Mister and Missus By E L James - 64

Every hair on my body rises in shock as I pore over the entry time and time again.

First my wife, now my mother.

The words ring through my brain, a loud klaxon of wrongdoing.

My wife? Caroline?

And guilt surges like a tsunami through my chest.

But. But…we…we—Kit was dead when Caro and I fucked that first time. I never touched her while they were together.

Not once.

Before they were together. Yes. But… not while they were a couple.

First my wife!

Was she having an affair? And he found out?

Is this why he left her nothing in his will?

That makes sense. It always seemed such a shockingly cold-blooded move. And Caroline was angry… but she accepted the exclusion readily.

Was she aware that he knew?

Did he confront her?

He must have—his will was changed in September last year.

But an affair with whom? One person? Two people? More?

Fuck. Poor Kit.

I think back to Christmas in the Caribbean. There was no hint of marital un-bliss between them. Or maybe I didn’t notice because I was too busy fucking my way through the American tourists.

Oh hell.

The answer is probably chronicled within these pages.

Dare I look?

Do I even want to know?

There’s a knock on the door that startles me. I close the book and instinctively lean over the journal to hide it from view. Danny enters, and I must look as guilty as sin because she doesn’t tell me why she’s there. “Are you okay, my lord?”

“Yeah. Yeah. What is it, Danny?”

“The countess has gone out with Jenkins to the sheep. She didn’t want to disturb you. But she wanted to help. We have twenty-seven ewes lambing right now.”

“That many!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“But it’s just the beginning of the season!” I frown—that’s a lot at once. “I’d better go and help too.” I rise from the desk, taking Kit’s journal with me. I don’t want any prying eyes seeing this, and on a whim, I grab the Leica M6 I brought from London and automatically check that it has film in it.

“I’ll hold dinner, my lord.”

“Okay, thank you. I have no idea what time we’ll be back.”

Alessia rides with Jenkins in the Defender as it bumps down one of the lanes in the dark. The high verges, covered with brambles and grass, seem to loom out of the night, so Alessia’s grateful she’s not driving. Jenkins glances at her, his brow etched in concern.

“My lady,” Jenkins almost shouts above the noise of the engine.

“Alessia.”

“Yes. I have to ask…” His words trail off as if he’s reluctant to say more.

“What is it, Jenkins?”

He clears his throat. “Are you… are you in the family way?”

Alessia frowns. Family way? What does that mean?

Jenkins tugs his ear. “Might you be… might you be pregnant, my lady?”

Alessia’s blush warms her cheeks, and she hopes it’s not visible in the darkness of the car. “No!” she exclaims. “Why… why would you ask me such a thing?”

His shoulders fall as Jenkins visibly relaxes. “No. ’Tis a good thing, my lady. We don’t want pregnant women around lambing.”

“Oh. Oh yes. I understand. I am sorry.”

“No need to apologize, ma’am. I forgot to ask earlier.”

Alessia flashes him a smile. “I know pregnant women should not be around lambs and goats.”

“Goats?”

Alessia laughs. “Yes. Where I am from, we have goats.”

He turns by a large structure that Alessia realizes is a substantial barn. He parks next to a steel door, where three other cars are stationed.

“We’re here,” he says. “You’ll be glad you wrapped up warm.”

The barn is cavernous and chilly, and there must be a hundred or more ewes inside. Several are bleating loudly, in the throes of labor—these have been separated into smaller pens away from the pregnant flock. Among the pens, a few newborn lambs are already being nuzzled and licked by their mothers as they root for milk from swollen udders. A couple of the estate workers are busy with lambing among the pens.

They’re just in time to watch one of the farmhands, whom Alessia has not yet met, help deliver a lamb. Wearing surgical gloves, he cleans the lamb’s nose to help it breathe and places it in front of its mother to be licked clean. He grabs a bottle and dabs a little of the ointment, which Alessia notices is iodine, on the lamb’s navel.

“Good evening.” He nods a greeting to Alessia. “Oh, there’s another,” the young man says, and he sits back while the ewe delivers that lamb on her own. “Good girl. Easy there,” he says in a soothing voice to the ewe and repeats the same cleanup process with her lamb.

“Where are the gloves?” Alessia asks Jenkins.

“The workstation over there.” Jenkins points with his chin. His eyes are on the ewes and who’s going to pop next. “We try to let them do this themselves. New Zealand Suffolk rams tup the sheep. Means they should have narrow shoulders and finer heads. Makes them easier to deliver. But some of them need help, my lady. It’s good we keep an eye. We don’t usually have them all lamb at once.”

Alessia smiles at the young farmhand, who is now trying to get both lambs to feed. “Colostrum. Very good for new lambs.” He grins.

Alessia heads to the workstation, spreads the disinfectant over her palms—paying particular attention to between her fingers—then slips on some disposable gloves. Jenkins joins her. “It’s all hands on deck. It’s just observing. Checking they’re not in distress.”

Alessia nods. “I have done this. But with goats. And not with this many.”

Jenkins gives her a broad smile. “You’re going to fit right in, m’lady.”

I pull up at the Home Farm barn and, grabbing my camera, leap out of the car. I’ve stowed Kit’s journal in the glove box and locked it. It should be safe there. Inside the barn, I scan the interior for my wife, but I can’t see her. There are about thirty ewes in the birthing pens. I spot Jenkins, who’s in the nearest pen attending a ewe. I squat down to talk to him.

“My lord.”

“All at once? What did we do to deserve this?”

“Maybe it’s the moon,” he says as he pulls a lamb into the world. Its mother is very keen to get it cleaned up. Jenkins sits back.

I laugh. “What can I do? And where’s my wife?”

“She’s in the thick of it, somewhere in here. She wants to help.”

I frown. Does she know what she’s doing? But I keep that thought to myself.

“Okay, I’ll get ready.” I head to the workstation, disinfect my hands, and pull on some blue gloves. From there, I spot Alessia, her hair snaking down her back in a long braid. She’s in a pen, clearing the nose of a newborn lamb and placing it in front of its mother. As I approach her, I hear her cooing in her own language. “Hej, mama. Hej, mami, ja ku është qengji yt. Hej, mami, ja qengji yt.” Gently, she strokes the ewe’s nose and repeats whatever she’s just said in her soothing tone, then sits back to see if the ewe will produce another.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a swell of emotion that mushrooms in my chest and stops me in my tracks. My heart is full. Full to bursting—just watching my sweet wife interact with a sheep. A Trevethick sheep.

One of ours.

I have never seen Caro, or my mother, help like this on the estate.

And in that moment, I know Alessia is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

To us.

All of us. Here. Now.

I clear my crowded throat as I kneel beside the pen. “Hi,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“Hello.” She grins, and it’s obvious she’s pleased to see me, and she’s in her element. She’s thoroughly filthy, with blood, mucus, and heaven knows what all over her gloves, jeans, and sweater, but she’s radiant.

“You okay?”

She nods. “And so is this little one.” She rubs the lamb’s head. “The mama did good. She may have another.”

“This is not your first rodeo?” I ask.

She frowns.

“Not the first time,” I clarify.

“No. Our neighbours. They came to our wedding. They have goats. I have helped when they are in kid. Often.”

“Alessia, you never fail to amaze me. We’re lucky to have you.”

She waves off the compliment with a dismissive flutter of her hand. “You do this too?”

I laugh. “It’s not my first rodeo either. I’ll go see where I’m needed. But first…” I raise my camera and peer at my beautiful, disheveled wife through the lens as she smiles back at me, and I press the shutter. “I’m going to take more if I can. I don’t have enough of you. And right now, you’re absolutely fucking beautiful. I’d better go.”

She grins, a dazzling smile just for me, and I’m reluctant to leave her, but needs must.

It’s three o’clock in the morning when I guide Alessia into the shower to clean her up from the evening’s exertions. We’re exhausted and squalid from a full shift in the sheep shed. But we have seventy-two new lambs. I don’t think I’ve ever, ever worked as hard in my life, but I’m thrilled. Only one stillborn, no rejections, and all the ewes are in good condition. That’s an epic start to lambing. And I am so glad that we were here to help.

Now, I need to get my wife clean and into bed.

Alessia leans against me under the welcome warm water, her eyes closed.

My love.

She’s nothing short of amazing.

She’s scooped her braid into a gravity-defying knot and manages to keep it out of the cascade of water. I grab a cloth and soap and gently start to wash her hands, her arms, and her face. Then hold her up, while I wash myself.

Maxim towel-dries Alessia. She can barely keep her eyes open and thinks even her hair is exhausted. But she’s exhilarated too. Finally, she feels that she’s helped and given back to Maxim, and to the estate workers who have welcomed her so warmly.

“Can we just go to bed?” she mumbles.

Maxim gently clasps her chin and tips her head back so Alessia opens her eyes. “Your wish is my command, Lady Trevethick. Thank you for this evening and tonight. You were spectacular. You must be starving too.” He brushes her lips with his.

“No. Just tired. So tired.” She gives him a sleepy smile, and he drops the towel, scoops her up off the floor, then places her on the bed.

Alessia is asleep before I step back and cover her in the duvet. I move a stray strand of hair off her face, and she doesn’t move. “My brave, strong girl. Thank you,” I whisper and kiss her forehead.

I finish drying myself, drag on my PJs, and crawl into bed beside my wife, where I snuggle up to her and inhale her scent…

It’s the rattle of cups that wakes me. Danny has entered our room with a very welcome tray of coffee and breakfast. The smell is tantalizing, and my mouth pools with saliva.

I am fucking famished.

“Good morning, your lordship. I hear you had quite the night.”

“Good morning,” I mumble, not wanting to wake up. I open my eyes, and Alessia’s eyes flutter open but close again.

Danny places a tray at the end of our bed. “It’s after eleven, my lord. I thought you might need some breakfast,” she says, and I cannot remember the last time she brought me breakfast in bed.

I must be in her good books.

Or maybe it’s Alessia.

It’s probably Alessia.

“Thank you, Danny.” I sit up, and Alessia is still fast asleep beside me.

Danny looks down at my sleeping wife, her face soft and sweet with a fondness I don’t think I’ve seen before. “Oh my lord, you chose well,” she says, and with that, she seems to come to her senses. She straightens, clears her throat, gathers our filthy clothes from the floor, and leaves.

Breakfast smells enticing.

Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, toast.

I pull the tray toward me, and Alessia rouses.

“I smell food,” she says sleepily.

“Hungry?” I ask.

She offers me a sleepy grin. “Starving.”

Alessia is becoming familiar with the rhythm of the house. In the morning, after they’ve washed and dressed and maybe made love, she and Maxim have breakfast with the staff in the large kitchen—usually, it’s the second sitting. Afterward, she and Danny meet to discuss the day’s menu, bookings, and requirements for the holiday houses, which includes the Hideout, and any household issues or tasks that need to be completed. When that’s all done, Alessia has been going to the great barn to help with the lambing and moving ewes with their progeny to the bonding pens.

She’s even driven herself.

Without Maxim.

He was anxious, but he let her go.

And she succeeded.

She needs to apply for a driver’s license. And take a test.

All in good time, Alessia!

During the week, the Home Farm has welcomed 197 lambs and counting.

Alessia has done two more night shifts to help. And she loves it.

She loves it here.

She loves that she feels… useful.

She now knows all the estate workers by name, who lives-in, who lives nearby in Trevethick village, and who lives farther afield. They are all delighted that she’s there to share the workload.

And she is m’lady.

To everyone.

In the early evenings, she enjoys a walk with Jensen, Healey, and her husband. The dogs adore her husband almost as much as she does… though he assures her the dogs were Kit’s. The four of them have roamed the estate, and Maxim has regaled her with stories of his youth and his many, many misdemeanors, and she’s built a mental picture of an idyllic life led by Maxim and his siblings here on the estate.

No wonder he loves it so much.

They’ve taken a couple of walks along Trevethick beach, and she’s breathed in the fresh, salty air by the sea.

He has given her the sea… again.

And she loves it.

But tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow, after church, they’re returning to London for Alessia’s audition that will take place on Monday. She’s been studying for that in the afternoons. Losing herself in the colors of her music in the great music room.

Maxim, too, has been busy. As well as the new still idea, he’s been preoccupied with the concept of regenerative farming. He’s holding a meeting of all the tenant farmers at the Hall this evening, with a farmer who’s come from a place called Worcestershire—which she finds impossible to pronounce—to share ideas. Snacks and drinks are being provided—Danny, Jessie, and Melanie, one of the part-time staff who helps Danny, are serving, but Alessia will also be on hand. She’s looking forward to it, as it’s the first time they’ve entertained at the Hall, and she, too, wants to learn about these new farming practices.

Alessia’s only concern is Maxim. He seems a little distracted sometimes. And she’s not sure if it’s the estrangement with his mother or something else. She’s asked him about it, but he says he’s fine. In fact, he says he’s never been happier.

It’s all good.

We’re here together.

And I’m loving life right now.

Thanks to you. I love you.

Alessia feels the same, but she wishes he’d reconcile with Rowena because, deep down, she suspects he’s hurting.

Sitting at my desk, I read through my notes for the meeting this evening. I’m excited. Michael, our estate manager who’s in charge of the Home Farm, has lit a fire under me. My father was ahead of his time when he went organic. Michael’s father, Philip, who ran the Home Farm back then, helped persuade all our tenants to go the organic route too. Today, with Michael’s help, I hope to convince our local tenant farmers that regenerative farming is the next step in our ecological journey. Sustainable, regenerative farming is the way forward—it helps the estate, our producers, our land, the locale, and the planet. It feeds and repairs the soil, sequesters carbon and increases biodiversity. Through all my research, I’ve become a passionate fan. We have an advocate in a farmer from Worcestershire, Jem Gladwell, who will join us this evening. His substantial farm uses the latest regenerative techniques, and he’s enough of a convert that he wants to spread the word and talk to fellow farmers using language that they understand.

I’m looking forward to meeting him, and he’ll stay the night.

Our first guest!

And if tonight is a success, I hope we can repeat this process at Angwin and Tyok.

Once I finish my notes, I check my email, and my thoughts turn to Caroline, and from her to Kit’s journal. I have squirreled it into the safe and pocketed the key. I haven’t read any more pages, but I’m torn. I don’t know if I want to find out more or if I should leave Kit to his secrets. After all, he’s no longer with us.

I should let him rest.

But it gnaws at me… Caroline, faithless.

Is it any wonder we fucked when he died? I thought it was some grieving alchemy that got us together. It probably was, but as I look back, there was no restraint from either of us.

Hell.

Was she faithless throughout their marriage?

She said she loved him.

She was devastated when he died.

Devastated enough to sleep with me?

Fuck.

I hate that these thoughts plague me. Neither one of us behaved well.

Caro’s sent me her interior design ideas for the mansion blocks. There are three options, all of them good. But I haven’t picked up the phone to discuss them with her. Oliver wants the cheapest option, but that’s no surprise. We’ll be back in London for a few days from tomorrow evening—I’ll arrange to speak to her then.

There’s a soft tap on the door, and Melanie, one of Danny’s protégés from the village, peeks around the door.

“Good afternoon, your lordship. Sergeant Nancarrow is here to see you.”

What! Shit!

Anxiety rises like the tide in my chest. What does he want? To interview Alessia? On a Saturday? I thought we’d avoided all that.

“Offer him some refreshment and show him into the main drawing room. I’ll be with him shortly.”

“Yes, milord.”

I blow out a breath. What could he possibly want?

When I enter the room, Nancarrow is sipping a cup of tea and examining the family photographs displayed on one of the Queen Anne tables. Notes drift from the music room, where Alessia is at the piano.

Keep it together, dude.

“Sergeant Nancarrow. Good afternoon.”

He turns, and I extend my hand.

“My lord. It’s good to see you.” We shake, and I usher him over to where Melanie’s set up tea, and we both take a seat.

“Congratulations on your recent marriage,” he says and offers me a kind smile.

So far, so good.

“Thank you. What can I do for you?”

He blows out a quick breath and sets down his teacup, his expression now grim. “I’ve brought news, my lord. Unfortunate news. Earlier this week, the two men we apprehended at your rental property were murdered while on remand.”

My scalp tightens, and I’m suddenly a little dizzy; I’m sure all the blood is draining from my head.

What the fuck? “How?”

“Details haven’t yet been released,” he mutters, watching my expression intently.

I sit back, utterly stunned… and a memory of the Arsehole showing me the newspaper clipping looms large and ugly in my head.

“I thought I should come and inform you. The case against them will lie on file but neither you nor Lady Trevethick will need to testify in court.”

“Yes,” I breathe as my mind goes into overdrive.

Did Anatoli murder them?

Does he have that kind of capability?

Was it someone else at his behest?

Fucking hell. Should I tell Nancarrow?

“So I wanted to return this.” His voice has softened, and he hands me a large Tesco’s shopping bag. In it are my laptop and sound mixers.

“How did you come by these?”

“The gear was in the back of their car. The BMW. We were holding the car and these as evidence—but now the case is defunct.” He shrugs. “The serial numbers match those of your missing items. I thought I’d return them.”

“Thank you.”

His eyes darken, and I don’t know what that heralds. “And there was this too.” He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a brown envelope, and hands it to me. “We were waiting for the Met to ask for all the evidence, but they hadn’t got around to it. And now, well, there’s not much point.”

Intrigued, I open the envelope. Inside is a passport—Alessia’s old one.

Shit.

My eyes meet his, and I have no idea what he’s going to say or what my response should be.

“I thought Lady Trevethick might want this back, my lord.”

I’m stunned into complete silence.

He smiles at my expression. “And let that be the end of it.”

I gape at him, not sure if I quite believe what he’s implying. “Thank you,” I blurt.

“I hear she’s made quite the impression here, my lord.”

“Maxim. Please.”

He grins. “Maxim.”

“She has. On all of us. That’s her, playing now.”

“The piano?”

“Yes.”

“I do love a bit of Beethoven.”

“Come and meet her. She doesn’t mind an audience.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s fine. Come.”

“Goodbye, Sargent Nancarrow,” Alessia says as they shake hands.

“My lady, such a pleasure.” His face flushes, and I know my wife has captured yet another heart.

“My lord. Maxim,” he corrects himself, and with a nod, he heads out toward his squad car.

I blow out a breath. He didn’t mention the death of the traffickers to my wife, and I decide to keep that information to myself for now—I know how unsettling it is for her to hear about that part of her life.

“He seems very nice,” she says but sounds uncertain. “Why did he come here?”

“He was returning some of the gear that the arseholes who were arrested at the Hideout stole from my flat and also to return this.” I retrieve Alessia’s old passport from my pocket.

“O Zot! He knows!” She bites down on her bottom lip, her eyes wide with worry.

“He does, but he’s chosen to give us both the benefit of the doubt. He’s not going to pursue it.”

Alessia frowns. “But when Dante and Ylli go to trial…” Her voice fades, and I shift my focus to Nancarrow’s car as it disappears down the lane. “Maxim. What is it?”

Fuck.

“Tell me!”

I turn to face her, and her jaw is set in grim determination.

Hell.

“They died in custody.”

“What? Dante and Ylli? Both of them?” Her voice is barely audible.

I nod. “That’s the main reason Nancarrow came to see me… us.”

“They’re dead,” she whispers again as if she can’t quite believe it.

“It would appear so.”

“Murdered?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze scans my face, and I watch as a dozen emotions cloud her eyes, until they harden. Frigid. Callous. Unlike my girl. “Good,” Alessia says, with such passion that I’m a little shocked. “I hope they rot in hell.”

Whoa. But yeah. I hope so too.

“It also means there’ll be no trial. We’re free from all that,” I whisper.

Tears well in her dark eyes.

Shit. No. “Please don’t cry. Not for them.” I circle her in my arms, pulling her close and kissing her hair.

“No. Not for them,” she responds. “For their victims. But I am relieved. We are free.”

“We are.”

She exhales, and her body relaxes in my arms as if a great weight’s been lifted. “It is a relief.” She tilts her head up, offering her lips, and I kiss her, falling under her spell as her fingers twist and tug my hair.

She pulls back, rewarding me with her sweet smile. “Now. We just need you to talk to your mother.”

I scoff and shake my head. “What? That’s a change of subject. And it’s my mother who needs to talk to me. I have texted her.”

“You have? Good. She will. She loves you. She wasn’t ready to tell her story. Only the shocking…um…headlines. And you weren’t ready to listen.”

I stiffen. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to listen, and I don’t know if she ever loved me. She loved Kit.”

Alessia caresses my face. “Of course she loves you.” She draws my lips to hers. “How could she not? You’re her son… and I love you,” she whispers.

There’s a cough in the corridor behind us, and we straighten up and release each other.

“Danny?”

“My lord. Jem Gladwell is here to see you.”

“Great. Show him into the main drawing room.”

We’re stretched out on our bed when we should be sleeping. “Can we come back here?” Alessia asks, her head resting on her pillow, and I face her as she traces the outline of my tattoo with her finger. It tickles… but I love the attention.

“Of course we’ll come back here. It’s our home.”

“But soon.” Her hand cups my face.

“Once you’ve done your auditions. Sure.”

“Good. I love it here.”

“Me too. I feel hopeful in this place. And now more hopeful for the future of it and for the estate as a whole. I thought Gladwell was inspiring.”

“Yes. And funny too. He is good…um…company?”

“Yes. That works. He is good company. I look forward to seeing him again when he comes to Angwin.” I haul her into my arms. “I think he liked you.” I nuzzle that pulse point beneath her ear.

Alessia squirms and giggles in my arms. “That tickles.”

I stop torturing her and gaze at her beautiful face. “We should sleep. I have to do my reading in church tomorrow morning, and then there’s the long drive back to London.”

“Are you nervous about your reading?”

I lean against the pillows while considering my response, and Alessia snuggles against me. “No. I’m not nervous at all. I feel a little hypocritical, to be honest. I’m not religious. Never have been. But Trewin is right. He’s here for the community, and I need to step up and be here for the community, too, whether I like it or not.

“Tonight, listening and watching all our tenants and estate workers, I realized that all of us bind together to make a cohesive whole. We all work for the good of the community. And you and me, we’re a part of that. I never thought about it before… when Kit was in charge here.

“Now, I want to be part of it more than ever. It’s important to keep this place together and thriving for us and everyone who lives in and around Trevethick. We are its beating heart.”

Alessia’s dark eyes are luminous. In them, I see her hope and… dare I say it, admiration. “I want to be part of it too,” she whispers.

“Oh, baby, you are. More than you know already.”

“I have loved our time here. I can’t believe that this is my life now. It is like a dream. Thank you.”

I skim my fingers over her cheek. “No, my love. It’s I who should thank you. This place has come alive with you here.”

Alessia shakes her head as if she doesn’t believe what I’m saying and kisses me. Properly, her hand skimming down my body… waking everything.

Again? Oh boy!