Private Passions Page 23

  By the look of flushed embarrassment on Edward’s face, she had struck home. Edward shifted uncomfortably, speaking in a slightly lower tone. ‘Of course not, Miss Seabrooke. Forgive me. Fortunately my brother is awake, and in the study—I shall take you to him directly.’

  ‘No. Please, don’t trouble yourself. You are clearly going somewhere.’ Cora took in Edward’s coat and riding boots, thanking God that destiny had looked kindly on her in this respect. ‘I don’t wish to make you late.’

  ‘No. I insist.’ Edward gestured inside. ‘Come. We can all talk together.’

  ‘No, really.’ Cora moved inside, all hopes of a frank conversation with Ashcroft rapidly dying. ‘I would so hate to—’

  ‘Miss Seabrooke?’

  Both Cora and Edward turned as Ashcroft appeared at the top of the grand staircase. Cora bit her lip; dressed in even the most casual of day clothes, James Ashcroft was unaccountably attractive. Almost attractive enough to make her forget the bracelet—the ridiculous, unwanted bracelet.

  ‘Edward? Are you still here? The book-keeper will be waiting for you.’ Ashcroft looked at Cora, his face clouding over with concern. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘Nothing. Your lesson was somewhat lacking.’ Cora tried to speak demurely, but knew she was failing. ‘I must look at the books in your library before today’s lesson.’

  ‘... Of course.’ Ashcroft looked confused. ‘Well then. I’ll escort you.’ He turned to his brother. ‘Enjoy your night in Bath, Edward.’

  ‘I will try.’ Edward bowed briskly to Cora, an almost worried look in his eyes as he walked out of the door.

  Cora looked discreetly at Edward as he walked away. Lady Chiltern was right; they looked similar, the Ashcroft brothers, if seen from far away or in dim light. It was only when one was close that one could note the differences; Edward’s slightly feline elegance as opposed to the solidity that defined James, or the slightly shrewd look in Edward’s eyes. The lack of the famously strong Innsee jawline, which gave the younger Ashcroft an oddly weak look.

  Still. It was difficult to think of Edward, when the other Ashcroft brother was in the room. She looked up at Ashcroft, finally able to scowl as much as she liked.

  ‘Take me to the library. Immediately.’

  The library was a gleaming, well-appointed palace of books—much different to the original Ashcroft library, which Cora had played in as a child. She walked into the room with parted lips, almost forgetting to be angry as she took in the warm, musty smell of cherished paper.

  The Ashcroft spoke, and she remembered how to be angry very easily. ‘Miss Seabrooke, I know for a fact that my lesson was an absolute delight. I don’t know what book you think we need to use, but as children I recall us giggling over—’

  ‘Your Grace—’ Cora stopped, trying to contain herself. She saw Ashcroft approach, and held up a warning hand. ‘No. Come no closer, if you have any care for my composure. And please, for the love of all that is holy, do not speak of the past. Remaining in the present is difficult enough.’

  Ashcroft slowly nodded, his face taut. He retreated, settling into a high-backed chair behind a large mahogany desk, silently waiting for her to speak again.

  ‘Your trick yesterday demonstrated a deplorable lack of care for me, as well as a need to make mischief for yourself that apparently still hasn’t been stamped out, despite the responsibilities of your station.’ Ashcroft winced; Cora continued, too angry to care. ‘But it is a provocation I can accept, given that Daisy and Iris need tutors. I can sit beside them quite contentedly as you teach. But I will not, under any circumstances, accept gifts slyly scattered about the schoolroom like breadcrumbs in a forest.’ She dropped the laundered cloth onto the desk, along with the bracelet. ‘Gifts of any kind, your Grace. Especially jewellery, which cannot under any circumstances be construed as an innocent gift. What…’ She paused again, trying to collect herself. ‘It isn’t even my size. Not remotely. What were you thinking?’

  She stood staring at Ashcroft, aware that she had forgotten herself utterly. She had shown, for the first time, a tenth of the rage she harboured in her heart for him—and all he did was sit silently.

  Would he weep? Would he sink to his knees, confessing all? Her fantasies suddenly seemed much less likely. Cora tried not to blink, attempting to read the unfathomable emotion in Ashcroft’s solid, stubbled face.

  He was smiling. The bastard was actually smiling. As Ashcroft stood again, reaching to pick up the shining gold bracelet, Cora clenched her hands into fists.

  ‘I was thinking, Miss Seabrooke, that it was time to give you your bracelet back.’ He looked at the finely worked gold, holding it lightly in his fingertips. ‘It was yours, you see—and it remains yours. It may not be your size now, but it was perfect for your wrist then… what was it, seventeen years ago?’

  ‘You are lying.’ Cora whispered the words, staring at the bracelet with a new, horrible feeling of recognition. ‘It… it is a falsehood.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. And I think you know it isn’t, now that you’re looking at it properly.’ Ashcroft held the bracelet close to the candle flame, his face full of a new, dangerous nostalgia. ‘Your mother had thrown all the jewellery boxes out of the window, as I recall. Yet another vicious argument with your father. But the practical Miss Cora Seabrooke, rather than crying in a corner, decided to bury a little store of treasure—you came to me, with your grim, tear-stained face, telling me that it wouldn’t really be stealing if you buried the loot in the grounds of Ashcroft house.’ He threw the bracelet up, smiling wider as he caught it. ‘So we did. Two pairs of pearl earrings, an emerald band, and your christening gifts. Among them, this very bracelet—which I stole, I’m ashamed to say. It seemed a pity, putting it in a hole in the ground. The other pieces are no doubt still tangled in the rose-roots.’

  Cora closed her eyes as old, long-buried memories assailed her. She remembered so little of that day… she had been eleven years old, and the argument between her parents had lasted so long that Lady Ashcroft, kind as ever, had included a place for her at dinner without asking why Cora had stayed so long. That was what she remembered, the dinner; the warm comfort of cooked food and a crackling fire. People had made food for her, welcomed her, kept her safe—yes. That was what she had clung to, that atrocious day.

  But now, as she cast her mind back, she remembered the sound of the trowel in the earth. She remembered the napkin full of shining treasures that she had picked up, determined to squirrel them away—and she remembered the face of James Ashcroft, her willing partner in crime. The only person in the world who always, always believed her.

  ‘I shan’t tell you why I kept it. I don’t wish to cause you further pain, or more embarrassment.’ Ashcroft’s smile faded a little, but remained. ‘But that’s all this was, Miss Seabrooke. The return of something stolen, long-ago, that did not by rights belong to me. Forgive me if… a different intention was assumed.’

  ‘... Oh.’ Cora shut her eyes, as if not seeing Ashcroft’s face would simply erase her outburst. ‘I… I see.’

  How had she not remembered? How had she been so stupid?

  ‘It… it appears there has been a misunderstanding.’ She stood mutely for a moment, wishing the ground would swallow her up, before resigning herself to the fact that the Turkish rug she stood on would remain solid. ‘I sincerely hope I have not offended you, your Grace. I—I will leave immediately.’

  ‘Actually, I'm extremely offended. Horribly so.’ Ashcroft examined his nails, a small, maddening smile still playing at the corner of his mouth. ‘You made a deeply prejudicial judgement of my character, Miss Seabrooke. At a very unsociable hour, alone in my house… goodness, I would hate to think of people hearing of this dreadful mistake on your part. Talking about it in-between dances, and so on.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’ Cora moved closer, a tight knot of fear building at the base of her stomach. ‘You are forgetting yourself. You are forgetting what I know about you.’

&n
bsp; ‘Ah, yes. My nocturnal habit.’ Ashcroft's smile grew; Cora was struck, once again, by how unfairly attractive he became whenever he smiled. ‘But it’s your word against mine, Miss Seabrooke. And you appear to have eaten the evidence… how did they taste?’

  Glorious. Cora swallowed, hoping her face showed disdain rather than greed. ‘You used too much butter. They were far too brittle.’

  ‘Lies. Damned lies.’ Ashcroft stood, leaning over the desk, his face suddenly very close to Cora’s. ‘Admit it. They were better than anything you've tasted.’

  ‘The arrogance of a man with a new hobby. They always believe themselves to be great innovators.’ Cora realised she was leaning closer still, unable to stop herself. ‘I don’t even enjoy baking, and I could make finer biscuits than yours.’

  ‘Then I know how we’re going to settle this. How we’re going to settle everything, in fact.’ Ashcroft’s eyes shone with the dark, quixotic mischief that Cora remembered all too well. ‘You and I, Miss Seabrooke, are going to settle this with biscuits.’

  ‘I… I beg your pardon?’ Cora blinked. ‘Are—are you suggesting a baking competition?’

  ‘... Why, yes. That is what I’m suggesting. How splendid it sounds, when you phrase it like that. Perhaps I should make people pay a penny to watch… or not.’ Ashcroft’s eyes travelled over her face, and Cora felt parts of her tremble with unaccustomed weakness. ‘No. I rather think it will be a private affair.’

  ‘Your Grace, you persist in demeaning me.’ Oh, why couldn’t she look away? ‘You continue to do these—these impossible things, things that can only cause me tremendous—’

  ‘Cora.’

  Her name in Ashcroft’s mouth, for the first time in years, cut through Cora’s defences like the sharpest of knives. She fell silent, wishing that she could simply move away—wishing that her heart obeyed her head’s demands.

  ‘Cora, I promise you this. If you do this one thing—this foolish frippery, this rake’s request—then I will trouble you no further. I will find a real French tutor, even if Daisy and Iris will be quite inconsolable. I will cease to plague you with forgotten bracelets, and unwanted biscuits.’ Although Ashcroft’s words were jesting, his tone was deadly serious. ‘Come to me this evening. If… if you walk away from me this evening, I will not follow you. I promise you that.’

  ‘If I walk away from you?’ Cora took a shaky breath. ‘And why would I not?’

  ‘Who knows.’ Ashcroft looked at her lips; Cora felt them tingle with awareness. ‘A man can hope.’

  ‘Not all men can hope. Not you.’ Cora turned away, wiping away an unwelcome tear. ‘I... I accept your terms, your Grace. This evening. The old kitchen.’

  She waited for Ashcroft's response. There was only silence—and then, most unexpectedly, a hand on her shoulder. A warm, solid, capable hand.

  ‘Cora.’ She had never heard Ashcroft sound so anguished. His hand gently stroked over her shawl, warm on her bare skin. ‘I'm sorry.’

  ‘Tonight.’ Cora wrenched herself away from him, thanking God he couldn’t see her freely falling tears. ‘Now let me go. For my sake, let me go.’

  Ashcroft watched her leave, his hands forming useless fists. Every part of him ached to run to her, pull her back, crush her to him; show her that he would keep her safe, despite the mistakes of his past. Try to make her see how unreasonable she was being—how impossible a situation he had been in when he had made that fateful choice.

  He still remembered his mother, ailing even then, looking at him through tear-filled eyes. Of all the horrors you have put your brother through, you cannot perform this one service? This one kindness? To save him from the ruin you insist on bringing upon your own head?

  It had seemed so straightforward. The guilt at abandoning Cora—at killing the first fragile bloom of understanding growing between them—had been dwarfed by the guilt of hurting his family again and again, blinded by selfish grief. Taking the gossip on his own, already burdened shoulders had felt like the right thing to do. The right thing to do, and the only way to redeem himself.

  Sabine, to her credit, had accepted the deception for little more than a heartfelt plea and a purse full of gold. She was, after all, a creature of the opera; drama of all kinds clung to her hem wherever she went. And as for the spectators in the theatre… well, it was dark. There was more than enough wine flowing. So very easy to spread the word that it was James, the black sheep, piteously declaring his love in the middle of the performance.

  So very difficult to write the letter. That letter. Even more difficult to send it through Edward—he knew that Cora would have far too much pride to see him.

  Impossible, really, to never see her again.

  How proud she was. How unreasonable—refusing to understand that he had taken the blame to protect his family from ruin. And how foolish he was being, insisting on seeing her again.

  A bracelet thrown into a bag of biscuits? A baking contest? He shook his head, alone in his study, the bracelet still tight between his fingers. He really was getting desperate; what a ridiculous idea, what a stupid thing to expect her to do. What a ridiculous thing to expect anyone to do—especially a woman who clearly despised him.

  But she had agreed. She would come, and he would see her—and this evening, there would be no Edward. And if her biscuits were better, he would abandon her as completely as she wished.

  ‘Lord.’ He murmured to himself, looking at the bracelet. ‘You really are a fool.’

  Cora slipped quietly through the front door as the servants were setting the first fires. She quickly arranged her windblown hair, hoping her face wasn’t flushed from the speed of the walk—not to mention the feeling coursing through her body, still unreasonably strong despite the exertion of the morning.

  Tiptoeing quietly to her bedroom door, she gave a sigh of relief as she began to push it open. She had managed it; she had done something secretive, scandalous almost, entirely without detection—

  ‘Miss Seabrooke? How lovely to find you up.’ Lady Chiltern’s gay voice trilled down the corridor, her bright figure quickly approaching. ‘I—my goodness, what is the matter? Have you been outside?’

  ‘... Yes.’ There was really no denying it. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ Lady Chiltern’s shrewd eyes took in entirely more than Cora wished them to. ‘Well… perhaps you would care for a little tea in the morning room?’

  An offer she couldn’t refuse. Cora curtseyed, more aware than ever of her dishevelled state. ‘I would be glad of it.’

  The morning room shone in the early sunshine. Lady Chiltern settled in her favourite chair, flower-patterned gown spread about her, looking at Cora with a gaze that was all at once knowing and concerned.

  ‘Miss Seabrooke, you seem somewhat unsettled. And your hem is a little muddy.’ She gracefully gestured to a seat beside her. ‘Did something happen early this morning? Why was there such an urgent need to leave the house so early?’

  ‘There—there was really no adequate reason, my lady. I apologise if I disturbed the staff.’ Cora looked down at her skirts, hating the feeling of being false but not knowing how to avoid it. She sat, turning to Lady Chiltern, knowing that lies were only convincing if kept as close to the truth as possible. ‘I needed to collect some books from Ashcroft House. French books, for Daisy and Iris.’

  ‘I see. A noble errand to undertake, when a maid could just have easily done it.’ Lady Chiltern smiled kindly. ‘And… where are the books?’

  Cora coughed. ‘The books. The books. I… I only selected the correct books this morning. His Grace wished to know which ones would be most edifying. In fact, I—I must return this evening, to collect the prepared volumes.’

  ‘Ah.’ Lady Chiltern paused, letting the silence grow. ‘You are taking a very sustained interest in the education of my girls, Miss Seabrooke. That is very commendable… but I do wonder if it is wise.’

  Cora swallowed. Lady Chiltern looked away for a moment, watching the spring flow
ers from her window, before turning back.

  ‘Miss Seabrooke, I do so hate to act the part of the stern chaperone, but are you sure a solitary evening visit to Ashcroft House is a sound idea?’ The discreet curiosity in her voice added a fresh layer of guilt to Cora’s heart. ‘I do not ask for me, dear, or for my girls. No doubt Daisy and Iris will cause scandals far more spectacular than either of us can dream of. I ask for your own safety—your own reputation. Yes, you scoff as my concern, but I am old enough to know that life can change. Who knows who you will be in five years? Who knows how high you could rise, if you keep your wits about you?’

  ‘My lady, I thank you for your kindness.’ Cora bowed her head, knowing that Lady Chiltern was far more perceptive than she seemed. ‘But it is merely a matter of taking two books from the housekeeper. The walk will be good for me—I may visit the copse where the hares are known to box. And this gown may even be improved with a little mud.’

  ‘Nonsense, my dear. You’ll be taking Marigold. Don’t attempt to stop me from lending you a horse, Miss Seabrooke, please.’ Lady Chiltern held up a hand, deaf to Cora’s protestations. ‘I know you must be missing riding, and I finally have an excuse to make you do it. Enjoy the ride. Enjoy the hares. Only… be a little careful, dear. As difficult and dull as care can be.’

  Before Cora could reply, a quiet cough came from the door. The two women paused as Carstairs came into the room, a tray in his white-gloved hands.

  ‘Your tea, my lady. Forgive the liberty, but I added a little honey. You’ve become a little hoarse over the past few days.’ Carstairs set the tray down, his dark eyes fixed don his mistress. ‘And the lavender is finally in bloom. I’ve added a bud to the pot.’

  ‘Oh, Carstairs. Thank you.’ Lady Chiltern smiled; Cora watched her face transform, as if a lamp had been lit somewhere inside her. ‘You are too good to me.’