Mister and Missus By E L James - 63

Alessia takes a break from practising her audition pieces and watches Maxim from the mullioned windows of the great music room. He’s trudging up the driveway with Michael, the estate manager. Maxim is dressed in his long coat and wellingtons, holding what looks like a walking staff as he paces the ground. They are deep in discussion, probably about the still, Maxim’s passion project. He’s excited to get it up and running.

Behind him, Healey and Jensen are bouncing along the lane, stopping to sniff and mark their territory like dogs do. Even from here, Alessia can tell that the dogs are delighted to be with her husband. They adore him.

Like she adores him.

Maxim and Michael laugh at something Michael says, and it warms Alessia’s heart to see him so happy. This is where Maxim belongs. He looks every centimeter the lord of the manor and so much more relaxed here in Cornwall than in London. And who could blame him? The pace of life is easier, and it reminds her more and more of her homeland.

In the pasture beside them, the deer congregate around the water trough. Maxim stops to admire the herd with Michael.

Alessia is distracted by the sound of footsteps. “Ah, what a pleasure it is to listen to you play, my lady,” Danny says. “I’ve brought you some refreshment.” She places a tray with a small coffeepot, cup, and saucer on the console table beside her.

“Thank you.”

“His lordship has always had a fondness for the herd,” she murmurs as she glances out of the window.

Alessia nods. “When I was here last time, we saw one on the road. A great stag. It stopped in front of us.”

“You did! Well, I never.” Danny looks shocked.

“Why is that a surprise?”

“Did Maxim not tell you?”

“No.”

“About the legend?”

Alessia shakes her head.

“Och, that boy,” Danny scoffs. “Legend has it that the first countess, Isabel, encountered a stag out in the forest shortly after her wedding to the first earl. The stag spoke to her and told her that if her family cared for the wild herd, then she would be blessed with a long life and many children. And that’s exactly what happened. The Trevethick estate has long been a haven for the deer. They’re seen as a sign of good luck. That’s why the two stags are the support in the family coat of arms. They symbolize protection for the earldom, the estate, and the family, my lady.”

“I did not know this. They are not…um…hunted?”

Danny shakes her head. “No. Not for centuries. They’re humanely culled every other year to keep their numbers sustainable. And the venison is much coveted around here. Keeps the herd strong, and while the herd stands strong, so will the Trevelyans and the Earls of Trevethick.”

Alessia doesn’t know what to say, but a frisson of hope for the future—a future for her and her husband skitters over her skin. After all, the stag they saw when Maxim took them shooting seemed to be welcoming her. She grins at Danny.

“It’s a good omen, my lady. The Trevelyan family is responsible for the wellbeing of the estate, the village, forests, fields, and pastures surrounding it. Their land extends many thousand acres. And they and their kin have kept it together and thriving since the 1600s. Long may they continue.” Danny’s smile reflects her own. “Now, once you’ve had your coffee, I was wondering if you wanted to see the private apartments and the attic—though that floor is mainly for staff and storage.”

“Yes. I’d love that. Thank you, Danny.” Alessia has cherished the housekeeper’s thorough tours of the house. She’s given Alessia a detailed history of each room that’s open—not all are—and its place within the great house. She’s introduced Alessia to most of the staff, who, so far, have been kind and accommodating. Alessia is increasingly in awe of the woman that keeps the entire house running smoothly. And she feels safe in her hands—after all, it was Danny who cared for her after Dante and Ylli’s kidnap attempt.

And it’s obvious she dotes on Maxim, and he on her. She seems more maternal than his own mother…

Alessia!

She tries not to think uncharitably about Rowena, but sometimes it’s impossible. Perhaps, to make up for her unkind thoughts, she can do something to help repair the fissure between her mother-in-law and her husband.

But what?

“And then there’s the all-important decision of moving his lordship into the earl’s bedroom and you into the countess’s room.” Danny distracts Alessia from her thoughts.

“Countess’s room?”

“Yes. You each have your own apartments here.”

Separate bedrooms! Separate apartments!

“Sometimes it’s good to have a bolt hole, my lady,” Danny says as if reading her thoughts.

Bolt hole? Alessia doesn’t understand what that means and does not like the sound of it or the idea of sleeping elsewhere.

Is this what Maxim wants? To sleep without her?

Like the ancient Gheg custom! The thought depresses her immediately.

“Ach, my lady. It’ll not be like that,” Danny says. “I’ll show you once you’ve had your coffee.”

Michael and I survey the motors in the old stables—these vintage and classic cars were Kit’s pride and joy. I can almost see him, walking toward me in his filthy overalls, his hands covered in grease and smelling of oil and Swarfega. He’d have his cloth cap on, an oily rag protruding from his pocket, and he’d be so fucking happy.

Well, Spare, fancy a spin in this Ferrari?

He loved it here.

He loved his cars.

Me, not so much. However, I didn’t mind the odd spin around the grounds in one of these beasts.

And now I have to decide what to do with them.

“You’re right, Michael. This building would be a much better place for a still. It’s more secure, closer to the house, there’s room for expansion, and these old stables are in better condition than the north pasture barn.”

“Only problem is the cars.”

“I’m going to have to sell them. I have no need for all of these.”

Michael gives me a rueful smile. I know selling them would have broken Kit’s heart, but he’s not here. “I’ll keep the Morgan, and everything else can go. I’ll ask Caroline if she wants any of them, but I doubt it. Cars were Kit’s passion, not hers.”

“Yes, my lord.”

I head back into the house via the boot room while Michael returns to his office. We’ve had a good morning, and I’m ready for lunch. Michael was extolling the virtues of regenerative farming. Apparently, it’s the next step in green agriculture. I’ve vowed to read up on it, to see what the fuss is about.

I find Alessia in the small sitting room, seated at a table set for lunch. She looks up from the Daphne Du Maurier that she’s reading, anxiety etched on her face.

“What is it?” I ask as I take a seat opposite her.

“Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?”

“What? No. What’s this about?”

“Danny was talking to me about moving rooms.”

“Ah.” The penny drops. “I’m not sure I want to move rooms. Do you?”

“No. I want to stay with you.”

I laugh. “I’m glad to hear it. We can sleep where we like. The earl’s room has been my father’s and my brother’s.” I shrug. I’m in no mood to move in there. “And as for the countess’s rooms, that’s up to you. They’re not far from my bedroom, and there’s a dressing room there that might come in handy. You don’t have to sleep there. I’d rather you slept with me. Unless I snore.”

She exhales and laughs. “Good. That’s what I thought. And you do not snore.”

“I have an idea of what we can do this afternoon.” I change the subject.

“Oh?” Alessia tilts her head to one side with a coquettish look, and I know she’s thinking about sex.

I laugh. “No. I’m going to teach you to drive.”

“Drive! Me?”

“Yes. You don’t need a license on private land. We can take the Defender, or maybe another, smaller vehicle, and I’ll teach you.”

Danny enters, holding two plates. “Lunch, my lord.”

I roll my eyes. “Maxim. That’s my name.”

“Maxim, my lord,” Danny concedes, and she places two plates on the table. “Salad Niçoise with a Cornish twist.”

“Cornish twist?” I ask, intrigued, examining the plate in front of me.

“Pilchards, sir, instead of anchovies.”

I laugh. “Okay then.”

“Steady, a little more gas, and slowly ease the clutch up,” I direct Alessia. We’re in the Defender that Danny normally drives around the estate. It’s battered but quite serviceable.

Alessia is grasping the steering wheel like her life depends on it, and her tongue peeks out between her lips because she’s concentrating so hard. The car suddenly jerks forward and stalls, and Alessia stamps on the brakes.

I’m thrown forward, my seat belt cutting into my chest. “Whoa!”

Alessia lets out a string of invective in her mother tongue, which I’ve never heard her do before.

She’s not happy.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “It’s about finding the biting point on the clutch when the engine engages. You just need a little more gas. Take it steady. We have all afternoon. And it’s okay—driving can take a while to learn.”

She gives me a quick, determined scowl and starts the car again.

My girl is not going to give up.

“Take it slow. Put it into gear,” I murmur.

She fights the gearshift to put it back into first, and I wonder if we should have chosen an easier car.

Hell, if she can drive this, she can drive anything.

“Okay. Deep breaths. You can do this.”

The gears grind as she thrusts it into first and revs the engine once more.

“Easy does it. Not too much gas.”

She scowls at me again, and I shut up because if I don’t, I suspect she’ll be tempted to remove one of my limbs. I’ve never taught anyone to drive, and I learned here on the estate when I was fifteen. It was one of the last duties my father fulfilled before he died. He was calm and reassuring, his best self…and I hold that memory dear. He was a great teacher.

I want to be the same for Alessia.

At a snail’s pace, we roll forward.

Yes! I let out a silent, internal cheer so as not to distract Alessia, and we inch across the gravel behind the stables.

“Okay, now into second. Clutch. Second gear. Ease up on the clutch.”

Her tongue appears again, and she shifts smoothly into second gear, letting the Defender pick up a little speed.

“Well done! Okay. Take it steady. Head straight toward the gates. Yes. Good!”

Alessia gingerly drives toward the gateposts where the cattle grid lies.

“We’re going into the lane. Keep it going.”

She steers—successfully—between the gateposts and heads down the lane. A wild grin erupts on her face, and it’s infectious.

“You’re doing it. Keep your eyes on the road.”

She continues to drive slowly but solidly down the lane, concentrating hard; her tongue makes the occasional foray, peeking from her mouth.

It’s sexy as hell.

But now is not the time to tell her. Or to think about that—it’s distracting.

“You’re doing so well. But beware, there might be deer in the lane. They should get out of the way when they hear this crate coming. You don’t want to hit one. Kit did. Once…”

Shit.

And look what happened to him.

Hell.

I clear my throat, pushing my grief away, though I’m reminded that there’s a mythical story about the deer that ties them to the estate, which I’ve forgotten. I must try to remember to tell Alessia. “At the end of the lane by the north gatehouse, let’s take the left fork. Take that, and we’ll do a crisscross tour of the estate.”

Alessia is giddy with delight. She cannot believe she’s managed to move the tank she is driving. But most of all, she’s thrilled because she doesn’t want to let Maxim down. He seems to think that she should be able to do this.

And so she has.

His faith in her is touching.

As they round a bend in the lane, she spots the gatehouse and the cattle grid and the road forks in three directions.

She panics for a moment.

Which is left?

O Zot!

Rather than turn at all, she slams on the brakes, throwing them both forward and stalling the car.

“Sorry!” she says quickly.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. You remembered the brakes and stopped the car. That’s the most important thing. Not sure of your left?”

Alessia laughs, and she suspects it’s more in catharsis than amusement. “No. I was confused.”

“It’s okay. You could have gone either way. This is all estate land. Turn the ignition off. Car into neutral. Brake on.”

Alessia follows Maxim’s instructions and takes a deep breath.

She can do this!

“Do you want to try again?”

She nods.

Maxim sweeps his hand forward. “Go ahead.”

She turns on the ignition, and the engine grumbles into life. She stamps on the clutch, wanting to show it who’s in charge, and she slides, then pushes the stick into first. The gears make an awful grinding noise. Alessia chances a glance at Maxim, who’s wincing, so she quickly looks back at the road and revs the engine, easing her foot on the clutch, releasing the handbrake… and they’re off once more.

No stalling!

Alessia wants to cheer from the rooftops.

She turns the heavy steering wheel, and the car moves slowly to the left and continues along the lane.

“Second gear?” Maxim says gently.

She nods and changes gear, keeping the car going. They pass one of the fields, and Alessia catches a glimpse of Jenkins on a tractor pulling a trailer. He gives them a wave, which Maxim returns, but Alessia keeps her hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel. As they head down the lane, Maxim continues to offer his support with sweet words.

He’s pleased.

Alessia catches sight of another gatehouse and slows down as she approaches it. From beyond the gate, a small motorbike shoots in and across their path, the driver wearing black trousers and boots, and fastened to the rear, there’s a carrier holding what looks like a small furry passenger. Alessia slams on the brakes as the motorbike continues at a pace up the driveway and doesn’t stall the car!

Go, Alessia!

“Shit. It’s Father Trewin,” Maxim exclaims. “Driving much too fast. It must be God’s will that he’s still in one piece. Better follow him.”

Alessia does and speeds up to see if she can catch him.

“Steady,” warns Maxim, and she slows down again. “We’ll see him at the house. He’s probably here to congratulate us. Or he’s going to berate me for not coming to church yesterday. Probably both.”

Alessia stops beside Father Trewin while he’s unfastening his Norfolk terrier, Boris, from his carrier on the back of his moped. Jensen and Healey are eagerly waiting to play, their tails frenetic flags.

I clamber out of the car, walk around to open Alessia’s door, and turn to greet Father Trewin.

“Maxim, my lord. Congratulations on your marriage. How are you?” He offers his hand and gives me a firm handshake.

“Good. Thank you, Father. May I present my wife, Alessia, the Countess of Trevethick?”

“Lady Trevethick, what a pleasure to meet you again.”

“Father Trewin, how do you do?” Alessia shakes hands with him. “Would you like to join us for tea?”

“I’d be delighted.” He gives us both a broad, benevolent, reserved-for-parishioners smile.

We make our way through the boot room and out into the west corridor, where we’re met by Danny. “Good afternoon, everyone,” Danny greets us. “How was the car, my lady?”

“It was a tank!” Alessia beams. “But I got it going.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“May we have some tea?” Alessia asks.

Danny smiles. “Yes, my lady. The west drawing room?”

Alessia glances at me. I nod.

“Please.”

“We didn’t see you at our service this Sunday,” Father Trewin says once we’ve sat down.

Bugger. I knew it. I’m going to get a lecture. “Yes. I had to catch up here,” I mutter, desperate to change the subject. I lean down and scratch Boris behind his ears, wondering where Jensen and Healey are. “And I was showing my wife around the estate.”

“Well, my lord, as I’ve said before, we lead by example. Perhaps next Sunday, you could do a reading.”

What?

I clear my throat. “Sure. I’d be delighted.”

Liar.

“Your brother was a keen supporter of the church.”

Trust Kit. The nerd! I smile, my heart sinking.

That was Kit—the perfect earl. It’s not me.

Mate. The irony.

“Will you choose a reading?” I ask.

“Of course. And might we expect to see Lady Trevethick there?” He casts his beady eyes at my wife.

Alessia smiles, but her eyes dart to mine in a silent plea for help.

“Alessia is Albanian, where religion was outlawed for many years. But her people are Catholic. As high Anglicans, I’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

“We are a broad church, my lord, and welcoming of all faiths.”

“Of course, I’ll be there,” Alessia says.

Danny enters and places a tray with cups and saucers on the table in front of Alessia. She gives her a nod and then leaves.

“Tea, Father Trewin?” Alessia asks.

“Yes, please, Countess.”

If the use of her title disconcerts Alessia, she gives nothing away. She takes the teapot and pours a cup, using the tea strainer that Danny has provided, and hands the cup and saucer with a small teaspoon to Father Trewin. She offers him milk and sugar, pours some for me, and gives me the cup and saucer.

Hiding my smile, I accept it. She’s learned how to serve tea. Properly. “Thank you, my love.” She gives me an impish smile before serving herself, and I know, that she knows, that I know that she’s putting her social etiquette training into full force.

She’s not put a foot wrong.

Would I expect anything less?

She’s amazing. And adorable.

Even more so because I know she’s done this for me.

And maybe for herself.

I turn my attention to our guest, who is fully conscious of Alessia and me grinning inanely at each other. His cheeks become rosier as he looks from me to my wife.

Yeah. We’re in love.

Deal with it.

Which reminds me… “Father Trewin, I had hoped that Alessia and I could marry again in the UK as we’re now back home, but I’ve been reliably informed that it’s not possible. Therefore, I was hoping we could have a blessing at the church. Give us a chance to celebrate here. Preferably in the summer?”

“That’s a splendid idea. Of course we can do that. I’d be delighted.”

Alessia escorts Father Trewin back to his moped. He is positively blossoming under her attention, and I think she has a new fan. I head to the study to make some notes on the gin project, to find someone to sell Kit’s car collection, and to read up on Michael’s new passion—regenerative farming.

It’s dusk when I look up from the computer. My head is buzzing from what I’ve learned about sustainable agriculture. Leaning back in my chair, I take in my surroundings to ease the strain on my eyes.

I’ve not really sat here since Kit died. There was that time when Oliver talked me through the burglary at Chelsea Embankment, and before then, when I visited the Hall for the first time in my capacity as earl, I sat here and mostly talked to the estate workers in turn.

A faint melody drifts through the hallways from the music room; Alessia is at the piano, no doubt practising her audition pieces. As I try to make out what she’s playing, my gaze wanders over the desk that was once my brother’s and once my father’s. There are mementos that belonged to both of them: my father’s Georgian tea caddy where he kept paper clips and such nonsense, two vintage Matchbox Bugattis from the 1960s—they were my father’s, but I remember he used to let Kit play with them. He and Kit shared a passion for cars.

They were close.

And here I am, selling his prized collection.

Kit. I’m sorry, mate.

I open the tea caddy, more out of nostalgia than curiosity, trying to capture some essence of my beloved father.

There is a small set of keys sitting on top of a slightly larger key, which I know is for the safe.

The safe!

Maybe this is where Kit’s missing laptop, phone, and journal might be.

Grabbing the key, I stand and open the large wooden built-in cupboard that once served as the serving platter closet, where the old Cartwright & Sons safe is situated. The larger key fits the lock, and I open it, revealing Kit’s laptop.

But no phone or journal.

There are also various papers that I don’t have the energy to explore right now. I take out his laptop and place it on the desk.

Perhaps his journal is in a drawer.

I try one of the drawers, but it’s locked.

A key from the small bunch opens it, and as I slowly tug the drawer open—there, in all its glory, is Kit’s battered, brown leather journal and his dead iPhone.

I ignore the phone and laptop because they’re probably password protected, so I’ll need expert help to hack them.

It’s the journal that will answer my questions.

My scalp tenses as I take it out—clasped with reverence between both hands—and place it on top of his laptop. I stare at it for a full minute before I decide to invade his privacy. Slowly, with a slight tremor in my hand, I unwind the leather tie ragged from overuse and pull the covers apart. It opens on the last entry.

2nd January 2019

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

A thousand times fuck!

I’m fucked!

Fucking Rowena!!!

First my wife, now my mother!!!