Star-Crossed Summer

by Sarah Stanley

  Beth nodded. In this one thing she sympathized with Rosalind. Ned Barker was unspeakable, yet his mother was always proudly hinting that he had a lord for a father. No one believed her, because Ned was a lout through and through, and convinced he was God’s gift to womankind. His attentions to Rosalind were bad enough for Jake to have already set about him one dark night. There was a violent side to Jake, especially where his daughter’s well-being and chastity were concerned. Well, Ned wouldn’t paw Rosalind again, because by this time tomorrow Jake would possess enough money to buy into that forge in Frampney and get a nice little cottage in the village. He and Rosalind would have a new life in the country, with food for their bellies and a roof that didn’t leak. She sipped the brandy, which was so fiery that she began to cough.

  Jake laughed. ‘A scorching mouthful, eh?’ He drained his cup and poured a little more. ‘You know, while I was working today, two fine lordlings came in with a dandy high-stepping nag. I had blisters on my feet, rags on my back, and a belly groaning like God knows what, and they whined on about the low price they were getting for their corn. God above, Bethie, there was no comparison between them and me. They see a poorhouse as something to walk past with a dainty nosegay, but for me, unless I get full work soon, the poorhouse is too damn close for comfort.’

  At Tremoille House that same evening, Jane finished the glass of dry sherry she’d been enjoying in her private apartment, and smoothed the silver-blue taffeta gown she hadn’t worn for well over a year. She was leaving widowhood behind, so rubies glowed at her throat, and there was a jewelled aigrette in her beautifully pinned hair. Thomas had called and was waiting for her in the drawing-room. She glanced a final time at the copy of Lithgow’s Journal. It was risky to accept Thomas, but she couldn’t bear to let him slip through her fingers now. With a sigh, she left the apartment to go downstairs.

  He was dressed for the evening, but didn’t look particularly at ease, having always preferred to slouch around in hunting pink. A paunchy fifty-two, he had never been handsome: his forehead was too broad, his eyebrows too bushy, his cheeks almost hollow, and his wiry iron-grey hair had receded to a monk’s tonsure. Height wasn’t in his favour either, because he was barely an inch taller than her. He was inconsiderate, testy and generally lacking in charm, and yet she remained his adoring slave. The Worcester bordello where they’d met had served gentlemen with a penchant for young girls. She’d been fourteen, and his title and money were more than enough to impress her, but then he deserted her for the dull, blue-blooded Diana, a fact that in her darker moments Jane still resented. There was no hint of any of this in her greeting. ‘Thomas, how good it is to see you again,’ she said warmly, her hands outstretched as she approached him.

  ‘My dear.’ He kissed her cheek and approved of the abandonment of her weeds, but she knew something was distracting him. She ushered him to one of the most comfortable chairs. Like the rest of Tremoille House, the drawing-room was all that was Tudor, with jewel-bright tapestries on the oak panelling and three cartwheel chandeliers suspended from the elaborate plasterwork of the ceiling. The large carved stone fireplace, big enough to stand in, still bore traces of its original decorative paintwork, especially the blue lion of the Valmers, and the furniture might have been used by one of the Tudor monarchs. When Thomas was seated, he took out a cigar and lit it from a candlestick on the small table at his elbow. ‘Well, Jane, you won’t have heard the news.’

  ‘News?’ She went to pour two glasses of Esmond’s finest cognac.

  ‘That the expected battle has taken place and Bonaparte is trounced?’

  Her lips parted. ‘I haven’t heard anything like that. That a battle was about to be fought, yes, but not the outcome.’ She handed him a glass.

  ‘Hardly anyone knows. I met an old acquaintance who told me the banker Rothschild received the intelligence from Brussels by, well, by pigeon. It seems they not only fly home, but can bring messages too. So I’m told, anyway.’ He sipped the cognac and smacked his lips loudly.

  Jane sat down. ‘Are you sure someone isn’t pulling your leg?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure, but I feel it’s all the truth.’

  ‘If so, what is Rothschild doing about it?’ she asked, ‘Buying? Selling?’

  ‘He’s too wily a fox to let that out. Damn it all, I don’t know what to do, Jane. I could make a fortune, or lose it.’ He leaned his head back.

  ‘Are you asking my opinion?’

  ‘Certainly not.’ He looked at her as if she’d lost her wits.

  She changed the subject. ‘How is Rowan?’

  ‘My son and heir is a mystery to me. I haven’t understood him since he was sent down from Oxford for indulging in prizefighting, among other low things. How Diana and I produced him, I cannot begin to guess.’

  Jane had always suspected the saintly Diana of breaking the Seventh Commandment, but could hardly say as much. ‘He’s young yet,’ she said reassuringly, ‘and as I recall, his father was not dissimilar in his youth.’

  He was disparaging. ‘The boy’s twenty, damn it. At his age I knew control; he apparently has none. But looking at him, one can’t imagine he’s a hell hound.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Thomas, for I know you had such high expectations of him.’ She spoke soothingly and with implied admiration, knowing it rarely did any harm to flatter a man’s vanity. It was easy to slip back into her old whorehouse skills.

  He drew on the cigar. ‘You’re still a harlot, Jane, with the added attraction of also being a rich and desirable widow.’

  She wished he’d show less avarice and more affection. Why did she love him so much? The heart was a thing of mystery. ‘Are you sure even now that you want this old whore as your wife?’ she enquired a little acidly.

  ‘You surely didn’t expect me to make you Lady Welland all those years ago? Damn it, your tail was for hire at that damned bagnio!’

  ‘Esmond married me,’ she observed.

  ‘Tremoille was an eccentric libertine who enjoyed being shocking, although I notice even he took care to bury your past. He preferred to hug himself with secret laughter when he saw society accepting you to its bosom.’

  ‘Whereas you preferred to break my heart,’ she answered reproachfully.

  ‘Be fair! I’d have been thought a fool.’

  ‘So you married a fool instead,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t speak of Diana like that.’

  ‘I’ll speak of her as I choose, Thomas. She was a fool from the day she was born until the day she shuffled her mortal coil. Ah, but let us not forget that she was also too well-bred to say boo to a goose, which made her perfect for you.’

  ‘I warn you, Jane—’

  ‘You can’t order me yet, Thomas. I’m a free agent, not the gullible little doxy who was dazzled by your title as she ministered to your cock.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘My, my, how refined you are.’

  ‘And how you used to like it.’

  ‘Maybe I did.’

  ‘Is that past tense too? I’m sure you’d still like it now.’

  ‘You’re hardly a young girl.’

  ‘And you, sir, are a portly, middle-aged man, so let us not quibble.’

  For once he saw the humour of it. ‘All right, you win. Maybe I did make the wrong decision all those years ago. I’ll never forget my amazement when I heard you’d become Mrs Tremoille, or that first time I saw you in society, dancing a ländler with the Duke of Beaufort. He had no idea his partner was a whore.’

  ‘And dear Diana had no idea about anything either,’ Jane replied slyly. ‘I so wanted to tell her about your taste for young girls. Tell me, did you indulge after me?’

  ‘Occasionally,’ he answered frankly, ‘but if you’re fishing to know if they were better than you, the answer is no. You were in a class of your own, Jane.’

  ‘I still am,’ she said softly.

  Her change of tone wasn’t lost on him. ‘Oh, Jane, when you speak like that.’

  ‘Things stir?�
�

  He put his glass and cigar aside and held her gaze. ‘You’ve always stirred me.’

  ‘It’s been a long time, Thomas.’

  ‘Claiming to be as good as ever is one thing, proving it quite another.’ He unfastened his white silk breeches.

  She was dumbstruck, having expected no more than a little verbal flirting, but her powerful sensuality forbade her to overlook this sudden opportunity to satisfy her lust. And his. The desires she tried so hard to suppress were suddenly released as if through a sluice, her treacherous thighs quaked and her loins softened as if they were melting. She knew he wouldn’t produce a great throbbing weapon, because he had always needed working on before he stiffened enough to be useful, but she’d dreamed of this for so long that she didn’t care how small and shrivelled his tool was. Her blue gown whispered as she knelt before his chair and took him in her hand. He was warm, velvet soft, and yet to respond as she leaned forward to put her lips over the crinkled foreskin and slide her tongue inside against the hidden surface within. He grew and grew until the foreskin had pulled right back, exposing the most delicious of lollipops, or so she’d always likened it. She licked and nibbled gently, then enclosed it entirely with her mouth. Oh, how she loved the taste of a man, and the knowledge that she was in command of this most precious part of his anatomy. It was his lodestar; without it he’d be lost.

  Ripples of excitement began to concentrate between her legs as she savoured him, rolling him around in her mouth and sliding her tongue over him. Oh, how she feasted upon him, her body undulating erotically as her pleasure intensified. She could feel herself drifting toward the edge of consciousness, before she sank weakly against him as wild contractions of desire overtook her. He arched as enjoyment consumed him too, but he made no attempt to reach out to her as he moaned and gasped. Then he came with a force that made him cry out, and she enjoyed such tremendous gratification that she could hardly breathe. For a long moment they remained together, and then he sighed. ‘By the powers, Jane, you are still as good as ever.’

  ‘This old dog has no new tricks to learn,’ she said, sitting back on her heels. Sexual satisfaction was so necessary to her that sometimes she thought she would go mad without it. She made a considerable effort to get up gracefully from the floor and return to her chair.

  ‘So, Jane, are we to share a marriage bed?’ he enquired, shoving his limp appendage unceremoniously back inside his breeches, and fastening them again.

  ‘I haven’t decided,’ she answered with misplaced coyness.

  He disliked simpering. ‘Well, to be honest, my dear, I need reassurance that you’re still worth offering for.’

  Her cocoon of sexual warmth shattered, admitting cold shivers that slid down her spine. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Surely you aren’t about to play the callow boy and tell me I’ve just cheapened myself too much for your bed?’

  ‘Allow me more maturity than that. No, Jane, I must ask you some questions.’

  ‘Questions?’ From nowhere the ominous shadow of the missing will fell across her again, but she kept strict control of herself.

  He nodded and reached for the cigar again. ‘I learned this morning of a second will that reinstated your stepdaughter and excluded you. Is there any truth in this?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’ Her fingers were crossed in the folds of her gown.

  ‘You swear it?’ he pressed.

  ‘Of course. Thomas, is your proposal solely based on acquisition?’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘If you expect romance from me, you’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘I think I had already grasped that fact, Thomas.’

  ‘And you know nothing of the fire that killed the lawyer Beswick?’ he asked.

  At that she rose coldly to her feet. ‘I do not care for the implication, sir!’

  He waved her to sit down again. ‘Don’t be so damned prickly, woman, it’s a reasonable enough question.’

  She remained standing. ‘Reasonable? I beg to differ. You should not lend your ears to tittle-tattle that was no doubt started by my hussy of a stepdaughter.’

  ‘Beth? Maybe. I thought she’d left Gloucester, but apparently not.’

  ‘If she’s still here, she certainly doesn’t mix in good society.’

  He was droll. ‘Hardly surprising when you made damned sure all decent doors were closed to her. By the time you’d finished with her character, she’d become a blend of Lucretia Borgia, Messalina and Delilah.’

  ‘Come to the point, Thomas. Are you withdrawing your proposal?’

  ‘If you’ve told me the truth, the proposal still stands. So what’s it to be? Do you wish to become Lady Welland?’

  ‘I thought I did, but now I’m not sure,’ she replied, too disturbed by the past moments to think clearly. She had always seen him for what he really was, a grasping bully who would never treat her well, but still her heart – and body – ruled her head.

  He frowned. ‘Don’t forget I’m offering you a title.’

  ‘Nor do I forget that I will be your chattel,’ she answered, adding, ‘I’ve had a year of complete freedom, and the feeling is good.’

  ‘But are your lonely nights also good?’

  Colour entered her cheeks. ‘Maybe they haven’t been lonely.’

  His eyebrow quirked. ‘I hardly think even you would stoop to that lapdog butler. Come on, Jane, we’ll do well together.’ Provided I continue to have the rights to these estates, she thought. He took her silence for consent. ‘Then it’s agreed?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes, it’s agreed.’

  ‘Excellent! The sooner we’re wed, the sooner I can get out of Whitend.’

  She was nonplussed. ‘Get out of Whitend? I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s bloody damp there, what with the moat and standing between the river and the canal,’ he replied. ‘The one thing for which I really have to thank your late lamented husband is that he put a stop to the Gloucester and Berkeley Canal. Now it seems the canal is to be completed after all. It passes within a hundred yards of the house, Jane, and on an embankment too. Then I had a nightmare.’ He cleared his throat, discomfited by his own morbid fears. ‘A week ago I dreamed I drowned.’

  ‘Thomas, dreams are just dreams.’

  ‘You don’t understand. I dreamed of drowning in the house. There was water everywhere, as if the sea had reclaimed the vale.’ He shuddered.

  She didn’t know what to say. There had been a time when he’d backed the canal scheme, seeing it as a fine way to increase his fortune. He also enjoyed sailing on the estuary, and acquired an interest in the Forest of Dean coal that was brought upriver to Gloucester. Now, because of a dream, he feared water?

  He drained his glass and then drew a long breath. ‘You see, Jane, if the embankment were to be breached, or the Severn tide burst the riverbanks….’

  ‘Oh, Thomas,’ she chided, getting up to replenish his glass.

  ‘You may find it amusing, but we all have secret fears, do we not? Mine is a horrible and lingering death by drowning.’

  ‘Is that why you’re marrying me, to live up here?’ She managed a smile.

  But he wasn’t amused. ‘It isn’t a matter for levity, Jane,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘You have lived at Whitend all your life, and your forebears for centuries. It will still be standing – and dry! – for generations to come. So, let’s forget about such things, and think of our betrothal instead. We are betrothed, aren’t we?’

  He looked at her and pulled himself together. ‘Yes, and arrangements for the marriage itself can commence. I have a fancy for the cathedral.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be more suitable to have a discreet wedding?’

  ‘No, damn it, I won’t skulk to the altar. I’ll make arrangements for it to proceed as soon as possible and as grandly as possible. I want all of Gloucestershire to be there, every knight, baronet, viscount and earl, with a duke or so to add class.’ He got up reluctantly. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better toddle off to Whiten
d.’ He looked expectantly at her, clearly hoping to share her bed for the night, but she was having none of it.

  ‘You’ve enjoyed enough of my hospitality for the tonight.’ There was a discreet tap at the door, and she turned irritably. ‘What is it, Bolton?’

  The butler came in. ‘Madam, Joshua’s horse has been found riderless.’

  The thousand guineas! Had Joshua stolen it? ‘Have someone ride to Mr Williamson’s residence in Eastington, to enquire whether or not Joshua delivered the money. Well, go on, you fool!’

  Thomas raised an eyebrow as the door closed. ‘Who, pray, is Joshua?’

  ‘A trusted servant I sent to Gloucester with money for Williamson’s Bank.’

  He found it amusing. ‘Trusted? The look on your face suggests you may have made an error of judgement. You need a husband to control your purse strings.’

  Chapter Four

  Fiddler’s Court was quiet and Rosalind was fast asleep in the loft. Fresh rain pattered against the ill-fitting window as Beth washed in a welcome bowl of warm water. She’d braved the rain a little earlier to wash her hair in water from an old butt in the corner of the yard. Now she felt clean again as she went to sit naked on the threadbare rug in front of the dying fire, Jake stripped to use the same water to scrub away the grime of the forge. He was well developed and muscular, with a hairy chest and an upper half that was deeply tanned. Everything from his waist down was pale. He had taut buttocks and strong thighs, and his male member seemed almost vulnerable as it hung from the dense forest of dark hair at his groin. He was a fine figure of a man, good-looking and virile, courageous and kind, and she wished she could love him in the way he loved her.

  ‘Oh, Bethie,’ he whispered, coming to draw her fingers to his lips and kiss them as gracefully as any gentleman of quality. Contrition gnawed through her. This man loved and trusted her, he gave himself without question, and would do anything for her, but tonight she was deserting him for a new life. Ought she to tell him, or was it kinder to leave him in ignorance and make this final evening something he would always remember for its tenderness and passion?