Marriage - Married In Haste Part 44

"But there is no land there," she protested. "What will hold it up?""We'll build columns. They'll rest on the lake floor. I'll even design a little dock for boating.""It's so impractical.""It will be spectacular."Brenn seemed to have changed. He was more relaxed. The demons that had plagued him the day he'd shot the highwaymen were finally put to rest. He told her it was because of her love.

"No, it's Erwynn Keep," she said confidently.

Brenn shook his head. "If I lost Erwynn Keep tomorrow, I would still consider myself blessed to have

you."

The sentiment touched her so deeply, she cried.

The only dark spot in Tess's life was the resistance she met to her idea of a school, especially one that

would teach the Saxon language.

But Vicar Rackham proved to be a useful ally. As a young, eligible bachelor, no mother of a daughter of marriageable age wanted to gainsay him. After a bit of reluctance, it was decided that a school would open come the winter. It would be held in the village church. Vicar Rackham would tutor the boys; Banon would teach the girls.

Tess would have been surprised if there wasn't a marriage between the vicar and Banon before the next

spring.

Yes, life was good. And every day, she sat down and worked an hour or two on her book. Miles, who really was starting to grow fat, sat on the table as she worked. She fancied him a guardian of her thoughts and wrote him into the stories as a cat who loved to chase fairies.

This book was like nothing she had ever read herself. A sense of freedom and excitement came to her

from molding the words to fit the imaginary world inside her head.The village children came by once a week for a reading. It was her test to see if she'd gotten the wordsjust right. Brenn, too, was a critic although he still didn't quite understand her fascination with theimaginary world.

"Why not write about real people?" he asked one night after she had read him the latest installment.

They lay in bed. Summer was coming to an end. The plasterers from Cardiff had finished with the walls

and ceilings in the manor. Soon workmen would lay the wood floor. Brenn hoped they would be movedin before All Saints' Day, but Tess wondered if she wouldn't miss the closeness of the cottage."These are real people," she told him."Tess, they are fairies. They are little. They run around making mischief. They aren't real..." Suddenly, his eyes widened. "These are people we know."

He'd caught her. "Some traits," Tess admitted.

"Like those of the fairy that brews nectar? He must be Carne, the brewer. Good choice. There is no finer

ale in all England than Carne's."She smiled.He snuggled closer to her. "And the fairy whose children trail after him wherever he goes is Pughe, no?""Traits," she reminded him. "I didn't put the people in literally. But I did have Erwynn Keep in mind when I created the fairy village."Under the covers, Brenn ran the bottom of his foot against her leg. "So which fairy am I?""You can't guess?""You don't have a Lord of l.u.s.t," he murmured, pulling her close."Fairies don't l.u.s.t.""How do they make little fairies then?"

She giggled at his foolishness, a sound which turned more serious when his head dipped under the covers and his mouth closed over her breast.

"Tell me," he commanded softly, pausing to take a breath.

Tess twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. "You're the Dragon King."

He poked his head out from under the covers, his smile lazily seductive. "I expected to be nothing but."

He then showed how pleased he was.

The next morning, just as Tess began work on her stories, there was a knock on the door. Banon had gone to the village for supplies and Brenn was off seeing to the needs of one of the tenants.

She rose from her chair and crossed to the door. Life would be simpler once they moved into the house. She'd hire more servants and have a room of her own in which to work without interruption.

Opening the door, she was about to greet her caller when the words stuck in her throat. She took a step back. There on her front stoop, his hat in his hand, stood Deland G.o.dwin.

Chapter Nineteen.

"Why, Mr. G.o.dwin, I wasn't expecting you." Tess wondered at the calmness of her understatement. His

presence was so startling she could barely register any other emotion except shock.

"I should have written but I didn't have the opportunity," G.o.dwin apologized with a complete lack of regret.

"Yes," she murmured.

"May I step in?" he prompted, hesitating before adding, "My lady? You are obviously at home."

She was tempted to refuse him. She would have been within her rights to do so, but her curiosity

overrode her good sense. "Yes, please come in."

G.o.dwin moved to the center of the room, his keen eyes taking in everything.

"I was just down to the main house," G.o.dwin said. "The workman said you and the earl lived up here.

Charming, utterly charming," he observed in a flat voice that contradicted his words. The Londoner looked completely out of place in her homey cottage.

Tess wondered when Brenn would return from his visit to his tenant.

"What do you want?" she asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "Why, Lady Merton, such a direct question."

"I've discovered an appreciation for plain speaking, Mr. G.o.dwin."

"Must be the Welsh influence," he countered with a mock s.h.i.+ver.

"It must be," she echoed without humor.

G.o.dwin placed his hat on the table and reached for her copybook. "What have we here?"

Tess felt her heart drop. She reached for the book. "It's mine. Just some notes I've been taking."

"No, no," he said, holding the book out of her range. He thumbed the pages. "Why, this looks like a ma.n.u.script. What a surprise, Lady Merton. I didn't know you were literary."

It was on the tip of Tess's tongue to tell G.o.dwin that even if he was a publisher, he wouldn't know a literary work if he saw one, but she swallowed the insult. Instead, she admitted bravely, "I have been writing stories."

"Really?" He pulled a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from his coat pocket and perched them on the end of his long nose. He perused the page. "What sort of story is this?"

Tess pressed her hands together. "A story about how fairies live."

That gained her G.o.dwin's attention. His forehead wrinkled as he stared at her from over his gla.s.ses. "Fairies?"

"Yes."

"Oh." He closed the copybook with a clap.

His one-word opinion was deflating. Lately, Tess had been toying with the idea of submitting her work to a publisher, but if it was going to be rejected completely out of hand- "Well, I admit I am confused," he said, interrupting her thoughts. He sat in the rocking chair and made a great show of tilting it back and forth. The smile on his face was as false as that of a cat playing with a mouse.

"I had thought your husband a man of means. And I had most certainly been sure that you were an heiress. Probably the richest heiress in the ton."

The muscles in Tess's shoulders tightened. Beneath his pleasant words was a very strong threat. And it made her angry.

Three months earlier, she would have panicked. But she was no longer the same woman she'd been then. Furthermore, the dangers of insulting this gossipmonger no longer frightened her. "Do you always call on people in the wilds of Wales, Mr. G.o.dwin? I had been lead to believe you hadn't left London in years."

He bristled at her challenge. "That isn't true, Lady Merton. I have often visited friends in the country."

"Well, hopefully you don't bully your way into their homes they way you have just done so here."

She knew the moment the words left her lips she'd hit the man's pride. Everyone avoided Deland G.o.dwin if they could help it. Bullying was the only method he had to force himself to be included.

He pushed up from the rocker, towering a good half a head over her. "You are right, Lady Merton," he replied with chilly civility. "My visit is not just a pleasant coincidence. I am in Wales at the behest of Lady Garland. She needed a companion to escort her while she visited her brother, Lord Faller. I'd be remiss if I was so close and didn't pay you even a short visit."

"Lord Faller's seat is fifty miles to the north of us. You are far out of your way."

At that moment, Banon came in, opening the door without a knock. She lugged two baskets, one in each hand, which were full of vegetables.

"Lady Merton, I talked to the miller-" She broke off the moment she saw G.o.dwin. "I'm sorry, my lady,

I didn't realize there was a guest.""It's fine, Banon. Mr. G.o.dwin was about to leave." She was being rude, but she didn't care. G.o.dwincame from a different place and a different time in her life. Seeing him here in the same room as thesweet, unspoiled Banon gave her a terrible sense of foreboding. She wanted him gone.

"No, Banon, you be on your way," G.o.dwin replied presumptuously. The mask of manners was gone. "I have something to say to Lady Merton and I'm certain she would wish it to be kept private. Especially since it involves her brother."

Tess pulled back slightly. "What are you talking about?"He didn't answer her. Instead, he flicked his finger at Banon. "Go, go. Scurry away."Banon quickly set the baskets down on the table, dropped a curtsey-something she rarely did-and left the cottage."What is this about?" Tess demanded. "What do you wish to say to me?""Shouldn't we sit down?" G.o.dwin asked, in control of the situation. "Where are the pleasantries?""Oh, Mr. G.o.dwin, what a pleasure to see you again," she mimicked. "I'm sorry but the butler is ill and you've just sent the cook hurrying out the door. What is it you want?""You are rusticating in the country, Lady Merton," G.o.dwin said without humor. "You'd best return to London-but then, you can't, can you? If you did, people would start wondering, as I do, about the fabulous fortune you were supposed to possess."

"We are using it to build the house."

"I know differently, my lady."

Tess stared at him in silence a moment. "Perhaps you should sit down."

"Thank you," he said in that infuriatingly cynical manner of his.

She sat in the chair across from him. "What do you think you know?"

"I know that your brother squandered your fortune. He has just joined several gentlemen investing in

s.h.i.+ps to ply the spice trade. It seems to be a good opportunity and, with a wife like his who has markers all over London, he may need the blunt. Mr. Christopher is remarkably tightfisted. I've heard something about his wanting to preserve the estate for future generations of Hamlins."

Tess had heard enough. He'd convinced her he knew it all. "What do you want? Money?"

G.o.dwin wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Absolutely not. If it had been that then I would have gone to your

brother. Believe it or not, Lady Merton, it is not you I wish to see humbled. You have always been kind.

But your husband? That is a different matter."