Twixt Two Equal Armies (63 page)

His progress toward that refuge halted at the edge of the village when he noticed a familiar figure — familiar though bundled thoroughly against the cold — just outside the Caledonian Thistle. So, Miss Tournier was out on such a day! Briefly he wondered if she was on her way to Clyne after all, but then he saw her turn and walk up the steps and into the inn.

Impulsively, he turned his horse, jumped off, threw the reins over the post in front and nearly knocked her over as he walked through the door.

“Oh!” she cried in surprise.

“Miss Tournier! I beg your pardon! I was just . . . I was on my way . . . ” he stammered, then swept off his hat, “I hope you are well.”

“Yes, thank you,” she curtsied hurriedly, “and you?”

“I am well, quite well.” He stood for a moment awkwardly before noticing the bundle in her hand. “You came for the mail, then? Ah, I wondered what could bring you out of doors on such a day.”

“On such a day as this?” she asked in disbelief. “Why, it is only a little wind and snow, why should that keep me indoors?” Her eyes snapped and, for some reason, his apprehension melted away and he could only reflect how very lovely she looked, her face pink and glowing from the cold. Suddenly the room felt crowded and the fire felt very warm . . .

“And what brings
you
out on such a day?” she was asking, her head tilted up in that familiar defiant attitude.

“A steadfast resolution,” he smiled once he recollected himself. “I have something important I wanted to discuss with you and . . . well, ask your opinion on. I was on my way to visit you as a consequence but first . . . Well, I saw you just now and I thought I might as well . . . catch up with you, I suppose. If you are at leisure, that is,” he added.

She wrinkled her brow and he watched as her fingers went to her earlobe and absentmindedly rubbed it. He knew it meant she was contemplating his reply and as much as he enjoyed it, he felt a little pang of guilt at his selfish reasons for teasing her.

“Yes, of course,” she appeared confused. “Would you care to come back to Rosefarm with me then? For tea,” she added almost reluctantly. “I was just getting the mail,” she shook her head and gave a disgusted look that was clearly directed at herself, “as you know, of course.”

“Yes,” he smiled. “I see that now. When I saw you, I wondered if you were perhaps meeting the doctor for another exploratory outing.” When the question he nearly asked hung unanswered in the air, he added, “As you did not come to Clyne.”

“Oh, well,” she looked down, “it is nearly finished. The library, that is.” She raised her eyes and found his fixed upon her intently.

“I am rather surprised,” there was a slight gruffness in his voice, “that you did not come then. I expect that you will be glad to be done with . . . the job.”

“You had something to discuss with me, my lord?” she asked as the hand unconsciously crept up again.

Baugham pulled his eyes away and offered his arm instead.

“Allow me to escort you home, if I may. Tea sounds delightful.”

H
E TOLD HIMSELF THAT HE
was neither surprised nor offended when she did not take his arm, but rather clutched her bundle of mail close to her chest and walked ahead after a brief nod. Tossing a coin to Tommy to see to his horse, he followed her in silence. Finally the little house was before them, its walls and features exposed since all the protective vegetation had been stripped of its leaves. Miss Tournier accompanied him to the parlour, placed the letters on the spinet, then excused herself to help Mrs Higgins with the tea. The fire quite obviously had just been fed and Mrs Tournier was sitting in a deep chair, strategically placed as near the hearth as was safe, with a book in hand.

“Madam!” Baugham greeted her. “This cottage is always a haven, but I find on this day it is a positive sanctuary!”

His hostess smiled at him and quite willingly lowered her book. She eyed his wet appearance and gestured to another deep chair by the wall.

“I think you had better follow my example, my lord, and let this most extravagant fire of ours do the trick.”

He thanked her and did as he was bid. As he sank down with a sigh he sent her a mischievous look.

“It just so happens, madam, I cut down a tree yesterday that would fit this particular hearth most splendidly. If you can forego another dinner of game, I thought I might show my friendship through firewood instead.”

“Wood would be much appreciated; frankly, more so than grouse. I have seldom looked forward to the pheasant season more than this year . . . ”

Baugham chuckled and settled his long legs to rest on the fender.

“Very nice and quiet here these days,” he commented after a while since his hostess seemed to feel familiar enough in his company not to force any conversation. “I find myself strangely reluctant to leave Scotland, whatever the joyful reasons surrounding the departure.”

“Hmph . . . ” Mrs Tournier said enigmatically.

“Oh, and you must promise to not cause trouble for me with Mr Darcy and ultimately with Miss Bennet. He swore me to ensure your safe and expedient departure to Longbourn on Miss Bennet’s behalf. You know, I would not want to be on the receiving end of displeasure with this particular bride-to-be. She has a very formidable champion in her future husband.”

“Have no fear,” Mrs Tournier smiled, “arrangements have been made. We are leaving on Wednesday next.”

“Excellent! The roads are torture at this time of year, of course, but I will forever be in your debt if you would lie to Mr Darcy and claim I took care of that, too.”

Mrs Tournier gave him a searching look. There was something desperately cheerful about him. Restlessness coupled with affectation. “And you?” she said quietly.

Baugham smiled and for a moment a calmer, truer man flickered through. “Well . . . I must leave. Soon. But,” the desperate cheer returned, “knowing that you are in good hands, now I may do so in good conscience.”

“In good hands?” she turned and looked at him intently. “And whose hands might those be, my lord?”

“Ah . . . well, Dr McKenna. He is a gentlemanly sort, and I know your daughter is grateful for the employment.”

“As well as the friendship,” she said with a curious smile.

“Yes, of course. The friendship. Quite right,” he said. “It is only right they should become friends. Quite.”

“Hmph . . . ” Mrs Tournier repeated. Thankfully he was saved from further contemplation by the entrance of Miss Tournier and Mrs Higgins and a fully-laden tray. The little ceremony with the arrival of the tea was then conducted in silence and reverence. Miss Tournier poured out, first for her mother, then his lordship, who got up to receive it from her hands, and then she sat back down in the deep chair focusing on her own cup.

His lordship eyed her with complaisance. This sort of quiet domesticity, although surely rarely as deceptively calm and ordinary as it appeared in this house right now, made him feel strangely quiet.

“So, Lie-lie,” Mrs Tournier’s voice broke the silence, “it rather amazes me that you came across anyone as foolhardy as yourself on your foolish outing today. What brings you out on such a day, my lord?”

Immediately his eyes sought out Miss Tournier’s and they both burst into laughter.

“The same thing that brings your daughter out, apparently,” he grinned. “A truant, restless disposition.”

“A callous disregard and lack of respect for the season, more likely,” Mrs Tournier mumbled.

The laughter, the fire, the tea and — yes, she must admit to herself — the company, all joined to dissolve the remnants of her discomfort and she relaxed back into her chair with a smile.

“I believe it was more like a steadfast resolution, Maman.” She turned to Lord Baugham, “I rather like those words my lord, yes . . . I shall have to remember that phrase the next time I am accused of being foolhardy or unreasonable.” Her smile broadened, “Or, I should say, ‘in the unlikely event that I would
ever
be accused of being stubborn or unreasonable’? For I think I am always reasonable . . . though not everyone will see it.”

“Well, in that
highly
unlikely event,” he said, his eyes twinkling dangerously as he glanced at her over his tea cup, “I think you’d do best to remind any accuser that such doubts could make you ‘
stark mad or wonderfully froward’
. Either way, I think you will be allowed to keep your steadfast resolution well enough.”

She twinkled back at him.

“Oh, yes . . . I can see clearly how such a reminder would advance my cause. There is nothing that can attest to my rationality more than the threat of becoming irrational if I am crossed. Now that I think of it though, I may have tried just that same tactic once or twice before as a little girl. You can imagine how well it worked with my mother.”

Mrs Tournier huffed, but she was still quiet, for some reason being content with remaining a spectator in this sport

Holly could not help herself. She was home, warm and mostly dry, comfortable and enjoying his company. It would likely be different tomorrow, or tonight, or five minutes from now. But right now . . . she would be content with right now.

“However, since you are now undoubtedly convinced that I am always sensible, I would be happy to give you my opinion on whatever ‘steadfast resolution’ has brought you out on such a day as this.”

He gave a mischievous smile. “Yes, I know you well enough to be convinced of that.”

He put down his tea cup and leaned slightly forward. “It concerns Hamish. He is a good lad and I could not help but notice that Mrs Tournier’s estimation of his talents and character was very apt. However, as you say, the work at Clyne will soon be finished, and I will be leaving myself, and as much as I would like, I cannot keep him on for the purpose he has so far been engaged. However, I do feel he should somehow be helped to pursue his obvious talents. I was wondering whether you had any ideas?”

Holly’s expression grew more serious as she mirrored Lord Baugham’s posture and leaned forward toward him in thought.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that for all the thinking and wondering I have done on that same subject, I am at a loss. As long as he is with his family — his father in particular — there is not much that can be done for him. What if . . . ” Her brow wrinkled in concentration, “what if we found him some sort of position or apprenticeship here in Clanough? But I’m just so afraid . . . he could be so much more! No,” she looked at him boldly, “he needs to go away to school, my lord. And he needs friends that will help him to do so.”

Baugham wrinkled his brow mirroring her very serious expression and nodded slowly while he tapped his finger on his pursed lips.

“Quite . . . ” he seriously said. “And yet . . . I’m afraid . . . the costs . . . ”

She looked at him anxiously, but also narrowing her eyes. Suddenly he could control his expression no more and broke out into a wicked grin.

“Well, I would say the boy is singularly well-provided for then! If you can provide the school, I can provide the help and I dare say we can persuade Mrs Tournier to help us with the friends-bit.”

Mrs Tournier looked at him under her eyebrows.

“With such benefactors as the two of you, how could I fail him?”

Holly leaned back with a satisfied expression on her face. “That’s very good, Maman, because I am afraid it is going to fall to you to convince Mr Nethery to let him go.

“I know of several very good schools — I will begin writing inquiries tomorrow.” She turned grateful eyes upon Lord Baugham. “Thank you, my lord. Such an opportunity will mean the world to a boy like him. Thank you indeed.”

He smiled back at her and reflected how good it felt to have her look upon him with such a look. Not angry, not disappointed and not weary. At this moment he held out a hope that they could perhaps truly be friends again. He wondered if she wanted that too. Could she perhaps see it in his eyes as they lingered holding hers? How much he wanted to put past mistakes and stupid impulsive behaviours behind them?

“Well, I would like to view this as an opportunity for the world as well. He is a very talented and clever boy and he will go far and be a benefit to his country, I am certain. Unless the high seas and the footsteps of Captain Bob irrevocably claim him first, that is.”

He was speaking, she could hear him . . . something about Hamish and the high seas. But she could not pull her eyes away from his — his expression drew her in and she returned his look, wondering what he was thinking and not realising how much time had passed until her mother not so discreetly cleared her throat.

“Lie-lie! My cup is empty.”

Holly jumped up and gathered all the cups, carrying them back to the tea tray. Mrs Tournier slowly rubbed her hands together as if for warmth.

“Lord Baugham, would you be so kind as to throw some wood on the fire?

Baugham thoughtfully stoked the fire. When he was finished, he turned around and saw Mrs Tournier still watching him. He stood up and threw a glance at her daughter, still busy with piling the delicate china on top of one another and he could hear the gentle clinking of the spoons against saucers.