The Prophecy
In the circle of haw, when white petals blossom, a
faery maiden shall rise from the roots of the land. The thorn shall not bind
her. Nor demons defile. The gentle spirits rejoice in a new day dawning. If one
generation be twisted and gnarled, another shall rise to seize her destiny.
English Countryside
1850
A gentleman indeed! Winifred stared at her handsome tutor, unable to erase the sight of the thick log between his legs while it rammed into the rosy behind of one of the upstairs maids. And to think she'd come to believe she might even one day fall in love him. The scoundrel!
This only served to confirm her beliefs about men in general and especially those brought up to believe the world was created to accommodate their personal whims. Men were a necessary nuisance and not to be trusted. Not when their predominate mission centered on lifting the skirts of any female in sight.
Why didn't knowledge of his lack of genteel character take away the burn inside her when she looked at the devastatingly handsome rake? And since she'd unwittingly witnessed his indiscretion, the burn raged ever hotter.
She had to know. If only she hadn't witnessed his sordid tryst. "Do you love her?"
Lordly, Mr. Charles Thomas raised his stunning brown-black eyes from the book and allowed it to list sideways between his elegant hands. He gave Winifred his cool stare, one she knew well and didn't care to have aimed at her. His firm full lips parted, but he seemed hesitant to speak as he examined her face with the patience of a man much accustomed to having a superior and, most assuredly, a firm hand with women.
She would hold his haughty attitude against him but for his deplorable personal life, which, in a state of near poverty, was only to be pitied by those more fortunate. Why else would a man of his obvious education and breeding accept a position in this desolate place?
"Miss Grantman, I have to assume you speak to me since we are the only two people presently occupying the library. Still, I am at a loss to interpret your rather curious inquiry. Perhaps we've spent too much time dissecting this text." He slapped the tome shut. "It would appear lessons on alchemy do not tempt you this afternoon as they normally do."
The refined, yet smoky, quality of his voice sent a curl of nervousness into her stomach, where it grew to gnaw at her insides. Upon her honor, the man was a demon! He'd divulged nothing, and yet she couldn't function with a thimble's full of decorum. "Alchemy is my favorite subject, as you well know. Right now, though, I have more pressing matters on my mind."
Winifred fought back her misgivings. She wouldn't be deterred by his cool countenance. Not this time. Once she'd seen him with his pants down, everything had changed. Her world, already destroyed by her father's death, had gone completely beyond the pale and she hadn't a clue how to make it right again. "Yvette, the upstairs maid--do you love her?"
Mr. Thomas quickly lowered his eyes, hid them with a thick fringe of handsome dark lashes and repeatedly clenched his strong jaw. "No, I most definite do not propose to love your upstairs maid." He cleared his throat, a sure sign she had him by the well-tied French cravat he always wore on days they studied the pesky language. "If I may be so bold, why do you inquire?"
Touché. He'd been making her both prickles and pottage inside her most private recesses for some time now. With no frame of reference, she'd first accredited her affliction to an abnormality in her nerves. Then after seeing him with the maid, the already untenable situation inside her deepest and most secret parts became intolerable. What she'd attributed to nerves most definitely was nature's call to mate. What else could it be? "So mating has nothing to do with love?"
"Aha." When Mr. Thomas raised his dark eyes again, they burned into her soul and made her shudder.
Didn't anyone else wonder about his haunting eyes? At times they appeared otherworldly.
"I fear the ill-humor brought upon you by the loss of your father has allowed you to forget your upbringing. This is not a lesson for a male tutor to impart to a feminine charge. Indeed, it is highly improper of you to even mention my indiscretion. Clearly, Yvette has spoken out of turn. Perhaps you should seek advice from your father's sister, when she arrives, if you have questions in need of answers."
"Upon my honor, Yvette never spoke of this, nor would I have believed you possible of such an ungentlemanly act if she had." And why, on every possible occasion, did Mr. Thomas mention her aunt, a woman Winifred had never laid eyes upon? "I believe my long-estranged aunt would be greatly distressed to learn I witnessed my tutor with his, pardon my inexperience, but I'm not sure of the correct term for the male appendage other than genitals. A word most harsh and barely tolerable.
"However, it looked very much like a birch log when you pressed it inside Yvette's backside over and over again." By the time she got the words out, she was quite breathless and almost bereft of courage. Her heart beat fiercely against her ribs. To make matters worse, the mere mention of his male part caused uproar in her equivalent female parts.
Mr. Thomas huffed strongly enough to stir the tendrils at her temples even at a distance of several feet. "At any rate, this is not a conversation which should occur between a lady and a gentleman. Find your answers elsewhere upon your leisure. I would never presume to speak of such an entirely private matter with you or any other gentle woman. You'll not get the information you seek from me. This discussion has ended." He reached for the tea pot always on hand.
Insufferable man.
Where? Who? There was no one she could go to with such a delicate subject to debate. Her mother had died when Winifred was young. The complications thrust upon the household by the untimely death of Winifred's father had everyone almost speechless with grief and uncertainty. A maiden aunt, indeed a stranger, seemed an unlikely choice for counsel about...intimacy between the sexes.
"But..."
"Drink some tea." Mr. Thomas poured the dark brew into a delicate porcelain cup and then reached for the sugar. Yes, she had him rattled, for it took him far too long. After sitting the full cup in front of her, he waited for her to drink and made a gesture for her to do so.
"But..."
"Drink your tea. It will calm you."
His remedy for everything--tea. And most generally, he made the foulest tasting concoctions. She took a sip and had to resist spitting it out. This pot was the worst yet. She pushed it aside and opened her mouth to speak.
He nudged the cup back in front of her and then held his hand aloft. "No. We will talk after you drink your tea."
She needed answers immediately, but not badly enough to drink the swill produced from Mr. Thomas's pot to pacify him. She pretended to sip the bitter brew as he gave her a nod of encouragement.
"Your good spirits will return presently,"
"There is nothing wrong with me. I only want for answers." She needed them before another sleepless night passed. And, even while it was petty, it gave her a sense of superiority over the too-perfect man. To the best of her knowledge, this was the first time she'd held the upper hand in their two years of close association. Every inch the gentleman, he had impeccable manners and never misspoke. Never. Finding him in flagrant disregard with the maid had been a letdown of a magnitude most distressing. Still...if this knowledge could be used to her advantage...
"I am not the one to answer your questions. Drink your tea."
"I will not drink this swill by your decree." She shoved the cup aside, spilling it in the process. "I think you answer me too hastily." Everyone spoke in whispers about the gentleman reduced to earning a living from those beneath his station in life. If he were not so completely faultless in every regard, Winifred perhaps could be more charitable.
He leaned forward. "And I think you speak when you should not. It is not your place."
"Not my place? Am I not now mistress of this manor?" She waved her hand in an arc. "Would you have me still in the nursery? Or did you mean my station?" Heaven knows, the Grantmans had no claim to superiority, other than her great-grandfather's foresight to acquire English lands on the border of Scotland, rich enough to allow Winifred to live in regal comfort and leisure. And, until her father's untimely death, Winifred had considered herself content in every regard, even while Mr. Thomas took great pains to point out her many shortcomings. Even her father's obsessive need to live in solace didn't inconvenience Winifred. She liked the fact he didn't pressure her to have a season in society. In truth, she craved solace every bit as much as he had.
Until Mr. Thomas!
Her tutor changed everything. He made her want for...a man. It wouldn't do! No man living could transcend above her father. Especially not now. Indeed, she'd come close to calling Mr. Thomas her friend. She recommended him to her few local friends as a man far wise beyond his years, despite his unfortunate circumstances.
"You are infuriating! Why Father insisted I continue with my studies is beyond me. My acquaintances have long since been occupied with finding suitable mates. I've been nineteen for three months. I thought I had reached an age where I'd be treated differently, not like a child still in the nursery."
"I've done nothing to keep you from seeking a suitable mate. I had it on good authority you had no desire to marry. That is precisely the reason your father sought to employ me, to show you a world beyond these hedged walls. As for being treated as a mature woman trust me"--his eyes darkened to brilliant obsidian, almost liquid and still icy hard--"it will happen for you. You have power you've yet to discover. This isn't the time or place to talk about...what you saw. Your father's death is far too fresh in your heart and mind. "
She resisted the urge to stamp her slipper upon the thick rug. "But I have discovered my power." She nearly stopped when he winced as though she'd slapped him. Why should this statement bother him almost as much as her confession of voyeurism? "My power lies in the information I hold over your much too handsome head. I want for a different sort of schooling. I want what I saw you give the maid. And I'll leave you until midnight to reconsider my generous proposition. I know you like me. If love doesn't have to be involved in mating, then why deny me a small number of valuable lessons?"
He huffed again. "What do you call a small number of lessons?"
Excitement crept into places where gloom had resided for far too long. Could he be about to capitulate? "Two or three...perhaps?"
He tapped a long, tapered finger on the top of the desk for a good deal of time. "One or two then. And only if I choose our curriculum. You must promise you'll not try to gainsay me. And lastly, you will not reveal my indiscretion with Yvette to anyone."
His voice sounded tight and angry. Had she disappointed him to the point of destroying his regard for her? Winifred stayed the course. The last few weeks had been almost more than she could bear. Before her father's death, she would never have spoken her mind to Mr. Thomas, or anyone else in her well-sheltered life.
"I'll never say a single word, my solemn oath."
"So be it. We shall begin at midnight."