by Sahara Kelly
The master and mistress were up early, shared a simple breakfast, and then fell to their chores for the day.
Since the addition of two riding horses and another which would draw either a gig or a plough if necessary, the primary focus for Richard was the stables.
He was outside every day, since they were being repaired and enlarged; a task he had taken on with the help of a local carpenter.
Cressida often paused by a window, watching her husband and half a dozen other workers as they sawed, nailed, clambered up and down ladders and more often than not worked up a sweat. She was joined at that window by more than one of the maids, and their cumulative sighs when the shirts came off in the hot sun…well, that window was considerably cleaner than many of the others.
But ogling rather nice male chests wasn’t one of Cressida’s chores, it was one of her pleasures. The rest of the time, she was sneezing in the dust that had covered most of the unused rooms in the house. Each day she and her cohorts attacked another bedroom, stripping off old, mouse-eaten linens, sweeping the rugs, opening windows that hadn’t budged in a century, and bearing down on the furniture with cloths and beeswax, polishing everything to as high a shine as was possible.
This resulted in an increasing number of available rooms, although the master suite still remained untouched.
Since it was a cloudy day, and therefore no shirts were likely to be removed, Cressida mustered her troops—the two Worsnop maids and a third from the village—and marched along the upstairs corridor to the double doors that marked the entrance to the private quarters of those lucky enough to own Branscombe Magna.
Her shoulders ached a little at the thought of all the heavy furniture that needed cleaning, not to mention the quilts, which were probably home to more than a few unlucky mice.
“Right then.” She surveyed the room as she threw the doors wide. “Lucy, you have window detail this morning. You polished wood all yesterday, so it’s your turn.”
The young lass nodded and walked to the large bow window at the end of a small sitting room, which was open to the bedroom area. It would be a pleasant place to curl up with a book, thought Cressida, although there would probably be more of those downstairs as well. They could move the chair from the governess’s room there and it would serve Zizi perfectly as her sleeping quarters.
“Meg, you and I will start on the furniture, and Jane…the bed is yours today.” She grinned. “You’re the only one of us who doesn’t scream when the mice start leaving.”
The young maid smiled back. “Poor little things. I hate to see ‘em all upset like.”
Meg shivered. “I’ll take t’polish, Ma’am. If’n there’s anythin’ in the drawers, yer oughta ‘andle it.”
Cressida nodded. They’d come across some belongings—a shawl or two, a handkerchief, an odd glass earring—so there was a box set aside for such finds. Up until now, there was little of value, or even use, inside it.
She watched her troops move into action, and took a moment to look around at the quarters she and Richard would occupy.
The bow window area separated the two bedrooms—a door opened into the one that had clearly been meant for the lady of the house. The dressing room was larger and the bureau featured massive drawers with lots of knobbly carvings. A large wardrobe filled one wall, half with hooks for gowns, the other half with compartments for hats and other accessories. Whoever had created it certainly had the welfare of a lady in mind.
A tiny troubled shiver tripped through her chest as she contemplated nights without her husband. She’d become used to knowing he was beside her, to waking now and again and listening to him snuffle and snore. The comfort of having a warm body she could turn to if she was cold, or worried…it was a feeling she’d come to value more and more.
Richard had never made any kind of physical overtures, but she believed that there were times when his eyes held interest in her as a woman.
Then again, how did she know? Her life up until this point had been relatively dull, and it wasn’t until Brussels that she’d actually managed her first two kisses. They had been disappointing, overall.
Turning to the enormous chest of drawers, she began to open them, slowly, making sure the wood didn’t stick or crack as she slid each one free. As they emerged from their places, she touched a little wax to the strips along each side, cleaning and dusting the insides as well. After that, they would slide back smoothly into place, ready for the final touch of polish on their carved fronts.
Her hands were busy, but her mind revolved around the question of where her marriage was going.
To her surprise, she acknowledged that Richard was important to her well-being. Barely a month wed, and already she found herself looking to him for conversation, opinions…and yes that nighttime comfort. Finding herself tucked into his body upon waking—it was a sensation that made her glow with contentment. There was no other way to describe it.
He was practical, could find humor at the oddest times, and maintained a positive outlook, which she found most comforting.
But how long could she expect him to continue? She had no ideas about the future, and Branscombe Magna was home now. She had no other choice, not that she really wanted one. Her visits here as a child had been pleasant ones, filled with good memories. The other places she’d lived had less happy events associated with them. So why not look upon this house, these hills—this little bit of ocean—as hers? Or more correctly, theirs?
That raised the question of whether her husband felt the same way. And he was a man, which came with its own assorted burdens. He was living in a house that he’d acquired through marriage. His wife had been a stranger up until a month ago. And they’d not lived as man and wife at all, even though they’d shared a bed ever since the I do’s had been exchanged.
Cressida was not an uneducated young woman when it came to matters pertaining to the physical side of marriage. She’d read books that were not meant for anyone her age; most recently an illuminating tale by someone named Lady Corinth. This scandalous novel had opened her eyes to a world of erotic pleasures she could never have imagined, even with her prior reading experience.
The Cytherean Tales provided an education and a glimpse at the intriguing matters possible between man and woman. Cressida was intrigued, and had daringly engaged in some experimentation of her own. The results had been—astounding.
She gazed at the huge bed as she slid the last of the eight drawers back into place. What would it be like to experience such things…with Richard?
“Ma’am, ‘scuse me…” Jane politely touched her arm. “That there drawer…didn’t go in right…” She nodded at the bottom drawer of the dresser.
Frowning, Cressida walked back to it, and sure enough it was snug on one side, but the other was jutting out. “How odd.” She got down on her knees and removed the drawer once more. But this time, she leaned forward, almost to the floor and tried to look inside.
“Oh,” she muttered, reaching an arm awkwardly into the space. “There’s something in the back here…” Her fingers scrabbled around and at last touched the edges of what felt like papers. Gently she managed a grip and began to pull them free, stopping every time she felt a snag in their progress. They were likely to be old, and thus fragile.
Once she pulled them out and set them aside, the drawer slid back into place exactly as it was designed to.
“There. Yes, Jane you were right. Papers this time.” She brushed her hands off on her apron, and stood, lifting the papers onto the top of the dresser. “Oh my goodness…these are very old.”
The girls crowded around as the sunlight illuminated several faded sheets of manuscript that had somehow managed to survive the depredations of the Branscombe Magna rodent brigade.
“I can barely make out the words,” Cressida squinted at the scrawled lines. “But it’s signed by…”
She stopped dead.
“Who, Ma’am?” The girls were agog to know what the papers were.
; Cressida caught herself up. “It’s a name I thought I recognized, but I must be wrong.” She sighed. “Probably no more than lists of linens. Isn’t that what we found last time? In the Rose Room?”
The girls nodded and Meg grinned at her. “’Tis fun though, ain’t it, Ma’am? All this stuff wot’s been ‘ere for so long and nobody knew…”
Cressida carefully rolled up the papers and tucked them into her pocket. “Yes, you’re right. It is fun. I keep hoping for a treasure chest full of jewels.” Her laugh set them all going. “I believe I’ll take a moment to check with Mr. Richard. He might want to stop for tea. Keep on your good work here, please. It’s beginning to look much better already.”
Satisfied that she had managed not to shake, shriek or collapse on the floor—all of which had been a possibility a few moments ago, she hurried downstairs in search of Richard.
But before she could find him, a loud knock sounded on the front door bringing Zizi from wherever she’d been napping. The barking was loud and aggressive, given that it came from a small bunch of fluff.
Muttering a soft curse, Cressida changed direction and grasped the old handle, swinging the door wide. On the front step stood three people, a tall man with a clerical collar, a foreign-looking man with an elegant turban, and a beautiful young woman whose hair caught the sunlight and dazzled Cressida.
It was this young woman who smiled at her. “Don’t despair. It’s quite all right. We’re family.”
Chapter Ten
“Hecate? Simon? What the devil…”
Richard rushed into the hall, having spotted a small carriage driving toward the entrance of Branscombe Magna. His wife was standing with her mouth open, staring at the three on the doorstep, while her dog was moaning in bliss as his sister tugged one floppy ear.
“Come in,” he urged, nudging Cressida out of her trance. “What on earth are you doing here? How did you find us? Oh hell…”
He found himself being hugged by Hecate, who laughed up at him. “Silly brother. We had to come and meet your wife.”
Simon hugged him next. “Before you even ask, Tabby’s with her aunt in Bideford. Gentlemen aren’t welcomed in that household, she told me. So I’m free for the day to come and see what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.” He paused. “Er, I wasn’t referring to your marriage, of course.”
Richard laughed as his brother’s face flushed in embarrassment. “And you a vicar. Still can’t quite master the art of the carefully chosen word?”
Simon punched him in the arm, then turned to Cressida. “I’m Simon, Richard’s brother, in case you missed it. And I apologise if my comments were inappropriate.” He hugged her. “Welcome to the family, Cressida.”
“Uhh…” She managed some sort of sound, her eyes still wide.
“And this is Dal. He’s with me.” Hecate turned to the tall Indian gentleman who was surveying the gathering with an approving expression.
“Ahhh…” Cressida struggled.
“Come in, please…” Richard assumed the reins. “Once Cressida’s shock wears off, I know she’ll welcome you all as well.” He beckoned them inside. “Worsnop?” His yell made them all jump, but also served to snap Cressida out of her rigid stupor.
“Oh goodness, yes. Do come in. I’m so sorry…we weren’t expecting…” She tugged at her grimy apron.
“It’s quite all right, really.” Simon smiled gently, touching her arm. “We should have sent a note or something, but it all happened so fast. Which is normal for us Ridlingtons, but can be a little bit disconcerting until you get to know us better.”
Richard watched her relax as Simon’s warm and kind words thawed the last of her shock, and she smiled back at him.
Worsnop appeared. “Yer yelled, Mr. Richard?”
“Tea, if you would, please.” He nodded to the others. “We have guests.”
“Oh, and if you would let Mrs. Parsnip know they’ll be here for lunch…” she turned to them, “and dinner?”
“I can’t,” said Simon. “I’m here for a brief visit only, since my wife is expecting me this evening. But Hecate and Dal will be happy for a few days’ respite…”
“Only if it’s convenient, of course,” added Hecate, her wonderful eyes fixed on Cressida.
“Family is welcome at any time,” said Richard, glancing at her, hoping she didn’t mind too much.
“Any time at all,” she endorsed. “Especially Richard’s family, since I’ve never met any of you. I’ve met mine. Can’t say I like them very much so you’re already a step ahead of the game.”
Hecate laughed outright at that, and took Cressida’s arm. “I’d love some tea.” She giggled as Zizi pronounced herself in charge and led the way.
Richard found himself noticing his sister’s limp, and he turned briefly to Dal, detaining him a moment with a look. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Dal. I’ve heard much about you—all good things.”
Dal bowed. “The honor is mine, sir.”
Richard waved away the formalities. “Please, call me Richard.” He looked at Hecate again, as she walked slowly with Cressida across the hall. “How is she?”
“The worst injuries have healed. Her inner spirit is strong and getting brighter every day.” He paused. “Her leg, however…has reached its limit. It cannot heal better than it is now. She will not walk without a limp, ever. And it pains me to admit she will not dance again. Running will be difficult. There are, Mr. Richard, limitations now for Miss Hecate. And they will be with her for the rest of her life.”
His voice was a mix of somber sadness and acceptance. “But she is even stronger now in ways we cannot begin to understand.” He paused. “Her life will be easier because of it, and also harder. Her path will take her down different roads, I fear.” Dark eyes turned to Richard. “She must have her family behind her.”
“She does. Without question.” Richard’s chin rose. “We may not have been a traditional family, Dal, but the bonds are unbroken and will remain so.”
He sensed Dal relax a little, although there was no outward indication of such a thing.
“Then I shall rest easy,” bowed Dal, placing his palms together.
“And now we shall all have tea,” added Richard. “You are our guest, as well. No argument.”
The two men walked into the small parlor to find Cressida and Hecate at the window, looking out over what might eventually be a garden, with Simon craning his neck to see the stables.
Cressida turned. “Tea will be here soon.”
“I understand the situation,” smiled Hecate, looking at Richard. “An old house that has been neglected needs a lot of work. I remember Edmund and Rosalie working on the Chase.”
“They still are,” chuckled Simon.
Mrs. Parsnip arrived with a massive tea tray, and Richard rushed to help. Soon, everyone had what they needed and were seated around the room.
“It’s a good house,” commented Hecate over her teacup. “It has strong bones.”
“I like to think so,” agreed Cressida. “I loved it here as a little girl. There were so many places to play, and we would picnic on the beach if the weather was good.” She paused. “I believe my Mama was happiest here. So the memories are always pleasant.”
The conversation turned general, Simon asking about the neighbors, and answering questions about Tabby’s health and the congregation at Ridlington.
Hecate added her bit, including Dal when she briefly touched on her accident, but moving on quickly to ask delicately phrased questions about how Richard and Cressida had ended up here, tucked away from the world.
She was family, as he’d told Dal, so Richard didn’t hesitate to share the basic story of their marriage with blunt honesty.
Instead of shock, Hecate was charmed. Simon kept his thoughts to himself, but every now and again Richard noticed him watching Cressida as she chatted away with both Hecate and Dal.
“We got your letter,” said Hecate. “Or rather Edmund did. But Kitty beat them all to it, because she
came racketing down from London with her husband the day the notice was posted in the papers.”
“Wait…” Richard blinked. “Kitty’s married?” He swallowed. “To who?”
“Whom, dearest,” corrected Hecate with a snicker. “To whom.”
“All right, whom. Answer the damned question,” frowned her brother.
“Max Seton Mowbray.”
“Oh. My. God.”
“You didn’t know?” said Cressida with surprise.
“No,” answered Richard. “I had no idea. I wasn’t reading the engagement or wedding announcements in the London papers in Brussels, I can assure you.”
“Did you feel anything?” Hecate asked the question as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
He shook his head. “No. But then again, you know we only have a sense of the other being in trouble. If she is scared or afraid or injured, I’ll perhaps pick up something, but of late, no. Everything’s been quite normal.”
“I’m glad you think so,” quipped Cressida. “If this is normal to you, remind me not to be there when something abnormal happens.”
The laugh following that statement was general, and the afternoon passed pleasantly as Richard shared his first almost-entertainment in his new home with some of his family.
Eventually Simon rose. “I can’t stay. I wish I could, but Tabby will be worrying if I don’t arrive before dark. We are going to meet a potential curate tomorrow in High Bickington, so this trip, with her aunt in Bideford and you here…has all worked out quite beautifully.”
“I can’t say how glad I am to see you, Simon,” Richard hugged his brother, genuinely moved that he took the time away from Tabby to pay a call at Branscombe Magna. “Will you give them all my love?”
“I will. But you must write, Richard, please. Rosaline wants to hear from you, and Kitty and Letitia may well be in London. Letters are the best way for us all to keep in touch at the moment, spread out as we are.”
Richard nodded. “I will. I promise.”
After Simon had departed, Cressida looked at Hecate and Dal. “We have rooms that are actually clean.” She grinned. “I can vouch for that myself, since I polished most of ‘em. So please, let me show you upstairs and you can freshen up before dinner?”