Thirteen
Gavin woke in his wife’s lavender-scented bed and under the bright gaze of her blue eyes. They reached for each other at the same moment, and he fell headlong into the delights of his new marital state.
“Perhaps we could stay here forever,” Rose said in a dreamy voice when they had sated each other and lay languorously intertwined.
“Live at the hotel,” he replied, not as a question.
“Send out to the tea shop and subsist on cake.”
“Instruct the staff here to deny our existence to any who might ask.”
“After we move to a suite of rooms on the very top floor.”
“Where we can watch the locomotive pass in the distance.”
“And think of nothing but…” She ran her fingers down Gavin’s side, making him catch his breath.
“Nothing,” he murmured.
“We’ll send the duchess’s servants back to her in London. With a note pledging the Terefords to secrecy as to our whereabouts.”
“But there is your maid,” said Gavin, and then cursed his literal mind.
“Oh.” The whimsy went out of Rose’s tone. “Yes, of course. There is Sue. She will probably be knocking on the door soon, wondering when we leave for home.” She sighed.
“We have to go,” said Gavin.
“I know.”
The fantasy thoroughly dissipated, they rose and began to make ready.
Gavin hired a post chaise for the ride back to Yerndon. He hadn’t been able to bring his own carriage as his family would have wanted to know where he was going. They would soon find out now, and the results would descend on their heads.
By one o’clock, they were on the road west. Rose and the servants filled the chaise. Gavin rode beside it. There would be no chance for private talk until they reached Yerndon again.
Rose watched the busy streets of Leeds pass by the carriage window, newly washed by the overnight rain. It was a lively scene, full of interest. The April day was temperate with a gusty breeze. She was at once glad and sorry to leave the city. She had been very happy here. She nearly hugged the delicious memories to her. But the moors would be burgeoning with spring, and she could walk them now whenever she liked, as much as she liked. Her husband fully understood that need, as he did a number of others, she thought with a secret smile.
She had a husband. Rose contemplated this fact, turning it in her mind like a gleaming stone found in a streambed. She’d observed husbands often enough. She’d expected, in an abstract way, to have one at some point, though never had she imagined it would be Gavin Keighley. The duchess seemed to find hers eminently satisfactory. But what was it like, day in and day out?
The nights, well, she had no worries about those.
“Whatever will the master say?” asked Sue.
Rose started, thinking her maid meant Gavin, and that she had somehow sensed Rose’s sensuous thoughts. Then she realized Sue was referring to her father. He would have a great deal to say, she imagined. As would her mother. She didn’t want to speculate, particularly before the two other servants, whom she barely knew. She simply shook her head.
The journey was soon done. They pulled up before Yerndon in late afternoon, carried in the sparse luggage they’d taken to Leeds, and paid off the post chaise. Sue took Rose’s case upstairs, and the other two servants went to the kitchen. At long last, Rose and Gavin were alone in the front parlor. “We must let our families know what we’ve done,” Rose said. She hadn’t meant for it to sound like a transgression. “Before they hear the news from someone else. My maid will tell her friends at the first opportunity.” The weight of the family dispute descended on her like a heavy pall. She’d thrown it off in Leeds, but it had not gone away.
Gavin nodded. The set of his mouth was grim. More like the Gavin of weeks ago than her tender partner of last night and this morning. Just this morning? Yes.
“I suppose we should go and see them,” Rose said reluctantly.
“We can write to them. They bombarded us with letters.”
“Doesn’t that seem cowardly?”
“I don’t care.”
He seemed distant, perhaps angry. Though she knew those impulses weren’t directed at her, Rose’s heart sank. Would the old frictions and habits of years and years pull them down? Apart? “They’ll come to see us as soon as they hear.”
“And we will receive them in our home rather than theirs. Thus, we can tell them to go away.”
“Your house belongs to you,” Rose had to point out.
“Indeed, but Mama rather…fills it.”
That was easy to believe. Lady Keighley tended to dominate. The dowager Lady Keighley, Rose realized. That title belonged to her now, a Denholme. Gavin’s mother would be enraged by that, whether she was expected to relinquish it or share it. And she was very good at being angry.
Rose nearly quailed. She told herself that she had her own establishment now. Whatever anyone else thought, she owned Yerndon. Co-owned, all right. But no one could take it away. It was her bastion, her sanctuary, a place she could order just as she liked. Even Gavin could not stop her. Of course he wouldn’t want to.
“We’d best write the notes together and send them off,” he said. It sounded like a curt command. “I think we should say…”
“I can decide what to say to my parents,” Rose put in.
“We don’t want to give the wrong impression. We must take charge, present a united front.”
“Front? Is that like pretending to get along?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Gavin asked. “You know this is a delicate matter.”
He said it in the impatient tone so familiar from all the years they had been snapping at each other. The voice that put her into a flame. She resisted, but the habit of argument came so easily. “Nothing whatsoever is wrong with me. I will go and compose the note.”
“And show it to me before it’s sent off.”
Rose gritted her teeth. “Do you intend to do the same?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“We will exchange copies then?” Like warring nations drafting a treaty, Rose thought.
“That is what I said.”
“Very well.” She turned and walked out.
Gavin remained where he was, struggling with his temper as he had not needed to do for some time. What had happened to the sweet, confiding Rose of last night? Had regrets overwhelmed her on the ride back from Leeds? Was she wishing him at Jericho? Had they been utter fools to think that things could change between them in a few weeks? Now that they were back to the reality of their lives, was Rose sorry she’d married him?
He gazed out the window at the cloud shadows passing over the moor. The April afternoon was waning to gold. As always, the sight of the country he loved held peace.
Memories of their visit here at Yerndon came back to him—the honest talk, the tender kisses. They weren’t the same fractious people who had first come here. They’d had reasons for their plunge into the unknown. Or had the duke and duchess created a fantasy world that disappeared with their departure?
Gavin hadn’t really understood the phrase blood ran cold until this moment. If Rose regretted their marriage, that was…insupportable.
What had gone wrong?
They’d reached Yerndon. They’d faced up to the next step. He’d been thinking of what to say to his mother and of her certain outrage. She would rail at him. At Rose too, perhaps more at her. She would be full of vitriol. As she had no right to be. His temper had flamed at the idea. He’d wanted to hit something. And so he’d snapped and growled like a baited bear.
Gavin walked closer to the windows. He breathed in the sight of the sun gilding the heather. As soon as their families came into it, things tried to go bad. Engrained opinions—and insults—were like a great wave, trying to sweep his feet out from under him, insisting that rage was the only thing to feel.
But it wasn’t. Rose had taught him that. And the Terefords had too. He should apologize.
He headed for the stairs, but before he had taken three steps up, Mr. Smithson rushed out of the back premises. “That daft girl has set the kitchen on fire,” he cried. The caretaker was no longer the silent, self-contained servitor. His face was covered with soot.
Gavin ran back with him and found one of the servants the duchess had left screeching and flapping ineffectually at a row of flaming dish towels. Somehow, the drying rack had been lowered into the edge of the coals on the hearth.
He eased the girl aside, pulled the cloths off the rack, and stamped out the fire. Mr. Smithson raised the drying rack out of danger.
The room was filled with smoke.
“Where is Mrs. Smithson?” Gavin asked. The older woman had seemed calmly competent.
“Went to the village, didn’t she?” Mr. Smithson wiped his face with one of the charred towels, which didn’t do much good to either. “Had to, if there’s to be any dinner tonight.”
Rose’s maid, Sue, came in just then, gawked at the mess, and exclaimed, “I’ll tell my lady.” She ran out again before Gavin could object.
A few minutes later, Rose arrived and looked at him as if the fire was his fault. Or so he felt.
“I didn’t mean anything, my lady,” said the servant responsible. Gavin ought to know her name, but he didn’t. “I needed a cloth to wipe up the eggs,” she added. There were three broken eggs on the floor by the kitchen table, Gavin noticed. “And then I–I don’t know how it happened.”
“Ham-handed flibbertigibbet,” Mr. Smithson muttered.
The girl burst into tears.
Gavin backed away. Frantic sobs were among his mother’s tactics when she wished to get her way. They usually led to outright hysteria. “Perhaps you can deal with this,” he said to Rose. It was a plea, but came out surly. Why could he not speak to her as he had last night?
“Certainly,” Rose replied, biting off the word. “Do slope off.”
“I am not…”
“Go!” She made a shooing motion.
Gavin went for a walk.
He took deep breaths, filling his lungs with the bracing air of the moors. The sun was setting, the birds exchanging their last calls before settling to rest. He saw a fox slip over the rise behind the stables. “No chickens for you here,” he murmured. They’d need a sturdy henhouse before they installed any, which he intended to do. He’d bring more of his horses over tomorrow. Or, soon, once the new situation was…made clear to his family. His mind shifted to the improvements he meant to make in the acreage. Those were practical and satisfying. Soothing. He knew how to do that. He was less certain how to make amends to Rose. He would, though, in a while.
In Yerndon’s front parlor, where she had lately sat with the duchess and enjoyed lively, amusing conversations, Rose crossed out a sentence on the page before her and frowned at an ink blot. Sending letters to their families rather than calling on them was actually a good idea, she admitted. They could explain what they’d done without the constant interruptions that would certainly fill any face-to-face conversation. She could so easily imagine the horrified exclamations and disbelief. The criticism and blame. Which would cause digressions and degenerate into excuses for things that hadn’t even happened. Much better to tell the whole story in writing first. But every word she chose seemed fraught. She’d even wavered over using the rather than a.
The door opened, and Gavin came in. “There you are.”
In her prickly mood, it felt like an accusation. “Where else would I be?”
“Ah, well…”
“I am composing a letter to my parents, as we agreed.” She hadn’t meant it to sound so militant. Gavin—her husband!—frowned and came farther into the room.
“It will be best to simply set out the facts,” he replied.
“Simply. Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. It’s such a simple matter after all.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Have you made the attempt? Have you considered the reactions?” He winced, and she was glad of it. “Perhaps you would like to prepare a model if it is so simple?”
He took a breath, swallowed. “Pardon my poor choice of words, Rose,” he said. “I seem incapable of finding the right ones. Or a good way of saying them. The problem has plagued me since we returned here.”
It was what she had just been thinking about the letter. “Trying to put it…plausibly has made me cross.” What they had done was so implausible, really.
“The old dispute rears up to make us so,” Gavin replied. “I think it tries to, Rose.”
“An abstract…situation cannot try.”
“You wouldn’t think so. But when my family comes into it, it feels like a great weight pushing me to snap and snarl. Call it old habits, if you like. They rush in before one can stop them.”
“When we think of our families? Of getting in touch, or seeing them.”
He nodded.
Rose thought this over. “Because we weren’t having such…difficulties in Leeds.”
“When they were far away and we didn’t have to…include them.”
“Are you saying Yerndon is tainted?” she asked sadly.
“No,” he said.
“I won’t have it,” Rose declared at the same moment.
“We will not allow it to be,” Gavin added. He came closer and offered his hand. “We will take care that it is not.”
Rose grasped his fingers. “We have been different. Here in this house. Things began to change here.”
“Yes. We have shown that we can fight off the past.”
“Rather than with each other?” She remembered their walks in Leeds, their tender caresses. Those had felt so easy. “I thought we were done with that.”
He looked regretful. “I wish we were. Anger seemed to sneak up on me when we returned and considered how to present ourselves.”
Rose sat straighter. “Present ourselves. As if we were criminals arguing our case.”
“Which we are not.”
“We are the opposite,” Rose declared.
Gavin smiled slightly. “What would the opposite of criminals be?”
“Those who look to mend instead of tearing down or tearing apart.”
He looked much struck. “That is… That is lovely, Rose. That is exactly…”
“What you most like to do,” she finished. She knew that about him. It was part of what she adored.
“Yes. As you revere and preserve.”
She loved those labels, and that he’d seen this in her.
“We will work together,” he added.
“We are together, and we won’t let anything come between.” She pressed his fingers as a seal to the promise. He squeezed back.
They were still for a moment, determined, happy. And then the scatter of crumpled, blotted pages on the desk in front of Rose seemed to grow more visible, as if trying to intrude on their pact.
“May I see what you’ve written?” Gavin asked.
Once, he would have just picked it up without permission, Rose thought. Still, she was reluctant to hand over her messy page. Usually, she wrote neatly and concisely. She never produced such wild daubs, and she was not at all satisfied with her attempt. But she let go of his hand and gave him her messy letter, watching him as he read. The lines of his face were so familiar—stark and strong. And lately, she’d seen softer expressions there, tenderness in those gray eyes. It was true. They had changed. They were a…an island of affection in a sea of discord. He looked up. Her pulse accelerated when their eyes met.
“Perhaps we could say ‘made the determination to marry’?” he asked. “Would that imply a considered decision?”
Which it had not been, Rose thought. More of a wild leap into the unknown, hopes flailing like loose cloaks in a gale. She raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, but it sounds…legal,” Gavin said, responding to her expression.
“Legal?”
“Not the right word. Except that our marriage is quite legal.”
“Signed and sealed,” Rose agreed.
“Here’s an idea. What if we begin our letters with the transfer of Yerndon to us? First thing, right up front. Before we mention anything else. That should disarm them, eh?”
As if their families would be charging in with weapons raised, not a vision one wished to conjure on announcing a marriage. But it was a good thought. “That is the most important fact, to them,” Rose said.
“It was the point of our visit,” he replied. “At least to my mother.”
“And my parents,” Rose said.
“So, they read that first and are filled with triumph.” He made a fist and shook it in the air. Then he paused, looked at his raised hand.
Rose was gazing at it too. She saw him notice. A fist seemed like a symbol of their two families’ enduring feud. And a bad omen? Gavin grimaced, let his fingers open and his hand drop.
“We tell them about our ownership and then perhaps congratulate them on the achievement of their lifetime aim. Make it sound as if they’d done something.”
“Yes. That’s very good. Should we note this down?”
She had the pen and ink out before her, Rose acknowledged. Gavin was still standing, though now he went and sat in an armchair. It was natural that she should write. She was not taking dictation. She refused to let that small sliver of irritation emerge.
“Then something about Yerndon,” Gavin continued. “How good to have the borders restored.”
“That is a bit deceptive from the Denholme side,” she pointed out. “Yerndon will be no part of my brother’s inheritance.”
“You are as much part of the Denholmes as he is.”
“Not in my father’s eyes.”
“But his grandchildren,” Gavin began, then stopped.
Their eyes met. Rose felt her cheeks grow warm. Children came from the sweet intimacies and dizzying passions that had just begun for them.
Gavin cleared his throat. “Perhaps talk about increasing the sheep herd,” he said.
A choked laugh escaped Rose. Lambs rather than children? No, both, she told herself. She wanted a household full of youth and laughter.
“The acres can support quite a few more,” he added, as if she’d argued.
“I’m sure my father will agree with you.”
“It would be the first time.”
“Well, there must be one, if things are to change.”
There was a short silence as they contemplated the unpleasant alternative.
“So, begin the letters with the conveyance of property and congratulations to them,” Gavin said.
“Because they are very unlikely to congratulate us,” Rose couldn’t help but say.
Gavin’s sympathetic look comforted her.
“And then sheep.” Rose actually wrote down the word. She omitted the hollow laugh. “Followed by some sort of transition to announcing our wedding.”
Dinner that evening was eaten in the parlor as they continued to wrestle with recalcitrant phrases.
“It is difficult to explain a marriage without any reference to feelings,” Rose said at one point.
“Our families won’t care to hear about those,” Gavin replied.
“No. They won’t.” She looked at her husband, then realized she’d sounded sarcastic. For no real reason. He was trying very hard. As hard as she was. And this difficult letter writing was not a time to be speaking of…love. That would come—surely it would—when they’d dealt with their families and grown more settled. She gestured at the rising pile of blotted pages that surrounded them. “Onward.”
They toiled on. It seemed to take forever, but at last they produced a draft that satisfied all the concerns they could raise. “I think this is the best we can do,” Gavin said.
Rose nodded.
“We should each write out a clean copy.”
“You don’t want me to do yours as well?” Rose held up the pen with which she’d been taking notes. She wanted to kiss him, but also to box his ears. No, she didn’t. Not the second thing.
“It must be in my handwriting,” he replied, looking puzzled.
If she’d asked him to take the notes, he would have, Rose told herself. She was nearly certain he would have. But she hadn’t asked. She was being unreasonable. This must stop. She pulled out fresh sheets of paper and another pen. They sat opposite each other at the table, carefully wrote the letters, and sealed them, ready to be sent off first thing in the morning. Before their families heard about their return, they hoped.
“I feel as if I’ve been hauling sacks of coal,” said Gavin when they were done.
“Oh, are feelings to be mentioned now?”
“What?”
She’d sounded angry. But she wasn’t. Not really. Not exactly.
“It’s been a long day,” Gavin replied. “You must be tired.”
“Must I?”
“I must be choosing the wrong words again,” he said. “I don’t mean to offend you, Rose.”
“You aren’t. I just…” Rose bowed her head. “I suppose I am practicing for the family discussions ahead.”
“Gathering your courage and resolution,” he said as if he understood the impulse only too well.
She wished she didn’t need those traits to confront her parents. She wished she didn’t anticipate a battle. But she did. Rose sighed again. “And when I can scarcely put one thought with another.”
“We have done our duty.” He gestured at the letters. “We don’t have to think anymore tonight. We can forget about all that.”
“Can we?” She looked at the sealed pages. “You were very right. History does…impinge, even when you don’t want it to.”
“Let us leave it behind. Come.” He rose and went to the sofa by the fire. When he beckoned, she joined him. “Let us imagine what would be worse,” Gavin suggested.
“To keep our tempers.”
“As you taught me.”
And he had taken that lesson from her, Rose thought. That had been just one of the surprising developments of the last few weeks.
“We could each be back home,” he went on. “We might not have been given Yerndon.”
Rose didn’t want to think about that. She shook her head. “I don’t want to do the ‘worse’ just now. Let’s name the happy times we’ve had here instead.”
“A new habit forming,” he replied.
“Yes.”
“A good idea.”
He acknowledged that she had them. Another change. Shifts were possible. “There was the duke surrounded by the Bront? children,” she said.
“Looking all at sea,” said Gavin. “I enjoyed seeing him at a bit of a loss.”
“I know.”
“Well, he’s so very…” Gavin made a vague gesture.
“Polished, but not toplofty. Assured, but not vain. You liked him in the end.”
“I did. Despite every effort to the contrary.” Gavin smiled.
Rose smiled back. “And the duchess…” She broke off. She’d thought of the day her hostess routed the Keighley twins as a happy time, but mentioning that would spoil what they were doing.
“There was that time on the stairs, when we made our original agreement, and I nearly kissed you,” Gavin said.
“Did you? I thought you might have…” Rose had certainly yearned toward him in that moment. It had been the beginning of…everything.
“I came so close I shocked myself.”
Rose laughed. She’d felt the same. “Was that actually a happy time?” she asked him. “Or more an unsettling one?”
“It was the beginning of all the rest.” He looked around. “And then I did kiss you. For the first time. Right here in this parlor.”
“It was.” Rose gazed at the pleasant room. “But I believe I kissed you. Actually. That time. You pointed that out.”
“And offended you.” He looked apologetic. “But I couldn’t just…”
“What?”
“Sweep you into my arms. I didn’t know what you wanted.”
Rose met his eyes. Desire burned there. She gloated over it. “Then,” she said.
“Then?”
“You couldn’t sweep me into your arms then.”
“Ah. But now.” He did so, to Rose’s immense gratification, and kissed her with that gentle intensity that drowned her senses. Kisses had not been the problem, she thought, while she could still think. Only their implications.
“I had our things moved to the bedchamber the Terefords were using,” Rose said breathlessly when their dizzying embrace paused. “It is the best in the house.”
Desire burned in his gaze. “But is it? Shouldn’t that notion be tested?”
“You’re right. It really should be.”
Gavin stood, pulling her to her feet. They snuffed the candles, taking just one along to light their way. With his arm around her, they left the parlor and climbed the stairs. It was late. Everyone else had gone to bed.
They entered the grandest bedroom side by side. Gavin went to light some other tapers before setting the candlestick down.
“Our first night in our new home,” Rose said. Would they live here happily and prosperously for years? Or would outside pressures crush their hopes? She shook her head in denial.
“What?” asked Gavin.
“No one can come between us,” she replied fiercely. “We will not allow it!”
And then they were shedding garments in a laughing melee, tumbling naked into bed. The caresses and endearments that drowned her then gave Rose hope.