“Welcome, my Lord. It is good to see you again after so long. Shall I ring for tea and biscuits?”
“My Lady, it is good to see you, too. And yes, tea would be most welcome, thank you.”
She rang the bell, and requested tea, then settled back onto the couch and, greatly daring, waved him to the seat beside her. He sat, and the warmth of his presence, so close beside her seemed greater than should be possible. Her heart beat faster, and she licked her lips, nervously. She looked up at him, to find his eyes following the movement of her tongue, and she flushed, feeling her cheeks heat to an undoubtedly unbecoming red. The silence lengthened. Oh! This was ridiculous! She had always been adept in social situations – why could she not simply talk to this man? Although… the intimacy of them being alone together in the room was disconcerting – she had still not adapted to the change in circumstances, the different rules which governed a widow’s life, as compared to those that constrained an unmarried, or a married, lady. She searched for something to say, resorting to the boring aspects of daily life, when no other ideas came.
“You find me alone, my Lord – my father is about estate business, my mother has gone to visit her cousin, and my brother has gone to London for a week or two.”
“I assure you, my Lady, that your company will be more than enough.”
“I…” She was not certain of what she had intended to say, and was relieved when the maid brought in the tea tray, necessitating that she turned her attention to that. Once the maid was gone, and she had drawn out the process of pouring the tea, she had regained her composure. How did he discompose her so easily? “You are gracious, my Lord – I shall try not to disappoint.” She set her teacup down on the table, and watched as he did the same. As if in a dream, she watched as his hand reached for hers. The heat of his touch spread through her.
“My Lady… Maria… you could never disappoint me, never. I am glad that we have this moment alone. I came because I needed… needed to see you, to know that you are well, that the terrible events of your marriage and your husband’s death have done no lasting harm. You look much improved – to me, you are always beautiful, but now, there is a lightness about you, compared to those dark days. It is good to see you so.”
“My Lord… Charles…” she blushed again, the sound of his name on her own lips emphasising the intimacy of the moment, “you are too kind – for I know that, by the time of Edmund’s death, I was far from beautiful. I hope that these last months of rest have helped my appearance somewhat. But they have helped my heart more. I no longer blame myself for not loving my husband.”
She looked down, her eyes falling upon their joined hands. Somehow, with this man, although he discomposed her, and caused all ability at polite conversation to disappear, at the same time, he was someone she could speak to of the most personal matters, without hesitation. It confused her.
“That is good. For in not loving him, yours was no different from most society marriages, after all.”
“True. But… I believe that I am coming to understand what love is like. Is it wrong of me, when I am still in mourning, to think of such things?” Her eyes met his again, and she saw a moment of doubt. She shook her head, lifted her free hand, and softly touched his face. “Do not look so concerned, Charles. I was not clear in my meaning – I am not… experienced… at talking about these things. But… I meant…” She felt her cheeks redden again, but he had stilled at her touch, and his gaze devoured her, full of hope and fear. “I meant, Charles, that it is you who have made me begin to understand love. Am I too forward? Am I a fool, who misinterprets things? Or… do you, perhaps, care for me?”
She was instantly overcome by fear – what had she done? What if she was wrong, what if his care was nothing beyond that of a good friend and neighbour? She waited, her life hanging on the thread of his next words. He tensed beneath her touch, and his fingers tightened on hers. Then, so slowly it seemed, his free hand reached up and cupped the curve of her neck, drawing her to him. His lips met hers, softly, exploring, in a kiss that rapidly became something deeper, hungry, an expression of months of uncertainty, of desire and of hopeful love. She melted into it, her heart singing at his actions, a strange tightness filling her body.
When they finally drew apart, he smiled, his eyes full of that same love she had seen in the moments when he had saved her from the highwayman.
“Maria… I have always loved you – since we were children. I see nothing wrong with you considering love now, even when your mourning year is not finished. But I know that society might see things differently. I would not bring the faintest touch of scandal to your name – especially not after what you have been through. That’s why I have stayed away so long. I wanted to see you, but I could not bear…”
“Oh Charles! I never thought I’d say this, but there are times when I think that the ways of society are very wrong. But you are right, they might well condemn me., if I allowed my feelings for you to be visible, before my mourning ends. Can you… can you wait for me? Can we manage to talk, to see each other, over this next six months and more, and still appear the picture of propriety?”
“Maria, my darling… I can do anything, anything that you need, if I know that there is hope, that when your mourning is finished, we might spend time together, might see if we want to spend our lives together…”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and he gathered her to him, holding her close, safe. She never wanted to move from his arms again, but, eventually, she pulled away, and straightened her skirts where they had crushed against him.
“Charles, I want that, so very much. But if we must wait all of those months, we had best begin now, the way that we must go on – with propriety and distance. For, I fear that, unless I hold myself back, I might betray my feelings constantly.”
“I think that we both feel that way. To not touch you, not even your hand, will be hard, when I would hold you, and keep you safe from ever suffering again, if I had the chance, but I will manage. And, I will still need to be away, regularly, for Hunter’s estate business, which will make it both easier and harder.”
“It will. But simply knowing… knowing how you feel – that will be enough, when I cannot see you.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, turning it to place a gentle kiss upon her palm, and nodded.
“Let us begin, then, by talking of everything but us. Tell me about your family, and all that has happened here, since your return from Myniard House.”
Maria curled her hand tightly, as if holding the warmth of his kiss tight, and smiled, though her heart felt sore at the need to pretend, to keep distance between them. She spoke of how strange it was to be back here, when she had not expected to return, of how her mother treated her differently, now seeing her with clearer sight, after all of the revelations at Myniard House, and of how Kevin was even more protective than ever, as if he felt that the whole world threatened her.
Charles laughed at her descriptions, and then told her of the things he had seen on various of Hunter’s estates, of the investments that might be made and the improvements, of the ideas he had for the future. He spoke of the woollen mill he hoped to establish on one estate, and the potential for change in agriculture. Maria found herself fascinated by things that she had never really thought about in depth before. Perhaps her mother was right, and she was different now. The afternoon slid towards evening, and still they talked.
It was as if the ordinary words hid another conversation entirely, one said with looks, and smiles, which spoke to their feelings, and their hopes for the future, whilst their actual words simply dealt with the practical and ordinary parts of life.
Eventually, as Charles rose to take his leave, Lord Chester returned. He looked a little surprised to find Charles in his parlour, but greeted him cheerfully.
“Wareham – good to see you back. All is well with the Melton estates, I hope?”
“It is, my Lord. I’ll not be here for too long though – I’m off to London next, and the round of managing
the estates is never really done.”
“Too true, too true. Mine keep me busy, and I’ve nothing on the scale of yours.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way, my Lord. I came to see how everyone was, now that the unpleasantness at Myniard House is well behind you. I’m pleased to see that Lady Granville is looking far more happy, and you seem well, my Lord.”
“Indeed, all bad business that. But it’s behind us now. I hope I’ll see you again before you leave for London?”
“Of a certainty, my Lord.”
Charles bowed, and departed. Maria watched him go, wanting, with all her heart, that he could stay. Then she shook her head a little, and steeled herself to the months of patient waiting before her. Her father watched her, a small smile on his face.
“Fine young man, that one. Does an excellent job of managing his brother’s estates.”
“Yes. He is both astute and honourable.”
“And did you have a pleasant conversation with him?”
Maria looked at her father, curious suddenly, about the turn of his questions.
“Yes, I did. He told me of the plans he has to improve the Melton estates. It was surprisingly fascinating.”
“Good, good.”
Her father took himself off to his study, leaving Maria bemused, and wondering what that had been about.
~~~~~
For Charles, the next few months rushed by, for, when he sought out the Duke of Windemere to lay before him his failure in the matter of his son’s dying wish, a series of events led to Marion finally being found. The Dowager Lady Pendholm was involved, and, much to Charles’ delight, in that few short months a match was made between her, and the Duke – a far better match for both of them than their first marriages had been.
He managed to visit Meltonbrook Chase a number of times, and always spent time with Maria, walking in the grounds, or simply sitting and talking. Very cautious at first, over time, he allowed his deep love for her to be more visible to her family, and was pleased when her father appeared happy with him.
For Maria, the time went much slower – she felt suspended in a place detached from the flow of life, waiting for her mourning year to end. Charles’ visits were the joy in her life.
By October, she was bored, completely, although her stocks of medicines were large, for that is where she had focussed all of her energy. When the invitation came for her family to attend the Dowager Lady Pendholm’s wedding to the Duke of Windemere, Maria looked to her mother with hope.
“My year of mourning is more than half done – surely, if I dress suitably, and do not dance, it would be permissible to attend a wedding? I would love to see other people, to see another place – much as I love Chester Park, I am bored.”
Lady Chester considered a moment, then nodded.
“You have the right of it – I see no difficulty in what you suggest. It is time that we started to look to what you will do, once your mourning is over.”
“Thank you!”
She spent the following days in a happy daze, especially once she became aware of the fact that Charles would also be at the wedding. She began to feel, just a little, truly alive again.
Chapter Fifteen
At the wedding, Maria behaved as was required, dressed in a sober mourning gown of a dark purply grey. Not quite black, in recognition of the fact that the first six months of her mourning were done, but still an absolute commitment to propriety and society’s expectations. She stood quietly to the side at the wedding breakfast and the Ball that followed, watching others dance.
At one point, Charles came to stand beside her.
“I wish so that my mourning was over. I would love to dance again.” Maria’s voice was soft and sad.
“It will not be much longer. I promise that there will be dancing, as soon as it can possibly be.”
The look they exchanged said much, and no further words seemed necessary. But for Maria, those words from him were a promise – a promise about the life they might make, once her mourning was done, and she could leave all trace of her ill-fated marriage to Lord Granville behind.
Somehow, those words, then, made the next three months easier, as the end of her mourning approached. Charles visited often, and Maria came to believe that her father approved, although he said nothing, and her mother simply smiled, and left them alone. The possibility of happiness began to seem closer, and the cold of the winter snows did nothing to dim her mood.
When Christmas arrived, she felt a sense of unreality in the day, remembering the previous year at Myniard House, with Edmund deathly ill, and no joy in anyone’s life. The contrast was astounding. Here, she was surrounded by people who were happy in their lives, where neighbours came to visit because they liked each other, and where the servants were well treated, and given good food and gifts for their families for the Christmas season.
In a few short weeks, she might cast off her dark colours, and wear the bright shades she had always so loved. And then… then, she might cautiously admit to having an affection for Charles, and they might, perhaps, let the world see that they cared. But not too soon – after her life with the Dowager Countess she found herself with a great fear of public disapprobation. Still, she counted the days until the anniversary of Edmund’s death.
~~~~~
For Charles, things slowed as Christmas approached – the estates were all well prepared for winter, and, with Marion found and happily cared for by Martin’s father, there was little that demanded his attention, for the first time in four years.
He allowed himself to see Maria more, and their conversation often turned to his plans for woollen mills, and for other improvements on the more northern estates. She seemed genuinely interested, and he began to imagine a life with her – a life with Seasons in London, but most of the year spent on a pleasant country estate, where they might simply be themselves. Perhaps it was foolish to dream, but he could not help himself. He watched with delight as Maria began to brighten with every day that brought the anniversary of her husband’s death closer.
He also, in those weeks around Christmas, found himself spending more and more time with Maria’s father and brother, who seemed to have, without a word said, begun to treat him as if he were a part of their family. The day before Christmas, as he rode out in the crisp winter air with Kevin, simply because both of them were tired of being cooped up inside, Kevin turned to him, smiling, and spoke.
“I’ve been meaning to say something, and this seems a suitable time.”
“Say something?”
“Yes – about Maria. You care for her, don’t you? And I suspect that she cares for you. I approve. And, most importantly, so do my parents. They don’t discuss it much, but every so often, Father will make a comment which makes it clear to me that he likes you, approves of you. He’ll wait for you to talk to him, of course, but I think he’s happy.”
“Thank you. Yes, we care for each other. And I’ve been worried about what your father thinks, although he’s always courteous to me.”
Kevin laughed with genuine amusement.
“Father can be gruff, but I get the impression that he’s mellowed rather a lot lately, especially since Hunter turned out so well, and Nerissa is so happy. I’d say that he’s no idea of how to raise the subject with you – so of course he’ll make you start the conversation.”
“I see. Well then, I’ll just have to pick my time, won’t I?”
“Yes – shouldn’t be too hard.”
They rode on, and Charles thought about Kevin’s words, his heart filled with happiness – if Maria’s family already approved… the next few weeks could not pass quickly enough.
~~~~~
The day of the anniversary of Edmund’s death dawned clear and bright, the sun shining on a new fall of snow. Maria rose from her bed, folded a wrap around her, and went to the window. Outside, the world was white, pristine, the snow untrammelled, untouched, and the ice sparkling as it melted from the trees.
It
was as if a hand had washed the world clean, painted it white, a new canvas to draw her life upon, from that moment forward. She sighed, filled with an odd melancholy – joy, and yet sadness. This was a point of enormous change in her life. Today, her last obligation to Edmund was done. All that remained of her marriage to him was the name and title she now bore. And, perhaps, if she let herself hope, that too might soon be gone from her, if she should be so fortunate as to marry again.
There was a tap at the door, and Annie, who had come with her from Myniard House, came in, carrying a jug of hot water for her washbasin.
“Oh, you’re up! I’ll just put this here and stir up the fire – you don’t want to be getting a chill!”
“Thank you, Annie. I didn’t even think of it, didn’t notice the cold. Because…”
“Because today, everything changes. Doesn’t it, my Lady? What gown would you like to wear today, my Lady? I’ve made sure that all of your bright and beautiful gowns are clean and in good repair.”
Maria felt close to tears at the thought of wearing colours again, and was grateful for Annie’s forethought. But the maid had good reason to care for her well – Maria had been her path to escape from a miserable life at Myniard House, and Annie would never forget that fact.
“I, don’t know. Suddenly, there is too much choice, after so long without needing to think of such things. Something bright, please, perhaps a soft green or a blue?”
Annie went into the dressing room, as Maria rinsed her hands and face in the warm water that Annie had brought. Soon, she returned, bearing a pale green gown which Maria had worn only once before. It was beautiful, of a fine light wool – warm, but soft and flowing.
“This, my Lady?”
“Oh yes, Annie, that will do wonderfully!”
“Very well, my Lady, we’ll have you ready in a trice.”
Half an hour later, as Maria sat at breakfast, the world still seemed bright and wonderful. As each member of the family came in, they exclaimed about how good it was to see her in colours again, how beautiful she looked. She thought that, perhaps, they exaggerated, but she was grateful for their words, nonetheless.
Rescuing the Countess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 13) Page 13
