Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“Lavender!” Winston called out to the butler as he strode to the door, flinging on his overcoat.
The butler appeared with Winston’s hat and gloves.
“I am going into London to consult with Mr. Epping at Gray’s Inn. He has papers for me to review. I probably won’t be back for dinner.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” Lavender intoned.
Winston told himself that leaving Greystone for London was a matter of business.
His solicitor, Mr. Epping, had hinted that certain accounts would bear a closer inspection.
But the truth, the wretched truth, was that he could not endure another day in Adeline’s presence.
Not without cracking and confessing all.
The words burned in his chest. They clamored for release.
Every time he saw her, the urge to openly share his feelings swelled up with the same force as his manhood when his body was pressed against hers.
The physical attraction was overpowering enough, but it was not merely her beauty.
Not just the curve of her smile, the lilt of her voice or the sparkle of her eyes that plagued him.
It was her bond with Louisa. He had seen it growing, day by day, with all the stealth of ivy winding up old stone.
Louisa, who had been deprived of a mother’s care these many years, leaned toward Adeline with a trust and warmth that was perilously close to filial.
It unsettled him. It tempted him. And it inflamed him.
The thought of his daughter having such a mother-figure--gracious, intelligent, and compassionate-- was one that touched upon his deepest anxieties and his greatest longings.
She has been without a mother for most of her life. She has no memory of her mother. A girl needs a mother, doesn’t she? How can a man such as I fill that gap?
So, he ran. He ran for solitude and to escape the temptation of Adeline.
The carriage bore him toward the city, through the swelling village of Kensington and around the borders of Hyde Park.
Outside, the sound of cows and birdsong was replaced by the rattle of carriages and the raucous cries of hawkers.
He stared out at promenading ladies in gauzy gowns but saw only Adeline.
She has the nobility of a queen. A light in her eye that says more for her wit than every sonnet ever composed by Shakespeare.
The previous night had been spent awake.
The memory of her lips still burned on his.
The feel of her nakedness, the taste of her, refused to allow him to find rest in temporary oblivion.
Now he felt exhausted beyond measure. The motion of the carriage was soothing.
The warmth within was a cocoon. He fell into a restless doze.
He walked along, through woods. The stillness of the misty morning was broken only by the sound of water. It lapped gently at the bank of the mere that lay deep within the trees. Winston knew this place. And he knew this fateful moment. He had relived it a thousand times.
“No! No! Not again. Please!” he cried, while knowing that his feet would carry him to the mere regardless.
He drew closer, the mist parting to show him the surface of the grey lake. To see the body of the woman floating face-down upon its mirrored surface. Her hair spread like a halo in the water. He fell to his knees, tears flowing down his cheeks.
“It's my fault. I should have known. I should have prevented it.”
Then he waded into the water. He always did. Every single time. Waded towards the still, dead body of his wife and dragged her back to the shore and turned her over. But this time, the face that stared back at him was not Sarah’s. It was Adeline’s.
“Adeline!” his voice was loud in the confines of the carriage.
Her name was on his lips as he woke. The carriage was still.
With dreaming eyes, he looked out of the window, half-expecting a drowsy wood and chill mere.
But the carriage stood before a three-story house on Pall Mall, bearing the sign, Harkers.
He pushed a hand across his eyes, shaken, his body cold with sweat.
I thought myself haunted before. Am I now haunted by two women? One living and one dead.
Dreams had their ways of betraying the heart. Inside the club, he asked for seclusion, a private room where he might collect himself. The steward, bowing, informed him that a gentleman had been asking after him.
“A Mr. Pike, Your Grace. He left a card and said his business was most urgent.”
The steward offered a card which Winston did not even glance at before putting it into his pocket.
“If his business was urgent, he would still be here,” Winston growled.
Whoever Pike was, whatever his business, Winston cared nothing.
He wanted only solitude. In a quiet smoking room on the third floor, up under the eaves of the building, a decanter of brandy had been set out.
One glass stood waiting on the tabletop.
Winston sat with a sigh in a comfortable armchair before a small fire.
He had not yet poured a drink when a knock came at the door. Oswald entered. He beamed genially.
“Winston! I was told you had taken a room. I hope I don't intrude upon anything important.”
Winston forced a smile, though inwardly he was groaning.
“I’m taking a moment’s respite after the journey. I have an appointment with my solicitor shortly.”
“Then I shall be brief.” Oswald leaned against the mantle, eyes alight with that peculiar mischief that Winston remembered too well. “Tell me, your governess, the lady I encountered at Greystone, who danced so prettily at the Farnsworth’s’ garden party, is she unattached?”
Every nerve in Winston’s body sharpened. He kept his face impassive.
“Miss Wilkinson? Why do you ask?”
“I have heard the most remarkable things about her beauty and her accomplishments. I believe she danced beautifully at the garden party, and from those in attendance her name seems the one most often mentioned. You know I am not a man to be easily captivated, Winston. But I remember her face. Twice we met at your house, and it was enough. If she is free to be courted, I would like to try my chances.”
The instinct was primal. To bear his teeth, to forbid it. But he could not. Adeline was an employee. He could not court her. He should not have indulged his desires with her as much as he had. Nor could he forbid her any attention. It would be more revealing of Winston’s own feelings.
“She has no interest in courting,” Winston said, keeping his voice disinterested. “She is devoted to her position. Besides, she was jilted by some cad, and it has left its mark on her.”
Oswald chuckled.
“You cannot mean to say she is immune to admiration. That is all by the by. I am confident I can woo her, given half the chance. What I wanted from you is to know whether you object. Do you?”
Winston swallowed down the fury rising in his throat. “Not as such. But you will find her…difficult to win.”
Oswald gave him a long look, as though measuring him. “Where is she from, this paragon? Who are her people?”
“Her parents are dead,” Winston said shortly. “She is the daughter of the Viscount of Clifford-Edge.”
“Clifford-Edge?” Oswald frowned. “Never heard of him. Nor has anyone, I imagine. No matter, I shall consult Debrett’s. A lady likes a man who takes the trouble to know her family.”
Winston’s hand tightened around his glass. “As you will.”
Oswald left with a whistle, bound for the library located in the cellars of the building.
Winston remained, staring at the liquid in his glass, unable to drink.
It felt as though a race had begun, though he could not admit he was running.
The thought of Adeline smiling at Oswald, of her hand in his, filled Winston with a jealous rage so fierce that he could hardly breathe.
He wanted to seize her, to spirit her away where no other man could reach.
He pushed the glass aside, stood, striding from the room and down the stairs.
Business could wait. His solicitor could wait. He was going back to Greystone.
A servant took his coat and hat, but the entrance hall echoed with the silence of an empty house. Winston frowned, listening for a moment for the telltale sound of conversation which followed his mother wherever she went, even if she was the only one in the room. There was nothing.
“The Dowager Duchess?” he asked the servant.
“Gone out, Your Grace,” the man replied.
“Did she leave a note?”
“Not to my knowledge, Your Grace,” the man said blandly.
Winston moved swiftly through the house, looking into the rooms for Louisa or Adeline.
He went upstairs and along the first-floor corridor to his daughter’s bedroom, rapping peremptorily before going inside.
Adeline sat beside Louisa’s bed. The child smiled at him as he entered, and Adeline played a hand that made her smile evaporate.
Adeline rose, as though to make way for him.
“Louisa,” Winston said, his voice tightening, “are you unwell still?”
“I am much better, Papa,” Louisa said quickly, but a grimace crossed her face as she spoke. Winston’s sharp eye caught the stain upon the linen, red and unmistakable. He turned to Adeline, his voice rising.
“You told me it was a cold. Pain and blood are not the symptoms of a cold. How dare you keep this from me?”
Adeline’s face flushed, but her voice was calm.
“She is in no danger. It will pass in a day.”
“You risk my daughter’s health with your foolishness!” Winston thundered. “You conceal the truth from me, her father. You overstep yourself, madam.”
Adeline’s composure cracked. “You do not understand, and you will not listen. I know precisely what is happening to Louisa. It is natural, harmless, and will cease soon enough.”
“You are no physician,” Winston retorted. “You have no right to diagnose her.”
“I do not need to be a physician,” Adeline flung back, eyes blazing. “I need only be a woman.”
Her words stunned him. He felt a confusion he would not admit. He had lived so long in a world of land, rents, and duty that the private mysteries of women were alien to him. But his pride would not yield.
“You presume too much,” he said coldly. “It is your duty to inform me of information regarding my daughter’s health. What else are you concealing? How can I trust you to care for my daughter when you act not like a governess but a parent?”
“Papa!” Louisa cried. “You are being unfair!”
“Be silent!” Winston snapped. “I see my daughter has also learned insolence, which she did not glean from me.”
Adeline laughed bitterly. “Heaven forbid that you would be insolent. If anything, she has learned rudeness and anger from you because that is all I have seen you demonstrate. Will you please…”
Winston knew he was being irrational, but the fear had him by the throat. His daughter was in pain. She was bleeding.
How dare Adeline pretend to have medical expertise and keep this from me instead of sending for a physician at once!
“I see now why every governess has resigned. You smother your daughter. You make her life intolerable. She is growing up, Winston. She needs air, not chains.”
His jaw locked. She had used the name he had given her leave to use. but he had done it in front of Louisa.
What will Louisa make of that?
“You cannot understand. You have never been a parent. This matter is closed. I am going to send for a physician and then…”
“She does not need a physician. She does not need another man making demands and asking questions. I am quite capable…”
“You are not a doctor!” Winston snapped. “If you know what is wrong with her then tell me.”
Adeline’s eyes shimmered with tears.
“I promised I would not.”
“Then you are as immature as she and not fit to look after her,” Winston said.
“No, Papa!” Louisa cried and then clutched her stomach as another stab of pain wracked her.
Seeing her in pain sent Winston into a towering rage.
“You say she does not need a doctor?” he snarled.
Adeline shook her head, blinking back tears. She raised her chin, lips trembling.
“You are making my position untenable. I will not be berated when I have done nothing wrong. It is clear why you have had such trouble holding a governess. I must resign.”
She fled the room, each step faster than the one before. Winston watched her go, breathing hard as though he had just run a mile. He took a step after her before he realized what he was doing.
I don’t want her to go. Yes, I do. She is irresponsible. She cannot be Louisa’s governess.
Louisa had gotten out of bed and placed herself in front of him. Her hair was in disarray, and her eyes wide and furious. Her cheeks were flushed but with anger, not sickness.
“It is my business, Papa. Mine alone. It is not an illness. Adeline promised she would not tell you, and she kept her word even though you were cruel to her. You will not understand, because you never do!”
She slammed the door in his face, leaving him in the passage alone.
He stood in silence, outrage curdling into bleak despair.
He had driven Adeline away, wounded Louisa, and all because his fear for his daughter had turned to ire.
The house felt colder without her already.
And if Oswald rode up this very moment, swept Adeline away, carried her off to another life? Winston feared she would be glad of it.