“Mr. Trevelyan, I am sorry for the awkwardness—”
Gunnlod popped her head from the stall next to me, startling me. Benedict reached over and brushed his hand down her muzzle.“There’s a good girl.”
I gulped, feeling the nearness of his body, remembering the feel of him holding me against his heat, his hardness.
Still caressing Gunnlod, he spoke to me. “Miss Lovell. There is no need to apologize. We will just forget the incident ever happened. I am quite inured to the situation. My attentions made my wife frequently…ill, also. I am glad to see you are feeling better today. I will have the children brought to you in about an hour. Considering your aversions, I thank you for bringing them on time.”
Before I could say a word, he left me for the boys, and although I was confused by his words, I had no real choice but to leave. At first I was stunned, but as I slowly walked back to the manor, I became incensed. Why, the man thought he knew everything, even what I myself felt!
I looked heavenward, searching for an answer to my exasperation, and froze in mid-step. The woman was back in the tower, standing in the window, looking out toward the bay. She lingered a moment and, I thought, even glanced my way before she disappeared into the shadows of the turret’s interior. A ghost indeed! This time I wasn’t going to let Dobbs say this was a figment of my imagination. I dashed into the house, determined to find the way to the tower.
A maid stood in the solarium.“Miss,” I said, catching her attention.“Where are the stairs to the tallest tower?”
She looked at me as if I’d asked for the stairs to hell.“You don’t want to go there, miss. It’s cursed as the devil.”
“I won’t. I just want to know where they are located.”
“At the top of the stair, miss. On the third floor. There’s a door, but it’s locked, miss.”
“Thank you,” I said, dashing off. I ran up the stairs faster than I had ever run in my life, determined to catch my ghost. Out of breath, flushed, and out of sorts, I made it to the third floor. To the left, opposite the way to my room, I found a door with an imposing padlock and no one about.
It was proving to be a most frustrating day. In the schoolroom an hour later, I awaited both the boys and Stephen Trevelyan, who’d promised to play a game of chess with Justin. I’d accomplished absolutely nothing since leaving the stables and seeing my ghost again, except perhaps a good amount of pacing. My dilemma with Benedict was uppermost in my mind.
I decided I’d been insulted. What exactly did he mean by “inured to the situation”? His attentions had made his wife ill? How so? To be sure, he’d made me swoon, but I’d quite liked the sensation. So how dare he decide I didn’t? And however was I going to speak to him if he kept stomping away? I was in quite a state.
Stephen Trevelyan arrived before the children did.
“Ah, Miss Ann. You are a lovely sight for sore eyes.”
I narrowed my eyes and gave him a healthy dose of my ire.“And you, sir, are a scoundrel. How can you tell someone you hope it’s not too late and never enlighten them of what it may be too late for?” I set aside the book I’d been unable to read.
“Too late? When did I say that?” His brow furrowed.
“In the music room. After dinner?” I prompted, miffed that he couldn’t even recall the incident. Apparently what it might be too late for wasn’t all that important.
To my surprise, his expression became oddly serious. “My apologies. I had no right to say that to you. In fact Benedict has called me to the carpet for airing our personal family matters before you. And he is quite right about it. You are here to teach Justin and Robert, not save the children from the sins of their family. I merely spoke of Justin’s withdrawal, hoping it was not too late for him to go back to being the happy child that he was. When he was little, Cesca, his mother, taught him a game, and he never outgrew it. She called it ‘making sunshine.’ If you did not have a smile on your face when he saw you, he would not go away until you smiled. He did everything an imp could do to make you smile, especially with Dobbs. Poor Dobbs never had a moment’s peace when Justin was making sunshine.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help myself when I pictured Dobbs being hounded to smile. Stephen Trevelyan laughed, too. He sat down on the seat next to mine; both of us oversize for the tiny chairs.
“You have a beautiful laugh, Miss Ann. It is like sunshine.”
“All that warmth makes things rather cozy, doesn’t it, Stephen?” Benedict’s tone blew a chill into the room that went right over Justin and Robert’s heads as they ran to me. I stood to greet them, distancing myself from Stephen Trevelyan.
“I see you have been eating sour apples again, Benedict. I was just telling Miss Ann how Justin made Dobbs miserable while making sunshine. Do you remember that, Justin?”
Justin shook his head no, but from the shadows moving into his eyes, I wondered if he was telling the truth. I hurt for him, thinking how drastically his mother’s death had changed his life.
“Miss Wovell, the horsey tolded Jus her name.”
“What, a talking horse? I daresay you are pulling my leg, Robert.” Stephen acted as if an unseen person was jerking his leg.
“I am not. My hands are right here,”Robert said, holding up his hands and stamping his foot.“And horses do talk. My father says so. You just have to know how to wisten.”
“All right, then. What did the horse say his name is?”
“Cesca,”Justin said with conviction.“Her name is Cesca.”
The blood drained from Stephen Trevelyan’s face. His gaze shot directly at Benedict.“How could—”
“Justin picked out the name. Alone.”Benedict’s eyes were like daggers.
Cesca. It was the name Stephen Trevelyan had just called Francesca. The chill in the room seeped into my blood, and I shivered. Stephen made nicknames for almost everyone. That he’d called Benedict’s wife Cesca wasn’t unusual, but the frigid look in Benedict’s eyes said differently.
“I have had some unexpected business problems. I will be out of town until next week. So I will leave things here in your hands, Stephen. I see you have a cozy handle on them already.” Nodding, Benedict spun on his heel and left.
Justin took three steps to the doorway, and I watched as his shoulders drooped.
Tears stung my eyes. I’d never uttered a curse, as best as I could recall, but several sharp ones hung on the edge of my tongue. They cut my insides as I swallowed them and put my arm around Justin’s shoulders. He pulled away, as I expected.
Benedict Trevelyan needed to replace his sour apples with prunes.
Thirty minutes had passed by the time I’d settled Robert with a picture of the Cheshire cat to copy at a table near where Justin and his uncle were playing chess. Stopping by my room, I checked up on my appearance, then went looking for Benedict Trevelyan with a battle in mind.
A battle that would have to wait. He’d already left. That fact made me ache inside, as if I’d been shunned.
Instinct took me to the foyer, and I stood within the dancing colors of the stained glass windows, letting their beauty soothe my nerves and ease the twinges inside my heart. Soon the many wonderful hues made me smile; they emitted such a joyous picture, one of hope. I realized it at that moment, what it was that made the insides of Trevelyan Manor so dark. Why Benedict’s eyes were so grimly black, and why Justin’s heart was so painfully determined to be alone. It was the lack of hope.
I also thought that just as the inhabitants of Trevelyan Manor seemed blind to the beauty of its saving grace, the stained glass, they must be blind to the one thing that could give them hope back—love.
“Is there a problem, Miss Lovell?”
I didn’t welcome Dobbs’s intrusion. “No. I was actually just, uh, making sunshine to the suit of armor.” I nodded to the stiff metal man in the corner. “Making sunshine is a popular pastime that I am considering teaching to Justin and Robert. Have you heard of it?”
Dobbs’s jaw seesawed before he snapp
ed his mouth closed. “I have not, nor do I care to. It does not sound as if you are teaching Justin and Robert anything of worth.”
“Oh, I am. Smile,” I said to him as I spun in a circle through the colored light. His frown was more dour than I could ever recall it being. I left the foyer, smiling.
The grandfather clock struck the midnight hour, and I rolled out of my bed, deciding I’d rather get a new book from the Trevelyan library than spend the rest of the night tossing and turning. I couldn’t sleep.
My door, the schoolroom’s door, and the children’s door to the hall were all locked, and I’d set an alarm of sorts in front of the secret passageway’s door. A chair with a basketful of blocks would crash over should anyone attempt to use it. The only door I couldn’t safeguard was that of Maria. With her in the nurse’s room, it was like living with the enemy at my back door; but it couldn’t be helped, and I didn’t think myself to be in any real danger anyway.
I’d locked everything just so that my intruder in the night, whoever that had been, would know I was aware of him—or her. So it wasn’t fear that kept me awake. It was Benedict’s kiss and the sensations that kiss’s memory kept rampant in my body. I ached until I thought I’d go mad. And I wondered what I would do with my growing feelings for him, for there were too many distances between us, and not just the miles.
Now that I’d had time to reflect, I decided that it would be best to put Benedict’s kiss behind me. To forget it for now and only pull it from my memories when, years from now, I could look back and reflect upon the moment that I’d known a man’s passion. That’s all our kiss could ever be. That’s all I could let it be, no matter how I ached for more. If nothing else, I was a practical woman.
Pulling on my robe and sliding into my slippers, I gathered my lamp and locked the door to my room behind me, pocketing the key. I walked down the narrow hallway, listening to the house, which breathed like a sleeping beast with the little noises and groans that disturbed the eerie silence. I liked the house best when Justin and Robert were running through it, laughing, and when Benedict was home.
It didn’t take me long to reach the foyer and its sleeping stained glass. I saw a faint glow coming from the library’s doorway, only two doors down from Benedict Trevelyan’s study. Anticipation seized me at the thought that he’d returned.
The light emitting from the library wasn’t bright enough for someone to read by, and as I stepped inside the room, finding it empty, I decided someone had accidentally left the lamp on low. I sighed, needing to release the disappointment flooding me.
Setting down my lamp, I wandered to the shelves, perusing the books, marvelous leather-bound treasures with gold engravings along their spines. I ran my fingers across the titles, breathing deeply of the enriching musty smell that only a book can have, and smiled with pleasure.
I knew exactly how I’d tame my midnight demons. I had the world at my fingertips.
For the love of it, I pulled a book of Shakespeare’s plays off the shelf. Then I spied a little used book, so small I almost missed it hidden in between the other books. Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s works. I’d heard of her and her husband, but had yet the opportunity to read any of her poems. I slipped that off the shelf along with a worn volume of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories.
Feeling guilty, I nervously looked to see if Dobbs were watching from the doorway. Then I grabbed one more book quickly, not even checking out the title, and hurried over to my lamp. I hoped Dobbs was having nightmares about making sunshine. He deserved to for making me feel like a thief just because I wanted to borrow a book for pleasure. Juggling the books on one arm, I dropped one. It slid beneath the couch, and I had to go to my knees to reach it.
I heard a scrape-thump-thump, scrape-thump-thump noise in the room with me, and my blood went cold.
Scrape-thump-thump.
The sound grew louder, coming in my direction. My stomach clenched, my palms dampened, and a lump filled my throat even as my muscles froze.
Scrape-thump-thump.
I angled up from the floor, edging my nose to the top of the chair, and gasped.
Mrs. Trevelyan, in a white nightgown and her hair flowing all the way to her knees, walked my way, using a cane. She appeared more slender and younger now that she stood upright and wore white. Hunching over in her wheelchair and covering herself in black had added twenty years to her age. She came to a stop when she saw me, her eyes widening with the same surprise as mine.
“What are you doing?” she asked, recovering first, anger spitting from her dark eyes.
I stood, hugging the books I’d collected to my chest. “Research for the boys’ lessons.” I prayed that God wouldn’t strike me dead for my fib, but I didn’t want her to know I couldn’t sleep. The implications of seeing her walking and dressed as she was, like the lady ghost I’d seen, were just starting to sink in.
It would explain the tower, but the woman in the hallway had moved too quickly to be her. Unless there was another secret passage near the stairs, or she’d slipped into Maria’s room. I almost smiled that I’d discovered the source of my ghost so quickly.“You can walk.”
Her lips pursed to a sour point. “That is none of your business.”
“Does everyone know?” I shouldn’t have asked, but I couldn’t help doing so. Since my arrival, she’d been tended to as an invalid, and I wondered why she’d choose to spend her life in a wheelchair. She was a striking woman.
“Are you stealing about the house looking for something to pilfer?”
I straightened my back. “I assure you, Mrs. Trevelyan, I have permission to use the library.” Taking my lamp, I turned to leave.
“I will expect you for afternoon tea. We can discuss this then. Do not mention this if you value your position.”
Why was she keeping her ability to walk secret? The thought of having tea in her overheated sickly sweet rooms was nauseating. I faced her and smiled.“Perhaps, if you do not mind, could we meet in the garden, or even the solarium?”
“How dare—”
I looked pointedly at her cane.“I will not mention seeing you tonight, but you will have to treat me with some decency in return. I will not be subjected to the Inquisition again.”
Her eyes brightened with anger. “The solarium, then.” Her voice was clipped with tension.
“Good,” I said. As I turned, I noted the book she held. The Romance of the Rose. The author’s name caught me by surprise. Benedict W. Trevelyan, Sr. I decided to wait until tomorrow to ask her about it. I knew if it were my husband who’d died, I’d want to speak of him during the bright warm hours of the day and not in the deep and cold loneliness of the night.
Once in my room, I dropped the books upon my bed and paced to the window. I didn’t know exactly what to make of Mrs. Trevelyan. I couldn’t dismiss her as a harmless old woman. She had too many dark emotions ruling her actions, and she had kept hidden the fact that she could walk. At least, that is what I assumed. Maybe I was the only one who wasn’t aware that she could walk on occasion.
My thoughts ran in circles, trying to puzzle out the events of the past and the people involved. Could she have murdered Francesca? Had her hatred of her daughter-in-law been that virulent?
My restless seething for answers was just as frustrating as the memory of Benedict’s kiss, and my growing list of grievances with the man—his aggravating assumptions, his rude behavior, and my hopeless obsession with his infuriatingly pleasurable touch.
For indeed, having been truly kissed by the man, I had every desire to be kissed again. And just exactly where was that merry road going to lead me—through the secret passage to his bed and my ruin? I couldn’t let that happen, not ever.
My mother had been seduced and tricked by the promise of love and marriage. I had no such illusions or excuses. Every practical fiber in my body demanded that I put Benedict’s kiss from my mind like a saint casting away the devil.
Yet, having felt the heat of desire, how could I banish myself to a
cold spinsterhood without even a memory of that fire to warm me?
No. It didn’t matter what I felt. I had to put any such thoughts from my mind. Anything else was unthinkable.
Sighing, I settled in my reading chair with Shakespeare, amusing myself within the bantering lines of Much Ado about Nothing. Beatrice and Benedick’s wit and “denied” affection for each other warmed my heart, and I found myself dreaming of the impossible.
The clatter of blocks tumbling upon the floor startled me from my sleep. My alarm at the secret passage! Jumping up, dressed only in my thin nightgown, I ran to the schoolroom. Benedict stood there, looking amused at the mess. Dressed in only his breeches, he appeared as if he’d stepped from his bath and lightly dried himself. I could see errant beads of water on his chest, his back, and dampening his silky hair. He made me thirsty.
“You are back,” I said, licking my dry lips. My breath, shallow with anticipation, caught in my throat as he lifted his gaze to mine. The stark hunger and desperation I’d seen before when my breasts had shown through my threadbare gown was back.
“I had to come back. I could not stop thinking of you.”
“Nor I you. Benedict, please. This is not easy for me. You must understand that I cannot—”
“No, Titania, this is the only thing we need to understand.” He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me against him. My gasp was timed perfectly to the lowering of his lips. His mouth covered mine, angling my head back, giving him access to my neck. He stroked me there, his touch burning a path down my body, making me greedy for more and more pleasure. My breasts ached.
“Please,” I said again, meaning the exact opposite of before. He knew what I wanted, what I needed. His scorching hand covered my breast.
“I cannot think anymore. You have driven me insane with desire. Can you feel it, Titania? Can you feel my heart thunder, my blood boil? I must have you as my wife. Will you marry me?” He set me back on my feet, his dark eyes intent as he searched my face.
The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 16
