The Silver Touch (21 page)

‘No, I am not from the tavern. My husband has removed his goldsmithing workshop from the city to Number 107, Bunhill Row, and the reason I am here is that I’m still without a cultivated garden and was in need of some herbs.’ She tilted the basket to turn out what she had picked on to a small compost heap. Nothing would make her keep anything to which she was not welcome.

‘Wait! Don’t do that!’ He came hurrying around the edge of the herbal patch to reach her where she, halted by his concerned shout, stood uncertainly with the basket at an angle. He grabbed it from her to hold it away protectively. ‘I don’t begrudge you the herbs. My outburst had nothing to do with that. The truth is you gave me a great shock — no fault of yours. My late wife used to tend this place. Coming across you so unexpectedly touched a raw nerve of grief that I thought had been eased by time. I beg you to pardon my abruptness and my rough speech.’

Pity moved her. She could understand what it must have meant for him suddenly to discover her there and her aggravation with him melted away. ‘I accept your apology and I’m not offended. Your gardener told me there would be no objection, but I realize I should have obtained written permission from you before coming here.’

‘Not at all. What are neighbours for if not to oblige one another? Have you gathered all you want? Come and take what you need whenever you wish. If there are cuttings or seeds that you require for your own garden when it is ready for them, I should be pleased for you to transplant from mine.’

‘You are most kind.’ She was conscious of how he was assessing the woman she was, something close to a twinkle having come into his eyes as if he were extraordinarily satisfied with the outcome of their encounter. He was without doubt an intensely physical man and in the hushed and scented solitude his maleness assailed her senses disturbingly. ‘I must go. I’ll not interrupt any longer this rare visit you’ve made to your property here. I’m sure you have company waiting for you.’

‘There’s nobody with me.’ He fell into step at her side to escort her at a strolling pace back through the flower-beds and across the lawn towards the path at the side of the mansion. ‘I came along to cast an eye over my property and decided to do a round of the grounds first. Everything out here appears to be in perfect order. Now I shall take a look indoors and hope to find all is well there.’

‘I’m sure you will.’ She was unable to hold back what had been in her thoughts since she had first seen the mansion and heard it was unoccupied. ‘It seems a great shame to me that there’s no life in that beautiful place.’

‘You like the look of the house, do you?’

She nodded, surveying it sweepingly as they approached. The back was as full of fine windows as the front and a flagged terrace was enclosed by a stone balustrade with the enhancement of potted urns from which green plants cascaded their foliage. ‘I don’t know how you can stay away from it.’

‘Maybe I won’t for much longer.’

Some undertone in his voice held a meaning she chose not to think about, but it rippled within her like fingertips drawn across a harp. She spoke coolly as a defence. ‘Indeed? I heard that you have a country residence at Great Gains that you prefer to this one.’

‘Only because the city had encroached more upon this area and as a result the hunting as well as the shooting is better now at Great Gains.’ He threw her a sideways glance as they passed the south end of the house to enter the drive. ‘However, last week I made a marriage gift of the place to my son and his bride. So I’ll not be going there again except by invitation.’

She thought it a generous gift, not so much from a monetary value since he was reputedly a very rich man, but because there had been an element of self-sacrifice involved, surely unspoken and therefore not known by the recipient. ‘Your son is young to wed,’ she commented.

‘Following in the Esdaile tradition. I was only eighteen and my wife a year younger.’

She refrained from saying that with John and herself it had been almost the same. ‘I believe I can guess why you’ve come to Bunhill Row today.’

‘Oh? What is your guess?’

‘You’re going to open up the house again,’ she ventured.

‘I have it in mind.’

‘That’s excellent news!’ A little laugh of sheer pleasure at the mansion’s forthcoming release from isolation rose up in her.

‘I’m delighted that it pleases you.’ He was intrigued that it should matter to her. While speaking they had reached the steps of the porch and by coming to a halt himself he brought her automatically to a standstill when she might have expected him to see her right to the gates. She held out her hand to receive her basket of herbs, which he still held, and they exchanged a long smile indicative of friendship.

‘My feeling is that you have known happy times in this house and you will again,’ she said sincerely.

He kept the basket at his side, leaving her hand still extended. ‘Why not come and see indoors for yourself?’ Then, in case she should imagine he had any ulterior motive, he continued: ‘I happen to be considering remarriage. I should appreciate a feminine opinion as to any changes or alterations that should be made to suit a second wife before I bring her here.’

She did not hesitate and inclined her head. It was a reasonable request and she was curious to see if the interior of the mansion lived up to the promise of its handsome exterior. ‘I’ll willingly give you any advice I can.’

‘That’s most amiable of you.’ He took a key from his pocket. She followed him up the steps as he unlocked the door and flung it wide for her.

On the threshold she paused, looking over her shoulder at him. ‘How long is it since you lost your wife?’

‘Ten years. It is a tedious length of time to be on one’s own, although it seemed no more than ten minutes when I came upon you in the herb garden.’

She was full of compassion. ‘Am I like her personally at all?’ she enquired with interest.

His eyes hardened on her in a disconcerting stare. ‘She had the same free spirit in her that I see in you.’

It was as if he had probed deep into her. She felt thrown by it. If she had not already stepped inside the house she would have drawn back. But it was too late, even though he left the door open behind them to give light. She saw they were in an entrance hall of some grandeur with a gracefully balustered staircase sweeping up to a gallery above. He put her basket down on a chair as he crossed to some double doors and opened them to disappear into what she supposed to be a drawing-room. She followed him into it. Everything was shrouded in dust-sheets. As he opened the interior shutters of the first window and folded them back on either side, flooding the long room with light, tapestry panels leaped into shades of emerald, cobalt, crimson and gold. A ceiling-high chimney-piece was carved handsomely with what she guessed to be the family crest of a demi-lion rampant holding a mullet in its claws. On impulse, she darted forward and opened another of the windows herself, something she had wanted to do since she had first seen the blank, unseeing expanse of glass. James, who moved on to the one beyond her, laughed approval. They criss-crossed each other in turn until all eight windows had been unshuttered. Then they stood at a distance from each other in shared amusement. Not taking his eyes from her, he took hold of a dust-sheet covering a sofa and ripped it away, revealing its rich brocade.

‘Pray be seated, ma’am.’

She swept across to it and looked about as she settled herself. ‘This room is large enough to hold a ball in.’

He sat down in a wing-chair opposite her, not bothering to remove the dust-sheet first. ‘Many have been held here in the past, both in my time and that of my father before me. Our family name was originally D’Estailes and it became anglicized when my Protestant grandfather fled from France to escape persecution after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.’

‘Was he a military accoutrer in France?’

The corner of his mouth lifted wryly. ‘Far from it. The Comtes D’Estailes enjoyed a leisurely life on extensive estates for many generations. All of them were confiscated and it was my father who had a commercial frame of mind and recouped our fortunes here. I’m proud to have followed in his footsteps and made my own contribution to the financial life of London.’

She glanced again at the carved crest, which was linked to a French title no longer used and a heritage that went deep into the soil of France. Her gaze returned to him. He did not look particularly French except romantically across the eyes, for he had a dangerous way of looking at her and probably at any woman attractive to him — that made her feel beautiful and intensely desirable and quite unique. It was impossible to remain immune to it and it was flattery of the most perilous kind. Firmly she brought her thoughts back to the purpose for which she had entered the house.

‘From what you have said, I assume that much of the furniture dates from your father’s time in residence here?’

‘Some of the rooms are virtually unchanged, although my late wife did quite a lot of refurnishing, including the brocade sofas and chairs as well as the tapestries in this salon.’

‘Then I should advise you to remove anything that was personal to her. Give the items to your son or your daughters who will treasure them. From what I know of remarriages, a second wife often finds it extremely hard to live with the first wife’s possessions. It is as if she cannot make her own mark on the house or her husband’s life with reminders of her predecessor on all sides.’

He seemed less than pleased by her advice, his arched black brows drawing together. He had looked for no more than suggestions about the changing of faded drapes or the restuffing of upholstery. Yet he saw the common sense of what she had said and on a sigh of acceptance he gave a shrug of resignation.

‘You are right, of course. I shall do what you say. Any marriage involves a difficult enough adjustment without inviting disharmony. As it happens, the lady I’m to wed has the gentle name of Mary and none of the characteristics expected of it.’ His grin spread slowly and widely across his face. ‘Your wise counsel is most timely and I thank you for it.’

‘I’m gratified to have been of help,’ she replied smilingly, her curiosity about the future Mrs Esdaile strongly aroused. He had spoken of her with fondness and respect, but the inference implied she was quite a firebrand. What effect would such a woman have upon this quiet house? It would be interesting to see. ‘How soon shall you be married?’

‘Not until the spring of next year.’

‘There’s no better time to tie the knot.’ She recalled her own wedding at St Botolph’s on a fine spring day.

‘Would you like to see the rest of the house now?’

‘I should be delighted.’

He led her from room to room upstairs and down, entertaining her with tales of his father’s time and of his own boyhood. She asked him about his daughters, for she wondered why he had not brought one or the other with him to look the house over with him. She learned that both lived with their respective husbands far out of London. That brought his city residence to mind.

‘Shall you have to rid your London home of many things?’ she asked.

‘No. It was always very much a place of business. It was here at Bunhill Row and at Great Gains that my late wife turned everything to her liking.’ They had reached the entrance hall once more, and she had supposed the tour to be at an end when he added: ‘There’s one more place of interest I’d like you to see.’

He led the way along a corridor towards the north end of the house until they came to a thick studded door. She was intrigued as to where it led and wondered if he was going to reveal an entrance to something mysterious, such as an underground passage linked to some long-ago ruins on the site before his house was built. He was smiling to himself as he took a key from his pocket and inserted it in the lock. It clicked and he threw the door wide for her.

She was astonished. There was nothing mysterious here. All that was revealed was a mundane little parlour furnished with simple comfort. Suddenly she had a clue in the rumble of voices resounding quite clearly through an ordinary panelled door opposite to where they were standing. She rushed across to climb on to a chair by the wall and look out of the high and partly bottle-paned window.

‘We’re in the tavern!’ she exclaimed.

He was buoyant with the success of his surprise. ‘That’s correct. I could have had this part of the building pulled down when it was no longer needed for offices and storage, but it appealed to my sense of humour to let it become a tavern and to keep a door into my own private parlour. You see I have a deep thirst and a great liking for good ale.’

Looking down at him from where she still stood on the chair, she felt the joke of it rise in her. She threw back her head in a peal of laughter and he bellowed in mirth with her. With her eyes almost shut with merriment, she pressed a hand against her chest to try to check her helpless laughter and swayed with it.

‘Don’t fall!’ he guffawed, which seemed excruciatingly funny to them both at that moment, and he clasped her about the hips to let her slide down through his arms until her feet were on the ground. Still supporting her, he stared hard into her eyes for a matter of seconds and then plunged his mouth down on hers. It was a devouring kiss of extraordinary passion, driving mirth from them both, for he forced open her lips and crushed her to him until she thought her ribs would crack in his embrace.

When he released her, to his relief she did not make the kind of stupid protest of outrage he might have expected from a respectable married woman caught off guard. Instead she filled her lungs and released a long breath. Straightening her cap, and tucking some wayward tendrils of russet-bright hair behind her ears, she regarded him quizzically.