The China Bride (Bride Trilogy)

by Mary Jo Putney

  Despite her late night, Troth rose early the next morning to do her chi exercises. The air was misty with a chill that bit to the bone, so she had to move to stay warm.

  She was starting her second form when Kyle appeared and silently began to copy her movements. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or irritated. “You have a long way to go before mastering this, my lord,” she said dryly as she began the slow, sinuous pattern called “cloud arms.”

  “Which means I’d better take the opportunity to learn from the only expert in Britain.” He duplicated her graceful movements, wincing a little. “I’m still sore from riding. Do you mind my joining your practices? I promise not to talk, though I’ll understand if you prefer to be alone with the chi and the mist.”

  She had been enjoying her solitude, yet his offer to leave made her realize that she enjoyed his company more. “As you wish. By the way, how is Lord Wrexham?”

  “Well enough to leave for London today.” Kyle grinned. “You impressed him.”

  Glad the old dragon wouldn’t be around for her remaining time at Dornleigh, she resumed her tai chi routine. Kyle was quick, and he remembered his lessons from the trip to Hoshan. By the time she left Dornleigh, he’d be reasonably competent. The exercise would help restore his energy balance, which was still somewhat blocked.

  Sliding into a meditative state, she half forgot his presence as she moved through faster and faster exercises. Then she saw him fold onto the damp turf, clutching his side. “Kyle!” She spun around and dropped to her knees beside him, placing her hand on his forehead. “Are you having a malaria attack?”

  “Nothing so dramatic,” he panted, clutching his ribs with one hand. “Just a stitch in my side from too much exertion. I’m in wretchedly poor condition, Troth.”

  She sat back on her heels. “Actually, you’re quite lively for a dead man.”

  “News of my death was greatly exaggerated.” Warily he straightened his torso. “The worst thing about malaria, I think, is how long it takes to recover. I had my last attack somewhere around the Cape of Good Hope, but even months later, I’d lose if I wrestled a good-size puppy.”

  “I could defeat you with both hands tied behind my back,” she agreed.

  “Humiliating but true.” He lurched to his feet, wincing. “I’d better stop for today before I have to be carried home on a hurdle.”

  “I’ve done enough for one morning also.” The sun had burned off the mist, and the morning was acquiring some warmth, at least by the standards of a British spring. “Until later then. I want to explore the gardens. With the rain, I’ve seen very little.”

  He fell into step beside her as she started walking. “Planning how to change them to improve the feng shui?”

  “I doubt much can be done in the time I have left—a good garden must be shaped over many years. Perhaps something could be done with water, though. Waterfalls and pools are restful.”

  His gaze went to the gray bulk of the house. “I’ve thought of building an orangery like the one at Warfield. Would that be good feng shui?”

  “It could be. If you wish to continue with chi exercises, you should include an area in the conservatory where you can practice surrounded by living things. Very good chi, and most useful to have an indoor exercise area, given the beastly weather you have on this little island.”

  “Perhaps you could help with the design.” He guided her down a brick walkway toward the rear of the gardens. “Can you explain the underlying principles of feng shui to me, or is it too complicated?”

  “I’m not an expert, you understand. But the subject interested me, so when I saw a feng shui practitioner at work, I would follow and ask questions.” Where to start? She thought about the ba-gua and its division into sectors, the myriad rules that governed color, form, placement, and every other aspect of the environment.

  Remembering what an old Macanese geomancer had told her when she was a child, she said, “Basically, feng shui is intended to encourage a healthy balance of energy throughout a structure, and in the process to improve one’s joss, one’s fortune. Warfield Park has very good chi. Meriel had never heard of feng shui, but she and Dominic are sensitive to their surroundings, so the choices they’ve made have produced happy results. The same was true before their time, I think. Warfield seems like a house that has been much loved by those who live there.”

  “While Dornleigh has been endured, not loved. Where would you make changes?”

  She looked back at the house, which loomed across the horizon. “I’d put in climbing vines to soften all those hard edges. It will take time for them to grow, but eventually they would make the house more welcoming.”

  “Ivy. What a simple solution.” He studied the gray stone structure. “What else?”

  “Sharp edges and angles are disruptive. In particular, the driveway runs straight from the entry gate to Dornleigh’s front entrance. That is a ‘poison arrow,’ and it strikes to the heart of the house.” She gave him a slanting glance, wondering if he would balk at her advice. “Change the course of the drive so it curves gently in front of the house.”

  He thought about it. “It would be hard to move the lower part of the drive because it runs between the rows of chestnuts, but the upper part can be curved without much trouble, and I think it will look better. Would that be good enough?”

  She nodded, once more impressed at his flexibility. “Those changes would help the exterior greatly. Indoors, much can be done with the arrangement of furniture and changes in colors and draperies. Almost anything would be an improvement.”

  “Can I follow you around and ask questions?”

  She almost smiled. He was definitely recovering some of his interest in life. “As you wish. Just remember that I don’t have all the answers.” If nothing else, when she was gone Kyle would be left with a happier house.

  Leading her under a trellised arch of climbing roses, the vines winter-barren, he asked, “What about this little Greek temple? It’s called a folly, and was a favorite retreat for Dom and me.”

  She nodded approvingly as she stepped into the grassy clearing. “Very nice as it is. One can feel the good chi.”

  He was beginning to understand the correlation of good chi with a pleasant, appealing environment. What a treasure Troth was. Too much had happened to ever recover the closeness they’d shared on the journey to Hoshan; he could feel the barriers she’d put up. But at least they were now civil with each other. Friendly, even.

  As they walked toward the circular temple, a tiny creature raced out and ran across Troth’s feet. Her face lit up and she knelt, waggling her fingers. “A kitten! Will you come to me, little one?”

  It was a fat-tailed little beast, mostly gray with a white bib, paws, and whiskers. When it charged Troth playfully, she scooped it into her hands. “What a darling! Do you know where this kitten is from?”

  “The stables. I’ve seen her playing there with her brothers and sisters. She’s the friendliest of her litter. Adventurous, too, to come this far.”

  The kitten scrambled up Troth’s sleeve and came to rest on her shoulder, small white whiskers quivering with curiosity. Troth scratched between the pointed ears. “We had a dog when I lived in Macao. I’m not sure what happened to him when I left and the household was closed down, but I’ve always feared that he ended up in a cooking pot.”

  Kyle shuddered. He knew the Chinese ate dog meat, and logically it wasn’t that different from eating rabbits or pigeons, but he was too English not to find the thought abhorrent. “Perhaps your dog ended up guarding another house.”

  “I hope so. Watchdogs were treated well because they were useful. I wanted a pet at Chenqua’s, but it was impossible to keep anything other than a cricket or a small bird, which was not what I wanted.”

  Kyle swallowed as he watched the unconscious sensuality in the way she rubbed her cheek against the soft fur. “You can have this kitten. She’s old enough to leave her mother, and I’m sure the stable has cats to spare.” />
  Her face briefly glowed with the bright pleasure he remembered from the journey to Hoshan. “Oh, Kyle, can I?”

  “I suspect that Malloy, the head groom, will thank you for taking a kitten off his hands.” He’d gladly shower Troth with diamonds, but if a small, living gift could produce such a smile, she could have every kitten in the kingdom.

  “Do you love that sofa?” Troth asked.

  Kyle contemplated the item in question, a relic of the so-called Egyptian style of several decades earlier. The sofa had been in the morning room as long as he could remember, and he’d accepted it as an unalterable fact of life. “I do not love that sofa. In fact, I dislike it excessively. The crocodile feet have a certain peculiar charm, but it’s horribly uncomfortable, and that’s a really vile shade of green.”

  “Then out it goes.” Troth gestured to a pair of footmen, who dutifully lifted the sofa and lumbered out of the room with it.

  Over the past fortnight, she had worked her way through the main rooms of the house, following several basic feng shui principles: a room should contain nothing broken, no clutter, and no object that didn’t please the residents.

  In the two centuries since Dornleigh had been built, it had acquired a great deal of clutter. Troth cut a steely-eyed swath through clumps of old furniture, bad paintings, horribly worn rugs, and other objects that had accumulated over the decades. Kyle followed in her wake, passing judgment on things she wanted to exile. If he was attached to a particular item, she would allow it to stay, but he found that when she questioned something, it was probably expendable.

  Troth’s treatment of the estate office had sealed his belief in feng shui. The small room contained all of the agricultural texts and account books, but Kyle had always hated the place. He spent time there only when estate management work couldn’t be avoided.

  After a gimlet survey, Troth had the desk moved so that whoever used it no longer had his back turned to the door. As soon as Kyle sat behind the desk in its new position, he realized how he’d disliked the feeling that someone could stealthily enter behind him when he was working.

  Troth made a number of lesser changes, including the removal of a couple of spindly chairs and an unused table, and hanging a landscape painting he’d always liked. Kyle no longer had to force himself to do estate work.

  Most of the ground floor had similarly benefited from her changes, and a new driveway was being laid out. It would take longer to implement her other suggestions, such as the ivy and new paint and wallpaper and draperies in several rooms, but he already felt more comfortable at Dornleigh than he ever had in the past.

  The feng shui process made him think differently about the house he’d grown up in. He’d always been very aware that he was merely one in a long line of Renbournes. Nominally the house and estate would be his someday, but he was only a guardian whose job was to care for his heritage and leave it in good shape for his heir. The knowledge had always made him chafe at the restrictions that came with his inheritance.

  Now Troth’s changes made him recognize how much he could reshape his environment. Though his patrimony was still a sacred charge, the weight of Dornleigh lessened in his mind. As furniture and art and curiosities he’d sent back from his travels became part of the house’s new look, he began to enjoy his home. Amazing.

  Troth herself was a mixed blessing. He craved her company, and they spent a good part of each day together, starting with chi exercises in the garden or a ride across the estate, then her feng shui work. In most ways she was an easy and stimulating companion, interested in everything and full of fascinating information from her own background.

  But there was a painful lack of anything personal between them. Though Troth was always amiable, she revealed none of her private thoughts.

  Worse, she frequently mentioned the time remaining before the end of their handfast. The constant reminder was a sword of Damocles poised over his head.

  “Smith, place that against the wall. What do you think, my lord?”

  Called back to the present, Kyle studied the circular gilt-framed mirror that a footman was holding in place. “Hang away. Interesting how the mirror brightens the area and makes it seem larger. More alive. Where did you find this? I don’t recall ever seeing it before.”

  “In the attics. There is enough furniture there to redecorate the house twice over.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “It’s time to do your bedroom.”

  He blinked, startled. “Is that necessary?”

  “Yes.” Without further discussion, she swept from the morning room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

  By the time he caught up with her, she was standing in the middle of his room, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.

  “Since this is your private area, it needs careful adjustment to keep your energy in harmony,” she said briskly. “With that huge globe in your travel sector, of course you were always panting to run off. Worse, the bed is in the coffin position and must be changed immediately. No wonder you have not yet recovered fully.”

  “Coffin position?” He regarded the canopied bed on the opposite wall, its massive carved footboard jutting toward the door.

  “Corpses are laid out with their feet facing the door before a funeral. Good for the dead, very bad for the living.” She consulted the compass she had commandeered for feng shui use. “For your best rest, the bed needs to be moved to that wall.”

  “The room has always been arranged this way.”

  Her brows arched. “And you always wanted to leave, didn’t you? Your instincts were correct.”

  He thought of the ghastly prison nightmares that still haunted him. If sleeping differently might lessen them, it was worth trying. “Very well, shift away.”

  “You’ll sleep better, feel better.”

  Silhouetted against the window, Troth was an entrancing sight in her European gowns. She wore her skirts with grace and enticing sensuality, reveling in her freedom to be a woman. He had a swift, disorienting vision of scooping her onto the bed and making love to her.

  His strength was definitely coming back.

  While the furniture was being repositioned, Troth left to collect several decorative items Kyle’s bedroom needed. When she returned, the footmen had finished their work and Kyle was settled in a wing chair with Troth’s kitten, now named Pearl Blossom, in his lap. She guessed he’d picked Pearl up to prevent her from being crushed in the confusion, but the kitten, little traitor, was perfectly happy to sit and purr for him.

  On a table in the southwest corner of the room, Troth set a cut-glass vase filled with flowers from the glasshouse. She’d done the arrangement herself, and given standing orders to the maid to make sure the flowers were always fresh. Dying flowers were bad feng shui. “This is an auspicious place for cut glass.”

  Kyle’s gaze lingered on the globe’s new position. “I think I shall like your alterations.”

  “You will.” Troth produced a pair of ceramic Mandarin ducks she’d found packed away in the attic. It was her private joke—or perhaps gift—to improve the feng shui in the section of Kyle’s bedroom that ruled romance and relationships. Mandarin ducks were a symbol of romance and fidelity. Always two—not one, not three, but two.

  She’d silently balanced relationship sectors all over the house without explaining what she was doing. Kyle should be married within a year. Perhaps even Wrexham would find himself a comely widow when he returned from London and spent a few months in the house. Or perhaps not. She and Kyle agreed that the earl’s personal apartments were not to be altered without his consent.

  She placed the ducks beside the sparkling vase. “These Mandarin ducks were made in China. Very auspicious.”

  “I like having a piece of China in here.”

  She turned the ducks so they faced each other. “Twenty-eight days left.”

  His faint smile vanished. “Where will you go when you leave here, Troth? What will you do? What would you like to do?”

  Her hands stilled on the
brightly glazed ornaments. “Perhaps I shall stay in Scotland. Find a little cottage and learn to raise sheep.”

  “A lonely life.”

  “At least I should be able to afford living like that. Though perhaps not. I have the money left from what you gave me before we left Canton, plus a sum from Gavin Elliott as heir to your shares in Elliott House. Properly speaking it all belongs to you and should be returned. I’ve thought about seeking a clerk’s job in a trading house in Edinburgh or London.”

  “You are not going to be driven penniless into the night,” he said with exasperation. “I’ve always intended to settle an income on you—enough so you can be comfortable the rest of your life.”

  Her mouth twisted. “Wrexham suggested two thousand pounds a year, but that would be a great waste of money. No need to buy me off when I’ll leave for nothing.”

  “Damnation, Troth! You’re prickly as a hedgehog.” He set Pearl Blossom on the floor and rose from his chair. “Stop throwing my father’s wrongheaded notions at me. There is no question of ‘buying you off.’ You saved my life. Since I put a high value on that, why shouldn’t I give you an annuity as a token of my gratitude?”

  Gratitude. Another form of obligation. Simmering with anger, she said, “A hundred pounds a year will keep me well enough. You mustn’t waste your patrimony on a former mistress. Better to keep the money for your pure-blooded sons and daughters.”

  He stalked to the table and glared at her over the bouquet. “Let me repeat: the question of ‘pure-blooded’ children will not arise, since I have no intention of ever remarrying. I’m no damned good at it.”

  She’d never seen him this angry before, not with her. Why was she goading him, implying that she was being ill-used by him and his family? His father was a gruff old bigot, but Kyle had always been unflinchingly honest with her. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t love her.