Paradise Park Page 11

  ‘You can make sure the coal scuttle is well stocked. I don’t want maids prying when I’m entertaining my guest.’

  Rhiannon couldn’t resist a jibe. ‘You will be entertaining her in your bedroom, sir?’

  Mr Buchan’s eyes glinted. ‘No, Rhiannon, she will, be entertaining me in my bedroom.’ He walked to the door and stopped to look back at her. ‘I want you, Rhiannon, and I always get what I want in the end. Bear that in mind.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Buchan, I will.’

  When the door closed behind him Rhiannon stuck out her tongue, a childish gesture but it made her feel better. Men were all the same, thinking a woman should lie down for them whenever they wanted and no questions asked. Well, Mr Buchan could whistle. He would never have his way with her.

  In the kitchen, Mrs Jones, as usual, was up to her elbows in flour. ‘Well, then, who’s this jade coming here alone tonight?’

  ‘Her name is Mrs Dunaway,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I don’t know much about her except what Vi and Hetty told me, but she can’t be up to much good.’ Rhiannon was happy to impart a snippet of gossip that would be all around the house later anyway. ‘After supper the master will be entertaining his guest in his bedroom.’ She laughed. ‘Or, as he put it, she will be entertaining him.’

  ‘That’s brazen, that is.’ The cook rubbed her hands on her apron. ‘What sort of man brings a loose woman into his own home? There was a time when Mr Buchan was a hero, working for the ordinary folk.’

  Rhiannon looked at her in surprise. ‘What did he do for the likes of us?’

  ‘He fought against the toll rises – one of the Rebecca rioters, he was. Although he was rich he could see the tolls were ruining folks’ livelihood.’

  ‘How did they do that?’ Rhiannon found it hard to see Mr Buchan as a rebel. These days, he was out for himself.

  ‘Well, farmers and the like had to pay to go through the gates and that put up the price of grain.’

  ‘Well, the master has certainly changed since then. He’s not the sort of man you’d think of now as a hero.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ Mrs Jones dropped the cake mixture into the patty tins. ‘Put those in the oven for us, Rhiannon, there’s a good girl.’ She sank into a chair, wiping the sweat from her brow. ‘Mind, the master is still handsome and if he wasn’t so wrapped up in himself he’d be a good person.’

  Rhiannon found it hard to think of Mr Buchan as a good person. The way he’d tried to force her to sleep with him was more the act of a self-centred man. She had met enough of his sort in her early days on the streets. Such men took what they wanted then spat on you when they were finished.

  Still, it was pointless telling Mrs Jones about the incident: she would probably say that, given Rhiannon’s past, it was not surprising that the master thought he could have a bit of fun with her. But Rhiannon would never allow herself to be used like that again.

  Bea Dunaway was young and rich; she had been the wife of an old man who had died obligingly and left her his fortune. She was not beautiful, Dafydd thought, but she was warm and passionate and had the knack of making a man feel ten foot tall. If only women could learn early in life how to please a man there wouldn’t be room for so many mistresses. Women brought trouble on themselves by rebuffing a man’s overtures. Just look at Rhiannon! The girl had been a street-walker, a floosie, a shilling stand-up – heaven knows what sort of men she’d had between her legs – yet she had rejected him, her master. The girl was a fool! He could have given her so much, had she been willing. And how galling it would be for Jayne to have her servant sleeping with him. He had never before taken a woman below his social standing, but with Rhiannon living under the same roof it would be the final humiliation. Yet he had a grudging respect for the girl: she was loyal to her mistress and she had given up her old way of life. He would be a cad to take away the self-respect the girl had gained.

  ‘Hello!’ Bea’s voice broke into his reverie. ‘You were far away then. What were you thinking about, Dafydd?’

  ‘You, of course,’ he lied glibly. ‘I was wondering what it would be like to take you to bed and make passionate love to you.’

  She lowered her eyelashes, like the coquette she was, and smiled. ‘You are very forward, sir.’

  ‘Am I, Bea?’ He took her hand and looked earnestly into her eyes. ‘I want you so much, my darling girl, and I must have you tonight or I’ll die.’ He was in danger of going too far, but Bea Dunaway was vain enough to swallow his lies.

  ‘Oh, Dafydd, you are so impetuous, really. You must learn some patience. A lady likes to be wooed you know.’

  It seemed that more flattery was what she wanted so, cynically, Dafydd gave it to her. ‘We shall have supper and I’ll not taste a morsel of it for want of you, Bea. Don’t you know the torture you put a man through? If this is a test of my patience, I’ll understand. I don’t want to move too swiftly for you – I’d wait for you for ever.’

  But Bea’s full bosom was rising and falling, and she was breathless with pleasure. ‘You are a naughty boy,’ she said, ‘but because you are so eager for me perhaps we should postpone supper until we have, how shall I put it? Satisfied your most urgent need?’

  They went upstairs hand in hand and Dafydd smiled to himself, wishing Jayne were here to witness his indiscretion. This was the first time he had brought a woman into his home. The thought gave him pleasure. Was he becoming as hard and callous as Rhiannon seemed to think?

  For a moment it was as if he stood outside himself and watched a stranger as he took Bea Dunaway to bed and made love to her – with little satisfaction other than a sense of physical release. He did not value the woman: she was a whore because it gave her pleasure to be so. Rhiannon had been a whore out of necessity. What’s more, she never pretended to be a lady while Bea hid behind a smokescreen of respectability.

  As soon as he’d finished he rose from the bed and went into the dressing room, glad to be away from Bea’s vacuous chatter. He wanted a challenge. He was tired of women who pretended a chastity they did not possess. Give him an honest whore like Rhiannon Beynon any day.

  Over supper, Bea chatted incessantly and Dafydd wondered how quickly he could get rid of her. This was the first and last time he would bring a woman home with him: it was not easy to get rid of them once his needs had been satisfied.

  At last, weary of her company, he sent Bea home in his carriage with the promise of a gift to thank her for her ‘beauty and charm’. He might just as well have put his hand into his pocket and handed her some sovereigns, but if he had she would have been mortally offended.

  When she had gone, he rang the bell for Rhiannon. She came at once and stood in the doorway, as though worried he might pounce on her and ravish her. You’d think she’d be honoured at the prospect. Would he ever understand women?

  ‘Have the bed in my room made up with clean linen,’ he said, his voice sharp. ‘I can’t sleep with the smell of that woman in it.’

  ‘Then perhaps you shouldn’t have allowed her there in the first place . . . sir.’ Rhiannon spoke equally sharply. ‘I shall see that the work is done at once.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘Come back in here and shut the door, Rhiannon. I won’t bite.’

  Reluctantly she came into the room and stood looking at him anxiously. ‘Was there something else, sir?’

  ‘You think me a cad, don’t you, Rhiannon?’

  ‘It’s not my place to think anything of the sort, sir,’ she replied, her eyes downcast.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, can’t I find a woman who will speak her mind without beating around the bush?’ He looked at her more kindly: she was a servant in his employ and he was putting her in an invidious position. ‘Look, Rhiannon, I know you think I’m all sorts of a villain to bring another woman into the house but it was a mistake and I won’t be repeating it.’

  ‘Right you are, sir,’ Rhiannon said flatly.

  ‘So what are you thinking about me? That I am as hateful as all those men who paid you
for your services? Right now that’s the way I feel about myself.’

  Her expression softened. ‘I know men have needs, sir,’ she said at last, ‘and I know they have little control over them.’ She glanced at him. ‘But a man who demeans a woman demeans himself.’

  Dafydd took a sharp breath. He had asked for the truth and he had certainly got it. ‘You’re quite the philosopher, aren’t you, Rhiannon? I didn’t expect it from a girl of your background.’

  ‘Because you see me as a woman without morals, sir, doesn’t mean I lack intelligence.’

  ‘No, I’m beginning to understand that. Will you pour me a brandy, Rhiannon? I feel in need of one.’

  She obeyed at once and handed him the glass. When he took it, she stepped back a pace.

  ‘I’m not the heartless man I appear to be, Rhiannon,’ he said. ‘I’m sometimes very lonely and unhappy.’ Why on earth was he unburdening himself to a servant? ‘My wife no longer loves me, I have no heirs and no likelihood of heirs because my wife refuses to have me in her bed.’

  Rhiannon remained silent, though her large eyes seemed to hold a certain sympathy.

  ‘I can’t blame her. I married Jayne while I was still in love with another woman and it didn’t take her long to realize that.’ He drank his brandy and looked straight at her. ‘Rhiannon, I’m not the unfeeling monster you believe me to be.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He watched as she moved to the door and his heart sank. He hadn’t touched her with his words; she was still wary of him, and in truth he couldn’t blame her.

  ‘That will be all.’ He waved his hand dismissively. Why couldn’t he do without women? They were more trouble than they were worth.

  Rhiannon was glad to escape to the kitchen. ‘Is there a cup of tea going, Mrs Jones?’ she asked, flopping into a chair.

  ‘Aye, just freshly made, too. Hetty and Vi are still in the scullery. Now, come on, Rhiannon, tell us all about this woman the master brought home.’

  ‘I don’t think he’ll see her again,’ Rhiannon said. ‘He wasn’t overly pleased with her. Oh, he wants his bed stripped and remade. Vi,’ she called, ‘come in here, I’ve got a job for you.’

  Violet came into the kitchen, a hangdog expression on her face. ‘More jobs? My poor feet are killing me as it is.’

  ‘It’s just that the master wants his sheets changed. Go on, it won’t take you long.’

  ‘Can’t Hetty do it?’

  ‘No, she can’t, so get a move on, girl,’ Mrs Jones said impatiently. ‘I don’t want the master complaining about us to Mrs Buchan when she gets home.’ Violet left the room, dragging her feet.

  Rhiannon gratefully took the cup of tea the cook handed her. She envied Mrs Jones who could rest whenever she had a spare minute. Being a housekeeper was more tiring than she had imagined – much more so than lying on her back all day, but at least now she had some dignity.

  ‘What you smirking about, Rhiannon?’ Mrs Jones rested her plump arms on the table. ‘You looked like you was thinking about a lover then.’

  Rhiannon laughed. ‘All of them? I’d have to spend the rest of my life remembering all the men I’ve slept with.’

  Mrs Jones clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘Really, Rhiannon, I don’t think you should remind everyone what your trade used to be.’

  ‘What’s the point in hiding it? So long as Mrs Buchan knows the truth and is satisfied with my work there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Mrs Jones shifted her feet. ‘What was it like being a woman of the town?’ She glanced over her shoulder in case anyone was eavesdropping.

  ‘It wasn’t any fun,’ Rhiannon said. ‘At least, not until I met Bull Beynon. He made everyone respect me and life was different then. But he married a good woman, and who can blame him? Perhaps one day I’ll meet someone else, who will love me in spite of my past.’

  ‘Bull Beynon, now there’s a man to pine for.’ Mrs Jones winked. ‘I’ve seen him about town and if I was twenty years younger I’d give him a run for his money.’

  ‘Mrs Jones!’ Rhiannon pretended to be shocked. ‘I thought you were long past thoughts like that.’

  ‘Aye, maybe I am, but a body’s got to have dreams. Well, this won’t get the work done – I’ll be glad to finish and get to my bed.’

  ‘You go on up, Mrs Jones, I’ll see to what’s left.’

  ‘There’s good you are. The breakfast table has to be set for the morning and the fire in the kitchen needs damping down, but Hetty can do that. Go get her, Rhiannon. She and Vi have been hanging around that new young footman too much.’

  She heaved herself to her feet and in the flickering light of the candle Rhiannon could see the weariness on her face. What a fate to work until you drop! Was that to be the pattern for her own life?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LLINOS SAT IN the sun-filled conservatory and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth. Eynon was busy watering the plants, even though Llinos had asked him to leave it to her gardener. He was getting stubborn in his old age.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him: he was absorbed in examining an orchid. He was so dear to her and so much a part of her life that she couldn’t imagine being without him. He looked up and met her gaze. The sun glinted on his pale gold hair and his grey eyes appeared incredibly blue in the bright light. ‘What are you looking at me like that for, Llinos?’ There was a wry smile on his face. ‘Were you wondering when I grew so old?’

  ‘I was just thinking what a handsome man you are,’ Llinos replied. ‘And you aren’t old because if you are then I am too, and I refuse to be old.’

  He put down the watering-can and came to sit beside her. The sun shone in through the glass and it was hot in the conservatory. The curve of the orchid bed threw a shadow on the marble floor and Llinos felt she might have been in some exotic land rather than here in her own house. Eynon seemed to read her thoughts. ‘It was a good move to have this glasshouse built.’ He smiled. ‘I never like conservatories usually because they seem to imprison the plants, which should be free to breathe the fresh air,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘but you have brought such exotic plants and flowers here that I can only applaud your ingenuity and imagination, Llinos.’

  ‘Flatterer.’ Llinos squeezed his hand. She glanced covertly at him: he was smiling, happy as always to be close to her.

  ‘Why don’t you marry me, Llinos?’ he asked. ‘I will never grow tired of asking you, so you might as well say yes.’

  ‘Let me think about it a little longer, Eynon,’ Llinos said gently. She had got through the worst of the winter alone and yet, as the months went by, she was increasingly lonely. ‘How is Jayne and why has she gone off on yet another trip all alone?’

  ‘She’s not alone. She has Sal with her.’

  ‘I know, but Jayne is hardly likely to talk much to a servant, is she?’ Llinos looked at Eynon thoughtfully. ‘She isn’t meeting a lover, is she?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Eynon said. ‘Buchan says she’s frigid.’

  ‘All the same, she seems quite taken with that London man.’

  ‘Guy Fairchild,’ Eynon said. ‘She certainly enjoys his company but you know how strait-laced she is.’

  Llinos, too, had been strait-laced until she met Dafydd Buchan. But her fall from grace had come after Joe had been unfaithful to her and hurt her so badly that she no longer believed in her marriage vows. Did Jayne feel the same about Dafydd? ‘Jayne must feel she owes no loyalty to Dafydd,’ Llinos said. ‘After all, he’s had many lovers, too many to count.’

  ‘And does that still trouble you, Llinos?’ Eynon’s tone was anxious.

  Llinos shook her head. ‘I got over Dafydd Buchan a long time ago. He means nothing to me now and I can say that with my hand on my heart. I don’t know why he fascinated me so much in the first place.’ She paused. ‘I looked on him as a hero, a man who helped those less fortunate than himself.’

  ‘I’m sure that was part of Jayne’s infatuation for him but the
lustre soon wore off their marriage. Still, I don’t think she is the type of woman who would take her revenge by sleeping with another man.’

  Llinos was not so sure: Jayne was a sensible, mature woman, and if she wanted a liaison she would plan it carefully, like a military manoeuvre. ‘Well, we can’t live our lives through our children,’ she said. ‘Look at me, two sons and I hardly ever see them.’

  ‘Well, marry me, and we can keep each other company by the fire when the nights are cold.’

  Llinos laughed. ‘Don’t you ever give up, Eynon?’

  He took her hand. ‘I’ll never give up on you, Llinos, you can be sure of that.’ He bent over suddenly and kissed her full on the lips, and it was then that Llinos felt the first stirrings of passion for the man she’d looked on all her life as a friend.

  Rhiannon sank back in her chair and closed the account book with a sigh of relief. These days, with Mrs Buchan away, she was handling almost everything to do with the running of the house. It was a lot of hard work and sometimes she felt she needed the mistress’s guidance. What’s more, she missed Sal too, especially at night.

  Some nights, tucked up in the warmth of their beds, they talked about what sort of day they’d had and usually ended up thanking the Almighty for their new way of life. Occasionally they talked about the old days when neither of them had known where the next meal was coming from. Sal was the only one, apart from herself, in the household who understood what being on the street meant.

  Rhiannon looked round the small office Mrs Buchan had provided for her. It was warm and cheerful, with plenty of oil lamps and a good fire roaring in the grate. She was lucky to be in such a position. She closed the cover of the inkwell and wiped the nib of her pen.

  Rhiannon felt a warm glow as she thought about her work. Now she could order food in large quantities, she could take stock of linen and cutlery and, best of all, she was entrusted with the accounts. Rhiannon had always been good at reading and writing. Naturally quick as a child, she had been well educated by the lodger. What a pity his teaching hadn’t stopped there. She shuddered as she thought of his hands touching her, holding her, while he did unmentionable things to her.