Chapter 19
Chapter 19
The day of Sir Randolph and the new Lady Hyde’s homecoming dawned damp and misty, with a distinct chill in the air. The previous week had been marked by sudden downpours that stripped the dry leaves from the trees and turned the parched grass green again, but it looked like fate was smiling on the newlyweds and the weather would be dry for the celebrations.
Up early; washed, corseted, and dressed in her plainest black, Kate went out onto the front steps. She checked that the garlands of twined leaves and flowers that Gatley’s men had hung between the great pillars of the portico were still in place and the sweep of gravel was raked smooth; and she looked out over the park to where the tents stood, like some medieval ghost village, with the temple emerging from the mist behind.
In the house, Abigail and Eliza were opening shutters as they carried their boxes of dusters and polish from room to room, laying fires, plumping cushions, and sweeping up fallen petals from the flower arrangements Kate had put together the previous afternoon. In the dining room the table had been laid for luncheon with cut crystal, the second baronet’s looted Indian silver, and the flower-twined Rockingham service. Miss Addison (or Lady Hyde, as Kate must get used to thinking of her) had kindly said that she and Sir Randolph would have supper on trays, so once luncheon had been served and cleared, the servants would be free to join the festivities outside.
The park was quiet, but in a few hours, people would begin to arrive: curious, cynical, or just keen to take advantage of free ale and food. It was hard to imagine Coldwell’s spell of solitude being so completely broken, hard to take in the fact that, by the end of the day, this bubble of shimmering seclusion would have burst. The park would be crowded with strangers, upstairs properly occupied, and the household on duty once more.
And Frederick Henderson would be there.
The thought was like a stain on the pristine morning. Taking in a lungful of crisp air, Kate tried to turn her mind away from it, and all it meant. On the rise of the hill, the trees that sheltered the walled gardens were smudges of rust in the pearly morning, their autumn colours glowing like hot coals through ashes. The grass was silvered with dew; and as she watched, a male pheasant—richly plumed in copper and bronze—broke cover from the woods and flew low, landing clumsily in a tumble of feathers on the slope in front of the house.
These birds were the distant descendants of the ones raised by the last Coldwell keeper, before Kate had arrived. Like the red deer that drifted down from the hills, they had grown plump and complacent, never having known the threat of guns. She watched the pheasant pick himself up and look around, comically imperious and indignant.
He was safe enough for the time being: as far as she knew, no one had yet been found to take the gamekeeper’s post. At the start of the month, they had worked hard to clear out the little cottage in the wood and get it ready for a new man, but in a recent letter Mr Fortescue had admitted that no applicants of suitable quality or experience had replied to the advertisement in either Country Life or the Yorkshire Post . The cottage still stood empty, its sagging brass bed unslept in, its fires unlit.
Turning to go back inside, she stopped. Blinked. Looked round in the direction of the temple and the mist-shrouded woods beyond, where the gamekeeper’s cottage was hidden.
And she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before.
‘There.’ Thomas settled his new livery jacket over his shoulders and smoothed down the facings as he stood in front of the long mirror in the footmen’s wardrobe. ‘That’s me ready. Or as ready as I’ll ever be.’
Jem, who’d just finished helping Joseph replenish the kitchen coal store, was using Thomas’s soap-scummed water to shave. He looked round, lathering soap onto his jaw with a brush. ‘Very nice,’ he deadpanned. ‘I might ask you to dance later.’
In the second before he realised Jem was joking, terror flickered across Thomas’s open face, then he blushed furiously and laughed. ‘Two left feet, me. I’ll be staying far away from that dance floor they’ve set up and sticking to the tent where the ale is. We might not be able to go into the pubs round here, but Mr Goddard can hardly ban us from entering a tent in the park, can he? They’re kitting it out now, the men from the brewery. You should see it—barrels and barrels of the stuff.’
Jem had seen it, and the men who had brought it. To his surprise, Mullins was amongst them. Jem had assumed, from the lad’s reaction the other day, that wild horses couldn’t have dragged him within a mile of this place. It was possible that he hadn’t been given a choice, but watching him as he stood on the dray and rolled the barrels down, Jem had wondered if there was another reason; if Mullins had decided it was time to confront whatever had happened here. As soon as his duties were finished this afternoon, Jem intended to find out.
There was a perfunctory knock on the door, which immediately opened.
‘Eliza—come in, why don’t you?’ said Thomas, with a sarcasm that was quite bold, for him.
‘Mr Goddard wants you,’ Eliza said. ‘In the dining room. It’s about the wines for luncheon—you’d better hurry.’
She stood aside to let Thomas pass, but didn’t follow him out of the room. Instead, she came further in and leant against the table, crossing her arms. ‘Shouldn’t you be ready by now?’ she said, looking at Jem’s undershirt, and his braces hanging down; watching as he ran the razor along his cheek, cutting a clean path through the soap.
‘Mm-hmm.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
He glanced at her. She’d changed into a black afternoon dress and best apron, with lace-edged flounces. She also seemed to have gone to some trouble with her overall appearance, though he couldn’t say how exactly (her hair, perhaps?), and the sour mood that had followed her around lately like bad weather seemed to have lifted.
‘Don’t think so, thanks.’
He expected her to leave then, but she didn’t. Nor did she take her eyes off him. There was something unsettling about it, as cloying as the cloud of lavender water that hung around her.
‘People are arriving already,’ she said. ‘In the park—have you seen? It’s strange, seeing them wandering about, laying out picnic blankets and what have you. Gatley’s sent Bert Oakley up from the garden to stand by the gravel, making sure no one messes it up before Sir Randolph and Lady Hyde get here.’ When Jem didn’t respond, she said, ‘The band’s arrived too. They’re tuning up. I can’t quite believe all this is right on our doorstep, can you? A hot supper and a real dance—usually we’re miles away from any goings-on.’
Jem wiped the blade clean and lifted his chin to shave beneath it. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Eliza’s teeth catch at her bottom lip as she watched.
‘Do you like dancing?’ she said, her voice lower.
He shrugged. ‘In the right place, with the right music.’
And the right person.
‘Will you dance with me this evening?’
The words held a pleading note. He picked up a towel to wipe the soap residue away and was trying to formulate a polite answer that didn’t encourage her when a brisk knock at the door saved him the trouble.
‘Ah, Jem—’ Kate’s professional fa?ade always made his blood surge. ‘The matches you asked for.’
He kept his face perfectly straight as she put a Bryant anything, it seemed, to avoid meeting Kate’s eye.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Miss Dunn snatched up a pile of gloves from the table by the fireplace. As soon as Kate had set the tray down, she sprang to the door and held it open.
‘Do ring if there’s—’ Kate began, but Miss Dunn spoke at the same time.
‘I was wondering if I—’
There was a beat of awkward silence. Miss Dunn’s blush deepened, and she clamped her mouth shut.
Kate gave an apologetic laugh as she went out into the corridor. ‘Sorry. You were saying?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Miss Dunn spoke distractedly through the narrowing gap between door and frame. ‘I should—her ladyship will—’
The door shut.
As Kate went back along the corridor she was torn between amuse ment and annoyance. What was it about the woman that unsettled her? Or, more to the point, what was it about her that so obviously unsettled Miss Dunn? She remembered the day Miss Addison had first come to Coldwell: that unblinking stare from inside the carriage, the sense Kate had of being watched—
The thought stalled as a shadow detached itself from one of the doorways along the passage. Jem stepped forward, looking swiftly left and right, then held out his hand with a wicked smile.
Her fingers twined with his and she bit her cheeks to stifle laughter. The room he pulled her into was one of the smaller bedrooms, which hadn’t been used for years. The shutters were half-closed, the furniture draped in dust sheets, and they fell against the faded roses on the wall, their mouths coming together.
‘You got my note?’
‘Mm-hmm…’ he murmured against her lips. ‘The gamekeeper’s cottage. You’re not just a very pretty face, Mrs Furniss…’
He smelled of lime shaving soap and tasted of Sir Randolph’s brandy. ‘You remember where the key is, if you get there first?’ She flexed her neck as his mouth moved down, exposing her throat to his kisses. ‘On the ledge in the porch…’
‘I remember…’
The tip of his tongue found her earlobe. Shivers of bliss ran down her neck, echoing through her whole body as his teeth gently grazed the tender flesh. She moaned softly. ‘Nine o’clock seems a very long time away…’
‘Three hours…’ The words were a whispered exhalation, and his breath caressed her ear, quickening the shivers into something more urgent. Her back was pressed against the wall and she could feel the beat of his heart, strong and quick beneath her palm as her hands moved up the facings of his livery jacket. Her hips rose up to his. Three hours might as well have been three centuries.
‘I’m not sure I can wait…’
His mouth returned to hers. The only sound was the rasp and sigh of their breath, the rustle of her silk skirts and the silvery chime of her chatelaine. She felt his hand move down, and, without letting his lips leave hers, he unclipped the clasp so the chain slipped from her waist into his hand.
‘Are you… undressing me, Jem Arden?’
‘Well… I was making sure no one heard this… It’s quite a distinctive sound.’ He turned and put the fistful of silver carefully on top of the shrouded piece of furniture beside them. ‘But now you’ve put the idea in my head…’
His hands slipped over her hips, cupping the curve of her bottom.
‘We can’t!’ she squeaked.
‘Maybe not undress… but that won’t be necessary.’
In one swift movement he hitched her up so her legs were round his waist, pressing his mouth to hers to capture her little cry of surprise. She hooked her arms around his neck as he carried her to the bed, pushing back the dusty velvet hangings and laying her on its bare mattress. Before she could muster a token protest (she wasn’t sure she was capable) his hand had found the hem of her skirt and was moving up her leg, skimming over the thin lawn of her drawers, his fingers pausing at the top of her stockings, stroking the place where black lisle met bare flesh.
He lifted his head to look at her, his languid smile fading into something more intense. He was so beautiful. In the velvet gloom of the old bed there was just enough light for her to make out the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones, the molten darkness of his eyes. She read the unspoken question in them and knew he was giving her the chance to tell him to stop.
She opened her mouth, but his thumb was tracing circles on her thigh, dissolving all sense of duty and decency. All that came out was a ragged breath, a soft whimper.
She was weak with longing, liquid with want.
Unlocked. Undone.
His fingers slid upwards, expert and gentle. His movements were delicate and unhurried, in sharp contrast to the savage waves of sensation that were building inside her, and the swiftness with which they overwhelmed her. He knew just when to gather her against him with his free hand and hold her as the storm gathered and broke, so she could gasp her shivering ecstasy into his chest.
For several long moments he cradled her against him, rocking her as her breathing steadied. When she could form words, she raised her head to look at him.
‘My God, Jem—’ It was a croak. ‘How do you—where did you learn—?’
‘Shh…’
He kissed her into silence again. They were both laughing softly, incredulous at their own audacity. They had been bold before, in snatching moments and taking risks, but not like this. She felt shaken, exhilarated, disorientated. Frightened by the speed with which she had abandoned herself and the ease with which he could unravel her. Already he was getting up, straightening his clothing, preparing to return to respectability.
‘You’re going?’
‘I have to.’ He was whispering, but still she caught the rueful note. ‘You know that.’
Of course she did. Briefly she had slipped outside of reality, but it was still there waiting for her. The knowledge that every second was stolen, and every passing minute increased the danger of discovery. Time was a luxury reserved for those who inhabited the upstairs rooms, not those who crept into them illicitly.
‘It’s not for long.’ His hair was ruffled from her fingers. He smoothed it down, swooping to press a kiss on her forehead, hovering his mouth next to her ear as he said, ‘We can do it again later. And I’ll undress you slowly, bit by beautiful bit, with all the care you deserve.’
With one last lingering kiss he was gone, closing the door softly behind him, leaving her washed up on the retreating tide of sensation, broken open and hollowed out.
It took great effort to get up. Her legs felt too weak to carry her along the empty corridor and down the stairs. Before she left, she twitched aside a dust sheet to check her reflection in the looking glass, leaning in to scrutinise her face through the last of the light, reassuring herself that she might still pass as Coldwell’s capable housekeeper.
Jem would have gone down the back stairs, so she took the main staircase. Halfway down her heart gave a stutter of dismay as Frederick Henderson appeared from the library corridor. As he crossed the hallway he looked up, and his eyes moved down her body, coming to a halt at her waist. His brows rose a fraction.
‘Everything all right, Mrs Furniss?’
With a jolt of horror, she remembered her chatelaine, lying where Jem had left it in the shuttered bedroom.
To admit error or show any sign of weakness would be a mistake. She would have to return for it later. She forced herself to keep going, down the stairs towards him.
‘Perfectly, thank you, Mr Henderson. I hope you enjoy the evening.’
She was satisfied with how assured she sounded, though without her chatelaine she felt oddly undressed. Or maybe it was the way he was looking at her that made her feel that way. Exposed.
‘Oh, I intend to, Mrs Furniss.’ His eyes followed her as she passed and turned towards the baize door to the basement. ‘I intend to enjoy it very much indeed.’