Whither Thou Goest (The Graham Saga Book 7) Read online

  “He’s very bonny,” Simon said with fatherly pride, “strong and lusty.” He smiled over at Kate, who gave him an indulgent look, by chance placing a hand on Simon’s bare forearm before hastening off to arrange for something to eat. Alex grinned at Simon who grinned back before smoothing his shirtsleeves back down.

  “Don’t want to incense her too much,” he confided. “Women get carried away by the sight of my bare skin.”

  Matthew snorted into his mug. Kate was experienced enough, he reckoned, not to swoon at the sight of Simon’s hairy arm.

  “I can imagine,” Alex laughed, and Matthew twitched at his sleeve, brushing the dark serge to lie close to his forearm.

  He followed Kate with his eyes, surprised by the conflicting feelings inside of him. An attractive woman, Kate was, and in her soft pink skirts, elegantly offset by a long-waisted bodice in grey and pink, she looked quite striking. The honey-coloured hair was shifting into a lighter shade of blonde, helped along by multiple silver strands, and when she twisted her head, he met a direct, dark gaze that threw him back twenty-five years in time, to feverish nights in a cookhouse, to nights when Kate held him and loved him, and thereby assured him he was still a man, still worth something for all that he lived his days as an indentured slave.

  She lowered her eyelashes, a small dimple appearing on her cheek. Yes, she told him silently, there were times when she remembered too. In general, Matthew rarely did, but seeing Kate with Simon opened a sluice gate on memories of long ago nights when she had been the only thing that kept him alive. Her hair, drifting over his chest, her eyes lost in his, her breasts in his hands, and her warmth around his member. To think of those limbs, the still high breasts and the well rounded hips in bed with Simon… He turned his attention to his brother-in-law, engaged in a lively discussion with Alex about the best way to keep heat rash at bay, and let his eyes travel down the short, stout body. No, a ridiculous thought. Friends, no more, assuredly no more than friends.

  *

  “He looks just like himself,” Simon pronounced, having watched Alex inspect Duncan in detail for the last few minutes.

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” Alex said with relief, returning the boy to Simon’s arms. Something that resembled a smile flitted across the child’s face once he caught sight of his father, and the small mouth opened and closed, opened and closed as he tried to communicate, small arms waving erratically. “Blue eyes,” she added for Matthew’s benefit, who as yet had not held the boy.

  “Ah.” Matthew took yet another gulp of beer.

  Alex threw him a look. What was the matter with him? Barely a word had he uttered since they got here, and why was he staring the way he did at Simon? Matthew caught her eye, gave a little shrug, as if to say, ‘What?’ Oh. Alex hid her smile in her lemonade. It wasn’t Simon he was staring at, was it? No, it was baby Duncan.

  Alex moved the chair even further into the shade and took in the splendid gardens: a couple of oaks to offer shade, meandering little paths, rosebushes that were already showing white and pink through their half-open buds, and a frothing sea of oleander, from white all the way to deepest magenta.

  “Beautiful,” she said to Kate when she returned, preceding a selection of small dishes that the silent slave girl set down on the table.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Kate offered Matthew some smoked fish while beckoning for Alex to come and join them at the table.

  “Henry’s getting married again,” Kate suddenly said, glancing at Simon. “It’s sixteen months and more since Lucy…” She sounded apologetic, and Simon leaned forward to cover her hand with his.

  “It’s alright, Kate, life goes on.” He smiled when he said it, his blue eyes intent on hers, and a slow blush crawled up Kate’s cheeks.

  Alex was very amused and turned to share this with a wink at her husband, only to find his eyes locked on Kate’s blushing skin in a way that Alex found very offensive. She pulled her brows together as she took in how her husband studied Kate, pulling them together further when those penetrating hazel eyes slid over to rest on Simon with a hostile edge.

  “…and I’ll be hosting a betrothal party later this week,” Kate finished, looking expectantly at Alex.

  “This week,” Alex repeated, not having heard more than the last part.

  Kate gave her an exasperated look. “Will you come? There will be dancing and music.”

  “Umm,” Alex prevaricated, not quite sure what to say.

  “Of course we will,” Matthew said. “It’s a long time since we danced.”

  *

  “I don’t have anything to wear,” Alex confided to Ruth later, “and nor does your father.”

  “Da can borrow, and you can sew. I can help you,” Ruth offered, sitting down to ease the weight off her back. Proudly, she patted her distended stomach. “We’re going as well, but I don’t think I’ll be dancing much.”

  “Probably not,” Alex said with a grin.

  “Was the laddie alright then?” Ruth asked.

  “Very – spoiled rotten by his new father.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Better than the alternative,” Alex said, making Ruth laugh.

  “Is…?” Ruth bit her lip. “Is Sarah better?”

  “Yes.” Alex sat down and dug around for her fan. “Much better, probably well enough to cope with getting a letter from her pregnant sister.” She met her daughter’s eyes with a small smile. “That’s what you wanted to know, right?”

  “Aye, I should have written more, but—”

  “Yes, you probably should have and even more, you should have come to see her.”

  Ruth twisted under the recriminations. “Julian didn’t want me upset.”

  “Julian didn’t want you to spend time with your unwed, pregnant sister, however much a victim she was,” Alex said, and Ruth averted her eyes.

  “You judge me unfairly,” Julian reproached Alex later that evening.

  “I do?”

  “You cast me as a narrow-minded moralist, and that, Alex, is something I’m not.”

  “Well, no,” Alex conceded. “I suppose you’re not – not in general. But neither have you been all that supportive of Sarah, have you?”

  “Supportive? Once a week, I’ve written to her,” Julian said.

  “Yeah. Along the lines that God knows best, and that she must conform and accept and oh, by the way, maybe marry before the baby is born.”

  Julian looked discomfited. “I still think that would have been for the best.”

  “And I’m still convinced we did exactly the right thing by her, given the circumstances. When Sarah marries, it will be for love.”

  Julian shook his head. “Let’s hope she falls in love with a man old enough to make his own decisions or a boy very far away from here.” He met Alex’s angry look and hitched one shoulder in a helpless gesture. “That was the way it is: no good, God-fearing family will wed their son to Sarah – not now.”

  Alex exhaled and looked down at her mending. He was probably right, and it made her want to cry, because her Sarah deserved to fall in love, be loved, marry, and have wanted children.

  “What did you mean about the world’s core being molten lava?” Julian asked, no doubt to change the subject.

  Alex eyed him warily. Ever since Simon’s disloyal and emotional outburst well over a year ago when he screeched time traveller at her, Alex had become far more circumspect in Julian’s company, imagining she could see his nose twitch with interest whenever she inadvertently let slip knowledge she had no possibility of proving.

  “It’s something I read somewhere.”

  “Ah,” Julian nodded, “recently?”

  “No, of course not. Way back when I was a child,” Alex said airily. With a muttered comment about needing to get on with her dressmaking, she exited the room.

  *

  It was like being on a holiday – well, there was no pool, no bar that served drinks with gaudy umbrellas, no evening entertainment, and defin
itely no partial nudity in the form of bikinis, but to Alex five days to spend only on herself, Matthew, and the preparations for a party was like a two-week all-inclusive. She slept late, coming down for breakfast around seven. She perused the haberdashery and drapers for materials and ribbons, buttons and silk thread, spent several long afternoons with Ruth, cutting, fitting and sewing, and encouraged Matthew to spend time with his friends. She felt like the industrious mice in Cinderella when she set the finishing touches to her new grey silk bodice, offset with panels of soft green that recurred in ribbons and the petticoat that showed through the slashed skirts.

  “Wow,” she said as she fiddled with the sleeves. “Very wow,” she amended when she tried it on.

  She was in a buoyant mood when she strolled off with Ruth. Her daughter was a popular person, and their walk was constantly interrupted by one woman after the other who just had to stop the minister’s young wife and inquire as to her health.

  “You look radiant,” Alex grumbled after the sixth stop. “Why don’t they just use their eyes?”

  “Because then they can’t share their gossip with me,” Ruth explained, “and if I don’t hear it, how on earth is Julian to find out everything that is happening in town?”

  Alex suppressed a smile, waved at her daughter when once again she was stopped, and increased her pace up the main street.

  She didn’t see them at first, concentrated on avoiding the offal in the gutter, but then she heard Simon’s unmistakeable voice and looked up to find Simon, Kate and Matthew on the other side of the town square. She started towards them, but slowed successively until she halted halfway.

  There was something in the way both men held themselves, very straight, very attentive, that reminded Alex of two dogs circling a bitch in heat. Kate said something and both of them laughed. She appeared to stumble and two hands flew out to steady her. Alex set her shoulders, lifted her chin and walked briskly towards them, slipping in her hand to rest on Matthew’s arm.

  “Hi,” she said, and he looked down at her, eyes hastily adjusting from startled to pleased.

  “Hi, yourself.” He smiled back.

  “I’m off to the apothecary,” Alex told him. “Want to come along?” She wasn’t about to leave him here, with bloody Kate and Simon.

  “Aye, why not?” he answered, and after a quick farewell they walked off together.

  “Is it a problem for you that Simon is seeing so much of Kate?”

  “Problem? Why should it be a problem?”

  “Don’t ask me, but it does seem so.” And she didn’t like it, how he gawked at Kate, always so pampered, so…so…polished. She smoothed at her home-made skirts, irritated with herself for not having worn her new shawl at least.

  “I’m glad for him – and her.” He smiled down at her. “So where are we headed? The apothecary is that way.” He pointed down the way she’d come.

  “Later. I passed by the tailor before, and he had a couple of books I asked him to put aside.” It still made her grin that the town premier coat maker should also be its bookseller.

  “Oh aye?”

  “Yes, a rather battered copy of the Canterbury Tales and a very nice bound version on the Greek philosophers.”

  “The Canterbury Tales?” Matthew looked very interested.

  “Probably not adequate reading for a dour Presbyterian, but if you want, I can read it and then tell you the stories.”

  “I’m not a dour Presbyterian,” he protested, “just Presbyterian.”

  “Same, same,” she laughed, and the moment of niggling concern she had experienced when she saw him with Kate faded away.

  Chapter 14

  Alex gaped as they turned up the drive to the Jones’ house at dusk on Friday evening. Kate had spared no expense for her son’s betrothal feast, and the wide doors were flung open to receive the guests who walked up a pathway bordered with lanterns, entered the dark panelled hall, alive with candles, and then the main room…

  For the first time in her life, Alex was violently envious. She wanted a house like this, with the virginal that stood in pride of place, the silver candelabra, and the three impressive mirrors, each one full-length, that had been fitted into the bottom wall, thereby creating the impression of rooms beyond the room they were presently in. Dotted around stood huge Chinese urns, full of flowers, and equally dotted what to Alex seemed an army of slaves, trays held as immobile as their faces were.

  Ruth squealed. “It’s beautiful!”

  Alex just nodded, stunned into silence by the sheer opulence that surrounded her. She sneaked a look down her dress, and what had in the attic been a wonderful, other-worldly creation lost some of its lustre compared to the clothes that swept by her. There was the elder Mrs Farrell, contemporary in years with Alex but looking about a hundred, and her skirts frothed in grey silk and lace. There was Lionel Smith’s new wife, and she had on something in softest blue, the skirts cut back to reveal a petticoat in embroidered silk.

  So many plunging necklines, nominally covered by gauzelike lace, so much exposed hair. Jewels that sparkled in intricate hairdos, necklaces, bracelets and ear bobs… Alex felt positively naked in her wedding ring, very grateful that she had followed Ruth’s advice and threaded her gold locket on a length of new ribbon.

  She held on hard to Matthew, who in her biased eyes looked very nice in his borrowed dark blue coat with sleeves wide enough to show off the lace at the cuffs and an incredible froth of white around his neck. He had tied his mostly grey, thick hair back with a matching dark blue ribbon, exposing the strong lines of his face and highlighting his hazel eyes, and quite a few female heads turned in his direction as he led them across the room to greet their hostess.

  Dark blue had been a bad choice. In silk of the same hue as Matthew’s coat, a bodice that lifted breasts to stand high and round, and a strand of pearls around her neck, Kate looked exactly what she was: filthy rich. Her hair, her hands that dripped rings, the elegant girdle of chased silver disks that decorated her skirts, all in all Kate looked magnificent, and beside her stood a beaming Simon, proud enough to burst.

  “I like the coat,” Alex said, eyeing the deep green wool. She nodded at the pretty little bride-to-be, resplendent in light blue, and smiled at Henry Jones who bowed politely.

  “I like it too,” Simon replied with a grin, “but best of all I like the shoes.”

  Alex took a step back. “No wonder I thought you’d grown.” She laughed. “What’s that, a three-inch heel?”

  “Almost four, and hell on earth to walk in. But worth it,” Simon said, inspecting his silk clad calf with a satisfied smile. “And the buckles do add a certain dash.”

  “As does the wig,” Alex told him, fingering the impressive hairpiece that adorned him. “But maybe you should have chosen another colour, something less—”

  “Black,” Simon completed for her. “Aye, I know, but there were none others to be had at such short notice.”

  All the while she’d been conversing with Simon, Matthew had been talking to Kate, and out of the corner of her eye, Alex saw him stretch, thereby making the point that, heels or not, he was still the taller of Simon and himself. He laughed at something Kate said, his eyes lingered on her bosom, and Alex was seriously considering where to pinch him when he finally let go of Kate’s hand.

  “I have breasts as well, you know,” Alex murmured to Matthew when they moved aside to allow others access to Kate. He gave her a confused look. “Well, the way you stared at hers one would have thought you’d never seen any before.” She was irritated with herself for having succumbed, yet again, to his wish for decorum, thereby cutting her neckline higher than anyone else’s in the room, and having him more or less poke his nose into Kate’s exaggerated crease hadn’t made things better. Alex smiled sweetly at him, unfolded her fan, and floated off to circulate – alone.

  After a round of greeting acquaintances, Alex adjusted her bodice, inspected the flowing sleeves, and returned to the main room, where the fiddlers
had now struck up dancing music. Henry and his fiancée led off, twirling in splendid isolation for some minutes before others joined in. Alex wasn’t too impressed: the couple-to-be danced competently but without any real spark. She found Matthew standing in a group of laughing men, and made her way towards him. He glanced at her and smiled before returning to his conversation and his beer. Alex stood beside him, watching the dancers.

  Tables had been moved aside, and the floor was full of people, all of them involved in a complex dance of turns and twirls and the occasional exchange of kisses. Alex laughed when she saw Simon. In his green coat, his impeccable linen and dark breeches, he danced like a capering faun, elegant and boisterous at the same time. A fantastic dancer, Simon was, and Alex was thrown back to long ago barn dances in Scotland, with Simon lording it on the floor. Now, he was dancing with Kate, as accomplished as he was, and the rest of the dancers gave way to them, applauding when the turns became wilder and wilder.

  Alex leaned to the side to whisper a comment to Matthew, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was striding across the floor, and suddenly it was him dancing with Kate, and where Simon was elegant, Matthew was surging power, with strong, flowing lines that complemented Kate in her dark blue silk dress. Alex watched in silence, hating the way they so effortlessly ended the dance, with Matthew flushed and beautiful, but with his eyes on a woman other than her.

  The tune changed, and Alex was asked to dance, and she threw herself with enthusiasm into the music, laughing at her partner. Every now and then, she cast her eyes about the room, looking for Matthew, and there he was, swinging Alex easily into an arc high up in the air before planting a kiss on her mouth and dancing away. Kate and Simon whirling by, Simon and Kate coming round again, and then it was Matthew and Kate, and his head was bent towards hers, and Alex smiled at her partner and shook her head, shoving her way through the thronging people to escape to the side.

  Julian popped up, and she danced and laughed, pretending not to notice nor care that Matthew was once again dancing with Kate. Bastard, she thought, but led Julian to dance closer and closer, hoping that he’d notice how much fun she was having, how flushed and pretty she looked, and cut in on Julian to dance with her instead. Matthew didn’t, and when Julian gasped and mock-fainted she followed him over to the open French doors, agreeing cheerfully that yes, this was a fantastic party.