A Secret Passion

by Sophia Nash

  Jane could see the telltale sign of anger on her father’s face. A large vein near the center of his pale forehead stood out, like a streak of lightning foretelling doom. His dark, watery eyes bulged. But still his calm tone remained.

  “You will marry again, or you will leave this house,” he said. “If it is the latter, I will not know you anymore. Nor will your brother, or your friends. However, I concede you do have a choice. What is it to be?”

  Jane felt the cold tendrils of angry pride stiffen her spine. Rising from the table, she dropped her napkin over her untouched breakfast. “How much time am I to be granted before I take my leave?”

  Her father narrowed his murky eyes. “None,” he said as he left the room.

  The kind old butler kept his gaze on the tips of his boots when he reentered the dining room. His heightened color proved eavesdropping was his forte. “Shall I go after your maid? She has just stepped out to run your errands this morning.”

  “No, thank you, George,” she said, recovering herself. “I would only ask your help in sending a note to Mrs. Dougherty to beg off her invitation for tomorrow evening. It appears I will not be staying in London after all.”

  “Yes, miss,” he responded.

  “No, George, it is ma’am. You must remember I have been married.”

  “Yes, miss,” he responded with a slow smile. Despite her unfortunate situation, she could not resist smiling back at the family butler who had always been so kind to her, especially during the five years since her mother had died. He had spent hours talking to her, walking with her in the pastures of Pembroke, and offering comfort when no one else had, all at a respectful distance, of course. She rose from the table and shook his hand before she reached up and kissed his wrinkled old face good-bye. She looked at the tears in his eyes, and brushed at them with her fingertips.

  “George, this is for the best. I knew I should never have returned here after Mr. Lovering died. You were the only enticement.” She smiled at his long face. “But how can I stay here when you refuse to maintain the family’s appearances?” She laughed before adding to the bald and well-attired man, “Your hair needs cutting again, and those shabby clothes…” It was their favorite joke, and it would be their last.

  “Yes, miss. As you say, miss.”

  “Now, George…”

  Jane was awakened from her reverie by the soothing touch of her aunt. Clarissa pressed a cool, damp compress on Jane’s forehead, easing the aching pain she felt. “And now, here I am, my dearest aunt, an uninvited houseguest, sitting in your kitchen.” Jane grasped her aunt’s hand in her own. “But for you, I will try to be obedient.”

  Clarissa laughed and shook her head.

  Chapter Two

  THE bright morning sunlight hurt Jane’s sleepless eyes as it filtered through the budding trees of Littlefield’s landscape three mornings later. She descended a steep bank, slippery with dew, then guided her horse through a muddy stream. Salty breezes wafted through fields of verdant young grasses and wildflowers in the semidarkness before the rays of the sun penetrated the early morning sky and stilled the air.

  She had known she would not sleep again when the bedcovers had twisted into an uncomfortable mass. Torturous thoughts had swirled through her brain all night. Only the wind rushing by her face during a good gallop could promise to banish her worries, at least for a little while.

  Pax stumbled while scrambling up the steep bank of the stream. Jane leaned her weight forward and gave the animal more freedom with the reins. At the top of the bank, her horse stopped and snorted. Jane wondered what Pax saw, and squinted over her mare’s alert ears.

  A streak of black was in the distance. It was a horse and rider. Going far, far too fast. At breakneck speed, in fact. In an instant she urged her mount into a gallop. She thought that if she could not stop the runaway, at least she could be there to pick up the pieces when the rider fell off.

  Her horse could not overtake the other. Jane changed tactics and circled around the opposite direction of the field to try to cut off the pair. As they drew closer, she could hear the man curse.

  “Get the… devil out of here… private property,” was all she could make out.

  Then the horse, despite its lathered sides, lowered its head and ran faster than before. Jane stopped and watched the pair gallop out of control around the perimeter of the field. Finally, the huge horse headed toward her in full gallop and reared within a few feet of her horse. Jane’s mount crow-hopped and whinnied as the man half slid, half fell off the tail end of the stallion. It took all of Jane’s resources to stay in her sidesaddle. The man’s brutally strong back was turned to her as he dusted himself off and watched the black horse jump the high fence that enclosed the field and take off.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Jane.

  Breathing hard, he turned to face her. The man’s overly long black hair was touched with a few brushstrokes of gray on the sides. He was dressed almost indecently, a plain white shirt with buttons undone halfway and sleeves rolled up, no neckcloth, not even a coat. She tried not to notice the torn green-stained breeches that left nothing to the imagination. If she was not mistaken, she could even discern the edges of a pair of men’s smalls under a tear near the thigh. She felt a blush suffuse her face as she finalized her perusal by noting that his scratched boots were caked in mud and had probably never seen a boot brush. As her gaze moved back up to his face, his cold expression hardened even further. His angular face promised to brook little argument. She backed her horse up a few paces.

  He looked furious as he wiped the grime from his brow. “This is private property, Madam. Were you unable to read the notices posted?” he asked, his gray eyes turbulent with anger.

  She was not sure why she should be defensive for trying to help. “Pray forgive me,” she said. “I thought you might have been in need of help.”

  “I see.” He looked at her for an uncomfortably long moment. She resisted the urge to squirm as he stepped forward the paces she had given up. “And you thought you could stop that two-ton miserable sack of horseflesh?” he asked.

  “I am most sorry to have invaded your master’s property. Do be so kind as to overlook it. It shall not happen again,” she replied, lifting her chin.

  An uncomfortable silence ensued as the tall, muscular man turned to retrieve his hat. He returned with a glint in his eye, which Jane could not fathom. “Yes,” he said, “his lordship will be most displeased.”

  He didn’t speak or act like a servant, and yet his behavior and clothing were not gentlemanlike. He must be a gentleman in name only, reduced to earning a wage. His arrogant countenance showed he had refused to become accustomed to his low station in life.

  His eyes roamed her entire person from the tip of her boots to her eyes. It was a completely improper action, and Jane felt anew the awkwardness of the situation. She wondered for just an instant whether anyone would be able to hear her if she needed to cry for help. She pushed this thought away and began to back up her horse. “I will ride on to enlist the aid of another stable hand and a new mount for you.” She was pleased to note that despite her discomfort, her tones were cool.

  “Oh, no, miss. I was thinking you might be able to convey me to the area yourself, as you were the cause of this trouble.”

  “Me? How dare you presume to blame me!”

  “Well, you startled him just as I had got him almost under control.”

  “Nonsense. You had absolutely no control over him to start with.”

  “All the same, the least you could do is give a poor bloke a ride pillion back to the stables.”

  She stared at him in horror. Could he really mean to suggest she allow him up on her horse with her? It was too much. As he started to lead her animal to a felled tree to mount up, she pulled Pax up short. “Unhand my horse. I will ride on in search of help.” She moved her riding crop from her saddle to her hand.

  But he reached up and easily took it away from her. “You shall do no such thing. Sta
y still. It never pays to fight the inevitable.” And with that, he grabbed the pommel and cantle of the saddle and swung up behind her. His bronzed forearm grazed her hips as he settled behind her.

  “This is entirely improper,” she began before he cut her off by putting both hands around her waist.

  “Move on, old girl, before I use this whip.”

  Jane was appalled, unsure if his command was directed toward her or her steed. She dug her heels into the animal and urged her forward.

  The heat from his large hands was unsettling. They almost encircled her entire waist. flustered and angry that this arrogant groom had the impertinence to insist and force himself up onto her horse, she urged Pax into a fast trot, but to her dismay, this only made the man tighten his grip on her waist and move closer to her body. She could even smell the male essence of him. Jane immediately brought her horse back to a fast walk.

  She thought she heard him laugh, but his voice was bland as he inquired, “Is your horse winded already, Miss, ah… Perhaps I should know your name, considering our circumstances.” He removed one of his hands to rearrange the saddle pad as he wrapped his other entire forearm around her waist. The strength in his arm unnerved her, as did his warm breath on her neck.

  Jane hesitated. It was very improper of this man to insist on an introduction. It was the outside of enough. She decided to refuse an answer. It was difficult to cut someone when he was holding a part of one’s body, but she persevered.

  “So I am not to learn the trespasser’s name, then? I am not surprised,” the man continued.

  Jane responded with a sniff. When they were finally past the stream, he directed her through a small grove of apple trees. She stopped at the foot of a manicured drive and allowed her gaze to drift over the estate. The structure was immense. Pale limestone cut into rectangles formed a symmetrical castle boasting at least two hundred windows. Jane almost forgot her passenger for a few moments while she admired the classic lines of the edifice. Conical evergreens framed the tall archway of the entrance as well as the entire outside of the castle and pathways.

  “Do you like what you see?”

  Her unwanted companion’s warm breath on her neck reminded her of the discomforting state of affairs. “Who would not?”

  “Indeed,” he said as he leaned closer. “Shall we press on, then? I could arrange a tour of the Hall should you so desire. In fact, I could escort you myself, considering your unexampled kindness in condescending to share your horse with me.”

  She could feel his whiskers tease her ear. “You may dismount here,” Jane commanded in a clipped fashion. “And I will depend on you not to discuss this incident with anyone.”

  “I daresay this means you will not offer to escort me to the main stables?” he responded. When this met with no response, he swung off the horse and slid down. Jane noticed a long tear on the right side of his shirt, which revealed a muscled shoulder with a jagged scar. She pulled her gaze away from him and leaned over to take the riding crop he still held.

  “Have no fear, ma’am. For”—his eyes narrowed in amusement—”who would believe I was offered escort by a nameless trespasser in the neighborhood?” The man smiled for the first time, revealing straight white teeth. The sun appeared from behind a scudding cloud, and his eyes turned to burnished silver before he bowed and strode with purpose toward the drive.

  Jane summoned as much dignity as possible as she urged her mare to trot back down the small lane while she wondered what on earth she had done to merit such a series of unfortunate events. Now, in addition to her long list of worries in London, it seemed she must add yet another here in Littlefield. She sighed. While her life had been far from perfect a day ago, it had been at least secure and proper.

  For the first twenty-three years of her life, the most improper thing she had ever done was infuriate her music teacher. This entailed running away from home when she was twelve, following the severe scolding she had received from her father regarding a certain toad in the pianoforte. Her mother had found her down by the cliffs, huddled in the wild grasses of the shallows with her knees drawn up and her chin tucked down. She remembered the sensation of her mother’s hands stroking her hair and whispering that she must return home. She had picked up her butterfly box and scribbling book and trudged homeward.

  After stabling her mare, Jane walked toward her aunt’s cottage. The thought of the scribbling book made her smile. Yes, that was it. Finishing the story she had begun to write two months ago would take her mind off of her current worries. It was a better idea than trespassing in search of the sea and good scenery.

  Clarissa rose from her cramped position in the garden to welcome Jane at the gate. She removed her muddied gardening gloves and apron. “Jane,” she said with obvious pleasure, “I have been waiting for you, dearest. I have something to show you which I think you will like!” The two women entered the cottage and made their way through the narrow hall into the kitchen. Jane’s curiosity could not budge Clarissa’s desire to surprise her.

  Clarissa moved to the table and untied two old-looking packets. Jane watched her aunt unfold lengths of beautiful crepe and Alamode black silk.

  “Aunt Clarissa! Wherever did you find this?”

  “I remembered this morning that I had had the foresight to purchase several lengths of fabric before leaving my brother’s residence in London. I knew it would be more difficult to find good cloth in the country.” Clarissa folded the fabrics and placed them in Jane’s arms. “Your father never should have forced you out of mourning. Your riding habit will have to do until this can be made up.”

  “It only mattered to the outside world. In the privacy of my heart, I could still mourn him,” Jane said wistfully while examining the silks. “I can’t thank you enough. It is too much.”

  Clarissa moved to place tea items on the table. “Your thanks are unnecessary. I will write a note to my brother, insisting he send your clothes for the end of the period.”

  “He won’t relent. My father was very clear that I not take anything. It will be a point of pride. He will be furious enough when he realizes I took my mare.” She kept her eyes on her hands, which held the riding crop she had just picked up.

  “Aunt, I must warn you of a particularly vexing event during my ride this morning.” She went on to relate the particulars of the meeting with the stable hand.

  Clarissa was confused. “You say the man was very tall with black hair? It cannot be the man who oversees the stables, as that is Matthews and he is balding. I know all the inhabitants of the village, and most of the servants at Hesperides Hall are at least familiar by face. Are you sure it was not the earl himself? He fits the description,” the aunt said as she poured the boiling water into a pot.

  “But this man was wearing a torn shirt without a neckcloth and breeches that were beyond description. He threatened that the earl would be furious for my trespassing.”

  “Well, then it couldn’t be Lord Graystock.” Clarissa set a loaf of bread and some preserves onto the small wooden table. “Ah, but I remember… The rector was mentioning the earl was expecting a guest or two at Hesperides. He must be one of the gentlemen or a manservant of one of the guests.”

  “You know the earl? Lord Graystock, you said?”

  “I have not been presented to him, as he has only lately returned. However, I have seen him in church and he is an austere gentleman, as befitting his station.” Clarissa paused to pass Jane a small plate. “Before he assumed the mantle of the title from his father, he was married to a young lady. But it was for just a short while, well before I came here.”

  Jane stood up and moved to look out of the window. “What happened?”

  “She died when she lost the child she was carrying. Apparently, it was a dreadful time. The neighborhood had waited more than two decades for a new mistress of Hesperides, and she was there for only seven months. She was young, only eighteen.” She paused before rushing through the last of the explanation. “There was much talk abo
ut the circumstances of her miscarriage and death.”

  It had begun to rain, and from the window Jane sensed the reflection of raindrops on her face. “What kind of talk?”

  “The kind that breeds from idleness in a small village.”

  “So, he became lord of the realm of Littlefield and reigns supreme over the area’s society, who bow and scrape to him while gossiping behind his back?”

  “No, Jane. You are mistaken somewhat,” her aunt answered, taken aback by her tone. “The young gentleman purchased a pair of colors in the cavalry in the spring of aught nine, soon after his wife died. He vowed not to return. Reverend Gurcher said it was to escape the nightmares that haunted him. Although the rector should have never confided this to me,” Clarissa added. “It is said he sold out when his commanding officer insisted, after he had very nearly lost an arm to a saber at Waterloo.”

  Jane squeezed her eyes shut. “I should not have surmised what I did.”

  “It is worse still,” continued Clarissa. “His father, the old earl, died two years ago, convinced that his elder son would never return.” Clarissa added that he also had one other sibling, a brother.

  “And the other son?”

  “I have never met him, as I have lived here for just the last seven years. No one seems to know much about him other than the fact that he does not reside here.”

  A long pause followed Clarissa’s words. Jane turned from the window to face her aunt. Clarissa’s pale blue eyes stared up at her from a drawn and tired face. Jane felt most unsettled and had to fight the urge to ask more questions. So, instead, she turned the conversation to arranging for suitable accommodations for her horse, still at the smithy’s small stall.

  The Earl of Graystock was pensive as he retired to the old, cracked leather chair near the fireplace in his library. The book he had left draped over the arm failed to engross him after a dutiful ten-minute read. He turned to look at the flames in the fireplace and allowed his mind to drift to the woman he had left on the drive.