Just the thought makes my body respond; I know enough to understand that the moisture I felt in certain areas was in answer to Jeremy’s touch. I loved it, dear Diary, and I suppose I should now regard myself as a sinner. Well, so be it.
It would seem that sinning is a great deal more pleasurable than being virtuous and then being beaten for it.
I doubt it will happen again, and I shall say no more of it after today.
But I cannot help wondering what it was that made Jeremy react so strongly to the sight of my bruised skin. Perhaps one day I will learn the story behind it…
Chapter Seven
True to her promise, Adalyn kept her counsel and remained silent about Jeremy’s nocturnal visit. Her bed was empty when she awoke, and they continued to greet each other at breakfast as if nothing had happened.
She began to set up a pattern of activity over the next few weeks, and although she suspected that Jeremy would be quite willing to repeat his trip to her room, she did her best to keep any hints that he might be welcome to herself. Feelings of uncertainty whispered in her mind now and again—whether she had she done the right thing or made a horrid mistake. Her upbringing was difficult to overcome even though she was of an age to make her own decisions.
Most mornings, there were letters about estate matters, which she diverted to Daniel. Often they would spend an hour or two going over them, especially if some required expenditures from the Manor accounts.
She might pop down to the kitchen, lured there when Evan was cooking something that sent tendrils of mouth-watering fragrance through the house. She learned much about food from him, the way to tell ripe fruits and vegetables, and how to prove a good loaf of bread.
Learning to ride was supposed to be her spring endeavour, but the weather refused to present any clear days. Trick had hoped to purchase a suitable horse for her, but he announced that until he could assess her seat, he was hesitant to choose one, lest it not fit her requirements. Putting her on anything while the ground was a soft and muddy mess wouldn’t serve at all.
The whole business of being the Lady of Wolfbridge was becoming real to Adalyn. Each day she made a new decision or consulted with any of her gentlemen—it was a reinforcement of who she was. And the men supported, encouraged and at times demanded she assume the role without hesitation or question.
One morning she spent some time with Evan, discussing food, his cooking facilities and finally, as her curiosity grew, stepping outside into what was currently the kitchen garden. She pulled her shawl around her, for the day was grey and chilly, but the wind had lost its bite and she felt no need for her coat.
“Spring is on the way, I think,” she lifted her head and sniffed. “Can you smell it?”
Evan chuckled. “I think you’re smelling the wet leaves, Lady Adalyn.”
“No, really.” She blinked at him. “There is something in the air when the seasons prepare to change. You must have noticed in autumn…the way the world smells of chrysanthemums.”
He shook his head. “I can see you’re a person who has what’s called anose, my Lady. Your sense of smell is beyond us mortals.”
“Nonsense,” she chided him. “I have a perfectly normal nose. And it’s telling me this is your mint.” She stooped to a small recessed area in the wall of the kitchen and picked off a leaf from a plant, rubbing it between her fingers and sniffing with delight.
“You have found it. Sturdy little plant, isn’t she?”
“She?” Adalyn quirked an eyebrow. “Your mint is a she?”
“Of course.” He looked at her in surprise. “There are beautiful tiny flowers in early summer. A scent that lingers faintly even after you’ve put down the leaves, and a root that takes hold and refuses to let go.” He grinned. “What else could it be but a female?”
Adalyn laughed. “I’m thinking your opinion of women must be quite confusing, Evan. But I’ll agree with you on the mint.” She walked on a little, taking the narrow turf path between the flowerbeds. “What other herbs do you have?”
He followed behind her, pointing out various plants, some still green, others which had died back to mere dry stumps.
“You know this garden well,” said Adalyn as they reached the end. “How long have you been at Wolfbridge?”
“About two years now, I suppose.” He bent and gently freed a tiny green sprig of something, allowing it to breathe beneath a larger leaf. “Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been here much longer than that.”
“You were a cook before you arrived, I take it. Such delicious meals don’t spring to life from the hands of someone who has no experience.”
“One might say that, yes.” He turned away and starting walking back toward the kitchen. “My mother loved to cook. I believe I inherited her fascination with the colours, textures, tastes…the business of combining so many wonderful flavours to produce an even more splendid dish.”
“She must have been an amazing woman,” said Adalyn quietly.
“She was.”
He reached the kitchen and turned, his hazel eyes lowered. “My Lady.” He held the door open for her.
“I’m sorry, Evan.” She touched his arm. “I did not mean to resurrect painful memories. I deduce from your words that your mother is no longer with us. You have my deepest sympathies.”
