Forged by Love: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 4 (15 page)

“Hawthorne Hall was built in the later years of Elizabeth’s reign,” Harry began, only for Deirdre to interrupt him.

“My lord, you sound like a guide book! Do you know all the history of the place?”

“I grew up here,” he said. “My mother will be waiting for us.”

The coach drew up outside the house, and Virginie tried hard not to sigh in relief. No more travelling. Such a tedious occupation didn’t suit her in the least. When she’d first arrived back in England, in Dover, she’d been in the worst of ill tempers. It was then she’d begun the events that had led to her infatuation with Marcus almost without thought.

All done now. While she and Eros would never be bosom friends, she had reconciled herself to him. Especially since Susanna had not chosen the fate Virginie had wished on her. She wanted to find her own husband, she’d said, her eyes firmly fixed on another immortal. Let her try. She would find her task difficult, but Virginie wished her well with it. She’d have offered to enchant them, but they’d caused enough trouble with that particular spell recently. She didn’t want to test Fate.

Outside the house a single man stood waiting. As Harry alighted and helped first Deirdre and then herself to climb down, the man bowed. He was dressed in a plain brown coat and breeches, so not a liveried servant.

He came forward. Instead of nodding to him, Harry wrung his hand. “Good afternoon, Daldry. I never thought to see you here. Is there any trouble?”

“None at all,” the man said. He was tall, not as tall as Harry, and a lot thinner, but then, most men were. “I came over to greet you.”

“And to meet my bride, I’ll be bound. How many people has my mother told?”

Daldry smiled, the severe lines of his face softening. “A very few. She probably hopes—” He broke off, as if cutting off unfortunate words, and bowed to Virginie.

“May I present my manager, Frederick Daldry?” Harry said. “Frederick is a cousin, and he manages the mines. You will see something of him, as I invite him to dinner at least once a month.”

She curtseyed and offered her hand. Frederick had a slight resemblance to Harry in his grey eyes and the dark hair that he wore naturally and tied back. Would Harry look this way without the presence of his god? Virginie resembled her mother only slightly, so perhaps not.

Frederick lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed the air above them in the approved manner. “We’re not entirely uncivilised here, countess. Harry flatters me. I am but a second cousin, born as poor as a church mouse, which is appropriate since my father was a vicar. But when my father died, Harry’s mother took me into the house as companionship for him, so I received an education wildly above my station.”

“And helped me with my homework,” Harry said, smiling. Friends, then. Virginie liked what she saw of Frederick, but she was too experienced in the kind of subterfuge and cunning common in France to take anything for granted. King Louis fostered dislike and rivalry, saw it as a way for him to keep the throne. A kind of French tradition, since his grandfather had instigated it.

But here, in Cheshire, matters were probably simpler.

Harry offered his arm and led her indoors. They climbed a straight flight of shallow steps bordered by a fine stone baluster to reach the front door. Both of the wide doors were open, welcoming them.

It took her no time at all to accustom herself to the light inside. Sunshine streamed through the large windows, lending the space an airy appeal. The walls were bristling with weapons arranged in elaborate patterns, circles of swords, pyramids of helmets. All old, by the look of them. “We were loyal in the Scottish claim to the throne,” Harry said, “but many families around here are Catholic and stood with the Pretender. Before that, we had wars with the Scots and the Welsh. But this was never a stronghold.”

“Why all the weapons?”

He grinned. “Captured. The spoils of war. I doubt any of them are useful. The swords will be blunt and the pistols badly in need of cleaning. I wouldn’t wonder if the big blunderbusses blew up in one’s face rather than shot outwards.”

Virginie shuddered theatrically. “Then never try to fire one.”

“I can promise that without hesitation,” he said.

“Although not when he was a child,” Frederick said. He’d offered his arm to Deirdre, and she had laid her hand on it graciously.

“It has a charming aspect,” Virginie’s mother said. She sounded stiff, but then she usually sounded like that. She might be wondering where she would sleep. She should not. Even if Harry hadn’t shown her every courtesy, Virginie would have ensured she was treated with every consideration due her mother.

The sense of irritation that had been building throughout the journey dissipated a little as she walked through the great house. Harry didn’t show them the whole, but offered to have the housekeeper do so the next day. He squeezed Virginie’s hand in a private message. Maybe he would ensure she didn’t have an opportunity to see it, or maybe he wanted to show her himself.

Upstairs, Harry led them through a series of gracious chambers to a smaller room, where his mother waited for them.

She was a small woman, with her grey hair fastened back into a smooth, neat knot at the back of her head and her lace edged cap firmly in place. She wore a carefully judged smile on her face. A woman used to the ways of society, then. She was about four inches shorter than Virginie’s five feet six, maybe more. Her diminutive stature was more than made up for by the sheer power of her presence.

Virginie assumed she was immortal, and contacted Harry privately.
“What is she? A nymph? A goddess?”

“A nymph,”
he said.
“Immortals do not have things all their own way. Have you not met the Duke of Devonshire?”

Goodness, yes. The man was most intimidating, and it wasn’t because of his manner. She understood then. This was a woman who had kept Harry safe from the explosion. She had kept him away from their enemies and she’d done it alone, because Harry’s father was dead.

Questions crowded into her mind. Until now she hadn’t considered them, because matters had raced ahead in London. She was married almost before she realised it and she certainly hadn’t been thinking of Harry’s mother or his domestic circumstances.

The room was decorated in the latest style and very feminine, with blue upholstery and French gilded furniture. One chair stood out from the rest, the legs sturdier and the wood plain and highly polished. A masculine wing chair, the green darker than in the suite. A table stood by every chair or sofa. Harry appeared out of place in this room, but he had obviously had it decorated to suit his mother. That spoke of filial devotion. And yet Harry didn’t speak much about his mother.

As the previous countess, the older lady took priority. Mindful of that, Virginie dropped a curtsey and received a gracious nod in return. “I understand you are French?” her ladyship said in a high, very refined voice.

“No, ma’am. I was born in this country. My late husband was French.”

“And no children from that marriage?”

She disliked the personal remarks, but she had vowed to be on her best behaviour. “No, ma’am.”

“My son needs heirs.”

What did his mother know?

Chapter Fifteen

Harry touched her arm and answered his mother’s question himself. “Do you recall, Mother, that people such as us choose when to have children?”

She turned a frowning stare on to Virginie. “You are a goddess, then?”

Virginie spun around, her skirts swirling, to her husband. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I told her.” His mouth had set in a grim line, but it relaxed when he turned back to his mother. “Indeed I did, unless the letter I wrote did not reach you. I referred to you as a goddess. Mother would realise what I meant while others, if they saw it, would consider the word hyperbole. Mother, may I introduce Virginie’s mother, Mrs. Davenport?”

The lady frowned. “Did I hear that name right? I’m sure Sir George Faulkner had a housekeeper of that name.”

Mrs. Davenport curtseyed, spreading her hands in a gesture of obeisance. “That was me, my lady. I was forced to such subterfuges to hide my daughter from the machinations of the Duke of Boscobel. I married her to the French
duc
at eighteen and he took her abroad. She was safer there.” She sounded subdued, not at all like her usual assertive self. More like the housekeeper she had been for so many years.

The dowager countess indicated the chairs set ready. Picking up a small silver bell from the table at her side, she rang it. Almost immediately two maids entered, with silver trays containing tea things. “Will you take tea?”

She engaged in the full ritual of tea-making. She had a key in the elaborate enamel necessaire that hung from her waist. She used it to open a tea caddy that the maid brought over. Everything was of the best and the most fashionable, even the polished mahogany caddy. Virginie sat next to her mother on one of the sofas. She’d rather have sat with Harry, who was obliged to use the chair obviously set ready for him. He looked awkward, but at least he wouldn’t collapse one of the spindly chairs.

The countess had tea-making to a fine art, but the result was a thin brew. She’d allowed the water to cool. Still, with a little milk it didn’t taste too bad. Since she’d gone to all that trouble, Virginie felt obliged to drink it. She declined the small cakes and the bread and butter, but her mother braved them. She ate slowly and carefully.

The dowager unnerved Virginie. No doubt she’d become accustomed to her. This was an awkward situation. It could never be anything else when the new mistress arrived to take over from the old. The first thing she’d do was either change the furniture in here or use a different room.

Was it unfair to imagine the dowager leaving when Virginie had only just arrived? She’d make a concerted effort. This could be the countess’s personal drawing room, but from its position, just past the state rooms, Virginie doubted that. The house would have other rooms.

“This is a beautiful house,” she said, taking another delicate sip from her almost cold tea.

“I’m glad you think so.” The dowager smiled smoothly. “Unfortunately, as this is such an old house, it is subject to draughts and the chimneys smoke if the wind is in the wrong quarter.”

“That can be managed,” Deirdre said before Virginie could stop her. As she feared, the dowager leaped on the opening.

“You would know that, to be sure.”

A slight silence ensued, until Virginie began again. “I have several properties in France that will come to Harry now.”

“Yes, in law he owns them, does he not?”

Virginie gave Harry a glance, daring him to try to take them from her. She would give them, that was one thing, but he would not take them from her. Already her mind was whirring, planning a strategy to take her properties out of his reach.

They chatted, giving the countess the news from London. She commented on some, shrugged at others and said, with a deprecating smile, “My health doesn’t allow for me to leave my home very often. I’m afraid I suffer from a variety of ills.” She turned a sunny smile on to Harry. “I may have to ask Dr. Caprice to stay here for a time, so he might be on hand. He is resisting, citing his other patients, but I’m certain you can offer him the kind of compensation he is evidently looking for.”

Harry’s smile never varied. “I’ll talk to him, Mother.”

“Ever since his birth. Or shortly after,” the lady said. She frowned, then her brow cleared. “It does not matter and you must not let it concern you in the least. I am sure I can cope with whatever comes my way. I should just be wary of falling ill in the middle of the night and having to rouse the household.”

“It’s what they’re there for,” Harry said. “Come, my dear, would you like to see the rest of the house now?”

“Oh, but she has not finished her tea!” the dowager exclaimed.

Virginie swallowed the rest in one gulp, taking in the mouthful of tealeaves that lay at the bottom of the cup. The strainer her ladyship had used must be most inefficient. Trying not to choke, she allowed Harry to help her to her feet. Beside her, her mother rose too. “Should I leave you to view the house on your own?”

“No, indeed, Mama. We will both have to learn how to negotiate our way around it.”

The dowager paused in the act of refilling her cup. “You mean to stay with us for a while, Mrs. Davenport?”

“She will stay as long as she wishes,” Harry said firmly. “Virginie is devoted to her mother.”

Up until now Virginie had not thought that to be the case, but now she decided that she was. “I have caused her enough trouble. It is time for her to rest and enjoy a few of life’s comforts.”

She meant it. If her mother got no rest here, then she’d ensure that Deirdre found a place she liked. No more housekeeping.

“I’m very happy that our strategies worked, dear,” Deirdre said now. “It was all I could think of doing. I had no way of contacting any of the other immortals. I had no idea anyone had survived the explosion, and the others would have taken my daughter from me.”

She glanced at Virginie, and for the first time since she could remember Virginie saw genuine emotion in the other woman. Her mother had always guarded her feelings and taught her to do so. After all, the immortals could sense things, could read minds. They could not risk letting any stray thoughts out where someone might pick them up.

Strange to be discussing this in an elegant drawing room, but it was not unusual for her. One person’s reality was another’s fantasy, and Virginie had her fair share of both.

She bowed to her mother-in-law. “Thank you for such a warm welcome. I will see you at dinner?”

“I’ve had the servants put it back until four,” Lady Valsgarth said. “I trust that will be sufficient?”

Virginie agreed. That arrangement put her at an obligation to attend, and she had half considered retiring early—with her husband. She had missed his company in her bed and she wanted to show him how much. That edgy feeling had increased the further they got from London and the absence of a man from her bed was telling on her.

Not even pausing to consider the oddness of such an emotion, Virginie kept the smile firmly on her face. She let her husband lead her out of the room.

“You’ve seen the state rooms,” he said, of the perfectly arranged set of rooms that formed the formal and public part of the house. They would hold balls there, receive guests and lead their public lives in them. “We have others, for our use. There’s a library.” He flung open a set of double doors and turned back to her.

Virginie caught her breath. She loved the library. The polished walnut shelves held a plethora of books, and not all of them were the kind that were specially bound and set there. Chains fastened a few books to two lecterns.

“That’s where the library started,” he said. “Parts of this house are medieval, and the owners were erudite. They had all of six books, and we have three left. Downstairs, in the estate office, we have the inventories that go back as far as the Conqueror.”

“Impressive.” She wanted to see them. While Virginie had little interest in history, this was different, because she could see and touch the items discussed. That tactile link made all the difference to her. Another day she’d go down and spend an enjoyable few hours looking through the tomes.

She glanced out of the window to the pretty garden below. The library looked over the back of the house, and the small garden faded into a charming vista of parkland. “It almost looks natural enough to be designed.”

A choked laugh from behind her made her turn around. Harry didn’t hide his amusement and her mother had a broad smile on her face. “I would back nature against design any day,” Harry said. “You will probably want to meet the gardener.”

“And all the other servants.”

“You should make matters clear,” Deirdre said, the smile gone. “You are mistress here now. I’m sorry, sir, but it is the truth.”

Harry spread his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know it. All I ask is that we cause as little disruption as possible. My mother is frequently unwell, and has been so for some years.”

She seemed perfectly all right to Virginie, but not all illnesses were obvious to the observer. She’d like to talk to the dowager’s physician, though. If he refused to leave his other patients for what was bound to be a very lucrative sinecure, he sounded like the kind of man who would have an opinion. Perhaps, if Harry paid him enough, he might consent to move in to the dower house for her.

But today Virginie was too relieved to arrive and to find such a charming house.

Other drawing rooms, guest rooms and then they entered a gracious corridor where Harry opened a door. “Your room, if it should suit you. I ordered it redone.” He exclaimed in annoyance. The room was far from ready.

Crimson hangings framed a bed with just a cover over the mattress. One corner was flipped up. The dressing table contained Virginie’s dressing case and nothing else. Her trunks were laid on the floor.

The jib door opened to admit Virginie’s maid, Fenton. She dropped a curtsey.

“What is the meaning of this?” Harry demanded, his voice like thunder. He swept his hand wide, indicating the state of the room.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. I believe there was some confusion with the materials you ordered for this room. If you prefer to remain here I will, of course, order the bed made up. But I took it upon myself to say that her ladyship would probably prefer to sleep elsewhere until the room is attended to and the leak fixed.”

“Leak?” Harry bellowed.

Virginie clapped her hands over her ears. “Harry, please!”

He swallowed. “I’m sorry, Virginie. I do not expect this kind of incompetence.”

“Her ladyship—the dowager countess, that is—ordered the fabric used for another room. She thought you wanted it for her.”

“The drawing room,” Harry said grimly.

“And there was enough left for her bedroom, I believe,” Fenton said. She clamped her lips tightly together as if stifling comment.

“It isn’t your fault, Fenton,” Virginie said soothingly. “In a house this size, there are bound to be more rooms.”

“None close to his lordship’s,” Fenton replied, and snapped her mouth closed again. “I have taken the liberty of unpacking your ladyship’s belongings elsewhere,” she said. “The trunks are empty.” Her eyes gained a defiant twinkle. “In his lordship’s room.”

Harry didn’t miss a beat. “Excellent. Just what I would have suggested.”

“Do I not have a say?” Virginie demanded in mock outrage.

Harry took her hand, giving up the more formal support of his arm. “All the say you wish for. If you want a room of your own to use until mine is ready, then we will both move to another suite.”

“No.” Was that what the countess wanted? Already, so soon after meeting her, Virginie was wondering how loving the dowager was. She had wondered when Harry’s mother had not made the journey to London to see her son married. Now, with the gentle criticisms, was this the countess’s way of controlling her son?

And was it working?

They wasted little time in the room designated as the countess’s, but carried on to Harry’s room. “My mother occupies the rooms she came to as a bride,” Harry told her. “They were always used by the current countess.”

“No, it seems cruel to oust her.” But if the rooms proved better than the ones here, she’d ensure she moved to them after the dowager had gone. If the lady went, that was. Virginie would cause no trouble until she had the complete picture. Perhaps the countess was ill and in pain, and so irritable. It could be that Virginie was tired.

Harry’s room proved to be spacious and comfortably furnished in dark green and mahogany. Masculine, but not overwhelmingly so, since the walls were painted a pale cream colour. The paintings hanging there were landscapes and Dutch genre paintings, not glowering portraits of ancestors, something she’d secretly dreaded.

“I like this,” she said. “I think I’ll be comfortable—” She turned to find Harry behind her. He had his back to her mother, so only Virginie saw the ardent passion on his features. It concerned her. He wanted her, but would she disappoint him? Her wedding night had been wonderful, but what if he became bored?

It wasn’t like her to have such doubts. If she did, she set about learning them, and the best way in this case would be the solution proposed. To share his bed. Except she had never done that more than once.

Time to learn how to do it properly. Her channel heated and dampened as he continued to study her. She must be betraying some visible reaction, for he took a step towards her and took her hand, leaning close to murmur in her ear. “If your mother were not here, we wouldn’t be leaving this room for some time.”

She sighed, longing to lean her cheek against him.

Deirdre cleared her throat.

Harry closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were clear. He turned around, but kept Virginie’s hand in his. “Let me show you the rest of the house. Unless you’re tired, my dear?”

Virginie shook her head, her curls bouncing around her neck, their behaviour far more lively than she felt. “Not in the least. I long to see the house.”

“Do you truly?” Harry asked quietly as Deirdre preceded them from the room.

She sighed. “I do, but I do not travel well. It’s a weakness I’ve never given in to, but it’s led me to make some mistakes in the past. I will not make any today.”