by Cheryl Bolen
"Anything I can help you with?" she questioned.
A pensive grin replaced his stare as he met her gaze and shook his head. "Actually I was thinking of John Donne's wisdom for I have learned that no man, indeed, is an island."
"And what does that have to do with your book?"
"Everything," he said softly, warmth in his eyes. "The book would never be more than a distant dream had I continued to live as a soul far apart from others of like mind." His eyes held hers intently, and she felt as if the very air was draining from her body. "You have been very good for me," he said.
"I've done nothing a good secretary could not have done," she answered.
"I'm not just talking about the book. You've brought life to the abbey--and you amuse me. I now have a partner for backgammon and cribbage and chess--"
"And Sunday morning worship service. The pious Mr. Donne would be happy indeed in my influence," she said lightly.
He frowned. "You take compliments poorly, Miss Lambeth."
He was right! While she felt coming to Marshbanks Abbey the best thing that had ever happened to her, she found it hard to believe Lord Stacks could reap any benefit from her. "It is just that I cannot imagine your lordship needing the society of anyone, much less an unaccomplished girl such as myself."
"You underestimate your many accomplishments." He took up his pen, but instead of resuming his writing, he continued. "Until you came I had no idea how lonely the abbey was."
Now she was sure the air necessary for speech had been sapped from her. She could not have replied had her very life depended on it.
Eason knocked, then entered the room. "A Mr. John Rountree begs a visit with Miss Lambeth."
Freddie's glance darted to her guardian.
He smiled. "Miss Lambeth will meet with the gentleman presently. Tell Mrs. Taylor her presence is immediately desired in the great room."
Once Eason closed the door, Lord Stacks smiled. "My plan goes well."
She placed her hands on her hips in mock indignation, and had no trouble now finding her voice. "And what plan might that be?"
"My scheme to find you a suitable husband, Miss Lambeth."
"I beg you not have me at the altar with the unfortunate Mr. Rountree. I daresay he is only being courteous."
"Stand up and let me see if you will do."
She rose and turned around gracefully, dipping him a curtsey as she finished. She wore a simple rose-colored muslin day dress of good lines. It accentuated the blush of her cheeks. "I feel like a horse at Tattersall's being auctioned to the highest bidder."
"The analogy does not apply at all. You are a lovely young lady." A flicker of a smile passed across his face. "Maggie has once again done well with your hair." His eyes followed the length of her body. "The dress is passable for a morning call. Enjoy yourself with Mr. Rountree. He is said to be a most eligible catch." Lord Stacks lifted his pen.
"But I, my lord, am not fishing," she snapped as she proudly strode to the door.
Much to her surprise, Mrs. Taylor had reached the great hall before Freddie. To Freddie's even greater surprise, Mrs. Taylor had taken no pains with her hair but had swept it under a widow's cap. It was the first time Freddie had ever seen her wear the cap.
"Here's Miss Lambeth," Mrs. Taylor announced in sugary tones as Rountree got to his feet and bowed to her. How grandly he dressed for a morning call in his gray pantaloons, a double-breasted scarlet velvet top coat with a black satin waistcoat. Freddie found herself wondering if such dress was derigueur for the country.
"At your service, Miss Lambeth."
She dropped a quick curtsey, then sat on the sofa by Mrs. Taylor as he returned to his chair facing them.
"I was just inquiring about Mr. Rountree's family," said Mrs. Taylor. "Unfortunately, he lost his papa rather recently and, being the eldest son, cut short his studies at Cambridge to come home and oversee his family's holdings."
"My sympathies on the loss of your father," Freddie said softly.
"And such a distress it must have been to suddenly be forced to leave your friends at school," Mrs. Taylor added.
"Yes, quite," the young man said. "Miss my friends dreadfully. Was particular friends with the Viscount Mannington, you know."
"How delightful!" Mrs. Taylor said.
Freddie wondered if that were a name she was supposed to know.
"Actually," he said, "can't say that I miss the studies. Deuced difficult they were. Glad I am to be away from them."
"Are there many people of your age hereabouts?" Freddie inquired. She guessed him to be a year or two older than she.
"Company is bloody thin here," he answered.
"Lord Stacks plans to hold a ball," Mrs. Taylor announced proudly.
The young gentleman's eyes lit up. "That so?"
"It will be a good way for me to meet what my guardian calls the good people of Yorkshire."
"I daresay the field of genteel young people hereabouts is slim," he said, a frown on his face. "My brother, Luke, I am sure, would treasure an invitation to the ball. He is a curate at a village about twenty miles away."
Mrs. Taylor raised an inquisitive brow. "Is he married?"
Mr. Rountree shook his head.
"What age is he?" Freddie asked.
"Twenty-two. He's just a year younger than I."
"I suspect the two of you are very close," Freddie said.
He nodded. "Have you brothers and sisters, Miss Lambeth?"
"No," she answered. "I envy you that. I cannot tell you how I have always longed to have brothers and sisters."
"I should be most happy to give you one of mine," he said, a smile covering his nice looking face. For Rountree was quite handsome, a fact that had not escaped Freddie's notice at church the day before. He was as tall as Lord Stacks and had dark hair, also, though Rountree's hair layered so carelessly she knew he must have spent a great deal of time to achieve so casual an effect. He was more powerfully built than her guardian, and she suspected he would grow fat by the time he was the age of Lord Stacks. His laughing, perfectly chiseled face featured the most extraordinary set of white teeth she had ever seen. And the man--who smiled readily--was well aware of his dazzling smile.
"I've three brothers and five sisters," he continued.
"Your family alone assures our ball great success," Freddie said, a gleam in her eye.
Eason stepped into the room and announced that Dr. Edgekirth was calling.
Freddie was growing more comfortable commanding servants. "Ask him to come in here," she instructed Eason.
Edgekirth swept into the room, his eyes alight until he saw Rountree stand. He bowed first to Freddie, then to Mrs. Taylor. Lastly, he turned to Rountree. "Your servant, Rountree," he said, a hostile edge to his voice.
"I am just becoming acquainted with Mr. Rountree," Freddie told the doctor as he sat in another chair facing the sofa.
"We informed him of the ball," Mrs. Taylor added, her face glowing. "Mr. Rountree's sisters should assure many young ladies in attendance. Do you know them, Doctor?"
"Yes," he said, his smoldering eyes on Freddie.
Freddie noted the difference between the doctor's simple country clothes and Mr. Rountree's. She thought she preferred the doctor's.
"Dr. Edgekirth and I have become great friends," Freddie told her caller. "We have discovered we have much in common since my father was a surgeon, and I assisted him from my earliest youth."
Edgekirth smiled. "If you put it that way, Rountree will think you're a novice since you're still so very young."
Freddie frowned at the doctor. "You've never before remarked on my youth. I had hoped you thought me quite mature." That was the way she wanted to appear. Especially to her guardian. She wished he were here now. What was he doing? Was he working in the garden? She pictured him, coat off, sleeves pushed up, stooped over one of his plants, and she wished she could be with him this very minute and not here in the great room with two men who were doing their best to win h
er favor. A favor she could never grant either of them.
"You are wise beyond your years," Edgekirth said gently.
Looking at Rountree, Freddie said proudly, "I have made some elixir for Dr. Edgekirth's gout patients."
"She is as learned as any apothecary in London, I'll wager," Edgekirth said.
Rountree frowned. "Never heard of a woman doctoring."
Freddie ignored the rebuke and addressed the doctor again. "Did you know the vicar asked me to provide him with a remedy for the wind that plagues him."
Mrs. Taylor coughed.
"I shall make a distillation of dill and white wine," Freddie added, "for the vicar's wind complaints."
"Did you not tell me, Miss Lambeth, you would show me your guardian's garden?" Rountree asked.
"Oh, yes." Freddie stood. "Come with me now."
"You must first get your bonnet," Mrs. Taylor reminded.
***
Though Stacks would have preferred a titled gentleman for Freddie, he knew he was aiming too high. But the Rountree family was one of the most respected in the area. They had been landed gentry in these parts since the first Baron Stacks had settled Marshbanks Abbey. And the eldest son, John, would do well for Freddie. Quite a handsome young man. Just the right age for her. He dressed as a pink of the ton--too showy for Stacks' taste--but, then, Stacks had been long from London. The fellow was likely the first stare of fashion.
Stacks plucked some bulbs from the fertile soil. He would put those away in order to plant summer blooms.
"There you are!" Freddie said to him. "I've brought visitors to see your garden. Would it be excessively rude of me to ask you to show them around?"
"Not at all," Stacks said, swiping his hands together to remove the dirt before he stood up.
"I will pinch off some dill for the vicar's decoction," Freddie said, skittering off to the other side of the quadrangle, Marmalade following her until he got the scent of catmint and stopped to attack the bush.
Stacks began to walk the paths and discuss his plantings with the two men. He launched into a discussion of the genuses and species. "Of which I am sure you'll readily recall, Rountree, coming so freshly from Cambridge."
"Can't say as I do," Rountree answered. "Bloody boring to me. Never could master all those Latin terms. Daresay we've no use whatsoever for the language. My poor father, bless his departed soul, spent twenty quid on tutors for me, and still it's all bloody Greek to me, if you know what I mean."
Stacks' brows drew together as he strode along. No, Stacks thought, Rountree would not do at all for Freddie. The man would bore her to distraction.
Stacks bent to snap off an orange rose, his finger impaling a long thorn. He issued a curse.
Freddie dashed over to him. "Are you hurt, my lord?"
A narrow stream of blood flowed from his finger. "It's merely a prick," he said. "Forgive my language, Miss Lambeth. I am unused to having a lady around."
"La!" Freddie said, taking his hand and pulling the large thorn out. A smaller one remained embedded in the skin. "I shall procure a piece of Scabious. Applied directly to your finger, it will draw out that nasty thorn."
She scurried off to find the Scabious and was back a minute later, clutching the fuzzy stalk in her slender hand. She took his hand in hers, her brows lowered, as she worked on his hand. Her touch was light and gentle, like her voice. Against every shred of decency within him, Stacks found himself stirred by her touch. His breath grew short, and he felt himself hardening. He thought of having her youthful body beneath him.
Then Freddie's face turned to Elizabeth's and he remembered lying over her, her naked body writhing under him, satin bands tying her wrists to the bed. And he was utterly sickened.
He jerked his hand from Freddie. "Allow me to clean up. I fear the blood has gotten on my clothes." He spun on his boot heel and left the quadrangle.
***
When she finished showing the gentlemen the garden, Mr. Rountree politely took his leave, telling Freddie he would enjoy calling on her again.
Edgekirth was not so polite. "Could you honor me with a walk about the park, Miss Lambeth?" he asked.
Would she need to send back for Mrs. Taylor to accompany them, Freddie wondered. The park was not the woods. They would be on plain view from all the windows on the abbey's rear wall. "A short walk," Freddie said. "A thrilling French lesson awaits me."
He offered her his arm. "You do have my sympathy, Miss Lambeth. I found French extremely challenging and never gained any proficiency."
"With Mrs. Taylor as my model," Freddie said with a little laugh, "I fear I will never speak with even a remotely correct accent."
Freddie had determined they would walk the perimeter of the park just one time, then she would beg to return to the abbey.
"I did not at all like to see Mr. Rountree here today," Edgekirth said straight away.
"The man is not objectionable, otherwise my guardian would not have allowed the visit."
"He is objectionable only to me, as is any man who pays you court," Edgekirth said.
Her pulse beat rapidly. Was Edgekirth going to declare himself? She took great interest in watching her slippers slap at the pebbled path. "I hardly think one friendly visit could be called paying court."
"I should not like any man to pay you court, you know." He placed a hand over hers.
She quickened her step, hoping to get back to the abbey before he addressed her romantically. "If only my guardian shared your feelings," Freddie said lightly. "I fear he would consider himself blessed were men to fall at my feet, begging my hand. And, I assure you, it is the last thing I should want."
"You do not want to wed?"
"Oh goodness no! I am but eighteen. I am ill prepared to select a life's mate."
"I must say that news distresses me, Miss Lambeth, for I have known for some time that you are precisely the one I would select for a life's mate, but I am prepared to wait until you are ready, my dear."
They were almost back to the abbey. She stopped and peered into his earnest gaze. "I beg you say no more. I don't know if I'll ever be ready."
He raised a brow, a look of concern sweeping across his face. "Is there someone else?"
Was there, she wondered. She compared every man to her guardian. And they all came up wanting. No man could ever measure up to him.
Suddenly, like a meteor streaking through the inky heavens, she realized she was, indeed, in love with her guardian. She loved him as deeply as the need to draw breath. And she had not even a flicker of hope she could ever attach his feelings.
She could not answer Edgekirth.
"Is it Stacks?"
"I assure you, Lord Stacks thinks of me as he would a daughter. He has told me so. He would be angered by your accusation."
"But I didn't ask about his feelings," he said sternly. "I asked about yours."
Freddie could not lie. She had never lied in her life. "I think my guardian is the most wonderful man who ever lived."
Edgekirth's face clouded, a flash of anger in his eyes. "Stacks is a cruel man, and I fear for your very safety while you live under his roof."
Her eyes rounded. "My safety? Pray tell, why?"
"Because of the horrible things that happened to his wife."
Her heart hammered. "What horrible things?"
"When she walked along the lake with her husband, she fell down the embankment, bruising herself horribly, before nearly drowning."
"But I am sure Lord Stacks would have pulled her from the water, even at risk of his own safety!" Freddie defended, her chin high, her voice shaking with anger.
"He did," Edgekirth said grimly. "Then another time as Stacks drove his wife in his curricle, she fell out and broke several bones."
"Accidents do occur, doctor," Freddie said harshly.
"The poor woman was so horribly abused I cannot but believe her husband was responsible for her death."
By now they had circled the park and had come back to the abbey. Fre
ddie wanted to know how the beautiful Elizabeth had died. Yet she didn't. Placing her hand on the door, she turned to Edgekirth. "Were you in love with Elizabeth?"
He swallowed. "Yes."
She swept open the door that had been cut into the bricks on the rear of the abbey and strode purposely toward the great room, her whole body trembling from Edgekirth's accusations.
***
The girl didn't look anything like Elizabeth, Stacks thought, sitting at his desk, cursing himself for having had sexual feelings for sweet, innocent Freddie. Why had the girl reminded him of Elizabeth? It was the way her touch made him feel. Like when he was young and panting after Elizabeth. Before Elizabeth was his wife and became demanding in bed.
Freddie opened the door to his library. "Would it inconvenience you, my lord, to give me a lesson on the pianoforte now?"
God but she looked innocent standing there with her windswept sable hair gently curling about her youthful face. How young she seemed with faint freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose! Far too innocent for the likes of him.
He rose and walked toward her. "It is a pleasure to witness your progress, Miss Lambeth. You are an apt student. Then, too, I know you spend much time practicing." Watching her progress at her playing had brought him great satisfaction. He felt like a sculptor encouraging his creation to take shape. Knowing he had some small part in her glorious metamorphosis pleased him enormously.
"You said that was the only way to improve."
He studied her with curious intensity. "Do you do everything I say?"
"I try to, my lord."
"Please, my dear, don't! I should not like it at all were you to think I am infallible. I have a great many faults."
They reached the great room.
"Then I look forward to learning them," she said laughingly. "For your vast abilities make me feel most inferior."
They sat on the bench in front of the pianoforte. "Remember what I told you about never feeling inferior to anyone?"
"Yes, my lord," she whispered, her lids lowered.
