Lavender shook her head and clasped her hands behind her back while she stared at the enormous ruby that glistened as if it were on fire. "No, Grandmama, I cannot take this from you. I thank you most sincerely for offering it to me, but you should save it for . . . for . . ."
"I want you to have it, Lavender."
"No. It would not be fair for me to take the necklace, because you know I will soon be leaving."
The dowager's eyes became sad, and she slipped the necklace back around her own neck. "I do not believe that Julian will ever allow you to leave, child. I will just keep this necklace and give it to you at a later time."
Lavender watched the dowager leave the room, knowing she had hurt Julian's grandmother deeply by not accepting her generous gift. Lavender turned back to the window, watching the children as they slid across the frozen pond, knowing every day that passed brought the birth of her baby closer, and, thus, brought the day she must leave closer.
"Oh, Julian," she cried, resting her cheek against the stiff gold brocade draperies. "I wish with all my heart that I did not have to leave you."
Lavender's boots made a crunching sound as she walked across the frozen snow. So far the roads were still blocked and she could not get into the village. Unable to stand staying indoors a moment longer, she had gone for a walk in the garden.
In spite of the fact that snow covered everything, she could see the beauty that springtime would bring to the garden. The gentle slope meandered down to the Shannon River, and she would imagine what it must look like when the swans floated on the river, when the grass was green and flowers were blooming. Six huge fountains lay idle since the water was frozen, but she could almost hear the musical sound that the tinkling water would make.
She pulled her woolen, fur-lined cape about her and tried to ignore the icy blast of air that came off the river. She moved down the path until she came to an aged sundial. With her gloved hand, she dusted the snow away from the face of the sundial, and with her finger, traced the still visible lettering. SPEND TIME WISELY
OR IT WILL USE YOU HARSHLY.
She wondered how many events in English history had unfolded in the shadows of the old sundial, how many people had played out their lives here, to be born, marry and die, leaving no mark on the passage of time.
Moving down the path, Lavender rounded a corner, hoping to escape from the biting cold wind on the sheltered side of the garden. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the immense structure that glistened even in the faint sunlight. It appeared to be constructed entirely of glass. Filled with curiosity, she walked over to the building. Standing on tiptoes, she tried to peek through the glass, but it was frosted with ice so she could see nothing.
Hearing footsteps, Lavender whirled around to face a smiling little man with a face as wrinkled as aged parchment. As he stood before Lavender, he doffed his cap and bowed to her. "Good morning to you, Your Grace. I'm Muldoon, your head gardener. Would you be wanting to inspect the conservatory?"
She smiled sweetly at him. "I would be delighted if you would show me around, Muldoon. I have heard of conservatories, but I have never been inside one. This one is unusually large, is it not?"
"Yes, Your Grace," he said with pride in his voice. "If there is a larger or finer conservatory in all England, I am not aware of it."
"You said you were the head gardener. Are you responsible for laying out the gardens?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"It is easy to tell that you are very good at what you do. Have you lived at Mannington long?"
He rubbed his chin. "I was born here, as was my sire, and his sire before him. We Muldoons date back to the time two hundred years ago, when the duke married an Irish Laird's daughter and brought her to live at Mannington. She, of course, brought her own servants and gardeners. Since that time, we Muldoons have been head gardeners at the castle. It is a craft that has been handed down from father to son. It's a comfort to know that when I am gone, my son, Timothy, will be your head gardener."
Lavender smiled. She liked this little man, and he seemed to feel comfortable with her. "Will you show me around the conservatory now, Muldoon?"
"It would be my pleasure, Your Grace. You will find it very warm inside."
She followed him around the corner, and he opened the door and allowed her to pass in front of him. Lavender held her breath at the sight that met her eyes. It was like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert, but in this case, it was more like finding summer existing in the middle of the winter. There was a virtual garden with greenery everywhere. Her senses were filled with the sweetly scented herbs and spices. She saw many different varieties of vegetables, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries.
"This is truly amazing, Muldoon. It must take many hours to cultivate and tend the gardens."
"That it does, Your Grace. I have twelve helpers just to tend the conservatory alone. You might be interested to know that we also have tomatoes that your Benjamin Franklin introduced to England."
She smiled and moved down a row of melons. "Are those roses I see behind the blackberry bushes?"
"That's right. There are not only roses, but also seventy other varieties of flowers. The flowers were planted at the dowager's request. She likes to have fresh flowers the year round."
"That is wonderful, Muldoon. I also see trees, at the other end of the building."
"If you will come with me, I will show them to you, Your Grace," he said eagerly, indicating that she should proceed him toward the trees.
Lavender was further astounded when she saw an apple tree with ripe fruit hanging from the branches. She laughed delightedly when she saw another tree laden with plump ripe peaches. "I am very partial to peaches, Muldoon."
He grinned widely, thinking how fortunate the duke was to have found such a kind and lovely duchess—and from America, of all places. "I will see that a basket of peaches are delivered to your room fresh every day, Your Grace."
"I would like that very much, Muldoon. Now I must go back to the house, but I thank you for taking time to show me your conservatory. It is truly magnificent. May I come here again sometime?"
He bowed deeply. "It will always be my pleasure to show Your Grace around. Any time you need anything, you have only to ask me."
Lavender moved out the door, knowing she had made another friend at Mannington.
Muldoon beamed to himself. He would just go on home to the cottage and tell the missus that he had met the new duchess. He would describe how she looked like a beautiful angel, and that she was kind as well.
That night there was a knock on Muldoon's cottage door. When the gardener went to answer it, he found one of the liveried house servants on the doorstep. The man thrust a covered basket into Muldoon's hands. "This is for you and your wife," the servant said formally. "It comes with the compliments of Her Grace, the duchess. She said to tell you it is in appreciation for your patience and attention this afternoon."
After the servant withdrew, Muldoon stood in stunned silence. His wife, Birdie, took the basket and lifted the lid. "Merciful heavens!" she exclaimed. "How can this have happened? We have a bounty."
Muldoon gazed down at the ham, chicken, sweet-meats, three tins of tea, and two loaves of bread. "Didn't I tell you she was an angel?" he asked with eagerness. "Didn't I tell you she had a kind heart?"
Lavender sat before the cheerful fire in her bedchamber, a quill pen poised in her hand. She had not heard Julian enter, and she was startled when his shadow fell across her face.
"I did not intend to startle you, Lavender." He looked over her shoulder. "Writing another letter to your aunt?"
"Yes, but I cannot even be sure she is receiving them." She glanced up into his handsome face, feeling guilty for keeping secrets from him, but not knowing what he was doing in her room. Her heart pounded as she watched his slow smile.
"Have you written your aunt about the baby?"
"I. . . no, I have not. Aunt Amelia would never understand ho
w I could agree to leave the baby with you . . . when I return to America."
He watched her face closely. "Perhaps you will not be able to leave the child when the time comes."
"When I go, will you allow me to take the baby with me?" she asked.
His eyes flickered, and he moved around to sit beside her on the couch. "Never, Lavender. You will not leave here with my child."
She placed her letter and quill on the side table. "Is it still snowing, Julian?"
"Yes, I fear we will be snowbound for at least another week. Will you mind that?"
"Is there no way to get into the village?"
"Not unless you walk, and I cannot allow you to do that." His eyes moved over her face. "Are you so unhappy here at Mannington?"
"No, I love it here. I would not mind if I never had to—" Her voice trailed off. She had almost said she would not mind if she never left Mannington. The truth of her feelings hit her. She did not want to go back to America! She could not stand the thought of never seeing Julian. How she wished she could just remain here at least for a time. This was where she belonged, with her husband and her child. How could she leave the dowager, who had been so kind to her? She would miss the little gardener, Muldoon, who, true to his word, brought fresh peaches to her every day.
"What were you saying?" Julian asked.
"It is of no importance," she replied, standing up and moving closer to the fire.
Julian's eyes rested on the swell of her stomach, and he felt saddened. It would not be long until the child was delivered. He had given his word that she could return to America after the birth. He wondered how he could ever let her go when the time came. Angry with himself for these tender feelings he had for Lavender, he stood up and moved across the room. He must keep reminding himself that this woman was responsible for his brother's death.
Lavender watched Julian walk out the door, somehow feeling she had made him angry again. She searched her mind, trying to recall anything she had said that he could take offense to. Sighing heavily, she picked up her paper and quill, thinking she would finish her letter to Aunt Amelia.
Lavender was in the library, glancing through a very old volume that stood on a mahogany stand. The pages were yellowed with age, so she carefully turned them. It was a book about Mannington, which traced Julian's lineage from the early fourteenth century. She found drawings of the castle, and a layout for the original gardens at the time of the Norman Conquest.
"So, here you are," Julian said, coming up beside her and glancing over her shoulder. "Have you developed an interest in my family background?"
She glanced into his handsome face, noting how handsome he looked in his buff riding britches and boots. "This book is fascinating. Do you mind if I look through it?"
"You are free to look through any book in this library. You will find all the rooms are open to you. I want you to feel completely at home here."
She noticed him glance down at her rounded stomach, then back to her face. "I want to thank you for my Christmas gift," he said, raising his arm and showing Lavender that he was wearing the gold shirt studs she had given him.
She felt embarrassed, knowing he had many finer ones in his own collection. Remembering the beautiful blue velvet cloak lined with ermine that he had given her for Christmas, she felt her gift pale to insignificance. "They are of no great consequence. I just wanted to give you something."
"I can assure you they are very much to my liking." He watched her face, sensing that her spirit was being crushed. He remembered her with her golden hair flying around her and her blue eyes spitting fire. Now she was almost humbled and apologetic, making him wonder if he were the culprit who was responsible for her lack of spirit. "How would you like a tour of the picture gallery? There is where you will see the real history of Mannington unfold."
"Oh, could we? I have heard so much about the gallery and have wanted very much to see it."
He smiled, offering her his arm. "It would be my pleasure to act as your guide."
Julian escorted Lavender up two flights of stairs and past numerous rooms, until he stopped before heavy oak double doors. With a smile, he opened the doors and allowed Lavender to pass through ahead of him. Her feet sank into a thick, royal blue rug runner. As Julian moved about lighting candles, she stared at the paintings that covered both sides of the long gallery.
"This is another Julian Mannington, better known in his day, as the Black Knight," Julian said, leading Lavender to one of the oldest paintings in the gallery.
Lavender stared at the knight in armor, thinking how comforting it must be to know where one had come from. Her child would have this same firm background to help him feel secure. "I can see a resemblance," she said, staring into the dark eyes of the Black Knight, and then at Julian's dark eyes.
"There have been twelve Julians in my family, dating from the time records have been kept—I being the twelfth, of course."
As they moved down the line of portraits, Lavender's mind was spinning at the sight of gentlemen in different time periods, and ladies bedecked in jewels, satins, and velvets. She was becoming more and more aware that she was an intruder here and did not belong. To her it seemed that many of the eyes from the portraits stared at her accusingly, as if denying her right to be among their number. She had the strongest urge to run away, but she bravely smothered that urge and moved on down the corridor.
Julian was patient with her, and explained about many of the family members. As they moved to a portrait of Julian's grandfather, she sucked in her breath. How like Julian he looked, and she could well see why the dowager had loved her husband.
As she studied the portrait of Julian's mother, she became aware that Julian had fallen silent and there was a heaviness in the air. Something was wrong, and she could feel it in the very depth of her being. Almost reluctantly, she glanced at the portrait he was standing before. She did not need to be told that the two young boys dressed in black velvet were Julian and his brother, William. She looked up at her husband and saw the tightening of his jaw.
"This is you and your brother," she said, glancing into his eyes. "You were both very young when you sat for this portrait." She could not bring herself to look closely at the young boy that stood beside Julian. It was as if her breathing had suddenly been cut off, and she took a step backward, looking toward the door.
Julian grabbed her wrist and pulled her forward. "Look well upon my brother's face, Lavender. Know that you are responsible that he is not here now. You are alive and breathing, but he is cold in his crypt."
She shook her head, while trying to pry his hand loose. "No, Julian, do not do this to me. Please, I want to go to my bedchamber."
He stared at Lavender, watching a tear trail down her cheek. "God, what am I doing?" he asked in an agonized voice. Flinging her arm away, he turned toward the door, but did not leave. "I am sorry, Lavender, but you can see that my brother's death will always stand between us."
She rubbed her wrist to restore the circulation. "I have known that for some months, Julian. But I can still say to you that I am not responsible for his death."
He swung around, glowering at her. "I will be leaving for London in the morning, and I do not intend to return until after the baby is born. At that time, you will be free to leave."
She wondered if heartbreak was visible? Could Julian see that he was killing her heart? "I suppose you cannot bear to stay in the same house with me."
He reached out to touch her, but let his hand fall limply at his side. "It is not that so much, Lavender, as the fact that the doctor has informed me today that I must not come to your bed until after the baby is born. If I stay, I fear I will not be able to keep away from you."
She turned away and rushed down the gallery toward the door. Sobs were building up inside her and she wanted to make it to her room before she cried. She could not understand this vacillating between infatuation and hatred that Julian apparently felt for her? She would be glad when he had left for London, she t
old herself.
Julian stood as if turned to stone, wanting to rush after Lavender and hating himself for that weakness.
22
March winds howled through the Mannington countryside bringing with it the icy sting of winter. When April finally arrived, the weather had not improved, and winter still retained a firm grip on the land. Lavender lay in her bed listening to the gusts of wind that made a wailing noise as it rattled her bedroom windows. She was lonely in the very depths of her heart. Long days changed into even longer nights, while she waited impatiently for her baby to be born.
After that horrid day in the gallery when Julian had again accused her of being instrumental in his brother's death, he had left for London, and she had neither seen nor heard from him since. He had been cold and distant that morning as he had told her good-bye. It appeared to Lavender that day as if Julian could not bear the sight of her. She was almost glad he had gone because she did not have to face his accusing eyes.
Lavender's senses became alert as she heard a different sound at her window. It was not the wind that was hitting against the glass pane, it sounded more like someone was throwing pebbles against it from the ground below.
She slipped out of bed, hurried across the room, and threw wide the window. At first she did not see the two men who stood in the shadows of the house, but when her eyes became accustomed to the moonlight, she could clearly make them out. Her hand flew to her throat. Unless her eyes were deceiving her, it was Nicodemus and Brainard Thruston!
Before Lavender could shout down to them, a deep voice spoke up from her across the room. "What in the hell are you doing with the window open? Do you want to catch your death?" Lavender spun around to find Julian standing in the doorway with a candle in his hand and a look of disapproval on his face.
Lavender Lies (Historical Romance) Page 32
