Fourteen

The next week saw the entire household at sixes and sevens as they prepared to remove to Atherton. Trevor’s round of visits to say farewell centered on Melanie and Theo, both of whom would also be leaving town soon, Theo going to his father’s primary holding in the Midlands, and Melanie to Timberly to visit her childhood home. Later, she and her young family would visit Atherton.

Trevor watched idly as two coaches drew up in front of the house. There was another vehicle for luggage. He knew that Caitlyn’s mount and other cattle were stabled at nearby mews. He had taken little interest in them before now. The black was missing. Caitlyn must have sent him on ahead, or intended to have him brought later. It struck him that these teams were especially fine-looking animals.

With that observation came a familiar wave of annoyance. No need to ask where his wife had come by such excellent horseflesh. After all, the Ratcliff stables were well known. Ratcliff had certainly become a firmly rooted fixture in Caitlyn’s life. Trevor wondered just when it had happened. It was an ongoing matter—of that much he was sure, judging by that bit of conversation at the Terwilligers’s musicale.

At their first stop to change horses, Trevor made another discovery: The replacement teams were also their own cattle. The Jeffries household boarded its own teams at changing stations between Atherton and London! He knew this was a common practice among those who could afford it. That he could afford such luxury came as a surprise until he remembered the figures in those account books.

The three adults traveled in the first carriage, with Ashley and four servants in the other. There were additional servants riding on the outside of both carriages, for the weather had continued to be cooperative. Their schedule in recent days had been hectic. They were all tired, especially in the afternoon after a stop for the midday meal. In the front carriage, Aunt Gertrude was the first to nod off. She and Caitlyn had been sharing the forward-facing seat.

Apparently seeing the older woman’s head bobbing up and down, Caitlyn said, “Here, Aunt Gertrude. There are some extra cushions—and if I sit across with Trevor, you may be more comfortable.”

“Hmm. You are always so thoughtful,” Aunt Gertrude mumbled, accepting her bonus of comfort.

Trevor made room for Caitlyn on his seat.

“You do not mind, do you?” she asked.

“No, of course not.” The truth was, he quite welcomed her closeness and the subtle, tantalizing scent she wore. He rested his arm along the back of the seat behind her.

They talked quietly of inconsequential matters such as the weather and road conditions. There were also periods of silence, but these were not uncomfortable. Neither had spoken for some time when Trevor noticed Caitlyn fending off drowsiness.

“Come. Don’t fight it.” He gently pulled her head to his shoulder. She hesitated only a moment, then snuggled closer and was soon fast asleep.

For some time he sat savoring the experience of simple togetherness. Then he, too, nodded off, his head resting on hers. He loved the softness of her hair against his cheek. When the coach lurched to a stop at an inn for the next change of horses, all three of them were startled to wakefulness. Caitlyn seemed embarrassed at finding herself so firmly in his arms.

“I am sorry.” She sat straighter. “You cannot be comfortable with me crowding you so.”

“On the contrary. It felt . . . right to me.” He reluctantly released her and leaned across her to open the carriage door. He heard her sharp intake of breath at this moment of further closeness. Trevor handed both ladies from the carriage.

Sometime later, the two vehicles were on their way again, with the addition of Ashley to the forward carriage. Her questions and chatter entertained them until their stop for the night. Trevor was surprised that this break in their trip came in the same town and at the same inn where he and Caitlyn had spent the first night of their marriage over five years before.

He looked at Caitlyn and knew she had only now realized the significance of this particular location.

“Oh, dear,” she said softly, glancing at him, then away.

“Is something amiss?” Aunt Gertrude asked.

“No. Not at all.” Caitlyn recovered quickly, but she refused to meet his gaze.

Trevor chuckled and jumped from the carriage. “I shall see to our accommodations.”

He noticed an inordinate amount of activity in the inn yard. It occurred to him that traffic had become much heavier as they entered this town. A servant who had been sent ahead to secure their rooms and arrange their meals met him at the door.

“I done me best, sir, but the inn is real full. There’s a mill takin’ place here tomorrow.”

“Are you telling me we have no rooms?” Trevor demanded.

“Oh, they’s rooms all right, but only two, you see.”

By now the harried landlord had joined them. He was a burly, red-faced man of middle years, wearing a once-clean apron. Trevor observed that the taproom was crowded with an eclectic group of ton dandies, cits, and local farmers.

“I am sorry we can’t do better by you, sir,” the innkeeper said. “As I was tellin’ your man here, the whole town is full up for this boxing match tomorrow.”

It developed that these were, indeed, the last two rooms available in the entire town. Moreover, Trevor was informed, surrounding villages were likely to be just as crowded, for this sporting event pitted two very popular pugilists against each other.

When he explained the situation to Caitlyn and Aunt Gertrude, Caitlyn said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Well, we shall just make do. It is far too late to drive on now.”

However, he thought she seemed much less complacent when it became clear that she would be sharing a room with him, while Aunt Gertrude, Ashley, and their three female servants were allotted the other, slightly larger, room. The coachman and other male servants would sleep in the stables.

 

 

The inn’s only private parlor had been taken over by a group of Corinthian revelers. The Jeffries party therefore dined at a table the landlord set up in the room Trevor and Caitlyn would share. Caitlyn surveyed the fare and then shrugged.

“It is a bit cozier than we anticipated, but it will have to do,” she said to Aunt Gertrude as the two of them waited for Trevor to join them.

“Beggars are not allowed to be choosers,” Aunt Gertrude said.

“It never occurred to me that we should reserve rooms in advance.”

“Perhaps there is a message to be had in this little twist of fate,” Aunt Gertrude said archly.

“I cannot imagine what it would be.”

But Caitlyn, who found it difficult to control her nervousness about sharing this room later with Trevor, knew very well what her aunt had in mind. More than once, the older woman had hinted at hoping that Caitlyn and Trevor could resolve any differences between them.

Trevor came in at this point. There was an air of boyish excitement about him. “You will never guess who is below,” he said. “Jenkins and Moore. They knew all about this contest. I’ve promised to join them later.”

Caitlyn did not know whether to be pleased or dismayed at this news. She made a polite response, as did Aunt Gertrude, and the meal progressed amicably. Then Trevor left to join his friends, and Aunt Gertrude retired to the other room.

Left alone with her own thoughts after dismissing her maid, Caitlyn was apprehensive about the forced intimacy of their shared accommodations. Would Trevor expect to assert his rights as her husband when he returned?

Did she want him to?

Facing this question honestly, she did not know. She freely admitted to her own physical attraction to him—and to being mildly surprised at this response to a man who had wronged her. She chastised herself for being “such a strumpet,” though she supposed a purely physical reaction to an attractive male was a natural response.

Then an impish demon in the back of her mind suggested that she knew other men who were equally handsome. None of these caused her to experience the shortness of breath and flood of awareness that assailed her whenever her husband was near.

What kind of woman would welcome the advances of a man who had once so forcefully rejected her?

A strumpet, of course. But, God help her, she thought she might welcome Trevor’s presence in her bed again.

She sat in a lacy bedgown and brushed her hair vigorously. Then she tried to pick up a book she had tucked into her portmanteau. Her mind kept drifting, her thoughts punctuated by the merriment floating up from below.

Finally, she climbed into bed, turned the lamp low, and waited for Trevor’s arrival.

And waited.

And waited.

She hardly knew whether she was angry or disappointed about his continued absence. Drowsiness overcame her and she slept. It was much later when she heard a key turn in the lock. She was instantly alert, but she lay still, feigning sleep.

She heard clothing rustling and the soft thud of his boots hitting the floor. Then she felt his nearness next to the bed. She caught the scent of his shaving soap mixed with brandy. Beneath her lashes, she saw him bend over to touch her hair spread on the pillow. Then he straightened, heaved a sigh, and extinguished the light. He moved away to settle himself on a chaise longue in the corner.

Caitlyn felt a distinct sense of loss.

 

 

Trevor awoke early the next morning, hurried through his ablutions, and left the room before Caitlyn arose. She had awakened, however, to bid him a shy “good morning.” When he returned shortly for breakfast, Aunt Gertrude and Ashley had joined them.

The journey started with Ashley again in her parents’ coach. The conversation was limited to answering her interminable questions and sharing in her chatter with her ever-present doll.

Trevor had not slept well on the chaise longue. Even as he had conversed earlier with Jenkins and Moore, his mind had drifted to the thought of Caitlyn alone in the room above. He had wanted to go to her then, but was unsure of his welcome. Now whenever he closed his eyes or stared, unseeing, out the coach window, the same image haunted him: Caitlyn lying in bed, her hair fanned out on the pillow. The temptation to take her right then and there had been nearly overwhelming. Why had he hesitated? She was his wife. Husbands had certain rights, did they not?

Then he answered his own foolish question. Trevor Jeffries had never in his life taken a woman against her will. He certainly would not start with his wife.

It was another long day of travel. Darkness was settling in as they arrived at the familiar driveway to Atherton. Trevor could see little, but he thought the general scene was neater. There was a sense of trim, clean lines about the place. Lanterns showed the stone steps leading to the entrance swept clean, and there were pots of bright flowers on either side.

The door swung open to reveal a golden glow of light from within. Merrill seemed unsurprised to see him. Was that the customary stoicism of a well-trained butler? Or had Caitlyn sent word ahead? Both, he decided.

Inside, the transformation was astonishing. Treated to a quick tour, he found that such floors as were not covered with carpets, as well as every other noticeable piece of wood, were highly polished. The walls were clean, and the furniture showed not a speck of dust. Some familiar pieces had been refurbished. New pieces had been chosen with care and good taste.

“Very comfortable,” he said, and Caitlyn seemed pleased.

“I have had your things put in here.” She opened the door of what he knew to be the master bedchamber—one they had previously shared. She apparently read his unasked question, for she went on, “I shall have the room next door.” She had sent word ahead, then.

The master chamber had been completely redone, but he was pleased to note that the style was subdued, the colors restful blues and greens. In fact, every room he entered showed subtlety and restraint in the use of style and color. Nor had modern comforts been ignored. Gaslights in the hallways and lamps in each room provided soft illumination.

The London travelers were exhausted and all retired early that night. Before seeking his own room, Trevor decided to look in on Ashley. As he opened the door to her room, he saw the glow of a candle. Beside the bed, Caitlyn looked up as he entered.

They stood in companionable silence gazing at the angelic countenance of their child asleep. Trevor could not resist reaching to touch an errant blonde curl.

“She is so beautiful,” he whispered. Profoundly moved, he turned to Caitlyn and made no effort to hide his emotions. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me this child.”

Her response was a soft, nervous laugh. “Perhaps I should thank you. Ashley is quite simply the best thing that ever happened to me.” Her eyes shone brightly in the candlelight.

Not knowing what to say, he reached for her hand and locked his fingers tightly with hers. They stood in quietness for a few moments, each lost in thought; then she gently disengaged her hand. She extinguished the candle as they left the child’s room and descended the stairs to their own chambers. Reacting to the shared moment, Trevor felt a wave of desire, not just to possess her woman’s body, but to erase her concern, to protect and cherish.

At her door, she quickly stood on tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and murmured, “Good night, Trevor.” She put her hand on the door latch.

Stunned, he hastily placed his hand over hers.

“Caitlyn, I—”

Her name was an anguished groan on his lips as he pulled her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers. She stiffened and for a fraction of a second was very still. Then—wonder of wonders—she was responding, her arms around his neck, her mouth welcoming.

He drew back and gazed into her eyes. He saw confusion and vulnerability in their depths. “I . . . I think we must talk,” he said.

“Yes.” He heard the apprehension she seemed to be trying to hide from him. “Yes. We do. Tomorrow. After you have seen what we have done here at Atherton. Then we can dis-cuss . . . everything.”

She stepped away, opened her door, and slipped inside. Trevor stood before the closed door, confused. Angry frustration was tempered by amusement at this peculiar predicament of wanting desperately to make love with a wife he did not quite trust.

A wife who seemed willing—but was she? Did not that closed door clearly belie the passion of her kiss?

Yet what choice did she have if he wanted to assert his rights? Perhaps she had welcomed his embrace because she could not afford to reject his advances. Trevor was well aware of the sheer power every husband wielded over a wife in modern England. To keep her child, a woman would probably endure anything. Anything at all.

Deep in thought, he sought his own empty bed. But sleep was elusive.

 

 

Caitlyn had hurried into her own room and dismissed her maid as quickly as possible. Trevor’s kiss upset her, but even more upsetting was her reaction to it. How could she possibly remain in charge of her own life if she could not even control her response to a simple good-night kiss?

A simple good-night kiss, was it? her inner imp challenged. A simple good-night kiss would not convey the deep longing, the yearning for fulfillment this one had. Oh, no, my girl. You cannot fool yourself that there was anything “simple” about this kiss at all. That kiss on his cheek was “simple.” What followed was something else altogether.

Uneasy sleep that night increased her nervousness the next morning. Anxious to show Trevor what had gone on in his absence, she had ambivalent feelings on the matter. On the one hand, she wanted his approval as a validation of her work. On the other, she feared he would usurp her position and simply take over to push the estate in a different direction and leave her out. For five years she had identified her very self and measured her worth by her not inconsiderable achievements at Atherton. Was she about to lose it all?

Caitlyn was already in the breakfast room when Trevor came down. Aunt Gertrude had sent word she was having a tray in her room this morning. Caitlyn returned his cheerful “good morning” and went back to sorting through the post as he filled his plate.

“I am looking forward to the grand tour,” he said as he sat down.

“Yes. Well. I have asked Mr. Felkins to join us to answer such of your questions as I cannot.”

She knew she was being a coward There was not a single question about Atherton she could not answer herself. She simply wanted a third party along as a buffer—not only to parry objections, but also to keep the situation impersonal.

Trevor seemed thoughtful for a moment; then he grinned. “I was looking forward to getting you off alone, but we probably should have him along. From what I saw in the ledgers in London, I must have underestimated Felkins in the past.”

Flustered, Caitlyn looked down. She wanted to scream at him that it was not Felkins he underestimated, but if she did so, she would lose that buffer. Before she could reply, Merrill announced the arrival of Mr. Felkins, who was invited to have coffee as Trevor and Caitlyn finished their breakfast.

The meal over, they found John Coachman in front with an open carriage.

“I usually take the gig,” Caitlyn said, “but as there are three of us, John will drive us.”

Trevor handed her in, and Felkins joined John on the driver’s seat.

“We will visit tenant farms first,” Caitlyn explained, “and then return to the home farm.”

“All of them?” Trevor asked.

She laughed. “No, that would take far too much time. Is there a particular farm you would like to visit?”

“No-o. I think not. Wait. Yes. The Hawkins farm. I remember that Mr. Hawkins was very kind to Terrence and me when we visited Atherton as children.”

“The Hawkins farm it is.” She had raised her voice slightly for the benefit of John Coachman, who flicked the reins to set the carriage in motion.

When they arrived at the Hawkins place, Caitlyn hoped Trevor saw what she saw in the neat, whitewashed buildings, the repaired thatch of the roofs, and the profusion of bright flowers. Hawkins, his wife, three half-grown sons, and two younger daughters came to greet them when the carriage approached.

Greetings over, Trevor asked, “Where are your sheep? We saw none as we drove up.”

“I got no sheep now, sir. Taylor and Adams, they got sheep. Porter’s got some, too. Me an’ the boys are raisin’ chickens now.”

“Chickens?” Trevor shifted a surprised glance from Caitlyn back to the farmer.

“Doin’ pretty well, too. Between us and the Watsons over t’other side o’ the creek, we supply eggs for most folks hereabouts. Meat, too, for lots of ’em.”

“You don’t say. I see you have quite a garden, too.” Trevor thus directed everyone’s attention to a large plot that looked productive and well tended.

“I have fresh green beans already,” Mrs. Hawkins said with obvious pride. “You must take some to Mrs. Perkins, ma’am.”

“I shall do so quite happily,” Caitlyn replied.

“You want I should show you around, Mr. Jeffries?” Hawkins asked. He sounded eager to display his achievements.

“Yes. Please.” Trevor jumped down from the carriage and handed Caitlyn down. “Will you join us?” he asked her.

“You go ahead. I shall stay here and talk with Lena and the girls.”

Half an hour later they were back in the carriage and on their way to other farms where the scene—with some variations—was repeated. Along the way, they passed through the village.

Trevor looked around him with apparent curiosity and wonder. “I remember this little hamlet as poor and run-down. It seems quite prosperous now. I assume there are sufficient customers for the goods we see in these windows?”

“Oh, yes.” She signaled John to stop and explained, “I promised Aunt Gertrude I would pick up some yarn for her.”

They traipsed into the mercantile shop, which sold a bit of everything.

“Ah, Mrs. Jeffries. Welcome home.” White, the tall, mustachioed proprietor greeted her. “And Mr. Jeffries. We heard you had returned from the war, sir.” The man’s voice was more reserved, impersonal in greeting Caitlyn’s companion.

“How do you do?” Trevor offered the man his hand.

Caitlyn obtained the yarn and completed the transaction as Mr. White chatted on. “Please tell Her Ladyship we have a bolt of nice blue print she might like,” he said. “Oh. And here’s a treat for our little miss.” He tucked a peppermint stick into the package.

“Now, on to the home farm,” Caitlyn said.

They arrived at the main house via the same route they had traveled the night before, but everything was clearly visible now. Instead of stopping at the entrance, the carriage swept around the house and the outbuildings beyond.

Caitlyn was proud of the now neatly landscaped home with its extensive gardens free of encroaching weeds. There was also a large vegetable and herb garden.

“What the . . .”

She heard the surprise bordering on shock in Trevor’s voice. She looked at him questioningly.

“Those are all stables!” he challenged.

“Yes. They are.” She did not understand this statement of the obvious.

“We cannot possibly require so many animals for our transportation needs.”

Confused by his reaction, she laughed nervously. “Of course not. But we manage to supply the needs of others.”

Felkins offered one of his rare observations as he turned on the driver’s seat. “Our business is fairly new, sir. We are truly just getting started, but already the Jeffries Farms are gaining a good reputation.” There was a note of pride in the steward’s tone.

“Mighty fine cattle,” John Coachman added.

“And out there . . . ?” Trevor waved his hand at a neatly fenced-off area.

“Our track for training the racing stock,” Caitlyn said, beginning to feel truly apprehensive about his tone.

“Jeffries Farms. It was not Cousin Algernon at all,” Trevor said to the total mystification of his wife. He turned to her. “You allowed this to happen? You turned my property into a horse farm?

“Well, yes. I—”

“Without consulting me? Without even bothering to find out if I wished such a thing to transpire?”

He was fairly ranting now, and his anger both surprised her and sparked her own temper. The carriage had drawn into the central stable yard, and several workers there had stopped to observe on hearing Trevor’s raised voice.

“It is potentially a very profitable endeavor,” she said through clenched teeth, “but I think we should discuss this elsewhere.”

He jumped down and held his hand to aid her. She wanted to ignore his help, but knew she might fall on her face if she did so.

“Yes, madam, we shall most assuredly discuss this.” He had never sounded so stern to her before.