by Hatch, Donna
“I hope you enjoyed your dinner,” his soft voice rasped.
Alicia swallowed and found her voice. “Yes, very much, thank you.” She nervously fingered the locket around her neck.
“I brought my cook with me from Versailles. I told him I was in love with his cooking and that I should pine away and grow thin if he didn’t come cook for me.”
In spite of herself, Alicia felt her mouth curve. “I can see why you wanted to keep him.”
“I thought you might enjoy a brief turn about the garden before you retire?”
“I would, thank you, my lord.”
A clear, moonlit night greeted them as they strolled along the walkway in the garden. Insects sang and a light breeze brought the mingled scent of flowers.
“In my youth, the gardens became forests that hid wild beasts, and ferocious dragons that deserved to be slain. That tree,” he indicated a cypress, “served as my castle where I looked out for approaching enemy soldiers. I often played a black knight and attacked my sisters, much to their dismay.”
Alicia smiled.
They stopped at the edge of a small lake, its shimmering surface reflecting, with barely a ripple, the silver and white moon. A night bird cried, soaring overhead, and insects sang.
“That lake became Loch Ness where I battled its fearsome beast repeatedly. I always defeated it, but somehow, it returned another day to terrorize our fair kingdom again. Even after I went away to school, I loved coming back here to challenge the beast again.”
When he began walking, Alicia matched his unsteady pace.
“Tomorrow, if you wish, I will give you a tour of the gardens. The third Baron Amesbury designed it based on Greek mythology, and each generation has added to it. There’s even a maze in the middle, my grandfather’s addition. He was a second son and had no hope of inheriting, but when his oldest brother failed to marry and produce an heir, the title fell to him. He determined to make his mark in the family history.”
A nightingale sang in the distance and a light breeze stirred her skirts. The lake mirrored the star-dotted sky.
“How many barons Amesbury have there been?”
“I am the fourteenth. Our family goes back to William the Conqueror. I understand your family is quite old as well. If I recall correctly, your great uncle was a marquis?” he asked.
“Great, great uncle,” she corrected. With growing courage, she added; “My father’s father was a third son. He had our manor constructed—the one that belongs to my Uncle Willard now.” A faint resentment flared, but she quieted it.
He gestured off to the right. “The stables are beyond those trees. Do you ride?”
“Not well. My mother was an excellent horsewoman, but I never became competent.”
After concluding their walk, he led her inside to a comfortable study decorated with deep greens and rich browns. It smelled of leather and wood polish. Though the fireplace stood black in the warm summer night, several lamps had been lit, giving the room a cheerful illumination.
Her eyes fell upon a chessboard set up at a small teakwood table. “Do you play chess, my lord?”
His breath expelled slightly and she imagined a smile underneath the mask. “My father tried to teach me, but there were fish to catch, lakes to swim in, fencing, riding, shooting, boyish mischief that I shall not disclose…well, I am sure you understand. I never developed the skills to be truly competitive at chess.”
“I occasionally played with Papa or my brother on winter evenings.”
“Then I challenge you to a game.”
“I accept.” Anything to prevent their first night in his home where he would no doubt insist upon becoming her husband in every way.
She sank weakly into a chair. They began politely, but as the match progressed, Alicia forgot her fears and played with more vigor, and he proved a worthy opponent. While he clearly had not played often, he still had a fine eye for strategy. Growing confident, she played without mercy. Perhaps beating one’s husband their first night in their new home may be bad form, but Alicia suspected if she threw the game, he would be offended.
She glanced up at him with a mixture of timidity and triumph. “Checkmate.”
He leaned back. “Yes. You were kind. I am sure you could have taken me several times, but did not.” He did not sound angry, but he always spoke so softly, it was hard to know for sure.
Growing bolder, she said, “You tease me, my lord. You play much better than you led me to believe.”
“I hope to be full of pleasant surprises.”
The mantle clock chimed. Alicia twisted the ring around her finger.
He rose. “It grows late. Perhaps we should retire.”
Her eyes flew to his face, but the mask revealed nothing of his meaning or intentions. With a slight quiver, she allowed him to escort her to her room. Along the way, his gloved hand indicated a painting of a sharp-eyed woman in scarlet who sniffed back with bold disdain.
They paused in front of her. “That was my great aunt Millicent. She ran away from home and traveled all over Africa dressed as a man.”
In surprise, Alicia gasped and then laughed softly. Further down the corridor, he pointed out another portrait of a gentleman wearing a ruffled collar and a large ruby ring.
“That was my grandfather. He scandalized the ton by marrying his mistress. They never had children. Later, when she died, he married a proper lady who bore him three sons but he never loved her as he loved his first wife.”
“What an unconventional family you have, my lord.”
“We do seem to take delight in thumbing our noses at society.” His hand moved to the small of her back.
She froze.
He noticed. “Shall I never earn your trust, Alicia?” he asked quietly.
A chill settled in her stomach at the thought of this dark, hidden creature touching her in the same manner as Mr. Braxton. She wondered how she could ever willingly submit to such advances. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the hulking figure before her while images of scarred, twisted skin flashed before her eyes. Would his skin be cold and lifeless? Would he be rough? Did he even have any feeling in his limbs?
“As I said, I shall wait until you are ready. I…” he paused as if trying to form his thoughts into words. “Despite my appearance, I am a whole man and have the needs of any man.”
Guilt wormed through her fear. “I thank you for your understanding, my lord.”
He remained motionless for several minutes, his gaze tangible underneath his mask. When he moved, it was only to brush a smothered kiss against her cheek and then turn and walk away with his cane thumping slightly.
Alicia threw herself into her pillow and sobbed her relief. And her dread of the future.
****
The following morning, the baron led her through the gardens. Sparkling streams graced the lush landscaped filled with flowers of every description.
“This garden was patterned after the stories of Athena, the goddess of war, but as a child, I saw it a forest peopled by gnomes and dark caves where dragons guarded their treasure.” The baron brought her through an arch to a new garden. Marble statues adorned the pathways, and stone benches carved with winged cherubs dotted the path. “This is the garden of Aphrodite, the goddess of love. I stole my first kiss under this tree.” Embarrassment colored his voice.
Alicia tried to picture a young Baron Amesbury, but only created a smaller masked figure.
In the Garden of Poseidon filled with meandering streams, waterfalls, and fountains, a picnic luncheon awaited them. A small cascade fell into a pond filled with colorful fish.
As servants laid out the meal, the baron held a chair for her at the small wrought iron table under a spreading tree. “I thought this would be a good place to have our luncheon.”
“It is indeed a beautiful place,” she breathed. “Each garden you’ve shown me has been more wondrous than the last.”
“I’m gratified to hear you like it.”
Emboldene
d by the pleasant morning, she asked, “Do you have a favorite Greek hero or story?”
He paused a moment. “I’ve always been partial to Perseus.”
“Why?”
“He had many enemies who conspired against him, but he was resourceful. He always managed to do what he felt he must despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles he faced.”
Alicia knew little about mythology, but this name seemed familiar. “Isn’t he the one who killed the creature with snakes for hair and whose gaze would turn a person to stone?”
“Medusa. Yes. He also defeated other fearsome foes.”
“Is there a garden for him, yet?”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Perhaps that will be yours to build.”
He paused. “Perhaps. That remains to be seen.”
She enjoyed a delicious meal and afterward sat enjoying a gentle breeze as water splashed happily nearby. With a twinge of guilt, she realized since he only ate alone when he could remove the mask, he must be growing hungry watching her consume all the food.
“Do you wish to go eat, my lord?”
He shook his head. “I’ll dine later.”
Alicia tossed a tiny piece of bread into the water and watched as a colorful fish swallowed it whole. She brushed a few crumbs off her bronze silk gown.
The baron cleared his voice softly. “Are you tired or do you wish to continue touring the gardens?”
“I would love to see more of the gardens.”
They spent all day exploring while he regaled her with stories of the mythological heroes and heroines. His own childhood exploits often surfaced among the tales. As they followed a path leading back to the house, they passed an arch over a path leading to a garden they had not yet explored.
She paused before the arch. “What’s in there?”
“Zeus’s garden. I never go in there anymore.” His voice became flat, unemotional.
“Why?”
“My younger brother died there.”
She turned to him in shock and then dropped her eyes, unable to look at the mask. “I’m sorry.”
“He fell from a tree. I was up there with him, and powerless to help him. The fall broke his neck.”
Though his voice sounded detached, she felt his bleak loss. “How terrible for you.”
“It was a long time ago,” he said gruffly. Cloaked in his own memories, he led her silently to the house.
She ate dinner alone in the breakfast room, well attended by servants. Before she’d finished, the baron joined her and sat across from her.
She offered him a tremulous smile. “Thank you for showing me around.”
“It was my pleasure. I hope I did not weary you with my tales.”
“Not at all, my lord. I enjoyed it enormously.”
“I had hoped you would like it. And that you would like my home.”
“It’s beyond compare,” she replied truthfully.
“You mentioned that you play the pianoforte,” he said as she finished her dessert.
She put down her napkin. “Not well.”
“Ah, yes, the conventional answer. Will you play for me?”
“I assure you, my lord, it is not false modesty. I really do not play well. Our pianoforte was sold months ago, and I have not touched the keys since.”
“Then you are long past due. Please.” He led her into a music room where a Louis XIV pianoforte stood in one corner. A harp stood in another.
He gestured to the gilded pianoforte. “I know it’s a bit ostentatious, but it has a lovely tone. Will you?”
With some misgivings, Alicia played the first thing that came into her mind, a sonata that Maman had loved. Despite the age of the instrument, or perhaps because of it, the sounds it issued were rich and resonant. She stumbled a few times, her fingers awkward from disuse, and unnerved by the dark presence nearby. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finished.
“Technically, that was very good, especially considering how long it’s been since you’ve played. But I could see that you did not have your heart in it.”
Alicia smiled faintly. “My governess scolded me often for not playing with passion.” Her fingers itched to play more now that she had begun, but she did not wish to do so while her husband loomed over her. Perhaps she would come back and play in private another time.
Evenings became more comfortable after that; sometimes they played chess or billiards or backgammon. Sometimes he requested she read aloud to him. He asked her opinion on a great many matters men usually assumed were not the concern of ladies, and she found their conversation both enriching and stimulating.
The baron always spoke carefully, thoughtfully, as if contemplating the higher meaning to life. He proved to be unlike either Colonel Westin or Mr. Braxton in every way.
At those times when she found herself alone, she devoted more time to playing the pianoforte. The sounds she created with the instrument soothed her soul. Her skill even improved through her diligent practicing, but she never performed for others.
Alicia wrote to Hannah, assuring her that she was happy and that her husband was treating her well. She also said that Maman’s saying had proved wise. Then she wrote to Elizabeth, saying much the same.
Each day that she spent time with her husband, she grew less afraid of him. The ominous cloak and mask no longer intimidated her so much. As her fear dimmed, she saw his gentle spirit and a quick wit.
But each evening, after he escorted her to her room, he placed his hand on her waist, drew her to him gently, and pressed a kiss to her cheek or brow. She shivered and steeled herself against the night his patience ran thin and he would force himself upon her. He always left without pressing her, and she would go to bed in relief, yet feeling, despite her contentment, something precious had passed her by.
CHAPTER 17
Cole’s rapier clanged against his opponent’s as he poured all of his concentration into each parry, each thrust. It wasn’t until the match was called that Cole lowered his rapier and re-sheathed it. Sweat soaked his clothes and dripped off his hair. His muscles ached but he felt a satisfaction at having passed a few hours without thinking about Alicia. He bowed to his opponent, complemented him on his form and thanked him for an excellent match before he moved to mop his face with a towel. Fencing had always proved an effective diversion when he might be tempted to sink deep into his cups.
After changing, Cole went out to the stables and took his Lipizzaner, André, out on a long run. He had not been home much since the night he’d quarreled with his father and left for the sea. He’d been young and idealistic with a thirst for adventure and a misguided desire to rebel against his father. How foolish he’d been.
Cole barely noticed the landscape. He had almost forgotten how beautiful it was here, but his heavy heart prevented him from fully receiving pleasure from his home. He galloped André across the fields, through the woods, to the far borders of his land where the trainer and jockey were running his latest acquisition, a thoroughbred with an impressive lineage.
His trainer waved and Cole guided André to meet with him.
The trainer leaned over the fence. “He has all the makings of a winner.”
“He does,” Cole agreed.
“We should consider transferring him to the heath land to further his training. He’ll be ready to enter his first race next spring.”
Cole nodded. “Make the arrangements.”
The jockey had a soft, firm touch and an intuitive sense of the horse’s abilities. The thoroughbred had the heart of a winner. They were a perfect match.
They discussed details of the thoroughbred’s training and then Cole left, wishing he could share it all with Alicia.
He had hoped her marriage to the baron would be the next-best solution to eloping with her. Instead, things had worsened. She filled his thoughts, his desires, and yet she was completely untouchable. Cole cursed.
He should go bang his head against a tree.
He rode to the lake, s
tripped off his clothes and dove in. The cold water slipped over his skin, cooling his frustration. Fish darted from his path as he forged through the dark, greenish world filled with waving plants and scaly creatures.
His head burst through the surface only long enough to take another breath. He swam the length of the lake and back before he climbed out among the reeds and cattails to throw himself on the grassy bank. After drying in the sun, he dressed and rode into town. Darkness had fallen when he reached a small tavern.
The barkeep nodded but said nothing as Cole took a seat in the corner.
The barmaid ambled toward him smiling broadly. “What’s yer pleasure, yer lordship?”
“An ale, please.”
She smiled and flipped her hair. “That’ll do fer now.” She turned and cast a come-hither look over her shoulder as she moved away with swaying hips.
Other regulars drifted in, nodded to him, but left him alone. The locals had grown accustomed to the earl’s son occasionally coming into their territory during his infrequent and brief stays nearby, but seldom approached him.
The barmaid brought him his drink and offered a seductive smile. “And me, later?”
He shook his head with an apologetic smile.
She pouted prettily. “Per’aps another day.”
He shook his head again, picked up his cup, and drank deeply, stamping down temptation.
The serving girl boldly reached out and brushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. She giggled. “I don’t think I ever saw ye with yer hair mussed, m’lor’.”
Cole dragged his fingers through his hair to push the errant strands away from his face, knowing his swim had left him in a state that would give his valet, Stephens, the shivers.
He handed her several coins and left the tavern. Outside, someone approached from the shadows. Cole dropped into a defensive stance with his knife in his hand.
“My lord?”
Cole relaxed as he recognized the local constable. “What is it, Connolly?”
“I thought you’d want t’ know someone’s been asking about Baron and Baroness Amesbury.”