“I am,” he replied simply. “Mary. I do not ask you to accept my life as it was, or to even understand it. There are reasons, far deeper than I can explain to you here, why I ran away from the vale as a youth. But I would like to think that my past, particularly my experiences as a cicisbeo, have equipped me with a unique perspective on life and to better understand the wants and needs of females—your wants and needs most importantly—and I do not mean just as a considerate lover.”
“Though you are that, very much so,” she interrupted with an earnestness that made him blush. “And a wonderful teacher… I was always confounded by those females who actually enjoyed making love. But I could never bring myself to ask about such intimacy. Now I know why Deb is so happy in her marriage to Julian.” Leaning into him, as if she feared being overheard, she whispered, “And why she is continually pregnant.”
“Is she?”
Mary nodded, saying with a shy smile that made him smile in return, “You have made me very happy.”
“And you have made me the happiest of men,” he replied, and gently kissed her forehead, saying, all levity aside, “All I ask is that you realize that the life I lead now is the authentic life, the life I intend to have for the rest of my days. It is not my past, but how I choose to live my present and my future that should concern us.”
“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” she said with a sigh of exasperation that had him suppressing a grin. “I truly do not mind about your past; it is who I see before me that matters.”
“And who do you see before you, Mary?”
“I see Cavendish Christopher Bryce—for that is your name. You told me so yourself. I do not understand why you do not use the name given to you at birth, but I am very sure it is somehow connected with why you ran away. And while that remains a mystery, it does not greatly concern me because that, too, is in the past. To me you will always be Christopher.” She touched his cheek, then gently pushed back the curls that fell across his brow with a smile and kissed him. “But above all else,” she murmured, “I see a remarkable man. I see the man I love.”
ANOTHER DAY and night went by before the cottage larder was so bare Christopher had no choice but to return home for supplies, or he would be boiling nettles for soup. He had been away from home for over a sennight, and while he was comforted by the fact Luke had not arrived with a note from Kate demanding his return, he was oddly disconcerted not to have heard from her. Since returning to Brycecomb Hall ten years ago, he had never been away from home for more than three consecutive nights. So to have been gone more than seven and not had a word from her was surprising indeed.
Mary was all for him checking on his aunt’s welfare; she was his only family after all, and relied on him greatly. Besides which, while he was gone, she planned to do some laundering and dry the garments on the warm flagging in the cottage; and she would prefer he was absent while she did so. And while her clothing was drying, she would wear one of his spare shirts she’d found in the clothing chest. He chuckled at her prudery—after all, he had admired her naked in all her curvaceous glory enough times that it was forever etched in his mind’s eye.
“But that’s different,” she argued, blushing and saying quietly, as if one did not raise such topics in mixed company, if at all, “I am laundering my chemise and stockings.”
“Ah, yes. Quite right,” he replied without a glimmer of a smile at her seriousness. “I could send Luke with a note to the farm to fetch what you need…? Although perhaps that would alert Mrs. Keble, if she isn’t already, to ask questions as to your whereabouts. Though the boy would not answer, making it awkward for everyone.”
“Mrs. Keble is away from Abbeywood,” Mary told him. “While we were visiting your mill, several men arrived with news that her mother—or was it her father?—had taken ill. Though Jane was not entirely certain; all she would say was that the men looked more brutes than escorts. And we were all left wondering why Mrs. Keble needed five such brutes to accompany her to Cirencester. Jane said the woman was in floods of tears one moment and drunk the next, needing assistance to be put up into the wagon. Poor wretch.”
Thugs in the employ of the Spymaster General, and who had most likely forced enough spirits down the housekeeper’s gullet to render her biddable, was Christopher’s guess. A wretched business indeed, and one he was glad Mary had not witnessed.
She followed him to the door, but he paused before opening it and turned to frown down at her.
“Will you be all right here alone? I will be gone several hours. I may not be able to return until nightfall.”
She went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Yes. Perfectly. And if you do not go now, I will not have the time I need to have my clothes dry before you come back.”
He pulled her to him, hand pressed to the small of her narrow back, and kissed her swiftly.
“Don’t go beyond the weir. And stay this side of the stream. I don’t want to frighten you, but there are travelers about this time of year and—”
“Silly! Travelers wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me for fear of the consequences.”
Christopher’s gaze swept over her, from free-flowing tangle of long red curls to stained white stockings that had seen better days. She was as far removed from an earl’s daughter that few, least of all gypsies, would believe her, no matter how imperious her demeanor and tone. He did not remind her that the highwaymen who had held up her mother’s carriage on the way to her brother’s wedding had not cared one jot that the consequence of robbing a countess and her daughter was death by hanging. He made no further comment, and after kissing her again, opened the door.
And there under the portico with his knuckles poised to knock was Luke, and behind Luke was a loose-limbed giant of a man with skin the color of burnt caramel. Christopher had no idea who this stranger was. But Mary knew. She was so shocked she blanched and staggered back, a hand to her throat in disbelief. It was her cousin’s husband, the Duke of Kinross.
PART TWO: THE FAMILY
TWENTY-FOUR
THE DAY BEFORE, just on dusk, two carriages turned in under the arch of the gatehouse lodge and swept up the gravel drive to the entrance of Brycecomb Hall. The Jacobean manor was at its magnificent best at sundown, when the soft glow of the setting sun turned the buildings’ yellow stone a dark golden honey. Visitors always remarked upon it, even those who had been to the house at other times of the day. The occupants of both carriages were no different. They all piled out onto firm ground, and stretched their limbs after a long day of travel, and at speed. They then paused for a few moments to admire the picturesque setting. This said much about the manor’s beauty, because these men and women were no ordinary visitors. They were used to residing in homes on such a palatial scale that they were their own kingdoms, and their opulent splendor went beyond the wildest imaginings of everyone except these privileged few.
And then the mistress of this entourage picked up a handful of her delicately-embroidered velvet petticoats from under her fur-lined cape, and swept indoors on the arm of her husband, the family physician a step behind. Following them indoors was the couple’s major domo, her lady’s maid, two tirewomen, and her husband’s valet. A footman directed the two carriages and the eight liveried outriders to the stables at the far side of the main building. Here servants had assembled to offload the mountain of luggage, and stable hands waited to uncouple and clean the carriages of lime dust, and to take care of the more than a dozen horses, while the estate’s ostler met the drivers and outriders to oversee that they were provided with enough cider, a hot meal, and had quarters by the stables.
The guests who had entered via the heavy front doors were met in the great hall by a line of silent upper servants and a nervous Carlo, who had been awaiting their arrival since word was sent via a servant of the publican of The Bear that two carriages were on their way to Brycecomb. It was the publican’s opinion (and everyone deferred to him because he had in his youth been employed in a great household in Bat
h) that the owner of both and the occupant of one of the carriages was a duke. He knew this by the coronet above the shield and below the helm and crest of the coat of arms emblazoned on the black lacquered doors of each vehicle. Five visible strawberry leaves around the crown were for a duke, the publican would give his good eye tooth, he was that sure of himself.
Watching this arrival from the first landing was Kate’s companion Fran, who remained out of sight but within earshot of the conversation. Ordered to report back all she saw and heard to her mistress, Fran was at first surprised to hear the French tongue, not English, and then amazed when Carlo was eventually addressed in his native language. While she had only a rudimentary understanding of Italian, curiosity brought her to the balustrade to peer down at these unexpected but most fascinating of guests, to wonder how far they had travelled and if in fact they might be visitors from abroad known to her mistress.
The little lady, who had swept in on the arm of a tall, lanky gentleman, pushed back the hood of her cape from her upswept blonde hair of many plaits, threaded with ribbons and pearl-headed pins. Her lady’s maid stepped forward to remove the cape altogether, and Fran’s mouth wasn’t the only one to drop open at the lady’s gown of rich, dark blue velvet with silver lacings. The servants, too, stared, then quickly looked to the floorboards. Carlo stared longest of all, for this fascinating little lady was possessed of a heart-shaped face, the most unusual green eyes, oblique like a cat’s, and a deep bosom. But it was at the roundness of her belly that he stared hardest of all. And then he remembered his manners and brought his gaze back up to her face and saw that she was not in the first or even the second flush of youth, that her blonde hair was lightly streaked with silver threads at the temples. Yet this did not detract from her beauty for Carlo thought her the most captivating elfin creature he had ever seen. And she looked to be in the final trimester of her pregnancy.
“You must please excuse this great intrusion, but we have come to see M’sieur Bryce,” Antonia, Duchess of Kinross announced. “And you will please take us to him immediament.”
Carlo looked to the sun-bronzed giant standing beside her, as if he would provide a translation of her French tongue. But as he was engaged in being divested of greatcoat and gloves by his valet, he had not caught Carlo’s unspoken plea. So Carlo bowed again and shrugged, and Antonia repeated her sentence, this time in English. When this received the same non-committal response she turned to her husband and said in Italian,
“I must be mistaken. I presumed a civilized tongue was spoken in this house.”
The little man’s face lit up, and he so far forgot himself as to speak before being addressed directly, which caused a collective intake of breath from the Duke and Duchess’s entourage, but the ducal couple were unmoved. All they cared about was speaking to Christopher Bryce, and as soon as possible.
“Sì! Sì, Signora! Carlo speaks the most civilized tongue in the whole world. I am at your service!”
“It seems your presumption was correct, sweetheart,” Jonathon, Duke of Kinross quipped. He addressed Carlo. “The Duchessa has come a long way to see Signore Bryce, so be a good fellow and don’t keep us lingering in the hallway. Just lead the way, and then you can fetch us one of those special coffees your countrymen are so good at making.”
“But, Signore, Signore Bryce he is not here. I tell you that on my honor.”
Antonia and Jonathon exchanged a look and then she said with great patience, “He is not here because he is not here, or because he is away from the house at this time and will return?”
Carlo stuck out his bottom lip and was about to answer when Silvia bustled through from a servant passage. She took one look at Antonia, gaze fixing on her belly for the briefest of moments, then threw up her hands with delight.
“Signora! Signore! Welcome! Welcome! All of you are most welcome. Carlo,” she reprimanded her husband, “why are these good people waiting to be shown up to their rooms? Their trunks they are being offloaded as I speak, and so you will please take the good lady and her women and his gentleman up to the east wing. This other gentleman who has the look of a dottore may have the room down the hall—”
“It is exceedingly important that I have a bedchamber close to Her Grace, so that I may be called upon at a moment’s notice,” insisted the physician with a sniff. “In her delicate condition and at this late stage, anything could happen! And so it is vital I be on call, and at the ready, at all times.”
“I like your diligence, Pratt, but Her Grace could do without your over-effusive attentiveness. Grates on the nerves,” Jonathon complained. He looked down at Antonia and said with a wink, “Tell me again, sweetheart, why I allowed Roxton to persuade me to let his personal physician come on this journey with us?”
“You did nothing of the sort,” Antonia retorted without heat. “You and my son decided it between you, then presented it un fait accompli to me that I could not leave Treat unless he came with us. What choice did I have? But me I think you only agreed with my son so he would not worry excessively while I was away.” She dimpled. “Thank-you for that. But I do not thank you for agreeing with him.”
“Ah! So you saw through my cunning plan! I should’ve known you would. But to own to a truth,” Jonathon confessed sheepishly, “I’m the one who’s feeling delicate.”
Antonia looked up at him, and lightly touched his sleeve. “Yes, and I am sorry for it,” she said quietly in French, knowing he was fragile with worry for her; his first wife had died in childbed, and so too had their baby boy. “But have I not told you a thousand times I am much stronger than I look? And so too is our little one. I do not need M’sieur Physician here to tell me so, though I know his presence is a comfort to you. But please, his room it must be as far from mine as is possible without putting him in the straw with the horses.”
She said this last sentence over her shoulder to the major domo, and when this most trusted of servants nodded his understanding, she turned back to smile kindly at Silvia and Carlo and addressed them both equally.
“I have no wish to cause your household inconvenience but unfortunately it can’t be helped and is most necessary. Our maggiordomo Signore Gallet, the gentleman in the black coat with the intelligent eyes you see at my back, he will arrange everything to everyone’s satisfaction. You are not to worry about any of it. He speaks more foreign tongues than me, which is saying something. But what I most want to do at this moment is to speak with Signore Bryce, but you tell me your master he is not here?”
“He is not, Signora. But Luke, he knows where he is.”
Carlo shot his wife a startled look. This was news to him. “He does? Silvia, why did you not tell me this?”
“It was not your business to know.”
“Not my business? Everything here is my business!”
“Not this.”
“And yet now it seems that it is my business!”
“Please!” Antonia demanded. “You can berate each other later. Now you will attend me.” She addressed Silvia exclusively. “This Luke, he can be fetched, yes?”
“Sì, Signora. But I do not know if it will do you any good,” Silvia apologized. “He knows the whereabouts of the master but he will not say, not to anyone. His mouth it is shut tighter than a sprung rabbit trap!”
Antonia was emphatic. “He will tell me. Now please, I wish to retire to my rooms to bathe and change out of these clothes. And the bébé would like a little something for me to nibble on before supper, if that is not too much trouble?”
Silvia beamed and clapped her hands. “Of course! Of course! Silvia will make you a plate of something wonderful and a cup of her special milk coffee. The bambino will enjoy it very much, I assure you.”
Carlo dismissed the servants to go about their duties—there was much to do. Then he turned to go up the stairs to show the visitors to their rooms, but Antonia had taken Silvia aside, so he stopped and waited; so too did Jonathon, the good doctor, and their clutch of servants. Antonia glanced up the s
tairs to where Fran was leaning over the balustrade, enthralled, and thus had forgotten she was supposed to be out of sight, and said confidentially,
“There is another who lives in this house. I want you to give her a message from me. And it must be you who tells your mistress. You understand?” When Silvia nodded she continued. “Tell her Antonia she wishes to see her. But only if she wishes to see me.”
When Silvia followed her glance up to where Fran leaned over the balustrade then met Antonia’s gaze and nodded her understanding, Antonia smiled. “Bene. We understand one another. But I will not disturb your mistress this evening. Tomorrow morning will suffice. She needs time to think over my request. And I need time to recover from the journey. The roads in this county they are very bad. But when this Luke he is found, send him up to my rooms. I will not come down again until the morning, unless your master he returns, and then you can get me up whatever the hour. Yes?”
Silvia bobbed a curtsy and beamed. “Sì, Signora. It will all be done the way you wish it. You have our complete cooperation.”
Antonia returned the woman’s smile. “Yes, I know I do. Grazie.”
“IT LOOKS AS if the lad can’t be found,” Jonathon announced, closing the connecting door to a closet which was crammed with their traveling trunks and belongings, a cleared corner serving as his dressing room. “He may be at Abbeywood Farm,” he added, padding across the bedchamber in his silk banyan and Moroccan leather slippers, “which I’m told is in the next vale.”
Antonia looked up from the book she was reading, and with a smile rested the pages face down on the rise of her belly. She settled back against the bank of pillows. “Then come to bed, it is late. The boy or his master or both, we will find in the morning.”
Proud Mary Page 32