Chapter Six
Sketchbook stowed in her saddlebag, Juliana accepted the groom’s leg up and turned her mount to join Rafe’s as they set off down Thornthwaite’s curving drive. Still in the glow of pleasure from last night and this morning, a swell of optimism buoyed her.
Rafe’s lovemaking been even more rapturous than his kisses had led her to expect.
Much as she mourned Ian, she was enormously glad now that she hadn’t, all unaware, settled for a marriage that did not include passion.
How tragic would it have been to have lived her whole life never experiencing such bliss!
Just as she’d hoped, the excitement of her wedding day, the camaraderie of the guests and especially the experience of lovemaking had driven paltry emotion clear out of her thoughts.
There’d been only anticipation followed by a physical arousal so complete that it filled her mind and senses until she was conscious of nothing else.
The unexpected, staggering intensity of release was so all-encompassing, all-consuming, she’d be unable to describe it in feeble words.
Best of all, lovemaking seemed to delight Rafe as much as it did her. After her mother’s dismissive comments about her attractiveness, she was beyond thrilled to discover that he did find her desirable. That she was able to offer him a pleasure that seemed as intense as the pleasure he gave her.
Maybe they could make a success of this marriage after all.
They’d pledged to look to each other’s happiness, as spouses, friends and lovers. She squelched the slash of pain at recognizing anew that Rafe would never see her as…more. But then, she’d accepted that truth from the very beginning—hadn’t she?
If any tiny hope of becoming something different to him still lingered deep within her, she’d better extinguish it now. Completely. Permanently.
Being spouses, friends, lovers was blessing enough; it was foolish to yearn for more. She would concentrate instead, she told herself firmly, on enjoying the unanticipated delights of lovemaking.
The glow of new intimacy adding to the ease that, as longtime friends, they’d always felt with each other, they guided their mounts side by side with no need for chatter. Soon they’d left the carriageway and turned onto the trail that led through the woods towards the river boundary.
‘Most of my memories of you growing up place you here,’ Rafe said at last, smiling. ‘Slipping through the trees on foot or roaming the meadows on horseback, always searching. What were you looking for?’
‘Birds, always—the one subject that appeared frequently enough for me to sketch accurately. In the early morning or late afternoon, red squirrels among the trees—how they chase each other and chatter, if you remain silent for a while, simply watching! Pine martens as night draws near, also running among the trees. Sometimes I’d follow a badger track to its sett, hoping, if I could wait until sunset, to get a quick sketch.
In the lakes or streams, there were otters.
And farther on—’ she gestured towards the hills rising sharply up above the nearby lake ‘—if the weather was fair and I could sneak away long enough, I’d climb up the fell, hoping to sight a red deer, or a magnificent peregrine falcon, diving from the heights to capture fish, so fast it’s little more than a blur in the air. ’
‘Might we see any of those today?’
‘An otter, perhaps, or at least its house by the river. At the edge of the woods, a squirrel or a hare. Birds, of course. Seeing any of the more reclusive creatures, like the pine marten or the badger, is unlikely. Once upon a time, when I was a frequent visitor, I think some of them grew…used to me. If I sat very still, they would emerge unafraid, as if they knew I meant them no harm.’
She looked at Rafe hopefully. ‘Did you mean it when you said I would now be allowed to come observe the woodland creatures again? After my day’s work on the estate is done, of course.’
‘You may observe as much as you like. I don’t mean to work you too hard, toiling away long hours to restore what deteriorated through no fault of yours.’
She sighed, still troubled by her inability to halt that decline. ‘I would so much have liked to prevent that. But Sterling has been doing well as manager, don’t you think? And I believe all the tenants are eager to bring Thornthwaite back to what it was.’
‘In the short time since he’s taken on the job, he’s impressed me with his expertise and enthusiasm.
The tenants all seem to like and respect him.
He has the ability to engage with them, get them to say what they need to start making up for deficiencies in production without making them defensive or having them think he’s criticizing for that lack of productivity.
’ Rafe laughed. ‘I just sit on my horse, nodding agreement with whatever he says. I’m afraid, having been a soldier, I’m not much of a farmer. ’
‘How could you be? You never expected to inherit or become responsible for an estate like Thornthwaite. But showing interest in the tenants, as you do, and putting your support behind the projects that they and Sterling think necessary, is as helpful to rebuilding the estate as if you were to wield a coppicing saw on some overgrown stand of willows.’ She smiled.
‘Though the tenants might be shocked at the lord rolling up his sleeves to harvest woodland.’
‘I might be rather good at it. Shouldn’t be all that different from wielding a cutlass.’
Juliana laughed as she could tell he wanted her to, enjoying the camaraderie of their exchange. Perhaps passion drained away anxiety even better than she’d hoped, encouraged by what this current ease promised about their ability to work well together going forward.
‘They can tell you are as concerned about their welfare as you are about increasing the estate’s production,’ she continued.
‘Ian had their respect, but he was always…distant. Not “lord of the manor,” but not approachable, either. People could sense that agricultural matters just didn’t interest him. ’
‘Can’t expect troops to perform if they don’t believe their leader is looking out for them.’
‘I told you your army background would prove helpful.’ Seeing an opening to satisfy her curiosity about whether—or how much—he had changed over the years, she said, ‘We were so focused on the estate when you first returned, I never got around to asking what you would have done, had your duty after Ian’s death not compelled you to return home. ’
‘Remained with the army until Napoleon was vanquished for good, which, praise God, shouldn’t take much longer.
If I survived that endeavour… I’m not sure what I would have done next.
Seen more of world, perhaps, before returning to England to find something to occupy me.
Beyond the camaraderie and the close bonds one develops, experiencing the wonders of new lands was what I most enjoyed about the army. ’
‘What impressed you about Portugal and Spain?’
‘Overall, the land is drier, dustier than England, much warmer in summer and less green, though the flower-dotted pastures were lovely in the spring. High mountains in the north, rolling hills elsewhere cut by rivers—oh, so many times we had to ford the rivers on campaign! Rocky hilltops crowned by small villages or stone-walled convents and monasteries, where we were sometimes billeted.’
‘How did you spend your days? Not the days of battle—I daresay you wouldn’t wish to speak of those. But the everyday life. Letters between brothers being rather brief and perfunctory, I gleaned very little about how and what you did, all those years.’
‘Most winters, we returned to Lisbon, sheltered behind Lines of Torres Vedres. Though not quite as lively as London, daily life in that city was not much different from town life anywhere. Unlike on campaign, we were billeted in comfortable buildings, with access to a wider variety of victuals. We enjoyed a full range of entertainments, from social and gaming clubs, to dances, balls, dinners. Wellington hosted and was guest of honour at quite lavish affairs, judging by the one I was privileged to attend.’
‘And when you were on campaign?’
He sighed, looking thoughtful. ‘Though it’s often said that war is endless weeks of boredom separated by a few days of terror, I didn’t find the day-to-day routine tiresome.
Traveling could be long and often uncomfortable—cold, driving rain and endless mud in the winter, dust, heat and thirst in the summer.
But while bivouacked or quartered in small villages, there was a variety of occupations to interest one between the marching and drilling. ’
Eager to get a glimpse into this significant part of his life about which she knew so little, Juliana said, ‘Such as…what?’