Albina felt her throat tighten. Her mother had been gone for nearly seven years and there wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t miss her. Her father, while more gruff and severe, was another one that Albina had mourned when he’d passed away only six months later. Her grief had only been another obstacle that had taken a toll on her relationship with Michael. He had lost his parents when he was a child and was taken in by his aunt and uncle. While he had cared for them, as well as the cousins he’d grown up with, he hadn’t understood the closeness that had always been shared by the Waterton family. But after her father died, even that broke apart.
Espen had already been married, so after gaining the title, he chose to move his family from London to the country estate in Kent. Since she was still in London, she only saw him around Christmastime anymore, and that was only briefly. She barely had any sort of relationship with her nieces and nephews. So many times she had considered going to stay for a few days, but she didn’t want to feel like an imposition. And to be perfectly honest, she didn’t want to be that eccentric, spinster aunt who had failed to keep her marriage intact instead.
As Albina regarded her reflection, comparing it to that fateful day so long ago, she wondered what might have happened should Michael not have been at the ball that night. Would things still have turned out as they had? Or would she be married to someone else today?
The very idea made her nauseous, for in her mind, it had always been him. She couldn’t imagine her life with anyone else.
But had he ever wished that his life had taken a different path?
Wide, hazel eyes stared back at her accusingly, because she’d never even let such a thought take root.
Because she feared what the answer would be.
Albina touched a strand of silver near her ear. These days she had been noticing more and more strands threading themselves through her hair, dimming the brilliant copper color of her youth. Her face still retained a smooth complexion, but she could see the signs of time starting to wear grooves near her mouth and eyes. She retained a slightly curvaceous figure, although after three children, the petite size she’d been at nineteen would likely never return.
But all these changes were testament to a life that was lived.
One couldn’t very well do battle without gaining a few scars in the process.
***
By ten o’clock Albina was on her way downstairs. She crossed paths with the housekeeper in the foyer, who greeted her warmly. “Oh, Lady Beauley! How lovely to have you back in residence at Beauley Hall.”
Albina had to smile. But then, most of the servants she had known so long ago had been more like family. Until now, Albina hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that connection, compared to the stiff, reserved staff she retained at Baine House.
For a moment, she had to blink at what five years had done to the veteran housekeeper. Mrs. Humphrey had been in her fifties when Albina and Michael had gone to London for their daughters’ debut seasons, but even back then, her dark hair was only shot through with bits of silver. Now, the lighter shade nearly eclipsed all of the color. Her face was heavily lined with wrinkles, the dark contrast of her uniform causing the grooves to appear even deeper than Albina remembered.
But then, she supposed it had been nearly eight years since she’d seen Mrs. Humphrey.
How time changed even the slightest details, including one marked difference to the woman’s attire. “You wear spectacles now?” Albina noted.
The servant chuckled. “I do, my lady, and I fear I would be as blind as a bat without them. I certainly can’t fuss at the housemaids when I can’t tell who it is I’m reprimanding.”
Albina smiled. “Indeed, not.”
“Well, I suppose you’re looking for Lord Beauley.” The housekeeper clasped her hands before her. “He told me to tell you that he would be out for most of the morning. The land steward arrived around dawn to inform him of a drainage issue.”
Albina felt her brows rise. “The viscount personally assists with such matters?”
“Oh, yes, my lady.” Mrs. Humphrey nodded emphatically. “The master is very involved with his tenants. He’s a good man—” She instantly broke off, as if suddenly realizing her error. “But, of course you know that already, my lady,” she added hastily.
“Indeed, he is,” Albina agreed softly.
As the housekeeper walked away, the keys at her waist jingling with her movements, Albina glanced down at her hands. The woman was absolutely right. Michael was a good man, a wonderful man, really. He had been a patient father, a considerate lover, and in all their years of marriage, he’d never laid a hand on her in anger or forced unnecessary demands upon her.
A fresh wave of guilt from the night before washed over her, and she vowed that when she saw her husband again, she would make sure to apologize for her harsh words. In light of all his other attributes, a bare room didn’t seem to matter much at all.
With some time on her hands waiting until Michael returned, Albina decided that she would go riding. The sun was bright today, a rarity for England in the spring, so she intended to make the most of it. Not to mention that riding used to be one of her favorite pastimes when she was in residence at the Hall. She enjoyed a light canter in London, but she couldn’t very well give her horse free rein in the city. So after returning upstairs to change into a plum velvet riding habit, she made her way outside and down to the stables.
The stable master was yet another new face to be found at Beauley Hall, but he was a kind, older gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Epperson. She liked him instantly. As Albina patted the soft nose of a dapple-gray mare named Lulu, waiting for her to be fitted with a sidesaddle, she struck up a conversation with the stable master.
“How long have you been working for the viscount, Mr. Epperson?” she asked curiously.
He thought for a moment. “I would say about three years now, my lady. It’s the best position that I’ve ever had.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, yes.” He nodded. “Anyone that works for the viscount is thankful for the employment. He’s fair and kind, and the only place I know of where we get an entire Sunday off to be with our families.”
Albina felt a thoughtful frown form between her brows, and the guilt of her behavior the night before rose another notch. “That is rather charitable of him.”
As Mr. Epperson tied the last strap, he gave the mare a gentle scratch behind her ears. “She’s all ready to go, my lady.” He led the horse over to a mounting block and assisted Albina into the saddle.
“Thank you, Mr. Epperson.”
After tipping his hat to her, he walked away.
***
Two hours later, Albina trotted back into the stable yard, her cheeks flushed and her breathing heavy from her exertions.
Mr. Epperson was there to assist her down from the mare’s back. “Did you have a nice ride?” he asked.
After she’d smoothed her skirts around her, she offered him a bright smile. “Most certainly. Lulu is a delight!” She patted the dappled nose, laughing slightly when the mare nickered at her. “I’d forgotten how calm one could feel after a brisk gallop though the countryside. Other than Hyde Park in London, there isn’t much occasion for it. It’s entirely too crowded.”
“I imagine so.” Mr. Epperson shook his head. “I’ve had little need to go to the city myself, and I’m glad of it. I’m content right here, looking after Lord Beauley’s horses.”
Albina studied him for a moment. Even though she had been well bred, brought up with fine dresses and the best education to be had, though she had never wanted for anything, she found that she was almost envious of the ease with which Mr. Epperson spoke of his day-to-day chores. He was a commoner, who had likely been brought up with very little, expected to serve others from an early age, yet he appreciated something as simple as a stable full of horses to care for.
She sighed inwardly, thinking how nice it must be to be able to eschew the finer things i
n life and be able to live with such simple comforts. Unfortunately, as the daughter of a baron, then the wife to a viscount, she had never had that luxury.
In fact, the closest she had ever come to feeling such freedom was the last time she had been at Beauley Hall. How nice it would be to turn the clock back and relive those days. Unfortunately, all she could do now was move forward and hope that she might be able to find a portion of that careless abandon once more.
Maybe then, the words that had become absent would return to her.
Albina walked back to the house so lost in thought that she turned a corner — and ran right into a solid male chest.
Startled, she instantly stepped backward, but strong arms reached out to steady her. Her heart instantly began to beat at a steady gallop when she looked up and saw Michael, his tall form silhouetted by the sun at his back. He stood stiffly, as if he was too stunned by her presence to move, but then his jaw hardened and he released her, offering a curt nod. “Pardon me.”
He started to move past her, the action finally causing her throat to work properly. “I wanted to apologize…for last night.” She swallowed heavily. This was turning out to be harder than she’d imagined.
He eyed her intently for a few seconds, a flash of…something in those brown eyes. Finally, he said evenly, “I was the one at fault. I should have told you.”
She supposed that was as close to an acceptance that she was going to get as he strode up the stairs and disappeared into the house.
She followed him into the foyer where he was shrugging out of his muddied coat and boots before handing them off to the butler. Even with his trousers caked with mud, his sweat dampened shirt clinging to his still muscular body like a second skin, his cravat loosened as if he’d pulled on it in irritation, he still looked more handsome than any man she’d ever set eyes on.
***
Michael felt restless, as if a thousand ants had suddenly taken it upon themselves to turn him into their hill. He wished he hadn’t touched Albina when she’d collided into him, for while it was nothing more than a simple touch, an action that normally would have been inconsequential, just the sight of his hands on her caused a stirring in his loins that he’d long denied.
For five years, to be precise.
He swallowed hard at the rush of desire that surged to the surface. He had to get away from her now or else drag her upstairs and make love to her until they were so exhausted that neither of them could think straight. “I need to get cleaned up,” he murmured tightly.
When he started to move around her, she asked abruptly, “Is there anyone else left?”
He sighed, forced to turn back to her with a lifted brow.
Albina’s cheeks colored slightly, and he had to clench his fists at his sides to keep from taking her in his arms. She was the only mature, married woman of his acquaintance that still blushed like a debutante — especially in the bedchamber.
He barely withheld a groan. “If you recall, after we went to London I closed up the estate, retaining only a skeleton crew, so most of the staff went to seek other positions. Other than the housekeeper and the cook, Mrs. Dryler, the rest moved on.”
Instantly, her hazel eyes lit up and Michael recalled, quite vividly, other times her eyes would sparkle so remarkably — when she was angry, incandescently happy — or when he brought her to the pinnacle of pleasure…
Damn. I have to stop this or else I’ll go mad.
“I wonder if she still makes those delicious strawberry tarts…” Albina closed her eyes and parted her lips on a delicious sigh.
Michael instantly froze, his gaze riveted to her mouth.
When Albina opened her eyes again, he heard the slight catch in her breathing when she looked at him. “Michael, I…”
“I’m sure Mrs. Dryler would be more than happy to accommodate you,” he said curtly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Turning on his heel, he went upstairs and called for a bath — an ice cold one.
CHAPTER FOUR
A lady must exercise eloquent speech…
Lady A’s Advice Column
Albina sat at the servants’ table in the kitchen with a cup of tea and bit into the soft, buttery crust with the burst of fruit flavor inside that could only be attributed to the Beauley Hall cook. Mrs. Dryler had been overjoyed to see that her mistress had returned, and had happily placed two of the desserts on a plate and set them before her.
“I always keep some on hand. You weren’t the only one who appreciated my efforts, after all.” Mrs. Dryler had given Albina a wink, before she hummed a tune and went back to kneading the bread dough on the counter, her hands and arms already coated with the white film of flour.
She was also blissfully unaware of how the words had caused Albina’s chest to ache. Albina sat down the second half-eaten tart, her enjoyment of the delicacy not nearly as exciting as it had been a moment ago. Her stomach was suddenly rolling with fresh nerves, wondering how she might repair this rift between her and Chael.
She rose to her feet. “Thank you, Mrs. Dryler, but I can’t possibly eat another bite if I intend to have supper this evening.”
Albina returned upstairs, but instead of heading to her chamber, she made her way to the library. She was hoping that something in there might spark some inspiration for her writing. Once that issue was resolved, maybe then she could work on her husband.
But the moment she walked over the threshold, she saw Michael there, an open book in his palm and a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. On any other man, the sight might not have been so alluring, but on him, she had trouble tearing her eyes away.
His dark hair was still damp, giving credence to the fact he’d recently bathed, the clean scent of his soap and cologne teasing her nostrils, even from across the room. He’d shaved as well, the smooth line of his jaw well defined. Wearing only a white cambric shirt, green waistcoat, and buff trousers with a new pair of black boots, he looked entirely too attractive for her peace of mind.
She must have made some sort of noise, for he lifted his head and closed his book and removed his glasses, giving her an acknowledging incline of his head. “Albina.”
“Michael.” She was proud of herself for keeping her voice so even as she walked over to the bookshelves. She noticed that quite a few titles had been added in the intervening years, including several novels. She had to smile when she noticed her friend’s name on the spine of one.
Albina thought Michael would have left the room upon her arrival, but he surprised her by speaking. “Find anything of interest?”
She turned around to see him seated in the same chair, although his pose was more relaxed than before, his hands clasped across his midsection, with the hint of a smile touching the corners of his mouth. She held up the novel in her hand. “You bought Lydia’s book.”
He shrugged. “You spoke of her so eloquently in your letters.”
“She’s a talented author.” She eyed him curiously. “But surely you haven’t read it?”
“Actually, I have. It was quite good.”
“Indeed?” She snorted, lifting a brow. “What happened to the Viscount Beauley whose only interests were non-fiction?”
Again, he shrugged. “I converted. Dared to try something new.”
“I see.” Albina felt her lips twitch as she slid the book back onto the shelf. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have her own copy in London, having read it so many times that the spine suffered from a permanent crease.
“You seem surprised,” Michael noted.
She decided the truth was best, so she turned to him and said, “Actually, yes, I am. I just can’t see you reading a romantic novel.”
“And why not?” he countered. “Do you think I’m incapable of romance?”
“Of course not. I—”
But instead of waiting for her to finish, Michael’s brown eyes held hers as he recited; “O my Luve’s like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve’s like the melodie that’s swee
tly play’d in tune:
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, so deep in luve am I:
And I will luve thee still, my dear, till a’ the seas gang dry.”
Albina was so stunned that couldn’t even reply for a moment. When she did, her voice was little more than a whisper. “That was beautiful.”
“Yes, well.” He grinned crookedly, as if suddenly embarrassed. “Robert Burns had quite a way with words.”
She nodded, recalling the name of the popular Scottish poet. The Bard of Ayrshire’s works had been recited all across London, an influx of Romanticism taking over the salons and ballrooms. But never before had she heard the poet’s words recited with such poignancy. The way Chael spoke, with true feeling — it touched her heart.
Could it be that he still loved her?
He abruptly rose to his feet. “I suppose you’d like some time alone.”
Before he could depart, she dared herself to ask, “I was going to go into the village tomorrow. Would you care to accompany me?”
He hesitated. “If you wish it.”
“I do.”
He must have read the sincerity in her gaze, for he said, “Very well.” He inclined his head. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Albina couldn’t keep a smile from blossoming on her face when he left. She felt she’d gained a victory this afternoon, however small.
***
Michael sat staring at the estate ledger in his study as if it held the secrets to the universe, or could at least give him a glimpse into his wife’s mind.
Yesterday had been confusing to say the least. First, Albina had apologized for her outburst about the conservatory, which had surprised him. He thought she might have held on to her anger a bit longer. Because she didn’t, it gave him cause to hope.
At least, that was the only thing he could say to justify the fact he’d been spouting sonnets like some green lad. He still rolled his eyes about that one, and yet he’d meant every single word. No matter how all of this might play out with his wife, he would love her until the day he died.
Second Chance Love: A Regency Romance Set Page 21