by Various
His hand came up to push a length of hair from his face, the grazes on his knuckles still evident. ‘I wish to God that I knew.’
Just that. Words that led to more questions for them both, no promise at all of the truth.
‘No one truly knows who they are, I suppose. I certainly have trouble with understanding myself.’ It was the look in his eyes, she thought later, that made her give this answer. Gratitude had a certain soft ring to it and she needed him to know that she did not care who he was or what he was. He was enough. For her.
Moving forward, she reached out and heard him take in a deep breath as she did so. His hand was big and warm and safe. She could feel the roughness of the skin and the slight curl of his fingers around her own. A small connection and rigidly controlled, but her heart beat as fast as she had ever known it to. She wished she could have simply draped herself about him to never let go, but the sound of footsteps further off had them apart before Lucien came around the corner of the house.
‘Glad to find you here, Christine. I wanted to go down to Linden Park tomorrow for a few days and thought it a good chance for you to get out of London.’
She knew the subtext of her brother’s words. To get her out of London long enough to find out exactly who had threatened his family.
‘Mr Miller, I hold a fine stable down in Kent and Daniel Wylde, Earl of Montcliffe, has an even finer one that is not far. You might enjoy the chance of an outing, too.’
Lucien spoke to William Miller as if he was an equal, a friend. He did not in any way relegate the man to the status of a servant or an employee. She was astonished at such an easy camaraderie between the two. Perhaps it was the books. Lucien had always been an avid reader and could discuss the ideas within them for all the hours of the day. She knew Aristotle and Plato to be some of his favourite philosophers and he was probably delighted to find another who liked them as much as he did.
William Miller nodded at her brother before looking back at her. There was a spark of some vivid shock in the green, desire if she might name it, and hope, the two emotions intermingled strangely. He covered them quickly.
And even though she had no true wish to travel down to Kent she found herself assenting. She had seldom gone home in the past years, her work demanding and the thought of old memories daunting.
‘Very well. I shall go and pack.’
With that she was gone and she did not look back at all as she went inside and up the stairs. Once there she sat on her bed and put her hands to her face, the tears that fell worrying and numerous as she thought of where her life had come to and what she had lost on the way.
* * *
The trip down to Linden Park was begun early the next morning, the three-hour journey broken at the posting house they always stopped at.
Christine was glad to stretch her legs, though as she followed her brother into the establishment she looked back to see Mr Miller standing with the driver and several others. He was at least six inches taller than any man around him and he was laughing, his head thrown back in the thin December sun that was catching the lights in his hair.
He had been travelling on the box and she had had no chance at all to converse with him and now she did not either. The horses needed to be watered and fed so that they might make the next part of the journey without mishap and Lucien would expect her to come with him inside to freshen up.
‘Alejandra has high hopes of a Howard family Christmas this year,’ her brother said beside her, ‘so I do hope you can bring Mama and the boys down with you, too, when you come.’
Christine laughed. The boys were her brothers and they were eighteen and twenty-one now, hardly children any longer.
‘Did you find out anything else from the man who followed me in the park when you questioned him, Luce? Do you know who it is sending the notes?’
‘I have a vague idea, but it’s something I need to work on. Those who blackmail others are not so easy to flush out themselves and the whole situation requires careful handling.’
‘You’ll tell me when you know, though. For certain?’
When he nodded she took his arm and they went into the private dining room they always used, the publican having set out food and drink for them and most pleased to find himself in the company of an earl and his family.
* * *
An hour later Christine re-joined William Miller, who stood waiting by the carriage, a bread roll in hand that he was taking generous bites of. She was glad to see he had had some sustenance at least.
‘Are you enjoying the scenery Mr Miller?’
He smiled and looked at her. ‘It is a soft place, England, and full of green.’
‘Linden Park is the same. My brother has his stables there, but he has other animals on the property, too, sheep and cattle mostly. Did you run livestock on your farm in Virginia?’
‘No. It was timber mostly.’ He finished the roll and tossed the crumbs to a small flock of birds gathering at their feet. ‘But my father was from England.’
Now this was new. He had not offered anything remotely personal before without question. She caught his glance and he went on.
‘From the north, I think. He did not talk of his time here much.’
‘Because he did not enjoy it?’ she countered.
‘No, because he had to leave.’
As if he had said enough he walked over to one of the horses and checked its harness, though as the homespun cotton on the sleeve of his left arm fell back she could see the scars on his hand running up the skin to his wrist and further. More questions. Other unanswered mysteries. Why had his father had to leave? she wondered. Had he hurt someone or worse? ‘Had to leave’ implied little choice and maybe even a skirmish with the law.
She wished she could have asked him of it, found out more about his life in the wilds of the Americas, but her brother had joined them now and the day was passing.
‘If you would like to ride inside the coach with us you would be more than welcome, Mr Miller.’ The tone Lucien used was surprising, almost humour in it.
Mr Miller tipped his head though and politely refused the offer, then they were on their way south to the Howard country seat of Linden Park.
Chapter Four
The horses were some of the finest Will had ever seen. In the stall nearest him was a chiselled pair of grey and white Arabians with their arched necks and high-carried tails. Next to them a powerful Friesian stood and further down was a Lipizzan of a rare solid bay.
At home he had sold on most of his livestock before he had taken ship to England because he did not know when he would return and he wanted his horses in homes where they would be cared for. His stables had never looked like this one, though, where the best of the most elegant breeds stood side by side. Lucien Howard next to him was full of a rightful pride.
‘The Ross coffers were empty for years and I could not afford even a foal offered to me by the Montcliffe stables at a reduced rate. Now with my manufacturing businesses in the north paying handsome dividends, I can.’
Will nodded. ‘Why did you really bring me down to the stables, my lord?’
‘I needed to talk to you alone. The man you apprehended in Hyde Park is in the pay of the Melton heir, Rodney Warrington. I can’t pin anything on him, though, and when I went to see him he fobbed me off with all sorts of excuses. I thought you might wish to have a talk with him when we return to London, to scare him off so to speak, and to make certain he knows not to bother us again.’
‘More than a quiet chat, then?’
‘Sometimes being a lord has its drawbacks. I used to be a lot more dangerous than I am now, Mr Miller.’
Will laughed. From what he had heard of Lucien Howard he still was as dangerous. No, there were other forces at play here, other things that were not being said.
‘I have made an appointment for you to see Warrington the day after tomorrow. He is staying with the Duchess of Melton at the moment in her town house at Portman Square. Perhaps you know of it?’
William now knew exactly why he had been brought down to Linden Park.
‘You had me followed the night before last?’
‘By the best there is in the business and he made certain to tell me that you were good. Rumour has it that the old Duchess is looking for her lost son?’
‘I, too, have heard that story.’ Will gave nothing away as their glances met.
‘A mystery, they say, and almost a murder? There must be lots of secrets in the house of the Meltons.’
God. Lucien Howard understood too many things to just be ignored. ‘Give me a week before you say anything to your sister and then I will leave.’
The Earl of Ross put out his hand and he gave over his, the shake between them firm.
‘If Christine is in any way hurt—’
Will did not let him finish.
‘She won’t be.’
* * *
The house was full of the joy of the season, pine boughs decorated with silver balls on the windowsills and a life-sized manger to one side of the main dining room.
Alejandra’s influence, Christine supposed, for her sister-in-law held strong beliefs in the religious meaning of Christmas.
William Miller had come into the house to find her as she was planning a ride around the estate and he was to accompany her. Her hands gestured to the room as he stopped to look around, astonished by the quantity of decorations.
‘The first day of Advent was on Sunday. It’s a spiritual preparation for the coming of our Lord.’
Clearly nonplussed, he looked away.
‘Are you a religious man, Mr Miller?’
‘Not particularly, Lady Christine.’
‘Surely the book on Aristotle’s ethics embraces the spiritual, though, in its treatise on the ideal of happiness?’
He looked surprised. ‘You have read Aristotle?’
She smiled. ‘Only the title,’ she gave back, ‘and the first few pages. I have now probably reached the outer limits of my personal understanding of such philosophy.’ When he laughed she carried on. ‘The primary colour of Advent is purple, the colour of royalty some say as in the coming of the King.’
She pointed to the table. ‘The wreath there represents eternity and at the end of each of the four weeks a new candle is added. The first has already been lit.’
‘In anticipation of the coming?’ he queried and she laughed.
‘It is exactly that, Mr Miller. Remembrance. Love. Joy. Peace. A white candle in the centre will be lit last. It stands for purity.’
Purity.
The word slid from her tongue like a snake and she knew why she’d never enjoyed the traditions of Advent.
‘In order that one’s sins might be made whiter than snow?’ His query was soft and for a moment the room simply stopped still, caught in light, and Christine was blinded by a feeling she had never known before.
Goodness, if she might name it, or hope. The very crux of the Advent teachings, she supposed, and was slightly breathless as she carried on.
‘The Jesse Tree on the mantel is something Alejandra has introduced across the past few years. She is Spanish, you see, though she is more of a mix now of the English church and the Catholic one, I suppose.’
‘It’s from the Bible, then? From Isaiah?’
‘Pardon?’
‘A shoot will spring from the stump of Jesse, and a branch out of his roots.’
‘I thought you said you were not religious?’
‘Well, my mother had a Bible she used to read to us.’
‘Us?’
‘My father and me. The winters are cold in the high mountains of Virginia and I remember passages from it.’
‘How big was your farm, Mr Miller? What sort of acreage did it hold?’
‘Enough to live on.’
‘You seldom answer direct questions when I ask them.’
‘My life before England is gone,’ he said softly. ‘There is no point in dwelling on what is past.’
‘Especially if, like your father, you did not want it so.’
He shook his head. ‘No, especially then.’
* * *
They rode into the sun to the west along the river for a while and then up into the hills greened from rain and wide. Linden Park was so much more beautiful than she remembered it and she felt immeasurably free for it had been a long time since she had sat upon a horse and galloped. But although she rode well William Miller rode a lot better, a man at home on a horse and out in the open air and nature.
When they rested their horses atop the peak of a hillock looking down across the estate she remembered stopping here with Joseph Burnley. Still, even the sad memories today did not put a dent in her utter happiness.
‘If you could name one thing in your life that you would want to make different, what would it be?’
‘Only one?’
‘It’s a game, Mr Miller. I am not asking for enormous secrets.’
‘I’d have liked a larger family.’
She looked at him. ‘Ah, you don’t have any idea as to how difficult a whole swarm of brothers can be. Be thankful you were the only fêted and spoiled child.’
He laughed. ‘Is that what you think I was?’
‘I don’t know. You rarely tell me anything of yourself and what you do...’ She stopped and felt a joy inside that was growing. ‘I wish that I had met you earlier. To talk with. To laugh with. To ride with. Usually I am far more circumspect and far less chatty. At court they call me The Frozen One. I have had a flurry of marriage proposals, you see, and turned every one of them down.’
She spread her fingers as though to underline the fleeting transience of her suitors. ‘I gave them no thought and so they have named me such. I rather like the title actually. It allows me some breathing space when the newest lot of hopeful swains comes a-courting.’
‘You sound ruthless. A heartbreaker. Perhaps it is because your own was broken.’
He got off his horse now, easily dismounting, and came across to help her down. When he let her go she turned her face into the wind and was honest.
‘It did not so much break, I think, as shut down.’
‘Because the sudden loss of your betrothed was more brutal than the love you held for him?’
‘You speak like Lucien, did you know that? He uses words like you, too, carefully and to great effect. Most people would offer condolences if I were to bare my heart to them, not questions.’
He moved closer. ‘And is that what you want?’
She shook her head. ‘I just want to be...me again. To not be frozen.’
He took her then, simply covered her mouth with his own and kissed her. Hard, rough and urgent and she dug her nails into his arms and kissed him back because this was what she needed out here in the wind and the high hills with the cold around them and the warmth inside. She kissed him until her heart sung as though all the candles of Advent were alight in her breast.
Finally he broke away, her head resting against his chest. She could hear his heart beating in the same fast rhythm of her own and was pleased for it.
‘God.’ He sounded stunned and she looked up. ‘I would never hurt you, Christine.’
‘I know.’
‘But you can’t want me either. Not like this.’
‘I know that, too.’
‘So where does it leave us?’
‘Here,’ she said simply and held on to him as they listened to the wind rising across the fields of clover and drifting up against them, her skirts flapping in the strengthening breeze. ‘I know there are things between us that
haven’t been said, but for the moment let this be enough.’
She thought of Joseph Burnley and her wild unhappy days. She thought of her father and brother drowned in the river and her mother, Alice, failing to cope with life after it, shutting herself off and falling into a depression that had never left her. Not even now all these years later. She thought of boarding school and the loneliness and of Lucien struggling to bring Linden Park into some sort of order. She thought of the dark days after Corunna when her brother was lost to them, too, and then found again with a sickness that had taken a long time to heal.
She thought of the days since William Miller had come into her life, suddenly, unexpectedly, with his beautiful eyes and his strength and cleverness.
She did not want to ever let him go. She wanted to run away with him, this moment, this second, to some far-off place where they would be alone and unknown, where convention and society did not matter and where they could be who they were together with no other interfering force.
Tightening her grip upon him, she pushed back the tears.
* * *
Hell, he should not have kissed her. He should not have pulled her into his arms and taken all that he had thought of every night since meeting her. Even now when sense and responsibility had returned he was still hard pressed not to lift her skirts and discover her, all of her, to make her his.
He had promised her brother that he would never hurt her. He had promised himself the same until some resolution of his problem with the Meltons was made clear. At home he had land, a house and some money. Here he was invisible and he had wanted it such, made it such so that he might see the lie of the land before he needed to show his hand. His mother had always pressed it upon him that his father’s family was neither safe nor trustworthy, and although she had never been to England to meet them, Rupert’s stories of disharmony and violence had been many.
A mistake to arrive in disguise, perhaps, but one he was stuck in now. Besides, he could hardly walk into Linden Park and proclaim his ancestry when he did not know it himself.
