My head hurt so badly I couldn’t turn my neck to look for a glass of water, but the pillow underneath it felt soft. It was too dark to see, anyway. My mouth was full of cotton balls. Can someone get me a drink? I was shouting in my head, but I could hear that it was only coming out a whisper.
“Shut up!” I heard through the door. “Stop talking to me. Jasper, tell her to shut up!” Lady Penelope whispered.
“That’s as clear and honest as I can be, Sir. I’ve said what I’ve come to say, and I don’t wish to upset the Lady further.”
“Fine, Rose. We heard you. That’s enough. Go,” Jasper said. “Go find out if anyone’s still awake. If they need food, tell Edward.”
I want a drink of water! I thought as loudly as I could. Tell Edward! No, don’t tell Edward, tell someone else. I heard Rose’s heels clacking away from me on the wooden floor. No! Come back.
“The nerve of her.” I heard Lady Penelope shrill. “With my father on his deathbed. I want Rose gone. Her and her whole family!”
“I know, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! That moron is my brother, Jasper, my brother! I have to tell mother right now,” I heard Lady Penelope say in a tight voice.
“No! Your mother’s been through enough, today. Slow down.”
I didn’t really want to hear all this. Who knew what else they might say? Where the hell was I, anyway? With great effort, I moved my fingertips around. The sheets were like angel’s robes. This was not Dove’s Nest.
“So what am I supposed to do? Sit on my hands?” demanded Lady Penelope.
“No, it’s a mess. She really wants the painting.”
“Well, she bloody well cannot have it,” hissed Lady Penelope. “I’m not bowing to her demands. I won’t be blackmailed.”
“It’s not blackmail if she can prove he promised her the painting.”
“How’s she going to prove it if, heaven forbid, my father dies? I’ll be damned if I just hand over my family’s fortunes!”
“Just take care of it,” Jasper said. “This is too much, just do what needs to be done. God, my head is so full. Listen, I know this is a bad time to bring this up but we really need to talk.”
“You’re bloody well right this is a bad time. In case you hadn’t noticed, my father is in and out of a coma and your chef got drunk and passed out. It’s a good job Edward turned up.”
“I’m not drunk,” I whispered. “Just sleepy.”
“We can do this later if you want, but we both know it’s reached a head. Once your father is stable, I’m going back to the States.”
“You’re asking for a divorce while my father is ill?” she shrilled.
“We can call it a separation. I’ll support you in whatever way I can.”
“Is it because there’s someone else?”
I strained to hear the answer, but Jasper started talking in a very low whisper.
“I didn’t mean someone else for you, you egomaniac.” She paused. “I don’t care if the whole house hears.” Quiet. “And you? You’ve been trysting with that great, hulking kitchen hand for ages. I’m used to it!”
Great hulking kitchen hand? I’m not hulking! Jasper, tell her I’m not hulking.
“I was asking if you wanted a divorce because of my ‘someone else’?”
“Penelope, at this point, I just want both of us to be happy.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me who your rival is?” she spat. “Don’t you want to know who I have on the side?” I heard hard shoes on the wood, and Terrence said, “Beg pardon, Sir, Dr. Dearden asked me to bring this tray to Juliet.”
Yay, water. Please let it be water.
“Can’t you see we’re having a discussion?” asked Lady Penelope.
“Beg your pardon, Your Ladyship, I’ll come back.”
“No, go ahead, Terrence,” Jasper interrupted. “We’re finished for now.”
“For now,” Lady Penelope said, and I heard her walking away.
A shaft of light sliced through the darkness as Terrence came in. “You put on quite a show. Jealous of all the attention His Lordship was getting, were you?”
“Water,” I squeaked.
“Here you are, Camille.” He lifted my head off the pillow and put a glass to my cracked lips. “Go slow. If you gulp it, you’ll sick it up, then you’ll have to suffer through Daphne while she strips your Heirloom bespoke bed sheets. Was this a stunt so you could see what the beds in the big house are like? But wait! You’ve already sampled Roth’s. Of course the sheets in the attic might only be Charlotte Thomas, it’s a bit downmarket up there. By the way, your mum has rung the house phone eight times. We didn’t want to worry her, so we keep telling her you’re busy. I didn’t tell her you’d gotten the vapors like a proper, delicate English lady, and that you’d need to go to Bath to take the waters as soon as possible. You may want to ring her back at some point, though.”
She knew who my father was, and didn’t tell me. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Your prerogative. That Posy has rung a couple of times to ask how you are. She claims she heard your skull hit the floor. I think Edward spoke to her.”
After several sips of water, my throat began to feel less parched. “What else is going on out there?” I managed. “What time is it?”
“Edward’s clearing up. Looks like all the drinking that’s going to be done tonight has been done. I hope there’s still wine left in the cellar! We’ve safely passed the 4-drink per person minimum, and it’s barely a vicar’s bedtime. Daphne’s washing up the good crystal in the sink by the bar. Most everyone went up early. Judging from the sounds I heard coming from the Tapestry Room, Jacques and Kaylie are shagging away their grief and worry.”
“You can’t be so sure it’s Jacques in there with Miss Hollywood.”
“Do tell! Now Roth is giving it to the guest?” he squealed, slopping water onto my front. “Sorry.”
“No! It’s Ben. Maybe.”
“Better her than you, missus. If you wind up getting back with him I’ll deny that I said this, but he’s a loser. Not to mention I overheard him bragging to Roth about having you over a judge’s bench in the courtroom.”
“He didn’t!” I gasped, which sent me into a coughing fit. “I mean, he really didn’t.”
“He was talking shit. Hot-looking and all, but definitely a douchebag.”
“Terrence!”
“Sorry, I’ve been binge-watching old episodes of The Sopranos. But, if the shoe fits … ”
“So, no more food for me to make?” I asked.
“Girl, you passed out on the kitchen floor. I’d say you’re off duty. Edward took over, and told you to stay in bed. My advice? Don’t do drugs on the job.”
“Shut up. You know I don’t do drugs. I must have been dehydrated. Plus, I had tons of coffee today on an empty stomach.” Not to mention the shock of finding out I had a real father, with a real name, and a real face. Suddenly, I was furious at Mother and started to hyperventilate. It made me dizzy. “And you can tell Edward that he doesn’t get to tell me what to do.”
“Don’t get ratty with me! I’m just the messenger.”
Rose poked her head through the door, and said, “Terrence, Dr. Dearden needs you to help Mr. Chisholm with some personal care for His Lordship.”
“Righty-hoo, I’m off to show Madame Chizzypants how it’s done. Enjoy your rest, clever girl. Full salary plus staff service. Why didn’t I think of passing out during the busy season? If anyone asks you to get back to work, just tell them you’re seeing double.”
Rose swept past Terrence and sat on the side of my bed. “How’s our patient?”
My eyes welled up. “Not good, Rose.”
“There, there. You probably wish you had your own mum here.”
“No Rose, I actually don’t. I never want to see her again.” Two hot tears rolled down my face and landed on my chapped lips, stinging them. My head really hurt.
“Ah, you don’t mean it.”
“I feel terrible,” I said, turning my face to the side.
She looked concerned. Taking the damp cloth off the tray, she wiped my forehead and asked, “Still shaky from your fall? I’m sorry to have to ask this, love, but Dr. Dearden put me to the task. Could you be in a family way?”
Not only was I on the pill, Edward had also been very responsible about protection. “No, definitely not,” I rasped. Without warning, more tears followed the first two. Being pregnant by Edward could have been nice under different circumstances. I felt so alone. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“It’s perfectly understandable. You’re suffering from exhaustion. It’s been a long, trying day for everyone. I know I’m not myself, either. His Lordship’s illness has left me in shock, though I suppose I’m no different to anyone else here.” She poured out a cup of tea from the tray, propped up my head with some extra pillows, and held it to my lips. I sipped.
“But aren’t you different?” I asked her gently. “Just a little?” I greedily drank some more.
“So, what did you hear?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I’ve been in this house such a long time, it’s a part of my body. I can feel in my bones when there’s someone in the next room and I can tell everyone’s footfalls apart with my eyes closed. You were in the laundry when I was talking to Mr. Roth.”
I was gobsmacked. “If you knew I was there, why didn’t you stop talking?”
“I knew it was you, my dear, and it’ll all come out in the wash soon enough,” she sighed, and put the cup back on the tray. She looked older than usual. “Sometimes, things have to be dealt with before you’re ready. In some ways, I suppose it’s good to have your hand forced occasionally.”
“That’s true,” I agreed, my mind wandering to Edward.
“Still, I saw Hugh’s death flash before my eyes. I hadn’t quite realized we’d all gotten so old. That, I was not prepared for. Not at all.” She looked away from me, her eyes watery.
“Rose, I’m so sorry.”
“Ah, it’s nothing…” She wiped her eyes on my napkin.
“Rose,” I said gently, “I hope The Painter recovers one hundred percent. But just in case he doesn’t…how do you plan to prove the painting is yours?”
She switched on the lamp and added another pillow to the ones behind my back, propping me up. Reaching into her apron pocket, she pulled out a faded, pinkish envelope out of her pocket and put it into my hands. “Are you well enough to read?” I nodded. The letter was open, with an orange wax seal, hanging from the triangular point. “Read it,” she said.
I handled it carefully, as bits of paper were crumbling off. I slid out the letter from inside, and unfolded it.
My Darling Rose,
My poor words cannot describe the way in which you have electrified my soul and left my heart untethered to this earth. When a subject is too big to speak about, I paint about it. I’m deeply sorry that my portrait of you on the beach in our beloved Barcelona – now, the holiest of places to me – has upset you. After your reaction to your portrait, I wrapped it and asked my old friend Chinnerton to store it at Peabody with his dusty wine bottles. In the future, when I paint you (and I cannot stop myself from doing so) I’ll hide your face from the world, as you’re hiding it now. I won’t do this from shame, because I’m not ashamed of what we have, but because you have asked me to, and I can deny you nothing, Mi Corazon. These portraits, pale idols representing an angel, are yours, and only yours. I want to give to you, if you’ll only receive.
I know I have your answer, but I cannot accept it, and so I ask again, will you marry me? If you cannot accept a divorce, I can seek an annulment. I have the highest regard for my wife, as you do, and wish her to bear no pain, but there are times in this brief life when mistakes should be corrected in the pursuit of pure joy, which to my mind is the godliest of all pursuits for us mere mortals. I’ve been blessed with so much through an accident of birth…let me elevate you, crown you in laurels and walk behind you, kissing the hem of your cloak. And if you won’t allow that, let me cast off my coronet, and walk beside you clad in rough-hewn indigo garments.
Only say yes, and the choice is yours to make – be lady of my manor, and we’ll raise our child in great halls filled with our laughter, or flee with me to Spain, and we’ll raise our child as gypsies do, filling the open air with sounds of our joy.
Only say yes…
Yours, Wholly and Eternally,
H.
My eyes were misting, and the words had become blurry on the page. “Here,” I said, offering it back to her. She held out a box of tissues, and I took one and dabbed my eyes. “Do you think he’ll recover?”
“Let’s hope it was just a mild heart attack. As ever, I’m offering my pain up to Jesus. Those who count their blessings are the happiest on this earth. I’ve a decent husband, a son who brings me joy, and good health, touch wood.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It is nice. Family is the most important thing, my girl.”
“About Seamus…”
“Are you asking me if he knows about Isaac? That he does. But Isaac knows nothing. Neither does the Countess, and, for the time being, I’d be grateful if you’d help keep it that way.” She felt my forehead and pulled the duvet up higher on my chest. “Sometimes happiness is about making a choice and committing to it. Those who are content with what they have are truly content. Longing for something different is the road to heartache.”
“Should I have married Ben and made the best of it?”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, I don’t suppose Ben’s your chance at happiness, either. I don’t think he ever was.”
“I know, it’s just hard to let go.” I was talking about Ben, but Edward’s face kept blurring with Ben’s in my mind. “There was a time when it felt like Ben and I were meant for each other, like we were one person.” I shook my head. I didn’t have the words to describe that transcendent period, frozen in time, even if it had proven to be false.
“I’ve walked down that road,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve never said this to a soul…for a while, that feeling was heaven. And then it passed. I’ve had a wonderful life with a wonderful man who treats me like gold. So I’d say I’m happy. Now, our only concern before our time is up is taking care of our child.”
I thought about Seamus, and how he loved Isaac. I got a pang for The Painter. Had it hurt all these years to know he had a son whom he couldn’t claim? “Is that what all parents want?” I asked, thinking about Piers Conley-Weatherall. Why didn’t he fight for me? I felt an endless, ancient loneliness. My father hadn’t fought for me, nor had Stephen, Ben, or Edward. Would Jasper?
“We parents all make mistakes. We suffer dearly when we fall short where our children are concerned.” She looked at me plainly. “Try not to judge your mam too harshly.” I stared at her. “After Edward carried you in here…”
“Edward carried me in here?”
“After you’d fainted, I picked up the phone and talked to your Posy. She was worried sick and asks that you ring her as soon as you’re strong enough.” Rose drew the heavy, brocade draperies over the floor-to-ceiling window. “She told me about your dad.”
My dad, I thought. It was like learning a foreign language.
“When Edward fetched me to undress you, she asked to be put on the phone with him, for an update on your condition.”
“She’s really nosy,” I said, pouting.
“Sounds to me like you’ve got a good friend in her,” Rose said. “She explained the whole thing to Edward as well.”
“Why? What business is it of his?” My cheeks burned. I didn’t want him knowing my secrets.
“I suppose she thought he’d be of some help,” Rose said, kissing my cheek. “She has your best interest at heart. Edward asked to see you. Shall I send him in?”
“No!”
Rose picked up the tray, and moved toward the door. “I’ll tell him you’re resting, then. The doctor may be in to check on you. Sweet dreams, my chicken.”
The door eased shut and I struggled to keep my eyes open in the blackness of the room. Finally, I gave into the stupor. I dreamed about stepping off a plane onto a blindingly sunny runway, Piers Conley-Weatherall waving me over to a barbeque where he and Santa Claus were grilling. As I approached, I noticed that they were using grill tongs to lay on suckling pigs that looked alarmingly like babies. I shoveled them off the hot coals with my bare hands, and Edward ran forward and grabbed my blistered hands, telling me, “No, no!”
“No, no,” I heard myself screaming, frantically pulling my wrists, trying to get free. My heart was motoring in my chest.
“Jubes, it’s me. You’re all right. Shh! It’s Edward. Ouch, stop, it’s me.”
As I surfaced and landed in my body, I realized I was clawing at someone’s face, and I struggled to focus. Edward was sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to hold my hands, while protecting himself from my blows.
In the dim glow of a flashlight laying on the nightstand, I could make out Edward’s worried expression as he stared into my eyes. I realized I was still in the West Room of the big house. My arms were cold, and I saw that someone had dressed me in a long, sleeveless white nightgown. I was sitting on the train and struggling to sit all the way up without using my hands.
“Damn you!” I said, furious and pumped through with adrenaline, but wobbly. “You scared me! What are you even doing here? I told Rose to keep you out. Get off of me, you…you liar.” I was batting at him furiously, but I could tell my reflexes were slow.
“Don’t blame her,” he said, dropping my wrists. “She told me you didn’t want to see me. And I’ll leave if that’s true.”
“Then go. Just like you did last time.” I was starting to fully wake up. Some of the sluggishness I’d felt when Rose left was wearing off. “Go to Penelope! She’s probably waiting for you.”
“Are you still dreaming? You’re talking nonsense.”
“I’m not, no. I’ve pieced it all together. You’ve been sleeping with Lady Penelope for ages. Like she says, what’s the point of trying to tether a man like you?” My mouth was dry, but I couldn’t stop talking. “And I was foolish enough to believe your line about pining for me all that time. Typical of me to leap into bed first and ask questions later. I just hope you changed your sheets from when you had the mistress of the manor in between them!”
“That’s ridiculous! Jubes, you’re delirious.”
The door to the bedroom swung on its hinge. “Hello?” I called. “Rose?” Edward and I both stayed very still and listened. I thought I heard feet padding around the corner. “Check.” I said to Edward. He pulled the door open the rest of the way, and shined his flashlight down the hallway. “No one’s there,” he said. “Look, I seem to be upsetting you, and I’m sorry for that, but I did want to see how you were. Terrence said you’re in bad shape. I hope it’s not because of me. I want to talk, but you’re ill.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I tried to scream, but it came out a wordless rasp, and I started coughing. Edward grabbed a glass of water, and brought it to my lips, cradling my head in his arm. As I sipped it, I felt the muscles of his bicep against my ear and smelled his familiar spicy-sweet scent. With great effort, I pushed the duvet back so I could sit up, untangling my long gown from beneath me, and got a rush of freezing air around my bare arms. Within seconds, I had goose bumps all over, and I was aware that, under my thin, white lace nightie, my nipples could cut glass. I caught Edward looking, but to his credit, he looked away. As he pulled the glass from my lips, I relaxed backward, turning my face toward his chest, thinking, Why don’t you just slide under the duvet here, and we can… “It’s time for you to go!” I said abruptly.
Edward scrambled to set the glass down without spilling it while simultaneously disentangling his arm from my neck. “I’ll leave you, but one last thing…Posy told me about Piers Conley-Weatherall being your dad and all, and I promised her I’d keep an eye on you to make sure you’re coping with all of it. We’re both really worried that you haven’t rung your mum.”
“Oh are both of you worried? You and Posy are tight now? You have secrets together and make promises behind my back?”
“Juliet, you’re being completely irrational. I don’t know what to say.”
“Why is that not a surprise? I guess manly, sexy, hero seducers are too cool to form sentences, or…or to even write coherent notes, because your brain is too busy thinking about all the women you’re going to trick into bed next? Who won’t you seduce? Is Posy next?” I knew I was being insane, but I was so tired, and so wounded. And so hungry. “I’m hungry,” I whined.
“At least let me make you something to eat,” he said. “Then you can send me away. Or maybe, you’ll let me tell my side of the story and not send me away. Either way, it’s not fair of me to make you decide anything whilst you’re ill. I’ll bring you a tray,” he said, turning to leave.
“Fine, go,” I said softly as he pushed the door gently shut. “You’re good at that.” I pouted and humphed. “See if I care.”
But I did care, that was the problem. Cutting Edward out of my heart was going to take a great deal more effort than cutting Stephen or Ben out had. Or Jasper, a voice whispered in my head. Jasper! Who said Jasper was in my heart? Oh my God, I thought. Even if he wasn’t strictly in my heart, I had to admit my interest. My skin started to prickle, and my breath quickened as I recalled the last conversation we’d had. Say what you will about him, he’d at least had the balls to show his hand. There was an offer on the table. “I’m a sound bet,” he’d told me.
Do nothing for now, I thought. Just shove him to the back of your mind and you figure him out when you feel better. I let out my breath, and tried to relax.
I lay there in the semi-dark and willed myself to go back to sleep, but it was no good. My muscles were straining toward the door. I sensed Edward working in the kitchen. I could picture him competently and skillfully slicing this and sautéing that, his chef’s coat’s sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his forearms. My cheek remembered the scratchy shadow on his jaw. Stop it, I coached myself. You’ve made up your mind. Edward was a fling, that was that, and now you have bigger fish to fry, like truly diving into cheffing for the first time in your life. Oh, and meeting your dad.
I eased myself up to a sitting position on the side of the bed, my brain struggling to find equilibrium, clanging painfully against the side of my skull. Good God, it was cold. Honestly, it was like the English didn’t care to distinguish indoors from outdoors. I was so uncomfortable. I scooted myself forward and down, plunking silently onto the wood floor from the height of the house’s ancestral oak bed. Slipping on the ultra-luxe, hotel-style bathrobe and fluffy house shoes that had been left for me, I peeked out into the hall to make sure no one was there.
Go in there and calmly tell him that you’re leaving, and that he can finish the stint, I pep-talked myself. Then, plan never to see him again after tomorrow.
****
I eased the door to the kitchen open and saw Edward standing at the Aga, with his broad-shouldered back to me. He wasn’t wearing his whites. He had on jeans that fit him achingly well, and a long-sleeved, crew-necked thermal shirt like a second skin. It looked like he’d recently had a haircut and I couldn’t help remembering how the short hair up the back of his neck felt like velvet. He turned around at the sound of my footsteps.
“Oh, hello you,” Edward said, knitting his brows as he put the lid on a saucepan simmering on the stove. “You shouldn’t be up and about. I told you I’d bring you something.” He rushed to pull out a chair, motioning for me to sit down.
“There’s no need. I’m perfectly capable of cooking for myself,” I said, trying to step around him to get to the Sub-Zero. And I could have, had the floor not dropped out from under me, sending my belly on an upswoop, like I was riding a roller coaster. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed. “I’ll just sit for a moment,” I managed to say, my mouth drying up, “then I’ll fry an egg or something.”
Before I knew it, he had slipped his arm around my waist and kicked the chair around to catch me as I floated downward and back. “Whoops.”
“Sit still,” he said, squatting in front of me and looking into my eyes with concern. “I’m going to go wake up Dearden.”
“No, I’m fine!” I told him. “Really. If you’d just bring me some water and some Tylenol, and I need a cup of coffee for this headache.” I pressed my palms flat on the table to steady myself.
“Let’s stick with tea for now, shall we? I think you need something gentle.”
“What I need, Edward,” I said greedily gulping the glass of cold water he set in front of me, and plonking it down decisively on the table, “is to have a frank chat with you.”
His eyes twinkled. “A frank chat? All right, then,” he said, chopping garlic, and swooping it into his saucepan with the blade of a French knife, “by all means, fire away.”
“OK, then.” I cleared my throat. “Here’s the thing.” I fiddled with salt and pepper shakers, moving them apart, then together, then back apart. “I want to get past what happened between us and go back to being friends.”
When I glanced up, he was staring at me intently. “Is that what we were?”
I ignored him and plowed on. “We’re both adults here, so let’s call a spade a spade.” I sneaked another look at him. He was standing with his arms crossed, leaning back against the cabinet, his eyebrows raised in what appeared to be amusement. “What happened between us was sex, pure and simple. Physical, animalistic sex that was the result of being forced to rub up against each other in too close quarters.”
“That’s romantic.” He turned his back on me, working at the sink.
“We’re not talking about romance, Edward. That’s my point.”
The kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of water running and dishes clinking in the sink. I finished my soup, and drank the glass of water I’d been given. I felt much more like myself, but I was bone-tired.
Eventually, Edward came and sat at the table. I decided to let him talk first, which required force of will. I strained forward, anticipating what he was going to say.
“Juliet,” he finally began. “We have a lot we need to sort out. I have a million things to say to you, but I’m not going to just at the moment.”
“Are you afraid I’ll make a scene in front of Penelope? I won’t.”
He laughed softly. “I’m not worried about that. You’re weak right now. It’s something I’ve never seen, which is why I’m sending you back to bed. And I’ll handle the kitchen tomorrow…”
“It’s not your call to make. I’m head chef. Besides, I’m fine!”
“I knew you’d say that.” He looked at me for a moment. “You act too strong for your own good. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone take care of you, just a bit.”
“I don’t need anyone.” I stood up and pushed in my chair.
“I know that, too.” He smiled wistfully. “Shall I walk you?”
I tried a smile, but I felt hollow inside. “I’m fine on my own.”