Justin was conscious of a feeling of great well-being that went bone deep, even soul deep. But he must not let himself sleep late or even to a normal getting-up time. Wes would probably rise with the dawn or before it, and he would rouse Ricky too, and they would be on their way back to Gloucestershire. With a single horse and without saying goodbye.
Wes had been mortified to see Justin here in his own world. He had been mortified too by Ricky’s enthusiastic accounts of being bathed and shaved by Justin’s own special servant and of sleeping in a great big bed that felt as though it were made all of feathers. And of Justin’s sister thanking him for coming and telling him that he would have found her sooner than her brother had if he had only been here in time. And of a lady who had held his hand to take him to Justin when he first came, and whose handhehad held tight because she was frightened up high on thegallery right in the middle of Justin’s house, just under that great dome of glass Wes could see if he looked. And of how his food was fetched on a tray with real china plates and real silver forks and spoons and how it tasted almost as good as Hildy’s food.
Wes had patted Ricky’s shoulder while muttering, “Bloody hell.”
“You didn’t ought to say that, Wes,” Ricky had said. “Hildy would be cross with you.”
He ought to have made Wes promise not to leave without saying goodbye, Justin thought as he reluctantly forced himself up to full consciousness—and the realization that he was on the narrow bed in the summerhouse, his body entwined with Estelle’s, both of them naked. She was sleeping.
Good God. What time was it? He had not intended to sleep. His watch was out of reach. He must get her back to the house before she was missed, and before she was seen by any early-rising servants.
He moved the hair back from her face with one finger and lowered his head to kiss her brow, her nose, her lips. She made a low sound of protest or appreciation—it was impossible to tell which—and opened her eyes. The single candle was still burning, but it was guttering a bit, as though it was close to burning itself out.
“Oh,” she said.
“I must take you back to the house,” he said. “I do not want you to be seen.”
She raised one hand and laid a finger along the top of his nose. “You must have had two black eyes as well,” she said.
“Black, purple, blue, green, puce, lavender. Name a color and my eyes were it,” he said. “Wes knows how to use his fists. Did I tell you what he did after he knocked me to the floor in that tavern?”
“I do not believe so,” she said.
“He turned to the yokel who had been pawing the barmaid,” he said, “and told him to take a good look at me. He warned him he would look twice as bad if his hands ever again came within six inches of that barmaid or any other.”
She smiled slowly at him. “Will I meet him tomorrow?” she asked. “Ortoday, I suppose I mean.”
“He probably hopes to leave here before I am out of my bed,” he said. “I will take you back to the house and then go up and talk to him.”
“Up?” she said.
“He and Ricky are staying at the blacksmith’s house,” he told her. “Up on top of the hill behind the house. All the laborers’ cottages are there in a village of their own. There is a shop too, and a school. Most of the farmland is up there. I’ll go and talk to Wes before he can sneak away.”
“Take me with you,” she said, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him on the lips.
“That is not a good idea,” he said. “You will be seen.”
“That would be dreadful,” she said, and even in the dim light he could see laughter in her eyes. “Do you still want me to be your countess?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Do you not want your best friend to meet your future countess?” she asked him.
“Estelle—”
“I want to say goodbye to Ricky,” she said. “I love him, and I think he loves me.”
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” he asked her.
She smiled radiantly at him and he swore under his breath. He heaved a sigh.
“Did I hurt you terribly?” he asked.
“Not terribly,” she said. “It was lovely beyond belief.And if that look on your face means that you are about to feel qualms of conscience, forget them and refrain from being tedious. It was fully consensual, Justin.”
“Not just sympathy because I wept?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “It was joy,” she said. “Because you were finally able to forgive your father and yourself. And were free to be yourself again. Justin, the darkness is gone.”
