F
urther to the left.” Em stood in the middle of the inn’s rear yard and directed her small army of helpers. Now that they’d started preparing rooms for paying guests, a refitting of the washhouse had been necessary, and that in turn had called for a washing line.
If there’d ever been one before, no one could remember it.
She’d mentioned the project in the common room the evening before; both Jonas and Filing had heard and volunteered to help. Thompson, the blacksmith, said he knew where suitable posts could be found. Phyllida had donated spare ropes she never used. Before she’d turned around, Em had had all the pieces required to construct the inn’s washing line, and enough willing hands to do it.
Everyone had gathered that afternoon; only Edgar, tending the bar, wasn’t there. The kitchen staff and John Ostler had the afternoon off, but the three girls from nearby farms who Em had hired to work as laundresses were waiting in the shadow of the open washhouse door, eyes wide, their first batch of laundry in baskets at their feet.
Issy stood to one side, carrying various tools in a trug. The twins jigged impatiently by the kitchen door, their arms full of the ropes, pulleys, and anchors to be mounted on the crossbeams.
“Just a little more.” Em waved to Jonas and Filing. Coats off, pints of ale supplied as sustenance already consumed and set aside, they’d earlier worked to assemble the uprights for the ends of the line—two tall posts each anchored by a stone lashed to the center point of two heavy crossed timbers that served as a stabilizing foot. They’d already placed the first upright to her satisfaction and were now positioning the second.
Henry stood nearby, holding the crossbeam that would need to be lifted into its slot across the top of the post, then bolted on.
“How’s that?” Jonas straightened to sight the other post.
“It’s very close.” Em strode forward to stand between the posts, checking the line between them, mentally measuring the clear distance in terms of sheet widths. She nodded. “Yes, that will do.”
Filing straightened from his half crouch with an audible groan. Issy went to his side; he looked into her eyes and smiled, shaking his head to dispel her concern.
Jonas waved Henry forward. They each took one end of the crossbeam, then hefted it into the notch on the upright, sliding it onto long bolts set through the notch. Filing took a heavy wrench from Issy. With one hand, Jonas reached into his pocket and pulled out two nuts; he handed them to Filing, who quickly secured one bolt, then the other.
They all stepped back, considered the result, then Jonas turned and beckoned to the twins. “Ropes next.”
The girls rushed up, ropes with attached pulleys and anchors bobbing.
Jonas and Filing sorted out the ropes, then with Henry holding one end, and all four sisters strung out along the lines holding the ropes up, they worked together to hammer the anchors into position, first on one crossbeam, then on the other.
Then they tensioned the ropes with the pulleys, and all was done.
All of them stood back in the shadow of the inn and viewed their creation.
Em nodded. “Excellent.”
She waved the laundresses forward. “You can hang the sheets. I know it’s late”—she glanced at the sky to the southwest—“but I doubt it will rain tonight. They can stay hanging until tomorrow.”
Picking up their baskets, the girls ran out, eager to try the new lines. Jonas showed them how to raise and lower the ropes. The twins, too, drew close to see. Em watched them eagerly question, and wondered what devilment their fertile brains were hatching. She was on the brink of walking over and warning them off, when, leaving the laundresses to their task, Jonas turned and directed his gaze and various words to the twins.
They looked up at him, wide-eyed. When he finished speaking, they smiled and shook their heads, their expressions all angelic reassurance.
Em inwardly snorted in cynical disbelief, but then the twins exchanged glances, plainly weighing their options, then of their own accord, headed back to the inn.
Still suspicious, she watched them go.
Gravel crunched as Jonas joined her, shrugging on his coat, settling his sleeves.
Her gaze returned to her sisters. “What did you say to them?”
“I reminded them of the agreement we struck a few weeks ago—that if they were good—good enough so I didn’t have to frown at them—I’d take them for a drive in my curricle.”
She turned her head and looked at him. “That was brave of you.”
He caught her gaze. Shrugged lightly.
Turning, he joined her in a last survey of their most recent field of endeavor. The laundry girls were giggling, swiftly pegging out the sheets; the pale cotton billowed in the light breeze.
She was very—hideously—aware of his nearness, of the heat that emanated from his large body. Of the temptation that posed to her wayward senses, the debilitating effect it had on her will, her resolution. She cleared her throat. “You’ve been so helpful, I can’t keep just saying ‘thank you.’”
And she certainly couldn’t keep rewarding him. He’d glanced at her; before he could suggest just that she hurried on, “Issy and I wondered if you and Mr. Filing might join us—just the family—for lunch on Sunday, after the service.” She faced him, met his eyes. “If you’re free.”
He looked into her eyes; his were so dark she couldn’t read his thoughts as he studied her face. Then he smiled. “Thank you.” He captured her hand, lifted it to his lips, brushed a light kiss to the backs of her fingers.
She felt her inner shiver all the way to her toes.
“I’d be delighted to join you.” His words were low, very male—too knowing.
Ignoring the impulse to glance away, she continued to meet his eyes. She couldn’t keep kissing him, but she knew herself well enough to know she
would
keep kissing him if he kept kissing her. So she had to stop him kissing her, had to avoid giving him opportunity and reason to do so. She forced herself to nod briskly. “Good. After church, then.”
She would have turned and swept away, but his gaze held her. Between them, he still held her hand.
His thumb shifted, stroking lightly, gently, slowly back and forth.
Lost in his eyes, she felt her world, her senses, stretch, warm, sigh.
With a small, satisfied smile, he released her. He nodded as he stepped back. “I’ll look forward to it.”
She stood and watched him stride to the wood, watched until he’d disappeared down the path that would eventually lead him back to the Grange.
Issy came up and wound her arm in hers. “Joshua accepted.”
“Jonas did, too.”
“Well, then!” Issy turned back into the inn; unresisting, Em turned with her. “We’d better give some thought as to what to serve.”
S
he couldn’t find the twins.
The following afternoon, knowing Issy had gone to help Miss Sweet with the church flowers and that Henry would be with Filing at the rectory, in midafternoon Em had left her accounts to go upstairs to check on her sisters, supposedly reading in her parlor upstairs, only to discover the parlor empty and the twins gone.
She hadn’t panicked. Assuming they’d gone to the kitchen in search of sustenance—Hilda’s latest buns, the fragrant aromas of which were filling the inn, for example—she followed, but the twins hadn’t been seated at the deal table. Neither Hilda nor her helpers had sighted the pair since lunchtime.
That
was when she’d started to worry. If the aroma of currant buns hadn’t drawn the twins to the kitchen, they weren’t in smelling range.
They weren’t in the inn.
Grabbing her shawl from her office, she headed out to the stables. John Ostler hadn’t seen them, but that meant nothing. She combed the tack rooms, looking under benches, peered into every stall, then climbed to the loft and fought her way over mountains of bales—but they weren’t hiding in any snug corners, either.
Descending to the ground, shaking straw from her shawl and skirts, she left the stables. There was no one in the yard. The sheets had been taken down and folded; the laundry maids had headed home for the day. Crossing to the entrance to the path through the wood, she paused at its mouth; arms folded, she considered the shadowed depths.
Would the twins have plunged into the wood? Usually the answer would have been an instant affirmative, but Jonas had warned them of the dangers and had—most tellingly—promised them a drive in his curricle if they remained “good.” Given the incentive, she honestly didn’t think they would have done anything that might cost them that treat.
Frowning, she swung around and stared at the inn, visualizing the regions beyond. Where might her angel-demons have gone? She could just see the church’s roof and tower, high up on the ridge; she was debating marching up there and enlisting Issy’s help when the light breeze carried a high-pitched shriek to her ears.
Faint though it was, she instantly knew the shrieker was Bea—and wherever her sister was, she was enjoying herself hugely.
Em humphed, tightened her shawl about her shoulders, and marched around the inn. Once past the building’s muffling bulk, she could more clearly hear the sounds of children playing—laughs, shrieks, calls—drifting down from the common.
Crossing the road, she walked onto the green expanse, climbing to skirt the upper edge of the duck pond. Gaining the higher ground above the pond, she paused and looked down on a scene of bucolic charm.
On the other side of the duck pond, where a level stretch of green lay between the road and the rise of the hill, twelve children, the twins included, were playing a spirited game of bat and ball.
There were no adults in sight, bar one.
Jonas sat on a bench a little way away, well above the players, watching over them.
Em watched him for several minutes, wondered if the bat and ball were his. Decided she wouldn’t be surprised to learn they were.
She looked again at the children playing on the grass. Looked at her sisters, at the laughing light in their faces, watched them interact with the other children openly, without reserve.
The twins didn’t make friends easily. Being twins, they always had each other; they tended to turn inward, to each other, and with the bond between them so strong, no outsider could normally impinge. Although she’d only seen them at this age over the past year, she’d noticed their lack of socializing and the concomitant social skills. But it was hard to make them expand their horizons; all they needed was each other, and her, Issy, and Henry, their family. They saw no need to make other connections.
Yet there they were, joining in, a trifle cautious—she could see that even from a distance—but they were making the effort to be part of a larger whole.
After watching for a minute more, she went forward. Halting beside the bench where Jonas sat, she kept her gaze on the game below.
He looked her way; she felt his gaze on her face. When she didn’t react, she felt it slide slowly down her body, yet still she didn’t turn to meet it.
She couldn’t decide if he’d done what he had by chance, or if he’d knowingly set out to pave the way for the twins—to open a door for them into the wider group by instigating the game…then she recalled he was a twin himself.
“Thank you.” She looked down into his eyes. “It’s always been so difficult to get them to…”—she gestured at the children below—“bother.”
He smiled, then looked back at the children. “I know what it’s like. But there’s no substitute for childhood games, and the games two can play are limited.” After a moment, he glanced at her again. “I saw them hanging out of the upstairs parlor window. They said they weren’t doing anything and were free to come out.”
She shrugged. “True enough. They don’t have to tell me if they’re not going far.”
He nodded. “They need to learn to be responsible for themselves.” His gaze returned to the children.
Leaving Em free to study him. To wonder. Eventually she murmured, “You don’t need to do this, you know. You’ve already impressed me.”
He chuckled, glanced briefly up at her, dark eyes alight. “I know.” Looking down the slope again, he paused, then drew a deep breath. “But…”
A long moment passed. She thought he wasn’t going to finish the sentence, but then he continued, “It’s possible that it’s I who should thank you—and your family, especially the angel-demons.” Again he paused, then after a moment went on, his tone softer, more musing, “I’m starting to think this is what I’ve been missing. That this—watching over the village, the next generation especially—is a large part of my true calling. A major part of what I’m meant to do.” His voice grew fainter. “What I’m on this earth to do.”
Em watched his face, knew he was serious, that the words were introspective, directed more at him than her. She made no comment, but stored the revelation away for later cogitation, for when she lay in her bed at night and thought of him.
His gaze had remained fixed on the game. Without looking up, he reached for her hand, unerringly captured it, and gently but relentlessly drew her down—until she surrendered, stepped around the end of the bench, and sat beside him.
Neither said anything, they simply sat and watched the game. Smiled at the antics, at the exuberance and enthusiasm.
Yet throughout he held her hand, captured, engulfed in his, his thumb lightly, gently, stroking her fingers.
L
unch that Sunday was the most entertaining meal Jonas had ever sat down to—and he suspected Joshua Filing would say the same. The Beauregards, en famille, were a boisterous lot. They’d elected to dine and entertain their guests in the long room—a general parlor of sorts—on the upper floor of the inn.
Joshua was an only child, and although Jonas had Phyllida, as twins with no other siblings they were but one step removed from being only children. Both he and Joshua were initially taken aback by the cacophany—not so much by its volume as its constancy; there seemed always to be someone talking and as Henry was relatively quiet, that someone was usually female.
Luckily all the Beauregard females had pleasant, rather musical voices.
Both Jonas and Joshua gradually learned to tune their ears to the babel.
There was a dumbwaiter at the end of the wing above the kitchens, designed to ferry dishes back and forth; at one point early in the proceedings, he and Joshua were called on to extract Bea from it. Once she was safe, Em scolded, but her heart wasn’t in it; she seemed to be having trouble keeping her lips straight. Issy, meanwhile, descended to the kitchen to explain and calm the kitchen staff, some of whom had thought the inn had sprouted a ghost; from below she commandeered the freed dumbwaiter for its intended purpose.
He and Joshua, the family’s guests, were quickly shooed back to their chairs. Henry, Gert, and Bea set themselves to be entertaining while their sisters delivered the dishes to the table.
Celery soup and crisp, crunchy bread formed the first course, followed by a fine trout with almonds. Then came roast goose and a plump duck, surrounded by vegetables of numerous kinds. Bread-and-butter pudding with raisins followed, with a final course of fruits and cheese.
Edgar had shyly produced a bottle of wine and begged them to try it, confiding that he’d hidden a few of the better vintages from the maraudings of the unlamented Juggs. The wine inside the old and dusty bottle proved to be very fine indeed, which significantly contributed to the mellowness around the table.
They lingered as long as they could, content and comfortable; for his part, Jonas couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so companionably at ease. But at last, with real regret, Joshua rose to leave.
“I must prepare for the evening service.” His tone made it clear he would much rather have stayed. He squeezed Em’s hand and thanked her, then turned to Issy.
She smiled warmly and wound her arm in his. “Come—I’ll see you out.”
Jonas watched the pair walk to the door, Issy’s head angled close to Joshua’s shoulder, the better to hear his softly spoken words. They looked like a couple—very much two people who belonged to each other.
He glanced at Em and found her watching the pair as well, a gentle, hopeful smile on her lips.
Reaching out, he tapped the end of her nose. “Come on, Sparrow—you can see me out, although I’m going in the opposite direction.”
She fell in beside him and they walked to the door. She frowned. “Since when did I become ‘Sparrow’?” She looked down at her green gown, then up at him, brows raised.
He smiled and stood back so she could precede him through the door and down the narrow corridor. He followed at her heels. “Actually the appellation occurred to me virtually the first time I saw you.”
She grimaced. “I must have been wearing brown.”
He chuckled. “It wasn’t the color of your gown that made me think it.”
Starting down the stairs, she cast him a narrow-eyed look. “I’m not sure I want to know, but what, then?”
He let his smile deepen. “Your eyes.” He looked into them as, surprised, she glanced at him again. “They’re bright and…curious. Just like a sparrow’s.”
“Hmm.” She continued down the stairs without further comment.
They paused in the kitchen to chat with Hilda, then went out through the back door.
Hilda’s nieces were in the kitchen garden, digging up carrots. One of the laundry maids was working, moving in and out of the washhouse. Em told herself she was glad of the company; he couldn’t possibly kiss her today.
She halted in the middle of the yard, and held out her hand. “I hope you enjoyed the meal.”
He took her hand; quite how he managed to make the simple contact both casual and yet almost intimate she couldn’t understand. He looked into her eyes; his thumb moved over her fingers, a caress that sent an achy longing sliding through her.
No kissing,
she told herself, inwardly strident.
He smiled as if he could hear. “This time it’s I who must thank you. The meal, and the company, was…” His smile faded. “Beyond perfect.” He hesitated, as if he would say more, but then he smiled softly, privately, again; raising her hand, he brushed his lips across the sensitive backs of her fingers.
Even though she’d steeled herself against the sensation, a shiver skated down her spine. He sensed it; his gaze sharpened.
His gaze lowered to her lips. Beyond her control, her gaze fell to his.
Around them, the world faded. Some tangible force drew them closer, a magnet drawing her into his arms. Her resistance weakened, melted away; she teetered…
He drew a quick, tight breath and stepped away.
She raised her eyes to his, felt her lips throb.
He met her gaze, hesitated again, but then, rather stiffly, inclined his head. Releasing her hand, he stepped back. “Until later.”
The words were deep, laden with reluctance, but with a last salute he turned away.
Em watched him stride onto the path, watched until the shadows of the wood swallowed his broad-shouldered figure.
Waited while her senses calmed and her nerves settled.
It wasn’t sensible to fall in love with a gentleman who declared he wanted her as his. “His” as in being his mistress.
She knew very well that such a position wasn’t for her, and never would be.
But
…
In her experience of life thus far, there usually was a “but”—the other side to every coin. In this case, the “but” was more than plain; it was the reason one part of her—her reckless Colyton side, the real heart and soul of her—was pulling, hard, in the opposite direction to her prosaic, wiser, sensible self.
She knew what temptation Jonas Tallent was dangling like a carrot before her, understood the basis of his seduction, yet…would this—this opportunity with him—be her only chance, the only one that came to her in her life, to explore the wonders of lovemaking, a region in life’s landscape into which she’d not ventured? She hadn’t previously had any real interest in it beyond an academic wish to know. Now…her need, her wanting to know, was anything but academic. It was fueled by some power she didn’t truly comprehend, only felt—a compulsion that drove her to…want to kiss Jonas Tallent, and want him to kiss her, and more.
While her prosaic, wise, and sensible self knew well enough not to yield to the temptation, she wasn’t at all sure what her reckless Colyton side had in mind.
“Miss?”
Em turned to see Hilda framed in the doorway.
“Could you come and try this custard for me?” Hilda called. “I think it might be a touch too sweet.”
Em nodded, and headed back to the inn.