Duplicity - Final

It was her birthday. She had completely forgotten.

"I know it's not what you truly want," he surmised from her silence. "I won't tell you again why it's impossible, what you asked of me. But perhaps, in time, you'll forget about chasing your past and look only to the future. Doesn't matter who gave you life. You are my wife."

Her cheeks dimpled as she touches the cold jewels around her throat. How odd she must look. Her long cascading locks the only veil to protect her modesty. Naked, except for this strand of jewels around her throat.

He dropped his forehead against hers. "There's that dazzling smile I've missed. Of course, I had hoped to mark this day quite differently."

"I did so enjoy it, brief as it were. Just us two."

"It's just you and I now." He brushed her silky locks over her shoulder, to bare her neck. "Where's your little gold pendant? I don't recall you ever being without it."

"Must have forgotten it," she heard herself say. How could she possibly think of anything else when he had her cradled in his arms again. There was no place safer or more dangerous for her.

Yet it needed her, that lie she just told him. Ainsley warned her Lord Davenport would not easily forgive deception. What were Ainsley's exact words again? She couldn't recall now. Not when he fondled and kissed her hot skin.

A breeze blew across her naked skin and she shuddered. Something niggled the back of her mind. She shuddered again with a burst of heat when he cradled her and locked his lips around a breast and suckled. As her fingers combed through his thick hair, that nagging thought grew stronger. When he drew back to pull off his trousers again. She quickly rose up on her elbows, "My lord, I must tell you-"

"No poppet. I haven't the strength for that again."

"It's just-"

He drew back the bed covers and ushered her beneath it. "Hush now."

"But I -"

"Evelyn." He swiftly folded her in his arms, dropped back against the pillows and closed his eyes. "Not now."

******************************************

It was still dark when Lord Davenport was roused from an uneasy sleep by a pair of hands shaking him. His eyes opened to Evelyn sleeping soundly nestles against him.

"My lord. There's been another fire. It's the new labourers' cottages this time," his valet urgently whispered.

There was no time for curses. No time to regret leaving Evelyn's warmth. He was out of bed instantly, pulling on his clothes as he dashed from the Hall. Just as he reached the entrance, pulling a glove over his bandaged hand as he went, a freshly mounted horse was brought around. Without missing a step he swung up on the saddle and galloped into the drizzling darkness.

Soon he saw dancing orange flames out of the blackness. Only a day ago he had inspected the completion of several rows of new cottages. They would have housed scores of field labours and their families. Another fire. No use wondering how it started. This one fed on the new lumber of the half-finished structures and rose upwards and spread so wide night turned into day. Much too large for this misting rain to make a difference. There was no time to think about how, or why.

Lightning streaked across the sky. Rain and heat kissed his cheeks. Hell has come to earth. It drowned out the shouts and cries of the men around him. He was oddly calm as he quickly tied a kerchief over his horse's eyes and urged the beast onward. A few houses still left intact needed to be doused with water. The largest slippery rocks stacked carefully into place.

He was off his horse when a clasp of thunder made his horse rear. He slipped and nearly feel if he hadn't tightened the reins and had his horse back under control. The ground beneath sunk with mud and he landed at the wrong angle. Pain shot up his right knee from an old injury. No matter. He was soon in the midst of men push forward a water drum cart through the thick mud. He shouted for them to follow his lead. Heavy buckets were passed down a line of men to douse feebly at the mountainous flames.

Thunder cracked loudly overhead. In a flash, he was back in the muddy fields of the Rhineland. That burnt smell. The cold wetness that seeped into every crevice. It may as well be cannon smoke blinded his eyes until he chest burned with thick smoke in his lungs.

All their efforts felt feeble. Just when all was hopeless, the sky opened up. The spitting drizzle turned into a torrential downpour. That dancing mountain of orange shrunk little by little until it disappeared into mounds of hazy blackened char.

A few of the exhausted and filthy labours trudged to the few undamaged cottages for a bit of rest out of this relentless rain. Others merely pulled their hat's lower and slept on the ground. The smell. The dampness. If he looked down he was certain he would see blood, bits of bone and flesh, and other filth splashed across his old uniform. If he closed his eyes now- just a bit- No, he couldn't rest. His tired muscles and aching bones didn't matter. His stinging injured hand, the screaming pain in his knee didn't matter. This was war in another form.

Someone brought his hunter and he swung up on the saddle, for a better look around. He surveyed to the left. Scanned towards the right. No matter which way he turned, his exhaustion made him imagine phantom fires just over his shoulders.

The hungry orange glow gave way to a hazy, purplish light. Wisps of silvery fog blended into plumes of smoke. The battlefield faded away to heaps of black, charred debris. Was it morning? Yes, dawn crept across the land and revealed no horde of enemy troops. Yet, Lord Davenport thought he could still hear the boom of cannon reports, the howls of brave men begging for God's mercy. He rubbed the sweat and ash from his eyes and saw nothing but the charred remains of last night's disaster. A few exhausted men, still upright, were picking through the rubble.

Lord Davenport urged the beast between his legs to charge across the rolling hills, through the rolling mist. The beast snorted and charged across the wet fields.

This was his favourite time of day. A brisk ride in the crisp fresh morning always melted away the weariness of another nearly sleepless night. Now he surveyed the land, his heart in his throat, waiting. What fresh disaster will this day bring?

The sun made its slow ascent, revealing soft, hazy greenery before him. Forest, newly ploughed fields carpeted the lands as far as he could see. The Hall was but a faint lavender outline from here. If Evelyn could see this now.

He rubbed his sore knee. At this hour she must still be in bed, sleeping soundly. Did she dream? Had her nightmares gone away? She'll need her rest now, more than ever. His child will arrive close to the first thaw. By then, the cottages will be rebuilt.

"My lord! My lord!" came a sudden high screeching feminine voice, calling to him from somewhere below.

What now? He turned in his saddle to watch a young woman, barely holding on in the saddle of a galloping grey mare, heading towards him. The horse wasn't very fast, but the way she clung on, she was in danger of sliding off. Her pitiful little shrieks made Lord Davenport shake his head, amused before he dug in his heels and charged down the hill. He easily overtook her, grabbed ahold of the mare's harness.

"Lady St. James," he said once he stopped beside her. "I didn't think you enjoyed riding, let alone this early."

Bess caught her breath as she flashed him a wide, dazzling smile. She was so fresh and lovely in the morning light.

"You remembered," she exclaimed, delighted. She quickly adjusted the fashionable riding hat perched on her head. "I feared you'd forgotten all about me." Her smile turned into a grimace when she noticed the mud and soot covering both him and his horse. Instinctively she jerked back the folds of her skirt away from his filth.

He pulled on the reins tightly to urge his snorting hunter back. "I'll let you continue your ride in peace."

"No! Wait." She quickly released her gown and urged her stubborn mare forward. "Have I offended you, in some way my lord?"

"Not at all."

"Then why have you been avoiding me."

"You've not been here long enough."

Surprised by his curt tone, Bess could only flutter her lashes and attempt a smile. For a moment she was at a loss on how to proceed. Then, she nodded at his dirty, ash-covered clothes, and grime covered face. "Have you been at my father's all night? Is it truly all gone as they say?"

"Some of it may be salvaged." He glanced around impatiently at the surrounding fields. After so long in noise, heat and soot, the world felt too eerily quiet. "In time it will all be as it were."

She managed to get her timid horse to step towards his monstrous beast. "Did you know I use to come this way quite often."

"Right." He was barely listening. The great hunter beneath him tossed its mane impatiently. He too was eager to be off. The pain in his knee and injured hand put him in no mood for polite conversation.

Bess chewed on her lower lip and peeked at him from beneath the rim of her hat. "I had often hoped our paths might cross. Much like this."

"Why?"

Her lashes fluttered as she peered up at his handsome, impassive face. "We owe you so much, my lord. All you've done for us. We are deeply indebted. I know my father is most grateful, as am I-"

"No need." He was about to tip his hat to her, when Bess swept off her smart little riding hat and tossed out her thick mane of long, golden hair. Her movements were graceful and extremely tantalizing when she slid off her saddle to the ground. His eyes went to the perfect arches of her cleavage.

"Where would we be without good friends and neighbours," she replied.

His horse walked forward a few paces, forcing Bess to stumble back, away from the cloud of dust the large animal brought with it. He leaned forward against the pommel. "Coquette as ever, Bess."

"I aim only to pleases you, my lord." There was no mistaking the invitation in her tone or her pretty green eyes.

"Please me, how?" he countered, his voice low.

Bess tugged at a lock of blond hair and peaked up at him from beneath her lashes. "That's entirely up to you."

"Quite." Lord Davenport reigned in his impatient steed. He grimaced again at the pain in his injured hand. He wondered about the state of the bandage beneath the tight glove. He ought to have Evelyn tend to it again.

"However it might please you, my lord," Bess ventured boldly.

"You're here at my wife's invitation," he reminded her.

"-If there's anything I might do to repay your kindness, you've only to ask-" She felt bewildered that he remained so calm and impervious to her invitation.

Suddenly he leaned down and took ahold of her beneath her chin with a gloved hand. Whatever repulsion she felt before for his filthy state, she didn't show it when he smudged her creamy skin with a slick of black grim. "Bess."

Her lashes fluttered as her heart lurch at his touch, his icy glare bearing down on her. She simply didn't understand. "My lord?"

"You're my wife's guest, in her home," he spoke slowly, making his meaning unmistakable and clear. He sat up straight in his saddle and tightened the horse reins "Stay as long as you need, but don't forget yourself."

Bess's smile faded. "Yes, Lady Davenport is the consummate hostess. Towards your cousin. Even my-"

The dark slashes of his heavy brows hide his eyes, making his expression utterly foreboding. "Whatever it is you think you're doing my lady, I want no part in it."

"But, my lord-" She remembered to blush when he curtly tipped his hat.

"You've had a shock Lady St. James. Rest. You'll soon be much restored, and we'll see you to more suitable accommodations."

With that he dug his heels into the side of his hunter and galloped away, leaving behind a cloud of dirt and sod.

***************************************

It was Lord Davenport's habit to occasionally stop at the White Stag Inn for a pint of suds. On this day, he stopped to inquire after Sir. Richard, and was told his neighbour had risen early and gone to the Hall. A boy took his horse and let it away to be fed and watered. The innkeeper took one look at his lordship's limp and quickly sent one of his girls to bring him a wash basin while another brought bread and ale. Once his lordship was halfway presentable he joined a cadre already assembled in the great room. The talk around the hearth in the great room was of the events the previous day, somehow intermingled with events from ages ago. They doffed their hats at Lord Davenport lumbered in and beseech him to join them in a seat of honour by the hearth.

"That was a big one. Sir Richard will have a time of it," an ancient toothless man muttered through his cracked lip.

"Aye. After he just paid a handsome sum to rid himself of his pie-faced daughter."

"Sir. Richard is a goodly man. He'll be set right soon enough. Shame to lose the family pile in such a way. Poof! At least the cottages were half built and unoccupied."

"Still. 'Tis a pity."

There was a chorus of agreement. And they all downed their ale.

"What news from the city, m'lord?" a rather slender man immediately asked Lord Davenport. "There's talk they mean to drill beneath the Thames?"

Lord Davenport had stretched out a booted leg and accepted a full pint offered him. Before he could reply, a gruff voice called out. "The fuck for?"

"To tunnel a passage beneath it I 'eard."

"Bridges no good for fancy folk now? They'll want houses made of cloud next."

"Best not spread it too wide. Give those fuckers ideas."

Even Lord Davenport cracked a smile as the others laughed uproariously. He downed his ale and called for another. The others went on and on, but he was content to sit, listen and let his weary limbs rest. Every part of him hurt worse now he was dry and resting.

"What do we care about drilling tunnels under riverbeds," a big stout fellow piped up. "What of grain prices? Everywhere prices drop so low so low half the country is toiling for nothing. And off the lads go into the cities looking for work. What of next harvest? What happens if things take a turn?"

"Hush now or you'll offend his lordship," a tall reed thin fellow said, though none appeared overly concerned.

"His lordship knows we're just having a laugh. No harm there."

The stout fellow slapped his forehead. "Just a moment. I've been away for a bit. Never did drink to his lordship on his nuptials."

A toast was raised. Then another round of ale poured.

"A toast to his lordship's health! May he have sons aplenty."

"A toast to peace! May these fires are the most excitement in these parts as long as we live!"

After a few more toasts were drunk, the thin man chimed in. "Aye, Lady Davenport is a proper lady alright. Beautiful as she is kind."

"Beautiful, she is," the toothless slurred. "An angel."

"Real quiet about her good works, she is. Quiet as you like. No great fuss, like some grand ladies. You know the ones who drive into the town square in their grand couch and makes ya stand there listening to her drone on and on before she parts with a farthing. Then expects her hand kissed."

Lord Davenport nodded silently. The warmth of the room, coupled with pints of ale after the night he had was making his shoulders and limbs pleasantly heavy.

"If we're to have a lady, may as well be a pretty one, I'll say that," said the ancient one added.

"She's far more than her beauty," Lord Davenport said in his deep voice.

Just then, as they drank to Lady Davenport's health, Ainsley Elwood descended the stairs, luggage in hand, clothed for travel.

"Leaving us already?" Lord Davenport called out.

"My lord," Elwood greeted him with a tip of his hat. "I'm needed back in town. I thank you again for looking after my sister-in-law. My brother will be most grateful."

"Never leave my woman under another man's roof," the stout man called out. "Not one as pretty as Sir. Richard's younger daughter. The older one though, eh-"

Ainsley Elwood chuckled as he searched his pockets for coins to pay the innkeeper.

"But what do we know of fancy folks ways?" the thin man retorted. "They tunnel under perfectly good rivers and live in castles made of clouds."

The stout one reached out and elbowed Elwood drunkenly. "Best fuck off then, m'lord. We've no cloud huts for ya here."

The gesture knocked Elwood's hand from his breast pocket. A round gold pendant on a delicate chain attached tumbled from his pocket to drop heavily onto the floor. Elwood quickly bent down to retrieve it and slipped it back into his pocket. But not before Lord Davenport's sharp eyes had a look at the thing. Elwood tipped his hat to the gathered crowd and was out the door.

"So what of this tunnel under that river then?" the toothless one was asking Lord Davenport. "Bloody thing would spring a leak, wouldn't it? Drown the poor sods caught there?"

Lord Davenport made no reply. His pale face lost its last drop of colour. The others continued chatter over their pints, completely unaware. Suddenly his lordship rose. His height and broad shoulders overwhelmed everything and everyone. He thrust his drink to the thin man and dashed out.

But Elwood was long gone. His knee throbbing there was no hope for him to overtake Elwood even if they had resaddled his horse quickly. The ground was spinning beneath his feet. The sleepless night and too much drink had caught up with him

He had no memory of returning home, so singularly focused was he to see his wife. Eager, beyond anything to see what adorned her slender neck. Perhaps he was mistaken, and she had her pendant still. He uttered numerous silent prayers that she had that pendant.

The last person he expected to see when he entered the Hall, was Ann.

"My lord," she said pleasantly, swinging a flower basket full of fresh steams before her. Then she caught a whiff of him and wrinkled her nose. "I see you slept in an ale barrel last night."

"My wife?" he heard himself ask. He quickly tore off his gloves when he couldn't stand the chafing in his hand any longer.

"She spent the better part of the morning seeing to the new arrivals. That is, until a portrait painter came and urged her for another sitting. She's with him now out on the eastern terrace. Come. I was just going there myself. But, you just want a bed? And I see you've excited your old wound."

When he said nothing, merely flexed the fingers of his left hand, Ann hooked a hand through the crook of his arm as though nothing was amiss. "You just missed Sir. Richard. Poor man. He insists he'll repay your kindness with wood to rebuild your cabins. Was the damage so very bad? Fire is such a terrible, unpredictable thing."

Lord Davenport grunted a reply and flexed his bandaged hand again. He refused to lean on her as they walked, but his aching leg moved stiffly.

Ann went on. "All the recent misfortunes aside, I'm very glad we are here. I had thought to ask Mr Elwood to see me back to the city, but Lady Davenport wouldn't hear of it. She's so kind to insist-"

"Elwood was here." Lord Davenport spoke barely above a whisper.

Ann batted her lashes up at him. "He came yesterday to see to his sister-in-law. But he charmed us all."

Lord Davenport grunted in reply.

"He gained Lady Davenport's favour almost immediately. They spoke for an awfully long time-"

He looked down his nose at her. "Did they? What about."

"Best not to speculate as they were acros the expanse of the drawing room. Young people do seem to have an awful lot to say to each other."

"Quite."

"You needn't worry my lord. I would not believe everything said about Mr Elwood's character. Though by the looks of him, one can easily believe he's broken a few hearts. But that only adds to his allure."