Marriage Reclaimed. Sara Craven
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‘No, thanks.’ She gave him a constrained smile. ‘I have to be getting back, anyway.’
‘But you will some other time?’ He grimaced slightly. ‘I feel a bit isolated, to be honest. The landlords were abroad when I moved in, and they haven’t been all that sociable since their return.’
‘Perhaps they feel they should keep any relationship on a business footing.’ Joanna spoke coolly, disliking the implied criticism in his voice.
He groaned. ‘Oh, hell, please don’t freeze me too. I’m sure the Osbornes are really lovely people.’
‘Indeed they are.’ Joanna hesitated. ‘Maybe we take slightly longer to make up our minds about people in the country.’
‘Then I must be an inveterate townie,’ he said promptly. ‘Because I knew I liked you from the first moment I saw you.’
She was aware of that tell-tale blush again, and angry with herself because of it.
She said sedately, ‘Then that just shows the danger of snap judgements.’
‘I’m not afraid of taking risks either,’ he said. ‘Which is something we have in common, Mrs Joanna Verne.’
‘On the contrary.’ Joanna put her car in gear, preparing to drive off. ‘I’m extremely cautious.’
‘Not if you plan to ride that chestnut on a regular basis.’
In the mirror she could see Gabriel’s car turning the corner towards them, and cursed under her breath.
She said hurriedly, ‘Actually, it’s my husband’s horse, so I doubt if I’ll have much chance to take it out again. Now I really must go.’
‘Of course.’ He stood back from the car, his smile warm, lingering. ‘But I look forward to seeing you again soon.’
He went back into the Lodge, closing the front door behind him. Joanna waited on the verge for Gabriel to overtake her. She half expected him to stop the car and make some comment, but he simply drove past—almost as if she hadn’t been there, she thought crossly.
Yet she knew he’d seen her. Seen them. She’d felt his eyes boring into her all the way down the drive.
She followed at a safe distance until they reached the crossroads, when he took the road to Westroe instead of the turning to the Manor.
Off to Larkspur Cottage, no doubt, Joanna thought, cornering much too fast.
She straightened up, slowed down, and pulled over to the side of the road. Killing herself, after all, wouldn’t improve a thing.
It occurred to her that for the first time in her life she was experiencing male admiration from someone of her own generation. Apart from Gabriel, almost every man she knew was a contemporary of Lionel’s.
Now she’d met someone who seemed to look at her as if she was a woman—and a desirable woman at that. And she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t find it flattering.
Paul Gordon was also attractive, she admitted. In some other lifetime she might even have been tempted to respond to his charm.
Instead, she thought wretchedly, she was trapped in her hopeless fixation on Gabriel. And much good that would do her.
Oh, why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t love be a kind and mutual thing, instead of a destructive force that swept you away into a hell of your own making?
And why was the person you wanted more than life itself destined to be always out of reach?
She sat, staring unseeingly through the windscreen, her throat aching with unshed tears, letting her mind turn in endless, empty circles.
And, when she could bear it no longer, she started up the car again and drove back to the Manor.
Back, she thought, to her cage.
She was met by an agitated Grace Ashby. ‘The Persian rug from the morning room, madam. It’s gone. Mrs Elcott’s taken it to her cottage. And the porcelain candlesticks, and the set of Delft plates. A van came this afternoon while you were out, and collected them all.
‘The two armchairs from the small sitting room have gone too, and all the furniture from Mrs Elcott’s bedroom. It’s been totally stripped, even down to the curtains. And she’s got the Spode dinner service, and an entire boxful of household linen, not to mention ornaments, and Mr Lionel’s snuff box collection…’
Joanna groaned inwardly. She said quietly, concealing her private dismay, ‘Mrs Elcott has permission to take the things, Grace. Mr Gabriel said she could have whatever she wanted. I—I discussed it with him earlier.’
Although I didn’t expect her to be quite so quick off the mark, she amended inwardly. Or so thorough.
‘And I think you’ll find everything’s only on loan. The whole lot will be coming back to the Manor in due course.’ Along with its new mistress, she added silently.
‘Just as you say, of course, madam.’ Mrs Ashby sounded doubtful. She paused. ‘I understand neither Mrs Elcott nor Mr Verne will be dining at home this evening. Is there anything special you’d like?’
Just for a moment Joanna wondered if this was Grace Ashby’s way of telling her that she knew what was going on, but a swift look at the other woman’s patient, rather puzzled expression convinced her that she was wrong.
She said with an effort, ‘I’m not all that hungry. Some clear soup and grilled fish would be fine.’
She bathed and changed into a plain grey woollen dress, long-sleeved and full-skirted. Its severe neckline needed some enhancement, she decided, taking out the pearls Lionel had once given her and clasping them round her throat.
Her solitary dinner over, she took her coffee into the drawing room. She switched on the television but found herself unable to concentrate on anything being offered on any of the channels.
She thought, I’ll play some music.
Lionel had not been fond of what he termed ‘gadgets’, but he had invested in a handsome hi-fi system with a CD player, and they’d spent many companionable evenings listening to their favourite works.
Joanna made her selection from the rack of discs, and a moment later the emotive chords of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ filled the room.
Curled up in a corner of the sofa, eyes closed, Joanna gave herself up to the poignant, dramatic flow of the music.
The final movement was reaching its climax when instinct told her that she was being watched.
Her heart began to thud. Slowly she opened her eyes and turned her head, to see Gabriel lounging in the doorway.
Joanna sat up hurriedly, searching for something—anything—to say, when she saw him raise a quiet finger to his lips, indicating that they should both be silent until the music was over.
When the room relaxed into stillness again, he came forward. He was smiling faintly, his brows drawn together in a slight frown. ‘Do you always listen to such sad music when you’re alone?’
‘I don’t know,’ she returned stiltedly. ‘Solitary evenings are a comparative novelty.’ She paused. ‘And I don’t find it all that sad. I think it’s powerful and—exhilarating.’
‘I bow to your superior wisdom.’ Gabriel removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, before seating himself opposite to her. He met her startled look levelly. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I—I wasn’t expecting you back so early.’
His frown deepened. ‘Did I say I was going to be late? I don’t think so.’ He slanted a faint smile at her. ‘Anyway, it means we can enjoy some domestic bliss together. Why don’t you put some more music on?’
She said stiffly, ‘Actually,