The Merry Month of May (3 page)

Peter swallowed and ran his finger around his collar. He felt as if he were back at Harrow, about to be caned. “I’m deuced fagged, old chap. Couldn’t it wait till morning?”

“No, it couldn’t.”

“Let us make it brief then,” Peter said, and entered the study, looking all around at the familiar furnishings, the big oak desk with brass and leather appointments, the wall of glass cabinets holding books, the brocade drapes. He felt again those trembling misapprehensions that invariably assailed him when his father ordered him into this room. Damned foolish of him to feel like a boy again. He was a fully grown man now. Rufus could bluster a bit, but he couldn’t keep his money from him.

Rufus sat at his desk and said in a scathing voice, “Be as brief as you like, but pray give
some
explanation for your unconscionable behavior.”

Peter was too uneasy to sit down. He paced the room as he spoke, still an elegant figure in his blue coat and striped waistcoat. That jacket didn’t come from the colonies, Haldiman thought. The ass must have sent to London for his jackets.

“It wasn’t all my fault if you want the truth, Rufus. Sara didn’t care for me in the least. It was her father that shoved her into it. She was a cold fish. I knew that evening in the orchard, the eve of our marriage it was, that it was all a wretched mistake. But the wedding was prepared. How could I cry off? You may be sure
she
wouldn’t do it! It seemed the best thing to just disappear.”

“Still foisting your derelictions onto others, I see,” Haldiman sneered. “Did it seem the best thing not to tell us your plan? Mama and I have been worried sick these six years, not knowing if you were alive or dead!”

“You knew I’d taken my trunks with me. They were all packed for the remove to the Poplars. That must have given you a hint I had tipped Sara the double.”

“We didn’t tell anyone the trunks were missing. Death seemed preferable to your having behaved so dishonorably to Sara. And quite apart from your iniquitous treatment of Sara, you should have left a note, or written us any time over the past six years.”

“You mean Sara thinks I am
dead?”
Peter asked, staring.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead. Even Mama and I thought so, after a year had passed with no word.”

Lord Peter reefed his fingers through his carefully arranged hair. “I often tried to write, Rufus. You’ve no idea how hard it is to put it all down in black and white—my feelings, my reasons for leaving.”

“Your marriage, your two sons,” Haldiman added ironically. “Couldn’t you at least have spoken to Sara? How could you jilt the poor girl, when she was so in love with you?”

“I never thought she was. God knows she never acted it.”

“It would be your dalliance with servants that led you astray. You forget Miss Wood is a lady. She’s practically wilted into an invalid over the years.”

“I couldn’t jilt her. It would be too shabby. That’s why I decided to disappear. No one would think she’d been jilted. They would just think I had been kidnapped or met with an accident or something.”

“What is she—and everyone else—to think now? They’ll suspect when you turn up hale and hearty that you hadn’t died.”

“But surely she’s married by now!”

“No.”

“Damn, I made sure she would be happily married. You can’t mean she is still crying willow?”

“One can only wonder at her grieving so long for so little,” Rufus snipped. “I’m sorry your wife is dead, Peter, but at least you can make up to Sara now for past wrongs.”

Peter gave a leery look from the side of his eye. “What do you mean by that?”

“I am saying what any man of honor would say. You must marry her.”

“Marry her! You forget, that’s why I ran off in the first place. I don’t love her, Rufus. Never did, if it comes to that. I only asked her because I—well, because I—I didn’t think she’d have me,” he finished, frowning at his own folly. “I mean I didn’t think she cared for me in the least.”

“Now you know differently. You will call on her tomorrow, and after the breach is mended, you will make your offer.” Haldiman leveled an imperious eye at his brother. “This time, you will honor your commitment.”

“But--”

“No buts about it. You’ve flung quite enough mud on the family escutcheon, Peter. We blamed it on your youth. You’re no longer a young buck, but a married man.”

“But Betsy—”

Haldiman’s nostrils flared in annoyance. “I hope to God you’re not telling me you’ve already offered for that vulgar chit.”

“The Harveys are very good ton—in Canada, I mean. I have not offered, exactly,” he added, when his brother skewered him with a look of loathing.

“Excellent. And incidentally, the sooner she proceeds with her journey, the better it will be for us all.”

“She doesn’t know anyone here in England.”

“She has her woman with her, as she was so eager to let us know. I hope she isn’t planning to batten herself on me!”

“She’s well to grass. A very tidy little fortune,” Peter informed him.

“Then she can afford to hire a house.”

“Now see here, Rufus. I won’t have my life ordered as if I were still in short coats. I didn’t come home to marry Sara Wood.”

Haldiman rose from his desk. “For as long as you reside under my roof, you will do what common decency demands. If it is your intention to continue your life of debauchery, pray remove to another county, the farther away the better.”

“We’ll see what Mama has to say about that!” Peter said, after his brother had stalked out of the room.

Left alone, Peter made use of the wine bottle. Excellent port. It was hard to get this kind of quality in the colonies. After the second glass, he began to think of Sara. Why the devil
had
he offered for her? She was different from the other girls. Didn’t toss her bonnet at him. A cool number.

Yet there must have been passion simmering beneath her cool exterior, or she wouldn’t have been mourning him all these years. Six years. By gad, it would be interesting to see her again. His lads, Rufus and Beau, needed a Mama. It would soothe Rufus’s feathers if he married Sara, and old Rufus could make claiming his estate thorny if he was in one of his moods.

Then he thought of Betsy. She considered this visit a visit, no more. But as soon as Peter set his boots on English soil, he knew he was home. He didn’t want to go back to Canada. It was too hot in summer and too cold in winter, it was too raw and new, with too many flies and mosquitoes. Once Betsy knew he was staying here, she’d back off. He hadn’t actually offered for her. She was one of those managing women who got a man to the altar before he knew what he was about. Not like Fiona. She was the real love of his life. He’d never love another, and if a wife was all he needed, Sara Wood would do as well as Betsy—better. It would do no harm to call on her in any case.

* * * *

Before he retired, Lord Haldiman went to the nursery to see his nephews. They had been fed, washed, and were being put to bed by a kitchen maid. Fatigue had finally subdued their rowdy manners. Haldiman found himself smiling at two angelic, dark-eyed faces.

“This here’s Master Rufus, and this other one’s Master Charles, named after his Canadian grandpa,” the girl explained, “but they call him Beau.”

“Are you the real Lord?” Rufus demanded. “Because if you are, I would like to know why you took Mama away from us.”

“No, I’m not the real Lord,” Haldiman said. The question tugged at his heartstrings. These poor tykes were in no way responsible for Peter’s behavior. They were innocent, vulnerable victims. He tousled his namesake’s hair. “How old are you, Rufus?” he asked.

“I’m four and a bit. Beau’s two. I have a pony at home. Can I ride your ponies, lord?”

“Why don’t you call me Uncle? We’ll get you a pony, Rufus. I have only horses in my stable.”

“Will you promise?” Rufus asked, pegging Haldiman with a sleepy but still alert eye.

“Promise.”

“I would like a dog, Lord Uncle,” Beau said hopefully.

“We have plenty of dogs. You boys had best go to sleep now. Good night.”

As Haldiman turned toward the door, Peter entered. “Just came to see the lads are settling in right and tight,” he said. “A fine pair, eh?”

“They do you credit, Peter.”

Peter’s smile was spontaneous and genuine. It showed some trace of the handsome boy he had been. “They’re my life,” he said simply. “I’ve been thinking over what you said, Rufus. You’re right. If I mean to settle at the Poplars, I must reestablish myself. I shall see Sara tomorrow and try to make it up to her.”

Haldiman nodded in satisfaction. “Well done. Don’t take the boys on the first visit,” he suggested.

“I shall go alone first and break the news that I’m—I don’t suppose
you
would care to see her first and explain?”

It was a highly unsavory chore, but one that had already occurred to Haldiman as necessary. For a ghost from the past to suddenly appear in Miss Wood’s saloon would in all likelihood cause her to faint dead away. “I’ll see her, and tell her the facts. It will be for you to do your own explaining. I’ll call tomorrow morning.”

“Papa!” a small voice called from the bed. “We didn’t say our prayers. Hurry up. Beau is falling asleep.”

“Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

“We’ll talk in the morning,” Haldiman said. With his hand on Peter’s arm, he added, “Sorry I cut up stiff
,
Peter. Shock, I expect. It’s nice to have you home.”

“It’s been six years. I thought I shouldn’t wait longer, or I’d be declared legally dead.”

As he returned to his office, Haldiman was surprised to discover that there was some truth in what he had just said. He had missed Peter. Anger and shame had deposited a thick layer of ill feeling over the natural bond of brothers, but it was still there. If only Peter would settle down. Haldiman had an intuition those two curly-headed tots in the nursery might accomplish what common sense and common decency and lecturing had failed to do.

It must be wonderful to have sons. It was high time he married and set up a nursery of his own. He would go to London for the Little Season in the autumn and find himself a bride. He knew from years of looking that none of the local ladies appealed to him. The only one he ever had the least partiality for was Sara Wood, and that was half pity. Now that Peter was home, he was very eager for a match between them. She would make a charming sister-in-law, and he’d find himself a wife.

At Whitehern Mrs. Wood sat with her daughters in the breakfast parlor, lingering over a cup of coffee. “So Idle wants to paint your picture, eh Sara?” she said. “I have nothing against it, so long as it is done here, either in the garden or the salon. Mary can play propriety. Idle is a tame enough animal.”

“I have no intention of posing for the silly rattle,” Sara said, not for the first time.

“But you must!” Mary urged. “He’s having a ball, Sara, with all his London friends coming.”

“Pray what has that to do with painting my picture?”

“Nothing, but—oh very well then, I shall tell you. He won’t have it unless I talk you into posing.”

“You mean the ball is a reward?” Sara asked.

“Exactly.”

Mrs. Wood’s eyes narrowed. “He must be extremely eager to paint you, Sara.” Idle’s early return, his wanting to paint Sara—it was beginning to seem his mama had hounded him into getting married and settling down. High time for it, too, the man must be in his thirties. “Idle is an excellent parti.”

“Yes, if only one didn’t have to live with him in order to marry his money and estate,” Sara replied blandly.

“You’re growing cynical in your advancing years, Sara,” Mrs. Wood said, with a weary shake of her head.

“Just realistic. I’m contented to be single. Let Mary marry him. She’s the one who is eager to meet his smart London friends.”

“I won’t meet them if you won’t pose for him,” Mary pointed out. “I’ll stay with you every minute. I’ll distract him if he tries to flirt with you. Please, Sara. Pretty please.”

“Oh very well. But I refuse to dress up in any silly costume.”

As the ladies were about to leave the table, the servant came and announced Lord Haldiman. This threw the group into consternation. “What on earth can he want with us?” Mrs. Wood asked.

There had been plenty of traffic between Haldiman Hall and Whitehern at the time of Sara’s betrothal. After Lord Peter’s disappearance, the visits had continued for some months to discuss the tragic mystery, gradually petering out as it became clear that Peter was not returning. Lady Haldiman still dropped by occasionally, but a call from Lord Haldiman usually had some serious reason. He came at election time to introduce his member, and after Mr. Wood’s death, he had stopped around a few times to offer his assistance in business matters. The family considered him a good neighbor, but not a close friend.

“He wishes to speak to you, ma’am,” the servant informed Mrs. Wood. “Alone,” he added ominously.

“Good gracious! I thought his mama must have taken ill, but he would not want to see me alone if—” Her questioning eye slid to Sara. Surely he hadn’t come to offer for her! He was always very careful to stand up with Sara at all the assemblies. It was taken as a mark of respect for her association with Peter, but his name was never linked with any other lady. Lady Haldiman often mentioned that her son wished to marry. Perhaps he had decided to choose a local bride and save himself the bother of running up to London. Really, she could think of no other possible reason for this call.

Sara looked at her mother, and some silent message passed between them. Their thoughts ran in the same groove. What other possible reason could he have for coming? Mrs. Wood noticed that Sara had turned dead white. Of course she said nothing, the oyster, but her staring eyes told the tale. “What shall I tell him?” she said.

“First you must hear his question,” Sara answered in a voice trying for calmness.

“If he—if it’s an offer ...”

“An offer of marriage! Don’t be absurd,” Mary exclaimed, and fell into a noisy peal of laughter.

This reaction restored the group to reality. Mrs. Wood bustled into the salon and listened with racing pulse while Lord Haldiman opened his budget. Gradually shocked disbelief yielded to credulity and soon escalated to joy. “I decided I should speak to you first,” he said, when he was finished. “Shall I tell Sara, or would it come better from you?”