The Prince of Eden (22 page)

In all her years of service to the Eden family, Sophia Cranford had never had to raise her voice in anger to James Eden. She'd raised it many times to Edward and on occasion to Jennifer, but never to James. The present Lord Eden had been a passive child, and normally he was a passive adult.

But not so this morning. At mid-June it had gone on long enough, the estrangement between the Countess Dowager and her younger son. Since that morning about a month ago when he'd provoked her to physical violence, the two had not exchanged a word, had not even shared the air of a communal room.

Now, in Sophia's opinion, it had gone on long enough. As she stood at the top of the stairs of the Great Hall, watching the shuffling reluctant progress of Lord Eden on his way to make peace with his mother, she regretted having had to raise her voice. Soberly clad in dark gray silk, she smoothed down her skirts and felt an unpleasant trembling all over, the exorbitant price one always paid when one permitted the emotions to run unchecked.

She saw him now looking back at her, the same expression she'd seen on his face throughout his entire childhood. "Go along with you, James," she called out, her voice rising. "Be there by the gate when she returns."

Almost sullenly James turned away and again commenced his plodding progress across the inner courtyard. Sophia continued to watch him, bleakly wondering if, even with God's help, she could get through the days ahead. The festivities for Lady Powels and her parents had been challenge enough. Now on top of that, Edward was coming home. New weakness swept over her. Then in an incredible act of self-discipline she felt immediately strong.

Well, Edward would find a united front when he arrived. Lord Eden lovingly aligned with the Countess Dowager, an awesome alliance and a very effective one when the time came to bring suit against him. With young Lady Powels on one arm as his wife, and the Countess Dowager on his other arm, there wasn't a magistrate in the empire who would be blind to the injustice.

She noticed that he was at the gate now, apparently involved in small banter with the guardsmen. From that distance, he almost resembled the Lord of the Castle. It was only up close that the lack was so painfully apparent.

So engrossed was she in her thoughts that she was scarcely aware of Caleb coming up behind her. "A bit hard on him, weren't you?" he lightly scolded, following her gaze to the gate.

Slowly she turned. "You heard?" she inquired.

He smiled. "Only the dead failed to hear, my dear."

"There was no other way."

For a moment Caleb looked as though he might have said more, then he retreated. His hand moved down her shoulder to around her waist, his fingers pressing lightly against her breast. "I don't mean to add to your burdens," he whispered, "but it was at your feet that I learned that important lesson of subtlety."

"Dearest Caleb," she murmured, still keeping her eyes on the distant figure at the gate, "the most important lesson of subtlety is to be able to recognize when it no longer serves your purpose to be subtle."

As his hand pressed closer, she leaned back against him, her eyes closed. "Oh God, if only that old woman would die. How simple it all would be."

Caleb nodded. "She's deep in grief for William Pitch. I've heard that grief takes a heavy toll in one her age—"

"Not of her, it won't," Sophia retorted. "I do believe she's made of stone."

At the sight of a steward passing near the steps below, Sophia stepped quickly away from her brother's closeness. The steward grinned up. "Pray the weather holds, ma'am, for Mr. Eden's homecoming."

Stiffly Sophia returned the greeting. Again she was uncomfortably

reminded of what she already knew, the staffs maudlin and unshakable devotion to Edward Eden. And why shouldn't they be? He filled their bellies with food and their pockets with coin.

Weakly she again leaned back against Caleb. He responded admirably with a quick warm kiss against the nape of her neck.

"Careful," she warned, in spite of her rising feelings. "There are eyes about."

"And ears," he confirmed. "Come, let's have an early luncheon, a bit of sherry, and—"

"No," she said sternly. "I must wait until I see that they're joined." Again her eyes moved back toward the castle gates where James still stood with the guardsmen, his hands shoved self-consciously into his pockets.

Caleb persisted. "She's gone to visit Lord Eden's grave. In her present state of mind, she could remain there for the entire day, as she used to do when—"

"I don't think so," Sophia interrupted. "She knows better than anyone else the importance of the festivities ahead. She has three childless children." Wryly she smiled up at her brother. "The line, dearest Caleb, remember the importance of continuity of line." The smile faded. "No," she murmured. "The old bitch will be back any moment and take over all my menus and plans as though they were her own."

She straightened herself now, attached a stray lock of hair where Caleb's kiss had fussed it loose. "You go along," she urged. "I'll join you shortly. For now I must wait. If James sees me gone, he'll bolt himself. Mother and son will be reunited, I swear it."

As though wanting to share her responsibilities, Caleb muttered, "The bills are mounting. I'll be in my office. Call me when you're ready."

Then he was gone. She turned from her vigil on the front gate and watched lovingly as he walked the distance across the Great Hall. The man had true stance and bearing and was far superior to her other brothers, superior even to that grim-faced old man who'd fathered them all, who had piously entoned prayers on Sunday in the little parish church at Bradford, then had crept into every available female bed in that end of Yorkshire.

She stared for a moment at the recall of her childhood, as though it were an object to be defied. She'd loathed every minute of it.

But of course the problems of the past were nothing as compared with the problems of the present, the imminent arrival of guests, William Pitch's common-law wife, old Jane Locke, and worse than

that, Edward himself. She recalled Sir Claudius's last correspondence. Attempted murder! The man should be locked up. And what if he arrived, as he had in the past, with a crew of his street friends, smelling of herring and filth and onions? And what if James was unsuccessful in effecting a reconciliation with his mother?

Oh yes, the problems and complexities of life! And how much was expected of her! Perhaps years ago she should have listened to Caleb's suggestion that they emigrate, either to Australia or America. But those were barbaric places, not fit for a lady. No, Eden Castle with its line weakened by the infusion of commoner's blood, the offspring in disarray, that had struck her as offering the most promising future.

As she started up the stairs, she paused again and glanced back. From that position she couldn't see James, but she knew he was there, stationed precisely where she had ordered him. Apparently for the moment, everything was under control. There were wagons due from Exeter later in the day bearing flowers and fine port. The cooking for the festivities had already started in the kitchen. She had dispatched old Mrs. Greenbell to oversee the work going on in the guest apartments. The stewards were busy in the scullery polishing silver and crystal.

Feeling as exhilarated as she'd felt all morning, she passed through the Great Hall and climbed the narrow staircase which led to their private apartments, sending her high-pitched clarion voice ahead of her, calling, "Caleb, Caleb," feeling the word deliriously in her lips, as shortly she would feel her beloved in her body.

Quickly she felt inside her pocket for the reassurance of her notebook. Afterwards she must check the endless lists, the blueprint for a future. One day, perhaps soon, she would climb the stairs to the master apartments on the third floor with the same sense of expectation, Caleb awaiting her in the elegantly carved rosewood bed.

No matter. She must wait patiently, trusting her genius, confident her plan could grow like green grass ...

Lord James Eden, Fourteenth Baron and Sixth Earl of Eden Castle, sat on the soft clover of the headlands of Eden Point, staring gloomily out across the Bristol Channel. Where was she? How long did Sophia Cranford expect him to sit here, perched on the cliff" like a wounded gull?

He lifted his head and stared straight upward at the high blue dazzling morning. God, how he would love to be on the moors now, riding his horse with the wind. But no, here he was, wasting the

glorious morning in futile waiting to deliver an apology which he justly felt should be coming from the other direction.

Now he stretched out full-length on the soft, windblown grasses, hearing below him on the coast the fishermen of Mortemouth just coming in from the morning run. A frantic congregation of gulls were circling overhead, proclaiming the success of the catch.

With a strong surge of emotion it occurred to him how much he loved his home. "The only true Eden," his father had called it. With new pride he remembered the epithet. And with old grief he mourned for his father. How placid life had been while that great man still lived. And this thought led him irretrievably back to the troubles of the present. Surely he was the first Lord of Eden Castle ever to live on the dole of someone else. In that respect, Sophia was right. Plans must be made to alter that injustice.

Hearing voices close by, he sat up. Quickly he looked down the promenade, thinking his mother was returning. Instead the voices were coming from the opposite direction, up the cliff walk, chattering serving girls on their way to work inside the castle.

Distracted at last from his various torments, he kept his eyes pinned on the top of the walk, waiting for faces to emerge, curious to see if he recognized them. He enjoyed that aspect of life at Eden as well, the never-ending parade of fresh, robust, and willing young Devon girls, not diseased like Edward's London whores. As two bright flushed faces emerged at the top of the cliff, he wondered regretfully if this too would shortly change. Not that he wasn't fond of Harriet Powels. But there was a coldness to her which suggested she knew little of a man and his needs. As his wife, he was certain she would give him children, but little else.

Now as the two young girls caught sight of him stretched out on the grass, they stopped in their chatter. He noticed how attractively the wind blew their black serving dresses backward, outlining in breathtaking detail their young full bodies.

He sat up and called good-heartedly to them, "That's quite a climb. You'd better come and sit and catch your breath."

How sweetly they giggled together. One lifted a pretty head and called back, "If we stop to catch our breaths, my Lord, we'll catch worse from old Miss Cranford. I'm fearful we're late as it is."

James looked closer. One he recognized, the nonspeaker, a dark brooding girl he'd seen many times about the castle. The pretty blond talker he'd never seen before. "Then send your companion ahead to tell Miss Cranford you lost a heel on the climb up," he shouted. Just in

case she'd misunderstood his exact wishes, he shouted again, "You, there, come! That's an order."

Again he saw the two girls whispering together. He watched closely as the issue was resolved, as begrudgingly the dark one bowed her head and went on her way.

The young girl held her position. Then slowly she started forward. As she drew near, James patted the ground directly before him, indicating where she was to sit.

Obediently she slipped to her knees. He noticed the buttons on her bodice straining against the fullness of her breasts. "A grand spot it is, milord," she blushed, "for catching your wind. Ain't nuthin' much else up here to catch, now is there?"

James laughed, finding a pleasurable release from his earlier black mood. He raised his knees and rested his arms upon them. Not to move too fast, that was the skill one needed with serving girls. Allow them a few moments' pause, to think your interests lie elsewhere. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Dorothy," she replied, modestly lowering her eyes.

"Dorothy," he repeated, as though testing the name on his memory. "Why haven't I noticed you before?"

Again she cast a furtive glance upward. "Don't rightly know, milord," she murmured. "But I've taken note of you often enough—"

For a moment, their eyes held, James trying to read what he thought was a clear invitation. He felt a tightening in his groin. Slowly his hand reached tentatively out and lightly cupped aroun'd the fullness of a breast.

Her expression, as far as he could tell, did not alter in the least. "Poor Lord Eden," she smiled sadly, sitting straighter before him as though to encourage his exploration.

Mildly distracted by her expression of pity, James felt a momentary flagging in his desire, not enough to withdraw his hand, which now had found the pleasurably hard little mound of her nipples. "Why poor?" he inquired, maintaining an air of playful fun.

She laughed quickly. "My Gawd," she went on, "the paces they're puttin' you through—your mama on one side, old Miss Cranford on the other, Mr. Edward due at the same time as your bride-to-be—" She laughed openly now. "Us in the kitchen says something turrible's goin' to happen—"

Suddenly he felt resentment that his family affairs were the subject of kitchen gossip. The smiling face before him now appeared merely impudent. With abrupt cruelty he sharply squeezed the nipple^

Reflexively the girl drew back. "Ow, sir, that hurt."

But James, on his knees now, merely followed after her as she scrambled backward. In her rapid retreat, her shoes caught on the hem of her skirt and thus self-entrapped it was a simple matter for him to climb over and pin her on her back in the grass.

Slightly breathless from the brief scuffle, he held her secure with his body, straddling her, enjoying the sensation of her futile movements beneath him. "And what else is said in the kitchen," he demanded, pinning her wrists over her head.

"Nuthin'j milord," she gasped, apparently shocked at how effortlessly he had rendered her helpless.

"Nothing?" he demanded.