Seeing auras was an ability she’d desired but assumed she would never have. Still, it wasn’t unknown for new abilities to surface. Possibly the intensive healing she had done on Jack had developed a latent talent. She hoped that it lasted. “You’ve had a tiring morning. Perhaps you should nap now.”
Jack looked scandalized. “I can’t go to bed in the middle of the day!”
Suppressing her amusement, she said, “Think of napping as an aid to healing faster rather than as evidence of weakness.”
“That does sound better,” he admitted. “Very well, but only a short one.” He thumped over to the stairs and turned to sit. By the time he reached the top, Morris had appeared to take charge of him.
Abby guessed that Jack would sleep for several hours, so this would be a good time to explore the attics to see if there were any usable furnishings. After changing to her oldest morning gown, she wrapped a warm wool shawl around her shoulders, found a lantern, and headed upstairs. The stairs to the attics were wide, which was promising. Large furniture could have been carried up this way.
The Hill House attic was chaotic, but interestingly so. The lantern light revealed strange shapes, intriguing shadows, and evidence of vermin. Hoping it was too cold for rats or mice to be active, Abby decided to sharpen her intuition by using it to choose which trunks and barrels and boxes to explore.
Her intuition was in good working order despite the biting chill in the attic. The first trunk she opened contained attractive blue brocade draperies. They needed cleaning, but were usable. Very likely they were cut to fit existing windows.
Intuition’s next choice was a long, heavy roll of canvas secured by several tied cords. She felt the buzz of a minor spell when she untied the cords. The spell had been cast to repel moths, and it had successfully preserved half a dozen handsome oriental carpets. All they needed was a beating to remove dust.
As another test of intuition, she opened a trunk that didn’t call to her, and found only clothing so badly worn that servants would disdain it.
She happily worked her way across the first attic room to the opposite door, finding more draperies and some linens as well. The door opened to a larger room stacked with furniture, pieces jumbled on top of each other with such profusion that it was hard to see shapes and condition.
She hung the lamp on a nail protruding from a rough-hewn post and shifted a tangle of wooden Windsor chairs from a long sofa. The sofa’s upholstery was a disaster—generations of mice had lived long and happy lives in one end—but the lines were good and the frame was sound. After cleaning and reupholstering, it would be fine enough for the drawing room.
The bentwood Windsor chairs she’d taken off the top were also usable. The wood was somewhat battered, but the scratches would largely disappear when the wood was oiled. She dusted one off and tested it. It was as comfortable as a good Windsor chair was supposed to be. The set would do for the breakfast parlor, whose present chairs were mismatched and uncomfortable.
Pleased, Abby probed deeper into the piles. Some of the furniture was in such dire condition that it was fit only for firewood, but most of the pieces were quite decent and some were excellent.
She was shifting the lantern to another post when she heard a ghostly scraping noise in the distance. She halted as shivers ran up her spine. The sounds were—inhuman. Like some great, shuffling beast looking for prey.
The scraping sounds stopped and were replaced by a muttered curse, then tapping. Jack’s crutches.
Amused by how quickly superstition reared its head in a dark attic, she lifted the lantern and went to meet him. “I’m glad it’s you, not a ghost, but I thought you’d sworn off risky behavior?”
His smile was roguishly handsome in the lantern light. “Climbing steps on my rump is undignified, but the only risk is Morris’s reaction when he sees the effect on my trousers.” He surveyed his surroundings with interest. “I’ve never been up here before. Have you found anything worthwhile?”
“There are some very nice pieces of furniture and good draperies. Old, but good quality. I suspect that the previous owners disliked older furniture and moved everything up here when they took residence. We shall benefit from that. Look at this lovely walnut chest.” She skimmed the silky wood with her fingertips, wondering how anyone could have buried such beauty in an attic. “It’s probably from Stuart times, and good for several centuries more of use.”
“Very handsome. It would look good in the front hall, don’t you think?” Jack picked his way across the room to examine a barrel with spindly objects sticking out the top. “A collection of canes. I wonder if any would suit me?” He set his right crutch aside and pulled out the longest cane to test the height. “Am I ready to graduate from crutches to a stick?”
Thinking this was a good opportunity to show she wasn’t always managing, she said, “You are the best judge of that, I think.”
Jack set the other crutch aside and took a step with the cane. Wincing, he said, “My right leg can’t take so much weight yet, but this stick is a good length.” He retrieved his crutches.
“I’ll have the cane cleaned so it will be ready when you are.” She knelt to investigate several paintings stacked against the wall. Jack came to look over her shoulder. All were landscapes or hunting scenes. “Not great art, but pleasant,” she said, very aware of his warmth at her back.
“What do you think?”
“They’ll fill up the empty spaces nicely. I like landscapes much better than grim portraits of grim ancestors.”
The vehemence in his voice suggested that his family seat in Yorkshire had its share of such portraits. She stood, careful not to brush against him and perhaps disturb his balance. “Over here, we have a very nice clothespress, plus a set of chairs that will do in the breakfast room. There are some good tables as well.”
“This attic is a treasure trove,” Jack agreed. “What’s that against the wall?”
“I haven’t looked at that yet.” Abby squeezed between the clothespress and a trestle table stacked with boxes, then announced, “It’s a bedstead, from the same period as that chest, I think. They might have been parts of a set.” She stroked a carved post taller than she was. “Who cares about fashion when something is beautiful?”
“It’s large, too. Perhaps the man who ordered it was extra tall.” Again Jack moved next to Abby. “Large enough for both of us to be comfortable.”
Their gazes met, and the intimacy in his eyes made Abby blush when she thought of sharing that bed. That warmth made her forget the biting chill of the attic. She was tempted to raise her face and kiss him, but being dressed and upright made her shyer than she had been the night before in his bed. A little breathlessly, she said, “I…I’ll order new bedding for it.”
From the mischief in Jack’s eyes, it was obvious he knew exactly what she was thinking and was considering a kiss of his own. After a pulse-racing moment, he moved away. “What needs to be done besides moving the decent furniture downstairs?”
Wondering if he had been deliberately teasing her, she replied, “A few pieces will need a carpenter to make repairs, but in most cases, the wood just needs to be cleaned and oiled. The upholstered pieces will require more work. More draperies will be needed, too. If we’re going to London, we can visit some of the fabric warehouses.” She surveyed the sofa and chairs, estimating how much fabric would be needed. “What colors do you love or hate? How do you wish Hill House to look?”
“I want it to be friendly. Welcoming. Not too formal. This is a hunting box, not a ducal mansion.” He lowered himself onto the sofa, avoiding the mouse-nibbled section. “Barton Grange is very welcoming. I’d like Hill House to be its equal.”
“I’d like that too.” She gestured at the still-unexplored piles and corners around them. “This fine old furniture will give the feeling that the house has been a much-loved family home for generations.”
“I’d like that,” he said softly. “Langdale Hall is…not so friendly.”
She was tempted to ask more, but didn’t want to interrupt the playful mood. “How do you feel about battered Greek statues? There’s one over here, probably stolen from a temple somewhere.”
As she moved past Jack, she tripped on his crutches, which were invisible in the shadows. As she tried to catch her balance, his strong hands caught her in midair. “Careful! We can’t have you broken, too.”
She caught her breath as he pulled her to safety in his lap. His very, very comfortable lap. Hoping she would get her kiss, she asked, “Am I crushing your leg?”
“Since I broke the lower part, not the upper, you’re not causing any damage.” His arms tightened around her waist. “Don’t try to leave. I like holding you.”
When he touched his lips to hers, Abby responded with enthusiasm. She loved the warmth of his lips, the touch of his tongue to hers, his provocative, exploring hands, the surge of heat where their bodies pressed together.
Her eyes drifted shut as she let delight take her. Gradually she noticed that the physical pleasure of their embrace was accompanied by colors that pulsed through her body and mind. It was their energies swirling and blending together, she realized, bright red and tender pink and the delicate green of growth. “I see colors dancing around us,” she said dreamily. “Passion and happiness and awakening.”
His hands stilled and he ended the kiss with a frown. “I see colors, too. That’s never happened before.”
“Magic,” she whispered. “A rainbow of passion as we come together.”
“The colors come from you, not me,” he said brusquely. “I’m no wizard.”
“You don’t have the training, but you do have the power,” she pointed out. “That’s why you were sent to Stonebridge Academy.”
Jack’s whole body stiffened. “As a boy I was too interested in magic, but I had no power myself.”
“Of course you do,” she said, startled that he would deny it. “I forgot to tell you, but I drew on your magic when we did the healing circle. You contributed the last, vital amount of energy. Without that, we wouldn’t have had enough power to save you.”
“No!” The revulsion on Jack’s face spoke even more strongly than his words.
Feeling as if she’d been struck, Abby scrambled from his lap. “I knew you were uncomfortable with magic. Stonebridge saw to that. But I thought you were beginning to accept it better.” Her voice became edged. “After all, you married a wizard.”
His mouth tightened. “You saved my life, and I had given my word.”
“I released you from that promise. Did you marry me only from your misguided sense of honor?” she asked, wondering how they had so quickly slipped from passion into their first argument.
“No.” There was a long pause. “I like and respect you. But it’s easiest when I don’t think about your abilities.”
She bit her lip. She had thought that he understood and was becoming more accepting. Obviously not.
The real problem wasn’t her, she realized, but him. The suggestion that he had magic was what had made his hackles stand on end. She wondered how bad the beatings had been at Stonebridge Academy. Perhaps he’d been beaten even earlier, when he was a little boy experimenting with his first stirrings of power.
Very gently she touched his mind. It was a violation of magical ethics to probe without permission, but no probing was required. The merest touch showed the emotional scars he’d acquired when his parents didn’t accept him for what he was.
Knowing that allowed her to put aside her own hurt. Voice calm, she said, “It’s going to be difficult to forget about my magic. You were there this morning when I was called away to do healing. That won’t change. I have been given a gift from God, and it would be wrong not to use it to help where I can. We could not stay together if you tried to forbid me from doing my work.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn’t ask you to stop. I, more than anyone, understand the value of what you do. But I’d rather think that your help is like what my mother did—carrying baskets of food and jellies to ailing tenants.”
“I don’t think of you as a man who wishes to hide from the truth.”
“In most things, I don’t.” He hauled himself up on his crutches, his expression forbidding. “Shall we finish exploring this room? I think I see a rather nice desk in that corner, under a pile of old cushions.”
Silently she lifted the lantern and they moved to investigate the corner. It was indeed a nice desk, despite the desiccated form of a long-dead bird that lay on top. Cleaned up, the desk would be suitable for one of the bedrooms.
It was easier to fix furniture than husbands.
She spent the rest of the day supervising the larger male servants as they brought furniture down the steep steps and into the unused bedrooms. With the assistance of two maids, Abby started cleaning the pieces. By dinnertime, the handsome Stuart chest was sitting in the front hall with a bust of Plato on top. She set an old tricorne hat on Plato’s marble brow. Jack was much amused.
But when she came to his room that night, hoping for another sensual night, his long body was turned away from her and he was asleep.
Or pretending to be.
Chapter XV
Abby was hanging tapestries in the front hall when Judith swept in, wearing a shabby riding habit, a hat whose feather had seen better days, and a radiant expression that made the age of her clothing irrelevant. “Abby, hello! I was all prepared to be formal and ask a footman to announce my presence to Lady Frayne. I should have realized that you would resist formality like a duck sheds rain.”
Abby laughed as she stepped down from the wooden stepladder. “Welcome! What do you think of the hall?”
Her friend’s gaze moved over the tapestries, the Stuart era chest, the sturdy oak settle, and the richly patterned, if slightly worn, oriental carpet. “I can’t believe this is the same place where the wedding breakfast was held a mere week ago! Have you developed a magical gift for conjuring up furnishings?”
“The attics were a treasure trove of old carpets, furniture, draperies, paintings, and even these tapestries, which aren’t old but are very pretty,” Abby explained as she gestured around her. Though the house would benefit by new paint and paper, it looked much better than it had the week before. “I’ve been spending Jack’s money lavishly to hire people for fixing the house. At this season there isn’t a lot of work, so there was no shortage of workers to scrub and polish and wax. Some of the bedrooms haven’t been touched, but the rooms where we spend most of our time are much improved.”
“I’d love to see what you’ve done, but later.” Judith was almost bouncing on the tips of her riding boots. “You must have been the one who told Lord Frayne I would love to have my own cottage. It’s so incredibly generous of him! As soon as I received the letter, I thought of what might be the perfect place. Will you come look at it with me?”
So Jack was doing as he’d promised. He hadn’t mentioned that to his wife. Abby hesitated. “I’ve so much to do here.”
“And you’re still on your honeymoon,” Judith agreed. “I know it’s dreadfully bad of me to ask, but it’s such a pretty, warm day, almost like spring. And I would like to get your opinion.”
Abby looked at the sunshine and succumbed to temptation. “Give me a few minutes to change into riding clothes. Jack is out riding, and I should be, too.”
“He’s on horseback already? He heals quickly.” Judith’s gaze narrowed as she studied Abby, obviously seeing that there was still an energy flow from her to her husband. Though she frowned, she said nothing.
“He’s determined to regain his strength as quickly as possible,” Abby said as an oblique explanation. “Have a seat in the drawing room, and I’ll be with you soon.”
She climbed the stairs with unladylike speed, suddenly eager for fresh air and sunshine and the company of a friend. A two-legged friend, that was. Her father had brought Cleocatra across the valley to live with her. A connoisseur of comfort, Cleo was snoozing on Abby’s bed. Abby ga
ve the cat a quick scratch, then changed into her riding habit, which was almost as worn as Judith’s. Though she could have afforded better, it never seemed worthwhile to dress up for the cows and crows.
Within fifteen minutes, the two women were trotting across the valley. Abby inhaled deeply. “Thank you for luring me out. I’ve been so busy with the house that I’ve neglected everything else. Now tell me about the cottage!”
“You’ve been by Rose Cottage many times, but it’s behind hedges and trees so you might not have really noticed. It’s just outside the village. The Harrises raised eight healthy children there, which seems a good omen. Mr. Harris added a wing because of all those children, so there’s space for me to keep patients who need extra care.”
“Sounds just right!” Unable to resist the sunny day, Abby urged her mount into a canter. “Did Mrs. Harris die? I hadn’t heard that.”
Judith increased her pony’s gait to match Abby. “She’s still alive but hasn’t been well. Her oldest son moved her in with his family. The cottage has been empty for months, and they’ve decided to sell.”
“The location is good and you need more space. I hope Rose Cottage doesn’t have the rising damp your present cottage does!”
“No damp.” Judith’s eyes were glowing. “Abby, it’s perfect! To own my own house and not have to worry about paying the rent—it’s more than I dreamed of.”
Abby knew her friend hadn’t been raised with rising damp, or to worry about paying her bills. She had paid a high price for the right to use her magic. Her gift for midwifery made the Melton Mowbray area one of the safest places to bear children in Britain, but it wasn’t a calling that always paid well. “Will repairs be required?”
They reached a fork in the road and Judith swung her solid little pony to the right. “Only whitewashing and clearing the garden, which has run wild since Mrs. Harris’s health failed. Lord Frayne said he would cover the cost of necessary improvements, so I’ll be able to do what’s needed.”