A more cynical person might have waited a while before allowing themselves to become pregnant, but Dee had fallen headlong in love – with Henry and with Kirkshield – so why would she want to put off the inevitable? The earl wanted heirs, and she wanted the earl.
By the time Olivia was toddling and Sebastian – the first son and therefore the hallowed male heir – was screaming his head off in the nursery, Dee’s future was already set. And with the arrival of baby number three, which was heralded more by Henry’s disappointment that Freya hadn’t been a Felix than by any sense of celebration, Dee was in absolutely no doubt. While she had remained true to the man she had fallen very much in love with, the favour hadn’t been returned. She had served her purpose, even if she’d performed rather poorly with the score two-to-one in favour of female offspring, and Henry had turned his carnal interests in other directions.
Dee had continued to try through the next few years, to do her best to rekindle the romance she’d thought had been there at the start. But it didn’t take her long to work out there hadn’t actually been a whole lot of romance. If she thought about it in a detached way, it wasn’t difficult to establish that it had always been about the end goal. About procuring a willing, healthy, young wife to create the next Earl of Kirkshield to follow in Henry’s footsteps. She began to wonder if Henry was even capable of love.
Dee toyed with a piece of potato, rolling it around in a blob of mayonnaise she’d spooned onto her plate in a ploy to look as though she was interested in eating.
In a way, she supposed it had been fascinating that such obvious adultery had never once been spoken about. Each time a pretty new nanny or housemaid appeared, Dee was under no illusion as to why they had been employed. She could have spoken out at any time. But she never had.
At least Henry had been discreet, and never once had a call of inappropriate behaviour landed at his door. Henry was many things, but he was able to turn on the charm, and retained his handsome features and authoritative air even as he headed through his later years.
There had been many times when Dee had struggled to remain silent, had wanted to confront him – but what would it achieve? The ruination of her children’s formative years, for certain. The end of her time at the castle, the smudge of guilt by association. After all, there was always a reason why husbands strayed, wasn’t there …?
It had seemed a far more sensible option to hide the whole situation under the proverbial rug, to sweep the disappointment away and pretend everything was as it should be. At least that way she could cling on to her pride, remain in the place she loved. Keep face.
And after the way people had turned on his first wife for divorcing him, Dee wasn’t sure she would come out of an unpleasant separation with anything, let alone a sense of self-worth. Did she really want to abandon everything she’d built in the pursuit of … of what? Truth? Romantic happiness? Both of those things were subjective, nebulous. Open to interpretation.
Instead, Dee had learnt to seek pleasure in things which didn’t involve Henry. The brave beauty of the first snowdrops poking their way through the snow. The unchallenged strength of a stag with his newly grown, velvet-covered antlers, surveying his territory. Seeing her beautiful children grow. Watching the way the seasons turned on the estate.
Although there had been plenty to appreciate about her life at Kirkshield, she knew she’d missed out on so many things. But maybe it had all been worth it, because there was no doubt she was relieved that her son was home at last, and with time would grow into the role of the Earl of Kirkshield. Regardless of his misgivings, Dee remained confident he would make a far better job of the role than his father had.
Sebastian reminded Dee of her late husband in some ways – the strength of his features and his striking good looks, his walk, which was remarkably like his father’s, his love of chocolate. Henry had had a sweet tooth, too.
But in other ways they were nothing alike. While Henry had spent most of the winter months outside with his pair of Purdey shotguns, blasting pheasants from the sky, Sebastian had only ever accompanied his father under duress, missing everything on purpose and quietly refusing to be cowed for his lack of accuracy. Henry’s self-confidence and bullish attitude had carried him through his entire life, and Dee knew full well that his hard-edged, aggressive parenting style hadn’t worked well for the sensitive little boy he’d done his best to mould in his own image.
And the disagreement about Catriona had been the final straw, sending Sebastian running to London.
But the biggest difference of all had perhaps been the most important. Sebastian had empathy for others. Dee knew this was why her son had returned to take up the yoke of Kirkshield Castle, rather than abandoning them in favour of his life in London.
She glanced at her son, at the tight lines around his mouth and the way he was doing his best to appear happy to be back, and bit at the inside of her mouth until she got under control the sudden desire to cry. She needed to get a grip. With her fork abandoned, she pushed away her plate and reminded herself that Sebastian was only doing his duty.
It was time for him to take on the responsibility he had grown up knowing full well would be his one day. He simply needed time to adjust. There had always been an Earl of Kirkshield. None of the others had ever had a choice, and whether he liked it or not, now it was Sebastian’s turn to step up.
Chapter 4
The following morning it took Jess a few seconds to work out what had woken her up. A snuffling, licking noise close to her pillow prompted her to open her eyes to see Digby running through his early morning ablutions on her duvet. Close enough for her to get an extra-special early-morning blast of Digby-breath.
She supposed she should be grateful it was his breath she could smell, especially with his back leg cocked up far enough for him to be able to lick all the way to his …
‘Christ’s sake, Digby. Get off my bed.’
As a rule, Jess favoured a slower start to the day, but this morning she flung back the covers and ejected herself from the bed before Digby’s digestive system could realise how squashed it was.
‘Getdownfrom there, dog. Right. Now.’
For once her tone of voice must have carried enough authority, because with a protracted sigh, Digby gave her the filthiest look ever, then slid the entire length of his undercarriage across her duvet as he vacated her bed and flopped with exaggerated pathos into his basket.
‘Thank you.’
The room was icy cold, and Jess pulled on a woolly jumper before beginning to strip the bed. However tempting it might be to slide back into the pocket of warm air she’d only just vacated and grab a few more minutes of dozing time, there was no way she could bring herself to get close to linen on which Digby had licked parts of his anatomy she’d rather not think about.
With the sheets sloshing around in the washing machine, and Digby furnished with breakfast, Jess made a mug of instant coffee and dragged a chair to the circle of warmth in front of the Aga, propping her feet – now encased in thick fluffy socks – onto the spindles to keep them from the icy touch of the flagstones.
Underfloor heating might have been invented by the Romans, but it was clear it hadn’t been in the designs for Kirkshield Castle. Understandable, perhaps – Jess reminded herself that the Romans hadn’t ever made a proper dent this far north, had been beaten back by the fierce, blue-faced Celtic tribes. But the fact remained, there didn’t seem to beanyform of heating currently in operation. The place was like the inside of a fridge.
Jess was sure there was a minimum level of heat required for a work environment, wasn’t there? Did that apply to private dwellings? It hadn’t ever occurred to her before; everywhere she’d worked had been toasty warm and even her tiny one-bed rented flat, devoid of heating unless absolutely necessary, took very little time to warm up. Jess glanced around the kitchen and pursed her lips. A place like this would take significantly longer to heat up – and with energy costs at their present levels, she supposed it wasn’t a surprise that the place wasn’t well heated. Historically, they would have relied on open fires, closed doors and heavy curtains, while she supposed those below stairs would have been kept warm by constant physical labour and the heat from the kitchen ranges.
Jess shivered, sipping at her coffee and curling her fingers around the warmth of the mug. Funny to think that in this setting she could be considered a servant. It wasn’t a job description she was keen on, but somehow this place was so ridiculously grand she was feeling utterly out of her depth, struggling to understand how she was supposed to fit in. Perhaps the whole point was that she never would. After all, the new earl seemed utterly unimpressed by her existence. And Jess’s itchy feet would ensure she was ready to move on when the time came.
