Seduction In Silk: A Novel of the Malloren World (Malloran) (24 page)

She pushed at his chest. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“My apologies. Very maladroit. You are passionate, my wife, and lovely, and I am a lucky man.”

“You don’t have to flatter me.”

He turned onto his back, taking her with him to lie on top.

“I will flatter you all I wish, but that was pure truth.” He tucked her head down on his shoulder and cradled her. “It would be flattery to call you a beauty. Nor are you stylish, elegant, or sophisticated. But you are lovely. You are also spirited, strong, and courageous. I first admired you for firing that pistol.”

She stirred to look up at him. “I could have killed you.”

“Precisely.” He tucked her back down against his shoulder. “You’re kind, generous, and very, very passionate, and those are jewels to me.” After a moment he said, “You could perhaps not flatter me in turn?”

Claris smiled. “You too are kind—and sharp enough to cut your own throat.”

“Pity me!”

She chuckled. “You have a dozen aspects, but once accustomed, I like each well enough.” She stroked his chest, which was more muscled than she’d expected, though she should have known. “Above all, husband, I have come to trust you. That is a jewel to me.”

He stroked her hair—such a magical sensation. “You can always trust me, Claris.”

He shifted so they could kiss, perhaps their first kiss of that sort—of tender togetherness. But then he moved away from her and climbed out of bed. She felt the chill of his absence but didn’t complain. Despite sweet words, theirs was still a practical marriage. Of course he’d return to his bed once they were done.

“I’ve realized I left my candles burning. A shame to burn the manor down. I’ll return if I may? I would like to sleep with you.”

Claris knew she was blushing and showing too much pleasure but had no control over it. “Of course.”

He soon returned and extinguished the one candle in her room. Then he joined her in the dark, taking her once more in his arms, where she drifted into sleep.

She hadn’t expected to share passion again, but they did, deep in the night, then again fell back to sleep entwined.

When she woke to morning light, she was alone. She stroked the pillow still dented from his head, aware of smells that reminded her of what they’d done. Smells that would tell Alice what had happened here. That made her blush, but they were married, after all. As he’d said, their wantonness was blessed.

She put a hand low on her body, wondering if a baby was beginning there. Missing her courses would be the first sign, but she had no idea how likely a baby was after just one night. Some people married and had a child in nine months. Others had to wait longer.

She wanted a baby, but she couldn’t help thinking that having to try again and again and again might not be a bitter penance.

P
erha
ps she drifted back to sleep. When she next opened her eyes the sunlight seemed brighter. She rolled to look at the mantel clock and sat up sharply.

Gone nine!

The adjoining door was closed.

Had he already left for Town? Surely he wouldn’t do that.

She ran to the door, stuck out her head and yelled, “Alice!”

As soon as her maid arrived, bearing a jug of steaming water, Claris demanded, “Has my husband left yet?”

“No, ma’am. I think he’s with the steward in the office.”

Relief was followed by a spurt of alarm.

Without her?

What to wear? Nothing too showy, but she wanted to look her best. “The green,” she said, hurrying to wash.

She was sticky between her legs, and when she washed there, a little blood stained the cloth. She remembered the brief pain forgotten among much pleasure, then wondered what the servants would make of two bloodstained sheets.

She didn’t care.

She hurried into her clothes, had her hair simply pinned beneath the cap, and hurried to find her husband. She must see him before he left, but she must also be sure he wasn’t usurping her authority now that he was her husband in every way.

He was indeed in the office with Parminter going over some maps.

“Good morning, my dear.” His smiling eyes spoke of the night, making her hot all over. “Parminter is seeking instructions about an area needing better drainage. I happily hand all decisions on to you.”

The steward’s tight face told the story. He’d come here early because he’d heard the lord and master was to leave, and he’d hoped to have the decision made by him. This would be a battle, but she was ready for it.

“Of course I’ll take care of the matter, but it must wait until I’ve attended to your departure. My apologies, Mr. Parminter.”

“I am at your disposal, ma’am,” the man said, looking more unhappy than angry. She hoped to win his approval, but if not, he’d have to go.

“When must you set out?” she asked her husband as they left the room.

“Soon.” He took her hand, and it was the sweetest sensation. “I’ve sent for a chaise. I’ll leave Othello here but send my groom for him. He’s a proud Town horse and will pine if left too long in the country.”

Like you,
she thought. “You rode him here from Cheynings. Why not ride him today?”

“I like to ride, but the chaise will be faster.”

In such a hurry to return to his real life. She twined her fingers with his, but knew she’d never hold him here.

“I’ve written to the bank and lawyers giving you the necessary powers, and asking them to call on you here at their earliest convenience. Remember, they are yours to command, but they’re good men, so you should heed their advice.”

This was the authority he’d promised, but now it frightened her. She wouldn’t admit it, as much for his sake as hers. He needed to return to his life in London. She wouldn’t tie him here. She was handling Parminter, so she could deal with the rest.

They’d arrived in the hall and the footman stood ready. That didn’t deter Perriam from raising her hand and kissing it. “I truly regret having to leave so soon.”

He seemed sincere. True or not, she welcomed the words and hoped they were true, at least a little.

“I regret it too. I hope your journey is smooth and your Town business prospers. . . .” She took the risk. “Perry.”

“I like that.” The warmth in his eyes seemed so real. Could she send him on his way with a kiss?

“Your chaise arrives, sir.”

Devil take the footman, chaise, horses, and all.

They went outside and she saw a light chaise drawing up, harnessed with four horses—an extravagance needed to race him to Town.

He’d made no pretense, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t complain.

His valet was organizing the disposition of two trunks and a leather bag.

“Will you write?”

Claris looked at him. She’d been afraid to ask the same of him. “Of course. You’ll want to know about the estate.”

“I’ll want to know about you.”

The baby. Even though he’d have little to do with it, it would be his, perhaps a boy and thus his heir.

“And about the twins,” he said. “I haven’t forgotten the matter of a tutor. I’ll attend to that immediately. I’ll even welcome news of your grandmother and Miss Gable—will they go adventuring again and such.”

The loading was complete and the valet was entering the chaise.

“You won’t have time to read such long letters.”

“I’ll find time. Adieu, my dear.” She thought he might kiss her as she longed to be kissed, but his lips only brushed her cheek. Then he walked to the chaise with that light, energetic step that made her think
gadfly
but also
spring steel
.

As soon as he was inside and the door closed, the postilions set the horses into motion. Claris watched until the chaise was out of sight, and might have lingered, watching the place where she’d last seen it, had she been so foolish.

She made herself turn back toward the house.

She wouldn’t mope over his leaving. She wouldn’t.

She had work to do here, good work, and with God’s blessing she’d soon have a child to pass Perriam Manor to in due course. She would build a future for her family and for the whole area.

That should be enough to satisfy any woman.

P
erry gen
erally read on coach journeys, but his mind wouldn’t attend to his book, and really, did he care about the history of the Carolingians? He couldn’t imagine why he’d purchased it.

He should apply his mind to some matters that awaited him in Town, but it lingered at Perriam Manor, on his wife and her inexperience in estate management, on Parminter’s hostility. In truth he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Especially about their extraordinary night.

He knew the skills and tricks of making love to a woman, but he’d never had a wife before—an inexperienced and even naive wife. He’d been cautious and gentle. He’d not expected flaring passion.

Perhaps her aunt Clarrie hadn’t been a duped innocent, but a woman driven by passion into folly. Hard to imagine Giles as such a lure, but he’d been a handsome gallant decades ago.

He wondered where the affair had taken place and whether he could find people who remembered it. The curse raised questions too, especially now that he knew Clarrie was supposed to have been so good.

He smiled wryly, acknowledging his addiction to solving puzzles. He was skilled at it, which made him useful to others, but he sometimes pursued a mystery for his own amusement. He generally kept any results to himself, for puzzles often covered scandals.

The scandal in Claris’s family seemed obvious, but the pieces didn’t quite fit.

Henry Mallow, once Giles’s associate in sin, ending his days as a ranting rector who’d married the least likely wife.

Harpy Mallow—the bitter, angry woman who’d tried to blackmail Giles into marrying her young daughter. Mad and bad, but there was more to it, he was sure.

Good sense said that these matters were all in the past, but Claris worried about the curse. Now there was the possibility of a child, the curse troubled him too. His logical mind scoffed, but those marble memorials were haunting.

Devil take it, if he was going to busy himself with this, he should have questioned Claris about her childhood and her parents. Did she still have anything that held a clue? He’d do that next time he visited the manor.

An excuse . . .

He didn’t need one. Giles’s will compelled him.
Thank you, Giles.

He forced his mind to the problems ahead. The sooner they were dealt with, the sooner he’d be free to return.

Before Giles’s summons, he and Cyn had been yoked together to investigate leaks of military information from both the Admiralty and Horse Guards. They hadn’t made much progress, largely because of his absences, but discovering the traitors must have priority on his return.

The peace with France was only two years old, yet threat of a new war hung like warning clouds. There’d recently been French naval activity off Canada, Africa, and the West Indies. As the British government had unwisely reduced funding once the war was over, the navy was vulnerable. It was highly undesirable that the French learned how much so. The army had also suffered, and the French were interfering again in Canada and the American colonies.

Despite the problems, or perhaps because of them, he smiled. His blood ran faster when in pursuit of solutions at the very heart of power in the greatest city in the world.

Pleasant days at Perriam Manor and even the passionate night with his wife faded as his mind focused ahead.

He’d always known how it must be.

*  *  *

Claris would not let herself mope, not least because Athena would notice and make a caustic comment. She returned to Parminter and let him educate her about drainage. She approved some of the work he recommended but put other suggestions aside for consideration.

Now Perry had left, the man seemed to have accepted defeat. His manner wasn’t warm and he sometimes spoke as if she were ignorant, but she knew she was.

She also knew her abilities.

She could and would learn.

Next she settled to establishing the manor’s income and expenses. She needed to know how much she could spend on the improvements she wanted to make. When she was satisfied with the numbers, the excess income seemed huge, but she knew it wouldn’t be. She would have to manage carefully.

She was keen to get to work on the future, but first she must deal with the past—with the belongings brought from Lavender Cottage. She discovered that the boxes and bundles had been put in an unused bedroom. When her brothers returned from the stables, she insisted that they assist her.

“In case there’s anything you particularly want.”

“There won’t be,” Peter said. “It’s all rubbish.”

That hurt, even though it was probably true.

When it came to it, he was mostly correct. For some reason Tom wanted a three-legged stool. Perhaps simply to balance that, Peter asked for their father’s Bible. It was a large, leather-bound volume, much worn with use.

Claris would have preferred to have nothing of her parents’ in her new life, but she’d said the boys could keep what they wanted, and what was she to do with it otherwise? To give or throw away such a thing would be peculiar, especially when her father had recorded his children’s dates of birth in it. To burn it might be sacrilegious.

Her brothers left and she considered the remainder. She wished she could wave her hand and make it disappear, for most of it shrieked of their poverty, but in the end she sent for the housekeeper.

“We have no further use for all this, Mistress Eavesham, so kindly dispose of it. There are a few items that might be of use to the servants or people in the village. A clock, a tea service, some glassware.”

With that, she left and hoped never to see any of it again. There were many things to be done, but first she wanted to learn more about her new home, so she prowled the manor, growing more familiar with it, noting facilities and problems, trying not to think about the man who was no longer here.

That was hard to do when his place was empty when they dined. Peter and Tom asked when Perry would return. Claris made no false promises. She said she didn’t know.

Work was the thing. After dinner she summoned the Eaveshams to the drawing room to discuss her observations of the house. They took suggestions of improvements as criticism.

To appease them, she said, “I know Mr. Giles Perriam was rarely here and cared little for Perriam Manor.”

“That’s true, ma’am,” Eavesham said.

“There are modern parts. My bedchamber and this room.”

“That’s the first wife’s work, ma’am,” Mistress Eavesham said. “The second liked Town as much as the master. And the third . . .”

It was as if shadows seeped into the room.

The poor, tragic third.

“It’s time to correct any problems,” Claris said firmly. “I’ve seen some damp on the ceiling of one of the bedchambers, and I don’t like the feel of the floorboards near the storage attic.” She saw the butler stiffen and the housekeeper bridle, but she wouldn’t apologize. “I’m sure you’ve done your best, but it must have been difficult when no one would spend enough money.”

They both relaxed a little, and Eavesham spoke. “That’s true, ma’am. We did try, but . . .” He shook his head, perhaps unwilling to put the complaint into words. “The most serious concern is the possibility of beetle in an attic joist. I told Mr. Parminter, who told the master—”

“Mr. Giles,” Claris corrected. She wasn’t sure if that was the proper term, but she wanted no confusion.

“Yes, ma’am. He didn’t care.”

“He was dying.”

“Yes, ma’am. But he never cared.”

“I care. This is now my home and I intend that it be a pleasant one. I’ll authorize Parminter to see to the beetle and have the damp and floorboards investigated. Do you know of anything else?”

After a moment, Mistress Eavesham said, “A number of the hangings are moth-eaten, ma’am. We do our best, but . . .”

“I understand. Unused rooms are hard to maintain. Now the ivy’s gone, the windows must be cleaned, inside and out, and inspected at the same time—the leading and the wooden frames. The brickwork should also be checked.”

“Very wise, ma’am,” Eavesham said, “but Mr. Parminter must put that in hand.”

Delineation of duties. She’d rather deal with the Eaveshams than with Parminter, but she wouldn’t be frightened of anything.

“Very well. You must let me know of any other improvements you think necessary, even if they’re only to make life here more pleasant. Also, we must hire a man to act as valet to my brothers. A man over thirty, of a steady nature. Is there anyone local? He need not be skilled in the valeting part.”

“I will inquire, ma’am,” Eavesham said, and they left.

Claris blew out a breath. They were still reserved, but that’s how it must be, mistress to servants. In any case, the Eaveshams were too old to be friends. The maids of an age with her were Deborah and Alice. She’d frequently caught the housemaid looking at her oddly, and Alice would soon return to Cheynings.

She went to her room and added to her list.

Find lady’s maid.

She’d rather do without, but her dignity demanded it.

She noted down the discussion with the Eaveshams and then recapped her inkpot. She’d taken the first steps. Soon Perriam Manor would be a comfortable home, for herself and for the child she was determined to have.

*  *  *

Perry arrived at his home near St. James’s at three in the afternoon, feeling all the usual satisfaction. His rooms were spacious, elegantly furnished, and staffed by a footman, a man-cook, and two lads of all work, so that his every need was catered to.

The building, officially called the Lyceum, was for gentlemen only and colloquially known as the Knaves’ Palace. In part this was because it sat next to an excellent inn called the Knave of Spades, which served as a club for the inhabitants, but the reputation of the inhabitants added to it.

Women weren’t allowed in the Lyceum, but pretty wenches were plentiful in the Knave, along with good food and drink.

Normally when Perry arrived home without warning he went to the Knave for a beefsteak or chops. He’d often meet other Palace residents and catch up on the latest on-dits. He’d no mind for chattering company now, however, and a number of letters and invitations to deal with, so he sent his footman to bring food in.

His principal correspondents had known to send letters to the manor, so he wrote three quick letters to announce his return to Town and dispatched them by his lads. That done, he glanced through a pile of invitations, sorting them according to importance and promise of entertainment.

Lastly he looked through the letters. One was from his sister, Georgia, so when his food arrived he sat to read it as he ate.

Georgie’s style was lively, and her unlikely adventures as a country wife always amused. He laughed at her description of being chased by geese that seemed to think it their job to guard the orchard. She still seemed content with her rural life. He hoped her idyll lasted, but he had some doubts. Georgia had delighted in Town as much as he.

In fact she concluded the letter with a threat to flee back to Town, but he knew she wouldn’t unless her beloved Dracy came with her. As Genova had said, love was the very devil, and frequently drove people mad. Oddly, lovers seemed to revel in the insanity. Cyn could be idiotic about his Chastity. Even the haughty Lord Rothgar was besotted with his wife, and she with him.

He finished the letter and put it aside. Georgia had made her choice and must live with it, especially now that she was expecting a child.

He remembered that Athena Mallow had borne a child and then fled the marriage. Georgia was of a different stamp, thank God. She’d be a loving mother.

If she survived.

He pushed that aside. Most women survived the ordeal.

Even Giles’s wives had escaped death in childbed. Infants were less robust, but with good care . . .

Presumably Queen Anne’s offspring had had the best care, but only one had lived long enough to be hopeful, and he’d died, leaving her childless at death.

As antidote, he thought of the Earl of Royland. He had thirteen children and never one lost. The king and queen were also producing healthy children at a good rate, as was his brother’s shrewish wife.

Claris would do as well, and she had everything else she wanted for a happy life.

He rang for the food to be taken away and coffee brought, and then read the other letters.

Richard Protherby could be depended upon for amusing Oxford gossip. Jeanne de Lely chattered about Versailles. Silly stuff—nearly everything about Versailles was—but her delicious charm came through. Perhaps it was time for a visit to Versailles.

He was a married man now.

It was a practical marriage, but even so.

Mark Killmore’s pages from Ireland were mostly complaints about the weather. Cate Burgoyne’s from Yorkshire were too much about sheep rearing, though it was pleasant to see that he was still happy in his marriage—especially as his bride was as unlikely as Claris and also found in poverty. Prudence had risen to the challenge of becoming a countess, so Claris should be able to cope with a smaller transformation.