by Julia Ross
If she moved closer she would catch his scent - be able to breathe it deeply into her starved lungs - the honest tang of freshly mown grass with a deeper note echoing the damp heat of clean male flesh. Her pulse beat darkly in forbidden, secret rhythms as her rage grew.
"I ache from head to toe," he said at last. "Every blessed muscle. Ι’ faith, but Ι had no idea mowing hay would be such deuced hard work."
She dropped the buttercup. Caught by a slight breeze, the petals drifted onto his naked back. Gold shone against the strong indentation of his spine.
"Because you have never before done a day's work in your life," she said. "Which is why you cannot join the men for their ale. They'd be far too uncomfortable if you socialized with them. They know their place. As you know yours - my lord."
His spine stiffened. "Yes," he said. "Does it matter?"
Juliet stared across the field to the group lolling and drinking by the gate. Of course it mattered! Nothing else mattered as much in this England. One class of men born into privilege and wealth, another into unceasing labor. Yet the burden of the aristocracy was the greatest - theirs the responsibility to hold the whole system together. Alas that there were members of that class, like herself, who had not understood the price that would be exacted from any who broke the rules.
"One of your men almost called you by your title," she said. "You are a lord. Who?"
His back flexed. His muscles slipped smoothly. The buttercup petals slid away to be lost in the cut grass. He turned over and set one hand behind his damp head, while the fingers of the other shaded his gaze once again.
"If Ι tell you my parentage, will you tell me yours?"
She stared down at him, lying abandoned at her feet. "It is none of your business."
His eyes narrowed. "Then let us remain strangers, Mistress Juliet. It adds spice.”
"Spice? You are a peer of the realm - or your father was - yet you come here on some kind of whim. You entrap me, a perfect stranger, into your madness. You steal my time and my contentment. You glory over my discomfiture. You make a fool of me in front of the people among whom Ι must spend the rest of my days, long after you have returned to your life of idleness and dissipation. It is all an amusement to you." Her hands had balled into fists. She shook them. "You - all of you!"
"All of whom?"
Juliet took a deep breath. Rage surged in her blood. "Three years ago Sir Reginald Denby, my neighbor at Marion Hall"- she stabbed a forefinger to the north -"blew up the mill dam on Manston Brook to amuse some cronies. They were racing toy boats. When the miller complained, they laughed. Last year Sir Reginald drove his carriage at a gallop down that lane-" She waved her hand to the west, indicating the road to Upper Μingate. "At the ford he killed six geese belonging to Mistress Caxtοn. No recompense was offered. You - in your silk and lace and finery - you are all parasites on the land!"
"Lud!" he said calmly. ''How fortunate we are that you're not also a member of that execrated class!"
Her anger died. Why had she railed at him about this? Of course not all landowners were like Sir Reginald Denby. Her father had always worked harder than any of his tenants, fulfilling the responsibilities of his position before ever indulging his own pleasure. So had many of his friends. She knew that.
She turned to leave. ''You're an actress?"
Surprise stopped her in mid-turn. "Of a kind."
His hand seized her ankle.
Juliet almost tripped. She stopped dead, the strength of his fingers pressed into her bones. Outrage left her momentarily speechless.
"Alas, another predicament, ma'am?" he asked softly. "If you move, you will fall. If you struggle, you will create a scene. The villagers will notice."
"And may well exact a swift enough vengeance on you for my discomfort." The firm grip held steadily, just enough to prevent her wrenching away. "What humiliation do you plan now?"
"None." His palm burned warmly on her stocking. She was searingly aware of it. "Ι just want to let you know that you are right."
"Right about what?"
"That this is all an amusement to me. Why shouldn't life be amusing, full of joy? Why the devil are you so full of regrets, Mistress Seton? When you sat on the gate and watched us cut hay, you seemed filled with longing for the wicked, immodest world. Why have you allowed it to leave you behind?"
"Ι regret nothing except that Ι let you cozen me into this mad agreement. "
"Ι have barely begun to cozen you, but Ι won't do you any harm." His hand slipped open-fingered over her ankle, sending keen shivers up her calf. "Whereas you have already caused me grave injury."
"You are in that much pain?" she asked derisively, looking at the obvious strength of his arms and shoulders.
"Not of the body, ma'am-though Ι shall know a merry enough ache in my limbs for a day or two. The real injury you have caused me is to the heart."
The absurdity of it, his sheer nonsense, made her want to laugh. "You have no heart, sir. Meanwhile, you have me pinned by the foot! What am Ι supposed to say? 'Unhand me, sirrah'?"
He grinned. "Ι would never obey so melodramatic a request."
Juliet lifted the edge of her skirt and stared at his hand on her ankle. "Why not? Do you think 'undress me' is more likely?"
His fingers flew open as he was startled into laughter. He rolled over again, covering himself in cut grass and shredded buttercups, his shoulders shaking with mirth.
Juliet spun about and walked rapidly to the house. She slammed the kitchen door behind her and raced up the stairs to her bedroom. Ribbons flailed on her straw bonnet as she wrenched it off and threw it to the floor. The clumsy action caught hairpins, so her hair crumbled down around her shoulders. He had almost made her join him in hilarity - which felt dangerously close to surrender!
She seized the chestnut mass in both hands and pushed it away from her face. Her flushed reflection stared back from the mirror. High color flooded her cheeks. Her eyes burned like blue sapphires. She was still young. She was comely enough. Her blood pulsed with vigorous desire. Did he think her reasons for rejecting him were trivial?
Juliet dropped her hands and let her hair fall.
She had closed al those doors five years ago and none of them could be opened again. Unless- Horrified at her own thoughts, Juliet paced tο the window and looked out, one hand over the locket hidden beneath her dress.
The villagers had piled only the inn wagon and were riding away. Mr. Granville was talking to Farmer Hames. Α gang of men from the farm, joined by the five strangers, were already raking the downed grass. One of the lads was bringing the hay cart in through the gate. It would take them the rest of the afternoon, raking and turning, letting the sun dry the hay. So he must have arranged that, too, as he had arranged for the ale from the Three Tuns. He might be a wastrel, but he knew about rural customs. Obviously he had estates of his own somewhere.
She turned away. It was better not to know.
Meanwhile, she had work to do. She secured her hair neatly at her nape, picked up her bonnet and hung it carefully from its hook. For a moment she leaned one shoulder against the wall, fingering the worn ribbons. Perhaps with what Mr. Granville had just saved her in getting her hay scythed for free, she could buy herself a new bonnet. Juliet laughed aloud and went downstairs.
ALDEN LEFT THE MEN MAKING HAY AND WALKED BACK TO the inn. Four cows grazing on the green lifted their heads and watched him pass, their long-lashed brown eyes gazing stupidly after him.
He was only a little regretful about the pink brocade and the waistcoat. They had been a necessity for a particular court appearance and had cost a deuced fortune. But the lads from Gracechurch Abbey could carry off their winnings, along with a grand tale to tell, to sell or keep as they wished. If he won the wager, he could afford it. If he lost, it didn't matter. He was giving away clothes that had already been lost in a card game, but he was damned if he wanted Sir Reginald Denby - a man who had destroyed a village mill pond for sport - to decorate his
callous exploits with royal lace and gold-thread embroidery.
At the Three Tuns Alden ordered his daily hot bath, much to the consternation of Mr. Sandham. The innkeeper was mystified by the peculiar cleanliness standards of his guest.
"You'll be aching, then, sir?" the man asked, scratching his head.
"I’ faith, Mr. Sandham," Alden replied. "Since my last tub Ι have ridden thirty miles, taken lessons with a scythe until dawn, broken my back over a whetstone, then swung that sharpened blade at a killing pace for two hours. Ι am going to bathe and sleep. Ι do not wish to be disturbed."
The innkeeper grinned. "Then you'll visit Mistress Seton again?"
Alden paused at the foot of the stairs. "You truly don't know who she is?"
"On my life, sir! Miss Parrett, as used to have the cottage, was fetched one morning in a carriage. No one in the village had ever seen it before. She come back the next day with Mistress Seton. It were five year ago."
"The lady was widowed before she came here? Was it a recent loss, do you think?"
"She were dead with grief, I'd say, when she arrived - pale as a ghost and sick with a fever. Miss Parrett nursed her. But the ladies always kept themselves to themselves, sir. That's all Ι know. 'Tis all anyone knows. Though she's well respected around here, Mistress Seton's never had friends or visitors - till you."
"And Miss Parrett. Who was she?"
"Why, Ι don't rightly know, sir. She weren't born around here. She were quite an old lady when she bought the house. She had genteel enough ways. Ι thought to myself perhaps she'd been a lady's maid, but she said not. That's all anyone knows."
"For your trouble." Alden pressed a coin into the man's palm. "I await the hot water."
JEMMY BRAMBEY HAD TO WAIT UNTIL AFTER HIS SUPPER TO escape his mother. He left his brothers and sisters playing on the green. It took him over an hour, running much of the way, before he knocked at the back entrance to Marion Hall. Sir Reginald Denby never allowed him into the fancy part of the house, so Jemmy sat in a hallway near the kitchen. Nothing to complain about, since the cook had given him a large slice of mutton pie co keep him occupied.
When the plump form of Sir Reginald finally approached, Jemmy had already finished his pie and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
"You have more news of Mistress Seton, lad?" Sir Reginald asked.
Jemmy stood and gave the hair over his forehead a quick tug. Another gentleman, call, chin, richly dressed, his wig powdered, had also entered the hallway. He leaned against the wall and scared at Jemmy through a quizzing glass.
"How amusing!" the stranger said. ''You have many such spies, Denby? Very effective, I'm sure!"
"I’m not a spy, sir!" Jemmy said indignantly. "Ι bring only the common news."
"Lud, the creature has a tongue!" The stranger smiled. Α patch creased at the corner of his mouth. He was handsome enough - a lord, most like! "Of course, as seigneur, Sir Reginald must know what is happening in the parish attached to his manor. Don't let me intimidate you, lad. Here's an extra penny for you."
Metal spun. Jemmy snatched the coin out of the air and thrust it away in a pocket. Mother needed all the extra he could earn. Anyhow, the stranger was right. He had no idea what a sαy-nure might be and no one liked Sir Reginald, but there was nothing wrong in telling him what he was bound to find out anyway. Besides, the Marion Hall cook made a splendid mutton pie.
JULIET BURIED IT, ALL OF IT - ALL THE MEMORIES, ALL THE emotions - as deeply as she could. She vigorously cleaned her copper pots, turned out a cupboard and scrubbed her pine table. After a quick meal she carried clean sheets upstairs to her bedroom and made the bed. For just a moment she lay down on the lavender-scented cover and closed her eyes.
Her gold chain twisted against her neck. She tugged at the locket to free it, then kissed the warm metal. Images swarmed: a golden-haired boy ran laughing through a summer garden; spread my soldiers before a wintertime hearth; held her hand in trust or pulled away in momentary rebellion. In spite of her resolutions, searing tears welled up, ugly and self-indulgent. She would not allow it! She would not. . . . She tucked the locket away and tried to breathe deeply, stifling the sobs. . . .
Something was shaking her, a tentative hand at her shoulder. Juliet opened her eyes to see her maid-of-all-work smiling down at her. Τilly Brambey was about five years older than her little brother Jemmy, and already courting. Walking out with the woodcutter's son, as she put it.
"La, ma'am!" Tilly exclaimed. "You're all worn out, not having any help. Ι planned to come back to work in the morning, but Ι felt ever so much better, so-"
Juliet glanced at the window. She must have been asleep for several hours. It was early evening, the warm summer day winding down into dust motes and haze. It was an effort to sit up, to act as if nothing were wrong. She felt drained, even desperate.
"Thank you, Tilly. You are quite well now?"
The maid pushed a wisp of hair back from her freckled face. In the other hand she held a feather duster. She looked excited, like a child with a secret. "La, Mistress Seton! It was just a touch of the influenza that's going about, though it made my nose look red as a beet. Ι wouldn't have had my young man see me like that!"
"Does the thought of your young man always bring such a blush to your cheeks?" Juliet asked.
"It's not that, ma'am." The maid's color deepened until her eyes sparkled. "There's a gentleman come to call."
So he had charmed even Tilly, brought that bright, becoming look to her face!
"Did this gentleman give his name and business?"
Tilly turned to whisk her bundle of feathers over the mirror, smiling at herself in the glass, thrilled by her own prettiness and the dominion it gave her over the woodcutter's son-thrilled that even the gentleman who'd come to see her mistress had complimented her hazel eyes.
"It's the gentleman 'as cut the hay, ma'am. Mr. Granville, as is staying at the Three Tuns. All the village is talking of it." Innocent mischief was as plain as the freckles on Tilly's round cheeks. "La! He's a very comely gentleman. Oh, ma'am! Mr. Sandham says he takes a bath every day!"
In spite of herself, Juliet laughed. "So you thought you'd come back this evening to see this notorious fellow for yourself?"
The feathers danced as Tilly dusted the frame. "He says he's come to play chess. Where's the harm in that?"
Had he flirted with Tilly, trying his luck? Was he a rake who didn't hesitate to take advantage of that keen female vulnerability - even in a maidservant - the terrible power of any handsome, unprincipled man, when a foolish girl thought she had charmed him?
Juliet slid from the bed. "Ι fail to see why the thought of my playing chess brings you so much happiness, Matilda Brambey."
The maid spun about. "Oh, ma'am! It's so exciting! He said all this work was too much for a pretty girl like me all by myself. He's sent three maids to help for the remainder of the week. They're downstairs."
Three maids! With unimaginable arrogance, without even consulting her, he had hired three maids? If she upbraided him, she would only seem petty and stubborn. Yet if she accepted it, she allowed him an outrageous liberty - for a chess game! Indignation left her speechless.
Juliet stalked to her washstand and splashed cold water on her face. With vigorous strokes, she brushed out and pinned up her hair, then selected a fresh fichu for her dress. Apart from her high color, a respectable widow stared back from the mirror, as if defying the world to declare the image a falsehood.
Tilly's artless face waited in the background. With one hand on the door latch, she gazed expectantly at her mistress. "What shall Ι tell the new maids, ma'am?"
An unwanted gift with far too high a price attached! Juliet was free to play chess, free of her daily chores-as if she were still a lady of leisure - for a week. Then she must return to her regular life and think herself lucky for this memory? The irony of it was almost cruel. It was past time for her to turn the tables.
Juliet smoothed her bodice, fitting the fabri
c properly over her corset. Three maids! She had grown up in a household with forty. When she turned back to Tilly, her tone was dispassionate.
"This invasion force must be given beds, of course. You know where the linens are. Tell these new maids to wait for me in the kitchen. "
"Yes, ma'am." Tilly gave a clumsy little curtsy, her eyes bright. "And the gentleman?"
"Please inform Mr. Granville that he may set up the chessmen in the arbor."
"Yes, ma'am."
Juliet smiled and reined in her annoyance. "You may also tell him that this time Ι intend to win."
CHAPTER FOUR
HE WAS NOT IN THE ARBOR, THOUGH THE CHESSBOARD WAS left laid out on the little iron table. Perhaps he had tired of waiting and returned to the Three Tuns? Juliet ran her finger over the black king's wooden crown, surprised by a keen rush of disappointment. Was she mad? She resented his presence, she regretted the wager, yet she was disappointed? Disappointed because, in spite of everything, she wanted to play chess - she wanted to match wits with this man? Laughter ran far too close to tears!
Juliet looked up at the wash of green leaves overhead. Summer life spiraled and surged all around her. Until now she had been content enough with her unchanging days. She had even been proud of her tenacity and courage. With Miss Parrett's help, she had learned to find a new dignity and fulfillment in work - something she had never imagined in her girlhood. It had taken immense determination. What an absurdity to find all that hard-won accomplishment lying empty in her heart because a handsome knave wanted to play games!
Trying to negate her odd mood, Juliet went back to the kitchen to fetch a basket of scraps to feed her chickens. She had interviewed the maids: three solid, respectable women. Betty and Sarah were competent in every task from the kitchen to the dairy, but Kate had curtsied with a quite different air.