by Sahara Kelly
“You devil. You did have a plan.” Charlotte beamed. “And a good one. Now we have a reason to slow down on the digging, keep people away from the site and divert their attention to wherever we want.”
“Exactly. And it seems that as far away from that tunnel as we can get would be a good place to say we found our artifact.”
She tucked her arm through his and they began to walk toward the Harbury Hall kitchens where they would announce their find. “And tell me, James. Just how did we happen to find that spear head?”
James looked self-conscious. “Never mind.”
*~~*~~*
Lady Harbury was elated, but not at the discovery of some ancient bit of weaponry in one of her hillsides.
She was reveling in the newly established tranquility of Harbury Hall, as evinced by the docile and malleable Lord of the Manor.
It was true. The elixir created by Somerly and Granville had taken effect quite quickly. Stephen had hurried to tell her the morning after his initial dose; His Lordship had slept like a baby and woken with much less animosity that usual. His morning tempers were legendary, but not on this particular morning.
And there had been none since then. Now almost a fortnight had passed, and progress had been quite astounding. There were no more tantrums, no more screaming vile and filthy curses at anyone who crossed him, and best of all, no need for Alwynne to walk in the shadows of fear anymore.
She could sleep the night through, never worrying that she might rise to find more bodies to dispose of, or reasons to summon Robert and Arthur for clean up duties.
She could even visit her husband herself, now and again.
He sat quietly in a chair near the window. Young Tom indicated he’d asked for a seat there, where he could see over the Harbury estate and into the distant hills. He spent many hours there, added Tom, whose writing was barely legible.
Alwynne was amazed. And very pleased. Very, very pleased.
Her world was starting to right itself and she allowed herself the luxury of looking toward the future, something she’d refrained from doing until now. With Randall all but incapacitated, and spending his life staring from his window, she could legitimately assume the reins of the estate. She didn’t particularly crave power, but if the opportunity arose, she wasn’t fool enough to turn it down.
She had also been able to truly enjoy Stephen’s company. And the rest of him. It had become her habit to ask him to join her in her rooms, ostensibly to discuss Lord Randall’s health.
She craved Stephen like an addict craving opium. Craved the sensation of him stretching and filling her, craved the scent of his body and the feel of his hands roughly gripping her silken flesh.
She was becoming voracious in her appetites, often demanding his body several times a night. He was able to keep up with her, but admitted she wore him out more often than not.
There were brief moments when Alwynne wondered about that. Why she was so intense about sex with Stephen. Was it him? Probably not, since she didn’t find herself thinking so much about him as a person. To her, he was becoming a toy, a plaything.
Someone she could use to pleasure herself whenever she felt like. And she was feeling like it more and more. Oddly enough, most of the time she couldn’t actually recall Stephen’s features, just his body and what it could do for and to hers.
Something inside her mind tried to tell her that should concern her, but she ignored it, as she ignored so many things that didn’t matter to her. As she strolled through the corridor leading to her parlor, she smiled and took a deep liberating breath.
Her life was now what it should be, filled with luxuries, money and beauty. And a man who would obey her every sexual whim.
Who needed a husband, anyway? They were nothing but nuisances. And God knew she’d had enough of her own. Not to mention a couple of other husbands she’d dallied with in the past.
She reached her favorite room and walked to the window, appreciating the irony of pulling aside the curtain and looking out over the gardens, much as her idiot mad husband.
She could look fondly on the neat hedges and the winter ready garden. She knew the work that went into keeping it all perfect and the people whose livelihood depended on the generosity of the Harburys.
She enjoyed that position, knowing that she was at the top of the tree when it came to the citizenry of this part of Hampshire. She was feted and courted and complimented fulsomely wherever she went.
Her personal regeneration vapors were largely responsible for that, she admitted. And turning from the window she crossed to her hidey-hole, opened the bookshelf and unfurled the tubing. She needed a quick pick-me-up. And then she might just take a walk. The sun was shining, or trying to, and it wasn’t snowing yet. A little brisk air would feel wonderful.
She inhaled the sharp snap of the vapor and smiled.
Yes, life was definitely looking up.
She had to deal with her servants who were not used to their mistress walking out alone like this. Her butler frowned, and her maid twittered nervously as she helped with the warm out garments.
But it was her choice. Her life. And today she chose to enjoy a rare expedition into total freedom.
Wrapped in her favorite winter cloak with the black fox hood, she stepped out into air that could best be described as frigid. But something about the near bitter chill excited her nerves and made her want to dance and sing. She happily blew clouds of breath into the air, watching the steam dissipate against the steel blue sky.
The drive beckoned and she walked down the front steps and out onto the gravel, relishing the crisp crunch of her boots.
This was living. A light heart, a light step and nothing but pleasures to be enjoyed and savored at her whim. Some icy patches still lingered in the shade of the shrubs but she avoided those and strolled onward.
The gatehouse was empty, since no guests were expected for some time…at least until the Christmas season began, if then. In past years, Alwynne had managed to find excuses, putting off anything in the way of large holiday gatherings. There were no big parties at Harbury celebrating the joyous occasion of the Savior’s birth. No Yule logs burning or lovely decorated trees in various rooms of the Hall. It was a custom introduced by Prince Albert, and had quickly become a popular tradition.
Alwynne had inevitably heaved a sigh of relief as the old year turned to new, marking the end of the season she’d had to avoid.
All because of Randall.
But this year…oh yes. This year would be different. This year she could finally open the ballroom, hire an orchestra and give a Christmas ball that would put Harbury back on the list of must-visit estates during the winter. She’d nurtured her summer events and blessed the Fates for keeping her husband as sane as possible.
This last one, however, had marked the disappearance of that dratted Fielding girl, and since then it seemed Harbury had been under a cloud of misfortune after misfortune.
But the tide would turn, Alwynne knew. It had to. She was the one who would accomplish it by planning an extravaganza the likes of which would be remembered in Little Harbury and most of the rest of Hampshire as well, as one of the most magnificent events in recent memory.
Her thoughts wandered over potential guests, the list in her mind growing as she added names, discarded others and weighed the value of various titles against their position in Society.
She barely realized she’d left Harbury Hall grounds until the ground over which she walked became very hard and she found herself on the road to Little Harbury.
The carriage tracks were frozen solid; the rain of the past weeks having produced a mud that turned to stone when the temperature dropped. Few people risked journeying in their mechanical machines once it became this cold. Engines were unpredictable in their response to snow and freezing winds.
In fact this was the season that reduced England back to the stage of traditional behaviors, as if the gales and storms shook the mechanical creations into submission, encouragi
ng the tried-and-true to return for a while.
Whimsical thoughts, but Alwynne enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of indulging in them.
So involved with her own musings was she that she didn’t realize a carriage was heading her way until it rounded the bend and made her gasp. With a quick move that a dance master would have applauded, she leapt to one side of the lane, pirouetting away from the wheels of the vehicle.
The driver pulled his horse to a halt within moments and jumped down, hurrying to Alwynne’s side in evident concern.
“Madame…I am so very sorry. This was entirely my fault. Are you injured?”
Alwynne looked up into the face of the man who had his arm around her. She saw piercing eyes in a finely chiseled face, rich brown hair beneath his tall hat and a dashing moustache and beard framing sensual lips.
Oh my. He is…divine.
“The blame is quite mine, sir. I failed to see your carriage until the last moment.”
“You must let me convey you home. I should never forgive myself should you be injured or upset. Such a cold day and this shock…”
He had a slight accent, she realized. It made him even more attractive. She gave a slight shiver. “I confess I’d not realized quite how chilly it is. Foolish of me, but I love the winter air.”
He smiled then, revealing white teeth. Goodness, the man was quite outstanding. If he fucked anywhere near as good as he looked…
“Then give me your direction, Winter Goddess. I shall be honored to be your coachman and return you to Olympus where you belong.”
Well, that was a little over the top, but Alwynne wasn’t about to complain. She merely smiled back at him. “I’m no goddess, sir. My home is a mile or so up the road…in the direction you are traveling, it would seem. It’s called Harbury. Harbury Hall. And I am Alwynne Harbury.”
“My lady.” He bowed slightly. “This is indeed fortuitous. I am traveling to that same destination.” He leaned a little closer and tightened his arm around her shoulders.
She felt heat stirring low in her body and knew her cheeks were flushing. She also knew it had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with the man holding her.
“Then by all means let us travel together. I accept your offer, sir. May I know your name?”
“Forgive me. Your beauty has driven all thoughts from my head. I am Gerolf. Gerolf von Landau. And I am invited to visit the Harbury Hall laboratory facilities.”
She accepted his hand and mounted the step leading to the high carriage seat. He hurried around the horse’s head and joined her with a quick move.
“This is indeed a happy coincidence, then, Mr. von Landau.”
He reached beneath the seat and pulled a thick fur blanket free, tucking it solicitously around Alwynne. “You are warm?”
She laughed. “Now I am, yes.”
“Good. We will be on our way then.” He clicked the reins and the carriage moved off, bumping a little as the ruts took the wheels awkwardly and rattled them until they slipped smoothly into the frozen lane.
He glanced over at her, his face glowing with a combination of the cool breeze and what she hoped was warmth toward herself. “Just to keep everything correct, I am Baron von Landau. At your service.” He chuckled delightfully. “And I know I will enjoy my sojourn in your laboratories.”
“You will be working there?” Alwynne was surprised. It was the first she’d heard of it.
“Indeed, yes. The letter of invitation from your Lord Randall Harbury came some months ago, but I was overseas at the time.”
She was quiet for a moment as she digested this information. “May I inquire as to the subject of your work, Baron?”
He kept his eyes on the lane, but his lips curved into a strange little smile. “I study the mind, my dear. The human mind.”
Chapter 12
Portia cursed as a snowflake tumbled from the sky and landed on her nose. Just what she needed. She’d been up at the Dower House finishing her cleaning chores and had run a bit behind, since she’d been nosing around trying to find out what was, colloquially speaking, up.
She was peeved that she’d found nothing at all to indicate what was either up or down.
And now it was starting to snow.
She hurried back to Harbury, running the last little way so as not to get too dampened by the increasing number of flakes that had finally decided to make winter’s arrival official. The earlier sunshine had been a mere tease.
Bursting into the kitchens, she saw what seemed like a crowd gathered around the table.
“Just in time, Mary.” Mr. Enry turned in his chair and beckoned her. “Come ‘an ‘ave a look at what’s bin found.”
She shook out her coat and hung it on a peg, then walked to the knot of people and shouldered her way through a couple of maids and a footman.
“Oh my. You found a…er…what?”
“It’s a Bronze Age spearhead, as near as I can tell without spending some time cleaning it off and putting it under my microscope.”
“Ain’t she the clever one, eh?” Mr. Enry looked approvingly at Charlotte.
“She is that.” Portia nodded.
“Well, then, girl. Best be headed out. It looks like snow soon.” Inspector Burke patted her on the shoulder. “And I’ll make sure you get back to Little Harbury, Mrs. Howell. Not a good night to be walking on your own down icy lanes.”
“Good lad.” Mr. ‘Enry looked approvingly at Burke. “Always take care of the ladies, I say.”
Thankfully he didn’t have chance to say much more, since all three were anxious to quit the kitchen and get back to James’s cottage. There were matters to be discussed, and quickly now as matters had progressed.
Portia knew that no artifact would have made an appearance unless the excavation had revealed something important and she was all but dancing with curiosity.
“Tell me,” she urged as the lights of Harbury receded into the murky and snowy dusk.
“Not here. Not yet.” James made sure he had an arm through each of theirs as he hurried them the half mile to his cottage.
Portia was glad of the support, since the frozen path beneath her feet was uneven. Charlotte stumbled once or twice, but laughed it off as James kept her upright.
Their breaths crystallized and the snow began to thicken around them as they all but ran to the door of their destination.
James pulled them all inside, lit a lamp and then firmly shut the door. “Coats spread out, please, ladies. Get them as dry as possible. I think we may need them again. I’ll get the fire going if you, Charlotte, would be kind enough to put the kettle on. There should still be some embers in the stove. Portia, you need to change into something warm and practical.”
“It’s tonight, isn’t it?” She barely breathed the words.
“I think so. We can’t wait for a better time.”
“Go, dear. We’ll talk when you come down.” Charlotte urged her onward.
Portia scurried up the narrow stairs to her attic room and quickly slipped off the maid’s uniform, donning a warm woolen shirt and a shocking pair of rough wool breeches she’d “borrowed” from one of the stable boys at Chase Park a long time ago. She never could understand why she’d packed them when she became “Mary Jones” and started working at Harbury.
But then again, she hadn’t known she had a psychical ability until she’d met Devon.
Whatever the reason, she was thankful she had them, since with warm socks covering her feet and ankles inside her boots, she would be quite protected against the elements. Absently touching the surface of her constant companion, her Jallai, she wondered if its power would be needed soon. How it worked, she didn’t know. But that it did was her constant comfort. The elegantly wrought coils and swirls formed some kind of power focus, allowing her to produce a beam of extraordinary energy from its tip. It encircled her arm like a delicate cuff, extending from her pulse point to almost the bend of her elbow. Over the past few months it had become a part of her, an exte
nsion of her mind.
Or at least that’s how she looked at it.
And again, she wondered if tonight it would help her to save Devon. Whatever it took, she promised herself. Whatever it took.
She was downstairs in less than five minutes, dashing into the kitchen. “Well?”
“Sit, Portia. We need to think things through very carefully now.” James was stern. “You need to eat something. It might well be a long night and you’ll need your strength. All of us will.”
“He’s right, dear.” Charlotte dealt with the kettle, teapot and cups. “Now that we’ve found the tunnel if we wait around someone else will find it as well. Whatever we’re going to do it has to be tonight and you’ve been working all day. So take five minutes, sit and have a bite, and let’s strategize.”
Portia gave up the battle. She wanted to rush out and rescue Devon, of course. But faced with such inescapable logic from the two people she trusted most, she surrendered.
Tea it was.
*~~*~~*
The onset of a potential snowstorm didn’t diminish the excitement in the covered carriage that had been provided to bring Mary O’Malley and her twin protégés to Harbury’s Dower House.
Maisie and Daisy were beside themselves, especially when informed by Mary of how much money had been offered for the pleasure of their virginity.
“’Ow much?” Maisie’s eyes were huge.
Daisy gulped. “You pulling me leg, Miss Mary?”
“No, girls.” Mary grinned at the two of them. “There will be half a dozen gentlemen and they’ve each put fifty guineas into the pot. There’s going to be some card games and other things, and the two winners of the evening will be your first customers.”
“But that’s…that’s…” Daisy stuttered, the numbers obviously proving to be a bit of a challenge.
“That’s over a hundred and fifty quid.”
“And you girls get half.”
Two pairs of eyes got even wider and two mouths opened in shock.
Mary shifted as the carriage hit a bump, and tucked her coat around her knees. “Yes, I know it’s a lot, but don’t thank me. You two are making tonight possible, dears. So you’re definitely entitled to half the profits.”
