A Rose in Winter (70 page)

Avery left the hall and made his way back to his room. The good he could see from this cuckolding was that his daughter might be willing to pay to hide the fact of her unfaithfulness, and that could prove beneficial to him.

Erienne left her husband's arms and ventured downstairs at an early hour the next morning. She was amazed to find her father waiting for her. The expression on his face, however, made her wary. His lips were pursed thoughtfully and his head was nestled in the collar of his frock coat, giving him the look of a smug turtle. His stare followed her unflinchingly as she crossed the room, and when she stepped close to set a cup of tea next to him, Erienne thought she detected a sneer.

"Is something wrong, Father?"

"Possibly."

She took the chair across from him and leisurely sipped her tea. "Is it something you wish to talk about?"

"Might be."

Not willing to prod him into a discussion that would no doubt be bent toward self-pity, she sipped her tea and waited.

Avery leaned his head against the tall back of the chair and let his gaze sweep the artifacts of chivalry, tapestries, and portraits that lined the walls. "Ye know, daughter, I was a generous man ter yer mother and me family. While I could afford it, ye wanted for nothin'."

Although she could have argued against his claim, Erienne held her silence. Avery Fleming had long been known as a man of self-indulgence, and it was only through the efforts of their mother that she and Farrell had had a home and as much tutoring as they did. She was not moved by his high opinion of himself.

"I've been hard pressed since yer mother died," he lamented. "While grievin' for her, I forgot meself sometimes, and I buried me sorrow at the gamin' tables. The day was filled with woe when I met that Yankee scoundrel and he accused me o' cheatin'."

"But you were," Erienne stated bluntly. When he gaped at her in surprise, she lifted a questioning brow. "You did admit it to me once, remember?"

Avery cleared his throat sharply and glanced away, shrugging. " 'Twas done in desperation." He flung up a hand as he defended his actions. "Besides, the man was well able ter afford the loss. 'Twas him or me, girl, and he wouldna've gone awantin', whereas I... well, ye see what he left me with."

"Father," Erienne's voice was flat, "cheating for a purse is no better than stealing, and you were cheating."

"And what do ye call it when yer mighty Christopher Seton flies about the countryside doin' murder?" he demanded.

Fire blazed in the dark blue eyes. "He has killed outlaws who, for the wanton murder of innocent folk, deserved to be slain." She waved a hand. "As for that, I have also killed. And Farrell. We came upon a band of thieves attacking a coach, and we fired upon them, killing several to save a girl."

"A girl?"

"Miss Becker." Erienne supplied the name with a cool smile. "If need be, she will support my statement and verify the fact that the night rider attacked the highwaymen and helped her and Farrell to escape."

Avery's curiosity was pricked. "Farrell didn't tell me 'bout her."

Erienne remembered her brother's reluctance to confide in their father and was not willing to say more. "Farrell probably prefers to tell you himself. I shall say no more."

A brief silence ensued before the mayor spoke again. "You seem ter be content with yerself, girl. Living here with his lordship 'pears ter agree with ye."

"I am most content, Father. Perhaps more than you are able to understand."

"Oh, I understand, all right." His chin lowered into his collar, and his smile was blatantly smug.

Erienne contemplated her father, wondering what little tidbit he was savoring. "Do you have something else you wish to discuss?"

He studied his short, stubby fingers for a brief span of time. " Tis come ter me that ye've not been at all generous with yer kin since ye've gotten yerself a title and all."

"I haven't heard Farrell complaining," she replied.

"The poor lad's been blinded by yer meager show o' kindness, but what really have ye done for him? Have ye been in the least bit charitable or sympathetic to his lameness? Is he any richer for comin' out here? Nay, he's had ter work hard for the bit o' coin he has."

"In my opinion Farrell's character has advanced considerably since he stopped rolling in self-pity and did something for himself," Erienne stated with conviction and a bit of anger. "Charity or sympathy, if carried to extreme, can be the ruination of a good man. A person builds self-esteem after seeing the labors of his own hands reap a plentiful harvest. Aye, we should be charitable and kind to the less fortunate, but helping them do for themselves is infinitely more charitable than allowing them to mope about in self-pity. Good, honest work is valuable to one's well-being. Besides," she couldn't resist adding, "it gives them less time to dawdle around a gaming table."

Avery shot a glare at her. "Ye've never forgiven me for sellin' ye off at the roup, have ye?"

"I detested the way you sold me," she admitted. A slight smile curved her lips as she smoothed her skirts. "But I can see naught but good from it. I love the man I married, and I bear his child..."

"Is it his?" he asked sharply. "Or that bastard's ye had in yer room las' night?"

Erienne's gaze flew up in surprise, and her heart gave a fearful lurch. "What do you mean?"

"I come 'round ter have a talk with ye, and ye had that devil Seton in yer room with ye, right 'neath yer husband's nose. An' I heard ye laughin' 'bout the babe ye had made together. Ye're carryin' Seton's bastard in yer belly, not yer husband's."

Erienne's cheeks warmed considerably. She wanted desperately to retort with the truth, but she knew the folly of that. It was far better if her father thought her unfaithful than to jeopardize the life of the man she loved.

"Ye can't deny it, can ye?" Avery's half-sneering, half-gloating grin tore at the mettle of her pride. "Ye've played Seton's doxie, and ye've gotten yerself with babe. O' course, ye ain't plannin' on tellin' Lord Saxton the seed what's sprouted ain't his."

Erienne suffered through his sneers with a tight-lipped silence, but inwardly she seethed.

"I suppose I'll be havin' ter hold me tongue too." He eyed her narrowly. " 'Twould make it easier for me if I knew ye cared 'bout me more'n ye do, if ye sent a joint o' lamb or a fat goose for me table now and then. Why, I even have ter cook me own vittles, without nary a one ter do for me, either ter wash me clothes or keep me house tidy. Considerin' all the servants ye have here, I don't see where 'twould hurt ye none ter send someone ter care for me. But then again, any you'd send would be wantin' wages, and I've little enough coin ter spare. As ter that, I could use a new coat, a pair o' shoes, and a few shillin's or so ter jingle in me purse. I'm not askin' much, ye understand, just a bit ter see me comfortable."

Erienne came up slowly from her chair, incensed at his gall. The idea that he could try to gain a reward for keeping quiet was despicable. As usual, he was only concerned about what he could reap from this affair. "How dare you try to wheedle coin from me. All my life I have heard you complain about your poor lot, but I will hear no more. I have seen how you use people to gain some wee bit of wealth for yourself. You used my mother, my brother, and myself. You tried to use Christopher, but he would have none of it, so you set Farrell to fight for your pitiful honor, such as it was. Now you seek to use me again, but I will have none of it."

"Ye've a hard heart, girl!" he accused angrily. He flung himself from his chair and paced irately in front of her. "Ye act so high and proud, even when ye're takin' a criminal in yer bed, and ye cannot even yield yer own father a few coins ter make his lot in life easier ter bear. I've gots ter walk 'bout the village and face me friends, tryin' ter hold me head up high." He stopped and banged his fist on the table beside her, demanding, "Dammit, girl! What would ye do if I informed Lord Saxton 'bout yer cuckoldin' him with that Seton bastard?"

He glared at her and would have spoken further, but a scrape of a hard sole against the floor made him turn and stare with sagging jaw. Lord Saxton was coming across the room toward them from the tower, dragging his cumbered foot across the stone. Taking up a stance beside his wife, he faced the mayor.

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" His low, grating voice filled the sudden silence of the room. "Was there something you wished to speak with me about, Mayor?"

Nervously Avery glanced at Erienne and was amazed by her serenity. It seemed she almost dared him to speak. Avery could not make the words come forth, though Lord Saxton waited patiently for an answer. His lordship was the one person he was afraid to rile. He knew too well that the man doted on the girl and would not take kindly to being informed of her indiscretion, and when roused, his rage might spill over on the one who bore the news. "Me girl and me were havin' a discussion, milord." Avery cleared his throat awkwardly. "It has naught ter do with ye."

"Anything to do with my wife concerns me, Mayor," Lord Saxton assured him almost pleasantly. "I fear my fondness for her tends to make me somewhat overly protective. You do understand, don't you?"

Avery nodded, not daring to say ought against her, for surely this man would not heed his counsel in any kind of a gracious manner.

Chapter Twenty-two

REGRET can be a worrisome thing sometimes, especially when the matter done or not done can lead to rather serious consequences for those involved. Erienne did not trust her father, and if he spilled his precious news to the sheriff or anyone else, it might prove disastrous for the one she loved. She had begun to fear that she had been too hasty in denying his request. A tasty morsel had been known to keep a whining dog quiet.

Coming to a conclusion, Erienne dressed in a gown of iridescent blue silk, the bodice of which closed with a multitude of tiny buttons running from the high collar to the pointed waist. She called for the carriage to be brought around, then went to her husband's chamber to inform him of her intention to visit her kin. Christopher was involved with the account books for the hall, but he readily pushed them aside to bestow on her a lengthy kiss, ardently given to remind her throughout the day that he would be eagerly anticipating her return. She giggled as he whispered a wanton promise in her ear, then with a sigh drew away, blowing back a kiss as she stepped to the door. He enjoyed the swing of her bustle until she was out of sight, and it was almost a pain to return to the dry, dull figures written on parchment.

Spring had touched the North country with fresh color. The hills were greener, the sky bluer, the streams and rippling rivulets shone clearer as they tumbled over their rocky beds. White, puffy clouds glided overhead, pushed before a light, airy breeze, while the short, new grass was ruffled beneath its touch. It was a fine day to be out and about, and as Erienne journeyed southward she hoped that it would not be torn asunder by her visit to the cottage.

The anxiety that had plagued her since her father's departure from Saxton Hall the week before diminished somewhat as she came in sight of Mawbry. The wheels of the conveyance rattled over the bridge, and Tanner pulled to a halt before the familiar cottage. The footman jumped down and hurried to open the door and place a step for his mistress.

During her absence from the dwelling, Erienne had always held the same vision in her mind of the way it had looked when she had left it. Though only a brief few months had passed, the facade seemed strange to her. The small garden in front of the cottage had known no spring tilling, and dried stalks bearing yesteryear's blossoms were sad reminders of their earlier beauty.

Bidding Tanner to wait, Erienne approached the door, pushing back the hood of her cloak. She paused on the step with her hand poised to knock, recalling that ecstatic moment when Christopher had first come to call and her heart had raced with the hope that he would be the one she would wed. She smiled at the memory. Compared to the men her father had paraded before her eye, he had seemed like a flawless knight.

Her knuckles rapped lightly, and in a moment she heard footsteps plodding to the door. The portal swung open, and Avery's rumpled form appeared. The long tail of a nightshirt was stuffed haphazardly into a pair of loose breeches that hung from tattered braces, and from it all issued forth a sour odor of sweat and ale. When he saw her, surprise momentarily touched his unshaven face, then an almost leering smile spread across his lips.

"Lady Saxton!" He stepped back and swept his arm inward in a mockingly gallant gesture. "Won't ye step into me humble dwellin'?"

Erienne's eyes passed lightly over the cluttered interior as she moved in. It was immediately evident that her father lacked the ambition to set his house in order in more ways than one.

"Have ye come ter see me, or is it Farrell ye be wantin'? The lad went to York, and heaven only knows when he'll be back."

"I came to see you, Father."

"Oh?" Avery closed the door and came around to stare at her as if he found her reply hard to believe.

"I thought over what we talked about." She could not manage a smile as she drew a small purse from beneath her cloak. "And though I detest the idea of being threatened, I have determined a small allowance could be offered for your comfort."