Читать книгу Regency Christmas Courtship - Louise Allen - Страница 15

‘After all, I was in the process of giving birth,’ Kate continued calmly, hoping the frankness of her words accounted for the heat in her cheeks. The thought of Grant exercising his husbandly rights made her positively breathless. ‘It is hardly surprising that we both now appear to be tolerably well looking in comparison. Of course, I could tell that you were a well-favoured man, even then, but it must be a relief for you to discover that I am not quite as bracket-faced as you feared.’

‘It is difficult to know how to reply to that.’ Grant was not used to being left at a loss for words, she could tell. Possibly he was slightly flattered, although he must be accustomed to being regarded as good-looking. Possibly also he was feeling a trifle awkward about letting her see what he had thought of her before.

‘There is no need to say anything.’ She was not a conventional beauty, she never had been, but she thought that these days she looked at least tolerable, and, if Grant now thought so, too, she was content with that.

‘I have been away a long time, longer than I intended.’ He had decided to get all the apologising over at once, it seemed. Kate wondered if the length of his absence had anything to do with his mental image of his new wife. Had he escaped to London and the arms of a beautiful mistress? As apologies went, it was not very effusive, more a statement of fact than of regret.

‘We have managed very well and you were a most regular correspondent.’ Not that I understand you any better now than before you left. And you are a man, not a saint, so I must not feel jealous of a mistress—she is only to be expected. But if you take one up here, one that I know about, that will be a different matter. The stab of jealousy was unexpected and she diverted it into a vicious cut at the pastry in front of her. ‘Would you care for a slice of raised pie?’ she enquired to cover the impulse to snap out a demand to know all about this theoretical other woman. ‘It is chicken and ham.’

‘Papa, are you home for long?’ Charlie had been sitting almost on his father’s feet, obviously on the point of bursting with the effort to Be Good and not interrupt the adults.

‘For the summer. Ough!’ Grant fell back on the rug under the impact of Charlie’s flying leap and hug. ‘You are too big for jumping on your poor father. Big enough to come out with me and start learning about the estate, I think, provided you keep up your lessons to Mr Gough’s satisfaction. Now, sit quietly and eat your picnic while I talk to your stepmama.’ Grant settled the boy between them and against her side Kate could feel her husband’s encircling arm and the child’s skinny little body quivering with happiness like an overexcited puppy.

The arm was warm and it was tempting to lean into it, to feel the muscled strength braced to support her. Kate sat up straight and filled a plate for Grant from the picnic basket.

‘Thank you. Have you heard from your brother yet?’ he asked as he took the food from her.

‘No. I have not written to him and I would, of course, have mentioned it in my letters if I had. I do not want him to know of this marriage. I do not want him to know where I am. To be perfectly frank, we were not close. We did not part on good terms and it would be awkward…’ She’d scoured the newspapers daily, looking for the arrest or trial of Sir Henry Harding, baronet, for blackmail. But perhaps aristocrats had other ways of dealing with the potentially explosive matter of extortion. She shivered. But there had been no notice of Henry’s death, either.

‘Awkward to have him asking questions about our marriage?’

She nodded, grateful that he had jumped to the wrong conclusion. She did not want Henry to know about her marriage because, beside him embroiling her any deeper in his schemes, she had no idea how he would react. At best, he would attempt to borrow money from his new brother-in-law. At worst, he could cause the most dreadful scandal and she could not inflict that on Grant.

‘I would be much happier if you did not make contact with him.’ And find out who Anna’s father is and realise just how I came to lose my virginity to the man and became an accomplice in blackmail. Grant was the kind of principled gentleman who would never allow such dishonesty to go unpunished, whatever the scandal. Let sleeping dogs lie…

Grant shrugged. ‘We are going to have to deal with him sooner or later. In the meantime, are you opposed to entertaining a small house party? It had not occurred to me to propose it, but now I see you looking—’

‘More the thing?’ Kate suggested, swallowing the hurt. Had he really thought to shut her away up here, an unpaid housekeeper and guardian for his son, simply because he considered her plain and awkward? Now, it seemed, he did not fear she would embarrass him in front of his friends. The fact that she had welcomed the seclusion was neither here nor there.

‘More rested,’ Grant supplied smoothly. ‘And from your letters it sounds as though you have the household well in hand.’

‘Your staff are well chosen and well trained. Once they had accepted that I really was your wife, and not some stray you had picked up on the moors, they have proved most cooperative.’ Not that she would have stood for any nonsense. She had been used to helping run a small household, so she knew the principles, and she was all too aware that if she did not secure the respect and loyalty of the staff of this much larger one right from the start, then she never would. It was another mark in Grant’s favour, the loyalty and affection they showed for him.

‘How small a house party?’ she enquired, leaning away from him to give Anna a quick kiss and to hide the uncertainty that she could manage the sort of gathering an earl might hold. Provided it was here, on what had become her own turf, she was not too anxious.

‘No more than three close friends of mine, potentially with partners. I’ve had enough formal socialising in London to last me several months. Charlie, do you remember Lord Weybourn?’

‘Uncle Alex?’

‘Yes. He was married in January. I thought to ask him and his wife to stay. And, if they are still in the country, Lord Avenmore and Lord Edenbridge. They are old friends,’ he added for Kate’s benefit. ‘The two bachelors might bring their unmarried sisters, perhaps, to balance out the men.’

‘That sounds delightful.’ Kate took a bread roll from the basket, then sat with it in her hands, wondering why she had picked it up. The longer Grant sat beside her, the more her appetite deserted her. It was nerves, that was all. She was happy that he was back, for Charlie’s sake if nothing else—only, there was a hollow feeling of anticipation, as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. This was her husband and he was going to expect to begin a normal married life, with all that entailed. Part of that hollowness was apprehension, but a good part was excitement and she had been making herself face that ever since the arrival of the letter announcing his return.

She put the bread roll back untasted, handed Charlie an apple turnover and smiled as he ran off, mouth full, to retrieve his ball. Beside her Grant was silent and she sought for small talk to fill the void. ‘It has been…quiet. I am glad you are back. The children are very absorbing, of course.’

‘But they are not adults. You have been lonely.’ When she murmured agreement he asked, ‘Have none of our neighbours called?’

‘Dr Meldreth and his wife and the vicar and his sister, that is all. Please, do not make too much of it. I am in mourning, after all, and in the country people do observe that very rigorously. I see them in church on Sunday, naturally, and I usually dine with Mr Gough.’

‘Now I am back I will visit all our neighbours, let the ladies know we are not in strict mourning any longer. You should get any number of calls within days.’

Charlie’s voice floated down from the portico of the mausoleum. ‘…and now Papa’s back I will help him with the estate, just like he helped you, Great-Grandpapa. You’ll be proud of me when I do that, I expect, Mama.’

‘What the devil?’ Grant swung round, sending the lemonade jug rocking. ‘Who is he talking to? My grandfather, his mother? Is the child delusional?’

‘Of course not.’ Kate grabbed his arm as he began to get to his feet. Grant shot her a frowning look, but settled back down beside her when she did not relax her grip. ‘He missed his great-grandfather, so we started coming down here so that he could talk to him. And then he realised that his mama was here, too. He understands that we do not know what happens after death and he doesn’t think he is talking to ghosts or anything unhealthy like that. But it comforts him, helps him to sort out his feelings. Rather like writing a diary, I suppose.’ Kate came up on her knees beside Grant, her hand on the unyielding arm braced to push him to his feet. ‘Did I do wrong? He is not at all morbid about it and this is a lovely place. A peaceful place, where he can remember happy times.’

‘He cannot remember his mother, he never really knew her, she died when he was only just two.’ Grant stayed where he was, but the tension radiated off him. Had he loved his first wife so much that he could not bear any mention of her? But that was not what Dr Meldreth had implied. The staff in the house acted and spoke as though Charlie’s mother was a grief that could not be spoken about, becoming thin-lipped and awkward if Kate made any reference to her. There were no portraits, not even in Charlie’s room.

‘He says he remembers her scent and the fact that she always wore blue, but that is all. I have no idea whether it is accurate, but it helps him to have that faint image. He is certain that she was beautiful.’

‘She was.’ Grant’s voice softened. ‘Blonde and blue-eyed, which is why she favoured blue in her dress. She always wore jasmine scent and on a warm evening it lingered in the air like the ghost of incense…’ Kate closed her eyes at the hint of pain beneath the reminiscent tone. ‘Charlie would do well to forget she ever existed,’ he said and turned so his back was to the little temple.

‘Grant!’ Kate stared at him, then scooped up Anna as the baby began to cry, as unsettled by his abruptly harsh tone as she was.

‘She was a disaster as a mother.’

And a disaster as a wife? ‘He need not know that,’ Kate said fiercely.

‘Of course not, what do you take me for?’

‘I do not know. I do not know you. But he needs the confidence of knowing he had a mother who loved him, even if she was not very good at it in your eyes. What does it matter if you do not like it, if it is best for Charlie?’

‘Damn it, Kate. You presume to lecture me on my own child?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’ She glared back at him over the top of Anna’s bonneted head, aware that she was bristling like a stable cat defending her kittens. Then she saw the darkness in Grant’s eyes, the memory of goodness knew what past miseries. ‘I am sorry, but I am his stepmother and you left him with me to look after. He is still only a little boy, not ready for harsh truths.’ She rocked the baby, trying to soothe her. ‘What did she do that was so unforgivable?’

Grant got to his feet in one fast movement, a controlled release of pent-up tension. ‘I am sorry, but I have no intention of raking over old history. Madeleine is in the past and there is nothing you need to know.’ He bent to pick up his hat. ‘If you will excuse me, Kate, I will ride on to the house and take Charlie with me. I assume a footman is coming out in the gig to collect you and bring the basket back?’

‘Yes, I expect him very soon.’ Kate was glad of Anna grizzling in her arms, demanding her attention. She did not want to look into those shadowed eyes and see his anger with her, or his pain over his beautiful, lost wife.

He called to Charlie and the boy came running to be hoisted up into the saddle in front of his father. Grant gave him the reins. ‘Wave goodbye to your stepmama.’

When the sound of hooves died away and Charlie’s excited chatter faded amongst the trees, Kate fed and changed Anna, packed away the baby things in one basket and the remains of the picnic in the other and got to her feet, too restless to wait for the footman and the gig.

She had to think about Grant, but not about what would happen that night. If she began to imagine that, then she would be in more of a state of nerves than a virgin on her wedding night. The virgin might have a little theoretical knowledge, but Kate knew exactly what would happen and the thought of being in Grant’s bed made her mind dizzy and her body ache.

She had lain with Jonathan just once and she had believed herself in love with him, a delusion she now knew was born out of ignorance, a desperation to get away from home and the lures of an accomplished rake. And the experience had been a sadly disappointing one, even though she had not truly understood what to expect. But she hardly knew Grant, the man, at all, he had never so much as kissed her hand and she was most certainly not tipsy with moonlight and champagne. And yet, just the thought of him made her breath come short and an ache, somewhere between fear and anticipation, form low down. Goodness knew how she had managed a rational conversation with him appearing like that.

Kate tucked Anna more snugly into her little blanket, settled her into the folds of her shawl to make a sling and began to walk back to the house. It would take almost half an hour with her arms full of her wriggling, chubby baby. Time enough to think about something other than how long Grant’s legs had looked, stretched out on the rug, how the ends of his hair had turned golden brown in the sunlight.

Time, in fact, to consider that locked door on the other side of Grant’s suite of rooms in the light of what he had said about Madeleine, the beautiful wife who had been such a bad mother and who had died in a fire.

She had realised almost from the beginning that the forbidden suite must have been her predecessor’s rooms. She could understand that the chambers would hold difficult memories for Grant, but even so, it was surely long past the time when they should have been opened up, aired, redecorated and put to use. What would happen when Charlie was old enough to be curious about the locked door? It was unhealthy to make a mystery out of his mother like that, and if he ever discovered that was where she had died, he might well have nightmares about it.

None of the keys on her chatelaine fitted the lock and all the servants denied having the right one, either. Eventually Grimswade told her that neither his late lordship nor his young lordship had wanted the rooms opened. ‘The earl holds the only key, my lady,’ he told her, his gaze fixed at a point over her head.

Since then Kate had tried hard not to allow the locked room to become a Bluebeard’s chamber in her imagination, applying rigorous common sense to keep her own nightmares at bay. She had found her way around the house without looking at the door if she could help it, she had asked no further questions of the staff, but it refused to be forgotten. There were times when she seriously considered picking the lock with a bent hairpin, or seeing if a slender paperknife would trip the catch, then told herself to not even think about something so unseemly.

Now she wondered just what Madeleine’s crimes had been. A disaster as a mother. That, somehow, did not make sense. Surely she could not have beaten the child—neither Grant nor his grandfather would have allowed her unsupervised access if they feared violence. And being a distant and cold mother was nothing unusual amongst the nobility, Kate knew. Many a child was raised almost entirely by servants without anyone accusing the parents of being a disaster.

The only explanation Kate could think of was that she was a failure as a wife and therefore morally unfit to be a mother. Had she taken a lover—had Grant found them together in her bedchamber? It was an explanation, but it was difficult to imagine Grant being cuckolded. In fact, her mind refused to produce an image of a more attractive alternative who might have tempted his wife to stray.

‘Which is very shallow of me,’ she admitted to Anna. The baby stared back at her with wide green eyes. ‘Grant is intelligent, good-looking, and he was the heir to an earldom when she married him. But good looks and position are not everything. If Madeleine had found her soulmate…’

Then she should have resisted temptation. Madeleine was married, she had made vows, she had a child. Which is easy enough for me to say. Despite being a well-brought-up, respectable young lady, I gave my virtue easily enough. Of course, having a scheming brother who put her in the way of a man who could be trusted to yield to temptation when it was offered and who could not afford a scandal had helped her along the path to ruination. Her becoming pregnant was, as far as Henry was concerned, the perfect gilding on his plan to blackmail her lover. What if Jonathan came back now, walked around that bend in the path ahead?

Kate watched the bend approach. No one appeared around it, of course, least of all the rakish Lord Baybrook. And if he did, he would not be coming with protestations of undying love, with explanations of how she had entirely misunderstood his flat refusal to marry her when Henry had confronted him two months later, after she had been forced to confess her predicament.

Not that she had seen him then, of course. Henry, as befitted the male head of the household, had taken himself off to London to, as he put it, deal with the matter. Only, he had not dealt with it, not brought her a husband back. At the time it had struck her as strange that her brother had not been more angry, but she had decided that perhaps he had been relieved that he had not found himself facing the viscount at dawn on Hampstead Heath. Then she had found the letter in Henry’s desk, the coldly furious response to blackmail, the counter-threats. But Lord Baybrook had not called Henry’s bluff. He would pay, she thought, reading the letter. Pay—and then she was certain that one day he would find some way to make Henry pay and Kate, too, the woman Jonathan thought had deliberately set out to ensnare him.

Anna gurgled and Kate stopped, her feet sinking into the soft mulch of the path. There was nothing to be gained by brooding on it, fretting over the long arm of a vengeful aristocrat or wincing in shame at her own part in her brother’s schemes. Most certainly, she was in no position to judge Grant’s first wife on moral grounds. Equally certainly, if she had the choice between Grant Rivers, Lord Allundale, and Jonathan Arnold, Lord Baybrook, she had no doubt which man she would choose now.