by Cari Hislop
Hervey put his hands on his hips, forcibly restraining the impulse to comfort her. “My fatigue is not the problem Juliana. I don’t think you understand that everyone has feelings just like you. You are not more sensitive than other people. The rest of the world feels things as intensely as you. The other day when you saw my brother Avery at Ackerman’s, he had no idea you were there until you came up to him and humiliated him for no reason. He’s a thirty-year-old man forced to depend on me, his baby brother, for his entire support and he feels it keenly. If I were him I’d probably kill myself because I couldn’t bear to stare into a bleak endless future void of all hope of happiness. You hurt his feelings by publicly declaring his identity and his lack of funds. That does not justify his rudeness to you, but it certainly explains it. Don’t you think?” Big fat tears rolled down her cheek making him feel like a monster.
“How was I supposed to know it would hurt his stupid feelings?”
“Sweetheart; all you have to do is ask yourself, ‘How would I feel if someone said or did this to me?’ If you had, you’d have known it would hurt him. I don’t need your money Juliana. I’m self-employed. I buy a bargain and sell for a profit. I have never taken a farthing for bedding a woman and I’d rather blow out my brains than sink so low. Can’t you understand that I have feelings too?”
“Why are you telling me this? Are you trying to make me feel bad? Do you want my pity?”
“Sweetheart, if you don’t understand what I want, then I suggest you buy a husband who won’t care. Horace Royston would fit the bill; he’s handsome, charming, good ton and a scoundrel who’ll gamble the roof from over your head in a week.”
“I hate Horace Royston...you want an annulment? I thought you liked me.”
“An annulment would make me miserable, but if the alternative is spending the rest of my life feeling like you’ve kicked me in the stomach then I’ll march back to the Archbishop and say whatever I have to say to free myself.” Hervey’s resolve to keep his distance dissolved as the woman sobbing into her nightdress blindly stepped towards him and transferred her tears and fingers to his shirt.
“I don’t want an annulment...I like your kisses.”
Hervey took a deep breath as the pain oozed away allowing his arms permission to claim their prize as he buried his nose in her hair. “That makes me feel better. The pain in my stomach is already gone, but I’m tired. I’m going to fall asleep standing upright. I need to go to bed and when I wake up I’m going to go home to wash and change. Come with me and I’ll show you my house.”
She wiped her nose on his shirt and looked up at him in disbelief, “You own a house...in London?”
“Its previous owner was hacked to death by his mistress in the drawing room. I guess he wasn’t a very good lover. She drank a bottle of laudanum afterwards and saved the hangman the bother. We ignore the odd apparition, strange smell and flying object.”
“You live in a haunted house?”
“It was a bargain.”
“Will you kiss me?”
“Into bed first before we fall over and I crack one of my ribs.” Keeping one arm around her waist he pulled back the covers and gently shoved her into the bed and then slid in beside her. “This is a very comfortable bed, come closer...that’s better. You can hold my shirt - just don’t choke me. If we had music I’d think I was in heaven.”
“Hervey creature...”
“Yes Sweetheart?”
“I hate dancing. My instructor said a dead pig moved with more grace and Mother said he was right. People laugh at me when I dance and it makes me want to kill them.”
“Rubbish, you move like a Goddess. Watching you move makes my heart race and my...” Hervey groaned with longing as he leaned towards the disembodied head on his pillow and vigorously worshiped parted lips. “Ah Sweetheart...” His heavy head sunk into the pillow as he admired his companion. “...you’re so...” He was asleep before he could finish his sentence. He was insensible when a few minutes later a curious hand crept free of the bedclothes and lightly explored his rough unshaven cheek. Pausing briefly, it then combed through waves of cinnamon-orange. Satisfied, the hand slid back under the bedding where it nestled unhindered in folds of masculine linen.
Chapter 6
Juliana wrinkled her nose as she inspected her husband’s second hand carriage. She’d never known a carriage could be so comfortable. The sky blue leather seats were sprung and padded with a generous give designed to make long journeys bearable and the wheels appeared to magically glide over cobble stones, but it smelled musty as if the previous occupant had lived in a damp linen cupboard. She watched the Hervey creature yawn into his hand and then wink at her. “Where did you get this carriage? It stinks.”
“I bought it from the Duke of Lyndhurst. That’s his crest on the doors.”
“I don’t care about his stupid crest. Why did you buy it?”
“It was a bargain.”
“Why was it a bargain; did someone die in it?”
“Possibly; Lyndhurst isn’t called ‘The Devil’s Corpse’ behind his back for nothing. The last fool to say it to his face was...well let’s just say that afterwards his family had to lock him in an attic. Lyndhurst is so ugly and his reputation so deservedly vile few people will have anything to do with him. I’m discreet and I amuse him so when he wins a property on the gaming table he allows me to go in first and find the bargains. It’s quite awful really. I always take one of my brothers to remind me that I have a household to feed. Picking over a dead man’s belongings is uncomfortable. Picking over a living family’s belongings always makes me sad. I always buy something for the previous owner; important family papers or a portrait. Their gratitude for my gift helps ease the guilt.”
She winced in disgust. “You dance with devil for a bargain?”
“If he didn’t sell it to me he’d sell it to someone else.”
“He sounds horrid.”
“He is, but only a fool plays cards with a devil who usually wins.” He smiled as the carriage slowed to a stop. “Oh good, we’re here.”
Juliana stared in disbelief at the typical white Georgian townhouse. Next to the black door was a twelve paned window. The first floor had two copies of the ground floor window while the third floor had two smaller windows. Well scrubbed steps led below ground to the coal cellar near the small window and door into the servants’ quarters. “It looks new.”
“Built in 1801...” She watched the orange head jump from the carriage and hold out his hand. “Mrs de Vere?” Accepting his offer she climbed down and blushed as he kissed the back of her glove. “My servants are going to adore you.”
“Why?” She allowed him to retain possession of her hand telling herself an old school friend might ride by and recognise her. The fact the Hervey creature’s hand made her feel pleasantly alive was irrelevant.”
“Because you married me.”
“Conceit ill becomes a creature with orange hair...” He merely smiled and kissed her hand again before enthusiastically pulling her inside. She nodded as he introduced her to the smiling old man who’d opened the door and allowed herself to be pulled down the inner stairs to the kitchen where three aged female kitchen staff were joined by two aged housemaids who all congratulated her on her good fortune and eulogised their Master’s goodness. She hissed in his ear, “How much did you pay them to sing your praises?” He merely winked and politely waited till the servants all finished and then put her to blush by singing her praises to his servants who all clapped with genuine pleasure afterwards when he kissed her hand. Escaping back upstairs she hissed, “Why are all your servants old?”
“My father’s idea of a pension was to sack them. We’ve known them all our lives; they’re like family. I needed servants, they needed a home.”
“Your father sounds like a toad.”
“He wasn’t so bad ‘til Mother died...” Juliana was pulled back up the stairs to the first floor and into the drawing room. “...this is where the previous owne
r was killed. I understand there was blood everywhere, even on the ceiling.” Juliana unconsciously pressed up against her husband for safety as she eyed the highly polished floor and nine mismatched wingback armchairs all pushed up against the light blue-grey walls leaving the floor empty.
“Why are all the chairs on castors?”
“That was Belvedere’s idea. In the night, unseen hands move about things in here. The castors and polished floor makes it less noisy and easier for the maids to clean.”
“How can you live here? It feels creepy.”
“You get used to it. I need to go down to the kitchen to wash and shave. You can explore my study if you wish. If you look around the house beware the next floor has bedchambers which are probably occupied.”
“Why do you wash in the kitchen?”
“I can’t ask old people to haul ten cans of water up the stairs for seven people; it would kill them. Besides it’s warmer and less creepy in the kitchen. My study...” He opened the door and gently pulled her inside. “...my brothers call it Aladdin’s cave.” Juliana’s eyes lit up as she contemplated four white walls fully lined with shelves packed with baskets heaping with articles described on neatly written tags. The floor was stacked with odd shaped paper boxes, paintings, mirrors and deep wooden boxes filled with mysterious objects buried in carded wool. In the middle of the room the desk was an island of calm. On one side an oil lamp, inkstand, wax jack and on the other three stacked ledgers. “You may explore and read whatever you wish, except for the brown ledger on the desk, it’s personal.”
“Why can’t I read the brown ledger? Is it a list of your lovers?”
“No, it’s more damning than that.”
“Why can’t I read it?”
“Why do you think?”
“Why do you keep answering my questions by asking me what I think? How should I know the stupid answer? It makes me want to hit you. Why can’t you answer my questions?”
“Because the answer won’t mean anything to you unless it means something to you.”
“I’m not the sphinx. I hate riddles; tell me the answer.” Juliana’s satanic growl faded to a soft moan as the Hervey creature cradled her face in his hands and leaned towards her hesitating an inch from her lips. His brown eyes struck her in the chest robbing her of speech. He was trying to tell her something important, but she couldn’t understand the silent message. His fingers roamed over her jaw and lovingly explored her neck before allowing his lips to attempt the unexplainable explanation. She reached for his waist pulling herself deep into his scent until there was nothing, but the rise and fall of his chest and the feel of his unshaven cheek as he held her lower lip captive. Ten minutes later she scowled in disappointment when her wet lips were exposed to cold air.
“I beg you...” He sounded out of breath as if he’d been running. “...call me Sweetheart and say it like you mean it. My bedchamber is next door...”
“If I must...Sweetheart...now will you make me your wife?” His deep groan of disappointment warmed her cheeks and chased down her spine as his hands retreated from her face.
“You made the word Sweetheart sound like a curse.”
“Sweetheart...will you please take me to bed?”
“Now you sound irritated with me.”
“I am irritated. Sweetheart...please make me your wife.”
“That’s better, but you sound like you’re reciting a hated poem.”
“How the blazes am I supposed to sound like I mean it?”
“How do you think?”
“Not that stupid question again...Sweetheart, please?”
“No...try again, but first close your eyes and think of something you enjoy.”
“I wasn’t born to treat the boards. Sweetheart?”
“No...unfortunately, you don’t sound like you mean it. I’d better go wash before I lose all reason and succumb to temptation. I’ll ask Beecher to bring up a tray...”
“I don’t want food; I want you to make me your wife.” She stomped her foot in irritation. Why do I have to call you Sweetheart? What difference does it make? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“If you understood it would make perfect sense.”
“Hervey creature, stop making stupid riddles and kiss me.” He appeared to struggle with some inner demon before turning and leaving. She listened as he entered the next room and closed the door. She crept over to the open door and peeked into the hall. A few minutes later he reappeared in a voluminous grass green silk dressing gown with several white folded items under one arm and a small leather bag in the other hand. Barefoot, with his wild orange hair against the intense green he looked like he’d just crawled out of an enchanted Irish fairy hill. With his back to her; he paused a few steps from his door as if tempted to resume casting a spell over her lips, but his elegant shoulders straightened and his feet carried him out of sight leaving her feeling disappointed and hurt. The stupid man made no sense. She slammed the door with force as she bit her lower lip hoping to recall the sensation of his eternal kiss, but it didn’t work. Feeling agitated, she glared at the brown ledger on the desk and then turned to scan the labelled baskets. Choosing a basket labelled ‘boxed fans’ she carried it to the desk and carefully inspected each fan. Finding three she liked she set them aside putting the rest back in the basket. She glanced at the brown ledger before turning her attention to the desk drawers. Each drawer’s contents were strictly organised. A stack of letters tied with string sat square in the corner across from a stack of writing paper. There were uncut pens neatly lumped together in-between a paper weight and sticks of sealing wax. The seal reminded her of one of the paintings she’d passed on the stairs. Was it the de Vere crest? Her family didn’t have a crest. She studied the small metal stamp with interest before returning it the drawer and looking to see if he’d saved her letter. She thumbed the stack of letters and rifled through the other well organised drawers, but nothing. Had he thrown it into the fire? The thought made her feel strangely upset. She closed the drawers and glanced back and forth from the door to the brown ledger. Maybe he didn’t care about her as much as he said? The thought made her chest ache. Feeling irritated and unloved she grabbed the brown ledger and swivelled the arm chair so her illicit curiosity would be screened from anyone who entered. She fingered the soft bound leather for several minutes before succumbing. Opening the front leaf her eyes were drawn to the large carefully written date, 1811. Turning the page she found a list of dates with brief explanations after each one.
Wednesday May 2 1811: Saw Miss Browne at the playhouse tonight as I’d hoped. Couldn’t hear a word of the play, didn’t care. It hurt to look at her, but couldn’t stop. Last night we were formally introduced. She eyed me as if I was something to scrape off her shoe, but she looks at everyone like that. What I wouldn’t give to kiss those lips and run my hands through living fire. How will I ever persuade her to marry me?
Juliana’s face caught fire as a knock on the door made her jump. “Who is it?”
“Beecher Madam, Master Hervey wished me to bring you a pot of chocolate.”
“Enter...” She listened to the old man shuffle in. “...put it on the desk. It was very kind of Master Hervey to think of me.”
The servant ignored her sarcastic tone. “Indeed Madam, Master Hervey is the best of men. He especially desired that we include a variety of sweet biscuits on the tray...and asked me to deliver a message...”
“Well what did he say?”
The old man coughed over his embarrassment. “I’m to tell you Master Hervey says, ‘Sweetheart, when I say it I mean it’.”
“Tell my Hervey creature that if he wants to sweeten me he can do his duty.”
“Very good Madam.” Juliana smiled as she thought of the message being delivered in the kitchen making her horrid pale husband turn a well-deserved roasted pink. With her heart pounding she flipped through the ledger to the latest page and opened it to find her short invitation to tea carefully tucked into the spine.
; Friday February 10th 1814: Received an invite to tea with Miss Browne. Feel like I’ve been spun in circles. Will she tell me to go to the devil or might she wish to take up one of my offers of marriage? - Was fifteen minutes early. Stood on her front steps feeling stupid until my pocket watch told me I could knock without appearing rude. I have a license and I’ll share her bed tonight. I keep pinching myself. Someone told her of my reputation as a lover. The thought of kissing her, holding her, making love to her...sweet heavens, how I want her.
With burning cheeks Juliana read the previous days notation
Thursday February 9th 1814: Met my beloved at the chocolate shop this morning. I held the door for her. She ignored me, but she looked so lovely I couldn’t care. Saw her at the playhouse. She looked lonely; I was in her box before I could stop myself. She invited me to jump to my death. I declined and left feeling hipped. I know she hates my hair. I think she hates everything about me. Saw her come out after me so I offered to help her into her carriage and she told me to jump in the Thames. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I did. At least my heart wouldn’t ache when I think of never winning her.
Juliana jumped in shock as the door burst open and muffled footsteps approached the desk. She slammed the brown ledger closed and shoved it behind her back. “Hervey; are we cleaning that stinking carriage today or not? I need the money.” Juliana sighed in relief at hearing Avery’s voice and peered around the wing back to see a doppelganger of her husband in his shirt sleeves and white knee length unmentionables. The man paled and then blushed crimson as he grabbed the hem of his long shirt and pulled it taut over the front of his person with a horrified expression. “Madam!”
“Hervey’s in the kitchen. Wait, don’t go...I...in the print shop...”
“Yes?”
“You needn’t sneer, I’m trying to apologise...I thought you were Hervey.”
“How does that excuse your rudeness Madam?”
“As I was telling you before you rudely interrupted, I thought you were Hervey. I thought he was ignoring me to irritate me. I’d been standing there for five minutes.”