Or would he dismiss her concern, fearing she might be embarrassed? He’d explained why he thought the sheath necessary, but she hadn’t followed. She’d been too excited. Could she persuade him to not use one? She wandered around the sitting room, lost in thought until Sadie beckoned.
Her bath was ready.
She sank into the hot water, noting how it eased her sore parts. But she didn’t want to linger. Her stomach was growling, and she wanted—no, needed—to see her husband this morning. He should be having his breakfast by now.
“The new cook arrives today, milady. I’ve laid out your green morning gown, but it’s quite cool outside. You might prefer the burgundy wool. It has long sleeves and a high neck, which would be warmer.”
Oh la, she’d forgotten about the cook. She would have to spend most of her morning with the new member of the staff, making sure she could find her way around the kitchen. After she settled in, they would discuss menus and favorite dishes. Today was Mary’s half day off, which often lengthened into a full day, which Gwen was pleased to give her.
“The burgundy wool sounds like a better choice.” She finished her bath, dried, and stood still while Sadie helped her into her undergarments and gown. After tidying her hair, she was ready for the day.
The small room they called the breakfast room was empty, but a table held tea, toast, and kippers. This room, too, lacked a sideboard, and she must consult John about ordering one.
“She sat at the table, her plate full, while a footman poured tea. “Has Mr. Montague broken his fast?”
“Yes, milady. He was here quite early.”
“Thank you.”
There would be no discussion this morning. She should be relieved, but his absence made her nervous. She wanted to gauge his reaction to her this morning, even if he chose not to bring up last night’s consummation. Did he feel different? She did.
She tamped down her disappointment and finished her breakfast. She tried to recall his schedule for the day but could only remember her own. Finishing, she rose from the table. She’d pick up her sketchbook and complete the plan for the herb garden.
Putting on her cloak and bonnet, she went outside. The air was quite cool and rainclouds gathered. She knew not when the cook would arrive, but she was restless today. After making a few notations on her garden plan, she set out for a walk. Her steps took her past the east wing, which looked dilapidated despite its new roof. She should inspect the interior one day to determine how it could be used in the future. John said it was riddled with wooden partitions. Remove them all, she thought. Start with a fresh palette.
She walked all the way to the abbey ruins standing stark and silent. Remembering to be careful, she entered the tower, placing her feet on the narrow stone steps winding upward. As she neared the top, she sensed she was not alone. How fanciful she’d become. She giggled. Perhaps losing one’s virginity did that.
The round room at the top with its narrow arched windows harked back to Medieval times. This was the oldest part of the ruins. Perhaps an even older wooden building had once stood here when the Danes and Northumbrians fought over the land. She gazed at the magnificent view of the estate, seeing a glistening ribbon that must be the Ouse, and rooftops of their tenants’ homes.
Her eyes found the largest cottage. She must remember to pay a call. The Trevelyans had five children, and Mrs. Trevelyan seemed a pleasant woman. Her gaze lit on another cottage where smoke from the chimney rose to the sky. Strange. John had distinctly told her that one was unoccupied.
A tiny horse and rider moved away from the building and became hidden as trees obscured her view.
She turned toward the steps and made her way carefully to the ground floor. Missing a latch on the inside, the door was propped open by a heavy boulder. She walked briskly back to the house and arrived just as John rode into view, heading for the stables.
Her heart warmed at the sight. Where had he been this morning? She didn’t have time to speculate, because a strange conveyance stopped in front of the house. A stout woman with gray hair and a quick smile alighted.
The cook.
“You must be Mrs. Bertram.” Gwen held out her hand. “Come with me. You need a cup of tea after being out in the cold.”
Gwen opened the front door and gestured to Lionel to have the footman bring in the cook’s trunk.
Leading the way to the kitchen area, she showed Mrs. Bertram her quarters and left her to get settled, asking one of the maids to make tea and serve it in the kitchen. “Add a few biscuits if there are any, Beatrice.”
Drat. She was going to miss John again.
La, I’m acting like a besotted schoolgirl.
But it was more than wanting to see him, touch him, and experience the warmth that intensified in his presence. She needed to talk to him about the French letter and reassure him motherhood, when it came, would not change her. Yes, she treasured her independence and was grateful he understood her. And yet, on this one point he was misinformed. He seemed to think she didn’t want to be a mother when she’d longed for it above all else.
Another serious conversation was necessary.
And soon.
She did not see John until late morning. While giving the new cook a tour of the house, she spied him in his room, an open valise on the floor. They had no trips planned. Where could he be going?
Leaving Mrs. Bertram in the kitchen, she rushed back up the stairs to the main entry and up one more flight to their sitting room. He was at the table he used as a desk, a quill in his hand.
He kept scratching on the paper in front of him.
Surely he’d heard her come in.
After folding the missive and sealing it with wax, he placed it in his pocket and turned to her. “Did you wish something, lady wife?”
“Are you going somewhere?”
He paused as if pondering his answer. “I have to go to Bath on Longley business.”
“Today?”
“I’ll be back in a few days.” He tilted his head. “The business is urgent. I thought you knew I assist Jeremy with the family estate.”
She swallowed a few times, hiding her dismay. Had she done something wrong? Their lovemaking was still fresh in her mind. Perhaps her inexperience had annoyed him in some way. Perhaps she was not supposed to enjoy the act he had carefully explained. “But we’ve reached a new understanding in our marriage. I thought we could discuss it to see how we shall proceed from now on.”
His eyes softened as he rose and took her in his arms, holding her close. She breathed a sigh of relief. She was a ninny. He was not appalled by her unladylike enthusiasm.
He whispered into her hair. “I am bloody sorry about my behavior last night. I was a brute and should have been more gentle with you, given it was your first experience. I hope you do not think ill of me. I promise not to cross into your room again for a very long time.”
He is sorry? He promises not to cross into my room?
He kissed the top of her head and moved away, closing the small valise and calling for his valet. “Is all in readiness?”
“Yes, sir. Your horse has been brought around. Lionel will make certain the cart is always ready for milady’s use.”
John turned back to her, smiling. “See, Gwennie. All will be fine. I daresay you have much left to do in the house, and if possible, could you visit the Trevelyans? I came from there this morning, and their middle child has a fever. I told them you might be able to advise them on how to relieve it.”
She was taken aback. He’d been out visiting their tenant this morning after leaving her bed. Business as usual.
Most men are not romantics.
This time it was her friend Emily’s voice in her head. They’d been pondering poetry, Mr. Byron’s poetry to be exact, at one of her salons. A lively argument had ensue
d about whether or not men were romantic by nature. She’d taken Emily’s position but secretly hoped it wasn’t true. She’d wanted romance in her life even though at the time she was sure she was doomed to become a spinster. Now, when romance was possible, it appeared she might have to make do without.
She stood her ground, watching her husband put on a fresh pair of boots. “I could go with you. It would not take long for Sadie to pack a bag for me as well. I haven’t been to Bath in years and would love to visit the Roman ruins there.”
“I am sorry, my dear. We’ll go there sometime if you wish. But not this time.”
She could argue but chose not to. If Jeremy had asked his brother for aide, of course he had to give it. The brothers were close.
“What is the nature of your business in Bath?”
“A task you would not be interested in, my dear.” He averted his eyes and pulled on his second boot.
That was an odd answer. John knew she was interested in everything. But she let it drop.
“Very well. I shall miss you.”
“And I you.”
He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and nearly ran out the door. His behavior was so out of character she wondered if he was ailing. Flooded with disappointment, and a tinge of anger, she watched him disappear down the stairs. What was so urgent, and why could she not accompany him? Bath was a pleasant place, and they had not taken a wedding trip.
No need to dwell on it. He was right. She had a lot to do.
“Was that Mr. Montague leaving with a small valise?” Sadie held a pile of clean undergarments in her hand.
“He’s going to Bath to take care of a business matter for his brother.”
Sadie studied the items she carried. “I see.”
Straightening her back, Gwen made her way down the stairs and out the front door. The tower called to her, and she headed there now. She could watch John’s progress from the ramparts and calm the turmoil raging through her head, turmoil caused by words expressing an apology that was totally unneeded.
I’m sorry. I was a beast.
She wasn’t sorry at all. If coming alive in ways she’d never imagined was cause for concern, then so be it.
As she reached the room at the top, she drifted toward the windows. John was already out of sight. Her gaze settled on the cottage that was supposed to be vacant. Perhaps while John was away she’d have time to solve that particular mystery.
He will only be gone a few days.
Stepping carefully, she found her way out, giving only brief thoughts to the supposed ghost of the tower when she thought she heard a baby’s cry. She paused, cocked her head toward the sound, and then continued down. One of the feral cats living in the stables must have taken up residence near the tower.
She’d been feeding them ever since she discovered their existence. Perhaps in time, one might make a good housecat although she’d been told taming a feral cat would take a great deal of patience. In the meantime, she’d make a pet of the terrier Lionel used as a ratter. He often followed at her heels when she was out walking. She called him Marmot because of his sleek brown fur.
No need to be alone when John was gone.
Then why do I feel lonely?
Chapter 15
Hours turned into days, and soon a week had passed. Each afternoon, Gwen rode out on their land, following old lanes and streams feeding into the Ouse River. Mary suggested she take the stable lad with her.
“Posh. We’re not in London. It’s our land, and I should get to know it better.”
One day Gwen paid a formal call on her nearest neighbor, Lady Livesley. She’d put on a fashionable gown and used some of her pin money to hire a proper vehicle to convey her. She’d found her neighbor cold and haughty, but good manners required her to stay for a requisite half hour before making her escape. She had not wanted to repeat the visit, even to relieve boredom.
Mother always said she had a stubborn streak, and she let it rule her now, seeking the stark beauty and isolation of her new home. If she’d been a poet, she would have written about the rolling hills, still green from recent rains, and the low shrubs and bright yellow gorse reminding her of landscapes she’d painted for a patient governess. Her creations were nothing more than dabs of color on a bright background, meaningless to all but the artist, but colorful nonetheless.
Wind blew out of the north and tugged at her bonnet as she reached the top of a rise and dismounted. A patchwork quilt lay before her—a copse of trees, scattered rooftops, and the endless green with a few meandering streams. Her family’s country estate was quite different. Thick stands of trees hid lakes so still they mirrored clouds in the sky above. She’d always thought its beauty unparalleled. Until now.
Positioning her patient mare next to a flat rock, she mounted and continued her ride. She’d passed several cottages, reminding her she needed to pay more frequent visits when John returned. Those that had been abandoned over the years were too run down for occupants as yet. While she hadn’t stopped to inspect them, John had said the walls and roofs could be repaired. Animal pens needed mending, and old gardens had gone to seed, but those, too, could be put to rights.
They needed all the farms to be occupied, so rents could be paid and the estate could become prosperous. Once John put his cattle scheme in place, he might attract new tenants. Trevelyan was working on the plan, as well as caring for their sheep.
Taking another lane home, she stopped before the turnoff to the cottage she’d seen from the tower, the one that was supposed to be vacant, but obviously was not. John had not mentioned a new occupant. She shook her head and debated. She’d told Mary she’d return by teatime, but curiosity tugged at her like a taut string. She turned her horse down the lane, knowing how improper it was for her to be riding unaccompanied by a groom. She was the lady of the manor. Surely it was acceptable for her to introduce herself to the family. It was her duty to see if they needed anything.
Dismounting with the aid of a sturdy stump, she tethered her mare and knocked on the door. It was opened immediately by a young woman who eyed her with suspicion.
“I’m Mr. Montague’s wife. I was out riding and thought I’d stop and make your acquaintance.” Gwen smiled despite the chilly reception she was receiving. Who was this woman?
Instead of inviting her in, the girl closed the door behind her and stood with her arms folded. She was small in stature with pale blond hair tied loosely behind her back with a ribbon. Her dark gown was unfashionable, but it didn’t matter. Her beautiful face and slim body drew the eye. She was everything Gwen was not, and for a moment, jealousy spiked through her.
Could she be the reason John had put off their consummation so long? She remembered seeing a man on a horse leaving this cottage on two occasions from her visits to the tower, visits she’d made because John was absent. The horse and rider had been distant, and her eyesight hadn’t been sharp enough to make out features of either. But she’d wondered and always seemed to forget to ask John if he’d been out this way.
“If you’re in need of anything, please send word. Mr. Montague and I have only been in residence for a short time, and all of our plans are not yet in place. We’re happy to help if the cottage has a special need.”
The girl relaxed her arms. “Aye, Mr. Montague offered assistance as well.”
John has been here. “I’ll be on my way then. Please give my regards to your family.”
“’Tis only me now, and I am happy to be able to stay here.”
Gwen frowned. A woman alone? She swallowed a lump rising in her throat. “Nice to make your acquaintance . . .” She paused, waiting for the woman to introduce herself.
“Elizabeth.”
Gwen nodded, found her horse where she’d left it, climbed on the stump, and mounted. “Goodbye then.”
Elizabeth’s ga
ze bored into her back as she rode off. Why had John not told her about the woman in the cottage? Her beautiful features formed a picture in Gwen’s mind. Did John have a mistress, or was she being fanciful?
The most important thing in a marriage is trust.
Who had told her that? Surely it had been Miranda. She rarely spoke of marriage to Mama and never with Lydia.
She prodded her horse into a canter and was glad when the stable came into view. A groom helped her dismount, and she strode toward the house. She was late for tea, but there was no one here to scold her. She could do as she wished, and right now she wanted to eat something to distract herself from the nagging doubts that kept surfacing in her mind.
If John were here, she’d ask him about Elizabeth straight away. But he was not, and she missed him. He’d been gone longer than expected.
Lionel took her outer garments as she entered the house. “Do you wish tea in your sitting room, milady?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Her spirits improved after washing in the basin in her room. She was being silly. There was a story here somewhere, and she’d missed it. But she would quiz Mrs. Trevelyan next time she visited. A basket with biscuits and a pot of jam was in the kitchen, ready to be delivered. She was going to ask the footman to take it, but she’d deliver it herself tomorrow.
She liked visiting the Trevelyans. They were cheerful and welcoming, and while they were awed by her at first, she’d quickly put them at ease. She was particularly fond of their two-year-old, a little girl who liked to climb into Gwen’s lap uninvited, to Mrs. Trevelyan’s horror. Gwen loved it, bouncing the child on her knee to squeals of laughter.
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