When the carriage had come to a stop, Michael gave his best smile. "Welcome to your new home, everyone. You can head around to the front, and tell them to come out to help with the luggage and so on. Then have a wander around and decide which you want to settle in with the boys," he said, not quite looking at her.
Bryony could see from the way Michael was not meeting her eyes that he did not want her to see him struggling to get out of the carriage and into the house.
She respected his feelings and left him to it, taking the boys to the front of the house and ringing the bell.
Once her message had been conveyed, Simms the butler and Robin the valet went out to help, leaving her to explore the downstairs.
The charming sitting room in Turkey red and gold, a small fine dining room in wine and walnut, a morning room in gold, all bespoke a man with excellent taste. The house was unrelievedly masculine, however, with none of the small comforts such as curtains, cushions and footrests, needlework and throws one would expect from a establishment presided over by a woman.
She soon found his chamber and looked at the others adjoining.
As he’d told her, he’d put in some modern plumbing, a gravity tank and pump, and simple water heater, quite modern and convenient. She studied them carefully, and noted the relative paucity of furniture in his room and the study. It had to be difficult for him to get in and out of the tub and around the downstairs rooms. As for the large step flight of stairs which branched off to the left and right after a first short landing, she could see it was impossible for Michael to hope to manage.
She wandered up there anyway, and found a wonderful master suite of two bedrooms, the larger, with a huge bay window, decorated in navy and burgundy, the second smaller but more cosy in peach and cream. In between both was a modernised bathroom and dressing room with ample built-in wardrobe space. There was also a chamber clearly intended to be a nursery or child’s room, and an extra room which was currently being used for storage but could be turned to any purpose.
The suite would have been ideal for she and the boys, and more than she could have ever hoped for. But she did not like the thought of being so far away from Michael when he needed her, and stairs were always a worry where children were concerned.
She headed back downstairs to look around again. There was a spacious sunny sitting room currently under a film of dust. She was sure the chamber would do well for the three of them with a bit of work. Decorated in pale blue on blue, it seemed warm and welcoming, and was only a step from his bedroom and the study.
She looked at the furniture carefully. All she would need was a dresser, screen and wardrobe, and a small brass bed. Then it would be home.
Taking off the children’s outer garments and settling them down on the settee for a nap, she went into the kitchen, introduced herself to Tim the kitchen lad, and asked for some cleaning supplies.
She was already hard at work when Michael came to look for her. He felt a dreadful pang seeing her polishing the furniture until it gleamed.
"I say, we have servants for that."
"I’m one, remember?"
He felt as though he had been slapped. "You are my secretary and housekeeper, not a scullery maid. Get Tim to help you."
"I’m fine. It’s my room now, is it not? So I can make sure I get it just the way I want it."
He managed to keep his temper, barely. The vision of her in an elegant ballgown, the sparkling toast of society, in a grand house, now reduced to scrubbing, was almost more than he could stomach. But she was a proud little thing, and nothing if not determined.
"All right, so long as you promise to ring for anything you need, and come see me if you need to purchase anything to convert this room to a bedchamber."
He left, desperate to be alone to consider the implications of having her so close to him.
Too close, he decided, for over the next few days Michael could not seem to keep away from her. Often upon the pretext of seeing and reading to the boys, or colouring with them using some wax crayons he had sent Simms out to buy, along with some other items to keep young children busy, he would see Bryony dusting, folding clothes, sewing, cooking, or gardening.
She was never still, so that often he had to ask her to sit down to join them and converse in whatever language he decided. Then she would sit doing embroidery, crochetting and knitting with the supplies Arabella had given her.
He found himself seeking her out at all hours of the day and night, frequently with the flimsiest of excuses, but she never seemed to grow impatient or take it amiss.
In fact, she was easily the most placid, devoted and even-tempered woman he had ever met, apart from his own mother, who must have been a saint to put up with her husband and five wayward sons.
He was delighted to see that all the staff were exceedingly polite to her. If they were surprised at the arrival of his ‘cousin’ they said not a word.
As a result of the fib, however, she was in the peculiar position of being neither kin nor servant, and thus not sure exactly how much of the housekeeping she should reform. He had not exaggerated when he had said his cook was pretty hopeless. He was a former soldier down on his luck who either burnt everything or served it half-raw, and had no notion of shopping.
At least the meals began to improve, but she was not sure what else Michael wanted or expected her to undertake. An entire and much-belated spring cleaning?
The trouble with an all-male household was that men just did not notice some things. For example, his clothes were in a most dreadful state of repair. The laundry very much a hit and miss affair, so that she learned he often had to send out to buy more shirts or stockings.
Bryony’s curious state of limbo was reinforced by the fact that whenever she asked Michael about her secretarial duties, he told her to rest and they would talk about it the following day.
Her only consolation in her entire odd situation of living with him as closely as a wife but with none of the benefits, or disadvantages, was that his nightmares still continued to diminish.
She spent at least part of every night in his room, an eventually got right in the bed with him on top of the covers so she could get to sleep herself, her arm loosely around his neck or waist, her head on his shoulder, or next to his on the pillow. Only then did he ever sleep truly soundly, and she was able to rest herself, though his alluring masculine presence could certainly be a distraction at times.
The sound of the servants moving around laying the fires would awaken her. Then she would creep out of the bed and head back to her room to dress herself and the children, and wait for him to summon them.
She love the life they were building for themselves one day at a time, but she felt a fraud for taking all his kindness and seemingly giving so little in return. Especially when she was sure she could offer so much. Like her heart and soul, if only he would let her in....
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Finally at the end of her first week in the Avenel home, Bryony cornered Michael after dinner and said, "I don’t wish to seem rude, but surely you have something for me to do to earn my keep around here."
His brows rose. "But you’re still so weak."
"Not so weak that I can’t help. Unless of course you don’t think I’m up to the task," she said quietly,
"No, not at all. What would ever make you say that?" he asked, surprised.
She gazed at him levelly, her midnight blue eyes looking for any sign of dissimulation. "It’s just that I was wealthy and spoiled once, and I’m not very practical, I know. I need you to help me improve my character. Teach me. Help me to be a good housekeeper and helpmeet. I don’t know what you want me to do. What my duties and boundaries are."
His manner was brusque. "I know little of domesticity either. I have always been a bachelor, and a soldier for too many years."
"Surely you had a mother who-"
He scowled so fiercely she gasped.
"I merely meant that you would understand what my role was to be
based upon-"
"I understand, but I would rather not think about my family," he said in a cold tone.
She looked at the raw emotions on his face and said tentatively "I’m sorry if I’ve spoken ill-advisedly. My only excuse is that I am very young and foolish. I would like to be better, though. I would like to learn, be a help to you."
He sighed. "You’re a big help already just being here, assisting Cook. But we must not have you overstepping the bounds of propriety. You are a housekeeper and secretary, not my mother, or cousin."
She looked at him sharply and said with a lift of her chin, "I would not like to think that I’ve done anything to offend you or overstep my role here."
He sighed, and sat back in his chair. "No, you haven’t, Bryony. But I wonder at the wisdom of leaving you open to the possibility of scandal such as I already have by allowing you to live here with me under the same roof. We’ve lied about you being my cousin, and it does not sit well with me."
"It does with me," she said with a decided air. "It will be the best thing in the world for me to learn more about the way it works.
"I was no match for Damien, I know. But I’m determined that Derek and his mother will not be able to use me as a doormat in the sad eventuality that they ever do find me. And I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. I want only to work for a decent day’s wages."
"Until you decide you’ve had enough of this life and wish to go back to the comfort of your son’s estate. Bryony, I still think you should—"
Ah, so that was what he feared.
She shook her head vehemently. "You’ve fed me, clothed me, and put a roof over my head. I’m determined to repay you on behalf of myself and my sons. End of discussion. I think you’re an honest and decent person, Mr. Avenel. I wish to be one as well. Meet my obligations. And yes, learn more about myself at the same time. You allowing me to stay here gives me the freedom to determine my own life, something I’ve never been accorded before.
"In exchange, the least I can do is make your life easier as your housekeeper and be a diligent and industrious secretary. You gave me an opportunity when no one else would. I should see the dictionary through to the very end at least. Does that seem fair?"
"It is a huge undertaking," he cautioned her.
"One I would take seriously for the sake of the education of others and the regard I feel for your good self. I’m not so sure I’m up to the task, but I promise to do my best."
He hesitated, and finally sighed. "All right. I shall come up with a list of chores and we shall try to establish a routine. But in return you’ll let me know if there’s anything you want or need, or if the work doesn’t suit."
"You don’t have to look out for me every moment of the day and night. I’m no green girl, sir. In fact, I was told before I was married that I was not without some sense. Pray let me use it."
He nodded, satisfied in her sincere wish to help. "I shall. You can develop your own role in this house. I give you carte blanche. I shall not interfere in your housekeeping upheavals, nor lecture you on propriety again," he acquiesced, trying not to look at her bright eyes, her lovely face. Good God, she was a tempting little thing…
What on earth was wrong with him!
He was her employer. He had to protect her, ensure that she was safe and secure. However fearful he was of his own rampaging desires, he feared those of others more. What would have happened to her had she knocked at another door? Had never made it to Blake’s house that night? Where would he have been? She and the boys? He shuddered to think.
No, hard as it was to imagine sharing his life with Bryony Wells under his roof, it was even more impossible to turn her away when she relied on his help.
"Thank you. I shan’t let you down. And I shall ignore your occasional bouts of gruff behaviour. I know you must be in a great deal of pain. While I understand your reasons for not seeking relief, I am at least allowed to express my opinion that you’re punishing yourself unduly for something which wasn’t your fault."
His laughter at this remark had an unpleasant edge to it. "I could never accuse you of being anything less than forthright, my dear. Therefore you may expect the same candour from me. If you’re so interested in my welfare, then I shall have to be permitted to express my opinion on your course of action."
She gazed at him openly. "I’ve already heard it, sir. You think I should seek help, legal redress. Go back to the Dalrymple home, the tomb they call Conwy Castle, which was almost my grave. I have told you why I will not. You have faith in the law, which is admirable, but I do not. The boys are happy here, and are well cared for by us all. At this point the only person I’m really hurting but not returning to what you think is my high social status is myself."
"So too am I only hurting myself."
"And the family of whom you refuse to speak."
He scowled furiously.
"They clearly loved and cared for you."
"Yes, but—"
She shook her head. "I assure you, Michael, staying here is not going to result in me heading straight to perdition or my own ruination. You fear you contaminate things, don’t you?" She grasped his hand before he could deny the truth of her words.
He looked so wounded, so shocked by this unexpected and incredible perception he had hardly dared voice except to himself and Blake once long ago that he allowed his hand to remain in hers. He longed to put his head in her lap and have him stroke his hair and tell him he really was a good man after all. But that way lay madness.
It was madness anyway. Acceding to her request. Allowing her to remain under his roof. So close, just a few steps down the hall from his own room, when he wanted her so....
He wheeled his chair away from her and over to the window to stare out of it moodily. He knew her remarkable midnight blue eyes were resting upon him with consternation. He could not look at her, or else he would be lost.
It was madness to have her stay. But even more mad to let Bryony leave. He simply couldn’t let her go out into the cold cruel world without being better prepared for it.
Even if she did manage to circumvent her in-laws, marry well to another, marriage was not always the unalloyed bliss many women hoped it would be. She had already wed one violent and debauched man. There were plenty more of them out there: cruel, foolish, callous.
She could be widowed again, become ill herself. There were a hundred and one things which could go wrong in her life.
He couldn’t protect Bryony from all of them, any more than he could protect himself from whatever Fate chose to dole out to him as his lot in life.
But he could at least educate her, teach her what she needed to know in order to be self-sufficient, and instruct her sons. Make sure that even though Darren was heir, that none of them would ever want for anything. And he would give them somewhere to go when they had nowhere else to go. Be their refuge.
He might never be able to possess Bryony as he burned to do, but they were family now after all they had been through together, in the same way as he and the Rakehells were family.
Michael turned from the window, looked at her, and sighed. He could never be her lover, her husband, but he could look after her. Make her part of his new family, along with Blake and his wife and a few others of their set.
Bryony smiled up at him tremulously, seeing the warring emotions in his expression and longing to smooth away his frown with a kiss.
"I confess to being rather at a loss. I agree to allow you to stay and effect whatever changes in this house you like. And I would rather have the truth than streams of meaningless platitudes and empty pleasantries. I admit it’s not going to be easy to become accustomed to sharing my home and life with a woman, indeed with anyone, on a daily basis. I had more than enough of that in the Army.
"On the other hand, I would like a well-ordered and comfortable establishment. Therefore, you and the boys may stay unconditionally. I shall not try to talk you into leaving again, I promise. I shall teach you whatever I can about business, s
o you can help your sons tend to their affairs when the time eventually comes, and we shall commence work on the dictionary.
"I will just ask you to be patient. The arrangement will be what we make of it. We shall just have to do our best to take each day as it comes. I need to think a bit more about your role in my household, your duties, what you need to learn to be an independent woman in your own right, and how I may best look after you and your interests."
She nodded. "Whatever you think best."
"Not just me, though. I would like you to have complete freedom with regard to your future."
Her eyes widened. What a relief. Someone who believed women were not mere chattel. "In what manner?" she asked quietly, hardly daring to believe he meant what she thought he did.
"For example, your allowance. We shall make sure that you husband your resources wisely, invest them well. We shall have the papers are drawn up so that no matter what you decide, no one shall be able to touch your money. Your first husband burned through your dowry at the rate of knots. To disqualify women from owning property in their own right is most unfair and short-sighted. I would like to try to remedy that. If you ever find yourself in trouble for whatever reason, you can always come to me or Blake for help. But if we invest your money well, you can have a nest egg of your own that no one can ever take from you."
The Model Master Page 11
