by Lisa Torquay
“It is true, Mrs Tobias.”
Her mind blurred and her throat tightened. What self-righteous little prissy she had become! She had not even contemplated asking someone. She had just jumped to conclusions and taken them to be reality.
“You understand there is no love lost between our people and him, Lady Strafford.” Cook said serious. “But he seems to have changed a bit, don’t you agree?
“Maybe, Mrs Tobias, maybe.” An absent reply, finishing her work.
She stood up slowly, said good-bye to cook and decided to take her horse. There was need to go check how the hennery fared. The chicks required tending.
By mid-afternoon, work almost done, her heart held so much heaviness from her guilt she craved a little escape. She walked to the picnic spot by the lake, her favourite place in the world. She sat on the bench there, admiring the placid waters. Normally, when she came there, a contemplation mood set on her, making her look around, realising how she loved Strafford Manor. She had adopted it as her home, despite everything. She loved this land, and she loved the possibility of working and improving it.
Today, though, nothing of this passed her mind, as the grey clouds reflected on the water. Her eyes just stagnated unseeingly on the lake. She would not produce objective thoughts. Nor could she name the whole palette of feelings that coursed inside her. Numb. This was the word for her state of mind at that precise moment. She did not care to clear anything; solely craved the flowing of the palette into a semblance of order. Or would name them afterwards.
Change? Her husband changed? She breathed a bitter laugh in the wind. People like him did not change! They just walked through life from one orgy to another, unthinking. She did not believe for a minute in this. Cook did not see the whole picture, naturally. Even if servants wandered around all day, they did not witness everything. She had learned heart-breaking lessons in those three years. Not to be blown away with little nothings!
She kept on sitting on the bench, blankly for a long time.
Conrad stepped out by the portentous manor’s porch, intending to take his horse for a ride and stopped short. In the distance, he discovered Aurelia sitting by the lake. Her figure so static, not a strand of hair seemed to move. A lone woman, eyes fixed on the lake. A stolid fortitude emanated from her as if she would be able to face any herculean challenge thrown her way. Something swivelled in him. Something deep and undefined. He had this strange urge to go there and take her in his arms. And hold her for a long, long time until they settled into a semblance of truce or that sort of thing. He wished her in peace, he wished himself in peace. A peace that eluded him, especially when he saw her standing up to so much. He resisted the urge to approach her and followed his way to the stable.
The afternoon ride opened his appetite, he realised as he took himself to dinner. He entered the dining room wondering what delicacies Cook prepared. Surprise struck him. At her place, Aurelia, in the act of unfolding her worn-out napkin.
“Good evening, Lady Strafford.” He bowed, formal.
“Good evening, Lord Strafford.” She devolved, glimpsing him and lowering her lashes quickly.
He sat at his place; a footman poured water in his goblet from a jug he had instructed Hughes to accompany his dinners.
The servants ambled around serving dinner and left. They ate in a loud silence, full of tension and unspoken thoughts.
When they finished, Aurelia lifted her rosewood eyes to him at last. “I owe you an apology.” Her hands neatly folded on her lap.
“Oh, you do?” Placing his mended napkin on the worn tablecloth, he rested his other arm on the chair in a rather ironic posture.
“Yes.” She Blinked and drew in air. “I talked to Cook.” She took a sip of her wine.
“I see.” She dressed a high-necked dress of an uncertain cream colour. It glued to her breasts and tightened when she breathed.
God, the things she had told him in that brief exchange. To accuse him without proof evidenced inexpert indeed.
“But you would not believe in my claim alone.” She looked at his daring dark eyes, a lock of his midnight wavy hair falling on his brow. His black coat designed his large shoulder, giving his apparently relaxed stance a pulling quality.
“No. I have no reason to trust you.” She delivered candidly.
“No, you don’t.” He conceded.
“Why would I?”
“For the sake of doing something different.”
“When it comes to you, indifference is the difference.” She lifted her chin with a twinge of irritation.
“Evading me will not solve any problem.”
“True, but it will get me rid of your presence.”
“We both know that to be impossible.”
Why did he have to bring this up? She knew she would have to put up with his demands if she was to hold control of the manor’s business.
“I might go over the sow and harvest thing, but you probably know that already.” Meaning one harvests what one sows.
What she really wanted was to stand up and leave his presence. It was excessively uncomfortable around him. Her distrust mixed with this…craving, that underlined their interactions constantly, made her wrench with the contradiction. It brought the memory of the night. And the kiss. And this insane idea they should repeat them.
“You won’t let me forget, for sure.”
“On the contrary.” She eyed him directly. “I don’t want to nag you. I just want to be left alone.”
“Obviously.” He rested his chin on one of his hands, observing her attentive. “Don’t you feel lonely?” He shot out of nowhere. “I mean, so much withdrawal is bound to make one become isolated.”
Her eyes darted lightning, her rosewood hair, tight in a bun, shone in the candlelight. This moonstruck image of him laying her on the table and taking her flashed in his mind.
“Whether I am lonely or not, is not your business!”
“Oh but it is. You’re my wife and I might… help you with it.”
Her eyes squinted, her jaw set. “Help?”
“Sure, why not?” A suggestive glint installed itself in his gaze.
She stood up in a brusque movement. “You are outrageous!”
He lifted his magnificent body from the chair calmly, as if a gentleman standing because the lady did.
“I understand you have spent all your energy in the estate.” He tried to slow the tone. “Now you could spend a little on you.”
“I will not lower myself by answering to this!” She turned. “Good night.” Marching to the door, she opened it dryly and left.
In her room, Aurelia closed the door and let loose an arrested breath. She sat at her secretary, face in her hands. How was he able to read her with so much accuracy? Or was it just experience with women? Either way, he came too close to her innermost reflections. She had to leave the dining room for fear he saw more of her.
Isolated? Definitely not! She had friends in the village, in the neighbourhood and among the tenants. She lifted her head, eyes resting on a ledger, absent. At this time of year, socializing did not figure among her priorities, in fact. When she had less work to do, she visited with her friends and received friends over for tea and a conversation, no doubt. She usually attended dinners and balls at her neighbours, even if she tended to decline house parties, for she should not be away for long. There was the detail that her neighbours travelled to town during the season. Then the country would be quieter. Her friends in the village and among the tenants remained though.
He clearly meant another type of isolation. The lonely type. He, the man who left her alone for three years. She got used to it. Used to it she would continue. Safer. More sensible. Surer.
Better stop thinking about this nonsense and get down to work.
Chapter Six
The hardest part of spring came to an end not a week later. The sowing, the calving, the lambing, the pigging finished. Those animals tended to their young, and the tenants did not have to stay up all
night to assist them in birth. Neither must Aurelia oversee it. The orchard, the vegetable garden in order, awaited the fruiting. A pause in country life allowed for the spring fair which would be happening in the village, with dance in the evening.
Aurelia loved the fairs! They gave her opportunity to rekindle friendships, meet new people and experience the novelties brought by the vendors. From when she was just a little girl, the fair enchanted her. She did not fail to show when it happened.
She decided to go to dance tonight and leave the visit to the fair for the whole next day. After dinner, she put on one of her ball’s dress from the time she got married. A violet muslin model, she had tried to update with a touch here and there. The dress fell on her like a glove, highlighting her breasts and narrow waist, without exposing too much.
In the motion of climbing up the carriage, she perceived movement in the front porch. Conrad. Damn! Would he never keep to himself, so she could ignore his unsettling presence? He climbed up, sitting in front of her.
He looked irresistible, for a variation. High black boots, breeches and a dark brown coat, all showing off his soldier’s body.
She ogled him inquisitive. She thought he would be smart enough to give her a modicum of space. It appeared he did not undertake such precautions.
“Hughes showed extreme kindness in informing me of your plans for tonight.” He half-smiled sardonic to her, his thin, discoloured lips attracting her attention.
“What? You’re eager to convey the image of an attentive husband?” She pierced him with a contemptuous glint.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but the idea is not bad!”
Barely able take his eyes off her, in a rather old-fashioned dress, she embodied temptation itself. His eyes toured her demure neckline, revealing the smoothest skin he had ever tasted, her covered bosom, where the fabric pushed her delectable breasts forward, her narrow waist. Her rosewood hair recoiled on the top of her head, let ringlets fell around her perfect face. The vision of her stirred him uncomfortably.
He wondered how stupid he had been not to have noticed her from when they got married--or before it. Upon remembering his three years with her in his lonely Indian nights, he started to value what he had and lost.
“Ha! And you imagine anyone will buy it!” She made a dismissive gesture with her hands and he saw her delicate fingers callused by work. “Everyone knows what a lousy husband you are!”
Were, he corrected mentally. He possessed not a shred of intention of going back to old habits. “Surely, my actions will change their minds?” He did not give a damn to what people thought! He wanted to enjoy her company, however much chance came his way.
She shrugged, her face contorted with mistrust. “They can change their minds as much as they want. As for me, I sampled three unpalatable years to be misled.”
“Once bitten, twice shy, as they say.” He mumbled nonchalant. He would not scare her away; let her believe what she wanted.
“Poor answer, my lord.” She crossed her arms over her alluring bosom. “I call it lessons learned.”
“So be it, my lady.” He retreated, unwilling to start a row, when he was aware she loved the fair and did not rest a minute in the last weeks.
The remaining of the journey to the village elapsed in giddy silence.
The market place stood in full swing when they arrived. It seemed the whole village and the people from the estates around came to have their fun after the hard spring work.
Conrad helped her down the carriage and offered her his arm. She took it as she would not make a scene in front of the whole village. People from all social stands came to talk to her, and she tried to give everyone equal attention. They conversed politely with Conrad, but their real enthusiasm directed to her.
Aurelia attempted to participate in the village’s life as much as her duties to the estate allowed her. This made her utterly popular among people. She established a network of help to the elderly, at the same time she channelled their time to helping the children. Those who enjoyed good health would take care of the children while the children’s parents engaged in work. So, she suggested a day-care of sorts attached to the church. This gave the lonely elders a purpose, the children, company and the working people, tranquillity. Conversely, the teenagers who afforded the time would take care of the convalescent elderly, in a cycle of mutual help. They cherished her idea and her investment in people skills. Many of them expressed gratitude for her ideas and actions.
At the dance, she did not stand still for a single minute. Many a gentleman invited her to dance. It had been like this the previous years as well. Conrad never accompanied her, and she did not refuse dancing invitations, as she loved dancing and always became so entertained. Even Coleman took her on a fast country-dance this time.
Conrad could not avoid the burn of jealousy, seeing her dancing with all of them. Even Coleman! The steward spent too much time with her. Much more than he, Conrad, did. Unpleasant conclusion, he thought. The steward rode with her around the estate almost every day, even though she always took her lady’s maid or a tenant’s wife or daughter with her. Conrad envied the amount of time they spent together, while she left him to his own devices, helping as he should, but away from her.
He strode to the dance-floor as the music finished. “I believe it to be my turn now, Coleman.” Unable to disguise the dryness I his voice.
Coleman looked at her too long as she curtsied elegantly. Conrad did not approve this long, or shall he say, longing in the man, but he decided to let it be for the time being.
When she turned to him, her face became marble-like, expressionless. He laced her by the waist and brought her to him, hearing her breath catch. Good. The others may covet her as much as they liked; she belonged to him though. He would make it very, very clear to everyone present.
A slow folk ballad started, making him bring her closer, his thumb caressing the back of her hand, ostensive.
“Stop it!” She commanded between her teeth.
“Stop what?” He stared down, deep in her darkened rosewood eyes.
Her eyes locked up at his as their bodies moved to the rhythm of the old ballad. Country-dances tended to be more permissive than ballroom dances and he took full advantage of it.
Aurelia found it wrenchingly difficult to tamp down the scorching reaction of her body to him. It remembered that night, that kiss, contrary to the orders her head sent it. After a few minutes, she desisted to oppose resistance; she allowed her body to accept and flow. How many times had she not dreamed of dancing with him here? Every single damned year she came and danced with those who meant nothing to her. Thoughts rested on the vague possibility he might show up and keep her company. Three of those fairs, without counting the ones before their marriage. He appeared once or twice then, but never danced with her, pitifully. Frustration through and through, one way or the other.
When he departed to India, she thought it easier—no expectations of him coming, so she enjoyed whatever there was to enjoy. In the beginning, she expected better, though she had not allowed herself to skip the fun. Now he stood here, before her, holding her close and his full attention, his dark eyes, on her. A dream come true. She would not throw it away after having wished it for so years. Would permit herself to live out the fantasy, even though she saw it would not last, eventually he would disappoint her. She forced herself to forget the bitter past, to live the moment.
And the moment proved to be intense, searing. Unable to sustain his piercing stare, she lowered hers; her body melted into his, into his strength, his spicy-scented warmth, his breath on her cheek. The old song building new memories. Purposefully, he fell out of tempo, grazing his hips on her, as she registered his manhood solid and undeniable. Her eyes snapped back to his; they sent a message to her, molten, undisguised. The world vanished, leaving only the two of them, under the stars. Her body sagged, and she held his shoulder for fear of falling. The moves took on another meaning entirely. It was as if they danced to a tun
e of their own, explicit, sensuous, half way through to the real act. Her core eager, ready. She envisioned them out in the fields, venting this uncontrollable desire. He over her, in her. Driving her to hell, to madness, to paradise.
Suddenly, he stopped. She forced herself out of the sultry haze the dance threw her in during those minutes. The ballad had come to an end. He stared at her; she stared back. Reluctant, he released her. Automatically, she curtsied, walking away as a zombie. A frustrated zombie.
For the rest of the time, they did not come near each other. Did not dare! Even so, their eyes crossed in the night, searching. She tried not to, to no avail. She searched him; sensed it, he searched her. Or vice versa, who cared. At the end of the night, they strode to the carriage.
As soon as she sat opposite him, her rosewood eyes lifted to his and, they absorbed each other for lengthening minutes, the air around them filled with electrical tension. Conrad let the dam loose; he grabbed her and sat her across his lap, kissing her with desert thirst. During the dance, there had been a savage urge to lift her on his shoulder, take her somewhere quiet, and slake their lust. He had been almost at it, when the ballad finished, saving them the shame.
Here, she did not resist him. On the contrary, she grabbed his hair and pressed her lips to his, as thirsty as he; their tongues seeking each other with urgency. His hand roving her exposed neck, revelling in her soft skin. She needed new dresses. Ones that showed her off, unrestricted. So, he would taste her in any carriage trip.
She moved to stride him, skirts angling around them, forgotten. Oh, god! She pressed her body to his. He rumbled approval. His she-wolf! He pressed her hips to his, hallucinated with pleasure. They continued kissing with free reign. He slid his stubble mouth down her slender neck as she sighed and gave him more access.