Chapter Fifteen

The second day on the road after their wedding proceeded very much as the first. Michael had begged her indulgence, citing a horror of enclosed spaces and had ridden his horse in spite of the rain.

Unlike Selina, Alice didn’t despise her own company. Never had. She’d brought along a book and some needlework to while away the hours. She’d been less indulgent about his disappearance into his own room at the inn last night. He’d pleaded a headache. A little nagging doubt made her think he might be avoiding her.

She sighed. There she was again, worrying without cause. Dash it, had her brush with Andrew made it impossible to trust even her husband? It had been she who had forced him to admit to feeling under the weather. His grim refusal of her offer of help had hurt a little, but he had apologised for being the worst of bridegrooms before he went off to find Simpson and left her to spend the night of her second wedding alone.

At breakfast this morning he’d looked pale and drawn and disinclined to speak. When he’d helped her into the carriage with a rueful smile, he informed her they would arrive at his cousin’s house for luncheon.

It was now well past one o’clock.

The carriage lurched. Looking out of the window, she saw they had turned on to a drive. Drips from the over-arching trees drummed on the roof of the carriage. She pressed her cheek against the glass in the door, and made out the house ahead. A lovely old building of Palladian proportions, with walls the colour of wet sand.

Thank God. Food at last.

Michael came to help her down. From the colour in his face the fresh air had done him some good. ‘How are you?’ she asked.

He smiled and her stomach gave its usual flutter of appreciation. ‘Better, thank you.’

She glanced up at the house. ‘Your cousin must be a great man?’

‘I apologise, I should have told you about him last night. He is the Earl of Sandford. He eagerly awaits to welcome you into the family.’ He hesitated. ‘You might find his ways a little odd. He’s been an invalid since childhood.’

‘Oh, I am sorry. What ails him?’

Michael tucked her hand under his arm and started towards the front door. ‘The doctors really aren’t sure. Some sort of wasting disease. I just wish they could get him to eat. It is almost as if he doesn’t want to get well.’

A butler stood ready at the open door. ‘Lunch is ready, my lord, but Lord Sandford hopes you will join him in the garden room first?’

‘Of course,’ Michael said. ‘I am sure my wife would like to freshen up?’ There was a proprietorial note to his voice that made her stomach jolt.

‘Yes, please,’ she said.

The butler organised the housekeeper to take her to an upstairs chamber where she found a bowl of hot water, a towel, soap and a maid.

The young woman set to work to make her presentable.

‘Whenever you are ready, my lady,’ the housekeeper said a few minutes later. ‘I am to take you to the garden room.’

Alice gazed at the wrinkles in her gown and smiled at the maid. ‘That’s the best we can do, I think.’

She followed the woman downstairs and along a corridor to the back of the house. A pair of glass double-doors opened into what indeed looked like a garden, with box hedges and roses, and small trees, but a roof covered it all. Along one wall an open bank of windows brought in a breeze and sunlight. It reminded her of the orangery at Kensington Palace

Along with the smell of greenery, a sweetish, pungent scent drifted on the air. Curls of smoke hung over the plants as if someone had lit a fire.

‘You’ll find the master at the end of this walk, my lady,’ the housekeeper said, bobbing a curtsy and leaving Alice to find the rest of the way alone.

Male voices rumbled off in the distance. They seemed to be engaged in some sort of heated discussion. She followed the sound.

Where the hedge-lined walkway ended, a scene out of the Arabian nights opened up. A colourful swathe of fabric draped down from the ceiling. A curtained canopy, beneath which, stretched out on piles of cushions, a man in a peacock-blue banyan and a turban of gold-and-blue silk smoked a long wooden pipe with a silver bowl.

The source of the smoke.

Cross-legged beside him among the brightly coloured silks, Michael looked distinctly out of place in his dark coat, doeskin breeches and dust-coated Hessians.

Both men stopped talking and looked up. The man sprawled on the cushions looked very much like Michael, but finer boned and darker eyed. His paper-white skin clung to his cheekbones and jaw as if no flesh lay beneath. His dark eyes, rimmed with long black lashes, were huge.

Michael rose to his feet with all the grace of a large cat and the frown on his brow disappeared as he smiled warmly. ‘My dear, I would like you to meet my cousin, Sandford. Jaimie, this is Alice.’

She dipped a curtsy.

‘Forgive me if I don’t get up,’ Sandford said in a soft dreamy voice, casting a rather sly smile at Michael. He reached out a languid hand, the skin so translucent every blue vein was clearly visible.

Alice took his hand and found it cool and dry. She gazed into huge black pupils surrounded by warm brown. ‘I am very pleased to meet you, my lord.’

‘Call me Jaimie,’ he said, collapsing back against the cushions. ‘Do sit down, please. Michael, make your lady comfortable. It is giving me an ache in my neck looking up at you both. I swear, Coz, you get taller each time I see you.’

Michael grimaced. ‘You are equally as tall, if you’d bother to stand up.’

‘Too tiring,’ Sandford said.

When in Rome. Alice crossed her ankles and dropped to the carpeted floor beneath the canopy. Michael arranged some cushions at her back. Despite his cheerfulness, she sensed an underlying worry about his cousin.

He dropped down beside her with a cocky grin. ‘What do you think, Jaimie?’

The pale young man regarded her intently, his dark gaze sweeping every inch of her. She felt her skin grow hot beneath his gaze.

‘Not your usual bill of fare, if your stories are true.’

‘Sailors’ talk. Mind your manners, whelp,’ Michael said in a growl.

Jaimie laughed. ‘Please excuse me, my lady. Michael is so easy to tease, but I mean no disrespect. I must thank you for bringing Hawkhurst’s prodigal son home to his family.’ He gazed at her from half-lidded eyes. ‘The question is, are you granite or sandstone?’

‘I’m sorry, I do not take you meaning?’ she said.

Michael lifted a hand in warning.

The young lord didn’t seem to notice. He gave her a sweet smile. ‘It takes granite to bend a river in full flood. It cuts straight through weaker rock.’

‘Jaimie,’ Michael said, ‘don’t talk in riddles.’

A gentle smile curved the young man’s lips. ‘I think I am sandstone. Take after my name. I would wish you both well, if I thought it would do any good.’

She glanced over at Michael, who frowned and shook his head at his cousin.

There were secrets between these two men. And an undercurrent of the argument she’d interrupted remained in the air. It made her feel itchy and uncomfortable, and definitely unwelcome.

Once more she became aware of those huge dark eyes on her face. This time, they held regret. ‘Ring the bell for champagne, Michael,’ Jaimie said. ‘I will drink a toast to the bride and groom. Then you will partake of luncheon.’

Food. The thought of it made her stomach gurgle. Both men pretended not to notice, while her face went as red as the silk of the cushion against which her host reclined.

The butler must have expected the call, because he appeared almost immediately with a silver tray and three glasses. He handed them around and departed on slippered feet.

Alice couldn’t help but stare at the embroidered footwear.

‘I don’t like noise,’ Jaimie said, following the direction of her gaze. A small smile curved his full sensual mouth, and he looked more like Michael than ever. Michael the privateer, not the English lord with his neat hair and careful manners.

‘To health and happiness,’ Jaimie said.

‘And yours,’ Michael said, in an oddly strained voice.

They drank.

‘About that offer of lunch?’ Michael said, rising and pulling Alice to her feet.

‘Waiting in the dining room,’ Jaimie said. ‘I won’t join you. I ate earlier.’

‘I wished I believed you,’ Michael said, frowning as Jaimie picked his pipe.

‘Don’t worry,’ Jaimie said with a smile. ‘Cynthia makes sure I eat.’

Michael cursed under his breath, but seemed disinclined to argue since he placed Alice’s hand on his sleeve. ‘Will we see you later?’

‘Perhaps not.’ Jaimie inhaled deeply and gave Michael a meaning-filled look. ‘I think you and I need to talk, though, Michael. Soon. In private.’

‘Certainly,’ Michael said, sounding more than a little irritated. ‘I’ll call back the first chance I get.’

His mood infected his stride; his steps were so long she felt like a colt galloping to keep up with its trotting mother. ‘Slow down,’ she said.

He winced. ‘I’m sorry. My mind was elsewhere.’ He adjusted his steps to hers. He clearly knew his way around the house, because after passing a dizzying number of doors along a hallway, he marched into the dining room where a buffet was laid out on a sideboard. Two places were set at a long table, which also bore a decanter of red wine, another of lemonade and two glasses.

Michael handed her a plate and proceeded to fill it with slices of shaved ham, a portion of pie and some slices of chicken. He added some asparagus shoots.

‘Enough, thank you,’ she said and took her plate to the table while he filled a plate for himself.

He sat down and gestured to the decanters.

‘Lemonade, please,’ she said.

He filled his own glass with red wine and attacked his pie with obvious relish. She did the same with hers. Sandford might eat little, but he had an excellent chef.

‘What did your cousin mean when he said it wouldn’t do any good to wish us well? He doesn’t like me, does he?’

Michael put down his knife and fork and picked up his glass. ‘I apologise for Jaimie. He thinks I’m making a mistake.’

That hurt. More than she liked to admit. She hoped her expression didn’t show her feelings. ‘Why?’

He shrugged. ‘He is not always easy to understand. It could be fear I’ll spend less time with him. It could be the smoke.’

Jealousy. It did strange things to people. ‘Surely smoking that…stuff isn’t good for him?’

He took a deep swallow of wine, then stared into what remained in his glass. ‘Probably not.’

‘Then shouldn’t you try to stop him?’

‘It is not always possible to repair things, Alice. He’s happy.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Or he says he is. I’m sorry if you don’t approve. He is the only family I have left. Eat up, for we must be on our way.’

The deliberate change of topic made her feel like an unwelcome intrusion in his life. It stopped her from questioning him further.

‘I am ready to leave whenever you are,’ she said.

The bleakness in his gaze disappeared. He smiled and she felt her breath catch at the sheer glory of the sight. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘I want to be there by nightfall.’

‘Where is there?’

‘You’ll see.’

His eyes held a promise and she felt hot and breathless, as if the room had grown over-warm.

Nightfall seemed far too far away.