“There, lass, ‘twas not in anger. Good John could not hurt you enough to convince the baron. And I cannot strike my own dear again.”
He carried her toward the village, where there was a mad scurrying to put out the fire, those holding the buckets taking care not to extinguish it too quickly. The pounding of horses’ hooves increased the action of the townspeople and the effort looked real, for it was safe now. There was little left to save.
Tess looked up into her father’s face and saw in the darkness a slow smile grow as he looked on the holocaust all around him. Success.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Rain was a daily affair as winter threatened to leave England early. A heavy cover of drab clouds and constant drizzle caused the thick smoke from the cooking fires to hover over the city and mingle with the gutter waste to offend the senses. Coaches moved at a faster pace and people darted about the streets swiftly to keep dry. Every cloth felt damp and mold grew thick on the stone walls until it had to be chiseled away.
If the sun shone through for a brief time great throngs of people filled the London streets to shop and barter and gossip. Popular lampoons were passed around and crowds gathered to enjoy the latest slander. Rumors and character assassinations were ever the popular sport. Only last spring the king’s sister had visited and when she returned to France she found her death. Minette was the only woman on earth Charles had truly loved, and her death brought him much misery. It was said that her husband’s homosexual lover poisoned her in a jealous rage. Charles was inclined to believe it, though it was not proven. His remorse was matched only by his anger. In an effort to placate the sovereign, Louise de Keroualle had been sent to the English court from France.
Charles seemed not too displeased with his gift. He had admired Louise during Minette’s visit. And Louise, who had been raised among nobility, slid into her position as the favored mistress to the king without trouble. It seemed to matter little to her that the people of England disliked her for being French, Catholic and regal. What did matter was that the king’s other mistress, Nell Gwyn, the opposite of Louise in every way, often harassed her regal counterpart.
Rumors of divorce were as popular as ever, many wishing the king would be done with his barren queen and remarry, getting at least one legitimate heir for England. But, as in the past, nothing materialized, for Charles was not a man to treat a lady unkindly.
This hysteria was typical of London, of the court and its people. The earl of Bryant watched his wife receive her very liberal education. He had no idea what she was making of it. It seemed she closed her eyes to it, pretending everything was on the square when truthfully nothing was fair or decent or honorable. He pondered as he rode toward his home in the city that he had helped her in a way. He had set her aside, publicly as well as privately, and so many assumed her to be unimportant and harmless. She was left alone then. She was not drawn into their way of life or their perversions.
A matter that troubled him in no small way was his king. Charles paid Chelynne much courteous attention. The countess seemed flattered to be even noticed, as if completely unaware of her rare beauty. Charles, true to his reputation, was gallant and chivalrous, but he looked at the young countess with something other than platonic intent. He was not a man to be troubled with a rule, a husband or other such trivialities. He was moving cautiously and Chad was keen to the fact that it had nothing to do with him. It might be because Chelynne was somewhat retired, because Mistress Gwyn and Louise kept His Majesty occupied, or because Charles liked the chase as much as the conquest.
When Chad arrived home he went directly to his study, threw off his coat and wig, and went after the task of clearing off a large accumulation of papers on his desk. There was a letter to his overseer to be answered, letters to merchants, friends in America, a message sent to Bess, who would see it got to John; a thousand things burned in his mind. He couldn’t seem to juggle his thoughts and arrange them in a more suitable order.
He had not accomplished much when he answered a light tapping at his study door with a curt and exasperated consent to enter. Chelynne stood timidly in the frame of the door, twisting her hands nervously as she judged the scowl on his face.
“If this is a bad time...” she started.
“Never mind. What is it?”
“Well, there have been some invitations I would like to speak with you about.”
“Yes, yes.”
She pointed to his desk and said softly, “They’re all there. I don’t know which you’ll want to attend.”
He gave an exasperated grunt and fished beneath his pile of papers in search of the invitations she spoke of, annoyed with this trivial nonsense. She sensed his agitation and moved to the desk to find them and put them before him. In doing this she bent over him, brushing his shoulder with one full, round breast and leaving that bounty clear to his chance gaze. She straightened after accomplishing this and found she was slightly dizzy from the brief contact. His eyes were glued to her bosom, his hand straining to rise against his will and fondle one of those delicious breasts.
Reluctantly he looked over the invitations, idly leafing through them and throwing them back down. “Is there something here you cannot live without attending?” he asked with impatience.
“N-no, sir,” she stammered. She took a breath and attempted to enlighten him. “There’s a dinner at Whitehall. The king will be there and he remarked the week past that he sees little of you...” She was leaning over him again, fishing for that invitation, her perfume encircling him and her lovely body altogether too near. Finally she found the piece she was after and placed it on top of the pile, straightening again. Chad found more with each passing day that he could not be in the same room with her without misery. She was so ripe for the picking, so damnably desirable. He needed to have her out of his study, out of these cramped quarters, before he lost control. “I don’t know if I shall be able to attend or not,” he said brusquely.
“Should you like me to go even if you’re not able?”
“I don’t care.”
“Shall I make arrangements for an escort? I could perhaps ask you again tomorrow and see if there is a change in your plans.” She took a seat, perched on the edge of the chair directly opposite his desk, staring at him with that sweet, innocent face of a child, those heavy breasts threatening to spill out of her dress. The door was closed, there were no servants around, and she seemed to have no intention of leaving.
“Yes, ask me tomorrow,” he said, turning back to his work and brushing the invitations off to one side. Her presence seemed to surround him.
“There’s an invitation to go with the king’s party to the theater. I put it on your desk several days ago.”
“I haven’t been here,” he said almost angrily. “I’ve had too much to do at the wharves to even come home. Didn’t I tell you there were ships coming in?”
He had mentioned it in passing. “Yes, but it’s just that the invitation is for today and I didn’t know—”
“Well, madam, I can hardly give it my attention when I’m not here, now can I?”
“No, but—”
“And if it’s for today I cannot go! I have work to do...or did you perhaps think I was writing lampoons?”
“No, sir,” she said softly. She rose to leave and he gave an audible sigh of relief. “Should you like me to go in your stead?” she asked from the door.
“Madam,” he snarled, tossing the quill into the well and stabbing her with the sharp gleam of his eyes. “I don’t care.”
“If you would not be pleased to have me abroad without—”
“Chelynne! For the love of God, do what pleases you. You’re not a child to need me as a constant chaperone. Now if I didn’t have work to do I would be pleased to escort you, but as you see, I cannot. If you wish to go, then go. If you wish to stay home, then do that!”
He turned to his work again, but sensing that she had not left even now, he looked up to where she stood by the door. “It’s only that I enjoy your escort on occasion,” she said softly.
“Then you should have married someone who has nothing to do but attend parties. My life’s breath does not rest on seeing a play!”
The door closed behind her quickly with that, and Chad turned again to his letter. He started anew several times, making a foolish error or wording it wrong repeatedly. Finally he threw down his quill in exasperation and rummaged through his desk for some tobacco. Smoking was not a particular pleasure of his, but he filled the study with the rich and heavy odor just the same. Then he took up the quill again, but the sweet, enthralling scent of roses lingered.
He turned his thoughts to ships and cargoes, putting aside his letter for a time. He thought of the merchandise coming into port from Virginia and scribbled a few figures, but his imagination turned to sultry brown eyes, moist with emotion. He looked to the chair where she had sat and then to the door, as if replaying the scene in his mind. No, he had no time to be bound to petticoats, to be led around by the nose by a female. Why were there no windows in this room? With a growl he was on his feet and pacing about the confining space.
It hadn’t been like this in years. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. She was always posturing before him, the patient princess, the goddess of purity. He simply didn’t have time to toy with her now, courting her and leading her to parties and plays. He didn’t need a woman in his life, he never had. Even when he had Anne he was too busy worrying about supporting her to enjoy the pure pleasure of loving her. Chelynne would just have to wait.
But she wasn’t waiting, even if that was what he intended her to do. She was here, at his command, ever under his nose and around his house. He heard her rise in the mornings and go to bed at night. She sought out his approval on every matter and struggled not to bring a slight to his name through her innocence and lack of worldly knowledge. It was difficult to ignore someone who wanted to please so desperately.
Chad turned his thoughts to his son, to his dead wife, to any escape from the emotion that was building up in him. There was no respite for him there any longer. He would never stop loving Anne, but she had been gone for a long time and he had begun to see he could never have her back. And instead of seeing a poor, slighted son, he had a vision of a boy without a mother finally acquiring one. He saw Chelynne sitting on the grass, looking more natural in simple garb than in her burdensome gowns and bone stays. She was laughing with a small boy, letting the sweet simplicity of her love lead him as perfectly as a natural mother’s love would.
The boy in the vision vanished from his mind and he was faced again with the seductive beauty of his wife in another setting. He saw her rising from her bath, waking from her sleep, playing with her puppy.
“Hell,” he thought. “If it’s come to that, so that I cannot even put my mind to business, it’s better if I take her and have my fill. Then perhaps I can think.”
But he stopped short with a startling conclusion. He had put her aside for so long, declared his indifference for so many months that he didn’t even know how to approach her. Go to her like a dumbstruck lad and tell her he couldn’t wait any longer? Frighten her and take her quickly, having her despise the thing and him? In avoiding her, his actions had been harsh and almost cruel. How to undo that now?
He sat and thought heavily. He tried to figure in his mind when he could take her out of the city. He and John had hoped the spring would resolve the matter of Bratonshire, but it could be years actually, depending on how clever Shayburn was. If he could take Chelynne home to Hawthorne House and bring his son, he could explain what business and problems had beset him. In the quiet of the country he could seduce her and lead her gently where he meant to have her. It was not a matter of trusting her; giving her information now might in fact injure her. She could not inadvertently tell what she didn’t know.
He set his mind. It seemed to be in his best interest to begin smoothing over his harshness and bringing her closer to him now. He had burned some very important bridges and must begin busily rebuilding. He was a very practical man. He didn’t have to love her. She was comely and gentle, almost exactly what he would have chosen himself for a bride. Whoring had never quite helped him and he had long ago realized that a lasting relationship was better for his needs. He could claim this one and be content. It would make for a comfortable situation.
He never considered that he needed the ease she could bring to set aright something within him that had been troubled for too many years. He never considered love.
He plopped his wig on his head and took up his coat. He would delay no longer. Even in this, in seeking out his young bride to begin something between them, he acted the part of a determined businessman.
Stella confirmed that Chelynne had gone to the theater and he would find her there. Just as he was leaving his house a young boy approached him. There was a message for him from Bess. He dropped a few pence in the lad’s hand and read the thing. It was the name of a tavern and a time. John. But he still had time to deal with Chelynne, and went quickly.
It was as if fate itself would play against him when he set out. Going into the theater he met Gwen. She was on the arm of a young gallant whom she abandoned at once in spying Chad.
“How grand to see you, my lord. I swear your company has been sorely missed of late. I was about to send word to you. Pray sit with me and let us have a chat.”