Eleven
“It is my opinion that there is not enough entertainment available for the inhabitants of this neighborhood,” said the Duke of Tereford to his wife the following day. Water dripped at the windows of Yerndon Manor. The April day offered not waving daffodils but damp and fog. They sat cozily in the parlor together, however, with a pot of tea and a plate of scones. Their guests had retreated to their respective rooms after another spate of familial notes, which had been extended rants, by report. “I believe this feud lends excitement to their mundane routine,” he added. “With no plays to attend. No local assemblies. Rather long distances to make calls.”
“I think you may be right,” said the duchess. “It is a rather lowering reflection that people will take pleasure in fighting with each other.”
“Perhaps not pleasure so much as stimulation,” he replied. “They seem to find it as exciting as a bare-knuckle boxing bout.”
His wife made a face at the comparison. “Our guests’ parents seem such irascible people. The Reverend Bront? too. His note of ‘gratitude’ for the recovery of his children was the most grudging thing.”
“Do you think our houseguests have been ordered home?”
“I suspect so, as if they were errant children themselves.”
“And yet they don’t seem to be going,” the duke pointed out.
“They don’t want to.”
“We cannot keep Miss Denholme against her father’s wishes.”
“We are not keeping her,” the duchess said. “She is of age. It is her decision.”
Her husband raised one dark brow.
“And yet still under her father’s authority as far as society is concerned,” she acknowledged with a sigh.
“I’m not certain why the Denholmes and Keighleys haven’t arrive in force to haul their offspring away. It seems like something they would do.”
“They’re awed by your rank,” said the duchess.
“And the setdown you administered to those twins,” he replied.
Her smile was half-hearted. “Perhaps.” The duchess was surrounded by letters and documents that had come in a packet from London, full of news of friends and matters of business that required attention. She picked up a fat document and put it down again.
“I will deal with those,” said the duke.
“Yes, all right.”
“Not even a mild protest? Your spirits seem low, Cecelia.”
“I do miss London,” she admitted. “I will never be a lover of the moor. The rain seems somehow…bleaker here.”
“Not to be repetitive, but we can set off for home whenever you give the word.”
“I think I am ready to give it, James.” She gestured at the papers. “Some of this can only be dealt with in town. But even more…”
“Friends. Shops. A softer springtime.”
“Yes.”
“And I would very much like to settle you in Tereford House, with the doctor nearby.”
“I feel quite well.”
“Which is splendid. Though you have admitted that you are more tired than you are accustomed to being.”
“Yes.”
“And a long journey by coach…”
She acknowledged the point with a nod.
“Shall I make the arrangements?” he asked hopefully.
“I would like that.” The duchess looked regretful. “But how can we leave our new friends caught in their dilemma?”
“Dilemma?”
The duchess gave him an impatient look “You have talked to Sir Gavin, I to Rose. They are clearly enamored with each other.”
“Well on the way to being, yes. But hampered by what their families have taught them.”
“Pounded into their heads, you mean.”
The duke nodded.
“I wish we could do something. It is so silly.”
“I did have an idea.”
“What?”
He explained. He was barely halfway through his plan when the duchess began to smile.
“Amused?” he said.
“That is outrageous, James.”
“Well, yes. A bit.”
“But I was mainly smiling because you took the time to think of it on your own. With no prompting from me. It was very kind of you.”
He half shrugged, almost shy. “Do you want to suggest it to them?”
She thought a moment, then nodded. “But whatever will they think? Or do?”
“That is up to them, of course.”
The duchess bit her lower lip in contemplation.
“You could speak to Miss Denholme and I to Sir Gavin?”
“They will refuse,” she concluded. “They’ll think we’ve gone mad.”
“Perhaps.”
The duchess shook her head. “I think they will, James. With all the weight of family history on them?”
“But if they had an escape?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, it is up to them. And we will have done all we can to help. We will go home with a clear conscience.” Again, he raised one eyebrow to inquire whether this was enough.
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Just occasionally I am,” he teased.
“Quite often really, James,” she replied with another lovely smile.
Before they could communicate his plan, word came that Ian and Lucy had returned from Scotland, duly married and quite pleased with themselves. An old uncle of Lucy’s was taking them in on his farm. He would teach Ian to run it and eventually pass it along to them. “And they will settle down to live happily ever after,” the duchess suggested to Rose when they heard this latest bit of news.
“I hope they do,” Rose replied. She wondered if farm life would satisfy Lucy’s love of drama. But she could do nothing about that. They were fortunate to have a relative to turn to. She certainly felt the lack of any sympathetic family just now. “The farm is a ways off. And I believe I have convinced my parents that making trouble for Ian is beneath them. At least, I had before…” She waved a hand to encompass the current fuss.
“Oh, good.”
“Is it? Why should they have considered doing so? Over Ian’s choice of a wife? A respectable girl of his own rank and station.” Rose bit back further complaints. She was feeling battered by her family. The rescue of the Bront? children had exposed a level of bile and pettiness that depressed her spirits. She wanted to admire her parents. Their behavior was making that difficult. Worse, she would have to go home soon. She couldn’t keep dodging their demands for her return. That would anger them further and put the Terefords in an awkward position.
“Indeed,” said the duchess. After a pause, she added, “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Her tone made Rose perk up her ears.
“It is time for us to go back to London. We want to be home well before the child is born.”
“Of course.” Rose hoped she hid the way her heart sank at the idea of losing her new friend Cecelia. Naturally they wanted to be at home for the birth, and naturally they wanted to leave this contentious place. Who wouldn’t?
“We have mainly set Yerndon to rights.”
“You have done very well.” They would find a tenant from town, Rose supposed. Some stranger would come to live in this house where she had been…so surprisingly happy. Perhaps it would be a very pleasant and interesting family, she told herself. But her parents would only resent them. Reason seemed to have flown out the window in recent days.
“We are leaving the day after tomorrow.”
So soon? Rose exclaimed silently. She nodded. “I have enjoyed my visit with you very much. Thank you for inviting me.” She would have to begin packing her things. Guests did not stay on after their hosts departed.
“We will go to Leeds first to reach the main road south.”
“Yes.” That was the most efficient route, though Rose was not certain why the duchess was telling her this.
“And we had an idea. Or James did, to give proper credit.”
She proceeded to lay out a plan that made Rose’s eyes grow wider and wider. By the end, her mind was reeling.
At the close of their conversation the duchess led a dazed Rose to a parlor at the back of the house. They hadn’t been using this room, but today a bright fire burned on the hearth. The duke escorted Gavin into the room on their heels. Then the Terefords walked out together, shutting the door firmly behind them.
Rose stared at Gavin. He stared back, looking as startled as she felt. “Did the duke tell you?” she asked.
At the same moment, he asked, “Did she tell you?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
They stared a bit more.
“It is out of the question, of course,” Rose said finally. She heard her voice rise at the end, as if this was a query.
He didn’t reply.
Rose wondered if she looked as stunned as he did. She wondered if he felt anything like the mixture of astonishment and uncertainty and…ridiculous, tremulous hope that roiled in her.
“Our families would…”
She threw up her hands. “Can you imagine the uproar?”
“It would be ten times worse than it is now.”
“More!”
“But.” Gavin looked down then up to meet her eyes. “We wouldn’t be with them,” he added slowly.
She wouldn’t have to go home, Rose thought. Sad that the idea should draw her.
“Also, there would be no more point of contention,” he added.
“Over Yerndon.”
“Yes. The…issue would be resolved.”
Was he actually considering the Terefords’ mad plan? Rose couldn’t decipher his tone. Did she want him in favor? She wanted. Intensely. What? “That’s not a reason to take such a mad step,” she pointed out.
“No.” He gazed at her again.
“We would have to have other reasons,” Rose went on. He must know that. “For ourselves.”
“Yes. And that is the crux of the matter.” He moved a bit closer to her. “When we first came to stay here, we made a bargain.”
“To pretend to get along,” Rose replied.
“But pretending has led to reality, wouldn’t you say? We do get along.”
The phrase seemed pallid to Rose. Get along sounded like something one would say to a recalcitrant horse.
“Don’t we?”
Was that a tinge of anxiety in his tone? Did she dare hope so? She couldn’t seem to find words.
“This visit has certainly changed the way I look at you.”
“You look at me as if I was a puzzling oddity,” she said.
“No.” He moved closer still. “As if you were a marvelous surprise.”
He was riveting, powerful. He smelled intoxicatingly masculine, just as he had those other times when they had…
“We could change everything,” he said.
“Things should be changed.” Her voice wavered. There was no doubt about that. Just about other factors. The ones that truly mattered. The ones that buzzed in her blood and filled her heart. Rose found she’d taken a step, raised her chin, and offered her lips.
There was no hesitation in the way he took them. His arms slid around her and pulled her close. Her senses whirled as their bodies pressed together and his mouth tantalized her. She couldn’t think. She could only feel. She loved him. He…liked her? He found her a marvelous surprise. What did that mean? Was it enough? He certainly liked kissing her. She had no doubt about that. And she felt she belonged in his arms. Could she throw caution to the winds, take what she wanted, and leave the future to unravel itself?
Gavin looked shaken when they separated. “Rose,” he murmured.
His voice pulled at something deep in her. He looked like a man in the throes of some…profound emotion.
“So shall we?”
It wasn’t the sort of question that should settle one’s fate. It wasn’t the way she’d wanted to be asked. Rose felt as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff poised to dive into an unknown sea. There was a rush of exhilaration, a surge of triumph, and a fear of being dashed to pieces on unseen rocks. She shouldn’t. She mustn’t. Wildly, crazily, she leaped. “Yes,” she said.
And so when the Terefords’ luxurious traveling carriage set off from Yerndon not long after this, driving east toward Leeds, Rose sat with the duchess inside. The duke and Sir Gavin rode beside it. Most of the servants followed in another comfortable vehicle, Rose’s maid, Sue, among them. The stablemen had started south with the extra horses the previous day.
The Terefords had not announced their departure to the neighborhood. Indeed, they had taken some care to disguise their intentions. The manor was left in the charge of a taciturn older couple, the Smithsons, who had come highly recommended. They had few connections in the area, did not approve of gossip, and would have no patience with questions. No callers were expected, but if they came, they would be put off. The ruse would not last many days. But as the duchess had pointed out, many days were not required. The blizzard of written complaints would probably continue. But there would be no one present to read them.
Leeds was an easy journey of twenty miles and a world away from the sweep of the moors. Each time Gavin came to the city, there seemed to be more warehouses and mills, more smoke in the air, and more people and vehicles thronging the streets. Industry was burgeoning in Leeds, bringing great wealth to some and grinding toil to others. Gavin didn’t care for the place and usually completed any business he had as quickly as possible. Today, however, the city offered a newfound sense of freedom. No one at home knew where he was. It would take time for them to find him. Complaints and admonishments wouldn’t reach him here. He could forget all that for a while. It was a great relief.
They found three rooms awaiting them at the town’s finest hotel, along with accommodations for the servants. A groom had galloped off as soon as the decision was made and alerted the hostelry to his employer’s arrival. He’d also carried letters that went off south by fast courier. Gavin had nothing to do, except to hazard his whole future on a lunatic roll of fate’s dice.
They settled in their chambers. They shared a cordial dinner in the hotel’s dining room. It was like being in a dream, Gavin thought. He moved through familiar actions automatically, his mind floating, disconnected. He didn’t want to draw back, but he felt almost as if he was two people—a determined daredevil and an aghast man of property lured into a high-stakes gamble.
In the morning, the Terefords were fully occupied with letters to write and a business appointment. They urged Rose and Gavin to go out together and enjoy the city. As it was a sunny April day, and they had nothing else to occupy them, they took this advice and at ten set out walking in the busy streets. Rose had been to Leeds numerous times, accompanying her mother. But Mama came for one reason only. She loved to shop. She could spend hours in pursuit of the perfect length of cloth or hat or shoes. She enjoyed examining every possible choice of whatever item she was seeking. She insisted on visiting all the most exclusive shops before settling on her purchase, often back at the first place they’d tried. And discovery of a new emporium delighted Mama as much as undiscovered countries did a bold explorer.
Rose did not share this zest. She was more likely to settle on the first thing that was good enough and bring the shopping expedition to a close. This had led to friction with her mother on almost every trip. Rose’s walks through the streets of Leeds had been punctuated by a stream of complaints about her sulky attitude that spoiled her mother’s enjoyment and took the fun out of everything. Thus, for the first few minutes in the bustling throng, Rose felt stiff and uneasy. But no complaints came. Gavin’s comments were soothing. Gradually, she absorbed the difference and began to relax and look around as herself, not the eternally disappointing daughter. “It’s interesting,” she said over the surrounding babble of voices. “It’s almost like being on the moor.”
Gavin looked down at her in surprise.
“Not the scene but the…situation. None of these people care about me or think I ought to have a better attitude.” She gestured as the bustling townspeople. “No more than if they were stands of gorse and heather.”
He laughed at the comparison. “A better attitude?”
“Mama adores shopping. That I do not is just another example of my…failure to meet her standards.”
“That’s ridiculous. Shopping is a chore to be gotten through. I detest standing about while people look over all the offerings in a place.”
“So do I!”
Gavin smiled down at her. “We will do none! We must avoid the areas where our neighbors would be likely to do business or shop anyway.”
“Yes. It would be harder to dodge them here than in the heather.”
Gavin laughed again, and Rose felt her spirits lift.
They strolled away from the main thoroughfares into smaller avenues. The crowds grew less and changed a bit in character. Around the next corner they came upon a small square that held rows of market stalls. Stopping at the edge, they looked over it. “We used to go to a place like this on our days off when I was at school,” said Gavin. “There was a fellow who sold really splendid hot pies.”
“Did your school keep you hungry?” Rose asked.
“They fed us well. But I was always hungry at that age.”
“You grew several inches while you were away.” He looked startled, and Rose flushed. Yes, she had noticed, even though Gavin had become a forbidden connection by that time.
They walked through the aisles on their way across the square. Some of the stalls offered early vegetables or household necessities. Others had handcrafts. There was a tinsmith repairing worn pans. A flash of color caught Rose’s eye, and she turned to discover a row of lovely handwoven scarves tied around a rod and stirring in the breeze. “How beautiful.” She was drawn irresistibly closer. The hues were soft but striking—sage green, pale pink, amber gold. The threads were exceedingly fine, so that the scarves were almost filmy, and the weave was perfect. “I make all me own dyes,” said the old woman who sat behind the display.
“Beetroot for the pink?” asked Rose.
“Yes, miss. You’re one who knows, I see.”
Rose ran her fingers over the one in shadings of green. The cloth was beautifully soft.
“You should buy it,” Gavin said. “Take several of them. The duchess might like one.” The old woman perked up.
Rose longed to buy. She might be no enthusiastic shopper, but beauty like this captivated her. She had no money, however. Her father had an unalterable position on this issue. He provided for all her needs. He had even ordered her specimen box when she requested it. And fresh notebooks whenever one was full. But he did not give her coin. They had accounts in the village to cover household requirements, and all bills went to him, as part of his “system” to monitor expenditure. Rose drew back her hand, conscious of Gavin’s gaze. It was too humiliating to admit this. “I have scarves,” she muttered to the cobblestones.
“The green would become you right well, miss,” said the old woman hopefully.
Rose started to turn away.
“Do you like that green one best?” Gavin asked her. “The pink is pretty too.” He reached into his pocket.
“You can’t buy them,” said Rose.
“Of course I can.”
“It isn’t…”
“The least improper,” he interrupted. “Under the circumstances.”
They brought their strange situation out in the open. Rose felt her cheeks heat up.
“The green,” Gavin said to the vendor. “And the pink. That heathery one too.”
Looking very pleased, the old woman untied these three scarves from the display rod and folded them. When she named a price, Gavin didn’t bargain very hard, and Rose was glad. This vendor was an artist and deserved a generous payment for her work.
The old woman brought out a piece of paper and started to wrap up the scarves. Gavin reached over and picked up the green one. “You must put this one on,” he said to Rose. He draped it around her neck and tied it over her cloak. When his fingertips brushed her skin, Rose trembled.
“There,” said the old woman. “Didn’t I say it would look well?”
“Lovely,” said Gavin, his voice uneven.
Rose met his gray eyes as she touched the soft fabric. Was that tenderness she saw there? At least it wasn’t pity; she was certain of that. “Thank you,” she said.
“There’s no need of thanks between us,” he replied.
“What?”
“This was not a case of largesse or…patronage.”
His tone made Rose realize that her father’s “careful” habits were known in their neighborhood. Of course they would be. People talked about that sort of thing. And Gavin had remembered, in that brief bit of silence, that she was kept penniless. The surprising part was his response.
“This is just a gift, as between equals,” he went on, indicating the scarves.
“I think that would be all the more reason to acknowledge it,” Rose replied with similar gravity.
“He’s a fine lad,” said the old woman. “Don’t let go of him, miss.”
Rose smiled.
The other scarves were wrapped in paper and tied with string. Gavin put the small parcel under his arm, and they walked on.
They moved through bustling streets and leafy lanes. The day remained fine. They strolled around other small markets, though none had things as lovely as the scarves. Rose felt wryly vindicated. Her mother’s shopping habits wouldn’t have turned up any better choices.
In the early afternoon, they paused before a tea shop. A plate of small cakes was displayed in the window, fancifully decorated with tiny flowers and curlicues made of sugar icing. Gavin and Rose looked at each other, smiled, and turned to go in.
Appetites sharpened by the walk, they ordered a lavish tea with small sandwiches of ham and cucumber and an ample selection of the iced cakes. These tasted as good as they looked.
“Just one more of the chocolate ones, Mama, please,” begged a little boy at a nearby table.
“You’ve had three, Lionel,” his parent replied.
“I know but they are heavenly.”
“One more. Do not ask again.”
“Yes, Mama.” The boy took his cake and bit into it with an ecstatic expression.
Rose met Gavin’s smiling gaze. “Do you remember how Edward would bring cake from home out onto the moor?” she asked.
“He told his mother it was to share with the group,” Gavin answered. “But then he ate most of it himself.” Edward had been pudgy as a boy, though he had grown out of that.
“He would like this place.”
“He would. Perhaps we can bring him someday.”
Rose blinked. Gavin watched her consider this possibility and discover vistas opening for the future. He’d had similar moments himself today, which had held more laughter than any other he could remember. Things they might plan and decide without constant interference. “He would enjoy the indulgence,” Rose said.
“Indulgence indeed.”
Rose blushed delightfully. There was that too, Gavin thought. More than kisses. Life was suddenly offering so much more than he had anticipated for years.
They finished without hurry and then rose and moved slowly onward through the city. Gavin had a map of Leeds in his mind, and he had taken them in a rough circle. Now they were walking back toward the hotel. At the top of a slight rise, Rose stopped and pointed. “Look. Is that a fire?”
Gavin saw a column of pale smoke in the distance. Beneath it, a line of heavy wagons lurched slowly along. “I believe it is the steam locomotive,” he said.
“The what?”
“It is a horseless cart powered by a steam boiler. Used to haul coal from the mines in Middleton down to the landing near the bottom of Salem Place. To feed the power looms and other machines in the cloth mills. The first of its kind, I think.”
“Oh yes, I have read about that,” said Rose. They watched it lumber along. “It doesn’t seem much faster than horses.”
Gavin nodded. “It doesn’t require rest though or become ill.”
“Nay, it just blows sky-high,” declared a raspy voice behind them.
Turning, they saw a grizzled old man standing nearby. He was neatly dressed, leaning on a tall staff. “Didn’t ye hear about the Salamanca?” he asked.
“The battle?” Wellington had won a great victory at Salamanca in 1812, but Gavin didn’t see what that had to do with this.
“Nay, they named the engine of that infernal machine after it. And then the thing exploded a matter of two years ago. Killed the driver stone dead.” The old man shook his head. “Flung him a hundred yards. Like he was no more than a rag doll.”
“Oh dear,” said Rose.
“They claimed he messed about with the safety valves. But what I say is, a horse don’t blow up on you like a bad piece of artillery.” The old man gave them a decisive nod and stomped away.
“Thank goodness,” said Rose. “An exploding horse would be a dreadful thing to see.” She shuddered.
It was a grisly picture. They walked on as if to leave it behind.
“The lamplighters are coming out,” Gavin said as they approached their hotel. They’d seen these men last night, igniting the rows of gaslights that made the streets almost as bright as day.
“Leeds is changing,” Rose answered. “I wonder what it will be like when we are old?”
“Very different,” Gavin said. He had no doubt of that.
“But the moor won’t be.”
“No.” They exchanged a glance of perfect understanding.
They paused a moment before going inside the hotel, as if they both felt an impulse to prolong the walk. “This has been a splendid day,” said Gavin.
“It has.” Rose put a hand to her new scarf. She still tasted icing on her lips. But it was not the things that had made the day memorable. It was the company.
“I’ve never enjoyed myself so much in the city.”
“Nor I.”
“Are we surprised by that?” Gavin asked.
Rose smiled at the laughter in his tone. “A bit?”
“Though not nearly as much as we once would have been.”
“Not nearly,” she replied softly.
“Which is a good omen?”
She nodded. They gazed at each other. Rose felt as if a current of heat passed between them. But there couldn’t be kisses in the public street. Those would have to wait. She felt a shiver of delicious anticipation.
Looking regretful, Gavin turned away. They went inside together.
The duke and duchess awaited them, and they enjoyed another convivial dinner. The Terefords’ business had gone smoothly, and they enjoyed hearing about the day’s adventures. When they separated to go to their beds, the duke said, “My courier should return tomorrow.”
Rose went very still. She looked at Gavin. He couldn’t tell if she was more startled or excited. He smiled. After their day together, he was certain they had made the right choice. Her answering smile was a tremulous agreement.