“Does she have any children?” Evan asked. Odd.
“I know of none besides those she cares for in her foundling home. Quite as though they were her own. She says so.” Mrs. Rhys shaved the thinnest possible sliver of breast meat from the squab.
The remainder of the meal wore on in similar fashion. Kate ate more than she ought and drank more wine than she should, because it prevented her from talking. She didn’t find so much humor now in the role of Provincial Countess.
Evan was right. There was little of laughter here, at least of the sort in which she could share.
After the meal, Owen and Elena’s children were brought down to greet the company in the drawing room. A half dozen dark-haired, bouncing boys and girls, they ranged in age from two to ten years. When they saw Evan, the older ones ran to surround him, and the younger ones toddled after their siblings on fat little legs and embraced him about the knees with fat little arms.
Kate’s heart gave a squeeze. Oh, she wanted to snatch up those littlest ones and hug them, tight, tight. She missed that innocent age, when life was nothing but the present moment, and a child could be made happy merely by finding something interesting on the floor to shove into his mouth.
She missed all the ages through which her children had passed.
She felt a gaze on her, and looked from the children to meet Elena Rhys’s hazel eyes. The other woman smiled, and as she clapped her hands to summon her children back to the nursery, she brushed past Kate. “You’ll be good for him,” she murmured, then lifted her voice in a placid, polite good-night to the company.
And whatever did that mean? We’re friends, nothing more, Kate wanted to call after the younger Mrs. Rhys—but friends, nothing more, did not take each other to bed, and Kate did not know what name she ought to put to her relationship with Evan now.
When Evan excused himself, Kate did the same, pleading the excuse of travel fatigue. She followed him from the drawing room, letting the door shut behind them. They were in another rich corridor, this one tapestried and lit by beeswax candles in cut-crystal globes.
“I see why Good Old Gwyn doesn’t faze you,” she said.
He had gone a step ahead of her, but at the sound of her voice he halted. “Indeed.” He touched one of the tapestries, a stitched-silk depiction of a saint’s grotesque martyrdom. “I had hoped things would be different with you here. A new person, changing the shape of the old familiar interactions.”
“How could I change anything when I don’t even know what a privy is?”
“Or an indoor kitchen?” His smile was saturnine, all candlelit plane and shadow. “You were wicked. I can’t think of when I’ve enjoyed a meal more.”
“Wicked? A provincial charmer such as I?” She batted her lashes in exaggerated fashion.
“You were, in relation to me. You needn’t defend me to my family. It won’t make any difference to them.”
“Did it make a difference to you?”
“It wrung my heart.” Ah, the rakish charmer was back as he laid a palm over his chest. “It made my evening whole. It set me to swooning.”
She cuffed him on the shoulder. “Don’t tell me what you think, then. I know I was rude, but I cannot be sorry.”
His hand fell to clench at his waist, but he said nothing.
“I liked meeting your nieces and nephews too,” Kate added. “I hadn’t realized you had so many. You don’t need Nora and Declan at all.”
He laughed. “Nonsense! As though children are interchangeable.” That was two. With every laugh she coaxed from him, she felt the distance between them lessen.
A distance she had put into place. She knew that.
“Besides which,” Evan added, “yours are my only godchildren. So they must always be special to me.”
“It was not creative of us to name you godfather to Declan after having you serve so for Nora. But you gave such wonderful presents, how could we not?” she teased. “I didn’t mean to imply that children are all the same. Only I didn’t realize you have so much family of your own.”
“Hmmm.” He traced the line of a silken spear. She liked watching the movement of his hand, so strong over ancient thread so delicate. “You are wondering why I spent so much time in your house?”
“Not in an ungracious way. More in a curious way. If I could see my family so easily by crossing the Irish Sea, I would—”
“Do nothing differently at all, I’ll wager. If your heart lies across the sea, there’s no difference between a day’s travel and a week’s. You’ll follow it.”
“And where does your heart lie?”
He picked at a loose thread, turning an embroidered stab wound into a river of blood. “Oh, you know me. It’s buried in the earth hereabouts. Wales is full of old Roman ruins and standing stones that date back even farther. Dig awhile, and you never know what you’ll find.”
“Yes,” she said. “I have been thinking the same about you.”
“Ah, Lady Whelan. You’ll have me blushing if you keep that up.”
So easily, she became the one blushing. She didn’t know why—what—oh, she was a muddle of fiery cheeks and back to the way we were and confusion.
“Will you show me around this place?” she asked. “Not the rich and elegant bits, but something people don’t usually see.”
“Such as?” He caught her eyes, looking down at her with cool curiosity.
“Whatever makes you want to come back to Wales. Whatever…” She swallowed. “Whatever holds your heart here.”
“Ah.” His strong features took on a wistful cast. “For that, we’ll have to go to the stables.”
“Then lead the way.”
Twelve
Show me whatever holds your heart here, she had said.
The answer wasn’t in Ardent House. That was for damned sure.
Evan felt better as soon as he and Kate were outdoors with lantern in hand, crossing the manicured lawn toward the stables. He smiled, and what a feat that was. It was always more difficult to smile here.
The rich tapestries reminded him of the grayness he ought not to feel. The silver plate scattered over the table was merely grayness made to shine as though it were worth something, but it wasn’t. Grayness wasn’t even real. So had said his brother and parents time and again.
Count your blessings.
Think of those less fortunate than you.
I’ll give you a reason to be sad.
Why are you so ungrateful?
And tonight: You know how you get. So morose.
He had been born to great good fortune, and there was no reason for his life to be anything but bright. Constantly being reminded of the fact was not, however, helpful.
The stables were built of the same red brick as the manor house, slated over and pedimented and columned. But once one entered, the feel was entirely different. True, within the winding building, stalls were divided by columns more finely carved than those in many a house. But the ceiling was high and airy, and during the day sun would spill through windows nestled beneath the eaves. Perfect for bringing light to things no one else cared to see.
He turned right once they had entered the great doors, ready to show Kate his collection—but instead of following Evan, she headed for the nearest horse.
“One of the Welsh cobs about which I’ve heard so much! Oh, she’s a lovely creature. May I pet her?” She tugged off a glove and extended her hand, flat of palm, for the horse to examine and sniff.
He hung the lantern on a hook, adding to the row of lights hung by the active grooms. “If you wish. This is Lady Alix. Despite the loftiness of her name, she’s got the good temper of her breed.” Always glad for company, the mare shuffled forward in her stall and shoved her muzzle into Kate’s shoulder. Of middle age, Lady Alix was as playful as a filly.
“Lady Alix.” Kate petted the small horse
’s neck. “Are you a countess? I wonder if you are better behaved than I am.”
“I am sure she is. But then, one can take a riding crop to a naughty horse.”
Kate choked. “And not to a countess? The bawdy books in our library have been lying to me?”
“Bawdy books…” Evan trailed off, shaking his head. “You will be the death of me. I never know what you will say.”
“Usually something about horses.”
That was that. A shame, for the subject had promised to take an intriguing turn.
“On that subject,” Evan said, “I am thinking of bringing this lady along to Whelan House, so I needn’t constantly steal your horses.” A sturdy bay animal with an unfashionably long tail of coarse black hair, she was surefooted and pleasant. If any horse were to handle a crossing of the Irish Sea with tolerable calm, it would be she.
Lady Alix had nipped up the glove Kate had removed and dropped it on the stable floor. “You know the stables are open to you, Evan. Always.” She bent to pick up the glove. With a hint of a smile, she draped it over the mare’s stall door.
“I know. But I want to—well, to pay my own way, in a manner of speaking. I’ll cover the cost of her travel and her board.”
Lady Alix nosed the glove onto the floor again. He wasn’t sure whether that was a sign of approval or not.
“Others have taken enough from you, Kate,” he explained. “I don’t want to be another in that number.”
He expected her to argue, but she didn’t. “I know what you mean.” Idly, she picked up the glove again. “I would travel with a carriage and team of my own too, if I had a bit of money. It is wearing to rely on my father’s kindness. The loan of his carriage and horses is too much for comfort, not enough for salvation.”
Lady Alix extended her head, nipping at the glove in Kate’s hand. “You’ve made a friend,” Evan said. “She’ll play with you for the next hour if you let her.”
“Another time, my lady.” With one final pat to the horse’s neck, Kate stepped back to Evan’s side. “We came here for you to show me something. Whatever you’d like to.”
He’d like to sink to one knee and take her hand in his. He’d like to show her the heights of pleasure, the breadth of sweet comfort. He’d like to show the words if and maybe and exactly as we were to a high cliff and shove them over.
But they were in the stables for a different purpose altogether, and Evan felt too raw after dining with his family to do anything more than nod his understanding. He retrieved the lantern. “This way. The stall at the far end.”
He led her down the row, murmuring greetings to horses and stable hands alike, until they reached a loose box at the end. This was used as a catchall for bits of tack in need of mending, for extra supplies and—Evan suspected—a bottle from which the grooms nipped on cold evenings. It was also the place where his crates were stored.
He unlatched the stall door and motioned Kate within. “Have a seat on…ah, that saddle, I suppose. I’ll show you some of the artifacts I’ve found.”
She plumped sideways on the discarded saddle and stripped off her second glove. “Why are they in here rather than on display?”
“They’re not pretty enough to be displayed indoors, and they’re not fine enough examples to be sent to museums. But I found them, and I can’t throw them back into the earth.”
“No, of course not. And waste the chance to learn something of them?”
“Exactly.” He hung the lantern, then slid open the lid to one of the crates. “We don’t have time to go to one of the digs, or I’d show you my favorite finds—the foundations of ancient structures.”
“You mean the houses people lived in?”
“Those, and their privies and rubbish heaps. Both are places people toss things they can’t use, or that they want hidden.” He sifted through the packing sawdust. “The chase of history is a sort of voyeurism.”
“How scandalous you make it sound. I should have paid more attention during your lecture. What is the most intriguing item you’ve found?”
“If I’ve the right crate, you’ll see it in a moment. Oh, here’s a nice little piece.” Handing a metalwork brooch to Kate, he explained, “That was probably a dolphin once upon a time, before the earth crushed it. The Romans were besotted with dolphins.”
“Were they? This has become so distorted it looks like a gasping fish. I’d like to see that become all the rage in London ballrooms next year.” She gave it back, and he dropped it into the crate.
“There are better examples in the British Museum in Bloomsbury. Not only brooches, but all sorts of items. Those flints you loved so much you had to send some to your brother. Broken pots. Unbroken ones. Carved bone…aha, speaking of which—you wanted an intriguing item? Here’s one that might amuse you.”
As Kate took the foot-long piece from him, her mouth dropped open. “Is that a winged…”
“Phallus, yes.” He grinned. “From what I can tell, it’s a decorative piece. It isn’t, say, a flute.”
Kate choked.
“Nor could it be used for…intimate purposes. Its hollow structure is too fragile.”
“I would never have thought of such a thing. Now I cannot help but…” Kate was a lovely shade of pink. When she ran her finger down the length of the animal bone, Evan felt a prickle down his spine. “Someone took great pains to carve it in detail. Why does it have wings, do you think?”
“I would dearly love to know the answer. Could it be a supernatural being?”
“Considering Roman mythology? I would not doubt it. I know little of history, but do know the Romans had a bawdy sense of humor.” She turned the piece over and regarded its underside. “Look. Bollocks, Evan.”
And Evan laughed.
He laughed because a countess was sitting on a broken saddle, showing him the baubles on a bone carving more than a thousand years old. He laughed because that countess was Kate, and because she had been interested in what he had to say after a long chill-mannered meal in which every approval came tied to advice and conditions and why don’ts and you oughts.
For God’s sake. Sometimes a man just wanted to dig up an ancient cock sculpture and show it about. Was that too much to ask from life?
And he laughed at that too.
Kate looked up from the carved bollocks, beaming. “Oh, excellent. I was determined to make you laugh three times this evening, and I was one shy.”
He accepted the ancient phallus from her and tucked it back into the crate, aware of the ridiculousness of the action. “I laughed twice this evening?”
“You did, and it was because of me. I was so funny and witty.”
“You were, yes. You were a delightful brat at dinner. But why did you set your will to the goal of making me laugh three times?”
“Because I went two years without hearing you laugh, and I have missed the sound.”
This admission, simple and frank, was like a knife slipped beneath armor. He sat down, hard, on the lid of the crate. “Why, because of how it makes you feel?”
She toyed with the stamped leather decoration at the front of the saddle. “No. Because of how it makes you feel. If you’re laughing, then for the duration of the laugh, all is well with you.”
He opened his mouth, but was not sure what to say. How could she be so warm of heart, yet keep him as her only friend? How could exactly as we were serve?
“Thank you,” he finally said.
She met his eyes. “Your happiness has always mattered to me.”
They sat in the dim stall for a quiet minute, surrounded by the muted sounds of grooms talking, of horses snorting or thumping about in their stalls.
“Thank you for showing me what you found,” she said. “Before I attended your lecture, I never knew the hunt through the past was more to you than a hobby.”
It was warming, to be und
erstood in this way. Yet he demurred. “Until I take up my post in Greece, I won’t receive pay. Maybe it is only a hobby.”
“No. At the very least, it’s a passion. A calling, even. You could always make the past come to life for me. Even with whisky in hand, I loved to listen to you speak of what you’d found.”
He could hear her talk of this all evening. All night. Forever. To be listened to and known, in any small way, was a gift. “What did you like most about it?”
She leaned back against the wall of the stall, stretching forth her legs. She still wore her dinner gown and fragile slippers, not suited for the stable.
He knew the shape of the feet within those slippers, the legs beneath that gown, and he almost groaned for wanting to touch her again.
Heedless of how she set him to burning, she considered. “I ought to say, maybe, that they were people much like us. Which is true, and the artifacts you find like combs and chamber pots make it plain.”
Mustering his thoughts into sensible order, he agreed. “The Elgin marbles might make such ordinary objects look dull, but they’re equally important to history. Maybe more so, because they show who was here, on the land we now walk.”
“But they weren’t really like us at all, were they?” Kate leaned closer now, her gaze earnest. “They were explorers and soldiers from Rome, and if they were here they were far from their homeland. They were always at war, always pushing. So maybe what you find—it shows what we could become if we are not careful.”
This was an unusual insight. Unsettling, too. “Are you afraid for us?”
“For England? She does not care what I believe or fear.”
“For us.” He stepped back from that admission. “For yourself.”
“I am, a little. It’s easier to stay home than step out into the world. But I do wonder…what could I become, if I were willing to conquer?”
He reached for her, brushing her fingertips with his. “I fear you would be invincible.”
Scandalous Ever After Page 11
