by Donna Hatch
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 colorful fish swallowed it whole. She brushed a few crumbs off her bronze silk gown and looked up to find her husband's masked face directed toward her.
He 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?"
"That's Zeus's garden. I never go in there anymore.” The tone of his voice became flat, unemotional.
"Why?"
"My 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. “Thank you for allowing me to show you around. 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, amazed that a mere baron had amassed such wealth. But then, titles did not often equal affluence.
"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 with gilded carvings stood in one corner. A harp stood in another.
He gestured to the 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. 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 playing 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.
When she found herself alone, she devoted more time to playing the pianoforte and felt her soul soothed by the sounds she created with the instrument. Her skill even improved through her diligent playing, but she never played in the presence of 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.
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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 looked out over 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, stripped 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?"
"Just bring me an ale, Ann."
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.<
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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.
Ann brought him his drink and took a seat nearby. “And me, later?"
"Not this time, Ann."
She pouted prettily. “'Not this time’ is all I ‘ear from ye now since ye returned, milord. ‘ave ye forgotten how I make ye feel?” Her voice took on a throaty tone.
"Things have changed."
"Nothing changes that much. I'll bathe for ye first, just like ye like."
Cole drank from his cup deeply, stamping down temptation. The barmaid was young and pretty and had always proven an enthusiastic diversion, but he could touch no one else when he craved Alicia so badly.
Ann reached over and brushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. She giggled. “I don't think I ever saw you with you hair mussed. At least not until after."
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.
"Yer always so gentle, milord. Ye make a girl long fer the next time."
Cole stood. “I'm sorry, Ann. There won't be a next time.” He handed her more money than he'd ever paid for her services and left payment for his drink on the table.
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, Conner?"
"I thought you'd want t’ know someone's been asking about Lord and Lady Amesbury."
Cole frowned.
"He seemed rather shady, if ye know what I mean. Do ye want me t’ nab ‘im?"
"No, Conner. Thank you for letting me know. She has an uncle that might be concerned for her. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.” But Willard Palmer knew where Alicia's husband had taken her to live. Why send someone to ask about them?
His instincts whispered danger.
* * * *
One evening, Alicia sat with her husband in the darkened garden. Completely enigmatic, he sat with his head lifted upward to gaze up at the starry heavens made glorious by a cloudless sky.
"Did you ever study astronomy?” he asked softly.
"No. I know a little about mythology, so some of the stories you told me of the gardens are familiar, but all I can find in the sky are the North Star and the Big Dipper."
"See that cluster of stars?” His leaned near, his chest brushing against her shoulder, his arm reaching across her, as he traced a group of stars with his gloved finger in the far northern sky. “That is Andromeda. There are her arms, this is her belt, and her legs. Pegasus is here nearby."
A light, masculine scent permeated his cloak and she breathed it deeply, invoking an awareness of him on a new and elemental level. To her surprise, she did not recoil.
"When did you become interested in the stars?” she asked.
"At Cambridge. I was good at mathematics but I loved astronomy, probably because of my professor.” His soft chuckle rumbled. “He was a bit unconventional, and quite eccentric, but he instilled a great love of astronomy in his students."
"Tell me about Andromeda."
"Her name is Greek for ‘Ruler over Men.’ She is also referred to as ‘The Chained Maiden.’ She was the daughter of Cepheus and Cassiopeia, king and queen of Aethiopia. Cassiopeia made the mistake of boasting that her beauty equaled the beautiful Nereids of the sea."
Her husband's soft, muffled voice, as he painted the characters, swept Alicia away. “Of course, such a claim drew down the vengeance of the gods. Poseidon, king of the sea, sent a sea-monster to destroy man and beast. The only way to save the kingdom was for the king to sacrifice his daughter, Andromeda, to the monster, so they chained her to a rock on the shore. She was saved by Perseus who slew the monster and freed her. Though she was promised to another, Perseus married her and they had many children. They are supposedly the parents of the Persians. After Andromeda died, the goddess Athena placed her in the constellations near Perseus and Cassiopeia."
When he had finished the story, Alicia realized her neck was straining as she gazed upward. She rubbed her neck. “The Greeks had a rather dim view of their gods."
"They were pagans who saw God, or rather, gods, as selfish, vain creatures who were the cause of human misery. What they failed to recognize is that humanity causes its own misery."
"You are quite a philosopher. And a scholar. An astronomer. What else do you do?"
His shapeless face turned toward her. “Less than I once did.” His tone was flat, betraying his despair.
Was she the cause of it? She hung her head. She had the power to offer him comfort, companionship, acceptance; things that he surely did not receive elsewhere. Others no doubt saw only his mask without seeing the intelligent, gentle man underneath.
The servants treated him with respect, even affection. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges, loved him as a member of the family. But then, she had known him as a child.
Her eyes strayed to him, but she could distinguish nothing of his thoughts or mood. She tried again to imagine him as he had been before his injuries; whole, complete, but she failed utterly. “Are there any portraits of you as a younger man? You know, before...?"
His cowled head turned toward her. “Not here."
"I try to imagine your face, but I have nothing upon which to base it. Are you dark or fair?"
"Dark. I assure you, you don't want to see my face. Would you care to see the maze in the morning?"
His obvious desire to redirect her inspired pity for this gentle man who'd lost so much. How would it be to no longer desire to show—or see—one's own face?
"A maze?” She imagined becoming hopelessly lost within a labyrinth of green.
As if reading her thoughts, he put his hand over hers. “I will guide you in and out safely, rest assured. And I will show you the secret so that you will never become lost inside it."
"Very well.” She withdrew her hand.
The following morning, he kept his promise. The maze proved more interesting than she expected. With a bright morning sun shining down on them, he led her confidently through it. Inside the wall of hedges, it was a world of quiet stillness, peaceful rather than suffocating. When they emerged in the center, she found a marble fountain falling into a perfectly round raised pool filled with water lilies. Frogs croaked in a rough chorus. Mist from the falling water dampened her face.
He leaned his cane against a stone bench and took her hand. He tugged gently on her hand as he stepped closer, and slowly pulled her into his arms. The contact sent waves of alarm racing through her veins. She tensed, but he did not demand anything beyond holding her. He stood silently, his arms around her, lightly pressing her against him. She had expected the soft body of a near invalid. Instead, he felt solid. When he made no further move, her fear faded—just a little—and she let him pull her in tighter. After her initial fear abated, she rested her head lightly against him and listened to the beating of his heart. It somehow reassured her that he was human and not a beast.
"Alicia, is it me you fear, or men in general?” His voice rumbled his chest against her head.
She moistened her lips and tried to organize her feelings into coherent words. “I fear the act men desire. And husbands require."
Wordlessly, he held her. The water fell merrily into the pool, and birds sang and flirted among the hedges.
"Did someone force himself upon you?"
With startling clarity, the humiliation and terror she suffered at Mr. Braxton's hands flooded over her. She realized she was trembling when his arms tightened around her.
"One of my suitors tried to, but I fought him off. He did not rob me of my virtue, but I learned enough about it that I ... am reluctant to do that. I know it's your right
, but—"
"Shhh. I will never do anything that you will wish to fight off."
"But someday you will—"
"It's a completely different thing when a woman is with a man who cares about her, and who desires to please her. There is no place in it for fear or hurt."
His words, though gently spoken, did not reassure her. Instead, they dredged up his emotionless mask in place of Mr. Braxton's face and the sick terror she had experienced. They were completely alone. There would be no way of escaping him if he should try to take her here in the middle of the maze.
A quiver ran through her body and she pushed herself away from him. “May we go back, now? Please?"
He released her and stepped back but his hands fisted at his sides. He drew a breath, exhaling slowly and then spoke with controlled softness. “Yes. The secret is to turn left at the first junction, pass the next entrance, and then turn right. The pattern repeats. If you do that, you will come back out where we began outside the maze.” He retrieved his cane and indicated that she proceed in front of him.
She led the way, with his reassurances at each intersection, until they stepped out into the gardens. Once they were on a familiar path, he made a slight bow.
"I need to attend to business, Alicia, but I will join you after dinner."
"Of course, my lord."
He started to speak, but turned and left without speaking another word. She drew a breath and sat on a cool bench.
That night, after she undressed, she stood in her boudoir looking up at the stars. A shooting star burst across the eastern sky and faded quickly.
Like many of her dreams.
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CHAPTER 18
Cole read through the columns of figures that sat on his desk. Several of his investments had paid off handsomely and his solicitor had sent him the latest set of figures and proposals.
His steward had brought a stack of papers including a request for the cooper to attend one of his tenant's houses, and a suggestion to raise the rents to help cover a rash of repairs many of the houses needed lately. Cole approved the use of the cooper and rejected the rent increase. Then he wrote a letter to a man purported to be a genius at improving crop yield, and asked him to come tour the estate.