She stared at the fire. “I have no idea what you expect from a wife.”
“I thought you would warm my bed.”
“Because you married a whore?” Ann asked. “Is that my only value? Or have you decided I was a mistake?”
Gawain’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I did not think you a whore when we married.”
“But you did later.”
“What do you expect? Apparently it is common knowledge that you took a lover before marrying. This news shocked me.”
“I suppose I should be pleased that you were shocked,” she said sourly.
“I want you to come home,” Gawain said. “To London. You and Fern and Noel. I want us to sort everything out—and be a family.”
“Why?” Ann stopped behind an old, high-back chair and folded her arms on top of it.
“Because we are married.”
Not because he loved her. “Can we be happy?”
“Why not? We enjoy each other’s company, we already have a nice family unit of four.”
We enjoy each other’s company in bed. “What about my medical practice?”
“I would think you would be too busy with Noel.” He held up an index finger. “I will release Jenna if that is what you wish, or keep her, or another maid. It is up to you. Plus, as you say, there is the house to furnish.”
“I don’t want my mother’s knowledge to go to waste.”
“Then write a book,” Gawain rasped. “Write the package information for my books. But don’t bring sick people around my child. And I don’t want vagrants thinking our house is the one to come to. It isn’t safe.”
“A neighborhood maid isn’t a vagrant,” Ann countered.
“She was only the first.”
“Who did you have turned away at the door? Do you even know?”
“Some acquaintance of that sick maid, no doubt.”
“You are entirely opposed to me practicing? What if I had a small office?”
“Absolutely not. Noel needs you. Are you going to abandon him?”
“Of course not.”
They stared at each other, at an impasse.
“I want us on the train back to London tomorrow,” Gawain said. “Sell the inn to Harry, so you are done with Leeds.”
“Fern wants him to move to London, so he is near us.”
“Hasn’t your husband’s family caused you enough pain?”
“Harry has done nothing wrong. Nor has Fern.”
“Fern is a child. I can see why she would live with you instead of Harry, her natural relative.”
“You want to strip me bare of all my former connections,” she accused.
“That is not true, my dear. You are the one who wants to dispose of your mother’s ring.” Gawain stood. “Is the room at the top of the stairs available tonight?”
“We are fully booked. Lots of tradesmen in town, now that the weather has changed,” Ann said dully.
“Then I shall try that inn up the street. I will return first thing in the morning, and I expect you and Noel, Fern too if she is willing, to be packed and ready to depart.” He bent over and smoothed Noel’s blanket, then limped from the room.
Ann clutched the worn upholstery under her fingers. She would have to return to London, but then what?
Chapter Eighteen
While The Old Hart had by no means the standards of the finer London establishments, its beds were a far cry from the hostelry where Gawain had spent the previous night. He had to use his cane to hobble back to Ann’s inn the next morning and his head hurt from whatever strange position he’d lain in during the night. The discomfort had him in a foul mood but he was resolved not to take it out on his wife or the Haldenes. They had been through enough.
He had taken the ring with him when he left since Ann so clearly disliked it, but had no idea what to do with it now. He thought that changing the setting would remove the stigma, but Ann’s dislike of it ran deeper than simple appearance. Would she feel better about the ring if he had it blessed? It might be best just to lock it away and not bring it up for a time, when they had put Jeremy’s death behind them, along with conversations about money. He couldn’t help thinking their children might want it.
It had not rained overnight, and the yard in front of the inn was of a good consistency. The mud had dried up and there was no dust of yet. Muck didn’t drag at his steps like it had the week before. The inn was busy with travelers, as Ann had said. Since he had not wanted to brave the other inn’s breakfast after experiencing their beds, he went into the dining room to order breakfast.
“English or Indian?” asked the woman who’d served him before, not recognizing him.
“Indian?” Gawain said. “I didn’t think you served it anymore.”
“The owner prepared some of her old specialties this morning.”
“I’ll take the Indian, then.”
As the woman walked away, he wondered if Ann cooked as a last goodbye, or if she was digging in her heels. If the latter was the case, he hoped she recognized that he could only divorce her for adultery and she’d have little hope of finding another husband if he was forced to that extreme. Not that he could imagine taking such a step.
A few minutes later, a platter arrived with some of the fine tastes of Caliata, crispy paratha flatbread stuffed with potato, yoghurt and scrambled eggs. But he could hardly eat, even though his stomach had made hopeful noises when he smelled the food. What was his wife planning?
A few moments later he had managed a bit of the bread and a few sips of tea, when his answer glided through the kitchen door, head held regally as she wiped her hands on an apron. He drank in the sight of her curvaceous body and creamy, glowing skin. Tight curls danced around her forehead and temples from the heat of the kitchen. Her full lips pursed when she saw him.
“I thought the smells of Caliata would pull you into the dining room.”
His stomach gurgled in eagerness as his tension diminished. “I was very distracted when I came in, but when I heard the Indian breakfast was being offered I had to order it. My compliments.”
She inclined her head, still an Indian princess. “Is this what you’d like served at home in the mornings? We never discussed any of these household details.”
“No, I didn’t want to make any demands on you while you were settling Noel in. I know how much time a baby requires.”
“I appreciate that, but if you want me to run the household I have to know these things.”
Hope settled his stomach. “So you are returning with me today?”
“You gave me a direct order.”
“I’m not your commanding officer,” Gawain snapped. His grip on his teacup tightened and the pressure made him realize he was giving in to nervous irritation. “I apologize. I simply mean to say I know I was being overbearing yesterday and I’d like to know your plans, Mrs. Redcake.”
“I am packed. All three of us are. But I did enjoy cooking this morning. It won’t be something I do much from now on.”
“You can give your recipes to our cook, and provide as much direction as you desire. London needs more cooks used to delicious Indian food.”
“I agree. But then, the kind of servants willing to cook in the Indian style are also likely to want me to treat them with my medicine,” she warned.
“Do you really want to have this conversation now?” Even as he spoke, he saw the servant gesturing from the kitchen door.
“Of course not. I will finish up while you’re eating and then meet you in the family quarters.”
“Very good.”
She looked down at him for a moment. He felt himself melting into the liquid chocolate of her eyes, then blinked as she moved away. Really, how did he manage to spend so many nights away from the electric connection he found with her?
When he went back to the family quarters, after polishing off his plate and enjoying his own Redcake-brand tea that had been supplied with it, he found the door open. Harry sat in the front room, cradling
Noel as Fern, seated on a stool next to his knee, picked at a sampler.
“Why are your eyes red, little Fern?” Gawain asked. “I promise to never be such an ogre again, though I hope you will forgive me the occasional idiosyncrasy.”
She sniffed and stared down at her sampler for a moment, then looked him directly in the eye. The bold movement gave him a hint of the woman she could become, now that she was no longer scared for her life.
“What?” he asked gently.
“H-harry,” she said.
Gawain glanced at the man, who shrugged at him.
“Sorry, Gawain, but I think she doesn’t want to leave her old brother behind.”
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Same age as you, twenty-eight. Wells was a bit older, and me mother lost three or four babies between me and Fern. None lived long enough to be remembered.”
“That’s too bad. Like you, I lost my older brother, but I don’t think I had other siblings who didn’t survive.” He looked at Fern. He hoped she wouldn’t decide to stay here, but couldn’t blame her if she did, given his actions with the doll clothes. Still, he thought she’d be better off away from The Old Hart.
“I was thinkin’ ’bout the conversation yesterday. Lots to consider. Buyin’ the inn from Ann, startin’ over in Battersea.”
“What were you doing four or five years ago?”
Harry smoothed the blanket more securely over Noel, who was kicking his legs. “I was workin’ for a greengrocer’s. Went into the business when I became engaged to the owner’s daughter, plannin’ to run it someday when she inherited. But she died and Wells made me an offer.” He shrugged.
“It made sense at the time.”
“That it did.” Harry stared down at Noel.
“I am sorry for your loss. In any case, I can always use a man who understands inventory,” Gawain said. “If you were looking to start over yet again, I’d give you work to tide you over, until you found a new place to buy, for instance. There are lots of fine hotels being developed in London now.”
“Takes big money to make a place like that,” Harry said.
“You and Ann have the money for two inns of this type between you. I can find at least four or five investors in my family alone.”
Harry nodded. “I expect Fern’d be happy to see me make the change.”
“So, you are coming with Ann and me?” Gawain asked the girl.
She leaned over and kissed Noel’s fluffy red hair.
“Doesn’t look like the great-grandson of a maharajah, does he?” Harry said. “I expect that is best for him.”
“I wish I could say it didn’t matter, but after what happened to Ann at Redcake’s, I would probably be wrong.”
“I expect anyone would lose their position if they was sharp with an aristocrat,” Harry said. “I’d fire someone who was rude to a rich customer.”
“But she didn’t start it.”
“No, but the servin’ class has to accept whatever the payin’ customer has to offer, no matter how foul the brew.”
“I had a few issues with officers myself, in my mess hall days,” Gawain said. “I know what you’re saying.”
Harry grinned. “She can say just about anythin’ she wants now, as your wife. She may have years of saucy comments to make, after havin’ worked in this place.”
“My tongue is as sharp as hers. We’ll rattle the roof off my new house.”
“I believe it. I’ve matched wits with her more than once.”
“Who won?”
Harry lifted his eyebrows, but declined to admit to his defeats. Behind them, the door opened and closed again, and Ann came into the sitting room, the scents of the kitchen trailing behind her.
“Any o’ that bread left?” Harry asked. “I love the way you make it.”
“I left a plate under a towel for you.”
Harry rubbed his hands together and handed Noel to Gawain. “Anythin’ I can do to help get you to the station?”
“We’ll need a cab,” Gawain said. “How soon, Ann?”
“I need to change and pack a few last minute things. Half an hour.”
Gawain checked his pocket watch. “That should work perfectly with the train schedule. Fern, do you need to gather your things?”
She shook her head. “All done.”
“Two words,” Gawain exclaimed. “You have been making excellent progress.”
Harry rustled Fern’s hair between his fingers and strode out.
The next day, Ann felt travel weary, but at the same time, the forced lack of movement on yesterday’s train made her want to move around. After she settled Noel down for a late morning nap with the pacified Jenna, she and Fern went for a walk in the sunny spring air. They found their way to the shops in Northcote Road and were attracted to a large furniture store, which had an excellent display of chairs in their cheerful, white-painted bow window.
“This is our home now. We need to get to know the shops and the goods.”
Fern nodded.
“Also, the house is practically empty,” Ann continued. “I must admit, I do not know what style of furniture would please Gawain. But presumably, given his injuries, nothing overstuffed as it would be hard to rise from.” Her husband had been racked with pain by the time they arrived and hadn’t allowed her to touch him. He’d called for a bath and his pills, leaving her to settle in. She felt guilty for being the reason for his train travel and wondered if he could hire Harry to do his sales travel calls.
Fern took her arm and pulled her into the shop. Ann glanced around, overwhelmed. The Old Hart had come furnished. She’d had to choose new linens over time and the occasional piece was moved into the family quarters and replaced when it was too worn for paying guests, but she had never decorated a new home. She wondered if she should hire someone for the work. But that seemed silly. She was used to being industrious and had seen Lord Judah’s home and Redcake Manor, both furnished recently. Redcake Manor had the Arts and Crafts style. Lady Judah preferred more monumental pieces in dark woods. Which did she prefer? Neither, really.
“Welcome to our store,” said a young man, fingering his moustache as he approached them. “What can I help you find, ladies?”
“I am Mrs. Gawain Redcake. My husband purchased a home nearby recently and I have a great deal of furnishing to do.”
The young man smiled broadly. “I would be happy to open an account for you. If you do not see what you need we do have catalogues from manufacturers that may be of benefit. Do you have a certain style in mind?”
“I am not well versed in them,” Ann confessed. “This is only my second home and I didn’t furnish the first.”
“Any leanings?” The man put a finger to his lips.
“I know Arts and Crafts is too modern for me, but heavy woods are depressing.”
“Do you have any other hints to offer me?”
“My husband was a military man and spent time in India. I was born there myself.”
“Are you pleased with the present wall and floor treatments?”
“Everything appears to be in good order. Red damask wallpaper in the drawing room, a green chintz in the dining room. Rich amber paint in the library.” She paused. “Oh dear. Fern, do you remember the walls in the morning parlor?”
“B-blue m-marble.”
“Oh yes, that is correct. Blue paint treated with some sort of marbling effect.”
“And you do not want to change any of it.”
“No, just furniture.”
“Then we have four rooms to work on.” He took out a small notepad and pencil. “First priority?”
Ann stared at Fern. “I have no idea.”
“P-parlor,” Fern said.
Ann sighed. “Yes, that makes sense, as we are likely to spend hours there each day, but we really need it all done.”
The sales clerk led them on a tour of his showroom. Ann felt her brain being dulled by all of the many choices. Medicine, she understood. Bodies in discomfort.
But how was she to know how to make a comfortable home, a comfortable life?
Loving Wells had been so easy. They had lived with his parents and then stayed in the house when they died until inheriting the inn only six months later. She never had to think of these things. Really, her first marriage had love as easy as her love for Noel. She had seen Wells when he brought his mother to consult with her over health problems, and thought, “mine.”
Her love for Gawain was nothing so simple as falling in love with a kind man in a soldier’s uniform. Her attraction to him had been physical—prideful, even, that she could distract him from his pain with her body. The baby had cemented her connection with him forever and she had gone to London in search for him, understanding only that she wanted to know what man made up half her child.
But now, she’d fallen into this marriage, this new life, and she was adrift. Should she cut ties with Leeds? Sell the inn to Harry or a stranger? Should she encourage Harry to move close to them and keep what remained of the Haldene family unit, or commit completely to a new life with Gawain?
She found it fascinating that he had no interest in keeping his own family close, other than his cousin Lewis. They seemed to be men who only looked to the future. Their old pain had made the past forgettable, but she held on to her own past.
She chose the things her mother would have. Simply carved, dark wood furniture upholstered in brocades decorated in gold thread. Any cushion the shop had with embroidery. Low tables. Military style camp chairs and stools that could be moved from room to room. And a birdcage, made of wicker, suited for a conservatory, which the house didn’t have.
“Do you have a bird, Mrs. Redcake?”
“My husband told me his cousin used to make talking metal birds. Maybe he can be persuaded to design one for us.”
The man nodded. “A lovely idea. I’d be interested in seeing his work myself. We might be able to sell his birds.”
“I will tell my husband. Do you think any of the things we’ve chosen will look good together in our rooms?”
“The bookcases, desk and chairs will do well in a gentleman’s study. You’ve chosen a good dining table. Your morning parlor and drawing room are tending a bit Indian, but that makes sense given your background. I think you’ve made a good start and of course you can send back what doesn’t work.”
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