She so looked forward to having children of her own.
The tea was hot, and the shortbread melted in her mouth. The new cook was a treasure and had a daughter a day’s distance away, so she was pleased to be here.
After her tea, Gwen found a book and curled up in a chair by the fireplace. She’d dine in the kitchen with the servants tonight. She needed company. Since her marriage and removal to Yorkshire, she’d had only John to talk to. She missed her friends, and it was time to make new ones.
Sadie knocked. “Dinner is served belowstairs, milady. You said you wanted to join us tonight.”
She checked the old clock Lionel had repaired for her. It was indeed dinnertime, but the book—one she’d brought from home—enthralled her. She marked her page and followed Sadie, taking her place at a long wooden table in the kitchen.
The sky had been dark all day, threatening a storm, but the rain hadn’t started yet. The kitchen, however, was cozy and warm, and she smiled as she smelled the stew and studied the faces of the people around her.
If only Lydia could see me now. She’d swoon and take to her bed. No, she’d probably sneer and point her finger, telling her she lacked all sense of propriety and was a disgrace to her family.
“You’re laughing, madam.”
She grinned at Mary and nodded. “I was thinking about my overly proper sister-in-law who would starve before she would share a meal with a servant.”
“You are a very Christian lady,” said Lionel. “In your view, as in the eyes of God, all souls are equal.”
“Thank you, Lionel. It is beyond complimentary to be viewed as having an attribute of God.”
They ate their mutton stew with fresh bread, and when the dessert was finished, Gwen ambled up to her room, dismissing Sadie after changing into an old cotton nightgown. She curled back up in her chair, moved the candle closer for better light, and found her place in her book. She’d read for a while, and then climb into her cold bed.
Memories of her night with John swirled before her—his nervous look when he told her about the French letter, the softness of his lips on her breast, the sounds he made as he climaxed.
Her lady parts tingled with the memory, and she breathed deeply before reopening her book. Soon. Soon he’d be home.
~ ~ ~
A pungent odor awakened her. She must have fallen asleep in the chair. She stood and flexed her limbs, glanced at the darkness outside the window, and wrinkled her nose. What was that odor?
Smoke. The smell was wood smoke.
Embers glowed in the fireplace, and the candle wick flickered. She lit a new candle from the dying one and opened the door to her bedroom.
She darted into the hall and stumbled in panic toward the east wing where the smoke seemed thicker. Coughing, she held a fold of her nightgown over her nose and touched the wall. It was warm to the touch, and smoke seeped through the cracks.
Fire! It can’t be.
Swallowing her fear, she held her breath and ran up the main staircase to the attic where the servants slept, shouting, “Fire. Fire. Rouse yourselves.” She banged on each door, not waiting to see if anyone appeared, hoping they’d hear and get up. A groggy housemaid wandered into the hallway with frightened eyes.
“What’s happening?”
“Fire. Everyone must get out. Wake up the others. The fire is in the east wing, but unless the rain has started, it can spread along the roof.”
Hurrying back to the stairs, she ran down to the kitchens. The air was better here. She woke up the cook and scullery maid. By now a ruckus outside told her someone had seen the flames. After making sure everyone in the house was accounted for, she donned John’s old coat and ran out the back, thinking she heard barking, and wanting to make sure Marmot was outside where it was safe.
Pebbles bit into her feet as she moved away from the rear of the house to get a better view. The east wing was fully engulfed, with fire spitting toward the sky. A crash told her something large, like a timber, had fallen to the floor. Her heart seized.
Our new roof. All of our work. Gone.
She sank to the ground, the cold numbing her bare feet. Shouts from the front of the building grew louder as thunder rumbled in the distance and moisture dripped onto her face. As the rain began in earnest, she wrapped her arms around her body, keening like an abandoned waif. She hated the sound of thunder, but tonight it was a Godsend.
How could this happen?
No one occupied the east wing, although she suspected the same kind of debris they’d found in the west wing was scattered about, and John had mentioned wooden partitions that needed to be pulled down. No fires were ever lit in the unused wing, and there wouldn’t have been candles burning there.
She’d read once that lightning storms sometimes ignited trees or dry wood, but she’d never seen it happen and was not even sure which scientific journal had described the possibility. But she’d seen no lightning and heard no thunder until after the fire started. Could she have slept through it?
Cold seeped into her flesh, a cold born of dread.
Fires did not start by themselves in unoccupied rooms. Debris did not ignite without the help of human hands.
Someone did this. Someone evil.
She shuddered and gazed at the stone walls of the east wing standing as straight as sentinels with nothing to guard. Firelight flickered behind the windows, mocking the progress she and John had made in restoring Woodhaven Abbey. Rain pelted her now, forming puddles in the mud around her. A flash, followed by a crack of thunder, seemed to open the skies. The fire would be out soon.
Thank God they had not yet renovated the interior of the east wing. Their efforts and their funds would have been lost. Even so, smoke had seeped into their living quarters. She hoped fire had not breached the barriers. The bricked-in passages from one wing to the next should have prevented it.
Drenched and freezing, she stumbled back into the house, not caring if her muddy footprints littered the floor. She shook now with the cold, and after dropping John’s old coat in the hallway, found a blanket in Mrs. Bertram’s cupboard, which she wrapped around her shoulders as she made her way toward voices in the kitchen.
“Milady.” Several pairs of eyes gazed at her in shock.
Sadie rushed forward. “We couldn’t find you. We were worried.” Her hands fidgeted with the blanket, and she secured it more firmly around Gwen. “Are you hurt? Let me get you another blanket.”
“Good morning,” she said through chattering teeth. “A cup of tea would not be amiss.”
“Nothing good about this morning,” grumbled Lionel.
“Not so. We still have our home, and none of us were injured.” She paused and sipped the hot tea from the cup Mary thrust into her hand, letting it warm her before she continued. “We shall all move to the steward’s cottage for a day or two. The maids can share a room, and the footman can stay with the groom in the stables. Cook can sleep in the stillroom. The west wing needs to be inspected for damage, but I believe it was spared. Even so, it will need a thorough airing before we can return. Tell the groom to ready the cart to take us to the cottage. We can assess damage when it is full light.”
Mary nodded.
Gwen’s gaze found Mr. Trevelyan.
“The groom came for me. Are you all right, my lady?”
“I shall be as soon as I can get into dry clothes.” Her teeth began to chatter again, and she clenched her jaw. “Stop in the pantry before you depart and take the basket I’ve prepared. It has several items, including a plate of biscuits Mrs. Bertram took from the oven yesterday. Enough for your family.”
“Thank you, milady. When is his lordship returning?”
“I’ll send word to his brother. If John is with him, he’ll be here in less than two days. If not, Longley will know where to find him.
”
He nodded. “’Tis a shame all the work done was for naught.”
She straightened her trembling shoulders and looked him in the eye. “We don’t need the east wing as yet. When we do, we’ll rebuild.”
She tried to be positive. Let everyone know she and John would not be defeated.
She and John.
A frisson of resentment tightened her back. He’d not only left her after one of the most important days of her life, but he was absent when they all could have died in their beds.
The adventure was waning, its allure becoming dim. He’d wed her, taken her dowry, and given back little in return. He’d bedded her only to make their marriage legal. She was sure of it now.
And he had a mistress.
You’re exhausted and exaggerating. You don’t know that to be a fact.
She nodded at Sadie, who rushed forward and led her outside to the waiting cart. She glanced down. Her frigid, bare feet had dried blood on them. Dismissing her discomfort, she walked down the steps and up into the cart that would take her and the maids to the steward’s cottage.
The rain still fell. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to bathe, dry off, and tumble into a warm bed. Changes were forthcoming, but she needed rest and a clear head before she decided what to do.
She needed to confront John as soon as he returned.
He had too many secrets, and it was time to give them up.
Chapter 16
John folded his hands behind his head and thought about the past week. His trip to the orphanage in Bath had been in vain. The child’s deceased mother had been one of Father’s mistresses, but the child was from one of the woman’s more recent liaisons. The headmistress of the orphanage had been called away, and he’d waited two extra days before he could speak to her.
A wasted trip.
He studied the ceiling and noted a crack had formed in the paint. He must tell Jeremy to add it to his ever-lengthening list. At least he’d slept well. Nights on the road and sleeping in posting houses were a necessity, but not conducive to rest. The bed in his room at Longley House in London was by far the most comfortable bed he had, more so even than the monstrosity at his home in Woodhaven.
But then, you’ve never slept in it. How do you know?
A pang of guilt settled in his gut. It had been cowardly to leave Gwen so soon after their official mating. But the act had not been the bland completion of a legal requirement he’d planned. He’d been lost the moment he saw her sitting demurely in the chair by the fire, her hair unbound, her expression as pure as her soul.
And he’d hurt her when he left abruptly.
It had been a blessing he had this task to perform for Jeremy. Just being in the same room with Gwen made him want to take her in his arms and kiss her until she begged him to stop. Remembering her face when he told her he was leaving gave him pause. She’d wanted to talk about what had transpired in the night, and he wasn’t sure he could. His behavior had not been restrained. Reliving it would be decidedly uncomfortable.
His loss of control was unacceptable. Even though she’d seemed to enjoy their lovemaking, it couldn’t happen again. The marriage was consummated. He need not run the risk of bedding her.
You’re a fool. You’re a man with needs with a wife who is more than willing to accommodate them.
A wisp of doubt clouded his mind. Maybe Jeremy and Miranda were right. Maybe he’d drawn the wrong conclusions when he’d been sent out to search for private institutions for Mother’s care. Maybe he’d been unduly influenced by the doctor at the avant garde institution he’d investigated, the one who’d spent years treating patients at Bedlam and had developed his own theory of how madness developed.
The key might very well lie with Miss Addersley. He knew nothing about Mama’s family beyond what Trevelyan had told him. If any of the Addersleys had occupied the estate prior to Grandmama’s death, she should know. And if any others in the family had gone mad, she’d know that, too.
He rose and quickly dressed. Standing in front of the basin left earlier by a servant, he removed the necessary tools and shaved himself. Good God. If his friends could see him now, he’d be a laughingstock. Shaving himself, dressing himself when once he’d been as much of a peacock as the rest of them.
The smell of coffee led him into the breakfast room. Jeremy, his nose in the newspaper, looked up with surprise. “When did you arrive? Is Gwen with you?”
“Late last night is the answer to your first question and no the answer to your second.”
“Why didn’t you bring her? Miranda would have been delighted.” Jeremy folded the newspaper and stared. “Good God, you haven’t told her about Father’s peccadillos, have you.”
It wasn’t a question. Of all people, his brother knew him best.
“No.” A servant at his elbow filled his cup. “Where’s Miranda?”
“She’s upstairs in the nursery. Don’t avoid the question. Why haven’t you told her about our search for half siblings? Father’s dead. Mother lives in a world of her own creation and can’t be hurt. Unfortunately, Mother is the only one who might even know if there are other children like Phoebe who need our protection. But we daren’t ask her, do we.” He set aside his napkin and put his elbows on the table. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it? You don’t want her to know about Mother.”
John’s anger bubbled to the surface. “Damn it, Gwen’s a good woman. She’ll want to bring Mama to Woodhaven and supervise her care.” He threw down his napkin. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to have anything to do with that. When I see Mother, I am convinced I shall never have children. You’re the heir, you had to take a chance, but I do not have any obligation to reproduce.”
Jeremy frowned. “You cannot still believe madness runs in families. Those quacks you spoke to must have been persuasive because I’ve always thought you to be an intelligent person. This belief of yours is utter nonsense.”
He refused to look away. “There’s something you don’t know, something that gives credence to my belief.”
“What?”
“One of my tenants told me another member of Mama’s family was mad. The man was her cousin, I believe. Daft.” He fixed his stare on his brother. “There may be no truth to what I was told, but until I am convinced otherwise, I will bring no children into the world.”
Jeremy stood and braced his hands on the table. “What is wrong with you? Do not tell me you have not even consummated your marriage.” He dropped back into his chair and covered his eyes with his hands. “I do not believe this. You haven’t.”
John threw his napkin on the table. “Yes, I have. But it is not your concern.”
Jeremy sighed. “At least you’ve protected the validity of your union.” He swallowed his coffee and bit into a piece of toast. He looked like he wanted to ask for more details, but he was a gentleman. John knew he wouldn’t.
“Enough time has passed,” Jeremy said. “We can tell people about our quest. We protected Father’s reputation when we were in mourning for him. I don’t think we have to any longer. Gwen is family. You could have told her as soon as you were wed. She doesn’t strike me as someone easily shocked.”
Calmer now, John ambled over to the sideboard and filled his plate. Jeremy was right. But if he told Gwen about looking for possible half siblings, there could be ramifications. She’d ask questions that might lead to their own situation. If she asked about why they couldn’t have children of their own, he wasn’t sure what he could tell her. He certainly wasn’t ready to tell her his mother was no better than a bedlamite.
If he had to leave to investigate other possible siblings, he’d tell her about Father, but nothing else. He couldn’t leave her in a half-finished manor house by herself every time he had to leave. Even with servants around, she’d wonder about his travels and could even
draw the wrong conclusions.
Especially if I don’t bed her again.
He finished his breakfast, followed Jeremy into his study, and apprised him of what he’d discovered in Bath. The child was a boy three years younger than Phoebe. His mother had only briefly been Father’s mistress. The boy was not related.
“Was the boy receiving care and an education?”
“The orphanage was one of the better ones I’ve seen. I believe his father—whoever he may be—is providing funds to keep him there.”
When they finished, he went back to his room and prepared to set off for home.
Home. He had one now. All because of Gwen.
He missed her terribly, but he needed to school himself to keep his hands off her. They could go back to their evenings of whist and plans for the estate. He’d take her into his confidence about his and Jeremy’s decision to find abandoned or orphaned half siblings. If she asked about Mother’s feelings on the subject, he’d be honest and say they had not told her. Perhaps that would be sufficient. Gwen would not want to do anything to cause someone pain.
At all costs he wanted to keep his wife safe, even if it meant keeping her from Longley and any visits to Mama. Mama was dangerous. She’d admitted to paying visits to Father’s former mistresses after he died and had even hinted at doing them harm. He and his brother hadn’t the faintest idea how many there had been.
And that was another matter. Gwen’s salons had drawn attendees who were not always socially acceptable. But did she in truth know the details of a relationship between a man and his mistress? She claimed she did. If he quizzed her, the conversation would inevitably lead back to the one she’d wanted to have when he left the house.
Their bedding. And children.
He could almost hear her soft voice, see her gorgeous blue eyes, and feel the stirring in his cock. Must he relive it? Could they rely on French letters for an occasional bedding?
Scandal's Bride Page 15