Maybe he would go to church with Wakefield tomorrow after all, and reacquaint himself with his neighbours.
Lucerne closed the lid on the little box, and hid it away in the concealed compartment. “It’s over,” he said aloud. He needed to move on.
He climbed into bed and closed the curtains. In the darkness, he lay on his back and imagined his prim new wife as stroked his cock. He banished both Bella and Vaughan to the back of his mind. She’d have a sweet pussy, his new beloved. It would never have been touched by another man. She’d be timid, nervous, but he’d coax her, show her how things were done, how to act the whore in bed, and then they would fuck like he desperately wanted to now. As he had done with Bella and Vaughan.
“It’s over. It’s over. It’s over,” he chanted, trying to keep them from his head, but the pair of them whispered to him in the dark and touched his skin.
Lucerne spent all over his stomach.
“It’s over,” he said again as he mopped away the mess with the kerchief he kept under his pillow. He needed to accept that was true.
SEVEN
Christmas Eve, 1800, Pennerley, Shropshire.
I have you.
Vaughan fought against the cold penetrating his limbs and stiffening his joints, kicked as hard as he was able, and broke the surface of the water desperate for breath. Around him the world was silent, black save for the stars over-head and one lamp burning above the castle entrance.
His prize, claimed from the bottom of the moat clasped firmly in his hands, he hauled himself out of the freezing water onto the frost covered planks of the drawbridge, and rolled onto his back.
Above him, his breath misted in the cold air, while ahead, the outer walls of the bailey were covered in a rime-like frost that made it sparkle like quartzite. Pain shot through his wrist and arm as he uncurled his grip, and let the chain of the necklace run free. It hung from his fingers, the precious locket he’d dived into the icy waters to retrieve dangling on the end.
Perhaps Christmas Eve hadn’t been the best time to choose for a swim. The locket had been sitting amongst the plants and silt for seven weeks, and there’d been many other days far warmer than this one that he could have utilized to retrieve it, but it had only been this evening that he’d felt such an overwhelming compulsion to do so.
It’d been as if something in the universe had prompted him to recall what he’d lost and reclaim it before it was too late.
Teeth chattering, Vaughan forced himself up onto his feet. His hair crackled and chimed as he moved. It had become stuck to the ice on the ground as he’d rested, and now peeled free reluctantly.
He probably ought to have stripped off a few layers before he dived in. That way he’d have had something warm at hand to pull on, but it had been a spur of the moment decision to dive in.
Vaughan trudged in the direction of the wicket gate, passed through, and headed for the great hall. It was one of the draughtiest rooms at Pennerley, but he didn’t want to risk contracting chilblains or passing out by wading into the normally stifling heat in the solar. In any case, that room held too many painful memories for him now. Every time he crossed the threshold he recalled Lucerne telling him it was all over and saying goodbye.
It wasn’t over. It would never be over.
Vaughan rubbed his thumb across the golden surface of the locket. Time in the water had dulled its lustre a little, but it was nothing a good polish wouldn’t fix. The all-important date remained visible, and the contents were still secured behind the little panel of glass inside.
“I couldn’t truly let you go. You know that, Lucerne,” he said squinting at the carefully preserved curl of blond hair. “I know you think that by walking away you’ve concluded everything, but it’s not over between us yet. It will never be over, as long as I draw breath.”
Mind you, if he didn’t get out of the cold and into something warm and dry soon, his last breath might arrive quite quickly.
With that aforethought, he creaked forward another few icy steps and entered the great hall at the end farthest from where the Yule log was burning. Even so, the sudden wash of heat caused him to stumble. He paused, determined to let his body acclimatise slow. Dry clothes would no doubt help, but his room was at the other end for the building and if there were any servants still abroad at this late hour, they were maintaining a sensible distance.
Heaven knows, he’d drilled it into them—only come when called. Stay out of sight, unless I require you to be seen.
He couldn’t abide people fawning over him, and following him around poking their noses into his affairs. Even the most loyal servants gossiped, and there were plenty members of society who would pay for tattle about his doings. They were nosy about his retreat to his estate, and eager for a scandal. Too bad, there was none to find. His doings had been decidedly dull since the phantasmagoria on All Hallows Eve. He was living quietly, playing the role of a country squire—and yes, in a fashion, licking his wounds.
He had spent an inordinate amount of time over the last few weeks at that particular task, almost to the point of straining his tongue, but one had to take comfort where you could find it, and despite his best efforts, Bella had somehow inveigled her way into his home and his bed. Society would be very disappointed to discover his only misdeed at the moment was that he was openly living with his mistress.
Speaking of whom, she sat tucked into the armchair before the fire, her toes curled against the seat, and her chin resting on her knees. A woollen wrap covered her head and shoulders. “I thought I’d told you before not to wait up,” he remarked, squelching towards her.
Bella twisted to face him, dislodging the wrap from her shoulders, thus revealing the dress he’d bought her a month back, the one with the obscenely low décolletage that she was prone to bursting from—a sight that never failed to amuse and arouse him.
“I wanted to wish you a merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Bella.”
“No kiss?” She produced a sprig of mistletoe and held it over her head.
Vaughan bent to oblige, but their lips never touched. Instead, she was on her feet, staring at him with her nose wrinkled.
“What in heavens have you been doing? You’re soaking, and you smell of… Have you been in the moat?”
“Possibly.” He picked a piece of vegetation from his sleeve and flicked it into the fire.
“Why? What possessed you? It’s the coldest night of the year. Are you trying to kill yourself?” She grasped the back of his coat and tugged, allowing him to wriggle free of its decidedly sodden embrace, before draping it over the fire guard. She pushed him closer to the blaze. “Take off the rest. Should I fetch you some things?”
Vaughan allowed her to fuss. She unfastened his waistcoat for him, and then peeled both it and this shirt from his back. While he didn’t particularly want her rifling through his linen, it was that or parade through the castle wet or half-naked to fetch them himself. “If you could fetch a clean shirt and a dressing gown.”
“I wasn’t sure if you owned a night shirt. I’ve never seen you in one.”
That wasn’t what he’d asked for, but he passed on correcting her mistake. Frankly, it was too cold to squabble over minutiae.
“Sit, I’ll help you with your boots.”
“I thought you were fetching dry things.”
“I will, after I’ve helped you out of the wet ones.”
Vaughan sat in the chair she’d recently vacated, while she kneeled to tug off his Hessians. They were fitted well enough that the insides of them, and consequently his stockings were comparatively dry. His woollen breeches were another matter. Bella claimed them too, leaving him entirely naked.
“Here,” she folded her wrap around his shoulders, after she’d paused long enough to ogle his form. “I’ll not be a minute. Try and warm yourself, then once I’m back you can explain this madness. Swimming…in the moat…in December…of all the foolish nonsense,” she mumbled to herself a she left. “Downrigh
t ridiculous…”
Vaughan wrapped the shawl around his shoulders, and stretched out his toes to wriggle before the blaze. He’d almost stopped shaking now, and even the gold of the locket was growing warm within his palm. He opened his hand to gaze on the precious item again. The date signified the start of his affair with Lucerne, at least in his eyes. It commemorated Lucerne’s first acceptance that there existed something between them that couldn’t easily be dismissed. Something more than ordinary friendship, something that crossed the acceptable boundaries of society. Men weren’t supposed to love one another, at least not in a sexual way. What they felt was supposed to be platonic, brotherly, but that wasn’t what either he or Lucerne felt for one another. It had been apparent to Vaughan long before the date engraved onto the locket, but it had taken until that point for Lucerne to admit it.
Lucerne did so like to war with reality. Perhaps that was a function of being the younger sibling of two brothers who delighted in verisimilitude over actual fact. Whatever the cause, the notion of loving another man had duly terrified him. So he’d hidden from it for the longest time.
For himself, Vaughan had always accepted his tastes ran somewhat counter to those of the majority. It did not bother him. What caused him concern was Lucerne’s absence. Why couldn’t he simply accept fate? They were meant to be.
.
EIGHT
Bella returned to the great hall as quickly as she was able. Vaughan was ridiculously neat, so finding the requisite garments had taken virtually no effort; it was only the winding trek to the south tower and back that had taken time. She hoped he’d had the sense to stay by the fire.
Vaughan appeared to have moved only far enough to retrieve the handkerchief form his coat pocket in her absence, and now he sat rubbing at the surface of something clasped within in palm.
“Shirt, dressing gown, and these for your feet,” she said holding the garments out for him to take. “What is that you’re polishing?”
Vaughan moved only his eyes to look up at her. “My swimming trophy.”
She frowned at him, and moved a little closer, not understanding what he meant by claiming it was a prize for half-drowning himself in the moat. That changed as soon as she grew close enough to identify the object. She understood all too well the significance of that locket. It meant she was back to being second in his affections again, esteemed less than the ghost of a man who had rejected him, rejected them both.
On All Hallows Eve when Lucerne had bid them both adieu, she’d been too overcome by events to truly take everything in. Now, she swung between resentment and anger towards their former lover and only very rarely felt any sense of longing for what had been.
“You risked killing yourself for that. Can’t you simply accept that life moves on, and accept that episode of our lives is over? Are you so unhappy, Vaughan?”
He stared at her with eyes so deep and black she struggled to find any glimpse of comfort in them. “Some things aren’t meant to be let go.”
She took the locket from his hand. “Get dressed, and don’t worry, I won’t cast this into the fire, there would be no point. You would only reach right in and retrieve it. I don’t want to be responsible for you charring yourself.”
While Vaughan dressed, Bella finished the task of drying the locket. It had survived surprisingly well for its adventures.
“Why do you insist on clinging to the past and what has already been?” Can’t you live in the here and now?
“Why do you insist on attempting to bury it? Do you really believe he wanted it to end, Bella? I don’t think so. What did he say to you that night? Didn’t he attempt to persuade you to go with him? Doesn’t that tell you that he still wants you in his life?”
“I made my choice,” she said.
Vaughan sighed. “You chose to stay with me, and you’re a fool for it.” He reclaimed the necklace, and hung the chain around his neck, so that the pendant rested over his heart in the v of his shirt opening.
“Why am I a fool for being honest about what’s in my heart? If I’d gone with Lucerne, we would both have been deeply unhappy. At least by staying here I was being true to myself.”
“This is my truth, Bella.” He tapped a single digit against the gold.
She turned away on the pretence of warming herself by the fire. Damn him for his truths. Curse his honesty. “Do you mean to go to him?”
“How long do you suppose it would take me to reach him, if I left right away?”
She stamped her foot in vexation, and stalked towards him. “Must you be so foolish and irresponsible? Is it not enough that you’ve already risked frigidity through your antics? You could have waited until daylight to go fishing in the moat, and considered the use of a net instead of exposing yourself. Now, you intend to trek to Yorkshire in the dead of night. The roads are icy, if not snow-covered. There’s every possibility the carriage would overturn.”
Vaughan stood his ground and fastened his dressing gown. “Does it make you feel better to chastise me? I don’t recall saying I was departing for Yorkshire. I only enquired as to how long you supposed it would take to get there.”
“Ooh!” She clenched her fist, wishing there was something to hand that she could hit him with.
Vaughan settled in the armchair and pulled her onto his lap. “Bella.” He used his thumb to lift her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Nothing I’ve done or said here is a surprise. You know that for me, it’s not over between Lucerne and I. I’m not even sure you really believe it’s over between him and you.”
“It most certainly is.”
“As you wish. The point I’m making is that there’s no sense in being vexed by it.”
She couldn’t keep on looking him in the eye. What had sense to do with it? The cruel truth of the matter was that the man she loved, and whose affection she craved, loved someone else instead, and probably always would. It wasn’t a new revelation. She’d been perfectly aware of it for years, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. When Lucerne had left, she’d hoped things would change, but it had been an idle hope. That sort of craving for another person didn’t ease over time. She knew, because she felt that way about Vaughan. Nothing would ever destroy her fascination and need for him, not even the knowledge that her love would never be reciprocated on anything approaching the same level.
She traced the old duelling scar that ran across Vaughan’s ribs, following the silvery pathway with her finger. “What would you do if he were here right now? Would you toss me from your lap?”
“Absolutely not. I’d make love to you.”
“In order to attempt to make him jealous?”
“To show him what he’s been missing and to entice him. We worked well together for a time, did we not? I think once we had all reacquainted ourselves with one another’s touch the barriers to reconciliation would be easily circumvented.”
“But didn’t he leave in the first place because he felt so torn?”
“I think he left because he couldn’t reconcile what he wanted with what he had.”
She wasn’t sure what that even meant. “I thought Lucerne’s issue was that we were constantly at odds and he had no desire to choose between us, something you forced him into doing.”
“He did choose between us, Bella. It just didn’t work out quite as he’d anticipated, because you didn’t react how he imagined you would.”
“Meaning, I suppose, that I didn’t fall into his embrace.”
“Precisely. You came tearing after me instead.”
She churned that particular thought over in her mind a moment. Lucerne had stayed with her in London, and asked her to go north with him to Lauwine, but the magic had gone from their relationship the moment Vaughan wasn’t around. Of course she’d run after him. She’d wanted to recreate things how they were. Now she was wise enough to realise that Lucerne was her rival, and having him around wouldn’t necessarily be a good thing.
Why did the three of them have to be forever locke
d upon a seesaw, the balance of which was constantly shifting? Lucerne had started out in the middle, now Vaughan occupied that position. They were like monkey’s performing a circus act.
“I suppose it must have shocked him deeply when he realised I craved your touch more than his.”
“I think he knew it before you realised it yourself.”
“And you too, I suppose?”
Vaughan shook his head, so that droplets sprayed from the damp ends of his hair.
“Hardly, I have no idea what you find so enthralling about me. I’m anything but pleasant to you.”
Bella traced a finger over the faint line of hair above his lips. “I believe you know perfectly well what I see, but feint ignorance if you wish. In the meantime, we could talk about something else. How about your sister’s involvement with Henry Tristan? Is there to be an announcement soon?”
“What am I supposed to find cheering about the prospect of a wedding? I suppose at least he’s an improvement on the last idiot she set her heart upon. I think we should stick to the topic of Lucerne.”
“Hmm,” she huffed. “Fine. Though I don’t see that there’s anything left to say, unless you’re going to start revealing intimacies.”
He never revealed anything, so there was little prospect of that happening. Vaughan took privacy to the extremes with regards to some aspects of his life, and adopted the opposite extreme with regards to public decency. He thought nothing of tipping her over a drystone wall and swiving her out in the open, or bringing her to climax behind a potted fern at an assembly ball, but ask him about his childhood, his family or his feelings and he generally sneered.
“The date on the pendant isn’t as you suppose the date I first fucked him.”
Bella almost fell off his knee in surprise at the admission. “It isn’t?”
“No, that didn’t happen until after I arrived at Lauwine. The date commemorates the first time Lucerne let his guard down enough to admit he wanted me. It was in Rome. He was exceedingly tipsy, and I gave him the best fellatio he’d had in his life.”
The Ghosts of Christmas Past Page 5
