No Greater Love (11 page)

Cyril’s face went redder and redder as Nicholas spoke, and Georgia was glad for his embarrassment. If Cyril had chosen to side with Jacqueline against Nicholas, at least he could see with his own eyes what his stepmother had done.

“Lily,” Nicholas said as she came out with a platter of cold meat and potatoes, “lay another place, please. Lord Brabourne will be dining with us today.”

Lily’s eyes widened with surprise, but she curtsied and did as she was asked.

Cyril said very little during the meal, and he kept his eyes down. Indeed, Nicholas did most of the talking. “It was a shame to have to bring my wife home to this, but I had no choice,” he said. “I’ve tried hard to describe to Georgia the beauty of the Close before it was pillaged and then allowed to fall to bits. It appears as if there must have been a bad storm at some point, which ripped half the roof away. We’ve had some cold, wet nights, I can tell you. I look forward to the spring. More water, Cyril? Georgia? It doesn’t help to be only a few miles from the sea, either, for that only encourages the damp and rot. Oh, by the by, Georgia, I asked Binkley to bring the seedlings you requested when he returns. You can start them indoors in my mother’s old room off the buttery.”

“Thank you, Nicholas,” she said. “You are always so thoughtful.”

Cyril frowned.

Nicholas stood and went over to the window, looking out over the garden where the hedges and shrubs ran wild and the weeds stood tall in the old beds. A dead tree, once a magnificent elm, stood blackened and forlorn, its branches hanging over the wall as if they were sadly trying to reach in and touch the past. “If you really can bring this back to life, Georgia,” he said, “there is no effort too great.”

He looked over at Cyril, whose eyes slid away.

“Well,” Nicholas said, “we had better get back to work. There’s much to be done before dark sets in. Cyril, go with Georgia. She will let you know what needs doing.”

He walked out the door without looking back.

“Come with me, Cyril,” Georgia said. “And try to look pleasant. You don’t want to wither what few growing things there are.”

“I … I’m only doing this because I w-want to,” Cyril said belligerently.

“I’m sure you are. And both your cousin and I appreciate your help.”

“It didn’t t-take him long to s-seduce you, did it?” he said nastily. “All your talk about p-propriety, and you ran off with h-him the first chance you g-got.”

Georgia glared at him. She knew this mood well enough, and she also knew how to deal with it. “You wouldn’t dare to say that in front of Nicholas, would you? And you won’t speak like that to me either. Whatever your feelings might be, you can keep them to yourself, because I’m not interested in hearing them.”

He scowled and kicked at the floor with the toe of his boot.

“It might surprise you to know that Nicholas cares about you very much, and I think it’s very bad of you to have treated him as you have. But that’s between the two of you. However, while you’re on this property, you will behave with decency and respect. Now, come along. You can start by pulling up the weeds out front. Lily and I are digging up the beds.”

She marched out, and Cyril followed like a sullen, chastised puppy at the heel.

“How did it go?” Nicholas asked Georgia over dinner that night. “There didn’t seem to be much conversation, from what I could see.”

“I boxed his ears and he sulked the rest of the afternoon, which was just as well, for I didn’t feel like speaking to him in the least. When he gets into these moods, he is impossible.”

“He worked hard enough,” Nicholas said.

“Yes, and it’s probably the first day’s work he’s done in his life. There are times I feel sorry for him, locked away at Ravenswalk with Jacqueline and a sick father, but the fact is, the boy is spoiled, Nicholas.”

“That won’t last for long. I have a plan.”

“I thought you might. What is it?”

“Well … it was a stroke of good fortune to catch him spying today. He’s no doubt terrified that I’ll tell Jacqueline, for I’m sure he’s been told to keep away on pain of death. But I have the feeling that Cyril secretly longs to make a friendly overture. He can’t have completely forgotten how he used to tag along at my heels everywhere.”

“No, I imagine not. But then, he’s been under Jacqueline’s influence for so long, and there was the problem between you and your uncle…”

Nicholas nodded. “Yes, I know. And I plan to begin to visit my uncle while Cyril is busy over here and not inclined to interfere. I might as well take full advantage of Jacqueline’s absence.”

“She’s gone?” Georgia said with surprise. “How do you know?”

“Binkley has his sources in the village. She is most definitely gone, and she won’t be back for a good long time.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful news.”

“It is indeed. And good for Cyril too, I think, not having her influence. I think what the boy needs more than anything is fresh air and hard work. And he needs to be exposed to a family, some normalcy. Well, relative normalcy. He’s been too much alone. He needs a man to show him how to go on, and I’m sure he’ll soon learn that I’m not the ogre I’ve been made out to be. You might think me an ogre, Georgia, but I promise you, underneath this repulsive exterior, I’m not all bad. Mostly, but not all.”

‘Nicholas!” she said in laughing protest. “You know I don’t consider you repulsive in the least, nor an ogre. Are you fishing for compliments?”

“I wasn’t,” he said wistfully. “But should I? Would you give them to me?”

“You know perfectly well that you are an extremely attractive man. In fact, no doubt you not only know it, but I imagine you have been told so time and time again by an enormous assortment of women.”

“But never by you,” he said softly.

“Well, you are. You have only to look at Cyril to see yourself.”

“I don’t see it. In what way do I resemble Cyril?”

“Your coloring, for one thing. You both have exactly the same black hair and gray eyes. And then there’s the arch of your brows, and also the shape of your mouths.”

“Oh?” he said. “And what shape is that?”

“Well, wide, I suppose. And full, although your bottom lip is slightly fuller than the upper.”

Nicholas ran his finger over his mouth. “Interesting.” He leaned over and reached the same finger out, touching her lips. “Yours is different,” he said, outlining it. “Yours is shaped like a bow, with two little curves upward at the corner. Oh, and it’s rosy. Did I mention rosy?”

“No,” she said, thinking the accursed fever was coming upon her again.

“Well, it is. I don’t believe my mouth is rosy in the least.”

“No. It’s … it’s the same color as the rest of you.”

“Flesh-colored?” he said.

She nodded.

“How dull. Excuse me. May I?” He leaned even further forward as if he were reaching for something, and the next thing she knew, those lips were on hers. The touch was very light, and his mouth, slightly open, moved softly, as if he were tasting.

A moment later he had pulled away and was sitting back in his chair as if he’d never moved. Georgia stared at him, touching her mouth with shaking fingers. “What did you do that for?” she said, her voice unsteady.

“I wanted to see how rosy tasted. Sweet, I discovered, and soft. I would say like early strawberries, but that’s not quite it. How did flesh-colored taste?”

Georgia was thoroughly rattled, but she couldn’t really refuse him an answer. “It was like … like flesh.”

“Oh, Georgia, you disappoint me. Flesh can taste any number of ways. Salty, dirty, soapy, fresh, stuffy, like camphor—”

“You did
not
taste like camphor,” she said, unable to resist laughing. “If anything, you tasted like wine and sunshine. Or maybe the smell of sunshine was from your hair. I’m not sure. Smell and taste go hand in hand.”

“Yes, quite right. But if anyone’s hair smells of sunshine, it is yours.” He casually rose and bent his head to her cap of curls, and Georgia found her heart was beating wildly.

“Yes, I was right. Sunshine, just as I said. It’s appropriate, given its color.” As he straightened, his fingers lightly brushed the side of her neck.

She clenched her hands together in her lap.

“Georgia,” he said, taking his seat again and regarding her with grave concern, “you’re not catching cold, are you? You’re shivering, and your face is flushed.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, wishing the shivering would stop. “I’m probably just tired.”

“Tired?” He leaned his chin on his fist and regarded her lazily, with that look in his eyes. “You’re tired? Are you sure that’s what it is? You don’t usually tire easily.”

“I know, but it has been a long day. I think I’ll retire early. Forgive me if I don’t sit next door with you this evening.”

“Don’t trouble yourself in the least,” he said, looking extremely amused. “But should you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Good night, Nicholas.” She nearly fled the room, and she heard his soft laugh follow her down the hall. She was beginning to think there was something very wrong with her.

She mixed a strong cup of nerve relaxant before going to bed that night.

“Tea?” Nicholas asked the next morning, putting down his quill as Georgia entered the dining room. “There’s a pot just here, and I think it’s still hot. Lily can make fresh, if you’d prefer.”

“No, that will be fine. Thank you,” she remembered to say, for she was preoccupied.

He poured her a cup and handed it to her. “And how are you this fine morning? I thought I heard you tossing and turning in the night.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” he said cheerfully, and bent down to feed Raleigh a piece of toast.

“Well, I slept soundly as far as I am aware. Although I did have a very peculiar dream, so perhaps that is why I tossed.”

“Tell me, Georgia, sweet. I am a master at peculiar dreams,” he said with a touch of irony. “Please—don’t think you’ll bore me for a moment.”

“Well … it’s all a bit vague, but I remember that I was in a strange place, somewhere I didn’t recognize. It was dark and cold, and there was an ogre—don’t laugh, Nicholas.”

“Oh, dear God,” he said, putting his head in his hand for a moment. “Sorry. Go on.”

“I am sure you put the idea of ogres in my head last night with your silliness. Anyway, there was an ogre—or actually, it was more like a troll. Do you know about trolls?”

“I do, indeed,” he said, making a valiant effort to keep a straight face. “I had an Orkney nurse who told me terrible stories about them.”

“Really?” she said, her face lighting up. “My father was from the Highlands. He was very fond of troll stories. My mother could never understand why he persisted in terrifying me with them.”

“I can imagine. Which is no doubt why you are dreaming about them to this day. And what did this particular troll do?”

“That was the odd thing. He was chasing me, and I was trying to run away, with that awful feeling that my feet were stuck and I couldn’t move, do you know?”

Nicholas nodded. “And then?”

“I was very frightened. There was a table, and I knew that if I didn’t escape, the troll would tie me up on the table and eat me for his supper. Alive.”

Nicholas grinned again and shook his head.

“So there I was, trying to run and not getting anywhere, and I looked over my shoulder to see how close he had come, certain it was the end of me. But when I looked, the troll had shrunk. He grew smaller and smaller as I watched, and the voice he was shouting in became higher and higher until it was just a tiny squeak. And then he went up in a wisp of smoke.”

“Really? How fascinating.”

“Wait, I haven’t finished. Once I knew I was free, I caught my breath and looked around. I was in the cellar of a house. I couldn’t think how I had come to be there, or what had made the troll vanish. And then I saw. There was a man standing in the doorway. He was dressed in a suit of armor and he had a lance—”

“Not the
prince,”
Nicholas said. “Oh, Georgia, you are incorrigible.”

“He wasn’t a prince in the least. That was the other odd thing. This man’s armor, it imprisoned him. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it was sad, that he’d been locked away inside this horrible thing for years. I thought he must have been another prisoner of the troll’s, but die troll hadn’t been able to eat him because he couldn’t get him out of his armor. So in a way, he’d been lucky, even if he was trapped and uncomfortable.”

Nicholas leaned forward, his eyes dancing wickedly. “Let me guess. You ran over to him on tiptoe, of course, and you kissed the chin piece on his helmet—I assume there was a chin piece?’’

“There was, and I certainly did not. I am not given to kissing strangers, Nicholas, despite what you might think. I went over to him, and I asked him to tell me what I might do to help him.”

“Oh, of course. How silly of me.”

“Nicholas, I will not go on if you persist in teasing me.”

“Sorry. My humble pardon. Please, don’t stop now.”

“I asked him what I might do to help him, and he said in a deep, melancholy voice, ‘Inside my breastplate there is a seed. You must take this seed and plant it in the earth. Your love will be its sunshine, your tears its water. From this seed will grow a mighty tree, and the tree will bear fruit. Take the first of the fruit and bring it to me.’ “

“I’m telling you, it’s the prince.”

“And I’m telling you, he was
not
the prince. Whose dream is this, anyway?”

Nicholas grinned. “It’s certainly not mine. It has your trademark all over it.”

“So let me tell it my way. I reached my hand out, wondering how to get through the breastplate.”

“This is going to be good,” Nicholas said with a choked laugh. “Maybe it will give me some insight into the tactics of frontal assault.”

“Nicholas, I really will not tell you the rest if you keep interrupting,” Georgia said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “And there is no insight to be had. I should never have taken the tisane before bed, that’s all. Anyway, I reached my hand out to his breastplate, and suddenly in my palm lay a tiny golden seed. I took it outside—”

“I thought you were in a cellar.”

“Well, I was, but this is a dream. The next thing I knew, I was outside in the most beautiful garden. In the very center of the garden was a little piece of tilled earth. I carefully placed the seed in the earth, and I patted it down. I thought of the poor sad man, and I cried, and then I thought of how happy he would be to be free after all this time. The earth trembled, and a shoot appeared, and it grew before my eyes into an enormous great tree. I’m not sure what kind. But it was big.” She looked at Nicholas suspiciously, for his shoulders seemed to be shaking. But his head was turned away, so she couldn’t see his expression “And on the tree was an apple—stupid, I know, for it certainly wasn’t an apple tree.”

“Golden?” Nicholas asked breathlessly, looking back at her.

“What?”

“The apple. Was it golden?”

“No. It was an ordinary old apple. Well, it wasn’t ordinary. I mean, it wasn’t riddled with worms or anything. It was red and ripe and quite beautiful.”

“Oh, my God,” he said, looking completely disbelieving. “What did you do with this red, ripe, beautiful apple?”

“I picked it, naturally, and I took it back to the man in armor.”

“Yes?” he said, his lips trembling. “And what did you find, my sweet Georgia? Tell me quickly, love, for I cannot bear the suspense.”

“That was the saddest thing. He was dead.”

“
Dead?
What do you mean, he was dead? He can’t have been dead.” Nicholas looked mightily surprised, even disappointed, and Georgia saw that he’d become involved in her story, despite his teasing. Well, she could tease as well as he.

“He was quite dead. He lay there on the ground in his heavy armor, and I didn’t know what to do. Here I was with his apple, having done everything exactly as he’d said. But he hadn’t said anything about dying. I didn’t think it would be right to eat the apple myself.”

“No, absolutely not. You certainly couldn’t have done that. I can see you were placed in a very difficult position. And what did you do?”

“I placed the apple in his gloved hand. And then I went back outside to the garden. I was very worried it might have wilted because he had died.”

“Dear heaven, this is getting better and better by the moment. And what did you find?”

“Well…” Georgia said slowly, reeling him in. “I found the troll.”

“Not the troll? Surely not the troll? Oh, Georgia. Why the hell did it have to be the troll? I thought we’d dispatched the troll.”

“We had. But that’s the thing about trolls. They keep coming back. And my feet were stuck, and I was trying to run, and I looked over my shoulder…”

Nicholas burst into laughter. “You’re a wicked woman, Georgia Daventry. But it doesn’t wash, and you haven’t bested me yet. Now, tell me the truth. How did the dream really end?”

“And you won’t laugh at me if I tell you?”

“I’ll try very hard not to, but I cannot guarantee it. Back to the apple. What did you do with it?”

“I did put it in his hand. And I did go outside. But what I found was very different. There was a garden, but it was this one, and you were on your knees digging in it and swearing under your breath as you tried to dislodge a root. There was no great tree and no apple and nothing other than the soil and the cross expression on your face. And I’m deeply sorry, but there was no prince.” She grinned.

Nicholas laughed even harder. “Oh, Lord. And that really is the truth?”

“Yes, that is the truth. Boring, isn’t it?”

“Boring? Dear God, you’re anything but boring, sweetheart.” He dissolved, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking so violently that Georgia almost worried for him. He looked up at her, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, Georgia, I do find your way of expressing yourself most elucidating. I don’t know whether to be downcast or elated.” He fell into hoots again.

“Nicholas, you make no sense. What do you find so amusing?’’

“I can’t quite explain—it must be an aberration of the brain. I have a tendency to have these storms. Please, Georgia, forgive me. It is of little import. I am often foolish.”

“You are not often foolish in the least, and I shall not ever tell you another dream as long as I live, if this is the way you choose to behave. I feel very silly.”

“If you feel so silly, then why is your smile so wide? I know it was your dream, but you did tell it to me, and tell it charmingly. I think you enjoyed the telling as much as I enjoyed the tale.”

Raleigh gave a low growl, and Nicholas’ expression suddenly sobered as his eyes went past her to the door. “Good morning, Cyril,” he said, his voice now cool. “How long have you been standing there, I wonder?”

“Long enough to hear a s-stupid s-story about apples and armor,” Cyril said. “Oh, and let us not forget t-trolls.”

“And let us not forget, my dear Cyril, that it is impolite to let one’s presence go unannounced. Don’t let it happen again. We might appreciate your help, but we also appreciate our privacy, and you seem to have developed a habit of, shall we say, watching others?” Nicholas stood, and Georgia was amazed by the severity of his voice. She had not heard the tone from him before. “Now. It is time to set to work,’’ he said more kindly. “Georgia, I will meet you and Cyril back here for luncheon. Cyril, I trust you will help Georgia in every particular that she asks.”

“Wh-whatever you w-wish, sir.” Cyril’s intonation in no way agreed with his words.

“It is exactly what I wish. Actually, there are a great many things that I wish, but this is what I would ask of you. Thank you, Cyril.” He gave his cousin a long, undecipherable look, which seemed to have the desired effect, for Cyril’s eyes shot to the ground and his open defiance vanished.

Nicholas then gave Georgia a warm smile and touched her shoulder as he passed. “Have a happy morning digging.”

“I will, thank you. We start cultivating the back garden today. The front is finished for the moment. Cyril did a brilliant job yesterday of taking out the remainder of the weeds.”

“I saw. I hope you are as successful on the other side.”

“I am sure we will be.” She smiled in return, and Nicholas shook his head again and gave a short laugh, gave Raleigh a pat, then strode off to his work by way of the kitchen.

“Cyril, do try to be more gentle,” Georgia said for the tenth time as he took the hoe to the earth with a vengeance. “As I’ve told you, I suspect that there might be bulbs under there, and you don’t want to cut them to bits, do you?

”He just looked at her.

“Very well,” she said, trying to control her temper, for he had been behaving like this for almost all of the morning. “If you insist on cutting things to bits, why don’t you start with that dead wood over there? It all needs to be cleared out. There’s a hatchet in the shed. Raleigh, stay. Good boy.”

Cyril threw the hoe down and marched off. Georgia watched him as he went, feeling as if she had an extremely recalcitrant child on her hands, not a situation she might have wished for, but one which she was stuck with nevertheless. But if Nicholas was right and they could help him somehow, then it was worth whatever strain he created. Perhaps being around growing things would help, and bringing the garden back might give him a sense of purpose, which he was sorely lacking. But she really didn’t know how to deflect his seething anger. She was seething herself, which didn’t help.

The puppy gave a happy bark, and she looked up to see that Nicholas had been watching them from his perch on the roof. She spread her hands out with a little shrug, and he shrugged in return, but he was smiling. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out, then tossed it down to her. It landed close to the statue of the child, and she saw that it was a handkerchief wrapped around a small round object. She picked it up and, mystified, untied it. Inside was a red apple, one of the fall’s crop, slightly withered, but still sweet-smelling. Georgia started to laugh, and then laughed harder as the humor of the situation took over. She laughed until her sides ached and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her peals rang out over the garden, washing away the pall of bitterness and anger that Cyril had so effectively spread over the morning.

Nicholas grinned down at her, then disappeared over the gable, and Georgia breathed a deep sigh, remembering the pleasure she usually took from life at the Close. Nicholas had an uncanny gift for putting things into perspective, she thought, and went back to her work with a broad smile.

When Cyril returned, he was unable to make a dent in her mood, as hard as he continued to try.

After lunch, Nicholas set off for Ravenswalk, without giving any indication to Cyril of his intention. He knew it might be a battle gaining entrance, but that did not concern him. This was one garrison he knew exactly how to breach.

“You will stand aside and let me enter,” Nicholas commanded the terrified footman, “and you will do it now. I am not interested in what you have been told by Lady Raven or any other person. Lord Raven may be ill, but he is still your master, and he would not thank you to keep me from him.’’

The footman hesitated, intimidated by the sheer force of Nicholas’ presence, and then, unable to bear being drilled by those sharp steely eyes another moment, he crumbled.