She regretted her too-hasty invitation at once, and there was too much here to answer, so she answered none of it. ‘This is the cloister, sir, where the monks studied and took their exercise, or so I believe. I shall make a garden here again as soon as I can organise my workers and draw up a plan. Whichever comes first.’ She turned, leading the way to the sunny wall where she and Sir Leon had sat only yesterday. ‘I’ll have the walkway roofs repaired and this mess cleared…’ she pointed with a pink shoe ‘…and then I’ll have paths and plots and a fountain in the centre. Just there.’ She nodded towards a heap of rubble, knowing that his eyes had not moved from her face and neck.
Marcus sat beside her on the wall and angled himself to lean against a pillar, resting one foot on the stonework between them. ‘Go on,’ he said, clasping his knee.
She knew the game but found it disconcerting, even so, to be expected to talk of mundane matters while a man drank his fill with his eyes and thought his own private thoughts. But with perhaps a little more effort she could do the same, for he was an artist and knew how to pose, how to show off his shapely legs, his prominently embroidered codpiece, and how to hold her attention with his own. Inevitably, his lack of response brought her monologue to a dwindling halt. ‘You’re not listening to me,’ she chided him gently.
His eyes were sensuously invasive. ‘I was…somewhere else,’ he said, gesturing to prevent an impending withdrawal. ‘No, don’t go. It’s a habit, I’m afraid, to watch rather than listen. But you must surely be used to having men look at you, my lady.’ The voice was seductive, designed to entice confessions.
‘I don’t notice, sir,’ she said, holding back a smile.
‘Tch! Untruths already. What chance do we have of friendship then, would you say?’ When she made no reply, he leaned forward to rest his chin upon his knee, refusing to release her from his intense scrutiny. ‘You’ve not been here long, I understand, and I’ve only been here once before. Do you think we might explore the place together? My sense of direction is remarkably good, as a rule.’
For a second, it occurred to her that he might have been warned about her, but his expression was sincere and she saw no reason to refuse him as long as it fitted in with her duties. Better still, it would take her well out of Sir Leon’s way. ‘You’re staying a while then, Mr Donne?’
‘Long enough to paint your likeness, my lady. That can take anything from three days to three months.’ Now his eyes were merry, reminding Felice of another teasing smile and gentle laugh, of one who let her talk while he attended, unlike other men who believed only themselves to have anything worthwhile to say.
‘Then I shall be glad to have your company, sir. With an escort, there’ll be places I may visit that I’m not allowed to alone. Believe it or not, I’d like to see the work the men are doing on the building-site, especially the sculptors and wood-carvers, but I’ve been told not to go near them.’
The knee went down as Marcus Donne leaned even closer. ‘What…you were warned off? Whatever for?’
Drawn into the charade, she shrugged her shoulders, wondering how far to go for his pity. ‘Well, I can only suppose that Sir Leon’s masons will suddenly go berserk at the sight of a woman,’ she said, innocently, ‘even though they’re mostly old enough to be my father. He must employ some very unpredictable workmen, I fear.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! They’re all respectable men. That cannot be the reason. Leon’s never been vindictive, whatever else he may be.’
‘Really?’
His fair brows drew together at that. ‘I’m mistaken?’
‘You know him better than I, but I can find no explanation other than vindictiveness for sending my horses, waggons and carters back to Sonning without my knowledge. I don’t even have a horse of my own to ride, so I’ll not be able to go far.’
Marcus made no attempt either to excuse or condemn his friend, realising that there must be more to this than mere pique. The lady had a fire held tightly under control, and her dislike of Leon could be useful as long as it was handled carefully. ‘I brought several horses with me,’ he said. ‘At least two of them are suitable mounts for a lady. We’ll use mine.’
‘They’re in the guesthouse stable?’
‘Yes. Plenty of room over there now—most of his are out to grass.’
Felice looked beyond the arch where the end of the stableblock was just visible and where only that morning she had seen Sir Leon’s bay stallion being quartered at the expense of hers. ‘Then why not bring them over here so that I won’t have to traipse over to Sir Leon’s stable? My own saddle’s still here.’
Their exchanged smiles enclosed an almost childlike conspiracy and Felice saw herself escaping at last from the despotic surveyor’s reach.
The call for supper broke the mood as Mistress Lydia stepped through the archway in her search for Felice, then she halted as the door at the far end of the cloister opened to admit the young Elizabeth, followed closely by Sir Leon.
Elizabeth Pemberton had been hired only a year ago mainly for her skills at needlework, which were indisputable. Sadly her skills in other directions were less remarkable for, no matter how repetitious her duties, she seemed unable to remember or anticipate what they were. She was sweet and gentle and well aware of the clerk of the kitchen’s adoration, but his duties in that vital area were even less easy for her to accept, which was the prime cause of this latest drama. Both Felice and Lydia sometimes found the temptation to shake her almost irresistible, but this time it was unnecessary, for the lass was already well shaken.
Sir Leon led Elizabeth across the scruffy square plot where, in the pinkish fading light, Felice could see her tear-stained face and red nose and the way her arm rested trustingly along Sir Leon’s.
His expression was anything but kindly as he voiced a command to Mistress Lydia without the slightest reference to her mistress. ‘Mistress Waterman, be so good as to take this young lady indoors before I have another riot on my hands.’
Elizabeth, her bottom lip trembling, was passed over to Lydia who looked to Felice for approval, recognising the discourtesy to her mistress. But Felice intercepted the move, furious at being disregarded. Though reluctant to have words before servants, her first need was to know what had happened to cause Elizabeth’s distress.
‘One moment, if you please, Sir Leon. You seem to have overlooked the fact that I am responsible for Mistress Pemberton and it is I who will decide where she goes. What happened? What is this riot you speak of?’ She would have been grateful at this point to have had Marcus Donne at her elbow, but he remained discreetly on the wall, uninvolved, and she was left to face the surveyor’s intimidating bulk on her own.
Sir Leon’s eyes were like two dark slits of anger that bored accusingly into hers, but his voice was deceptively polite, ‘Then if you are indeed responsible for her, my lady, may I suggest you take your obligations more seriously? Take her indoors, Mistress Waterman, if you please,’ he snapped at Lydia.
Lydia prevaricated no longer, but took Elizabeth by the arm and led her away. As Felice turned to confront Sir Leon once more, she caught his glare at Marcus and the inclination of his head towards the door; a clear signal for him to leave.
Preparing for the storm, Felice toyed with the notion of imploring Marcus to stay but thought better of it, especially as the limner showed no inclination to dispute the command. The alternative was to follow her maids, but the prospect of venting her anger upon Sir Leon was too great to relinquish and she released it well before the cloister door had closed behind her new ally.
‘I have never known such rudeness, such…’
‘Spare me the tirade and yourself the energy my lady. If you’ve never known such rudeness, I’ve never known such irresponsibility. Have you no idea what your women are up to while you sit here lapping up compliments? Have you no control over them?’
‘Yes, I have, Sir Leon, but I can hardly tie them both to my girdle-chain while I sit around lapping up compliments, as yo
u so churlishly put it. Nor can I follow Mistress Elizabeth round like a shadow. If she gets into a predicament now and then, she can usually manage to get herself out of it. And tears follow as a matter of course, sir.’
Without warning, he took hold of her upper arm so tightly that she could feel his fingers through the padded sleeve, and marched her unceremoniously back to the low wall where she had been sitting with Marcus. ‘So much for the sharp tongue, lady,’ he growled, pressing her down on to the wall and sitting himself beside her. ‘Now you can listen to mine, for a change.’ He pointed to the distant door. ‘Out there, your silly maid wandered alone into a crowd of apprentices and seemed to think it would be a good Sunday sport to play one rival gang off against the other. No matter that they’ve been warned about fighting, especially on the site, your lass actually egged them on and then wondered why she got roughed up at the same time. If those tears are part of an act, as you appear to believe, what does she do when she’s truly scared, I wonder? If I’d not stopped them, she’d have been flat on her back by now in the mortar-maker’s yard with a crowd of—’
‘No!’ Felice yelped, coming to her feet. ‘You’ve said enough, sir! She’s young. She doesn’t think.’
‘Those lads are young too, but they do think. Only of three things, I warrant you, but she’d better be told fast what they are or she’ll be in more trouble again than she can handle. And if you’d been about your duty, my lady, instead of…’
‘Instead of what, sir? Talking? Sitting? Sharing a pleasantry or two before I forget what a pleasantry sounds like? Is that a crime, suddenly? Should I lock her up in case one of your thick-headed apprentices gets one of his three thoughts in the wrong order?’
He stood, resting one foot on the wall and leaning towards her with an elbow on one knee, and though he had no intention of displaying in the way that Marcus Donne did, Felice was well able to see how his muscular thighs were more powerful, his chest deeper, his shoulders broader. ‘Do what you like with her,’ he said, ‘only don’t come running to me when she finds herself out of her depth again. I warned you of what might happen and now I’ve got fifteen lads to discipline tomorrow, thanks to your co-operation.’
‘Then give your stupid apprentices more to think about, Sir Leon, and they’ll have less time to fight over a young female. And don’t give any more orders to my servants. Don’t tell my guests when to leave. And don’t blame me when your workers adopt your manners. I bid you good day, sir.’ Giving him notice of her intention to leave had not been a part of her plan, but she was livid with anger and her plan had been turned on its head.
He caught her around the waist and swung her against the stone column, holding her resisting arms in a vice-like grip. ‘I bid you good day also, my lady, but you’ve left one thing off your list, haven’t you?’ His body pressed hard against hers to make an off-beat duet of hearts between them.
‘I forget nothing, sir, except your gracelessness,’ she snarled.
There was nowhere for her head to go, and the impulse to watch as his mouth took hers gave her no chance to evade him as she knew she should have done. Besides, this was something her heart had begged for, desired and entreated, despite the strident callings of common sense and outrage, despite knowing that the kiss was derisive, meant to chasten, to mock her weakness and to demand her capitulation.
Whatever he had meant it to do, it did, as once again his mastery drove every thought from her mind except the dazing seduction of her lips. There was no need for her to respond in either direction, for he was taking without her permission, holding on to her wrists and thus giving her no reason to chastise herself for another uncontrollable participation. And had it not been for the closing of her eyes, she might have been able to pretend to be unmoved, but it was now too late for that.
He watched them open and slowly flicker into wakefulness. ‘I believe you do forget, lady, that I will have the last word. And as long as you insist on forgetting, I shall insist on reminding you. Understand?’
She looked away, unable to meet the dominance in his grey eyes. ‘No, Sir Leon, I do not understand any of this except that you are as careless of a woman’s honour as the apprentices you are about to punish. Explain the difference to me…if you can.’
‘The difference, my lady, is that your maid was in no position to appreciate those lads’ attentions whereas the same cannot be said for you, can it? Or do you close your eyes and melt in any man’s arms, eh?’
‘You are despicable! Let me go!’
‘The last word? Was that it?’ he mocked, touching her lips with his to hold her silent. ‘Good. That’s better.’
But if she had thought to be released by her infuriated shove against his chest she was to find that it had the opposite effect, for her wrists were still held and her involuntary gasp was stifled by his mouth. He took his time, drawing her easily with him into a kiss that swamped her with wave upon wave of sensation until his hands released hers and found a way across her back and shoulders, bending her into him.
She clung, helplessly adrift, her gasp now surfacing to emerge as a cry that brought them both to their senses. His arms supported her and lowered her to the wall where she sat, hearing the swish of tall weeds against his legs as he strode away, neither of them knowing who had had the last word, after all.
Chapter Four
She had not thought he would take advantage of her again, not like that, and not after she had made abundantly clear her intense dislike of him. Unfortunately, telling herself repeatedly of her dislike did not have the effect upon her heart that she intended, for it remained entirely unconvinced and determined to recall how it felt to be held by him.
‘Contemptible! Brute! Oaf!’ she muttered, climbing into her great bed. ‘It was meant to humiliate me, no more than that. Forget it. It means nothing either to him or to me.’
But she could not forget it and, at her lowest ebb in the blackest hours of the night, she again entertained the idea of escape on one of Mr Donne’s horses. However, the practicalities of such a move were still being worked out as she fell asleep.
By morning, some of her original rebelliousness had recovered. With it came the hate and a soupçon of fear that Sir Leon was taking his role as custodian far too seriously.
Now she was determined more than ever to get on with her appointed task, to impress her stepfather by her amazing efficiency and resourcefulness, and to stay from under the feet of his surveyor, as she had been instructed to do. She dressed in her plainest brown bodice and skirt with sleeves to match over a white linen partlet that gathered round her neck in a neat frill. She requested Lydia to coil her hair into a net at the back of her head.
‘Wouldn’t you be better wearing your linen coif?’ said Lydia, dutifully twisting the thick ropes of hair. ‘After what happened yesterday?’
‘No,’ Felice replied, tersely. ‘After what happened yesterday, it’s that high and mighty surveyor who’d better watch out, not me.’
First she set about recruiting the services of three women to begin a clean-up of the servants’ downstairs rooms at the New House. They were passing through the derelict cloister on their way to the building-site when she spied them through the archway, and in no time at all had re-directed them to collect brooms, buckets, mops and dusters from her own servants in the Abbot’s House with orders to start in the scullery and work towards the big kitchen. She would come and inspect them in an hour.
The oldest of the three began a protest, saying that they were expected to carry lime for the plasterer who had not finished one of the ceilings but, having no choice but to obey, they quickly opted for the pleasanter task.
Felice went back to the stableyard where two young lads were carrying a heavy box between them by its rope handles. ‘You two,’ she called, ‘leave that and come with me. I have a task for you.’
‘Er…mistress…yer ladyship, we’re not…’
‘No excuses. Put that thing down and help. You can do that later.’ Anyone in her yar
d was, after all, presumed to be one of her servants.
They lowered the box to the ground with a thud and followed Felice across the cobbles to where two more lads were sorting through a pile of rusty garden tools ready to clean them. ‘Clean this lot up,’ she told them, ‘then take the best ones to the garden and start clearing. I’ll get some more men to come and help as soon as I can find some.’ The apprehensive looks exchanged by the two additions went entirely unnoticed.
She was prevented from returning to her indoor duties by the call of her own carpenter and his two lads. ‘M’lady,’ James said, pushing up his felt bonnet to scratch at his head, ‘the carpenter on the site won’t let us have any of his wood for the table and benches. He says to get our own.’
‘I thought that’s what we were doing, James. Surely it’s all the same, isn’t it?’
‘Apparently not, m’lady. He says he has to account for every—’
Well able to imagine what the site carpenter had said, she cut off the explanation. ‘Well, then, go and find a suitable tree, James. You have axes, don’t you?’
‘A tree, m’lady?’ James frowned, pulling back his bonnet. ‘Nay, you can’t just fell a tree like that. You need a saw-pit to make planks, you know.’
‘Then dig a saw-pit. It’s only a table and benches you’re making for the servants’ hall, man, not for the high chamber. It can’t be difficult.’
James blinked. ‘No, m’lady. Right, we’ll go and find a tree. C’mon, lads.’ He tipped his head to the two staring lads and lurched off, muttering, in the direction of the nearest group of ash trees.
Crossing the servants’ hall, Felice was suddenly confronted by a red-faced whiskered man wearing a leather apron over his doublet and a battered felt cap jammed down on to a mat of sawdust-coloured hair. His expression left her in no doubt of his displeasure.
A Most Unseemly Summer Page 7
