Читать книгу The Rake's Defiant Mistress - Mary Brendan, Mary Brendan - Страница 8

Chapter Three

‘I do hope Gavin has put up for the night somewhere. It would be foolhardy to travel on in such dreadful weather.’

Ruth gently settled baby James in his crib before turning her attention to the boy’s mother. Sarah had spoken in a voice sharpened by anxiety and with her melancholy gaze directed through the nursery window.

Inside the Manor all was cosy and warm, but sloping away from the house the lawns, that this afternoon had been murky green, appeared icy white. It was after eight o’clock in the evening and more than two hours since the time of Gavin’s expected arrival. The snow had stopped falling and the sky had become the darkest shade of blue, threatening a night of perilous frost lay ahead. A pale, hard moon had escaped from a scrap of cloud and beneath its faint light the snow scintillated back at the stars.

‘It is possible Gavin has not yet set out at all,’ Ruth soothingly reminded. ‘I expect he has sensibly remained in London if the snow has come from that direction.’ It was a valid reassurance, given more than once since the snow started, yet it did little to erase the look of strain from the Viscountess’s features. Sarah’s small teeth continued to nip ferociously at her lower lip. Forlornly she peered at the long driveway that led to the house as though willing her husband’s carriage to hove into view.

When they had travelled together from the hamlet of Fernlea, where Ruth lived, the air had held a cruel effervescence. But the breeze had kindly whipped the heavy clouds before it, giving them no chance to hover and shed their load. Within an hour of their arrival at the Manor the elements had turned against them. The wind had dropped, leaving the heavens concealed behind an unmoving blanket of sullen grey. The first gentle flurries had seemed harmless, but inexorably the dainty flakes had thickened and settled on the ground. Sarah and Ruth had taken turns at the window to report on the creeping progress of the frosting on the grass. Now the two women stood side by side, silently surveying the treacherous white landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see.

‘There is the tavern at Woodville.’ Ruth quickly attempted to comfort her friend. Sarah’s countenance had become as still and pale as the scenery they gazed upon. ‘If Gavin was close to home when the weather took a turn for the worse, I expect he instructed his coachman to pull in there.’ Again the suggestion was valid: Woodville was a small town situated about seventeen miles south of Willowdene and the King’s Head was a well-known stopping point for travellers going to and from London.

‘Yes, I’m sure he would have done that.’ Sarah managed a constrained little smile. ‘Gavin would not be foolish enough to carry on regardless simply to get home to us…would he?’

‘Of course not,’ Ruth reassured fraudulently and drew her friend away from the window and back into the room. ‘Little James is a contented soul. His nurse must dote on him,’ she said, trying to divert Sarah’s attention to something pleasant as they sat down by the cot.

A moment after they had settled into their chairs to watch James peacefully dozing, Sarah suddenly cocked her head, then leaped to her feet. In a trice she had flown back to the window and was craning her neck to peer out. ‘He is here!’ she sobbed out at the glass. She whirled about to gulp at Ruth, ‘The carriage is here.’

Quickly Ruth joined her at the window and was instantly enveloped in Sarah’s hug. ‘Oh, thank Heavens! He is safely home.’ Sarah snuffled back tears of blessed joy, her eyes glistening with the strength of her relief.

‘You must go and welcome him.’ Ruth was well aware that Sarah yearned to do so. ‘I shall be quite happy to stay here with this darling boy if I may.’

‘Gavin will think me quite a nincompoop to get in such a state.’ Sarah knuckled away the wet that dewed her lashes. But she was soon at the door, leaving Ruth to gaze down, soft-eyed, at the infant left in her care. James was sleeping soundly, his cherubic face turned away from her. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, Ruth drew the covers closer about him, then stroked a tiny curled palm. Reflexively the baby clutched at her finger. Ruth felt her chest constrict and an ache surged up her throat at the memory of another baby—one whose delicate fingers had remained cold and unresponsive to her loving touch.

Ruth went to sit close by the fire. She eased back gratefully into the comfy chair, realising that she was quite enervated. In truth she, too, had begun to feel extremely concerned for Gavin’s safety as nightfall came with no sign of a thaw or the arrival of the master of the house. Feeling now relaxed and quite cosy, she allowed her weary eyelids to fall.

The baby’s whimpering woke her. Immediately Ruth looked at the fire; it had burned low in the grate. She then glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was approaching nine o’clock. Jumping to her feet, she quickly went to peer in the cot. From his scrunched, angry face and drawn-up knees, and from female intuition, Ruth guessed that colic was the culprit.

Having lifted the fretful baby to her shoulder, she began murmuring soothingly to him. Rhythmically she rubbed at his back in the hope of easing his cramps while walking towards the door. The corridor was deserted. The baby’s nurse had earlier been dismissed for the afternoon so Sarah and Ruth could chat and enjoy each other’s company in private. With no idea where she might find James’s nurse, and guessing Sarah and Gavin might be in the small salon, Ruth headed off in that direction.

‘Mrs Hayden?’

Ruth had traversed many yards of quiet, carpeted corridor and was close to the top of the majestic staircase when she heard her name called in a cultured baritone voice.

Turning about, she stared, astonished, at a tall blond gentleman who was strolling towards her. She recognised him at once and that was odd, she obliquely realised, for after their brief introduction—which could not have lasted more than a few minutes—she had never again seen Sir Clayton Powell. It was equally odd that he should remember her after that meeting in Willowdene over a year ago. Or perhaps Sarah or Gavin had informed him she was a guest this evening.

‘I had no idea you were staying at Willowdene Manor,’ he said pleasantly as he came closer and executed a polite bow. ‘Our hosts made no mention of it.’

‘I had no idea you would be here either, sir,’ Ruth said quickly. So her presence had not been mentioned, yet he had recognised her. ‘And I am not staying here. I received an invitation to dine this evening with the Viscount and Viscountess.’

‘Do you live close by?’ Clayton asked with a frown. ‘The roads are now virtually impassable. I doubt you will get home tonight.’

That thought had already occurred to Ruth. She had guessed that Sarah would kindly offer her a bed for the night. And Ruth would have accepted, despite having no night things with her. She would never contemplate putting at risk a coach and driver by insisting on going home through miles of lanes blocked by snow. A short while ago the thought of staying a day or two while they waited for a thaw had not presented a problem. Now, for some odd reason, the thought of sleeping beneath the same roof as this gentleman made her feel awkward.

‘You have both arrived safely, if a little tardy,’ Ruth pointed out rather lamely.

‘Gavin would have moved heaven and earth to do so.’

‘I imagined he would,’ Ruth replied wryly. ‘And so did Sarah. It worried her half to death that he would take risks to get here.’

‘The power of love,’ Clayton muttered exceedingly drily, but he cast a fond look at the baby boy fidgeting on Ruth’s shoulder. ‘Should he not be abed?’

‘I think he should,’ Ruth answered politely, yet rather indignant on hearing him sound so cynical. He might have been embittered by a bad marriage, but he had no right to scoff at her dear friends’ wedded bliss. ‘His nurse was given the afternoon off and I’m just on my way to find Sarah,’ Ruth informed him briskly and took a step towards the head of the stairs. ‘I think he might have a pain…or perhaps it has passed,’ she said as quite an embarrassing noise and unpleasant smell issued from the little boy’s rump.

Clayton grinned. ‘I imagine young James is feeling much better now.’

An involuntary giggle escaped Ruth, despite her cheeks having turned pink. ‘Still, I shall look for Sarah and hand him over. We were in the nursery when she heard the coach arrive and she rushed off to greet Gavin. I was on my way to the small salon. They might have gone there. I expect they have much news to catch up on.’

‘Indeed,’ Clayton drawled, amusement far back in his slate-grey eyes. ‘But I doubt you’ll find them in there yet.’ He paused as though mentally phrasing his next words. ‘I believe Gavin went to his chamber to freshen up after the journey. Sarah accompanied him.’

‘Oh…I see,’ Ruth said and averted her face to hide her blushing confusion. She felt quite silly for not having guessed that the two lovebirds would find an opportunity to have some time alone on being safely reunited.

While Ruth composed herself by fussing over the baby, Clayton began to subtly study her with a very male eye. He’d been attracted to her when they had briefly met in Willowdene town despite the fact she had been garbed head to toe in mourning clothes. She’d been capably driving a little pony and trap through the High Street and, from their short conversation that day, he’d learned that she wore weeds because her father had recently died. He’d also learned that she was related by marriage to one of his commanding officers, Colonel Hayden. It was a while later that he’d learned from Gavin that Ruth Hayden had been a widow for many years.

Clayton’s roving appraisal continued and he knew he’d been right in instinctively sensing that beneath the dreary bombazine that had been shrouding her body on that occasion, and the dark bonnet brim that had made sallow her complexion, was a woman of rare beauty.

On first glance Ruth Hayden’s features might appear rather severe, yet on finer appraisal were undoubtedly exquisite. Her deep brown eyes were fringed by lengthy black lashes and topped by delicate brows that looked soft as sable. Her nose was thin, her mouth asymmetrical with a lower lip that was fuller than the curving cupid’s bow on top. She was petite, her smooth peachy cheek barely reached his shoulder, and fragile wrist bones were in his line of vision as she cuddled James close to her. But her figure was generously curvaceous in all the right places. The weight of the baby pressing on her chest had accentuated a satiny ivory cleavage swelling above her bodice. His hooded eyes lingered a moment too long on silver silk straining enticingly across her bosom.

Feeling once more adequately self-possessed, Ruth looked up and immediately her cheeks regained a vivid bloom as she noticed Sir Clayton eyeing her breasts. On the previous occasion when they had conversed she had sensed he found her interesting, and not just because he’d discovered he was acquainted with her in-laws. At the time she’d dismissed the idea he was attracted to her as fanciful and scoffed at her conceit. Yet there was no denying that she’d just caught him regarding her lustfully. Knowing that he found her desirable caused a peculiar mixture of uneasiness and excitement to tumble her insides.

It might have been many years since she had lain with her husband, or even been kissed, but she could recognise the signs that a man wanted her. She had seen the same smouldering intensity at the back of Ian Bryant’s eyes just a couple of days ago when he proposed to her. She had known for a year or more that Ian wanted to bed her. But the doctor didn’t possess skill enough to neutralise a tense situation, or his passion, as it seemed this man could.

Sir Clayton didn’t look in the least disconcerted at being caught out. He raised a long finger, stroked the baby’s soft cheek and lightly remarked, ‘There’s a young maid hovering at the end of the corridor.’ He gave Ruth a nonchalant smile. ‘Perhaps she has come to see to James.’

Ruth slowly expelled her pent-up breath. She pivoted about, grateful for the distraction, and gave young Rosie a beseeching look. At the signal the nursemaid immediately hastened to them and dipped a curtsy.

‘Beggin’your pardon, ma’am…sir…’ she began in her lilting Irish way, ‘but the mistress did tell me to come to settle the little lad down sooner. When I said to her that I’d found you was asleep and so was little James, she said to leave it for a while and not to disturb you at all.’

Ruth gave the nervous girl a smile. She could tell that Rosie was in awe of the handsome gentleman by the way she kept sliding glances at Sir Clayton, then blushing and shuffling on the spot.

Ruth handed over her precious burden. ‘I think he might need some urgent attention,’ she told the girl and gently patted at the baby’s bottom.

Rosie took the baby carefully and with natural fondness immediately smoothed the fair down on his head. ‘Come on then, me little lad,’ she crooned against his warm cheek. ‘Let’s get you seen to.’

Once the maid had disappeared with her charge, and Ruth and Clayton were left alone at the top of the stairs, they both attempted to immediately breach the quiet with conversation.

‘I thought we had left this behind us…’

‘Are you staying long in Willowdene…?’

They had spoken simultaneously and fell silent at the same time too.

‘Please do finish what you were saying, sir,’ Ruth blurted.

‘It was nothing important, just a remark about the unseasonal weather. I thought we had left the snow behind us in the winter months. Only last week we were enjoying fine spring sunshine in town.’

‘Indeed, it was glorious in the countryside too,’ Ruth responded quickly. The weather was always an easy topic to discuss and she eagerly picked up the thread he’d dangled. ‘But it is not so unusual to have snow at this time of the year,’ Ruth spun out the dialogue. ‘I recall my mother telling me that it was snowing in March in the year of my birth. The doctor had quite a journey through the blizzard and was almost late for my arrival.’

‘So…you’ve had a birthday recently, Mrs Hayden,’ Clayton observed with a smile.

‘No…not yet…it is my birthday next week,’ Ruth admitted, suddenly wishing she had kept that particular anecdote private. Into the expectant pause she said with a hint of defensiveness, ‘I shall be nine and twenty on the twenty-fifth of March.’

‘Will you indeed?’ Clayton said, gently amused, but genuinely surprised. She certainly did not appear to be so close to thirty. ‘You’re still a youngster, then,’ he added charmingly. ‘In November of this year I shall turn thirty-five.’

A small smile from Ruth rewarded him for his gallantry. ‘Then you must be either born under the sign of Scorpio or Sagittarius,’ she remarked, gladly turning the focus on to him.

‘Very possibly,’ he admitted on a chuckle, ‘but I have little interest in stargazing or what it all means.’

‘I find the study of the heavens quite pleasing,’ Ruth said.

‘Whereas I prefer to concentrate on earthly pleasures.’

Ruth felt herself blush, but shot back rather acidly, ‘Sagittarians are often hedonistic. I would hazard a guess that your birthday falls at the end of the month of November.’

He gave her a smile, but no further information. Instead he said easily, ‘I interrupted you earlier. I believe you were enquiring how long I intended to stay in Willowdene.’

‘I…yes…I did…’ Ruth admitted, while hoping he did not think she cared if he was soon to leave.

‘You asked from courtesy rather than curiosity, I take it,’ Clayton remarked.

The note of mockery in his voice made Ruth bristle and tilt her chin. ‘Indeed, and I expect we might need to find some more polite topics of conversation while we wait for our hosts.’

Clayton’s slow smile turned to a chuckle. ‘I expect we shall; and probably quite a few of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if the fond couple are occupied…catching up on news…for some while yet.’

This time Ruth refused to turn away in embarrassment despite sensing heat fizzing beneath her cheeks. Her earthy dark eyes clashed with his in a way that deepened his smile.

‘Shall we go to the library?’ Clayton extended an elegant arm. ‘When I arrived there was a good fire in there and plenty of weighty tomes to peruse, in the event that we run out of polite chitchat while we wait for our supper to be served.’

After a barely discernible pause Ruth extended a hand to hover on his arm. As they descended the stairs together she was again impressed by the way he could dissolve tension between them. He looked down at her with engaging grin. ‘I’m feeling ravenous, actually. I hope a good dinner is waiting for us. And plenty of it.’

‘Sarah is a very competent hostess,’ Ruth championed pioned her friend. ‘And the last time I dined here—just before they left for Surrey—there were fourteen courses.’

‘Ah! That should just about fill me up,’ he said contentedly. ‘It is a shame you missed their marriage,’ Clayton remarked as they gained the hallway and turned towards the library.

Ruth nodded her shiny dark head and sent him a glancing smile. ‘Yes, it was,’ she softly agreed, recalling her sadness at having turned down Sarah’s invitation to be her matron of honour. ‘But at that time my papa had only recently been buried and, much as I would have loved to be part of the celebrations, it would not have been appropriate. Etiquette must be observed,’ she said ruefully.

‘Etiquette can be a damnable nuisance,’ Clayton returned and slid her a look. ‘I had hoped to see you that day.’

That blunt admission surprised Ruth to such a degree that for a moment she was unable to tear her gaze from his. ‘Well…I think our dinner will be worth waiting for,’ she blurted and swung her face towards the green baize door that led to the kitchens. ‘Something smells exceedingly good.’

Clayton sniffed at air that was thick with a tantalising savoury aroma. ‘Beef and horseradish,’ he guessed.

‘I would say chicken…or perhaps goose.’ Ruth was sure she could discern the tang of sage-and-onion stuffing wafting in the atmosphere.

‘A wager?’ Clayton carelessly challenged.

‘Of course,’ she accepted with a gay laugh. ‘And I know exactly what I claim as my prize. If I am right, I must insist you demand we play cards later when Sarah suggests I entertain the company by playing the pianoforte. She will have it that I can sing in key. I assure you that I cannot and you won’t want to listen to me prove it.’

Clayton chuckled. ‘Agreed. But what if I win…?’

Ruth tossed him a smile. ‘Oh, if you win, I shall allow you to beat me just the once at piquet. I’m very good, you know.’

‘Are you, indeed?’ Clayton murmured. ‘Most of the ladies I know are very bad…’

Ruth turned her head, the knot of excitement within tightening. He was a practised flirt, she told herself—a man with a reputation as a womaniser. Nevertheless she felt quite elated that, after an inauspicious start, they seemed to have established a fragile rapport.