by Anne Herries
‘I have told you it does not matter,’ Catherine said. ‘I shall enjoy ordering the household as I wish. And now, my lord, I shall retire—if you will excuse me?’
‘I shall come to you later, Catherine, for I believe we should talk.’
‘Give me an hour or so to make things comfortable. If there is a way to achieve it, I should like hot water to bathe—I feel dirty after travelling all day. Though if I cannot bathe, I shall make do with washing.’
She smiled at him, rang the bell and when Sarah came—so quickly that she must have been hovering nearby—followed her up a winding stair to the gallery. They walked along it for some minutes to a pair of doors at the end. When Sarah flung the doors back, a large comfortable chamber was revealed. A welcoming fire was waiting, branches of candles burning at intervals about the room. Although the furnishings were of a dull crimson and dark cream with dusky gold ropes to tie back the bed curtains, the room was acceptable to Catherine.
‘Yes, this will do very well,’ she said to the young girl who had shown her the way. ‘What other rooms are in this apartment?’
‘There is a dressing room adjoining and a further bedchamber, my lady. There is also a closet where you may make yourself comfortable if you wish.’
‘Yes, I shall avail myself of it in a moment. Tell me, where is my maid housed?’
‘She has been housed in the opposite tower room, my lady. It is where I sleep myself. I have the top chamber and she has the one beneath it—for the moment. There is nowhere else prepared at the moment. She unpacked most of your things before she went for her meal, but I can summon her for you if you require her services?’
‘I need hot water to wash. I should like a bath, but I know that would be a great deal of trouble to you so I shall make do with enough hot water to wash for this evening.’
‘If your servants do not mind carrying hot water, there is a bathtub in the dressing room, my lady. The old master had it brought here from Italy, and it is made of burnished pewter.’ Sarah looked away as if uncertain. ‘I have kept it clean, for it is a thing of some beauty.’
Catherine suspected that perhaps the girl liked to bathe in it herself at times. ‘Thank you, Sarah. If you will give the order for water to be brought up, I shall bathe once I have made myself comfortable.’
Left to her own company, Catherine glanced into the heavy oak armoire, where her gowns had been laid on shelves. Her linen was in a coffer that stood at the bottom of the bed; her brushes, combs, perfume pots and other trinkets had been set on a board covered by a silken cloth. One of her travelling chests was still strapped, but she knew that it contained bolts of silk and wool given her by her mother, as well as some pewter and silver that she would need for her own use once she was settled in her new home. No doubt Tilda had left it unpacked because she was not sure if it would be needed here since they had planned to stay only a day or so at most.
Catherine thought that they would more likely stay for some weeks, because there was much to be done if it was not to fall into a decay from which there would be no recovery. However, there was no immediate need for the articles in that coffer since her personal things had been unpacked. She turned back the heavy feather coverlet on the bed to examine the sheets. They were made of good quality English linen and clean, for which she had the girl, Sarah, to thank, no doubt. It seemed that at least this chamber had been kept in good repair. Catherine wondered if Sarah had liked to use it herself, imagining what it would be like to be the mistress here. However, since it had been properly cared for it was clean and sweet, and the bed was aired. They would not catch their death of cold by sleeping here!
Catherine felt suddenly warm as she realised where her thoughts were leading her. Andrew had spoken of coming to her this night. Surely he meant to stay with her? There was no more need for delay in making her his wife in truth since her anxiety had faded during the ride through the woods. Being held in his arms then had made her very aware that she cared for him deeply and wanted nothing more than to be his wife in every way. She would be a good wife, and if he did not love her now he would surely come to it in time.
She had moved a few of her things into a more ordered pattern and was struggling to untie the laces at her bodice when Tilda knocked and asked to be allowed to enter. Catherine said that she might and the girl entered, carrying a can of hot water.
‘Sarah Mullins told me you wished to bathe, my lady,’ Tilda said. ‘If you would retire behind the screen I shall tell the men they may bring the water in—and then I shall help you with your gown.’
‘Thank you, Tilda. I know you must be tired and you may retire to your own chamber once the bath is set. My other trunk can wait for the morning. Indeed, it may wait until we have made an inventory. I am not sure what is needed here. It may be that the house is well stocked with treasures that have been hidden away.’
‘Mistress Mullins told me that they put the silver away because there was too much to clean,’ Tilda said. ‘She said that there is a good stock of linen, pewter and some few pieces of Venetian glass that the old master had brought here when he was first wed. It is all packed away for fear it should be stolen with so few servants here to protect the house.’
‘It will be our first task to discover what we have and what we need,’ Catherine told her. ‘But tell the men to bring in the water and then help me undress.’
Catherine retired behind a carved oak screen, where she managed to unfasten her laces. She heard the servants moving about, and then the door closed. A moment later Tilda came to her, helping her to remove her heavy overgown and then the boned corset and petticoats she wore beneath it.
‘Do you wish for your washing gown, my lady?’ Tilda asked. ‘I am not sure where it was put. I think it may be in the last trunk, as I did not see it as I unpacked your linens.’
‘Do not trouble yourself to look tonight,’ Catherine told her. ‘I shall keep my shift on, for no one will see me. Lay out my best night-chemise—the cream silk with lace insets—and then you may go.’
‘Yes, my lady. Leave your wet shift on the floor by the bath and I shall see to it in the morning. Sweet dreams, mistress.’
Catherine waited until her serving woman had gone. She walked out from behind the screen, wearing nothing at all. It was the custom to bathe wearing a bathing shift, but Catherine found the garment a nuisance and she often bathed naked. Her mother would have been shocked and so would Tilda if she knew, but Catherine would dip the shift in the water after she had finished and her woman would be none the wiser.
Catherine went into the dressing room, slipping into the warm water that Tilda had scented with some of her favourite perfume. She gave a sigh of relief as she sank into it and closed her eyes. Two days of hard riding had taken its toll on her and she was going to enjoy soaking in this heavenly water!
Lying back in the warm water, Catherine let her mind drift to that ride through the woods with Andrew. She had never known that it could feel so good to be held in someone’s arms and it made her stomach curl with something she vaguely recognised as desire. She felt a need of something more than the luxury of the warm water, but being a modest girl and innocent she did not know what it was she craved. She began to soap her firm breasts, and her lips parted as she ran her fingers over her sensitised nipples, because all at once she understood what it was she wanted. She wished that Andrew were there to touch her as she was touching herself—to do much more!
How immodest she was! This was what came from bathing without the proper washing gown, Catherine thought. She must be wanton and it was time she left this sinful pleasure and prepared herself for bed. She reached for her drying cloth, patting the steam from her face as she stood up.
‘Let me dry you, Catherine.’
Andrew’s voice shocked her. She dropped the cloth from her eyes and met his intent gaze, a hot flush of shame washing over her.
‘Oh, my lord…’ She held the bathing sheet against her belatedly. ‘I did not hear you come in. How l
ong have you been here?’
‘A few moments only,’ Andrew replied with an odd smile. He picked up a larger drying cloth and held it for her, inviting her to step out of the bath. ‘I shall dry you, Catherine, for you will turn cold if you stand there. We do not have a fire in here.’
Catherine obeyed wordlessly. He wrapped her in the cloth and began to pat her dry gently, his hands moving firmly but softly over her body. She discovered that his touch aroused hot sensations, as had her own washing motions in the bath. A flame of what she now knew to be desire was moving deep in her lower regions. She groaned softly, her lips parting as her breath came faster.
‘Andrew…’ she breathed. ‘I want…’
‘I know,’ he murmured throatily. ‘It is what I want too, Catherine. I had thought to wait a while longer, to woo you with sweet words and kisses—but you are ready now, aren’t you?’
Catherine nodded. She hardly understood what she wanted, needed, but she knew that it was to be with him. She let herself go loose as he bent to scoop her up in his arms, the damp cloths falling to the floor as he carried her into their bedroom. Tilda had pulled back the covers and Andrew deposited his wife carefully in the soft sheets. Her glorious hair spread out on the pillows as she looked up at him, trust and innocent love in her eyes.
‘What a fool I was to wait even one night,’ Andrew whispered hoarsely. ‘I burned for you last night, Catherine. You are my own lovely wife and I want you so very much.’
He was wearing the heavy robe he had worn the previous night, and as he reached up, removing it in one fluid stroke, Catherine saw that he was now as naked as she. She had never seen a naked man before, though she had seen pictures of Greek gods, and she thought he looked as they did, beautifully formed and sculpted like marble. Except that he was a living being and the evidence of his masculinity was very noticeable. She knew instinctively that his condition was caused by his need to make love with her and her breath came faster as he lay down beside her.
‘I want to touch you and kiss you before we become one,’ Andrew said, though his male organ pressed against her thigh and she felt its heat, the pulsing urgency of his need. ‘I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Catherine. I thought so the first time I saw you at the fair and you grow more lovely to me with every day.’
Catherine snuggled against him, giving herself up to him with trusting innocence, her breath coming faster as he stroked and kissed her. The touch of his hands was thrilling, but when his tongue encircled her nipples, licking delicately, her back arched and she cried out as a spasm of desire shot through her.
‘Ohhh…’ she breathed against the salty tang of his skin. ‘That feels so good…so good…’
‘You are so lovely and so sweet, the sweetest, most giving woman I have ever known,’ Andrew said, his mouth covering hers as he kissed her, his tongue entering her mouth tangling with hers. Tasting her. His hand stroked the silken length of her, finding the patch of moist dark curls between her thighs. His fingers slipped inside her, stroking, preparing her for what was to come later. She felt herself growing wetter there as she opened to him, her back arching into him, offering herself to his invasion.
When he moved on top of her she gasped, as she suddenly understood what happened now. He began to ease himself inside her, pushing up inside her, slowly and gently at first as he tried to prepare her for what must be a painful experience. Catherine cried out as he pushed up hard inside her, breaking through the proof of her virginity. The pain was sharp, making her pull away from him for a moment, but then he was stroking her, kissing her softly, his hand coaxing a response despite the pain. She felt the pain ease as she relaxed again, making it easier for him to penetrate even further inside her.
‘Don’t worry, my darling,’ Andrew told her softly. ‘This first time is always painful for a woman, but it will get easier and then you will find as much pleasure in our loving as I do.’
Catherine knew that he spoke truthfully, because as he shuddered and came in a rush inside her she felt an echo of his intense pleasure and she clung to him, her tears forgotten. Yes, she had felt pain, but she had also felt pleasure at the start—and his pleasure brought her comfort. At least she had pleased her husband, and she hoped that next time it would not hurt quite so much, because she wanted it to happen again. She wanted this sense of closeness, this sharing moment that brought them so close she felt at one with him.
After a moment Andrew moved away, slipping from inside her, but instead of leaving the bed, he gathered her to him and began to stroke her back, soothing her so that her slight tension eased.
‘Poor little kitten,’ Andrew crooned. ‘It is not fair that it should hurt you while it gives me so much pleasure, but I promise it will not be like that next time.’
‘It did not hurt so very much,’ Catherine said. ‘If it was what must be to become your wife, then so be it.’
Andrew stroked her hair. She had been a virgin and he knew that he must be careful before he took her again, even though he was almost ready for her now. He would not indulge himself, even though his need for her was still great. Instead he would hold her until she slept, and then he would leave her for he knew that there was much work he must do here in the coming days.
He wished that he could leave this place in the morning as he had planned. It was a bleak house and in need of much repair. Had he realised how bad it was, he would never have brought his bride here, but he knew that he must stay to see it at least on the way to recovery. If he left now, the servants would lose all heart and it would slip into dereliction. He had to give the people of Malchester some hope for the future, or he might as well sell it for what he could get.
Chapter Nine
C atherine woke with a feeling of well being. She stretched and yawned before realising that she was alone. Andrew’s side of the bed was cold when she reached out, which told her that he had been up for a long time. She was not surprised—the pale winter sunlight was streaming in at the window and she knew that it was later than her usual hour for rising. Her serving woman must have been told to let her rest, but she wished that she had been woken sooner. There was much to do in this house, and she had promised Andrew that she would have it put to rights in two days. She had no time to lie abed here like a sluggard!
She jumped out of bed, noticing the dark stain on the sheets, proof if any were needed that she was no longer a virgin bride. She had been bedded and was now Andrew’s true wife.
She wrapped a thin gown about her and went into the dressing room. Her bath water had been removed. She must have slept soundly because she had not heard the servants emptying it, but the walls and doors were thick in this house and they must have been told to work quietly. She blushed, as she wondered what they had thought when no washing gown was discovered by the bath.
Well, it did not matter! All the servants would know that she was just married. When the blood was discovered on her sheets there would be some smiles in the kitchens, but Catherine knew there were no secrets from servants. Her mother had told her to make the servants her friends.
‘They know all your private life, for it is they who enable us to live as we do,’ Lady Melford had said to her. ‘It is inevitable that they should learn all we do, therefore we must treat them as our trusted friends and hope they will respect our privacy and not speak of it to others.’
Catherine found warm water waiting for her in a pewter jug. She washed herself and dressed in a simple petticoat and a plain overgown that had appeared in the bedchamber when she returned to it. Tilda had remembered that her mistress intended to start with an inventory of the linens and silver in the house, and would no doubt be waiting for her summons.
She did not call her to dress her hair, simply twisting it high on her head, fastening it with a pin and slipping on a serviceable cap. Today Catherine was dressed for work, because she knew that she must see that the house was restored to order if she wished the servants to respect her. The best way to do that was to
show them that she was not just a fine lady, but a woman prepared to do her share of the work.
By the end of that day, Catherine had been into every room save those of the North Tower. Sarah told her that the stairs there were in a dangerous condition, warning her against visiting the tower at all.
‘No one goes there, my lady,’ she said. ‘Those rooms were once the apartments of the late mistress. When she became ill they were her prison, and she set fire to them in one of her mad turns. She died in the fire, Lady Gifford, and the master decided that no one would ever go there again. It has been allowed to become derelict and my father told me the stair is crumbling. He said that it would be best if that wing were torn down and rebuilt, though the gallery leading to the tower is sound.’
‘How sad that her illness should lead to her being imprisoned there,’ Catherine said. ‘I think it might be best if it were torn down—though most of the house seems sound. The walls are thick and the roof is whole, I think.’
‘Apart from the North Tower,’ Sarah agreed. ‘That was damaged by fire and it is the holes in the roof that let in the weather and contribute to the deterioration of those rooms.’
‘Does my husband know how bad the North Tower is, Sarah?’
‘My father is sure to have told him.’ Sarah said. ‘When I was a child I used to play there if I could, because my brother told me it was haunted—my elder brother. He teased me into going there, but we never saw any ghosts, mistress. Just ravens nesting in the tower room right at the top.’
Catherine shivered. ‘I am very glad there are no ghosts,’ she said. ‘I should not like to think of the poor lady haunting the tower. I hope she is at peace at last.’
‘Aye, I think she is,’ Sarah said and then looked at her oddly. ‘I am not sure that the old master rests as peacefully. He was haunted by her death—he believed that he had brought her to her state of madness. It was from remorse that he allowed the house to slip into disrepair, as if he repented for his wicked ways.’