“Fine,” she replied. Swiftly, she turned her head away. Now that she was sober, her anger toward the insufferable mining lord had returned. All she wanted to do for the remainder of the day was rest and not think of her awful predicament. Thankfully, the laudanum made her sleepy.
Bramwell quietly closed the door. Her thoughts wandered to the mysterious Lady Bellingham, upon whose bed she had been placed. How could she live with him for so many years as an unmarried woman? Their lack of decency disgusted Caroline. The thought of him sharing the very mattress with his former lover made her tingle with revulsion.
When she closed her eyes, she saw their naked bodies entwined together. Her imagination of their lovemaking went wild, stimulated by the opiates in her system. “Go away,” she commanded in a snippy voice. She spoke with authority to the taunting, naked vision of Bramwell Croft thrusting himself into Rebecca. She had to rid herself of such inappropriate thoughts, or she would go mad!
After a few more minutes, her heavy eyelids closed and she fell asleep.
* * * *
“Miss Woodard.” She heard her name called through her drugged state. A hand rested upon her shoulder and shook her gently. “Miss Woodard, it’s time to wake up and eat something.”
Her eyelids fluttered to reveal Millie standing above her holding a tray.
“Oh, let me sleep,” she moaned. All she wanted to do was turn over and hide under the covers.
“I cannot. Mr. Croft has given me strict orders to see that you have something to eat to keep up your strength. Then I must help you should you need to relieve yourself.”
Oh, how wonderful, thought Caroline with disgust. What hellish pain would await her when she tried to move to take care of such inconvenient bodily functions?
Millie set the tray down upon the nightstand by her bed. “Here, let me help you sit up and prop some pillows behind your back.”
Caroline ground her teeth together from the discomfort. Her leg felt as if it were on fire. When she had situated herself somewhat comfortably, Millie set before her the tray holding a bowl of stew, a piece of bread, and a small raisin tart. Instead of tea, a hearty portion of whiskey sat in a glass. Caroline frowned.
“You can tell Mr. Croft that I want a cup of tea and to take his alcohol elsewhere.”
“He thinks it will help you sleep better, along with the laudanum.”
“I am drugged as it is with fantasies swirling through my brain! Does he expect me to get drunk as well?” She flipped Millie away with her hand. “Go back to the kitchen and fetch me some tea, now!”
Millie scooted away from the bed and hurried out the door. In the meantime, Caroline picked up her spoon and took a bite of the stew, expecting to taste beef. Instead, the strong taste of venison filled her mouth that made her gag.
“Don’t they eat anything in this house that is not shot by the master?”
“For the most part, no,” Mr. Croft replied. He walked into the room holding a cup of steaming tea. “I have been informed that you do not approve of your drink.”
“Yes. You can take the whiskey and drink it yourself.”
“I think not,” he curtly replied. Bramwell poured a small amount of whiskey into the teacup until he looked satisfied that he had laced her drink with enough alcohol.
“Now look what you’ve done,” she cried. “I just want tea. That horrid alcohol tastes terrible.”
“But Miss Woodard,” he cajoled. “You are so much more agreeable in person with a bit of alcohol in your system. I seem to remember earlier that you found your painful circumstances rather amusing as a drunkard.”
“Humph,” she said.
“In fact, you even asked me to kiss you.” He smirked.
“I did not,” she vehemently denied.
“Oh, most assuredly you did, Miss Woodard. But being the gentleman that I am, I did not oblige your request lest I be accused of taking advantage of a poor, helpless female.”
It was then Caroline vividly remembered dreamily looking up at his lips and desiring to taste them. A blush tinted her cheeks. “Evidently I was delirious from the pain,” she replied.
“Drink the tea. I insist. And if you refuse my order, then I will pour it down your throat forcibly.”
By the dark glare in his eyes, she was sure he meant every word. “Fine then,” she relented. “Just leave it and go.”
“I think not,” he replied, setting her tea on the tray. He pulled up a nearby chair to the side of her bed and sat down. Folding his arms, he watched her intently. “I’m not leaving this spot until you finish your meal and drink your tea. Then Millie may come and tend you.”
What audacity! He was not only rude but a controlling scoundrel! The familiar urge to slap him returned.
Her stomach growled, giving away her need for food. Caroline relented and took another bite. After swallowing, she looked into his dark brown eyes. “And do tell. What poor animal did you shoot for this meal?”
“A fallow deer,” he replied. “Mrs. Williams is quite the cook when I bring home venison.”
“I prefer beef. Have you no cows?”
“I prefer venison. I have no cows.”
Caroline stopped for a moment and considered his handsome face. No matter how pleasant he was to her eyes, she could never fall in love with a man so brooding and sarcastic. They were both bullheaded and stubborn. Any relationship together would be a constant storm—striking each other with words like two lightning bolts. No, she needed someone more docile where she had the upper hand in the relationship. Mr. Croft would be far too dominating for her taste, though she admitted the challenge intrigued her immensely.
“Did Lady Bellingham share your taste in meat?” she asked. She knew her question would not be welcomed. His eyes darkened and changed into narrow slits looking at her with scorn for having mentioned her name.
“What Lady Bellingham preferred is none of your damn business,” he replied. “Now eat your food and drink your tea, so that I may attend to matters other than your broken leg.”
“Fine,” Caroline complied. She gobbled the stew, ate the tasty tart, and then gulped the cup of tepid tea as quickly as possible.
“There, are you happy?” She picked up the tray and shoved it in his direction.
He rose to his feet, took it from her, and headed for the door. “I will send Millie to attend to your needs,” he grumbled on the way out.
Caroline boiled with contempt. The idea of spending an entire week in the same house as that man would be more pain than her throbbing leg. “Kiss him,” she grumbled. “He probably tastes like venison.” Millie entered the room just as she spoke the words.
“Did you say you would like to kiss Mr. Croft?” Millie giggled.
“Oh, dear God,” Caroline said, bringing her hand to her mouth. “I do not care to ever kiss him.” She could feel her cheeks burning like red coals.
“It would be nice to see him happy again and in love,” Millie replied. “He has been so unhappy and disturbed since the death of his dear Rebecca.”
“What happened to her?” Caroline could not leave the matter alone.
“As I told you before, it is not for me to speak of it,” she said, pulling back the covers. “Instead, I must tend to your needs.”
That was all that Caroline had heard since she arrived in Pendeen. Don’t speak of it. Don’t ask him. The master forbids it. What did he do, kill her? The thought sent a chill down her spine, increasing her anxiety. Perhaps he did! Perhaps he would kill her! Then with no control of her emotions, she started to giggle again like an inebriated fool.
“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’m afraid that whiskey destroys every ounce of decency that I possess as a woman.”
“Indeed, alcohol can make an immoral woman out of anyone who indulges in it too much.” Millie said it with such conviction Caroline concluded that she had first-hand experience in the matter. If not, then perhaps she was insinuating that Mr. Croft wanted to keep her drunk so he could make a corrupt woman out of
her!
“Oh, dear God,” she moaned. “I want to go home.”
“All in good time, miss. All in good time.” Millie’s smug half smile did not sit well with Caroline.
Impatient Patient
For two boring days, Caroline lay in bed alone. Millie came to help her with her private needs and meals. Bramwell had not returned with whiskey or tea since their little tiff, and she assumed her comment about Lady Bellingham had all but severed their relationship.
As she lay there looking about the room for hours, she wished that she could rise and walk about and examine every item of clothing and rummage through the drawers. Millie had confirmed that the room lay untouched and locked at Mr. Croft’s insistence since Lady Bellingham’s death. He wished to keep everything as it was the day she died—an odd memorial to a woman Caroline knew so little about. With her arrival at Thorncroft, he had seemingly changed his mind, allowing her to wear Lady Bellingham’s clothing and recover in her bed.
“Millie,” Caroline asked one afternoon as she came with lunch. “Did you know anything about Lady Bellingham’s parents?”
“Oh, indeed,” she answered. “She came from a very wealthy and prominent family in Devon.”
“But she lived here with Mr. Croft as an unmarried woman.”
Millie lowered her eyes. “Yes, miss. It was quite the talk in Pendeen, and she shamed her family.”
“Then why didn’t they marry before they cohabited?” Caroline frowned.
“Not for me to say. I suppose they had their reasons, but we only served and did not question.”
Caroline did not know what to think. It must have been an excellent source of town gossip. How in the world did Darby condone his friend’s actions? Didn’t he say that he visited often for drinks? Did Lady Bellingham join them? Why had he never mentioned her to Georgina, or had he done so and forbidden her to talk about it? Now she understood her cousin’s dislike of Bramwell Croft.
“What was she like?” Caroline pointedly asked.
“Like any other lady of wealth.” Millie answered with a slight tone of aversion.
“Was she demanding and unkind?”
For a few seconds, Millie remained silent. She reached over, straightened the coverlet on her bed, and then fluffed her pillow.
“By your silence, I am assuming your answer to be yes,” Caroline said.
“When she first came, she was reasonable and well mannered. But as the years passed, she changed and was not so kind,” Millie said in a near whisper.
“How?” Caroline hoped that Millie would answer and not remain silent.
“They often argued the last few months before her death,” she whispered.
“About what?”
“Oh, Miss Woodard, I do not want to gossip,” she pleaded.
“All right then,” Caroline conceded. “I would not want you to get in trouble because of my curiosity.” Caroline, disappointed yet determined to learn more, changed the subject for the sake of Millie.
She sighed and glanced about the room. “I would be most grateful if you could get me something to read from the bookcase,” she said, glancing at the books against the wall. “I like poetry, if there is any.”
“Surely, miss.” Mille perused the books and found one of interest. She handed it to Caroline.
“A book of poems by William Blake, Lord Byron, and others. That appears entertaining, but I shall hide it from Mr. Croft lest he disapproves of me touching Lady Bellingham’s belongings.”
“Oh, I don’t think he would mind, Miss Woodard. He has never come into this room since the day she died either to touch or look at anything, as far as I know.”
“I would think he would want her things removed to lessen his grief,” Caroline replied. Perhaps that was a cruel thought, but his continual misery had to be due to the mausoleum of memories.
“Pearson thinks the master morbidly believes she will return one day. They never found her body, you know.”
“He is an odd man,” Caroline said aloud.
“Hardly,” Millie disagreed. “He can be very congenial at times and is kind to the staff, though he has a tendency to raise his voice when frustrated.”
“So I have noticed.”
“Is there anything else you need right now, Miss Woodard?”
“No, I am fine. You may go.”
Caroline settled in and felt far too alert to sleep. The pain in her leg had begun to subside, so she insisted on taking less of the laudanum and refused any further liquor.
She opened the book and noted that the first page carried an inscription. “To my darling Rebecca – Bramwell.” Caroline squinted and read it once more. Did the gloomy master like poetry, or did he merely purchase the book to cater to her likes? She could not imagine anyone as miserable as Bramwell reading syrupy love sonnets. As she pondered the thought, it did explain much about his miserable existence. Perhaps he had deeply loved her and suffered an irreversible broken heart.
Of course, her mind began wildly speculating about their relationship. The entire prospect made her glance about the room, eyeing the various drawers. She wanted to search for secrets that could be hidden in the room. Instead, she decided to stay put.
After reading a few verses, all resolve to mind her business vanished. Surely she could balance on one leg and hop around the room from furniture piece to furniture piece to invade a dead woman’s privacy. She had, with Millie’s help, gotten out of bed for other private matters.
Caroline shoved the book of poems underneath her pillow and scooted toward the edge of the bed. She swung around and placed the foot of her unbroken leg firmly upon the floor. If she only had a crutch, she could navigate, but Mr. Croft had not been thoughtful enough to provide one. His lack of attention solidified her belief that he did not care for her one bit.
With her right hand, she firmly clung to the bedpost and stood up. Her good leg wobbled, but she was able to hop a few feet to the end of the bed, keeping hold of one post and then grabbing another.
“This isn’t so bad,” she said. She bravely hopped over to a dresser a few feet away. After reaching her destination, she pulled out the top drawer.
“Oh, my, what beautiful undergarments,” she fussed. Without hesitation, she picked up a silken chemise and examined every detail. “She must have been a wealthy woman by the looks of it. I could never afford such items.”
Caroline pulled out a second drawer and saw a bright red corset. Her mouth gaped open at the flamboyant color. No doubt Mr. Croft had unlaced it many times. As she fingered the smooth fabric, she felt jealous that Lady Bellingham had once enjoyed his body. If she were ever to marry, Caroline wanted a muscular and handsome mate. The thought aroused a female yearning, which quickly brought a blush to her face.
After a few more minutes of peeking into the contents of other drawers, she made her way to the vanity and sat down. After glancing at herself in the mirror and observing how wretched she looked, Caroline snatched a brush off the top and pulled it through her unruly hair.
“Dear God, I look a fright,” she moaned. “No wonder he hasn’t come to visit.”
Caroline helped herself to the vanity’s contents. She brushed and fixed her hair, powdered her nose, and put a bit of color on her cheeks and lips. A perfume bottle enticed her to sniff, and she felt so overcome by the fragrance that she gave herself a quick spray on her neck.
After she had finished primping, Caroline pulled open a side drawer. Inside laid a small, silver box. She placed it upon the vanity top and opened it to reveal the contents. A few embroidered handkerchiefs were inside, which she thought a strange place to put them. As she lifted them up, she found an envelope addressed to Lady Bellingham.
“Oh, this might tell a secret or two,” she murmured. Her fingers fiddled with the lip of the envelope, and then she halted her actions, afraid of being caught. What if Millie walked in upon her or even Mr. Croft? If he caught her in the act, it might prove detrimental. Perhaps she should take it to her bed and hide
the letter under her pillow to read later.
Caroline took the correspondence and replaced the box back into the vanity drawer. Using the furniture for support, she rose and turned to hop toward her bed. She slipped the letter inside the pocket of her robe, not wanting to drop it while jumping like a rabbit. After three hops that sent pain through her lower leg, her long robe caught underneath her foot. As a result, she tumbled backward landing on her derrière with a hard plop. The jolt to her body sent another stab of pain through her leg, bringing tears to her eyes.
Heavy footsteps approached the door. A moment later, it flung open, giving her a shock. Bramwell stood in the threshold, surveying the room. When he caught sight of her toppled position, he approached and stood above her, glowering with his usual disapproving frown. A moment later, he put both of his hands on his hips.
“Well, just don’t glare at me, Mr. Croft, help me up to my feet!”
“Why are you out of bed?” he barked.
She couldn’t very well tell him what she had been up to in his former fiancée’s room. Unfortunately, she was on the wrong side of the bed because the bath chamber was on the other. It would not be plausible that she had risen to take care of private matters.
“I was bored,” she huffed. “You have left me to rot in bed.” It sounded reasonable to blame him once more for her predicament. “I tried to get up and look out the window.”
“Look out the window,” he repeated suspiciously. “For some reason, I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?” She looked up at him and frowned, sticking out her lower lip.
“Because I smell Rebecca’s perfume on you, that’s why.” He took a step closer, knelt down beside her, and sniffed.
Caroline leaned in the other direction caught off guard by his actions. “Stop sniffing at me like a dog.”
“You are the most audacious woman I have ever known. How dare you try her fragrance without my permission?” he roared. “The items in this room do not belong to you, Miss Woodard.” His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened in rage.
Thorncroft Manor (A Novella) Page 6
