“Gone. First out of its slip, almost an hour and a quarter, now.”
He must have seen my sharp intake of breath, my unseemly reaction. And he must have noted the superior quality of my mount.
“You come from Baron Shiley?”
“Yes! I was bringing a letter to one of The Piper's passengers.”
“Miss Belinda Blake? Or more properly, her father?”
I said nothing, but I arched my brows and pursed my lips.
“Here,” he said, thrusting an envelope at me. A letter had been folded and hastily forced into the envelope, with no time for wax, let alone a seal.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the letter and giving him a few more coins.
I returned to Cannon.
I kept this new envelope in my fist as I rode to the highest lookout I could find in Hastings, giving me a vast view of the Atlantic. And from my vantage point, made even higher by my seat upon Cannon, I could see the ship that must be The Piper. It was the furthest out, just discernible. A dash of darkness on a ruthless grey ocean. I looked at the envelope in my hand. The last vestige of what could have been. It was not meant for my eyes, yet I read it nonetheless.
Lord Shiley … Matthew. Even as I write this, I can hear the creaking of the ship as it readies itself for voyage. I can feel the anticipation of the journey in the very boards of the vessel. I am off to marry the young master Tyler. I do not know him at all, but I can only hope for the best. My greatest sorrow in life, Matthew, will not be that I am not with you, as your wife. My greatest sorrow will always be that you let me go.
Yours No Longer,
Belinda Blake
I wanted to crumple the letter, let it fall to the frozen ground where I could crush it into the frost with one step from Cannon. Damnation and scourge to Baron Shiley! How could he have let her go, all to keep himself from showing deference to an undeniable social inferior? Oh, that I would insult my own standing a thousand times over to be with one I'd found and deemed my dearest love!
I tucked Belinda's letter beneath the same strap that held Lord Shiley's letter to Belinda, evermore to remain unopened and ineffectual.
Taking Cannon's reins in my hands, I turned him toward Drakenfall.
Hours later, darkness had fallen as I arrived at the great estate. The windows were lit with lamps and candles as I pulled Cannon into the stable yard. The Baron did not rush out to greet me. He must have seen my arrival from an upper window, my figure in the moonlight. The figure of a lone rider. I was frozen head to toe, but I knew no comfort awaited me and that the house would provide no sanctuary.
But I walked into the kitchen, at least hoping to stand by the hearth and chew on the meanest scrap while I yet could.
I faced the fire, feeling empty and without hope. Moments later, I heard everyone below stairs scurry off like so many mice from the hay bale.
He was here.
“You did not reach the dock in time.”
From behind me, across the room, his booming, wretched voice pronounced the assertion, for it was no question.
I turned. “It had been the first to slip its moorings. Gone an hour and a quarter when I got there. The harbour master gave me this.”
I held out the crumpled envelope. It was not sealed and there was no wax, but The Baron entertained no fear I might have spied into his most personal letter. He never would have considered that I could read.
As his eyes gouged across the page, I watched his features harden, his very being vibrate with temper. “Ach!” And he crushed the paper and threw it into the blazing fire. In less time than it took to crack an egg, the fire consumed the missive utterly.
“The coins I gave you?”
“All gone, sir.”
I held out the letter he gave me to deliver to Belinda.
“You did not ride fast enough.”
“No, sir.” I agreed.
“YOU DID NOT RIDE FAST ENOUGH!”
I stood there and let his ire rain down.
“You stupid girl! You had one simple task. ONE! That would have secured the happiness and prosperity of Drakenfall for all the days to come. And you FAILED.”
“I am sorry, sir.”
“You failed me. And you failed ALL OF DRAKENFALL!”
I let the tears fall down my face because I knew that was what he wanted.
“All misery on these lands from this day forward is your doing. You have destroyed the future of Drakenfall!”
I nodded. “I will leave straight away, sir.”
“You WILL NOT leave, Glynis Ferry. You will stay, all the days of your life, and live out your misery here. Drakenfall's misery will be your misery. I curse you, Glynis Ferry. I curse you for destroying the happiness of Drakenfall. May you never know love, ever. Not until The Baron of Drakenfall can find and secure his one true love.”
Chapter 8: A Jewel in the Very Heart
Glynis woke up, sweaty and wrapped in the thousand-count sheets of Egyptian cotton.
Her heart skittered wildly in her chest, her skin prickled with fear, but she lay still, her consciousness fighting forward to tell her it was but a dream. But the curse … she'd never dreamt that part before. But the curse must be broken now! It must have been broken since the day Mark returned home from America with his Lady Shiley.
Glynis shivered. What was she thinking? There was no curse! It had been a dream. Then she shivered again. Harder.
Because it was a dream, her deeper soul trying to tell her something. She was now free to live. Not because of some silly curse getting broken, but because …
Could Shaun Fletcher be the one she'd been waiting for all her life?
Was she going mad?
Or was she falling in love?
Was Shaun Fletcher her … destiny?
Glynis sat up in bed, propping herself up against the pillows resting along the quilted headboard as she stared into the early morning gloom and out the window across the room, where snowflakes fell yet again.
She was entertaining preposterous thoughts, provoked by dramatic dreams fuelled by family secrets and legends. Last month, Mark had hired Shaun Fletcher. He was the yard manager, she was the house manager. They were not soul mates. He was not even a man who'd shown himself to be the smallest bit interested in her. Yes, ever since Shaun Fletcher had come to Drakenfall, Glynis's world had been strangely electrified and ever so off kilter. But that was simply because he, like her, seemed to be part of the very fabric of the place, so in tune and so in control. He made Drakenfall more prosperous, more lively. That was all.
Satisfied that she'd so succinctly clarified the histrionics of the night, Glynis was about to launch herself out of bed when she yelped and ducked back under the covers.
Had those been hooves kicking up the snow outside her window? She peeked out from beneath the duvet. Appaloosa ankles and hooves pranced about in the snow. Morsie Boy. Then a pair of feet hopped down, and Glynis recognized those boots. In a matter of seconds, Shaun Fletcher had walked beyond the sight afforded to her by her window. He must have headed toward the kitchen door. Perhaps for a cup of Cook's delicious morning coffee.
Glynis felt a sudden pang that she was not in the kitchen at just that moment.
She shut her eyes and shook her head, chiding herself. And as a result, she almost missed Shaun Fletcher's return. His boots strode into frame and then disappeared as he mounted Morsie Boy. In a few seconds, the hooves danced out of her sight, silent on the snow. That was a quick trip to the kitchen. Had he been hoping to see her? Had he turned back when she was not about? Glynis climbed out of bed and threw on her long, plush deep green robe, stepped into sturdy boot-like slippers of sheep skin, and dashed to the kitchen. The room was warm as the pots on the stove bubbled over with all manner of winter comfort. No Cook, as she must be in the cellars or in the drying room. Glynis could see no trace of damp or dirt on the kitchen tiles. She walked to the mudroom door and opened it, bristling at the cold. There, on the mat at her feet, sat a small, clean cast-iron b
ucket brimming with the most delightfully festive Christmas greenery. Holly and fir branches, a pine cone or two, some yew leaves and berries. Glynis picked up the bucket, noting that the seeds had all been removed from the berries. The bucket itself was festooned with a pristine white ribbon that Glynis could see, upon closer inspection, was tied from the cloth used to wrap around the horses' ankles. She brought the lovely arrangement into the kitchen and placed it in the centre of the long kitchen table. A drop of Drakenfall Christmas greenery sitting as a jewel in the very heart of the great estate.
“What you got there?”
“Ah!” Glynis jumped most uncharacteristically, for Cook had crept into the kitchen with the stealth of a jungle cat. A Cotswold Cat. Yes, she thought that would be a good name to call Cook henceforth. The Cotswold Cat.
“Is everything all right, Miss Glynis?”
“You startled me,” Glynis said with a deprecating laugh. “You Cotswold Cat.”
“What? Did you just call me a Cotswold Cat?”
“What?” Glynis said, trilling out a laughter that she tried to keep from getting too high pitched. What was happening to her? A bucket of weeds from the head groom and she was suddenly giddy as a schoolgirl. “No, no. Of course not. How … fun, though. A Cotswold Cat. Imagine if there were such a thing. Like a lion or tiger, living in The Cotswolds.”
“Miss Glynis, are you perhaps sleepwalking?”
“No,” she answered soberly.
But Cook didn't look convinced.
“I'm not, really.”
Cook went to the coffee urn and poured a generous cup before walking to the table and handing it to Glynis. “So, what brings you into the kitchen in your dressing gown this fine morning?” She nodded at the arrangement on the table. “It's lovely. You made it for the kitchen?”
“What? Me? No. No. Mr. Fletcher dropped it off this morning. Just a few minutes ago. He must have collected the greenery out on the grounds. And the rest is … horse … things.”
“Fletcher, eh? He's a good egg. In fact, I'll add an extra egg to his omelette this morning, I will. Well,” she shuffled back to the stove. “Better get to work. He and the lads'll be by for breakfast soon.”
“And I better get ready for the day,” Glynis nearly chirped, hurrying back to her flat.
Cook watched Glynis Ferry retreat down the hall and tried to recall if she'd ever seen the house manager in her robe and slippers before.
Chapter 9: Didn't You Ever Share a Bathroom Before?
When Lea woke up, the sky was barely beginning to get light. She pushed aside her deliciously soft honeysuckle-sprigged covers and made her way to the window, almost without conscious thought, as if a vampire beckoned her.
She looked on the snowy panorama below. In dawn's eerie mid-December light, she could make out a string of horses cantering away in the fields beyond the house as the lads went through morning exercises. Yes, she was up with the ponies. That's what she deserved for retiring at ten last night. She never went to bed that early. It was ludicrous! But she had been so anxious to escape Jamie. Jamie wanting to talk about the pieces of the inheritance left jointly to both of them.
Jointly.
Lea huffed out a cynical laugh. He'd shown so little interest in the fortune until now, allowing her to liquidate so much of it. He'd signed off on everything with barely a question. And just as she was getting used to her new wealth and making plans for how to manipulate it, Jamie had decided to become involved with the dispensation of the fortune. Jamie with the frank brown eyes that made her flinch at any artifice in her own heart.
Why did Jamie have to bring them here of all places to discuss business? To the most magical winter wonderland in the civilized world? Was he trying to assuage her? Relax her? Seduce her?
She laughed out loud at that, at the thought of Jamie devising anything so untoward. Surely, he had been in her orbit enough over the past seven years to put forth any advances if he so chose. Or if he had the brass courage.
Lea sighed. Jamie worked in the slums of London as tirelessly as a horse in the mud, but bold leaps over the hedges into unknown territory were not his bailiwick. After all, he worked within a governmental system, didn't he? As admirable as his efforts were, they were prescribed and scheduled and compensated for. He did not innovate. He did not stretch beyond the limits of the known to make unheard of things happen. He helped secure mortgages and food stamps in accordance with guidelines. And yes, thank God for the public servants who were willing to devote themselves to the eternally mundane x's and o's, but Lea shuddered every time she thought about living such a life. Jamie was like Bob Cratchit, sitting on his cold stool, writing by his little stub of candle all the days of his life, hour after hour.
And now he wanted to use some of the Champlain money, well, the building, to … what? Something incredibly tiresome, no doubt. When Lea had such exciting plans for the money. Travel, adventure, freedom from everyday life where people let you down and you were never good enough for anybody. She wanted to get away from all that and she needed money to do it. She made plenty of her own money, but she wanted more money. The more money you had, the safer you were. It just made sense.
Lea turned around to head into the bathroom when she heard the water burst on in the shower. She pulled back suddenly. Jamie was up? Already? She hadn't heard an alarm. The guy just woke up at six on the dot every day? Then again, that didn't surprise her. He probably had the same ham and cucumber sandwich for lunch at his desk every day as he drank fortifying tea out of a plaid thermos. She shuddered again.
Lea sat on the bed and flopped back as she waited for her turn to shower. Jamie …
Yesterday Jamie had automatically connected having a child with love, commitment … and maybe even happiness. Yet her mother and his father had made no such connections between love and family. Jamie had seemed so easy and clear about how he had no desire to repeat the past or to act like his father had. How was it that he wasn't tortured, constantly, by the thought that he might inevitably become his father? Jamie had his father's blood running through him. Was that why he lived such a dull life? Was he scared of the darker corridors where passion might take him?
So this life of commitment and children he dreamt of … how did that work without passion? What kind of woman would Jamie bind his life to in passionless contract? A quiet mouse like the girl he'd been seeing briefly at University? Lea had only met her that one time, the first time she'd met Jamie, when their parents had been celebrating Champlain's tenth anniversary. But Lea hadn't seen the quiet girl in his life after that. But hadn't her mother called the girl his fiancee? So what had happened to the promising young love? And since that first meeting, she didn't recall ever seeing him with another girlfriend or partner of any kind.
Lea laughed. But it seemed she always had a lover in tow when she ran into Jamie.
Until now.
Lea sat up when she heard the shower switch off. But after a few minutes, she still hadn't heard any doors open, so she knocked on her door to the bathroom. After about ten seconds, Jamie opened the door. Jamie. Damp and wearing nothing but a towel. And he was not bad looking. Not at all. Nothing like the men she photographed, but he was up close and … real. With no camera in between. And not bad at all.
“Morning, Lea.” And he said it with his usual bright, frank smile.
That's right. He spoke to her as if he weren't almost naked right in front of her. Lea swallowed. Jamie's hair was wet, his ear smeared with a dab of shaving cream, and his hips seemed to be in great danger of losing the towel they had tucked around them.
“Jamie.” And she regretted that she let a great deal of surprise reveal itself in her greeting.
His smile got wider. “Yes, it's me. Who were you expecting?”
“You're up,” she said. “So early. On holiday. It's … shocking.”
“There's a lot to see at this magnificent place and I don't intend to waste a second.”
“Mmm …” she said. Then she realized s
he was staring. At him. At Jamie. So she laughed. “Quite a physique you got here,” she noted, flicking him square on the chest with her finger. “The great Jamie Tovell, man of the people, saves time for himself, does he? You actually work out?”
He shrugged. “I go running. Every morning.”
“Very disciplined of you.”
He furrowed his brow. “I'd go mad if I didn't.”
His voice was so quiet that Lea wondered whether she'd heard him right.
But then Jamie smiled. “I've just finished shaving, so the bathroom's all yours. I didn't realize you were up. You know, since we're sharing, if I'm in here and you have to pee, just tell me.”
Lea's eyes grew wide. “I am NOT announcing to you when I have to pee.”
“It's not that big a deal. Didn't you ever share a bathroom before?”
“Share a bathroom?”
Who had he shared a bathroom with? The mousy girl from college? Surely not! “So the quiet ones share bathrooms, do they?”
“What?” he squawked. “I don't know who you mean is quiet, but my brother and sister were NOT quiet. At all. Especially when they wanted to use the bathroom.”
Right. Lea remembered he'd had another family, with his mother and her second husband. Jamie's mother had had the sense to remarry. There had been a happy life for them after the selfish destruction courtesy of Mr. Simon Tovell. But for Lea, there had been just one family. Just one mother. No siblings. No father. No second chance at happiness.
“Stepbrother and half-sister,” she clarified, unwilling to give him even more than he'd actually had.
He smiled. “Call them what you will. But the heart knows what the heart knows.”
Lea took a step closer to him in all his overexposure. “Oh? And what does your heart know, Jamie Tovell?”
A hush fell over the room and he just looked at her. She was looking at him with something akin to a saucy challenge, tinged, of course, with her expertly applied sarcasm. But his eyes were open and somber and plainly questioning. His artless look made her catch her breath.
A Drakenfall Christmas: A Novel Page 4