by Jo Beverley
"How sad." It was a meaningless phrase, but Amelia had no idea what to say.
"We do feel a pang of conscience now and then." Jane slid Amelia a considering glance. "We would feel better to have a member of the family there to keep an eye on things."
It took Amelia a moment to absorb this. "Grayson would never leave London."
"Amelia," Jane drawled with a pitying look. "Marriage is not a ball and chain."
"Yes, but...."
"Can you honestly say he'd object to your living apart?"
Amelia desperately wanted to say yes, but the conventional lies would not come. Once there had been something in her marriage that might have been love. Now she and Grayson were just two people sharing dingy rooms on the outer fringes of fashionable London. Sometimes she didn't see him for days on end.
"A rest," said Jane, laughing in a charming but artificial way. "Did you think I was encouraging you to leave your husband for ever? You clearly need a rest, my dear. Derbyshire is held to be very healthy. All that fresh air!" Again, she shuddered.
"Will your husband agree?" Amelia asked.
"He'll be delighted. As I told you, he hates to go there but does feel a proper responsibility. Do please say you will."
So, prettily tempted and implored, Amelia had accepted the invitation to move to Elphinson Hall, just for a short rest. In three years she had never experienced the slightest desire to leave it.
But now, with her cousin dead, could she stay? Even though Sir Thomas never came to his house, it could be seen as improper. Was that why Grayson was accompanying the widower and the corpse back to Elphindale? To take her back to London?
Why else? Grayson detested the country.
Amelia realized that she was pacing the room and had scrunched up the black-edged letter. Fretfully, she smoothed it out again.
If Grayson was coming to take her back to live with him she didn't think she could bear it. Oh, she still experienced touches of the lust that had plunged her into her disastrous marriage, but she'd long since accepted that there'd be no changing Grayson Forsythe. He'd always gamble and drink away any money that came his way and consider all other aspects of life -- including her -- mere distractions from the tables.
Amelia thrust three of her plainest outfits into a black dye-bath and then plunged into a flurry of preparations. She undertook a thorough cleaning of the house, top to bottom. Perhaps if she impressed Sir Thomas with her propriety and her care of his home, he might be willing to let her stay.
The news came that the cortege had arrived in the dale. Once she heard that the body had been placed before the altar in the ancient church, she assembled the staff in their black-trimmed clothing. The carriages came into sight as she took her place on the steps, dressed in deepest black, hoping that her pallor and nervousness would be put down to grief.
Sir Thomas came out of the coach first, a chunky man with a prosperous belly. He stretched and took a deep breath, and despite his black arm-band, he did not look like a sorrowing widower. He turned and swung down a travel-weary boy.
Amelia had completely forgotten that Jane had a son. Pity for the poor child hit her first, but hard upon it came calculation. Who was going to look after the child and where was he going to live? If he lived here, he'd need a governess....
She was so wrapped in these thoughts that she hardly realized Grayson had emerged. Loose-limbed and world-weary, he was scanning the beautiful scenery as if it were the worst slum in London. He hadn't changed much. Perhaps his pallor had a yellowish tinge and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced, but he still had a trace of the blond beauty that had stolen her senses thirteen years before.
Ah well, she'd only been eighteen. Perhaps wisdom and foresight weren't to be expected at that age.
She welcomed them all, shepherding them in to the waiting refreshments while murmuring the appropriate condolences and statements of shock.
"Yes, yes," said Sir Thomas, flipping up his coat-tails to sit in the best seat by the fire. "Terrible business. No accounting for it. That horse in the shafts was steady as a rock. Not a trace of vice in him. Then he ups and startles at a dog-bark and careens down Pall Mall pitching poor dear Jane out on her head. Died instantly, which is a blessing I suppose. 'Twas a miracle no one else was hurt!"
"How horrible," Amelia said, passing him tea. She looked a question at her husband and he widened his eyes in disbelief. With a sigh, she sent a maid for brandy. Dear heaven, but she could not bear to live with him again. If she thought there was any chance of saving him she would try, but she'd put that foolishness behind her years ago.
Little Andrew nibbled a cake but then began to fidget. When he almost knocked a plate of cakes onto the floor, she took him out of the room, looking for a suitable maid. She saw Nan Ferryman, a good, sensible girl, and instructed her to take the boy out to run around in the sunshine.
When she returned to the drawing room, Sir Thomas said, "Restless little thing. No end of trouble on the journey."
"What happened to his nurse-maid?"
"Gave notice. Didn't want to travel here. Can't say I blame her. And damned if I know what to do with such a young child."
Amelia took a deep breath. "Surely he should grow up here. I'd be happy to act as little Andrew's governess." She watched her husband out of the corner of her eye, but saw no objection from that quarter.
Sir Thomas was startled, but then he nodded. "Aye, why not? Good of you, Cousin. Fifty pound a year, since you're family. How's that?"
Amelia would have done it for nothing but wasn't foolish enough to reject payment. "That will be perfect, Cousin Thomas. Thank you. I'll take the greatest care-"
"Leave it all in your hands, my dear. All in your hands."
* * *
Later that day, Grayson strolled into the dining room as Amelia was checking the dinner table. "Well done, love. I'll be able to touch you up for a loan now and then."
In fact, every penny she earned would be his by right, but he'd never been grasping in that way.
"If I have it, I'll try to help. It'll be a drop in the bucket, though."
He stole an apple from a bowl of fruit. "Once one becomes accustomed to debt, it's quite cozy."
"I never found it so."
"No." He leaned against the sideboard and took a bite. "You're looking in fine twig, my dear. It suits you here."
She faced him across the table. "Yes, it does."
He had his teeth set to take another bite but removed the apple. "Do you think I'm here to drag you away? Why the devil would I do that?"
"I don't know. Why the devil are you here?"
"Damned if I know," he said and took the bite.
Amelia walked around the table and turned an epergne on the sideboard so that its better side showed. "Were you so drunk you got into the coach without realizing where it was going?"
"I just took the idea to come here. Damnedest thing. I hate the country, and the Peak District is country at its most extreme. I'm sorry if it'll disappoint you, my pet, but I'm heading back south tomorrow."
She wasn't quite sure how to reply to that and be both polite and honest.
He grinned, looking almost as he had when they were courting. "Don't worry, love. If there's one regret I have in my life, it's involving you in it. You were such a fetching miss, though, I couldn't resist." He kissed her lightly on the lips. "You still are a fine looking woman. Be happy."
He wandered away, and Amelia stared after him, tempted to try in some way to drag him back from the brink. The next few hours cured her. His stories were all of gambling and debauchery and by the time she went upstairs to bed, he was drunk and getting drunker.
She was considerably astonished, therefore, when he came to her bed.
Physical intimacy had ceased quite early in their marriage. Drink seemed to lessen his ability, and after a few embarrassing failures Grayson had rarely attempted to claim his rights. Amelia had never found it a potent pleasure and had quickly decided that a child wo
uld only make a bad situation appalling.
When she woke to find him sitting on her bed, untying the strings of her night-cap she was shocked, but strangely stimulated. It had been a long time, and there had been some pleasure in it.
"Grayson, what are you doing?"
He didn't even seem drunk, and in the kindly moonlight he looked young and handsome again.
"I want to see your hair." He pushed off the cap and ran his fingers through it. She was suddenly pleased that it was still thick and a rich brown.
"Is that all you want to do? See my hair?"
"No." He smiled in a way she'd never seen him smile before. "I want to see you everywhere."
"Everywhere?" Her voice rose with her embarrassment. They had never looked at one another's bodies.
Rising from the bed, he drew back the curtains so that moonlight streamed into the room. Then he slipped off his long robe and stood in the moonlight, stark naked.
"Grayson!" she gasped, covering her eyes. But she peeked. He looked like one of those Greek marble statues! She was very surprised he hadn't turned flabby in his life of dissipation.
He pulled the covers off her, and despite her feebly protesting hands stripped off her nightgown, pulling her to stand in the moonlight with him. Her little mantel clock tinkled midnight, and around the house other clocks accompanied it.
"Grayson. What are you doing?"
"This is a special night, my dear, and I think perhaps there will never be another. Let me pleasure you and take my pleasure...."
"But.... clothes.... why?"
"Perhaps I want to see you this way once."
"It's indecent." And yet it seemed less so by the moment.
"It's beautiful. You are beautiful." He ran his hands gently down her torso. "Let me show you just how beautiful you are to me."
And he led her back to the bed and lay with her there, astonishing her with the beauty of her body and of his. Frequently she objected, faintly, to his actions, but he always persuaded her, carrying her further and higher until she felt transported to another world entirely.
It's like magic, she thought, dazedly floating, and I never even suspected this was in us.
When he settled deep inside her she stared up at him. A beam of moonlight somehow made him look more ethereal, and his eyes a gleaming silver….
But then he raised her so he was even deeper, and moved so her sensitized flesh shot sparks through her dizzy mind, and she knew little more except that she was thrashing and gasping and saying things that were surely going to mortify her when she came to her senses.
And, lying later in his arms, that was exactly how she felt, though her body still sizzled with sensations. "Why...?"
He kissed her to silence. "Don't, my pretty one."
"But we never...."
"This is a special night. The Autumn Equinox, when magic is especially alive."
"Don't be superstitious."
"You are charming when you frown."
Amelia was swamped by a too-familiar exasperation. "And you are charming when you care to be. Have you not thought? What is to become of me if I get with child?"
He soothed a hand through her hair and it calmed her, calmed her almost against her will. "All will be well."
"Oh, Grayson..."
"Sir Thomas will not throw you out for bearing a lawful child. It will grow up well here in the beauty and the fresh air."
He sounded so confident. But he was always confident, especially at the gaming table, where he always believed that this time he would win. She slapped his hand away. "I thought you hated the country."
He smiled and touched her nose. "It doesn't agree with me anymore than spring water does, but I don't claim it isn't healthy."
He did look just as he had in the early years, and a long-suppressed longing began to swell like a fertile seed. "Oh, Grayson, I wish...."
"Don't." He covered her mouth. "I am what I am, and will not change. Tomorrow I leave and you will not see me again. If you care for me at all though, my dear, be happy all your days."
And that was all Amelia remembered before drifting off to sleep. When she woke he had already left to catch the London coach in Matlock. She felt a twinge of regret in her heart, and in parts of her body still tingling from his pleasuring, but she wasn't sad.
It had been strange, that midnight visit. Very strange. And indecent. Some of the things...! All in all, she'd be happier not to be exposed to that again.
All in all.
When, a few weeks later, she received news that he'd tumbled into River Fleet when drunk, and drowned, she wept but was aware of relief as well. Relief for him, for she didn't think he'd been happy, and relief that he would never return to upset her mind and body with midnight madness.
Then she began to suspect that she was, in fact, with child. It was a shock and rather terrifying, but held some hope of joy. She realized that she had always wanted a child, but had never allowed herself to pine for what she could not afford. When she was certain, she sent up an earnest prayer of thanks, along with a petition that a merciful God let poor Grayson into heaven.
She was a little nervous when she had to write to Sir Thomas about her condition, especially when his response was to arrive at the hall in a post-chaise. But he was in excellent humor. "Good for old Grayson, eh? And congratulation to you. No, no, don't you fret! You have a home here forever, Amelia, and I'll be grateful to know you have a care to the place. I'll raise your pay to a hundred pounds."
"Oh no. That's too much!"
"Nonsense. And I'm plump in the pockets these days. Regular Midas! Everything I touch turns to gold. I've come to put a stop to the wood-cutting. Never liked to see those old oaks going down, but needs must. Anyway, these days, there's no need."
"I'm pleased about that. They are so lovely, and so old. Some of them hundreds of years, they say."
"Aye, well, that's the dale for you." He went to stare out of the window to where little Andrew played tag with Nan Ferryman.
He frowned, so she asked, "Is something wrong, Cousin?" stabbed by fear that he might find her unsatisfactory. Perhaps she should keep the child at his desk for longer hours....
"No, no. It's just such a strange place. Having been away from it, it gives me the shivers."
"But it's so lovely. And so peaceful."
"Aye, maybe. There are stories, though...."
"Oh, the local stories. I'd not have thought you one to pay heed to those."
He turned to face her. "So, you don't mind staying here?"
"I can think of nothing better than to stay here all my days, and raise my child here, too."
"So be it, then. And I know you'll take good care of Andrew. He's blooming already. But don't let him get too stuffed with local nonsense." He frowned out at the child and maid. "They're strange people, here. Odd beliefs. I don't want him picking them up. A good Classics tutor," he suddenly declared. "That's the ticket."
* * *
Within days he was off again, and soon a diffident young man called Charles Fenlock came to teach Andrew the sane and sensible stories of Cronos, Apollo, and the fall of Troy instead of the fairy stories so loved by the dale folk.
At first, Amelia had her doubts about Mr. Fenlock, for he was pale, frail, and had an ominous cough. But though the young man put on no weight, he was soon walking the hills and coughing no more. Yes, the dale was a very salubrious place. As Sir Thomas had noted, Andrew was thriving as well.
Amelia saw no point in keeping the boy locked away, and so -- watched over by sensible Nan Ferryman -- the Young Master spent his free time with the village children, scrambling over the rocky dales like a nimble Derbyshire ram. Soon he was an adopted member of the Ferryman family and Hal Ferryman, who was just about his age, was his particular friend. Since the Ferrymans owned a prosperous farm and were decent people, Amelia saw no reason to object.
When he took to spending evenings by the Ferryman fireside, listening to the old tales of Elphindale she did feel a qualm
, remembering Sir Thomas's concern about the local superstitions. But the local stories were just harmless fairy tales and Andrew was coming along very well in his studies.
And by then she had her child -- her perfect blond haired, silver-eyed daughter.
It was a little strange about Gwennie's eyes, but she supposed they must be in Grayson's family somewhere. It was strange about the name, too. She had fully intended to call a daughter Sarah, but somehow the odd name Gwendoline had come into her head and stuck. She was known as Gwennie to all.
Such a sweet nature. A mother could never ask for a better child. And though boys were frequently impatient with little girls, Drew adored her, and even let her follow him about without complaint.
Yes, thought Amelia, watching a robust tutor supervise a ball game between his ten year old charge and her five-year-old daughter in the lovely summer garden of Elphinson Hall, they were all blessed.
It was almost as if the dale were the magical place the local people claimed it to be.
Chapter Two
Elphinson Hall, Derbyshire, September 1807
Twelve-year-old Gwen Forsythe was in the orchard when she heard the crunch of wheels in the driveway. She put down her basket of windfalls and hurried around to the front of the Hall. Visitors were rare and a pleasant diversion. As she neared the front steps she halted, however, for the carriage door had been swung open by a round, red-faced, almost angry-looking man. He glared at the charming stone house surrounded by the full glory of late summer flowers as if it were an abomination.
It took Gwen a moment or two to recognize Sir Thomas from the portrait in the dining room. When she did, she hurried forward, for she knew her mother would be napping, and this man had the power to throw them out of their home.
"Welcome home, Sir Thomas," she said, dropping her best curtsy.