As he read the court’s instructions to Ria concerning the necessity of a physical examination, his grip on the paper tightened. Unwilling to think about her having to undergo such a procedure, he turned to the second document. It looked like a draft of plans for the estate, including evicting the ladies and raising the tenants’ rents.
From what Ria said, the ladies had no other relatives and very little income. If they were removed from the manor, he dreaded to think what would happen to them—they’d probably be thrown on the mercy, or otherwise, of the parish. As for the tenants, there was no way they could meet the increase.
Reading the papers, his regret at what he had said to Ria, how he’d behaved, grew tenfold along with his guilt. He should have listened to her. He should have given her a chance to explain.
It was now obvious why she had attended the masquerade. Though how had she known what Geoffrey planned? He cast a thoughtful eye about the room, then focused on the closed library door.
Turning over the list of instructions, he saw the final document was a letter from Ria to him. Jaw clenched, he noticed she addressed him as Lord Arden and then went on to admit that what she did was wrong. However, she knew her husband hadn’t wanted Geoffrey to inherit, and her intent was to protect the aunts, cousins and estate tenants. According to the letter, he could decide whether to lay the matter before a magistrate.
He sighed heavily. She was correct. In the eyes of the law, she had not been St. James’s wife, but what she’d done was in the best interests of everyone except Geoffrey.
She also told him that she was Honey. And that she’d attended the masquerade knowing he would be there.
And finally she released him from their engagement. As he read those words, his muscles went rigid—it was as though every part of his body rose up in horror and yelled No!
Luc gasped for breath. Once he felt somewhat calmer, he gathered the papers together, walked over to the desk, and put them all in the drawer, except for the letter Ria had written to him. After one last look he tossed it into the fire.
Watching the paper curl up, blacken, then burst into flames, he wished he’d read it when she first gave it to him. Was their attachment like that paper, now a pile of ash?
One more piece of paper drifted to the floor, carried from the mantle by a non-existent breeze. Bowing to the inevitable, he stooped and picked it up.
On it were directions to Underwood Farm near Bishop Malton. With a smile, he slipped the paper into his pocket.
This time when he tried the library door it opened effortlessly. With a final perplexed glance at the room, he left.
On arrival at Lyons House, he gave orders to his coachman, instructed his valet to quickly pack a valise, then made his way to the study where he wrote a brief message for Devon.
He returned outside to find the coach standing ready with fresh horses, his bag lashed on top, and his bay horse tethered at the back. He climbed in and without hesitation set off to find his lady.
29
Geoffrey Danielson slowly crept toward the dark house. It was dawn, and there was no sign of life or movement, but to be sure he kept to the shadows.
His breath caught when he heard the sound of a door opening. Moving further back into the shadows, he watched as a maid walked out the back door and over to the woodpile. She gathered an armful of wood and went back inside. Just as he was going to move again she came back out. Geoffrey cursed under his breath.
It was difficult to keep his body still while he endured three more interminable trips to the woodpile. Shivering in the cold damp air, he repeatedly clenched and unclenched his right hand to prevent it from tapping against his leg. Finally she closed the kitchen door, and Geoffrey was able to move again.
Reaching the stable, he lifted the catch and sidled in. Breathing heavily, he took a few moments to catch his breath. The interior was dim, but there was enough early morning light for him to be able to see as he collected the gear he needed.
He stopped outside a stall in which stood a chestnut gelding. He swiftly saddled him and the horse in the stall next door, then led the horses from the stables, once again keeping to the shadows until they were out of sight of the house.
He couldn’t afford to hire a carriage or horses, so he’d alternate between the two mounts to hasten the journey time. Getting on the chestnut, he kicked the horse savagely.
Having to steal his own damn horses. It wasn’t right. Not right at all. And he knew whose fault it was.
It was hers.
And now he knew where she was.
30
Underwood Farm, Bishop Malton, March 1814
Ria watched with satisfaction as her farm manager mounted his horse and left. At no time as she answered his questions or gave him instructions did he show surprise at her responses or try to argue with her. He accepted her directions without question.
Here she had no one to rely on. At St. James Manor, there was Monty and the ladies as well as the new estate manager, a remarkably competent young man who attended to the day-to-day details. Here there was only her, and so far she was doing well. As each day passed and she made more decisions, she was developing confidence.
Ria walked back along the gravel path beside the kitchen garden to the cottage. Mary, well again now, had gone to the village with Mathews and Dawson to get supplies.
As she entered the silent cottage, she realized this was one of the few times in her life when she was completely alone. It was a novel feeling.
So was living in the cottage. She could have hired someone from the village to live in and help with the cleaning and cooking but hadn’t because she was enjoying the novelty of it all.
In the dining room, she picked up a cloth and began polishing the large table. Over the past couple of weeks, all the rooms had been cleaned. There was just polishing left to do in this room and the sitting room.
All the Holland covers, along with the rest of the linen, had been washed and dried by women from the village. Now the covers were ready to go back on the furniture when they left.
She sighed at the thought of leaving. She didn’t want to. She missed the ladies, but not everything else that had happened recently. Here at the cottage, she felt isolated yet protected. It was a refuge from a life that had become too painful.
Ria rubbed hard on one particular spot as she thought about Luc. He would have picked up the ring by now.
Living at the cottage had given her time to think. Unfortunately most of her thoughts had been about Luc, and with them had come a range of emotions. Grief, depression, disbelief, and even anger.
She rubbed harder at the spot. How dare he not listen to her! She’d had good reason to be at the masquerade, even if he didn’t know that. He should have trusted her. Or at least let her explain.
The table was shining, but she kept polishing. He had been at the masquerade too. Unlike her, he didn’t have good reason. He’d rejected her for the very thing he himself had done.
Adrian Lucifer Adair, the Earl of Arden, was a damned hypocrite!
Luc sighed with relief when the farm cottage came into view. It seemed like he’d been holding his breath the whole way here. Now his destination was in sight, his tense muscles loosened somewhat, although he didn’t know what he was going to find.
As he neared the cottage, snow began to fall heavily. He’d left his coach in Bishop Malton as he’d not been sure it would make it in the snow.
Urging his horse to greater speed, he rode to the back of the cottage. He quickly dismounted, tied his horse’s reins to a railing under the shelter of the eaves, and went inside. The back door led into a scullery. After calling out but getting no answer, he continued and found himself in a large kitchen.
Ria was lying asleep on a blue damask chaise longue. Looking around the room, he saw touches that he was sure were hers.
There was a selection of blue pottery lined up on the deep windowsills. A blue and white bowl on the kitchen table was filled, not with greenhouse deli
cacies that you would see in a manor house, but with carrots, turnips, onions, and potatoes.
In a corner opposite the stove, there was a faded but still attractive red floral-patterned rug. On top of the rug was a deep blue chair and Ria’s chaise longue, furniture normally seen in a drawing room. They were positioned so heat from the stove would easily reach them. A large, bright red shawl was draped across the bottom of the chaise, but a long black coat covered Ria.
While he watched, she brushed it against her face, then pulled it closer, clutching it tightly as though it were a precious possession.
As he got nearer, he was stunned to discover it was his black domino—the one she’d stolen from the masquerade. She had kept it all this time. Not just kept it, but was using it and seemed to treasure it.
Not wanting to disturb her, he went back outside. There were no servants in sight, so he led his horse to the small stable near the house. He quickly unsaddled him and rubbed him down, then gave him hay and water.
Luc returned to the kitchen with his valise. On the journey here, he had spared little thought to how Ria would react when she saw him. Now, as he sat in a chair and watched her sleep, he began to think about it.
He had assumed her coming here meant she had given up on him. Was it because he wouldn’t listen, or had he killed any feeling she had for him?
But there was the domino. The way she was clutching it gave him hope. So did the innate knowledge that the woman he had grown to know over these last weeks was compassionate and forgiving.
When he found out she was his mystery lady, the initial violent surge of anger and betrayal had clouded his reason. He had become ice cold, his love for her and awareness of her character locked in the ice. All he’d been aware of was deep despair that he had fallen in love with someone like his mother. But of course she wasn’t. She was nothing like Beatrice.
Even before he read the documents explaining her actions, the ice had begun to thaw. Discovering the reason for her actions shattered the ice into a million pieces.
She wasn’t like Beatrice. But he was.
Was he good enough for her?
He swallowed hard. That question terrified him. Then and there he vowed that he’d commit the rest of his life to being so.
As he watched, she slowly began to stir. Her lashes fluttered. Gradually, they opened to reveal her gorgeous, expressive blue eyes, still cloudy with sleep. When they first saw him, they showed pleasure, but with the return of consciousness, that soon changed to puzzlement, hurt, and something else. He drew in his breath as he realized it was dismay. Bracing himself, he waited for her reaction.
When Ria first saw him while sleepy, warm, and relaxed, she felt a surge of happiness. Then awareness dawned. “What are you doing here?”
Next came panic. She didn’t care why. He didn’t belong here. He was invading her refuge. Sitting up straight, she told him, “It doesn’t matter. I want you to leave.”
“No.”
At his bald refusal, she felt breathless, her muscles tightening. He must go. Taking a deep breath, she fought for calm.
The thought that he had forgiven her fleetingly crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. The hard, cold man she met last time would not yield so easily, and there was nothing in his expression to indicate any sign of love or tenderness.
Once again she asked, “What are you doing here?” She then stared at him, waiting for him to answer her. What could possibly bring him all the way here? Her heart leapt in her chest. “There isn’t anything wrong at the manor, is there?”
He shook his head. “No, everything is fine. You need not worry.”
Ria released the breath she had been holding. Still he didn’t answer her question. She had asked twice. She wasn’t going to ask again.
Looking at the clock on the mantle, she got up from the chaise longue, pushing the domino so it fell to the floor on the side nearest the wall. She hoped he hadn’t recognized it.
Clearly, he wasn’t going to leave. Equally clearly, she could not force him.
Not knowing what else to do, Ria walked over to the table and announced, “I’m making the evening meal. If you won’t leave, you can help. Peel and chop these for me—small pieces, please.” She pushed potatoes, carrots, and turnips toward him, along with a small knife.
She couldn’t help feeling a little smug as she watched Luc ineptly cutting up the vegetables. At last she’d found something he wasn’t perfect at.
In silence she browned the onions, added them and the rest of the vegetables to the meat already simmering over the fire, then she kneaded the bread that she’d left to rise earlier.
A number of times she caught Luc watching her, appearing surprised at what she was doing. After she’d kneaded the bread dough, she threw a thick, clean cloth over the bowl and put it back onto a ledge at the end of the hearth.
At his look of enquiry, and forgetting she wasn’t speaking to him, she said, “That’s a nice, warm place. I need to let the bread rise again.”
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
Not willing to admit these were the only things she could make, she merely said, “There are a lot of things about me you don’t know.” Then remembering she wasn’t talking to him, she proceeded to make a pot of tea in silence.
As she sat down at the table, Ria felt her tense muscles relax slightly. It had been hard to concentrate on what she was doing with Luc closely watching her. She had only done this a few times and was anxious that nothing should go wrong with the ragout, but everything had worked well
Earlier, as she had watched the heat of the fire melt the dripping that she’d browned the onions in, she had worried that where Luc was concerned she was like that. She could feel her resolve slowly softening with his proximity.
Ria poured the tea in silence, unsure what to say to Luc. The small ember of hope banked within her that with his arrival had begun to flicker into life was now almost extinguished. She wasn’t at all sure why he was here, but it didn’t appear to be because he was sorry or because he loved her. So why?
Clutching a warm cup between her cold hands, she gave in and asked him a third time. “Why are you here?”
At her words, he looked up. When Ria asked him that before, he hadn’t known what to say. Because I missed you. Because I need to say I am sorry. Not knowing what to say, he had said nothing.
Knowing he had to answer sooner or later, he instead said, “I was concerned about you.”
Judging by the expression on her face, she was unimpressed with his answer. His view was borne out by her frosty response. “Well, as you can see I am fine, so you can go on your way.”
Did she really think that after traveling all this way he was just going to leave?
Looking out the window, he saw it had begun to snow heavily. Thankfully the weather, at least, was on his side. “When I passed through the village, I was warned a snowstorm was coming. It looks like they were right.”
Her tone was coolly unsympathetic as she said, “Then best you leave before it becomes too thick.”
“I think that point has already been reached.” He gestured to the window.
He watched as Ria looked out and realized there was no possibility of his leaving. She uttered an oath he hadn’t thought she even knew. Then a concerned look flitted across her face. “I hope Mary is all right.”
“She is fine. I saw your servants at the village inn. The innkeeper said a carriage wouldn’t make it to Underwood with the amount of snow coming down, so I made arrangements for them to stay there, left my carriage, and came on horseback.”
He gestured at the room. “You’ve made it very comfortable in here.”
She glanced around and then responded to his comment. “I don’t use the sitting room. The fire is kept going in here all the time, and it’s lovely and warm. Plus there’s something about this room that I like.”
She’d certainly made the room cozy. Even with the snow outside, it was warm and very quiet. The pleasant aroma of a ri
ch ragout filled the kitchen. He had watched her make the ragout, amazed at how competent she was.
He looked carefully at her. The gown she was wearing was quite old and very plain. But she still looked gorgeous. And despite the tension his presence had obviously created, she looked relaxed. More relaxed than he’d ever seen.
He hadn’t realized how difficult the past few months must have been. And he’d made it worse with his pursuit, then rejection, of her. He regretted the additional pain he must have caused.
As he thought back to the masquerade and why she had been there, he was in awe at what she had done for the people she loved. What would it feel like to have someone love you so much she would do anything for you? Had she loved him like that? Did she still? It was time to find out. “I read the papers.”
She looked at him in enquiry.
“When I picked up the ring, I read the papers you sent me.”
“Oh.”
He searched her face, not sure what her expression meant. “You were right. What you did was legally suspect, but if it was what Montague St. James wanted and intended, then the manor should remain yours.”
“Thank you.”
Frustrated with her minimal answers, he asked, “Is that all you’re going to say?”
“What else can I say? You know everything now.”
Not quite sure what to make of her words or her attitude, he decided to concentrate on something else. For the moment.
Hardly believing he was actually saying this, he asked, “Is there a ghost at St. James Manor?”
For the first time since his arrival, a small smile tilted up the corner of her lips. “You met him?”
Luc blinked. He had expected her to laugh at him, not confirm there was one. “Not exactly, but if there is one, I believe he ensured I read the papers. Who is he?”
“Monty.” At his blank look, she expanded on her answer. “Rupert Andrew Montague St. James.”
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