14. Catherine
Itrudged along behind the carriage, my lovely petal-pink gown now inches-deep in mud and dirt.
My husband had said I could get in the carriage if I got on my knees to service him, but I refused.
I refused to get down on my knees unless he made me!
Fuming, I walked for what seemed like hours, alternating between despair and rage.
Then finally we crested a hill. I seethed, convinced that St. Erth was taking us the longest, most difficult path.
But there laid out in front of me was Rosewood Manor. It looked nothing like I had expected. Soft pale gray stone, expertly laid together. The front of the manor was a riot of climbing thick greenery framing jewel-like windows. A sprawling unruly garden of pale pink roses grew so vibrantly that it almost engulfed the front door. There were tall neatly clipped hedgerows growing in geometric patterns on the long expanse of the front lawn.
“Did you know Rosewood Manor used to belong to your family?” St. Erth asked, opening the door and hopping out of the carriage. Tall, lean, an uncanny feral elegance of motion that was wholly at odds with his brutality.
“I did not,” I said.
“Yes,” St. Erth replied. “The Wendovers drove the land to exhaustion and then lost the entire property and manor house in your grandfather’s time. I’ve taken it now. Just like I am going to take everything from your family.”
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t pretend not to know what he meant.
“I’m going to pray I don’t have a child,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Interesting, Catherine,” he said, his eyes like chipped ice. “I guess we’ll see who is stronger. Your God or the devil driving me.”
The sun was slanting across the hills, and for a moment I couldn’t look away from how its beams lit him up like a halo, golden light making his golden hair shine with an unearthly glow.
I tore my eyes away, looking at Rosewood Manor again. I shivered even though the evening air was warm. The sight of it frightened me. Like my husband himself, I didn’t trust its unearthly beauty.
I was ready for a trap.
“Come,” St. Erth said, his long legs headed toward the house as Liversedge and Gilly led the tired horses toward the carriage house, and I trudged with exhaustion behind my husband.
Meeting the servants and household that I was meant to be the mistress over was a tired blur, and I was relieved that I was allowed to bathe in peace while St. Erth went to take care of matters on our arrival.
Inside, Rosewood Manor was surprisingly lovely and well-maintained. I hadn’t even realized I had been expecting cold and utilitarian, but the downstairs was full of spacious, airy rooms with fresh-cut flowers.
I felt a flicker of hope for the first time since I had gotten married as I went up the wide staircase with the housekeeper Mrs. Jeremiah and was shown into my rooms.
My room had a big four-poster bed with a delicate rose bedspread and rose sprigged wallpaper. The window was open and a sweet-smelling breeze blew in.
“Why does it look like this?” I asked suspiciously.
Mrs. Jeremiah, unlike my dour new maid Rebekah, was a cherubic-looking woman with a crown of soft white hair.
I could not picture my husband picking out bedspreads.
“The Viscount gave us a good deal of money to keep up the manor house and lands,” Mrs. Jeremiah said.
“I was forced into this marriage,” was all I could reply, my exhaustion making me feel helpless and blunt. “He doesn’t really love me.”
“Were you dear?” said Mrs. Jeremiah. “Look at this view, though.”
She waved a hand over at the window, which showed us a perfect view of lovely green hills of Somerset crowded with yellow and white daisies and little dappled streams. “Simply lovely.”
“Where are my husband’s chambers?” I asked sullenly, trying to act as if I was only mildly interested.
Apparently the amount of money St. Erth had laid out for renovations trumped any other considerations for the housekeeper.
“Oh, only across the way, my lady,” Mrs. Jeremiah said, indicating the other end of the hallway. I breathed a sigh of relief that he was not next door.
When St. Erth did not appear immediately at dinner, I was even more hopeful. Perhaps he would be so busy with estate management that I only saw him rarely.
But then he strode into the great dining hall. I noticed he had changed from his traveling clothes into a plum-colored jacket and pantaloons.
“Why do you insist on eating together?” I burst out, when the servants had left for the next course. “We could easily eat at different times.”
St. Erth frowned at me, and I felt a shiver of fear go down my spine. “As my wife you are to be available to me for whatever I desire,” he said. “And I desire to eat dinner with you.”