Parting the Veil by Paulette Kennedy
CHAPTER 26
The downstairs clock was chiming. Eliza counted six bells, and then seven, but for once, Malcolm remained in her bed. They’d made up in full after their dinner together, indulging in the leisurely kind of lovemaking that soothed Eliza’s frustrations. But while Eliza had been satisfied, Malcolm had barely slept afterward, his body racked with nightmares. Long after he’d drifted into his fitful sleep, she stayed awake next to him, stroking his back and whispering endearments until he quieted.
As the clock chimed eight, he finally woke, his eyes blinking drowsily. “You’re still here.”
“I was just going to say the same to you. I miss you when you leave me so early.” She pushed his dark curls from his face. “You were troubled last night. You cried out in your sleep, several times.”
Malcolm closed his eyes, deep creases forming at their corners. “I had a dream you’d left me. Well and truly. I was searching for you everywhere, but all the light had gone from the world, and fanged beasts tore at me from every dark corner. It was hellish.”
“You sound a bit like Dante searching for his lost love.” Eliza chased the drifting thread and barely caught it. “Beatrice. There was a maid here at one time called that, wasn’t there? Just like Dante’s love?”
Malcolm sat upright in bed, fully awake. Something akin to panic glinted in his eyes. “How on earth did you find out about Beatrice?”
“Mrs. Duncan told me about her once, in passing. Why does it matter?”
Malcolm ran a hand over his tangled hair and reached for his trousers. “It doesn’t. She was just a young woman my mother hired on as a lady’s companion and nanny. Did Duncan say anything else about her?”
“No, nothing at all.” How funny. There was something about Beatrice—she could see it on his face, the sudden way he’d flinched at her name. She had caught him unawares, but pressing her husband wasn’t the way to get him to open up. She’d leave it . . . for now. Eliza sat up against the headboard and pulled the sheets around her bare bosom. “What are you up to and about today?”
“I’ve an appointment in Southampton. I should have been on the road an hour ago.”
“Are you looking at hiring more men to finish our work?”
Malcolm buttoned his shirt over his chest and shook his head. “No. This is something else. A surprise.” The hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. He sat in front of the chair by the fireplace and pulled on his boots. “You’ll still be here when I return, won’t you?”
“Of course. Mrs. Duncan and I are planning on working in the garden this afternoon. She insists the carrots must be pulled.” Eliza stood, letting the sheets fall away.
Malcolm’s eyes roved hungrily over her bare flesh. “Come here, wife.”
She walked to him, her pulse quickening. He cupped her breasts, kneading their fullness in his palms, his tongue flicking over their hardened peaks. “Like so much ripe, delicious fruit,” he murmured.
Eliza sighed, her head rocking back. “Shouldn’t you be going?” she asked breathlessly. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Do I?” He gripped a hank of her hair, pulling her onto his lap as his lips found the soft curve of her throat, drinking her skin.
“I thought you were late . . .”
His fingers trailed down her belly, spreading heat in their wake. “It seems something much more pressing has come up at home.”
Eliza bent to her work, weeding the rows of red lettuce in the kitchen garden as the sun warmed her back. A delicious ache still rested between her legs from Malcolm’s attentions that morning. Even though their lovemaking had been a pleasant distraction, his strange response to her mention of Beatrice’s name had piqued her curiosity.
Eliza eyed Shirley, who was busy shaking a flurry of dirt from a bundle of carrots. She placed them in the basket at her feet, then moved toward the row of parsnips.
“Say, Shirley?” Eliza called.
“Yes’m?”
“I’ve been considering adding to our staff. Malcolm mentioned he’d like to hire a maid for me, and I thought someone already familiar with the manor would be a good fit, wouldn’t you think?” In reality, Malcolm hadn’t brought up any such thing. “Sarah Nelson and I were talking the other day, and she mentioned Ada’s maid. I believe her name was Beatrice?”
“Aye, mum. I remember her.” Shirley paused, the ruffled top of a parsnip within her chubby hand. “He’s said he wants to hire another maid? Really?”
“Yes. Did Beatrice leave a forwarding address or ever send for a reference?”
“I wouldn’t ken where to find her, mum. She left in a rush quite a few years ago. I believe she said she was going home to Guernsey or some such.” Shirley’s voice had risen in pitch from her usual alto rumble. “Nae, I’ve no help for ye on that count.”
What was it with Beatrice that had everyone in such a state?
Eliza sighed and stretched her back. “It’s just that I’m considering having a party, and I wouldn’t want you having to do all the work.”
Shirley brightened, her relief in the change of subject apparent. “Dinnae fash about my working. I’m built to the task. I’ve been managing things for many a year.”
“I’d want dancing and a buffet, and all the rest. That gorgeous ballroom has been closed up for far too long.”
Shirley brushed her hands on her apron. “It’d be nice to have a bit of merrymaking in this old house again. His lordship’s mother held a ghillies ball each fall before the hunt. She didnae care for parties, not usually, but she liked to keep her Scottish traditions.”
“Do you think we could pull off a ghillies ball at Havenwood Manor? By mid-October, perhaps?”
“Oh, mum. We most certainly could. I could help you plan the menu after tea! We could bring in a pair of village girls to help with the cooking, I suppose. Just for the day. His lordship surely wouldn’t mind that. And unless the moths have gotten to it, I’ve yards of tartan bunting up the attic.”
“That all sounds marvelous.”
Just then, their happy plans were interrupted by a commotion of hoofbeats from the flagstone drive. Eliza shook out her skirts and went around the side of the house. She was greeted by the unexpected sight of Malcolm driving a fine new carriage—a varnished ebony wood landau with sweeping French lines and purple tufted upholstery. Apollo was hitched to the shaft, and next to him trotted a beautiful Friesian mare, black as coal shards, her crimped mane tied with violet ribbons. Malcolm pulled up to the terrace, his face breaking into a proud grin.
“Husband, what have you done?”
“I’ve retrieved your wedding present, darling. As promised.”
Eliza covered her mouth with her hands. “But this is trop cher! It must have cost a fortune.”
Malcolm hopped down and pulled her into his arms. “It’s also my apology. It’s not too dear at all, considering. Do you like it?”
Eliza laughed, incredulous. “How could I not?” She ran her hand over the beveled edge of the carriage door. “It’s gorgeous!”
It was more than gorgeous, it was extravagant—a carriage meant for a duke or a prince. A gilded H adorned the front fender, and its well-oiled wheels gleamed with gold plating along their spoked rims. But for all the landau’s finery, it was the new horse she was most anxious to see. Eliza went to the mare’s side, sweeping a hand over her velvet flank up to her neck. The horse turned her fine head to study Eliza with long-lashed, dewy eyes.
“She came all the way from Holland, with the very best bloodlines. Her ancestors carried kings.”
Eliza’s tears welled. “Hello, Artemis.” She placed a kiss on the horse’s muzzle and was rewarded with a soft huff of hot air against her cheek. “Oh, Malcolm. I love her already.”
“She’ll carry you well. And now you won’t have to walk to town when I’m away.”
“You made excellent time to Southampton and back. This carriage must be swift as the wind.”
He gave a puzzled look. “Did I? I’ve been gone since early morning.”
“I suppose for most people, nine in the morning is early.” She winked. “You seemed rather unconcerned with the time.”
Turner came onto the terrace, his hands clasped behind his back. “Mrs. Duncan is readying tea, m’lord. Shall I have her hold off for a while?”
Malcolm turned to Eliza. “Would you like to take a ride in your new carriage before tea, darling?”
“Shouldn’t I change first?” she asked, poking an errant curl behind her ear. “I’m sure I look dreadful.”
“Nonsense. You look as fresh and lovely as a spring day.” Malcolm pinched her chin and smiled. “Turner, have Mrs. Duncan pack a picnic basket instead. Her ladyship and I are going on a ramble.”
The new carriage was indeed as fast and nimble as Eliza had imagined. They rolled along the lane, past Sherbourne House, where Mr. Mason waved to them and called a greeting as he trimmed the shrubbery. Lydia was rarely there these days. Eliza had learned if she wanted to hold congress with her sister, she’d need to go to the hospital. Nursing had become Lydia’s driving passion in life, and Eliza was glad for it.
They rambled through the thicket of spindly birches on the outer edge of the forest glen. Malcolm guided the horses onto the same mounded knoll where they’d lingered on their first outing. Instead of summer’s daisies and yarrow, red grass and purple heather now crested the hill in colorful runnels.
“Taking me back to where it all began, I see,” Eliza said.
Malcolm slowed the horses to a stop and looped the reins over the carriage’s lantern post. “It’s one of my favorite places, after all.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll walk on for a bit, if that’s all right. I want to show you the mill.”
She gathered the quilted blanket and picnic basket Shirley had packed for them and handed both to Malcolm. They walked arm in arm over the grass, the wind ruffling Eliza’s cotton skirts. When she first glimpsed the edges of the millpond, a brief moment of terror shot through her belly. It was nearly identical to the pond Albert had drowned in, down to the narrow jetty angling toward its center. The only difference was the windmill slowly turning at the far end, its wooden blades creaking.
“Are you all right, darling?” Malcolm asked. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”
“I’m well. It was just a moment.”
“Memories of your brother?”
Eliza nodded. “They come unexpectedly. Small things, rippling through like a finger placed in a puddle of water. Sometimes I hear him crying in the call of a bird or see a glimmer of his hair in the way the sun shines on a plume of sedge. He’s ever out of my reach, yet ever present all the same.”
“Memories of my brother often come in the same way.”
Malcolm spread the quilt out on the ground, and Eliza sat next to him, hugging her knees until her breathing steadied. He poured tea for them out of a squat, lidded carafe and sweetened hers with honey before handing it to her. Eliza cupped it in her hands, savoring its warmth. “Tell me about Gabriel.”
Malcolm smiled sadly. “As I’ve said, my brother and I were as different as we were alike. Much of our trouble was due to how differently our parents treated us,” he said, removing his tweed derby and reclining next to her. “Our mother seemed to favor me. ‘Mollycoddled’ was what my father said. Perhaps he was right. Gabriel was a difficult child. Independent, rash. Our father admired his spark but knew he wouldn’t be suited to play the subtle politics of a country lord. Still, I became jealous when Papa would crow about Gabe’s military accomplishments. He was made one of the youngest lieutenants in the Royal Navy, you know. He would have been a captain someday.”
“But you are so clever, Malcolm! Talented and quick of mind. It’s one of the things I admire most about you. And you’re an artist. The plans for the renovations are superb. You’re an accomplished architect.”
Her husband turned bashful, fiddling in the pocket of his coat until he drew out his pipe. “I do find great comfort in the orderliness of numbers and geometry. It’s predictable and reliable. Unfortunately, my father never saw the merit in my interests until it came time for me to manage the estate’s ledgers.”
“We’re opposites in that regard. My papa always treated me as his heir and reassured me I was capable,” Eliza said. “He was too indulgent with me at times, I suppose, but Maman’s criticisms brought me back down to earth. No matter how hard I tried for her approval, I would never be as graceful as she, or as talented at singing and the harp. She saw me as an impulsive little girl with hopeless manners and knock-knees. And then after Albert . . .” Eliza turned away, looking out over the water. “I should have never been made responsible for his care. I wasn’t suited to it. I’ve never thought I’d make much of a mother. I still don’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s utter nonsense! You show the utmost care when it concerns the feelings of others. I see it in the way you treat our staff. You’ll make a fine mother, darling.” Malcolm packed his pipe and lit it, a curl of smoke streaming from his nostrils.
“You say that now.” Eliza looked down and took a steadying breath. It was time to lay her own fears bare, in the hopes that her husband would reciprocate. “But what if one of our children dies, Malcolm? What if I get distracted and turn away at the wrong moment, and your son and heir wanders out into the road? What if he pulls a kettle from the hob, or falls from a tree? Will you truly be able to forgive? Or will you blame me? Will I suffer the removal of your affection and your silent disregard?” She shook her head. “I couldn’t endure that. Not again. If I’m ever to happily bear your children, I must be assured your love is evergreen, come what may.”
Malcolm put down his pipe and grasped her hand. “My dearest wife, if the worst were to happen—which I’ve the utmost confidence it will not—you have my word we’d shoulder it together. I promise you.”
He pulled her down onto the blanket, his lips meeting her own in a chaste kiss. She sighed and nuzzled beneath his chin, inhaling the earthy fragrance of his skin. He undid her hair from its long plait and combed through it with his fingers, holding it up so the sun’s rays sparkled through. “You remind me of our wild Boudicca, with your fire-bright hair.”
“I was always teased for it, as well as the freckles that come along with it.” Eliza sighed. “Maman made me scrub my face and arms with lemon water and wear long sleeves in summer to prevent the damnable spots from multiplying.”
“Spots and all, I’ve rather come to appreciate your rustic kind of beauty.”
Eliza frowned. “Your compliments need a bit of tuning, husband. I’m not a log cabin or a grizzly bear, after all.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled and cupped her jawline, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. “I’d no idea I could feel so happy. You’ve brought me back to life, Eliza.”
When they’d returned from their drive, Eliza went upstairs to her dressing table. She withdrew the amber bottle of herbal tonic Lydia had given her. She grasped it for a moment, briefly wavering, then went to her water closet. As the last dregs dripped into the flush toilet, a well of calm resolve settled over her. If deception were to truly be undone in their marriage, she would no longer play the hypocrite.