The Mistress of Trevelyan (21 page)

I knew exactly how I'd tame my midnight demons. I had the world at my fingertips.

For the love of it, I pulled a book of Shakespeare's plays off the shelf. Then I spied a little used book, so small I almost missed it hidden in between the other books. Elizabeth Barrett Browning's works. I'd heard of her and her husband, but had yet the opportunity to read any of her poems. I slipped that off the shelf along with a worn volume of Edgar Allan Poe's stories.

Feeling guilty, I nervously looked to see if Dobbs were watching from the doorway. Then I grabbed one more book quickly, not even checking out the title, and hurried over to my lamp. I hoped Dobbs was having nightmares about making sunshine. He deserved to for making me feel like a thief just because I wanted to borrow a book for pleasure. Juggling the books on one arm, I dropped one. It slid beneath the couch, and I had to go to my knees to reach it.

I heard a
scrape-thump-thump, scrape-thump-thump
noise in the room with me, and my blood went cold.

Scrape-thump-thump.

The sound grew louder, coming in my direction. My stomach clenched, my palms dampened, and a lump filled my throat even as my muscles froze.

Scrape-thump-thump.

I angled up from the floor, edging my nose to the top of the chair, and gasped.

Mrs. Trevelyan, in a white nightgown and her hair flowing all the way to her knees, walked my way, using a cane. She appeared more slender and younger now that she stood upright and wore white. Hunching over in her wheelchair and covering herself in black had added twenty years to her age. She came to a stop when she saw me, her eyes widening with the same surprise as mine.

"What are you doing?" she asked, recovering first, anger spitting from her dark eyes.

I stood, hugging the books I'd collected to my chest. "Research for the boys' lessons." I prayed that God wouldn't strike me dead for my fib, but I didn't want her to know I couldn't sleep. The implications of seeing her walking and dressed as she was, like the lady ghost I'd seen, were just starting to sink in.

It would explain the tower, but the woman in the hallway had moved too quickly to be her. Unless there was another secret passage near the stairs, or she'd slipped into Maria's room. I almost smiled that I'd discovered the source of my ghost so quickly. "You can walk."

Her lips pursed to a sour point. "That is none of your business."

"Does everyone know?" I shouldn't have asked, but I couldn't help doing so. Since my arrival, she'd been tended to as an invalid, and I wondered why she'd choose to spend her life in a wheelchair. She was a striking woman.

"Are you stealing about the house looking for something to pilfer?"

I straightened my back. "I assure you, Mrs. Trevelyan, I have permission to use the library." Taking my lamp, I turned to leave.

"I will expect you for afternoon tea. We can discuss this then. Do not mention this if you value your position."

Why was she keeping her ability to walk secret? The thought of having tea in her overheated sickly sweet rooms was nauseating. I faced her and smiled. "Perhaps, if you do not mind, could we meet in the garden, or even the solarium?"

"How dare—"

I looked pointedly at her cane. "I will not mention seeing you tonight, but you will have to treat me with some decency in return. I will not be subjected to the Inquisition again."

Her eyes brightened with anger. "The solarium, then." Her voice was clipped with tension.

"Good," I said. As I turned, I noted the book she held.
The Romance of the Rose
. The author's name caught me by surprise. Benedict W. Trevelyan, Sr. I decided to wait until tomorrow to ask her about it.  I knew if it were my husband who'd died, I'd want to speak of him during the bright warm hours of the day and not in the deep and cold loneliness of the night.

Once in my room, I dropped the books upon my bed and paced to the window. I didn't know exactly what to make of Mrs. Trevelyan. I couldn't dismiss her as a harmless old woman. She had too many dark emotions ruling her actions, and she had kept hidden the fact that she could walk. At least, that is what I assumed. Maybe I was the only one who wasn't aware that she could walk on occasion.

My thoughts ran in circles, trying to puzzle out the events of the past and the people involved. Could she have murdered Francesca? Had her hatred of her daughter-in-law been that virulent?

My restless seething for answers was just as frustrating as the memory of Benedict's kiss, and my growing list of grievances with the man—his aggravating assumptions, his rude behavior, and my hopeless obsession with his infuriatingly pleasurable touch.

For indeed, having been truly kissed by the man, I had every desire to be kissed again. And just exactly where was that merry road going to lead me—through the secret passage to his bed and my ruin? I couldn't let that happen, not ever.

My mother had been seduced and tricked by the promise of love and marriage. I had no such illusions or excuses. Every practical fiber in my body demanded that I put Benedict's kiss from my mind like a saint casting away the devil.

Yet, having felt the heat of desire, how could I banish myself to a cold spinsterhood without even a memory of that fire to warm me?

No. It didn't matter what I felt. I had to put any such thoughts from my mind. Anything else was unthinkable.

Sighing, I settled in my reading chair with Shakespeare, amusing myself within the bantering lines of
Much Ado About Nothing
. Beatrice and Benedick's wit and "denied" affection for each other warmed my heart, and I found myself dreaming of the impossible.

The clatter of blocks tumbling upon the floor startled me from my sleep. My alarm at the secret passage! Jumping up, dressed only in my thin nightgown, I ran to the schoolroom. Benedict stood there, looking amused at the mess. Dressed in only his breeches, he appeared as if he'd stepped from his bath and lightly dried himself. I could see errant beads of water on his chest, his back, and dampening his silky hair. He made me thirsty.

"You are back," I said, licking my dry lips. My breath, shallow with anticipation, caught in my throat as he lifted his gaze to mine. The stark hunger and desperation I'd seen before when my breasts had shown through my threadbare gown was back.

"I had to come back. I could not stop thinking of you."

"Nor I you. Benedict, please. This is not easy for me. You must understand that I cannot—"

"No, Titania, this is the only thing we need to understand." He grabbed my shoulders, pulling me against him. My gasp was timed perfectly to the lowering of his lips. His mouth covered mine, angling my head back, giving him access to my neck. He stroked me there, his touch burning a path down my body, making me greedy for more and more pleasure. My breasts ached.

"Please," I said again, meaning the exact opposite of before. He knew what I wanted, what I needed. His scorching hand covered my breast.

"I cannot think anymore. You have driven me insane with desire. Can you feel it, Titania? Can you feel my heart thunder, my blood boil? I must have you as my wife. Will you marry me?" He set me back on my feet, his dark eyes intent as he searched my face.

"Yes," I whispered.

Grabbing the hem of my gown, he pulled it over my head, leaving me naked. He looked his fill, then held out his hand. "Come, Titania, let's have our midsummer night's dream. Come be my lover."

The clatter of blocks tumbling to the floor startled me from my dream. The secret passage alarm! Jumping up, I ran to the schoolroom, heart pounding, in a replay of what I had just dreamed. No one was in the schoolroom. The chair still sat against the passage's door, but the blocks were on the floor.

My alarm had stopped an unwelcome guest. I couldn't call a household member an intruder, could I?

My dream had been nothing but the impractical imaginings of a spinster's loneliness, best buried forever. I dragged a heavy desk across the passage door and set my chair alarm in front of that.

Benedict was out of town; but given my dream, I would have blocked the door anyway. No matter how seductive his kiss was, I would not walk to my ruin.

Dawn was ebbing the darkness from the night by the time I shut my eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

"Not so fast," I called out to Justin and Robert as they dashed ahead of me in the formal gardens.

"I want to hurry," Justin said. "After our lessons I want to go and play with Cesca."

"I want to play with Cesca, too," Robert chimed in, jumping up and down.

"Can you do that with your father out of town?"

My question turned his slight smile to a determined frown. "I don't care. I want to, and I will. He gave her to us"

"Cesca is ours," Robert agreed. "I want to see Cesca."

"Stop!" My disapproving shout rang out through the morning air. Everything seemed to fall so quiet that I swear the birds stopped singing and the bugs quit buzzing. Robert and Justin looked at me with shock on their faces. I don't think I had ever yelled at them so sternly before.

"You were given a wonderful gift, which I thought you two were mature enough to have. But I must have been mistaken. Surely I did not hear you say you did not care about what is right and what is wrong. Surely I did not hear you say you were going to do whatever you wanted to do, because you felt like it?" I shook my head. "I am severely disappointed to hear you speak so disrespectfully and so irresponsibly. Do you know everything you need to know about a horse yet?"

Both of the boys shook their heads.

"Yet with very little experience and without even asking permission, you would take her out to play? What if something went wrong? What if you, Robert, or even Cesca got hurt? Badly hurt? Cesca is a precious gift, and as her owner, it is your responsibility to keep her safe, even if it means you can't have the fun you want to have until you're ready. Do you understand?"

Justin nodded, real repentance in his eyes. Robert, too.

"Now, let's figure out the best thing we can do. I don't know what I need to know to be safe about horses either. What if we ask your uncle Stephen to take us to play with Cesca? Or maybe he can have one of the groomsmen in the stable help us?"

Both the boys smiled.

I narrowed my gaze at Justin. "Defiance will only bring you trouble and make you lose in life. You must deal with life and its disappointments as you would a game of chess. Consider the moves available and choose the best action to help you win."

Justin's eyes widened, then he nodded his head, telling me he understood.

"Can I pway chest too?" Robert asked.

"Yes. You'll start learning how to play chess soon." I held out my hands to them, and we made our way to the herb garden.

My steps slowed. Across the tops of the cheery roses, I could see the dark patch of dirt for our herb garden. Something was very wrong. There was no ring of stones, no neat rows of sprouts, only a churned-up, jumbled mess. I had no choice but to continue with the boys and face what had been done.

Robert started to cry. "They killeded the babies, Miss Wovell" he said through his tears.

"I know." Tears filled my own eyes. It wouldn't have done any good to tell him that we could plant more seeds at that moment—that plants weren't like people and could be easily replaced. His heart grieved

Justin fisted his hands. "Why should I care about what's right and wrong when no one else does? I don't want to play with Cesca, either. Everything dies."

Robert cried harder. I picked him up, holding him to me.

I put my other arm around Justin's shoulders. He didn't pull away. "I know," I said. He was grieving. Not for the plants, but for his mother. As we stood there looking at the fresh dirt, I knew what I had to do next, even before I gave the adult inhabitants of Trevelyan Hill a piece of my mind. Disturbing my personal belongings and disrupting my peace of mind was one thing. Hurting the children in the process was completely unacceptable. Pulling my gloves on, ready for battle, I found Dobbs in the foyer, overseeing the maids cleaning it.

"Miss Hain, this is the most important room. Everyone who comes to Trevelyan Manor sees it I expect this floor to be spotless. There's a streak on the tile in the corner."

I found it surprising that Dobbs agreed with my feelings about the stained glass foyer. Even though his reasons were different than mine, the fact that we were in agreement about anything just wasn't acceptable. I pressed my lips to a grim line.

Moving across the room, taking care to avoid the cleaning areas, I passed though the brightly hued beams streaming from the stained glass. They were warm and felt like a heavenly blessing upon this mission I was about to embark on with the boys.

"Mr. Dobbs, I would like a word with you, please," I said, drawing his attention.

"Miss Lovell. I am sure even you can see that I am rather busy at the moment." His nose lifted, and I had the sudden urge to push smelling salts beneath it. I didn't think he'd be so highbrowed then.

"I am afraid I must insist. Masters Justin and Robert and I have little time to waste if we are going to return by afternoon tea."

"Your lack of discipline in regards to keeping a teaching regime is—"

"Not of your concern. Mr. Trevelyan is more than capable of monitoring my competency." I lowered my voice. "I need to know where Francesca Trevelyan is buried, please. The boys have some flowers they wish to put on her grave."

Dobbs jaw dropped even as his back stiffened. "Really, Miss Lovell. You go too far. Taking the boys to their mother's grave is not within the realm of your responsibilities"

"I assure you, Mr. Dobbs, if I did not deem this essential, I would not be asking. They have had a rather upsetting morning. Someone destroyed the children's herb garden last night. Most probably to strike out at me, since this is not the first untoward incident I've had to deal with. Now if you will please tell me what I need to know, you will save me the trouble of inquiring in town."