Mistress of Merrivale

by Shelley Munro

  “This is my room through here.” He opened another door.

  She caught a glimpse of a four-poster bed and heavy oak furniture. Deep green wallpaper adorned the walls, a white and gold trim bringing a touch more color. The room was masculine and far more to her taste. “Perhaps I could sleep in your room tonight.” This cherub-festooned decoration was certain to give her nightmares.

  “Mrs. Green will want to show you the rest of the house.”

  She’d thought he might take her suggestion as an excuse to at least offer a flirtatious comment in return. She was mistaken. Not a shred of carnal interest crept into his expression, and the lack of reaction brought a chill to her limbs.

  “Yes, of course.” She followed him from her bedroom and back down the stairs to the doorway of a parlor.

  The housekeeper claimed his attention when she spied their arrival. “You have visitors, Mr. Sherbourne. Miss Hannah and Master Peregrine are here to see you.”

  Mr. Sherbourne cursed softly. “Where are they?”

  “They’re taking a turn about the garden.”

  “I’ll go and meet them.” He hesitated. “Jocelyn, why don’t you come with me? Viscount Hartscombe is one of our neighbors. Peregrine and Hannah are his son and daughter. They live on the other side of the village.”

  Jocelyn turned to the housekeeper, hoping she hid her pleasure at his use of her name. “Mrs. Green, could you prepare refreshments for our guests please? It’s such a lovely afternoon. Is there somewhere outside that’s suitable to take refreshments?”

  “Yes, of course. Mr. Sherbourne will show you to the terrace.”

  She took two steps and halted abruptly. Bother, her bonnet was no protection from the sun. Aware of her husband’s impatience, she resigned herself to more freckles and hurried over to accept his escort. His mouth was firm, irritation making his face appear like stone. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Mr. Sherbourne didn’t reply, merely directed her from the house and into a large garden. Roses perfumed the air and birds sang with gay abandon, as if celebrating a day full of sunshine.

  “I do like the gardens.” Jocelyn stole a glance at her husband, curiosity surging at the tension in him. Was it something she’d done or was it his unexpected visitors?

  The murmur of voices ahead increased the rigidness of the muscles beneath her gloved hand. Not her, then. Her interest grew when a man and woman approached. They made an attractive pair, the brother tall and dashing in a black coat and breeches. The gold braiding decorating the coat caught the sun, sparkling like jewels. His sister was petite and very beautiful in a well-cut black riding habit. Both wore cocked hats, atop golden hair the color of ripe blades of wheat. It was the shade of hair she’d always admired, but not a single rinse would shift the fiery glow from her locks.

  Jocelyn smiled in greeting, looking forward to making friends in her new home.

  Two sets of dark brown eyes stared at her in astonishment, the woman’s gaze drifting to her arm linked with Mr. Sherbourne’s. She scowled, her attention returning to Mr. Sherbourne. A brilliant smile bloomed, making her appear at one with the sunshine, despite her black garb.

  “Leo! At last.” The woman raced across the distance separating them with unladylike haste. “You’ve been in London for weeks. We heard you’d returned but Father and Mother have come home for a brief time. They brought visitors with them, which meant we couldn’t ride over to see you until today. Aren’t you going to greet us?”

  Mr. Sherbourne released Jocelyn and caught the woman as she threw herself at him. His fingers banded her upper arms, holding her from his body and resisting her inclination to embrace. Shock flitted across the woman’s face when he adroitly avoided her attempt at physical contact.

  “Leo, you’re hurting me.”

  Mr. Sherbourne set her away firmly, his countenance harsh. He moved closer to Jocelyn, curling his right arm around her waist. “Wish me happy,” he said. “Jocelyn and I are married.”

  Chapter Two

  “M-married?” The rosy color fled from the woman’s cheeks and her posture went rigid. Her gaze flicked over Jocelyn, and she gave a disdainful sniff. “You’re married? To her?”

  “Jocelyn, these are my neighbors Hannah and Peregrine Richards.”

  Jocelyn dipped her head in greeting, her face stiff due to the open slight. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She could do all that was polite, even if her new neighbor was lacking in manners.

  “Your wife is scarcely cold in her grave,” Hannah cried. “The period of mourning isn’t over and you married her?”

  “Ursula died a mere eight months ago.” Peregrine hid his surprise better than his sister, but his words contained pain.

  “I don’t owe you explanations.” Mr. Sherbourne’s voice held a hint of cruelty, his arm a forceful band around Jocelyn’s waist.

  Jocelyn froze, neither understanding nor wanting to draw further attention.

  “It’s unconscionable.” Hannah fisted her hands together, strain evident in her voice. “People are going to gossip and spread more rumors.”

  Rumors? What rumors? Jocelyn gnawed her bottom lip, unprepared for the seething undercurrents swirling around the trio.

  “Let them,” Mr. Sherbourne said with unconcern. “Mrs. Green is preparing refreshments.”

  “We’re not staying.” Peregrine grasped his sister’s arm and propelled her from the garden without a farewell.

  Jocelyn stared after brother and sister, watching until they passed a leafy bush covered with yellow flowers and disappeared from sight. “They seem a little upset,” she said finally.

  “Come, I’ll show you the rest of the garden before we retire to the terrace.” He led her down a gravel path, past several climbing rose bushes, resplendent with white flowers. Bees buzzed industriously, flitting from bloom to bloom. Some of the tension lifted from Jocelyn. It was only natural people were surprised at their marriage. But eight months? Oh, dear. What a pickle.

  “The stables are down this path. It’s a three-minute walk.” He gestured in the direction her new neighbors had departed and strolled farther into the gardens. “We grow fruit and vegetables in the walled garden near the kitchen.” Her husband pointed to the right. “See the hedging over there?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s a maze my father designed when I was a child. My older brother and I used to enjoy scaring our friends whenever our parents held house parties. We’d don ghostly costumes and jump out at visitors.”

  “You didn’t!”

  Humor crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I assure you we did. Dartmoor abounds with tales of ghosts and witches, and we shamelessly used the legends to strike trepidation into our guests.”

  “Didn’t your parents censure you? Your father?”

  “Who do you think gave us the idea?” Pure wickedness curled across her husband’s mouth as he unleashed one of his potent smiles. Her knees weakened under the impact, and she would have staggered if he hadn’t held her arm. “Watch the path. It’s a little uneven in places.”

  Heat crept into her cheeks. “Who tends the gardens?” she asked hurriedly, seeking distraction from the surge of awareness streaking through her veins. “My mother will enjoy them.”

  “I employ a head gardener and two under-gardeners to keep them in order.” He directed her along another concealed path. The gravel crunched under their feet as they walked beneath an archway formed by trees.

  Jocelyn cocked her head at a new sound. “Is that water I hear?”

  “Yes, there’s a stream that runs through the bottom of the garden. It flows into a river not far from here.” His good humor faded, his mouth taking on a tight set.

  Something else he didn’t wish to discuss. Melburn hadn’t mentioned his cousin was a moody man. “Do you fish?”

  “On occasion,” he said.

  “Can we walk through the maze?”

  “Mrs. Green is most likely waiting on us. We can explore the maze another time. It’s a
tricky one and most people get helplessly lost.”

  “But not you?”

  “No.”

  Jocelyn noticed a hovering man who appeared to require a word with her husband. “Am I keeping you from your work?”

  “I wanted to greet you, but I do need to help the men with the sheep.”

  Jocelyn understood obligations. “If you’ll direct me to the terrace, I’ll take refreshments with my mother and Tilly. You go and complete your chores, and we can talk later this evening.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course. I’ll take the opportunity to speak with Mrs. Green.”

  “Thank you, Jocelyn.” Mr. Sherbourne drew her closer, approval glinting in his brown eyes now. “You’re very obliging. I appreciate your consideration.”

  “Think nothing of it.”

  “Follow this path. It will take you to the maze. Once there, turn to the left, and that will lead you to the terrace. I’ll see you later.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers, his eyes dark when he lifted his head. “So sweet. Until tonight.” With ground-eating steps, he strode away.

  She watched him disappear from sight. Like the maze, he was a mystery, one she desperately wanted to solve. Her mind skipped ahead to the coming night and longing fueled a burst of pleasurable tingles and the urge to fan her face. Although nerves had come to the fore, a part of her was curious, and she looked forward to their marriage bed.

  Her footsteps took her in the direction Mr. Sherbourne had indicated. Soon she came upon the maze, the tall hedges standing several inches higher than her head. What fun! With more time, she’d have ventured inside to challenge herself with the puzzle. The scents of more plants assailed her when she turned left—lavender and honeysuckle plus others she didn’t recognize.

  A whisper of sound behind her had her turning with an expectant welcome. “Good day.”

  There was no one there. Frowning, she scanned the vicinity. Nothing out of the ordinary struck her, yet the sense of an observer persisted. Finally, she shrugged and continued along the gravel path to the terrace. A maid and the housekeeper arrived at the same time. They placed a pristine white cloth over a round table and set out refreshments. A footman carried two chairs, arranging them around the table with two others.

  “I’ve timed my arrival perfectly,” she said to Mrs. Green. “I wonder if you could send a maid to ask my mother and Tilly if they’d like to join me.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Sherbourne.”

  “Mrs. Green, I’d like a meeting tomorrow morning, say around ten? I’d like to discuss a few household matters with you.”

  Mrs. Green pressed her lips together and drew herself up. “I hope you’ll find everything to your satisfaction.”

  “Merrivale looks beautiful.” The last thing Jocelyn wanted to do was tread on toes and create tension. “I’d like to discuss making changes to the furnishings in my chamber. I’m afraid the decoration is not to my taste.”

  “The first Mrs. Sherbourne had no concerns regarding the way I ran the household.”

  Jocelyn fought a grimace. She’d displeased the housekeeper, and on the first day too. “Perhaps Woodley could attend our meeting as well since I shall require some strong men to shift furniture.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Sherbourne. Will that be all?”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Green.” She watched the housekeeper march away, her back beneath her somber gown as rigid as a washing board. A pained sigh whispered from Jocelyn. Already, her presence at Merrivale had upset two of their neighbors and the housekeeper. Her husband was the only person who seemed genuinely happy with her arrival.

  Melburn must have known the full details of Leo’s first marriage, yet he hadn’t mentioned a thing. Both men had led her to believe Leo’s wife had died several years ago. How strange.

  Her mother burst onto the terrace, followed by Tilly. Their appearance dragged Jocelyn from her marriage worries.

  “Jocelyn, I love the gardens,” her mother said, dancing around the table and chairs like a child anticipating a treat. “I saw them from my window. And Woodley said there’s a river with a waterhole suitable for swimming. Oh, I’m going to be so happy here.”

  “I’m sure we could have an excursion to the river,” Jocelyn said, pleased with her mother’s enthusiasm. “Do you like your room?”

  “Oh, yes. I have my own parlor.” Her mother plied her fan as she excitedly described the décor, the views of the garden from her rooms and the profusion of beautiful ivy clinging to the exterior brick walls. “I must explore the gardens immediately.”

  Jocelyn laughed at her exuberance. “We can walk after our repast. I find myself quite hungry after our journey.” She busied herself with pouring. “Tilly, cease your hovering. Do sit and take tea with us.”

  Tilly sat on the edge of a chair and sent Jocelyn an unhappy glance. She started to speak, glanced at Elizabeth and closed her mouth. Jocelyn arched her brows, and Tilly nodded. She desired a private conversation.

  “Mother, do you think you’ll sleep well tonight?” Jocelyn asked.

  “I’m sure I will,” her mother said agreeably, swishing her fan. “Where is your hat, Jocelyn?”

  Jocelyn pulled a face as she passed delicate porcelain cups to her mother and Tilly. “Mr. Sherbourne was in rather a hurry, and I didn’t have time to collect one. Will you have a raspberry tart?”

  The rest of the afternoon passed agreeably. The trio finished their refreshments and strolled through the gardens, her mother darting from one discovery to the next.

  “Is something wrong, Tilly?”

  “Your mother is exuberant since our arrival. I worry she’ll have one of her episodes soon.”

  “She does seem rather euphoric this afternoon. Do you think we should administer a sleeping draft when she retires?”

  “That’s a good idea. You won’t want interruptions tonight now that you’re reunited with Mr. Sherbourne,” Tilly said.

  “No.” They turned a corner and came across her mother speaking with an elderly gentleman—a gardener, Jocelyn presumed. Elizabeth’s hands flashed as she indicated a plant in front of them. Her mother often displayed periods of clarity like this. In the past, Jocelyn had hoped it meant she was improving. Now she knew better. Soon her mother would return to her confused state where she screamed at imaginary creatures and spies who lurked in the night. Tears stung Jocelyn’s eyes. She must treasure these moments whenever they arrived.

  The gardener touched his hand to his cap and retreated when she and Tilly approached.

  “Are the household staff welcoming?” Jocelyn asked.

  Tilly wrinkled her nose. “From Woodley’s experience, they are slow to warm to newcomers. They’re a suspicious lot. It will take time for us to find our place here.” She lowered her voice. “Then there’s the business of the parlor maid from Hartscombe. She went missing over three months ago and yet they found her body displayed in the middle of the maze here at Merrivale.”

  “Body?” Jocelyn said sharply. “She was murdered?”

  “Aye, I understand Mr. Sherbourne found her right in the middle of the labyrinth, not long after he arrived back from London.”

  “That’s terrible.” Jocelyn recalled the faces of the servants when they’d greeted her earlier, the unease she’d credited to her arrival. “Have they discovered the culprit?” It was odd Leo hadn’t mentioned the murder. He’d said the maze was a challenging one—Jocelyn broke off, her skin prickling with apprehension. The culprit was familiar with the puzzle.

  “No,” Tilly said. “I intend to lock the doors and windows firmly against intruders each night. I shan’t take any risks.”

  Suddenly the garden didn’t seem welcoming or charming.

  “I’m sure everyone is taking precautions already. The poor girl.” Tearing her mind from the unfortunate maid and the disquiet that had seized her, Jocelyn said, “Please let me know if you have problems with the staff. Don’t try to deal with them yourself.”

  “I will.”
Sincerity blazed on Tilly’s wrinkled face. “But I’m sure things will fall into place as they’re meant to.”

  Jocelyn smiled absently while her mind danced around the strange facts she’d uncovered since arriving at Merrivale. One detail wouldn’t let go. How exactly had Leo’s first wife died?

  After spending a delightful hour exploring the extensive gardens, they made their way back inside. Tilly and Elizabeth decided to retire to her mother’s suite, leaving Jocelyn to her own devices.

  Cassandra. Despite Mr. Sherbourne promising she’d see her new daughter the following day, she was dying to get a glimpse of her. All these years she’d assumed she’d never have a child, and now excitement put a spring in her step.

  Someone to love.

  Recalling her husband’s words about the nursery’s location, Jocelyn headed in the same direction as her mother and Tilly. Tapestries lined the walls of the passage. She paused to study one showing the Trojan wooden horse, the colors vibrant and eye-catching, the stitching abrasive beneath her fingertips.

  “Did you want something, Mrs. Sherbourne?”

  Jocelyn whirled around, her heart banging against her ribs. She pressed her right hand to her breast. “Oh, you startled me.”

  A pretty dark-haired maid stood behind her, a polishing cloth and a feather duster in her hands. “I’m sorry. I wondered if you were lost.”

  Jocelyn shook her head. The maid’s accent was broad, but not as thick as some of the other staff she’d met earlier. “Edna, isn’t it? I’m looking for the nursery.”

  “It’s Ella, Mrs. Sherbourne.” Her manner was hesitant as if she feared Jocelyn might sprout a new personality complete with horns. Ella swallowed rapidly. “The nursery is at the end of the passage.”

  “Thank you, Ella.”

  Ella nodded, risking a glance at her. “Was there anything else, Mrs. Sherbourne?”

  “No that’s all.” Jocelyn maintained her pleasant manner, despite the curiosity nudging her to ask questions. Gossiping with servants wasn’t something a lady of the manor would do.