Yorkshire (3 page)

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Kerre, “I saw that too. I think you’re right, sir. The Hareton estate is bankrupt.”

My brother heaved a sigh. “So you think I should sign the entail away?”

“I would never presume to tell you what to do, sir,” said Strang, “but in your place, I would seriously consider it. The situation intrigues me. I want to see more of it, but be assured, sir, there will be no wedding. Please feel free to shake the dust of Hareton Abbey from your heels as soon as you wish.”

A maid chose that moment to come in and offer to show us to our rooms. It was early, but we accepted. When I passed James, he murmured to me, “Don’t unpack.”

I nodded.

My room was spotlessly clean, but contained no comforts, and the fireplace was distressingly bare of kindling. All the drapery had gone, just like the parlour downstairs, and when I looked under the bed, it was as spotlessly clean as the rest of the room. I didn’t know which I preferred; the decayed luxury of the Great Hall or the obsessive, bare cleanliness of this wing. Both chilled me to the bone.

My luggage stood in the middle of the floor completely untouched; a very unusual thing in a well-regulated household. However, I wasn’t entirely helpless. I lifted the lid of the trunk and began to unpack. Remembering my brother’s warning, I left most of the items in the trunk. I sighed when I looked at the gown I had bought in Exeter for this visit, and decided to leave it, after fingering the fine silk regretfully. This was no place for finery. Not for me, at least.

When two o’clock arrived, I could dress properly for dinner with some semblance of respectability. I wanted to go down with my sister, but at half past two, I was still waiting for her. It never took me long to dress; I didn’t think overmuch about my appearance any more. I’d reached the advanced age of twenty-five without raising any hopes, but my sister, at twenty, was at the centre of the marriage market. I left her in front of the spotted mirror in her room, as she primped and pouted at her undeniably lovely reflection.

Only when I left the room did I recall that dinner wasn’t for another half hour.

I didn’t want to meet all those strangers on my own, so I decided to explore a little instead.

I wanted to see more of the Abbey. Like Lord Strang, I felt sure there was a mystery here; this great house held more than bankruptcy. Deliberately, I turned in the opposite direction to which I had come. My romantic soul demanded it and my curiosity rampaged across my more sensible emotions.

At the end of the passage, it turned dark. I soon discovered why. The windows here hadn’t been cleaned for an age. They were begrimed with years of dirt, misting the light that fought its way through them. I wished I’d brought a candle, but someone might see me, and realise I shouldn’t be there. Who would have thought I would need a candle at this time of day?

I turned a corner and opened a door at random, drawing a deep breath when I saw what lay inside.

I recalled Lord Strang’s earlier comment because this room came straight out of Sleeping Beauty’s castle. No neat covers hid any of the fine furnishings from the obscuring dust. It hadn’t been a State Room, but a small room which contained some fine objects, the sort of treasure room often found in great country houses. Cobwebs covered the chandelier above me, adding their own ghostly comment on the scene below. The air smelled of damp decay. I drew my handkerchief over a small round table, revealing the elaborate, expensive marquetry that decorated it. Damp had raised the fine woodwork to irreparable ruin. Even the ornaments remained in their places on the mantelpiece, dotted about the room in casual, gruesome disarray, as if their owner had just stepped out, never to return.

I went to the window, careful not to let my skirt touch the exquisitely filthy furniture and rubbed a viewing hole in the window.

Suddenly, a pair of hands seized me from behind. One went round my waist and the other over my mouth. I froze in terror.

Chapter Two

“I saw you come in here,” a male voice murmured. “Don’t shout out.”

I breathed out in relief when I recognised the voice, and then tensed again when I remembered what lay between us.

He released me and I turned around to confront him. I didn’t like him so close. Not any more. Steven’s garb of sober, clerical black only served to accentuate his dark good looks. So confident, so sure of himself. I moved hastily out of his reach.

“Not here, Steven.” My voice still trembled in shock. When he heard it, he smiled. “Someone might come along.”

“We can always close the door.” He moved toward it. His look spoke of stolen kisses and dalliance.

“No,” I replied, uncomfortably aware of his meaning. I had no wish to be alone with Steven, with the door closed.

He came back to me, took my hand and smiled in the heart-stopping way I had loved so much mere months ago. “What’s made you so missish?”

Even now, I found his smile immensely attractive, but now I knew about the vanity and ambition beneath.

When Steven had arrived at our parish twelve months ago, the young ladies of the district vied for his attention—not all of them in ladylike ways. However, none of them took him too seriously after they discovered he was penniless; so, twenty-five and desperate to be off the shelf, I won. Now I knew my family connections, rather than my looks or personal appeal drew him to me, although at first I let myself think he’d fallen as passionately in love as he’d told me. I was wiser now.

Steven used his grip on my hand to swing me into his arms in a way that knocked the breath out of me. It had excited me once, but now I found it oppressive. He bent his head to kiss me, but I made this impossible by chattering at him, caught in panic. “A strange place, this.” My voice came faster and higher than usual, as I tried desperately to put off the inevitable. Steven ignored my attempts at conversation, my obvious desire to be free.

When he pulled me closer I tried to push away but he only smiled, and I grew worried. My voice rose, “Please, Steven, let me go, I don’t think—”

We heard a sound, footsteps close by, easily discernible in the hush of this desolate house. Steven released me, leaving me breathless, ruffled and tremulous. Whoever approached had heard us, because the footsteps quickened, coming closer.

To my deep embarrassment, into the room strode Lord Strang and Mr. Gervase Kerre, both dressed for dinner in the most up to date, finest fashion. They filled the gloomy room with their vitality, the jewelled colours of their attire bright against the room’s muted tones. I was mortified.

Steven didn’t seem in the least disturbed by their entrance, but I coloured up and turned my heated face to the window.

“Good afternoon,” said Lord Strang. “I trust we haven’t interrupted anything.”

“Not at all,” Steven replied in the same urbane tones, volunteering no explanation. I tried to recover my composure, but couldn’t face anyone yet. I felt so ashamed, though I’d done nothing really wrong. Being discovered here, as though I had arranged a tryst, was enough.

“The gardens are a little overgrown, are they not?” Mr. Kerre strolled to the window and stood by my side. I smelled his perfume, an unusual rich, musky scent I hadn’t noticed before. It was a welcome change from the dankness.

“Any more and they’ll be positively fashionable.” His brother must be referring to the current rage for “wildernesses”. He came to my other side, not standing too close. He smelled of something citrus and floral. I breathed it in.

They had neatly boxed me off from the curate. Steven couldn’t come anywhere near me. I felt even more ashamed to be discovered in such circumstances, but grateful for their assistance. We looked out of the clean patch on the window I’d made with my handkerchief.

“I don’t think our stay will be protracted, but while we are here, I should like to see more of this house.” Lord Strang drew one delicately manicured finger across the dusty pane, before drawing the digit away and regarding it thoughtfully, as if surprised to see the dirt. I gave him my soiled handkerchief, which he accepted with a small smile. He wiped his finger, returning it to me after carefully folding the soiled part inside the cloth.

“I’ll have to change it before I go downstairs,” I said, grateful to find an excuse to leave.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll escort you.” Lord Strang didn’t gave me a way out of the situation that I was thankful to take. He moved past Steven to the door, opening it for me. We walked out of the room, leaving Mr. Kerre and Steven behind.

When we were out of earshot, I drew a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Think nothing of it. But I should take care in the future who you find yourself alone with, if I were you.”

My face glowed, but I couldn’t take offence at his reproof, because he was right. I tried to explain to this vision of a demigod, masklike and perfect in his immaculate costume, how I found myself in such a situation. I didn’t know why I should explain anything to him, but I might feel better if the Kerres knew I wasn’t the hoyden I appeared to be on this evidence. “Mr. Drury is our curate. He’s been pursuing me for six months or so now. I—I’m having difficulty—”

We had reached the inhabited part of the house, and I shut my eyes to get rid of the humiliating scene. I dared a look at Lord Strang through lowered eyelashes. He didn’t seem shocked.

“You wish to depress his pretensions?” My escort gave me a perceptive look, but spoke with no particular emphasis or even interest. His eyes were such a startling blue. They held a warmth and humanity, totally at odds with his formal, fashionable appearance. His indifference made my situation more bearable, less embarrassing, somehow. I resented Steven fiercely for putting me into such a position.

“Yes, but I’m having difficulty doing so.”

“If you persist he might come to realise you mean it. If not, there are other ways.”

When we reached my room, I left the door open while I fetched a clean handkerchief. “Is your room like this, my lord?” I said, from where I stood by the chest of drawers.

He glanced inside, taking in the lack of drapery and ornament in one swift perusal. “Very much so. But our group of rooms was more hastily cleaned. I’ve set my man to improve matters. I live in hopes that Carier may be able to make them habitable.”

A sharp clatter on the ceiling made me crouch down, afraid the ceiling was about to fall on my head. When I looked up again, Lord Strang stood next to me. I hadn’t heard him move.

“I beg your pardon for startling you. I’m afraid this house will fall apart if it’s left like this much longer.”

I smelled his scent now he stood close to me. I felt his humanity, jarring something inside me and his warmth when he held my hand to help me to my feet. It shook me, in a way I could not explain. Before this incident I could regard him and, to a lesser extent, his brother, as interesting people to study, people we wouldn’t meet again after our few days in this house. Now he became human, and his presence jolted me in an uncomfortable way.

We left the bedroom and I waited while he took snuff; a procedure worth watching. It must have taken him a long time to perfect it, and then by another miracle he made it look natural. He used one hand to flick the box open. Taking a tiny amount of snuff, he applied it to his right nostril with one hand, while snapping the box shut and returning it to his pocket with the other. All the while he showed off his long, beautiful fingers to their greatest advantage. Such a simple gesture, done with such finesse. He met my eyes, smiling, before holding out his arm for me. I felt the hard muscle beneath the satin sleeve of his green coat when I put my fingers on it. I could no longer ignore the man beneath the glossy exterior.

He took me downstairs to a small drawing room. At the door, he released me with a smile at Lizzie’s side, and then moved off to join his betrothed. Lizzie nudged me. “You sly thing.”

I blushed. “It wasn’t like that.” She wore her fine gown. Poor Lizzie, I thought. There should be a house party here for her to show off to.

Dinner was dismal. The food was cold, the company depressed under the influence of Lord Hareton, his wife and his brother. I kept my head down, still ashamed of the compromising situation in which the Kerre brothers had discovered me. Even Lizzie failed to sparkle. I went up to my room as soon as I could and read a book until bedtime.

Despite my fatigue, I couldn’t sleep that night. The blankets on my bed were thin and few in number. Although I put my heavy travelling cloak on top, it made little difference to the chill filling my bones. I tossed and turned for an hour or more. Just as I was about to give up and get up, my door opened.

Sitting up quickly, I stifled a scream, immediately aware of the strangeness of my surroundings and my own vulnerability within them. My trembling fingers felt for the tinderbox on the nightstand.

“Rose, I can’t sleep.”

Steadying my hand, I struck a light. “Come in then,” I said to my sister. “And bring your bedding with you.” While she fetched them, I recovered from my shock. I didn’t like this house. The sooner we went home, the better.

We enjoyed the plenteous expanse of the generously proportioned bed, and with Lizzie’s blankets, we had a much more comfortable night.

When we woke in the morning, I got up with her. I saw the speculative looks she had cast at Mr. Kerre the day before and didn’t want her to be alone with him. I was afraid my flirtatious, innocent sister might tumble into trouble with these worldly wise guests. She needed my company.