I should have checked the weather outside before I made the suggestion. Today the garden wasn’t a nice bright spot. Dark, angry clouds hung thickly on the horizon, and a sticky, humid breeze held the promise of a hot thunderstorm. The malevolent portent of the black mass made me shiver despite the heat. Constance must have felt it, too, for she stared at the horizon with a look of intense worry on her face.
The boys didn’t even seem to notice. Justin settled himself at the far end of the garden and began sketching in his notebook. Robert stared into the pool of water at the fountain and then dribbled his fingers through it. “Come look, Miss Wovell. I can make my face look funny.”
Setting my sketchbook on the bench, I went over to him. We stared at our wavering reflections in the water together until Robert laughingly splashed and made them disappear. My heart squeezed as I realized how fleeting the precious moments of our lives really were. I knew I would treasure forever my memories of Benedict, Justin, and Robert, and I prayed that years from now they would be just as real as I saw them now, not a watery reflection faded by time.
“Can I go collect rocks, Miss Wovell?” Robert asked with enthusiasm.
“Only if you stay where we can see you. No wandering off, you hear?”
“Yes, Miss Wovell, I promise,” he said scrambling off to where a number of rocks were, not far from Justin.
“These are quite good,” Constance said.
I turned to find her studying her way through my sketchbook and had to fight back the flash of anger I felt over her not asking permission first. Some of my penciled musings were private.
She set the book aside and didn’t comment further, but looked at the sky again. “Sometimes that’s what the future looks like to me, a jumbled mass of angry clouds waiting to devour me. Do you ever feel that way?”
I took a deep breath. I would never know more about what happened to Francesca if I didn’t risk a few more questions. My experience in the stairwell seemed to have turned my curiosity about Francesca’s death into an imperative quest. “As I see it, it aptly describes the past here at Trevelyan Manor.”
Constance turned to study me.“The past? How so?”
I hesitated.
“Ann, surely you know me well enough to be frank. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about all of this tension hovering over the Trevelyans. What exactly happened a year ago between Benedict, Stephen, and your sister?”
Constance narrowed her eyes, and I wondered if I had pushed too far. Then she shrugged. “Like most of us, Francesca wanted what she could not have, but she could not accept that. It is not something I like to talk about. Her death and why. She chose to die, but I want to remember the good things and let her live in those.” Constance shivered. “I think I will see if Dobbs can serve tea in the solarium. Will you join me shortly?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She left then, leaving the past still hidden in shadows. But maybe not. It would seem that Constance and Mrs. Trevelyan, women who had known Francesca, and Stephen, a man in love with her, believed that she’d killed herself. Dr. Levinworth was sure she’d been murdered. And Benedict? If he didn’t have his doubts, if he wasn’t protecting someone or hiding something, he wouldn’t be so tortured over his honor, or so shadowed by Francesca’s death. What was the truth?
I collected my sketchbook, finding the pages open to my picture of Benedict. I’d done my best to ignore my heart all morning, having decided my tears during the night were all the sorrow I could allow myself. I let my gaze drift to the stables in the distance, wondering if he was there, wondering if he was out riding, facing the rising wind of the threatening storm.
It was all I could do to keep my feet planted in the garden, for my heart wandered its way to the stable, to the very first time his arms wrapped around me, to the first time his lips touched mine. Robert called me, and I turned to him, smiling back my tears, reminding myself that I’d hold no thorns.
“Miss Wovell. Miss Wovell. You have to come look. There is a mommy and a baby, and I found them all by myself.”
I hurried his way. As I passed Justin, I saw him set down his sketchbook and rise. He too wanted to see what Robert had found.
“You have to be very quiet,” Robert said, oblivious to the fact that he’d been shouting. I took his hand and Justin’s too, and we tiptoed around the rosebushes. There, feeding along the edge of the garden, were two brown, white-tailed rabbits, one large, one little. Their long ears twitched in the breeze as they hopped from tuft to tuft of grass and clover.
“You most certainly did find a mommy and a baby,” I whispered, squeezing Robert’s hand. We stood watching them for a long moment.
“Miss Lovell, could Robert and I have another mommy?” Justin said, holding my hand tightly.
The soft question centered a heavy weight upon my chest. “That’s not an easy question to answer, and one that you should ask your father.”
“Can we choose you, Miss Wovell?”Robert leaned his little body next to mine.
Letting go of their hands, I wrapped my arms around both Robert and Justin, knelt painfully down, and pulled them close to me. “No,” I said, my voice so thick with emotion I almost choked over the simple word.“But I will tell you two a secret that you must always keep close to your hearts. In my heart and in my dreams that reach out to your dreams every night, I could not love you any more even if I was your mommy. I love you that much. Do you understand?”
Justin nodded. Robert frowned.“But I want you to be.”
I wanted to be, too. My heart squeezed so painfully that tears threatened. I ruffled Robert’s hair, loving every wild curl.“Sometimes everything we want doesn’t happen. Now, I bet Cook Thomas has something delicious cooked up for your lunch. Let’s go see.”
Cook Thomas informed me that Mrs. Trevelyan had requested that Justin and Robert visit her after lunch. He rolled his eyes as he told me of her elaborate plans to teach Justin and Robert the proper etiquette for an afternoon tea. Then he showed me the platter of treats that he’d prepared—scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream, delicate chocolate-lace cookies, and tiny lemon cakes that made my mouth water. I smiled, knowing that no matter how torturous their tea lesson would be, the boys were going to love it. I went to join Constance for tea in the solarium.
Either I was more restless than I had ever been in my life, or I was desperate to keep my mind from thinking, for I couldn’t seem to sit for more than just a few minutes at a time. After half a cup of tea and one lemon cake, I left Constance immersed in an illustrated fashion newspaper and checked with Dobbs about the letter Constance had mentioned earlier. In the middle of instructing the maids on how to clean the parlor, he was quite put out to see me. His “I assure you that no post came for you, Miss Lovell” clearly stated that I was taking on airs to even think I was important enough to receive a letter. That I didn’t argue with him, insist on seeing the mail myself, or return his insult spoke volumes about my state of mind. It was as if everything in life had lost its importance compared to facing life without Benedict, Justin, and Robert.
I didn’t know where I was going until I ended up in the entry hall. The colored lights of the stained glass were dim because of the gray skies, barely painting the room. Still, I went and stood beneath the faint hues, looking for some small glimmer of the joy and hope I’d always found there. All I could see was the closed door of Benedict’s study. I’d not seen him since the night I’d fallen, and the ache in my heart grew with every lonely moment. I went to the door and raised my hand to knock, but turned away before I could. Tears filled my eyes as I relived my last visit to his study and the joy and despair that I’d experienced. I’d never forget him asking for a dance, for my kiss, or for my love. Nor would I ever forget the truths his mother had forced me to see.
We’d both changed. Benedict hadn’t left to tend some business situation to avoid the complexities between us. It was I who was hiding now. And coward that I was, I would continue to let the misundersta
nding lie between us. It was easier than the truth. Blinking back my tears, I looked up to see Katherine. Crying, she looked at me with a despair that seemed to mirror my own heart.
“What is it?” I asked, forgetting that she couldn’t hear. She seemed to understand me anyway. She held up a letter that she’d obviously read and placed a fist over her heart.
“Anthony,” I said, mouthing the word, knowing instinctively that must be what had her upset. She nodded, and motioning for me to follow her, led me to the library and pressed the letter into my hand. Her actions told me that she wanted me to read the letter.
My Dearest Katherine,
After speaking with Miss Lovell, I have come to realize that I can no longer live the life that I have been living this past year. When you broke our engagement, I told myself that you did not love me enough to be with me. That I did not mean as much to you as the others you cared for, and that their problems were more important to you than our life together was. I have lived with this sadness, and yes, resentment, in my heart, believing these things to be true.
I am writing to you now to tell you that I was wrong. Wrong to have left your side when you set me free, because I have learned that my love for you is greater than all else and greater than any shortcomings that I or even you have. I should have loved you enough to stand by your side when you needed the heart and hand of a friend rather than the demands of a lover. I should have stayed and understood rather than insist that there is only one way for our love to be.
I am humbly asking you, Katherine, to let me be a part of your life again in any way. That I may see the joy of your smile as you walk in the garden, share the glory of a sunset on a quiet evening, and write the verse that lights your eyes with laughter. For having lost these small things, I have learned what makes life richer than anything else for me. You.
Forever Yours,
no matter what your decision,
Anthony
Tears filled my eyes as I realized how great Anthony’s love for Katherine truly was. I looked at Katherine. She stood by the window, gazing out at the gray skies as her tears fell. When I gave her the letter back, she pulled out a pen and paper and wrote, “What am I going to do? What of the curse? Even you have almost died.”
I shook my head and took the pen and paper. “There is no curse, and I don’t even think that is what you really fear. I think you fear the future, and that since you cannot hear, you will not be the perfect wife and mother, but it looks as if Anthony loves you no matter what. You have to decide what is greater in your heart—fear or love.”
Katherine shook her head, but I could see in her eyes that my words had reached her. I left her in the library and went to my room, wishing that the gulf between Benedict and me was as bridgeable as Katherine and Anthony’s appeared to be. But I didn’t see any way to overcome the fact that I was a laundress born out of wedlock, and he was the master of Trevelyan Hill, with a family to protect.
Entering my room, I found a note beneath my door.
Come to the family sitting room near my quarters as soon as you can. I urgently need your help. It is about Katherine.
Yours,
Stephen
Thinking that Stephen wanted to speak to me about Anthony’s letter to Katherine, I quickly freshened myself and hurried to the opposite wing of the house, but I found the sitting room empty.
I was deliberating on whether or not it would be too unseemly for me to knock on Stephen’s door when I noticed a note on the sheet covering an easel set in the middle of the room.
Look at your own peril.
F.
I froze, realizing that someone had deliberately lured me here.
“Who are you?” I demanded, swinging around in a circle.
No one answered, but I once again felt as if someone watched me. I wasn’t alone in the room. I knew it.“You are a coward,” I said.“Do you think you can frighten me?”
I marched over to the picture and snatched the sheet away. I’m not sure what I expected, but as I looked at the canvas, a cry of surprise erupted from me. It was a picture of me, and clearly Katherine’s artwork. She’d painted me as a magical queen of the fairies in a scene that seemed to be from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Only this dream had been turned into a nightmare by the knife plunged into the canvas right through my heart and the blood-red words written over the masterpiece: Leave or die.
24
“No. Never!” I shouted even as I backed away from the picture, my heart thudding with fear. The sensation that someone was about to attack me crawled up my spine, and prudence outweighed my bravado. I turned and ran blindly, my lungs burning for air that I could not give them, my bruised body screaming with pain, and my mind grappling with my fear. I ran right into Stephen.
“Dear God, Miss Ann. I heard you yell. What’s wrong?” He caught hold of my shoulders.
I tried to speak, but my throat seemed paralyzed.“Th-ththe—”
“It is all right. Whatever it is, just tell me, and we will fix it,” he said, pulling me into his arms.
Feeling safe, I leaned my head upon him and fought for air, fought the dizziness and the pain in my sore body, fought to think. I’m not sure if only a moment passed, or if it was longer. “There’s a painting in the sitting room. It is horrible.”
Stephen expelled a long breath, clearly relieved. “Is that all? Remember? I spoke to you about Katherine’s paintings—”
“No, you don’t understand. It is Katherine’s, but someone—”
“I suggest a bedroom is better suited to your depravity.” I heard Benedict’s voice as if coming from afar, for my blood still roared through my ears. I wondered if I’d imagined Benedict’s voice until Stephen turned. Looking up, I saw Benedict standing in the hall, his face twisted in anger, his hands fisted at his sides.
“I suggest you look for a new post, Miss Lovell.” His gaze raked down my body. “I no longer require any of the services you render.” He threw something down, turned on his heel, and left.
“Bloody hell. You merciless bastard,” Stephen shouted at Benedict’s disappearing back. “I’m going to kill you for that.”
“No.” I grabbed Stephen’s arm. “Dear God, no.” It was at this point that I had the presence of mind to notice that Stephen wore his breeches only. His torso was completely bare and as damp as his hair. I’d apparently disturbed him at his bath. Shocked, I stepped away.
Stephen turned to me. He blinked, shook his head, and gulped in air. “Poor choice of words, Miss Ann. I’m going to beat him into a bloody pulp, though. You love him, don’t you?”
I bit my lip, tears flooding my eyes. I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. Stephen was already cursing.
“He’s compromised you, hasn’t he?”
“No,” I said, but he just looked at me sadly.
“We have too much truth between us, Miss Ann, for either of us to start lying now.”
“Please, it was of my own doing. I went to him. I had to. I loved him, and I had to know him.” Tears filled my eyes.
Stephen looked down at himself. “It would seem I had rather forgot my appearance myself. Let me grab a shirt, and then I am going to go bloody Benedict’s face.”
“No, I have to speak to him. I have let a misunderstanding hurt him because I was too much of a coward to tell him the truth. All of my fuss about him running away, and it was I who did so. I should not have run from the picture, either. I should not have let the knife upset me so.”
“Knife?” Stephen said sharply.“What knife?”
“The one someone stabbed though Katherine’s picture of me. In the sitting room. That’s what frightened me so.”
“My God, Ann.” With a horrified look, Stephen turned and marched to the sitting room. Deciding I didn’t want to be left standing alone, I hurried after him. The easel sat in the middle of the room, just as I’d left it. Only now, a different painting sat serenely in place of the butchered one of me. It was a beautiful picture of horses
running in a pasture.
“Ann?” Stephen turned to look at me.
I shook my head.“It was here, just minutes ago. A picture of me as a fairy queen. Someone had put a knife through the queen and wrote ‘Leave or die’ in red on it.” I looked at Stephen, feeling an uneasy sensation of unreality steal into my heart.“You do believe me, don’t you?”
Stephen blinked. He looked back at the painting, then at me.“Yes,Ann, I do believe you, and I think we need to go discuss this with Benedict, though I doubt he will be able to hear us. He’s deafer than Katherine when he’s hurt or angry.”
In my mind’s eye, I saw Benedict questioning and accusing everyone, just as his mother claimed he did after I was pushed down the stairs. And considering that the picture had already disappeared, his mother would no doubt say that I had once again concocted a story to force Benedict to protect me. “No, Stephen. I do not want Benedict to know about this yet. I need to speak with him first and set a few things straight.”
“The avenging angel is back? Good for you, Miss Ann. In fact, tell my brother he cannot fire you because you have already quit. I have a post for you to fill. Since I will be putting my pen to paper, I need a practical person to organize my prose. Will you be my assistant, Miss Ann? This is a completely respectable position that I am offering, I assure you.” Stephen smiled softly.“You might say that you know me too well for me to ever sweep you off your feet, which, given the romantic nature of my heart, is an absolute must for me.”
His offer touched my soul. I smiled back at him, feeling as if I had truly gained a friend, though I knew I could never accept his offer.“Thank you, but—”
The Mistress of Trevelyan Page 33
