Chelynne (23 page)

Without response he turned and walked away from her. She was drained of emotion now, had said all she would dare. There was nothing left to do but hope that Chad would do the honorable thing.

Quiet gloom settled over the house. Servants spoke in hushed tones and there were days of strained tension, the smell of death heavy in the air. There was no peace in it, only the restless waiting for it to be over. The earl lay in a coma with his son most often at his side. Chelynne did not go to that room.

When it finally happened Chad came to her rooms, his features hard and stony. He stood for a moment without speaking, looking at her. There was a wall behind the moody clouds of his eyes. “He is gone.”

Chelynne donned black. The earl was laid to rest without fuss, Chad seeing to the arrangements swiftly and quietly. The body lay in state for only one afternoon. Chad defied all custom and tradition. He would not have his father’s wasted form viewed by the curious. He gave a meager contribution to the poor but refused to put out barrels of ale and pounds of roasted boar for the multitudes. He was a huge, dark statue of granite, his back straight, his jaw set. He accepted condolences with a nod. He knelt with the others but offered no prayers.

The entire thing was done in two days’ time. The earl was buried on his own land, in his own graveyard beside his wife. Chad closed the door to his bedroom and sought the seclusion for his own private mourning.

The hours ticked slowly away that night, Chelynne left completely helpless. She knew no way to give comfort, to offer her support. In the middle of the night, still restless though exhausted from rushing through the preparations and the funeral, she pulled on her wrapper. Her hair was loosened and her slippered feet took her without pause through the sitting room and into her husband’s bedchamber. She walked in quietly, almost expecting to see what she did when she entered. Chad sat, fully dressed still, in front of the fire. He stared blankly into the flames, never acknowledging her presence. She stood directly in front of him and his eyes slowly found her face. Those gray, concealing eyes told her nothing. They looked like clouds heavy with rain, begging to spill out their emotion in plentiful drops.

With an ache in her heart she opened her arms to him. There was no hesitation. He rose, pulled her to him, and she buried her face in his chest. He lifted her in his arms and bore her gratefully to his bed, resting his head on her breast. She stroked his hair, feeling a faint moisture on her bosom that she suspected were his tears. Finally she knew that he slept. They clung to each other through the night, their bodies giving and receiving each other’s comfort.

In the morning she reached for him and found herself alone in the bed, Chad already gone. She sat up and looked around the room to find him sitting at his desk, busily inking through another letter. She watched him silently. Always he worked. He started early, kept on until late at night. He spared no time for rest, for pleasure, for grief.

As if her eyes on him were long, caressing fingers, he turned to look at her. He came directly to the bed then and sat on the edge.

“I’m going to London today. I’ve given the steward instructions to close up the house. Have your women pack, select the servants you wish to have with you there, and follow us as soon as you can. I can’t delay my own departure any longer.”

“Very well,” was her simple reply.

He looked at her long and hard, gave her hand a light squeeze, and kissed her brow. “Thank you,” he said, but he never said for what.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The weather in England had cooled considerably but the business about the wharves was such a flurry of activity the very air seemed warmer. Tall masts towered to the sky while smaller craft buzzed around the huge vessels. There was a ship for every purpose, for trade, for pleasure and for warring. Every hand was hauling, lifting or pushing. Heavy loads were carried on and off these destriers of the sea, taking soldiers and goods to far-off lands and bringing back victories and treasures.

There were merchants and nobles, richly garbed ladies and gentlemen scattered about the sailors, strumpets, beggars and thieves. Ornate and jeweled coaches moved around rickety, well-worn carts. Noble steeds tiptoed between ragamuffins and jackasses. Fine dames lifted their skirts lightly while their pages carried their trains to keep them from dragging in the filth and garbage that lay unattended in the streets. There was subdued haggling over the price of cargo and shrill cries from someone accosted and relieved of his purse. It was every facet of life: wealth and poverty, beauty and filth; a fascinating combination of every aspect of humanity.

For a newcomer to London there are a great many sights to see. A grand cathedral was being built to replace the one burned in the Great Fire. One could waste away hours of the day in the many interesting shops and meeting places of the Royal Exchange. The vast structure of Whitehall stood in all its magnificence to take the breath away. But for the young countess of Bryant the most incredible feature in London was the grand and horrible wharf.

So this was what enthralled and bewitched her husband. This was what he had built his life around before he was tied to the duties of an earldom. He had called it trade, very simply. Or privateering, plainly sounding like a small business to take up the time. To see it now from her coach brought his blase description to incredible heights in her mind. And, for once, she understood a part of him. She was filled with a sense of adventure and excitement as she looked on this wild scene.

Now that his most demanding duties revolved around Bryant and the court, he held fiercely to this part of his life, working tirelessly to keep the lines of his trade open and contact with his life so far away on his plantation. To do both kept him constantly busy and away from their London home, sometimes for days at a time.

Chelynne watched the business at the wharves with a keen interest, trying to fully understand in her mind how this could shape a man, what he might become because of it. This industry had built his wealth, or at least a goodly portion of it, and the love of it flowed through his veins with the binding potion that kept him here, pursuing it still, though he had not the need or obligation to do so.

As she sat she caught sight of Chad twice. Once she saw him standing with his back to all the commotion, looking away as if he looked beyond England. His hands were braced behind his back and he seemed alone, oblivious to the hundreds of people all about him. Another time she saw him fiercely arguing with a merchant, pausing to shout orders to a sailor or laborer, and finally striding away to be lost in the throng of people.

A woman, however young, does not watch a man so, ponder his thoughts and his businesses this thoroughly, unless she is truly plagued with the essence of him. Chelynne had not seen enough summers to give off the impression of a woman well advised, but she had lived long enough with a man to know desire, to yearn for some reward, if not acknowledgment of her love.

She had expected the invitation to court to come so she was not surprised. She had carefully scrutinized the dress of every grande dame she saw strutting through the Exchange or entering the theater, so that she might aptly garb herself. Her excitement mounted as she readied herself for the grand occasion of being presented at court.

The earl had not taken many pains to see to her comfort or acclimation in her new home. He left word with servants that he would call for her to take her to Whitehall and she had to be content with that. Their rooms were close enough so that if she were quiet she could hear sometimes as he moved around, took a meal, dressed to leave again. They had not so much as supped together since her arrival almost a fortnight past.

Now it was more than the court appearance that excited her. It was that she would go on the arm of a man she worshiped and loved from a great distance.

A young mind is impatient, and Chelynne reminded herself constantly that impatience now would do her no good. If she must wait, she would, for she had a frightening longing to share his life with him. She studied his mood and manner constantly to see if she thought the will to love even existed within that carefully covered heart of his. If any members of their household suspected the great physical and emotional distance that existed between them, they never let on. Chad occasionally made visits to her bedroom as she was preparing to retire. He would stroll in with a brandy in his hand, remove his coat, and his mere appearance and casual manner would drive Stella into a fit to finish her duties and leave the two alone. Servants were hushed and doors swiftly closed and there the two would be, the entire staff aware that the earl had paid a visit to his wife’s chambers. No one would dare touch that portal until Chelynne opened the door in the morning. Chelynne alone seemed to be aware that only a few brief words were exchanged before her husband went quietly to his own bed.

Tonight, when he called for her to deliver her to Whitehall, his manner with her was strangely different. His mood seemed light, and that alone sent Chelynne into a flurry of excitement. She lost all desire to be dignified and whirled around before him to show off her gown.

“Will it be suitable?” she worried.

“You’ll be the loveliest there, I promise you.”

“And you shall be the most handsome,” she assured him with a giggle. She swept into a low curtsy and rose to meet his warm eyes with hers twinkling.

“If you’re ready, madam...”

“I don’t know if I’ll make it through this,” she chattered. “I don’t know if I’m more afraid or nervous or—”

He stopped suddenly and looked over her carefully, his eyes moving from her head to her toes and back again, very slowly, a frown wrinkling his brow. “There is something wrong!” she cried. “Oh, is it the dress? I chose it carefully! There isn’t time for my hair to be done again...” A finger touched her lips to hush her.

“Wait here just a moment, madam. I won’t be a minute.” She turned a worried look to Stella as he walked from the room. Stella was nearly as frantic herself, worrying all day long over her mistress’s appearance for this occasion. They both looked her over again, Chelynne turning around in front of the mirror and Stella making long, perfect circles around her. Neither could see what was amiss.

When Chad returned he held a box, which he opened to expose a diamond necklace. She gasped as she saw it and looked up at him with confusion in her eyes.

“I simply didn’t remember it, madam. Forgive me.”

“Is it for me?” she asked timidly.

“In a manner. It is for you to use. It belonged to my mother and it was with a great deal of care that it was hidden away and saved. These jewels have belonged to the Hawthornes for generations and will for many years to come. I gladly give you leave to wear it when you will, with care.”

He placed the jewels around her throat, glistening, and adorning that beautiful neckline exquisitely. Tiny droplets of diamonds fell to just above her gown, accentuating the full bosom. She had never worn anything so beautiful. It gave her an odd sense of belonging, that he should have her wear these family jewels.

“I’ll guard it with my life.”

“I’ll make it easier for you than that, my dear. Return it to me so that I can put it safely away when you’ve removed it. Anytime you would wear it, it is yours. I keep it only for safety.”

“Of course,” she assured him, nodding her head. He smiled at her seriousness and traced a finger around the necklace.

“You wear it divinely.”

“I wear it proudly,” she murmured, quite taken with this gesture.

He chuckled and took her arm, leading her out of the room. “Well, that’s fine, but wear it carefully as well. It will belong to my son one day.”

She stopped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Do you hope for a son one day, my lord?” she asked innocently.

Chad stiffened, unsure of her. “Every man hopes for a son, madam. I am not so very different from other men.”

“In some ways you are,” she reminded him.

“My ways, however strange to you, have good purpose.”

She looked up into those hard, unreadable eyes, never understanding him, never able to have him answer her questions. She sighed and touched the lovely necklace again as if to reassure herself that she actually wore it. How generous he could be, and then so suddenly distant and angry.

Chad saw the discontentment and was sorry for nearly ruining her evening. He condescended to smile and she returned the gesture, a silent agreement to remain temporarily companionable.

She walked through the great cold galleries in nervous anticipation. Chad knew the direction, nodding to people he also knew, and moved them quickly toward the queen’s presence chamber. The galleries were packed with onlookers, the throng of spectators so thick Chelynne could not see the walls. But she was so awestruck with her own purpose here that she didn’t notice when the group separated, allowing the earl and his lady to pass through.

When Chad stopped walking and waited, Chelynne waited, too, never even thinking of what they were waiting for. Then very suddenly the doors that admitted them seemed to scream their names. “The earl of Bryant. The countess of Bryant.”

Chelynne had to forcibly shut her mouth. She was aware of the title, but it was new to her and had never been used in such a manner. A countess. She had never considered it before now. She was still that little unpretentious Chelynne, basically a country girl. Birth and marriage put her here but she instantly decided she couldn’t possibly belong.