requested, he’d found that Josh had recently altered his will to include Ruth. All in all, there was very little for Frederick to worry about, concerning her finances; she would be well able to educate herself, and she and Nora could buy that cottage Nora wanted and could live comfortably. This had put his mind to rest, but not his inner feelings. They would remain in turmoil, and he couldn’t foresee a time when they would ever be at peace. But he had Katrina – an easy-natured woman and a passionate one – and he needed to settle down and be a good husband to her, and a father to their children, if that occasion arose. He knew he must also make his mind up that, once Ruth was settled, he would never seek to see her again.
With these thoughts to keep him company, as well as much concerning the cotton industry, which he had begun to find fascinating, Frederick made good time and reached the inn by two in the afternoon, with a good three hours of riding behind him. A jug of ale and a slice off a side of beef, with some onions and a chunk of the innkeeper’s wife’s homemade bread, beckoned him. He hadn’t meant to stop to eat, but now he was here, he couldn’t resist.
‘Nice t’see you, M’Lord. Your fresh mount will be got ready for you. He’s been sensing you were near and started to kick his stable door, so we had to let him out. He’s a sight for sore eyes, galloping and whinnying whilst tossing his mane. I’d say you’re in for a spirited ride on that one. So, whilst the groom sees to that, you will partake of some good food, won’t you? It is all ready for you.’
Hearing about the high spirit of his horse gave Frederick a tinge of excitement and an eagerness to get going. His next love, after gambling, was horseriding; and Dandy Lad was his favourite of all the horses he’d ever owned. Gallient, which had seen him safely thus far, was a steady ride, taking care and not wanting to test the waters and stride out. He could set a fair pace, but nothing like Dandy Lad, which was a thrill to ride. Dangerous and carefree. He took some handling and always left Frederick feeling exhilarated.
‘Your ale is a fine brew, Innkeeper. It has slaked my thirst without making me want to snooze. I will be on my way, once I have finished this cheese – a nice finishing dish to the beef. Have my bill ready . . . Good God! What is that on the news-sheet you have there?’
‘Just the racing results, M’Lord. I’m a keen follower, as you know.’
‘No, on the page at the back of what you’re reading. It can’t be!’
‘Oh, that witch’s tale, aye. That’s a funny one. Thought they’d all died off. Haven’t heard tell of any, and those I have were probably just fantasy.’
‘Hand it to me, man! Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to be rude, but I think the story concerns someone I know.’
The headlines flashed before him:
MURDER TRIAL OF A WITCH
Has witchcraft reared its ugly head again?
Instinctively Frederick knew it concerned Ruth. Frantically reading the story, he found that indeed it did: ‘A girl being held in Wakefield Prison, Ruth Dovecote, is being accused of the murder of a security . . .’
God, Ruth, what have you done? Oh, my darling.
What was he thinking? If Ruth did this killing, and it seemed very unlikely, she must have been provoked beyond endurance or trying to defend herself. What did it say? ‘The unexplained death . . .’
Did they really think Ruth used witchcraft? For goodness’ sake, it wasn’t possible. But even as he thought the words, he had to admit that strange things did happen around Ruth. Stop this. It’s ridiculous – they are all coincidences.
Reading further, he found that the case had been adjourned. And he was heartened to note that there was a group of lawyers who were of a like mind to himself and believed that the poor should be helped. Thank God! This Cotram fellow had things in hand, by the sound of it. The trial was set for two weeks after the hearing, which had been held two days ago.
Frederick made up his mind to contact Cotram and tell him of his interest in Ruth, then he’d have the man checked out and get a better defence counsel on the case, if need be. In the meantime he needed to get home – to be with Katrina and try to put some normality into their lives. There was his honeymoon in France to finalize. The year would be out before they could go, at this rate, and that wasn’t fair to Katrina.
Frederick could sense the atmosphere when he arrived home. Even though the house was empty of his family, the staff seemed on edge somehow. Sighing, he told himself it was to be expected, with three women left to their own devices. Mother would be trying to hang onto her role, Katrina would be fighting to take the reins, and Marcia . . . well, that little minx could have caused all kinds of mayhem, and no doubt the staff had been caught up in the middle of it all.
The first thing that met him on his desk were two piles of invitations. Glancing at them, he could see that the smallest pile consisted of invitations awaiting his answer, but the other invitations sat on top of a list of names – some with ticks next to them, others left blank – no doubt needing his approval. Oh Lord, they have been planning a party! A quick look at the date told him it was set to take place in two weeks. Damn and blast it – that clashed with the trial. He had to be there for Ruth, he had to be!
Striding into the hall, he found Crowther hovering. ‘Where is everybody, Crowther? A man comes home after being away for weeks, and no one is here to greet him. It’s bad form.’
‘Yes, M’Lord. I believe the ladies are delayed in town. A messenger came to tell us to hold dinner for a while.’
‘Bloody hell. Well, see that my bath is run. I will take it now. And have a stiff brandy brought to me. And make sure there is plenty of hot water, so that my bath can be topped up. I need to soak a while and ease my saddle-sores. Dandy Lad played havoc with me.’
Scurrying away in the only way butlers can, with an air of both dignity and finesse, Crowther left him. At that moment Frederick could have kicked something, as frustration vied with misery in him. Instead he returned to his office.
What should he do? Could he refuse to give his permission for the bloody ball that Katrina had arranged, just so that he could be with Ruth? No, he couldn’t see a way that could happen. The invitations told him that a lot of planning had gone into the event – Katrina’s first ball – and he couldn’t thwart her. Picking up the top invitation, he read:
The Earl of Harrogate, Lord Rollinson, and Lady Rollinson extend an invite to Lord Bellinger and Lady Henrietta to their Late-Summer Ball.
As he read on, it became clear that this wasn’t just a ball, but a whole weekend, as there was also a poker game in the afternoon of the day of the ball, for the gentlemen, and a croquet game for the ladies. The following day a shooting party was planned with, if the weather permitted, a picnic by the lake afterwards, when the bagged game would be spit-roasted for lunch! My God, Katrina, why the hell didn’t you contact me about this?
But then he would have consented, and he must allow her to be mistress of his house and to have a free hand in that domain. If only it didn’t clash with a time when Ruth will need me! And to see bloody Bellinger at the top of the list of invitees . . . That swine! Oh, for goodness’ sake, I must snap out of this. At this rate I’ll be having my first argument with my new wife, and she least deserves the backlash of all that is going on in my life. Calming himself, Frederick could see that the list was in alphabetical order, and that was the reason for Bellinger heading it. With a wry smile at his own little-boy tantrum, he made his way to his bedroom.
It was a familiar route, but one that had seen immense changes. How they had been accomplished in just a few short weeks, he couldn’t imagine. Katrina had done well. He liked her choice of soft green on the walls of the hall, with the cornice and gargoyles in a stark white creating a pleasant contrast. The whole effect was complemented by the newly stained solid-oak doors and skirting, and created an
excellent background to the French furniture and family portraits that lined the walls as he ascended the stairs – all of which looked freshly cleaned.
Admitting to a sense of relief at Katrina’s taste, he found himself curious as to what she’d done with the rest of the house and couldn’t resist turning round and going back to check out his favourite room.
Amazement seized him as he opened the door. Mother must have told Katrina how much he loved this drawing room, and she had kept it almost the same. The golds and silvers were richer, as the upholstery had been renewed. The carpet, the same wine colour as before, was new, though he had liked the old one, which was shabby and threadbare in places. But then he knew it would have looked awful against the freshness of everything else. His favourite pieces of furniture – his father’s chair, the deep couch and all the occasional furniture – looked grand and very inviting, though he noticed that his mother’s writing desk was missing; in its place stood a new one in the bay window. It was one in much the same style, with elegant bowed legs, an inlaid pattern of a lighter colour than the rest of the deep mahogany, and new desk accessories: a silver ink-blotter and inkwell and a cut-glass paperweight.
The only other real change was that where his mother’s portrait had hung over the fireplace, there was now one of Katrina, looking very beautiful. He had a moment of feeling sorry for his mother, but she had prepared herself for this happening. At least she was still resident in the house and hadn’t had to move to the dower-house, and he was sure Katrina would have given her a choice of sitting rooms for herself and would have allowed her to furnish it with whatever she chose. That’s probably where the desk and portrait had gone. ‘Yes, Katrina, you have done well. This house is taking on the persona of being our home. Quite a clever achievement in such a short time.’
This he had said out loud to her picture, which he gazed at for a long moment, allowing his imagination free rein. His thoughts turned to the passionate first week of their union, and a longing for her set up a reaction in his groin that was more than pleasant, giving him an urge to lie with his wife as soon as he could, but at the same time leaving him asking questions of himself. How can I feel like this about Katrina, when it is Ruth I love? Having Ruth back in his thoughts, his desire increased, but soon turned sour. What kind of a man am I? I have a basic sexual need for what Katrina gives me, but a longing to give that same experience to Ruth. As he closed the door and headed back upstairs, he knew it was more than a longing to satisfy himself with Ruth; it was a need to make her part of himself, to give his soul to her, to protect her and enclose her in the greatest love he was capable of giving.
Relaxing back in the hot water a few minutes later, with the fire crackling to one side of him, his brandy glistening in the crystal glass, and his staff told to leave him until he rang for them, he felt his heart begin to bleed tears of anguish for his love. Without warning, these tears spilled from his eyes. Why? Why has Ruth to suffer so much? He had to bring an end to it – he had to. But how?
Katrina paced her room. She hadn’t yet greeted her husband. He was in the adjoining room, she knew that, but she couldn’t hear him moving around and didn’t like to disturb him. The last couple of weeks of his absence had been uncomfortable, though made less so by Lady Eleonore’s handling of the situation.
At first Lady Eleonore hadn’t mentioned it, and the couple of days that Simon Bellinger had been here had passed relatively smoothly on the surface, except for Marcia’s constant innuendoes. Simon had met Katrina in the garden the next day and had told her he’d tried to visit her, but had seen the dowager walking up and down the landing and so he had gone back to his own room. This had partly pleased Katrina, but alarmed her at the same time, as it showed he wasn’t giving up, no matter what. How was she to cope with it?
Lady Eleonore had taken her to one side once Lord Bellinger had left and had said, ‘My dear Katrina, I must mention an unfortunate incident. I know how it looked, but I also know you would not do such a thing. The Bellingers of this world are difficult to handle and can have any woman they want fall in love with them. Once it happens, they take what they want and then move on to the next conquest. You do know that Bellinger was making overtures towards Marcia that very evening? That is typical behaviour of his kind. Now, I don’t want you to even think of telling Frederick. It would be disastrous. He already has issues with the man, and we don’t want them escalating. Throw yourself into another project, dear, as your plans for refurbishing the house are all finished or well under way. A party – that would be the thing. And when Frederick is home, concentrate on all that is good about him, and you may find that you fall in love with him in a much more solid and sustaining way than your fancy for Bellinger.’
Katrina had tried to make an immediate protest. ‘But, Lady Eleonore, I do not—’ It had been cut off before she’d finished.
‘Accept that you love, or think yourself in love with, Lord Bellinger, Katrina, then you will be able to deal with the situation as it stands. Denial is a barrier to that. Oh, you won’t be the first. It happens to most of us who have our marriages arranged, and I am sure it is happening to Frederick, too. It is a natural reaction to the feeling of being trapped with someone you didn’t choose. It will pass, if you tackle it and do not give into it. I know Frederick won’t; he will do his utmost to make you happy, and you must do the same for him. I will speak to the right people to stop Lord Bellinger’s advances to you. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.’
This had settled all discomfort between them, but had compounded Katrina’s own guilt. If she could wipe away the events of her wedding night, she would. Just as she would work at not loving Simon, if she could, although she knew she couldn’t. Maybe she should talk to Frederick. She felt sure he would understand. After all, he was in the same predicament, wasn’t he?
A tap on her door made her jump. She wasn’t properly dressed. Annie had helped her to bathe and then, donning her silk robe, Katrina had asked Annie to leave her for a while. Annoyingly, the silly girl had taken to giggling in such situations, and Katrina found it embarrassing. It was as if the girl thought she wanted to jump into bed with Frederick or something – not that she didn’t, but the things on her mind were marring the joy that the thought of such an occurrence should be giving her.
The door opened slightly. ‘Katrina, may I come in?’
‘Of course. Oh, Frederick, it is nice to see you.’ And, to her relief, it was. He stood there in the doorway, his own robe wrapped around him, looking sheepish, but with an anticipation about him that lit a similar spark within her. They were in each other’s arms within seconds, and it felt as though the world had been put to rights. Yes, she could love this dear, kind man, she knew that, and at that moment she wanted to show him how much, and be rid of the conflict inside her.
Words were not necessary between them. Their kisses spoke all that needed to be said, as he guided Katrina towards her bed. Having him on top of her, and entering her, was a natural progression, and one that her whole body welcomed and accepted, as the thrill of his thrusting deep into her drew a moan of abandonment, and endearments she never thought to utter to him. ‘Oh, Frederick, my love, my husband. Oh God, I have missed you!’ The words strangled in her throat as it tightened in response to the clenching of her muscles, while a sensation built in her that she wanted so much, and cried out for. ‘More, please . . . more.’
His reaction of thrusting ever deeper and harder brought the feeling to a climax that she could hardly bear. Forced to push down, Katrina knew that her face had contorted. Sweat ran from her, and gasps that she didn’t consciously compose came tumbling from her. ‘Stay there, yes; yes, oh God, I love you.’
Exquisite pleasure washed over her, consuming her very being as it ascended to a delicate height she knew she couldn’t hold on to. When her body released all she had to give, she fragmented into a thousand pieces, as the shattering experience exploded and left her spent.
Frederick had burst into her at that
same moment, and his pulsating had pleasured her in a different way, as she’d still clenched him. But the vocal expression of his pleasure had shocked her further, as it held words of love – just as hers had done. Now he lay panting, not yet removed from her, but with his weight to the side of her. He was, she knew, just as fragmented and stunned into a sense of confusion as she herself was, by where their union had taken them.
How could that happen, when they weren’t in love? Though she knew she did experience a love in her for Frederick. No one could give what they had just given of themselves to someone they didn’t love. Yes, she understood that it might be possible to enjoy the act with anyone who had the skill, but that hadn’t been skill; it had had a life of its own. What had given it that life? Not experience – neither of them had that. Instinct then? Animal instinct? No. She rejected that. Feeling? Yes. It had to be. Oh God, was she in love with Simon or Frederick? For the first time, Katrina felt doubt about her feelings for Simon and questioned how she felt about Frederick.
His movement had her tensing. As he withdrew from her and rolled over to the other side of the bed, she sensed there were things he needed to say, but she was frightened to hear them.
‘Katrina! Oh God, Katrina. Are you feeling like me? Are you afraid of what we have unleashed?’
That was it; he had pinpointed it. Yes. They had unleashed something neither of them knew how to handle. Her ‘yes’ came out in a soft voice. She couldn’t manage anything more.
‘I – I have a confession.’
Turning towards him, she put her finger on his lips. ‘No. Whatever it is, let us put all things behind us. We have a chance now. We have tapped into something wonderful. We both felt it, and know it was special. We both expressed our love. Let us build on that, from this point forward. We can, I know we can. If there is anything in either of us that we shouldn’t have done, or have felt for another, it is time to let it go. I can do that. You must, too.’