A Secret Passion (18 page)

“I was sorry not to be at Cutty’s funeral, Mrs. Lovering. He was a great man.”

“You must have been following Wellington at the time, dear sir. I am sure my husband’s family never expected you. But your words are very kind,” Jane responded. “Your uncle traveled a good distance to come, as did your wife.”

Sir Thomas pinched his eyebrows together. “Ah, that must have been just before our divorce, when Lucinda was still trying to keep up appearances. Pardon me, Madam.” Sir Thomas added the last under his breath.

Jane had had to bend her ear closer to catch it all. Shocked, she turned to look at her aunt. Clarissa’s face was white as she stared at Sir Thomas and then back at her cards. Jane did not doubt that it took all of Clarissa’s strength of character to remain seated and continue playing the game. She noticed her aunt’s hands were unsteady.

“Sir, please let me offer you my condolences,” Jane said. It was amazing that in the small circle of society in London, she had not known about the divorce. The scandal of divorce was an event requiring many hours, days, months, and even years of speculation by the
ton
. But then again, Jane’s small circle, more Cutty’s older male acquaintances than her own, gossiped less than their female counterparts, especially in her hearing. Jane could list all the illnesses and deaths that plagued her husband’s friends’ families, but she was ignorant of the worst offenses of their sons and daughters. In addition, she had closeted herself in the country away from
ton
events and the cutting tongues of London, where she had suffered a miserable first season followed by a much-gossiped-about marriage.

“It is quite all right, Mrs. Lovering. I am reconciled to the fact,” responded Sir Thomas, eyeing the intricate mantelpiece.

Jane, a little embarrassed, changed the subject. “Shall we send a message to the inn, sir, to retrieve your belongings? It is too wet to go back, really. May I send a footman and groom to collect everything?”

“That would be most kind of you. Yes.”

Graystock turned to him. “Do tell us about the success of your hunting and fishing schemes on my property, Gooding.”

“You will be content to know your larders are stocked to the gills,” Sir Thomas responded. “And by the by, your grandmother, when I left, was busy adding more names to the invitation list for your house party this fall.”

Clearly irked, Lord Graystock did not reply.

With much amusement, Jane observed that Miss Doddridge’s attempts to draw the earl’s attention to herself had failed miserably. She smiled as Sir Thomas spoke to her once again.

“Will you visit your aunt for the festival, Mrs. Lovering? I will be there, as well as the Kellerys and the Smiths. And if her grandson does not return soon, I’m sure the dowager countess will invite many other people you would know from town.”

Jane glanced at Lord Graystock. He seemed to be quite still, listening for her answer. “I think not, sir. I have accepted other engagements this fall that preclude a visit.” Clarissa drew the attention of everyone in the room at the conclusion of the hand in play. “Will you all excuse me? I must have a word with Cook, and with our housekeeper, if you please.”

The male cardplayers all nodded as they pushed the cards to the center of the felt-covered table. Miss Dodderidge protested and then snuggled up to Harry by clutching his sleeve as she looked at the earl. “Do let us play charades again, Mr. Thompson and Lord Graystock. It was such a lark last evening.”

Jane noticed Lord Graystock made no effort whatsoever to conceal a pained expression. When Miss Dodderidge continued to pester the group, the earl stared at the chit with such a black expression that Miss Dodderidge was dampened into submission.

Clarissa’s heart pounded so desperately that she was sure everyone in the room had noticed. As she rushed into her room, she held her throbbing temples in her hands and lay on the bed. She closed her eyes and replayed scenes with Thomas in her head until her mind swirled and she thought she would go mad.

She remembered his youthful face, before the war, when he had proposed to her on bended knee with laughter in his eyes. He had been in such good humor when she had nodded her assent, his face glowing with a look she had seen but once or twice many, many years ago. She remembered the shock of seeing him again in Littlefield—his anger, his bad manners, and his reproofs. And she also remembered the scene at Littlefield in her cottage, late at night.

It had been a repeat of the conversation at the seashore but with even less civility. But never once had he mentioned his divorce, an almost impossible event. And now, for the sake of propriety and pride, she would be required to maintain a calm demeanor, suppress any hopes, in the face of this news. She wished more than anything to throw herself at his feet, beg his forgiveness, and pray for a renewal of his attentions, but she knew in her heart it was too late. There was just the smallest of voices in her ear whispering, “Why did he come?”

She fingered her old lace cap in agitation and forced herself off the bed and into the kitchen to inform the housekeeper of Pembroke’s newest addition.

The morning dawned cool and sunny, a fortuitous event for the foursome at Pembroke and the party at the manse. A visit to Porthcurno had been proposed the evening before, and most of the young members of the set had embraced the plan with enthusiasm. Jane awoke from a restless sleep with the realization that this would be her last day at Pembroke. Tomorrow, early, she and Harry would leave as fast as his ruination of a carriage would take them. At least they would have adequate horseflesh until the first posting exchange, as they would borrow horses from her family’s stable.

She had finished at midnight all the letters that would be posted upon her departure, and she had packed a small trunk and pushed it behind all the gowns in her armoire. All that was left to do was to get through this day without anyone learning of her plan. And without losing her mind.

As she finished fastening her practical dark blue riding habit, she felt guilty for not selecting her black mourning. But that would mean forgoing the pleasure of riding—and she had such few pleasures. Jane looked at her small escritoire and saw the earl’s ring, which she still possessed from that dreadful game of charades. She had to find a private moment to return it to him. She had been safekeeping it in her pocket but had put it on the escritoire while she wrote her letters. She took the few steps back and slipped the heavy gold ring into her pocket.

The last of the picnic was being handed to the pretty occupants of an open carriage as Jane approached from the stables riding a young bay mare. The gentlemen, all astride, nodded to her as she took her place behind the earl, Sir Thomas, and the two brothers. Her mount was full of spirits and threatening to bolt at the smallest provocation.

“You are going to have a lively time of it, Mrs. Lovering. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to switch horses?” Mr. Harry Thompson asked, while looking longingly at the beautiful horse.

Jane smiled at him as she leaned over the mare’s shoulder to pat her. “Ride old Boots? I think not!”

“He might be gray around the whiskers, but he can still give some young ones a run for their money. Come on, let’s switch,” teased Harry.

“I believe Mrs. Lovering would as soon take your suggestion as she would ride in the carriage,” drawled Lord Graystock.

“Whyever would you say such a thing?” Jane asked.

“When have you ever taken a gentleman’s suggestion?” replied the earl, with one eyebrow arched.

Harry hooted with delight. “Hear! Hear!”

Jane tried not to sound defensive when she answered, “It isn’t that. It is just that I’m bringing this mare along slowly and she requires a delicate hand.”

Harry laughed and broke in, “This gets worse and worse. Are you insinuating that I will maul your dear creature?”

He was smiling and of such a good nature that Jane knew even an insult from her would do little to bother him. Wishing to prove the earl wrong, Jane dismounted and offered the reins to Harry. “Of course not. If you really want to switch…” She raised the stirrup and unbuckled the girth as she added, “Old Boots and I will have a dandy time of it, I’m sure.”

Harry arranged her sidesaddle on his aged horse, laughing the entire time. He then moved to her spirited animal and was successful in his endeavor of placing his saddle on the young mare only after Jane moved to soothe her.

The party trotted eastward toward the beach of Porthcurno following the winding dirt path through Pembroke’s fields and hedges. Two miles further brought them to a small fishing village, where large, disassembled timber balks marked the outskirts of the parish. These were laid across the small harbor during winter to block the worst of the winter gales. Jane was explaining the practice to Sir Thomas when the carriage drew parallel to the mounted group. Miss Dodderidge called out to them and waved her bright handkerchief. The exercise of the morning had failed to dampen the spirits of the skittish mare, and the sight of the handkerchief set the horse into a dead run. Poor Harry had let the reins dangle freely as they walked through the village to give the animal a rest.

The group watched helplessly as Harry’s mount galloped through the treacherous cobblestone streets of the village, slipping as she bucked and swerved. Jane knew that going after him would only further frighten the mare. With fifty feet of slippery cobblestone left before the dirt path resumed on the far side of the village, the horse lost her footing and went down with Harry astride.

Jane had already dismounted, along with William Thompson and the earl. As she ran toward Harry she felt as if time moved forward too slowly and that a tunnel had formed between her and a quite motionless Harry. She reached him just as the horse was trying to right herself, pushing her front legs into a position to be able to stand up. An oath escaped Harry’s lips. With a soothing voice, Jane spoke to the mare and rapidly disengaged Harry’s foot from the stirrup, which had been lodged beneath the horse.

He was pale and barely conscious as Jane urged the mare away from him. William took the reins and walked the shaking animal to the earl before returning. Jane listened to Harry’s shallow breathing, patting his hands and calling out to him as he slipped into unconsciousness. She noticed, with a wretched feeling, that Harry’s ankle lay at an unnatural angle. A babble of female voices, marked by the high-pitched shriek of Miss Dodderidge, moved closer. Jane glanced at the earl, who intercepted the group and insisted on their restraint.

“Oh, but, my poor, dear, brave Mr. Thompson,” wailed Miss Dodderidge.

“Pray, Miss Dodderidge, please attempt to keep your wits about you,” Lord Graystock said dryly.

“Oh, but I must go to him, this instant.”

“No, my dear, you must not,” he responded as his arm intercepted her wrist.

“Miss Dodderidge, please stay back and comfort Harry’s sisters,” Jane insisted without looking at the foolish girl.

Sir Thomas had joined Jane to feel Harry’s neck and head, when his eyes reopened. Jane brushed the hair from Harry’s forehead and spoke to him. “It’s all right. You fell off the mare. Don’t try to move just yet.”