Skylark (34 page)

His greatcoat, hanging on a hook on the wall, rough to the touch, delightful to inhale, even though it mostly smelt of wool.

That book lying beside the bed, the place marked with a strip of cloth that must have been embroidered by a child. By one of Charlotte’s little girls, she supposed.

The washstand containing his brush, comb, and shaving equipment. Shaving was so particular to men that it had always pleased her. She’d sometimes liked to watch Hal being shaved, which he’d indulgently thought peculiar.

The results had been predictable, which was part of the reason she’d done it, but it had made the smell of shaving soap and the sight of a razor quite stimulating.

Blond hairs were caught in his brush. She teased one free, and blushing at her own folly, tucked it down between her breasts.

If only she’d been wiser when young. Would it have been so dreadful to stay unmarried for a few years until Stephen was in a position to take a wife? As Juliet had done.

She shook her head. She understood too well the Laura Watcombe who’d thrilled to have caught the most eligible man in the area, and who’d thought she’d found a like spirit in Hal Gardeyne. They had been happy for a while. She would never let herself pretend that wasn’t so.

She’d been a different person then.

She had, indeed, been Lady Skylark, immediately at home in the
haute volée
. Would that girl have been able to tolerate life in rooms in London, playing hostess to other lawyers and politicians who wanted to debate reform until the candles guttered?

Such thoughts seemed to violate some ideal, but people changed. Perhaps that was the cause of many unhappy marriages.

Ah. She went over to Stephen’s window to look out at the setting sun. If she was facing hard truths, she might as well accept that in the end, she and Hal had been in an unhappy marriage.

Not miserable, not tortured, but providing none of the joy they’d shared earlier. After Harry’s birth, she’d wanted a more domestic life, but he hadn’t. However, the tonnish social life no longer appealed to him. He’d clearly played there to please her, but reverted to form so that he spent most of his time with his Corinthian set.

They’d lost their meeting points.

No, they’d had one. They’d both wanted more children. She wasn’t sure why she’d not quickened again. Hal had sired bastards, but not that many, considering. It seemed natural that such a vigorous man would be vigorously fertile. With a wry smile, she wondered whether a lifetime spent as a “bruising rider” as they put it, had an effect.

Oh, dear, she really shouldn’t think of these things or one day she’d speak of them in public. The
ton
might be amused, but the sober lawyers and reformers would not.

Backward, forward, her mind swung like a pendulum. No, like a weight on a string. She’d seen a demonstration once at the Royal Society. Something to do with the movement of the planets, she thought, but to her merely a weight on a string, set to swing in a circle but slowly falling in until it was stationary in the center.

A force of nature, which made it very like the force that kept circling her back to Stephen’s bed, to touching smooth wood, rough wool, firm pillow. That sent her mind circling down to what she and Stephen could do there, and the consequences. . . .

She became aware of someone knocking on the door.

The parlor door!

She hurried into the other room, but then hesitated. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Topham, ma’am. There’s a woman here wishing to speak with Sir Stephen. A woman with child.”

Because of her thoughts about Hal, Laura immediately wondered if a pregnant mistress of Stephen’s had arrived. What a laughable complication that would be! And the thought hurt, though she didn’t imagine he’d lived like a monk.

She opened the door a crack. “Who does she say she is?”

At least the uncertainty fit Mrs. Penfold.

“A Miss Capulette, ma’am.” The man looked concerned. “I’m not at all sure she’s what she seems, ma’am. Arrived with Tad Whipple’s vegetables. And as Sir Stephen is out . . . But she was most insistent, and speaks like a lady.”

With coins, no doubt. Now what?

But then Laura was hard put not to gasp. Montagues and Capulets?
Juliet
?

“Oh, indeed!” she twittered, opening the door. “I know just who she is. Do please bring her up. And tea. I’m sure she will want refreshment.”

His brows rose, but he left. Laura would have rushed down with him, but she made herself wait. Juliet. Had she brought Harry? What had happened? Jack was
here,
not creating danger at Merrymead.

Then Juliet came upstairs, with Harry asleep in her arms.

Laura took him, and could have wept with relief. Thank heavens he was asleep, though, or he would surely have called out “Mama!”

Juliet looked exhausted, and momentarily astonished at Laura’s appearance.

“My poor dear!” Laura gushed, drawing her into the room. “You must have had such a journey.” She looked back to where Topham was hovering, probably to check that everything was truly in order. “Thank you. Tea, please.”

Harry stirred, but by heaven’s grace he didn’t let out a sleepy “Mama?” until the door closed.

Laura gave him a long, close hug. “Yes, it’s me, Minnow! How wonderful to see you. As you see, I’m playing a little game and have disguised myself, but it’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She looked over his head at Juliet, however, her gaze asking fearful questions.

Harry was knuckling his eyes, so she carried him over to the window and put him down there. “The sea, Harry. Isn’t it splendid?”

“Can I go out there?” he asked, waking up enough to press his nose to the glass.

“Perhaps tomorrow, love. It’s too late now.”

Oh, Lord. What would an inquisitive, restless child do to their plans?

Harry tugged at her. “We traveled on a cart, Mama.”

“So I heard. I’m sure that was a splendid adventure.”

“It smelt of pigs.”

“Oh.” Laura wrinkled her nose. “I think you smell a little bit of pigs, too. Why don’t we take you into my bedchamber for a wash?”

She saw no sign of a valise or even a bundle. What had happened? She took him into the bedchamber and Juliet followed, to collapse wearily onto a chair.

“I thought we were going to have to walk the last miles, but we were taken up by a man bringing vegetables here. He was very kind, but a bit whiffy.”

Laura heard the door open to the parlor and waved her to be quiet. “Let Aunt Juliet wash your face and hands, Minnow, and then there’ll be cakes.”

She returned to the parlor, closing the door behind her.

Jean had entered without permission—Mrs. Penfold wasn’t the only nosy one—and was placing pots, cups, plates, and cakes on the table.

“A surprise visitor, ma’am,” the maid said with a smirk. “I’m sure Sir Stephen will be pleased.”

Laura knew the maid, probably the whole inn, was leaping to the same conclusion that she had, except with a child, not with child.

“Very pleased,” she said, “at the arrival of his sister, though it is most unfortunate that her coach lost a wheel.”

A story that wouldn’t hold up under the slightest scrutiny, but it was all she could think of at the moment.

The maid left with an insolent twitch, and Laura hurried back to the bedroom. She halted at the door, however, realizing that this ruined any wicked plans for the night.

Juliet and Harry would have to share her bed.

Though the results could be disastrous, it felt like salvation.

 

Stephen forced himself to analyze Jack Gardeyne’s mind. The man was clever enough and a well-respected vicar. How could he be willing to murder an innocent nephew? How could he remain so jovial? Where was Macbeth’s haggard torment? How did the man preserve his image of himself as a righteous man?

Perhaps he told himself that he was taking care of his family, especially his newborn son. How could he condemn the infant to life as a parson’s son when he could so easily be heir to a title?

He might even have persuaded himself that Harry was not his brother’s son. Yes, that was likely. Thus, he could see himself as correcting Laura’s wickedness in foisting the child on the Gardeynes. Deceiving his poor old father.

Which put Laura even more at risk.

He must return quickly to the inn—

But perhaps he’d left it too late. The vicar had walked out of the Arms and was heading purposefully toward the Compass.
Purposefully
was exactly the word, and Stephen realized that he himself was a little farther away.

He hurried after, but the shifting pebbles fought his boots and he could hardly run without causing a commotion. He was only a few yards behind when Gardeyne reached the Compass, however, and then the vicar turned into the inn yard.

Stephen paused, letting his heart rate calm, but then walked in after him. If he was seen, so be it. He must know what Gardeyne was up to.

Two men were unloading a cart, which gave some cover but also prevented Stephen from hearing Gardeyne’s conversation with an ostler. The ostler took Gardeyne into the stables.

Stephen followed and heard what sounded like an inspection of the facilities. Was Gardeyne using moving as a reason to ask questions, just as Stephen had done at the Arms? Was he here, after all, as an honest investigator? Was he even willing to welcome his lost cousin home, if he truly lived?

Stephen retreated to a side door into the Compass and let his objective mind evaluate. It could be true. Laura could have imagined the earlier danger, and Jack Gardeyne could be an honorable man.

Soon Gardeyne emerged and walked out of the inn yard to turn left. Stephen strolled after and watched, but the vicar did nothing suspicious. He simply returned to the King’s Arms.

Stephen searched the street for Farouk, but didn’t see the blue turban. But then a touch of blue drew his eye up to the grassy headland beyond the bay. He wished he had the spyglass, but it would probably tell him nothing extra. The Arab had completed the steep walk and was looking out to sea, blown by the wind. An active, vigorous man who was finding the waiting irksome.

He was still waiting, however. He wouldn’t be up there if he knew Jack Gardeyne was in Draycombe.

Harry and Juliet ate like the starving, but at least they both seemed none the worse for their adventure. By silent consent, Laura and Juliet said nothing of importance while Harry was with them, but eventually he abandoned the remains of a cake and wandered back to the window. Laura thought he’d fall asleep on his feet soon, poor lamb, but her immediate concern was a full explanation.

“I probably acted too dramatically,” Juliet said, “but there was no time to think.” She glanced at Harry and lowered her voice. “Lord Caldfort sent two men to take a certain
enfant
back to his house.”

“Back to Caldfort?” Laura said, astonished.

Juliet nodded, taking another scone. “They arrived with a letter, full of authority. They expected you to be there, of course, and to go with him. But your absence didn’t dissuade them. Mother was in distress over it, for Father wasn’t at home, but I could see she was likely to give in. I was in a dither, because you didn’t tell me not to let
l’enfant
be taken there. I decided it couldn’t be what you’d want, so the only thing was to come here to you, and to leave immediately. I took what money I had, but it wasn’t quite enough.”

“Lord above! Mother must be frantic.”

“I left a note, of course, begging her to tell the men that we were out somewhere. She must have, for they didn’t catch us . . . Oh, dear.”

“I don’t think I said where I was going. Just that I was taking Harry to you. It seemed obvious, but they’ll think I’ve gone to Mrs. Delaney’s.”

“Lord, what a tangle. What could Lord Caldfort have wanted? Jack’s here. In Draycombe.”

Juliet paled. “So I’ve brought Harry into danger?”

“Not particularly, but it complicates everything. But you did do the right thing, love. Thank you. I wouldn’t want Harry at Caldfort House without me. But now we’ll have Father or Ned here soon, and look what they’ll find. We should all return to Redoaks. . . .”

But Laura looked out at the setting sun and knew it would be folly to attempt the journey now, especially with Juliet and Harry so weary.

“First thing tomorrow morning,” she said.

Despite his nap on the journey, Harry’s head was drooping, so Laura went over and scooped him into her arms. “Come on, Minnow. More adventures tomorrow.”

She peeled him out of his grubby clothes and washed crumbs off his face and hands without much help from him, poor darling. Then she tucked him into the big bed. She snuggled with him for a while, singing the songs he liked.

He opened his eyes and frowned. “You look strange, Mama.”

“I know, Minnow. But it’s just a game.”

He wriggled closer. “I missed you.”

She fought tears. “I missed you, too. A lot.”

“Go down to the sea tomorrow?”

Laura almost said yes, but she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. “Maybe, love. But if we can’t, we’ll come back to the sea very soon.
That’s
a promise.” She stroked his hair. “Go to sleep, Harry. There’ll be many more adventures.”

She sang some more until he was sound asleep, warm and precious in her arms. She settled his head on the pillow but her hand lingered on his hair, unwilling to break that final connection. She wanted to stay here all night but she couldn’t. There were plans to make.

Especially as her bold venture had failed.

No, failed was too harsh. Chance had been against her, but Henry Gardeyne was not alive and Harry was still the Caldfort heir. Even if no one tried to force it, he would have to spend some time at Caldfort House because once Lord Caldfort died, it would be his property and his home.