To Be Seduced (20 page)

She yearned to start over, to apologize to him and tell him she loved him. Doing so, she feared, would merely earn his contempt. Nay, she had fallen in love with a rakehell and the idea of winning his heart in return would remain no more than a dream.

She could not bring herself to confide in Glory. To keep her thoughts from eating at her soul, she buried herself in wedding plans and managing the household, supervising all from the dilapidated room near the head of the kitchen stairs. Glory, perhaps for similar reasons, proved more than willing to assist her.

Only in the loneliness of the great bed within the master’s chamber did Bethany give in to her despair, weeping bitterly and sleeping fitfully as the nights crawled by.

The days, however, flowed past as rapidly as the freshets springing to life on the green downs beyond the estate. First it was a week before the wedding, then the day before.

The Rothleys, as the only living relatives of Richard and Glory, planned an extended visit. Glory dreaded her aunt’s scolding at the circumstances of her marriage, but Bethany welcomed another reason to wall off her emotions. Besides, in Richard’s absence, Uncle Rothley could give away the bride. They did not arrive until noon the day before, delayed by muddy roads.

Having given up the master’s chamber for them, Bethany urged the older couple to rest until dinner. Lady Rothley accepted with alacrity, complaining of a headache from the rough ride and unseasonable warmth. Although heavy clouds had covered the sun by then, the heat did feel oppressive for spring. Bethany perspired even in her loose muslin gown.

Completely sympathetic to her new aunt’s woes, she turned her over to Glory and sent for hartshorn and lavender water. Her sister-in-law descended to the hall shortly afterward, disclosing that her ladyship had fallen asleep.

His lordship’s more vigorous constitution needed only a good dinner to restore him, and he took a great interest in the repairs under way in the house. He demonstrated an inclination to ask for detailed information about most of them, nearly driving his niece by marriage to distraction as she tried to supervise the decoration of the Great Hall.

Mr. Quintan, whose workmen received an unexpected holiday when she forbade any activities not directly related to the wedding, rescued her. Offering to provide his lordship with any information he required, he bore the curious peer away.

Lord Rothley had to content himself with examining the interior of the house, for not two hours past dinnertime, a lightning strike and a clap of thunder presaged a steady downpour that bade fair to last into the next day.

Fortunately, the household had kept an eye on the increasing clouds and gotten everything needed for the morrow under cover beforehand. Inside, preparations continued.

Bethany had reserved the best of the remaining hangings for the Great Chamber on the floor above, and set Glory to work arranging them on the walls. That enabled her to oversee the preparation of the Great Hall on the ground floor during the rainy afternoon, while keeping the bride-to-be from mooning about under everyone’s feet.

Carpenters working to Mr. Quintan’s design erected frames to hold vines of ivy intertwined with flowers, while his masons and the footmen laid out trestle tables along one wall and hoisted barrels of ale onto them. Plenty of space remained for the platters of food for both the Graymoor tenants and the iterant jobbers working on the repairs, who would celebrate in the Hall. The smaller number of friends and relatives would enjoy more refined food and drink in the freshly decorated Great Chamber upstairs.

For once, relative peace ensued between the staff and the workmen, thanks to the assistance rendered by the latter. Mistress Platt contributed to the pleasant atmosphere by sending up plates of dainties that failed to meet her discriminating eye. The savory scent of beef and pork pasties mingled with the woodsy odor of sawdust as maids, footmen, carpenters, lime burners, and masons alike shared the cook’s mouthwatering discards.

She even slipped an overbrowned venison pasty to Mr. Quintan, a singular sign of favor, in thanks for the neat array of shelves and the enlarged kitchen fireplace with its new chimney.

Just before suppertime, Bethany stood in the center of the flagstone floor and looked about her. They had finished all that could be completed ahead of the day. After praising everyone lavishly, she added to the festive air by ordering a barrel of ale broached, informing them that they had to ensure Mistress Harcourt’s health was toasted with a proper brew.

Afterward, having decreed the Hall and Great Chamber alike off-limits to anyone not actually working in them, she sank onto a cushioned chair in the parlour. Glory sat on one opposite. Between stood a table holding their supper, a simple affair of bread, cheese, and more ale from the newly opened cask.

Truth to tell, the small room felt pleasantly cozy. Bethany had ordered fires lit to keep off the chill and damp, and the dull clouds darkened the skies so, candles burned already to give light. They settled in to make a hearty meal of the crumbly blue-veined cheese and fresh bread when a man’s voice sounded from the Hall beyond.

“Is there room for a third place?”

Glory’s shriek of joy threatened to shatter the windowpanes as she scrambled to greet the newcomer. Behind her, Bethany jumped to her feet, but remained by her chair, clutching its back for support. Richard stood in the doorway, dripping water from his long cloak and tracking mud from his caked boots all over the floor.

Her heart pounded. At last he had come. Only for Glory’s wedding, she supposed, but he would finally see the careful repair work she had written of, and perhaps he would respond to the care she had lavished on the home she wished so desperately to share with him.

He smiled fondly down at his sister as she exclaimed her delight at seeing him. Bethany’s feet came unglued from the floor and she moved toward him, a greeting on her own lips. It faded as he stared at her resentfully over Glory’s head.

She felt her face fix itself into a neutral mask. Jerking her chin toward the excited girl, she stepped forward.

“Let me take your wet things.” Understanding that she did not want to quarrel in front of his sister, he suffered her to remove his sopping cloak and spread it over a chair near the fireplace. He seated himself and tugged at his tight-fitting boots until they came off. By the time he completed the process, she had had time to summon a maid to mop the Hall.

Seeing his valet hovering outside the parlor door, she ordered the man to clean and dry the cloak and boots, and to get himself a hot supper from the kitchen after sending up something for his lordship. When the maid returned with a tankard and a covered dish containing only a helping of roasted fish, more bread and cheese, and some greens, she silently dared Richard to complain.

“With so much to prepare for tomorrow, I told Cook not to bother with anything but the simplest evening meal for us.” Richard, inhaling the herb-scented fish with closed eyes, unbent enough to assure her that it suited him well.

“I collect you managed to get the kitchen in order, at any rate.” On that querulous note, the two of them finished supper to the sound of Glory’s chatter, barely speaking to each other.

Once the covers had been removed, Bethany watched him out of the corner of one eye as she and Gloriana reviewed the morrow’s plans. His face remained impassive as he sat and stretched his legs out to warm his feet on the hearth. The bride thought of several details she feared they had overlooked, and Bethany mustered all her patience in replying to her sister-in-law’s queries.

Yes, they had hired plenty of extra staff from the village, she informed her. Mistress Pratt had the feast well in hand. And both wine for the honored guests and ale for the tenants had arrived in time, and the stable hands had indeed cleaned and polished the coaches before the rainstorm. At last Gloriana stopped fidgeting and, to Bethany’s profound relief, announced she wished to retire early.

“I wish to be in looks tomorrow morning, after all!” The girl kissed Bethany’s cheek affectionately. “Forgive me for teasing you so, dearest. Indeed, I am sure all will be perfect. Thank you a thousand times over for arranging everything! You have stood as both sister and mother to me over the last month.”

She shifted nervously at Glory’s encomium. Richard’s face darkened at his sister’s words, but he remained silent. The praise did please her, but she sought to lighten his mood in her reply.

“’Twill be perfect if this rain stops. Have no fear, my love, if it does not, we shall manage one way or another.”

Glory laughed. “It will be perfect even if we have a veritable gale. I am to marry my Fothery!”

Bethany could not help smiling back. Sure the girl would not settle down easily in her excited state, she offered to send some spiced cider to her room. Accepting thankfully, Gloriana danced over to wish her brother a good night.

Bethany shook her head as she rang the bellpull. She doubted an entire gallon of the potent stuff would send her volatile sister-in-law off to sleep this eve.

Richard escorted his sister out of the room as Bethany waited for a servant to answer her summons. Through the open door, she heard her thank him rapturously for arriving in time to give her away.

“Faith, Glory, you’re all the family I have! Not even the King himself could stop me.” Her heart ached as she remembered times early in their marriage when he had spoken so tenderly to her. Glory’s reply was lost in the depths of the Hall as they moved away from the study door.

Guiltily, she peeked through the doorway in time to see him kiss her cheek and hand her a candle. Before she could duck back inside, the cook’s boy appeared from belowstairs. She softly ordered Glory’s cider, unwilling to interrupt the two of them.

Richard waited for the boy to disappear before approaching her. He grimly pointed into the room.

“I would speak with you.” She licked her lips. The gentleness left his voice, replaced with steely resolve.

She followed him into the small study, stifling a sigh. No sooner had the door closed behind her than he whirled to face her.

“What ‘improvements,’ exactly, have you made, madam?” He paced the floor as he railed at her. “I walked through the entire house before I entered the hall! Even more of the walls are gone than on my last visit, the hallways on the upper floors are nearly untouched by hammer or paint, while my stable—what in God’s name have you done to my stable?” He pointed out the window, although this room faced the opposite side of the house from the courtyard. “It looks like it dropped from Covent Garden!”

“Why, my lord, are the repairs not to your liking?” Finding her voice, Bethany planted herself in front of him. “You packed me off from London and asked—nay, ordered—me to repair your house, then refused to answer my letters asking your opinion or instructions. The work I’ve contracted for is costing three thousand pounds of my half of our money! If you do not like the manner in which it is being rebuilt, I suggest you take some interest in it instead of spending your days fornicating with your mistress!”

“What?” Richard’s voice was awful in its anger. Equally horrified, Bethany wanted to sink into the floor at this revelation of her weakness. She tried to distract him.

“I delayed the repairs as long as I could.” She spoke airily, trying to sound confident. “If we waited on your instructions, we would have lost the entire spring’s work and doubtless the summer’s as well! And as long as you were traipsing through the house, you could have had the decency to remove your boots before tracking mud all over.”

“My feet were cold and I don’t give a damn about the floors!” Richard returned to her last accusation. “For your information, the scene you witnessed after my release was arranged for both our benefits by Arthur Loring.” He stood nearly nose to nose with her now, although he continued to shout.

“I had not been involved with Frances for months before we married, nor have I been involved with her or any other woman since.” He turned his back to her and flung himself over to the window. Silence fell as he remained there, apparently transfixed by the rain pelting against the panes.

Bethany’s mind reeled at the admission. The thought of his infidelity had eaten at her for weeks. She would give her half of their fortune to believe that he might love her, too, and that she had only imagined his concern for Frances Shadbourne.

Common sense raised its head then. However unintentionally, she had read his letter. However much she might try to please him in bed, or by running his household, she remained nothing more than the wife he had married for money.

She drew a shaky breath. She was mistress of Graymoor; she would not break down where any of the servants could see her and gossip the news that Lady Harcourt had fallen in love with its lord.

“You want only to placate me so I do not inconvenience you with jealous scenes.” He turned around at her bald words and opened his mouth to refute her, but she would not let him. “I would think, my lord, that you might have written me this explanation of yours weeks ago. But then, the excuse just now occurred to you, did it not?”

He looked taken aback, but recovered quickly. “Do not accuse me of prevaricating. I read enough of your letters to grasp the plans you claimed you would carry out.” He smiled contemptuously. “Unfortunately, dear wife, the first thing I did after arriving at Graymoor last year was obtain any number of estimates, which I still have. While they were beyond my means at the time, I assure you they are well below your three thousand pounds.” He gave her a hard look.

“You have done nothing but hide the truth from me since we’ve met, Beth.” He no longer shouted, sounding saddened more than anything else. She started to defend herself, but he held up a hand. “I know, I leaped to the wrong conclusion about you and Tom, but my apology was apparently unacceptable to you.” He sighed heavily.

“Which brings us back to my point. You’ve spent three thousand pounds? On what? Not on materials or labor, that I know well.” He laughed, a harsh bark of sound in the small room. “Do you support a lover here? Do you avenge yourself on me in that way?”