She grinned. "I think you need to look up your Hamlet."
"No, I was trying to be creative. I'll see you tomorrow." He kissed her hand tenderly. "Good night, love." The last word slipped out despite his Herculean effort to be restrained and cautious in her room, in her bed.
She did not seem to take it amiss. She smiled at him softly and closed her eyes. "Good night, Blake."
Michael Avenel's home was a typical bachelor establishment, with a manservant, a butler and cook, along with two coachmen and a couple of footmen and gardeners.
Betsey the maid was a bit put out that there was no one else female there, but on the other hand she had much chance for diversion with the handsome young men she was now forced to share the servants' quarters with.
Arabella too found the virtually all male household a bit odd, but Michael turned out to be good company, an excellent conversationalist and a most kind host.
Once they had arrived safely, her lovely room was filled with fresh flowers, chocolates and books. A horse was made available to her and a small carriage, and she was given breakfast on a silver tray every morning, even though she would rather have liked to see Blake in the mornings as well for that meal.
Michael Avenel was a handsome man in his late twenties with jet black hair and the most unusual pair of eyes she had ever seen. They were so pale blue as to be almost silver in colour, and piercing, as if he could look right though people. He was scarred from the war in a number of places, with a sabre cut on his left brow which bisected it in two, giving him a look of perpetual inquiry, while the one on his jaw gave him a permanent scowl of disapproval.
Or was it pain? For he was confined to a Bath chair, and she understood from his conversation with Blake that he was in agony, but refused to take any medicine which would dull the ache.
"His own purgatory on earth, you understand. To atone for all of terrible things he believes he has done," Blake told her one evening shortly after they had arrived.
She nodded, and wondered what Blake himself had endured during the war. She felt she knew him so well. Yet there were parts of his life, like Leonore, that she could never touch, and it worried her not a little. How could she love a man who seemed so familiar, yet who she hardly even knew in so many respects?
But it was good to be out of London. Arabella began to relax gradually into the slower routine of country life. After a couple of days of rest after their journey, and exploring the house and the surrounding countryside, as well as getting Arabella's wardrobe in order, they talked about establishing a routine whilst they were there.
"But I would like to go down to my house first at Kennington. For one thing, I have so little with me. I need to sort out my wardrobe and the house."
"Just so. I got recommendations from Thomas and Clifford, and have several letters of application for the role of steward at your home. You shall of course interview them with me. We shall go down on Friday."
"Very good. Thank you."
"What would you like to do today?"
She shrugged. "Go to Salisbury and see the great Stonehenge?" She wasn't sure why she had said it. She had been there once before as a child and not really understood why everyone seemed so fascinated with the large stones. But it was only a few miles away….
"A bit too cold today, don't you think, my dear? We'll go when it's warmer."
"What would you like to do, then?"
Blake dared not answer that question truthfully, for it would have shocked her to the core. He tamped down his rampant desires and said instead, "Take Michael out in the carriage to call on the Elthams and the Davenports?"
"Is Michael is feeling up to it?"
"He says he is."
"And are the Davenports back from Ireland now?"
"Yes, they just got back a few days ago, apparently. I need to see how Sarah is faring."
"If Michael wishes to go, then of course we must go."
"Are you all right? You seem a bit, well, strained."
"Fine, fine." But she did not smile.
"Have you been sleeping well?"
"Yes, fine," she lied.
In fact she had been doing nothing but dreaming about what they had shared at the inn since she had arrived in the district. Her dreams were so detailed and erotic she was having a hard time looking Blake in the face.
Blake sighed. There was something wrong, for certain, but if she would not tell him the truth, there was very little he could do about it.
He wondered if she were pining for London, in particular one of the men she had left behind.
He was surprised and not a little perturbed to find Philip Marshall staying with Thomas and Charlotte when they arrived at Eltham Castle.