The Model Master

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  With one last long sultry look, Bryony left him.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  After her astounding proposal regarding her incredible bargain the evening before, Michael half-expected Bryony to be curt or embarrassed in his presence the next morning.

  Yet when he saw her at the breakfast table the next morning, looking temptingly lovely in a deep blue gown which matched her eyes, it was as if she had never had the discussion with him. The only thing that had changed was that his valet Robin came in to get him ready for bed that night.

  Throughout the days that followed, she remained unfailingly cheerful and polite, did all her duties without a murmur, and catered to his every whim without an ounce of surliness.

  He should have known that Bryony was capable of far more subtlety. Her revenge was to be a great deal more insidious than a temper tantrum or the sulks.

  She pampered him for three days with all of his favourite meals, songs at the pianoforte and games with the boys. She was in and out of his room at all hours of the day and night consulting with him about his clothes, portfolio, correspondence, and she sat and read to him for hours when he couldn’t fall asleep.

  She did not go out at all, but was always there with him, seemingly willing to cater to his every whim. She even produced more of the little presents which she had planned to keep in reserve for Christmas in order to make him feel completely indulged.

  At the end of three days Michael thought he was the happiest man alive considering what had happened to him. Never had he been able to secure so much undivided attention from any woman. He began to admit to himself that he could see now for the first time why men wanted to marry. To have a woman as affectionate and devoted as Bryony in their life on a permanent basis, and two such sons, well, it was most certainly an arrangement worth coming home to.

  Bryony had been subtle in other ways too, touching him, stroking his shoulder, brushing up against him, wearing slightly more perfume, dressing her hair more attractively and with a greater variety of styles than ever before.

  She never gainsaid him in anything, elicited his opinion on everything, and generally made him feel the centre of her universe.

  She noticed the gradual easing of his defenses, the fact that he no longer flinched or pulled away from her touch, and in fact almost seemed to lean into it.

  Once he even took her hand, and another night he pulled her tightly to him and they slept curled intimately together. During the nights she was quite bold, stroking his shoulders and neck, his chest and arm, sometimes even his face. He stirred and smiled at her liberties, but never woke.

  On the fourth day she delivered her coup de grace. Early that morning, long before Michael was up and out of his room, she told the boys that she was going to take Michael up on his offer and let them all have a room each in the house. She and the servants relocated their possession to the upstairs suite. She immediately began to transform it into a warm and welcoming haven as she had done their downstairs room.

  Of course the master bedchamber was huge and really far too large for one, so she reserved it as a drawing room for the whole family, while she took the peach chamber and the boys went into the nursery and small store room, which she had fitted out into a proper bedroom for five year old Darren.

  The rooms were spacious, but on the upper floor. There would be no possibility for Michael to see her unless he made a conscious effort to regain the use of his legs.

  The drawing room, as it became, had a large bay window which deserved to become the central feature of the commodious chamber. Once she had moved the four-poster bed to one side of the room and screened it off, and relocated the dresser, it did not look like a bed chamber at all.

  Instead she turned it into a grand office, situating her desk in the center of the window with all of the files and papers she had been working on flanking one side, a comfortable arm chair the other. Or enough space for Michael’s chair, she thought with a grin. It had a great deal of light and a wonderful view, and she felt instantly at home.

  The children adored it, running up and down on the Aubusson carpet and having mock battles and horse races up and down while she worked on transforming the other three rooms.

  She also took Michael at his word and sent Simms into town to the employment exchange to hire a pair of the local girls to come help look after the boys during the day and assist in keeping the whole house much more clean and neat.

  By the time Michael emerged from his room freshly bathed and looking more handsome than Bryony had ever seen him, having taken great pains with his appearance, he could sense something had altered radically.

  Now she skirted past him, did not say a word more than good morning, and did not join him for breakfast as had always been her wont.

  He wondered at the study looking so denuded of books and papers, did not see her at dinner, and when he sent for her was told she was out. Finally at supper he caught up with her.

  "I’m sorry," she said breathlessly, returning from a visit to Ash and Eswara in which she had told them all about her move to her new room, and been showered with presents and spices for all the recipes Eswara had given her. "All sorts of things to do as a result of my move."

  His heart went cold. "What do you mean, you’ve moved?"

  "It seems a shame to let the rooms upstairs lie empty and musty from disuse. So the boys and I have made them into a snug set of apartments for the three of us to keep out of your way."

  "Out of my way?" he repeated blankly, wondering why his chest felt as though it were being constricted by an iron band. "I don’t understand. You’ve never been in my way. I— The boys—"

  He frowned. A creeping feeling of dread came over him that Bryony was removing herself from him because he had done something terrible. That she feared him that she did not want the children to have anything more to do with him than they had to.

  He tried to recall anything that he had done or said amiss, but it was so hard when he knew he lost all control when he had those funny turns of his, and had no recollection of what took place during them. He could not recall the last time he had had one. But then he never remembered much when he did.

  "Just what I said," Bryony replied in a mild tone, seeing his fear and uncertainty, but not acknowledging it. "I have a great deal of work, and can spread out up there. The room with the bay window is lovely. So light and airy. And such a view of the Abbey. It’s a privilege to work there.

  "The boys can be with me all the time, or within calling distance in their rooms. You can have a bit more privacy. After all, you’re a bachelor. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility that you’ll want some female companionship and--"

  "Oh, no, I can’t believe you are trying to, what, matchmake for me?" he growled.

  She shook her head quickly. "Not at all. But as you have pointed out recently, I’m only your housekeeper and secretary. As such there are certain things which are and are not suitable between us. Such as us going in and out of each other’s bedrooms at all hours of the day and night.

  "I don’t see anything wrong with it myself. I am no prude. But you have lectured me upon the need for propriety in all of our relations. I have thought about it, and I find for the sake of the children that you’re correct. They ought not to share with me, or each other if they do not have to. Everyone needs a little room of one’s own."

  "But still," he grumbled, though for the life of him he couldn’t think of a single logical reason to object. Only a great number of illogical ones he would be a fool to ever tell her.

  She stared at him, her dark blue eyes resting upon him, looking for any clue as to the nature of his true feelings. "I didn’t think you would mind so much. After all, you told me to use the rooms in the first place."

  "And who are those girls here in the house?" he asked with some irritation.

  "They shall function as both maids and nannies to help me with the boys, whilst I perform my duties. Since our little shopping and tea excursions to Bath have eviden
tly been very arduous for you, it’s just as well if I simply go myself or with one of the other servants."

  He scowled even more furiously. "Arduous? I didn’t say they were arduous."

  "I’m sorry. My mistake. But you will own it’s difficult getting up and down the steps of the carriage. Besides, it’s not a productive use of your time if you have business to attend to here. I can get you anything you need."

  "And when you’re not here? Because you are out on your excursions? Or when I need you here in the house? What shall I do without you?" he said almost petulantly.

  "Just ring. Unless of course your bell isn’t working. You don’t use it very much, do you? In which case I shall have it mended. One of the servants can come to fetch me."

  "A rather Baroque arrangement, is it not? Ringing the servant to get you?" he complained.

  "Yes, but think of the efficiency of having so much space for our great work," she said in her most reasonable tone.

  "You were efficient before," he said in a tone reminiscent of a lion about to voice his displeasure.

  "But I shall be even more so now. Would you like to see— Ah, no, I suppose it would not be worth the trouble to have the servants bring you all the way upstairs."

  "No, certainly not," he snapped.

  Seeing her eyes widen, he modified his tone. "If you tell me it is more efficient I shall have to believe you."

  He sighed. He had no idea what he had done to offend, but there was nothing he could do to make amends, not without telling Bryony how he really felt. That he adored her, that every moment he spent in her company just made him more in love with her than ever.

  He swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and led her into supper.

  But now even her conversation changed, losing the intimacy he had come to expect. On the rare occasions when she did see him she spoke about the dictionary.

  Any time he asked a personal question about her or the boys, she would answer as briefly as possible and change the subject. The boys were as warm and loving as ever, but that only made things worse.

  Worst of all were the nights, however, for unbeknownst to him, she returned to her old bed chamber just in case he really needed her, but did not sleep by his side. By the end of a hellish week for Michael, all of the nightmares were back with terrifying force. He was full of pain and headaches, and almost at his wit’s end thinking he was going into some sort of rapid decline.

  "Perhaps you should send for Blake?" she said one morning when he listlessly picked at his eggs and managed a bite of toast only after much coaxing during the otherwise silent meal.

  "No, it’s all right," he sighed, and turned his face away to look at some of the papers they had been working on so she would not see the tears in his eyes.

  Bryony did see them and was so moved, she was almost ready to relent, he looked so miserable and ill, but she told herself he would never get well if she wasn’t firm now.

  It didn’t take Michael long to succumb to her cleverly manipulative campaign. At the end of the worst ten days of his life since he had first been injured, he said gruffly at supper, "I’ve changed my mind. About your bargain, I mean."

  She coloured up, but remained silent, and waited for him to continue.

  His eyes widened as he saw the spark in her eyes. "I mean, oh Lord— No, no, I meant that I would go to the Baths with you, and one of the servants. You can read to me, we can conduct business, do our work there whilst I soak. You can sew and mend just as easily sitting with me there as here. It might help. And it’s not as if I have so many other pressing social engagements or other things to do with my time."

  She restrained her smile of triumph. "You won’t regret this."

  He sighed raggedly. "I think I already do."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Thus they began to go to the Baths every morning until noon. Bryony enjoyed the time she spent with Michael, for she did not always confine their conversations to business, but got to learn more about him. As with most men, who generally loved to talk about themselves, having a willing ear eroded Michael’s taciturnity.

  She listened carefully, always on the alert in case she had to steer the topic so it did not touch upon the war. But generally he was a fascinating man, with many similar tastes in music, art and literature to her own. She loved their increasing intimacy of mind and spirit.

  Soon Ash and Eswara joined them each morning, changing their schedule to accommodate theirs. It was nice having company to visit with, he was willing to concede after the first week.

  But Michael had to admit he liked it best when he had Bryony all to himself. He was glad she had friends, even if they were so unusual. He found them stimulating to be with, even if a bit threatening.

  He knew it was silly to be jealous of a fifteen-year old boy, but he grew rather uncomfortable with the way that Ash always looked so admiringly at Bryony and paid her all sorts of lavish compliments. He certainly was a chap who was never at a loss for words.

  But then Bryony’s beauty was something which was worth waxing lyrical over. Now that she had filled out and lost her unnatural pallor and had made some new gowns for herself, she was easily the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen, in the Ton or out of it.

  Every day she wore a new hairstyle, and every day a change of gown, to which she had added some special eye-catching feature or trim. He knew his allowance was generous, but not vast, and he knew also that she spent most of it on the boys.

  Still, she managed to look incredibly well, and as he discovered when he insisted upon going shopping with her on Christmas Eve, she was a prodigious haggler, getting the best price for everything to make all of her funds entrusted to her care go that much further. Such a rare combination of intelligence, creativity, and business sense made him fall in love with her even more than her beauty.

  It was a novelty for him, he who had been swayed by so many pretty faces. He almost resented the time he had wasted with pretty but simpering women in the past. He realised now he had dissipated his energies, and more importantly, he knew he had been false and insincere. He was certain that she did not have an untruthful bone in her body, and longed to be worthy of her.

  Christmas passed with a mountain of presents, fine food, fun games with the boys, and Michael convinced that the only thing he could ever possibly hope for was a miracle: that he would one day walk again.

  Ash’s story, the things he had learned about Eswara’s treatments, all encouraged him to hope. It wasn’t long too until he discovered that Eswara had been teaching Bryony. She had not been seeing a lover or out enjoying herself and shopping. She had been learning Indian medicine.

  At the end of a fortnight at the Baths, as they were traveling back home in the carriage, he cleared his throat and asked, "I wanted to speak with you about your allowance, my dear."

  "Yes?"

  "Is it enough?"

  "Yes, of course. Why do you ask?"

  He shrugged. "I just wondered. I didn’t want you or the boys to lack for anything."

  "No, not at all. We’re fine. I mean, I’ll have to buy Darren some new shoes, but his old pair will do for Gavin."

  In his experience it was rare for any woman to not take more money or trinkets if offered. "And you, Bryony? What about you?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Do you have everything you could possibly want?"

  "You gave me some lovely presents at Christmas," she said cautiously. "The lace and—"

  "I meant generally."

  "Materially, yes of course. Personally, I can’t complain. I have some lovely friends and I feel happy and secure here."

  "But?" he prompted.

  She sighed. "But there’s no one special in my life. I think I’m a bit young to have given up entirely on being paid court to, married again. One day."

  "I see," he said, his tone curt.

  "You asked me to be honest."

  He nodded. "Oh, I understand. Believe me. You will let me know if, well, you make plans, if you
meet someone?" he asked, inwardly seething.

  "So I can hire someone else if-" he added hastily when she saw her looking at him with an odd expression in her eyes.

  "I understand. Of course. You would be the first to know. I’ve been so grateful for everything you’ve done for us all."

  He heaved a sigh. "It must be dreadfully dull for you. No balls, parties."

  "Don’t be silly," she said promptly. "It’s not something I ever think of. I don’t miss them in the least."

  He looked at her thoughtfully for a time. "Thomas is having a ball at the end of the month at the townhouse. I should be most pleased to accompany you."