“I think you have had many women since me, Ash. You don’t kiss like a man who has been chaste all these years. And,” when he opened his mouth to reply, “neither should you have been! I’m not suggesting it. I’m just pointing out that eight years have gone by. We have both changed, and I’m not sure what we’re trying to do here. Recapture the past?”
Perhaps he was grateful for her words and had himself been looking for an escape, because he stood up rather abruptly.
“You’re right,” he said, and straightened his clothing, as if he would remove her touch. “I was being foolish. Selfish, probably, I seem to be good at that.”
“Ash . . .”
“And you are right about the other women. Sometimes I think I turned to them because I wanted to find another you, but I never did. There was only ever one Juliet.” He was at the door, the sun shining on his golden hair. “I’m not sure what we’re doing here either. I wanted to say I was sorry and explain. I thought it was important.”
“It was important. Thank you.” She was near tears and she didn’t want him to see her cry.
“Now it’s my turn to say goodbye, Juliet,” he went on, his face against the light so that she couldn’t read his expression. He sounded calm and resigned. Maybe he even sounded relieved. “Thank you for meeting me. No doubt we will see each other about the village, and I know you will be glad to hear I will not embarrass you again.”
She opened her mouth to call him back, but he was gone, and anyway what else could she have said? Recapturing the past was just too painful, especially when she knew it couldn’t be done. All that was left to them now was to move forward with their lives and try to forget.
When Ash returned to the castle he wanted nothing more than to lock himself away in his office and lose himself in the business of the estate. Uncle George had become neglectful of late, through no fault of his own Ash was sure, but it left Ash with much to do.
He was surprised when his mother waylaid him at the door of her sitting room, calling him in to join her. He could see she had been writing invitations to their Midsummer celebrations, but she had put her pen aside and nodded for him to be seated beside her on the overstuffed sofa.
“Ashley, you would tell me if anything was bothering you?” she said, head tilted to one side, eyes so much like his.
“Apart from stealing my brother’s beloved and ruining his life?” he replied with gentle mockery.
She waved her hand as if this morning’s scene was forgotten already. “You explained yourself about that. You thought you were doing the right thing for Crevitch and the future.”
“I thought I needed to marry and the estate needed an heir,” he agreed cautiously. “Now I doubt that will happen. Simon will do the job. I have every faith in him to fill the castle with little Linholms, Mother.”
She smiled but she wasn’t deceived. She took his hand in hers and held it—another surprise because she rarely showed him such gestures of affection. “Something is the matter, Ash. Tell me. Please.”
He wasn’t going to tell her. He had no intention of revisiting his meeting with Juliet, and his sudden realization that he still loved her, and the shattering knowledge that it was too late.
He wasn’t going to unload all of his pain upon her, and yet somehow he began to speak, and soon he couldn’t seem to stop. The words poured out of him, all of the hurt and betrayal, all of the regrets. Things he’d thought long forgotten hadn’t been forgotten at all, just pushed into a corner, awaiting this moment.
When he was finished he felt drained, as if he could sleep for a year and still not want to wake. His mother patted his hand—he was clinging to her—and he noticed she had been crying.
“I will deal with this,” she told him. “Don’t worry. Last time I let your uncle take over and I have been sorry ever since, but this time I will see that all is done as it should be.”
He thanked her, although he wasn’t sure for what, and rose shakily to his feet. He didn’t believe her for a moment, because how could she change what had already happened? Ash went out, still thinking to go to his office, and then changed his mind and slowly climbed the stairs to his room.
Truscott was there, folding clothes, and was most surprised when his master flung himself across the bed and was instantly asleep.
Chapter Eleven
Summer, 1816, Montgomery House, Crevitch, Somerset
Juliet was trying hard not to think about Ash. It was over. They had kissed and then taken a deep breath and ended it. And still that restless feeling inside her was getting worse and now she was wondering why she was so reluctant to revisit what they once had. Surely loving a man, as she had loved him, was something special?
And if she was honest then it didn’t feel as if she was remembering something that happened long ago. This was now. Ash was here, and he had kissed her. She knew deep in her heart that she shouldn’t have sent him away, but she’d been afraid of her own feelings. Of being hurt again. Of ending up bitter and alone, like her father.
Today she had been glad of Doctor Knowles’ request that she go to the hospital, because the work there left no room for her tangled thoughts. When she arrived home she found Yvette waiting for her.
“Madam, there’s an invitation for you!”
Juliet found a smile as she took the envelope from the tray. “Thank you, Yvette. If it is Major Hardcastle again then I will decline. He is a very uncomfortable man to be alone with.”
Yvette gave her a knowing look, as if she could have handled Major Hardcastle. Yvette, thought Juliet, could have handled any man who made advances toward her. Her maid was a woman who knew what she wanted and would not be happy with second best.
"No, it isn’t the Major," Yvette assured her. "Although there was another invitation from him yesterday. I have burned it. This message came from Crevitch Castle, madam!"
"Crevitch Castle?" she was surprised. Her spirits lifted. Was it from Ash?
Yvette was waiting and, with a sensation of stepping into dangerous waters, Juliet broke the seal.
There was a single sheet inside, with the Dowager Lady Linholm's signature. She read on and found she had been invited to attend a dinner to celebrate Midsummer’s Eve. And then, in a scrawled message underneath, signed with the more informal ‘Felicity’, ‘We must discuss your cottage hospital and how best I can help,' ensuring she could not refuse.
When she looked up Yvette was beaming at her. The maid already knew, and Juliet would not put it past her to have steamed open the letter, but more likely she had been exchanging gossip with the servants from the castle. Come to think of it she had met a man walking from the direction of her house when she was heading home this evening. A very spick and span man, who had called her ‘Baroness,’ and bowed.
“Yvette, who delivered this invitation?” she asked curiously. “There was a man . . .”
“That was Truscott,” Yvette replied, and although she turned away Juliet saw the colour bloom in her cheeks. “He is from the castle, madam. He is a valet and has dressed some very distinguished gentlemen.”
“Has he indeed.”
“We must choose what you will wear, madam,” Yvette said, casting a satisfied look over her mistress’s trim figure. “You will be the most beautiful lady at this celebration, just as Lord Linholm will be the most handsome gentleman.”
“Yvette, I’m not even sure I want to—”
“You must,” her maid retorted, and suddenly she was quite fierce. “All of our happiness depends upon it, madam!”
Midsummer’s Eve, 1816, Crevitch Castle, Somerset
The storm had come on suddenly, the rain falling into the garden and sweeping across the lake. But here in the Great Hall of Crevitch Castle, it was cosy and warm. Ash looked up at the gallery, where the ancient stone and wood had been decorated with flowers and greenery. There was something mystical, slightly pagan, about midsummer. He’d been told once, and whether it was true or not he wasn’t sure, that during the summer months Lord Ra
dulf had loved to ride his lands with Lily before him. Occasionally he would stop to speak to his tenants and workers, and sometimes he would find a secluded place to spend some intimate time with his wife.
He hoped it was true; he wanted it to be. It sounded like perfection, if one had the right wife. But he knew now he never would, and all he could do was try to repair the relationships he had let slip over the past eight years. He thought he had made a good start with Juliet, and now Simon.
Simon had arrived an hour ago, bringing with him Miss Beales and her mother. The three of them had been wary, eyeing Ash as if he might fly into a rage. It had been his pleasure to smile and play the host, greeting them all as if he had never expected to marry Miss Beales. His brother watched him uneasily—evidently, he had worked himself up into a combative state of mind—but gradually his frowns turned to smiles of relief.
As for Miss Beales . . .
“I do hope any misunderstandings between us are at an end,” he told her, and had the pleasure of watching her blush and stammer, until Simon came to her rescue.
“There were no misunderstandings on Miss Beales’ part, brother,” he retorted sternly.
It was a strange thing to see the child who had been Simon now a man, and a man who was willing to stand up to his hero. Ash decided Simon would make a fine husband and father, and he hoped he would be Godfather to one of the little Linholms.
The rain storm brought the darkness, shortening the long summer evening, but the many candles were a buffer against the night. His mother had even gone to the trouble of finding some local musicians to play in the gallery and persuading them into medieval costume. They were busily tuning up their instruments.
“Ash?” Simon had limped over to join him, sounding awkward. “I want to thank you. Miss Beales and I . . . we . . .”
Ash looked toward his brother’s intended. She was seated by one of their more boring aunts, and he admitted she was doing remarkably well in the ‘appearing interested’ stakes.
“I must apologise to you,” Ash said promptly. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me? I would never have presumed to ask the girl if I’d known you were sweet on her. What a muddle that would have been!”
Simon laughed shakily. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“Don’t ever think you can’t talk to me,” Ash went on. “Even if you disagree with me. I forget sometimes that you’re grown up. I still imagine you are the little boy who used to follow me about.”
“Walk in your shadow, do you mean?” Simon said, with an awkward smile.
Ash frowned. “You don’t need to walk in my shadow. I’m nothing extraordinary. One day I’ll tell you about my time in Spain, and you’ll realise I’m as fallible as any other man. More so. If anyone is the hero in this family, Simon, then it’s you.”
His brother didn’t seem to know what to say, which was probably just as well. He limped over to the drinks table to fetch them both a glass of punch. He seemed to have put aside his cane and was managing without it.
Ash turned his head as the brass door knocker sounded and one of the servants hurried to answer it. He could hear murmurs from the antechamber that was a buffer between the outdoors and the Great Hall. A late guest, and a woman’s voice that sounded heartbreakingly familiar.
A gust of rain-soaked air had made the candles dance, and now the servant led the latest arrival in from the anteroom. She was wearing a grey cloak, and she tipped back the hood and he saw her lush dark hair, coiled in an intricate style. A moment later the cloak had come off, and she stood there in her simple gown of midnight blue.
She was beautiful, and suddenly every other woman in the room seemed overdressed. He couldn’t help but stare.
She hadn’t seen him standing slightly behind her. Instead she was looking into the Great Hall, an expression of amazement and wonder on her face, and he realised that of course she had never been inside his home before. He stood and enjoyed watching her take in the long tables set for the meal, with the silverware and crockery that had been in the family for generations, all under the glow of hundreds of candles. Music drifted down to them, and with a little gasp of pleasure she gazed upwards, into the gallery, where the minstrels were beginning to play.
“Juliet!”
The moment was broken. His mother brushed by him—reproving him with a frown—to greet the new guest, and Juliet turned to her with a tentative smile.
“Lady Linholm,” she said, and looked slightly bewildered as her hands were taken in a warm grip by a woman who until now had barely acknowledged her.
Her gaze slid past Felicity, and found Ash, but by then she had had time to conceal her emotions and he no longer knew what she was thinking. He knew what he was thinking. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, and then carry her upstairs to his bed and make passionate love to her. And come the morning he wanted to marry her with all the pomp and ceremony available to him.
But that wasn’t going to happen. It could never happen now. There was the ‘remarkable Doctor Knowles’ to consider, and Ash knew he wouldn’t interfere in Juliet’s happiness again.
Simon had come to greet her too, his smile warm with pleasure. Behind him, Miss Beales was watching his brother greet the newcomer with narrowed eyes.
Was that jealousy he saw in this girl he had thought so biddable? Ash asked himself with a wry smile.
"Juliet." Simon had taken her hands informally. “I am so glad to see you here. Although I cannot imagine Dr Knowles was keen to allow you to leave the hospital, even for one evening. He’s told me how much he values your help.”
Her mouth tipped up at the corners, and for a moment he remembered how she had tasted when his lips met hers. “Even Dr Knowles allows me occasional respite, Simon.”
Her familiarity with his brother was understandable, which made the dark envy he was feeling even more disturbing. He was as bad as Miss Beales. He suspected there was more to his jealousy than Simon however; it was the way she spoke of Dr Knowles. Ash would step aside, because he accepted she loved the man and wanted to make a new life with him, but he didn’t enjoy having his face rubbed in the fact.
Finally it was Ash’s turn. "Baroness Flett." He gave her his most formal bow.
She had been smiling but now it had vanished. She hesitated and then gave a curtsey. "Lord Linholm,” she said coolly. “How do you do?”
Behind him he heard his mother sigh, while Simon shot him a curious look. They thought him stiff and unfriendly, but Ash knew that formality was the only thing that would get him through this evening without making a fool of himself. If, he reminded himself mockingly, he’d wanted to run away with Juliet he should have done it eight years ago.
Chapter Twelve
Midsummer Eve, 1816, Crevitch Castle, Somerset
Juliet was barely aware of Lady Linholm and Simon, who was looking so much healthier than when she last saw him. The wooden beams of the Great Hall seemed to loom above her, reminding her of the long history of this place, and all the Linholms who would no doubt disapprove of her. But that was really only a distraction, because the person who was most important to her was Ash.
His hair glowed gold in the light of the candles, while his coat fitted perfectly his broad shoulders and deep strong chest. He was a man when he had been a boy, an experienced man, a man who knew what he wanted.
Why had she thought there was something wrong with that?
She’d come here tonight knowing that she loved him. Her struggle with her own feelings and fears was over. When he was a boy she’d loved him beyond reason, beyond life. Now he was a man she knew she loved him even more. She wished she could tell him so, in front of them all. But he was behaving as if they were strangers. Chilly, polite, distant strangers.
Was it too late? Had she really lost him again? Yvette had told her that Truscott believed his master was quite demented with love for her. And yet here Ash stood before her, cold and haughty and distant.
Well, she was used to dealing with difficu
lt patients at the hospital. She could hold her own. And if coming here to his grand castle, to a place she had never been welcome before—if coming here in her finest gown, and with Yvette’s marvellous hair style— If all of that was in vain, then she would try very hard not to cry until she was home again.
“You must have some of our fruit punch,” Lady Linholm gestured to a passing servant. “Such a wet night, my dear! I am so glad you were brave enough to venture out.”
“I walked,” Juliet said, and then almost laughed at the expression on her hostess’s face. “It is not very far if you take the path through the woods, Lady Linholm.”
“I am not sure you will be able to walk back again,” Simon said with a frown.
“I’m sure I will be fine,” Juliet said airily. “I preferred to walk to Crevitch Castle rather than accept Major Hardcastle’s offer of a carriage to his supper.”
There was a silence, and then Simon chuckled and said, “I can see why you might have chosen us.” Lady Linholm smiled but was too polite to comment.
“I’m so glad our invitation took precedence,” said Ash with more than a hint of sarcasm.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Only by the merest whisker.”
Thankfully Simon stepped into the fray, no doubt sensing some discord. “We have music, Juliet! Some of the local players have agreed to entertain us this evening. My mother’s idea.”
“How wonderful,” Juliet turned to him and away from Ash, her smile genuine now. “And you are looking so much better, Simon. London must agree with you.”
He flushed, which surprised her, but a moment later the musicians he had just mentioned struck up, and the evening had begun.
After the shaky start, Juliet found she was enjoying herself far more than she’d expected. Once they had eaten so much that they could eat no more, there was dancing and games. Some of the younger guests gravitated to Juliet, finding someone young at heart who would not shoo them away. She found herself laughing more than she had for ages.
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