Читать книгу The Regency Season: Shameful Secrets: From Ruin to Riches / Scandal's Virgin - Louise Allen - Страница 17

Chapter Nine

She felt as though she was made of tinder and Will was holding a flame so close, so very close. Julia kept still with an effort and said lightly, ‘The scar? I was chased by a bull and had to throw myself into a hedge. I emerged rather the worse for wear.’ It was only a little scar, just a quarter of an inch long. She could feel it under her fingers when she washed or dabbed scent behind her ear. ‘I had not thought it showed. Is it very red?’

‘Not at all. I only noticed it because I was looking very closely.’ The warm breath moved, trailed its caress right round to the other side of her neck. Julia rolled her eyes uncomfortably to the left, rigid with the effort not to shiver. Will loomed beside her.

After a moment, to her intense relief, he straightened up and strolled back to hitch one hip on the edge of the desk. ‘Farming appears to be a dangerous operation when you undertake it. I never found it necessary to traipse around fields looking at bulls, let alone provoke them into chasing me.’

‘Which explains why the one you had was an inferior specimen with an unreliable temper. Unlike my...our current bull.’ From the way he narrowed his eyes at her Julia could only assume that criticising a man’s bull was like criticising his own virility.

‘It will not be necessary for you to get your hands dirty, or your shoes muddy, or to endanger yourself in any way connected with the estate from now on. Let alone indulge in such occupations as judging stud animals. Hardly a ladylike thing to be doing in any case.’

That was the attitude she had feared he would adopt. ‘But I am good at it. And I enjoy it. All of it. It is, after all, why you married me.’ She kept her tone free from any hint of pleading, or of aggression.

‘But the situation has changed. And there are many things in life that we enjoy that it is not acceptable that we indulge ourselves in.’

Julia swallowed the very rude retort that sprang to her lips, although the impulse to demonstrate just how unacceptable her behaviour could be by going upstairs, changing into her divided skirt and boots and riding astride round the estate was almost overwhelming. She folded her hands neatly in her lap and remarked, ‘That is the sort of remark that gentlemen make when they intend it to apply to wives and daughters, never to themselves.’

‘Are you suggesting that I behave in a manner not befitting a gentleman?’ The lazy amusement had quite vanished although Will still lounged there, apparently at ease.

Julia shrugged. ‘Gentlemanly behaviour appears to encompass gaming, whoring and drinking. All wives can do about it, so I understand, is to hope that the mistresses are not too expensive, that the gaming is for low stakes and that the drinking does not lead to imprudent expenditure on the other two entertainments.’

‘I see.’ Will got off the desk and went back to his chair. All inclination to flirt, or tease her by caressing her neck, had obviously vanished. ‘It is a little late to be enquiring about my character, don’t you think?’

‘If it was vicious, or your activities scandalous, I would doubtless have heard about it by now.’ Julia got up and went to the pile of ledgers stacked on a side table. She knew where she was with those. They did not answer back, play with words or look at her with eyes that tried to strip her to the soul. She wanted to tell him that of course she knew his character was good, but she could not find the words.

‘You may rest assured, my dear, that I dislike over-indulgence in drink, I gamble well within my means and I am not in the habit of whoring.’ When she did not reply Will added, ‘I assume you also wish to know whether I have a mistress in keeping, but do not like to ask directly?’

She had not meant this to go so far, or even to mention the subject. Her back to him, Julia shrugged, pretending an indifference she found she certainly did not feel. What she felt was a surge of uncivilised jealousy at the very thought. ‘I presume that you have.’

‘No.’

The heavy cover of the ledger for the Home Farm slipped from her fingers and banged shut as she turned. ‘But you have been gone three years.’

‘Until I began to get better again I had neither the inclination nor the strength for...dalliance.’ Will was doodling again so she could not see his face, but his voice was stiff. ‘Since I regained both I have reminded myself that I am a married man who made certain vows.’

Oh. She believed him. It was not easy for a man to admit that his virility had suffered in any way, she suspected. But that meant her husband was not simply feeling normally amorous. He had been celibate for months, so the restraint he had shown with her so far was nothing short of amazing.

Will had made vows and so had she. She had no intention of keeping him from her bed, however frightened that made her. But she was damned if she was going to allow him to seduce her into being simply a meek little wife—in bed or out of it.

‘Then I imagine I should be looking forward to tonight?’ she asked. It came out sounding more flippant, or perhaps provocative, than she intended and she saw from the flare of heat in his eyes that she had both aroused and shocked Will.

‘Julia,’ he said, his voice husky, getting to his feet, ‘you may be certain of a most appreciative reception.’

‘Mr Wilkins, my la...my lord, I should say.’ Gatcombe sounded unusually flustered. Julia could only hope it was as a result of getting in a tangle over who he should be addressing and not because he had heard anything of their conversation when he opened the door.

The steward was a wiry Midlander with a cautious attitude and a depth of knowledge that Julia admired. It had taken her several weeks to break down his reserve when he discovered he was expected to take orders from a woman, but the realisation that she knew what she was talking about, and was quite tough enough to hold her own in an argument, soon swayed him.

Now, she could tell, Wilkins was uneasy because he was uncertain who was in control. ‘I’m right glad to see you back with us, my lord,’ he said, when greetings had been exchanged. ‘I’ve no doubt her ladyship’s been telling you all we’ve been about while you’ve been away.’

‘Nothing, beyond the fact that you have been most effective, Wilkins.’ Will gestured to a chair. ‘Come and brief me.’ He stood up and smiled at Julia. ‘Thank you, my dear.’

It was a polite dismissal she had no intention of accepting. Julia smiled sweetly back and feigned not to understand him. ‘It was my pleasure,’ she said, settling back into her own chair. ‘Mr Wilkins, perhaps you could bring those ledgers over.’

For a long moment it seemed likely that Will was going to order her from the room, witness or no witness, then he smiled wryly and sat down again. ‘Let us begin with the livestock, Wilkins. I understand we have a new bull.’

* * *

Julia had done a good job, Will had to acknowledge—it far exceeded his hopes when he had thought up this scheme in the first place. She had gone beyond offering Wilkins informed support, she had taken the lead and steered the rather cautious steward into projects and changes he would never have dreamt of on his own initiative.

But now she was not going to hand back control without a fight. Will let them both talk, interjected a question now and again and realised it was going to take a while to break Wilkins of the habit of looking to his wife for approval with every comment. He did not want to be unkind to her, or unappreciative, but damn it all, he was master here and he was going to make that clear. In the estate, on the farm, in the bedchamber.

‘I have horses arriving in a few weeks,’ Will said when they had talked themselves to a standstill.

‘Fifteen, Wilkins,’ Julia said. ‘We are going to need new paddocks, stabling. More staff...’

‘I have men coming with them,’ Will overrode her smoothly. ‘And plans for the stables. Where would you suggest for the paddocks, Wilkins?’

‘To the west of the existing ones,’ Julia answered before the steward could. ‘I have been considering it. We can move the beef cattle down to Mayday Field and Croft Acre and—’

‘We do not have fields with those names.’

‘We do now. I bought Hodgson’s farm when old Jem Hodgson died last year,’ Julia said, as if purchasing a large farm was as simple a matter as buying a new bonnet. ‘His son has gone into the building business and needed the capital urgently so we settled on a keen price. I had the house done up and I lease it and ten acres to make a small park to a cit called Maurice Loveday. It brings a good income and we’ve gained another mile of water meadows into the bargain.’

He had had his eye on that farm for years and old Hodgson had refused to sell. Now his wife had calmly snapped it up, at a bargain price, and secured the income from the house—which had never occurred to him as an asset—while she was at it.

Will trod firmly on what felt uncomfortably like jealousy and smiled at Julia. ‘You must have had hardly a moment to yourself, taking so much responsibility. Now I am back you can relax and get back to all your normal pursuits.’

‘Oh, but these are my normal pursuits,’ she responded with an equally false smile. ‘This is what I enjoy doing.’ And try to take it away from me if you can, those grey eyes said, meeting his with flint-hard resolve.

One thing had kept him going in those years of exile. His love for King’s Acre was real and solid and his control of it was not negotiable.

What his wife needed was something else to keep her occupied. Womanly things. A man in her bed, babies in the nursery. Both of those, he realised with some surprise, would be an absolute pleasure to provide.

* * *

Will had not been pleased with her contribution to the meeting with the steward. Nor with the free expression of her thoughts when Mr Howard from Home Farm arrived after luncheon. It was obvious that the deference those gentlemen showed to her opinions was also an irritation. There was no need for her to attend when he met tomorrow with Mr Burrows the solicitor, Will had informed Julia with a smile that had not reached his eyes.

The words did not pass his lips, but it was plain to her that he considered her continuing interest meddling and interfering. Her proper place, in his opinion, was in the bedchamber and the drawing room and the only servants she should need to concern herself with were the domestic staff.

I have been the regent while the king was in exile, she thought with a grim attempt at humour that evening. The state has been well governed but now the queen must go back to woman’s work and leave the serious business to the men.

But kingdoms required heirs—that was what husbands wanted, whether they were King of England or Joe Bloggs at the village forge. She stared blankly into the mirror on her dressing table until her maid put down the evening gown she had been shaking out and said, ‘Excuse me, my lady, but are you all right?’

‘What? Oh, yes, perfectly, thank you, Nancy.’ Julia went back to dabbing Warren’s Milk of Roses on to her face. She was persevering with this infallible remedy for freckles and the effects of the sun on the complexion more in the hope than the expectation of a fashionably pale skin. The true remedy, of course, was to wear a broad-brimmed hat at all times, or, better still, as Aunt Delia so often told her with a sigh, to stay inside as a lady should.

If Will had his way, she would be as pale as a lily in no time. And drooping like one too, from sheer boredom. Her mind was still skittering away from contemplating the prospect of becoming pregnant again. It seemed very likely to happen quickly once her husband came to her bed: after all, she had lain just the once with Jonathan.

Her fingers fumbled as she tried to replace the top of the bottle and Nancy fell to her knees and started to search under the skirts of the dressing table for the dropped stopper. Julia had dammed it up so long—the shock when she had realised that the changes in her body were not the result of terror and distress, then the joy at the realisation that she was carrying a child and the appalled comprehension of what she must do if it proved to be a boy.

But, even with that hanging over her, the overwhelming emotion had been delight and love. If the child was a daughter, then she would not have to tell anyone, for a girl would be no threat to Henry’s rights. And even if it was a boy, she would work something out to give him a future and happiness.

It never occurred to her, with all her worries and plans, that she might lose the baby. Now she wondered about future pregnancies. What if there was something wrong with her? What if she was not capable of safely birthing a child? She had not even considered it before, because she had expected to stay a widow for the rest of her days, contentedly farming King’s Acre and then, when Henry inherited, buying her own land. But now she was no longer a widow.

‘That lotion is working a treat, my lady.’ Nancy sat back on her heels with the stopper in her hand and regarded Julia with satisfaction. ‘I swear you’re a shade paler for using it.’

‘I fear it is simply that I have a slight headache, Nancy.’ Julia attempted a smile. ‘I will be better for a glass of wine and my dinner, I am sure.’

* * *

By the time her stays had been tightened and the gown was on and her hair dressed there was some colour back in her cheeks and at least the freckles were not standing out like dots on white paper.

It was a warm evening, almost sultry. Julia draped her lightest shawl over her elbows, chose a large fan and went down to the drawing room. Her first proper evening as a married lady, she realised as the butler opened the door for her and she saw Will standing by the long window that was open to the ground to let in the evening air.

He was dressed with as much careful formality as she. Julia admired the effect of silk evening breeches, striped stockings, a swallowtail coat that must have been bought in London on his way home and a waistcoat of amber silk that brought out the colour of his eyes and matched the stone in the stickpin in his neckcloth. Regarded dispassionately, she thought, her husband was a fine figure of a man. Discovering how to be dispassionate about him was going to be the problem. A lost cause, in fact, she told herself.

‘Good evening, Lady Dereham.’ He gestured towards the decanters set out on a tray. ‘A glass of sherry wine?’

‘Good evening, my lord.’ She sat precisely in the centre of the sofa and spread her almond-green skirts on either side as though concerned about wrinkles. They covered virtually all the available seat and left no room for anyone to sit beside her. She did not think she could cope with any sly caresses just now. ‘Thank you. A glass of sherry would be delightful.’

Will poured a glass for both of them, placed hers on the table beside her and went back to the window and his contemplation of the view, which allowed her the perfect opportunity to admire his profile. Dispassionately, of course.

‘Did your meeting with Mr Burrows go well?’ Julia asked after a few minutes’ silence. She took a sip of her wine while her husband pondered his reply.

‘It was most satisfactory, thank you,’ he said politely and tasted his own drink.

If this continues, I may well scream, simply for the diversion of seeing the footmen all rush in, Julia decided. ‘I have always found him extremely helpful.’

‘He tells me you have not asked for any of the jewellery from his strong room.’

‘I did not consider it mine to wear.’ For some reason decking herself out in the family jewels had seemed mercenary in a way that taking all the other benefits of their arrangement did not. Jewellery was so personal. ‘Besides,’ she added in an effort to lighten the cool formality, ‘think what a wrench to have to hand it all over after seven years when Henry inherited.’

‘There was no need for such scruples. But you will wear it from now on, I hope.’ She suspected that was an order. ‘Burrows brought it with him.’ Will gestured towards a side table and she noticed the stack of leather boxes on it for the first time. ‘There is a safe in your dressing room. If there are any pieces you dislike they can be reset, or go back to the vault.’

There seemed a lot of boxes. Small ring boxes, flat cases with curving edges that must contain necklaces, complicated shapes that presumably enclosed complete parures including tiaras. Did Will expect her to pounce on them with cries of delight?

He thought she had only married him for purely mercenary reasons and to protect her good name, of course, so he must find her lack of interest in this treasure trove puzzling. She could hardly tell him that she did not want his money or his gems, only sanctuary from the law.

‘Thank you. But I have not found a safe. Is it behind some concealed panel?’

‘Behind a panel, yes, but in the baroness’s dressing room. Nancy is moving your things there now.’

Somehow Julia kept her lips closed on the instinctive protest. Will was high-handed, insensitive, but, of course, he was in the right and she had agreed he would come to her bed.

He might not want her, of course, when she told him about Jonathan and about the child.

She pushed that thought and its implications deep into her mind. There were practical reasons also. Her place should be in the suite that was the mirror image of his: anything else would cause gossip and wild speculation amongst the servants. She knew, however loyal they were, gossip always leaked out to the staff in surrounding houses, then to the tradesmen and in no time at all the entire neighbourhood would know.

‘Thank you,’ she said with a genuine smile and was rewarded by the faint surprise on Will’s face. He had expected a fight, but she was going to keep her opposition for the issues that were important to her. Jewels did not matter one way or the other, except that now she must make the effort to care for them and to select suitable ones for each occasion.

* * *

Julia exerted herself over dinner to make conversation and bring Will up to date with the local news. He would be riding round to visit their neighbours over the next few days, so she must set the scene for him. It also meant she could steer well clear of any personal matters. There was plenty to tell him about with a new curate, several marriages, some deaths, the strange case of sheep-stealing last year, Sir William Curruther’s new wife’s frightful taste in interior decoration and, of course, numerous births to the gentry community. She hurried over those and started enumerating the changes to their own staff while he had been away.

‘Thank you,’ he said drily when she reached the new scullery maid and the gardener’s boy as the dessert plates were cleared. ‘I will endeavour to recall all that tomorrow.’

Julia bit her lip—he made it sound as though she had been prattling on and not allowing him to get a word in edgeways. She had kept pausing, hoping Will would pick up his side of the conversation and tell her about his three years away. But he showed no sign of wanting to confide in her. ‘I have got all the news I was saving for you off my chest,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow you can tell me yours.’

‘I have told you most of what there is to know.’ His long lashes hid his eyes as he looked down, apparently interested in the piece of walnut shell that lay beside his plate. ‘I have no wish to revisit the past.’

‘But your travels must be fascinating. I would so like to hear about them.’ A neutral subject of conversation on an engrossing subject seemed like a godsend.

‘I lost almost four years of my life to that illness,’ Will said and looked up to catch her staring at him. ‘I just want to forget about it and get on with living.’

She could hear the anger and the loss under the flat tone, see the heat in his eyes.

‘Very well.’ She had no wish to invite any further snubs. ‘I will leave you to your port.’ One of the footmen came to pull back her chair, another to open the door for her. Like all the staff, they were normally efficient and attentive, but somehow she sensed they were making a special effort to look after her at the moment, just as they had when she lost the baby. She could only hope that Will did not notice and feel they were being disloyal to him.

If she could just focus her mind on those sort of worries and not what was going to happen when the bedchamber door closed behind them, then she could, perhaps, remain her normal practical self. As she walked across the hall to the salon she could feel the brooding presence in the room behind her like heat from a fire. Common sense seemed as much use as a fireguard made of straw.