Mistress of Merrivale (3 page)

Now that she was on her way to join her new husband, trepidation traveled with her. Anxiety jostled in the pit of her stomach each time the carriage struggled through a pothole.

“Are we there yet?” Elizabeth Townsend’s querulous voice pierced her thoughts—an oft repeated question, that had grated Jocelyn’s nerves raw.

They’d taken the journey in small stages over many days, but even so, by the time they reached the outskirts of Dartmoor, Jocelyn wanted to strangle her mother.

“We should reach Merrivale later this afternoon.” Jocelyn pushed down the carriage window and tilted her face to the bright sunshine. Fresh air ruffled her hair, tugging the strands not covered by her cap.

The carriage labored up a slope, the wheels protesting and the coachman urging the horses on with a snap of his whip. When they reached the crest of the hill, Jocelyn’s breath caught. The countryside stretched out before them—an endless carpet of greenery, studded with piles of rocks, stacked like a haphazard pile of oversize books. A cloudless blue sky completed the majestic panorama.

“Mother, look at the view. Isn’t it glorious?” She’d heard the area could be inhospitable and eerie with dangerous mists and treacherous bogs, yet it wasn’t today. For their arrival, Dartmoor was showing her finest.

“I can’t see,” her mother complained.

“Come and sit beside me,” Jocelyn said.

They shuffled around the carriage interior until her mother could view the vista.

“Pretty,” her mother said. “Are we there yet?”

“It won’t take long now,” Tilly said in a firm voice.

The hours passed and, after a brief stop for lunch and to change horses, they finally approached Merrivale Manor. Mature trees and extensive gardens surrounded a sprawling gray stone building, screening it from sight until the last minute. When the carriage came to a halt, several people hurried down the front steps of the manor.

“Are we there yet?”

“Yes.” Jocelyn wiped clammy hands on her skirts, nerves striking her afresh now that they’d arrived. Today her marriage would start in truth, and tonight, she’d share a bed with her new husband.

The carriage door opened and Leo appeared. He extended a hand to her. “Welcome to Merrivale Manor.”

Jocelyn inclined her head, cautious and hesitant, unaccountably shy in front of her husband. She stepped from the carriage and waited for her mother and Tilly to alight. “Ah, Woodley,” she said, spying her butler—posture erect and proper—amongst the somber servants. “How was your journey?”

He inclined his head respectfully. “Very good, Mrs. Sherbourne. We arrived three days ago.”

“And you’ve settled in well?”

“Yes, Mrs. Sherbourne.”

Jocelyn nodded, the small talk settling the worst of her anxiety.

“Let me introduce you to the staff,” Mr. Sherbourne said, placing her hand on the crook of his arm. His good looks dazzled her, stealing her breath as his dark gaze caressed her face. His focus dropped to her lips before his attention shifted to the waiting line of servants.

Men often scrutinized her thus, as if they wanted to strip her clothes from her body and take their ease, and that was despite her unattractive red hair and freckles. A burst of heat crawled across her skin and part of her wished it was time to retire now. She’d spent her waking hours since their marriage pondering Mr. Sherbourne’s bedroom prowess. Would he hurry the act without regard to her pleasure? Or would he take his time, caressing and touching her until they both burned? Breathless, disturbed by her thoughts, Jocelyn swallowed rapidly, seeking distraction.

Ah, yes. The servants.

She scanned their faces and caught a glower from one of the maids, apparently aimed at Mr. Sherbourne. The rest of the faces were expressionless, absent of welcome, and that raised her curiosity. Did they not like their master? Fear him for some reason?

“This is Mrs. Green, the housekeeper.” After a brief greeting to the stony-faced woman, Mr. Sherbourne led her down the line of staff, introducing her to the remaining maids and footmen without hesitation. He mentioned their families, his cool charm seeming to set the servants at ease.

Jocelyn inclined her head and murmured a small greeting to each servant, impressed with her husband’s knowledge of his staff. The tension lifted from her shoulders. This wasn’t a ruthless master. They were likely apprehensive about meeting a new mistress.

“Mrs. Green, will you show Mrs. Sherbourne’s mother to her room?”

“Of course.” The housekeeper led her mother and Tilly away, and the servants dispersed, leaving Jocelyn alone with Mr. Sherbourne.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his husky voice stirring her again. A tremor swept her, leaving a tingling awareness in its path. “Let me show you to your chamber.”

She strolled up the steps into the entrance hall at his side. Flagstones covered the floor, her shoes tapping the surface as they progressed deeper into the manor. Mr. Sherbourne led her to a flight of stairs and together, they ascended to the next floor.

“When will I meet your daughter?”

“Cassandra has a nap at this time of the day,” he said. “She isn’t feeling well this week, and Arabella thought it would be best to keep Cassie in the nursery today. Perhaps tomorrow would be better. No doubt you’re tired after your journey.”

“Arabella?”

“She looks after Cassandra, and has done so since her birth.”

Some of her enthusiasm faded. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear Cassandra isn’t well.” She’d looked forward to meeting her new daughter and had even purchased her a doll before leaving London. “Tell me about my new daughter. We didn’t speak much of her before our marriage.”

Mr. Sherbourne hesitated, as if considering his words. When they reached the top of the stairs, he guided her to the right, his hand a gentle pressure on the small of her back. Family portraits hung on the walls, most depicting serious gentlemen.

“Cassandra is four. People say she looks much like her mother.”

Her husband’s clipped tone suggested he didn’t consider this a good thing. “I thought she’d be younger.” Jocelyn hadn’t realized Mr. Sherbourne had been married for that long. She didn’t understand his strange reticence either but, no doubt, the coming weeks and months would aid her with insight into her husband. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

Mr. Sherbourne guided her to the end of the gallery and around another corner. “The manor is easy to navigate. It’s a U-shape. Our rooms are in the left wing while your mother’s rooms and the nursery are in the right wing. The main reception rooms are in the center. My family has lived here since the late 1600s.”

Interesting that he’d changed the subject. Jocelyn decided to let him. “I didn’t realize your family had lived in the area for so long. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I did have two older brothers. One died as a three-year-old during a plague and the other left home after an argument with my father. We haven’t seen him since.” The hard note in his voice repulsed further questions.

Jocelyn squeezed his arm. “Families can be difficult. I know from experience. I understand your parents passed away some time ago.”

“Yes.” The tenseness fell away from him at her words, and he smiled—a brief one that didn’t reach his dark eyes. “Of course you do. I admire you for protecting your mother.”

“Thank you.” She hoped he’d continue to think this way because her mother had been at her charming best during their meetings to date. Heaven help them when she threw one of her screaming fits. At least her mother had ceased her avowals of spies lurking behind every corner. Something Jocelyn was thankful for, if only that could last.

Mr. Sherbourne halted in front of a door and pushed it open. He stood back, pausing for her to enter.

Her husband.

A flicker of pleasure bloomed within her. The mantle didn’t sit easily at present, but with time, she hoped her new status would become comfortable. As she started to move past him, she caught his scent, a hit of bay rum and a pinch of spicy greenery. An urge to touch him struck her, yet she didn’t act on the impulse. They needed time to build a friendship, intimacy.

She entered a large chamber. It was frilly and designed with a woman in mind. Jocelyn hated it on sight. “It’s very…” Good grief. Words failed her, and she stared at her new husband.

His lips twisted. “Pink?”

“Ah, yes.” That was the least offensive of descriptions for the overly fussy room and the multitude of cherubs. They covered every available surface and some even smirked at her from the wall. She looked up. And the ceiling.

“You’re welcome to make changes.”

Instinct told her he’d appreciate a transformation. She was certain of it when their gazes connected, because memories swirled in his eyes and etched into his facial muscles. This room held bad recollections of his first wife.

“I’ve always preferred simpler decoration.” Jocelyn fought a shudder at the unrelenting pink frills everywhere. Her scan of the room drew her over to the windows. Ah, at least the view was beautiful. The garden spread out below, a blaze of summer color—red roses, yellow daisies and deep purple lavender. In contrast to the bright flowers, formal hedges grew in regimented green rows, all sharp angles to please the most exacting gardener. Gradually, the hedges gave way to mature trees, which sent dappled patterns of light and dark over their surroundings.

She crossed to a second window and gave a happy sigh at the greenery studded with rocks and trees, which stretched as far as she could see. “The views are lovely.”

“Yes, they are.”

She turned back to him and found her husband watching her. A pleased flush crept into her cheeks as she strolled toward him.

“This is my room through here.” He opened another door.

She caught a glimpse of a four-poster bed and heavy oak furniture. Deep green wallpaper adorned the walls, a white and gold trim bringing a touch more color. The room was masculine and far more to her taste. “Perhaps I could sleep in your room tonight.” This cherub-festooned decoration was certain to give her nightmares.

“Mrs. Green will want to show you the rest of the house.”

She’d thought he might take her suggestion as an excuse to at least offer a flirtatious comment in return. She was mistaken. Not a shred of carnal interest crept into his expression, and the lack of reaction brought a chill to her limbs.

“Yes, of course.” She followed him from her bedroom and back down the stairs to the doorway of a parlor.

The housekeeper claimed his attention when she spied their arrival. “You have visitors, Mr. Sherbourne. Miss Hannah and Master Peregrine are here to see you.”

Mr. Sherbourne cursed softly. “Where are they?”

“They’re taking a turn about the garden.”

“I’ll go and meet them.” He hesitated. “Jocelyn, why don’t you come with me? Viscount Hartscombe is one of our neighbors. Peregrine and Hannah are his son and daughter. They live on the other side of the village.”

Jocelyn turned to the housekeeper, hoping she hid her pleasure at his use of her name. “Mrs. Green, could you prepare refreshments for our guests please? It’s such a lovely afternoon. Is there somewhere outside that’s suitable to take refreshments?”

“Yes, of course. Mr. Sherbourne will show you to the terrace.”

She took two steps and halted abruptly. Bother, her bonnet was no protection from the sun. Aware of her husband’s impatience, she resigned herself to more freckles and hurried over to accept his escort. His mouth was firm, irritation making his face appear like stone. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

Mr. Sherbourne didn’t reply, merely directed her from the house and into a large garden. Roses perfumed the air and birds sang with gay abandon, as if celebrating a day full of sunshine.

“I do like the gardens.” Jocelyn stole a glance at her husband, curiosity surging at the tension in him. Was it something she’d done or was it his unexpected visitors?

The murmur of voices ahead increased the rigidness of the muscles beneath her gloved hand. Not her, then. Her interest grew when a man and woman approached. They made an attractive pair, the brother tall and dashing in a black coat and breeches. The gold braiding decorating the coat caught the sun, sparkling like jewels. His sister was petite and very beautiful in a well-cut black riding habit. Both wore cocked hats, atop golden hair the color of ripe blades of wheat. It was the shade of hair she’d always admired, but not a single rinse would shift the fiery glow from her locks.

Jocelyn smiled in greeting, looking forward to making friends in her new home.

Two sets of dark brown eyes stared at her in astonishment, the woman’s gaze drifting to her arm linked with Mr. Sherbourne’s. She scowled, her attention returning to Mr. Sherbourne. A brilliant smile bloomed, making her appear at one with the sunshine, despite her black garb.

“Leo! At last.” The woman raced across the distance separating them with unladylike haste. “You’ve been in London for weeks. We heard you’d returned but Father and Mother have come home for a brief time. They brought visitors with them, which meant we couldn’t ride over to see you until today. Aren’t you going to greet us?”

Mr. Sherbourne released Jocelyn and caught the woman as she threw herself at him. His fingers banded her upper arms, holding her from his body and resisting her inclination to embrace. Shock flitted across the woman’s face when he adroitly avoided her attempt at physical contact.