The Dowager Countess (The Saga of Wolfbridge Manor Book 2)

by Sahara Kelly

“In a way, yes. Jeremy is our first footman, although he also performs many of the functions of butler, in my absence. He oversees the house itself, and everyone who enters, either as guests or to perform other functions. He knows every inch of the Manor.”

  “And Evan. He cooks, does he not?” She recalled the broth and the soft fresh bread he’d brought in just that morning.

  “That is correct. He’s been here for several years, and his culinary skills would rival any that Carlton House could offer.”

  His reference to the Prince of Wales’s elegantly magnificent meals made her grin. “I can attest to the quality of his broth,” she smiled.

  “As you regain your strength, I am sure Evan will find ways to impress you with his creations, and tempt you to sample even more nourishing dishes.”

  “I cannot deny my eagerness to prove your assertions, Giles.”

  “It will take time, my Lady.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then you should also understand that these four men, Jeremy, Royce, Evan and Gabriel—who has just joined us, and has yet to settle on his duties—all of them are here with one goal in mind. To serve the Lady of Wolfbridge.”

  Gwyneth blinked at that. “That is their goal?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “The concept of Wolfbridge was created from a desire to bring each Lady to her full potential. To allow her to be the woman she was destined to be. In fact the Wolfbridge motto says just that…Illuminabit ad te.”

  “My Latin is very rusty,” she eyed him with curiosity. “Translate, please?”

  “It means bring light unto thyself.”

  “Stolen from Socrates, I would guess,” mused Gwyneth. “Know thyself, I think he said.”

  Giles’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “That is correct, my Lady.”

  A little ripple of smug amusement tingled her spine. “I’m not an idiot, you know, starvation notwithstanding.”

  “I never presumed you to be so, Ma’am.”

  “Good.” She nodded. “So I now have an estate, a house, and four men waiting to serve my every need…do I have that correct?”

  “That is essentially correct, Lady Gwyneth, yes.” Giles paused. “But only if you formally accept the position.” He rose and looked down at her, his eyes gentle. “So I must ask you now. Will you, Lady Gwyneth, Dowager Countess of Kilham, accept the position, duties and responsibilities of the Manor and the estate? And by doing so, will you accept the title of Lady of Wolfbridge?”

  She raised her chin. “Yes, Giles. Yes I will.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Journal of Gwyneth, Dowager Countess, Lady of Wolfbridge - March 1818

  This is the first time I’ve ever kept a journal, or even considered the notion. But it was recommended that I do so, since the position I now hold comes with responsibilities to future generations. Are there journals from previous Ladies of Wolfbridge? I must remember to ask Giles. But for the moment, I will try my hand at recording my thoughts, scattered though they are.

  I can scarce believe it is already Easter. Were it not for the tempting aroma of freshly baked hot cross buns, followed by the scent of lamb as it drifted around and through the house, I would not have known the date at all. Certainly I can see budding trees from my window, and occasionally sunshine lights up the daffodils growing here and there. But I have yet to venture outdoors, so the passing of the winter into spring has been accomplished without any assistance from myself.

  And what a strange situation I find myself in. Lady of Wolfbridge Manor, a title and a heritage I’ve never heard of, is now mine.

  Indeed, given that my life was saved, my body restored to a semblance of health, and my every wish catered to, I am inclined to believe it all, unless I truly did die at the Dower House, and am a resident of a Heaven which looks a lot more familiar than the one I had expected.

  I’ll certainly be happy here after experiencing the Hell to which I was unwillingly committed, so be it real or imaginary, my present is much better than my past.

  That period is becoming blurred in my memory, and perhaps it is for the best. I recall some things, unpleasant things, upon which I prefer not to dwell. But the crawling hunger, the agony of facing my own demise…those will, I believe, remain a part of me for some time to come.

  So I must turn my thoughts - and some of these words - to my new life here, and since I know little of the Manor House, and nothing of its holdings yet, I can at least talk of the people who live here.

  Oddly enough, there seems to be only four - four men. And Giles, but I cannot include him, since although he says he occupies the post of butler, it would appear that his are the hands guiding Wolfbridge. He strikes me as a man who holds everything close; he does not indulge in empty conversation - each statement is factual, useful and to the point. A man of few words, yet one senses the power surrounding him, not only in his controlled demeanour, but in the manner others treat him.

  Every man here shows respect and admiration for Giles. Even, dare I say it, affection, in a very masculine sort of way. So he is at the head of this strange little world in which I now live. He is deferential to me, always polite and interested. But were we to disagree on something important? I would have to work hard to win that argument, I think.

  Gabriel has tended me the most. At least I assume he has, since I do not recall my early days here at all. But his is the first face that became familiar, and he’s borne the brunt of my nursing during this trying time. Oddly enough, I have become used to him cleansing my skin; there is no embarrassment or shyness on either of our parts now. Perhaps I became familiar with his voice and his touch before seeing his face; all I can say is that I trust him with my person - maybe even more than I would were he a maid here.

  I have to mention that I have not yet seen a maid, and will pursue that line of enquiry further when the occasion arises. But for now, Gabriel tends me very well. He has promised me a bath today, and a further treat - a meal downstairs.

  I shall enjoy Easter Sunday dinner in the Wolfbridge dining room. A pleasure indeed for this unwilling but fortunate captive to escape her chambers.

  Will the others attend? I have no idea, since I have yet to fully comprehend the slightly confusing mandate of this place. It is, according to Giles, designed for the Lady’s welfare. And I am now well enough to recognise the obvious advantages - four handsome men ready to wait on me hand and foot.

  Might that thought keep me restless at night? I don’t know. It has been quite a while since I felt any attraction whatsoever for the male gender. But it’s possible that Wolfbridge could reawaken some of that interest. Time will tell.

  Evan, the cook, is another charming man - quiet though, and not given to initiating in-depth conversations. I believe there is more to him than he shows; his talents with meals are turning out to be quite extraordinary, and I do owe him a debt of gratitude for tempting my appetite with his small, but mouthwatering dishes.

  Jeremy - the first footman, according to Giles. A pair of twinkling eyes, wonderfully joyous, and I’m coming to believe that there may be an excellent intellect lurking behind the ready wit. Altogether charming, but whether I would trust him…I have yet to decide. Sometimes a laughing face can hide less pleasant attributes.

  The estate manager, Royce - he’s one I have still to fathom. Apparently he is newly arrived at Wolfbridge, so is immersing himself in learning the ins and outs of the Manor and its business. He did tend me when Giles brought me here; his military service included an enlarged familiarity with matters of basic medicine. Something I can certainly believe, given that he served in the horrors of war.

  So I must be grateful to these gentlemen for their care, and for the part each has played in assisting me along the road back to full health. But that doesn’t mean I am about to profess my undying gratitude.

  I won’t do that to any of them. Or indeed any man. Not now, not ever. The treatment I have experienced has inured me to such emotions. I am determined upon a course that will involve careful c
onsideration, calculation, and actions that will be of benefit to me. Nobody else. For only by pursuing this course will I fully recover my existence, my independence, my self-confidence - and my soul.

  I thought my life had ended when I was seventeen. It hadn’t.

  I thought my life would end last winter at the Dower House. It didn’t.

  Now I have yet another chance at a brand-new life. This time, I shall be the one to direct it. I will not open my heart to the risk of a third betrayal by a man.

  For that would indeed be the death of me.

  *~~*~~*

  Gwyneth put her pen aside as a knock on the door heralded the arrival of three of the gentlemen, Gabriel bearing towels and Jeremy and Evan with buckets of steaming water. Their entrance admitted scents that made her stomach rumble, and she turned to them, closing her journal.

  “Evan, something delicious is in the oven. I can smell it. Could it be lamb?”

  He grinned back. “For Easter Sunday dinner? Of course. Do you think you might be able to manage a small piece? I have plenty of other dishes as well.”

  “I think I might have room.” She patted her stomach. “Although it does seem as though there’s not as much as there used to be.”

  “Your stomach has shrunk, my Lady,” said Jeremy, emptying his buckets into the copper tub they’d brought in earlier. “It takes time for it to return to normal, I’m told.”

  “I’m sure Evan’s cooking will help with that,” she replied. “And a bath. Truly I am surrounded by luxury today.”

  “No more than your due, my Lady,” said Gabriel, arranging the towels on a nearby chair and stoking up the fire. “Now then. Are you ready?”

  She glanced at the men. “Are you all staying?”

  Jeremy’s gaze turned wicked. “Are you inviting us?”

  Caught off-guard by both the look and the question, she stuttered. “I…er…”

  “Oh hush,” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Never mind him.” He turned to the other men and made shooing motions with his hands. “Off with you both now. Lady Gwyneth will join you before dinner in the parlour. Go…go…”

  “Enjoy your bath, my Lady,” bowed Jeremy.

  “We’ll have a fine meal for your first Easter Sunday, Lady Gwyneth,” promised Evan.

  Gabriel shut the door behind them with a sigh. “Sometimes they’re difficult to get rid of,” he chuckled. “Now, let’s see about your bath.”

  Gwyneth watched as he put another log on the fire, coaxing it into a warm blaze. Easter it might be, but the unpredictable weather still couldn’t decide whether to be warm or cool. This day was cool, blustery and with heavy clouds scudding over the land.

  He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and tested the water with one hand.

  “Is it ready?” She was looking forward to a long soak.

  “I think so.” He stood. “I’ve put a touch of rose oil in there, so that should help with softening your skin.”

  She got up slowly from the chair, using the desk to support herself. “I’m still wobbly, damn…,” she swore.

  “Give yourself time, dear lady. You’ve been through a serious and dangerous experience. Patience is required.”

  She sighed. “Of that, I have little.” Carefully she made her way across the room, grateful that he neither commented nor offered to help. She would have lost a little respect for him had he suggested any.

  Reaching his side, he nodded in approval. “Well done, my Lady. Well done indeed.” He reached for the tie of her robe and loosened it, easing it away from her shoulders, leaving her in her nightgown. “I think we’ll wash your hair today too. How does that sound?”

  “Idyllic,” she answered.

  The first time she’d seen herself, with the shorn head, she’d wept. Gabriel had dried her tears, then assured her it would grow back and he’d tidy it up for her as soon as she was better. He’d done so, as handy with scissors as any maid, and now she looked more the thing.

  But oh, how she missed her long hair.

  Without any ceremony, Gabriel stripped her naked and took her hand, steadying her carefully as she stepped into the water. His touches on her skin were necessary, gentle and impersonal, but for the first time she felt them in a different way.

  She felt like a naked woman being touched by a man.

  And to her surprise, it was not unpleasant.

  Settling down with a sigh of delight, she dipped her hands beneath the surface and let droplets cascade over her drawn-up knees.

  “Close your eyes…” Gabriel poured a jug of water over her head.

  She sputtered and spat. “A few seconds' notice might help,” she coughed.

  “Sorry.”

  He didn’t sound repentant, but then again, he was now washing her hair with some rose-scented soap, so how could she complain?

  “A wonderful fragrance,” she murmured, feeling her neck and shoulders relax beneath his thorough attentions.

  “One of our tenants makes this soap, and some of the other things we’ve used. The rose oil, of course, the soaps, and she’s added a bit of it to some sweet almond oil. Says that just a touch will help hair look shiny and healthy. I’m to rub another tiny drop into your scalp, since she promises increased growth with regular use.”

  “Goodness. Is she one of those herbal women?”

  “No, just one with common sense, a family to feed and a very productive rose garden.”

  Gabriel’s matter-of-fact announcement made Gwyneth chuckle. “I would like to meet her. It sounds as if she has both feet on the ground as far as business is concerned.”

  “Quite a lot of our tenants do, my Lady.” Gabriel’s fingers were massaging her head and it was a truly luxurious experience.

  “That must help with their rents, I suppose,” she mused.

  “They do not pay rent, as I understand it,” he answered.

  She frowned. “Tenants who do not pay rent? That sounds unlikely…”

  Gabriel rinsed her hair. “I’m told that bartering is the way it all works here at Wolfbridge. The tenants maintain fields and livestock, and Wolfbridge receives produce in the way of meats and all kinds of vegetables, along with things like Mrs Smart’s rose soap and of course the jam gets shared with everyone when the berries come in.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Well, if you think about it,” he gave her head a quick rub with a cloth, then walked around to the side of the tub, “it’s a sensible solution. Wolfbridge doesn’t have to hire workers to maintain the estate, since the tenant farmers take care of it. Nor do we have to spend vast amounts of money on food.”

  “With so few residents, that probably wouldn’t happen,” said Gwyneth. “But I understand your point.”

  He picked up the soap and a smaller cloth, wetting them both and working up a modest lather. And then, lifting her arm, he began to wash her.

  “As I understand it, and please remember I haven’t been here very long at all, Wolfbridge is an estate based on the idea that people working together are stronger—and more fulfilled—than people who work separately.”

  “I see,” Gwyneth nodded, letting her lids droop as Gabriel’s soapy cloth drifted over her breasts.

  “It’s all about doing good, helping each other. A true demonstration of altruism at work.”

  His voice lowered to a whisper as he delicately washed her, the abrasion of his hands and the soap bringing her nipples to life; taut buds formed within the bubbles and she sighed as he rubbed gently across the sensitive peaks.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, reaching for her other arm and tending to that as well, managing to keep up his gentle touches while doing so.

  “Uhh…” She was close to moaning, her body responding slowly to his touch. It had been many years since she’d even considered the idea of physical pleasure; in fact, she’d all but closed that door completely.

  But this moment, here in the soothing warmth of a bathtub, naked in front of a handsome and gentle man who was caressing her with a
soapy cloth…nature was taking its course and reminding Gwyneth that she was still a woman, no matter what.

  Relieved in some ways and yet uncomfortable in others, she shifted, knowing these delicate brushes to her skin were arousing more than just her nipples. Some of her long dead parts began to heat, to liquify, to recall a time when she welcomed such sensations.

  When she’d been young and innocent and so in love…

  Her thighs parted of their own volition, and Gabriel used that movement to continue his thorough cleansing, slipping his hand between them and rubbing the sweet-scented soap over places that swelled in response to his touch.

  She could not stop her eyelids drooping as she let herself enjoy the burgeoning sensations, the tender soft throb of desire, the urge to raise her hips…she licked her lips and exhaled as his ministrations continued.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she moaned. “Gabriel…what you’re doing…it’s…”

  “It’s what, my sweet lady?”

  “It’s…wonderful,” she breathed deeply, opening herself to his caress.

  “I cannot tell…I don’t know what will please you,” he murmured next to her ear, one arm around her shoulders, the other stretched out beneath the water. “Take my hand. Show me…?”

  A thrill of shocking excitement rippled through her as she shifted, paused…then threw caution to the winds and did as he suggested.

  She pulled away the cloth and put her hand over his, pushing his fingers into places that had slept for too long. Like a maiden bespelled for a thousand years, Gwyneth’s body awoke as Gabriel massaged her womanhood, and she pushed against him, the water softly lapping as he delved deep.

  After so long, she’d forgotten the delicious tingle of awareness that threaded through her limbs and the bite of lust that swelled the folds of flesh Gabriel rubbed at her command. Nearer, higher, she let her head fall back, her mouth parting on a gasp as she guided his fingers into her heat.

  His murmur next to her ear added to the fire and she urged him into a rhythm that brought an onrush of arousal, and a tension to her legs as the climb to the peak began.