Longing (18 page)

“I should not come here again,” she said. “I should not have come here in the first place. I knew the danger.”

Ah, yes. She was an honest woman. She had known, just as he had. And yet neither of them had done the obvious thing to avoid the danger. And how could he let her go now? Verity wanted and needed her. And she needed this job. And he? He needed to see her occasionally. He needed to know that she was able to return somewhat to the kind of life he suspected she had lived while growing up. As some wealthy man's illegitimate daughter. He did not think he was wrong about that.

“But you will come?” he said. “Verity has been so very excited at the prospect of having a young woman here, whose time will be
devoted just to her. She needs a woman's touch. And some schooling.”
And I need to see you.

“Yes, I will come,” she said almost in a whisper. She sounded bitter. “But not for this again. I don't want any more of this.”

“Shall we both promise to fight it?” he asked. “This attraction that apparently neither of us really welcomes?”

She looked at him speculatively. He wondered if she really believed him. “Yes,” she said. “It must be fought. I am engaged to be married. I will be marrying next month. I care for him. I want to make him a good wife. I want to belong to him and to the life he represents.”

“Parry?” His heart sank.

“Owen Parry, yes,” she said. “He is a good man. He deserves better than this.”

He nodded without answering and her eyes wavered from his and she turned away. He strode across the room to open the door for her.

“Verity will be expecting you at nine tomorrow,” he said. “Go straight up to her when you arrive. I'll not meet you as I did this morning.”

She nodded, did not quite meet his eyes, and hurried past him.

He closed the door quietly and drew a deep breath. So that was that. The beginning and the end. Perhaps it was just as well that it had come into the open and been talked out. Now it was over. Now he could put her out of his mind.

Did she react to Parry as she reacted to him? he wondered. And yet she did not seem promiscuous. Why was she marrying the man if she did not feel that way about him, then?
I want to belong to him and to the life he represents
, she had said.
The life he represents.
She had grown up as someone's bastard, if his guess was not way off the mark. There had been privilege and gifts and—loneliness? The sense of belonging nowhere? Not in her father's world and not in her mother's? If her mother had been Rhys's daughter, then she would not have been in high favor when she gave birth to a child outside matrimony. Siân had not grown up with her grandparents.

No, Alex thought, crossing to the window again so that he could watch her walk down the driveway toward the gates, an affair with him was the last thing Siân Jones would want.

And perhaps she was his first cousin. He had not liked to ask. Though surely she would not have allowed any embrace at all if that were so. No, that could not be it.

But who the devil was her father? he wondered. It was none of his business, of course.
She
was none of his business, except the job she did as Verity's teacher.

It was over, he thought, turning firmly from the window. There was no future in it whatsoever. It was over.

*   *   *

Siân
was feeling upset as she hurried down the driveway. Upset and confused. Last night she had agreed to marry Owen within the month. And yet this afternoon . . . She wondered if it was just the marquess's wealth and position that were so fatally attractive to her. Or was it his blond, blue-eyed good looks?

He had asked her to be his mistress. He had said he would make it well worth her while.

The sooner she married Owen, she thought, the happier she would be.

And then her steps slowed. Josiah Barnes was outside his house, but whether he was going in or coming out she did not know. There was no avoiding him, though. He had seen her and was smiling at her.

“Good afternoon.” She nodded curtly to him and would have walked past, but he stepped out to block the driveway. “Excuse me, please?”

“Hoity-toity,” he said. “You cannot stop to talk a minute with an old friend, Siân Jones?”

She stopped a few feet away from him and looked inquiringly at him.

“You have done well for yourself,” he said. “No less than a job at the castle. Will you have a cup of tea with me?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “My grandmother will be expecting me.”

“The lodge is too humble for you?” he asked. “You would marry
the likes of Gwyn Jones and step out with Owen Parry, but Josiah Barnes is not good enough for you?”

She did not need this, Siân thought, annoyed. Not today when her emotions were already in turmoil.

“Or perhaps, Siân Jones,” he said, “you have your sights set very high indeed. Higher than your mother set hers. A handsome piece of flesh, isn't he?”

Righteous indignation was denied her. But she looked at him with cold dignity. “Excuse me,” she said.

He stepped to one side and made an exaggerated sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate that she was free to pass. She did so and did not look back.

It was a slight incident, one not worth dwelling upon. But it suggested to her yet again that perhaps she should have remained in the world she had so carefully made her own over eight years. In all those eight years she had only rarely come face-to-face with Josiah Barnes, and never when she was alone.

As she hurried home, she did not feel nearly as happy as she should have felt after a day at a job she wanted and enjoyed.

It was not going to be easy to continue.

*   *   *

Josiah
Barnes stood looking after her.

“Bitch!” he muttered to himself. He had been willing to marry her years ago despite her illegitimacy because the alliance would have drawn him closer to the other owners—and because at the age of seventeen she had been a juicy-looking morsel.

Yet she had refused him. He had not believed at the time that there could have been any greater humiliation—until three years later she had married Gwyn Jones, a mere coal miner.

And now she had somehow brought herself to the attention of Craille and got herself a job at the castle. Damn him for coming and interfering in a business that Barnes had come to think of almost as his. And damn her for somehow worming her way out of the mine where Barnes had put her.

“Bitch!” he said again as she disappeared from sight.

For a week Siân did not see Alex except for a few brief, distant glimpses. It was an enormous relief to find that it was possible to keep her job and yet avoid the terrible danger that she had known about in advance but had fallen headlong into with no fight at all on the very first day.

She loved her job. She would have hated to have to give it up. And the very thought of having to return to her old job gave her the shivers. She loved Verity and she loved devising ways to both amuse and educate the child. It was not difficult, she found. Verity was an intelligent and energetic little girl, who responded with enthusiasm to a challenge.

And it was wonderful beyond imagining, Siân found, to feel clean all day and to see the light of day and breathe fresh air all day long. It was wonderful during the evenings to be able to relax without that dreadful feeling of physical exhaustion and aching muscles that had been a way of life to her for so long. Miss Haines had sent away for two dresses and two skirts and blouses for Siân to wear at work. Once she had accepted the fact that it was not charity that was being offered but a requirement for the servants in the employ of the marquess, she delighted in the prospect of having so many clothes and of being able to keep her best dress for Sundays and special occasions.

As wonderful as anything else was the chance to play on the pianoforte in the drawing room for a whole hour each day. For a day or two she had approached the room apprehensively and had sat there tautly for her hour, waiting for the door to open. But he was never there and never came. She was glad, she told herself. More than glad. She seemed to have no self-control where the Marquess of Craille was concerned and despised herself heartily for having fallen into the trap of being flattered by the attentions of a wealthy and handsome nobleman. Her cheeks often burned at those remembered words,
I would make it well worth your while.

In a month's time she would be married. It had all been arranged with the Reverend Llewellyn, who had had a long talk with them
about their marital obligations, and with Siân's grandmother, who would be almost solely responsible for organizing the usual celebrations that accompanied a wedding. Owen had no mother or grandmother to help. But the neighbors would all pitch in with enthusiasm, as they always did, helping with the baking, and coming to help clean Gran's house the day before the wedding. That was where the party would be based, but it would inevitably spill out onto the street, as wedding parties always did, since the house would not hold one quarter of the people who would come to help celebrate.

Weddings were always exuberant community festivals.

It was a happy week. Siân almost forgot any causes of unhappiness. Almost. She found Mari crying as she pegged out clothes on the line one afternoon. Their father-in-law had coughed badly all night and Iestyn had got him some medicine in the morning, using the money that was to have bought him the material for a new shirt to replace the one the Scotch Cattle had torn almost beyond repair. And there was an advance at the truck shop that would take almost all of next week's wages. They would be living on borrowed money again next week.

“But I must not complain, Siân,” she said, drying her eyes. “There is wicked I am when we are not starving and all the children are healthy. There is Blodwyn Williams back in the mine this week because her man was hurt bad and there is the little one to feed as well as themselves. And her five months gone with another child. What a terrible world it is we live in.”

Yes. It was a terrible reminder of how a handsome exterior and charming manners could gull her into thinking him a good man, Siân thought. And she was doubly ashamed of the way she had twice given in to a physical attraction toward him. And she was ashamed of herself for believing during their Sunday afternoon walk that perhaps he really did care about the people who were dependent upon him. Owen was quite right. He had his feet far more firmly on the ground than she ever would. He was right about the Marquess of Craille. A man who cared would not have lowered wages that even as they were would hardly stretch over a week's necessities.

When she was paid at the end of the first week, Siân gave half to her grandmother and took some of the rest to Mari. Mari took it after tears and protests—“Only for the little ones, mind, Siân, because you insist. Not for me and Huw, or for Mam or Dada. Just for the little ones.” But Huw came storming into her grandfather's house no more than an hour after Siân had returned there, furious, and slapped the money down on the kitchen table.

“You will not shame me by giving money to Mari,” he said to Siân, ignoring her grandmother and Emrys. “I will support my wife and my babies and my mama and dada too with Iestyn's help, Siân. Try this again and I'll slap you a good one.”

Siân felt as if she already had been slapped. “I am part of your family too, Huw,” she said, “though I came back to live here because there was more room. I was married to your brother. Don't shut me out. Let me help when I can.”

“Tainted money!” he said, bringing the side of his fist down on the table beside the money so that Emrys, sitting quietly by the fireplace, raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

Siân looked at the money. “Tainted?” she said. “Because it comes from the Marquess of Craille? Where do you think your money comes from, Huw?”

“Who knows,” Huw said, “how your money has been earned, Siân?”

“For shame, Huw Jones!” Siân's grandmother said, speaking for the first time.

“Someone,” Emrys said quietly, “is asking to be spitting teeth for the next week. I will hear an apology, Huw, before you leave this house.”

The anger went out of Huw's face. “It made me that mad,” he said, “to see the money in Mari's pocket and know that I cannot support her properly myself. I should not have said that, Siân. It is what I have heard from some this week, but I have offered to blacken a few eyes or smash a few teeth over it, just as Emrys did just now. You should not have taken that job. It will give rise to gossip, unjust as it will be.”

“I suppose,” Emrys said, “that is an apology. You can refer to me anyone who has anything to say about my niece, Huw. Better me than Owen. Owen would kill him. I will only maim.”

His mother tutted but said nothing.

Siân picked up the money and held it out. “Take it, Huw, please,” she begged. “For the children? They are my niece and nephews. They are Gwyn's niece and nephews.”

He looked at the money for a long time before taking it. “You have a good heart, Siân,” he said grudgingly. “Sorry to barge in, Mrs. Rhys. I was that mad.”

Oh, yes, there were a few reminders during that week that life was not all happiness. But mostly it was. There was a new job to be enjoyed and the
eisteddfod
to look forward to and a wedding and a new life as a married woman to look ahead to. Siân was not sure if Owen would be willing for her to continue as Verity's governess after they were married. She rather hoped so. But perhaps she would not be able to for very long, anyway. By this time next year perhaps she would have a child. It was a warming and an exciting thought.

She was in the nursery with Verity one afternoon about a week after her job had begun. They had been unable to go outside because it was raining. They were painting instead, a favorite activity of Verity's because Siân did not seem to mind the mess as her nurse had always done. It would be time to clear away soon, Siân thought, glancing at the clock. It was almost time to go downstairs for her hour of practicing on the pianoforte. It was an hour of the day she loved. It was an hour for her and no one else.