To Be Seduced (21 page)

His crude suggestion hit her as hard as if he had physically struck her. A wave of cold hard anger such as she had never before experienced enveloped her. A moment before, she had been prepared to justify every penny she’d spent, to plead with him for understanding. Now, she would be damned if she would give him one word of explanation.

As the rushing faded from her ears, she realized he repeated a question.

“Well, madam? What have you to say for yourself?”

“Evidently you are tired after a long and wet ride, my lord.” Bethany remained composed, if shaken. “I suggest you sit by the fire and drink a brandy to warm yourself.” Her ice-filled gaze swept over him. “One of the servants can take your cloak. I shall send word when the great bedchamber is prepared. In the meantime, I wish you a good night.”

Without another word, she slammed the door shut behind her. When a maid entered a few minutes later, he heard her in the hall speaking in a voice too low to be heard. He caught only the “Yes, milady” and “No, milady” of the replies.

True to her word, she did not return to the hall that night. After drinking nearly half the brandy bottle, Richard wandered off to bed.

As he had suspected, she’d put him in the second-best bedchamber. His valet dozed in a chair before a small fire, his feet resting comfortably on the hearth. At the sound of the closing door, he sat up and rubbed his eyes blearily. As soon as he realized Richard had entered, the man jumped up, ready to help him out of his clothes.

Waiting for him to gather the damp clothing for cleaning and pressing, along with his muddy boots, Richard prowled the room.

Part of the walls had been stripped of their paneling. The gray stone stood out against the darker wood overlay like light scars on a man’s skin.

He held his candle up to inspect a water stain on the ceiling. To his relief, nothing leaked through the roof tonight. He hoped his wife had at least arranged to have the roof repaired. He supposed he should be thankful she had cleaned it and replaced the broken furniture. And the room no longer reeked of must.

The valet bowed and left, expressing his own approval of the clean and dry servants’ quarters.

Richard lifted the bed hangings to examine them in the firelight. They looked and smelled cleaner than the last time he’d visited, but several tears marred them.

The sheets felt new as he crawled into bed, and blessedly warm against the chilly night. He made a mental note to tip the servant who had remembered to use a warming pan.

Memories of Bethany’s warm body stirred his own. He berated himself for wanting her still. Even if she had not played him false, she had deceived him yet again. He shifted uncomfortably, damning the soft skin and blazing hair that made all other women pale in comparison.

Another blast of wind and rain whistled outside, followed by the blue glare of distant lightning. He jerked the ragged curtains shut and pummeled his pillow in frustration. For a long time, he stared upward as the carved wooden canopy above him flashed dimly in and out of sight as another thunderstorm came through the valley.

Strangely, an unfamiliar silence startled Richard into wakefulness the next morning. Instead of the peddlars’ cries and clop of hooves against the cobblestones, only the muffled voices and footfalls of the servants greeted his ears. He opened his eyes as the squeak of his door cut across their muted bustle.

He heard the metallic clatter of pewter against wood, and the fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee seeped through the closed woolen bed hangings. Evidently his wife did not deny herself the small luxuries of life, he thought. No, that was not right. Her preference for chocolate or the newfangled tea sprang to his mind, but he could not believe she kept a store of coffee on hand for his benefit.

A rattling beyond the bed followed by a “whoosh” and a current of cool, earthy air indicated that someone, contrary to all common sense, had opened a window. Sticking his head out of the curtains, he started to upbraid the serving girl. The startled creature told him apologetically that her ladyship ordered them opened every morning.

“I weren’t told otherwise, sir.” Despite an inclination to wring her raw-boned hands in her apron, the girl looked at him in shy curiosity. “Be ye his lordship, then?” At his grumbled assent, she beamed at him. “Bid ye welcome, sir. I’m Annie Beckins, and my mam were Old Bet what worked in the laundry before. Her ladyship took me into the house for all that—”

Fearing an extended review of Annie’s connection with his family, he assured her that he remembered both her mother and her father, who had worked in the stables. Elated at such recognition, she flushed and produced a spasm intended as a curtsey.

“Do you go look about then, me lord. Her ladyship’s doing right good putting the hall back together.” She crossed to the door, but Richard stopped her.

“Annie, who is the bailiff?” She screwed up her face in thought before she answered.

“Well, her ladyship says as how she don’t like to hire one without you knowing him, so she tots up the accounts. By herself!” The amazement in the maid’s eyes showed her awe at such cleverness. “But Mr. Quintan overlooks the rebuilding for her.”

Asking the maid to give a message to the overseer, he dressed and breakfasted before meeting him in the Great Hall. The builder’s cheerful manner wilted under Richard’s grim questioning. In the face of his disbelief, the older man finally offered to show him the repairs made on Graymoor.

As he followed the irritated overseer, Richard looked around him, bewildered. He walked through rooms he had last seen littered with debris, some charred by fire. Now new paneling and freshly plastered walls lined them. He listened with growing shame as Quintan described the slowness necessary in rebuilding the ruined southwest corner of the house.

“When Miss Harcourt started planning her wedding, Lady Harcourt directed us to work on the Great Hall and the terrace. But the plans are drawn up for all the repairs.” Tipping his hat at him, the overseer left Richard alone with his thoughts.

He frowned. His wife had organized much more work than he had seen the previous evening. But he had learned painfully well how much the materials and wages would cost to repair his home. During their quarrel the night before, she claimed she had spent far more than that amount.

Entering the kitchen in hopes of sneaking up the back staircase only plunged him into the organized madness of wedding preparations. The staff stopped their activity to curtsey as soon as they noticed his presence, and the mistress invited him to take a trencher and enjoy it elsewhere. Interpreting her unenthusiastic offer as a wish for him to get out from underfoot, he refused it and departed upstairs to his room.

His footsteps echoed on the stone steps. This end of the house had suffered depredations as well, and the long hallway on the floor above stretched before him, shabby with neglect. Through the windows on his right, he could see the sharp rise of the downs to the north. Opposite lay a series of doors, closed now, but once leading into the bedchambers he and Glory had used as children.

He had walked through them the first time he had returned, his heart nearly breaking at their ruined state. Curious, he turned the handle to his old room.

To his surprise, it showed signs of habitation. A worn but clean crimson bedcover lay on the old bed, contrasting with the scratches and initials gouged into the carved wooden posts and head. The only other furniture in the room, a writing table and chair, sat near the fireplace.

His footsteps on the wooden floor echoed as he crossed to the table. A pile of account books sat neatly arranged on one corner. Flipping the top one open revealed a column of figures on the right. A corresponding description of each expenditure filled the left side. He stared down at the pages, mentally adding the figures.

They represented a tremendous list of household goods: linens, hangings, pots, roasting spits. He leafed through the slim volume. Page after page of records appeared. One notebook itemized purchases for the house, another for the stables. Others enumerated spending on wages for the house’s repairs and other farm labor. With a shock, he recognized the hand as Bethany’s.

Why had she not told him of all her work, he wondered. The answer came to him quickly enough. He had misjudged her once again.

He remembered his outburst the night before, accusing her of laziness and greed. How like the prideful vixen to respond by refusing to account for all her work over the last weeks. Sighing heavily, he found he could not blame her.

“What are you doing here?” He whirled to find her standing in the doorway, nearly engulfed by an armful of yellow satin. As she entered, the bright morning light threw her fair skin into delicate relief against the rich material. He was reminded sharply of the first time he had seen her with her hair down at the Bell and Moon. He cleared his throat.

“This is my old room.” His eyes soaked in her bright hair as she lay the material down on the bed. He remembered all the times he had buried his face in the silken mass during their lovemaking. She faced him, her gray eyes as cool as her voice.

“Ah. I was not aware of that.” She gestured to the bed. “I slept here last night, as most of the chambers are, as you said, uninhabitable.”

“Bethany, I spoke out of tiredness last night.” He stepped toward her, but her stiffening posture stopped him.

“It is no more than the truth.” He hated the dispassionate tones, so unlike her dry wit. “Forgive me, but we must leave soon and neither of us are dressed. If you will excuse me, my lord, Faith will be up to attend to me momentarily.”

He tried to speak to her again, but she made a show of spreading the skirts of the gown out and would not look at him. He bowed.

“Very well, Bethany. Until later.”

Gloriana and Sir Fothery were married in the square-towered church where she had been christened. The bride wore azure satin and carried a bouquet of lilacs from the Harcourt gardens. She welcomed Bethany’s offer of the aquamarine and pearl set until a servant came to her room with a set of pearl necklet, earrings, and bracelets. A tender note from Sir Fothery accompanied his bride gift to her.

Glory did not show anyone the note, but its contents touched her deeply enough that the pearls lay to one side, quite neglected, for near a quarter of an hour. Finally adorning herself with them, the girl insisted Bethany wear her own jewels.

“Richard will be vastly pleased, my love. And they will look charming with your dress!” Bethany complied rather than admit how little her husband cared for her. Later, watching him walk his sister up the aisle of worn stone, she privately considered the joy shining from the bride’s eyes added more to her beauty than any finery.

“You look very pretty this day, wife.” The murmured compliment barely reached her ears as he joined her in the front pew. Keeping her composure, she nodded. When she realized he noticed her jewels, she regretted giving in to Glory. Likely he would take it as another attempt to soften his anger toward her, and treat it with the same contempt as her efforts to repair Graymoor.

It did not aid her peace of mind that he looked devastating in the bronze and cream coat and pantaloons he had worn to Whitehall.

To her relief, he held her arm all the way to their coach after the ceremony. At least he did not embarrass her in front of his friends. As Fothery and Gloriana tossed handfuls of coins from the steps of their coach, Richard gave Lane the signal to leave.

The only sounds in the coach were the thud of hooves and an occasional creak until the road crested the rise of the small valley. As the coach slowly descended, she watched Rickon as he looked out the window. She could not see his face, but when he froze and softly inhaled, she winced. She had ruined his home; he would never forgive her.

She opened them again at the touch of his hand on hers. He had turned back and now struggled for words beside her.

“I am astonished.” He drew his hand back as he regarded her soberly. “I had no idea how much you had accomplished, or the care you had taken.”

“You should have read my letters.” She stared straight ahead, proud that she could remain dry-eyed. The coach lurched over a rough spot; she thought the noise might just cover the crack of her breaking heart.

“I stopped after a while.” She had to strain to hear his nearly inaudible voice. “All you ever wrote of was the house, or Gloriana. They sounded as personal as progress reports from my bailiff. They didn’t even sound like you.”

“Why would I think you wanted to hear aught else from me, my lord?” She pounded her knees in frustration, unable to stifle her bitterness any longer. “You told me to leave you and make myself useful at your estate. I tried to the best of my ability.”

“And you’ve done well. I was wrong. I walked over the house this morning while Quintan told me of the improvements you’ve made.” His voice filled with anguish. “I thought you’d write me an explanation, or a denial. I half expected you to throw something at my head and not leave at all.”

“It seems we’ve been at cross-purposes then.” The tears now threatened to spill down her cheeks. To hide them, she looked out her window. Graymoor loomed larger and larger as they drove into the forecourt. “Forgive me for not better grasping your expectations.”

The coach finally jerked to a halt. To preserve her calm, she thrust the door open and scrambled down with the assistance of a surprised footman. She thought she heard Richard speak her name as she rushed up the steps into the Great Hall, but she did not wait to find out.

Soon she immersed herself in the role of hostess to the well-wishers invited to celebrate with Glory and Sir Fothery. She pasted a bright smile on her face and bade her guests eat, or drink, or dance. After the toast from a great vat of wine, everyone turned to their own devices and she escaped the mirth and music.

Richard missed his wife among the crowd milling about his restored home. It took several inquiries, but at last he found a servant capable of disclosing her ladyship’s whereabouts.