Retreat From Love (13 page)

“Well, again the day is half gone and I’ve accomplished nothing,” Mrs. Goode said with forced cheerfulness. She smiled stiffly at Freddy and then at Brett. “It was good to see you again, gentlemen. Please, Your Grace, take your time with the books. You may even keep them if you like. They are your legacy after all.” A quivering lip that she quickly bit down on was the only indication that she was still upset. “Anne, I must get out to the Ferstons’ with a basket, or those children will go hungry today.” With that she swept from the room, leaving the other three uncomfortable in the wake of her exit.

“I’m sorry,” Anne apologized, sounding bemused. “I’m not sure what was wrong.

It’s been a very long time since mention of the accident had her so upset.”

Freddy could understand Mrs. Goode’s mood. He was thinking about the funerals he’d attended for his father and the Goode Vicar. Mr. Goode had been buried in the churchyard here, and everyone for miles had come, and quite a few from London as well. It had been a warm ceremony, if a funeral can be such a thing. Many good things were said of the vicar, and his life was celebrated. But Freddy remembered how devastated Anne and her mother had been. Bertie had been the strong shoulder they leaned on during that difficult time. Jerome had not been able to come because of matters concerning the title, but he had overridden his mother’s objections and insisted that Freddy attend. For perhaps the first time in his life Freddy had traveled to Ashton Park without his mother. His visit had been brief. He and Bertie were forced to return to London for his father’s funeral.

The Goodes hadn’t been at the duke’s funeral, his mother had not wanted them there. There had been a huge row between her and Bertie over it, but finally Jerome, as the new duke, had acceded to his mother’s wishes. Bertie had been stiff and formal and fuming during the whole thing, a lengthy state affair in London. Freddy remembered thinking how much his father would have hated it, and that he wished his father had been able to have a funeral like Mr. Goode. Bertie had immediately taken off to come back to Ashton on the Green after the funeral. That was the last time Freddy saw him.

“Freddy?” Brett’s voice broke his reverie. When Freddy looked at him with a vague smile, Brett reached out and touched his arm. “What are you thinking about?”

Freddy shook his head. “I was thinking that the last time I saw Bertie was at my father’s funeral.” Brett’s hand tightened on his arm. Freddy threw off the gloom and smiled widely at Anne and Brett. “Shall we have a look at my father’s history?”

Anne leaned her head on Freddy’s shoulder for a moment, and the gesture was so sweet and intimate that Freddy got a lump in his throat. “He was passionate about Ashton Park.” She leaned over and looked at the spine on another book. “Look, they’re numbered. This is three. What one have you got?”

Freddy blinked and Brett released his arm as he reached for a book also. Freddy looked down. “I have five.”

“This is two,” Brett said as he thumbed through several pages. “He’s drawn some fine pencil illustrations in here as well.”

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Freddy leaned over and turned all the books so he could read their spines. “Ah, here’s number one.” He picked it up and grinned at Anne. “Let’s hear what Father liked about the Park. Perhaps I shall end up redecorating in bright pink and violet, with orange hangings.”

Anne laughed. “Never. Your father was the epitome of style and grace, Freddy. He was so handsome that he even made Mama swoon on occasion.”

Freddy grinned lasciviously. “Yes, we Thorne men have that effect on women.”

Anne teasingly bumped him with her shoulder. “You certainly do,” she agreed.

Freddy kept grinning at her.

But it didn’t escape his notice that Brett grew bleaker than ever.

Over the next few days Brett and Freddy were to be found most often in the Goodes’ drawing room, poring over the history of Ashton Park. Several days after finding out about the history, Freddy looked up from the book he was reading. Anne and her mother were serving tea. Brett sat across the room at a writing desk, making some notes from book five. He’d told Freddy that there were some excellent ideas for the grounds in that book. “Look, I’ve found the name of the painter who did the
trompe-l’oeil
on the music room door.”

“Oh yes, that must be preserved, Your Grace,” Mrs. Goode answered. “It is quite unique. In your father’s day there were several scholars and painters who came to see it.”

“Is that the painting of the violin?” Brett asked, marking his place with a finger.

“Mmm hmm,” Freddy murmured, looking down. “Jan van der Heert. A well-

known Danish painter.” He looked up with a wry grin. “Well-known by everyone but me, I suppose.”

Anne laughed, and Freddy got that little thrill again. He loved to make her laugh. It hadn’t taken long to realize that Anne wanted to laugh. She wanted to enjoy life, and so she did. It was a marvelous philosophy. With each passing day he understood more and more why Bertie and Brett both loved her, and he remembered why he had thought himself in love all those years ago.

“That painting is special,” Anne said as she placed some shortbread on a plate and handed it to Freddy.

“The violin looks real,” Brett told her in appreciation. “As if you could touch it where it hangs on the door and pluck its strings. It’s really quite extraordinary.”

“
Trompe-l’oiel
, is that what that’s called? It creates the illusion of depth, correct, and that makes objects look real?” Anne asked with interest as she stirred her tea. Freddy had had some excellent tea sent from the Park and a healthy order of sugar delivered from Mr. Howard. If he was to be here every day, he’d explained to a wryly amused Mrs. Goode, then he must have his strong tea with sugar. To his delight, Anne was 65

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almost never to be found without a cup in her hand. He enjoyed giving her things, but there was very little she could accept. Tea was one of them.

“Yes. I’ve seen some examples in London houses, but none as good as the music room violin.” Freddy heard the pride in his voice with shock. He’d never felt possessive of Ashton Park before. It had always been his father’s house, or Jerome’s, or even his mother’s. She’d taken a keen interest in the Park and village after his father’s death. But these last few days of reading his father’s history had caused his appreciation to grow as ideas for improvements at the Park bombarded him. “I shall definitely leave the violin alone.”

Mrs. Goode took a sip of her tea and hummed in appreciation before she spoke.

“You really must do more than that, Your Grace. You should have someone come and look at it and perhaps touch it up.”

Brett frowned. “I beg your pardon, but I disagree, Mrs. Goode. I think it should be left alone. The door can be cleaned, of course, but I believe the best thing to do for the painting is to make sure it is treated properly from now on. After all, to touch it up would be to jeopardize the integrity of the original work.”

Freddy looked at Anne questioningly. Anne stared back for a second before she realized that Freddy was asking her opinion. “Me? You want to know what I think?”

She sounded genuinely surprised. Freddy was a little surprised himself. But he really did want to know Anne’s opinion. He didn’t think too hard about the reasons why.

Simply acknowledging there were reasons was enough right now.

Anne thought about it for a minute as she chewed on her bottom lip. It was unconsciously sensual and Freddy licked his lower lip as he watched her. “I agree with Brett.” Anne looked at her mother apologetically. “I am sorry, Mama, but I must agree that to leave the artist’s original work is preferable rather than risk ruining it.”

Mrs. Goode smiled. “No need to be sorry, my dear. I’m sure you young people know more about it than I. Whatever you decide to do is fine.”

Freddy relaxed contentedly against the back of the sofa. Yes, that sounded right.

Whatever Freddy, Brett and Anne decide to do. Because, regardless of whether or not he was intimate with them after they married, he knew that he would always value their opinions. He also wanted them to think of the Park as theirs, and they would if they helped him redecorate it to their tastes. Then they would always feel free to visit or, ideally, live there with him.

“You must come up to the house and see it, Anne. How long has it been?” Freddy picked up a piece of shortbread and nibbled it. He never thought he’d say it, but he might actually be getting a little tired of shortbread. But he couldn’t tell Mrs. Tilton, or not eat it. That would hurt her feelings irrevocably. Perhaps he should tell Anne? Then she could somehow find a way to tell the older woman without injuring her pride.

“What is it, Anne?”

Brett’s question pulled Freddy out of his reverie about shortbread. Anne had an odd look on her face, as did her mother. Freddy sat forward and raised his eyebrows.

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Anne cleared her throat. “I don’t really go to the Park. Um, yes, well…yes, that’s it.”

Freddy waited for more, but there was nothing more forthcoming. “I see. And why not?” he asked reasonably.

“Um,” Anne looked helplessly at her mother, who blinked at Anne innocently as she took a sip of her tea. Anne chewed on her lip a little more. “Well, your mother and I never really got along.”

Freddy stared at her incredulously. “My dear, that is undoubtedly the

understatement of the day.”

Anne blushed and grimaced and Freddy saw out of the corner of his eye that Brett was fighting a smile.

“No disrespect to the duchess, Anne, but that is a common occurrence and rarely keeps anyone away from the Park.” Brett’s tone was flat, but no less sarcastic for all that.

Freddy gave him a wry look. “I cannot disagree, Brett. It is a well-known fact that the only person my mother tolerates, unfortunately, is me.”

Brett laughed, and Freddy was glad. It helped to dispel the uncomfortable silence from the other occupants of the room.

“The duchess has always had a mind of her own,” Mrs. Goode said with finality.

“She has a strong character and firm opinions. She was rarely persuaded to change them when she was younger, and is more set in her ways than ever now.” She shrugged. “We have found it best to go about our way and let her go about hers. That is all there is to it.”

Anne looked a little too relieved for that to be all there was. “Yes, that’s it exactly, Mama,” she readily agreed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Freddy and Brett exchanged a look and Freddy understood that Brett was not deceived either.

“Well,” Freddy observed casually, “my mother is not in residence. Surely there is no reason now for not visiting the Park?”

Anne was clearly disconcerted and Freddy inwardly chuckled. Oh she would

definitely learn that Freddy got what Freddy wanted. He did not take no for an answer.

Anne surprised him a moment later, and he was forced to admit he may have met his match. She gave him exactly what he wanted according to her rules.

“Of course, Freddy. I was just thinking how lovely it would be to have a picnic tomorrow. We could have it on the grounds at the Park.” She turned to her mother.

“Mama, doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Mrs. Goode raised her brows. “Lovely. But you shall have to go without me. I have promised Mr. Matthews that I shall go on his rounds through the neighborhood tomorrow. I really can’t cry off, Anne. You know I am depended upon.”

Anne looked apologetic. “Of course, Mama, I forgot. Then we shall go another time.”

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Freddy was disappointed. It had sounded lovely. He’d only just realized they’d spent the last three days cooped up in the Goodes’ cottage. The weather was beautiful for this time of year. He would very much like to see the sunlight gleaming on Anne’s dark curls. His thoughts turned from the curls on her head to the curls between her thighs. Yes, he’d like to see those gleaming in the sun too.

“Of course you will not go another time,” Mrs. Goode said impatiently as she stood up. “There is absolutely no reason why you can’t go with His Grace and Mr.

Haversham. You will be outside on a sunny day in the middle of the Park, which is always bustling with activity. There is nothing untoward in that scenario.”

Freddy could name several things untoward in that scenario, but if Mrs. Goode chose to overlook them, who was Freddy to complain?

“Capital, Mrs. Goode. Then it is decided. What a marvelous idea, Anne! A picnic is just the thing. Don’t you agree, Brett?”

Brett looked at him askance. “If that is what you and Anne desire, Freddy, then I should enjoy a picnic.”

“It’s settled then. Anne?” He wasn’t surprised that Brett had sided with him. Mrs.

Goode’s support was surprising.

Anne sighed good-naturedly. “Well, I haven’t much choice, have I?” She grinned.

“It was my idea after all.”

Freddy laughed. Yes, Anne knew what she was about. “We all seem to share the same mindset, wouldn’t you agree, Brett?”

“Do we?” Brett asked noncommittally as he turned back to his book. “I merely follow where you two lead.”

God, if only that turned out to be true, Freddy wished fervently.

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My Dearest Anne,

I was thinking about the pond today. Do you remember the way the willows trailed in the
water? And the wild honeysuckle that grew along the bridge? Of course you do. You are still
there. The grass was thick and soft and smelled of summer and you. Or you smelled of grass.

Somehow that doesn’t sound as romantic. I am trying, Anne. Do not laugh so hard.

The last time we were alone together was at the pond. Did you know how much I wanted
you again? I am trying vainly to remember why I thought it was a good idea to deny myself, but
I cannot think of one good reason. I go to sleep at night thinking of how sweetly you called my
name when I lay with you. Well, it was more of a rather loud shout, actually, but it was sweet all
the same. (I am hoping that you do not read my letters aloud to your family, else I’ll have some
distant relative calling me out the minute I set foot on English soil again.)
I should like to go to the pond with you again when I return. To lay you down in the warm
summer grass and see your beautiful hair spread out around you in the sunlight. There are quite
a few other things I want to do too, but I shall preserve your modesty by not putting them in this
letter. Rest assured, however, I will tell you all about them in detail when next I see you.