The Muse (44 page)

“Yes of course,
chérie.
”  An idea of inspiration hit him.  “Wait, do you want to go now?  Right now on horseback?  We could take horses and it would be no time at all before we could be there.”

“But you have just returned from riding all day.  Surely you wish to relax at home now that it is afternoon.”

He shook his head.  “It is barely just two o’clock now and by taking horses we can be there before you know it.  And I am not tired.  Seeing you has restored me, especially now that I know you still love me,” he reminded with a brush of his lips to her forehead.  “And what can I care of being tired anyway?  For in a short while I shall be lying in the grass inside that ring of stones next to you and searching out shapes in the clouds.  What could be better than that?”  He kissed her again slowly, taking his time with his tongue.  “Come with me to The Nine Ladies, please,
chérie
?” he whispered into her ear.

In truth he had sensed her excitement and once she had revealed it, nothing could have kept him from giving that one thing to her which he knew would please her.  It would not have mattered if he were exhausted, he would still go with her, simply because it was what she wanted.  His happiness was inextricably linked with hers—despite him feeling a little overwhelmed with desire to please and appease her, Imogene’s love also made him stronger.  More the man he wished to be.  It was contentment he felt with her.  Not the concern of being crushed.  And after the day he had endured, going to the ring of stones with her would be a blessed reward indeed.  His mind was already working as to how he could make it a special outing for them.

“It sounds lovely.  Very well, let us go then.  I must first dress in my riding clothes.”

“Call for Hester to help you,
chérie.
I’ll just go down and see to our horses and will await you in the courtyard.  You can meet me as soon as you are ready to go.”  He bussed her cheek with a soft kiss before dashing out of the room, leaving straightaway for the kitchens to procure the necessary accoutrements for their excursion, in short order.

WHEN Imogene stepped out into the courtyard, Graham was waiting for her as promised, looking quite smug standing by their ready horses.  “What are you up to, darling?  I see that look on your face.  You’ve been plotting,” she teased gently.

“Your horse awaits, my lady wife.”  He bowed gallantly, indicating with his arm.

She regarded him for a moment before shaking her head slowly back and forth. “You’re up to something—I can smell it.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “And does your keen sense of smell indicate to you whether or not you will enjoy whatever it is that I am ‘up to’?”

She didn’t answer his question directly.  “You must have been a very clever child, cunning and scheming secret surprises upon your playmates.  You do have a mischievous bent, and I see now that the solemn exterior is merely a mask.”

“My lady, I believe it is my duty to remind you that this excessive philosophizing into my childhood is doing nothing to assist you in reaching your goal for this afternoon.”

She laughed at him but conceded that he was probably right as she approached the horse meant for her, unable to resist one last ribbing.  “I reckon you used that charm and those gorgeous green eyes of yours to wheedle your way in and out of situations as you desired.  Am I right, my sweetheart?”

“Yes.”  He tilted his head and widened his eyes.  “And I intend to use them now to ensure that you cease and desist this blither-blathering of no account and—” he put his hands on her waist, gripping firmly, “—mount…your…horse.”  Easily lifting her, he dropped her atop the waiting steed.

She flashed him a wicked grin, leaned down so only he could hear her and whispered, “I love it when you take charge of me like that.”  She spurred her horse then, and bolted off at a gallop, leaving him gawping after her in utter surprise.  The sound of her laughter must have jogged him out of his shock because he recovered quickly, mounted up, and followed after her.

When they approached the glade Graham turned to her, asking, “I have a humble request,
chérie
.  When we dismount, I’ll need for you to turn away for a moment until I have made ready.  Do you think you can do that, my darling?”

“Of course I can do that for you,” she agreed.  He dismounted first and waited with hands ready to help her down.  She reached for his shoulders as he took hold of her waist and lowered her. When she was down she raised her eyes and stayed in her position, her hands remaining on his shoulders…remembering.

“What are you thinking about,
chérie
?”

“When we rode out together in those first days, I would anticipate this.  The moment you would put your hands on me to assist in mounting and dismounting. The feel of your hands on me was so wonderful.  I craved it.  It still is…and I still do.”

He rewarded her little speech with a long, slow kiss, before gently turning her away from the stone circle. “Give me two minutes—and no peeking.”  She could hear him rustling around in the travelling pack she had seen on his horse.  After a time she was aware of him standing at her back.  “It is ready, my
chérie
.”

She turned to see that a beautiful picnic tea had been set out upon a blanket spread in the middle of the stone circle.  “It’s lovely,” she said.

“I believe your fantasy required ‘lying down’ as a critical element.  It simply would not do for the elegant Lady Rothvale to return to the stately halls of Everfell with bits of grass in her hair.  What would people say?”

“And the tea?  So thoughtful of you.”

“Well we would have missed tea-time being out riding so I thought we could have our tea here.  I used my charisma and hypnotic eyes, as you’ve said, to beguile the cook into setting me up with jam tarts and flasks of tea.  It turned out quite well, I think, considering I had no time at all.”  He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

They lay on their sides propped up on their elbows and faced each other, feeding bites of tart and sips of warm tea to the other between caresses and giggling laced with liberal amounts of silliness.

“My fingers are very sticky.”

“I have just the thing for it.” He grabbed her hand and proceeded to lick each of her fingers clean, one by one.  She watched him, her eyes growing dark from the sensual picture of her fingers in his mouth.  “Delectable, and
very
sweet,” he murmured, leaning in closer, “I see a spot of jam here at your mouth that must be seen to as well.”

Graham proceeded to lick around the corner of her mouth with passionate attention until the welcome response from her demanded more loving treatment from him, which he was more than happy to bestow.

O!  beware, my lord, of jealousy;

It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock

The meat it feeds on.

William Shakespeare   ~ Othello, 1602

INSIDE
the stone circle, Graham and Imogene relished the magic of the afternoon.

“Well, that is now two remarkable teas I have enjoyed since coming to Everfell.  The first, being at a gamekeeper’s cottage, and this one inside a fairy ring.  Tea in the parlor will be utterly uninspiring from now on I am afraid,” Imogene joked.

“I see your point,
chérie,
but we have yet to complete your vision of searching out shapes in the clouds, though.”

“For it to happen, dear husband, there must be clouds in the sky, and as you can see the sky is quite clear this afternoon so I imagine we’ll have to save that part for another time.  Perhaps we do have other unconventional teatimes yet to come.”  She was quiet for some moments.  “I think this is the best gift you have ever given to me.”

“It was such a simple thing to do this.”

“Sometimes simple is best.”

“I am glad you are happy.  It is all that I wish for,
chérie
.  I hope you know that.”  Lying together on the blanket, they played with their hands, twining and untwining their fingers, steepling them and rolling knuckles together, tracing lightly over the other’s palm, quiet and reflective for a long time.  “
Chérie
,
can you tell me what it was that upset you?  What caused your vexation?  As much as I am relieved to know we are recovered from last night’s disaster, I find myself unable to let it go.”

“Nothing.  It was nothing you did, Graham.  It was only my emotional sensibilities getting the better of me.”

“You are not telling me the whole truth, Imogene.  I can tell.  I would have the truth from you, please.  I know you love me, but I also know there is something that bothered you and
nothing
should come between us, no matter how small you might deem it.”

Shaking her head, she answered, “You cannot be hurt again.  Don’t force me to tell you,” she begged, looking like she might cry.

“Now I am really concerned.  Tell me, Imogene.  You can tell me anything,
chérie
, even if it hurts.  So be it.  I trust you.”

She was quiet for a long time before she answered him.  “Last night when you, Jules, and Colin were teaching us the waltz it occurred to me, again, how you all have had past lives.  You travelled, attended university, lived in Europe, and must have known many women, artist’s models and others.  You may have had attachments to other women with whom you have shared intimacies.”  She closed her eyes.  “Though I am ashamed to say it, all in a moment I just felt so jealous of them—those other women before me—and wanted to punish you for having a past.  I know that’s a ridiculous notion.  I’m over my jealous fit.  Truly, I am.  I know how much you love me.”  She regarded him solemnly. “There you have it.  That is the truth, Graham.”

He felt the stabbing pain of guilt but kept his eyes on her throughout the entirety of his response.  He’d said for her to tell him even if it hurt.  So it seemed he would be given that which he’d asked for.  “There is one word you’ve said which is critical to this discourse.  That word is ‘before.’  If I live to be a very old man, and look back upon my life, there will be one point at which to make a division…the time before you…and the time after you. The only part which will matter is the time that came after you, Imogene.”

Graham watched her beautiful brown eyes turn glassy with tears.

He attempted to steady his racing heart.  “Before you, I had been with others, it is true.  But now that you are my wife there will never be anyone after you.  This I
know
for absolute truth.  I have never had an attachment, nor been in love with a woman before you.  Innocent I am not, in the ways of physical love, but that first time with you, on our wedding night, it felt like I was…innocent.  It was a new experience, the first time
with
love
in my heart.  You are the first to receive my love, and the only.  I am not proud of everything in my past, but regardless it cannot be undone.  You’d be hard pressed to find a man of my age who has not had such experiences.  But understand that I believe myself a different man after you came into my life, Imogene, and I knew it with utmost certainty as soon as I met you.  I knew nothing would ever be the same for me again.  Because you saved me.  Your love rescued me from that other very lonely and very empty life.  Remember ‘The Princess and the Toad’
story,
chérie
.
 
You are the only woman I can ever love like that, all I can ever want, and all I can ever need.  There is no other for me.  Only you.  I hope you’ll believe every word I’ve said is true because it is coming from deep inside my soul.”

With tears falling she nodded.  “I do believe you.  Thank you for your honesty, my darling.  We never have need to speak of this again.”  She drew close to him, nestling her head under his chin, simply holding on as he drew his arms around her.  “But true love is a durable fire…In the mind ever burning…Never sick, never old, never dead…From itself never turning.” She quoted Raleigh’s ballad again.  “My heart is full,” she whispered.

“As is mine,
chérie
.”  He held her against him and stroked over her hair for a long time after that.

Graham’s decision had been made for him.  Fate had come for him and he could not stop the forces at work.  He had to find a way to tell her about Agnes or the torment of guilt was going to eat him alive.

Later that night, with tranquility and peacefulness between them, Imogene felt the pull of slumber when she heard Graham’s words and was immediately roused.

“I have a trouble,
chérie
.  I am loathe to tell you, but knowing how you dislike me not sharing all with you, I know I must.  In truth I have never considered this
affair
to be of my concern and it is certainly not of my doing, but now it seems it is part of my inheritance.  The ugly past is rearing its head, demanding its due and I fear there is nothing to impede it.  I dread your exposure to it, and hate to have it touch you, fearing that you will regret marrying into my wretched family with all of its damn skeletons and suggestions of depravity—”  His voice came to her low and anguished.

“Graham, you must know I will be in support of you no matter what comes.  I can never regret our marriage. And your family is not wretched; it is a lovely family.  For better or for worse, remember?”

He squeezed her hand, exhaling deeply.  “My brother Jasper was not content with destroying merely his own life—he dragged others down with him as well.  He ruined a young girl, seduced her, and cared not a whit about what he had done.  She bore a child.  Her name was Agnes and she claimed Jasper was the father of her babe, and even worse, that he had forced her.  My mother appealed to my father and all hell broke loose.  Jasper was away on a flit somewhere, when Father attempted to locate him, to no avail.  I have never seen my father so angry.  The shame and disgrace completely overwhelmed him, contributing to his failing health.  My parents agreed to support the girl and arrangements were made for her to have her child in a safe and decent environment.  They must have believed her claim for they did not contest it.  In truth I think they were surprised to have not faced the prospect of other by-blows from Jasper arriving at their doorstep before that.”

“Oh, Graham, how dreadful.  What happened to Agnes, to her baby?”

“The baby was born winter of aught eight, a girl she named Clarabelle.  My brother died that summer and never acknowledged or saw his child.”  Graham paused for a time and Imogene did not press.  She imagined he was trying to gather the right words to continue.  Holding on to his hand, she stroked softly with her other hand, waiting for him until he was ready.

“After Jasper’s death my parents grieved of course.  For all his faults, he was still their son and heir.  My mother wished to know her grandchild, little Clara being her only remaining link to Jasper.  Father would not allow it.  He forbade her to see the child and this caused a terrible breach between my parents that lasted right up until his apoplexy about a year later.  He lingered on for a few months, having nearly daily audiences with me.  My father was weak and it was difficult for him to speak.  He was determined to counsel me and share his wishes and experience in handing over the barony to me.  It was a difficult time—”  Graham stopped abruptly, the painful memories too poignant to describe.  He scrubbed his face with his hands, working to regain composure.  “This is very hard to speak of.”

“I know, my darling, it must be very hard.  If you tell me everything you might feel better being unburdened.  Carrying this weight upon your shoulders exclusively is wrong. Whatever we must face, we will do it together and it will be resolved somehow.”

He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead.  “Thank you, Imogene.  Thank you for being as you are, so loving and sympathetic.”  He took a deep breath and resumed the history.  “My father may not have wished for my mother to acknowledge Jasper’s child, but he did make sure that Agnes and Clara would be supported for their lifetimes, securing my promise to see that it was carried out.  After Father died, my mother was further broken down in grief, but still determined to know about her granddaughter.  You see, my mother lost a baby girl, my sister, Vivienne, born between Colin and me.  She died of a fever before her first birthday.  Whether as a replacement for Vivienne or to connect with Jasper, my mother ached to know Clara.  She was obsessed with her, sending messengers to spy on Agnes and her baby who later reported back with information.  I couldn’t stop my mother and didn’t even try to.  Apparently, little Clara has the green eyes that further confirmed her to be Jasper’s child.  Interesting, since they must have skipped a generation because Jasper did not have our green eyes—his eyes were brown.”

Graham seemed very wistful as he brought up all that deep history to the surface.  “I know my mother visited Clara and saw her at least twice.  That’s all I know.  Learning my duties as master of the estate consumed every waking moment then, and that time is exceptionally foggy for me.  I had to immerse myself in order to be competent.  Mr. Duncan has been a rock of support.  I don’t know how I could have done it without him there.  He saw to the regular payments of support for Agnes over the years and things continued as usual during my absence to Ireland.  Agnes was set up in her own cottage in Gladfield where she went by the name of Mrs. Schellman, posing as a war widow.  She takes in sewing as a seamstress; being a tailor’s daughter she is good with a needle.  Or at least she did, for we have lost contact and know not where Agnes and Clara are.”

“Recently, Duncan informed me of an irregularity with Agnes’s stipend.  There were some suspicious withdrawals from her money.  It seems she sent a letter requesting a change of address, for her stipend to be routed to Yorkshire.  This raised further suspicions, and I sent Duncan to investigate.  I got word from him the day before we left for Everfell and the information he passed along is not good.”  Graham wearily rested his forehead in his hand.  “Duncan was able to discover that Agnes’s cottage in Gladfield was visited by a man who it appears, was dallying with her maid.  Within a week, the cottage was vacated and they were gone with no word to anybody.  Upon inquiring as to the man’s description, Duncan was told he wore regimentals.  That fact, combined with the Yorkshire address is now leading me to believe in the involvement of one nefarious, Ralph Odeman.”  Graham’s lips curled in distaste when he spoke the name.