The Sandalwood Princess

Amanda knew an instant’s flash of recognition, then came an ache within that built swiftly to unendurable pressure. The white haze of their breath mingled in the narrow space between them. His head bent lower, his eyes dark as midnight, intent and mesmerising. His mouth was a breath away... and an eternity away.

She turned quickly, and pulled herself forward.

After a brief hesitation, he rose and helped her up.

He became himself again in that moment, ironically polite as he brushed snow from her coat and mittens. Amanda could not collect herself so quickly. They’d nearly reached the top of the hill before her churning brain had quieted, and her pulse steadied.

When they reached the summit and it appeared Mr. Brentick intended to continue towards home, Amanda ought, certainly, to have been eager to return to the safety of the library. But her gaze reverted to the steep incline, and she remembered the rush of joy and the thrilling speed. She’d never before experienced anything like it. She heard herself cry out, like a child, “Oh, Mr. Brentick, aren’t we going to do it again?’’

He’d got ahead of her. He stopped abruptly and waited until she’d caught up. “Haven’t you had enough for one day?” he asked.

She shook her head.

He grinned. “Very well, miss.” He dragged the sled round.

They’d climbed up and sledded down that curst hill at least fifteen times before Miss Cavencourt would admit she’d had enough. Thank Providence for the climb, Philip thought. Had any alternate means of ascending offered itself they’d likely be sledding until Judgement Day.

He threw her an exasperated glance as they staggered through the garden. Four times her weary legs had given out, tripping her headlong or sideways or backwards into the snow. Four times she’d tumbled, and each time she simply lay there and laughed. He’d wanted to strangle her. He’d wanted to close his hands around her lovely throat... and kiss her senseless.

Idiot. Sledding, he’d thought in all his sublime smugness, would keep her amused while also keeping her far from the house. Mrs. Gales wouldn’t like it. The widow was hardly lunatic enough to chaperone them, and risk frostbite while she stood and watched them play. No, she wouldn’t like it, and must eventually grow sufficiently alarmed to separate the pair. She’d have to take Miss Cavencourt away from Kirkoy Glenham.

A perfect plan it had seemed, better even than the long walks. He’d believed so until the end of today’s first descent.

He’d known she was terrified, yet knew as well she’d trust him to keep her safe. Consequently, he was not surprised when she’d succumbed almost immediately to the thrill of speed and danger. It was the rest undid him. She’d hurtled down with him, shrieking, laughing, and the sound of her happy excitement had made him wish they’d never reach the bottom. For those moments, he’d wanted only to plunge recklessly and endlessly through eternity with her. All the same, there was an end—there must be—and at the end was a woman snuggled trustingly against him: Amanda, rosy cheeked and breathless in his arms. She’d looked up at him, her eyes shining pleasure and gratitude, golden trust and...

He wouldn’t think about that, Philip told himself as he held the door open and answered automatically whatever it was she said. He’d forgotten himself, but only the once, and only for a moment. It wasn’t such a terrible plan, as long as one was folly prepared.

***

“She has missed tea again,” Mrs. Gales said grimly as she moved away from the sitting-room window. “There is still no sign of them, and it will be dark soon.”

Bella flicked a speck of lint from the chair, and plumped up the cushion. “Your own tea’ll get cold, ma’am, and worrying won’t bring her home any faster.”

Mrs. Gales sighed and took her seat. “They’ve gone out nearly every single day this month. Yesterday, again, she came home soaking wet. It’s a wonder she hasn’t caught her death.”

“Yes, ma’am, but I heard Mr. Brentick scold her about that himself. And he did send her right up to get dry and change her clothes.”

“Why must she spend so much time out of doors in the first place?” was the sharp response. “Sledding, indeed. What on earth possessed him?”

Bella took the seat opposite. This was not the first time in recent weeks that the widow had invited her up to share a pot of tea and Padji’s delectable sandwiches. The usually imperturbable Mrs. Gales had grown increasingly agitated as the days passed and Miss Cavencourt’s intimacy with her butler increased.

“It ain’t healthy for her to spend the whole day hunched over her papers, he says,” the abigail responded. “I do think he’s got the right of it, ma’am. Why, she looks so bright and rosy, I’d hardly know it was the same Miss Amanda. And for all she do come back fairly dripping, she’s laughing, too.”

Mrs. Gales’s lips tightened into a rigid line as she poured a cap of tea and handed it to the maid. “She gave him a silver cigar case for Christmas,” she muttered.

“Yes, ma’am, but she always was generous that way, you know. Not enough to load me up with frocks and underthings, but she give me a gold bracelet, she did, just as if I was a fine lady that had somewheres to wear it.”

“Also cigars,” Mrs. Gales continued as though she hadn’t heard. “And permission to smoke in the library.”

“She found out he was going outside at night, ma’am, and said there was no point his freezing. Her pa always liked to smoke his cigar in the library.”

“Brentick is not her father, or her brother, or even a gentleman caller. He is her servant.” The widow set her cup down. “I don’t like to interfere. She is no green girl, but an independent young woman, and I am not her governess. I have tried to drop a hint, but she refuses to understand me.”

“Well, ma’am, Padji talks plain enough, and she don’t want to understand him, either. Not but what it ain’t his place to say anything, no more than it’s mine. Now she won’t hardly speak to him, and the way he looks at Mr. Brentick—I declare, it gives me goose shivers, is what.”

Mrs. Gales frowned at the tea sandwiches. “It’s not how Padji looks at him that worries me, Bella.”

***

“Not there,” Amanda said, horrified. “I won’t have the entire household watching me stumbling about and falling on my—”

“Ornamental pond,” he finished for her as he wrapped the muffler about her head. “Very well. But it’s a good hike

to the next nearest one.”

“Can’t we go sledding instead?” she begged. “I had much rather sit and let you do all the work.”

“You’ll like skating,” he promised. “It’s like dancing.”

“On ice. Balancing on a couple of blades. I was never a good dancer.”

“Obviously, you never had a good partner.”

“But suppose the ice breaks? It’s been warmer, hasn’t it? Suppose it breaks and swallows me up and—”

“It is a very shallow pond, miss. Furthermore, the temperature has soared nearly to the freezing point. Hardly a heat wave.”

She fussed and worried as usual, and as usual, Mr. Brentick ignored her. Still, Amanda reminded herself, she’d been frightened of sledding at first. Now he had to devote all his energies to persuading her home again, because she couldn’t get enough of it. Winter sports had played no part in her childhood—playing formed virtually no part—and she’d no inkling what she’d missed. She felt as though she’d never been truly alive before, never, certainly, so tinglingly, vibrantly alive as this man made her feel.

Yes, he made her feel like a child again, but not the child she’d been. Instead of that wistful, lonely little girl, he’d conjured up a noisy, giggling brat who always demanded more and more.

All the same, when they reached the pond, Amanda wasn’t certain she wanted any, let alone more.

“Perhaps Mrs. Gales was right,’’ she said. “I really ought not keep you so much from your duties. Perhaps we should return.”

He was kneeling before her, fastening her skates. “Mrs. Gales objects to my idling, I take it,” he said without looking up.

“Good heavens, not at all. She says I expect far too much of you. I think she’s right. You should not have to entertain me, in addition to everything else.”