In the Wake of the Wind (19 page)

Raphael lifted his gaze to the ceiling, then looked back down at her. “Since I am not nearly as good at interpreting the Good Lord’s wishes as you, dearest, I will not argue, although if His intent really was to keep you locked away in this house, I would feel quite out of favor with Him. Why don’t you go out into the sunshine tomorrow, see what
Serafina
has done with the gardens? That was my point in bringing up the subject in the first place, to get you into the fresh air a little.”

Charlotte gazed down at her slim hands. “You know my health is uncertain, Raphael. I dare not risk catching a chill from the outdoor air for fear of what might happen as a result.”

Raphael clapped one hand against his thigh. “I give up,” he said. “You can risk a chill once a week when you go to church, but not on any other day?”

“The Lord’s day is a different matter entirely. That I cannot neglect, and if I should become ill as a result of venturing out, then it is His will that I should be so.”

Serafina
glanced over at Elspeth, who was practically tearing the pages out of her book, her pursed lips working soundlessly and no doubt rudely.

At that moment Lord Delaware came through the door, his steps carefully measured as if he expected something to jump out and trip him up at any moment. Now
Serafina
understood that too, as well as the constant glowing of his nose.

“Delaware,” Elspeth said curtly, “it’s about time. Look, man, you have company.”

Lord Delaware searched the room, his bleary gaze finally locating the duke. “Ah. Southwell.” He scratched his head and looked around again, his eyes lighting on the decanter. He toddled over and poured himself a measure, downing it quickly. “Good evening all, and a fine evening it is,” he said, as if the wine had fortified him for speech. “Good to see you, boy, good to see you. What brings you our direction?”

“A simple desire for company,” Raphael said, raising an eyebrow at
Serafina
as if in confirmation of Lord Delaware’s condition. “It’s been a dreary fortnight of planting and I wished for a change.”

“Oh, have your tenants harnessed you to the plow now?” Lord Delaware said, then chortled with laughter as if he’d made a particularly fine joke. “Well, if you will be a farmer, what else can you expect, eh? Yoke and plow, yoke and plow.”

Raphael inclined his golden head, his face perfectly straight. “Indeed. Fifteen thousand acres of arable land makes for a long day’s work. Have you managed any planting this year?”

“Not a single furrow. No money, you know.” His head swiveled and he fixed an eye on
Serafina.
“Oh, but that’s right,” he said, a pleased smile breaking over his face. “We’re rolling in the stuff now. Should have thought of that. Should have thought. Is it too late, d’you think?”

“Not to put in the late summer crop, I don’t imagine. Of course, you’ll have to begin to till the fields now to prepare them.”

“Hmm, yes, but best wait for Aiden, or he might take my head off for not consulting him. The boy’s a bit touchy on the subject of my interference at the moment. It’s not easy feeling useless, not easy at all when I’ve been accustomed to managing things.” He scratched his head again. “’Course, I did make a bit of a hash of matters.”

Serafina
decided to jump in with both feet, since she’d just been given a perfect opening for her proposition. “Lord Delaware—Papa,” she added for effect, “I can think of something you could do that would be most helpful, and I’m sure Aiden would have no objections.”

“Eh? What’s that, girl?” he asked, squinting his eyes at her as if he could bring her into better focus.

“You can help me.”

“Help you? Help you do what?”

“Help me put the gardens in order. I have no one else at the moment, and I’m making such slow progress on my own. Would you be willing? I’d be so grateful.”

Lord Delaware stared at her, as did his daughter. “You want
me
to dig in the garden?”

“Yes …” she said, steeling herself for disapproval. “I think Aiden would be so happy to know you were making an effort to put things right. It might make up for—for other things that have gone wrong.”

The disapproval she expected came instantaneously from Charlotte. “Are you mad?” she said, her tone biting. “You can’t mean that you expect my father to work in the gardens like a common laborer?”

“Why not?” Raphael asked reasonably. “Working at something might actually do him some good, and furthermore, I believe
Serafina
has a point.
Aiden
would be pleased to see your father making himself useful about the place.”

Lord Delaware frowned at Raphael. “Do you really think so? I would so like to have Aiden look on me kindly. He doesn’t at all, y’know.”

“I think he would look on you very kindly indeed.”
Serafina
wasn’t at all sure that would be the case, but she’d deal with that problem when the time came. Right now her will was bent toward seeing her purpose fulfilled, and she was grateful that Raphael championed her cause with Charlotte, who clearly worshiped the ground he walked on. At least she’d buttoned her lips in the face of Raphael’s approbation.

“Do you think you might want to try?” she said. “Just think, you really might enjoy yourself.”

“Well, I—I don’t know. Maybe I would enjoy myself. My dear Isabel always did love her gardens,” he said, his eyes suddenly welling with tears. “I might feel a little closer to her out there. And if you think Aiden will be pleased, that would be all to the good, wouldn’t it?”

“I believe it would, nearly as much as it would please your wife to see you taking care of something she loved.”
Serafina
smiled at him, but her heart broke to see how deeply he missed his wife, how truly lonely he was. “You can do it as a tribute to her memory.”

He reached his hands out and grabbed hers up, clasping them in a tight embrace, squeezing them until
Serafina
thought her blood might be cut off. “Then I will,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s a magnificent idea, my dear, a magnificent idea—I can’t think why I didn’t come up with it myself. When do we start?”

“Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” she said, hugely pleased with his capitulation and surprised it had been that easy to convince him. “I’ll meet you in the rose garden. I’ve been trying to put the bushes into order, but there’s so much more to be done.”

“I will be there,” he said. “Isabel was particularly proud of her roses. Perhaps together we can bring them back to their former glory.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I am sure of it,” she said as Plum announced dinner.

“A tribute,” he murmured. “Yes. Maybe she will look down on me from her place in heaven and know I love her still.”

“Oh, yes,” Serafina
said, deciding to plant one more idea in his head and praying it would take root. “And just think how happy she’ll be to see you outdoors, living a healthy, productive life, celebrating the earth’s blessings with clear eyes and a glad heart in her honor.”

“Yes. Yes, indeed,” he replied, scratching his head. “She would like that, wouldn’t she?”

“Very much,”
Serafina
said as she tucked her hand into the crook of Lord Delaware’s elbow and led him into the dining room, wondering if the goddess didn’t have a divine plan for her after all.

Maybe she had been sent to Townsend to make it a happy place again.

A
iden
pulled off his jacket, loosened his neckcloth, and threw himself onto his bed at the Grillion, where he had taken up residence until he could buy a house. His so-dependable father had sold their own.

“Bloody idiot,” Aiden said with disgust, cupping his hands behind his head. He hadn’t been so tired in a long time, but he felt a great deal better than he had a month before.

Serafina’s money had seen to all his financial problems, as much energy as it had taken to clear them. He’d spent virtually every waking hour of the last month dashing around London and Southampton, doling out huge sums to various creditors, charming bankers, hauling around letters of credit.

He’d managed to regroup the fleet of ships, many of which had fallen into disrepair and been consigned to dry dock. He’d arranged for cargo and more people to be paid, even more to be hired since so many had been laid off. But the task was done, the company back up and running, ships sailing all over the world again.

And all of this thanks to his wife, the wife he hadn’t wanted in the first place.

Serafina.
He closed his eyes and brought her sweet face to mind for the hundredth time that week. God, how he wished she were with him. He wanted to show her London, see her light up with pleasure at the sights and sounds of a city, take her to the opera, dance with her, introduce her to his friends—if he had any left. It had been a long, long time since he’d been back, and the few people he’d run into hadn’t been overflowing with warmth.

It was probably just as well that
Serafina
wasn’t with him this time, he decided, since not only wouldn’t he have been able to entertain her, but he also obviously had some damage to undo on his father’s behalf. But still…

He breathed out in longing, remembering the feel of her body pressed against his own through the one night they’d had together.
Serafina
had slept soundly, but he’d hardly closed his eyes, drinking in the fragrant scent of her hair that reminded him of walking through a herb garden in the warm summer sun. Her soft, supple limbs had curved so naturally into his own, the rise and fall of her breathing soft and even against his chest, inciting waves of desire in him as he held her protectively into the small hours before dawn.

He’d been absurdly touched by her performance at dinner, which had run the gamut from defensiveness to fear to gratitude—if he could call it that—for his having hired Tinkerby. And then had come the final act, when Serafina’s eyes had blinked and blurred, and she’d actually looked at him with something akin to affection. Even tenderness, if he was stupid enough to believe that.

That had been the finest moment of all. Maybe he ought to ply her with wine more often, he considered. Well, maybe not, given the disastrous effect it had on her other senses. But all in all, he really couldn’t wait to get home, and that was not an emotion that had occurred in the past with any frequency.

A pounding started at the door and Tinkerby appeared carrying an armload of clothes. “’Ere you are, my lord, all cleaned and pressed, just the way you like them. And her ladyship’s trunks have been delivered downstairs. Won’t she be pleased tomorrow when she sees all the finery you’ve bought her?”

“I hope so, Tinkerby,” Aiden said, sitting up. “I sincerely hope so. On the other hand, she might well bash me over the head. Your mistress doesn’t strike me as being interested in the finer things in life.”

“Aye, well I reckon that’s only because she hasn’t had them for so long. Like I told you, Miss Serafina’s an unspoiled girl.”

“Yes, you’ve told me a great many things, not the least of which is that my wife has lived a highly unusual
life
for a long time, thanks to her aunt.”

“You mustn’t go misunderstanding about Miss Elspeth, or I’ll regret every word I ever said,” Tinkerby said, throwing Aiden’s neatly pressed clothes into a heap on the chair. “She’s a good woman she is, and I won’t have you taking her wrong, even if she does have some odd ways of looking at things. She brought Miss
Serafina
up with the sole idea in mind that she’d be your wife, and I have to give her credit for that, anyway, even if she did go about it in a different fashion. At least she did it with love.”

Aiden shot a disbelieving look at Tinkerby. As he’d intended when he took Tinkerby on, he’d gleaned a great deal of highly useful information from the man, which more than made up for Aiden’s having to tolerate wrinkled linen and creased jackets, not to mention a constantly nicked face. But for Tinkerby to sing Elspeth Beaton’s praises really did stretch his credulity, since Tinkerby was usually starchy on the subject of Serafina’s aunt. But then again, Tinkerby was starchy on almost every subject and he strongly suspected Tinkerby’s starchiness hid a heart of gold.

“As you say,” Aiden replied. “At least she did it with love.” He wished, not for the first time, that he was able to offer
Serafina
the same thing. But even if he could, he doubted very much that she’d have anything to do with him.

Still, maybe there was yet a shred of hope that he could convince her to like him, as much of an uphill battle as that appeared.

Serafina
watched carefully as Raphael demonstrated the proper carving of a wood pigeon, his deft movements punctuated by continuous commentary, most of which had her in stitches.

“Down the middle, sword wielded with courage, carcass split like so. And so, the dastardly deed is done, the swordsman victorious and hungry, ready to consume the conquered. The only problem is avoiding choking on the bones of the unwilling victim.” He popped the meat into his mouth, chewing, then took hold of his throat and coughed wildly.

An alarmed footman leapt instantly to his side, and Raphael had to wave him away with an apology.

Serafina
pealed with laughter. She’d vastly enjoyed the last three weeks of Raphael’s daily tutelage, even though the first afternoon that she’d arrived at Southwell she’d been horribly cowed, feeling like an impostor at his magnificent door.

But he greeted her with ease, inviting her in as if he were asking her into a small, comfortable cottage instead of the hugest house she’d ever seen. He made the lessons more like a game, taking her through one step and then the next, making fun of it all, never once allowing her to feel silly or ignorant.

They covered table manners, appropriate forms of address, practiced taking tea, pretended to make calls and hand cards to butlers, various comers turned to indicate the form of call. He taught her about bowing and scraping, or not bowing and scraping according to the order of precedence, and was deliciously irreverent about it all.

Through everything Raphael had been nothing but a friend to her.
Serafina
had never had a friend before, and she liked the experience enormously.

The only thing she found unsettling was the way that Raphael talked nonstop about Aiden, telling her about their life together, their boyhood exploits, their time at university where they got into all sorts of scrapes. She wouldn’t have minded hearing about Aiden so often, except that Raphael made Aiden sound positively likable. She couldn’t help but wonder if Raphael had ever seen Aiden’s darker side, the side that took advantage of innocent girls, the side that charmed while it tried to seduce.

And yet, if she was to be truly honest with herself, she had to admit that her opinion of Aiden was slowly changing, shaped by the stories Raphael told that filled out his character, shaped also by her growing understanding of the unhappy life he’d led at Townsend.

It couldn’t ever have been easy for him, and there were times that her heart ached for him, for she knew what it was like to grow up without a mother, and his father had been as good as absent. He must have been as lonely as she during his childhood. Only instead of dreaming fairy tales about true love and make-believe castles, he had gone in the opposite direction, seeing life as a harsh reality to be survived. And who was to say Aiden wasn’t right? Her version of life hadn’t had much basis in truth.

“Conversation, please,” Raphael said, watching carefully as
Serafina
attempted to dissect her wood pigeon in the manner he’d demonstrated. “You must be able to talk at the same time as eating, although not with your mouth full. How is Lord Delaware today?”

“He’s fine,” she said, struggling with her knife.

“No sign of backsliding?”

“Not so far. As I told you, he has a glass or two of wine with dinner, but other than that he seems reasonably clearheaded. He goes out to the garden first thing in the morning and stays there until four o’clock practice.”

“Ah, yes,” Raphael said, the comer of his mouth quirking up. “Practice. Are you making progress with the staff?”

Serafina
finally managed to spear the pigeon in the correct manner with her fork. “Yes, they’re doing very well, and they’re actually enjoying themselves.”

“I’m sure they’re having an unusually good time,” he said, his smile broadening.

“But they do take their work very seriously, so I don’t
think
Aiden will be offended,” she added, pushing down with her knife.

“I’m sure Aiden will be delighted, and not just by the surprise you have planned. Have you heard anything as to when he returns?”

“No, not a word, although I expect it will be any day. Oh, no!” she exclaimed as half the pigeon went flying off the plate and into her lap. She looked down at it despondently. “I’m not sure I’m ever going to have the way of being a countess,” she said mournfully, picking the piece up with her fingers and putting it back on her plate.

“Nonsense. You’re doing beautifully,” Raphael said in a muffled voice through the folds of his napkin.

“Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.

“Certainly not. I was—I was just clearing my throat. Try holding your fork and knife a little more firmly—that’s better,” he said. “Now press down hard but with steady pressure, and try not to look as if you’re tackling a rhinoceros. And countesses generally do not poke their tongues out of the side of their mouth when they’re carving their food.”

Serafina
looked up with a grin. “I can’t help it. This requires tremendous concentration.”

“So I can see,” he said dryly. “Concentrate all you wish, but please converse. How is Charlotte?”

“Well …
I thought she’d be pleased about her father’s progress, but she’s still annoyed that he’s behaving like a laborer.”
Serafina
finally managed to successfully slice the bird in quarters and she popped a piece into her mouth with relief. “She doesn’t think Lord Delaware’s new occupation is suitable for a marquess,” she said through her mouthful, belatedly remembering not to talk with her mouth full as one of Raphael’s eyebrows rose.

“At least she is being more cordial to you,” Raphael said, politely filling in the conversational gap while she chewed and swallowed.

“Much more cordial,” she said, nodding.

“Do you think Charlotte might be adjusting to the idea that you’re Aiden’s wife and therefore a permanent fixture at Townsend?”

“Oh, no. I don’t know if she’ll ever adjust to that idea, but I do think she might be feeling better.”

“Feeling better?” Raphael said, both eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure that it was working, but I managed to talk a potion out of Aunt Elspeth for Charlotte’s back.”

“A potion?” Raphael said, staring at her in disbelief. “What sort of potion?
Oh,
lord—is this some kind of witch’s brew your aunt has concocted?”

“It’s perfectly safe, I assure you. Aunt Elspeth is actually very clever with medicines, even though she can seem a little muddled at times. Charlotte’s footman rubs it on twice daily and helps her do some exercises that will stretch out her knotted muscles, part of what causes her pain, I think.”

“Her
footman?
What in the name of God do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know what else to call him,” she said. “He’s the one who carries her up and down the stairs and puts her into bed.”

“Frederick,” Raphael said impatiently. “But do you mean to say that he’s rubbing this stuff all over Charlotte’s body?”

“Yes,” Serafina
said, puzzled by his astonishment. “Elspeth said Charlotte had to have someone with strong hands to do the job properly, and Frederick seemed the logical choice.”

“And Charlotte is actually putting up with this?” he said, resting both arms on the table and leaning forward, looking at her skeptically.

“She didn’t like the idea very much at first,”
Serafina
admitted in a gross understatement, “but when I told her about how the oil helped Tinkerby’s rheumatism, which can get so bad that he has to go to bed for days on end, she finally changed her mind.”

“Fascinating,” he said. “What’s in this magic potion?”

“I have no idea. I know there are oils of rosemary, juniper, and something called lemongrass, but the rest is Aunt Elspeth’s closely guarded secret. She only perfected the recipe last year.”