Authors: Michelle Woodward
Chapter 4
Lord Hexley arrived in the court yard, riding his horse. He had not taken a carriage on this occasion as he liked to ride when he could. He had left his destination earlier than expected as he wished to discuss a matter with his wife. A stable boy came out to greet him and take the horse back to the stables, so Mathias entered the house by the kitchens; he was too muddy to go in the front entrance.
“Oh, your Lordship, we did not expect you back until early evening,” the butler said as he saw Mathias entering the doorway. “Shall I arrange to draw a bath for you, my Lord?” he asked.
“That would be splendid, Mason, and get my valet to lay out some fresh clothes?” Mathias ordered, eager to shed his dusty clothes from the ride. “I’ll take some lunch in the library while I’m waiting,” he added, his growling stomach reminded him he had eaten only a light breakfast.
Heading straight for the library, he was keen to go through some plans for one of the farms. They were going to try pigs on this particular farm, and he was unsure on which type of pens to erect. The butler followed him through the house and into the library, opening up any closed curtains and going to the drinks cabinet to pour his Lordship his favorite spirit. Setting up the tray, Mason poured and carried the tray over to the desk, where his Lordship was rummaging through some papers.
“Ah, splendid, Mason, just what I need,” Mathias said as he reached out for the crystal tumbler of rich amber whisky.
As he touched his mouth with the glass and felt the warmth of the liquid, he happened to look out of the window that faced the south verandah. There he could see his wife, by the old pond, and she was in the company of a young man.
“Who is that boy?” he asked Mason.
“He is Tristan Scott, my Lord, the gardener’s son,” Mason informed him.
“Yes, yes, but what is he doing on my verandah?” Mathias enquired.
“Lady Hexley is planning a water feature, my Lord. As the boy is helping his father while he visits, she has arranged for him to do some of the larger tasks that old Malcolm might struggle with,” the butler finished.
“That will be all, for now, Mason,” Mathias said, sharply, wondering why his wife had not mentioned any of this.
The butler bowed his head and left the room, “I’ll send word when your bath is drawn, Sir,” he said before shutting the door.
Mathias stayed out of view, hidden by the curtain. He felt a twinge of guilt that he was spying on his wife, but her over familiarity with the young man was causing him some consternation, Bridget and the young man seemed to be completely engrossed in something.
He watched as they both kneeled on the floor as if looking at something on the ground. As they leaned in closer, their heads touched. His wife did not seem to pull away, as she should have done. Instead she allowed the young man to touch her hair as his hand went out to rub her head, obviously touching a tender spot where their heads had clashed. His lordship was totally shocked at her behaviour, it was completely inappropriate for a lady to be in the company of a man, unchaperoned. Even worse was this overly familiarity, it bordered on scandalous. He considered tapping on the window to let her know of his presence, or strolling out on to the verandah to meet this newcomer, but he was transfixed by his wife’s behaviour.
As she looked over to the house, he froze, hoping she could not see him, but she gave no sign that she had. He breathed a sigh of relief, although he wondered why it should be him that felt guilty. At this moment he was too shocked to deal with her. He walked out of the library backwards, just as he was about to reach for the door handle, the maid knocked to inform him that his bath was ready.
* * *
Bridget thought the young man utterly charming, as well as handsome. As their heads had banged together, he had reached to touch her head where they had clashed, and he rubbed at it gently. She knew she should not allow him to do this, but his touch was most thrilling.
“I cannot decide on a bird bath or a sun dial feature,” she told him. “I want it in this particular spot so I can look upon it from the library window,” she said, pointing to the building. She thought she could see someone watching them, but realized it must be the way the curtain had been drawn back. However, it served to bring her to her senses and she knew she could not linger here much longer, chattering to this handsome young man.
“I will let Malcolm know what I finally decide upon and perhaps you can arrange to go pick it up, once I’ve purchased the feature?” she suggested.
“I’ll be happy to ma’am, er… I mean, your Ladyship,” he stuttered, clearly not sure of the proper title.
“Very well, Tristan, I look forward to seeing it when completed,” she said, holding out her hand once again.
He took it and shook it gently, “I will get on to it as soon as you command, Lady Hexley.”
Bridget thought she heard an undertone to the word command, but his face revealed nothing, so she assumed it was simply her heightened sensitivity that she had, when around him.
“I just need to speak to Lord Hexley, and then I will get back to you,” she added.
With that she turned and left him, walking towards the house. It may have been her imagination but she felt he watched her all the way, until she entered the house.
* * *
Tristan was glad that the meeting was over; he did not know how much longer he could keep his hands off the beautiful woman who stood before him. He was a popular lad where the girls were concerned, but this was a married woman, not only that but the wife of the Lord of the manor. He would need to tread very carefully, or it could all turn out badly. Still, he was sure she was giving off signals that she liked him too. Nothing would have pleased him more than to have swept her into his arms and kiss her soft lips, they looked so succulent.
It also took all his willpower not to be looking at her breasts. He was sure that was why she had knelt down on the floor, so he could get a full view of her cleavage. How he longed to put his hand inside that dress.
Would a Ladyship consider an affair with a soldier, he wondered? He could be discreet and no one would ever know. How was he to let her know this? He’d think of something, he had to.
Chapter 5
On a Tuesday afternoon, once a month, Bridget held tea for the local ladies, unfortunately that also including her dreaded sister-in-law, Lady Gertrude Blake.
“Has my brother discussed a trip to France, with you yet, Bridget?” Gertrude asked her, spooning a forkful of coconut cake into her mouth.
“No, he has not, sister,” she replied, sipping her weak tea, she much preferred the bitter taste of coffee, that was considered a little too avant-garde for present company, so tea it was.
“I am to go with my husband, on business, and I thought of taking the children. That was when I had the idea of perhaps you coming along also. I am surprised he has not mentioned it,” she said, as if it were Bridget’s fault that he had not brought the subject up.
The last thing she wanted was a trip with that family; she simply had to find an excuse not to go. She would love to visit France, just not with Gertrude. The thought made her feel positively ill. She quickly rose and stood by the window, hoping that Gertrude had not seen her look of disgust.
Sipping her tea, very slowly, she looked out upon the garden, only to spot Tristan at work. He was helping to prune some of the branches on one of the huge oaks that adorned the gardens. His shirt was removed and tied around his waist as he worked. The light chatter of her guests was soon distant in her mind, as she imagined what it would be like to have those arms wrapped around her waist, burying her head in those strong shoulders and kissing that thick neck.
“What are you doing, over there?” Gertrude shouted, a clear aggrieved tone to her voice as usually she expected Bridget’s full attention on her visits.
“I’m getting a little sun on my face, sister, we really should have had tea outside, the air is stifling in here,” and indeed, it was, almost to the point of dizziness. She really must turn away from the handsome young man, but she was captivated.
His whole body stretched upwards to grab a hold of a large branch and gently lift it down. His torso was slender, yet his well-defined muscles rippled at the effort. In her eyes he had the body of a Greek god, and shamelessly she wished to worship it.
“What is through this window that has taken all your attention and distracted you from your guests, Bridget dear?” the voice said from directly behind her, for a large woman, Gertrude could sneak up on one, almost silently.
“Who on earth is that?” she asked, pointing through the window.
“”Who is what?” Bridget asked. “I’m watching a swallow, would you believe it. He was over there on the rockery. You seem to have frightened him away with your voice.”
“Nonsense,” Gertrude retorted. “I want to know who that servant is, over there,” now she pointed with her wagging, podgy finger.
“Oh, you mean the people pruning the tree?” she asked, acting as if she had not noticed them. “Let me see, it’s probably just Scotty, our gardener.”
“Nonsense, I know what Malcolm Scott looks like, he’s an old man. Why my brother keeps him on, I have no idea. Perhaps he’s seen sense and employed a fitter gardener, though I think he takes liberties by going almost naked at his work. It is positively disgusting,” Gertrude finished, still staring at the young man through the window. Gertrude’s apparent disgust attracted the attention of the other ladies; they all quickly made their way to the window to see what all fuss was about.
“Really, Gertrude, I think you go a little too far,” Bridget used her stern tone, hoping to misdirect the conversation. “Malcolm is a wonderful gardener; Mathias would not get rid of him, ever.”
Bridget walked away from the window while the giggling ladies all spied upon Tristan. She would have loved to stay with them and giggle along, but she knew Gertrude would speak to Mathias about this.
“Call the butler, what’s his name, Mason,” Gertrude was now the only one still stood looking out of the window, “and have that vulgar person removed,” she complained, from the window.
“Would it not be better simply to draw the curtains, sister?” Bridget smiled, calmly, hoping to make Gertrude look a fool. “After all, we do need the tree pruning and it is a very heavy task. A task we ladies certainly could never consider doing, so who do you suggest we get for the manual labor?”
“Do not mock me, young lady; I know very well that it is man’s work. But, he should act more respectful of his betters and not walk around flaunting himself,” she continued to complain, but she still stood by the window.
“Shocking!” she said, finally pulling herself away from the window. “Call the maid to close the curtains, at the very least,” she demanded.
“I will close the curtains, sister, if it offends you so much,” Bridget offered, only as an excuse to get up and take one last peek out of the window at the powerful young body of her new employee.
As she reached up for the curtain, he waved over to her. She dare not respond for fear of the women seeing her, instead she smiled as she drew the large curtains together.
“Are you well enough for a game of Bridge, sister?” she asked Gertrude, knowing that was her favorite pastime and would soon divert her mind to other things. For Bridget though, her mind would be thinking about the half-naked Tristan for the rest of this day, at the very least.
Chapter 6
Tristan could not help his imagination running riot with desire, every time he looked upon the mistress of the house. Lady Bridget Hexley was stunning. Even though she was a lady and he a mere gardener’s son, he felt certain that she felt the same way. If only they had met in a different life, a life where they had been equals, and unattached, so he could hold her and kiss her, and they could make love in the meadow.
He had been raised to be a considerate person, a gentleman to the opposite sex, and a man of good manners, but he would give all that up just to steal one kiss from Lady Bridget. He could not understand why a beautiful woman such as her, would be married to a much older man as the Lord Hexley. She must be very bored with her husband, he felt sure they would have little in common. She needed a strong, young man like him, to satisfy her needs, or so he liked to dream in his head.
The day he had been cutting back the branches on the oak, he had spotted her watching him from the window. Even from that distance he could see a longing in her face as she watched him. It was not until the other ladies had joined her, that she finally tore her eyes away from him. Yes, he was certain that she felt the same way that he did, but moving on with that would be difficult. If he had misjudged her, or if they were caught, it would be disastrous for all concerned, including his father.
Tristan was a man of confidence and strength, his parents had provided everything they could to ensure this. His mother had died when he was twelve, but his father continued to be a pillar of strength. He loved his father and knew that if he gave in to his desires, he would risk his father’s home and income. Whilst he did not wish to do this, he knew he could not resist the Lady’s invitation, should it ever happen. The fact that he would only be here a few months probably meant that nothing would happen, and his father should be safe from any indiscretions.
There were plenty of other attractive young females around the household and the local village, but Tristan had no interest, the only one to alight his desire was the good Lady Hexley. He thought they had almost kissed when she was instructing him over the water feature, but she must have got cold feet. Every time he saw her, even from a distance, his heart pounded so hard that he thought it might burst through his chest.
His father was keeping him busy, so he was grateful for that, but he had to keep his mind busy as well, so he would not obsess over this beautiful woman he could not have. Today he was finishing off the repairs to the roof of the small sun house, the one she frequented to read her books. He had thought of waiting until she was in there, just so he could speak with her, but he knew that it would be a mistake. If she wanted him, like he wanted her, then it was she who must approach him, not the other way round. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he was determined to leave her alone, he had no wish to spoil her or his father’s life, and that could be the result of such a dangerous liaison.
With that resolve in mind, he would go into the village this very evening and find himself a girl. He would need to be careful as he only wanted a brief relationship, no permanent catch. Not being ready for anything like that yet, he only wanted girls who were out for a bit of fun.
Going back into the army was his long term hope. He had gained much respect from his comrades and was almost promoted, but the gunshot wound at Waterloo had temporarily stopped any advancement. Still, he was one of the lucky ones; many of his comrades had died on that field in Belgium, good and stout men who served their country well. At least their deaths had not been in vain and the little Corsican troops were routed.
He had his father to thank for his skill with a gun, taking his young son with him when he had to go in search of poachers. Thanks to those skills, he had been chosen to serve with the 95th infantry rifle regiment. His father was indeed proud of his son, and Tristan, on his part, could not wait to return to wear his distinguished green uniform. But first, he had to prove he was fit again. With Napoleon defeated, he wondered if the army would still need him, though he knew his skill with a gun would go to his advantage.
All he needed to do was make sure his leg was healed, he enjoyed running and working hard, so it would not be difficult to keep pushing himself to full recovery. Granted, it was much weaker, that was why he liked to run early on a morning when everyone was still in their beds. Soon, his weakened leg would be strong again, and he would go back and see if he could get his place back in the army, and hopefully get that promotion he had been promised.