Stormswept (23 page)

She was an enigma. She’d obviously put all her energy into caring for Llynwydd. He hadn’t expected to find her living here, much less improving it. Few women controlled their own properties. Why had she? Merely to garner herself a titled husband?

He surveyed the study. Little had changed from when he’d spent his school holidays trying to put to rights what
Father had neglected. The mahogany desk was sturdy as ever, and the Indian rug still had many serviceable years left. The brass fender and irons were polished to a fine sheen, and the walnut wainscoting was clean of dust and cobwebs.

There was one addition—a stepladder at the end of the bookcase. He scanned the shelves at that spot, noting the novels by Fielding and Richardson, as well as several volumes of poetry by an assortment of poets—Donne, Pope, Dafydd Jones . . .

He spotted a particular gilded spine, and his eyes narrowed. Curious, he removed that book and several others, opening their covers to find his name written on the flyleaves.

They were his, but they hadn’t been at Llynwydd. They’d been at Morgan’s house when he’d been impressed. Had Juliana brought them here? And why?

Granted, she appreciated fine books as much as he, but the image of her going to Morgan’s house to pack his belongings gave him pause. If she’d believed him out of her life forever, why had she bothered with something like that?

No matter what they say, I loved you then. I wanted to be your wife.

Yet she’d hidden her marriage even from Llynwydd’s staff. She’d tried to marry again, for God’s sake!

Still, everything she’d told him this morning seeped into his mind and he found himself seeking allowances for her behavior, reminding himself of her youth, of how easily her brothers might have manipulated her into doing the wrong thing.

A sobering thought struck him. Perhaps the truth lay somewhere between her version and Northcliffe’s. Perhaps she’d balked at the marriage and summoned her brothers, but was pressured by them into letting him be impressed. He could understand why she wouldn’t want to admit that.

He replaced the books on the shelf, wishing he knew how to find his way through this morass of lies and half-truths.

The sound of laughter wafted through the open window, and curious, he went over to look out at the pleasure garden below. The object of his torments knelt just beneath his window to clip roses, placing them in a basket held by a child.

Rhys caught his breath until he realized that the boy had to be at least eleven. No child of his. Or hers, either.

Then the child spoke in the lilting Welsh of a commoner. “So you’ve come back to Llynwydd for good?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. Are you pleased, Evan?”

Her perfect Welsh surprised Rhys again. It didn’t fit with his image of a pampered English lady who balked at marrying a penniless Welsh radical.

Evan dug at the dirt with his bare toe. “I suppose. Are you?”

He sounded so hopeful that she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Of course. I love Llynwydd. And I missed having you help me in the garden.”

The lad reddened. “Mama said I shouldn’t come and bother you just now, but I thought . . . well, you might need me about. To carry things and kill bugs.”

Juliana chuckled. “And I bet you were curious to know why I’d come back.”

“We
were
surprised, my lady. You said you weren’t returning for a while. Then this afternoon Mrs. Roberts came and told Mama you were here with a husband, but not that man you went off to marry.”

Juliana’s lips tightened. “Mrs. Roberts is certainly quick, isn’t she?”

“Do you think so? I don’t. She’s too old to be quick.”

Rhys stifled a laugh. He’d judge Mrs. Roberts to be in her late thirties, and no doubt proud of her limber legs. But to an eleven-year-old, thirty was ancient.

When Juliana merely smiled, Evan grew fidgety. “So. Did you bring a different husband back or not?”

With a sigh, Juliana rose. “Yes, I did.”

“Is he another stuffy Englishman, like that Lord Devon?”

“Hardly.” She strolled down the walk toward the garden door as Evan followed her. “Do you remember the man I told you about? The one who went to sea?”

Rhys leaned half out of the window, straining to hear their words.

“Mr. Vaughan?” Evan asked.

“Aye. ’Tis he who is my husband.”

Evan replied, but by then they were too far to make out what they said. With a frown, Rhys drew back from the window.

Why had she told the boy about him? Why keep him secret from the staff, yet reveal it to a young lad? And how much had she said?

Suddenly he heard footsteps approaching the study
and realized Juliana and Evan were coming his way. As the door opened he slid into the shadows to continue his eavesdropping.

“I have the paper here somewhere,” Juliana was saying. “ ’Tis a shame it was spoiled by water. Are you sure you won’t have an unspoiled piece?” She opened a desk drawer and rummaged about.

“Nay, thanks.” With a wistful expression, Evan gave a heavy sigh. “As long as I tell Da I got paper from the rubbish heap, he lets me keep it. Good paper would make him suspicious. He’d ask what I was doing with it, make me tell him, and then take a brush to me for it.”

Juliana drew the paper out. “For studying and writing? For trying to better yourself?”

“Da says I’ll have to help my brother run the farm one day, and I shouldn’t waste my time with foolishness like lessons.” He folded the paper reverently and slid it into his grimy pocket.

“You know better, don’t you?”

He ducked his head, but nodded.

She put her hand on his thin shoulder. “You ought to be in school. You’ve got a superior mind that would benefit from it.”

The boy shrugged. “He needs me at the farm. He only lets me come here ’cause he thinks I’m helping you with the garden.” A worried look crossed his face. “And he told me to be back before dark, so I best go.”

“Perhaps if I spoke to him—”

“No! ” The lad turned a pleading gaze on her. “ ’Twill only get me into trouble, my lady.”

When Juliana sighed, Evan headed for the door. But he stopped to cast her an adoring look. “Thank you for the paper. ’Tis kind of you to do such things for the likes of me.”

“I don’t do it for kindness.” She smiled. “I do it because you’re my friend. And you know if you ever need anything, you can come to me. All right?”

He grinned. “Aye, my lady. I’ll do that.” Then he was out the door.

Rhys watched as she stared after the boy with longing, and his throat felt suddenly raw. She clearly yearned to have a child of her own.

And seeing her so soft and gentle with the lad when she bore nothing but distaste for her husband made Rhys wish he hadn’t made her his enemy from the outset.

Then he stiffened. He’d merely behaved like anyone who’d been betrayed by his wife. He hadn’t beaten her or attempted to divorce her. She ought to be glad of that.

But she didn’t look glad. She looked . . . lost. With a sigh so heavy it wrenched him, she turned to the desk and ran her hand along the ledger, then studied the papers he’d laid out.

He shifted his feet and must have made some noise in the process, for her gaze jerked up and she spotted him in the shadows.

“Dear heaven! ” When he stepped into the dim light, she said, “Blast it, you gave me such a start! I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I . . .” Damn, how was he to explain his eavesdropping? Instead he changed the subject. “Who’s the boy?”

“Evan? He’s the son of your tenant farmer Thomas Newcome.”

Rhys nodded. “I remember Newcome. A bit of a hothead.”

Her lips thinned. “Aye. And he doesn’t understand the value of education.”

“ ’Tis common for a farmer to feel that lessons are a waste of time.”

“I know, but Evan is exceptionally bright. Before I started tutoring him he didn’t read and write at all, and spoke only Welsh. In the four years since then, he has learned to read and write not only Welsh, but English and French as well. And he has begun to learn Greek.”

“My God, how old is the boy?”

“Twelve. He has a facility for languages that’s nothing short of amazing.” She scowled. “And it’s wasted, thanks to that father of his.”

Rhys rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we should find a way to convince Newcome that his son would benefit from schooling. Surely we can come up with something that won’t get the boy into trouble.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course. It’s to my advantage to have my tenants well educated.”

She rewarded him with a brilliant smile that took him back to the first time he’d seen her smiling at him from the audience at the Sons of Wales meeting. It made something tighten in his chest.

“If you could get Evan into school, ’twould mean a great deal to me.”

“I can see the boy is important to you. Do you mind if I ask why?”

“He’s been my special charge ever since our gardener caught him stealing plums from the orchard. He was brought to me here for a reprimand. Instead, we ended up talking about the books in your library. He was terribly impressed.”

She smiled to herself. “So I told him that his ‘punishment’ was to join me here every day for a month for a lesson in reading. And he’s been coming a few days a week ever since. I pay him a small sum to help me in the garden, and then I spend most of the time teaching him. His father is pleased to have his son working for ‘her ladyship,’ and Evan gets an education, spotty though it is.”

Rhys regarded her closely. This Juliana bore no resemblance to the timid, fickle woman he’d despised all these years. “That was very generous of you.”

Her face flushed with pleasure, but she wouldn’t look at him. “As you said, ’twas to my advantage to have the tenants well educated.”

“Was it also to your advantage to run my estate with care and efficiency?”

The change of subject seemed to startle her. Nervously she ran her gloved finger along a bookshelf as if testing it for cleanliness. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been over the books. I’ve talked at length with Mrs. Roberts and your agent, Geoffrey Moss, and they both made it clear you’ve succeeded in reversing the trend my father began. Why?”

Her smile was bitter. “I had to keep my dower estate in prime condition for my husband-to-be, didn’t I?”

“I thought of that. But you could have done it from afar, through Moss.” He gestured toward the bookshelves. “You certainly didn’t have to gather my belongings from Morgan’s house and bring them here. So why did you?”

She flashed him a defiant glance. “You know why. You simply don’t want to believe the evidence of your eyes.”

As he stood there, uncertain how to respond, she went to the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Then she was gone, leaving him with an ache in his chest and a hundred new questions.

As jittery as a girl at her coming out, Juliana waited in the dining room for Rhys. She’d been uncertain what to do: Serve him a dinner to remember, the kind an exile would enjoy? Or serve him gruel to repay him for his distrust of her? In the end, her desire for peace and her pride in Llynwydd had won out.

Cook, one of the few members of the old staff, had told her that Rhys liked Welsh rabbit and
cawl
, so Juliana had insisted upon those. The table was set with the finest china and silver. She’d instructed the staff to be on their best behavior, to prove themselves as competent as she’d told Rhys they were.

She’d even dressed with particular care, wearing her periwinkle gown of jacquard striped silk and her best embroidered stomacher. She would show Rhys she could be a proper wife when she wanted.

If he couldn’t appreciate it, then that was his loss and he truly was a boorish, unmannerly beast. And next time, she’d serve the gruel.

“I’m not late, am I?” his voice rumbled from the doorway.

Her heart fluttered. Clamping down on her nervousness, she faced him with a smile, determined to set a tone of pleasant cordiality.

That seemed to startle him, but he responded with the devastating smile that had once captured her heart. “That color suits you.” He walked toward her. “You look lovely this evening.”

To her surprise, he caught her hand and kissed it, then brushed his lips over the inside of her wrist. “Very lovely,” he added as he lifted his head.

His gaze seared her with a heat that started a fire in her belly. Oh, why did he always do this to her?

“You look very well yourself,” she managed.

“Careful now, such extravagant praise will turn me vain.”

The words reminded her of the old teasing Rhys. Who still hadn’t released her hand. “Then I’d best watch my compliments,” she said lightly. “We can’t have you strutting about in fuchsia breeches, like the fops in the Macaroni Club.”

He laughed. Lacing her fingers through his, he drew her to her seat at the end of the table, then strode back to his place at the head.

For the first time since last night, he looked entirely relaxed. His perfectly tailored breeches and coat accentuated his muscular thighs and shoulders. Years of hard labor at sea had reshaped his body, adding bulk to his chest, arms, and legs, while thinning his face. Where once he’d been
a rapier, he was now a sword. Which probably explained why she found him so much more intimidating.