Rough and Rugged: A Meet Me In Milwaukee Charity Anthology

Chapter Three

Leaving William behind to roam the shrubbery hand-in-hand with Betsy, Philip offers to drive me home to Bowen Hall. As he helps me into his gig, I cannot quench the earlier vision of his rippling muscles, glistening shoulders, the damp curls that fell across his forehead, or his strength as he swung the axe.

“This is a modest vehicle for a duke,” he says with a laugh. “It’s all I could acquire on my way to Aberfeld after arriving at Dover.”

“I hardly know what a peer would drive, but this looks perfectly serviceable for your park.”

“It is, especially when I inspected the stables and found them empty.”

He takes a roundabout route I do not try to follow. Being alone with him is enough. He drives up a hill and turns the gig to face a view of Aberfeld House.

“How distinguished it looks from a distance,” he says.

“Yes,” I agree. “Old and mellow. I love the way the red bricks have softened.”

“For centuries, to be sure. From here, the roof looks solid and the vines add color without showing how they eat away at the mortar.” He loops the reins over the dashboard and turns toward me. “I teased you, Miss Bowen, but now I have to admit… confess… I often thought about you when I was away.”

“You did?” I am suddenly devoid of voice. I suppose my jaw is hanging open in surprise. As often as I dream about you? I wonder, but he keeps talking.

“When I bellowed at the marching troops to straighten their lines, I wondered if you had outgrown your donkey and now rode sidesaddle. When I put on my dress uniform, I wondered if you went to school in town or had a governess. When we were in formation waiting for the enemy to attack, I wondered if you attended assemblies and danced with militiamen.”

I recover my wits enough to smile as I answer. “Yes to the sidesaddle, no to school, and a few times to the assemblies. How dull my life is compared to yours.”

“A so-called dull life was the hope of every man in my regiment,” he responds with a grin.

I nod and take a deep breath. “You really thought of me? Why me?”

“You and your brother are the reasons I always came to visit my uncle. I saw what was happening to him and his neglect of the house and farms. It made me sad, but you and William seemed normal, the kind of family I wish I had.”

“You mean we were ordinary?”

“Yes, in a way. You appeared to be happy. I said to myself, if I survive this war, I will go back there and see how Meg has grown up.”

I remain silent, reluctant to ask how he thinks I turned out, wishing he would volunteer his opinion; but instead, he tilts up my chin and brushes his lips across mine, filling me with an enchanting shower of sparks. I close my eyes, wanting the moment to last forever. He slips his arms around me and holds me closer. How can this be happening?

When I am home and braiding my hair for bed, I scold myself for being so single-minded about the duke. I’ve known him for many years, but a three or four minute interval dominates my mind. I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. Is this what growing up means? Not to reach a certain number of years to be of age, but to see the world in different ways, discover all sorts of new things? Yes, something is hiding deep inside, reacting to the appeal of a naked back and the swing of strong arms, and the press of a chest against mine.

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This morning as I wake, just a moment thinking of what is ahead today sends me scrambling back under the covers and curling up in concern. The memories flood back. What did I promise Philip? His Grace, I mean. I know only about tending my own home, always with the help of Mrs. Peterson, an experienced housekeeper. I would be of little help to repair disorder at Aberfeld House. Why did I agree to meet him this noon? If I’m being honest with myself, it charges me with excitement. I cannot quite define my feelings for the new tenth duke, partly dislike of his teasing, partly his new consequence. But even more, I cannot erase the vision of his tough, yet stunning body. Especially unclothed.

Just before midday, he fetches me from home.

“I have not been in Aberfeld House since before you left.”

“You are about to see years of waning income and decay.”

“That bad?”

We approach the side door where the stoop obviously hasn’t been swept for weeks.

“The old duke’s eyesight was weak, and the servants’ worse, most old enough to have been discharged long ago.”

The entrance hall is dark. Hardly a hint of light pierces the diamond-shaped panes of grimy glass in the old windows. Across the stone floor, the staircase rises into the gloom past faded tapestries with indecipherable designs. We enter the drawing room and I hasten to the draperies to open them, but the fabric almost crumbles in my hand. “Good heavens. Look at this.”

He moves next to me and fingers a torn section of tan brocade. “Almost rotten,” he mutters.

“Oh, this is very sad, for this fine old house to be so… so neglected.” My throat grows tighter. “Heartbreaking, in fact. I want to cry seeing it like this.”

He puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his side. “I know. Once it hosted the King, but I am embarrassed for my friends to see it now.”

He draws me closer and wraps his other arm around me, whispering into my hair. “Can you help me, please, Meg?”

I hear despair in his voice. Burdened with unproductive acreage, vacant tenant farms, a disordered tangle of walnut forests, a wreck of a residence; no wonder he swung the axe with such determination.

“I will have to find people to assist me. I think Mrs. Peterson will help.”

“Of course.” He bends his head and kisses my cheek, tightening his embrace. “You are the only person around Aberfeld I want to spend time with.”

I can’t help but giggle. “I am afraid I know nothing about forests and cutting down trees. I don’t know anything about planting them, either.”

“Your smile is enough to raise my spirits, Meg.” He hugs me and turns away. “But this is no time for snuggling in all this dust, much as I would prefer more kisses to looking at worn rugs and damp-scarred ceilings.”

“I concur.” He is so correct. The musty scent is not conducive to intimacy, and to be honest, his closeness is far too… too what? Enticing? Dangerous?

We break apart and climb the staircase to the upper floor. My brain is awash in confused feelings. How can I be attracted to this man when I’ve always held him in distaste? I am about to enter bedchambers in his presence, without another soul close by, though it is an unlikely setting for a possible seduction. We trudge through three fusty bedchambers, air stale and smelling of decay. The old draperies on the tall tester beds hang limp. The chairs and cabinets are draped in once-white covers and the carpets are too dirty to show their patterns.

Leading me to another door, the duke shrugs despondently. “There is only one room on this floor that is livable, the one where I sleep.” He opens it, at last revealing a space reasonably worthy of habitation.

“Certainly an improvement.”

“Yes, I live more or less here and in the kitchen. Mrs. Jenkins, the only one left, brings in fresh bread, prepares the coffee, and leaves me cheese or a meat pie for dinner. I could not survive without her.”

After we tour several salons on the first floor, I feel the need for a bath. “The first thing you need is a throng of cleaners. No one has washed a window in ages. Shall I ask Mrs. Peterson to hire a crew?”

“Uncle was something of a miser, but his solicitor tells me there are some funds available, though little prospect of any income soon. Let’s get started.”

“It will be a challenge, but we’ll try our best.”

Philip’s grin is a welcome reward. I must take care to shield my heart from my one-time opponent.

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Two days later, after William and the duke recruited friends and some servants to join in the activity in the woods, Betsy reports she’d heard several of the village maidens found the spectacle of men working in the hot sun without shirts worth walking to the forest to observe.

She and I take her donkey cart to see them also. When we arrive, it isn’t yet hot enough for discarding shirts. Soon after, one at a time, the workers do so, my brother joining in, as the heat bears down. The young women all sit in the shade, giggling at the bare-chested men showing off their skills with the axes. Betsy is as wide-eyed as I am, stunned, yet fascinated.

“I see what they mean,” she says, her eyes focusing on my brother’s shoulders. “Indeed, a sight to behold.”

I am struck all over again. My gaze bonds to the duke’s muscled form. Now, with the luxury of unrestricted observation, I can admire Philip’s chestnut hair, streaked with gold in the sunshine. His blue eyes look almost black from a distance. His wide shoulders and arms are bronzed and burnished. I imagine my fingers stroking across his flesh.

When the men apparently grow too warm to continue, some yank off their boots and plunge into the river, shouting out at the chill. When they emerge from the water, their soaked britches outline every feature of their bodies. Betsy gasps. The duke dives in and comes up laughing. He hastens out, and the breath vanishes from my lungs. My hands clutch one another, squeezing together, nails pressing sharply into my palms. I hear a little sigh that must have come from me.

Betsy exclaims, “Like peeking at those ancient marble statues.”

“Better,” I proclaim. “Those are real men, not stone. A captivating sight.” Philip’s unforgettable shape is etched into my memory.