“She’s not useless.”
“I cannot use her for my experiments. Entonces, she is useless.”
“That marriage got me ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand pounds of what? Oh. Ten thousand pounds.” Martha cocked her head. “That’s a lot of money, sí?”
“Sí.” This time, she let him past, and he returned to the work area to wash. “Plan your new laboratory, Martha. As big as you want, with several assistants and whatever equipment you need. Those plants you wanted will arrive in Bristol soon, and more are on the way, and before long, your medicines will follow.”
He dried his hands and studied the rows of plants, most chosen for their medicinal properties, their value derived from Martha’s willingness to provide her knowledge. To think: All those years Rafe had passed in foreign lands, studying plants most Englishmen would never see and facing dangers most could never imagine, and he had ended up right where he began, the place that had never felt like home. He breathed through the familiar medley of guilt and grief. What a jumbled, muddled world it was, that he was the one still alive and here. Even though Rafe’s father had never understood him, he had indulged him by hiring tutors in botany and horticulture; if only Father were here, to see what he had achieved.
“Maybe I can make some good from it,” he muttered, as he thrust his arms into his coat sleeves.
“Not if she dismisses Sally,” Martha said.
“Hmm?”
“We will get no good if your marriage brings you money, but then your wife sends Sally away.”
Rafe stared at Martha, baffled. “Why the hell would she dismiss Sally?”
“Because…” Martha hesitated and frowned. “Sally says your countess will change things.”
“She won’t change anything or dismiss anyone. She isn’t even…” She wasn’t even truly married to him and would soon leave, he could say, but it was safer for Martha and Sally to remain ignorant of his fraud. “Look, the countess is friendly and full of life, and she’s remarkably resilient and…”
“And what?”
“And…I don’t know.”
Confusing, that was what she was.
“You do like her,” Martha said. “Entonces, why not sleep with her?”
“Bloody hell.” Rafe strode back through the rows of plants toward the door. “I am going for a swim and then I shall eat dinner and I swear, if one person says one more word to me today, I’m going to kick the whole blasted lot of you out.”
Chapter 11
When Thea awoke on her first morning at Brinkley End, her mood was quite restored. After dressing and breaking her fast, she headed out into the sunshine to explore the estate.
“Brinkley End is a terrible disappointment,” she wrote to Arabella later that afternoon.
No matter how I look at it, it refuses to be sinister. But the earl was kind enough to forbid me from entering the woods under pain of death, and that cheered me up immensely.
In the garden, she glimpsed Lord Luxborough crossing the footbridge into the Forbidden Woods, accompanied by Martha Flores, whose position remained unexplained. Resolutely, Thea went the other way. Her enjoyable walk took her through the flower-filled pleasure gardens and back to the lake, where she found the secluded area Luxborough had mentioned, with quiet waters and lush grass hidden behind weeping willows.
For the sake of your delicate sensibilities, Arabella, I shall never reveal that I stripped to my shift and swam in the lake, so you will never know how delicious that cool water felt on a warm summer’s day.
Next, Thea commandeered a pony gig, instructed by her borrowed manservant Gilbert and a helpful groom. It turned out to be terrific fun, driving around the estate. They passed fields of golden wheat and acres of apple orchards, and workers everywhere, waving and tipping their hats. Following the river, they came to the cider mill, with its great wheel slapping the water, and its foreman eager to teach the new countess how apple cider was made.
“He gave me a taste of their finest cider,” she wrote. “And then another, and then another, and then I had to lie down.”
Back at the house, Thea washed and changed, deciding that Helen’s pale-green gown with the gold embroidery would go nicely with the drawing room’s decor while she played at being a countess. To think that people actually lived like this! Although of course a real countess would have serious duties too.
Over hot tea and fresh cakes, she read a letter from Arabella that had arrived with the morning post, and that contained some dismaying news concerning the Marquess of Hardbury’s return: