From the side windows of the parlour, she could see the apple orchards in full bloom, the pale pink colour of the blossoms appearing as a sea of shell pink over the green leaves and dark trunks of the small crooked trees. In front of them, near the pool, stood a lacy white gazebo, a pretty little summerhouse with benches where one might sit on a warm summer day and read, or merely dream. Lesley looked forward to the summer days and lazing there with Sandy or Viola.
She picked up her pen, stared at the blank sheets before her, without really seeing them. She must make out the menus and consult with the housekeeper and cook. But her mind wandered this morning.
She was very, very grateful to Burke for rescuing them all. Viola was recovering, her laugh rang out at times now, her cheeks were becoming more full and pink, her eyes glowed. And Sandy ... the dear little boy was slowly recovering. If she had not married Burke, all this would have been impossible. If she had not married Burke — or some other man.
She scowled, nibbled the end of the pen, then sat erect and tried to work. But Burke’s cool, amused face kept appearing between her and the pages. Did he mean to make her his real wife? The suspicion had been recurring more often these days.
She finished the menus, leaned back, and sighed heavily. She was a fortunate woman, she was educated, attractive, had never wanted for money. But ... she was a woman. As such, she had always been subject to men. First her father, then her older brother, then Uncle Stukely for a brief dreadful time, and now Burke.
If only she had been born a man...
Or if only women had more rights than they did! Absently, she considered. What if she had rights as a woman that were equal to those of a man? She could buy a home in the country, live alone or with Viola, walk about, have her own carriage and learn to drive it. She would entertain intelligent men and women, or be alone as she chose. She would marry or not, as she chose. Her life would be her own to rule. She could travel, adventure, do what she pleased, and nobody could gossip about her, for she would be free!
Freedom for men, but not for women, she thought bitterly, and glanced about the room. A pretty prison, she thought. It was quite attractive. Burke had ordered it done in such feminine colours, of blue and gold, with touches of the same bittersweet red as in the bedrooms. His study had more red, with just touches of darker blue and gold. The furniture was rosewood, shiny and well-made of simple design, nothing ornate. She had put her own small treasures about: porcelain vases of pale blue and white, ivory figurines, a music box given her by her father, petit point pillows she had made herself.
When they returned to the townhouse in the autumn for the season, she might make changes there. Burke had generously given permission for her to refurnish her bedroom, the master bedroom there, a parlour for herself, and the downstairs drawing rooms. However, they were all fresh and pretty, and she liked his taste in colours — or that of the interior decorator, whichever it had been. The colours of blue and gold and deep greens had pleased her. His study was dark brown and touched with amber, and she liked that also.
Nothing much to do, she thought. Only keep the household going, settle any disputes between the housekeeper and cook and butler, supervise Sandy’s education until he was eight or nine, when he might go away to school if she and Burke so decided. Be hostess to Viola, to Frank when he came home on leave, entertain her and Burke’s friends and neighbours. A few duties with his tenants, once a year a ball for them and dinner, going to church each Sunday to sit in the Penhallow pew.
It did not seem like much. Yet it must be her life from now on. Perhaps in the winter she might attend lectures and concerts in London. She wondered if Burke now liked concerts, she was sure he would not care for the feminist lectures she would want to attend, and even to deliver.
How different they were. He was a man, able to rule all he could own. She was a woman, who must bow down to masculine decisions about her money, her property, her life. Was it fair, was it just? Everything in her shouted, No! Never! Yet it was so.
She sighed, stood up, adjusted her emerald-green wool skirts trimmed with gold braid, and went down to the kitchens. She consulted with the cook, learned they had been able to obtain fresh fish again, and changed the menus to include that. Some new little strawberries had been brought in by a farmer. She nibbled at them with delight, and ordered them prepared for dinner that evening with a light topping of whipped cream.
Luncheon was served as soon as Burke and Edgar returned from their morning of work. Viola was demure in blue, with blue ribbons in her sunny red-gold hair. How pretty she was, and how Edgar’s gaze returned to her again and again. Hmm, was that a match? Lesley sat up, wondering. How had she missed that? Another exchange of conversation between them, a quiet laugh, a look.
No, it was too soon to worry. And Edgar was a good, honest man, he would speak to Burke first, or to Lesley. Yet ... Viola was but seventeen, and he was, what ... twenty-six? Too much difference? Viola was not yet out, yet to give her credit she did not seem to be troubled about frivolities and balls, coming out, being invited to Almacks. She was more sober of nature, perhaps because of the early deaths of their parents and the cruel guardianship of Uncle and Aunt Stukely.
She started; Burke was speaking to her from the head of the table. Across the rosewood expanse, she listened. “Lesley, tomorrow I ride out to the mill. It is a pleasant drive, and the lane there is rather smooth. Should you choose to accompany me in the carriage, I would be pleased.”
Viola’s bright blue eyes turned from one to the other of them. Edgar seemed intent on the answer. Lesley managed a smile. “That sounds most pleasant, Burke. Thank you. Shall it be very long? I do have some tasks...”
“About three hours. If you could manage to give me the morning, it would be kind.”
He made it impossible to refuse to be alone with him. She fumed a little, but presented a bland face to the others. She could pretend many tasks, but really there was so little to do.
“I shall be pleased to come, then,” she said finally.
“Good, let us proceed about nine o’clock. That will give us plenty of time. We shall take tea near the mill at the foreman’s house. I have some business to discuss with him, and there are pleasant walks about near the mill.”
“I should like to observe the operations,” said Lesley thoughtfully. “Father had such a mill for grinding wheat. I presume that it makes all the flour hereabouts.”
“That is correct.” Burke showed no surprise at her interest in the business of milling. He went on to explain briefly the problems of getting a new good millstone to replace a very old one.
“I thought millstones were good for ever,” mused Lesley, only half-thinking about that. She was noting the pleasant, keen look on Burke’s face, how his strong brown hands moved as he explained something. When she was not fighting with him, she could almost like him. And he had been very good about Viola and Sandy.
“This one would have been. However, it rained on the stones, the stone was not carefully dried, the weather turned cold, the water froze in a crack. And water, oddly enough, can break a stone! So did this, as the water froze, the crack expanded until the millstone broke with its force.”
“Odd, that,” said Edgar. “I think I shall make a sermon on it! How drops of water can crack a very strong stone.”
Viola looked at him seriously. “What a grave thought, and intelligent, Mr Creswick. You can find sermons everywhere, even in the small things of nature. It makes your sermons most interesting and understandable even to me, and to small children.”
He smiled at her tenderly. “How very kind of you to say so, Miss Viola. It is my intention to give sermons and little talks which will be of interest and moral virtue, so that all may understand it, whether they know long words or no. For the Kingdom of God is for all of us, and unless we be as little children, we shall not enter therein.”
He was a good and kind man, thought Lesley absently, as the talk flowed on about her. If he did choose to court Viola, and sh
e liked him very much, it could be a match. Viola was a gentle, charming young lady, with a small fortune of her own which might enable him to obtain an even larger parish, if he so chose. It would make their lives easier, for themselves and for their children. In turn, he would be gentle and kind to Viola, and Lesley need never worry about her sister.
That night, she had just drifted off to sleep when a weeping sound wakened her. She came alert. Sandy’s nursery rooms were just above her and Burke’s suite of rooms.
The whining, crying sound came again. Good heavens! Lesley scrambled hastily out of bed, and in the darkness her small feet found the slippers, she caught up her robe, and was pulling it on as she opened her door to the hallway. Burke was just opening his door. Her look of wild alarm met his.
“What is that?” he snapped.
A wild howling went up, a whimper.
“She is beating him!” gasped Lesley.
She ran to the end of the hall, out into the large circular area where the winding staircase came up from below. She turned to the nursery stairs, opened the door, started up, with Burke just behind her pulling his robe over his nightshirt.
She ran along the hallway upstairs, yanked open the door to Sandy’s bedroom. She found him standing in his nightshirt in the middle of the floor. Mrs Grigson was standing over him, holding up her arms in despair. Sandy was howling now in earnest.
“You cannot take him away! You cannot!” he cried.
Lesley blinked in the dim light. Burke did not hesitate.
“Alexander Dalrymple!” he said sternly. “Did you bring a pup up here with you when I told you twice you could not do so?”
Sandy cringed and stopped yelling. “Yes, Uncle Burke,” he mumbled. “But he’s up here now, can’t I have him for the night, can’t I?” And his small arms reached up for the pup which Lesley could now see that Mrs Grigson was holding away from him.
“No, you cannot! And the pup is lonely for his mother, that is why he is crying!” Burke sighed with exasperation. “Mrs Grigson, kindly take the pup down to a footman and have him return it to its mother. And as for you, young man...”
“Oh, Uncle Burke!” whimpered Sandy, half-raising his arm as though expecting a beating.
It was too much for Lesley. “You cannot beat him!” she blazed at Burke. “You must not! He has endured enough —”
Burke turned on Lesley. “You will not interfere!” he rebuked firmly. “Now, Sandy, tomorrow you will remain indoors in your rooms, and not go out to play. And you shall not see the pups tomorrow, that is your punishment.”
Sandy hung his head. As Lesley took a step towards him, Burke’s hand shot out and he held her arm, holding her back.
He repeated, “You will remain indoors tomorrow, and you shall not see the pups! If you understand me, Sandy, you will say so!”
“I understand you, Uncle Burke. I am sorry,” muttered Sandy.
“Then go back to bed,” said Burke, more gently.
Lesley saw him into his bed, tucked him in, bent over, and kissed his cheeks.
The thin arms went up about her, clung tightly. ‘I’m sorry, Aunt Les.”
“That’s all right, my dear,” she said, and kissed him again. She could not bear for him to be punished.
Mrs Grigson returned, Burke repeated his instructions, and then, still holding Lesley’s arm, he returned with her to their rooms. He accompanied her to her room. In the dimness, she stood facing him.
“I cannot allow you to punish Sandy,” she said tightly.
He was silent for a long minute, hands thrust into the pockets of his robe. Then in a surprisingly mild voice, he replied.
“Sandy was like his father, before Uncle Stukely got hold of him, Lesley. He was lively, mischievous, he would try things to see how far your patience would hold before you broke and punished or stopped him. I understand that under his Uncle Stukely, he was vilely punished and crushed in spirit. However, he is beginning to revive.”
“I understand all that,” interrupted Lesley. “But he has endured so much! I cannot allow —”
“Pray do not continue! I do not wish to quarrel with you over his upbringing. But you must understand. Sandy is naturally mischievous and strong of will. If we allow him to go unpunished, if we do not correct him when he disobeys, what do you think will happen, Lesley?” He paused.
She knew very well. Her mouth closed stubbornly.
Burke finally continued. “He will be unbearable, an unruly child, disobedient, and will have a difficult time in school, for he will not obey his teachers either. I will not have Sandy grow up so self-willed as to be a trial to everyone around him. Do you understand me, Lesley?”
She could not resist. In a high-pitched imitation of Sandy’s voice, she intoned, “I understand you, Uncle Burke. I am sorry!”
She was not prepared for his reaction. His hands shot out, he grabbed her and hauled her to himself. She gulped in surprise as he clasped her firmly to his warm body. She was caught off balance and tilted against his chest, her legs at an awkward angle.
His head bent, his mouth closed over hers. He kissed her, a long, warm, hard, rather angry kiss. She mumbled against his mouth, “Let me go, you devil! Let me go!”
‘“You’re the devil, always teasing and tormenting me!” he replied, but he did not sound furious, rather amused. He kissed her again, more gently, and his arms were tight about her. She felt a strange warmth begin to creep up in her body, from her thighs to her breasts. Off balance, she could not push him away. She struggled, he but held her the more closely, and kissed her again. His lips wandered from her mouth to her cheek and chin, up to her ear lobe, where he bit softly. A funny thrill went down her, making her shiver.
“Let me stay tonight, Lesley!” he whispered, and kissed the vulnerable place just below her ear. “I want you, darling — you little torment!”
“No — no!” she blazed, and with an intense effort she raised her arms so her elbows held him from her. “No — go away, Burke! I won’t!”
To her surprise, he let her go, though his hands lingered on her as he released her. She felt his big hands on her waist, then sliding down to her thighs, before she could step back from him warily, glaring at him in the dimness from the opened windows.
“Don’t let this be an excuse that you do not go with me tomorrow, Lesley,” he warned softly. “You’ll be ready at the front door, ready to ride at nine!” And he strode off to his small room, leaving the door between their rooms open.
She went to bed, very tempted to defy him, to remain in her negligée tomorrow morning, sit at her desk and be very busy. By morning, however, she had changed her mind, and had dressed in a becoming amber gown with matching pelisse and bonnet.
“Very pretty,” he approved when he drove up in the carriage. “I fear the flour flying about may spoil it, though. Do you wish to change?’ And he eyed the gown dubiously.
She shrugged. “It will brush off,” she said and let him show her into the carriage seat, even lift her up with his big hands about her waist. “Tell me about the mill, I am most interested,” she invited primly. She would keep his mind on business today! And she was curious to see the mill and to know more about Penhallow estate.
To her relief, he took the invitation literally. He began to tell her about the mill, how it operated, how the old man had managed it all his days, as his father had also run it in his day. That lasted them to the mill, where Burke became absorbed in discussing the problems with the old man and his middle-aged son and young grandson. Lesley wandered about, returning in time to see a demonstration of grinding as a farmer drew up with bags of wheat from the winter, ready to be made into flour.
Burke said later, “He should have brought them in the autumn — the wheat might have spoiled.”
“Why did he delay?”
“The charges are less in the early spring.” Burke shrugged. “Poor economy. He might have lost them all.”
She asked what the millmen usually did in the summer and until th
e harvest was completed. Burke explained about the lumbering that took place on the estate, cleaning out the deadwood, sawing it. “Then with small, pretty pieces, many of the men do woodcarving, as their ancestors did. They sell the toys in the village: wooden dolls and rocking horses. The old man made Sandy’s rocking horse, and painted it for me. They will make enough with the carving during the winter to tide them over until summer, when the lumbering starts again, and later the harvesting of wheat.”
It was a pleasant day. Lesley and Burke took tea with the miller’s wife, and enjoyed it. It was only the first of many such days. Burke took Lesley with him about two days a week, when he did not have far to travel.
Burke explained the work to her, introduced her to his workers, always with the words, “This is my lovely wife, Mrs Penhallow. You will see her often — and be warned, she takes a lively interest in everything!” And he would smile.
The workers were curious about her, wary at first, then warming to her. But she would be “that woman, his wife,” for a time, until they accepted her for herself, she realized that. “The new one, the foreign woman,” though they had seen her as a child visiting on the estate. They were wary of strangers, and had cause to be, living so close to the coast where Vikings and Danes had raided, then the Normans under William the Conqueror, and frequently other Frenchmen in attempts at conquest. And Napoleon, with his recent threats.
Yet the days and weeks of May and June, moving towards July, were all pleasant. The flowers were changed in the flower beds, to roses and petunias, and lilies and pansies. She enjoyed riding with Burke, sometimes in one of his fine carriages, behind the well-kept stallions, or on one of the best mares, riding side-saddle with Burke on his favourite black.
The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 9
