Lovers Forever (16 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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“Oh?”
“Well, it probably doesn't mean very much, and I really must say that I don't care much for his friends—raffish-looking fellows who are strangers to the area. There have been quite a few stories of some strange doings at the Hall these days.” An expression of displeasure on her face, she added, “I understand that for a lark they like to join the ‘owlers' upon occasion, helping them move their goods. Apparently tweaking the noses of the dragoons is considered great fun. The old squire would never have countenanced such goings-on!”
Nicolas sat up straighter on his chair. Frampton Hall was located at the edge of Romney Marsh, and the smugglers headquartered in that area had long been referred to as “owlers” by the local inhabitants. With Roxbury's request uppermost in his mind, he found it most interesting that the new squire, even if just for amusement, was helping the smugglers—especially those “raffish” friends of his....
“Have the smugglers increased their activities these days?” Nicolas asked with deceptive idleness.
Pallas fluttered her lashes at him. “Now how would I know about such illegal goings-on?”
“Because,” he returned with a laugh, “there is very little that occurs within fifty miles of here that you
don't
know about!”
She smiled. “Perhaps, but I don't want to talk about those nasty owlers! Let me tell you about some of the newcomers to the neighborhood.” She looked very sly. “And their daughters....”
Nicolas groaned. “Grandmother! I know I've promised to find a bride, but I had hoped for a brief respite from simpering damsels in clinging muslin!”
“Oh, pooh! Stop complaining—you'll like these young women, I'm certain. And while your happiness is uppermost in my mind, there is no need for you to be so fussy about your bride that no female alive will ever suit you!” When Nicolas merely grimaced, she smiled and went on, “First there is Lord Spencer—a most delightful man—do you remember his cousin?” As Nicolas shook his head, she continued, “Well, he inherited the title and estate from his cousin about four years ago, and he and his family, two daughters and a son, live there very quietly, nearly year round. They are not extremely wealthy, but they do own several farms in the marsh and they are very well connected. The daughters are both intrepid horsewomen and with the jolliest personalities.” When Nicolas did not appear to be thrilled with this information, Pallas frowned at him.
“Nicolas, dear,” she finally said, “I know this is hard for you, but you must
sincerely
try to find a wife. At least meet these girls and look them over. You might be agreeably surprised at what you will find right under your nose.” Brightening, she said happily, “There is also Admiral Brownell's daughter—he retired a few years ago and they have settled in the old Caldwell house. You know, that odd place practically in the middle of the marsh—he's done some marvelous renovations with the house. Anyway, Jane is just turned eighteen, and she has the most charming manners—but of course, being the baby of her family, she
is
a little spoiled. There are a couple of older sons, too—you might enjoy their company.” Pallas hesitated. “Although,” she admitted reluctantly, “the oldest son, Robert, is considered somewhat wild, and, I believe, much to his father's dismay, sometimes joins John Frampton and his friends in their smuggling escapades.” She smiled angelically at him. “Now that you're here, perhaps you'll be a good influence on the men in the neighborhood.”
Recalling that conversation and the look of hopeful expectancy upon his grandmother's face, as he sipped his brandy in his rooms, Nicolas grimaced. Good God! If he had known what awaited him at Sherbourne Court, he would have certainly thought twice about leaving London. But then, thinking of the slender charms of the flame-haired occupant of the old gatekeeper's cottage, he smiled. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad fending off a trio of simpering damsels and playing nursemaid to a group of hell-born rapscallions, if it meant he could have Dolly, or whatever she called herself, in his arms....
Chapter Ten
T
ess woke with a start, her heart thudding painfully. As the remnants of the disturbing dream faded from her mind, she stared around her blankly, the unfamiliar surroundings making her heart pound even faster; but then, as she recognized the room where she lay, her breathing evened and she grimaced. The dream had been confusing and frightening, but not nearly as terrifying as waking and discovering that her memory still had not returned.
She went to bed each night with the childlike hope that the next morning she would wake and find that she had regained her memory. So far that hope had not been fulfilled, and to her growing dismay, she could still recall nothing of herself beyond the moment she had awakened lying in a sodden riding habit beneath the oak tree. It was as if her life began in those first seconds of consciousness—and no dream could be any more frightening.
But it had been an odd dream, she thought as she lay there in the lavender-scented bedclothes. The dream had been fragmented and was even now fuzzy in her mind, yet she could recall clearly the common thread that had run through it—urgency, the sensation that she must escape, the certainty that she had been running away from something. Vaguely she remembered that there had been two women in the dream— one had been white-haired, the other a sweet-faced woman well past her youth—but beyond that she could remember little about them, other than the fact that she had sensed they were extremely important to her, that they were, perhaps, the reason for her continued feeling of urgency.
Though the hour was early, Tess knew that she would sleep no more. Reluctantly she left the warmth of the bed. Remembering that a pitcher of water and a china bowl had been provided for her and left in the adjacent dressing room last night, she headed in that direction. After she had completed a hasty wash in the chilly water in the barren dressing room, she scuttled back into the main room to the fireplace and poked the dying embers into flames, throwing on a few pieces of wood to make a toasty fire. A brush and comb had also been provided, and seated on a small rug before the fire, she began to brush her hair in long, soothing strokes, her mind on the dream and what it might mean to her.
It was all jumbled and made no sense, but she was convinced that it held the answer to her memory loss—or at least the events leading up to her loss of memory. Her gaze far away, she tried to remember every detail about the dream that she could. There wasn't much. The two women; a long, dark gallery; spooky booms of thunder and great slashes of lightning against a black sky. A frantic ride through a storm; a looming, ominous figure and the Baron Mandeville....
She frowned, her hand stilling its rhythmic motions. Why had just that brief sighting of Mandeville caused such a violent reaction within her yesterday? Did she know him? Or did he simply remind her of someone she feared? And why had he been in her dreams? Was he somehow mixed up in her past? She shuddered. She hoped not. There had been something about that coldly handsome face that even now caused a feeling of deep unease within her. He frightened her, yet ... yet she was conscious of a great anger, a rage that burned in her breast whenever she thought of him.
The rattle of crockery caught her attention, and a moment later the door was opened cautiously and Jenny peeked her head around its solid bulk. Her eyes widened when she spied Tess sitting on the floor, and she cried with dismay, “Oh, miss! I know it's very early, but I thought I'd just sneak in and leave you some nice hot tea and some fresh-baked buns to have when you woke—and here you are already up!” Worry on her face, she asked, “Wasn't the bed comfortable? The master won't be best pleased if you don't have everything you want. He made that very clear before he left last night.” She beamed at her. “He's very taken with you!”
Under Jenny's interested stare, Tess could feel a hot blush staining her cheeks. Since awakening this morning, she had been caught up with thinking about her disjointed dream, but it was true that she had deliberately
not
thought about her invidious position and in particular the man who had placed her in it—the arrogant earl of Sherbourne! Deciding to ignore any reference to the earl, she muttered, “That's very nice of you, and some tea would be wonderful.”
Jenny smiled at her. Setting the heavily laden tray on one of the tables near the fire, she said, “I'll go get your gown—Mum did her best with it, and it should do nicely until the master can see about getting you some nice things.” Sympathy apparent in her eyes, she added, “It certainly was awful that your coach overturned and all your things were trampled and muddy. I think it's just terrible that you lost everything and had to borrow an old gown from an innkeeper's wife to have anything to wear!” At Tess's astonished expression, Jenny said kindly, “The earl explained everything to Mum yesterday. I thought it was just so exciting—I mean, your running away from a wicked stepfather and then your coach overturning and the earl rescuing you and all. And to think he was so struck by you that he immediately brought you here. So romantic!”
Tess nearly choked on the cup of tea she had helped herself to and wondered darkly if the earl had any more romantic tales with which to regale the servants. “Er, yes, it was, ah, quite adventuresome,” she said weakly.
Jenny beamed at her once more and then, promising to return shortly with the refurbished gown, bustled from the room. Tess watched her go, her thoughts of the earl not kind. A wicked stepfather! An overturned coach! She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn't claimed she was an actress! But how, the unpleasant thought suddenly occurred to her, did she know she
wasn't
an actress?
I'm not an actress, she insisted stubbornly to herself. I'd feel differently, if I were, I know I would. Her lips tightened. And I certainly wouldn't have been a virgin!
While not wanting to give herself airs, Tess was becoming more and more convinced that she was one of those fortunate members of the upper class. It wasn't that she felt superior to anyone, it was just little things—her easy acceptance of servants: her instinctive knowledge of the proper knife and fork; even the ability to recognize fine things and her innate expectation of a degree of comfort. She was more and more convinced that she wasn't a farmer's or shopkeeper's daughter any more than she was an actress or a tavern maid. Or, she thought bitterly, a whore. Nor did she believe that her role in life was the one a certain black-eyed earl had selected for her. But
who
was she?
By the time Jenny had returned with the pink gown and Tess had shooed her away and dressed and braided her hair on her own, she still didn't have any answers. Sighing, she wandered about the room, stopping now and then to gaze out the lead-paned windows. The sunshine of yesterday was a thing of the past—it was raining again, and the day was not inviting. As a matter of fact, staring out at the damp view—the wet, fading rose garden, the dripping foliage, and the occasional glimpse of the great Romney Marsh through breaks in the trees—Tess decided that her mood fit the weather: bleak and not very inviting.
It was still very early in the day. Deciding to sample a second cup of tea and enjoy another one of the plump currant-filled buns, she settled herself once more before the fire. At least, she reminded herself gloomily, she was warm and dry and fed. She supposed she should be grateful, but the notion lingered that she was going to pay a high price, had
already
paid a high price for such common comforts.
How long Tess sat there, sipping her tea, eating her bun, and staring blankly at the fire, she didn't know. It was some time, she knew. Her unhappy thoughts had not brought her to any conclusions, but gradually, as the minutes passed, almost imperceptibly she became conscious of a disturbingly odd feeling. A prickling sensation was sliding down her spine, an awareness that she couldn't explain. She had the feeling that she was no longer alone, that someone else was in the room with her. She looked quickly around, but she was alone; no one had entered to disturb her solitude.... Yet the feeling persisted, growing stronger, and as she stared about her, she suddenly had the curious impression that she had been here before—frequently. That she
recognized
this room. Recognized the intricate arrangement of the timbered ceiling; the peculiar-shaped pane in the left-hand corner of one of the windows that overlooked the rose garden; the rough-edged stone just below the mantel in the middle of the fireplace.... It was the same sort of compelling recognition that she had felt when she had first laid eyes on the earl of Sherbourne at the Black Pig. The more she stared, the more familiar the room became, even the bed and its faded silk hangings—only in her mind's eye the fabric was newer, the colors were brighter, and the bed was placed in a different position from where it currently sat. With paralyzing certainty she knew that this was not the first time she had stayed here.
It was unsettling, and she sprang to her feet and then laughed nervously at herself. What was the matter with her? One would think that she was being haunted by ghosts or some such sort of nonsense! It was ridiculous!
She might be able to dismiss her thoughts as lively imagination, but overcome with the need for human company, she fairly bolted from the room. Only when she stepped into the wide hall downstairs was she able to stop her headlong rush and walk into the main room of the cottage with any amount of decorum.
A fire had been lit in anticipation of her arrival. Feeling the need for its warmth, Tess hurried over to stand in front of it. She could hear Rose and Jenny laughing in the next room as they went about cleaning the cottage, and in spite of the rain, it appeared that another wagonload of furniture had arrived from the earl's seemingly cavernous storerooms. The double doors of the house banged open, and she heard Tom and John muttering and swearing as they maneuvered a huge, blanket-covered table into the room in which she stood.
Catching sight of her, Tom flushed and muttered, “Miss! We do apologize—Mum would have our ears if she knew that we had used such language in front of you. We had no idea you had come downstairs.”
Tess smiled at their anxious faces and said, “That's quite all right—if I had to struggle with the load you're carrying, I'm sure that I might forget myself and say something equally as, er, earthy!”
Rose and Jenny had been drawn by their conversation, and spying Tess standing by the fire, they both bobbed a quick curtsy. “Would you like some more tea or buns?” Jenny asked. “Or, if you'd like, Mum will cook you up a rasher or two of bacon and some fine country eggs.”
“No, no, I'm fine,” Tess replied with an easy smile. “Just continue what you were doing.”
The quartet took her at her word. Rose and Jenny disappeared immediately, and the two men continued to haul the unwieldy table toward its destination. Tess found herself following in their wake, as much because she wanted to see what they were doing as from a need
not
to be alone and beset with silly notions! Hauntings and ghosts indeed!
During the morning impressive progress had been made in the dining room. Despite the weather, the windows glistened and the room was taking on an appealing appearance of which Tess approved. A grand, old-fashioned crystal chandelier had been hung in the center of the room; heavy velvet drapes had also been hung, the color softened with age to a warm, rich, pale burgundy; and an Aubusson carpet in cream and burgundy lay on the polished oak floor. The table the men had been carrying was lowered gently into place beneath the chandelier, and when the blankets were removed, Tess gazed with admiration upon its fine mahogany finish and Baroque style.
With time on her hands and not wishing to dwell on her situation, she spent most of the remainder of the morning busily supervising the unloading and placement of the furniture throughout the cottage. By the time the last object had been brought inside, and there seemed an enormous amount of them, the place had begun to take on a charmingly comfortable air: deeply hued draperies hung at the windows; vibrant oil paintings were on the walls; and exquisite odds and ends were scattered about the cottage. Many of the pieces were old, but all were of excellent workmanship and in beautiful condition. Looking around her, Tess decided that
if
she really were the sort of woman to become the mistress of an earl, she would be very pleased with the setting that had been provided for her.

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