Chapter Eighteen
“Here are the papers I need you to sign, sir. Once the funds are released, we’ll proceed with the repairs to the Upton Farm buildings.
As requested, I sought cost estimates from three slate suppliers, and though Mr. Fulford’s estimate is the lowest, I’m not convinced that he’ll have sufficient resources to finish the repairs before the winter sets in, and… ”
The agent’s voice faded into the background, merging with the ticking of the longcase clock in the corner.
James glanced toward the window. His heart lifted as he caught sight of his wife and he paused, straining to hear the familiar sound of the main doors opening and closing. Then he heard voices—his wife’s clear tones together with a deeper, rougher voice.
Bloody Heslop again. The man was smitten.
Ever since she’d befriended Mrs. Heslop, visiting her daily until she’d recovered from her cough, Heslop had done nothing but follow Cordelia about like a devotee worshipping a goddess.
And she relished the gardener’s company, always gifting him with her unfettered laugh.
Whereas with me she restricts herself, as if she fears disapproval.
Excepting the occasion when she’d tried to climb Margaret’s tree, Cordelia always behaved in a manner befitting a viscountess. Elegant, refined…
…and miserable.
“Sir?”
Doubtless Heslop had brought her another bouquet of roses. Last week James had overheard her expressing a likeness for the climbing rose that adorned Heslop’s cottage, and he’d arrived the following day with an armful of blooms.
“Lord Bedford!”
James glanced back to see his agent staring at him. “What is it, Mr. Wood?”
“The slates, sir.” The agent pushed the papers forward.
“I’m sure you’ll make the right choice, Mr. Wood,” James said.
The agent nodded toward the window. “As you have, sir, if you don’t mind my saying. Well, if there’s nothing else, sir, I’d best get going. I promised Mrs. Wood I’d take luncheon with her today.”
“Are you subject to the whims of your wife, Mr. Wood?” James said.
“No, sir, I merely enjoy her company. After all, that’s why I married her.”
The agent winced as if he expected an admonishment.
“Do you often take luncheon with your wife, Mr. Wood?” James said.
The agent arched an eyebrow. “I do, when the weather’s as good as it is today.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you never picnicked out of doors, sir?”
“As a child, yes, but when I entered adulthood…”
“You abandoned pursuits that had no useful purpose other than enjoyment?” Mr. Wood let out a soft chuckle. “Having a little fun won’t ruin the reputation of a viscount, sir.”
Heavens! Mr. Wood was being unusually bold this morning. Insolent, even.
The agent bowed and his eye twitched, almost as if he’d winked, then he exited the study.
James followed him and flagged down a footman in the hall.
“Robert, have Edwards saddle Hercules and Atalanta, then ask Mrs. Vaughan to prepare a basket for luncheon and have it taken to…” He paused. Where the bloody hell was an appropriate spot for a picnic?
“Sir?” The footman frowned.
“Somewhere suitable.”
A smile curved the young man’s lips and he nodded. “If I may make a recommendation, sir, the clearing in the woods by the waterfall is very pretty. I take Tilly there when we…”
Then lowered his gaze, his cheeks reddening. Bloody hell, he looked as smitten as Mr. Wood.
Am I surrounded by lovesick men?
Yes, he was. And they all seemed so infuriatingly happy.
“See to it, would you, Robert?” James said.
“Of course, sir. I’ll take it over there myself.”
“Take Tilly with you if you need a hand,” James said. “But make sure you’re gone by the time I get there.”
The young man grinned, his eyes sparkling with delight. Then he bowed and slipped away.
James thrust his hands into his pockets and made his way to the main doors, almost colliding with his wife as he crossed the threshold.
“Oh!” She startled, her mouth forming a round O, and James’s manhood stirred at the sight of her plump pink lips.
“I came in search of you,” he said.
“For me? What would you want with me?” He couldn’t miss the bitter edge to Cordelia’s voice.
“You’ve been gone a long time. I expected you back from your walk much sooner.”
“I was posting a letter, and I collected one for Georgiana.”
“You walked all the way to the village? It must be two miles at least.”
“Three, or so Mr. Heslop tells me. It’s not far. I walked everywhere in London.”
“You’re not in London now.”
“Does my husband disapprove?”
Shit. He was making an utter mess of this. What must she think of him—she a woman with experience of men and of seduction, and he a mere boy unable to articulate his feelings in words. In fact, he’d never revealed his soul, except…
…except when he’d visited his Dahlia.
But Dahlia was an act. Dahlia had never existed.
Her eyes darkened with sorrow, and James took her hand.
“I wouldn’t want you to stop doing anything you enjoy, Cordelia,” he said.
“Provided it meets with your expectations of a viscountess.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “You’ve done nothing to make me ashamed.”
Her frown deepened.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I meant no insult. I-I know not what to say to you. But I thought—”
He broke off, his cheeks warming.
Heavens! He was behaving like an infatuated adolescent, too fearful of rejection to approach the most alluring creature in the room.
As a young man he’d retreated to a dark corner while his friends sallied forth with their salvos of seduction.
But the woman before him was his wife, not a peacock to be hunted by the pack and seduced by the most accomplished rake.
“I wondered if you might like to learn to ride,” he said, “a-and perhaps take a picnic luncheon with me? Just the two of us.”
She smiled. “I’ve never been on a picnic.”
“Not even as a child?”
He cursed himself as soon as he spoke the words, but, save a slight narrowing of her eyes, she gave no sign of her distress.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m not an accomplished wordsmith.”
“Honesty is preferable to accomplishment.”
“Then let me tell you honestly, Cordelia, that I intend to make it my mission to atone for all the picnics that you’ve been deprived of.”
“Then how can I refuse?” She held up her reticule. “If you’d permit me to give Georgiana her letter first.”
James pulled his watch out and flipped it open. “Shall we say a quarter past noon?”
As he spoke, the longcase clock began to chime, followed by its companions in a cacophony of notes, twelve times.
“What time is it now?” she said.
“I have no idea.”
She let out a laugh, then tipped her face upward. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. Then he released her and she climbed the stairs and disappeared.
Mr. Wood was right. Having a little fun wouldn’t ruin the Bedford name. And what value could he place on his name over and above the woman he loved?
“She’s very big, James. I don’t know if I could ride her.”
Cordelia eyed the brown mare that stood placidly in the stable yard while Edwards held the reins.
“She’s the gentlest animal I know, Your Ladyship,” the groom said, coloring.
Dear Lord, is Edwards in love with my wife as well?
James took Cordelia’s elbow. “Let me help you up. Do you trust me?”
She met his gaze. “Always.”
He inhaled, his blood warming at the intoxicating scent of her—the delicate top notes of rose and a deeper, sharper scent.
The scent that had filled the air the night she took his virginity.
“Stand aside, Edwards,” James said, elbowing the groom out of the way. Then he caught his wife’s waist and lifted her onto the mare’s back.
She let out a squeal as he took hold of her right leg and hooked it over the pommel. Then he adjusted the stirrups and slipped her feet in each.
“Comfortable?” he said.
“About as comfortable as sitting on an upturned stool.”
She smiled, though apprehension showed in her eyes, and he chuckled.
“You’ll get used to it. The first time I rode, I couldn’t walk straight for a week.” He placed the reins in her hands. “You hold these with your first three fingers, like this. Then pull them until you can feel the bridle. Not too tight, just enough so that she knows you’re there.”
“I’m sure she can feel me on her back, poor thing.”
“You needn’t worry about Atalanta, my dear. My Aunt Bertina used to ride her. She was taller than you and twice as wide—I swear she weighed more than the horse. You’d have liked her.”
“Ah, but would she have liked me?”
“She always told me to marry for love,” he said. “So yes, she would have liked you.”
She gave a shy smile, and James’s manhood twitched with anticipation.
“Thank you, Edwards, you may leave us.”
“But—”
“Now,” James growled. The last thing he wanted was for the head groom to gossip about the cockstand in his master’s breeches that rivaled Hercules in size.
Well…perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad if his cock were compared to a stallion’s.
He caught his breath at the surge in his groin and glanced up to see his wife smiling at him.
“I’ve missed you,” she breathed. Then she blushed and looked away.
Heavens! Was she as shy as he? The woman who knew her way around a man, and a bedchamber, looked as coy as a debutante first entering into the world.
And perhaps, in essence, she was. Her body had experienced more than most, but her heart had not.
To survive her world she must have protected her heart behind a diamond-hard shell.
Was that shell now falling away—for him?
James grasped Hercules’s reins and mounted the stallion in a smooth movement.
“Ready? We’ll take it easy at the beginning. I’ll be gentle, seeing as it’s your first time.”
Her color increased and he caught a flare of desire in her eyes. Then, squeezing his mount’s flank, he led them both out of the stable yard into the field beyond.