Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  “I never—” Ainsley stepped forward, wanting to pull her toward him, but he stopped suddenly when his aunt appeared at the door.

  “Peter, may I speak with you a moment?” Aunt Louisa asked.

  Julia hastily wiped her cheeks with the heel of her palms before turning to face the doorway. Something must have been evident in Julia’s expression that alerted Aunt Louisa’s suspicion. “What’s happening in here?” she asked, pointedly. Her gaze shot to Ainsley specifically. From behind her Ainsley could see Julia’s head bow in defeat.

  “Julia inadvertently let some of my sketches fall into the fire while looking for Margaret’s book,” Ainsley said without missing a beat. “She was just apologizing for her blunder.”

  Julia raised her eyes from the floor when Aunt Louisa turned to her.

  “Is this true, young lady?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The older woman clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Oh my goodness. Where did your father find this girl? I hope they were not of any great significance.”

  Ainsley shook his head. “No, ma’am. All are reproducible.”

  “Good.” Aunt Louisa stood tall as if she alone had been responsible for the solution. “Well, off you go, child,” she said, waving Julia out of the room.

  Head bowed slightly, Julia stepped toward the door, but Aunt Louisa stopped her. “The book?”

  Ainsley grabbed the only book on top of his desk. “Nearly forgot,” he said, stepping forward to deliver it to Julia’s grasp. “Tell Margaret I’m very interested in hearing what she thinks of it and that I look forward to discussing it further.” Julia and Ainsley’s eyes met as he handed her the book.

  “Yes, sir,” the maid said, with a gentle nod, before quitting the room.

  Aunt Louisa raised a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. “This is exactly why good help is so hard to find.”

  “I’m afraid I am very busy, Aunt Louisa. You wished to speak with me?”

  His aunt bristled at the abrupt change in their easy conversation. “Well, yes.” She stopped. “Follow me, will you, Peter?”

  Moments later they were standing, shoulder to shoulder, looking to the set of three windows that overlooked the west lawn.

  “It’s horrific,” she said disparagingly.

  At first, Ainsley wasn’t sure what he should be looking at, but when he stopped focusing on the property outside, he saw how the wallpaper was bubbling around the window. He drew nearer for a closer look and noticed that the wood frames and walls that surrounded the windows were waterlogged. His pointed finger quickly tore through the paper. Without thinking he grabbed one of the edges of the wood and was able to break a sizeable chunk free.

  “Water is the enemy of any house,” Aunt Louisa said, looking toward the ceiling.

  When Ainsley glanced up he saw the ceiling tiles appeared loose, while the edges appeared grey compared to the white plaster colour it was supposed to be.

  “I will write to my brother,” Aunt Louisa said. “But I’m afraid we don’t have much time to wait for a reply. We can live at the London house for a time while the work takes place.” Aunt Louisa turned and bent over the desk to make a few notes. “We’ll need to spend a good deal of money if the house is to be saved. I daresay there is more rain in our future. We should see to it that this gets taken care of. I doubt these walls will last another winter.”

  Ainsley shook his head, the shock still setting in. “There is no money,” he said quietly.

  Aunt Louisa huffed. “What do you mean, there is no money?”

  “Father only sets aside a minimum to take care of Jamieson and the others. There is no capital available for the house,” Ainsley said.

  “But all houses need capital to pay for repairs.” Aunt Louisa nearly laughed at the predicament. “Goodness, how does your housekeeper afford new linen, or polish for the silver?”

  “We don’t live here,” Ainsley said. “Mother was the only one who lived here.”

  It was then that Aunt Louisa nodded, understanding setting in. “Well then,” she said. “I’ll keep a tally then. We can approach your father when he returns.”

  Seeing no other way, Ainsley nodded. Satisfied, Aunt Louisa made for the door but turned before exiting the room. “How long is Miss Owen planning to stay with us?” she asked.

  Ainsley, Margaret, Jonas, and Julia were the only people who knew the true reason for Ivy’s stay at The Briar. To everyone else she was seeking respite after the fire and nothing more. Ainsley shrugged in answer to his aunt’s question. “A few days, I suppose,” he said.

  “Perhaps I shall take this opportunity to introduce her to a few of our close friends. We can pay some calls—”

  “Given the circumstances, I doubt she will be doing anything beyond resting,” Ainsley said earnestly. “The woman is traumatized.”

  Aunt Louisa nodded slowly. “You are quite right,” she said. “Perhaps I should arrange for a special meal, a little taste of India to spice things up.”

  Ainsley relented. His aunt was so much easier to get along with when she was busy and if these were the types of projects she took pride in, who was he to stop her?

  Chapter 20

  When hills are free from snow

  Margaret made a point to bring Ivy’s breakfast to her room the next morning. Maxwell stood beside her, tray in hand, as she rapped a knuckle on the door to the room that used to be her mother’s. After a moment, a tiny voice invited them in. There was no key in the lock this time, no apprehension, only the unmistakable cloud of tragedy and fear that resonated between Margaret and Ivy.

  “Thank you, Maxwell,” Margaret said after the butler slid the tray onto the small table in the corner. He nodded and left without a word.

  “Good morning, Ivy,” Margaret said to her friend, who sat on the edge of the bed

  “Hello, miss,” Ivy answered. Their greeting was muted, their happiness at meeting subdued.

  “Breakfast?” Margaret gestured for the table. “I brought enough for both of us.”

  Ivy smiled but shook her head. “No thank you, ma’am.”

  The girl looked distant, not altogether aware of where she was or why. She avoided looking Margaret in the eyes and kept glancing to the dark corner of the room. Margaret looked over, wondering if there was something she was not seeing, but there was nothing. When she looked back Ivy was staring at her.

  Margaret plucked a deck of cards from the tray. “How about another game of Piquet?” she asked.

  “Later, perhaps.” She pressed a hand into her stomach and Margaret felt her own stomach lurch. She couldn’t imagine the emotions running through Ivy’s head.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Margaret said suddenly, and then wondered if she was just making things worse. “If someone is forcing you—”

  “No one is forcing me to do this,” Ivy said suddenly.

  “That is good.” Margaret swallowed down the lump in her throat. “Perhaps you need more time then.”

  Ivy shook her head. “I know what I need to do.”

  “Does the baby’s father know that you are doing this?” Margaret asked.

  “I do it for him.” Ivy twisted her fingers in front of her, dividing her attention between them, Margaret, and the dark corner of the room.

  “So he is aware you are with child?” Margaret asked. “I can go tell Jonas you are unsure.”

  “No, Miss Margaret!” Ivy nearly jumped up from her place on the bed. “I thank you for your kindness. But I need to do this on my own now.” Ivy’s gaze drifted to the corner again before she gave a marked nod, as if agreeing to something. Margaret looked again but still, nothing was there.

  There was a gentle rap on the opposite side of the door and a moment later Jonas slipped into the room, Julia at his heels. The doctor brought his bag and the maid carried a second washbasin, a heap of towels, and a pitcher of water.

  “Morning, Miss Ivy,” Jonas said, remaining on the opposite side of the bed. Nodding toward t
he doctor, Ivy kept her expression steady even as Julia began preparing for the procedure.

  Chapter 21

  It will be spring again.

  Ainsley wasn’t quite sure how to respond when he came upon Margaret in the upper hallway. Exiting Ivy’s room, Margaret appeared defeated and withdrawn, as she pulled the door closed behind her.

  “Jonas has begun then?” Ainsley asked, somewhat uneasily.

  Margaret nodded. “He wished to take advantage of the light coming in the windows.” Margaret looked back to the closed door before speaking again. “I offered to stand guard at the door to make sure no one disturbed them but he said no. Julia would lock the door.”

  Ainsley waited nervously, wondering if she would choose to bring up her new discovery of him and Julia. Mentally he readied himself, preparing to defend his indefensible actions against any onslaught. He needn’t have bothered. Margaret was in no mood, and seemed to have a number of things on her own mind. He turned to the stairs but stopped himself.

  “I’d planned to go to Breaside today,” he said. “Pay a visit to our old friends. Perhaps you care to join me,” he offered. “You are probably busy helping Aunt Louisa repaper the library—”

  “I’ll come!” Margaret cut in quickly at the mention of their aunt. “I’m not much use to her, in any case.”

  The carriage ride to Breaside Estate look less time than Ainsley remembered. A landmark on the Kent countryside since the reign of the Tudors, the estate once encompassed three thousand acres of forest and fields, enough property to host king and countrymen should they venture to the area for fox hunts and horse races. In recent years, since the reign of George III, the estate had been reduced to less than a quarter of its original size. One of the severed plots became The Briar, another was transformed into Summer Hill Farm. And others still that skirted the town had been passed down between families and claimed over the last hundred years. It was their rich history, as much as the property lines hidden deep in the woods, which connected them.

  They arrived in their carriage just after luncheon. Both Ainsley and Margaret would have preferred to walk, but arriving slightly out of breath and more than slightly rumpled was not how guests were received by a duke and duchess.

  They were escorted to the parlour, where Lady Thornton waited for them. She rose to greet them, shaking each of their hands in turn before gesturing to the sofas and chairs. “I am delighted that you both decided to come and pay me a visit,” she said, after they all took a seat. “It’s been far too long since you last called. My pantry shelves have never been so full.”

  Ainsley answered her joke with a laugh. “I expected the boys to take up my slack while I was gone.”

  So many years had passed since Ainsley haunted those rooms. Being back felt as if the memories belonged in another lifetime, certainly not the one he found himself entrenched in now. Lady Thornton’s sons, Blair and Brandon, were like brothers to him at a time when his own brother wanted nothing to do with the young Peter and Margaret.

  Lady Thornton looked to Margaret. “My apologies, my dear, Priscilla is under the weather and wished to stay to her room this day.” Without missing a beat, she turned to Ainsley. “Did Miss Margaret tell you we met in the shop the other day?”

  Ainsley raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “You were looking for a scarf, yes?”

  Margaret nodded sheepishly.

  “You always were ahead of the fashions.” Lady Thornton patted Margaret’s knee playfully. “Looks lovely, my dear.”

  Steps were heard just outside the parlour and a pair of male voices grew louder as the footsteps drew closer. Lady Thornton heaved a sigh and looked to the door in anticipation.

  “Certainly not,” Brandon said to his brother, Blair, as they rounded the threshold. “Mother, we are heading for the stables for—” The playful look on Brandon’s face evaporated when he saw Ainsley and Margaret. “My apologies. I had not realized you were entertaining.”

  Ainsley, Margaret, and Lady Thornton rose as the boys walked toward them.

  Brandon stepped past his brother and stretched out a hand to greet them. “How many years has it been, Peter?” he asked.

  “Too many,” Ainsley answered. “You remember Margaret.”

  Brandon’s exuberance was muted by his brother’s subdued greeting. Although happy to see Peter and Margaret, his confidence waned and he was happy to let his brother take the lead. Ainsley saw him take in a calculated breath before reaching his hand out to them.

  Margaret allowed Blair to take her hand but instead of shaking it, as he had done with her brother, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her fingers just below her knuckles.

  “Lady Margaret,” he said calmly.

  “Mr. Thornton.”

  Ainsley saw Margaret give a playful smile as she pulled her hand away.

  “How long have you been back?” Brandon asked.

  “Not long,” Ainsley answered.

  “We were heading to the barn,” Brandon said, “for our afternoon ride. You are more than welcome to accompany us, if it’s agreeable to Mother.”

  Lady Thornton waved off their concern.

  “You are more than welcome to join us, Lady Margaret,” Brandon said.

  Blair’s eyes brightened. “Please do,” he said. “We have a side saddle.”

  “Oh heavens, no,” Margaret said. “You won’t find me on a side saddle ever again.” The room erupted in joyous laughter at Margaret’s jest and, when the gathering quieted, Margaret spoke again. “Besides, Lady Thornton and I have yet to exchange any gossip.”

  “Go, my dear,” Lady Thornton said. “It will be good for you all to get reacquainted.” She gave a light kiss to Margaret’s cheek. “We shall catch up on all the gossip another time.”

  Together they walked the gravel path through the trees to the modest stable beyond. “We are expanding the barns, you know,” Brandon said as he walked slightly ahead. “Making way for our team of racers.”

  “My brother has many grand designs pertaining to our horses,” Blair said from beside Margaret, who could not help but walk slowly due to the confining nature of her dress.

  “Racehorses, big brother,” Brandon corrected.

  Braeside always had a good variety of equine on the property, used mostly for carriages and pleasure riding, but this endeavour into racing was new, and it was clear Brandon was very enthusiastic about it.

  Once they cleared the trees they could see the expansion project underway. Slightly farther away from the main stable, workmen were busy constructing a similar though substantially bigger version of the outbuilding. “They will connect, you see,” Brandon said, indicating with his arms how the buildings would be joined. “We’ll be able to fit thirty more thoroughbreds.”

  “Surely he cannot race them all at once,” Margaret teased, directly her words to Blair at her side.

  Blair laughed. “No one said he could not try.”

  Within twenty minutes, four horses were brushed and prepared, a saddle secured on each. Never comfortable riding side saddle, Margaret was pleased when no one chided her for insisting on riding astride. There was a time when her riding coach made her, citing dignity and ladylike manners, but she felt like she were going to fall off at any moment and couldn’t find a proper posture that did not cause pain in her back. Two hours riding in such a manner had been enough for her entire lifetime and she was thankful when the Thornton brothers did not give her a hassle for breaking from tradition. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for a female to ride astride like men, but it wasn’t entirely befitting of her station.

  “Lady Margaret.” Blair stood at the horse’s shoulder, the reins in his hand.

  Margaret wanted to disregard Blair’s offer to help her in the saddle. She was more than capable of hoisting herself into place, but his offer was sincere and avoiding him would be considered inexcusably rude.

  “Is there no mounting block?” she asked, doing a visual search of the yard.

 
; Blair gave an apologetic shake of his head before lowering his hand, flattening it to create a step. She tried not to blush as she placed a hand on his shoulder while she lifted her boot into his hand. They moved swiftly, Margaret throwing her right leg over the horse while Blair steadied her left foot. Once seated, he slid her boot into the stirrup and handed her the reins. He lingered at her side a few seconds longer than required, ensuring she had control of the horse and rechecking the position of her feet. His close proximity brought warmth to her cheeks and also brought pangs of guilt to her heart.

  “Are you always this thorough, Mr. Thornton?” she teased.

  “Only for the things which pique my interest,” he replied sincerely.

  The flirtatious exchange went unnoticed by Ainsley and Brandon, who were only just then leading their horses from the barn.

  “Where shall we ride?” Ainsley asked once they were all secured in their saddles.

  Brandon looked between Ainsley and his brother and smiled. “Everywhere.”

  It was clear from the start that Brandon was a man who enjoyed riding at considerable speeds. For a time, Blair held back, perhaps expecting to help Margaret gingerly maneuver her way through the forest trails. She laughed internally, thinking about the look that must have been on Blair’s face when he realized she was as good a rider as any man.

  They barreled through the forest trails, skipping streams and rounding stumps as the foliage turned the world around them into an indecipherable green haze. After a time, the forest morphed from luscious and light to almost dark as night as the canopy grew thick overhead. The trail was well maintained and the group was able to keep a quick pace.

  It had been a number of years since Margaret enjoyed rampant pleasure such as this. Civility had little place in her younger years. Her mother allowed her the freedom to ride and run with the boys without recourse. This did not satisfy her father, though, who in recent years attempted one last push to civilize her. Still awkward and ill at ease in formal settings, her father’s enterprise only managed to instill guilt and a hearty dose of anxiety. She felt as if she would never grow accustomed to the ways of society; never know exactly what to say or how to behave. The Briar was her sanctuary from the weight of her family’s title and fortune. The woods were her closest connection to her childhood, the only time when she ever felt truly free.