Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (24 page)

The water was cooling. As Judith hurried to use the washcloth to remove days of traveling, her lofty resolves echoed hollow in her mind.
Do not concern yourself with my personal affairs.

Perhaps all he wanted was a housekeeper and a body in his bed.

At the thought of bed, Judith cast an anxious glance at the door to his bedchamber and hastily stepped out of the tub and into the huge towel held by the maid. She didn't know when he would decide to complete their marital duties, but she hoped it would not be now, not before they had regained their balance.

She was soon securely dressed. Emily, too, had no trouble in arranging her hair into a becoming style and when Judith assessed herself in the mirror, she decided her husband would at least have no complaint as to her appearance.

However, she felt very much the interloper when she ventured down the stairs of her new home. The staircase was wide and uncarpeted, with heavy, bulbous dark oak balusters. It was overhung by darkened landscapes against parchment walls. There was no speck of dust anywhere, but no speck of warmth either. Judith wanted to order in the painters, and carpet the stairs a rich red. She wanted lighter pictures and some bright ornaments.

The stately butler was in the chilly tiled hall to welcome her again to the house, and direct her to the breakfast parlor. Judith looked around and wondered again if it was because she was unused to grandeur that she found this house so cold and unwelcoming.

Perhaps it was just nerves.

In the breakfast room she found Leander reading the paper.

He put it aside and stood with a careful smile. "Good morning, my dear." It was a
handling
smile, and there was none of the friendly ease they had once enjoyed.

"Good morning," Judith replied as she sat.

She allowed Addison to serve her breakfast. Leander did not return to the protection of his paper.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

It hardly seemed the moment to complain of the mattress. "Tolerably," she replied. She sought something else to keep back silence."This is an interesting house," she said at last. It sounded inane.

"It's quite old by Mayfair standards. This block was built by my great-grandfather in the early seventeen hundreds. It's not in the latest style, I'm afraid."

Judith glanced at him, wondering if that comment implied dissatisfaction, or was just a statement of fact.

"It must be interesting to have a house with such a long family history."

Then she winced. What a
stupid
thing to say to a member of the aristocracy, particularly in front of a servant.

He poured himself more coffee. "My mother's family is not particularly interesting. A few generations ago they were small craftsmen, then they made money in ironmongery, coal, and, I'm afraid, slaves."

Judith didn't know what to say to that.

"I've always thought this house reflected more money than taste, though if you like it, I'm pleased." His cup stopped partway to his lips, and it was his turn to wince. "That sounded amazingly rude."

A bubble of laughter burst from Judith. "And you the perfect diplomat."

He smiled back at her, and the temperature raised a good many degrees. His tone was almost a caress as he said, "You destroy all artifice, my dear."

Judith looked hastily down at her eggs, not at all sure what to make of that.

"The house has some advantages," he remarked. "It's large, has adequate stabling, and a spacious garden. It also," he added, "has the best stair rail I've ever encountered for sliding down."

Judith looked up. "Don't tell Bastian!"

He laughed. "If he doesn't perceive it immediately, he's not the boy I take him for."

Judith then caught the sounds he had heard—a smothered giggle and a hushing sound. Then a muted,
wheeee.
She rested her head on her hand.

In a moment, Bastian and Rosie presented themselves, looking like perfect angels. "Good morning, Mama. Good morning, Papa Leander."

Judith accepted kisses from both of them, and directed them to their chairs. Addison came forward to serve them.

To Judith's amazement, this august personage thawed in the presence of children and seemed inclined to offer them the entire contents of the pantry. Judith intervened. "Just eggs, toast, and tea, Addison."

The butler accepted that, but then asked the children if they had any preferences for future meals. Judith shared a glance with Leander, and saw he, too, was amused by this unexpected side to the butler. She saw no harm in allowing Bastian and Rosie to list all their treats, however, for their recent diet had been such plain fare that their treats wore mostly unexceptionable—oranges, Scotch eggs, shrimps, steak pie, and, of course, ices.

When all these matters were settled, Leander dismissed Addison, then said, "I hope you are all recovered from the journey."

"I feel a great deal better for a good rest and a bath," Judith said.

She was rewarded by a smile. "I confess, you were right all along. A long journey straight after our wedding with two excited children along was not the wisest enterprise."

Rosie's face puckered and she said, "I'm sorry for being sick."

They had to take time to reassure her.

Bastian said, "But will we not be going to Temple Knollis soon, sir?"

He, too, needed to be reassured. "We certainly will, Bastian, but I have to check first that there is no sickness. It would be no fun to get there only to be sick."

He amiably answered a stream of questions about the Temple, and about London, but then rose from the table. He turned to Judith. "I am going to arrange for someone to check on the state of affairs at the Temple. We should know what's toward within the week."

She wanted an opportunity to talk to him, but this clearly was not a good time or place. He was on his way to the door. There was one subject that must be raised, however.

"Leander," she said, "we have to consider what arrangements to make for the children, what sort of attendants to provide for them. Also," she added tentatively, "it may be necessary to make changes in the house for our comfort." There, that should be subtle enough.

He shrugged in a manner expressive only of mild surprise.
"
You must do as you wish. This is your home."

Men. That was little help at all."Will we entertain?" she asked.

"I hadn't considered the matter. Do you wish to?"

He seemed genuinely unconcerned and so Judith gratefully said no. She had enough novelties and tangles to handle without trying to take her place in society as the Countess of Charrington.

"In that case," he said, "we'll leave the knocker off the door, and neglect to give any notice of our arrival. I suspect we will be here only for a couple weeks at the most." He came back to the table and placed a conventional kiss on her cheek. "Do just as you like, my dear. The place has been neglected for years. Even the staff was hired only months ago. There was only a caretaker before that."

With that he was gone and Judith was left exasperated. He said, do just as you like, but if she did so he could object to some change. Moreover, it was not clear whether by change he meant moving a sofa, or having a wall knocked out. Not that she was contemplating anything that drastic, but still...

"May we go to the Tower, Mama?"

Judith turned her attention to Bastian's question. She knew her frustration was less about household matters than about her problems with her husband, but he seemed to have put his coldness aside, and there would surely be time at a later date to talk to him.

When the children had finished their breakfast, she let them come along on the tour of the house. Mrs. Addison was the housekeeper, and just as portly as her husband but less awe-inspiring. She bustled them cheerfully over four floors and the basement.

It was all the same—solid, clean, decorated in expensive, old-fashioned style, but lacking any personality at all. Many rooms looked as if they had hardly been used.

In Judith's opinion, it was also distinctly ugly.

There was a nursery area, but it had clearly not been used for a generation. Judith decided it would be pointless to try to refurbish it for Bastian and Rosie, especially for what promised to be a short stay. There were some boxes of books and toys there, however, and a rocking horse. After making sure that the latter was sound, she left the children to play.

The basement was in many ways the most comfortable part of the house, being the most thoroughly lived in. Judith admired the new closed stove.

"Just about the first thing the earl bought," said Mrs. Addison approvingly. "You wouldn't believe this kitchen, my lady, so old fashioned as it was. He hired Addison and me, and told us to do the rest, but I told him straight out, there'd be no chance at all of getting a cook worth her salt with such a kitchen. He asked what was needed and ordered it, just like that."

"And what of the rest of the house?" Judith asked. "It would appear that no changes have been made there."

"The earl hasn't asked for any, my lady. Being a single man, he's not been entertaining more than a friend now and then." She glanced at Judith and seemed to make a decision. She progressed to gossip. "There was only one old man living here until about five years ago, or so they say. A Mister Delahaye—the earl's grandfather on his mother's side. He was a bit of a recluse, as I understand, though the earl visited here as a boy. When he died, the present earl and his father were abroad and so the place was just shut up. It was cared for well enough, but I tell you, my lady, it was a mite of work to bring it up to scratch."

"I'm sure it was, Mrs. Addison, but you appear to have done a wonderful job. The house is spotless."

"Just doing my job, my lady." But the woman preened.

Judith couldn't help wondering if her manner would be so cordial if she knew that a few weeks ago Judith had been scrubbing her own floors. She silently thanked Leander for insisting she care for her telltale hands.

She returned to the ground floor thoughtfully. She needed a place to make plans.

If they were to spend much time in this house, she rather thought she would have a boudoir near her bedroom, but for the moment the nearby rooms were being used by the children. After considering the limited possibilities, she appropriated a small anteroom to the library, and requested that a fire be laid in the hearth.

She considered her new quarters. The hand-painted wallpaper was faded with age, but did not offend; the curtains were a gloomy maroon brocade, but would do for the winter months; the carpet was tolerable and hardly worn at all. It was the furniture she did not like—a squat, heavy table, four hard wooden chairs, and a couple of low, uncomfortable upholstered Queen Anne chairs.

A mental review told her that there was nothing more comfortable in the house, except in the library. She rather thought that room, however, had been the old man's haven, and was now Leander's. It would be wiser not to raid it.

If she wanted a pleasant nest she would have to buy at least a comfortable chair.

That reminded her of her overgenerous pin money. When would it appear?

It also reminded her of the money owed to the publisher, and her allowance from Timothy Rossiter.

Now she was in London, she could easily send a note to Timothy's address to tell him to stop paying the allowance. On the other hand, she could use the money to pay some of the bill for the books. It seemed more appropriate to use money from Sebastian's family for that purpose than money from Leander.

She wondered how penny-pinched her brother-in-law was. His address, she remembered, was Clarges Street. She would ask Leander what that implied.

No, the only immediate solution was to pay the bill out of her pin money. She still begrudged such a waste of funds and yet it must be paid. Which meant she would have to remind Leander about the money. She hated that thought, even if she was entitled to it. Especially as she hadn't earned it.

She shivered. That was a horrid way to put it, but until she really was his wife she wasn't entitled to anything.

She pushed away those thoughts and raided the library as far as a pen and paper went. She was very tempted to curl up in the big chair before the fire there, but couldn't be entirely sure Leander would not object.

She lost track of time as she noted down what was needed: two comfortable chairs, in case of company; a lady's writing desk; calling cards; stationery; more books and games for the children; a guidebook to London; a means of transportation...

She sat chewing the pen. How exactly was she to get to Mister Browne's to pay that bill? The fact of the matter was that she had not the slightest idea how to get along in London. She had always lived in villages.

Leander would know. He doubtless would discharge the debt for her if she asked. Judith was guiltily aware that she did not want Leander to know anything about it. He could never guess what part it had played in sending her to reconcile with him, but she felt as if it would be obvious on the instant.

As if summoned by her guilty thoughts, Leander came m.

"Busy, Judith? You deserve a rest, you know."