by Linda Banche
Julia picked up the teapot. “Please join us.”
“Oh, dear, no, I have so much cooking to do, thanks to the basket you brought over yesterday, sir. We are most grateful.”
Robert inclined his head. “My pleasure.” He bit into a pastry. “These lemon tarts are the best I have ever eaten.” He raised the confection in salute. “To you, Mrs. Henry.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Henry blushed. “One more thing, miss. Mr. Borland came this morning to see you. I told him you weren’t here and I didn’t know when you would be back.”
Julia’s smile faded, as if a shadow had passed over the brightness of their love. “I plan on speaking to him today.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Let the poor boy down gently.” She quit the room.
Julia pleated a fold of her skirt. “I must refuse Mr. Borland’s offer of marriage. I regret I have not yet done so, but we never had a chance to speak.” She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I also regret I must hurt him.”
He nodded. “That will be difficult for you. I can tell him, if you wish.”
“No, I owe him the courtesy of a refusal in person. He has been extremely kind to me.” She drooped as she poured out tea for them both.
He finished his tart and then picked up another, his discomfort of the morning all but forgotten. “You really must eat one of these lemon tarts.” He waggled his eyebrows as he set a tart on a plate for her.
The shadow on her face eased. She bit into the tart, and smiled around her chewing.
The brightness returned to their day.
After they finished tea, they climbed the stairs to her studio.
“Tell me, what made you become an artist?”
She paused on the step above him and turned around. “Ever since I was a little girl, I have always loved art. How magical that a few brush strokes can transform an empty canvas into something never before seen. Mama and Papa were kind enough to hire me the best art teachers and I learned everything I could from them.”
“I am sorry I never met your parents.”
“They would have liked you.”
“Of course they would.” He grinned. “I am a rich baron.”
She gave him a playful slap on the arm. “While they were alive, they had money, too, and titles meant little to them.”
“I am suitably chastised.”
She sighed. “I miss them so.”
He gathered her to him. “You have used their gift wisely. Your paintings are superb. I am sure they would be proud of you.”
She kissed him. “Thank you so much for understanding.”
As he opened the door she led him to, he sniffed. “Now, I smell turpentine. But the odor is appropriate here.”
The room was stark, little more than an easel and a table covered with paint pots, brushes and rags. But if she wished to continue to paint here, he would buy whatever furniture and art supplies she wished. He scowled at the empty fireplace. And also enough coal to keep her warm.
She pulled off the cloth covering the canvas on the easel. “Here is Evening Mallard, but I am not finished yet.”
Robert went still. “This one will be even better than the other.”
Julia glowed. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course.” He kissed her.
Her smile beamed. “Then I will make this picture your wedding present.”
“Thank you.” To think, he would bask in the sunshine of her smiles for the rest of their lives. He had to make sure she smiled often. “We can keep both paintings in the family, so to speak. A set.” He kissed her on the nose. “Speaking of family, mayhap I should meet your aunt.”
She colored. “There is no aunt. I could not afford a companion, so I made up an aunt to deflect the impropriety of my living here unchaperoned.”
“A great joke on us all. But, unlike you, I do have an aunt in the vicinity, and we should tell her our good news.”
They informed Mrs. Henry of their destination, and then made their way to Lady Ellison’s estate on the other side of Leeds. That lady fussed and fluttered over them both until they finally escaped her house.
Julia blew out a breath as Robert helped her into the gig. “Gracious, your aunt is quite intense. When she focuses on you, you are the sole object of her considerable attention.”
“Indeed.” Robert hopped up beside her. “I love her dearly, but she is best taken in small doses.” In a way, he could understand Borland’s vexation at her pursuit.
***
Laughing, Robert and Julia drove up the Downs toward Tyndall House. The sun, nestled in a wreath of gold and pink, descended toward the horizon’s embrace. At the highest point of the road, Robert reined in. “I always like to watch the sunset from here.”
Julia rested her head on his shoulder. He looped his arm around her waist, and they sat in contented silence as the sun took its leave of the earth.
With her beside him, he was at peace with everything and everyone. Even Borland for deceiving him, and especially that rascal Machiavelli. Without the aggravating goose, he might not have met Julia until after she had become Borland’s wife. He tightened his arm around her. How would he have survived, knowing she had wed another?
When the streaks of red and orange had faded to purple and black, Robert clicked the reins and they wended their way back to his house.
As they approached, the birds in the aviary chirped, cheeped and squawked their farewell to the day.
Julia stiffened. “Can we go to the aviary and see if Mr. Borland is there?”
“As you wish.” He turned the gig up the road to his bird sanctuary. At the gate, he stopped and hopped down. He tried the gate. “Locked.” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Borland!” Only renewed bird calls answered him. “Looks like he has finished for the night.” He pointed with his whip to a dark window on the third floor of the house. “He is not in his chamber, either.”
She bit her lip, the shadow returning to her eyes. “Oh, dear. Then I must wait until tomorrow to speak with him.”
He climbed back into the carriage and they drove to the stable. “Will you stay for dinner?” And for more than that?
“I would like that above all things.” As if she had read his mind, her mouth curved into an inviting smile.
His every nerve vibrated. After tending the horse and carriage with a speed fueled by his racing heart, he led her to the house. Inside, their footsteps echoed in the dim, silent corridors. They stopped in the library and Robert lit a taper from the smoldering fire. “There should be plenty more food in the kitchen. I had the cook prepare a feast yesterday, since I had invited you over.”
“Please do not remind me of how badly I behaved.”
“I also behaved badly. So badly, I did not partake of the feast, either. But now we both shall.”
In the kitchen, Robert lit a branch of candles on the table where they had eaten before. “I have many happy memories of this room. When I was a boy, the cook always fed me lemon tarts.”
“So you know your way around.”
“Every boy knows where the food is kept. Especially the sweets.” Holding the single taper high, he opened the larder door and bowed her inside.
Sides of beef left to age hung from hooks on the walls and garlands of vegetables dangled from the rafters. Their combined aromas filled the cool room with a meaty, spicy scent.
They stopped at a table laden with covered dishes. “Let me see.” After setting the taper down, Robert uncovered dish after dish. “Here are sliced ham, a tureen of vegetable soup, and baked potatoes. Do you mind eating them cold?”
“No need, I can heat them up.”
“Let us see what else we have.” He removed the covers from more dishes. “Apples, cheese, and—” He stepped back.
She leaned around him. “What else?”
He cleared his throat. “Goose.”
They bent their heads at the roasted carcass, as solemn as if they attended a funeral service.
Julia bit her li
p. “I cannot eat this. Reminds me of Machiavelli.”
“My thoughts exactly. The servants can partake of this delicacy.” He set a towel over the goose as reverently as if they were in a church. “Rest in peace, my friend.” He transferred the platter to the far end of the table. “Although, there were many times when I would have happily cooked and then dined on Machiavelli. A villain, that one. Mrs. Henry rose in my estimation when she said she wanted to roast him for Christmas dinner.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Could that be the reason he turned up here? Hiding from her cleaver?”
Julia’s forehead creased. “How could he have known?”
“From what I have seen of that goose, I think he understands much more than we give him credit for. After all, he is still with us. But enough about Machiavelli.” He gathered up several platters. “On to the feast!”
She laughed and collected the rest of their selections, and they returned to the kitchen. At the hearth, she stoked up the banked fire.
“My future wife is a woman of many talents.”
She fluttered her lashes. “Yes, I am. And I will make sure you never forget that, either.”
His pulse raced. The firelight gilded her skin and outlined her form, a goddess awaiting his worship. Visions of her naked and locked in his arms filled his brain. To the devil with food. He would take her to his bed now.
She lifted a frying pan from its hook on the wall. “Gracious, with all the running around we did today, I confess I am famished. Even after all we ate for lunch.”
His happy dream popped like an overfilled bubble. Well, he could wait a little longer. Not that dinner wasn’t pleasant. They ate and laughed and kissed many times before the meal ended. Afterwards, they deposited the remains in the larder and cleaned up.
Then he folded her into his arms. Finally. He kissed her.
Hand in hand, they returned along the shadowy passages.
Only up to my bedchamber.
Julia smiled, and Robert’s blood raged. Now. “In here.” He pushed open the nearest door and led her inside. The hissing, banked fire threw an orange glow over the library. He let the door fall shut behind him and pulled her back into his embrace. “I had planned to take you to my chamber, but the rug here is thick and soft, and there are quilts and covers on the sofa…”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “The library will be most satisfactory.”
His internal flames scorched him. “I am glad we are of like mind.” He kissed her over and over. Then he threw a quilt before the hearth and held out his hand.
Smiling, she set her palm in his. She glanced back at the entrance. “Should we lock the door?”
He nuzzled her ear. “No one is here to interrupt us.”
She looped her arms around his neck.
Their lips met, and the fire in their blood consumed them both.
***
Candle held high, Will strode down the corridor to the back door. He had awakened and couldn’t fall back asleep, so he would make one more check of the aviary.
This morning, he had risen before sunrise and taken the shortcut down to Shaw Farm to talk to Julia. But early as he had been, she had already left.
He gripped the taper tighter. Had she gone to see Tyndall? Had they already made up?
Since he had given all the underkeepers the day off, he hadn’t been able to wait for her return. And then the hours had flown as he did his own work in the aviary, and everyone else’s, too. Then he had to tend a sick eagle. No small task, ministering all alone to a large bird with talons and a sharp beak. Worn out, he had locked up the aviary before dark and then returned to his chamber to fall into exhausted sleep. He had awakened a short time ago, and now slumber eluded him.
He hadn’t seen Tyndall all day. Was he with Julia?
His hand shook and the candle flame wavered. Hang it, why had he helped Tyndall? He should have encouraged him in his anger with her.
His shoulders slumped. No, he couldn’t do that. As much as he wanted Julia, he also wanted her to choose him of her own free will. Helping Tyndall had been a risk. Perhaps a risk he shouldn’t have taken, but he wanted Julia to be happy.
I can make her happy!
He clenched his fists. Yes, he could, and he would do his best to convince her of that, if Tyndall hadn’t already stolen a march on him.
The long case clock chimed the hour. Ten o’clock. Too late to visit Julia. But he would go to her at first light.
He set the taper on a table by the back door and then pulled on his greatcoat. When he came back from the aviary, he would find a boring book in the library to numb him into sleep.
He settled his hat on his head. The library was just down the next corridor. He might as well pick up a book before going outside. Then, when he returned, he could go straight to bed and warm up.
The taper cast wavering light on the floor and walls as he made his way down the passage. The library door opened silently on oiled hinges. He stepped inside. And froze.
The smoldering fire limned Tyndall and Julia, so engrossed in each other an earthquake wouldn’t have penetrated their consciousness.
Will’s world crashed and splintered. Then he pinched out the candle flame, backed up and quietly pulled the door shut. With exaggerated care, he set the taper on a nearby table. I don’t want the candle to fall and disturb them. He stumbled down the corridor and out the back door, floundering down the steps into the garden.
A waxing crescent moon hung low over the western horizon, washing silver ice over a night-dark landscape as frozen as his heart. He careened across the lawn until a tree barred his path. Then he leaned his back against the trunk, and slowly slid down until he sat, his greatcoat pooling under him.
He had lost her.
No. If he were honest, he never really had her. He tipped his head back against the trunk. For months, he had told himself over and over that he would proclaim his love to her, and then he never did. Too afraid, or too shy, or too foolish to act. Promising himself every time he left her farm that he would declare himself the next time. Telling himself that actions spoke louder than words, and she would realize his devotion meant he loved her.
But she couldn’t read his mind, so she hadn’t known.
She had never expressed any interest, either. Even though ladies weren’t allowed to make the first move, if she had had feelings for him, she would have made some sign. And he would have known.
Now he was too late. He buried his face in his hands.
Above, the bare branches clacked together in the breeze, as if playing a dirge to the death of his hopes. If he had made his feelings plain sooner, perhaps, with more time at her disposal, she might have come to love him. That might have worked, even last night, when he had convinced a despairing Tyndall to talk to her.
But noble Will had to help his rival. He snorted. No, Stupid Will had let her go because he wished her to have what was best for her.
He slammed one fist into his other palm. And she hadn’t wanted him. Damnation, but he was the biggest fool in creation. What had poet said? ’Twas better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? He gave a hollow chuckle. The poet was also a fool.
He sat in the dark cold, unformed thoughts flitting through his weary mind until he locked on one.
The second drake.
Amongst his earliest observations of ducks had been a strange mating flight involving three mallards: a hen and two drakes. The trio whirled and spun across the sky in a breathtaking display of aerial acrobatics, until finally one of the drakes flew away. That observation had taken pride of place in his notes for a long time as a prime example of ducks’ flying prowess, until he realized its sad significance.
Among mallards, there were more drakes than hens. The excess males, desperate to mate, pursued every hen in sight, including ones who had already selected partners. The unmated male rarely won the hen. The pair usually succeeded in losing him.
The second drake was the failed suitor.
Like him.
Chapter 22
Sly crouched under the bushes at the edge of the forest. How he wanted to get inside that aviary.
His mouth watered. The aviary, so full of plump birds. He had tried to gain entry many times, but had never found a chink in the protecting fence’s length.
Until now.
One night after Machiavelli’s escapade, Sly had circled the aviary, searching once more for a rotted board or a hole under the fence, anything that would allow him in. For years, the task had been a hopeless one. But this time, he found something. The aviary perched at the top of the hill, and water flowed away from the structure. During the recent warm spell, some runoff had missed the drainage pipes and seeped under the fence, creating a slight hole before freezing. Hawthorn obscured the fence’s base, and no one except Sly had noticed the hollow.
He snorted. Not even that eagle-eyed Keeper, who inspected the fence every evening.
Every night since, Sly had enlarged the gap.
Now the opening was big enough—big enough for himself and a fat, juicy bird. Before dawn, he would make at least one foray into the aviary, and if he were lucky, he would make several.
The time was right, too. Most everyone was elsewhere. Some Human celebration.
Well, tonight would also be a Fox celebration. Sylvester the Great would feast on exotic bird flesh before the new day. Just a little longer, until complete darkness fell at moonset.
He licked his chops. After all his waiting, everything had fallen into place.
There was only one problem. He frowned. The Keeper slept under a tree.
Sly sniffed. Stupid Humans. The sapskulls believed they were superior to the Animals. But no Human could survive a night outside in winter’s cold the way the “inferior” Animals could.
He narrowed his eyes. Was The Keeper dead? If he wasn’t now, he would be by dawn.
While Sly made every attempt to outwit The Keeper, he bore him no ill will. The Human’s job was to protect the birds in the aviary, just as Machiavelli’s was to safeguard the chickens at Shaw Farm, and Sly’s was to snatch away their charges.