The Countess's Groom (5 page)

Chapter Six

JULY, 1763

Rose rode Dancer. She fed the squirrel and picnicked beside the lake. And she waited. The days passed with excruciating slowness.

The rest of the ruby set was hidden in the secret cupboard now. Her godmother’s jewelry case contained only pebbles from the lakeshore, to give it weight, and a note for Henry.
Did you think I would leave these for you? You shall not have them
.
They are mine. They’ll go with me to my grave.

The scars on her back had stung when she’d locked the note inside the case. If Henry ever discovered the truth—

He’ll kill me.

…

Will strolled past a watchmaker, a confectioner, and a purveyor of spirituous liquor. He halted in front of a shop selling lamps. Directly across the street was Number 32, Ludgate Hill, the premises of Theed and Pickett, jewelers and goldsmiths.

He crossed the street. A bell tinkled above his head as he opened the door. The shop was larger than the one in Salisbury. Shelves and glass-fronted cabinets held an impressive display of gold plate.

A shopman came toward him, bowing. “Good morning, sir.” The man’s glance was comprehensive, taking in the cut of his coat, the deep ruffles at his wrists, the polished buckles on his shoes. “May I help you?”

Will reached into his pocket. He’d purchased a small case from a pawnbroker, red morocco leather lined with silk. “My mother recently died,” he said, opening the case. “She left me her possessions.”

“Ah...” The shopman picked up the necklace, almost reverently.

“I wish to sell it.”

“Sell?” The man looked at him sharply.

“Yes.”

The shopman replaced the necklace on its bed of silk. He observed Will narrowly for several seconds, and then stepped back. “Please wait, sir.” He exited the shop through a door at the rear.

Will gazed around the shop. Marble busts looked down at him. A magnificent pair of gilded candelabra stood on top of the nearest counter.
I could be transported for this
. But for Rose, the risk was worth it.

The shopman returned with a second man. “This is the piece, Mr. Theed.”

The jeweler examined the necklace with a magnifying glass. Finally he straightened and subjected Will to an equally thorough scrutiny. “You wish to sell this?”

“Yes.”

“You had it from your mother?”

“She had a long association with a nobleman. He gave her a number of gifts.” Two truths, put together to imply a falsehood. Will sent up a silent prayer of apology,
I’m sorry, mother
.

Mr. Theed’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Behind him, the shopman smirked.

“It’s an exceptionally superior piece.” Theed picked up the necklace again, frowning. “A French setting. I’ve only ever seen one other like it.”

Will’s heart seemed to stop beating for an instant. Had Theed seen the necklace before? Did he know it had belonged to a well-born French lady, not a nobleman’s mistress?

“Very similar, that piece was,” Theed said, his frown deepening.

The wig felt as if it were tightening around Will’s skull.
I should have gone to Birmingham, not London.

…

Rose began to feign a growing melancholy. She was listless, she picked at her food. She wrote in the journal in her escritoire, the one Boyle could read if she chose to spy on her, describing her dread of Henry’s return and wishing she were dead. At night, once the servants were asleep, she crafted a suicide letter and sprinkled drops of water over it, as if she’d wept while writing it. And after that was written, she wrote in her secret journal, detailing her dreams of her future with Will.
An orchard and a vegetable garden, chickens and a cow to milk. And if God smiles upon us, children. They will not be cribbed and confined, as I was. They shall run in the meadows and climb trees and laugh.

Nine days passed. Ten. Eleven. The moon grew larger.

Boyle was reading the journal in her escritoire; twice Rose found the ribbon marking the pages folded wrongly.
The only place where I am fractionally happy is the lake
, she wrote for the maid to read.
When I kill myself, I think it will be there. At night, when all is dark and peaceful
. And she sprinkled drops of water on the page.

…

The fourteenth day after Will’s dismissal dawned clear. Her afternoon picnic at the lake approached with glacial slowness. Finally the clock struck two. Dancer caught Rose’s mood, prancing eagerly along the path. The water came into sight, the folly, the little rowboat. Tension grew in Rose’s chest until she could barely breathe. She looked for the stone Will had said he’d leave to signal his return.

It was there.

Relief flooded through her. Tears sprang to her eyes and spilled over.

“Ma’am...” the under groom said awkwardly. “Is something wrong?”

No. It’s joy
. “I beg your pardon, Simpkin.” She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “I’m not myself today.”

The hours tumbled past, as fast as they’d previously been slow. It took immense effort not to fidget while Boyle readied her for bed. She wanted to shoo the woman from the room.
Out! Out! Hurry!

“Simpkin tells me you were upset today, at the lake,” Boyle said while she tucked Rose in bed.

“Oh?” Rose said listlessly. “Maybe.” She pressed her face into the pillow, hiding a smile.

“I think you’re becoming overwrought, Countess. I must ask that you drink this.”

“What?” She turned her head to find Boyle holding out a glass.

“Laudanum.”

Rose’s heart seemed to stutter to a terrified halt. Laudanum?
But then I’ll sleep all night!

“It’s either this, or I lock your door.”

“What?” Panic surged inside her. She pushed up to sit. “No!”

“Don’t think I can’t get this down your throat,” the maid said grimly. “The footmen will help, if you give me too much trouble.”

“You can’t do this to me!”

Boyle smiled with thin-lipped satisfaction. “Your husband gave me permission to manage you how I see fit. Now which is it to be? Laudanum or—”

“Lock the door,” Rose said through numb lips.

“Very well.” The maid put the glass on the bedside table, crossed the room, and closed the door behind her. The key rattled in the lock. The heavy tread of her footsteps faded.

Rose scrambled out of bed and ran to the door, tugging the handle uselessly.
How
will I reach Will?

She swung around and ran across the room, flung open the shutters, heaved up the sash window, and leaned out.

The ground seemed very far below.

Rose turned back to the bed, her heart galloping in her chest. If she took the two sheets and the bed hangings and tied them together... No, they wouldn’t be long enough. But if she tore them into strips and plaited them into a rope, then they might be.

She worked feverishly, slitting the linen sheets with her penknife, plaiting the strips together, knotting them end to end. Midnight passed, and still her rope was too short. The bed hangings were next, cutting, plaiting, knotting.

The clock chimed one o’clock. Rose tried to plait faster, her fingers fumbling with urgency. Will would be wondering where she was. Would he come looking for her and risk being seen? Or would he think she’d changed her mind? That she’d decided to stay at Creed Hall?

Finally her rope was finished. Rose tied one end to a bedpost and bundled the rest out the window. She took the suicide letter from the secret cupboard and flung it on her pillow, grabbed the rubies and the banknote, and resealed the hidden door.

Rose stuffed the rubies and banknote into the pocket of a dressing gown and threw it out the window. She tossed her slippers out. Her heart felt as if it were climbing up her throat.

If she fell, she’d be dead. But her terror wasn’t of falling, it was of Will leaving her behind.

Rose gripped the rope and clambered out the window. One minute and she’d be at the bottom. One minute. All she had to do was not fall for one minute.

The narrow plaited rope slid through her fingers. She couldn’t keep her grip. She was slipping, the rope burning her palms—

Her hands found one of the knots.

Rose hung panting, bumping against the rough wall, her heart beating madly, terror choking her throat.
I can’t do this
.

She heard tiny ripping sounds above her as the plaited sheets stretched under her weight.

She
had
to do this. There was no way back, and she couldn’t cling here forever. The rope would break or one of the knots would give. She’d fall and die. And never see Will again.

Rose took a deep breath and slid down another section of the rope.
For Will
. The rope slipped through her hands, burned—and then she reached another knot. Her heart hammered against her breastbone.
For Will
, she repeated. Another deep breath, another terrifying burning slide, another knot.

It seemed that hours passed before her bare feet hit the ground. She fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath.

The sound of a clock striking two drifted on the night air.

Rose stumbled to her feet. She was shaking so hard it took three attempts to pull on her slippers. She plunged her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown, checked the rubies were still in the pocket, and ran.

He’ll still be at the lake. He’ll have waited
. But the panic was back, bubbling inside her. No, not panic. Terror. Terror that Will would have gone. Terror that he would think she’d changed her mind. That he’d leave without her.

Rose ran frantically through the moonlit woods, scrambling and stumbling, pushing herself up when she fell. Her throat burned, her lungs burned, her rib cage burned—and still she ran. Finally she burst out of the trees. The lake was the color of silver.

She halted, gulping air. Where was Will? Panic rose in a silent scream inside her.

At the water’s edge, a figure moved. Pale hair glinted in the moonlight.

“Will!”

Will met her halfway, catching her in his arms.

Rose clung to him, shaking, sobbing.
He waited. He didn’t leave me
.

“It’s all right, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Don’t be afraid.”

“It’s not that.” She tried to speak past the choking tears. “Boyle locked me in. I had to climb out the window. I’d thought you’d be gone before I got here.” Her voice broke on the last word.

“Never.” Will hugged her to him more fiercely. “I’ll never leave you, Rose. That’s a promise.”

Rose inhaled a shuddering breath and forced the tears to stop. She wanted to cling to Will forever, to bury herself in his warmth, his strength. She made herself pull away from him.

“I brought clothes for you,” Will said. “They’re on the steps. You can dress while I take out the rowboat.”

Rose followed him to the lakeshore. She took the rubies and banknote from her pocket and threw the dressing gown and slippers into the little boat.

Will stripped off his clothes. “I won’t be long,” he said, clambering into the rowboat.

Rose nodded, but instead of dressing, she stayed on the pebbly lakeshore, watching the rowboat grow smaller, listening to the splash of the oars become fainter.

Clouds drifted across the moon. She could no longer see the boat, no longer hear anything. Her tension grew as the minutes passed. How well could Will swim? She crept forward until water lapped around her ankles, straining to hear, to see.

The moon reappeared, casting pale light, showing a swimmer in the water. Rose released the breath she’d been holding.
There he is.

Will was shivering when he emerged from the lake. His hair was plastered to his skull. It gleamed pearl-white in the moonlight.

“You need to get dry!” Rose hurried to his pile of clothes. “Did you bring a towel?”

“No.”

Rose stripped off her nightgown. “Use this.”

Will dried himself. He looked like a Norse god in the moonlight, his muscles flexing beneath skin the color of burnished silver.

“How do you feel?” she asked anxiously, when he’d finished. “Still cold?”

“Fine.” Will stroked his knuckles down her cheek. “Don’t worry about me.” He picked up his clothes. “Come, let’s dress. We’ve a long way to go tonight.”

Rose followed him to the folly, clutching the rubies and the banknote. The night breeze was cool against her bare skin. “Where are we going?”

“I’ve two horses tethered the other side of the woods. We’ll ride to Burdock’s Hatch. Twenty miles.” A small pile of clothes lay under the colonnade. “These are yours. Countess Malmstoke vanishes tonight. You’re a farmer’s wife for the next few days. I’ve a cartload of carrots waiting at Burdock’s Hatch.”

“Carrots?” Rose uttered an involuntary laugh. “Are we taking them to Falmouth?”

“Just to Wiltshire. From there we’ll go by post chaise.” Will bent his head and kissed her.

Rose kissed him back. Fierce hunger blossomed inside her. She pressed more closely against him, moving her hips, rocking against him. Will hadn’t abandoned her. He’d waited for her. Her mind knew it, but her body wanted to know it too.
Needed
to know it.

Will dragged his mouth from hers. “Rose, we can’t. We need to be in Burdock’s Hatch by dawn.”

“Please, Will.” She rocked against him again.

His breath caught in his throat. “Rose...”

“I want you inside me.”
I need it
. It was something she didn’t understand—primitive, urgent. “Please.”

Will expelled a shuddering breath. “It’ll have to be quick.”

Satisfaction bloomed inside her, sharp and hot, exultant. “Quick’s fine.”

Will lifted her, kissed her hungrily. “Put your legs around my waist.”

Rose obeyed, but instead of carrying her into the folly, Will turned, pressing her back against one of the cool marble pillars. She gasped with astonishment.

“Will—” Pleasure surged through her, choking her voice, as he slid deep inside her.