Chapter Three

“What’s keeping the man?” Helena huffed, knocking a croquet ball towards a hoop on the middle lawn but missing and then exchanging her mallet for a flute of champagne held by her husband. “It’s been almost six months since the previous Duke died, and Joan hasn’t received even a note from him. Anyone would think that Christian Turner doesn’t want his dukedom.”

The sun was setting behind the trees, but the day had been warm, the afternoon picnic a great success, and no one wanted to end their games and go inside yet. A ripple of laughter arose among the small group of friends at Lady Linbridge’s words.

“I’ll have a dukedom if it’s going spare,” Edward piped up, lining up to take his shot at the croquet ball. “Does it come complete with a beautiful duchess already?”

He shot Joan a roguish grin, his hazel eyes gleaming, and his dark blonde hair flopping slightly over his ever-charming features.

Joan guessed her flirtatious cousin was trying to cheer her up, and she smiled back at him.

“I will never marry again,” she proclaimed, before taking another mouthful of her champagne. “I’m done with husbands. Completely done. Three is too many in one lifetime.”

“Is that so?” Edward laughed. “I’m sure I could teach you to think otherwise.” He shot the ball through the hoop with his powerful arms.

Her cousin was a climber who had conquered half of the peaks in Europe and had plans to conquer the other half. He excelled at any sport requiring strength and precision.

“I’ll be your duchess, Edward,” Edwina, Lady Nelling, offered, her lively hazel eyes flicking to him. “Unlike Joan, I’m not at all averse to marriage.”

“I should know.” Lord Nelling guffawed. “We’ve been married for four years. But I’m afraid you can’t have her, Windham. Unless we move to one of those Polynesian islands where all the women have eight husbands. What do you say to that, Edwina?”

“The more the merrier!” she exclaimed, kissing her husband’s cheek. “I’m game if you are, especially if I can have dearest Edward in my harem.”

“Oooh, can I join too?” golden-haired Jane Potts asked from where she was lounging on the knee of her red-coated husband, Major Steven Potts.

“Are you asking for my permission, dear? Or whether the Polynesians will allow two women to share a husband?” Major Potts asked drolly as he drew out the joke even further.

“Both, I suppose, Steven.”

Their raucous laughter at this exchange was interrupted briefly by a gardener walking up the path back towards the house for his dinner, studiously ignoring the party cavorting on the lawns, although disapproval could be read in every line of his body.

“I don’t like the idea of eight husbands at all,” Helena commented, once the old man was gone. “One husband is work enough for any woman, in my opinion. As long as he’s the right one, of course.”

She and Colin shared a long, loving glance.

“You’re my one,” Colin said gruffly, taking up his croquet mallet. “My one and only.”

Of all of them, Colin had had the least to drink that afternoon. He was never a big drinker, but it had been even more noticeable than usual in his visits over the recent weeks. Despite Joan’s somewhat manic urging of her friends to enjoy themselves since her third widowhood, he chose lemonade or weak beer over wine or spirits every time.

A few minutes later, Harriet came traipsing out of the house, bearing a large platter piled with cold ham, salad and bread.

“You darling woman!” Edward exclaimed, swooping in to relieve her of the heavy tray and set it down on a wooden table.

For a moment, it looked as though he would actually plant a kiss on the maid’s cheek, but she moved quickly out of reach.

“None of that, thank you, Lord Windham,” she said with a raised eyebrow, before catching Joan’s eyes. “You’ve been warned about such behavior before, I’ll warrant.”

“Quite right, Harriet. Behave yourself, Edward, or else you shall go home with no supper at all,” Joan scolded. “We’re getting a bad enough reputation here as it is, especially me. Just think what that poor gardener is already telling the other servants at this moment.”

Colin nodded soberly as the others tucked into the sandwiches. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this at all,” he said, looking at her.

“Shouldn’t be doing what? Cheering up poor Joan?” Lord Nelling scoffed. He and Edwina were usually the life and soul of any party they attended. “The poor girl needs all the cheering up she can get.”

“Yes, but not here, and not so soon after the Duke’s death. It’s asking for trouble that Joan doesn’t need right now. Helena and I are getting worried about this,” Colin persisted.

Joan noticed that Harriet was still there and nodding along in agreement. Helena also went to his side in support.

“What is everyone saying about me now?” she asked. “I’m tired of the ‘Black Widow’ nonsense, and there’s nothing I can do about that. I’ve never harmed anyone, and I can’t stop living my life because some people let their imagination run away with them.”

“There are other things circulating in the servants’ hall now,” Harriet spoke quietly. “Things that some consider worse than murder.”

“What other things? Please tell me, Harriet. You won’t shock any of my friends.”

“They say that you’re holding scandalous parties out here, Your Grace—orgies, even. Some of the old women down in the village are saying you’re dancing and singing on your husband’s grave and calling up the devil.”

“Oh God! It’s those musicians we brought out here for our little soiree last week,” Edwina groaned. “We had them playing outside in the moonlight, and the violinist was quite astonishing. Handsome too, and with such long fingers… I’m not surprised if someone mistook him for the devil.”

“Damned yokels.” Major Potts sneered. “Don’t they know that this is the age of science and reason, not the era of witchcraft and devil worship?”

“No, I don’t think they do,” Colin said bluntly. “That’s the problem. Joan should really give up waiting for Christian Turner and come back to London before the locals around here take it upon themselves to drown her in the village pond.”

Again Harriet was nodding in agreement, as though relieved that someone was finally talking sense.

“You’re turning into such party poopers in your old age,” said Jane, pouting. “You never used to be like this, Colin. We’ve had some magnificent parties at Linbridge Hall.”

“We can have those parties again,” Colin replied smoothly, making his point without getting into an argument. “We can have midnight croquet, demonic violinists and a champagne fountain, if you’d like, Jane. But at Linbridge Hall or Nelling House, not here, and not now.”

“The servants also say you’re taking men to your bed,” Harriet muttered under her breath, to Joan only, under cover of helping her mistress to a plate of cold ham and salad.

Her eyes flickered again to Edward and back to Joan in warning.

“I told them that it’s nonsense and that they can see the beds for themselves, but it’s dangerous talk, especially if it spreads to Society folk in London and all those papers full of tittle-tattle.”

“Oh!” Joan gasped after a moment once realization dawned on her.

She remembered now how Edward had insisted on carrying the candelabra to light her way to her suite one evening after she had had too much wine. Helena and Colin had also been somewhere nearby, laughing at her antics, but she had been alone in the corridor with Edward when they’d stumbled upon two maids.

The encounter had seemed insignificant at the time, but now it took on a new meaning. Those maids had thought that she was going to her bedroom with Edward!

“Edward was only carrying the candles upstairs for me one evening,” Joan whispered to her maid. “Lord and Lady Linbridge were nearby too, but I don’t think the maids saw them.”

“I told the other servants it would be something like that, but they take no notice of me, and it doesn’t stop the gossiping. Please listen to Lord and Lady Linbridge, Your Grace.”

“I’ll think about it, Harriet.”

The sun had completely dipped below the horizon now, and the temperature had fallen significantly. Harriet gathered up empty glasses and plates while the guests ate and continued to play croquet in a desultory fashion under the fading light.

Once the platter was cleared, Harriet carried all the empty dishes and glasses back towards the house without another word.

“She’s not happy,” Edward commented, coming to Joan’s side to watch the maid’s retreat.

“Harriet is just worried,” Joan said.

“We’re all worried,” Edward countered. “Maybe she’s right, and maybe Colin’s right too. Your London house is ready, you know. You only have to say the word, and I’ll whisk you away from here in my carriage.”

“You’re not to whisk anyone anywhere without my permission, Lord Windham,” Edwina protested, taking one of his arms. “You’re in my harem, remember. One of my eight husbands.”

“And mine,” Jane added, taking his other arm.

Joan chuckled. “It looks like you have your hands full, Cousin,” she commented sweetly and then went to join Helena and Colin. “I won’t be calling on you to whisk me anywhere.”

Major Potts and Lord Nelling were leaning on their croquet mallets nearby, comparing their favorite horses for upcoming races and entirely unbothered by their wives’ attention to Edward. Handsome, charming and unmarried, her cousin was an outrageous flirt, but not a rake, as far as she knew. Despite their close relationship, he flirted with her whenever he could.

His compliments and attention to her had always irked her father, especially in the years preceding her debut.

“Enough of that, young man!”

Joan remembered her father barking those words at Edward one summer day, just as Harriet had nearly snapped at him this evening. Edward had been pushing her on the swing and commenting on how beautiful he found her loose hair blowing in the breeze. She must have been seventeen and Edward in his mid-twenties back then.

Even once Joan was out, her father had never wanted Edward to hang around her at balls or parties during the Season, although she regarded her older cousin more as a big brother and would have liked his company. How long ago it all seemed now!

Her father had explained his wishes that she makes a good match, and also that Edward was running the risk of being mistaken for a favored suitor and scaring away other potential husbands. The two cousins had rolled their eyes at one another and largely obeyed her father’s wishes, when he was around.

“Colin and I will be leaving soon,” Helena said, putting an arm around Joan’s waist. “I want to be up early with the children, so I can’t stay out too late tonight. They’re going to their grandparents tomorrow, so we’ll be free if you want company.”

“It is getting chilly.” Jane shivered, putting on her wrap. “Do you feel that wind coming up? I think it’ll rain before morning. We’ll be setting off shortly too, although we’re going to Steven’s brother’s place tonight rather than back to London. It’s only a few miles from here.”

Lord and Lady Nelling agreed that it was time to break up the party, and Edward began to gather the croquet set, a task that would have been left to the staff at any other house party.

“It will likely rain overnight, and I don’t want you having any unfortunate run-ins with those grumpy gardeners or that dragon of a housekeeper.” He smiled at Joan. “Anyone would think they owned the place, the way they’re carrying on… I’ll put these in the conservatory to be put away tomorrow if they’ll deign to do that much.”

“I’ll help you,” Colin offered. “Then you can ride back in our coach too, Edward. You came with Steven and Jane, didn’t you?”

“If Joan can spare me.” Edward shrugged. “I could always take a guest room here otherwise. I am her cousin, after all.”

“Best not,” Joan countered, thinking of Harriet’s surreptitious warning. “I don’t have the impression that the staff here will give a fig that you’re my cousin. It seems that even if you were my brother, I’d be made the local scarlet woman of the district by tomorrow morning, unless I make you sleep in an outhouse.”

Edward laughed. “Well, the offer’s there if you ever need me,” he said and then walked away with Colin, carrying the croquet set, the rest of the group following.

“Come back again and see me soon.” Joan sighed, leaning her head on Helena’s shoulder as they walked more slowly behind the others. “I’m lonely here when there’s no one around.”

“Then come back to London with us tonight,” Helena suggested. “There’s no need for you to be alone out here in this big, empty house, with servants who wish you were a thousand miles away.”

“But it is a beautiful house and estate, isn’t it?” Joan said wistfully. “I think that perhaps it’s one of the reasons I agreed to marry Tobias.”

“If you weren’t so rich already, that admission would make you quite the fortune hunter.” Helena laughed kindly, not pursuing her ignored invitation any further for now.

“Yes, you could accuse me of having married Tobias for Goldfield if not gold,” Joan reflected. “Father brought me here last year while the Dowager Duchess was still alive. Tobias himself was so reserved with new acquaintance, but when we took a walk through the grounds, I fell in love—with Goldfield, not its master. I thought that would come later.”

“I’m sorry, Joan,” Helena murmured, pausing to embrace her friend warmly. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get your chance.”

“Look at the house right now in the moonlight.” Joan sighed as they began walking again and pointed to the grand Neo-Palladian mansion lit now by the pale rays of the full moon. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is,” Helena agreed. “It’s like a house in a dream or a fairytale. Fix that sight in your memory tonight, Joan. You might not have the husband or the home you had dreamed of, but someday perhaps you will still be able to look back on tonight and smile.”

Joan said nothing of how unlikely this idea seemed to her. Still, she did as Helena suggested and fixed the sight of Goldfield House under the bright full moon in her memory forever a few seconds before incoming clouds obscured her view.

“Are any of your guests staying overnight, Your Grace? I will speak to Mrs. Thomas if there are any arrangements to be made for meals or dining.”

“No, they’re all gone now, Harriet. There’s no need. But I think I’ll take a bath before I retire—not too hot. Can you arrange that?”

Cold running water was installed at Goldfield House during renovations that Tobias had overseen after his father’s death five years earlier. Joan giggled as she remembered him telling her all about it at great length during her first visit to the house to meet his mother.

Despite the presence of cold water pipes, hot water for baths obviously still had to be brought in buckets from the copper in the kitchens or laundry. Joan knew this would be an arduous task for Harriet without some assistance and felt a twinge of guilt.

“Which bath will you use, Your Grace?” Harriet asked without complaint. “You may have water as hot as you wish. I’ll have no truck with footmen and scullery maids trying to shirk honest work, whoever is paying their salary. They’ll carry up as much hot water as you need, and they’ll like it.”

“I’ll use the large bath in the Duke’s suite again,” Joan said, reassured by her maid’s capable attitude and willingness to pressgang the staff. “No one else is using it now, after all. After the bath is filled, I won’t require anything else tonight. You may retire once that is done. There is no need for anyone to stay up late tonight.”

“Very good, Your Grace.” Harriet nodded and then left to carry out her mistress’s request.

Returning to her room to undress and prepare for her bath, Joan heard the wind rising out in the gardens and then the faint sound of raindrops softly pelting the windows. Her friends had been right about the change in the weather.

She sighed, thinking of the happy hours they’d spent laughing and playing together under the July sun that afternoon. All the time, a few gray clouds had hung overhead, but she had paid them no mind. Now the sunshine had faded, and the rain had come. The sense of an ending made her sad for a moment.

“That’s just life,” she murmured to herself as she tied her dressing gown belt and slid her feet into her silken slippers.

She would eventually have to leave Goldfield House forever, she supposed, and there was no use in being sentimental about it. She must simply enjoy the place while she could.

She entered the large master bathing room through the dressing room door, avoiding the bedroom where Tobias had died six months ago. The large bath on its clawed metal feet awaited her with steaming fragrant water, Harriet having scattered some bath salts and rose petals in it.

“Thank you, Harriet,” Joan whispered to no one in particular, making a mental note that she must give her maid an extra holiday once they returned to London.

Two large bath sheets hung on a wooden clothes horse nearby, ready for after her bath. A soft bathmat beside the tub felt warm beneath her bare feet as she stripped, checked that her dark red hair was pinned up securely atop her head, and then stepped into the bath.

She must have luxuriated in the scented water for almost an hour, dreamy and half-asleep after the day’s exertions, until the water’s cooling temperature reminded her where she was. When she finally emerged and wrapped herself in one of the bath sheets, the clock read almost ten o’clock.

Wandering into the sitting room of the suite, she noticed that the wind had risen further and rain was now battering hard against the window. Opening the curtains, Joan saw that a veritable storm had blown up outside and hoped that her friends had already found shelter by now.

It was not a good night to be out on the roads. While there was a full moon in the sky, it was now entirely obscured by storm clouds, and the sheer quantity of rain would make the surfaces muddy and slippery for carriage wheels and horses’ hooves.

Still, there was something wild and exciting about the storm. It captured Joan’s imagination and channeled her tempest of emotions, especially once the thunder and lightning began. As she looked out the window of the darkened room, she dropped the white linen bath sheet to the floor, suddenly longing to run outside into the rain and dance naked under the crashing sky.

Impulsively, she threw open the windows and pinned them back on their catches, laughing as the storm threw the rain and wind at her naked body. As the thunder rolled again, she began to hum one of the tunes that the scandalous violinist had played for them in the moonlight last week.

It had been a fierce, soaring piece of music that Joan could conjure again vividly in her imagination. Unpinning her hair and letting the tangle of auburn waves fall to her breasts, she danced naked and alone to the tune in her head while humming along.

As the storm grew in energy and intensity, so did her movements around the room, spinning, jumping and swirling with all the anger, frustration and disappointments of her adult life. When the lightning flashed, she held her arms out to it in supplication, as though she could draw the storm to her and bring it inside the room.

For a moment, Joan thought that her delirious wish had come true and that the thunder was really in the room with her, but then she realized that the crashing sound nearby was actually the sound of the bedroom door being violently forced open.

A man stood in the doorway, tall, strong and wrapped in a dark cloak. He had evidently come in from the storm, and his handsome face was furious.

Not waiting to ascertain whether this was an intruder or the devil himself, Joan screamed.