The Folly at Falconbridge Hall (6 page)

As they began to glide over the terrace, her knees grew weak at the smell of his cologne, the feel of the strong contours of his arm, and the hand at her waist that seemed to burn through the cloth.

Her feet didn’t falter once. If only her mother could see her now.

Blythe clapped in time to the music as he twirled Vanessa expertly around the terrace. When she summoned the courage to raise her eyes to his, they held a solemn expression. Was this a penance just to please Blythe?

Vanessa stumbled, and his arm tightened. Her hand trembled within his broad clasp. She tried counting in her head to remain calm, but the sensation of his body so close to hers was like nothing she’d ever experienced. With a deep breath, she steadied herself. She was too old for girlish desires. Her feet began to move in perfect rhythm with the music and she became lost again in the heady sensation waltzing produced. It had never occurred to her that dancing would be so pleasurable, that a man’s arms could offer such ….

“Father, you and Miss Ashley dance perfectly together,” Blythe called.

Without warning, and before the music ended, he drew away.

“That was a pleasure, Miss Ashley.” He gave a stiff bow. “Perhaps it’s time you were off to bed, little one.” He kissed Blythe and, with a quick glance back at Vanessa, turned and went inside.

Vanessa put a hand to her burning cheek. She was almost glad he’d be departing for South America soon and life at the Hall would become tranquil, if a trifle dull.

The days passed uneventfully. Vanessa settled into a routine with Blythe. She saw little of his lordship, who was preparing for his trip. After he had accompanied them on that one brief ride, he assigned Lovel to the task of escorting them.

Vanessa did not much like Lovel following silently behind them. Judging her seat most likely, which made her so self-conscious she rode with her back as rigid as a poker. She finally succeeded in forgetting him when Blythe’s bright chatter drew her attention. Vanessa suspected Blythe still thought her a poor thing on a horse. She was determined to become at least competent and earn the child’s respect. Each day, Flora became more responsive to her commands, but riding sidesaddle continued to bother her. The awkward pose caused her leg and hip to ache, and she never felt in complete control.

Out of doors, Blythe came alive and, for a few brief moments, forgot to worry about her father’s imminent departure. Her joyous face glowed with good health after a canter over the fields. She pealed with laughter when a rabbit poked its head out of a hole and waggled its ears at them. It heartened Vanessa to see the child hunt around the garden, gathering flowers to press in books, as well as feathers, leaves, and pebbles. A pastime she had once enjoyed but had abandoned after her mother died. Blythe’s eyes sparkled when she found a beautiful blue robin’s egg to add to her collection. But Vanessa knew that as soon as they returned to the house, Blythe would become despondent again.

The more Vanessa saw of the Falconbridge estate the more she came to realize how immense it was. On a fine sunny afternoon, they rode all the way to the river and sat under a willow tree while the horses grazed. Lovel wandered farther downstream and stood chewing a reed as he stared into the water.

“What’s Lovel doing?” Blythe sat up and stared, causing Vanessa to turn her head.

Crouching down, Lovel leaned over the water. Suddenly, a fish flopped about in his cupped hands.

“How clever! How did you do it, Lovel?” Blythe called.

“An old gypsy trick, Miss Blythe.” Lovel’s eyes shone as he slapped the fish once on the ground. He tucked its limp body into a bag at his pommel. “’Twill do nicely for my supper.”

It seemed unnecessary. Everyone was amply fed at Falconbridge Hall. Was it the thrill of the kill that drove him? She thought of the dead rabbit – how angry Lord Falconbridge had been at Lovel for hunting in the wood.

Vanessa had yet to visit the wood due to Lord Falconbridge’s ban. She thought of that young woman’s body hanging from a tree and shivered.

It was in men’s nature to hunt and kill for the table, a primeval urge. Like a woman’s wish for a child. She gazed with affection on Blythe. She was the closest thing Vanessa would ever come to being a mother, and she felt a deep affection for the child already.

“Is anything wrong, Miss Ashley?” Blythe asked.

“No, my dear. I thought we’d have a picnic lunch in the folly. I’ve asked Cook to prepare us a hamper.”

“Oh how nice!”

*****

Vanessa bit into a slice of pork pie enjoying the light flaky texture. Cook had a wonderfully light hand with pastry. She had packed the basket with a splendid feast of boiled eggs with fresh baked bread and butter, salad, fruit, fresh lemonade and rhubarb charlotte. It was peaceful sitting in the atmospheric folly gazing over the water, like being in some Ancient Greek temple awaiting the gods. Vanessa watched Blythe feeding crumbs to the squabbling ducks. A pair of elegant swans consented to eat a few morsels. She had hoped the lunch would distract Blythe. The child looked up and laughed. “That little brown duck is greedy. It is chasing all the others away from the food.”

Vanessa smiled and nodded. The small and frail or disenfranchised must fight harder to survive.

When the ducks had gobbled the last of the bread, Blythe returned to sit beside her. “We’ll begin a new book today,” Vanessa said. “You may choose it.”

“I know which book I want,” Blythe said. “I saw it in the library.”

“Which?”

“
Treasure Island
.”

“I shall have to ask your father.” Vanessa wondered what Lord Falconbridge would think of that. She almost looked forward to asking him. Why did Blythe want to read this book particularly? She had seemed more interested in fairies than pirates. Might an adventure appeal to her more after his lordship’s lessons and his vivid descriptions of the exotic flora and fauna he found on his expeditions?

*****

The summer heat continued, with an occasional thunderstorm offering a temporary respite. Blythe now displayed less alarm at the lightning and thunder, thankfully, as Vanessa was running out of new ways to describe it. Thor in bad temper throwing lightning bolts had been her latest effort. The weather seemed to make everyone short tempered. “Why, we might live in Africa for all this heat we’re having,” Mrs. Royce complained.

The humidity reached its zenith three weeks after the ball. Vanessa twisted and turned in the bedclothes, her nightgown sticking to her skin. What she would give for a sea breeze!

She had no idea what time it was. Throwing back the covers, she stumbled in the dark to the open window. The air was heavy and still, the fragrances intensified. Crickets trilled, and from somewhere near the pond, a frog sent a throbbing invitation to its mate.

As her eyes adjusted, the brick walls of the folly took shape where the soft glow of lamp light shone out. This must be the light Blythe had seen. She leaned forward, her elbows on the sill. Who would be down there this time of night? She decided to see who it was. Then she could reassure Blythe and put an end to her desire to see for herself. Pulling on her dressing gown, she slipped into a pair of shoes. She opened her bedroom door. It must have been close to midnight, the house quiet and still. She tiptoed along the corridor to the stairs. One flight down, she peered over the banister rail into the hall below where a gas lamp still burned. She knew that his lordship had gone to a dinner party; she had heard him instruct Johnson not to wait up. Apparently, he had not yet returned.

She went softly down the stairs to the front door. Opening it, she slipped through, and it clicked shut behind her. The temperature was several degrees cooler outside. She made her way along the path through the gardens as the faint breeze stirred the damp hair at her neck, carrying with it the pine-laden scent of the woods. The moonlight illuminated the glassy waters of the lake. A disturbed water bird left its nest and flapped away.

Only a few steps from the structure, she heard a soft moan followed by a groan. She could see the clear outline of two people. It was a romantic assignation as she’d guessed. But she had not expected …. Their pale moonlit bodies moved together on the chaise longue. A rich chuckle followed by a mew of pleasure sent Vanessa backing away.

Spinning, she was suddenly disoriented. She caught a flicker of lights through the trees, and relief spread through her. It must be the house. Heart thudding, she tried to hurry, but solid trunks loomed and barred her way.

Suddenly, she smacked up against a hard body and hands gripped her, fingers digging into the soft skin of her arms. She bit down on a scream.

“Miss Ashley?”

“It is I, my lord.” Weak with relief, Vanessa pulled away from Lord Falconbridge and almost fell. His hands came round her waist to steady her. Aware of her lack of undergarments, she pushed away from him again. “You can let me go, if you please. I’m quite able to walk unassisted.”

She heard a soft laugh. “You are giving a poor imitation of it.”

“It’s the heels of my shoes. They sink into the soft earth, and I’m a little unsettled. You gave me a fright.” It all sounded so lame, she clamped her lips together and lurched in the direction of the house where welcoming lights shone out.

“I’m sorry to have alarmed you.” He walked beside her, and when they reached the house, he took out a key. Unlocking the door, he held it open for her. Aware of her dishabille, she brushed past him making for the stairs, her head lowered to hide her burning cheeks.

“Don’t hurry away, Miss Ashley. I’d like to talk to you.” In the lamplight, he frowned at her. “Do you suffer from wanderlust?”

She caught her breath. He had no reason to be so cross. “No. As I said, it’s so hot I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk.”

“I’d prefer you put up with heat like the rest of us. Didn’t I warn you not to roam around the grounds?”

“I believe you said not to go into the wood.”

Tucking his brass-topped cane under his arm, he divested himself of his gloves and his silk top hat. “You have a perfectly good bedroom, do you not? One might think we have ill-treated you.”

“Of course you haven’t … you don’t.” She swallowed, annoyed with herself. “Rest assured I won’t go there again at night. Particularly as others use it.” The words slipped out before she got control of her tongue. She had no intention of getting the staff into trouble.

“Who was there?” He paused in the act of removing his coat and turned to look at her. “I saw the light myself and was coming to investigate.”

She pulled her dressing gown closer and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t know.” She decided to speak frankly and raised her chin. “It appeared to be two people. A man and … a woman.”

“A man and a woman.” He repeated her words as his gaze ran over her down to her shoes. Did a flicker of heat enter his eyes? She took a step backwards as the suggestion of a clandestine meeting charged the atmosphere. “Can you describe what you saw?”

“The light was poor,” she said, uneasily. “Obviously, very little.”

“Then you must have heard them?”

She clutched her hands in front of her. “Yes, their voices …”

His eyes gazed into hers and his brows rose in inquiry. “Their voices …” he offered encouragingly.

Vanessa sucked in an anxious breath, aware that the rest of the house slept. Her heart picked up its beat during a long pause where she struggled to think of something to say that would place them back on a business-like footing. He loomed large and very male, and they skirted around a very risqué subject. Was he aware of how vulnerable he made her feel? She did not know this man well enough to trust him and had heard horrible stories of governesses being seduced by the man of the house. She thought fleetingly of Miss Lillicrop. “Their laughter,” she said firmly. “I left immediately.”

“Quite so, Miss Ashley. Very correct.” He seemed to gather himself into action and hung his coat on the stand, then gestured towards the stairs. A corner of his mouth lifted. “I gather I needn’t worry about you bowing to such an impulse again.”

Vanessa’s shoulders slumped with relief. “No, my lord. I believe you’ve removed any such pleasure from the prospect. Goodnight.”

A dark brow rose, no doubt at her impertinence. “Goodnight, Miss Ashley.”

He courteously waited until she reached the top of the stairs before turning down the lamp. Vanessa hurried up the next flight, hearing his bedroom door close below as she reached hers. She locked her door and leaned against it. To be found in her dressing gown breaking his rules had been unsettling, but more than that had passed between them. She wasn’t usually given to flights of fancy. Had she imagined the flicker of desire in Lord Falconbridge’s eyes? She sank down on the bed, damp and exhausted. Might he have judged her a prude and an excellent subject to mock? Unfair. She could say little in reply without risking her position, even though it was hardly true. Her years with her eccentric father had prepared her for almost all circumstances. Except, perhaps, someone like his lordship. He disturbed her so much she wished him gone on his travels; although she had to admit, he looked as handsome tonight in his black evening clothes as he had the night of the dance. Pearl buttons decorated his white shirt, and a satin stripe ran down the outside of his trousers, emphasizing the length of his legs.

She ran a wet flannel over her neck and face, wondering where he’d been. Had he escorted a lady out for the evening? Miss Patterson perhaps? It was certainly no business of hers. Stripping off her dressing gown, she discarded her nightgown damp with perspiration, cast aside her slippers, and climbed naked into bed. She drew the sheet over herself and laid her head on the pillow, thinking of the lovers. She understood why lust was rife in hot places like the West Indies, or so she’d read. The heat drove one slightly mad. English winters most likely discouraged feelings of this sort. Restless, she turned onto her side. For all her fears of rampant seduction, she decided she’d merely been an annoyance to Lord Falconbridge. The plain prudish governess failing to obey the rules.

She turned over in bed. What would it be like to have such a man do to her what was being done so effectively to the woman in the folly? What a thought! Her knowledge of such things was less than her knowledge of botany, and yet her imagination came to the fore, conjuring up images of passionate kisses from his well-formed lips, his long fingers, which produced such exquisite drawings, stroking her in places never before touched. Annoyed, she urged herself to sleep. A busy day with Blythe awaited her tomorrow, and the child kept her on her toes.

Vanessa turned again, trying to get comfortable. Her hands settled against her breasts. What would a man think of them? They were acceptable as breasts go. Not too big or too small, the nipples a nice coral pink. She flipped onto her back. Although she had not told his lordship, suspecting no good could come of it, she recognized the man’s voice in the folly. It was Lovel. That man exuded a disturbing sensuality. She recalled what she’d seen, a flash of pale thighs and buttocks. Little more than moving shadows really, but there had been such a sense of urgency and passion in their voices! Now she was truly hot and bothered. She tried to banish such thoughts, thumping her pillow and closing her eyes tightly.

*****

Julian frowned into the hot darkness of his room. His governess’ womanly presence had drawn him and he’d almost forgotten himself. He was a male after all. And it had been some time since he’d enjoyed making love to a woman. He pummeled his pillow. It must be this heat! He could not afford to upset Miss Ashley, although she seemed to be made of sterner stuff than Miss Lillicrop. No maidenly confusion showed at the mention of the lovers, just an annoyed glance in his direction. Good, he didn’t want a missish woman in charge of his daughter, suppressing her spirit. Not when he had to leave Blythe for such a long trip. He felt again that painful reminder of how much he wanted Blythe to have a happy home life. He’d failed before and would likely fail again, as long as he continually took himself off to foreign climes.