Belmary House Book One Page 8

  He really should work up the courage to order a gravestone for Camilla, but knew he wouldn’t until Ashford stopped clinging to his mad beliefs. He couldn’t blame Ashford. Perhaps he would be as tenacious if he had a twin sister he loved, and even the smallest ember of a hope remained. But Kostya’s hope had been doused long ago.

  When Camilla was alive, this estate Kostya loved so much had been her childhood home. He had been happy to be anywhere but his own childhood home, and the first time he saw the sprawling green hills and caught whiff of the occasional sea breezes that made it to them, he knew he never wanted to leave it.

  After they married, they didn’t think Ashford would ever return for good, and he was happy enough to leave the estate in their care. Now that Camilla was gone as well, did he really have any right to continue staying here? Anyone would think that he’d want to leave after all he’d been through, losing Lucy, losing his wife. Surely he’d want to run from the memories. Run from this place. But he liked it here, far from his family and their curses. He’d stay here as long as he could.

  Kostya stood up and set about needlessly tidying the gravesite. He hadn’t been up in a fortnight, but the groundskeepers kept the small family cemetery in pristine condition. Still, he wanted to do something fatherly for her birthday.

  Nine years old. He would have given anything to see how she might have changed in the last year. Would her dark curls be just as unruly, would she have grown as fast as her beloved wildflowers? How many books would she have devoured in the last year? He could never keep up with her love of reading. He didn’t think there were enough books in print to satisfy her.

  The pain was so severe he had to sit back down, and leaned against the smooth back of the stone. He didn’t like to see her name carved showily into the front, the small, sad range of dates, the ‘beloved daughter’.

  He didn’t know which was worse, the denial he still felt, or the despair. Sometimes he’d think so hard about the events leading up to her accident, thinking how things might have gone differently, he’d find he was holding his breath, and become quite dizzy. Then he’d realize his turbulent thoughts were all for nought. There was no changing anything. Lucy was gone.

  He heard footsteps coming up the hill and wiping his face, poked his head over the top of the stone, startling his neighbor, who had a far nicer posy in her hands.

  “Serena,” he said, jumping up and bowing. “I’m terribly sorry to have frightened you.”

  She smiled and dipped her head, making her loose blonde locks tumble across her cheeks, which were pink with the exertion of the walk. Holding out her flowers, she looked chagrined.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I can leave this and go.” She ducked down and put the bouquet next to his, and he saw her run her fingers over Lucy’s name and heard her whisper happy birthday.

  “Nonsense. You stay, I’ve been here for hours now.” He waved his hand at the surroundings. “I wanted to do something, but there was nothing to do.” He came around the stone and began to walk down the hill, but she grabbed his wrist as he passed.

  “Please stay,” she said, awkwardly wrinkling her pretty, pert nose. “Would you like to speak of her for a bit?” Her voice cracked and he turned to stand beside her. “I miss her laughter, and her running feet.”

  “Did she ever walk?” Kostya asked with a rueful laugh. “You come up here often, don’t you?” he asked.

  She looked embarrassed and shrugged. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I feel— it was me who encouraged her to make the jump,” she said. “Perhaps she wasn’t ready, but I told her to be brave. I can’t—”

  He took a deep breath and interrupted her anguished outpouring. “And it was I who told her she could ride so early that day. It was Ashford who bought her the pony. It was the gardener who hadn’t yet cleared the path, or even the storm the night before for knocking down the branch. It was just bad luck and cruel fate, Serena. We all of us must stop.”

  “She wouldn’t like it, would she?”

  “No, she wouldn’t, so let’s just stop.”

  He patted her shoulder and they were silent for a few moments. He closed his eyes and let the northern breeze that made him feel like he was home drift over him.

  “When I passed through the house, everyone was all aflutter at the news,” she said, glancing over at him.

  “News?” He hadn’t heard any fluttering when he set out earlier. A messenger must have arrived after he left.

  “Julian’s coming back. Lord Ashford shall be gracing us with his presence in a few short days. The servants are to prepare the finest guest room as well, but not a line about who might be coming with him.”

  He smiled fondly at her forced casual tone. He knew Serena McPherson had been in love with Ashford since they were children, growing up together as neighbors. She’d never gone to London for a season, and only once went to Edinburgh. He never understood why, as she was beautiful and wealthy, so could have had her pick of husbands once upon a time. Perhaps even now. He supposed she just truly loved country life, perhaps holding out hope that Ashford would return.

  Camilla had never loved Serena, finding any opportunity to tease her behind her back, and was cool to her face, but Kostya saw how much she’d truly cared for Lucy, how kind she’d always been to her. He would always like her for that.

  “Shall we prepare something for his arrival?” he asked indulgently.

  She turned to him, a smile on her tear stained face. He wanted to wipe them away for her, but kept his hands at his sides.

  “We should, shouldn’t we?” She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her face. “Some of the ladies in the village have been wanting to have a dance, and Julian did promise to host one the last time he was here. As soon as I know how long that wretched man is staying this time, I can begin planning.”

  He offered his arm and he watched her take one last look at Lucy’s grave, running her hand over the arched stone before he led her down the hillside.

  “You must come for supper when he arrives,” he said, glancing sideways to catch her worried look. She was never certain Ashford would welcome her, even though they’d been friends since birth. “It won’t be a homecoming without you.”

  “I’m eaten up with curiosity about the mystery guest,” she admitted.

  “It’s probably just Jeremy or Nicholas hitching a ride,” he said, but curious himself.

  If it was one of those old friends of Ashford’s, no special fanfare would be made of their arrival. They’d stayed at the estate countless times, Jeremy having land of his own only a couple days ride away. Kostya suspected the guest was a lady, but would never say so, and risk wiping the smile off Serena’s face. He wanted his daughter’s birthday to be a good day for them.

  “Do stay for supper this evening,” he said, surprising himself, but not wanting her to go.

  She’d ridden out to pay her respects, and besides that, he wanted company. He watched her surreptitiously as she struggled to keep her hair under her bonnet as the wind picked up. She bit her lower lip and studied the sky with concern in her bright blue eyes.

  “If the weather turns, you know you always have a room here,” he cajoled.

  She blushed and turned away, and he wondered if he’d gone too far. It was hard for him to accept that so many things had changed in such a short amount of time, and that Serena’s spending the night at the house might be improper now. He shook his head and silently berated himself.

  What he never should have believed was that he could have been allowed to be happy in the first place. The life he thought he could live here on the estate had turned out to be a cruel intermission in the sick play of his existence. He knew it was time to leave, but he didn’t want to. Not yet.

  “Mrs. Dunbar and her husband could join us for cards,” he added.

  Serena loved to gamble, and his housekeeper Mrs. Dunbar would be glad to join them, even though it was probably scandalous since he was still in mourning. But he was sick of it. As
he’d told Serena earlier, Lucy would have hated to see them moping around, and Camilla would have split her sides with laughter at the hypocrisy of it.

  “That does sound tempting,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “Father is away in Edinburgh again, so I don’t relish sitting out a storm all alone.”

  A far off crack of thunder punctuated her words and she jumped, nearly tripping.

  Kostya reached for her to keep her from falling, only making it worse and knocking her further off balance. She laughed while stumbling over his feet, and grabbed his waistcoat. Straightening up, she was quite close to him, and he could see the tiny, merry laugh lines close to her eyes. She ducked away, straightening his clothes where she’d wrinkled them in her grip.

  He offered his arm so they could move at a faster pace, certain the sky was about to open up and dump on them at any moment. He knew she felt awkward staying any length of time without her maid and he found himself missing her doddering old aunt. The woman hadn’t had a clue what was going on most of the time, but when she’d been alive, she made things more seemly, something that was important to Serena.

  He reminded himself that she was right to care what the villagers thought of her. It had been so long since they’d had a good opinion of him, that he’d given up caring, and they came to a sort of uneasy truce when Camilla left, most of them ending up pitying him. He didn’t muck about with them, and they left him alone to run the estate, happy enough to take what it offered.

  No, he couldn’t drag Serena down into the mire with him, no matter how much he enjoyed her company. But he did enjoy her company, her sharp wit and sharper tongue, and that sweetness she tried so hard to hide— the vulnerability that had allowed Camilla to make her miserable since they were children.

  His servants were discreet, she could safely spend a cozy evening playing cards without ruining her reputation, and perhaps he could talk her into spending the night in the room she always stayed in, back when they were all children and she’d thought she would one day be the mistress of this place.

  An odd ripple of some strange and sour emotion passed through him at the thought of her long and unrequited love for Ashford. Well, Ashford was on his way, but he wasn’t here now, and Serena was more herself when he wasn’t around.

  Kostya like that Serena, the real one, the one who let her smile falter and her perpetually straight shoulders slump a little sometimes. He knew what it was like to carry a weight, knew how tiring and lonely it could be, and he was pleased to think he might ease her burden, even if only superficially, and only for a short time. And he suspected she felt the same about him, or why would she continue to regularly visit, long after Camilla was gone? Ashford was a true friend to him, as close as a brother, but he felt Serena understood him better.

  At the house, Mrs. Dunbar had a shawl ready to wrap around Serena’s thin frame, and began plying her with treats and tea, scuffling about in such a comfortable way that Kostya felt certain she’d give in.

  When the sky finally let loose with its downpour, and she agreed there was no choice but to stay, he calmly agreed, feeling warmth and relief to not be alone again.

  Chapter 10

  Tilly woke up to a sharp rap at the door. It took her a second to process where she was and what was going on, but Ashford’s surly face brooding down at her quickly brought her up to speed. All the horrible things she’d overheard the night before came rushing back, along with her hurt and anger.

  “Geez, you scared me,” she said, trying to assess her hair situation and surreptitiously wipe the sleep from her eyes.

  Why did he have to be the one to wake her up? She’d wanted to greet him with icy self-assuredness after his behavior in the library, not look like a long-haired guinea pig that had been sent through a clothes dryer.

  “Are you still abed?”

  She stared at him coldly. “I was under the impression you leisure class folks didn’t care when their ladies got out of bed.”

  “We need to depart for Scotland posthaste. Unless you’ve decided to stay here for the next three months?”

  His voice was neutral, bordering on cold, and she pressed back the little twinge of hurt at thinking he wanted her to stay. She knew he would take her because he felt responsible for her, but he wouldn’t insist if she raised a fuss. She continued to stare at him, knowing her puffy morning face didn’t have nearly the amount of disdain she wanted to get across to him.

  He cleared his throat and awkwardly placed a silver serving tray on the bed beside her. She gathered her blankets closer as he removed the cover with a flourish to reveal a lavish breakfast.

  She took a thoughtful bite of eggs. It would probably be better for her sanity to stay far away from this jerk, but she’d most likely be cooped up in the house for the next three months, probably never allowed to explore nineteenth century London. And even though she was still boiling mad at Ashford, she strangely didn’t want to be apart from him. Which was ridiculous, since he had done nothing but treat her badly, and clearly hoped she’d argue to stay. But the chance to see the country in this time was too much to pass up. Still, he was such a jerk.

  “Is this a bribe? Or an apology breakfast?” she asked, giving him the chance to redeem himself, praying he’d take it.

  “If I said it was, would that make you eat it faster?”

  She pushed the tray aside with a huff and threw off the blankets, standing up in her shift and planting her hands on her hips, determined to wring a real apology out of him. His eyes grew wide and he hastily looked away. She glanced down. The shift was a tiny bit see-through but she couldn’t back down now, damn it.

  “Oh, now you’ve got integrity? Now you care about my virtue? Where was that when you dragged my name through the mud and made me wear that tacky dress?”

  He quickly stifled a bark of laughter. “Is it your good name or your sense of style that’s more insulted?”

  She stood in front of him, wanting more than anything to grab the old velvet dressing gown Nora had given her, but not wanting him to know she was uncomfortable. Because of him. Again. She wished more than anything she had taken the chance to punch him the night before.

  He kept his eyes resolutely turned away from her as he took the robe from its hanging place and swept it around her shoulders. She noticed he took a quick perusal as he pulled it tightly closed under her chin and her cheeks heated up at his smirk.

  He took her shoulders and guided her back to the bed. “Miss Jacobs, please.” He looked like he’d just eaten a worm. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go. May I speak for a moment?”

  She sat down next to the tray and frowned up at him. He really did look quite pained.

  “Go ahead,” she said. Her appetite was ruined but she stabbed a sausage with a fork and tore into it. He covered his mouth and she saw with fury that he was once again trying not to laugh. “Is something funny?” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “I came here with sincere intent, I promise you I did. But you looked so savage—” he stopped abruptly, eyes widening. “Never mind that right now. You’ll probably kill me in my sleep if I continue that thought.”

  “I’m going to kill you right now, while you’re awake, if you don’t say what you came to say. Weren’t you in a big hurry a few minutes ago?” He cleared his throat again and took a step toward her, but stopped when she held out her hand. “I can hear you perfectly well from where you’re standing now.”

  “Very well.” His eyes sparkled like black diamonds and she stabbed at a fried potato. He pressed his lips together before continuing. “I gave some careful consideration to your words last night and came to the conclusion that I owe you an apology.”

  She paused with the fork halfway to her lips. “Really?” She could barely believe it, and waited patiently. Finally putting the fork down, she prompted, “Well?”

  He nodded and sat beside her so quickly, he almost knocked over her breakfast tray. His weight made her sink toward him, his body heat going straight
through her velvet robe as she brushed against him. She grabbed onto the handle to keep the teapot from sliding off the tray and looked at him. The intensity in his eyes made her look away at first, but drew her back. He pushed the teapot to a safe spot and took her hand.

  “I am truly contrite, Miss Jacobs. I treated you abominably for my own gain. I admit I am sometimes thoughtless, but my behavior towards you went beyond the pale. The breakfast was indeed a bribe, so I apologize for that as well, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it.”

  He wiped his brow as if he’d run a marathon and even though his words were stilted, his sincerity shone through his dismal expression. Her heart broke a little at how difficult it seemed for him to be able to express his feelings. She looked at his hand that still held onto hers and sighed.

  “That was a pretty fancy apology,” she said begrudgingly. Even though she forgave him, she wanted him to work a little harder.

  He ran his thumb across the back of her hand and smiled crookedly. “One of my father’s biggest disappointments in me was my inability to get a point across.” He let go of her hand and stood. “I meant it, though. I won’t treat you that way again. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” she said simply, taking her fork. “Let me finish this and then I’ll get dressed.”

  He glanced at his pocket watch and frowned. “I’ll send Nora up straight away. You have ten minutes or we’ll leave without you.”

  She shrugged as he made his way to the door, unphased that rude Ashford was back. His awkward but sincere apology told her that there was a nice man underneath it all.

  “If you leave I’ll just find myself a new benefactor,” she said.

  He turned to glare at her with such ferocity before storming out that she got dressed in a hurry, making it downstairs with seconds to spare.

  ***

  Tilly woke with a start when the carriage went through a rut in the seemingly endless road to Scotland. Mortified to find she’d flopped halfway onto Ashford’s lap, she saw he looked equally embarrassed. Clearly not wanting to wake her, his hand hovered in the air as if he’d been trying not to rest it on her while she slept.