My Lady's Pleasure

by Julia Justiss

Centered on a tall rise, the dark bulk of what must be forestland behind it, the building glittered in the distance with a summer firefly twinkling of lights. With its dignified grandeur and the beckoning glow from its myriad of mullioned windows, for an instant it seemed to Valeria as if the spirit of Lady Winterdale herself were present to welcome her. Her chest tightened with a bittersweet mingling of gratitude and grief.

  As the carriage halted beside a large brick portico, a liveried footman ran over to let down the steps. “Welcome to Winterpark, my lady,” he said, assisting her out.

  Valeria murmured her thanks and looked over at the handful of retainers who had trotted up to greet Wilkins, tend the horses and begin unstrapping the baggage.

  Teagan dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting groom. “’Tis a lovely new home you have, Lady Arnold.”

  “Yes,” she replied, nerves once again on edge. “Shall we go in?”

  He nodded and followed her up the entry stairs. An austere personage in black livery, the butler by his manner and carriage, opened the massive front door to admit them.

  “Lady Arnold,” he said with a bow as they entered. “On behalf of the staff, may I welcome you to Winterpark. I trust your journey was a pleasant one?” His glance slid to Teagan. “You’ve brought guests, my lady?”

  “Yes. Giddings, is it not? Mr. Fitzwilliams, an acquaintance from London, assisted me after my carriage was attacked yesterday near Dade’s Run.”

  Amid the exclamations of distress from the butler and the two attendant footmen, she continued. “No one was injured, thanks to this gentleman’s timely intervention, but my nerves were sorely shaken. Wishing to reach Winterpark as quickly as possible, I prevailed upon Mr. Fitzwilliams to escort me immediately. My maid is following with the rest of the baggage.”

  Giddings gave Teagan another bow. “Our thanks to you, sir, for rescuing our mistress! The housekeeper, Mrs. Welsh, is supervising the preparation of your bedchambers and will wait upon you shortly, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Giddings. Given the lateness of the hour and my fatigue, I should prefer to see only you and Mrs. Welsh today and meet the rest of the staff tomorrow.”

  “As you wish. When should you like dinner served?”

  Valeria stole a glance at Teagan. He stood silently studying her, a sort of guarded expectancy in his eyes.

  Perhaps he was merely exhausted. He could not have had much sleep the last few days, and had been in the saddle since early morning.

  “Mr. Fitzwilliams, after your many kindnesses, please forgive my being such a poor hostess, but I should really prefer a tray in my rooms tonight.”

  The butler bowed. “Of course, Lady Arnold. Shall I show you both to your chambers?”

  “I would like a brandy in the parlor first,” Teagan said, avoiding Valeria’s glance.

  “Certainly. Robbin?” The butler nodded at a footman, who sprang to attention. “Show Mr. Fitzwilliams to the parlor and pour his cognac. Robbin will convey your dinner order to the kitchens whenever you are ready, sir.”

  “I shall bid you good evening, then, Mr. Fitzwilliams,” Valeria said. “I remain greatly in your debt. Although I shall be much occupied the next few days assuming my duties here, please feel free to remain at Winterpark as long as your plans permit. I’m sure Giddings and the staff will extend to you every courtesy.”

  He raised an eyebrow, as if doubting her words. “Your offer is most kind. Perhaps I shall take you up on it.”

  His tone, too, seemed almost…mocking. Uncertain what to read from it, Valeria hesitated. Finally, conscious of the waiting butler, she said merely, “Good night, Mr. Fitzwilliams.”

  “My lady,” he replied with a deep bow.

  Valeria followed Giddings to the stairs, conscious of Teagan’s gaze still fixed upon her back. Whether he chose to stay—or leave—was up to him. But after his puzzling behavior of the last two days, she could not help feeling a distressingly acute sense of…loss. Evidently the friendship she thought they’d forged in London had been only an illusion of her overhopeful imagination.

  He’d outflanked her first offer, if such it had been, Teagan thought as he fought to hold open his eyes and finish the brandy he’d ordered. With him being shown to his rooms well after she retired, if she had intended to convey, by word or gesture, her willingness to have him join her in her suite, she’d now have no opportunity.

  Would she have extended such an invitation?

  He still couldn’t quite believe she would. But after deliberately keeping his distance all day so as to avoid having her say or infer something that might confirm his worst suspicions, he hadn’t been able to prevent himself from ordering the cognac. Thus guaranteeing that his faith in her honesty could remain unbroken at least one more day.

  She would be occupied with her new responsibilities, she’d said. He should avail himself of the hospitality of Winterpark for as long as he wished.

  Was that truth, or merely polite words meant for the servants’ ears?

  He’d put it to the test, Teagan decided. He would rest here a few days, continue to avoid her company so she might be free to “assume her new duties.” And see how long it took before Valeria Arnold shattered his last illusion by having her unobliging guest evicted.

  He was wrapped in a large, warm cocoon, with crisp clean linen beneath his cheek, his head cradled against a softness like eiderdown—or a woman’s breasts.

  Valeria.

  But as he snapped his eyes open, Teagan discovered himself alone in what turned out to be a very large canopied bed with hangings of rich blue satin. He looked around in bewilderment, the sunshine filtering through the lace veiling the tall windows setting dust motes dancing and making him squint against the brightness.

  Was he back in his grandfather’s chamber at Montford?

  Consciousness, and with it, memory, returned with a jolt. No, not Montford. He was at Winterpark. Valeria Arnold’s newly inherited manor, where she’d invited him to tarry as long as his “plans permitted.”

  Plans she must know were nonexistent.

  Before he could assemble his still-muddled thoughts and decide whether he would in fact tarry, or call for his horse and ride off without seeing her again, a soft tap sounded at his door. A red-haired, freckle-faced young girl in maid’s uniform entered immediately after, a bowl of fresh flowers in her hands.

  She halted in surprise as she noticed him staring. “Ah!” she exclaimed. “’Tis awake ye are at last, sir! Mrs. Welsh was after thinking ye’d sleep the week through.”

  Teagan pulled the sheet to his chin and eased up against the pillows. “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Two nights and most of two days, sir,” she replied, depositing the arrangement of golden daffodils and pink tulips on a side table. “’Tis afternoon now.”

  He must have been more exhausted than he’d realized, he thought in shock. At that moment his stomach growled, protesting its long neglect. “No wonder I’m so famished,” he said ruefully. “Would there be any chance of getting a cup of ale and some cold victuals from the kitchen?”

  “Oh, better than that, sir! Mistress gave orders that we weren’t on no account to disturb ye, but to have a hot meal waiting whenever ye awoke. Oh, and I’m to summon Nichols to assist ye when ye’re ready to bathe and dress. He’s just a footman—our late mistress being a widow so long, we’ve no gentleman’s gentleman about—but Nichols’s uncle is valet to some fancy London gent, and he’s always wanted to take up the trade…But now me tongue’s runnin’ on like a fiddlestick, and here ye be, fair starving!”

  The maid rushed over to give the bell pull a vigorous tug, then turned to make him a curtsy. “I’m Sissy, sir, and we be ever so pleased to welcome ye to Winterpark.”

  Undisturbed rest. A hot meal. The services of a valet—or almost a valet. If Valeria Arnold were trying to entice him to stay, she was certainly making the terms of whatever bargain she eventually wished to strike attractive.

  But after a long rest th
at left him more energized than he’d felt in months, with sunshine to warm his face in a beautifully appointed room where he was being waited upon with such solicitous attention, Teagan found he was no longer so bitterly suspicious. And it was impossible not to respond to the little maid’s loquacious cheerfulness.

  “Is that Irish I hear in your voice, Sissy?”

  “Aye, sir. Lady Winterdale, God rest her soul, had an estate near Killarny, and after her last visit brought me mum back here. I understand ye’re from the fair isle yerself! Which explains how ye come to be so uncommon brave.” The maid’s eyes widened with awe. “By the saints, ’tis but natural ye were worn to a nub! Wilkins says ye vanquished those robbin’ brigands all by yerself!”

  So he was being touted a hero, as well. Teagan couldn’t help grinning. “How many of these brigands did I dispatch? ’Twas rather dark, and I couldn’t see well.”

  “Oh, I disremember—’twas so excitin’, the way Wilkins told it! Despite the rain and gloom, he says ye shot one of ’em from long range clean through the shoulder, and disarmed another afore he could move! ’Tis no wonder our new mistress feels so beholdin’, ye savin’ her baubles and rescuin’ her person from—” the maid halted, her freckled cheeks pinking “—a-an Awful Fate! ’Tis grateful we all are to ye, sir, for protectin’ Lady Arnold. She’s not so grand as the old mistress, but she’s ever so kind, and—ah, here I go ablatherin’ again. I’d best be gettin’ back to the kitchen afore me mum takes a birch rod to me. Yer food will be up directly, and ye’re to ring for Nichols when ye’re ready.”

  With another curtsy, the little maid bustled out.

  Teagan stretched back in the soft bed and stared at the intricate patterns on the mullioned ceiling. If one were going to have one’s illusions shattered, as least it eased the sting to have the carnage take place in such luxurious surroundings.

  But perhaps, for once, he had encountered someone who truly was as honorable as she appeared. Even given the beauty of these splendid surroundings, that would be the most wonderful awakening of all.

  An hour later, fed, bathed and groomed nearly as well as Ailainn by the eager ministrations of his would-be valet, Teagan left his luxurious chamber.

  Lady Arnold, he was told when he inquired of the servant leading him on a tour through the house, had ridden out to inspect some of the tenant farms. In her absence, however, the mistress invited him to avail himself of the fine table here in the billiard room, or select from the assortment of instruments there in the music room, or take out a weapon from the gun room, should he wish to try the hunting in the home woods. When the young man opened the door to display the next grand chamber, however, Teagan knew he need explore no further.

  Having been told all his life he was destined for the fiery pit, Teagan had never given much consideration to what heaven would look like. But as he stood on its threshold, the thought suddenly occurred that for him, this room would be its very image. Inhaling sharply with awe and delight, he walked into Winterpark’s library.

  Except for the fireplace wall and a mullioned window overlooking what appeared to be a rose garden, the large room was entirely given over to bookcases. A small fire burned in the grate to ward off the afternoon chill, adding a piquant hint of wood smoke to the familiar odors of leather binding and aged vellum.

  Excitement swelling his chest, Teagan dismissed the footman and hurried to the nearest bookshelf, which, he soon discovered, housed what appeared to be a complete selection of Shakespeare. From there he wandered around the circumference of the room, trailing his fingers reverently over the best collection of fiction, poetry, philosophy, natural science and ancient literature he’d been privileged to gaze upon since leaving Oxford.

  Behind the fretwork doors of a secretary near the window, he found some of his dearest friends: Plato, Horace, Virgil, Homer. Drawing out a volume, he sank down into the leather wing chair beside the secretary, and with the joyous thankfulness of one who, after a long, dangerous journey, at last reaches safe haven, began to read.

  Some time later he looked up, startled to note that the daylight by which he’d begun had been replaced by a golden glow of candles he didn’t remember lighting. His stomach once again protested his inattention.

  He cast a glance at the large clock ticking on the mantel; ’twas nearly time for dinner. He would have to put up the book and return to his rooms to dress. After having abandoned his hostess for two entire days, he should try to be at his most entertaining tonight.

  But as he walked to the desk to search for a marker, his hands stilled on the page. Buttressed by unpleasant memory, his suspicions returned with a rush.

  Since he was traveling in the same direction, he’d offered to escort home the rich widow who’d befriended him at the house party they’d just attended—and been unexpectedly invited to sojourn there. Having lost heavily that week, he’d gratefully accepted….

  Enough, he thought, pushing the degrading images away.

  He turned to leave, then halted. Having reached one of his favorite passages, he really did not wish to abandon his book and go to dinner. Perhaps he would request that a tray be brought to him in the library.

  If he did, would Lady Arnold come in later, her slender form displayed in a tantalizing cloud of low-cut silk, her dark brows creased in annoyance, her voice subtly shaded with the inference that he owed her his company at table…and elsewhere? As had that other matron in another library, at another needy time in his life?

  And should he refuse her unspoken command, would he find himself shown the door, dismissed as precipitously as he’d been that long-ago evening?

  Carefully Teagan marked his place and walked to the bell pull. He’d have his dinner here at the desk.

  And discover this very night whether Valeria Arnold was indeed a treasure like finest gold—or merely another of the brassy imitations he’d been encountering all his life.

  As if from far away, the sound of persistent tapping gradually intruded upon Teagan’s consciousness. Someone was knocking at the library door, he realized.

  Before he could brace himself for an encounter with a possibly indignant Lady Arnold, Giddings entered.

  “Will there be anything else tonight, sir? My mistress instructed you were not to be disturbed, but ’tis late and I wish to retire.” A trace of unbutlerlike aggravation altered his normally impassive expression.

  Teagan glanced at the mantel clock—and was shocked to find it after midnight. “N-no, nothing, thank you, Giddings. I hadn’t realized the time. Please send the footmen to bed, as well. I can find my way unassisted.”

  “Thank you, sir, and good night. I’ll have Robbin bring you additional wine and candles.” The butler bowed and turned to leave.

  “Giddings!” Teagan called after him.

  “Sir?”

  “Has…has your mistress retired yet?”

  The butler stiffened. “Several hours ago. I should be loath to rouse her, sir, as she begins her duties—”

  “No, I didn’t mean that you should.” The staff seemed properly protective of its new mistress—a testimony to how quickly Lady Arnold had taken over the reins. “I wished to know her…whereabouts, that was all,” he finished lamely. “Good night, Giddings.”

  The butler gave him a wondering look, which Teagan supposed he deserved, and bowed himself out.

  Teagan glanced from the mantel clock about to chime the astonishing hour of one, to the remains of his dinner, to the door through which the butler had just disappeared.

  The door through which Valeria Arnold had not entered.

  His spirits leapt and a smile blossomed on his face.

  Perhaps his Lady Mystery wasn’t an illusion, after all.

  After Robbin brought in his supper tray earlier this evening, Teagan had sat tensed, ears tuned for the sound of footsteps as he ate, only one eye on his book. But as the mantel clock ticked away and no lady in an evening gown and an aggrieved attitude appeared to interrupt him, the words of Homer worked th
eir usual magic. His mind slipped back to the vicissitudes of Odysseus’s journey, both his dinner and his dilemma forgotten.

  As if summoned by his thoughts, Robbin reappeared with a tray bearing wax tapers and another decanter of wine. Thanking him for both, Teagan bade him good-night.

  He listened as the servant walked back down the hall, his muffled footfalls gradually fading into a silence broken only by the occasional creak of several-hundred-year-old Elizabethan beams and the soft scuffling of the nocturnal creatures in the garden outside the window.

  Leaving him once more alone in a dwelling filled with peace and beauty, free to enjoy an activity far different from those transpiring in the overcrowded rooms he would normally occupy at this hour. Where, by rights, he ought to be seated now, stomach churning from too little food and too much cheap liquor, nerves taut as he counted cards and calculated wagers, eyes burning from smoke and liquor fumes, ears assaulted by raucous laughter and loud voices. A seat he would be occupying, had he not met Valeria.

  Oh yes, she’d realized the full import of his circumstances practically from the moment she recognized him after the attack on her carriage. With the empathy of a kindred soul, and a keen sensitivity for his self-esteem, she’d quietly, generously given him this opportunity to rest and refresh his badly battered spirit.

  Teagan tried to remember another place and time he’d been offered shelter, food and diversion, for which some service had not been exacted in return.

  His mother’s family had begrudged him the very air he occupied and the morsels he consumed, making him pay with slights, insults and blows endured for every day of charity they’d resentfully provided. At the dubious haven of Eton he’d had to beguile his schoolmates with quips and tricks to earn the pennies that kept him from starving between terms. At Oxford…he still could not bring himself to think back on the devastation of Oxford.

  And in the years since, the charming rogue’s persona he’d perfected in the wake of his banishment had been welcomed at gaming rooms, dinners and house parties only as long as he entertained while plying the cards of his trade.