She and Rand had dressed for dinner and were waiting in the second floor drawing room for dinner to be announced. The drapes to the tall mullioned windows had been opened affording a view of the parkland. It was near dusk and the gardens and expanse of rolling lawn were tinged with a rosy pink. Above that, stars were just beginning to emerge in the darkening sky.
It was a lovely, peaceful setting and as Cecelia took a sip of her sherry she felt a sense of contentment. The air had turned cool and she was wearing a gold trimmed ivory velvet wrap over a green muslin gown shot with gold thread. Her hair was piled on top of her head. A long stray curl had escaped where the pin had worked itself loose. She tugged at it as she gazed at her husband who was impeccably turned out in a dark blue jacket and waistcoat and charcoal gray breeches. A sapphire pin was tucked into the front of his white cravat and not a hair was out of place. “Why is it that you always look perfectly groomed and I look as I’d been in a windstorm?” she grumbled.
He came up beside her. “You don’t look as if you’ve been in a windstorm. You look as if you’ve just been nicely tumbled.”
“And you would be right. I must say, you certainly live up to your nickname. What was it?” She rested a fingertip against her chin and pretended to think. “Oh, now, I remember,” she said with a straight face. “Randy Dandy.”
If he was surprised that she was privy to the name he’d been given by his school mates at the age of fifteen, he showed no indication. “You wouldn’t be complaining would you?” he asked.
“No, I’m not complaining.” Her smile widened and she turned back to the window. “Have you any idea what that is off in the distance to the side of that copse of trees? Just the top of it is visible.”
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out the structure. “Ruins of some sort, I would think. It might be the original Abbey. I suppose we should learn the history of the place. Seems a bit shallow-minded of us not to know not to know anything at all.”
Her interest truly caught, she said, “I should like to ride out there.”
Rand caught her chin and tilted it up slowly until he looked her straight in the eye. He did not look happy. “You will not. I repeat, you will not ride off alone. Not even as far as the orchard, wherever that may be. Curb your adventurous nature and grant me the peace of mind of knowing that you’re safe. Penny and Hudson will arrive in a few days along with Harris and one of his grooms. Until then you ride with me or not at all.”
“But the bay mare is lovely and I thought to try her out since Penny isn’t here yet. Why can’t one of the grooms we brought ride with me?”
“They’re too young and inexperienced to deal with your shenanigans. You’ll run them in circles and the instant they look away, you’ll disappear.”
“I will not!” she protested.
“I’m not about to argue with you over this. You’ll have to accept it.”
She sighed. “I suppose.”
“You suppose? I’m serious about this Cecelia. You’re too adventurous by half. Until Harris arrives you will ride with me. And only me. I don’t know anyone here well enough to trust them with my wife. And yes, you and I will ride tomorrow. And if it isn’t too far, we will ride to the mysterious ruins.”
She had a strong urge to stick out her tongue. “You’re very bossy.”
“With good reason.”
She took another sip of her sherry. “The ballroom in the west wing is in such disrepair. What should we do with it?”
“Is it large enough for pony races?”
She burst into laughter. “I believe you and Eugene tried that didn’t you?”
“No. Not pony races. If you’re going to bring up childhood mischief you must be accurate. We had wheelbarrow races in the corridors of Bryony Hall. We did try to sneak my pony into the house in Mayfair, but we didn’t manage to get past the first floor. My sister saw us and ran straight to Mother. She was forever telling on us. I shudder to think what trouble we might have caused, had she not been such a tattletale.”
“Rosie and David are angels compared to you and Eugene as children.”
“But they’re young, yet. Give them time.”
“Do you really mind so much having them here?”
“Two days in a coach with a small child was immensely trying but now that we’re here, I don’t suppose that I mind that much. The ordeal has helped me realize something, though.” He grinned. “I don’t pay the staff at Danfield House near enough.”
“My lord. My lady.” Winston’s voice came just as the clock chimed eight.
“Ah. There’s Winston. Shall we go into dinner?” He gave Cecelia his arm and they followed Winston down the corridor.”
“Winston.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“What do you know of our neighbors? I am assuming that we have some.”
“A few, my lord. Lord and Lady Trenton are on your northern boundary. Lord and Lady Richmond are just beyond that, outside Exmoor. Lord and Lady Sheraton are northeast.”
“Lord Sheraton?” Rand queried. “Would that be Jack Deming? Didn’t know he got remarried. I wonder who the lady is?”
“A Lady Grenville, I believe.”
Cecelia felt a sudden tension in his body, but his tone remained casual as he remarked, “You are a veritable wealth of information, Winston.”
“Thank you, my lord. I do try.” He opened the double doors to the dining room. “I thought you would prefer to eat in here.”
“You were quite right. This is splendid.”
In the light of day, even the smaller dining room was too large to be considered cozy but the table was illuminated by a candelabra at one end and the two place settings were set close enough for intimate conversation.
“And what do we have on the menu this evening, Winston?” Rand asked as he seated Cecelia.
“Turtle soup, braised Dover sole, roast pheasant, mushrooms with peas, roasted potatoes and strawberry compote with clotted cream.” The butler picked up a thick green bottle poured a small amount of rich burgundy into Rand’s cut crystal glass. “A ninety-eight, my lord. You may wish to tour the wine cellar. I dare say you will be pleased with our selection.”
Rand tasted the wine and nodded his approval.
“My lady?”
“Yes please.”
He poured wine for them both and then set the bottle on the table. “Is there anything more I can do for you?”
“If you could answer a question for me.”
“Of course, my lord.”
“You seem born to your profession. Was your father a butler?”
Winston allowed himself the barest hint of a smile. “No, my lord. He was a coal miner from Wales.”
“Amazing. I never would have guessed. How did you manage to go from the coal mines of Wales to the esteemed position of butler?”
“I was never actually in the mines, my lord. My mother and I left Wales when I was a small child. She was in service as cook and my uncle was butler in Devonshire. I owe my training to my uncle.”
“And I owe you my thanks. You and Mrs. Brice have done an excellent job of keeping the household running smoothly as ownership and title has bounced from lord to lord. It couldn’t have been easy. I’m most grateful.”
“Thank you, my lord, but we were only doing our job.” Winston bowed to them both and left the dining room.
“The son of a coal miner,” Rand mused. “Amazing.”
She nodded without comment, waiting until the soup had been served before saying, “Would you have the footman leave for a few minutes?”
As he obliged, she studied his face. The classic features were softened by candlelight. His glowing hazel eyes were fringed with lashes that cast a shadow on his cheek. He was so very handsome; so easy for a woman to fall in love with. How many women were there? As he had told her earlier, she probably didn’t want to know. The door closed behind the footman. She took in a long deep breath. “Who is Lady Sheraton?
He looked away briefly b
efore meeting her gaze, but once met, his gaze was unwavering. “A former lover.”
“I thought so. You tensed up when Winston said her name.” She paused. “It was certain to happen and I know that this won’t be the last time. I will try not to let it bother me, though I’m not certain how to go about it.” She brought the spoon halfway to her mouth and stopped. “Was she a virgin?”
His eyes flashed as he set his glass down with a bang. “No! For God’s sake, why would you even ask me a question that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It seemed important.”
“Cecelia.” His voice was very low, very controlled. "You know my reputation. We’ve never pretended otherwise. But it’s all in the past. I would never treat you as my father did my mother. You are my wife. I made a commitment to you when we married and I’m a man of my word. I promised to be faithful and I will.”
I made a commitment to you. I’m a man of my word. There was no declaration of love or caring. She hadn’t expected one, but she hadn’t expected the omission to hurt. And it did.
“Is she nice?”
“Nice?” He frowned. “I don’t even remember. We didn’t interact socially to any great extent. It was purely a physical relationship. She was married to Lord Grenville who apparently had no interest in the opposite sex and that meant she was available. And then she was a widow and that also meant she was available.”
She winced at his statement. “That’s awful. Where did you do it?”
“Christ! I don’t remember,” he ground out. “Do we have to talk about this? Does it really matter at this point?”
“I suppose not.” Cecelia calmly resumed eating her soup. She had pushed him too far but she didn’t seem to be able to help herself. The words just kept tumbling out of her mouth.
Eyes dark, he stared at her. “I’d rather not bring up past liaisons, if it isn’t necessary. It will be uncomfortable for both of us.” His voice was tight and clipped.
She stared back then conceded, “As you wish.”
They both made an effort to get past the topic and by the time the sole arrived they had resumed normal conversation, but there was still a tension in the air that was difficult to ignore. When Winston brought in the strawberry compote, she shook her head. “No thank you. I wouldn’t care for any.”
“Would you prefer that Cook prepare something more to your taste? She makes excellent custards my lady.”
She tried to offer a smile. “I’m sure that she does. Everything was delicious and I love strawberries, but I’m very tired and only wish to find my bed.”
“Are you feeling ill?” Rand asked.
“Nothing other than a bit of a headache. It’s been a long day and it’s simply caught up with me.”
Rand pushed his chair and made to rise. “I’ll see you upstairs then.”
“It isn’t necessary,” she said quickly. “I can find my way.”
A look of indecision crossed his face before he stood to help her from her chair. “Very well. I’ll be up shortly.”
Tears of frustration pricked at her eyes as she left the dining room. She didn’t want to be upset over this and she definitely didn’t want to succumb to tears. If this happened every time a former lover of his was mentioned she would be in tears for the rest of her life. At least, he had been honest. If he had tried to cover it up, it would be even worse. She slowed her pace. It wouldn’t do for the servants to see her dashing for her bedchamber with tears in her eyes. The gossip would run rampant. With this in mind, she reached her chambers without so much as a single tear sliding down her cheek. She closed the door behind her. Ashley sauntered over to her and she picked the kitten up and rubbed her fur against her face. Her chest rose and fell with an uneven sigh. “Oh, Ashley,” she murmured. “I’m such a nitwit, sometimes. I should have kept my mouth shut. What’s wrong with me?” Ashley purred loudly and somewhat comforted, Cecelia rang for Mattie to help her prepare for bed.
The moment Cecelia heard the door close signaling that Davis had left Rand’s dressing room she swallowed hard, squared her shoulders and marched through her bed chamber to the sitting room where she knocked on Rand’s door.
“Come in.”
She pushed the door open. Rand stood at the window staring out at the darkened landscape. "You can see so clearly tonight. It’s amazing.” He turned to her with a concerned expression on his face. He was wearing a silk red and black striped dressing gown. His hair was combed back from his forehead. “Is your headache better?”
His words barely registered. She bit her lower lip. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to sleep.” The words came out brokenly and to her horror she realized that she was close to tears. Again.
He held out his hand. “Come here, brat.” To her even greater horror, the tears spilled over and onto her cheeks.
When she didn’t move, he went to her. “What’s this about?” He tipped her chin and wiped her tear streaked face with the sash of his dressing gown.
“I want you to stop calling me brat.”
“You’re crying because I called you brat?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I suppose it’s Lady Sheraton, then.”
She bit her lip and then shrugged. “I feel so stupid. I usually don’t cry and I don’t even know why I’m crying.” She sniffed. “And I still don’t know where to sleep.”
He bent over and kissed the tip of her nose. “I would be honored if you would share my bed. Tonight. And every night you care to do so.”
She hiccupped and let out a long soft sigh. The tiny sound made him want to protect her. But from what? His reputation? Past lovers? It couldn’t be done. His arms went around her, his fingers threaded through the heavy wave of hair that fell down her back. She had taken him by surprise. Normally impulsive and headstrong, this suddenly vulnerability was completely unexpected and he wasn’t certain what to do about it. He led her to the bed and climbed in beside her, but instead of making love to her, he simply held her. He’d left his dressing gown on and for the moment it was enough to just lie there with his arms wrapped around her. And when her deep even breathing told him that she was asleep, he didn’t move away or change position. It was comforting to have her in his arms. He gently pressed his lips to the back of her head and was soon asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Cecelia woke in an empty bed to the sound of rain. It was a gentle rain, the pattering soft and rhythmic enough to lull her back to sleep. She stretched and yawned, luxuriating in the feel of the thick feather mattress beneath her. And then the first logical thought of the day came to her and she remembered that they were supposed to go riding. “Blast!” One always seemed to be at the mercy of the climate in England. Time and time again, plans were spoiled because of the rain. Pushing the hair back from her face, she sat up and reached for the bell pull. She plumped up her pillows and settled against them. What had gotten into her last night? Was it jealousy? The idea of her husband in bed with another woman, even if it had taken place years ago, was disturbing. But if that was the problem she had better give it up or she would spend the rest of her life in misery. She’d best take control of her thoughts and emotions. Soon. Scowling, she waited for what seemed to be an interminable amount of time and was about to ring again when Mattie burst in with a pot of tea and a plate of scones.
“I’m so sorry, milady, but I got turned around,” she exclaimed. “This place is ever so big.” She flushed. “One of the footmen had to help me.”
As the maid hadn’t had any problems finding her room last night and she seemed unusually flustered, Cecelia wondered if the footman who helped her had also caught her eye. “Just set the tray on the bed side table,” she directed. “And open the rest of the drapes please. It’s terribly dark in here.” The drapes were opened but between the rainy skies and dark furnishings, there wasn’t much improvement. “I must do something about this room,” she said. “It’s dreadful.”
“Tis that,” Mattie agreed. Her hand flew to h
er mouth and she gasped. “Oh, I beg your pardon, milady. I spoke out of turn.”
Cecelia snorted. “You usually do and I can’t recall it concerning you before now.”
“But you’re Lady Clarendon, now. ‘Tisn’t right for me to be so familiar with you.”
“I’m the same person I was two weeks ago.” She bit into a raspberry scone as Mattie went about laying out her silver comb, brush and wrapper. “How are Rosie, David and Ashley fairing this morning? Or dare I ask?”
“Ashley caught several mice and seems ever so proud of ‘erself. Cook said the kitchen was in need of a good mouser so Ashley is in ‘er good graces. Last I saw, she was lapping up a saucer of cream. Rosie and David are still abed in the nursery with Ellie. She thought it best to let them sleep a bit longer than usual. She like to never got them t’ sleep. They wanted stories and drinks of water. Rosie said ‘er prayers twice ‘cause she kept forgetting who she wanted blessed.”
“She was terribly wound up last night. I suppose it’s the excitement of being someplace new. Let Ellie know I’ll take them after lunch. We can spend a few hours exploring the house.”
“Yes milady. I’ll see that ‘ot water’s brought up. Did you want a bath this morning?”
Cecelia set her cup down and she stretched. “A bath would be lovely.”
Twenty minutes later she stepped into a copper tub every bit as large as the one at Bryony Hall. She had missed the luxury of a long hot soak. The tub at Danfield House was much smaller and there wasn’t a team of footmen to carry up the hot water. Life at Fenton Abbey would have its advantages. Mattie had added scented bath salts to the water. A bar of French milled soap was on a table next to the tub. She slid down until her head was resting against the back of the tub and she was submerged up to her shoulders in rose scented water. She closed her eyes and murmured, “This is bliss.” She didn’t even open her eyes when she heard the door open and close.
The Devil's Own Luck (Once a Spy) Page 18