“Lovely,” Locke said, sitting beside her on the bench. “You’re quite good, my lady. Try these.” He offered her several pieces of music from a covered box on a table beside the piano, each progressively harder than the last. His eyes sparkled when he handed her the last one.
Bethany tinkered with it until she got the feel for it. Despite her halting efforts, she loved the piece. “I’ve never heard it before. Who wrote it?”
Locke’s dimples dug into his cheeks, giving him the look of a disconcerted schoolboy. “Actually, I did. I don’t believe I play especially well, but my mother, who was well-accomplished, said I had a gift for composing. Play it again and let me join you.”
Bethany found it easier the second time, of course. Locke set his fingers on the keys and played with her, two octaves above and sometimes in syncopation. It had her imagining faeries cavorting around a waterfall and made her giggle with glee.
“Oh, it’s exquisite,” she said when they’d finished. She slid to the edge of the bench and begged, “Play it for me, will you? I know the notes, but I’ll never know the heart of it. Only you understand that.”
Locke laughed and crowded her enough to reach the lower notes. He paused a moment, closed his eyes and began to play. Bethany’s chest tightened at watching him. He brought out the pauses and the cascades, the thoughtful moments and the urgent ones. But beyond that, he loved what the piece meant to him. He saw the beauty inside his mind, the way an artist imagined a painting yet unpainted, and it made him … beautiful.
The last note was low and, when Locke reached for it and his shoulder bumped hers, Bethany gasped at losing her balance. His eyes flew open and he grabbed for her, shock on his face, but his awkward move sent them both tumbling backwards off the bench.
Bethany landed with her legs tangled in her skirts and the breath knocked out of her. Locke’s face nearly crashed into hers and his elbow bruised her side, leaving her gasping in pain.
“Oh, heavens, Lady Bethany, I’m so sorry,” Locke cried, scrambling to his knees and taking her hands in his. “Breathe, my dear, please. You’re lips are blue.”
Bethany gasped again and coughed, cringing at the ache in her back and side, but hurting too badly even to cry.
“Let me help you sit up.”
She at least felt less like she’d suffocate when she did, although she fought dizziness and had to press her hand to her ribs to ease the pain.
“I hurt you, didn’t I? Please forgive my clumsiness.”
When he’d helped her to her feet, the ridiculousness of the situation sent her into a fit of giggles.
“Why are you laughing? I’ve made a fool of myself and near broken you in pieces. I don’t see any humor in that.”
His seriousness made her giggle that much harder.
“You looked completely engrossed,” she told him. “And the music was lovely, and then you leaned over and I was falling, and you didn’t yet realize it. Then I gasped and you reached for me but also lost your balance, and barreled down on top of me. And when you landed, your nose was so close to mine, all I saw was your right eye—you have exquisite eyes, you know—but with you that close and threatening to crush me, I had no opportunity to appreciate it, just that your eye was open so wide I thought it would pop out of your head.”
She broke into laughter Lady Katherine would have considered unseemly and had to cover her mouth to quiet it. Then he chuckled, his dimples reappearing, and ran a hand through his hair, which had somehow become quite fetchingly mussed.
“I could have caused you serious harm. I’m still not seeing the humor.”
“It was an accident,” she insisted. “I should have moved to a chair; then it wouldn’t have happened. I just wanted to watch. You play handsomely and make it look easier than it is.”
Locke harrumphed and shook his head, nonplussed. “I cannot fathom what to do with you, Lady Bethany. I’ve never met a woman quite like you.”
Bethany gave another unladylike snort and again had to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t imagine you have. I doubt very many of England’s countesses are so uncouth. I promise I’ll try my best not to shame you in public. Then you won’t ever have to worry about what to do with me. But of course, you won’t be around much, so I doubt you’ll need to worry about it anyway.”
Locke sobered and Bethany’s amusement waned with it. Asked to name it, she’d have called his expression regretful. Why? Did she dare imagine he’d miss her? And why in heavens name should she want him to? She had no desire to come unraveled if the man changed his mind and decided to demand his marital rights of her. Best not to test the waters.
And yet, standing this close and breathing in the scent of him, her longing betrayed her. His shaving lather, the rousing male scent of him and the soft look on his handsome face drew her, making her want to lean into him, to touch him.
“It’s fortuitous that I’m leaving,” he said with amusement. “I fear I’m bad luck for you. First yesterday morning with tearing your hem, and now this. You’ll probably wear bruises for days because of me. And your hair....” He took a step closer, dangerously closer. “Your pins have come lose. Shall I risk bayonetting your skull to put them back, or should I take them out?”
“Bayonetting does not sound appealing,” Bethany insisted, trying not to laugh again. It hurt too much. “Please remove them. I’d hate to lose them.”
Deftly his fingers pulled the pins from each curled lock, setting more and more of it free until it cascaded to her waist. “Law, it’s beautiful. But I think I’ve created a worse mess of things. Shall I straighten it a bit?”
She nodded, warmed by the thought he liked her hair. His fingers threaded themselves through the curls, Bethany closing her eyes as shivers of pleasure swept over her. He took his time, stepping around and pulling it behind her shoulders and gently finger-combing it. What an amazing thing it was to enjoy a man’s touch. How extraordinary to wish he’d never stop.
* * *
Lady Bethany smelled divine, again like sweet lemons and honey. Lemon Verbena? But sweeter. Would her lips taste like that? Her hair, thick and luxurious, draped her shoulders in a cascade of dark, shining tresses. Had he never befriended a woman, had he never known what it felt like to kiss one, he might have desired the experience for its own sake. But he’d had the pleasure of it, before he’d begun to realize kissing the right woman would mean far more than simply kissing someone because he could.
Duty had driven such boyhood fantasies from his mind, and discipline had protected him from it in the worst of situations. He wondered what it would take to force these unbidden desires from him now. He hadn’t dreamed he could ever feel this way about Lady Bethany. Had the twins suspected it and, beyond its original purpose, suggested the arrangement to see if it would flourish? He wanted to curse them for it if it was true. They knew he stood in too much peril to let a woman into his personal life.
Then he caught her profile, with her eyes closed and her face dreamy, and his breath caught. No portrait, no sculpture could capture such beauty. She was devastating, with her hair free and pleasure pinking her cheeks. There was something warm and tender about her that could only be discerned face-to-face.
“Here you go, my dear,” he said, his voice husky. He offered her the pins, and when her eyes fluttered open and settled on his, she opened her hand to him. He pressed the pins into the palm of that hand and closed her fingers around them, holding them in place for a lingering moment. He couldn’t help it. He loved how soft her hands were, how small and dainty they felt between his own.
“Thank you,” she said, making no effort to resist him, those emerald eyes wide and trusting.
A knock came at the parlor door, stilling the moment. Locke set Lady Bethany free, not wanting to but knowing he must. He called to Mr. Treadwell to enter, stepping away when his man delivered a tray of tea and sweet cakes.
“Mrs. Ford imagined you and Lady Locke would enjoy this, my lord,” the man said, doing a double-take w
hen he saw Lady Bethany’s hair undone.
Locke’s face reddened and he cleared his throat. “Excellent. Thank Mrs. Ford for me, will you? We experienced a small mishap. Lady Bethany fell off the piano bench and her, uh, her hair came loose. I’m sure she’d appreciate some refreshments to settle her nerves. Please set it down and feel free to retire.”
Mr. Treadwell paused, glancing at Lady Bethany again. “I’ll wait up, my lord. It’s my duty. I’ll be right outside the door if you require my services.”
Locke stifled a grim smile as Mr. Treadwell departed. Curse his servants for obeying his orders so well. Bless them for being there. He didn’t have to like their watch-care, but he needed it.
“Will you join me?” he asked, waving at the tray.
Lady Bethany paused and then took an anxious breath. “I ... I’m sorry, my lord, but I really should retire if I’m to rise early enough to ready myself for church tomorrow.”
“Ah. Of course. And shall we take one more ride together, perchance after Lady Camille arrives tomorrow afternoon?”
Lady Bethany gave him a tight smile and a nod.
“Wonderful. Sleep well, my dear. I’ll join you at breakfast.”
Lady Bethany hurried to the door and gave it a quick tap. Mr. Treadwell opened it for her, surprise on his face at seeing her ready to leave so soon.
And then she’d gone, and Mr. Treadwell cast Locke a concerned frown before shutting the door behind him. Locke sat down and reached for a sweet cake, then returned it, wondering why he’d want to eat it. He’d spent half a lifetime of carefree moments in this room, some with friends, some with family or both. He’d often come alone to practice the piano or to pause and pray or meditate for a while, but he couldn’t remember ever feeling so terribly lonely.
* * *
Why did Bethany want to cry? No matter how often she reviewed what Lord Locke told her the night he’d proposed to her; no matter how firmly she reminded herself that Marcus Ashburn wanted nothing to do with her; no matter how firmly she insisted she had nothing to offer the man, she couldn’t deny her attraction to him. It was good that Providence seemed determined to keep them apart by placing Locke’s servants between them. But why did she feel such miserable disappointment? Why did she ache to relive his stroking of her hair, or when he’d held her hand in his? What would it feel like to have her husband wrap her in his arms and kiss her?
She remained stoic while Melissa prepared her for bed and would have sent her away quickly if she hadn’t noted that the girl seemed awkward with her duties. After teaching the abigail how she liked things done, she asked, “Melissa, where have you served as a lady’s maid before?”
Melissa paused, at first startled and then uneasy. “Well, I-I haven’t truly abigailed before, my lady, but Mrs. Callen once did, when she was a girl, and my aunt, she’s a good friend of Mrs. Callen’s, she is. Works for Lady Smithington, at the Smithington’s estate to the south, has let me help there some, to learn the duties. Soon as his lordship announced his plans to marry, Mrs. Callen wrote for me, suggested I might work out, and began training me. I hope I can please you, my lady. I’d rather serve as a lady’s maid than a housemaid.”
Bethany understood Melissa’s sentiments, even if the girl oughtn’t to have admitted to her preferences. Either job was demanding, but there was an element of prestige—and higher wages—as a lady’s maid.
“I hope Mrs. Callen hasn’t pushed you too hard. You had little time to learn.” Not likely more than a week or two of diligent instruction.
“Not so bad really. I’ve had six weeks. It’s not near enough, I know, but I learn quick, and I promise I’ll do whatever I need to, to please you, my lady.”
Bethany did her best not to let her shock show. Dismissing the girl to the servants’ quarters, she advised her that she wasn’t one to rise during the night and wouldn’t need the girl’s services until the morrow.
Melissa bobbed a curtsy and wished her mistress good night, and Bethany locked the door behind her. Sinking to her bed, she buried her face in her pillows and tried to make sense of what her personal maid had just said.
Lord Locke had hired Melissa six weeks ago? He had to have begun making plans to marry Bethany even longer ago than that. He must have been incredibly sure of himself. Why didn’t he propose sooner? Why wait until it was too late to post banns? Try as she might, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to all of this than met the eye. The next time she saw the twins, she was determined to confront them. Surely they had some inkling of what this was all about.
Tears that made no sense dampened her pillow, but after what felt like a lifetime, they also calmed her troubled heart.
Prayers followed, silent, diligent prayers. Homesickness plagued her, and fear; loneliness loomed in front of her with no end in sight, even while she knew she’d agreed to it. Her husband was a handsome man, and even while she was as afraid of him as she was of all men, he not only puzzled her, he also enticed her. She prayed the Good Lord would set her free of such temporal cravings. She couldn’t lose sight of the fact that in becoming the Earl of Locke’s wife, she’d accepted a lifetime of celibacy. She had no right—and in fact every reason to not want—to betray that to which she’d consented. This she knew without question; and despite the temptations otherwise, with this she must learn to make peace.
* * *
Sunday morning’s sunrise brought a new day’s hope to Bethany. Church would lift her spirits, and later in the morning she planned to examine the manor in finer detail.
And this afternoon, Lady Camille would arrive.
Lord and Lady Locke, dressed in their Sunday best, boarded the carriage manned by servants dressed in Moorewood’s finest livery. The brief ride brought them to the small chapel that served the estate and the surrounding villagers. It had nearly filled to capacity, the news having spread of the earl’s return and his unexpected marriage.
Bethany found the vicar, Reverend James Munro, an eloquent speaker and a man of delightful character. He was the first to congratulate them after the service, followed by the crowd of curious townspeople. Bethany deduced that Lord Locke was liked, even if he wasn’t in residence much, a thought that gave her at least some measure of reassurance.
Their midday meal awaited them when they returned, along with a missive from Lady Camille, announcing her arrival at around two-thirty that afternoon. Locke gave his regrets that he had more business at the stables to address, but he suggested they take her cousin on a ride before supper.
“I’m sure she’d love to see as much of Moorewood as she can tonight,” Bethany replied.
“Splendid. I’ll meet you in the entryway at half past four.”
CHAPTER 9
A most unladylike squeal rent the air, and Mr. Treadwell stepped back from the door as Lady Camille and the new Lady Locke rushed into each other’s arms. Bethany tried hard not to flinch from the bruises her cousin bumped. Falling off piano benches was definitely not the thing.
“Camille, you are an answer to prayers! How was the drive?”
“Not terribly disagreeable, despite the old carriage’s cramped space.”
“Excellent. Mrs. Callen has your quarters ready, and Melissa’s available to abigail for you.”
“I must change clothes and freshen up, but then I’m ready for whatever you like, Beth.”
“A spot of tea and then a tour of the house. You won’t believe the task I undertook when I accepted Locke’s proposal. The house is ... well, come see for yourself.”
Arm in arm they proceeded through the manor, chatting amiably. Lady Camille did her fair share of admiring the good and bemoaning the bad on the way to her room, while reporting that all was fine at Whitton and Aunt Katherine in transports over the plans for Whitton’s manor.
Bethany’s cousin gasped when she set eyes on both her bedchamber, opposite Bethany’s quarters, and Bethany’s. Matheson had stolen little from most of the rooms on this floor, probably because they were
near Lord Locke’s rooms. Even if not up-to-the-minute they were all lovely.
“Oh, this is extraordinary, Beth. Count yourself blessed to be here. Everyone’s still prattling on about your marriage, you know. I’ve brought a missive from my parents, by the way, probably offering their regrets for not being able to attend the wedding and no doubt giving their felicitations for a happy life and a promise to visit as soon as Mum feels up to it.”
Bethany was soon as exhausted by listening to her cousin’s chattering as she was grateful for her companionship. Melissa made quick work of exchanging Lady Camille’s travel dress for her day dress and then they sat down in Bethany’s rooms to the tea Mr. Treadwell brought up for them. Bethany warned her cousin, however, that they had only a couple of hours to look over the house. After that, they’d don riding clothes and join Lord Locke for a ride.
“The estate is breathtaking,” Lady Camille said. “I can hardly wait to see more. But I must admit the manor’s renovation intrigues me more.”
Bethany replied drolly, “Let me know how you feel after you’ve seen the whole of it.”
Bethany bore her writing implements as they ambled through each chamber, knowing Lady Camille’s immediate impressions were always the best and wanting to capture them right away.
“It’s unbelievable,” Lady Camille said, at last. “No doubt a great deal of work, never mind the expense, but this house must have been stunning in its youth.”
“So I hear,” Bethany said. “You must help me with it.”
“As much as I can, considering I don’t live here, of course.”
“You could, if you wanted. You could act as my companion. You’ve no obligations to speak of at home, you’d have the time of your life, and you’d save me from death by loneliness.”
Lady Camille searched Bethany’s face, her brow puckering in concern. “It’s none of my business, Love, but…. Have things turned out differently than you expected? I mean, between you and Lord Locke? I sense he’s drawn to you, you know; and I dare say the same about you. You’ve had three days together, and I’d rather hoped....”
Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel Page 9