Robyn Carr Restoration Box Set

by Robyn Carr

  As he contemplated the rare beauty that lay bare to his gaze, he considered that she had served him well indeed, better than any before her, and his hunger for her began to rise again. He bolstered himself and reluctantly pulled the coverlet over them both. There was no question that she would already consider him cruel, but for some reason it seemed important that she not believe him to be a ravenous animal. He chose not to put himself upon her again on this night, but to show her instead that in spite of all, he could display a gender nature.

  He held her comfortably in his arms, stroking her hair until she slept. Sleep was more difficult for him; he was sorely beset by all the conflicting thoughts she inspired. “I will see this very differently in the light of day and sober mind,” he sternly told himself. He touched the ivory skin of her shoulder with his lips. “But however much I ponder her,” he thought with a smile, “there is no question but that she was beggared in the trade.”

  FIVE

  From within the windowless study, Trent judged the rising of the sun from the sounds of activity about the manor. This once he rose before cockcrow and dressed quietly, giving himself over to the accounts, ledgers, and lists that lay scattered atop his desk. Yet he was wholly robbed of his concentration and hoped that by the time this day was out he would be in control of his thoughts again.

  Trent Wescott was raised by the iron fist of a father whose passions were hard work and fierce family ties. Although he’d lost his father before he was twenty years, he had not lost the legacy of the Wescott men. As a youth he had watched both his grandfather and his father so possessed. He and three older brothers followed in like pattern. All Wescotts were molded in the same way: large of build, physically strong, demanding men who were plagued by loyalties that bound them even when they wished it otherwise. Civil war left only one Wescott son to carry on the family name.

  On a night that was cool and wet, his family tree had had its branches ruthlessly trimmed in a fast and cruel execution of his entire family. Lord Wescott had gone with his men and three eldest sons to fight the Roundheads; at Lady Wescott’s ardent insistence, Trent had been left behind to assist her in sustaining the manor. When word came that they would be under siege at Braeswood, Lady Anne sent her youngest out to locate the Royalist forces and bring the Wescott men home to protect their land. All proved fruitless on that night. Trent, feeling manhood in his body but still a boy in many ways, managed to find some scattered troops, though no word of the Wescott men. He then returned to Braeswood to discover he was too late.

  Thus his homecoming after the war was bittersweet. Those servants who anticipated him returned to Braeswood: Enid, his parents’ housekeeper, her husband, Landon, who managed the stables, some village residents who had not been driven away during the years of upheaval and who themselves or their families had served within the manor for the deceased Wescotts. It was in some senses a reunion, though touched heavily with grieving for the fateful events that had torn the beloved family apart.

  The hidden closets and alcoves that stored a few treasured family items were opened, old tapestries, jewels, and favored possessions were drawn out, and the melancholy task of setting the house aright was begun. For a time, all were unnerved at the prospect of sharing a boundary with the Kerrs, for it was that noble household, once Royalist pledged in poor faith, that had offered hiding to the Wescott men when they were pursued by Roundheads. Lord Kerr saw loss of his property and possibly death close at hand when the Parliamentarian army rode forth to Dearborn, and in a quick act of treason, gave over the Royalist soldiers to their foe, retaining his life and property as reward. All those within Braeswood’s walls knew that at some point Sir Trent would avenge his hatred of the Kerrs in what they thought would be a bloody battle. They watched in suppressed awe as he seemed to keep his vengeance in check and made no obvious move against Julian Kerr. Though this was by order of the king, those who served Trent Wescott believed not even a sovereign order could prevent the inevitable.

  The door to his study slowly opened and his man, Avery, looked within. When he sighted Trent, he entered bearing a tray of strong, black coffee and placed it on the desk. Trent peered at the servant with a raised brow.

  “Would you have me bring your breakfast to you here, sir, or will you be having it elsewhere?”

  Trent placed his quill on the desk and smirked slightly as Avery awaited an answer while he poured a cup. It was not the servant’s custom to search him out to serve him breakfast, nor was his tone regular. Trent conceded he had predicted all of this correctly when he rose so early this morn; he had disrupted his household a bit and befuddled one of his closest friends.

  “I will have it here,” he said.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “What ails you?” Trent asked, his voice gruff.

  “Naught, sir,” Avery replied, not meeting the eyes of his young lord. “Just sensing that you’ve taken a slight change of habit, I was bent to ask what your plans would be now.”

  “I see,” Trent said, smiling. “It’s good of you to inquire, Avery. Bring it here.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “And Avery,” Trent began, a slight quiver to his lips that belied his seriousness, “see that everyone who has not already been served receives a stout breakfast.”

  “It’s been done, sir,” Avery replied, still not looking at his master.

  “Ah,” Trent sighed, picking up his cup. “So, that explains quite a lot. Have Enid bring my breakfast that I might have done with her shrewish chastisement and get on with my toils.”

  Avery sighed and looked at his young friend long and hard, disapproval etched in his features. They had been together since the night Trent became, quite sadly, the sole heir to the Wescott name and property. In all those years he had not always approved of the younger man’s behavior, but he had seldom found himself angry. “Aye, sir.”

  Trent rubbed his eyes, burning from the lack of sleep and heavy drink, exasperated with what he would have to endure on this day. He knew he would have rattled a good many of them, but he hoped it would be short-lived. “Say whatever you have to say, man, since I deserve your bellyaching and have little patience for watching you jerk around like an injured old rooster all day. You hardly serve me as a friend with your silent punishment.”

  Avery opened his mouth and shut it quickly. “I’ll say nothing, my lord, but that I don’t know what gets into your head nor how you intend to play out your whimsy. ‘Tis not the noblest of deeds you’ve done, and in deference to your authority, I’ll expect you’ll find some decent method of dealing with it now.”

  Trent’s amusement was obvious, and he leaned back in his chair to take a long slow drink of the dark brew. “Tell me, my friend, what you would suggest?”

  Avery looked around in an agitated manner. His mouth was set firmly and it was more than clear he was distraught enough to whip the younger man. “We could begin by putting a stout cork on the bottle and getting you decently wed.”

  “All right,” Trent replied patiently. “You’ve had your say; now be done with your fretting and get me some breakfast. I vow my meagerest pleasures sour your disposition worse than I could have known.”

  Trent found himself chuckling slightly as the man left, and he fiercely hoped he would not completely lose his good humor by the end of the day. And as he leisurely sipped his morning coffee, he contemplated the fact that he had put himself in this position, although he could not fathom his own brief break with sanity. Still, his actions were very deliberate...and in spite of Avery’s hope that he would regain some sense of decency and honor, Trent did not see how that was possible now.

  He had slept little and restlessly through the night. The warm, silken flesh of Jocelyn close beside him distracted him and troubled his rest, and he suspected hers was no better. She passively allowed his caresses and did not pose any resistance to being held and stroked by him. She sighed now and again, whether in slumber or wakefulness he could not be sure. But when he rose, well before sunrise,
and lit a single candle, he knew that she slept, although she was troubled in her sleep. Her brow was furrowed as if by some unpleasant dream.

  It was then that he made a firm choice that he thought indicated he was addled in some way. He looked down at her unadorned beauty and settled in his mind that he would have what he desired in spite of any aggravation it caused. He could have awakened her then, seen her dressed, and disposed her to any other part of the house to continue her rest, and little or no mention would have been made of the virgin stains on his sheets. The incident would have been ignored but for careful gossiping about the manor, and Enid would have found some task to occupy the maid through her stay. He would not have been put to too much trouble to seek her out again as he desired, and before long she would have been settled with handsomely and delivered to a decent lodging or perhaps an only slightly reluctant marriage. All involved could then have gotten on with their lives.

  But he was suddenly unsatisfied with that discreet option. He selfishly acknowledged that while his decision for her might not be in her best interest, he was undeniably taken with her presence. He strongly desired to have her close at hand, near enough to enjoy at his whim. He was not inclined to play wenching games with this laundress or that kitchen maid; he had found a pleasing mistress and desired no other. Whatever the ultimate cost of this blatant liaison, until he changed his mind, she would occupy a space near and convenient.

  And, he vowed, he would act a gentleman’s part and she would find some measure of contentment in this arrangement as well.

  The addlepated longing he felt for her roused his suspicions, yet he was determined that the familiarity he intended would quiet his obsession and he would be clearheaded enough to have done with her at an appropriate time. This, after all, was better for her than living in a farmer’s sty and butchering pigs for their dinner. With a few carefully chosen trinkets and a tidy sum, her future would bear more than she had earlier faced. He had no doubt she would be grateful for his generosity and would not protest her status.

  Confidence filled him anew, only to be shaken as Enid came in bearing his porridge and ham. The woman entered, frowning and visibly angered. This, Trent decided, was easily as bad as facing the magistrate in Paris for a possible hanging. Dealing with Avery was only the earliest test, for that same old mule had rescued him from hangings and farmers’ pitchforks and had tended his battle-earned wounds. Avery had seen him in every fathomable predicament, both reasonable and foolish, and at least the relationship was man to man.

  But Enid had spanked him when he was a boy, and the round, gray-haired woman took many motherly liberties with him. As she dropped the breakfast tray on his desk, Trent glowered at her and sat back. “Have it out, woman. I’ll not be set to catching my meals as they fly at me in a fit all week.”

  “It’s your intention, I see, to fill the village with your bastard children and sit in all your fine silk and leather while the women you violate scrape out a meager life from the dirt.”

  He sighed heavily. “No, madam, that is not in any way my intention.”

  She straightened her back, crossed her thick arms over her heavy bosom, and glared at him. “Then I’ll know, my lord, what you plan for the poor lass yonder in your bedchamber.” Avery showed reluctance to openly criticize his master, but Enid had no trouble finding her words and did not shrink from him in fear that she would be punished or dismissed.

  “I rue the day,” Trent said somewhat solemnly, “that I allowed you to feel so secure of your position here. It does nothing to restrain your sharp tongue.”

  “Since it is my duty to your parents, God rest them, to see that your home is in order and your decency upheld, I’ll not hide the truth from your eyes nor the scandal from your ears.”

  “Your duty, Enid, is no longer to my parents, and I am lord here,” he said slowly. “And you work by my order and my will.”

  She pursed her lips and her pupils became small and piercing. “Not if you take leave of all good sense. What am I to do with the girl now?”

  Trent felt no temptation to laugh in the face of this woman’s anger, and for a moment he struggled for an idea that would appease her sense of decency and not make him a pauper in the end. He knew full well that Enid would have the lass removed hastily, before her shameful position became obvious to the manor and town.

  Still, he posed the question, if only so he could argue it. “What would you have me do, madam?”

  “The lass must be found a respectable husband, and she is comely enough that any number of good men from the town would do. And if done quickly enough, they may not argue any offspring that come forth.” As she talked, Trent rose uncomfortably from his chair and began to pace about the small area behind his desk. Although his height dwarfed the old woman, she was not intimidated by his size. It did not, as he had hoped, impair her ability to lecture. “With but a pittance from your purse, you could buy her decency and have done with this foolery. There are those who will have a care for your baser needs if you are not inclined toward a decent mistress for this house and—”

  He halted abruptly in his pacing and slammed his fist on the desk, noting with pleasure that she at least jumped in surprise. “Damn, it does not please me to install a wife in this house and it does not please me to buy a proper marriage for the wench. And if you can look the other way while a man does his baser wenching, how is it you find such difficulty with the woman of my choosing?”

  Enid stepped back a space, not frightened by any measure by his temper, but knowing full well that if Sir Trent was of the same disposition as his father, she would do well to tread a bit more carefully on his personal ground. “‘Tis not my way to judge those women who have chosen their lot and played the men without a thought to caution. You know well who they are; you might have bothered Treena or Martha or even Agnes with your ill-concealed lust. They are here at work in your house and have a better knowledge of their possible fate—Lord knows they’ve pranced about with all intention of being a mistress of yours, and none would find her virtue lost, since that was gone a long while ago.

  “But this one you’ve taken,” she went on, undaunted by the scowl she faced and the rapidly rising anger. “She’s a young girl with no luck to spare and you’ve stolen her one possession.” Enid leaned closer to him, and her words were earnest and stem. “I don’t pretend to know what troubles brought her to your stoop, but I know she is not a common whore. And it does not please me to know you’ve made her one.”

  Trent took a deep breath and bolstered himself. None of Enid’s solutions, however sensible, pleased him in any way. “So you’ve had your say and it is clear you are unhappy with my choice, but it remains my choice and I am not a boy bent under your switch any longer. That you pity the lass is clear, but you will not be near enough to pity her long if you continue to berate me and throw my food at me. The discussion is over and you will kindly take up your service with respect for the one who houses and pays you. That, madam, is me. And I have decided that Jocelyn stays.”

  Enid could see that his mind was made up and she could do nothing but carry on with his decision, however disappointed she might be in his judgment. “Have you given a drought to how she will be treated by the others?” she ventured.

  Trent sat down and took up his knife, more playing at being in control than anything. He heartily wished the trial would come to an end. But it was not as though he naively thought he could pull off this brazen arrangement any more neatly. “I believe you have enough authority here to deflect many of the more cruel blows, if you mean to make Jocelyn’s stay here less than horrible.”

  Her mouth grimly set, Enid proceeded to press him for instruction. “Then you mean for her to be staying more than a few days?”

  “Until I decide otherwise.”

  “And you will not honor her with marriage?”

  “How can I do that?” he asked simply. “She is a farmer’s daughter void of title, land, and money. I have an obligation to my sire that dema
nds I seek a wife more cautiously than I would a mistress.”

  “And do you mean to keep her in your bed, my lord? Where and how will you have the maid take her rest?”

  He sighed impatiently. “Give her a chamber of some consequence, but have a care, Enid. Do not conspire against me. I would have her treated with some respect, and you might do your part to make her respectable. Give her some tasks to keep her occupied, give her clothing and surroundings befitting her station, and remember in doing this that I may be a selfish and indecent man, but I am not a beast and I consider her highly. I do not lightly place her in my chamber and under your care, and it is not my habit to mistreat a woman whose presence gives me such pleasure.” He looked at her closely. “Whatever you think of my moral character, know this one thing: I would not risk your wrath and the disruption of my household unless I felt the woman’s presence was clearly worth all this trouble.”

  Her response came quietly and respectfully, although it did not disguise her strong disapproval. Yet she seemed to move toward a certain acceptance of his decision. “At least you seem to have a civil caring for the girl.”

  “She would have suffered a great deal more had I left her to the way of life her rearing would have brought, madam. And Enid, although she is young and inexperienced, she is a woman. And I would know this better than you.”

  They looked at each other long and hard, Enid put out to anxious ends by her young master’s immorality, and Sir Trent more than a little uncomfortable with what he was doing and his housekeeper’s knowledge of it. Yet the spell had been cast and he could not lightly put aside the events of the night past. He felt he was poisoned with desire for Jocelyn. And until the poison ran its course and left him sane, he would see it through.