by Robyn Carr
Jocelyn found her close presence a comfort and a pleasure. She was never without company and enjoyed every portion of her days. She could often be found on her knees in the scullery, kneading dough with the pastry girl, or holding fabric for the seamstress to cut. The manor was like a small city full of various artisans who had their own specialties and domains. In all her years in Bowens Ash, she had seldom had the opportunity to observe each craftsman at work. She quickly gathered her breads from the baker, the family clothes from the clothier, and cooking wares from the smith. But here at Braeswood she could ask questions, sit and watch until she could bear the strain on her back no longer, and even on occasion help, if one of them had the time and willingness to teach her.
Yet another gift of the cold was that there were few outside labors to be performed. People drew in and kept the fires blazing. It left people like Avery with little to do, since the man he served was not about. Jocelyn spent idle time with him, developing a genuine fondness for the man. It took very little encouragement to get him spinning tales of his years abroad with Trent or of England before the war. In addition to that, Jocelyn had expressed an interest in learning to read so that she might page through some of Trent’s books, and while Avery wasn’t a scholar, he had some skill at reading and writing and shared those modest talents with her. They had made a game of it, and it was evident that Avery enjoyed it as much as she.
Enid found it challenging to teach Jocelyn the fine art of needlework, which Lady Anne had once displayed. In this she was less successful than the steward, although she was more diligent in instruction. And of the two, Enid’s approval was the most difficult for Jocelyn to come by. The old woman huffed and snorted and was desirous of a truly genteel lady to look after.
Jocelyn was none of that. When several maids put on a show of a great lady suffering the vapors, Jocelyn didn’t know what was meant. And when they shared gossip about the aristocratic dames and gentlemen and their adulterous intertwinings, Jocelyn was again confused. She knew what a mistress was, certainly, but adultery with a husband’s friend? She was stunned to hear that it happened. Not only had it never occurred to her to be less than faithful to Trent, the very thought of his reaction chilled her to the bone. And when the girls mimicked a foppish courtier who slurred bawdy French slang, she sat in total ignorance. She had seen only one or two nobles pass through Bowens Ash … and they had not stopped. Some of these manor people had actually been to London.
Although they would explain about these strange noble creatures they mimicked and made fun of, they often laughed at her questions and pointed out the grave difference between gentility and sturdy peasant stock. Once when Trent was home and he and Jocelyn lay quietly talking, she voiced all of this to him and found his descriptions of the noble class to be the same, as were his criticisms of them. What amazed her most was his talk of the ladies.
“I must admit that I’ve seen the most disappointing bunch of grande dames I could have imagined only in my worst nightmare. They’re either spoiled or abused, timid or bawdy, whorish or cold as ice, and God, but most of them are so ugly and pale I’d swear they wouldn’t last out the month.”
“But Trent,” she pleaded naively, “if they are so pitiful, why do men want them?”
He ran his finger around her ear and kissed her bare shoulder. “It has to do with money, pet.”
His visits to Braeswood from London numbered four in half as many months. The longest he stayed was a few days. Jocelyn was quick to notice that he was more reluctant to leave each time and more anxious to return. She prided herself that she must have some peculiar allure to him, for he did not hide the fact that his duty to the manor was secondary to his desire to be with her again.
He spoke of London and his activities there very little. He might have answered her straightforward questions, but she found she was not bold enough to ask them. She teased from him the little pieces of information she collected, and timed those moments with great care.
“A baron as rich and handsome as you are must not be so starved for female company as you claim. Truly, the women cannot be so terrible that you feel hunted,” she ventured.
“I can stay alive on the sorry stew from which I must eat in London, but I must travel far for the grand pheasant I nibble in the country,” he had replied.
“Your work there must leave you too exhausted for play, milord, since while you are here you indulge yourself so gluttonously,” she attempted.
“In London, my work is play. I must play court, entertain the monied nobles that hold the purse strings of this country. It is either a trip to a cockfight or the theater and the same table day after bloody day. This looks like indulgence to you, wench,” he said, giving her behind a swat. “But rest assured, I take it very seriously. It is that other life of noble bachelor I know to be a scam.”
Little by little Jocelyn was feeling more secure. There were a few questions unanswered in her mind, but she approached them coyly and uncertainly.
Trent was expected at Braeswood for the Christmas celebration, and this time, mostly because he would be present, Jocelyn did not plan to withdraw to the solitude of her rooms. She had involved herself in planning the meals and decorating the manor along with everyone else. When he did return, she found she was so excited about the entertaining days ahead that when they were alone, she fairly choked him with her wild, abandoned embrace.
“Here, now,” he laughed. “You want me to be alive for the feast, don’t you?”
“Oh, wait’ll you see,” she chattered. “There are sour-apple tarts, roasted duck, a side of mutton rolled and stuffed with almonds and chestnuts, and even a great peacock redressed in its feathers. And the decorations, you haven’t seen half of them. And—”
“Truth, wench, are you glad to see me or are you taken with the holiday?” he teased.
“Of course I’m glad to see you,” she said, smiling. “I’ll be so pleased when you’re here more often.”
“You shouldn’t be, you know. I’ll wear you down ’til you’re thin and weak.”
“I’ll take an extra meal each day for strength,” she promised. “Hurry and have your bath, Trent,” she pleaded, flicking the water in the ready tub with her fingers. “I want to show you the hall.”
“I have something for you,” he said. “Don’t you want to see it?”
“Something for me?” she asked. “A present?”
He motioned toward the bed where a large parcel rested. It was curiously tied with velvet ribbons and her eyes came alive as she looked at it.
“I can’t wait,” he said with a shrug. “You’re so damned excited, you ought to have it early.”
“Oh, Trent, may I?”
“Certainly. Go ahead and open it.”
She tried to be careful and patient with the wrappings, but in eagerness she finally tore the parcel apart and withdrew a beautiful silver fox cloak. It was sewn with a high collar and trimmed to the floor in silver braid. Within the package was a muff of the same fur. She held it up and examined it, her eyes glowing with pride at the thought of wearing it.
“Oh, Trent,” she sighed. “I’ve never had anything like this. I’ve never even seen anything like this.”
“Put it on,” he encouraged.
She rushed to him and let him hold it for her, and pulling it tight about her throat, she preened before the mirror and attested over and over again to its rich beauty. There was pure joy on her face as she thanked him again and again, clutching the wrap about her.
“It’s not complete,” he said, coming near and pulling something out of his pocket. “A cloak as rich as this one needs some dressing. Hold still,” he laughed as she tried to see what he was doing with the front of her new wrap.
“The women in London have to keep warm in the winter,” he was saying, “but they despise having their flamboyant jewels hidden. They’ve taken to dressing their hair and cloaks with gems to show off their wealth. I thought this was the perfect piece for your new winter wrap.”
He finished and she looked down to find that he’d pinned a costly and beautiful diamond brooch to the front of her fur. Her eyes touched on the piece, then on his smiling face, and again on the brooch. She gingerly touched the jewels with cautious fingers and looked up at him again, her eyes full of question. He nodded with amusement. He was accustomed to seeing women snap up their gifts with a miser’s zeal, but Jocelyn seemed almost reluctant to accept hers.
“It’s for me?” she asked.
“Of course, love. And you do it justice. I feared the diamonds would be dull compared to your shining beauty.”
“Oh, Trent, it is for me?”
He laughed again. “It is, madam, and it set me back a tidy sum. I trust you won’t leave it in the stable?”
“Oh, I shall pin it to my flesh,” she said gravely.
He pulled her near and lightly kissed her lips. “I wouldn’t want you to mark your beautiful skin, pet. Just place it carefully away when you’re not wearing it. That will be enough.”
“I’ve never had such beautiful gifts, Trent. You spoil me so. But I worry that you’ve been foolish … and I know you need to watch your money carefully. I would not keep the gifts if you have better use for your coin.”
“Jocelyn, it’s a Christmas gift. Enjoy it and let me worry about my own money.”
Her smile was genuine and she nearly burst with joy. “But what shall I give you, kind sir?” she teased. “I could not find you a flower in all this countryside, and Enid protests my needlework.”
“What?” he answered, enjoying her game. “No gifts for your lover?”
“I can afford none,” she said, giggling. “My master gives me many things, but they are all meant for his eye and he keeps me poor.”
“Then you did not bake me a pie or tart for my return?”
“How could I,” she laughed, turning around and around and holding the sides of her new garment. “Treena guards her ovens with a sharpened ax.”
“Then steal into my bed in the dark of night and play the temptress for me,” he pleaded.
“Oh, nay,” she laughed. “I am too shy and fearful.”
“The devil,” he shot back. “I still wait for you to learn the finer points of your profession.”
“But sir,” she replied, not the least bit insulted, “ ’tis not a profession of mine, for I exact no coin. It is my simple life gone astray.”
“You have a rich room and many fine possessions,” he argued.
“But I request none and will leave them to the next woman when I go.”
“They won’t do,” he said, shaking his head. “The next woman I take in out of the goodness of my heart will be much thinner.”
“My lord,” she stopped, shocked. “Do you find me too fat?”
He laughed heartily at her seriousness and she had to join him. Then moving close to him and putting her hands on his chest, she whispered her thanks again. “You have been good to me, Trent. I shall always treasure the gifts.”
“As I treasure your joy in receiving them,” he said.
“I wish I had a gift for you,” she murmured.
“Perhaps you will gift me with the child you carry,” he said, his voice soft and tender.
Jocelyn looked up at him in speechless wonder.
“Did you think you could hide it from me forever?” he asked her. “You barely bloom, but still it isn’t hidden from my eyes. Perhaps fully clothed you can keep it a secret.”
“How long have you suspected?” she asked him weakly.
“Perhaps a month ago I knew. I wonder why you didn’t tell me.”
She pulled away from him and turned slightly, not able to meet his eyes. “I was afraid,” she said. “But I would have told you this visit.”
He put his arms about her from behind and let his hands roam under the new coat and over her slightly swollen belly. “You would have had to tell me. It becomes rather obvious. What did you fear?”
“First, that you would be angry,” she stated as calmly as she could.
He chuckled softly. “I am not a lad, Jocelyn. I have long been aware of the complications of sowing my seeds in fertile ground. If I were angry, I would have to turn that against myself. I accept my part.”
She sighed in some relief and let herself lean back against him.
“There were other fears?” he probed.
“Aye,” she said, her voice soft and timid. “Where shall I give birth to the child?”
“ I assume it shall occur here,” he stated. “If that’s not possible for some reason, I will see you carefully tended in a decent place. Do you fear I will cast you out and be pleased never to lay eyes on my own child?”
“Do you have many bastards, milord?” she asked.
He turned her around and forced her to meet his eyes. He was frowning slightly and had grown serious. “To my knowledge, I have none, Jocelyn. I know that my actions have not been entirely honorable where you’re concerned, but I am not the cad to abandon you when you but bear the fruit of my desires. You will be taken care of.”
“But if you must marry and your new bride scorns—”
“Someday I shall marry, for I owe a great debt to my ancestors and have an obligation to seek out a titled dame and give over protection and heirs in exchange for a civil dowry. But there is no woman who will tell me how to look after my other commitments. And I give you my word, your care and my child’s future will be closely watched—by me.”
“But Trent,” she said, feeling her fears reach her lips in spite of herself. “What if something should happen to you? What shall I do then?”
“There are even ways to ensure your future in the face of uncertainties such as death. I will take Avery and Enid into my confidence, and fear not—they are loyal to me. I will provide a document for a pension for you and the care of my children by you. And I will do this before leaving Braeswood again.”
She smiled rather timidly at him and nodded her head. He cocked his own head and frowned slightly. “Jocelyn, are you not convinced that my intention is to be fair with you?”
“I don’t doubt you, Trent,” she said, but still her voice sounded unconvinced.
“Do you mean to press me toward marriage?” he asked her forthrightly.
“Oh no, my lord. I would not ask that of you. Indeed, I would not allow it. In much the same way I would not accept marriage from Master Tyson, I could not accept it from you.” She put her hands firmly on his chest and looked deeply into his eyes. “Master Tyson would have doubted the parentage of this child and soon would have resented both of us. His resentment would turn to distrust and dislike.
“In that same way, if you took the notion to wed me for practicality or even for love, the day would come when you would regret your action. In a year? Or five? Or even ten? Whenever, it would come; when your peers ridicule you for marrying beneath yourself or your child has difficulty in acting as an heir because of his lack of bloodline through me. And again: regret, resentment, and finally dislike and anger.
“Trent, I have lived one lifetime with a man who saw something in me that stirred his anger, and there was nothing I could do, however devoted, to prove my love. Of all things possible in this life, I will not choose that path again. I don’t know why John Cutler hated me, but whatever the reason, I felt a heartache that would not yield as long as I shared a common roof with him.
“No,” she concluded, “I do not seek marriage.”
“Then why are you not at peace, Jocelyn? Tell me what troubles you.”
“It is foolish,” she said, uncomfortable with his probing.
“However foolish, I have shared the truth with you. It is an honest debt you owe.”
She sighed heavily and gathered her strength. “I admit that I like my life with you, however sinful. I concede that I bear those jibes and snide names with near joy, so little is the sting when I have so much. And I know that I will go on being happy in this decadent union through this child and perhaps more. There is but one fla
w in a perfect life: I know that it cannot last forever. And … I fear the day you put me aside for another.”
“Why do you think I will?” he asked.
“You will marry one day. You will move your wife into my place—as it should be.”
“But you will reside in an equal manner. And we will be lovers evermore.”
She shook her head sadly. “One day, my love, you will see that it is unwise, and whether that day comes tomorrow or in a decade, it will be painful for me to lose you.” He began to speak and she hushed him with a finger. “I do not fear for safety or sustenance. In spite of your claims to the contrary, I know you to be fair and honorable, and if you make a commitment to my future you will keep it. I say only that I fear the day I am not your mistress, and I fear the pain of your absence. There is no way you can put that to rest, and I beg you not to try.”
He thought for a moment, a deep scowl on his face. “Do you will it otherwise, Jocelyn? Would you rather leave now to a place of your own design and procured by my pension—to have the misery behind you?”
“No, my love,” she said, her eyes moist and her voice soft and sweet. “The moment you tell me you do not want me here, I will go as graciously as I might. But until then, I will relish your affection and play for you the willing mistress. I love you, Trent.”
He smiled and his eyes warmed. “Then let us put these troubles aside and have a happy day.”
She forced a smile that came through sincerely, once ignited by his dark, smouldering eyes. She strengthened herself from a place deep within. A moment or two of melancholy was earned, for her future did look precarious, but she vowed she should not dwell on trouble that had not yet found her. Although she knew these dark clouds would pass with regularity, she could do nothing about that future problem before it arrived. And she would not spoil both his Christmas and her own with a sour mood and useless fretting.
“Let’s do,” she finally said.
Chapter Thirteen
