The Bride's Secret (17 page)

“With the greatest satisfaction!” Her glance skimmed across the landscape from east to west. “Tell me, what is the name of the gardener who takes care of all this?” She waved her arms over the geometrical plots of various colors.

He paused a moment. “Richards. Does he not do a fine job?”

“Oh, he does. I'm eager to know what flowers he will set out in late spring.”

“You are at liberty to visit the greenhouse and see them for yourself.”

“I believe I'm in heaven.”

They walked along every path in the garden, with Carlotta occasionally stooping to remove a fledgling weed or to pick flowers for a bouquet she planned to make. James's thoughts wandered to the days he had walked these paths alone, and he had longed to share it all with another being whose life would be irrevocably linked to his own. He lifted that woman's hand and kissed it.

“Tomorrow, my love, I shall take you to the mines,” he said.

Her brows dipped. “Will I have to go in them?”

He studied her face. It was creased with some emotion. At last he realized it was fear. “I'll never make you do anything that's unpleasant to you, Carlotta.”

Chapter 17

“Then the mines are between Yarmouth and the sea?” Carlotta asked her husband the next day as they rode their mounts side by side across the farmland surrounding Yarmouth Hall.

His eyes alighted on her, and he nodded. In her deep purple velvet riding habit, she was a feast for his—or any man's—eyes. Perhaps taking Carlotta to the mines was not such a good plan. After all, the miners would have to return home to their plain wives tonight after beholding the extraordinary beauty of Lady Rutledge.

James had thought by bringing her to the mines he could demonstrate his family's personal interest in the colliers. It never occurred to him he would appear to be flaunting his good fortune.

Soon the farmland where his sheep prospered was behind them, and they were surrounded by a steep, densely wooded area of uneven land. “This looks as I pictured Sherwood Forest when I was a child,” she said.

“Actually, much of this was a royal hunting preserve dating back to Henry VIII.”

“How could the crown ever give this up? It's so beautiful here.”

“My feelings exactly. It pleases me that you feel the same as I.”

“Only a blind person could fail to honor such natural glory.”

Natural glory
. It took no effort to imagine his wife a poetess. “Do you write poetry?” he asked.

She shook her head, her blue-black tresses catching on the wind. “I'm much too discerning in my poetic taste to please myself.”

“Then you've tried your hand?”

She laughed. “Very crude efforts, I'm afraid.”

“Have you attempted any of those crude efforts since I've become acquainted with you?”

“Twice actually,” she replied after a moment. “One after watching my angelic son sleep, the other, the night you offered for me.”

Carlotta had written a poem about him! He felt the same as he had after a schoolboy fight when the wind had been knocked from him. The exultation which filled him quickly gave way to curiosity. “If I might be so bold as to ask,” he finally ventured, “what emotions did my proposal inspire in you, and,” he added in jest, “I pray
fear
is not among them.”

“I could never fear you James,” she said in a gentle voice. “You've been far too good to me—except when you're in one of your ill humors as you were yesterday morning.”

“Forgive me,” he said. She had not precisely answered his question. He had thought to repeat his query but decided against it. She obviously still did not feel comfortable enough to discuss her emotions with him. Nor did he with her, for that matter.

“I must tell you, James, I had the most difficult time understanding Jeremy yesterday. It's as if he's speaking in a foreign tongue. I don't think I'd ever really spoken to him before.”

James chuckled. “You've now had a conversation with a born-and-bred Exmoor
man of the hills
, as they like to call themselves. In time, you should come to understand their dialect.”

“In Yorkshire I always prided myself on being able to understand many of the local dialects, but I declare this West County talk is something altogether different.”

“You had more Viking influences in the north. Here, the people remained Celts.”

She could feel her breathing chance as the altitude climbed. “In what ways are these men of the hills different from other men?”

“It's said that men of the hills are forced to live a more rugged life. Like the Scots, the men in these parts fancy themselves almost invincible with their might. Were they to be called to bear arms, no doubt they would distinguish themselves.”

“The miners are hill men, too?”

He nodded. “To a man, they're a rugged lot.”

“'Tis a rugged job,” she said with a shiver.

“How is it you know the perils of mining so well?”

“There are mines in Yorkshire. And mining disasters. I must have been at a most impressionable age during one particular disaster, where a shaft caved in, burying several men alive. It has always struck me as the most brutal death possible.”

“Exactly what I did
not
wish to hear on a day when I plan to go down into the mines,” he said in an attempt at levity.

“I do not understand why, if you're prosperous, you insist on taking so active an interest in the mines. There are mines on Lord Worth's estates in Yorkshire, and he has a most agreeable arrangement with a mining company that works the mine in exchange for a percentage of the ore's value. To my knowledge, Lord Worth's never stepped foot in the mines and is in no way responsible for them.”

James rode ahead and lifted low-lying branches to ease her passage through this particular gully. “I take it you don't approve of my role in the mines.”

She shrugged. “I have no control over what happened or what you did before I married you.”

“But, nevertheless, you disapprove of my interest in the mines.”

“Do you not have a man who manages them for you?”

“I do.”

“Then I don't see why you jeopardize yourself.”

“It's who I am, Carlotta. It was the same when I was in the military. If my men are at risk then I, too, must be at risk.”

“I don't approve.”

He shot her a mischievous smile. “One would think you actually cared for me. You realize I've made arrangements that will leave you a very rich woman if something should happen to me.”

She winced. “Money—even great amounts of it—cannot replace people, and I should prefer to have my husband than his money.”

“May I ask why?” His heart soaring, he watched her classic profile as she directed her gaze at the path before her.

“I don't know how to put it. It's like before I knew you my life was cold and gray and hopeless, and since you've come into it there's warmth and purpose and someone to share everything with and . . . a future I look forward to.” She gazed up at him, her great eyes shimmering. “These are not things obtainable with money.”

Sweet heavens! She might not love him, but what she felt with him was in many ways as special. He could yank her from her mount and kiss her passionately. Instead, he rode on in silence, a thick lump in his throat.

Some little while later she broke the silence. “I hope you don't mind that I didn't wish to bring Stevie today. I did not want to color his opinions about the mines with my own fears.”

“I trust he's far happier with Peggy and Jeremy.”

“And Brownie,” she added. “One would think that animal was a long-time member of the family, he adores it so.” Her glance darted off to a heath just below them where several ponies ran wild. “Speaking of Brownie, I declare that pony over there must be his twin!”

His glance followed hers. “That's an Exmoor pony. They're completely wild here—and unique to Exmoor.”

“Then I take it, Brownie's an Exmoor pony?”

“He is, but was raised at Yarmouth from a foal.”

“Now I shall worry the animal will wish to return to the wild—with my son on his back!”

“It's not a matter of returning. He's never been in the wild and wouldn't know how to forage. He's had life much too easy to ever want to join his kin.”

They rode toward a swift steam. “We'll follow the stream to the mine,” he told her.

For the next ten minutes they followed the water, breathing in the pungent smells of the forest. Then Carlotta eyed the churning of a huge wooden wheel that was nearly as tall as Yarmouth.

“Is that where the mine is?” she asked.

“Just beyond. The wheel provides our power for pumping.”

Soon they came upon the main mine, where a dozen or so black-faced males were coming and going.

“Who lives in that house?” Carlotta asked, pointing to a nearby white cottage.

“The mine's captain.”

“And his name is . . . ?”

“Hastings. He's been here for fifteen years.”

* * *

They dismounted, and James took her hand. She felt unaccountably nervous. First, she feared she would not be able to understand a word the men said. It was important to her husband, she knew, that she be at ease with the colliers and them with her. She was also afraid one of them might touch her, and the prospect of being streaked with black coal dust did not entice.

These men must be hungry indeed, she thought, to choose a life working in the coal mines.

A tall, huskily built man who was less grimy than the others came striding toward them after they tethered their horses. He bowed to them.

Carlotta found his appearance most peculiar. Clear green eyes stared at her from his black face. Her eyes traveled to his hands, which also were black. His curly golden hair belied the fact that before his mining days he must have been fair skinned. His clothing, of good quality, was less black than that of the colliers she saw nearby.

“Ah, Hastings, allow me to make you known to the new Lady Rutledge,” James said.

So this was the man who ran the mine, she thought. The captain.

“Forgive me for not taking your hand, my lady, but my reasons for such abstinence should be abundantly clear.”

This man did not speak like one from Exmoor. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Hastings. That the mines are in your capable hands is most reassuring to my husband.”

He addressed her husband. “I appreciate your confidence, my lord, and may I say it is good to have you back? The men were beginning to fear you were never returning.”

“Exmoor's now my home. I'll not be leaving it.”

Hastings turned his attention to the new Lady Rutledge. “Permit me to give you an orientation to the facility,” he said, turning back in the direction from which he had come.

She passed wagons heaped with coal coming and going from the mine shaft, and all the men who handled them were black from head to foot. She wondered if they ever bathed or if the coal had embedded itself so deeply into their skin that it rendered cleaning impossible.

At first she thought some of the men quite small, especially since James had been telling her about the ruggedness of men of the hills. She thought she would not wish these fellows to be protecting her in the event of a war.

Then one turned around. And she saw that it was lad who could not have seen more than ten summers. Thinking of her own little Stevie, she was filled with outrage, but she would defer from speaking of it now because of her desire to please James—James who deserved some display of her loyalty.

Her husband began to introduce her to the colliers, and as she had feared, she could not understand a word they said. She merely bestowed an enormous smile upon them and nodded as if she knew quite well what they were saying.

It nearly broke her heart to count a total of five lads working here above ground, and she prayed none were down in the pits. No sooner had she thought these thoughts, when a tiny lad not much larger than Stevie emerged from the mine, completely black from head to toe.

Her smile vanished.

James called that lad by name. “Willy, I beg that you go back in and tell the miners I wish for them to take a break and come meet Lady Rutledge. I dare say, she's not receptive to the idea of going under.”

The lad, apparently understanding every word her genteel husband spoke, smiled and disappeared back into the mine.

Within minutes another twenty or so colliers filed out of the mine, and Carlotta found herself smiling widely and nodding at a sea of black faces. Once the introductions were complete, James dismissed the men to return to their duties, then James began a discussion with one of them, and she was unable to understand a word they said. James was using technical language, and the collier spoke with an indistinguishable West County tongue.

She turned to Hastings. “How many men have you working here?”

“Thirty, plus me.”

“Is it one of those situations where if their father and grandfather were colliers, then the sons have no choice but to follow?”

His face clouded. “Aye, that it is.”

“But you, Mr. Hastings, had a choice.”

“Engineering's in my blood. The captainship followed.”

“You're married?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “I came here with a bride, fifteen years ago. She soon discovered she wanted no part of mining life, and she ran off with a horse trader.”

Carlotta's brows lowered. “I'm sorry.” Sorry she had summoned so personal a response. He elicited much sympathy for the personal sacrifices he had made for the mines, yet she also empathized with the wife who had run off. As beautiful as Exmoor was, Carlotta abhorred the mines. And, after thinking on it, she thought she would also abhor being intimate with a coal-covered man.

James finished his conversation and turned back to her. “Forgive me, love, but I'll have to go down in the mines. I promise I shan't be long.” He tossed a glance at Hastings. “Be a good man and offer my wife a cup of tea.”

Her heart in her throat, she watched as James descended into the mine. She did not at all wish to think of her husband being down in the pits.

“Follow me, if you please, my lady,” Hastings said, moving toward his two-storey cottage.