Sleepiness had won over excitement. On the last leg of our return journey, I had fallen asleep with my head resting on Fred's shoulder. Gentle fingers brushed the hair from my cheek and I blearily opened my eyes to see Fred peering at me with amusement.
"It's time to wake up, sleepyhead," he said with affection. "You don't want to miss the view."
"Are we at Loseley Court already?" I said, struggling to focus out of the window.
"Not quite," he said, his arm tightening around my shoulder.
It took me a few seconds to realise that I was curled up in his embrace, my body pushed against his. While I was sleeping, he must have put his arm around me or else I have moved towards him in my dreams. It was a new kind of intimacy between us and something about the tenderness made me flutter inside. Part of me wanted to push him away, to maintain a barrier between us but another part of me soaked in the warmth of his companionship. Now I was awake, I felt the chill of the air and instead of pulling away I snuggled closer into his body heat. He looked down at me in surprise, a twinkle of merriment in his eyes.
"I should have worn my silver fox," I said, the heat of my blush burning in the cold air.
"Oh, is that why you are so close to me?" he asked with a smirk. "I thought you had finally succumbed to my charms.
I gave a snort of derision and started to pull away from him, but he pulled me closer with a chuckle.
"I'll keep you warm, I don't mind," he said, pressing a platonic kiss on the top of my head.
The car turned down an avenue lined with mighty redwoods. Even in the cold weather, the fragrant resin scent of the pine needles filled the car. Fred closed his eyes and inhaled. I peeked up at him, seeing the fragile smile of a boy on his face. This journey must have brought many childhood memories to him, I wondered how many of them were happy. I liked moments like this, when I could see his vulnerability beneath the smooth veneer.
Before us the road curved down into the trees, cracks of light beaming down from the gaps between the branches of redwoods. Fred leaned forward, watching out the window eagerly, each tree he regarded with silent familiarity. We passed a strange standing stone and his body tensed with excitement.
"Stop the car," he said and turned to me with a grin. "Let's walk for a few moments."
"Are you mad, Fred?" I protested. "It's freezing outside."
"Well, maybe next time you wear the lovely warm coat that I bought for you, instead of complaining that it was a needless indulgence."
"Squirrel would have been quite adequate," I said with a sniff.
"Oh my darling Mary," he chuckled. "When will you learn that adequate will never be good enough?"
Looking down at the floor, I bit my lip, knowing that I was far from good enough. A squirrel coat would have suited me better and even then it was above what I deserved. The driver waited patiently, his ears stone to our conversation until we addressed him. Tenderly, Fred tipped up my chin until my gaze met his.
"Please walk with me, Mary," he said with half a smile. "I promise you won't regret it."
Reluctantly, I stepped out into the icy woodland air. The driver glanced at us in his mirror, shaking his head slightly at our foolishness. My toes were already feeling bruised from the cold and instinctively reached for Fred, huddling up to him like sheep on a winter moor. My impatience grew with every step I took on the frost-crisped path. I simply could not see why Fred was insisting on trudging out in the cold when there was a perfectly good motorcar waiting behind to transport us. Frustrated as I attempted to keep up with his long-legged pace, I was about to unleash a barrage of complaints when we turned the corner. I was silenced.
Nestled between two wooded hills sat a house of more beauty and grandeur than I could imagine. The redbricks gleamed in the winter sun, bright against the dark green of pines. It commanded attention, speaking silently of the centuries it had lived immortal while the life around it had aged and died. It was more than just a great house, it was history.
"Do you like it?" Fred said, his voice slipping into my reverie.
"Is all this really yours?" I asked with wonder.
"All this is ours," he said. "It is our home."
Home. I had a home, a place that I belonged to and belonged to me. Without giving it much thought, I reached my hand up to his face and kissed him on the cheek. Fred looked down at me with a perplexed grin, then put his arm around my shoulders companionably.
"So my darling wife," he said. "Are you ready to face the servants yet?"
My stomach clenched and fear pounded in my chest. I had not looked ahead to this duty yet, walking in the steps of the Lady of the House, passing the row of stiffly starched served and nodding my head to each one. They would be blank-faced but behind the masks they would be burning with curiosity, judging me. It was never supposed to be my role, I was not ready to start managing the servants and throwing entertainments for the neighbours. As a paid companion, I'd never fitted anywhere, not one of the servants and not one of the family. On the few occasions that Agatha Chorley stayed with her niece Mrs Denton, I would be served meals alone in my room, not fit to dine with the family or low enough to condescend to eat with the servants however much I longed for the company. Now I expected to step out of the shadows of my former life and stand unblinking in the stark light. Everyone would know that I didn't belong, everyone including Fred.
The crunch of wheels on the road came from behind, growing louder as the Daimler crept up to take us to our new lives. Fred looked carefully at me, his cornflower blue eyes scrutinising me in an attempt to break through my silence.
"Of course you're ready," he said softly. "You were born ready."
"I feel like a fraud," I said, the truth spilling from my lips.
There was a flicker of a smile on his face.
"You are not alone in feeling that," he said, then whispered conspiratorially in my ear. "I don't belong either."
The car felt relatively warm compared to the air outside but I still shivered and regretted packing my fur coat once more. I smoothed the creases in my skirt and fetched my small pocket mirror to check on my appearance. Fred watched my primping with amusement.
"You know, Mary Wilkes, I think you are secretly quite vain," he said.
"I didn't think it was a secret," I said pinching my cheeks to bring colour in them. "What did you mean when you said that you didn't belong?"
He gave a deep sigh and I turned to look at him fully. It was not like Fred to be reluctant to talk about himself, but he made no reply and looked pensively out of the window. The need to know crept over me, even though like an utter hypocrite I knew that would never share my bitterest memories with him. I slipped my hand into his, interlacing my fingers with his fingers and squeezing gently.
"The Cosgroves never wanted me here," he said. "My grandparents that is."
His lips parted and closed again as he struggled with his words.
"When my mother wrote to them when I was born, hoping for a reconciliation of sorts, they told me that a Wilkes would never be welcome under their roof," he continued with a frown. "They would not even write my name, they just called me 'the boy' as though I was a stranger to them."
I watched him swallow hard, his hand gripping mine tightly.
"After my grandmother died, she tried again with my grandfather. He wrote and sent her fifty guineas on the condition that she never contacted him again. She sent the money back in disgust," he said, as a muscle in his face twitched. "My father beat her black and blue for that, he was in sore need of money."
He sighed again and gave a bitter smile.
"He was always in need of money," he said.
"I'm sorry, that must have been hard for you," I said, reaching in my mind for something to bring him solace.
"I grew up in the shadow of this place, in my mother's mind it was the last place she was happy," he said, stroking my hand with his thumb. "And when I came here for the first time, I felt the happiness too. George tried to be kind, I know he wanted to love me as I grew up but my face is my father's. Once I grew up, he saw my mother's ruin in me."
"Oh Fred," I said, my heart trembling for his pain.
"Don't feel sorry for me, Mary," he said turning away. "I've done too many wicked things in my life to deserve your compassion."
Taking his face in both hands, I turned his face to mind. I wanted to kiss him, to caress the pain away but I knew I could not trust my heart if I kissed him when he looked so sad. Instead, I smiled and stroked his cheek tenderly.
"That was the past," I said. "Now it is yours and we belong here, together."
The motorcar pulled up and I stepped out onto the drive, looking up at the great house. Even though I had never walked the path before, I walked with my head held high. I was home.