by L. R. Olson
I strained to hear someone beyond the door. Just as I’d expected and hoped, no response. I should have left, returned to my rooms. I didn’t. I knew my husband visited the crofters every morning. I was safe.
Determined to know my husband, I wrapped my fingers around the brass handle and pushed the door wide. The room was exactly as I’d imagined: elegant, rich and furnished with heavy masculine furniture. A large four poster bed dominated the center, while a wardrobe was nestled in the far corner. Other than the dark green bedspread and thick drapes, there was no sign of softness. No personal touch. This was Jamie’s sanctuary, yet there was nothing to define the man.
Still, I knew it was the correct chamber and not a guest room for I could sense his presence, I could smell his scent. If I’d been smart, I would have left. Instead, I moved toward his dressing table. A brush, comb, shaving supplies, and little else. Only the necessities. I lifted a bottle of cologne and pulled off the stopper. The scent was spicy, manly, and delicious. Jamie. A shiver of awareness whispered through my body, a taunting ache I knew only too well.
Swallowing hard, I replaced the cologne. How was it that his mere scent could make my stomach tightened? Could make my body warm? I took in a deep, trembling breath and tried to calm my racing heart. This was insane. If he appeared, how would I explain myself?
I turned, deciding to leave while I still had the chance to escape, when I caught sight of a painting nestled against the wall. A familiar painting. My painting. A cold wave of shock washed over me, momentarily stunning me in place.
“No,” I whispered in disbelief.
Anger spurred me forward and I stumbled around the bed to get a better look, sure my mind must be playing tricks on me. But no. There was no denying it was my painting…my dream cottage. Why did he have it? I’d packed the piece when we’d left, but I’d been too distraught to realize it was missing. Was he being spiteful, hiding it from me? It didn’t make sense. I reached out with trembling fingers, needing to touch it.
He’d taken everything from me…even my dream world.
Angry tears burned my eyes.
It was my painting. My work. My dream. Damn him! That painting was all I’d had to keep me going these last few months, and he’d stolen that from me. Perhaps the old nanny had been right. Perhaps she hadn’t been trying to warn me, but had been trying to help.
The sudden sound of voices rang down the hall, jerking me from my thoughts and spurring me into action. James couldn’t know I’d been here. He couldn’t know how much he’d hurt me by taking that painting. I swiped at my damp eyes and raced to the door. The housekeeper and a maid were coming my way. Desperate, I glanced around the room. Where to hide? The wardrobe? No, if they were carrying clothing they’d see me. Without thought, I dove underneath the bed.
“Has she been out of her room?” the maid asked as they entered the chamber.
I grabbed my skirts and jerked them toward me just as they rounded the bed. Their scuffed black boots swept by, headed straight toward the wardrobe. Thank God I hadn’t hidden there.
“Merely to take a stroll about the garden with the Lord Rafe,” Mrs. Vita replied.
I closed my eyes and bit back my sigh. They were speaking about me. Bleedin wonderful.
“Have ye met her?” the maid asked as they opened the wardrobe and placed his clean clothing inside.
“Only in passing. Was introduced the other day.”
“And?” the servant pressed.
Part of me wanted to cover my ears.
“And she’s…interesting.”
The maid snorted. “Daft, you mean.”
Mrs. Vita chuckled. “I didn’t say that. She’s merely quiet.”
Quiet? I’d never been described as quiet. I frowned. It wasn’t the first time I’d been talked about and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last. So why did it sting? Because this was supposed to be my domain, my household.
The maid sighed as she stuffed some clothing into the wardrobe. “Bleedin lucky she is, married to such a wealthy, prestigious man.”
I could hear the dreamy quality in her voice and realized the maid was probably half in love with James. Was he interested in her as well? I wasn’t naïve, I knew that in many households it was common for lords to sleep with their serving girls. The thought of James being intimate with the maids angered me so much, I had to dig my fingers into the carpet to keep from clawing my way out from underneath the bed and demanding answers.
“You know how the titled are, they don’t truly understand how fortunate their lives,” Mrs. Vita said. “No worries, no work.”
My face flushed with heat. Is that what they thought of me? Some spoiled, titled lady who should have been kissing Jamie’s feet in gratitude, instead of cowering in my chambers?
“Is she pretty?” the maid asked.
Mrs. Vita hesitated as if thinking it over. Her silence was less than promising. “Handsome enough. Although rather cold. I’m not quite sure what to make of her. Perhaps she’s only overwhelmed.”
They shoved the remaining clothing into the wardrobe and shut the door. I couldn’t imagine what they’d think if they spotted me hiding under the bed.
“Mrs. Vita,” another woman called out, rushing into the room. “Cook wants to know if Lady Whitfield will be taking her food in her room once more.”
The housekeeper sighed. “Most likely.”
“Strange one, she is, hiding away,” this new maid said, apparently feeling the need to give her opinion as well. “She must be bloody bored in that chamber.”
“Daisy, we don’t gossip about the lord’s family,” Mrs. Vita snapped, as if she hadn’t been gossiping moments before. “The impertinence.”
Would serve them right if I stuck my head out and surprised them all. But even as the thought tempted, I knew they had a point. I’d done nothing to earn their respect. I was supposed to be the one in charge here, yet I hid away like a child.
“Yes, Mum.” Daisy scurried from the room.
The housekeeper sighed, she and the other maid moving toward the door. “Servants don’t know their places anymore.”
They closed the door gently behind them, leaving me in peace to mull over their comments. No, I certainly hadn’t gone out of my way to establish my place, but I’d been expecting James to help ease the transition. Apparently he wasn’t going to assist. At some point I would need to take matters into my own hands.
I started to leave my awkward position when I spotted a wooden box, the only thing underneath the bed. The only object other than my painting that seemed personal. Dare I? Unable to stop myself, I pulled the box toward me and opened it. Letters. Many letters.
“What are you hiding?” I whispered.
I opened the first one, dated two years ago.
I’m sorry to inform you that Mrs. Crawler died years ago. I do not know what happened to Evangeline.
“Evangeline,” I whispered. Who was Evangeline?
I replaced the letter, feeling heavy and oddly depressed. A long lost love?
I pulled out another letter and skimmed it.
We do believe your Evangeline was spotted in Brighton…
That letter was dated only a year ago. Whoever this Evangeline, she was dear to James. My heart sank. With trembling hands I replaced the notes and closed the box, wishing to see no more. There were so many things about my husband I didn’t know, things I’d never understand. Things I wasn’t even sure I wanted to comprehend.
But one thing was apparent…Rafe was wrong. Jamie was capable of love, just not capable of loving me. I pulled myself from the bed. Not even a speck of dust marred my skirts. Despite not having a feminine presence, the household ran to perfection. What did I have to offer? I’d been raised to believe that as a wife I would take over the household duties once I married. The house didn’t need me. Jamie didn’t want me. There was nothing here for me to do…but provide my husband with two boys.
And then…then I could be free. Free to have my cottage, to paint, to rais
e my children in a loving and happy home. The dream would keep me going. I took in a deep, trembling breath and squared my shoulders. I could be intimate with James. I would. Two boys. Only two boys. And if God was merciful I would have them soon.
I left his room determined. Determined to learn my place as the woman of the house. Determined to birth the children James desired. Determined to have the life I’d always wanted.
I turned the corner and ran directly into my husband.
****
James
Julianna stumbled back with a gasp.
“Where have you been?” I demanded.
She looked flushed with guilt. I shifted my gaze to the hall beyond her. My chambers lay that way and nothing else. Had she been visiting, intent on seeing me for some reason? Perhaps to demand I return her home. Maybe to ask why I hadn’t introduced her to the staff. Or most likely to uncover the easiest way to escape once she murdered me in my sleep.
“I merely thought to explore my new home. I am allowed to leave my room, am I not?” she snapped, irritated. Or was it guilt?
I had a feeling she was more annoyed at being caught than because of my prying question. I took in a deep breath, trying to calm my growing frustration with the woman. Would she ever be honest with me? Hell, I was so exhausted with it all.
But her sweet scent hung heavy in the air, tempting and taunting and I forgot all about her lies. I had a feeling I would never be used to her presence. I’d spent many a sleepless night the last few days, knowing she was merely on the other side of the estate. It would have been so very easy to appear in her chamber. To demand my rights as a husband.
“Despite what you may think, you are no prisoner.”
She released a sharp laugh and folded her arms over her chest. She’d been drawing. I could see the charcoal on her fingertips. At least she’d had something to occupy her time while she’d hidden away in her chambers, no doubt plotting her revenge. She hadn’t been eating, for I’d asked Mrs. Vita.
“Only picks at her food,” the woman had said.
I studied her body, noting that her once lush form continued to lose weight. I frowned, upset, although why, I wasn’t sure. If she didn’t want to eat, why should I care? Because she was my wife and I wouldn’t be accused of starving her. I’d sit by her side and force her to eat if I must.
“Yes, but tis rather difficult to see my new home when I constantly get lost as no one has deemed it worthy enough to escort me about.”
She wished to pick a fight? She’d find out soon enough that I was highly skilled in the craft of warfare. “Fine, you wish to see your new home?” I bowed. “Then by all means, I shall escort you.”
She hesitated. The woman hadn’t the least desire to be near me, while I constantly craved her presence. I should have dismissed her, sent her back to her rooms and been done with her for the day. For some reason, I couldn’t. I wanted her near. Craved her as some men craved opium.
I held out my arm, daring her.
She ignored me and clasped her hands in front of her, hiding them in her yellow skirts, and starting down the hall without me. Annoyed, I fell into step beside her. Images of that time together flashed to mind. She’d looked stunning, an angel, when she’d appeared at my bedchamber door those months ago. How could I have rejected her? Even now the urge to lower my lips to the delicate curve of her neck overwhelmed me. To breathe in her scent, to taste her skin… I’d had her once, only once, and it hadn’t been nearly enough to sate my appetite.
“The kitchens are in the west wing, underneath your rooms,” I started, my voice coming out gruff with desire. “I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
She nodded, but wouldn’t look at me.
“When I was a child, my mother used that room as a parlor,” I continued. “She said it smelled like nutmeg and baking bread. The scent still reminds me of her.”
She slid me a curious glance and I realized that perhaps I’d said too much. I cleared my throat and looked away. What had possessed me to tell her something so personal? We turned a corner and started down the hall where my brothers resided when they were in residence.
“We have everything your typical estate can claim.”
“Is there a ballroom?” she asked.
I almost smiled at her feminine question. Only a woman would ask. Only a woman would care. “Yes, but don’t get your hopes up. We haven’t had a gathering in some fifteen years. Not since my father…”
I bit back the words. Hell, I couldn’t be near her without spilling my deepest secrets. What was it about my wife? I could admit that those months ago when I’d first met Jules I had felt an ease with her I hadn’t felt with anyone ever. I’d said things to her I’d never even admitted to my brothers. She was slowly working her magic once more.
“Your father what?” She watched me with those fathomless eyes, waiting for me to continue, to bare my soul. I could tell her to mind her own damn business, but that would send her scurrying away in a huff, and I wasn’t ready to let her go.
“Not since my father died.” I tore my gaze from her, afraid she would read something in my gaze I wasn’t ready for her to see. “When was the last time you were out in society?”
“You mean London?”
Each window we walked by sent dull rays of sunlight across her hair, making it shimmer. She was light in this dreariness. A star on a dark night. She was stunning, and God’s truth, I didn’t think she really understood her appeal. Penny had said Welch’s son had tried to ruin Jules for her dowry, but I knew the real reason…he’d wanted her. Who wouldn’t?
“Yes, London.”
She shrugged as if it were of no concern. “Almost three years ago.”
Three years hidden away. Had her parents been ashamed of her and the commotion she’d caused? No wonder why she’d been adamant about escaping her family those months ago, even if it meant seducing me and entering into marriage with a man she barely knew. “And how long were you there before the incident?”
She flushed. “Only a month.”
So, she had never truly had a season in London. It didn’t matter much to me but I knew that women cared. Flirting, buying gowns, tea with friends, dancing. And so the last three years she’d been imprisoned in her small town with little but her art to occupy her time. But she’d seemed to thrive in the countryside, it was one of many reasons why I’d made the rash decision to marry her. She could stand the isolation.
We paused outside a set of double doors.
She would only have to abide the isolation until my sons were born. Then she could go where she wanted, do as she wished. But the longer she stayed here, the harder it was to think of her leaving. I’d been avoiding her, keeping busy by visiting the crofters, yet her presence clung to the walls. The moment I stepped into the house I sensed her. She’d burrowed her way into my soul and now she had taken over my home. The building pulsed with an energy it had never had before.
“The ballroom.” I pushed the doors wide and stepped aside to allow her entrance.
She stepped carefully into the large room and slowly spun around, taking in everything at once. Her gasp of surprise echoed against the walls. “It’s stunning.”
I tore my gaze from her and studied the large chamber, trying to see it through her eyes. It was built to show wealth, to proclaim importance. I strolled across the polished floorboards and studied the mural of clouds and angels painted above, the massive crystal and silver chandeliers, and heavy dark blue drapes. As children we had used the room to play. Since then it had been closed away, left waiting for a master who would appreciate its beauty and function.
“These are portraits of our many Whitfields. Lovely people,” I muttered.
She focused on the paintings that lined the walls. Typical cold and dour men. I could see her keen interest as an artist. Appreciated the way she studied the portraits with a professional eye. It was time someone cared about them. “There are no women.”
I glanced impatiently at the portraits. I’d n
ever truly noticed before. “Yes. The weaker sex. My father would never have allowed it.”
“Weaker? Yet they’re forced to give birth.” She looked me. “And your mother? What does she think?”
“My mother died twenty years ago.”
Her brows drew together. “But…I thought your mother is…Penny said…”
“That would be my stepmother. A lovely women. Deceitful, conniving. She was my father’s mistress while my mother still lived. Once Mother died, she swooped in, married my father to get what she had always wanted. You have a lot in common.”
Her jaw clenched, her face flushing. I could see the hurt in her eyes. I cursed myself for my snide comment. Why could I not control myself when she was near?
“Don’t worry, my father made her rue the day she married him.”
“Much like you have with me.” She tilted her chin high. Touché. She would not be defeated. I reluctantly respected her courage. “I’m sure your father would be proud.”
Jules moved slowly around the room, turning every once in a while to get a better look at something or another that caught her attention. I could imagine her in a ball gown as she had looked that day she’d stood in my chamber doorway. But she looked just as stunning in a paint-stained smock as she had in an elegant dress.
My body grew hard merely imagining her in that green silk. The image she’d made when she’d appeared at my bedchamber door would not leave me in peace. Haunted me for months. My frustration flared, combining with attraction in a heady, desperate combination.
With a low growl, I moved toward her, my steps determined. I was done waiting. Her back to me, she didn’t notice my arrival until it was too late. I slid my arm across her waist and spun her around. She gasped, turning into me. Damn it all, she was my wife. I could touch her, I could kiss her if I pleased.