‘All the rooms are the same. Let me show you around. If you can see anything worth salvaging, I would be glad to know it.’
They moved from room to room. Each chamber was full to overflowing with items. ‘It is awful,’ she exclaimed. ‘Who needs five beds in a bedroom?’ she asked, peering into one of the guest chambers where the beds were in pieces and the mattresses piled in a corner. ‘All these things must have originally cost a fortune.’
‘I should think so. And I doubt any of it is worth more than a farthing or two it is so out of style and ugly.’
‘What a terrible waste,’ she said with a sigh.
‘If he would have only spent half of it on the upkeep of the estate...’ He let his words trail off. He did not want to mention his need to marry money yet again. If he was honest with himself, instead of trying to pretend otherwise, he really wouldn’t mind marrying Petra, if she would have him. He felt comfortable with her. She had become a good friend. Not to mention he thoroughly enjoyed their lovemaking. The fact that she also made his heart beat a fraction too fast was something he could control. Unfortunately, since she had no fortune, it was not to be.
Finally, they reached the only room in the house that was anything like normal, the state bedroom where he slept. Even it had three armoires.
She walked into the room and stroked the beautifully embroidered counterpane. ‘I suppose, since you will soon be offering for your heiress, this is the last time I shall see you alone.’ She gave him a shy little smile that held a world of meaning.
His heart sank at the thought of them parting, even as his body tightened at the blatant invitation in her words and glance. ‘I suppose it will.’
‘It would be a shame to waste the opportunity,’ she said, holding her arms out to him.
He pulled her close and kissed her.
* * *
Ethan’s kisses were simply lovely. When he held her in his arms she felt precious and feminine. It was easy to believe that they could be together for ever, when they really could not. As the daughter of an earl, she understood that the nobility married to advance their influence or fill their coffers. Her father had been indulgent in allowing her to choose her husband for love.
It hadn’t worked out terribly well.
Ethan would be a lot happier marrying his heiress, knowing that his family line was safe and his estate could be brought back from the brink of disaster, than marrying a poverty-stricken widow but, oh, how she wished she had money. But then he would be marrying her for her money, just as Harry had been convinced by his family to marry her for her connections.
No, she really would not want that. She sighed.
He pulled back and gazed into her face. ‘Sweetheart, what is wrong? If you do not want this, please say so. I would not have you regret this for the world.’
She managed a smile. ‘Of course I want this.’ She gave his shoulder a push. ‘It was my idea.’
‘Then why the sigh?’
‘I was thinking how I would miss this, being with you.’
‘Me, too. Let us not think about the future, but enjoy the now. It will be a good memory for us both.’ The concern in his face touched her heart.
‘Yes, I would like that. It has been a lovely friendship, but in future we will meet as mere acquaintances, in the village and at church, but we will each have our memories.’ It would be hard to meet him under those circumstances, knowing there would be no more memories to make.
‘First I need to get you out of that wet gown. I don’t want you catching a chill.’
‘That is your excuse anyway,’ she said, laughing and undoing the ribbon holding the bodice closed. He lifted the gown over her head and stepped back as if to admire the view. A moment later he was tugging at the laces on her front-closing stays. ‘These will just be in the way, don’t you think?’
‘Most definitely.’
He pulled her close and his kiss was hard and seemingly as full of longing as her own and she gave herself up to the wooing of his lips and the soft strokes of his tongue and the shivery sensations caused by his caressing hands. She wanted this to be wonderful for him, too. A fond memory of the bliss they created together. She certainly could not imagine herself ever doing this with any other man.
She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. He speared his fingers in her tresses. ‘Mmm...’ he murmured against her lips. ‘I love the feel of your hair. It is so soft and silky.’
‘It feels good to me, too,’ she said, hot prickles running down her spine.
He picked her up and lay her on the bed. He gazed down at her. ‘It looks like spun gold spread out on the pillows.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sadly, it is only hair or I would give it to you to sell.’
He shook his head and gave her the smile that always made her heart tumble over. ‘I couldn’t bear for you to part with it.’
She held her arms out to him. ‘Come to bed, dear Ethan. Let us not waste time talking.’
He divested himself of his dressing gown beneath which he was wearing nothing at all. What a beautiful man he was in his bare skin and fully erect. Gorgeous. And clearly interested in her as a woman.
He toed off his slippers and climbed up to lie beside her. Leaning on one elbow, looking down at her, he took a lock of hair and raised it to his nose. ‘I will never smell lavender without thinking of this moment, or taste blackberries without remembering how we met, or eat a trout without seeing you in my mind’s eye stretched out on your stomach on a riverbank.’
A pain pierced her heart, so agonising she could scarcely breathe. ‘Ethan,’ she murmured, hoping her laugh did not sound forced to his ears, for she wanted him to believe she was happy, ‘you say the loveliest things.’
He shrugged and gave her a sweetly shy smile. ‘It is the truth.’
She thought for a moment. ‘I will never pass a field of hay without recalling you swinging a scythe with your muscles glistening in the sunlight and shifting beneath your skin. I will never eat fish without remembering your expression when you guddled the first time. It was adorable.’
He gave a gentle tug on her hair. ‘Now you are teasing me.’
‘It is the truth. And I will never ever pick chestnuts without wishing you were there to lend your help.’ She reached up, pulled his head down and plundered his mouth for if she did not kiss him right then and there she might very well cry.
As if sensing her anguish, he kissed her back and gently palmed first one breast, then the other, making them feel full and heavy, with her nipples tightened to hard little peaks. She rolled towards him, aligning their bodies, seeking blindly for the closeness she needed.
He groaned and kissed her with urgency and abandonment, until she could no longer think about anything but the demands of her body, her longing for him to be inside her and her need to feel his weight.
She parted her thighs and he came over her, settling his body into the cradle of her hips. The muscles in his chest became hard ridges, as he supported himself on his hands, as did those on his belly. He really was too beautiful.
‘Ah, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘When you look at me just so, I believe I could move mountains.’
Slowly he entered her body and began to move in long delicious strokes.
She moved against him, lifting her hips in counterpoint to his thrusts. The pleasure built and she brought her legs up and around him. Bringing him even deeper inside her body.
He suckled on one nipple, then the other, while she hugged him close, holding on for dear life as she reached for the delicious undoing of body and soul.
The sweet pain of it tore her asunder. She had never experienced such undoing before Ethan and likely never would again. He withdrew from her body and reached his own climax. Sated and lax, she lay panting beneath him. He pulled the counterpane over them both and she fell asleep in h
is arms, knowing it really must be for the very last time and trying with a monumental effort not to cry.
Chapter Eleven
With winter approaching, Petra found herself more and more housebound. But then she had no real reason to go anywhere, did she? Longhurst Park remained unoccupied while His Lordship stayed in London, no doubt wooing his heiress and preparing to take his seat at the opening of Parliament the following week.
She would have liked to have been there for that. She would have felt so proud of him.
* * *
A letter arrived from Red while she and Marguerite were at breakfast one morning. Miss Featherstone had agreed that their wedding would take place in the spring.
‘Finally,’ Petra said. ‘Though I don’t understand why they would wait yet another six months.’
‘She is a fortunate woman,’ Marguerite remarked. ‘I hope she appreciates him the way she ought.’
Petra laughed. ‘No doubt she expects him to appreciate her.’
Marguerite sighed. ‘Poor Red.’ She rose to her feet. ‘Time to get back to work.’
‘How is it coming along?’
She winced. ‘It’s hard to come up with new ideas.’
‘You haven’t shown me any of your drawings for weeks.’
Marguerite looked out of the window. ‘That’s because there hasn’t been much to show. I am working mostly on the drawings from nature the publishing house contracted.’
‘They certainly take up a great deal of your time.’
She gave an uncomfortable laugh. ‘They do indeed. It is dull stuff, I assure you. It is mostly the insides of flowers, their reproductive organs. Very technical and tedious. I’ll show you the one I am working on before I send it off.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going to market with Jeb today, so I can finish it. I need to get it in the post tomorrow.’
Mind? She’d be thrilled to get out of the house. Anything to take her mind off missing Ethan.
* * *
She dressed warmly and went out to tell Jeb the good news that he would only have her company for the drive to Oxted.
He grinned good-naturedly and helped her up into the trap. ‘When be His Lordship returning from London?’ Jeb asked.
Petra stiffened. ‘I have no idea, Jeb. Why do you wish to know?’
‘Me ma says it ain’t the same cooking for no one but Mr O’Cleary and him taking all his meals in the kitchen, like.’
‘I am sure he will be back as soon as his business in London allows.’ And then Mrs Stone would have two more mouths to feed.
Her throat filled with unwanted tears. She swallowed them down. ‘Are there things you need for the stables?’ she asked.
‘Yes, my lady. I need corn for Patch here and some nails. We got a board or two coming loose on the potting shed.’
Petra added the items to her list.
* * *
Shopping at the market in Oxted was uneventful, though she found the haggling to get the best price tiring and rather distasteful. It ought to have been enough to keep her mind busy, but she still had to stop herself from thinking of Ethan every time she noticed a tall fair-haired man. He wasn’t living at Longhurst and therefore he would not be at the Oxted market.
While Jeb went to buy feed, she purchased the items on her list. No more tallow candles either. The advance from Marguerite’s contract had allowed for a few little luxuries.
She counted the money left in her purse once she’d bought all the required items. She had enough remaining to buy some good-quality tea. She wandered along the stalls. A hand clutched at her shoulder.
She swung around, half expecting to find a cutpurse at her elbow. To her surprise it was Madame Rose. She was not wearing her gaudy outfit today, apart from her large hoop earrings and her bangles that tinkled softly as she moved.
‘My goodness,’ Petra exclaimed. ‘You gave me a start.’
‘I beg your pardon, my lady,’ the woman said in her heavy accent.
Petra smiled politely. ‘Was there something you wanted?’
The woman narrowed her eyes on her. ‘You are sad.’
Petra frowned. ‘Nonsense.’
‘You miss the one who makes you unhappy. You will see him soon.’
‘If you are talking about my husband, you are barking up the wrong tree,’ she said with an airy laugh. ‘I won’t be seeing him any time soon.’
‘I speak of the big man. The fair lord.’
Why did everyone suppose she knew Ethan’s movements? She glared. ‘If you mean Lord Longhurst, of course I will see him. We are neighbours and he will be returning to Longhurst with his wife before very long.’
Madame Rose shook her head, her earrings swinging back and forth, until Petra could not help but wonder if they might hurt her. ‘You can see the future, my lady?’
‘Of course I cannot see the future. I simply know of his plans.’
The woman smiled knowingly. ‘There is many a slip between cup and lip, and many a child born of love.’
Petra’s mouth dropped open. Unthinking, she pressed her hand against her belly, before she recalled it wasn’t possible. Things had all gone as they should this month with her courses.
Madame Rose raised her eyebrows and her eyes danced wickedly. ‘Give a message to the lord when you see him. The woods are finally all cleared and we are wondering if he has other work for us to do since it is too late now for us to seek other quarters for the winter.’
‘You plan to stay at Longhurst all winter?’
‘If His Lordship will allow it.’
‘You should speak to Mr O’Cleary. He is sure to be in touch with His Lordship.’
‘You will see His Lordship first.’
She didn’t want to see Ethan. It would only remind her of how lonely she had been since she left him in London and how lonely she would continue to be. Sometimes she wished she had never set eyes on him at all. At other times she knew that she would not have missed their few weeks together for the world.
Madame Rose patted her arm. ‘It is all right, little one. You will find the man of your heart.’
Dash it all, these platitudes of hers were annoying. ‘Please speak to Mr O’Cleary.’ She turned and hurried back to find Jeb.
* * *
Since Jeb wasn’t much of a conversationalist, on the way home Petra found herself reliving her conversation with Madame Rose. Mrs Beckridge was right. The woman was a charlatan, playing on the emotions of unhappy women. Petra was sorry the gypsy band had chosen to linger in this corner of Kent.
As they passed through the village, she told Jeb to pull up so she could collect the mail from the post office.
She jumped down from the trap and went inside.
Mrs Beckridge was at the counter. When she turned to leave and saw who was waiting behind her, she recoiled, a look of disgust on her face.
Petra flinched inwardly, but pretended not to notice the look or Mrs Beckridge. But the woman wasn’t satisfied with being ignored. She leaned close and hissed, ‘You think yourself so high and mighty, but you are no better than the wenches at the Green Man. Tell Lord Longhurst those gypsies have to move on. No one dare hang out their laundry while they are still about.’ With a stiff nod, she hurried out.
The postmaster eyed Petra askance.
‘How are you today, Mr Barker?’
‘Fair to middling, Lady Petra.’ He frowned. ‘It really is a shame His Lordship lets those gypsies stay on his land, you know.’ He gave her such an odd look; her stomach fell away. Had Mrs Beckridge reported what she had seen to others despite Ethan’s threat?
‘Then you take the matter up with His Lordship,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Do you have any mail for Westram Cottage?’
‘Ah, I would, were I to see him. My wife
lost her best petticoat this week. Right cross she is about it, too. Perhaps if you hadn’t agreed with His Lordship that it was all right for them to stay...’ He checked his pile of letters. ‘Nothing for you ladies today.’
‘Thank you.’ She made her way outside.
So that was what the artful Mrs Beckridge was about. Letting people blame her for Longhurst’s decision. How ironic that she was just as unhappy with their presence in the area as everyone else. Perhaps there was something she could do. Madame Rose had said they had finished clearing the woods, so perhaps Petra could convince her and her family to move on.
Or better yet she should write to Ethan and tell him that the problem with the laundry continued and his presence was required.
That was a much better idea.
She didn’t feel comfortable talking to Madame Rose after what the woman had said to her.
* * *
Ethan could not wait to see Petra and to tell her his news. Her letter about the gypsies had come at a most opportune moment. He pulled up outside her cottage and jumped down. Petra was on her hands and knees working on her garden.
She got up at the sound of his footsteps and her gaze filled with pleasure. ‘Ethan.’ She started forward, then stopped, her cheeks turning red. ‘How good to see you, Lord Longhurst.’ She glanced towards the cottage. ‘I didn’t know you were back from London. May I offer you tea?’
He’d arrived late last night. Too late to visit Westram Cottage.
‘Thank you, that would be delightful.’
Inside, she offered him a seat and rang for the tea tray. ‘How was your journey down from town?’
‘Excellent. I left the moment I got your note, though I cannot stay long. I have to take my seat in Parliament on the fourth.’ It was a task he would be glad to have out of the way. He had planned to speak with Petra after that, but receiving her note had changed his mind and he’d come straight away.
She nodded. ‘I wish I could be there to see you make your first speech.’
An Earl for the Shy Widow Page 15
