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For the first time since her husband’s nieces had arrived, more than nine years ago, she was alone, all her beloved wards gone, embracing their own lives without any further need of her.
Eloise had a husband and now a child. Phoebe had not only opened a restaurant in London while Kate had been away, but also married a man Kate had never heard of, never mind met. A man she would not meet for the foreseeable future, and a restaurant she wouldn’t be able to visit, no matter how much she longed to.
For this next, wholly unexpected and hopefully brief stage of her life she would be without the company of any of her husband’s nieces, for even dear Estelle, who had stepped into the breach and held the fort at Elmswood for nine long months, had been obliged to leave.
Not that she’d objected, thank goodness. Quite the contrary, in fact. She’d embraced her freedom and the chance to embark on a long-planned Continental trip, loyally refraining from asking awkward questions or from making what in Kate’s opinion would have been perfectly reasonable demands under the circumstances.
And what circumstances!
Kate sank onto one of the chairs, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. Had the last nine months really happened? She had told the girls only the bare bones. Not the story that Sir Marcus had constructed for public consumption but the truth—or a fraction of it. What they truly made of it she couldn’t begin to imagine, but they were fiercely loyal, and she knew that if they talked it would only be amongst themselves.
Now it was over, and it felt like a dream—or should that be nightmare?
However she chose to describe it, it wasn’t over yet. Upstairs, in one of the guest bedrooms, was a very real, lurking reminder of that fact—a simmering volcano which could erupt at any time.
Daniel, her husband of eleven years. The girls’ nearest living relative. A man Kate barely knew and whom his nieces had never met.
The sound of the handle of the morning room door being turned made Kate’s eyes fly open. She was on her feet when the man in question appeared, larger than life and, if not actually bursting with health, very far from death’s door and most certainly not a figment of her imagination.
‘So this is where you hide yourself away.’
‘Daniel!’
Instinctively, Kate rushed to help him, but the fierce frown she received made her sit straight back down again. He was dressed oddly, in a somewhat exotic-looking tunic and loose pantaloons, over which he had donned a rather magnificent crimson silk dressing gown emblazoned with gold dragons and tied with a gold cord. A matching pair of slippers covered his bare feet.
‘Chinese,’ he enlightened her, noting her stare. ‘It seems the powers that be managed to get my luggage back to England ahead of me. Considerate of them, don’t you think? That they moved heaven and earth to make sure my effects were delivered? A small consolation for you, dear wife, in the event that you’d been forced to return here alone.’
‘Don’t say that!’
To her horror, tears welled up in her eyes. Kate blinked them away. There had been more than enough opportunities in the last nine months to shed tears, but she’d rarely taken them.
‘Well, at least you’ll have something to wear, then,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I don’t know how long it would take to send to London for a new wardrobe of clothes, and you’d struggle to find anything more sartorial than a fleece shirt and brogues in the village. There’s your father’s clothes, of course, they are packed up in the attic, but—’
‘I would rather dress as a farmhand,’ he snapped.
There were so many questions raised by that one sentence—questions she’d asked herself over the years since they had married—but now was hardly the time. Perhaps there would never be a time.
The last time he’d been home, eleven years ago, Daniel had remained at Elmswood barely long enough for her to promise to love, honour and obey him. They’d married by special licence, because technically, he’d been was in mourning, though she had known he hadn’t been able to bear the thought of waiting another six weeks for the banns to be read.
This time she hadn’t exactly dragged him back to England kicking and screaming, but if he’d been strong enough to do more than protest weakly then she doubted he’d be here—despite the orders he’d received.
How long would he remain? Lord, look at him—he was hardly in a state to go anywhere. The florid dressing gown was far too large for him. He had, she suspected, put it on in an attempt to disguise his loss of weight, not realising that it merely drew attention to the fact. He had shaved too. She wasn’t surprised. As she had tended to him on their protracted journey from Cyprus to Crete, then on to Malta and Gibraltar, Lisbon, Portsmouth and finally home, one of his biggest bugbears, in the intervals when he had been lucid enough to have bugbears, had been his unkempt beard.
He had not permitted Kate to wield his razor for him, and she had not allowed him to try to use it himself, having visions of him accidentally slitting his own throat, so she had been forced to beg the services of a weird and wonderful assortment of stand-in barbers on his behalf.
‘What? Have I nicked myself?’ he asked her now.
She realised she’d been staring and shook her head.
‘Then you’re thinking that I look like death warmed up.’
‘I’m thinking that you look remarkably well, all things considered.’
Which was true, and if anything an understatement. He looked gaunt, and there were shadows under his eyes, new lines on his brow, but somehow they suited him. It was unfair, for the lines she’d acquired in the last few months simply aged her, while with Daniel the changes served to accentuate the fact that he was a lethally attractive man. Dammit!
‘I didn’t expect to see you up and about so soon,’ Kate said, her tone made acerbic not by his presence but by her reaction to it.
‘You can’t keep me secreted away in my bedchamber, no matter how much you’d like to.’
As he closed the door behind him and made his way carefully over to the chair opposite hers by the empty grate Kate remembered that behind the attractive façade there was an extremely infuriating man, and gritted her teeth.
‘I don’t know why you are so convinced that I want to imprison you here.’
‘Not you—them.’ He showed his teeth. ‘The irony is not lost on me that I’ve been sprung from one gaol only to be forced into another. I will concede that you are a reluctant warder, but you are charged with keeping me here nonetheless.’
‘I trust you won’t put me to the test. Having travelled halfway across the world to bring you home, I’d rather not chase you halfway across Shropshire to drag you back.’
‘Would you really do that?’ He grinned. ‘I’d rather like to see you try.’
‘I won’t have to,’ Kate replied tartly. ‘Go on—why don’t you leave right now? Walk down to the village…hire a post chaise.’
‘I have no need to do any such thing. I have horses and a post chaise of my own.’
‘Actually, you don’t. There’s a carriage, but it’s not been used in heaven knows how long, and aside from my mount, and the pony who pulls the trap, and the farm horses, the stables are empty. So you’ll just have to walk. Please, don’t let me stop you.’ She smiled sweetly at him.
For a moment she thought he might actually call her bluff, but then he gave an exasperated sigh.
‘You know as well as I do that I’m under orders to remain here. Hopefully it won’t be for long, for the terms of our marriage did not anticipate any form of cohabitation. I’m sure you don’t want me here, getting under your feet and treading on your toes, and I assure you that I have no intention of doing so. This is your domain, not mine.’
‘This is your home, Daniel.’
‘No, it’s your home and my gaol, albeit a considerably more comfortable one than the last. I wish to hell they hadn’t embroiled you in this diplomatic mess.’
‘I’m your wife,’ Kate said tightly, ‘the most obvious person to become embroiled, as you put it.’
‘My wife in name only. I married you to look after Elmswood, not me.’
‘You were at death’s door, for heaven’s sake!’
Kate gazed down at her hands, counting slowly to ten. It was the same refrain he’d uttered on and off since he’d first recovered consciousness in Cyprus almost two months ago, and it was beginning to grate. Seriously grate.
‘I won’t apologise for doing what was asked of me. You’re my husband, and it’s my duty to take care of you to the best of my ability. That’s what I did, and as a result you are alive to berate me for it. If that is the price I must pay for what I did, then so be it.’
A tense silence followed, in which they both glowered at each other, and then, to her surprise and relief, Daniel laughed. ‘I’ve married a despot! And I should know—I’ve met a few!’
She didn’t know what to make of that, so instead said, ‘If you would be a little more co-operative and conciliatory then I wouldn’t have to fight you every step of the way.’
‘Ah! So you admit that you have been imposing your will on me? In my book, that’s a despot. Or a tyrant, if you prefer.’
‘I prefer—’ Kate stopped short, narrowing her eyes. ‘Are you teasing me?’
Daniel grinned. ‘Only a little. Do you mind?’
She smiled reluctantly. ‘I suppose if I say yes it will only encourage you.’
‘Which would be extremely churlish of me. I rather think it’s me who’s been the tyrant.’
‘You’ve been very ill.’
‘That doesn’t mean my temper is obliged to follow suit. You’re a diplomat, as well as a despot. Have I said thank you at any point?’
‘There’s no need to thank me. We are married, I was doing my wifely duty.’
‘And your duty to your country, as they doubtless pressed upon you,’ Daniel said, rolling his eyes. ‘But there are very few wives who would have done what you did. Diplomat, despot, whatever other qualities you have, you are a very remarkable woman.’
‘Thank you. I think.’
‘Oh, it is a compliment—you must not doubt it. And as to thanks—it is I who owe you profound gratitude,’ Daniel said. ‘I wish you had not been involved, but I do understand that the powers that be gave you little choice in the matter. I wonder—’ Daniel broke off, shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You wonder how they came to decide that I could be trusted to do what they asked? I have wondered the same myself. I had plenty time to fill, after all, as they shifted me from pillar to post to preserve my cover story. I decided that they must have sounded Alexander out. He would be the natural choice. I presume I am right in thinking his previous position at the Admiralty masked the fact that he was in the same line of business—do you call it “business”?—as you?’
‘What do you know about my line of business?’
‘Next to nothing. They told me you were incarcerated. They did not tell me why or even where you were being held.’
‘Good. The less you know of that business or any future business of mine, the better. I won’t be here long, Kate. Before you know it I’ll be off and you can resume your life as if nothing has happened.’
‘That’s all very well, but while you’re here, Daniel, what on earth are we to tell people? What are you going to do? How will you occupy yourself?’
His expression hardened. ‘I won’t be here long enough to have to worry about any of those things. They’ll come calling, Sir Marcus and his sidekick, believe me.’
‘You’ve only just got here! I’m surprised you made it down the stairs without help. They can’t possibly expect you to return to whatever duties you perform for them already.’
‘I’ve no idea what they expect.’ Daniel slumped, looking suddenly tired. ‘Do you think I could have a cup of coffee? I could sorely use one.’
‘Of course you can—this is your house. Only—do you think coffee is a good idea? Why don’t you go back to bed and rest? I could bring you…’
He shuddered. ‘No more healthy, nourishing broth, I beg you. And I’m not going back to bed. Just coffee, please.’
‘I’ll fetch it myself.’ Kate jumped to her feet. ‘I won’t be long.’
She was gone before he could suggest ringing the bell for a servant, and on reflection Daniel was glad of the brief respite. He felt as weak as a kitten. The act of dressing and making his way from his bedchamber to the morning room had been a comically exhausting struggle. Until he’d put his clothes on, he hadn’t realised just how much weight he’d lost. Shaving had almost defeated him. He’d had to stop and start so many times due to his shaking hand that the water had been cold by the time he’d finished. But he’d done it.
It was a small triumph but a victory all the same.
He stretched his legs out, wriggling his toes in his boots, for they had gone quite numb. He was cold. He could see that the sun was shining outside, and he knew it was June, the start of summer, but he’d become accustomed to much warmer climes. He would not ask for a fire to be lit, though. Kate would be bound to blame his chill on his various sicknesses. Gaol fever, the ague, and heaven only knew what else had laid him low. She would doubtless be right, but he was damned if he’d admit that to her.
She was so capable! He’d thought her unflappable too, until this morning. He’d enjoyed teasing her. She had a reluctant smile, but when she did smile—yes, it was worth waiting for. He’d seen it very rarely, that smile, on their protracted voyage back to England. Truth be told, he couldn’t really make cohesive sense of that journey, for each time he’d thought his fever gone for good it had returned with a vengeance, making it difficult for him to distinguish between his torrid dreams and reality. It sat ill with him, the way he’d been forced to rely on Kate, but in his heart he knew he wouldn’t have made it without her. He would not go so far as to say she’d saved his life, but she had probably saved his health.
He had pins and needles in his feet again—a recurring nuisance even though the wounds caused by the manacles had healed months ago.
Heaving himself upright, Daniel wandered over to the little rosewood escritoire which was positioned to look out of one of the two tall windows. It was neat and tidy, with a fully replenished inkstand, a selection of newly sharpened pens, a fresh sheet of paper in the blotter, various letters and papers in the dockets, neatly filed, a stack of blank paper, a seal and wax, all sitting in readiness. There was a single yellow rose in a silver vase, clearly just picked, for the bud was only partially unfurled.
Was there a rose garden at Elmswood? He couldn’t recall. It hadn’t been the sort of thing to interest him.
There was a comfortable-looking chair positioned in the other window, so he sat down and gazed out at the view. There was the oak tree he’d climbed countless times as a boy, and the lake where he’d taught himself to swim. Over to the left, behind the rose garden—yes, he remembered now that there was one—was his old sanctuary the walled garden. The place where he’d first dreamed his dream of escaping the claustrophobic confines of Elmswood and travelling to far-flung places.
But when he tried to remember the dreams he’d dreamed, tried to recall the experience of climbing, diving, swimming, he could not. It was as if he’d been told the stories by someone else. But then, wasn’t that the case with most of his past life—or should that more accurately be lives? It was one of his strengths, the ability to put one persona behind him and assume another, never looking over his shoulder, wiping one slate clean before he started to write on another. No memories, no ties, no pain.
Daniel shook his head impatiently. It wasn’t like him to be so fanciful. He would rather not be here at Elmswood, but he was, and he’d have to find a way to endure it. Hopefully it wouldn’t be for long.
He leaned his forehead on the glass, which had been heated by the gentle English summer sun. There had been trout in the lake back in the day. He wondered if Kate kept it stocked. She would have told him if she had, in one of the letters she’d sent to him regular as clockwork every other month, since they had married, but it was the sort of detail he chose not to remember.
They’d come into his possession sporadically, those carefully penned epistles, usually in bundles of two or three at a time, and as the years had passed, contained less and less detail. She had asked him to approve decisions in the early days, had on occasion asked his opinion on a decision still to be made, but his silence on both counts had led to silence on her part. She’d realised without him having to say so bluntly that he simply didn’t care.
But, from the little he’d seen of the house and gardens, it was clear she did. His acceptance of her astonishing proposal all those years ago had been one of the best decisions of his life.
‘Sorry I was so long.’ Kate set the tray she was carrying down on the table by the fireside. ‘Coffee, and there’s some spiced biscuits fresh out of the oven.’
Daniel re-joined her, sitting down with a relief that he tried to disguise. Kate made no comment, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t noticed. Without asking, she poured a small cup of thick black coffee into a familiar-looking cup.
‘I brought them back from Cyprus, along with the coffee pot,’ she told him, proving his suspicions that she could read his mind too accurately for comfort correct. ‘I brought a supply of Turkish coffee too. I acquired a taste for it.’
‘Sketo,’ Daniel said, taking a sip. ‘You don’t want sugar with it?’
‘You mean metrio?’ she answered. ‘No, I like it like this, and I assumed that you—’
‘You assumed correctly.’ He took another sip. ‘This is good.’
‘Efcharistó.’ She smiled, shaking her head. ‘Before you ask, that is almost the limit of my Greek. I was fortunate to have Paniotis, my guide, to assist me with shopping and obtaining supplies. Do you remember him? Or Larnaca?’
Larnaca. Cyprus.
It was when he took another sip of the coffee she had poured that he had a sudden flash of memory. The distinctive aroma of it, brewing on a stove, rousing him from the depth of oblivion. A cool cloth gently wiping his brow.
Was it a fevered dream? He didn’t know, but he remembered it so clearly.
He’d kept his eyes closed. He’d heard the swirl of water as the cloth was rinsed, the drip as it was wrung out, the soft exhalation she gave as she settled back on the stool or chair she sat on. She—for he had known instinctively that his angel of mercy was female—smelled of English meadows and cool English summer. When she’d leaned over to wash his shoulders her bare arm had brushed against him, and he had sensed the rest of her hovering over him, tantalising inches away. She had washed his chest and his belly, his arms and his hands. Then she had pushed the sheet lower. He had given himself over to the soothing delight of her touch, cast adrift from the struggle to escape and survive, from the endurance test that his life had been for the last year, to float in an alternative world of tender feminine care.
It could only have been Kate. He knew that, and he knew that she had performed heaven knew what other intimate tasks, but he’d managed not to think about any of it. So why think of it now, dammit?
‘No,’ he said tersely, ‘I don’t really remember being in Cyprus.’
‘I’m not surprised. You were quite gravely ill. It’s a lovely island, though, and the people were so friendly. I saw a little of it while I was waiting for you to arrive, but I’d like to have seen more. The ruins of Ancient Kition—’
‘Save your rhapsodies, if you please,’ Daniel interrupted brusquely. ‘I know there are some who enjoy hearing travellers’ tales second-hand, but I do not count myself among their number.’
‘I had never travelled beyond London before. I would of course have preferred the circumstances to have been different, and I would have liked to have spent a great deal more time at the various stops they prescribed for me,’ Kate said, looking as if he had slapped her, ‘but I was surprised—extremely surprised, actually—by how much I enjoyed the experience. When I was not worrying about you, that is.’
