by Raine Miller
They moved stealthily forward and back, and in time, both scored hits on the other. When they were tied with four hits each, the end was near and it could go either way. Gravelle thought he needed the win more than Rothvale did. Rothvale had already won his lady’s heart and was relaxed in enjoying the competition of the fight without pressure to impress. Gravelle, on the other hand, was propelled to win it, and as most champions can attest, the mental will to prevail is just as important as excellence in technique and skill. Envisioning of the win is vital, and any hesitation to the fact spells certain failure. So in short order, an opportunity was offered to him for just that outcome. Rothvale slowed just a fraction. Gravelle pretended to attack, causing Rothvale to move to parry. By envelopment he controlled Rothvale’s blade, catching it at the point where it was weakest with the third of his blade nearest the guard where it was strongest, rendering Rothvale’s parry ineffective with a circular motion.
And in that final elegant flourish, the decisive hit was scored.
Everyone erupted.
He didn’t hear Lady Rothvale’s command to ‘halt’ nor did anyone else as they were all storming the piste to congratulate the fencers for a tremendously thrilling match.
“Godsblood, Gravelle, that was fine!” Rothvale acclaimed. “I can’t remember a more exhilarating challenge. Well played, man.” He clapped him on the back.
Gravelle bowed. “I had a worthy opponent. Well played you, Rothvale, for truth. I am so glad you’re back.”
Gravelle spared a look in Miss Wilton’s direction to find her smiling widely and clapping for him, her eyes meeting his from across the piste in congratulations.
He felt a painful stab into his heart, too.
THE house party broke up the following day. Elle would remain at Gavandon as was the original plan, and Colin was still with them for another fortnight. Gravelle was invited to stay longer and it was thought he would, but he approached Graham with the news he was required in Town on business and would take his leave with everybody else.
Graham’s shoulders fell a little before he answered, “All right, Gravelle, but you will be missed. I hope you’ll come back to us when you are returned to Warwickshire. I have enjoyed your companionship and the fencing. It has been a long time. Too long…” he trailed off.
“Indeed.”
“When you return, what do you say to a standing appointment? Pick a day of the week and I’ll make it a priority. Fencing with you is a reminder of how much I’ve need of it,” Graham challenged cheerfully.
“I am in full agreement. Consider it done. I would not pass up the opportunity to baste you weekly,” he laughed.
Graham asked his friend another question. “Have you heard word of your friend, Trenton? Do you know if he ever finished his orders? I told him to write to me, but he never did.”
“I believe he did finish them. Last word was he was called back home. Family troubles or some sort. He has a brother who is a real problem. It is fair to say he is truly dicked in the nob.” Gravelle indicated by tapping his head purposefully. “Causes all sorts of difficulties for their father and the family. Interesting that you ask, for I was going to search Trenton out when I got in.”
“Well, if you see him, please extend an invitation from me again, to write. I can sympathize, a problematic brother. How uncanny Trenton and I should have such in common. I would like to have him here to spend time with us. Get to know him. I am inclined to offer him the rectory if it can be worked out to everyone’s satisfaction. It is quite an excellent proposition, the rectory at Swandon. If he is of a mind to come, please bring him along with you when you return.”
“I can do that,” Gravelle agreed, grinning devilishly. “My God. The thought of Trenton a cleric and preaching on a Sunday is just—I am speechless really. I’ll have to come to church regularly, if only for the sport of seeing him up there. I’ll gladly drive the five miles to come to church at Gavandon.”
“What? You’re going to sit in my church and mock the rector? That won’t get you any points with—” Graham pointed up with a finger, knowingly.
“That’s a given, but worth it maybe.” Gravelle grinned. “I’d thought Trenton being my good friend and having a line in might be my only hope, but then again, I’ll have to actually attend and make some effort.”
“Gravelle, you attend, we see you most every Sunday.”
“When I’m here, yes. But more truant than not when in London, and I live there half the
year.”
“Feeling some guilt then, eh? What does your good mother have to say about it?”
“Quite a lot actually. She’s quite given up on reforming me into anything resembling respectability.”
“It’s never too late to change if you’ve a mind to it.” Graham offered his hand.
“Farewell then. We’ll be at a loss without you. Come back to us soon.”
Gravelle took the offered hand and shook it, bowed in deference to Graham’s rank, and turned away.
“Safe journey,” Graham called after him.
Gravelle did not turn back, but simply lifted a hand in a wave.
WITH The Lion’s Crown in his sights, Gravelle felt a welcome relief. A spring squall had been his unpleasant companion for the last few miles, leaving him cold and soaked.
“Mr. Gravelle, welcome.” Jacobson eyed his sopping attire sympathetically. “I can put you in your usual room, and send up a hot bath to warm you, if you like.”
“Saints yes, Jacobson. It sounds like heaven. It’s pissing down something wretched out there, and caught me good and truly.”
“Other than the rain, you have been well?”
“Yes, thank you.” Gravelle remembered Jacobson’s mother was Cook at Gavandon. “You’ll be pleased to know your mother is still working her magical talents in the kitchen to perfection,” he praised. “I’ve been two weeks at Gavandon for a house party. In fact I’ve just come from there. The old place is quite transformed now Rothvale has married.”
“I had the pleasure of meeting the new Lady Rothvale. She is very gracious. And I am always pleased to hear my mother is well. It is rare I can get to see her, being so busy with the inn.”
When Gravelle saw the blonde beauty at The Lion’s Crown, he knew he had seen her before. He just couldn’t think of where. Then he saw her little girl, or rather he saw the unique green eyes her child bore, and that pushed him to investigate. She bustled about busily, clearly employed in a position of no little importance. Maybe she was Jacobson’s wife. Gravelle knew without a doubt she had not been here the last time he’d stayed overnight, though. He would have remembered.
She saw him staring, and he wondered if she might recognize him. He tilted his head. She responded in kind.
“Have you married, Jacobson?” Gravelle indicated toward the woman with his eyes.
“Ah, no. That is Mrs. Schellman. My account books are now in excellent order thanks to her. We are so busy here; it was time to take on more help. Liken it to the role of a housekeeper at an estate. The Lion was in great need, and she appeared at just the right moment, luckily for me.”
Jacobson was unable to hide his admiration for Mrs. Schellman, of that Gravelle was certain. He looked nothing short of a man in love. “Good for you, Jacobson. And her husband? Is he employed here as well?” he asked craftily. He knew he was fishing for more information, but felt that the end justified the means.
Jacobson shook his head. “She is widowed with a young child to support.”
While riding on toward London in the mist the following day, Gravelle had plenty of time to think. He remembered. It all came back to him in miserable, depraved detail. The devastation wrought at the time had been brutal, according to Rothvale, who had lived in Town for months after. Jasper Everley had been a heinous beast when he was alive. His cohort, Ralph Odeman, just as beastly. Mrs. Schellman, the object of their wicked attentions back then, seemed to be safe and secure for now.
Two questions remained though.
Why was she in Stapenhill employed as housekeeper for The Lion’s Crown?
Did Rothvale know?
TWENTY-FOUR
The union of hands and hearts.
Jeremy Taylor ~ XXV Sermons Preached at Golden Grove, 1653
GRAHAM’S wish had been granted. The warm sun pouring into his studio, created a feeling of a blanket wrapped around her. “Chérie, you are so gorgeous in this setting. I regret that I cannot show this to the world. Not for my mediocre talent, mind you, only for the beauty of you.”
This pose was like nothing Imogene thought she would ever do. She was nude. The shawl, draped strategically, was her only garment. She sat with one leg folded under the other, bent at the knee, supporting her resting head. Only the top of her hair showed, since her face was turned down. Her arms met with clasped hands, cradling under the knee, resting on the floor. Nothing blatant was visible—just her arms, legs, shoulders, feet and hands.
She smiled at Graham’s words but kept her pose for him. “I find I enjoy these quiet interludes. It gives me time to simply think and reflect.”
“What are you thinking about this day, chérie?”
“Our baby. What he or she will look like, whether he will have your eyes or mine, if she might look like me or you.”
“I hope our baby looks just like you, but even if not, our child will be beautiful because of you. I’ve said it before, you are not only beautiful on the outside to me, your heart is beautiful. What child would not be blessed with such a mother?”
“Now you must stop, my darling. I am enceinte and very emotional. Understand I cannot bear too many compliments at once for you know what it does to me, and I don’t think you want me crying in this portrait.”
“All right, I’ll stop. But you should know I can take your tears when I know they be happy ones.”
“Tears of joy?”
“Yes.” He changed the subject then. “I’ve had a letter from Gravelle, well if you can call his illegible scrawl writing, that is.” Graham chuckled in amusement of his friend. “Anyway, he comes back to us next week, bringing someone with him, a friend. I met him in London just before we married. I like him. He is Lord James Trenton and has taken his holy orders.”
“You think he might be for the rectory at Gavandon, then?”
“I do in fact. He would be perfect. However, I need to know him better. He’ll spend some time with us and we shall see what comes of it. He knows you, your family, hailing from Essex. His father is Lord Langley?”
“Lord Langley. Of course I know him. He is the most charming elder gentleman, good friends with Papa. When at the funeral he spoke so kindly to me. Always smiling, Lord Langley is witty and amiable to everybody. He carries sweets for the children in his pockets, delighting in passing them out. He is a Marquess so his younger sons would be addressed as ‘Lord.’”
“So you know Lord James then?”
“I have met the Trentons. There are three sons and a daughter. Lord James must be the youngest from what I remember. A composed gentleman, very kind, easy mannered, a little like you, Graham. One of the brothers is very quiet, and the other one is rather rakish. My sister, Philippa, was dancing with that one once, and didn’t care for the way he looked at her.” She laughed. “I have trouble picturing Mr. Gravelle being good friends with a clergyman.”
“You have no idea, chérie,” he said, agreeing wholeheartedly. “When we are done, I’d like to take you riding. Do you feel up to a ride with me? We’ll take it slow and gentle.”
“Of course. I would love to go with you and I’m not even going to ask where, for I know it would do no good as you are obviously up to something.”
“ALL right, I’ll give you a hint, chérie.” She’d let him enjoy his mystery ride to a destination unknown. It pleased her most when he was playful and delighting in surprising her as he was at the moment. Allowing herself to savor his gesture, she knew it would be good.
“When we were at Everfell and had our tea inside the fairy ring, we didn’t have the chance to complete your vision that day, chérie. I distinctly remember you wished to lie down in the middle and look for shapes in the clouds. Recall how the sky was clear on that day and you could not?”
“I recall the occasion well, my darling. So you are finishing my fantasy for me then?” Imogene got only a flashy wink from him in answer.
“Let’s stop the horses here. We’ll walk the rest of the way—it is not far.” He jumped down from Triton and assisted her off Terra. “Are you up to it, chérie?”
“Of course I am. Stop fussing, please,” she commanded in a testy voice but tempered it with a kiss. He smiled in anticipation of disclosing her surprise. She thought he looked like a child, eagerly awaiting a sweet. Wrapping her arm around his, he led her forward.
“An indulgence, chérie. Please close your eyes for me? I’ll steady you, it’s just a bit farther.” She knew they were coming to some trees for she recalled the light forest at the top of the rise. He stopped, turned her slightly, wrapped his arms about her so she could lean into him, and breathed into her neck. “You may open them now, chérie.”
The gasp she uttered began loudly but ended barely audible as all of her breath escaped. “Oh… You made this? For me?” She turned up to him.
He nodded slowly. “Well, Hiram made it with Colin’s technical knowledge. Does it please you, chérie? I tried to have it done up as close as possible to The Nine Ladies.”
“Graham.” Imogene knew she needed a moment to absorb what her eyes were seeing. “I—I do love it.” She laughed and it came out as sobs, so overcome by the gesture that she had to drop down to the soft grass. Shaking from the happy sobbing, she held up her hands helplessly, completely stunned.
He dropped down beside her and wrapped his arms around her, propping her back against his chest from behind.
“You’ve made me a fairy ring.” She looked around at the grassy glade they were in. “It’s so lovely and peaceful here. It’s private. I had no idea about this place.” She looked up at him again. “Tell me about it? I cannot get up just yet—I want to sit here for a moment and take it all in.”
“When you asked if there was such a place at Gavandon, I immediately thought of this site. It is similar, but even better for it is completely surrounded by forest. They did fell some additional trees so the flowers will have more light to bloom.” He indicated where the trees had been removed. She saw that Bluebells had naturalized in the glade and would do even better now in the greater exposed sunlight. “I began thinking how we could get big enough stones to make a ring for you, and just couldn’t see how it might be done. Then I remembered the stone cairns in Ireland. Instead of one large stone, they are built by piling small stones into a cone. They’ve built eight stone cairns in a circle.”
“Why eight? And why is that cairn built with red stone and the others with black?” She pointed to the one, red stone cairn.
“That one is the north cairn, and opposite it is the south cairn.” He showed her. “There is east, there is west, and the four mid-directions between them.” He squeezed her arm a little. “It’s a gigantic compass rose, chérie, like on a map. True in directionality—completely accurate. We, at Gavandon, mark ourselves at the centre of the world.” His green eyes glittered in the sun as he explained it to her.
“The Compass. That’s what we shall call it.” Her voice trembled with emotion. “You built a fairy ring for me…a beautiful, lovely, perfect haven…and at the centre of the world.” She leaned into him for support, the moment too poignant for mere words.
“Would you like to search out cloud shapes now, chérie? Today we have abundant puffed clouds from which to observe.”
She shook her head for she still could not speak.
“No? What can I do for you then?”
“Just hold me…hold on and never let go.”
She was rewarded with one of his brilliant smiles. The ones she treasured for all their rarity. “Oui chérie.” He kissed her lingeringl
y. “I’ll get the blanket and bring up the horses.”
“Can you be as happy as I?” Graham asked her a few minutes later as they lay together on the blanket.
“I believe I must be, my darling. I have you and your love so brilliantly displayed toward me.” She pointed with her arm at the stone cairns encircling them. “I have our baby right here as proof,” she whispered, pressing his hand to her stomach.
Graham moulded both hands over the fabric of her dress. “I can feel the swell now—it’s not soft, but hard.” He explored the burgeoning bump of their baby, and seemed completely amazed.
“Mmmm. I am going to get much bigger. I hope you’ll still like me then.”
Rolling his eyes, he told her, “You really don’t have any idea of how beautiful I find you. Like you? I love you, and when you get very big, there’ll just be more of you for me to love,” he teased, tickling her gently.
She giggled and arched under his hands, causing her breasts to push up from her bodice.
He cupped them both, grinning roguishly. “These are changing too. Lucky me.”
“Yes, and very sensitive so a gentle touch, please.” Catching the look of alarm on his face, she saw he meant to release her, so quickly reassured him by pressing her hands on top of his to keep them in place. “But you are always gentle and I love your hands touching me.”
“Oh, Imogene, I feel…as if we are in our own Camelot, a magical land where everything is perfect, surrounded by goodness and light.” His words were joyful but did not come across that way to her at all.
“Why do you say it with melancholy in your voice?”
“Because I am afraid it cannot last, that nothing can stay this perfect. Camelot disappeared into the mist, remember?” He looked longingly at her. “I worry for you, when your time comes.”