Winthrop Trilogy Box Set

by Burnett, May

  “I see,” Milla murmured. “Still, I am also grateful for your patience with me. I have learned a great deal, if not always what you were trying to teach me.” She briefly clasped Abigail’s hand in hers. “I am glad we shall remain friends. I don’t have many.”

  “What will you do? Will you take another companion? Stay in London, travel abroad?”

  “I think I shall travel for a year or two. By boat. I miss the sea. Maybe Italy first… Those Italian lessons we took to pass the time might be good for something after all.”

  Abigail wanted to ask if she was going to take Barnaby Winthrop along, but held her peace. She would not interfere in Milla’s relationships or affairs or loves. Milla was a grown woman, perfectly able to take care of herself. “Indeed, I believe Italy is well worth seeing. But I will miss you, so don’t stay away too long. And don’t even dream of leaving before my wedding. You are to be my matron of honour.”

  Milla turned, surprised. “Really? What of the scandal, though? And what of Susan?”

  “She’ll be so heavy with child that she will much prefer to sit during the ceremony. And one can possess more than one dear friend, you know. As for the scandal, what can more effectively demonstrate that there is not a smidgen of truth in it than having you in participate in the wedding? As a friend of the bride? If I am to be a Viscountess and future Countess, I might as well begin to use my social position.”

  “Very well,” Milla said, “as long as there is no new scandal to prevent me. Do let me be there when you tell your fiancé. I want so see if he chokes on the suggestion.”

  “He does not even know yet that we’ll really wed,” Abigail confessed.

  Milla snorted. “Then put the poor man out of his misery, Abigail. Nothing is worse than uncertainty.”

  “It is barely seven in the morning,” Abigail pointed out. “He’ll be fast asleep after the exertions of the night.”

  “Yes, if he can, with the wound in his arm. If it is painful, that might keep him awake.”

  “What!” Abigail cried in horror. “Jeremy was wounded, and you did not mention it before now?”

  “Not too badly. A knife cut to the upper arm, near the shoulder. It did not prevent his searching for the will and reading it, after it was bound up. Rob, your other admirer, was also wounded, I understand.”

  “Oh.” Abigail had not spared a thought for their friend. “His mother will never forgive us for embroiling him in such a dangerous affair. I only hope that they will all recover quickly. I must go to Jeremy.”

  “Let him recuperate first. Most men hate it when their girls see them ill, or at a disadvantage. Why don’t you write to him? Good news may cheer him up and speed the healing process.”

  Abigail gnawed on her lips in indecision. Her impulse was to immediately hurry over to Branscombe House and check on her fiancé’s health. But if he was asleep, it would be awkward, and only cause more gossip. People would wonder where he received that wound … no, she could not risk it. She would write that she was his, as Milla had suggested, and urge him to come to her when he was able.

  A few minutes later Abigail dipped her quill in the inkwell and wrote, Dear Jeremy. After that beginning, inspiration failed her. How to put her most private, fervent feelings into words? In younger years, inspired by the novels she loved, she had cultivated a rather melodramatic writing style; but that would strike a false note now, when she needed to be frank and believable. Keep it simple, she told herself.

  I love you, and trust you to help me become the wife I want to be. I am yours; you may set the wedding date at your convenience. Please get well and come to me as soon as you are strong enough.

  Abigail.

  It sounded bald and meagre, but it would have to do. At least her effort had not taken long to complete. She summoned the butler and handed over her message, tightly folded and sealed. This was for no other eyes but Jeremy’s.

  “A light breakfast will be served in the Yellow Room in half an hour,” the butler said after promising to send the message over at once.

  “Ah, good. Please inform Lady Fenton as well.” Nothing ever impaired Milla’s appetite, and she had mentioned that the villains had tried to starve her. Even if they had fed her, would she have touched food that might well be drugged? Milla had been very lucky in her brush with Morris and his gang, just as she had been lucky to inherit Fenton’s fortune and title without taking any lasting harm from the man. Would her extraordinary luck hold in future years or run out, maybe at the worst possible time? No, this was not a day for fearful fancies. Milla would be all right.

  The two young ladies were enjoying a repast of buttered toast, eggs, ham, anchovies, sardines and fresh cherries, washed down with freshly brewed tea, when yet another loud knock on the front door disturbed the house’s aristocratic quiet.

  “I hope that does not wake our hostess,” Abigail remarked. “We are already troublesome enough; her sleep should not be disturbed.”

  “This noise is hardly our fault.” Milla helped herself to another poached egg.

  “Maybe it is,” Abigail murmured as Jeremy burst into the room. Her eyes drank in his tall, strong form. If there was a wound on his arm, it was not visible underneath his clothes.

  “Abigail, I came as soon as I received your note – hello, Lady Fenton,” he said with a distracted bow towards the widow, whose lips curled with amusement. “Do you mean it?”

  She felt her features dissolve into an irrepressible smile. “Yes, I do. I would be a great fool not to marry you, since I love you, Jeremy. All the rest, we can deal with at leisure, as you suggested. I feel it will be all right.”

  “Of course it will. Come here.” He pulled her up from the chair and pressed a hot kiss on her lips.

  “Would you mind exchanging your endearments in some other room? I am not finished with breakfast,” Milla said plaintively. Was that a wistful expression on her face?

  “Please excuse us,” Jeremy said shortly, and swept Abigail to the library. He firmly closed the door behind them.

  “I am glad you came,” she said. “I was so worried when Milla said you had been wounded. If I had not thought you resting, asleep, I would have run over to your house.”

  “The merest scratch,” Jeremy claimed, and kissed her again. From the way he clasped her, his vigour certainly seemed undiminished. “What changed your mind, sweetheart?”

  “I decided it would be foolish and cowardly to withhold my trust from the man I love. I’ll do my best to give you what you want and need, even if it takes a while. I know you’ll be patient.”

  “Yes,” he said, “just having you here in my arms, knowing that you’ll be mine, is enough for now. Still, I want an early wedding.”

  “Whenever you say,” she agreed. “Your aunt told me that it will take some eight weeks to organize.”

  “Leave her to me. If I put it as a challenge to her ingenuity, we can easily bargain her down to six weeks, or even four.”

  Abigail did not doubt him. “Six sounds perfect – that will be a June wedding, and we can spend the summer getting to, um, know each other better.”

  “As to that, I have some ideas … are you fond of mazes?”

  “I don’t know any – but as long as you are in there with me, I think I could become quite fond of them.”

  “We have a big one in Branscombe Hall.” He played with her curls. “It has tall hedges that afford perfect privacy.”

  “It sounds like a good place to spend a summer afternoon with a book,” she teased.

  “A book? We can do better than that. But by all means take your book along. If I cannot make you forget all about it, I must have completely lost my touch.”

  “I should like to see you try… I warn you, my books tend to be novels with exciting supernatural villains and swooning maidens.”

  “My challenge stands.”

  She pressed a small kiss on his chin. “I look forward to the occasion. Where else do you think you can successfully distract me?”

/>   He sat down on the sofa and pulled her into his lap. “If only it were possible, right here and now … but maybe it is better if the scratch heals up first. In the meantime I shall woo you with presents and outings and flowers and talk of all the things you and I shall soon be doing together. I want you to think about those, get accustomed to the notion.”

  She did not mention that she already did so, quite frequently; more often these days, than she dwelled on that horrible night two years ago.

  “Are you quite, quite sure you really want me, Jeremy – with all my drawbacks?”

  “What drawbacks?” He passed his hand leisurely over her breasts, hidden under dress, chemise and corset. Even so she felt her nipples take notice, fancied she felt the warmth of his skin through all those layers. “I see only assets. I have a lovely, clever, sensible woman in my arms who will bring me years and years of delight. Do you doubt me?”

  “No,” she said, a little breathless. “Never. And I’ll try not to doubt myself either.”

  “Mmmh.” He was busy at her nape. “Good. Do you suppose we could bargain her down to three weeks?”

  Epilogue

  The maze at Branscombe Hall was indeed impressive, and its hidden centre could not be spied even from the Hall’s tallest windows.

  On a sunny day in early July, Abigail walked there with her book, while Jeremy was out riding. He had told her the secret of the maze, and she found her way to its heart with only two false turns. She put the blanket she had brought on the stone bench, and soon was immersed in the pages of her novel. How she enjoyed the right to read whatever she liked! During the dreary years with Mrs. Trevelyan her friend Susan had to smuggle books to her; her stepmother had only allowed sermons and religious tracts in the house. Now the woman was far away in London, and would never again exert any authority over her stepdaughter. She rarely even tried, now that Abigail outranked her. Abigail still felt a little odd when someone addressed her as Lady Barton, or my lady, but already her new status was becoming more familiar.

  As she turned the page a shadow fell on it, and she looked up with a smile. Jeremy had given strict orders that no other person must intrude into the maze while they were in residence. There he stood now, still dressed for riding, his tight boots and breeches hugging his long, well-formed legs. Following the direction of her eyes, he smiled devilishly. “Like what you see, my lady?”

  “Always.” The book fell down, discarded and forgotten without a second glance. “Today you look especially, ah, enticing.”

  “While you are prim and proper. Nobody who sees you there reading would imagine how you looked last night, all wanton and naked.” He stepped closer. “It excites me to see you so cool and unapproachable.”

  She smiled. He seemed to find her exciting no matter what she wore or did, but of course they were still newlyweds. “Did you come to make good on your promise to distract me from reading? It should not be hard at all.”

  “Something else is very hard,” he muttered, hauling her close. “I need your assistance to deal with the matter.”

  “Oh. Of course, I am always ready to assist you, if you have difficulties,” she said primly. “Just what is the nature of the problem?” As though she could not feel it for herself, through his breeches, pressing against her.

  “You know perfectly well.” He kissed her deeply, playing with her tongue. His tasted of meadows and apples. She could never get enough of him.

  “I suppose I could lend a helping hand,” she said, as though reluctantly.

  “A hand is welcome, but will not be enough. I want all of you, darling.”

  She put her head on his shoulder, breathing the perfume of his skin under the neck cloth. The fabric irritated her, and she tugged at it to get closer to his marvellous body.

  “You know you have all of me. My heart, my soul, and all the rest.” It had only taken them a few days’ experimentation, after their splendid wedding at the very end of the season, to learn how to come together in harmony, without fear. The first time had been here in this very maze, her favourite spot on the estate. She could not believe that she had ever shrunk from Jeremy’s touch. These days, she could hardly get enough of it.

  He stopped his caresses for a moment, arrested, and stared deep into her eyes.

  “You are all I could have hoped for, love. You have my heart and soul as well, and know it, sweetheart.”

  “It seems a fair exchange.” She threw the neck cloth onto the grass at their feet.

  “Oh, it is.” His deft fingers were on her stockings now, moving upwards. “I am very glad indeed that we managed that exchange. All those years, I could not give my heart away, no matter how much my father pressed me to stop dallying.”

  “Do we have to talk of your father now?” She felt his small, hard nipples under the fine linen shirt.

  “Forgive me. The magic we make between us is infinitely more important.” His lips closed on hers once again in a passionate kiss, and she was unable to voice her approval.

  No matter. There would be years and years to tell him how much he pleased her. And even better, like now, to show him in action that he had driven away the shadows of the past, the fears, the sorrow.

  The sun came out behind a cloud, bathing both of them in its warm rays.

  Yes, like that.

  Abigail leaned into her husband’s kiss, his strong body, and gave herself up to happiness.

  The End

  A Lady’s Ruse

  A Regency Romance

  May Burnett

  Chapter 1

  Regensbad, Bavaria, May 1821

  “You are feeling drowsy... very drowsy... your eyelids are as heavy as lead...”

  Milla had always prided herself on a strong will, but it required effort to resist the deep, monotonous voice of Doktor Petronius Rabenstein. She pinched herself on the arm, hard, and bit down on the side of her cheek for good measure. Except for her head, resting on a towel-wrapped pillow, her whole body was encased in a sarcophagus-shaped copper bath filled with very warm, vanilla-scented water. The underground spa was dimly lit, so with any luck, Rabenstein and his assistant would not notice her resistance to a procedure for which she and the two other patients had each paid four whole gulden.

  As the Doktor droned on, his female assistant walked around and her slippers clapped against the stone floor of the cave-like room. Milla quickly shut her eyes at the woman's approach.

  “They have all succumbed, as usual,” the young woman observed in a tone of satisfaction. “With whom do you want to start? Or can we do them all at once?”

  “Better safe than sorry.” To Milla's relief, the voice changed to a much brisker, business-like tone. “The Englishwoman first, then the other two.”

  Milla pretended to be asleep as she listened to the assistant wheeling the other copper boxes outside. Drat. That would make it much harder to eavesdrop on the rest of the proceedings. From the brief time it took, they were not going any great distance.

  She kept her breathing slow and even.

  “Lady Fenton,” the voice deepened once again and switched from German to accented English, “you are asleep but can understand me, can you not?”

  “I can,” she replied in a drowsy voice.

  “You will stay in Regensbad for three more weeks. Within the next two days, you will make the acquaintance of a gentleman by the name of Major Kepler. You will find him the most wonderful, attractive man you have ever met.”

  Milla was hard-put to refrain from a derisive snort.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whatever he asks of you, whether money, or intimacy, or marriage, you will not deny him.”

  “Yes,” she said again, tonelessly, wondering if such an open-ended command could really work on susceptible persons.

  “Tell me your most terrible secret.”

  Milla thought quickly. “When I was a young girl,” she confessed in a contrite voice, “I lied about my governess, claiming she had kiss
ed a groom, to get my parents to dismiss her.”

  “And did they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now that you are grown up, what is your current biggest secret?”

  “My will. Nobody knows to whom I am leaving my money. It will go to charity and everyone will be so very angry.”

  From his impatient sigh, this was not the kind of intelligence Doktor Rabenstein hoped for. “What about lovers? Who was your latest one?”

  “I haven't had any,” she said glumly. It was the truth, too, unfortunately. The one she wanted was far away, in London.

  “Well, that will change once you meet Major Kepler. He is very skilled and will satisfy your every desire. Now you will forget what we have spoken of, and only remember how marvellously relaxing and beneficial the treatment has been.”

  She was not sure if she should answer, but weakly murmured “yes” again.

  “Surprising that a beautiful young widow should have no lovers,” the assistant commented sceptically. “There is something about this one… I could have sworn that she was not this blameless. And aren’t Englishwomen blonde, as a rule? That very dark hair looks more Italian to me.”

  “Probably one of those women who detest sex,” the doctor said, “and from her speech, she’s definitely English. Never mind about that, Rosa. We have implanted the command; let's get on with it.”

  Milla felt the copper bath moving on its well-oiled wheels, the water inside sloshing against her breasts with the brisk movement. It had been almost uncomfortably hot at first, doubtlessly to make the victims drowsier, but was cooling rapidly.

  A minute later, she was unceremoniously abandoned in a basement room lit by a single candle, and the assistant moved away. Milla had expected to see at least one other copper tub parked next to hers, but the small room was empty. Perhaps a belated gesture at propriety, since she was the only lady undergoing the expensive "Mental Water Treatment" this afternoon. You had to hand it to Doktor Rabenstein: it was ingenious to make his marks pay through the nose for the first step of a thoroughly expensive fleecing.