Flowers From The Storm (43 page)

He could understand that part—damaged as he was—but it hardly made the wound any less. He had thought—he had assumed—that what he was missing would be amply recompensed by what he had to offer. Jervaulx itself, and all that went with it: no small treasure. He had thought, when she was here, when she beheld it, she would see in it what he saw.

Well, if she did not—she didn’t.

Maddygirl. Will you go then?

He stared at the sky. He felt impotent, aching and angry and helpless.

With a curse, he rammed his fists into the pockets of his greatcoat. If she wished to nullify what she’d done, let it be nullified. Durham pleaded with her to stay until she was not needed, but Christian did not even require that. It had been a decision made out of weakness and muddleheadedness, to make her his wife. She was a Quaker. A nobody. She did not, as she so plainly stated, belong here.

Let her go.

He was better. He was going to be perfect. Let her go. He did not need her or what flimsy protection she could offer. He would not miss her. He would hardly know that she had gone,
stubborn little primkiss sweet
.

He gazed at the winter hills. He’d taken it—this castle, his heritage—for granted in his life. He had tried not to do it, but he had. Trifling in reform, fighting sham battles, all the time safe in his impregnable tower.

All the time not knowing what a fortune he had.

He could lose it again. He felt a new and bone-deep chill. Was it even his now? He’d fled to Jervaulx by instinct; the place functioned at his command by inbred custom. But they’d stripped him to nothing in Chancery. If they came here—if they tried to take him—

Imprisoned, chained, defeated. Crushed.

He would not let it happen.

He knew everything there was to know about Jervaulx. He knew that it was two hundred and seventy-three feet from the ramparts of Belletoire to level ground. He kept the tower key.

He found Maddy alone in the duchess’ morning parlor, looking up at a portrait of Herodias with the head of John the Baptist. Below it hung a cross of the graphically bloody variety.

“
Cheer
,” he said, with a dry intent.

She looked round at him. “It is a sumptuous room.”

“Thank.” He dared her to say it had not been meant as a compliment.

She turned to another portrait, of a pair of boys leaning on a mastiff that was taller than both of them.

“That one pleasant.”

He made a small bow. “Brother.”

“Your brothers?”

He looked at the portrait. James was real; it was Christian’s own side of it that seemed nebulous, until he made himself concentrate, lifted his hand and indicated the boy in curls and short coat. “I… me and…

brother. Ten. James…
six
. Long time… gone. Red… red… scarlet fever.” He remembered sitting for that portrait. Oh, the pain, to be still, when there were games and fields and toads. “
Dog
was…

Killbuck.” He smiled. “Never killed… that dog… not a butterfly.”

She
gazed
at the painting silently. This morning she was severe, her hair tight, as if she wished to be as different from her surroundings as possible.

“You want… to
null
.” He could not approach the subject any more subtly than that. “Wedding?”

She looked at him sharply and put her hands behind her back.

“Understand,” he said. “Breakfast… Durham undo… wedding.”

“I believe—would be wise.” She kept her eyes on him, level. “But I will stay thou art well enough.”

“Now. Well enough! Go… now.”

“Thou wouldst have me leave now?”

He set his jaw angrily at this twisting of accountability. “
I
… don’t say. You. Breakfast at… Durham…

the wedding undo.” He walked past her. “Don’t sleep with. I
heard
.” He turned. “Bed… last night was…
not
. So. Undo. Call Durham…
now
… undo.” He reached for the bell-rope.

“They gone,” she said. “They waited thee, but thou couldst not found.”

“Gone.” That checked him, left him suddenly without a practical intent, bereft of action to release the hostility inside him. Christian dropped his hand. “Gone.” He realized what it meant. “Too late! They…

call
. Say wed. Family. Devil take ”em both!“

“I’ve thought.” She sat down in a chair and laid her hands over one another in her lap. “I believe ought stay—at least until thy hearing. If thou wouldst agree—” Her ringers slid between one another and tightened. He saw the band of his signet ring on her hand. “I ask—if thou wouldst agree we will not—consummate this marriage—then it can be undone when thou art well.” She moistened her lips.

“Thou wilt not need me then. I would be a burden and a sorrow thee. I do not belong in thy world. When thou art whole again, thou wilt see.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he had no grounds. There was a great defeat in him, a distress that he had no words for. “If… not well?” he asserted. “What if… never whole? Leave?”

“I don’t know. I can only say—I will stay until new hearing.”

“Until…
new
?

“Thy hearing. Before Lord Chancel again.”

His whole body had gone still. “Again?”

“Yes. Thou art go again.”

“When?”

“I’m not certain. Several months yet. Lady de Marly will know.”

He strode two steps toward her and stopped. “New! Why?”

His aggressive approach seemed to startle her. She sat back in the chair. “Thy brothers-in-law. They insist to try again judge thee not fit.”

Christian gazed at her. He had thought—

He had thought it was done already.

He began breathing in a rush, unable to make the words reeling in his head into a question. He thrust himself into a turn, paced the room, and came back.

“Mean fit…
now
?”

She didn’t seem to understand.

“
Now
!” he shouted. “Comp…
now
? Free…
now
?” He grabbed her shoulders and leaned over her. “

Tell
!”

“Until thy hearing,” she said, sitting still beneath his hands, “thou art the same as anyone under the law.”

He stared at her, unable to let her go, to move.

“How else couldst thou think to marry?” she asked.

Of course. Of course. He’d been too befuddled; he hadn’t even questioned it. He’d thought he was stripped of his legal existence, made into an imbecile. He’d been hiding behind Durham and Fane and Maddy and Jervaulx Castle itself, stupid confused hiding, as if any of that could have saved him when they came to take him back.

Another hearing. Months.

“Maddy.” He gripped her harder. “Help… me. Well. Whole. I want… agree… no bed. Stay and helping. Agree. You go then… when I…
whole
. Hearing.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Will not consummate?”

He found her hand, caught it and clenched it. “Not. Hearing. Whole. No… con… mate…
bed
. Undo wed.”

She lowered her lashes, those erotic eyelashes. He looked down at her, gripping her hand, regretting what he promised even before she made a small nod to confirm it.

The agreement made things easier between them. Maddy did not feel so uncomfortable in the surroundings, knowing that it was only an interval and not a real commitment. When the duke suggested that he show her over the castle, she was willing enough to accompany him. She even consented to have one of the dowager duchess’ simpler gowns re-fitted for her, as she could not continue to wear her faithful gray silk forever.

The one she chose was a dark blue satin. In the wardrobe closet, it had not looked overly rich compared to the others, especially since she insisted that the maid remove the trimming, but when she had it on and saw herself in the daylight in a looking glass, the opulence of the color was dramatic.

The girl waited. “Very nice, Your Grace,” she said, holding the sewing box.

It was beautiful. Maddy had never in her life worn anything like it. She smoothed her hand down the vivid fabric. “Yes,” she said, gazing at herself in wonder. “I… it is— very nice.”

With the hem lengthened, the flounces and trim removed, and a shawl of white India silk over the puffed sleeves and exposed neckline, she was ready to meet Jervaulx in the gallery. When she saw him, she had a moment of hesitation, certain that he would think her foolish to choose such a lavish dress, but he only looked at her longer than he ought to have done, and then smiled with one corner of his mouth as he took her arm. The dress matched his eyes.

“Maddy,” he said. “Sorry I… consent… no con.”

She thought she might understand what he meant, but let it pass without inquiry.

The disapproving portraits stared down from the gallery walls, a prickling reminder of the eeriness she’d felt here in the night. He stopped before one of the most imposing, a huge painting of a grave and condescending personage dressed in red robes and a wide white ruff, bejeweled and kingly, holding a wand of high office. “Lord Jervaulx,” he said. “First. Rule power… great earl.”

“He is very distinguished,” Maddy said in a small voice.

“Marry seventeen. A girl… he… got a rich heiress marry. She write before… to him…
letter
. I have it.

She writes my sweet life… say my mind… consider allowance. Pray beseech thee… kind love… she wants… twenty-six hundred quarter.”

“Oh,” she said dubiously. “Was that not a large sum for the day?”

“Very…
large
? Jervaulx grinned. ”Also… to make things clear… she writes… I want three horses own… two gentlewomen… horse each them, six or eight gentleman… two coaches…
velvet
… four horse each… two ..
.footman
… gentleman-usher… six hundred a quarter for charitable… all to be…

defrayed by him.“

“Very sensible,” Maddy said, beginning to smile.

“Also… yearly… she would have twenty gowns… eight country… six good… six excellent good.

Also… six thousand buy jewels… four thousand pearl chain. Also… all houses furnish… chambers…

fit… beds… stools… chairs… cushions, carpets… hanging…
canopy
. Also… he would kindly pay…

all her debts. Also… purchase land. Also… lend no money… Lord Chamberlain. Also… pray… when rise to…
earl
… allow two thousand more… double attendants.”

“All this was in the letter?” Maddy was holding back a laugh by the end of this recital, not quite so awed by the poor kingly gentleman.

“Yes. He gave,” Jervaulx said. “All. And never lend to… Chamberlain. Wise advice. Die earl…

councillor… treasurer to the King. Rich. Power. He building… Northwest Tower. Good wife.”

She made a face. “Thy idea of a good wife!”

“Yes! Rich. Shrewd. Spoilt. Fine dress. Ambition.
Good
wife.”

“Thou hast certainly married the wrong woman.”

He gave her a considering look. She felt herself growing warm, and wished she had not said it. As she lowered her eyes, he took her chin between his ringers, bent and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Maddy pulled away, drawing in a quick breath.

He shook his head as she began to protest, smiling like a rogue. “
Bed
… only promise.”

He took her arm again and walked on as if nothing had happened.

Lady de Marly arrived without warning five days after Durham and Colonel Fane had left. Maddy and Jervaulx were in the hall—Maddy was lying on her back on the floor next to him, looking up and up and up to the fantastically carved tracery in the timber roof, while he pointed out the heraldic beasts fashioned there, the trefoils and fleurs-de-lis and intricately rendered flowers and foliage shaped in the beams so far above them.

The castle seemed a different place with Jervaulx. He knew it as if it were his own self; he talked about it the way women talked about their offspring, with endless interest in the most minute particulars, with love and humor enough to make even details entertaining. She liked it in the daytime. It was only at night, when she had to retire alone to the duchess’ rooms, lying in bed, listening for the footsteps to walk the floor above—it was only then that panic rose in her throat and she wished she had not asked to sleep alone.

“Go up ..
.five
… rafter,” Jervaulx was saying, describing where she was to look, since they had long ago determined that his ability to point accurately was unreliable. “The dog’s… face… do you see?”