Season For Desire

by Theresa Romain

  “Well, I’m fifty-eight,” she muttered. “And I can’t answer for the state of the roof. But if it falls in, it won’t be the rosemary’s fault.”

  “All right. As long as we won’t be blamed for any destruction.” Rutherford scooped up the pile of cut branches. The armful was large enough to hide most of his face as needles and leaves and sprigs crushed, fragrant, against one another. “Do you know the passage Lord Dudley mentioned? The one you were quite sure wasn’t a secret passage?”

  “He gestured in this direction.” Rapping on Rutherford’s arm to indicate the way, she led him back down the stairs to the entry hall. Around its echoing width were scattered several doorways, two of which she knew led to the drawing and dining rooms. At the northeast corner, a pointed arch led to what she had presumed was the family wing. “Worth a look.”

  “I can’t see, so you’ll have to look for me.” Rutherford’s voice was muffled behind his burden.

  Estella swept through the archway, and—stopped short. “Yes. Yes, I think we’ve found the antique passage.”

  A corridor of pale golden stone stretched several dozen yards before pausing at a stained-glass window and making a turn. Pointed arches lifted the passage’s ceiling into vaults, and many-paned windows sliced the weighty walls. Between each window, framed in a recess by stone pillars, was a head.

  A stone head on a plinth. And another, and another, all the way down the passage. In all, Estella guessed that there were two dozen stern-faced Romans and Greeks lopped off at the shoulders, the neck, or—in some unlucky cases—the chin. A gauntlet of blank eyes and stern jaws. An entire corridor set aside for being glared at.

  It was so cold that the stone floor chilled Estella’s feet through her slippers.

  “My, my.” Rutherford crouched to lay down the branches, then stepped to Estella’s side. “Who do you suppose this fellow is to our right? He must have been someone significant to have his head carved in stone and kept around for a thousand years.”

  The stone bust stared with vacant eyes, its nostrils a haughty flare and its hair chipped and cracked.

  “Maybe he was once,” said Estella. “But what good does it do him now to be looked at? No one remembers him. No one knows who he is or what he did. He’s no better off than if he’d winked out before someone chiseled his face in marble.”

  “You are a philosopher, my lady.”

  “Nonsense. Philosophers are men with long hair and tight trousers who beg money from their relatives.” She sighed. “I’m just . . .”

  No, it would be stupid to finish that sentence in any honest way. Rutherford would only give her one of his patient smiles, and she would start looking at his eyes and wondering whether they had a ring of blue or of gray about the dark center of the iris. Which was not the sort of information she usually cared to collect.

  “I’m just ready for a brandy,” she finished.

  “Brandy sounds marvelous, but we have to earn it.” With a sideways scoot of his boot, he shoved some of the branches before Estella. “Go on, your ladyship. Give these poor forgotten folk a laurel crown.”

  “We only have bay and juniper.”

  “Juniper should amuse them.” Rutherford seated himself on the floor as easily as though it were a silk pillow. “They can distill gin from the berries and have a wild bacchanal tonight, when we’re all asleep and they’re left alone on their plinths.”

  “Nonsense.” Yet it was difficult not to smile at all, and impossible not to fall into a crouch at Rutherford’s side and begin twisting the spice-sharp branches into crowns.

  “Yew,” she murmured. The needles were short, the berries starting to shrivel but still red. “Rather poisonous.”

  “Well, then you mustn’t eat it.” Rutherford squinted, then gave a finishing twist to a wreath of bay leaves.

  He seemed to radiate joy, but it was a cold light that reminded Estella of what she didn’t feel. “Thank you,” she grumbled. “For turning Lady Dudley away from the subject of my prostitution. Alleged prostitution.”

  “I assumed you didn’t want to talk about your scandalous past.” When she huffed, he shot her a wink.

  “You have a dangerous sense of humor, Rutherford.”

  “Do you think so? I think it’s more dangerous to have none.” He sprang to his feet and plopped the crown onto the head of the Emperor of Chipped Hair.

  Estella sank back onto her heels—oh, this cold made her ankles ache—and shoved a dangling bit of yew into the crown she’d fashioned. “Here. You can stick that on the head of one of the other gargoyles.” Struggling to her feet, a hand pressed to a chilly wall, she added, “What the point is of decorating someone else’s house, I can’t imagine. We probably won’t even be here at Christmas.”

  Each of Rutherford’s footfalls was a dull echo. “The Dudleys like it. And it’s not so easy for them to climb around this castle anymore. We’re doing them a favor.”

  He tried the yew wreath on the head of Chipped Hair’s neighbor, then laid it instead over the diadem of a grim-faced woman. The green transformed her expression from I hate being a marble bust to I think this crown is ridiculous but I will wear it to please you.

  “I don’t do favors unless I’ll get a favor in return,” said Estella.

  “Why not?”

  “Why should I?”

  Rutherford shrugged. Estella had seen him make this gesture often enough to understand its meaning. I disagree, but it wouldn’t be polite of me to say so. “We are getting some return. Lord and Lady Dudley are granting us houseroom, and Sophy has turned over the himitsu-bako to Giles. He’ll figure out its secrets.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because the last thing my wife told me before she died,” he said, “was that I must go to England and find the puzzle box. She said it was her inheritance for her family.”

  “Oh.” Estella’s hand drifted to her turban, trailing over the bevels and mazarins of the false gems.

  “I know, it sounds unlikely. Giles thinks so, too. Beatrix had been ill for so long, eased with laudanum and hardly talking sense, that it seemed like a fever dream. But she left England with nothing. What happened to her jewels? A diamond parure given to her, irrevocably, when she made her debut. We met when she had it valued by the jeweler with whom I apprenticed.” His face fell into the soft expression of a pleasant memory, and he chucked the grim-faced woman under her stone chin. “Thousands of pounds’ worth of gemstones, and it vanished.”

  “I’m surprised no one was imprisoned for theft. Or transported.”

  “Well—we were transported, in a way.” He walked back to the pile of greenery and picked it up, then marched down the passage laying branches on each plinth. “We had to leave England after we married. Though it was a relief, Lady Irving, not to have a fortune weighing on us.”

  “Bosh. A fortune never weighs on a couple. Only poverty does that.”

  “A fortune shared, maybe. But if she married me with wealth and had to fit into the straitened life I could give her?” He distributed the last of the branches, then turned back to Estella with a shake of his head. “If she sat in a silk gown before a chipped brick hearth, rocking in a handmade chair—she’d grow unhappy with me. Instead, though, we started with nothing but a small family mill and a willingness to work. We were even, if that makes sense.”

  Yes. But just as a pretty face and a biddable nature had caught Estella an earl forty years before, she had nothing but a fortune to recommend her now. “No. And I’m still in disbelief over your statement that a fortune wouldn’t benefit a pair.”

  He shrugged. That you’re wrong but I’m not going to argue about it gesture again. “It probably depends on the pair.”

  “And what if the inheritance was a fever dream after all? Because it’s obvious the box is empty.”

  “Just because it’s empty,” said Rutherford, “doesn’t mean there’s no message inside.”

  “Your sister will not be joining us today?” The Duke of Walpole f
rowned. “She usually does, for the sake of propriety.”

  Charissa Bradleigh, third daughter of the Earl and Countess of Alleyneham, curtsied to her betrothed before retaking her seat in Alleyneham House’s fashionable Egyptian parlor. She always met the duke here, at the front of the house, where the gentle noises of Mayfair traffic rang through the silk-draped windows. The hoofbeats and whickers of carriage horses, the industrious ching of their metal harness fittings; the call of a master to a footman. It was impossible in such a space not to recall one’s proper place in society.

  “Not today, Your Grace. Lady Audrina is”—Charissa fumbled for the excuse her mother had given her—“accompanying Lady Irving on a Christmas visit to friends in York.”

  Don’t ask any questions, Lady Alleyneham had said, a worried expression on her gentle round face. That’s all you’ll need to know. Think happy thoughts, child! You’ll be a duchess soon.

  That was indeed a happy thought. Charissa smiled, but Walpole didn’t smile back.

  “I never heard Lady Audrina mention friends in York.” Walpole swung his ivory-handled malacca cane, a neat parabola of impatience.

  The Duke of Walpole was of no more than middling height, but his face was as handsome and neatly carved as a Roman bust. He was the perfect gentleman in dress and elegance. The black waves of his hair would dare not fall over his brow; his cravat would not dream of wilting from its intricate arrangement.

  Charissa herself was of no more than middling looks. Despite auburn hair, her gray eyes and colorless cheeks inclined her complexion to the insipid. Her teeth were good, though, and the habit of smiling a great deal and talking even more had served her well. A generous dowry made her more attractive, too: her hair more gilded, her laugh more silvery.

  “They are Lady Irving’s friends.” Charissa recovered a bit of her usual chatter. “You know how her ladyship feels about Christmas, Your Grace. She cannot bring herself to stay in London unless she has family to stay with her. So this year, when she chose to travel, she asked if she could bring one of us. Lady Irving has always been fond of us.”

  “That is quite a compliment to you.” The duke seated himself facing Charissa; the arms of his chair were tipped by Sphinx faces. “I was not aware Lady Irving was fond of anyone.”

  “Oh—well, she is. Maybe because she never had daughters of her own. Or maybe because she was glad never to have daughters of her own? But that is why Mother said Audrina could go. I mean, I could not because of our marriage. Clearly.”

  “Clearly.” The strict line of his mouth turned up at one corner. Charissa could hardly imagine it pressed to hers for a kiss, much less crying out with passion.

  But it would, wouldn’t it? And soon.

  She wished it were sooner.

  She looked down at her hands, neatly gloved from fingertip to the blond lace cuffs of her sleeve. She was every bit the proper bride on the surface, and her London family was equally appropriate for a ducal alliance. Just as long as her future husband did not inquire too deeply into her thoughts—or into the nature of Lady Audrina’s departure.

  “I do hope Lady Audrina will return in time for our wedding,” the duke said. “It would be most irregular should the bride’s sister fail to be present.”

  “But Lady Romula and Lady Theodosia—” Charissa bit her lip. “My elder sisters might not be in attendance. That is, my parents invited them, but we’ve heard nothing about whether they actually intend to come. If they are absent, I don’t think it will be to give offense, but because they do not feel at ease.”

  The two oldest sisters, Lady Alleyneham had put about, had suffered from a lung ailment the previous year. In truth, they had caught smallpox. Though their health had returned after a long convalescence in Littlehampton, their pale complexions had been pocked and scarred. Too badly to catch a titled husband, their mother said—which was quite all right with them, as Romula had fallen in love with her physician and Theodosia with a country squire.

  The two older sisters had resigned themselves to a quiet life in the country, one with which they professed themselves happy. They did not even express much enthusiasm for the fashion plates Charissa sent to them every season, or the bolts of satin and the plumes for new bonnet trimmings.

  And then there was Petra, the fourth sister. Dreamy and solitary, she had been in Italy for a year since the urge to study art had seized her with sudden violence. No one expected her to return for the wedding. Such a notion had not even been considered.

  “Your two elder sisters,” the duke said as he seated himself facing Charissa, “have chosen a different sort of life. If they do not wish to return to the bosom of society, that is their right. But until Lady Audrina marries, she lives under your parents’ roof and should abide by their wishes.”

  “She should,” murmured Charissa. She never had, though. Charissa herself had always accepted her parents’ wishes: to mix in society, to become a young lady of fashion, and to marry a duke.

  “I am glad we are in accordance.” His Grace smiled, a curve of his stern mouth that made his dark brows and eyes soften. “Lady Charissa, I have been considering a matter of great consequence. Since we are to be married in little more than a fortnight, I wonder—but no, perhaps it would be asking too much.”

  “No, please—Your Grace, ask me anything you wish. I am sure it will not be improper.”

  “I hope not.” He folded his hands over the ebony head of his cane. “I was thinking that, since we are to be wed soon, you might call me Walpole instead of ‘Your Grace.’” His head tilted. “If you mind, you must tell me at once.”

  His first name, she knew, was Roderick. Roderick Francis Matthew Elder, Duke of Walpole, Earl of Carbury, Baron Winterset.

  So many names. Soon some of them would be hers.

  “Mind? Oh, no—Walpole. Not at all. I should be very glad.”

  His smile matched hers, soft and bright, and her heart gave a quick, flustered flutter.

  She should be very glad as the future Duchess of Walpole. And if only she knew where her sister and her father truly were, she would be very glad indeed.

  Chapter Nine

  Wherein Celestial Bodies Are Not What They Seem

  After an early evening supper and a cursory cup of tea—which the Dudleys, Lady Irving, and Richard seemed to enjoy far more than usual—Giles drew Audrina off in search of Sophy and her telescope. “You wanted me to look at the stars,” he reminded Audrina. “Well, I’m not going to do that unless you do, too.”

  She raised a brow.

  “No, sorry,” he said. “I can’t be intimidated by the movement of a few facial muscles. If you want me to sop up some unwanted knowledge, you have to come along and sop it up, too.”

  This was nothing but bravado. The idea of being alone with her in a darkened room, with stars gloating down at them, was startlingly attractive.

  As was taking the chance to prove to her that he had listened to, and remembered, every word of what she’d told him earlier.

  Sophy was located in the library, as they expected. They found her seated in a ladder-back chair before an enormous secretary desk. A litter of scrawled notes, drawings of angles and radii and spheres, covered the surface of the wood. In the light of an Argand lamp perched precariously at one corner, the wood shone a burnished red. When Giles explained what they were after, Sophy’s pince-nez caught a silvery reflection that made her eyes impossible to see.

  “You want to use my telescope.” Sophy’s face turned from Giles to Audrina, then back. “Now? Tonight?”

  “Tonight did seem a better choice than tomorrow morning, yes,” said Giles. “I’m hardly expert, but I’ve been told it’s easier to spot things through a telescope at nighttime.”

  Her mouth pulled up at one side. “You were told correctly. Have you also been told how to use a telescope?”

  “What is there to know?” he replied. “Point one end up at the sky and look through the other. If everything looks smaller instead of bigger, turn it arou
nd.”

  “Do not turn my telescope around, Mr. Rutherford. I assure you, I have the right end pointing up at the sky, as you put it.” Plucking off her pince-nez, she pressed at the bridge of her nose. “Are you any more familiar than he is, Lady Audrina? Really, I ought to adjust it for you. If the keys were to break—”

  “We won’t adjust it at all,” Audrina assured her. “We will only look at whatever you have trained it on, then we shall leave it alone.”

  Sophy looked startled, the first time Giles had seen that expression cross her capable features. “What would be the amusement in that? No, no, you must look at whatever you like.” With a tilt of her head, she indicated the telescope on a Pembroke table at the far side of the room, in front of a window. “This telescope has quite a good lens and mirror. You can spot the rings of Saturn and tell apart the different colors of stars. Do you want any gridded paper for drawings or measurements?”

  “Yes,” said Audrina, just as Giles said, “Er—no.”

  Sophy handed Audrina several sheets of paper and a string-wrapped marking pencil. Then she paused, shuffling her notes into a neat pile. “Right. Well. This should be a good evening for watching the sky. The sky is clear, and the moon will not set until morning. It’s waxing gibbous.”

  “Don’t think I won’t ask you to explain that,” Giles said. “You’re probably used to English gentlemen who pretend to know everything, but I have no idea what that means.”

  Shoving her papers into a drawer of the tall desk’s hutch, Sophy explained that the moon was tending toward fullness. “No matter the phase of the moon, winter is the best time to look at stars because the sky is clear. I like to think that they freeze, waiting for humans to look at them.” She ducked her head. “Just a fancy, of course. I know they do not change.”

  “And why should they not?” Giles asked. “What do we really know about the stars?”

  With steady hands, Sophy transferred the Argand lamp from the desk to her abandoned wooden chair. “We know, Mr. Rutherford, that they are unimaginably far away.” Tipping up the folding table on which she’d been working, she closed it away behind the doors of the desk. “Enjoy your time looking at the sky. Do try not to break the turn-keys while you are adjusting the altitude and azimuth.”