Two days later, Faith sat on a bank of the stream that divided the Home Wood at Ashedon Court, the skirts of her oldest gown tucked under her, watching as her boys fished. Sunlight spangled the trees drowsing in the afternoon breeze with a gold that brightened leaves just beginning to turn to their autumnal hues of red and yellow.
Edward, become quite proficient after nearly a month of practice, baited a hook for Colin, even the younger boy now expert in detaching his catch from the line. Looking on fondly, she thought how much more like a normal, happy eight-year-old her eldest had become, after three weeks out of the city and away from the influence of the tutor who’d been trying to turn him into a miniature of his arrogant, self-absorbed father.
To her guilty delight, Faith wasn’t having to counter the Dowager’s influence, either. Several days after their arrival in Derbyshire, the letter she’d penned in a disguised hand in London was delivered, informing her mother-in-law that a ‘concerned friend’ had seen Lord Randall board a packet for Calais. Alternately relieved to know her son was well and alarmed that he had departed to the peril of foreign shores, the Dowager had dithered over whether she would follow her son to offer succour, remain at Ashedon Court in the hope that he would join them there, or return to London. Finally choosing London as the most likely place Lord Randall would try to contact her—and no more a lover of country life than her son—she’d immediately begun preparations to return to the metropolis.
She’d harangued Faith about accompanying her to resume the duties required of a duchess in London society. To which Faith had sweetly responded that she had a higher duty to remain with her son at Ashedon Court, so the young Duke might become better acquainted with the land and responsibilities that were now his.
The Dowager hadn’t been happy, but she’d recognised a winning trump card when she saw it. Left with no more ammunition to attack Faith’s determination to remain with the children, she left in a huff, accompanied by an entourage with enough grooms, outriders and footmen to satisfy even their former tutor’s concept of the consequence due a duchess.
As the clomp of hoofbeats and jingle of harness faded as the Dowager’s coach disappeared down the Long Drive, for the first time since her marriage, Faith had felt entirely free.
Since that morning two weeks ago, she’d let herself drift through the days like thistledown blown on the wind. Rising early to take a bruising morning ride; sharing breakfast with the boys in the nursery; teaching them lessons that continued outside, as she identified trees and plants, fish, frogs and insects. Often, as they had today, they brought along a picnic lunch and fishing rods, ending the tutoring walk by throwing some hooks in the stream or, in Colin’s case, climbing the nearby trees.
They’d also, during their rambles, stopped by the nearer cottages on the estate, introducing the tenants to the new little Duke—and overhearing several muttered comments about how the occupants wouldn’t have recognised the old one, seldom as he came to the estate. The assessment troubled her; Wellingford hadn’t been nearly so vast a property, but she’d grown up knowing all the families who worked the land, and she wasn’t even the heir. She vowed that, before he saw London again, Edward would be able to say the same about his tenants.
During her rides, she’d got to know the grooms, and engaged a younger one with a sharp eye and a friendly manner to begin teaching the boys, to their great delight. Just last night, she’d penned the last notes to the prospective tutors recommended by Englemere, inviting each of the top three candidates to visit at Ashedon Court for a personal interview.
Back in the countryside she loved, for the first time in ten years free to manage her own time where her actions were not dictated, observed, or criticised by anyone else, she could almost feel herself growing stronger, more relaxed, and confident. The ability to read, think and act solely according to her own inclinations was setting her firmly back on the path to the person she’d once been, the path on which Davie had started her the night he’d rescued her in that Mayfair lane.
Ah, Davie. The only problem she hadn’t resolved was what to do about Davie.
She’d penned him a note the night of their arrival at Ashedon, explaining her sudden change of plans, and received a brief one from him in return, approving her actions and wishing her a happy sojourn in the country. He’d added that, once the Parliamentary session came to an end, he might pay her a visit at Ashedon.
The prospect filled her with excitement—and flung her into an agony of indecision. Here, in the open countryside, there were scores of forest bowers, shepherd huts, shady glens where there were no armies of servants, tradesmen or gossips with prying eyes to observe or report. Even the mansion at Ashedon Court was vast enough, nearly all its several dozen chambers unoccupied, that a midnight tryst in a guest bedroom could take place with almost no chance of discovery.
If he did visit, should she hold fast to her promise not to try to seduce him again? Could she? She might feel stronger and more resilient than she had in a decade, the continual disparagement that had taken such a toll on her sense of confidence and self-worth gradually fading into unpleasant memory, but she still couldn’t do without Davie’s friendship and support. If she lost that, trying to entice him into her bed, she wasn’t sure how she would go on.
But she also wasn’t sure how she could resist attempting seduction, when she wanted him so badly, wanted so much to experience the loving embrace of a man who truly cared for her—and sensed that, if she pushed just a bit harder, she might shatter the iron will restraining him and catapult him into responding.
The very idea sent a wave of arousal and excitement through her. Oh, how vividly she could envision it: his mouth on hers, his large, gentle hands tugging loose the hooks, undoing pins, freeing her from her garments so she stood naked before him. His mouth at her breasts, his hands parting her, caressing her; his lips back against hers, his tongue stroking hers as he entered her, thrusting that magnificent, rigid member deep inside again and again until she shattered, the incomparable pleasure of it carrying him over the brink with her...
She wouldn’t hold him very long, of course. He would tire of her, as men did of the women who pleasured them, and move on. Would it be worth it to have him for that little space, knowing she could not have him for ever?
Was it worth risking, knowing that if she pushed them into becoming lovers, it was unlikely she’d be able to hang on to his friendship afterwards?
And so, round and round the two possibilities rolled in her head, as they had since the moment she’d had enough peace and time to think about them. Deny herself the pleasure she wanted so badly, the pleasure she knew he could give her? Or seize it, and risk losing the friendship so essential to her well-being?
Colin’s cry of delight as he captured another fish brought her back to the present. With a regretful sigh, she let go the dreams of lying in Davie’s arms, which, sadly, were likely to remain only dreams for a very long time. At least now, she had the joy of being with her boys, their days together structured just as she wanted them.
‘Put that fish in the basket, too,’ she called, rising to shake out her skirts. ‘We should start back.’
Laughing at the chorus of protests, she said, ‘Sorry, boys! We’ll fish again tomorrow, if the weather is good, but remember, we planned to stop by the widow Banks’s cottage on our way back. Matthew, will you carry the basket we brought for her?’
Subsiding with sighs, the boys dutifully gathered their gear, and after carefully adding their latest catch to the other three trout today’s expedition had won them, they set off.
‘Why does Mrs Banks need us to bring her bread and soup?’ Colin asked, skipping along beside his brother.
‘Because she’d old, and sick, looby,’ Edward replied.
‘Why doesn’t her maid or cook help her?’ Matthew asked.
‘As a farmer’s widow, she doesn’t have a maid or a cook,’ Faith explained. ‘Usually, there would be children to help—’
‘Like Mr Smith said, when he told us about having lots of chores on the farm when he was growing up?’ Matthew interrupted.
‘Yes, exactly.’ How like Davie, to explain so vividly Matthew still recalled his remarks. How wonderful it would be, if he were here to share all this with them!
Pushing that unattainable desire out of mind, she said, ‘Yes. But apparently all of Mrs Banks’s children left to work in Manchester. One of Edward’s most important tasks as owner of Ashedon is to know which of the tenants are old, or sick, or in need, and take care of them.’
‘And I will, Mama.’ Straightening to his full height, Edward reached out to Matthew. ‘Let me carry the basket.’
‘What can I take, then?’ Matthew asked, reluctantly giving up his charge.
‘Why don’t we give her our fish?’ Colin piped up. ‘Fish is good to eat, isn’t it, Mama?’
‘That would be very fine,’ Faith said, warmed by her son’s spontaneous generosity. ‘We’ll see if she has anyone to cook it for her.’
‘Can you cook fish, Mama?’ Matthew asked. ‘I know you can climb trees.’
Her thoughts flashed back to several impromptu barbecues with her brother Colten, fresh fish grilled over open fires they’d put together beside the banks of the trout stream at Wellingford. ‘It’s been a long time, but I suppose I still know how. Very well, we’ll cook a fish for Mrs Banks, if she feels up to eating it.’
‘If it was jam tarts, I might not give one away, but she can have one of my fish,’ Colin confided, setting Faith to chuckling.
* * *
A short walk later, they reached the Banks cottage. The fields beyond it were fallow, the widow obviously not feeling up to working the land for some time. The cottage itself also looked neglected, Faith noted. She must remind the estate manager that it required fresh roofing thatch and a thorough inspection of the soundness of the timbers in the windows and framing.
Nodding to Edward, she let him knock at the door. ‘Mrs Banks, may we come in? We’ve brought some things for you,’ he called.
But instead of the frail widow, the door opened to reveal a husky, broad-shouldered young man, dressed in the rough clothes of a labourer.
‘Who are you, and what do you want with my gran?’ he asked, scowling at them.
‘It’s all right, son,’ they heard the widow’s weak voice from within. ‘It’s the Duchess and her sons. Please, Dickon, let them in.’
The man didn’t move aside. Looking Faith up and down contemptuously, he said, ‘Come to play Lady Bountiful, have ye, after paying no heed to nobody for years? Too late for that now, I reckon. As for you, little lordling, your grip over this land won’t last much longer.’
Knowing her husband’s lack of involvement in the estate, the man probably had a right to his grievance. But furious at his tone and manner, Faith looked him in the eye, saying coldly, ‘Mrs Banks is ill, and we have food and provisions. Would you deny them to her?’
After a moment, the man looked away. Moving aside reluctantly he said, ‘I s’pose you can bring them in.’
Head held high, Faith ushered her boys past Dickon, Colin, his eyes wide, clinging to her skirts. Ignoring the man who followed them in, as if he expected they would do his grandmother some harm, she walked over to the pallet on which the old woman lay and took her hand. ‘How are you today, Mrs Banks? We’ve brought some bread and soup. And the boys caught you some trout, if you’d care for one.’
‘And how do you expect her to eat it?’ Dickon asked. ‘She ain’t got no cook to fix it for her, Your High-and-Mightiness.’
Faith looked back over her shoulder. ‘She might once have had children who would care for her. But since apparently they don’t any longer, I can cook it.’ She looked back down at the old woman. ‘If you fancy it now, Mrs Banks.’
The old lady smiled. ‘A taste of fresh trout? Ah, Your Grace, can’t say when I last had that!’
‘You shall have it today, then. Boys, would you go outside and find some wood? There isn’t any by the hearth.’
Ignoring the woman’s grandson, who was now loitering uncertainly beside the woman’s pallet, Faith walked the few steps to the hearth, hunting among the meagre supplies for a pan in which to cook the trout, and hoping she would remember how to gut and prepare it. She’d spent years being disparaged by a duke; the last thing she wanted was to have this arrogant commoner laughing at her ineptness at frying fish.
A few minutes later, sticks and branches in hand, the boys hurried back in. ‘Mama, there’s so much smoke in the sky!’ Matthew cried.
‘Smoke?’ she repeated, frowning. ‘Where?’
‘Coming from the direction of Ashedon Court,’ Edward answered.
Putting down the pan, she followed the boys back outside. As they’d described, there was indeed a large pillar of dark smoke rising in the distance, from the place where the ducal palace stood.
Alarm fluttered in her chest. Sticking her head back inside the door, she called, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Banks, but there appears to be a problem back at Ashedon Court. I’ll just leave the bread and soup, and come back later to prepare the fish.’
‘You go on, then, Your Grace,’ Mrs Banks said.
‘Come on, boys, at the double-quick,’ she said, breaking into a trot herself.
Only to have Dickon follow and stop her with a hand to the shoulder. ‘You oughtn’t go back, ma’am! Take the boys and head for the village. There’s only trouble back there.’
For a moment, Faith stared at him incredulously. ‘Not go back? That’s my son’s house afire! With a score of servants working inside, we must make sure everyone has got out safely, and organise a party to fight it.’
Shrugging off his hand, she made a scooting motion at the boys and picked up her pace, consumed with worry. The heart of Ashedon Court was an Elizabethan Great Hall, whose ancient hornbeam timbers would ignite like paper in a bake oven. Fortunately, the flanking wings were of brick and the roof was slate, which would slow a blaze. But where had it started—?
‘You don’t understand,’ Dickon cried, trotting after them. ‘This fire—it weren’t no accident. It were set, deliberate.’
Astonished, she stopped to face him. ‘Set? Why?’
‘Lords like your husband saw fit not to pass the Reform Bill. We aimed to show ’em we’ll not bow to their refusal no more.’
‘Were the servants warned first?’ she demanded. ‘It wasn’t their fault the Bill didn’t pass.’
He looked away, not meeting her gaze. ‘Dunno.’
Furious, she turned back towards Ashedon Court. ‘A right fine victory it will be for your lot, if the under-butler gets trapped in the wine cellar when the roof falls in, or some maid in the attics! We’ll go to the village and leave the house to you, but not until I know everyone’s safely out.’
Dickon trotting by her side, Faith and the boys ran for Ashedon Court, the volume of smoke increasing as they neared.
As they burst out of the cover of the Home Wood and ran up the Long Drive, Faith was relieved to see the fire appeared to be in the stable block, not in the main house. By the time they reached the turn where the drive split, one trail leading to the stables, one to the house, she halted, panting. She was about to continue to the stables to check that all the horses had been led out when she realised that a crowd of men had gathered in the courtyard before the manor house, their angry shouts just discernible in the distance.
They must have spotted her, for several broke away and headed down the drive towards her. While Dickon beside her swore, Faith drew in a trembling breath and gathered her boys behind her.
This must be what Davie had meant, when he said Parliament must pass the Reform Bill. She’d just never imagined the repercussions of failure would touch her, and her boys, here.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of galloping hooves approaching on the Long Drive behind them. Ranging her sons behind her to face this new threat, she braced herself, wishing a bit hysterically that she had her riding crop, or even one of the sticks the boys had gathered for the fire, with which to defend them.
Her heart racing so hard she could scarcely breathe, Faith clenched her teeth and waited as the horseman reached them and vaulted from the saddle.
‘Lord have mercy, are you all right, Faith?’ he cried.
Faith gazed up, astonished. ‘Davie?’