No Greater Love (5 page)

An hour later he returned to the inn and ordered a large tankard of ale. Then he called for Binkley.

“Raven’s Close is marginally prepared for inhabitance, sir,” Binkley announced, returning from his mission. “It is not an attractive sight for a wedding night, but there will be a meal, the back bedrooms are readied, and there is moderate warmth. Mrs. Daventry’s room has been prepared as you desired. I have also lit a fire in the next-door bedroom as you requested, although there was not enough furniture available to make it pleasing.”

“Thank you, Binkley. Let me just go and collect Mrs. Daventry, and then you may take us over. You have provided the extra touches, I assume? I want this night to be as pleasant as possible.”

“Yes, sir. The wine has been decanted. The candles are lit. In the dark one cannot see quite how unfortunate the conditions are. One could hope that Mrs. Daventry might in the morning see it all through a happy haze—”

“Binkley! You shock me.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but extreme measures are called for. Your own happy haze will also be required, sir, in order to absorb the conditions fully tomorrow. The upper story will need complete restoration. The roof, from what I could ascertain, is barely holding.”

“Hmm. That bad. Never mind, Binkley. We shall prevail. You are a brave man indeed to take us on like this.”

“You need me, sir,” Binkley said pragmatically. “I shall await your pleasure outside.” He left, his habitually measured pace unruffled by the recent turn of events. But then, nothing had ever ruffled Binkley that Nicholas had seen in their eight-year career together. He thought it might very well take an earthquake to shake a single hair on Binkley’s solid head.

Georgia stood in front of Raven’s Close, giving it a long, hard look. It looked no better than it ever had. The five pointed gables that fronted the three wings were missing great chucks of tile, the gaps showing white against the gray slate. Poor house, she thought. But at least it would finally have inhabitants to fill it, and eventually it would all be put to rights. It served as a welcome reminder of why she had married Nicholas Daventry. Together they would bring the house back to life.

Nicholas came over to her and took her hands between his own. “Georgia, you’re cold as ice. Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind and put up at the Cock and Bull until we have made the house more livable?”

“I do not, Nicholas, as I told you earlier when you asked. This is to be our home and we might as well begin straightaway to make it so.”

“But on your wedding night?”

“What difference does it make?” she said, coloring.

“You haven’t yet seen inside. But so be it. I admire your courage and I have to admit I’d rather be here myself, despite the discomfort. You had better come in. And steel yourself.’’

He opened the front door and led her through. “Oh, Nicholas…” Georgia slowly looked about, her eyes taking in the water stains, the plaster falling off the ceilings, the bare floors and walls. Her heart fell, and it hurt not only for the house but also for him.

There was a strong smell of damp, and she could immediately see that some of the floorboards had rotted. Those were the first impressions to strike her. They picked their way carefully across the hall and Nicholas calmly showed her the sitting room and library. Both were in sorry shape, but she was relieved to see that the books had not sustained too much obvious damage. The lower leakage seemed to be contained to the front portion of the house.

“We’ll leave the upstairs for later. It’s an even bigger disaster,” he said, leading her back through the central wing.

They passed through the kitchen, where Binkley was hard at work despite the very primitive conditions, and entered the dining room. Nicholas ran a finger over the back of one of the mahogany chairs that sat at a long formal table.

“I imagine that my step-aunt left the dining room more or less intact because she had no use for the table at Ravenswalk,” he remarked casually enough. “Aside from the sitting room, which for some unknown reason she decided to leave with the sofa and armchairs this is probably where we’ll be living.”

“Oh, dear. We do have some work to do,” she said when he had finished.

“Yes, we do. I’ve already ordered the first of the materials, and they should be here within a day or two.” He walked across the bare floor to the long window that looked over a ruined tangle.

“Nicholas? What is it?” she asked bewildered by the suddenly fierce expression on his face, when he had been so composed only moments before.

He turned to face her. “That was once a garden,” he said, his tone carefully measured. “A beautiful, wonderful garden. It overflowed with flowers of every sort, different flowers for every season. My mother spent much of her time out there, carefully tending her plants. Even after she died the gardeners kept it exactly as she had created it. I would come over from Ravenswalk and sit in it, and feel closer to her. And then … never mind. I hadn’t realized that it, too, was dead.”

“Nicholas—” Georgia started to say, but he cut her off.

“Damn her,” he said between clenched teeth. “Damn her!”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Nicholas pushed a hand through his hair. “No—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I can’t start letting this get under my skin now. The only thing to do is to look toward the future and restore what we can. So. Shall we have our supper?”

He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, feeling quite odd to be treated like a fine lady. In the past, it had always been she who had done the cooking, the waiting. But she couldn’t-help reveling in the feeling of luxury. It didn’t matter in the least to her that the house in which they dined was falling apart around them, or that the man sitting next to her did not love her, let alone know her. She certainly couldn’t think about what he would soon be doing to her. She was determined to enjoy the food and conversation. Had she concentrated on all the unpleasant things that life held, she would have starved from lack of appetite long before.

Binkley had managed an extraordinary meal, given the state of things. He had somewhere found a smoked fish, and had prepared a roast of beef, with boiled potatoes and a selection of winter vegetables. He laid this modest wedding feast on the table, poured the wine around, then bowed and retreated to the kitchen.

“Binkley’s a wonder, Nicholas. Wherever did you find him?” Georgia said, looking at the platters of food, terribly impressed. Her mother had instilled in her an appreciation for fine cooking, and as she’d been taught the art, she knew that what Binkley had produced was no mean feat.

“Actually, he found me. In a bazaar in India. That’s where I’ve been living until now. In any case, I was attempting to buy some cloth for a suit of clothes, completely lost as to how to go about it and making a terrible hash of the matter. Binkley appeared as if by magic, took over the negotiations, led me to a reputable tailor, and ever thereafter took me in hand. His previous employer had recently married, and Binkley did not approve of his choice of bride.”

“Oh,” said Georgia. “I hope I pass muster. I would hate for you to lose Binkley on my account.”

“The circumstances were quite different. As I understood it, the new bride was an old harridan who was inclined to interfere with Binkley’s way of doing things. He no longer felt appreciated. So he adopted me.”

Georgia smiled. “I see. You were very lucky. He took me in hand today too. I was feeling quite lost and frightened, but there was Binkley, treating me as if I were the finest of ladies on my way to St. Paul’s to be married.”

“I’m glad. He does that for me too. When I fall he picks me up, brushes me off, and sends me on my way.”

“You don’t seem to me to be the sort of person who falls very often, Nicholas Daventry.”

“Don’t I? Ah, but there you are mistaken.” He stood and fetched the decanter.

Georgia watched the play of firelight on his face, watched it catch in the ebony strands of hair, saw the shift of muscle beneath his coat as he leaned over to fill her glass. And then there were his hands … they were so long and elegant and graceful. She hadn’t seen hands so beautiful since her mother’s. They had been gentle, healing hands, but just as adept at threading a needle or working in the kitchen creating masterpieces out of nothing but scraps. And how often had her mother held her and stroked her hair off her forehead as she wove wonderful tales of places long ago and for away?

Georgia shook off the memories, watching Nicholas as he filled his own glass and placed the decanter down.

He looked over at her as he resumed his seat. “What is it, Georgia? You seem in another world.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I
was
in another world, I suppose. I’m sorry to say that daydreaming is a bad habit of mine. Nicholas, will you tell me about Raven’s Close? How did it come to be yours?”

“It was the original family house before Ravenswalk was built. What you see of the Close now was largely built in the seventeenth century, added on to the original structure.”

“Yes, I had thought so. But I don’t understand about the deed, all these provisions.”

“Ah, well, the actual ownership is a strange thing. You see, the property is entailed to Ravenswalk and can never be sold. My father had the house for his lifetime, as I now will have it for mine. But the present earl decides the manner in which it is to be passed on. I imagine it’s a built-in protection against the occasional wastrel that tends to crop up in a family. In my case, because I was only ten when my father died, the Close immediately reverted to the Raven trust, until such a time as my uncle decided that I was ready to take it on.”

“Why did he wait for so long, then, and make a provision of your being married by your thirtieth birthday? And why did he let it fell into such a state?”

Nicholas rubbed his neck. “We had a disagreement. It was rather a nasty one, and I left. I thought that when I came home, he would honor the original agreement—that I was to have had it when I was twenty-one. I also assumed that he’d keep the house up. God only knows why he didn’t. I see Jacqueline’s hand in that.”

“Jacqueline?”

“Lady Raven, as you know her.”

“Oh, yes, of course—I didn’t know. Isn’t it odd? She’s that sort of person who strikes me as not having any Christian name—it’s almost too human.”

“Oh, she’s human enough. A half-caste of the devil, perhaps, but otherwise human enough.”

“Nicholas, do you think that perhaps we might not speak of her tonight? I cannot feel comfortable, having only just left, and…”

“And you are quite right. She does not bear mentioning. What shall we talk about, then?” He watched her over the rim of his glass, something amused lurking in the back of his eyes.

“You,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “I want to hear about you and Raven’s Close. I want to hear how it used to be.”

And so he told her. He told her about his first memories of Raven’s Close, about his mother and his father, and how cheerful life had been. He told her about his dog, and his pony, and later, his horse, and how proud and grown up he’d felt to be given him on his eighth birthday. He told her about his uncle’s first wife, Laura, and how kind and gentle she’d been, of how she and his mother would sit together for hours on end, talking and laughing. He made it all sound like a fairy tale, and Georgia dreamed, picturing the richness of their lives, the laughter that must have rung in the air, the happiness that had once sung inside the walls.

She watched his face as he talked, really seeing it for the first time, his eyes dreamy with memory, the gray so clear, the wistful expression they held. She watched his full mouth lift in a slight smile as he talked of his mother, the realist, and his father, the idealist, and the ongoing arguments they used to have over his father’s crazy schemes. He talked of his mother’s garden, and how beautiful it had once been, enclosed in the stone walls that now stretched emptily to make a square at the back. He told her of how he would help his mother with the little spade his father had fashioned for him, and of his pleasure in seeing the fruits of their labor come to life. He described the stone statue that stood in the garden, a sculpture of a young child that his mother had admired on a visit to France and bought because it had reminded her of him and because, sentimental as ever, she wanted the little stone boy to have a happy home. And Georgia couldn’t help feeling saddened as she thought of the little stone child who had stood witness while that home slowly died around him.

Nicholas spun his stories, and they might not have been sitting in a dark room lit only by the crackling fireplace and die single candelabrum, but in Raven’s Close as it had once been, all alive and shining, just as Georgia’s eyes were as she listened.

“But that was more than twenty years ago,” he said, finishing with a faint laugh, and the spell was broken.

Georgia felt as if she’d been rudely jerked back to earth, and she felt the old familiar sensation of being unpleasantly returned to her surroundings. She drank deeply of her wine, suddenly nervous, knowing the evening was coming to a close and the dark night was about to begin. “What made it all change?” she asked, trying to delay the inevitable.

“My parents died. I went to Ravenswalk. And then after I left Ravenswalk for India, this happened. Georgia, I’m sorry that I’ve brought you to this. Truly I am.”

She looked at Nicholas with astonishment. “Why should you be sorry? I knew exactly what the conditions would be—or had guessed. It is why you married me, Nicholas. You can’t have forgotten?”

“No, of course not. But it still seems dreadfully unfair to subject you to such a thing.”

“Anything is better than Ravenswalk. Really. In the last week I have had more hope than I have in the last eight months—no, in truth, far longer than that—and that hope is worth a great deal.”

“Then I am happy. Come, Georgia, it is late. I hadn’t realized how long we had been talking. Let me show you up to your room.”

“My room?” she said, not quite able to believe her ears. “My room? Oh, Nicholas! Oh, Nicholas, thank you! I had thought that…” She stopped abruptly, coloring.