Fractures and Hinges Page 2

  “Where is my wife, Benson?” Lord Edgewood asked as he crossed the hall to his study.

  “Her Grace is in the gymnasium, milord. She is exercising with Mister Carstairs,” Benson informed his master dutifully.

  “Of course, she is,” Henry mumbled under his breath, changing his direction towards the back of the house where the gymnasium had been built a few years prior. “Thank you, Benson.”

  “Milord.” The butler bowed before he returned to his other duties.

  The familiar sound of épées crossing welcomed Henry when he entered the gymnasium. Both opponents were dressed in perfect-fitting fencing attire: white knee-length trousers, white vests, socks, shoes, and gloves. Their faces were protected by fencing masks. He observed their well-coordinated moves that almost resembled a dance, albeit a deadly dance.

  Even if it were not for the distinct form of her female body, Henry would recognise his wife. Eleanor distinctly had the upper hand in this special pas de deux. She forced her opponent backwards through skill and determination, offering him not a single weakness to start a counter-attack.

  With his back finally against the wall and the tip of the épée against his chest, Jonathan Carstairs called a stop to their practice session. Although he had been the one who initially taught the duchess how to use this weapon, the student had surpassed her teacher a long time ago, and it was not beyond him to acknowledge that he had found his master in her.

  As soon as her tutor yielded, Eleanor lowered her épée and took off her mask and gloves. Shaking out her short white hair, she brushed a few strands from her sweaty forehead and regarded Jonathan with piercing blue eyes and a hint of triumph in them.

  “Well fought, your Grace.” Jonathan’s compliment was sincere.

  “As did you. Thank you for the exercise, it was most welcome.”

  “It was, as always, my pleasure,” Jonathan answered with a slight bow.

  Lord Edgewood announced his presence from the doorway by calling out, “Well done indeed, Eleanor.”

  “Henry!” Eleanor exclaimed at her husband’s unexpected presence. “I thought you were still at your club.”

  “I have just returned, my dear.” Henry approached his wife as she dried off the sweat from her neck. “And I found something very interesting in the post.”

  “Oh?”

  Henry handed over the envelope and carefully watched his wife’s facial expression for any sign of intrigue or interest. When he found none, he felt all his hopes dashed.

  “I’m not interested,” Eleanor stated curtly, and without a second glance at the two men, she left the gymnasium.

  He had noticed a short flicker of pain in those blue eyes before she handed back the letter. This was not what he had hoped for. He thought maybe the invitation would elicit a different reaction. Noting that Jonathan sat respectfully off to the side, Henry sat close to him on one of the benches lining one wall of the gymnasium. He had to admit he was at his wits’ end for how to deal with Eleanor’s sorrow.

  He ran his hand over his bald head and hung it in defeat. “Three years, three agonizingly long years. I thought one day she would overcome her grief and live again. I hoped this invitation would help but I was completely wrong. Goodness, what else can I do?”

  “Nothing much,” Jonathan said as he put a reassuring hand on his lover’s shoulder. “She has to want it herself.”

  Eleanor ascended the stairs to the second floor, her lips tightly pressed together, keeping her tears firmly in check. Her hands wrung the towel, squeezing it sharply. She knew Henry meant well and had been nothing but patient with her, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get past the pain. The invitation by Count Nikolaus von Radványi was flattering, and his request for a business partnership intriguing for he was known for possessing the best thoroughbred horses on the continent. The count had continued his father’s work quite successfully, just as she had her grandmother’s.

  Eleanor’s grandmother, the Duchess of Darnsworth, had inherited her own father’s passion for horses and was well known in Scotland and England for breeding and owning the best hunting horses. Even the late Austrian Empress had visited her grandmother’s stables during one of her visits to Scotland. Eleanor, who often spent most of the year at her grandmother’s castle in Scotland, met the famous Elisabeth of Austria for the first time when she was fourteen years old during the empress’ first visit.

  Elisabeth’s passion for hunting had sparked an interest in the special breed of horses used for this pastime, and Eleanor’s grandmother was honoured to welcome her Royal Majesty at Darnsworth Castle. Elisabeth had been as beautiful as rumours used to say and was also an accomplished rider and horsewoman. Despite a difference in ages, Eleanor and Elisabeth found a common ground, and at the end of the visit, the duchess made the empress the gift of one of her best horses. After that, the monarch visited Scotland regularly during her travels abroad.

  Eleanor not only inherited her grandmother’s title, estate, and wealth, she also followed in her grandmother’s footsteps as a successful horse breeder. Today’s invitation by the count reminded her of happier times. Not only did she dearly miss her late grandmother, she also missed the passion for the horse business. She still kept a firm hand on the proceedings, but the spark was missing.

  Upon entering her room, Eleanor went straight to her large four-poster bed and slowly lowered herself to the edge. With her hands resting on top of the bedding next to her thighs, she took deliberate breaths to ward off the onslaught of emotions she had barely been able to control for the last three years. People used to say that time heals everything, but she had her doubts. Why was it so hard?

  A soft knock on the door stirred her from gloomy thoughts.

  “Come in!” she ordered more harshly than she intended, knowing it had to be her lady’s maid, Rose, who would want to prepare her bath.

  A small blonde woman in her early twenties carefully opened the door and curtseyed at her mistress before she found the courage to ask what she had come for. “Shall I prepare your bath, your Grace?”

  “Yes, please,” Eleanor answered softly. She watched the maid disappear through the door leading into the en-suite bathroom before her eyes landed on a photograph on the bedside table. Reaching out to touch the smiling face in the silver frame, Eleanor stopped herself mid-motion, sighing at the memories the image brought to mind. After a moment she took the photograph in both hands and gazed upon it feeling a physical pain in her heart.

  She vividly remembered the day the picture was taken, two years before her life changed in the most dramatic and heartfelt way. She and Cathleen spent the summer in Scotland at Eleanor’s estate just like they always did. Their days were spent with taking care of the old castle, making sure everything on the surrounding land was running smoothly, and tending to the horses. Every now and then Eleanor’s duty as a chieftain in her own right was called upon to settle various disputes between the members of the clan. She would sit in the Great Hall with her sash proudly worn over her left shoulder and Cathleen by her side where she would listen, for what felt like hours on end, to the grievances of her people. But as often as they could, they’d escape and go for a lengthy ride.

  On a splendid summer’s day, the sun was high up in the sky with only a few tiny clouds. Cathleen had donned her favourite green riding dress and another new top hat. Her wild red hair was tamed by a maid in a sensible bun at nape of her neck. Green riding breeches were tucked into shiny black boots and with white gloves, she held her crop. She waited for Eleanor in the entrance hall to leave for the stables.

  Eleanor stood at the top of the stairs, hidden by a column and admired her lover from above. Cathleen looked beautiful in the green dress and Eleanor couldn’t wait for her to lose another top hat and let her hair fly as she rode like the wind over the meadows.

  Cathleen’s impatient voice drifted up the stairs. “Eleanor, are you ready yet?”

  “I’m right here, darli
ng,” Eleanor answered sheepishly as she descended the stairs.

  “Where shall we go today? What do you think?”

  Eleanor had thought about it with longing. “Let’s go to our special place.”

  Cathleen threw her a surprised look but with a smile, she agreed. They collected their horses and set of in a leisurely trot away from the castle across the fields towards Loch Ruthven

  After riding nearly an hour, they could see the sun reflecting off the dark blue water of the Loch. And just as Eleanor predicted, Cathleen certainly lost another top hat before they were even close to their destination. It wasn’t that the wind was blowing that hard. Cathleen’s wild streak emerged more strongly with every mile they galloped. At the age of thirty-seven, Cathleen’s wild side was still as present as it had been at twenty-four, when Eleanor met her for the first time. Her fiery red hair was still held together in a semblance of a bun, but Eleanor was convinced even that would change as soon as they stopped.

  “Come on, dearest!” Cathleen turned slightly in her saddle to look at Eleanor. “Don’t hold back! We both know you’re the better rider.”

  “We have been riding for quite a while now, after all. Maybe I want to take it slow for a change.”

  Cathleen snorted in an unladylike manner at the unlikely supposition. “Of course, you do.”

  With a laugh, she spurred her chestnut mare to pick up speed, followed by an equally laughing Eleanor on her steel grey stallion.

  They raced each other to the shores of Loch Ruthven. Eleanor arrived first and got off her horse to wait for Cathleen to leap from her saddle right into her waiting arms. Cathleen slung her arms around Eleanor’s neck and gazed deeply into her blue eyes, a happy smile on her slightly freckled face.

  “So, what is the occasion?” Cathleen asked.

  “Don’t tell me you have forgotten?” Eleanor spoke gently, refraining from chastising her and knowing full well her lover had forgotten their anniversary. The past few weeks had been relentlessly busy, so she wasn’t really cross with Cathleen for forgetting their special day.

  Cathleen wrinkled her brow in concentration, and when she finally realised what Eleanor was talking about, her hand flew to her mouth in embarrassment.

  “Oh, no. Eleanor, oh, my love, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot!”

  “I know you forgot.” Eleanor smiled indulgently.

  She tried to free herself from Eleanor’s arms, but Eleanor refused to let her go and instead tightened the embrace.

  “But I’m a complete nitwit. This is awful.”

  “You are not, and it is not,” Eleanor reassured her. “I love you and I wanted to spend the day with you. Just the two of us. And I think I fell even a little more in love with you today.”

  “Why? How?”

  “Because no matter what, you enjoy life to the fullest. Because I love you in this riding habit, which brings out the colour of your eyes so perfectly. Because I love your exuberance and uncompromising joy. And I love you for losing another hat and all the pins in your hairdo and letting your gorgeous hair fly wild in the wind.”

  After Eleanor’s passionate speech, Cathleen gazed a moment into her beloved’s eyes before she leaned in and kissed her with the same passion she had for life itself.

  They had no need to hurry, nobody was hassling them or disturbing their time together, and when they had to come up for air, they rested foreheads against each other. With unspoken agreement they held hands and walked along the beach of the Loch with their horses’ bridles in their free hands, guiding them along.

  Eleanor led the way to their little retreat, an old uninhabited cottage on a secluded hill where they spent the next few hours in blissful ecstasy, giving and receiving pleasure just like the intimate lovers they were.

  Completely spent and utterly satisfied, they lay in one another’s arms. Cathleen rested with her head on Eleanor’s chest listening to the slowing of her racing heart. “Happy anniversary, my love,” she whispered before pressing a soft kiss on her chest.

  “Happy anniversary.” Eleanor grinned. “Before we return home, I want to ask you something.”

  “Of course.”

  “I want a picture of you.”

  “You have pictures of me.”

  “No. Yes. What I mean is . . .” Eleanor exhaled and tried to gather her thoughts, which wasn’t an easy task, since Cathleen’s hands were doing such wonderful things to her body again. “What I mean is, I want a picture of you in this riding dress, with your hair loose and that special expression you share only with me.”

  “Oh, sure, why not. But we still have time here and now, don’t we?”

  “We certainly do!” Eleanor agreed breathlessly and pulled the sheet over their heads with joyful laughter.

  “Your Grace?”

  Eleanor jumped and nearly dropped the photo frame.

  Rose spoke softly, but she still managed to startle Eleanor who felt self-conscious upon angling her tearstained face toward the voice. She knew her eyes were glazed and red from crying and was thankful her maid pretended not to notice.

  “Your Grace,” Rose offered kindly, “your bath is ready.”

  “Yes, of course.” Eleanor acknowledged with slight embarrassment before she put the photograph back on the bedside table and got up. Wiping away tears, she turned her back to her maid, who immediately stepped forward to help her undress. Standing in undergarments, Eleanor dismissed Rose and went into the bathroom, stripped out of her remaining clothes, and lowered herself into the steaming, fragrant water. She lay back and closed her eyes, desperately trying to get rid of the haunting images of the past.

  After his wife left the gymnasium, Lord Edgewood retired to his study. He sat behind his desk, another letter of invitation right in front of him, and pondered how he could convince Eleanor to accept and take a prolonged trip to Vienna, if only for the sake of a change of scenery. Henry was convinced it would do her good to spend some time away from the reminders of the past. The house was full of such mementos, and it often seemed to him Eleanor did everything she could not to have to let go. She behaved as if she thought she was still not ready—or almost as if the reminders were a punishment. For what, though, he had no idea.

  Maybe Charlotte could help. Their daughter always had a way of getting through to her mother when others failed miserably. He would talk to her as soon as she returned from her ride with her cousin and her brother. Suddenly, his brow smoothed out at the prospect of a plan.

  Chapter Two

  The boisterous arrival of three young people didn’t go unnoticed. Henry opened the door of his study to find his children talking and laughing in the hall, all the while thrusting their riding gear in the footman’s waiting arms.

  “Children!” Henry admonished them good-naturedly. “Let poor Cedric go! He can only take so much.”

  “Papa!” Charlotte exclaimed at the sight of her father. She greeted him with a light kiss on his cheek and received one in return.

  “Hello, my dear. Did you have a nice ride?”

  Philip, Henry’s son and heir, said, “We did,” and greeted his father with a grin.

  “Sir.” Martin nodded at the man, who had been a father to him as long as he could remember. At twenty-seven, Martin was the eldest of the threesome. He had lost his father at a young age, at which time he and his mother had moved to Number 6 Grosvenor Square

  “I am glad to hear it.” Lord Edgewood beamed at his children. While only two of them were of his flesh, certainly all three were children of his heart. Charlotte, at twenty-two, had been presented at court four years earlier, and she still did not have a special admirer. Neither had her brother set his eyes on a particular young woman, but he was a mere twenty years old and could not be expected to marry so young. The three were often in high spirits, and Henry was glad to have their youthful exuberance in the house.

  “Charlotte,” Henry said, “before you go to your room, would you join me in my study? I
t will only take a minute.”

  “Of course, Papa,” the young woman readily agreed, wondering what was on her father’s mind.

  While Philip and Martin went upstairs to change for the afternoon tea, Charlotte followed her father into his study and sat on the comfort-able settee in front of the fire, which she highly appreciated. Despite the sun, the first days of spring were still cool, and the fire helped eliminate the chill. With hands folded in her lap, she waited expectantly to find out what was troubling her father.

  Henry collected an invitation from his desk and handed it over. She felt his eyes upon her, waiting for her reaction. She took a moment to peruse the invitation.

  Impatient, he said, “Well? What do you think?”

  “I think it would be wonderful. What does Mama say?”

  “That is the problem you see.” Henry took a seat next to his daughter. “She doesn’t know about it. This is the second invitation to Vienna I found in the afternoon mail.”

  “Oh, I see.” She understood without the need for her father to elaborate further. An opportunity to travel to the continent was not interesting to her mother now, perhaps not ever again. Chewing on her bottom lip, Charlotte wondered if he wanted her to talk to her mother.

  He put his hand over his daughter’s wrist. “She already cast aside the first one without a second thought, I’m afraid. “I know I shouldn’t ask you this, but will you speak to her? You of all people in this house seem to be the only one your mother at least listens to.”

  Charlotte knew this was true, although she had no idea why. “All right, Papa. But you have to give it time. Right now, the timing would be completely wrong.”

  “Do what you think is best, my dear. All I want is for your mother to think it over. If she is not inclined to a lengthy stay, we could keep it short or let go of the idea completely.”