The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) by Margaret Brazear Page B

from the outside as
though the place were abandoned.  Something else to
worry me.   Would someone come along thinking they could take
over?  I felt that I had all the burdens of the world on my shoulders, but
I needed to be strong for Lucy and Louisa, especially for Louisa.
    We had managed to grow a few vegetables and they were mostly what we
lived on since the money was almost all gone and not one of us relished the
idea of hunting animals and killing them for meat.
       
The morning that Louisa came running into the kitchen I thought our little
world would be shattered once more.
        “My Lady!”   She cried in panic.  “A
gentleman just rode up!”
       
“Do you know who?”  I asked her fearfully.
       
“No, My Lady, I have never seen him before, but he is dismounting.  I came
straight to tell you.”
       
“Thank you Louisa,” I said taking her hand to reassure her.
       
“I’ll go and look,” said Lucy quickly.  “I may be able to get rid of him,
whoever he is. Probably just someone curious about the place.  
I am surprised he is the first.”
       
She went through to the front of the house where she could look through the
windows without being seen, but instead of returning as I had expected or going
outside quietly to persuade whoever it was to go away, I heard the door open
followed by a delighted cry of “My Lord!”
       
When she returned she was followed by Richard Summerville, striding toward me
as though he had never been gone.  He took me in his arms and held me in a
comforting embrace while all the tears that I had carefully held in check these
past years spilled out over his doublet.
       
I caught an exchange of glances between my two young serving girls. 
Lucy's was delighted, Louisa's was puzzled, but both had smiles on their lips.
       
“I have searched for months for you,” he told me.  “It was sheer chance
that brought me here.”
       
I led him into the little sitting room where a fire was roaring while Lucy
fetched ale and bread then left us together to talk.
       
“Where were you?  I needed you so much when my uncle died; I had no
one.  They told me you were in France.”
       
“I was.  I had to find a place for my cousin in one of the convents. 
There are none left here.”  He put his arm around me and held me
close.  “I am so sorry, Rachel, that you had to marry yet again.  I
should have been there for you; I feel that I have let you down.”
       
“You owe me nothing, My Lord,” I replied. 
       
“That is not how I see it but no matter.  What has happened to your
husband?” He turned my face up to look at him.  “Why is he not taking care
of you?”   
       
What could I say?  Richard was my dearest friend, indeed until Lucy and
Louisa came into my life, my only friend.  But could I really tell him
that my husband was rotting away in my wine cellar, where I put him?
       
“He is not here,” I answered quickly, not ready to talk about him.  “Tell
me about yourself, your wife?  Did you persuade her to annul the
marriage?”
       
“I did,” he said with a note of regret that I did not understand, “and now I
wish I had not troubled her with it.  I thought I could just let her
be.  I was not going short of affection, after all, but I began to resent
her so much.  I tried to be patient, but I will never really
understand.  By the time I decided to confront her with it, I really hated
her, and I expect that must have been clear in my tone.”  He stopped
talking and turned to look at me.  “Is that not awful?  She had no
help for how she was; it was not her fault.”  He sighed heavily before
going on:  “I explained it to her carefully, gently I thought.  I
could have got her woman companion to explain it to her, but I did not want her
to know our secrets and I doubt that Rosemary did either.  So I explained
it myself, even though I could see she was afraid of the subject.”