Chapter Seventeen
‘Come quickly, I want to show you where I have been working,’ Will said, taking Amelie’s hand and pulling her into the shadows of the courtyard.
Peterhouse was quiet at that time. It was the height of summer and even the most dedicated of fellows and professors had left to spend a few of the hottest weeks of the year outside the city.
When he went into the library to work now he was often the only one there.
It was wonderful for his productivity, and he did not miss the company, for he was always in a rush to finish his work and hurry back to the cottage to see Amelie.
He thought of the evening before, when he had found her preparing a picnic for them to eat in the shade of the garden to escape the worst of the heat. Before they’d even been able to think about food, they had tumbled onto the picnic blanket and made love in the cool of the garden.
The porters had tipped their hats to him when he’d arrived this afternoon with Amelie in tow. They were deferential in the extreme, and he knew a few coins pressed into their hands would ensure their silence and their loyalty.
Amelie had been good to her word, ensuring he was making progress with his book, refusing to let him become too distracted and then, when he had achieved what he had set out to do for the day, rewarding him with all the affection he craved.
She’d also produced a series of excellent drawings and his section on the native land animals of Great Britain was looking much stronger with them.
It was because of her contribution, and her curiosity about where he spent his days, that he had decided to sneak her into Peterhouse to show her the library. It was one of his favourite places in the world, a haven of peace and learning, and he wanted to share that with Amelie.
They moved silently around the edge of the courtyard, sticking to the shadows cast by the late-afternoon sun.
There was a narrow staircase leading off the main courtyard that wound up to the library with an ancient wooden door guarding the entrance.
Will turned the iron doorhandle and pushed it open, grimacing when there was a loud creak.
Luckily the library was deserted. In term time, several librarians organised the books and fielded any enquiries, but these men were not needed over the summer months.
All the students left at the end of Easter Term after the rigorous exams that came at the conclusion of each year.
Some of the staff at the university stayed longer, organising and preparing for the next year, but in the height of summer there was little work to be done.
The few fellows who did not leave were trusted to handle their own books.
Looking behind him, he saw the interest on Amelie’s face as he pulled her inside. This was one of the things he loved about her—she had a real love of life. She soaked up every new experience, enjoying the small pleasures alongside the big.
The library was not large in size, especially compared to some of those at the other colleges, but it was a serene and beautiful place to work.
A central aisle had a few low cases made of wood and glass that displayed some of Peterhouse’s most prized possessions.
There were letters from historical figures, first editions of popular old books and even a couple of handwritten Shakespeare plays and sonnets, entrusted to the college for safekeeping and prosperity.
Off to each side were five rows of wooden bookshelves, stretching from floor to ceiling.
These were ornate with intricate designs carved into the wood.
The shelves were full of books. In term time, with all the students studying and borrowing the books, there would often be gaps, but now there were even piles on some of the tables of books that did not fit.
There was a set of stairs at the back that led to a second level—a walkway that led around the centre of the room with shelves around the edge and a view down to the display cases below in the middle.
Dotted around in quiet nooks were tables of varying sizes and chairs.
Will often made his way upstairs to a table above the door through which they had entered.
From here there was a good view of the courtyard below.
His real reason for choosing it, however, had not been to watch the people coming and going, but because there was a bird’s nest on the ledge outside the window.
All summer he had watched a pretty little blue tit fly in and out of her nest, bringing back worms and other insects to feed her chicks.
Some days ago the chicks had gained their independence and flown away and Will was already missing the quiet flutter of wings as he worked.
It was dark in the library, despite the sunlight outside, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Will motioned for Amelie to wait for a moment whilst he darted back and forth, checking out all the possible places for someone to be secreted away, writing or reading at one of the desks.
Only once he was sure they were all alone did he take Amelie’s hand and guide her further inside.
‘It feels like we are back in Tudor times,’ Amelie said as she stared in awe at the dark wooden shelves and the books upon them.
‘I don’t think the library has changed much since then.’
She stood back a little, tilting her head back and turning round, taking everything in.
Will was learning to appreciate the smaller things in life through Amelie.
She could find pleasure in a wildflower growing in a meadow or a band of ducklings swimming after their mother in the river.
Even when she was busy, she took the time to stand back and see what was in front of her, and to enjoy it.
‘I used to love the library at our house in Tenterden. It was similar in feel to this, although of course a lot less grand. My father’s ancestors had built up a good collection of books.’
‘Did your father not object to you borrowing them?’
‘No. My mother would sometimes catch me with a volume on history or philosophy and tell me I would turn ugly if I read too many serious books. She believed a young woman should have enough education to make her an attractive prospect, but not so much she could outshine her husband.’ Amelie smiled at the memory.
At the time she had wished for more than her mother would teach her, but now she was just grateful for the skills she had handed down.
‘Turn ugly if you read too many serious books? Impossible,’ he said, catching her around the waist. ‘You could read every book in this library and still be the most beautiful woman in Cambridge.’
Amelie leaned in, her lips only inches from his.
‘I think if anything it would work the other way. The more books you read, the more beautiful you become.’ Then she smiled and pulled away.
Will found it disorientating when she was so close and for a moment he forgot that he had brought her in here to show her around.
‘Come have a look at some of the books we have in here. It is an extensive collection for such a small college.’
Hand in hand, they wove their way through the bookshelves, stopping every so often so Will could take out a book and show her how it was vital for his research.
When they reached the section on natural history, he flipped open book after book to demonstrate there was nothing quite like the subject about which he was writing, which was why he was so passionate about his project.
Amelie listened intently, asking questions about the books he selected and the information inside. Although Amelie did not share his passion, she cared enough for him that she enjoyed seeing him happy, and wanted to be part of that happiness.
These last couple of weeks had been wonderful in so many ways, but it had also highlighted what his life had been lacking in before.
Will hadn’t realised quite how lonely he had been.
It was his own choice to have pushed away anyone who might have tried to get close to him.
Even before Catherine’s death he hadn’t wanted or needed many in his close circle, but once she had died he had pushed everyone else away in a bid to seal off his heart from the pain.
By isolating himself he had been protected from answering any difficult questions about how he was feeling, questions that could break his stony demeanour and let other people see he wasn’t as steadfast and emotionless as he had been taught a good duke should be.
‘Is this where you developed your love of the natural world, in these books when you were a young man at university?’ Amelie asked, taking one from his hand.
‘Yes, although I had always been interested in nature. As a boy, I spent hours tracking through the woods, following a trail of animal footprints, writing my findings in a journal… When I learned to ride it opened up a whole world of freedom. Our estates stretch from the highlands of Scotland to Yorkshire to Cornwall. The terrain in each is vastly different, each with their own little world of plants and animals. I spent my holidays from school bouncing from one to the next, fascinated by the similarities and differences.’
‘I would have liked to have known you then,’ Amelie said with a smile. ‘Although I would have been only a young child, no doubt annoying to a serious scholar like you.’
She paused and he could see she was thinking back to her own childhood.
‘I do not have the academic interest that you do, but some of my happiest days were spent in the woods around our house. I used to like watching the frogspawn hatch into tadpoles and then grow into frogs every spring. And there was a family of hedgehogs who visited our garden every evening for a few months one summer. I would watch them plodding across the lawn from my bedroom window when I was supposed to be asleep.’
Will had a sudden image of a future that could never come to pass: a gaggle of children who looked like Amelie, crowded around a window in the nursery at Ashmead Hall, watching for a hedgehog, all eager to be the one who spotted it.
In the picture he was sitting in an arm chair with Amelie perched on his knee as they both looked on lovingly at their children.
It was an intoxicating image, but it was one he needed to banish from his mind.
Amelie could only ever be a temporary part of his life.
In a couple of month, he would have to return to reality, return to his duty.
There would be no more leisurely summer evenings making love and no more of her sweetness and enjoyment of life to lift him when he was feeling low.
‘You look sad,’ Amelie said, frowning. ‘Do not fear; the hedgehogs were treasured visitors to the garden and were never harmed, although old Ted, who was the man who came to tend to the garden twice a week, once kicked a hedgehog whilst he was crossing the lawn at dusk.’
‘He kicked a hedgehog?’
‘Yes, although he assured me it rolled a bit and then got up and toddled away as if nothing happened.’
He thought of the young woman he was meant to marry, Lady Elizabeth Dreardon.
He did not know her, not really. Their paths had crossed half a dozen times, but they had only shared the most superficial of conversations.
What he did know was that she was unlikely to regale him with tales of hedgehogs in her childhood home whilst looking very fetching leaning up against an old bookcase in a university library.
Will leaned forward, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Amelie’s ear. ‘You look rather beautiful today,’ he said, moving even closer so their bodies were almost touching.
‘Lord Beescroft, you need to behave yourself. This is a sacred chamber of learning. What would the fellows say if they caught you whispering honeyed words to a woman you had sneaked inside?’
‘Dirty buggers would probably enjoy it,’ he said, dipping his head so his lips brushed against her neck.
In the days following their return to Grantchester, Will had made it his primary aim to rid Amelie of her horrible grey dress.
He’d contemplated burning it on the very first day back, but Amelie had argued that would leave her with nothing.
A trip to the dressmaker in town had resulted in three new dresses—nothing extravagant, but a vast improvement on the grey sack she had been wearing.
Today she wore a pale-blue dress that suited her colouring perfectly.
It had a white sash around the middle and was tailored to fit her perfectly, highlighting her figure without exposing too much.
The dress was a great compromise—something that could be worn by a respectable young woman or a well-paid housekeeper.
Will’s favourite thing about the dress was that it left her neck and collar bones exposed. Every time he saw her in this dress he had the urge to take advantage of the bare skin, to run his lips across it until she melted in his arms.
He had her pinned against the edge of the bookcase now, his body pressed against hers. Amelie responded to his touch, reaching up to tangle her hands in his hair and pull him closer.
He couldn’t resist her. If he did not take her now, the walk home would be pure torture. He felt like a lovesick youth, unable to keep his hands from the woman who filled his thoughts every waking moment and even sometimes in his dreams.
Amelie gasped as he lifted her up but wrapped her legs around him. ‘You are a very bad influence, Your Grace,’ she murmured in his ear. Her voice was light, filled with desire, her hand already pulling at his waistband. It was exhilarating to know she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
As he entered her she let out a moan that was far too loud for their surroundings and he had to reach up to put his hand over her mouth.
‘Do you promise to be quiet?’ he said, not moving.
She looked at him with wide eyes and shook her head.
‘You’ll have the porters running in here to investigate.’
‘I will do my best,’ she said as he took his hand away. ‘But I cannot promise anything.’
Unable to wait any longer, Will lost himself in the pleasure of her, finding he was too far gone to care about being discovered even when she did shout out at her moment of climax.
Thankfully they remained undisturbed, and fifteen minutes later they were slipping out of the gates of Peterhouse onto Trumpington Street.