Chapter Ten
Regan did not see Mr. Cranmer at breakfast, mostly due to the fact that she did not leave her room to go down to join everyone else in the dining room.
It was cowardly of her, she knew. But the previous night had been a restless one as she'd predicted, and she did not think herself in a fine enough state - either mentally or physically - to put on her morning gown and pretend as if nothing at all had altered while she dipped the corners of her toast into a soft-boiled egg.
And she simply could not face Mr. Cranmer. Not yet. At least not until she had a better grasp on the tumult of emotions currently coursing through her. Guilt, of course. And then frustration at herself for feeling guilty when - in the eyes of more polite society - she had done little wrong. She was a widow, and had been for years. Her husband's name and inheritance was secure through her son. It was not at all uncommon for a woman in her position to take on a lover, so long as she did not flaunt it about for all to see.
But of course she felt guilty. Hadn't she always told herself that there would be no one else after Edmund? That she could not contemplate falling in love... No, she shook her head at that. It could not be love. Lust, then? Oh, without a doubt. Edmund had been gone for seven years. In that time, there had been no one else, not even a glance sent in the direction of another man. No wonder Mr. Cranmer had been able to transform her into a quivering mess with a deft stroke of his fingers.
But why him? Had she been so cloistered from all society that it only took the first gentleman to show her any attention to have her wishing that perhaps... perhaps she hadn't gone and left the library so hastily the previous night?
If that were true, though, then the attention she received from Lord Hays should have had her swaying beneath his spell as well. However, it was only Mr. Cranmer she thought of, only his touch, his kiss that had made all of her attempts at sleep a futile endeavor.
Oh, Lord in Heaven. What had come over her?
She straightened up at a light tap on the door connecting her room with Katharine's. She still wore her dressing gown, her hair an untidy mass of snarls and waves over her shoulders. She'd sent her maid away a half an hour before, claiming another headache, and had done little since but pace around the room and consider the wisdom of packing up and absconding from Lady Polmerol's only a few days after they'd arrived.
"Mama? Are you awake?"
Her daughter poked her head into the room. Katharine was fully dressed, in a simple white gown with a falling collar that accentuated the fine line of her neck. Finding her mother awake, she stepped fully into the bedroom, her nose wrinkled and brow furrowed - most likely at the state in which she'd discovered her mother. "Are you still suffering from your headache?"
"Oh, no." Regan waved a hand, unsure if Katharine referred to the false headache she'd claimed last night or the other false headache she'd claimed this morning. "Merely tired. I didn't sleep well." That much was not a lie, at least.
"Have you eaten anything?" Katharine crossed the room, towards the bell-pull near the bed. "Even some tea and toast or a cup of chocolate would help, I'm sure."
Several minutes later, a tray set between them, Regan nibbled at a piece of toast that had been heavily slathered in butter and jam.
"Tell me, Mama," Katherine began, as she stirred her cup of chocolate with a delicate silver spoon. "This house party... Is it too much for you?"
"Too much?" Regan wiped a smear of butter from her bottom lip and looked across at her daughter, at the concern folding down the edges of the young woman's face. "I don't know what you mean."
Katharine sighed, tapped her spoon on the edge of her cup, and set it down on the saucer. "You're not accustomed to all of this. At least not since Papa... Well, all of the talking and the noise and the heat and so, so many people beneath one roof. If you wish to return home, where you are more comfortable, I will not voice a single word of complaint."
Regan took another bite. Her stomach gurgled in anticipation. Perhaps Katharine had been correct in her assumption that a bit of something to break her fast would do her well. "But what of Mr. Winthrop?"
Katharine paused, her cup poised only an inch from her mouth. "Last night, after dinner, Mr. Winthrop expressed an interest in coming to visit us in Kent." She chanced a brief glance at her mother over the rim of her cup. "Only to see Papa's library, you understand. I told him about a few volumes we had, and that he would be welcome to come and study them if he ever found himself in the area. That is, if you would not mind."
Her daughter's cheeks had blushed full red during this recitation. Regan finished her piece of toast, hiding a small smile amid the act of chewing. "Of course he would be more than welcome." She said nothing about how she suspected that Mr. Winthrop's interest in visiting their home most likely had very little to do with Edmund's collection of history tomes and more to do with the young woman sitting across from her.
"But thank you for your concern," she added, referring back to the earlier part of their conversation. "I will admit, these last few days have been a touch... overwhelming." She cleared her throat and tried to stifle her own blush. Her thoughts leapt back to the previous evening, her back pressed against the library shelves, Mr. Cranmer's fingers skimming over the bare skin above her stockings... "We can stay, of course. I have a feeling I will be much better today, so please, don't worry about me."
Katharine smiled, relief evident in her expression. Regan noted the sacrifice her daughter had been willing to make, to give up her time with Mr. Winthrop in order that her mother might not be forced to endure an uncomfortable situation.
"Now," Regan said, and reached for a second piece of toast. "Let us finish our breakfast and begin our day, hmm?"
***
The day, as it turned out, was incredibly fine. So much so that Lady Polmerol suggested an impromptu picnic and strawberry picking on the lawn beyond a recently remodeled orangery near the eastern end of the grounds, on the opposite side from the lake.
Many of the guests opted to call their carriages round to be driven across the several acres towards the white stone and glass building, though a few - Regan and Katharine included - chose to don their most wide-brimmed bonnets, hoist the baskets onto their arms, and travel the distance on foot.
Regan was not surprised to see Mr. Winthrop join them on their walk, and she suspected that Katharine had invited him to accompany them the moment Lady Polmerol's scheme had been given voice. Mr. Cranmer also made the decision to walk, but he held Lady Polmerol's arm while the retriever, Iris, frisked at their heels and bounded forward before needing to be called back again.
She had not spoken to him since their encounter in the library the previous evening. Neither of them had made a move to approach the other, though she had run into him near the front entrance as everyone gathered to leave for the picnic. They had traded nods, quiet and polite, and Regan had managed to keep a rise of color from invading her cheeks as his eyes sparked cool fire at her before he turned away again to speak to his cousin.
It was not something she could avoid forever. She would have to speak to him, sit next to him at dinner, perhaps even dance with him at the ball Lady Polmerol hinted at holding during the last week of the house party. And she doubted that what had happened between them was a chance occurrence. Whatever power was at work, pulling them irrevocably towards one another... No, it was nowhere near at an end.
Mr. Winthrop walked between Regan and her daughter as they made their way around the house and up the slope that led to the orangery. A white gravel lane curved alongside them, the various carriages and curricles trundling along the path while the ones who had decided to walk cut a direct line across the well-manicured lawn. One of the curricles pulled to the side, allowing others to pass, before Lord Hays waved a haloo to them from several yards away.
Regan could not ignore him without being overtly rude, and so their trio approached him, Mr. Winthrop bowing to the gentleman while Lord Hays returned the gesture with a curt nod treading the border on politeness. Apparently, Mr. Winthrop's association with Mr. Cranmer in the previous day's shooting competition had not been forgotten, nor had Mr. Winthrop's prowess with a rifle.
"I have room here for an additional occupant," Lord Hays stated once the initial greetings had been done away with. He gestured towards the seat beside him, wide enough for one more person and no more. "Perhaps if Lady Griffith is worried about becoming overwarm in this heat...?"
He left the question open, but Regan shook her head. "Thank you, my lord, but as it is such a fine day, I find I would rather walk." She injected as much lightness into her tone as possible, but still she did not miss the flicker of a scowl on Lord Hays' expression before his smile became all affable again.
"Well, if you are determined." He tipped his hat towards her and took up his reins again. As he rejoined the slow crawl of vehicles working their way along the path, Katharine turned towards Mr. Winthrop, adjusting her bonnet to shield her from the sun as she did so.
"Have you any previous acquaintance with Lord Hays?"
Mr. Winthrop's eyes narrowed slightly, though Regan could not tell if it was because of the brightness of the day or because of the question posed to him. "I have not had that pleasure, no. I had heard his name a few times, but I do not believe we frequent the same circles."
Regan did not doubt that. From the interactions she'd had with Mr. Winthrop, he was a quiet, soft-spoken man. Lord Hays tended towards ostentation in his dress and manner, while Mr. Winthrop seemed to prefer colors and styles that suited his more practical manner. Who was there to impress if he spent the majority of his time poring over dusty tomes and scuffing through the dust and dirt of archeological sites?
While Katharine and Mr. Winthrop shifted the conversation towards the weather and how it compared to such places as Spain and Morocco and Cairo at the same time of year, Regan allowed her attention to wander. Ahead of them, further up the slope, Mr. Cranmer chatted with his cousin, Lady Polmerol, while he held a parasol above her head to protect her from the sun. Lord Polmerol had opted for a curricle, his gout apparently flaring up again, and Iris bounded back and forth between Mr. Cranmer and the vehicle carrying her master, in-between barking at birds that dared to flutter in her path.
It all seemed a bit unreal, really, what had happened between them only the night before. She had begun to doubt the truth of it, now that a new day had dawned and she found herself meandering about the grounds with the rest of the guests. Could it have been less than twenty-four hours since they'd been in the library together, his hand beneath her skirts, her face pressed against the curve of his shoulder as she cried out during the peak of her climax?
A shiver coursed through her, despite the warmth of the day. A part of her wanted to stride ahead, to turn him around and look into his face, to ask him if it had not simply been a dream. But that would be foolish, she knew. And nothing more than an excuse to speak to him again. The last thing she needed was to chase after some callow youth because she experienced a warm fluttering in her belly every time he came near.
Though perhaps 'callow' was not the right word. He hadn't at all behaved like someone who did not know his way around a woman's form. And there she had been, seven years without the touch of a man, and as much as she loved Edmund, he had never... well...
Suffice it to say, they would never have done anything even remotely scandalous. Like in a library. While standing up.
Regan blew out a breath and waved her hand in front of her face. She hoped the heat would be enough to cover her blush, and she discreetly dabbed at the sweat that had begun to form in the hollow of her collar bone. If she and Katharine did stay for the duration of the house party, there would be ample opportunity to speak to Mr. Cranmer again. But it was the thought of what else there would be ample opportunity to do that made the color rise in her cheeks.
And if she found herself with Mr. Cranmer again? Alone, perhaps? Would she...?
She bit down on her bottom lip and fixed her gaze on the lawn before her. For a moment, she did not feel at all like herself. She had come here as a widow, one who had shunned the majority of society for years. Since Edmund's death, her children had always been her first priority. And now, while she was supposed to be shepherding her daughter towards marriage, she was busy having clandestine meetings in the library with a man over a decade younger than herself.
"Oh, heavens," she muttered, low enough that no one else would hear. Was this what happened when one led a rather quiet - if self-imposed - existence for too long? Perhaps if she had not taken to wearing the mantle of 'widow' for so long...
But, no. That much was nonsense. She was not a flighty thing, some young child just let out of the schoolroom and out from beneath the watchful gaze of a stern governess. She was a grown woman, one who had married and buried a husband, and was now watching her eldest child forge her own path into maturity. She did not need to find an excuse for her behavior with Mr. Cranmer because - at least in the eyes of society - there was no need for one. Unfortunately, her own conscience, and the guilt that came with it, was another matter entirely.
Ahead of them, several pavilions had already been erected, while large blankets had been laid out on the lawn for those who preferred to sit in the sun. Following Katharine's lead, they set themselves up on a blanket, rested long enough to replenish themselves with a cup of lemonade, then gathered up their baskets and joined the rest of the guests to pick strawberries.
The fruit was bright red and fully ripe, the small stems heavy with their bounty. Baskets were quickly filled, while the steady chatter of the pickers and the drone of bees created a soft music to accompany their efforts. The older guests retired quickly to the shade of the pavilions - the ones who even dared to leave them in the first place - while the younger ladies and gentlemen lingered for longer, until the humidity in the air became too much and a few hovering Mamas chivvied their daughters out of the sun for fear of ruining their complexions so early in the season.
Regan, Katharine, and Mr. Winthrop were some of the last to return to their blanket, followed only by Mr. Cranmer and Lady Polmerol. Servants moved about the clusters of guests with their pitchers of cool drinks and chilled salads prepared specially for the picnic. Mr. Winthrop fetched cushions for herself and Katharine, though Regan knew that her daughter would not have cared if she were given little more than a moss-covered tree root as a seat. Beside them, on the next blanket, Mr. Cranmer, Lady Polmerol, and a few other young people whose names Regan could not recall settled in for a light lunch along with the berries they'd just picked.
Regan listened to the others more than she contributed to the various conversations. She loosened the ties of her bonnet with a hope that some of the perspiration on her face and neck would dry, but the air had only become more sultry as the day went on. She looked towards the horizon, the clear sky dissipating into a haze of thick, heavy clouds that threatened storms for later in the evening. She feared Lady Polmerol's regatta would have to be delayed for another day, or else risk everyone being caught out in heavy rain and lightning.
"And what about you, Lady Griffith?"
Regan turned at the sound of her name, her attention having been focused on the discussion between Katharine and Mr. Winthrop about Napoleon's time in Egypt with his army. "What about...?" she echoed, her gaze darting between Lady Polmerol and another older lady, a Mrs. Fairfax, if she was not mistaken.
"We were speaking of how we met our husbands," Lady Polmerol explained as she waved a fan in front of her face, setting the feathers in her bonnet to fluttering around her head like a halo of small birds. "I first encountered my Charles in Bath. Do you remember? His sister was recovering from a fever and had been sent there to sample the waters until her health was fully restored. He claimed to have watched me during my morning strolls of the Pump Room for several weeks before he worked up the courage to beg for an introduction!" She clapped her hands, laughing at the memory. "And Mrs. Fairfax met her husband when he accidentally trod on her skirt at a ball and ripped away half the hem when it caught on his heel as he tried to make a hasty retreat. Oh, can you imagine?"
Mrs. Fairfax nodded along, her bright face suffused with mirth. "You have no idea how thrilled I was when the fashions called for shorter hemlines last season!"
As the laughter settled down, Lady Polmerol reached across the blankets and laid her hand on Regan's arm. "I recall when you met Sir Griffith, but if it is too painful for you to speak of..."
Regan smiled in an effort to allay her friend's fears. "No, no. Not at all." She tucked her own hands into her lap, but resisted the urge to let her shoulders round forward, to draw every part of herself inward and away from those now paying such close attention to her. "Well, you were there, were you not? Lord and Lady Marchess's ball, if I am not mistaken. I had been in town only a short while, and everything... Oh, it was all such a whirlwind. But I saw him across the ballroom; this quiet, unassuming figure who looked as if he wished to be anywhere but where he was."
Her smile broadened as her mind swept back to that evening. "My dance card was already filled, and Edmund and I had no mutual acquaintances that I knew of. So the evening wore on, both of us stealing glances at one another over the heads of all the other guests. And then... one of my partners was suddenly called away, and I was left without a partner at the end of the evening. Without an introduction, without my even knowing his name, he swept in and asked if he could be permitted to take the young man's place."
She shook her head, blinking away the burn of tears at the corners of her eyes before anyone could see them. "It was such a breach of etiquette, really. My mama delivered quite the lecture to me the next morning, yet I was... I was enthralled with him." She pressed her lips together. Edmund had been so unlike anyone else she had met. True, he rarely spoke, always seemed awkward in the company of others, but there had been a gleam in his eye, a glimmer of mischief and humor and everything that she had grown to love about him.
"And we were married, less than two months later," she finished, her voice more quiet than when she'd begun. Her fingers had tangled themselves together in her lap. She unlaced them, wiped the sweat from her palms on her skirt as if she were merely smoothing out a few unwanted wrinkles, and looked up again.
Mr. Cranmer's gaze met her own. He must have been watching her for some time, she realized. She swallowed, but did not look away. How could she? His eyes were too bright, and there was something... something in his expression she had difficulty trying to identify. Not pity, nor anything like the faces of sympathy and false hurt displayed by the other people around her. But whatever was there, etched in his features, it calmed her and made her wish they were the only two people present.
"You must miss him terribly," Mrs. Fairfax said, breaking the connection to Mr. Cranmer.
"I do." There was no use prevaricating, or presenting a false image of herself as someone who did not daily mourn the loss of her beloved husband. "Very much."
"Oh, but you will marry again, will you not?" This question from the edge of the pavilion, where Mrs. Lane - who had spoken - and her daughter occupied chairs in the shade. Lord Hays sat with them, and while Regan did not think he'd been attending to the conversation before, she noticed a change in his posture as several listeners waited for her reply.
"To be honest, I had not considered it." Again, her gaze strayed to Mr. Cranmer, but she looked away again before anything significant could be sent between them. "I have my children to fill my time now, and I am very comfortable with my quiet little life in Kent."
"But what of your son?" Mrs. Lane pressed, even after Regan had turned her attention elsewhere. "Doesn't he need a father? Someone to guide him as he matures? Surely a household of females will not-"
"A game!" Lady Polmerol exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together as she rose to a kneeling position on the blanket. She gave a pointed look at Regan and raised her eyebrows. Regan nodded her thanks for the hasty interruption, and for her friend taking on the burden of speaking over Mrs. Lane until the older lady faltered into an offended silence.
As Lady Polmerol laid out the rules of the game and began to separate the willing participants into teams, Regan shifted towards the far end of the blanket where she could comfortably watch Katharine and Mr. Winthrop join the frivolities.
If she had been at home, with all of her children, she would've joined in as well. One of the younger gentlemen produced a handkerchief and a game very similar to Blind Man's Bluff was begun further up the slope and far enough away from the pavilion and the blankets in the hope that no accidents would occur. Mr. Cranmer and Lady Polmerol took on the duties of overseeing the game, calling out various players when they attempted to skirt the rules, leaving Regan the only one still sitting out in the sun after Mrs. Fairfax took refuge beneath the pavilion.
Lord Hays, she noticed, remained in the pavilion, caught in conversation with Mrs. Lane and her daughter. She was thankful for that, thankful for other mothers looking for husbands for their daughters and in so doing, giving Regan a few moments of blessed solitude.
Her attention shifted again towards the horizon, where the clouds continued to build. Perhaps the storms would not reach them, perhaps drifting into another valley before sunset. Or perhaps the stillness of the air and the incessant buzzing of the insects presaged a deluge. But all of that was some hours away yet. For now, she watched her daughter traipse about the lawn, her head thrown back, laughing as another young lady in a blindfold nearly caught her.
For now, Regan was simply a mother. A mother, and a widow, and nothing more. Certainly not a lover, or a wife, or someone who allowed passion to rule her decisions. And yet she could not quiet the small voice that questioned if maybe, just maybe, it was time for something more.
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And that's it until next week! Chapter Eleven will be posted on Monday, August 19th.
Until then, thank you, dear readers of Wattpad, for all of your ongoing support!
Quenby