by Sahara Kelly
Their brief affair had been exciting, and her experience and honesty set Richard’s feet on the path to a successful record with his future lovers, although there had not been many. He couldn’t afford a mistress, even if he’d wanted one, which he didn’t. But there were many women who made their interest in him obvious…he was handsome, possessed of a pleasant nature, and even though he was not wealthy, he was the son of a Baron, which counted for something.
When Aunt Venetia had apportioned her new inheritance upon himself and his twin, the Ton had paid a little more attention, as had the ladies who heard the news.
He’d not lacked for the company of the fairer sex, and he’d enjoyed it. He hoped they had enjoyed it as well.
His thoughts turned to marriage.
He’d wanted to marry at some point, he supposed. All men did. But given his history, he was in no rush. He’d assumed that when the time was right he’d look around and find a suitable bride. It astonished him that Edmund, Simon, Letitia and now his twin, Kitty, had married.
From what he could see, they were happy as well. A miracle indeed.
His affections had never really been engaged, he realized. In fact, following that train of thought, he’d not believed himself to be a man who had any. At least not to any great extent. Certainly not in the way praised by poets and novelists with an overly emotional and heated turn of phrase.
His view of what a family should be had formed around the tables of the simple country folk, not the titled gentry of London. He had never been able to see himself in the train of a Society beauty, following her from ball to ball. Since he was a member of that Society, it would seem that a wife would appear from that select group of eligible young ladies. But up to now, not one had inspired more than a momentary interest.
He had accepted that, he realized. His feet had been well on the path to confirmed bachelorhood until Brussels. And even then, when faced with marriage, he discovered that it meant little more to him than acquiring a wife. Fortunately, Cressida had shared his casual acceptance of the situation forced on them both.
And yet…
He’d kissed Cressy on impulse, seeing such sadness lurking in her gaze. Had it been an urge to offer comfort? Or had it been something else…a need to taste those ripe lips?
That was a question he found himself a little scared to answer.
But he could not deny that the results of that action still sent shivers down his spine. And he was aware that the urge to repeat it battered at his consciousness. He told himself to sit still, when part of him desired nothing more than to rush back to Branscombe Magna, find Cressy and spend about an hour kissing her, just to see if the effect was the same.
If it was, then he’d like to perhaps move on during the next hour, to a stage where clothes were no longer involved, and Cressy’s slight gasp became a long, drawn out moan of pleasure.
He groaned. His breeches were damned uncomfortable.
His brain was in a similar state, since there was one more question to ask and he knew before he even gave it words that he had no answer.
What the hell was he going to do now?
*~~*~~*
While Richard and Zizi were communing with nature, their own thoughts, and the occasional scent of a badger, Cressida was cleaning the master suite as if all the devils in hell were driving her dust cloth.
She’d been almost glad of the voice that had ended the kiss on the doorstep. One of the Worsnop twins had hailed Richard and he’d let her go with a look she wished she could interpret…but couldn’t.
It wasn’t embarrassment, or distaste—that she knew. But if not those things, then what was it?
The dresser in her bedroom glowed, and one of the maids put her hand on Cressy’s arm.
“’Tis done, Ma’am. Real shiny an’ clean now. It don’t need doin’ twice—yer’ll wear off the carvin’.”
“Oh.” Cressy stopped, stared and then smiled. “You’re right. My mind was elsewhere.” She glanced around the lovely bedroom. “It does look much better, doesn’t it?”
The windows, clean of their grime, let in the sunshine and it brought out the gleam of the dark wood furniture. The bed, a smaller version of her husband’s, had four delicately carved posts, ivy vines trailing their way upward toward their tips. There was no canopy, but it did boast a large headboard, topped with matching carved vines. She thought it was lovely, even though they’d all agreed it had been the very devil to polish.
Her bedding had been completely changed, and the bed now boasted a quilt featuring green and yellow flowers. The sheets were fresh, the mattress beaten and turned, and it looked so inviting, she was tempted to just throw herself into the middle of it and nap for a while. She didn’t have enough clothing to half fill either the dresser or the wardrobe, but she hoped for the chance to add a few more dresses as time passed.
Never one to be fussy about her fashions, Cressida was quite content with something clean and comfortable in the way of gowns. She left the trendy eccentricities to others.
Declaring themselves done at last, the maids swept up the last of the dust from the carpet, and spent a moment congratulating themselves on a job well done.
Cressida echoed their sentiments, thanking them all sincerely for their efforts. There were more rooms to do, but they all believed that they’d broken the back of this enormous task, and were pleased to recognize it.
“I’ll bring yer things in, Ma’am,” said Jane. “Yer want Mr. Richard’s stuff in ‘is room, too?”
Cressida nodded. “I think so, yes. But let me ask him first. If you can make sure my things are here, that will suffice for the moment.” She nodded at them. “Time for a bit of a break. You’ve earned it.”
There were swift curtseys and smiles as the girls took themselves off, chattering happily.
Cressida smiled to herself. This was what she’d hoped for…a house where there was more laughter than tears. She craved happiness, peace of mind…and to be loved.
Those words popped into her head unexpectedly, and caught her by surprise. She moved to the bow window and sat for a moment, letting the implications of her own thoughts settle.
She’d had a relatively straightforward upbringing, until her Mama had died. Then her new life with Aunt Phyllida had begun and everything changed. There was attention and a minuscule amount of affection. But the love she’d known from her mother had vanished. And she’d found herself lost without it.
The young woman she’d become had closed off that particular part of her heart, since it hurt too much to leave it vulnerable. She had danced, smiled and played the role expected of her, but not with anything resembling enthusiasm for it. It was just that…a role. And she was the actress portraying it to the best of her ability.
But now, today, in a few surprising moments in the morning sunshine, a door had opened a little. Her heart had glimpsed something, some light or warmth, that awoke some strange yearnings. She’d shivered and lost her breath at the touch of his lips, melted as his warm hands encircled her, and lost any ability to think rationally when his tongue had slid into her mouth, giving her a taste of him.
Just remembering the instant made her body flush and an unusual aching warmth spread through her, landing down between her legs in a rush of heat. Nothing she’d read could have prepared her for this.
It was not their first kiss. She still recalled the wonders of that brief moment at their wedding. His touch had been warm, comforting and fascinating—something she knew was pleasant enough to inspire her interest.
But this time…it was so different. She shifted, uneasy with the flood of sensations, not sure how to categorize them or to arrange them so as to be less disturbing to her equanimity.
Her gaze drifted out of the window as she struggled to make sense of it all, and then she saw him—striding back toward the house, Zizi’s little legs trotting rapidly in an attempt to keep up. He must have gone for a walk after seeing to whatever was going on in the stables.
The l
ad’s voice had interrupted their kiss, and Richard had let her go. It seemed to her that he was reluctant, but that might have been wishful thinking. She sighed. There were too many things she didn’t know.
She also wasn’t sure if she had the courage to ask him and find out answers. Perhaps it was better to let things go on for a while and see what developed. It was the coward’s way out, of course, but when it came to her heart…well, she was a coward, and that was all there was to it.
Best to continue as they were, unless he wanted something more…
She left their room and headed downstairs to join him for lunch, pondering the notion of that ‘something more’. And also realizing that as of this morning’s cleaning, there was no excuse for them to share a bed.
Unless their ghost decided to follow them, of course. Only time would tell on that matter.
Stopping dead, she remembered the damn papers, and dashed back to collect them. She had been distracted far too long, and it was definitely time to show them to Richard and see what he thought of them.
Today would be the perfect day, since it would give them both a new topic of conversation. With luck it would bridge any awkwardness that might arise after this morning’s moment of dalliance.
Or whatever the devil that kiss had been…
Chapter Fourteen
Richard walked into the small parlor and found his wife seated at the table with a variety of foods spread out before her.
Zizi, who had followed him, rushed over to greet her mistress, and let her know in no uncertain terms that a bit of roast beef wouldn’t go amiss.
“She’s spoiled rotten, you know,” observed Richard, taking his seat across from Cressida. “But then again, we did walk quite a distance this morning, so I suppose she’s worked up an appetite.”
Cressida grinned at him. “She’s always loved a tidbit or two, so the exercise is definitely good for her.” A sliver of meat found its way beneath the table. “Was everything all right at the stables?”
Richard nodded, helping himself to a slice of meat pie. “We’re almost done with the last wall, and it’s taken until now to decide if we want to put a window in it. It faces north, so it’s not a matter of light, or even warmth. Just ventilation in the summer. So now the rest of the stables are weathertight, it was time to take a hard look at the last wall.” He poured himself a tankard of the ale Worsnop had kindly added to the table.
“And?” Cressida gazed at him curiously.
“No window,” he said. “My word, this is excellent ale.”
“Chillendale ale,” she commented. “The best there is, according to all I’ve heard.”
“Indeed.” Richard took another sip. “I will endorse that sentiment. And very welcome too. It’s getting quite warm.” He dove into his meat pie, thanking the Lord he had chance to exercise regularly in one way or another. The Branscombe Magna kitchens produced very fine meals indeed, thanks to Mrs. Parsnip’s skill.
“Would you have time after lunch to review some papers with me, Richard?” The hesitant question caught his attention.
“Of course,” he raised his eyebrows. “Anything important?”
“I really don’t know,” she answered.
“Uh, well that’s confusing…”
She nodded. “Yes, sorry. But I found a bundle of documents when cleaning out one of the dressers in a bedroom upstairs. They were caught at the back of a drawer and I believe they’re quite old.”
“And you think they’re important?” He debated with himself about a second slice of pie.
“I have no idea. They are fragile, and the inks have faded a lot. I’m hoping that a good magnifying glass and some sunlight will help us decipher them.” She smiled. “They may be as insignificant as a laundry list or two. Or they may be treasure maps. At this point, I can only hazard a wild guess.”
Richard’s curiosity was aroused, and he shelved the desire for any extra food, so that they could conclude their meal and head for the library, which he had decreed to be his temporary study. The maids had gone through it and removed the worst of the dust and spider-webs, while driving most of the mouse population outside, encouraging them to leave with moldy fruit and the odd piece of cheese. Since there were plenty of places for mice to occupy other than his library, Richard filled in their access points and deprived them of their previous housing with no remorse whatsoever.
Thus his desk was clean, and fortunately near the window, where they could unfold the brown and fragile papers most effectively.
Weighting down the corners with an inkwell, a small book and a candle holder, Cressida stepped back and waved Richard to her side. “Now look, and tell me what you see?”
He pored over the manuscripts. There were three of them, and it looked as though the ink matched each piece, so he felt safe in assuming they’d been written at least at the same time, if not the same place.
He said as much to Cressida and she nodded as he reached for his magnifying glass.
On top of the largest one, there seemed to be some sort of crest or insignia. Neither of the other two documents bore that feature.
“This looks like a formal design. I see some letters—wait…that’s an E and an x…” He leaned closer. “It’s Exeter. Definitely. Perhaps some legal department or division within the county? I believe Exeter has been the central location for all sorts of Devon business.”
Cressida nodded. “Yes. There were courts there, years ago, and still are, I believe. And the Exeter Assizes, too. Most notable for the Black Assizes in the fifteen-hundreds. Some kind of plague I think.”
Richard glanced up at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Really?”
She lifted her chin and stared back. “I tend to recall obscure details.”
He returned to his perusal. “I would agree,” he muttered. “So we have a legal paper from Exeter. And I think I can make out the date, too.” He paused. “Cressy, come and look. If you get quite close and the light is right…I’d almost dare to say that looks like a six, an eight and a nought.”
She moved close and peered where his finger was pointing. Then she sucked in a breath of air. “Good God, you’re right.” She rose and her eyes widened. “This is from 1680, Richard. Almost a hundred and forty years ago…”
“Well that explains one thing,” he grinned.
“What?”
“Why we’re having such a damned hard time reading it. They never could spell back then.”
She laughed aloud, as he’d hoped she would. “You are so disrespectful. Since I can’t spell either, I shouldn’t be laughing.”
“Well let’s see here. One of these is in slightly better shape, so let’s try for a word here or there and fill in the blanks with ones that seem logical? How does that sound to you?”
“Like a quite brilliant idea. Let me fetch pen and paper and I will write the words you can decipher.”
At the end of the afternoon, when Meg arrived to see if they wanted tea, they had several sheets of paper covered with Cressida’s scribbled notes.
“Lovely idea,” she approved. “In here if you please, Meg. And just tea. We’ll dine early, so no need for Mrs. Parsnip to make anything special. Or if she has, we’ll enjoy it with dinner.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” curtseyed Meg.
“How are the girls getting along?” Richard stretched his arms high as Meg departed. “Good workers, are they?”
Cressida nodded. “Excellent. As you will see when we retire this evening…to our suite.”
He blinked. “We have the master suite now?”
“Indeed we do. Sparkling clean.”
“I’m impressed,” he smiled, ignoring the tiny voice that reminded him Cressida now had her own bed and didn’t need his. He reprimanded the little voice and went to take the tea tray from Meg.
Comfortably ensconced in two of the leather armchairs near the library window, they both turned as a flicker of lightning caught their attention.
Richard sighed. “There goes the sunset.”
>
“Summer storms are like that. They creep up on you and then explode.”
“Oh well.” He picked up the papers. “So let’s see what we have here.”
*~~*~~*
Cressida put down her teacup, ready to listen and offer her thoughts. This was her history, her family’s history from the looks of things, and she was intimately involved in the discovery of the papers. So she wasn’t about to sit on one side and let him do all the work.
“The sheet with the seal on it. Exeter Assizes. Obviously a court document formalizing something, and we’ve found names. Roger Bran-something, which we’re going to assume is Branscombe.”
“Wait…” Cressida stood. “We’re in the library. Wouldn’t it make sense to see if there’s a family history here? That would certainly aid in verifying names and dates…” She hurried to the bookshelf nearest the desk and surveyed the shelves, looking for anything that might pertain to the Branscombes.
“Excellent notion,” said Richard, sipping tea. “Have at it, my dear. Let me know if you find something.”
“You could help,” she murmured from behind a pile of books.
“I did my part earlier. This is yours. It’s only fair we share in the adventure.”
She peeked around a shelf to see him sipping his tea, his legs crossed and one boot swinging idly in the air. A gentlemen of leisure indeed. Fortunately, on the next shelf she found what she sought. “Got it.”
With a huge sense of satisfaction, she returned to her seat, balanced the tome on her lap and opened it, blowing away the small cloud of dust created by her movements. “Yes, this is it.” She turned pages. “We’re looking for something in 1680, correct?”
“Yes,” Richard glanced at the paper. “Yes, it has to be 1680, if it goes back that far.”
Cressida thumbed down the pages, turning a few more. “It goes further back than that, actually, but the early entries are almost illegible.” She huffed out a laugh. “I think this one’s in Latin.” After a few moments, she made a slight sound. “Ah, here. An entry for 1680. March 1680.” She looked up at Richard. “That’s odd.”
