Briar Patch (16 page)

‘Do you like archery, Sir Raymond? If the weather is fine tomorrow we might set up a target in the grounds.'

‘I've never been much good with arrows. I'm more of a huntsman myself. I like to follow the hounds, but Madeline enjoys the sport. You should make a match of it and we'll cheer you on.'

‘Yes, perhaps.' Roz smiled inwardly. The only person she wanted to match her skill against was Tom. She wished that she might ride out again in the morning and meet him, but they'd agreed that it must not happen again. What had happened in the hay barn was wrong – but that didn't stop the happiness spiralling through her. She wouldn't go to meet him deliberately but they would meet again and it would happen again, when the time was right. The certainty of it made her want to laugh or dance for joy.

‘What are you thinking about, Roz?' Madeline asked. ‘Do you have a secret? There is such a look in your eyes.'

‘A secret?' Roz lifted her wineglass and sipped it. ‘Now what makes you think that, Madeline? I have no secrets from my husband – any more than he has secrets from me.'

Did she imagine the guilty glance that passed between them? She had suspected something in Paris. It might be the real reason Harry had invited them to visit so soon.

‘Roz, did you find those collar studs?' Harry asked as he entered her bedchamber that night. She was standing in her nightgown, her hair brushed and hanging loose about her shoulders. ‘You looked so beautiful tonight . . .' He moved towards her. ‘Did you mean it when you said we should try again?'

‘Yes, of course. I've never been unwilling. I was just nervous that night.'

‘I was so hurt,' Harry said and there was a husky note in his voice. ‘I've been such a pig to you – but I had to strike back to hurt you, as you hurt me. I'm ashamed of what I said. Can you forgive me?'

‘Of course, Harry. It was so foolish of me to shut you out like that. I didn't mean to but . . . it won't happen again, I promise.'

‘I still love you, Roz.' He took a step towards her. ‘You led me on in the carriage and then . . . but I shouldn't have lashed out at you. It's Richmond who should be punished, not you.'

‘Yes, he should, but there's nothing you can do, Harry. We are married for better or worse and we ought to try to make the best of things. I respect you for what you've made of your life and I want to have your children. Please let me at least try to make you happy.'

‘Roz . . .' His voice broke as he took her into his arms and held her close. Roz clung to the thought of Tom's loving in her mind, remembering the scent of him and the way he'd made her feel. She slid her hands into Harry's hair and lifted her face for his kiss. He groaned and swept her into his arms, carrying her to the bed.

This time, Roz knew better than to lie like a dead thing as he touched her. She stroked his face and then ran her hands down his back, her eyes never leaving his. He tore off his nightshirt and she removed her own. For a moment he stared at her body hungrily, then he began to kiss her breasts. Roz ran her hands over his back, parting her legs for him as he sought out the moistness of her inner citadel. She closed her eyes as he came to her and remembered the sweetness of Tom's touch. Harry wasn't the same; she didn't feel the same joy and freedom she'd known with Tom, but she felt something and she let Harry sense her response. When he reached a swift climax she gasped and dug her nails into his shoulders, which seemed to please him. She turned her head to smile at him as he rolled away from her and lay on his back.

‘It's all right now, isn't it?'

‘Yes.' He put out a hand to touch her hair. ‘I've been an idiot, Roz. You're my wife. It's all right now. We can't change what's done and I was wrong to deny you. We both want children and we can at least find some comfort in each other.'

He left the bed and retrieved his nightshirt, going through to the other room without looking at her. Roz closed her eyes. It was all right, she could still feel Tom's touch and Tom's kisses. It was as if Harry had never been with her. She'd done what she had to do to breach the gulf between them. Harry wasn't fooled. He knew she didn't love him but his hurt pride was healed, his anger against her gone. They would have a marriage of sorts, even though he might still find his pleasure in other women.

Had she not known about Madeline she might have felt guilty, but Harry had broken his vows first. Instead of trying to understand her hurt he'd blamed her for deceiving him, forgetting that she'd tried to tell him when he'd proposed.

Roz banished her husband and his mistress from her mind and tried to picture Tom in his bedchamber. Was he asleep or was he thinking of her?

Tom heard his mother's cry and threw back the patchwork quilt, jumping out of bed. He hadn't been able to sleep because Roz's perfume seemed to cling to his skin and he couldn't stop thinking of her. Was she lying alone or in her husband's bed? That wasn't his business. She was unhappy in her marriage but she'd refused to run off with him. He couldn't blame her. He had little to offer a woman like Roz.

Putting his feet to an icy cold floor, he went through the hall to the room where his father slept. As expected, he discovered his mother trying to change the bedclothes.

‘Here, let me do it, Ma.'

‘I'll have to manage him while you're away.'

‘Sarah Forrest is coming to help with the chores. Get Granny Hubbard to give you a hand with Pa. For goodness' sake, we'll only be away for a couple of days.'

John Blake was swearing and muttering as Tom rolled him to one side and pulled out the folded sheet beneath him, tossing it to the floor and replacing it with another. It saved the mess going through to the bottom sheet and the mattress, which would have made things worse. Once his father was dry and settled, Tom left him to sleep and went down to the kitchen. Ellen had taken the sheets into the scullery. Tom stoked up the range fire and was putting the kettle on when she came through.

‘I can't break my promise to Mary Jane, Ma. It will be hard enough for her once we get home.'

‘I know. I don't expect you to, Tom. You do too much already, but he makes such a fuss when I try to change him.'

‘He still thinks you want him dead,' Tom said with a sigh. ‘I'm making tea. Do you want some?'

‘I might as well. I can't sleep,' Ellen said. ‘Carrie was gone most of the afternoon and you know it rained, but she was as dry as a bone when she got back. Where do you think she goes to?'

‘She probably found shelter in a barn or something.'

‘I swear I'll kill her if she does it again.'

‘Squire is dead,' Tom said and looked at his mother's face. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I hope it's not true but sometimes I think she lied to us, Tom. She's so pleased with herself and the babe. Seems to me she knew exactly what she wanted – and how to get it.'

‘Mebbe she did. Does it matter now?'

‘Dick is dead because of what she told us that day, and your pa's been worse since she had the babe. Poor little mite. When she feels like it she nurses and croons over her, then she's away across the fields and there's no one to look after the child but me. I love her, Tom, but it's too much for me.'

‘You will have Mary Jane to help you soon.'

‘Yes, that's the one bright thing in all of this.' He got up to make the tea and found his mother watching as he brought the large brown pot to the table. ‘You are all right with it, aren't you – the wedding?'

‘Of course I am, Ma. Why wouldn't I be?'

‘I've nagged you into it,' Ellen said as he set the pot down and fetched a jug of milk from the pantry.

‘I want to get on in life, Ma. I was trying to save every penny but that's a false economy. I can't do everything myself, any more than you can. A man in the yard and Mary Jane in the house, and things will be easier all round.'

‘Your lass was up to see me today. Her ma wanted to confirm the numbers for the meal after the wedding. She asked to have a look round so I took her upstairs. She looked in on your pa and spoke to him, but you know what he is.'

‘I hope he didn't shout at her?'

‘He just shut his eyes and pretended he was asleep.'

‘Mary Jane knows what to expect. I warned her before the banns were called.'

‘Well, she asked if she could bring some things here today. Seems she's got a chest of stuff she's been saving for a year or two.'

‘Before we started courting.'

‘Aye. I think she had her eye on Dick once but that's water under the bridge now.'

‘I'm not head over heels, Ma. Mary Jane's pretty and she knows what I want from a wife.'

‘Yes, I thought that was it. I'm sorry, Tom. If Dick had been alive you might have taken your time and found someone you could truly love.'

‘I doubt it would've made much difference. I've had my dreams, Ma – but I know that's all they were. Mary Jane will make me a good wife.'

‘Are you prepared to be a good husband?'

‘What's brought this on?' Tom finished his tea and put the mug in the deep stone sink. ‘I'm off to bed. It will soon be morning and I've a lot to do tomorrow if I'm to be married on Saturday.'

‘Get off to bed then,' Ellen said and then hesitated. ‘She was never for you, Tom. Not in a million years.'

Tom made no answer. His mother didn't know Roz. She had no idea that he'd been with her in the hay barn during a rainstorm. She would never guess what they had been to each other – or that Tom's body yearned for her in a way it never would for Mary Jane.

‘The gardens are lovely, I'll give you that,' Sir Raymond said as they finished the tour and began to walk towards the house once more. ‘But a woman of taste like you must long to change things in the house?'

Roz turned her gaze on him. Just what was he up to? Harry had given the architect and the decorator carte blanche and Roz wished he'd left the furnishings to her, because there were just too many fussy details that spoiled the look.

‘Everything is very new,' she replied. ‘In time things will become more comfortable.'

Sir Raymond turned to her. ‘You should never have married a man like Rushden. He has no taste or sensitivity.' He took her hand, his finger stroking the palm. ‘You would find me more skilled in the arts of love, Roz.'

Roz drew her hand away, repressing the shudder that ran through her at his touch. ‘Sir Raymond! You ought not to say such things to me.'

‘You're not such a little prude. I saw that look in your eyes last night. You looked like a woman who had been to meet her lover and was well satisfied.'

‘How dare you?' Roz moved away, half angry, half fearful. He caught her arm and swung her back to face him. ‘Please let me go, sir.'

‘Won't you call me Raymond? There's no reason why we shouldn't amuse each other. Madeline and your husband began their affair in Paris. Surely you knew that?'

‘Why did you come here if that is the case? Don't you care what she does?'

‘Madeline has her lovers and I have my pleasures. We don't believe in petty jealousy. I always know when she has a new lover – and I saw that look in your eyes last night. I doubt your husband knew what to make of it, but if I alert him to the truth he will soon catch on.'

‘Are you trying to blackmail me?'

‘Blackmail is an ugly word. You could be nice to me while we're here. We shan't stay more than a couple of weeks and I'm not demanding; once a day would be sufficient.'

‘Once would be more than enough for me,' Roz flashed at him. ‘If you wish to tell Harry lies do so. He will not believe you – and there is no reason for him to be jealous. I do not have a lover and I have no intention of obliging you.'

She broke away and walked into the house. She was seething inside as she went into her favourite parlour and found Madeline going through her sewing box.

‘What are you doing?'

‘I need a thread to sew on a button,' Madeline said but there was a guilty look in her eyes. ‘Your embroidery is very neat, Roz. I am hopeless at anything more than plain sewing and I don't care for it at all.'

‘Perhaps you prefer other pastimes?'

‘Yes, perhaps.' Madeline smiled. ‘Your husband took me riding this morning. Yesterday, we arrived in a rainstorm, as you know – but of course you didn't know. You were out riding. Harry was worried because the rain was so heavy. Did you take shelter somewhere?'

‘For a while, yes. Why do you ask?'

‘We passed a hay barn this morning. Harry said it belongs to a neighbour of your brother's. The land lies between your brother's estate and Harry's – he said both he and Sir Philip want to buy it but the owner is refusing to sell.'

‘I know nothing about Harry's business or Philip's.'

‘I thought perhaps you might have sheltered in the hay barn?' Madeline smiled and got up, wandering over to the window. ‘There was a man with a cart near the barn. I think he was fetching hay. He turned to stare at us – at me really, but then he seemed to lose interest and turned his back on us.'

‘You are a beautiful woman. Is it surprising that a man stares at you?'

‘It was the way he looked – the eagerness, as if he expected to see the woman he loved. When he realized I was a stranger he lost interest.'

‘I have no idea what you mean,' Roz lied, because she knew exactly what Madeline was getting at. Something about her the previous evening had told both Sir Raymond and his wife that she had come from a lover. Madeline was fishing. She could know nothing for sure but she was watching Roz's reaction. ‘The barn belongs to Mr Blake. His family and mine have nothing to do with each other. It's an old quarrel best forgotten.'