by Raine Miller
“Why did you back away from me, chérie?”
“I do not know.” Her lashes fluttered. “I—I wanted you to capture me.”
I was right. “If you only knew how much I loved every minute of capturing you, chérie.”
She gave him a naughty wink. “I cannot wait to see the look upon Hester’s face when she sees the destruction you have wrecked upon my clothing and this room.”
He immediately began to tickle her. “You are quite the trickster, chérie, always thinking of some humorous bedevilment. Now be a good girl,” he teased, tickling her some more.
Shrieking and laughing, she tried to wriggle away. “I will be good! I will be a good girl for you,” she shouted before clapping her hands to her mouth, mortified at the noise. “Oh Lord, the servants. What will they think of me? Of us?”
“It does not matter what they think. Besides, you are so endearing to everybody; nothing would ever cause you to receive their disdain.”
“I’m pleased to see I’ve blinded you to my faults.”
“You have faults?” he teased. “How is that possible, chérie?”
“Mmmm, a great many faults I am afraid.”
“Highly unlikely,” he murmured.
Graham continued to watch his wife for a time. Not quite believing his great fortune in securing her love and awakening her passionate nature, unable to comprehend how he had found her, but so very grateful nonetheless.
TWELVE
Knock off the chains
Of heart-debasing slavery; give to man,
Of every colour and of every clime,
Freedom, which stamps him image of his God.
James Grainger ~ The Sugar Cane, 1764
THE miles of road between London and Gavandon were swallowed up by the coach as Imogene watched Graham dozing in the seat across from her. They had been married barely a fortnight. Much of that time spent in the master’s suite of Brentwood. Emerging from their passionate lair, they had, on occasion, ventured out to the opera, and once to the theatre in the evenings. They had managed to ingest some of their dinners while staring at one another over their plates. One Sunday they had even attended church at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and reminisced about their wedding day. An entire day had even been given up to stroll through The British Museum, arm-in-arm, viewing the recently acquired Elgin Marbles, or Parthenon Marbles as they were also known. The carved bodies were stunning in execution, but it was also disconcerting to see such beautiful and ancient works of art cut apart and lying on the floors. Both of them had to wonder as to the correctness of taking the marble masterpieces from their native Greece.
The journey over winter-ravaged roads was definitely no leisure spree. But last night—last night had been very pleasant. Imogene smiled, remembering their stay at the inn.
They stopped their travelling for a night of rest at The Lion’s Crown, a fine establishment that Graham said he had used many times. He’d notified the proprietor in advance to prepare for their arrival, and who greeted them personally at the entrance.
“Lord Rothvale.” He bowed. “The Lion welcomes you and your lady.”
“Ah, Jacobson, hello. Your place is a welcome sight after the inside of a carriage on these blasted roads.” He turned to Imogene. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Jacobson, the proprietor of this excellent establishment, and the most devilishly talented of cooks as you shall see.” He winked at her. “Jacobson, my bride, Imogene, Lady Rothvale.”
Mr. Jacobson was younger than Imogene expected him to be for a proprietor of such an establishment.
Smiling at her with kind, dark eyes, he bowed again in welcome. “Lord and Lady Rothvale, congratulations upon the occasion of your marriage, and may I say, you honor us here at The Lion.”
“Thank you for your gracious welcome, Mr. Jacobson. My husband assures me he wouldn’t consider staying at any other establishment aside from yours while travelling this way.”
Jacobson flashed a quick look toward Graham before tilting his head in acknowledgement. “We are ever here to serve you, my lady.”
“See there? In the space of just a few words and a smile, my wife has secured another admirer,” Graham teased good naturedly. “I am constantly amazed at how easy these things are for her to accomplish.”
Mr. Jacobson laughed in easy conversation as he showed them inside.
Once settled into their room, they gratefully sat down to a lovely dinner of venison and potatoes, and the most delicious bread Imogene had ever tasted. “Mr. Jacobson is indeed a talented cook. I should like to have his recipe for this bread. Do you think you might get it out of him?” Imogene asked.
“I’ll look into it for you, chérie.” His eyes twinkled at her. “You enchant people without even realizing it.”
“You enchant me, and I am fairly sure you are well aware of it,” she answered.
After the wonderful meal, while readying themselves for bed, Imogene thought Graham looked a trifle mischievous and sneaky standing there in his robe, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“What are you up to, husband?”
“Nothing really.” He tapped the book he held in his hand, grinning.
“What have you planned? With you, there is always some sort of concocted plan.”
“I thought I might read to you for an hour or so.” His answer surprised her.
“How lovely. And what shall my ears be attending to?”
“Oh, just a volume of verses I stumbled upon.” He shrugged. “Let’s see,” he said, making a show of reading the cover, “it is entitled ‘Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage,’ and by a poet, perhaps you’ve heard of him? He is called Lord Byron.”
“No! You got a copy of Byron’s latest book? How on earth? It sold out immediately and nobody can buy a copy.”
“I did indeed, and it was not easy. I procured it in Town for the sole purpose of entertaining you upon this trip, that is, if it will not offend.”
“I am sure my sensibilities can handle it. I like a challenge, remember?”
“I never forget it, chérie. But if the words are anything like the man, you should brace yourself to be in the least, shocked. He does nothing in half-measures.”
“You know him?” she asked incredulously. “You know Lord Bryon!”
“Well, yes. I have had occasion to meet him through the connection of another. And he was also at Cambridge while I was still at my studies.
“What is he like? I have wondered if there is a possible connection in our families because we share a surname.”
“Yes. I’ve speculated the same. About Byron I can tell you he is a conflicted person, delving into all manner of outrageous behaviours publically, which probably will be his downfall one day. But, that aside, the man can write a poem.” Graham helped to settle her into bed next to him, fished out his glasses, put them on and began to read…
Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o’er the waters blue.
Imogene loved the sound of Graham’s intonation as he read aloud. She soaked up the image of him reading to her as the pages turned one by one, the beautiful words falling from his lips. As he read another part, Graham’s eyes grew wider. “Incredible! He is referring to the Elgin Marbles. Listen to this stanza.”
Dull is the eye that will not weep to see
Thy wall defaced, thy mouldering shrines removed
By British hands, which it had best behoved…
…And snatch’d thy shrinking gods to northern climes abhorred!
“It seems as if Byron did not care for their removal any more than we did.” Graham continued his melodious reading and Imogene relished it, every word…
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.
…He stopped reading then, and looked over for her reaction.
She couldn’t help staring at him. “You are quite a contradiction of images right now, my husband,�
�� she said dreamily.
“How so?”
“Well, on the one part you look like an Adonis with your hair loosed and your skin showing with your robe open, just here.” She touched her own chest evocatively in the place she indicated. “And on the other part, you have the look of a brilliant professor pouring over your book with your reading glasses and your dark robe.” She whispered at him naughtily, “Professor Adonis.”
Graham’s pupils dilated and she saw him swallow hard at her teasing. He removed his glasses and gawked at her.
She kept at her merciless teasing, enjoying his reaction immensely.
“Professor Adonis, I beg of you sir to help me. I have need of your… instruction. Can you help me with that last stanza you’ve just read? You know the part about when ‘Youth and Pleasure meet’? What do you imagine the author was trying to convey there? Could you tutor me on it and help me to see it with clarity, Professor Adonis? I know you can. You are so wise and so—”
Graham silenced her with his mouth and the book fell off the bed with a thud. There were other sounds too. Gasping, grappling, giggling, and the swishing of garments.
“Professor Adonis, you naughty man! Ah…your hands…ah…oh my…your hands are very wayward. What is that, Professor? What is that hard thing you have pressed against me? Do you carry a weapon under your scholars robe, sir? Oh! Professor! I do believe you mean to stab me. Oh dear me, am I in danger?”
“Great, grave danger,” the Professor replied hoarsely.
GRAHAM awakened from his sleep in the coach to find his wife observing him and grinning like a devil. “What?”
She giggled. “I was remembering our tutoring session of last night, Professor.”
Graham stared at her with such longing, it pained him. He would remember her merry little game of professor and student until he drew his last breath. Imogene had made his life enjoyable again. She alone had accomplished that remarkable feat.
He slowly shook his head back and forth and wagged a finger at her. “Tsk, tsk, my lady. You are a most wicked creature, teasing me when I can do nothing about it while we are in the damn coach. But you know that already, don’t you? You are very aware of your effect upon me. My God! Being married to you is going to be so amusing and diverting. I hope you keep me in this state of complete bewitchment for the next fifty years or so.”
“But of course, my lord, I intend to take my charge seriously, to keep you so, with the upmost integrity.” She blew a kiss at him.
“I have just one word for you, chérie.”
“What is the word?”
“Repayment.” He rolled it off his tongue with a salacious drawl.
“Fine,” she purred. “I’m bored. How about you read me some more out of Byron’s book?”
“WE are almost there, truly? I cannot wait to see it—your home.” Imogene peered out the window of the coach to see if any landmarks were visible she could ask him about.
“It is your home as well. You are mistress of it even now,” he reminded her. “I have a surprise for you. Very soon now. I imagine you will be happy with it, and I can’t wait to see your reaction. There you go. Look now,” he told her.
Imogene saw rolling pasture, but just on the edge of the road stood a very large boy of about fifteen, an African with black skin. He held the reins of two horses, a lovely brown mare and a dark bay with a white splash.
Imogene shrieked as understanding dawned. “Terra! You have brought my Terra here to Gavandon. And is that Triton with her? Oh, my God. Graham, please stop the carriage. Please!”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Of course, all part of the plan,” he said, as he rapped on the roof to signal their driver. “I love to see your face when you are happily surprised. It is priceless to me. Triton and Terra are quite taken with each other, you know. When I thought to bring her for you, I found I could not separate the earth and the sea. Hargreave agreed to let him go. He owed me anyway.”
Imogene clutched him in a tight embrace. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing them. You are the most wonderful, generous man. You do make me so happy, every minute. I love you.”
Graham assisted her out of the coach, leading her to the horses. “Ben, meet your new mistress,” he addressed the groom. “Lady Rothvale is very fond of Terra here, and you must take extra care.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ben replied. “Lady Rothvale.” He bowed to her solemnly.
“Hello, Ben. How is my beautiful girl?” Imogene stroked Terra’s neck lovingly.
“She is well, my lady. I have taken special care of her just as the master asked me to,” Ben replied, his devotion to the horses evident already.
“Yes, I can see that you have. Well done. She is perfect here in this place.”
Imogene looked to Graham with weepy eyes she could not control. “Tears of joy,” she whispered to him.
He smiled at her indulgently and offered his arm. “Onward then, Lady Rothvale?”
Once they were settled back into the coach, Graham returned to the contemplative gazing she knew so well, searching her face intently.
“What are you thinking, Graham?”
“Just realizing that I am learning to know your habits. That you get tears when you are most happy, and ironically, it has become the standard for my success. In order to give you the greatest happiness, I must have you in tears.”
His answer was lovely but she had questions for him, and wondered if it was proper for her to ask. She hesitated, unsure how to even broach the subject at all.
“Imogene, do you want to ask me something?”
“Do you—is Ben a slave?” She hated even saying the word.
“Dear God, no! I abhor that institution. Ben and his family are freemen. I sponsored their journey here from Antigua, arranged for their emancipation and papers, and offered them sanctuary and work on the estate. His father tends to the grounds at Gavandon. They are paid for their labour same as everybody. A better family could not be found anywhere. They will be there to greet you today and you will meet the rest of Ben’s family.”
His answer relieved her, but still, Imogene was struck with how much there was to her husband that was still a great mystery. The idea was daunting when considering she had fallen in love with, and married a man she didn’t truly know very well, nor had she known him for very long. What if he had answered in the affirmative to ownership of slaves on his estate? What then? She had no say so in how he conducted his business or in forming his beliefs. If she was honest, it scared her, and filling the role of Lady Rothvale scared her too.
“How did your sponsorship of them come about?”
“Ah, you have not yet met the Reverend and Mrs. Burleigh, my good friends and good people besides. You will soon, and then you’ll understand.”
“I…love…you.” She mouthed the words silently to him because she could not utter them and keep her composure. He tilted his head and gave her an indulgent half smile that spoke volumes.
“And we are here, chérie,” Graham announced a little while later as the coach pulled into the gravel drive.
Imogene could say her new home was a countryside vision. Gavandon manor had been beautifully designed. Light stone in an early seventeenth century style but improved upon over the years. Two round towers filled with windows flanked either side of the front which had a rather barbican feel. The massive ancient doors were remarkable in a rustic way. But Imogene felt the formal gardens laid out along the drive and the fountain pool at the front, were even more stunning.
“It looks like a castle,” she said.
He tilted his head at her. “Appropriate for the princess to have a castle.”
She tried to judge his countenance. He wore an expression of pride she thought. Was it because he had finally taken the first step in fulfilling his duty as heir? Imogene had been raised for such duty and she knew she must not let him down. He had married her, and now it was her responsibility to bear the heirs to carry on his lineage. Many people depended upon her husband f
or their livelihood. Vowing to do the very best that she possibly could, Imogene wanted to make him proud of her, too.
The workforce had assembled in the front to greet them as they exited the coach. A huge group of people encompassing staff of every portion of the estate, from house, to kitchens, to the gardens and extensive grounds, to stables and the farm fields, and more beyond that she was sure.
Graham addressed the entire group at once. “Your new mistress, Imogene, Lady Rothvale. I bid you to do your duty to her, welcoming and honoring her as you would me.”
Several of the members received a personal introduction and a handshake. The steward, Mr. Duncan, who had been with Graham’s father before him, she was told, of an age of about five and forty, and very earnest in his greeting. The property manager, Mr. Hendrix, seemed a quiet sort of man of around forty years. Imogene was struck by the kind demeanour of Mrs. Griffin, the housekeeper, and felt they might work well together. Her brother, Mr. Katz, was the head gardener. Ben’s father was introduced as the groundskeeper and she could swear she heard Graham say his name was Hiram Everley. She didn’t have time to contemplate this as she was introduced to Ben’s mother, next. Her name was Antonia, much lighter in her colouring and strikingly beautiful.
Imogene made an express effort to greet the staff, personally, with respect and kindness. There were so many of them, and trying to remember all of the names was a challenge. Graham’s valet, Mr. Phelps, the head cook who was introduced simply as ‘Cook,’ and a slew of others she would probably forget in a few moments. The whole experience was overwhelming for her.
While Graham led her through the line, Imogene was sure she noticed some shocked faces and even heard some gasps. She was not imagining it. It was not disrespectful, their reaction, but not what it should be, either. Not at all. Looking to Graham, she saw the hard set to his jaw, stormy eyes, and a resigned expression. She felt a sense of foreboding. What is going on here? This is very unseemly. Why are they reacting to me in such a way?