I was about to reply in the negative when there was a knock at the door and Hugo was admitted into the room. I rose from the settee shyly, standing in front of him like a child waiting for a parent’s sign of approval. He was rather splendid himself in a suit of midnight blue, the coat liberally embroidered with a pattern in silver thread and a snowy cravat that frothed at his throat and offset the dark curls of his wig.
Hugo didn’t actually have to say anything because his face said it all. His expression was one of surprise, admiration, approval, and pride all at once. “You look very beautiful, Mistress Ashley. That color suits your complexion. Shall we?” I gave him a slight bow and took his proffered arm.
The dining room was ablaze with candlelight, the flickering light reflected in the numerous silver platters and goblets and setting the table aglow. I couldn’t even begin to guess what some of the dishes were, but they looked exotic in the extreme, the presentation an art form in itself. Our host, a man in his late forties by the look of him, came to greet us, his eyes devouring me in a way that left me feeling naked despite all the layers of clothing I was safely swathed in. He must have been handsome in his day, but age, poor nutrition, and overindulgence showed in the sagging of his jowls, the puffiness beneath the eyes, and the sallow complexion offset by his ginger wig, which was elaborate. He wore a patch on the right cheekbone, which suggested that he fancied himself quite the dandy. A younger man, no older than twenty-five, was also present; his dress and manner more somber and practical. He didn’t appear to be Sir Benedict’s son, and I could tell by Hugo’s expression that he hadn’t expected him to be there.
“Lord Everly, it’s been too long,” Sir Benedict exclaimed. “Have you recently been at Court?”
“I was in London at Christmastide, but was given permission by His Majesty to return to my estates at the New Year,” Hugo replied.
“Allow me to introduce my secretary, Edmund Somerville. A most industrious young man. I don’t make a single decision without him.” The young man blushed furiously and bowed to Hugo and myself, clearly feeling a little awkward at being included. I gave him a sympathetic smile, feeling just as awkward myself. I was terribly nervous, but it seemed all I had to do was look pretty. No one expected me to converse or even think, which in this case was a relief. Since Sir Benedict was recently widowed, I didn’t have to worry about being interrogated or snubbed by his wife. I was the only woman at dinner — an ornament.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mistress Ashley. It’s been far too long since a beautiful young lady graced my table. Please, sit next to me. This seat used to be occupied by my dear wife, but she’s no longer with us and I would see it filled, if only for one night.”
“I hear you’re to marry again,” Hugo said as a servant placed a slice of venison on his plate. Hugo didn’t decline, but I knew he wouldn’t touch it since it was Lent.
“Yes, you heard correctly,” Sir Benedict replied as he took a mouthful of venison and raised his eyes to the heavens in his apparent delight. “Delicious, as always. Do try it, Hugo.”
“It’s beyond compare,” Hugo replied smoothly as he pushed the meat around on his plate. “Who is the lucky woman?”
“I’m afraid I must keep it a secret for now,” Sir Benedict answered playfully, “but I will say that she’s very young and very comely. Edmund here is still negotiating the marriage contract, and the lady’s father is being somewhat unreasonable. I do hope to be wed soon. It’s high time I had an heir. My dear wife was unable to give me one,” Sir Benedict explained, giving me a petulant look worthy of a child. “I did so hope for a son. Three daughters were what the Good Lord granted us, but it’s not a complete loss. Girls are useful for making valuable alliances,” he said brightly, raising his cup in a toast. “To beautiful young ladies. May they delight us always.”
I was loath to admit that Hugo had been right. Sir Benedict’s eyes frequently strayed to my breasts and I felt his leg brush against mine under the table. He’d dare go no further since he deigned me to be Hugo’s property, but he wasn’t averse to copping a feel if possible. I tried to discreetly move away, but it didn’t work. Sir Benedict’s fleshy hand brushed against my thigh, making me shift uncomfortably in my chair. My eyes met those of Edmund Somerville across the table, and I felt a strange kinship with the man. He knew what Sir Benedict was doing and felt sympathy for me. He had such a pained look on his face that I couldn’t help wondering if secretarial skills were all that were required of him. Perhaps Sir Benedict used him to procure other services discreetly, so as not to put off a future father-in-law.
Course after course was brought out with Sir Benedict eating heartily and Hugo only tasting the fish and vegetable dishes. Despite the gorgeous presentation, the food tasted either bland or over spiced, made with a slew of ingredients that didn’t, in my opinion, even go together, which was ironic since Sir Benedict boasted at length about his Clerk of the Spicery whom he’d acquired in London; a man knowledgeable in the various spices and their effects, as well as their uses in medicinals and tonics. I thought I just might need a tonic after the last concoction I tried, so decided not to eat any more and just move my food around the way Hugo did.
The men kept the conversation neutral for my benefit, exchanging bits of Court gossip, discussing the plays and musicals they had seen when in London, and commenting on the latest fashions. Sir Benedict wouldn’t appreciate being quizzed on his loyalties in front of a courtesan; that conversation would come later. In the meantime, it was all light banter, with me chiming in from time to time when I felt it safe.
“Mistress Ashley, do you sing? Oh, I would love to hear you. Give us a song,” Sir Benedict implored as he squeezed my knee. He probably did think I was an actress. “There’s a pianoforte in the salon. Do you play? Say that you do.” I did actually play a little, and the promise of escaping our host’s groping hand was quite an inducement.
What’s a good seventeenth-century song? I thought frantically as I followed Sir Benedict into the salon with Hugo at my side. I could think of only one and hoped it would be all right. I sat down at the instrument and tested out the keys while the men arranged themselves around the room. It was out of tune, but it didn’t matter. Combined with my awful singing it would probably make the men want to run for cover.
I began to sing “Lavender Blue,” to the obvious delight of Sir Benedict.
“I love that one,” I heard him saying to Hugo, who was watching me with interest. I was glad I remembered the words. My mother used to sing that song to me when I was little since it always seemed to put me to sleep, and it was one of the nicer memories I had of her. She was still happy then, still in control. Thinking of my mum and the home I’d left behind nearly made me cry, but this wasn’t the time to come apart. I blinked away the tears as I tried to concentrate on the words, putting home out of my mind for the moment. I had a part to play.
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If I were king, dilly, dilly
I'd need a queen
Who told you so? Dilly, dilly
Who told you so?
I told myself, dilly, dilly
I told me so
If your dilly, dilly heart
Feels a dilly, dilly way
And if you'll answer, "Yes"
In a pretty little church
On a dilly, dilly day
You'll be wed in a dilly, dilly dress of
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
If you were king, dilly, dilly
You'd need a queen
Who told you so? Dilly, dilly
Who told you so?
You told yourself, dilly, dilly
you told you so
If your dilly, dilly heart
Feels a dilly, dilly way
And if you'll answer, "Yes"
In a pretty little church
On a dilly, dilly day
I'll be wed in a dilly, dilly d
ress of
Lavender blue, dilly, dilly
Lavender green
Then you'll be king, dilly, dilly
And I'll be your queen
I was surprised to see the expression on Hugo’s face when I finally finished the song and took a little bow. He looked gutted; his face pale in the candlelight, a haunted look in his dark eyes as he drank me in, clearly surprised by my performance. He quickly regained his composure and clapped his hands along with our host and Edmund Somerville, who looked blank.
“You have a multitude of talents, my dear,” Hugo said, smiling at me in approval. It was an innocent enough comment, but I saw the hungry look in Sir Benedict’s eyes. He assumed that Hugo was referring to my talents in bed, and I shuddered with revulsion as he came closer and leaned over me, practically drooling onto my breasts.
“Oh, yes. That was lovely, just lovely,” Sir Benedict breathed. “Give us another.”
“I’m afraid Mistress Ashley is very tired after a long day in the saddle. Perhaps we can let her go get some rest, and you and I can have some of that wonderful brandy,” Hugo suggested smoothly. It was time for the men to talk and for me to leave. Hugo was diplomatically suggesting that Sir Benedict excuse his secretary as well, and the point wasn’t lost on our host, who waved a hand at the young man, signaling that he might depart.
“Edmund, escort Mistress Ashley to her chamber, if you will,” he commanded as he reached for the decanter of brandy. “Lord Everly and I have much to discuss.”
“Goodnight gentlemen,” I said, deeply relieved at being dismissed. I was exhausted and longed only for my bed. Edmund didn’t say much as he led me through the house. He seemed tired himself, grateful to get away from his demanding master.
“Goodnight, Mistress Ashley,” he said as he stopped in front of my door. You have a lovely voice.”
“Good night, Mr. Somerville; you are too kind.”
Edmund Somerville shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “If I were kind, I’d tell you to lock your door and leave this house as soon as you can. Sir Benedict drives a hard bargain, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a part of it.”
“What can you mean?” I gasped, suddenly afraid.
“Only that I hope that Lord Everly holds you in very high esteem,” was all he said as he gave me a stiff bow and walked away.
Hugo and I had been put in adjoining rooms, as I feared, but there was no help for it, and after Edmund’s warning, I wasn’t as put out as before. I got undressed with Polly’s help, washed my face free of make-up, pulled out the multitude of pins holding my coiffure together, slipped on a nightdress, and crawled into bed. I was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easily. I firmly put thoughts of what might be happening at home out of my mind, focusing on my escape. I could probably manage to slip out of the house, but even if I got to the stables, highjacked a horse, and actually got away undetected, I had no idea how to get back to where I needed to be, especially in the dark.
I tried to remember the way, but we’d been traveling all day and took more than one fork in the road. I’d be hopelessly lost within an hour, alone in the middle of the night with no protection and no money. I knew enough about the seventeenth century to realize that a woman alone was fair game and that although I didn’t have much to steal, I could be raped or even killed, so I finally conceded that I had to stay. Sooner or later Hugo would return home and I would seize my opportunity then. I only hoped that it would be sooner rather than later.
It must have been well past midnight by the time Hugo finally returned to his room. I was still awake, and I saw the glow of his candle beneath the door to his room. I hoped he would just go to bed, but he had other ideas. Hugo tiptoed into the room and set the candle on the nightstand by the bed. He was wearing nothing but a shirt and I clearly saw the outline of his body as he turned to blow out the candle. I felt the mattress sag as his full weight settled on the bed. I must have tensed because Hugo moved a little to the side to put some space between us.
“I am a man of my word,” he said, eyeing me in the dark, “I won’t touch you.”
“So why couldn’t you just sleep in your room?” I whispered, inching away from him.
“Because our host would find that suspicious, and I don’t wish to give him any cause to doubt me or to view it as an invitation to visit your room himself. You are quite safe, I assure you. By the by, you were a runaway success tonight, my sweet,” he said, smiling in the dark. “Sir Benedict was very taken with you. He even suggested that I leave you here as a token of my good will in return for his support when the time comes.”
“What?”
He chuckled, but didn’t reply right away. Instead, he made himself more comfortable, folded his hands across his stomach and pretended to go to sleep.
“What did you tell him?” I hissed, terrified that Hugo had agreed.
“I told him that you have captured my heart, and I would not part with you for any reason. He was somewhat put out, but I think he will get over it by morning.”
Hugo closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes, but I wasn’t as lucky. I hadn’t slept with anyone but Evan in years, so lying in bed next to a strange man was awkward, to say the least. Hugo smelled of brandy, wood smoke from the fireplace, and his own slightly musky smell that made me scoot to the other side of the bed until I was practically hanging off. I knew he was naked under the shirt, as I was naked under my nightdress, and I found the thought to be utterly disturbing.
“Go to sleep,” Hugo suddenly said. I could hear the amusement in his voice, but he never opened his eyes or moved any closer.
“I can’t.”
“Need help?” he asked with a chuckle.
“No, thank you.” I turned on my side facing away from him and pretended to go to sleep. I was certain he knew I was faking it, but it didn’t matter. Fake it till you make it, Evan always said, and eventually it worked.
April 1685
Chapter 22
I woke up just as the first rays of sun tried to sneak between the closed shutters, providing just enough pearlescent light to bring the objects in the room into dim focus. The fire had gone out sometime during the night, and my breath came out in white puffs as I snuggled deeper under the quilt. I was surprisingly warm and snug, probably thanks to Evan’s body heat. My back and legs were pressed against him, his arm casually thrown over my side and gently cupping my lower abdomen, his pelvis right up against my lower back. I could feel his arousal and moved against him suggestively just to be a tease.
“Good morning to you, too.” I nearly jumped out of my skin as I suddenly remembered exactly where I was and with whom. This wasn’t a dream of the eighteenth-century inn Evan and I stayed at when we took a little holiday last year; this was frighteningly real, and the man next to me wasn’t Evan, but my captor. I elbowed Hugo in the stomach, and he moved away from me with a groan that sounded more like a laugh.
“I didn’t want you to get cold during the night. The room became glacial once the fire went out,” he said with an expression of perfect innocence on his face.
“How kind of you,” I spat out. “Do you think you might be persuaded to go back to your own room while I wash and dress?”
Hugo gave me a look that made me blush with embarrassment. He guessed I was dying to pee and didn’t want him to watch me using the pot. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a private bathroom and a hot shower right about now. He was right though; the room was freezing, the chill seeping through the walls and ill-fitting shutters, the air acrid with the smell of ashes from the fireplace.
Hugo got out of bed and walked to the door without turning. “I’ll leave you to it,” he called out as he closed the door behind him. I jumped out of bed and seized the chamber pot as if it were the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Funny how nothing seemed important when there were certain physical needs to be taken care of.
I dove back into bed, my feet icy after only a few moments against the cold floor. If it was this
cold in March, how cold was it in the dead of winter? I’d never realized how much we took for granted in our modern lives: running water, heat, and especially light. No matter how many candles were lit during the evening, the rooms were dim and full of shadows; the faces swallowed by the darkness the moment they receded from the feeble circle of light. No wonder Jem liked to sleep in the kitchen and get hot buns in the morning. It was the warmest place in the house where the food was always hot, not barely warm as it was by the time it actually made it to the table.
I braced myself for the arctic temperature and jumped out of bed, determined to at least wash my face and hands, rinse my mouth, and possibly wash a few other parts as well. My resolve was quickly forgotten as I saw the thin layer of ice on the water in the pitcher, deciding that perhaps hygiene wasn’t as important as not freezing to death.
“Good morning, madam,” Polly cheerfully called out as she carefully entered the room, carrying a steaming pitcher of water and a small tray laden with breakfast, which she set down on the round table currently housing the pitcher and ewer. It was some kind of porridge, but it least it was warm.
“What time is it, Polly?” I asked as I gratefully sank my hands into the warm water.
“Oh, it’s likely gone eight, madam. Yon men were up hours ago and breakfasted already. They’re readying the horses, and yon little page is rearing to go. Sweet lad, he is.”
“And smart, too,” I remarked, smiling at the unbidden image of Jem sitting by the roaring hearth and stuffing his face with fresh bread and hot porridge.
Chapter 23
The mud in the yard was coated with a layer of ice, which cracked loudly as the horses’ hooves stepped on it and broke it into minuscule shards as sharp as glass. The horses snorted, unnerved by the slippery ground, their ears pressed back and their eyes rolling in their heads as they trod carefully over the frozen earth. A deceptively bright sun hung cheerfully above our heads, making the ice sparkle, the crystals dancing with light and mirroring the bright glare of the windows.
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