by Wilma Counts
He was just coming through the French doors from the patio outside as she entered the room from the hall. He dropped a gardening tool in the edge of a flower pot, removed his gloves, and reached for his coat.
“Ah, Harriet, very prompt, I see.”
“You needn’t bother with the coat for my sake, Quint.” She could have added, but did not, that she rather liked seeing the way the muscles rippled across his back and arm under his cotton shirt.
“Thank you.” He gestured to two white wicker chairs at a small table with a round glass top set in a bay window. “This is my favorite room in the Hall since your sister’s remodeling,” he added, holding her chair for her.
“Really? Mine too.”
“Well, at least we start on an amicable note.” He settled into the opposite chair. “I want to know what you think about that incident this morning.”
“What I think about…?”
“Ah, Harriet, do not do that with me, please.”
“Do what?”
“That. Repeat what I said just to give yourself more time to formulate a clever response.”
She raised her eyebrows, then grinned sheepishly, and looked away.
“Coward,” he teased softly, then in a more normal, far more urgent tone, said, “Please tell me what you know about what was going on in Phillip’s mind for him to pull such a stunt as that.”
“I—I am not sure.”
“Oh, come now. You know all my brother’s children better than I do. Better than anyone, I daresay. And I know about your nightly tête-à-têtes with Phillip and Maria too!”
“What? You have been spying on us? Them? Me?”
“Do come down out of the boughs, my lady. At least so long as to remember that my bed chamber is on the same floor as yours. I have seen you bid them goodnight—rather late, I might add—on at least two occasions as I came up to bed. This afternoon I heard Phillip say to you something like ‘nothing he planned went right.’ Now I am asking you: do you know what was behind his mad dash with Lucifer? What he ‘planned’?”
“I—I am not quite sure—” she started.
He reached to move a bowl of flowers in the center of the table to maintain better eye contact with her. It occurred to her that she had answered his summons wanting to put him off, to deflect, to defer, but what she faced in those hazel eyes was sincere concern—for Phillip, but for her as well.
“Please understand me, Harriet. I would not ask you to break a confidence, but I cannot work well in the dark, so to speak. Contrary to an impression you may have formed of me heretofore, I deeply respect and value the care you have given my wards.” He grinned. “I even condone your spiriting them off to London.”
She smiled, glad to have the atmosphere lightened. “Thank you, sir. I know we both want what is best for the children. If only that ‘best’ were so easily known.”
“Aye, there’s the rub,” he said.
“But I do not have the answers you seek,” she went on, “confidential or otherwise. Phillip has been deeply unhappy of late—but you knew that already.”
“I thought it might be largely a clash of wills—his and mine. I remember such a furious resentment of my father! Of course, even then, Win and I had some idea of what devastation Father and Grandfather had already wrought upon Sedwick.” He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and looked up at her, embarrassed. “Sorry. I just assumed you knew.”
“I did—do. Win was not one to suffer in silence. Neither was Anne.”
He sat more erect in his chair. “So. Please. Tell me what you can about my—our—nephew.”
She leaned forward, shoulders hunched, hands clasped on the table. “Despite longer, closer proximity, I am not sure my understanding is any better than yours. Whatever is going on with that young man, it is not merely a clash of wills. Do put your mind at rest on that. Phillip is very much at war with Phillip. Win saw that, I think, and worked at giving his son opportunity to prove himself.”
“Did Win ever allow him to ride Lucifer?”
“Never. Nor would Phillip ever have thought to ask—let alone just take off on his own as he did today. He was afraid of that horse!”
“Do you think he did so this morning deliberately?”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Did he plan it ahead time? Harriet, that whole scene did not just happen. Phillip went out there, told the stable hands this bird-witted story about Chet and me being right behind him, and, as soon as their backs were turned, off he went! And on a trail he and the horse knew well. Then, later, he laments to you about how nothing he plans turns out right—at least that is what I thought I heard.”
Harriet swallowed hard and raised one hand to her mouth and pressed hard. She could feel tears threatening and desperately wanted to hold them back. “You heard correctly.”
“What did it mean?”
“I am not s-sure.” It came out almost a wail and she could no longer hold back the tears. She heard his chair scrape as he got up; then he was pulling her out of her chair and into his arms.
“Sh. Don’t cry, Harriet. Please, don’t cry,” he murmured into her hair above her ear. “We’ll get through this. Phillip will get through this. So will that damned horse Win was so in love with.”
“You think so?” She gazed up into his eyes, the question coming out between a sob and a giggle as his lips claimed hers. Tenderly, at first, then more and more hungrily. It did not escape her notice that she responded just as eagerly, her arms tightening about his neck, her hands digging into his hair. Then he showered small kisses over her face, kissing away her tears.
“Yes, I think so,” he said, maneuvering her toward a white wicker couch with three large colorful floral cushions on it. She sat at one end and he sat next to her, one arm about her shoulders. “Now. Out with it, please. Help me understand what is going on with that boy.” He sighed. “Then maybe you can help me understand what is going on with this boy.” He jerked a thumb at his own chest.
She smiled. “I shall try with the boy upstairs. You are on your own with the other one. I’ve a rather confused girl to deal with myself.”
“Point taken.” He clasped her hand to give it a gentle squeeze.
“To be completely honest, Quint, I do not know fully how to answer about Phillip. I think he is a very troubled young man—has been for some time. Did he intend to harm himself this morning? I have no idea. I am inclined to think it may have been a combination of vague plan and opportunity presenting itself.”
Quint pulled back to look at her more directly. “You mean he has considered this before? Planned it earlier?”
“No. No. At least not that I know of. But young people sometimes get peculiar ideas in their bids for attention. Maybe they read too much Romeo and Juliet or the like.”
“Oh, sure. Blame the bard,” Quint said. He pulled away farther and sat forward on the couch, his elbows on his knees. “In any event, I am sure that both you and Phillip—and probably Maria as well—will be pleased to know that you win. I give up.”
“What? I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I have decided to let you all have it your way—we shall hire a tutor for Phillip and the boys and a governess for Maria and the girls. Unless, of course, you have developed some major objection at this late date.”
“I have no objection at all,” Harriet said, “and I am quite sure both Phillip and Maria will find this welcome news indeed. But may I ask why—especially now?”
“That saucy little know-all, Lady Sarah Burnes, put her finger on it—the boy would arrive at school—already two years late, if you ask me—and now unable to navigate his new world on his own. A year with a tutor will do him just as well academically. Do you not agree?”
Harriet grasped his hand, which had returned to the cushion between them. “Of course I do.” She closed her eyes and r
aised their joined hands to her cheek. “Of course I do. And Maria?”
“I thought I would leave it up to Maria,” he said, turning Harriet’s hand in his to caress the palm. She could hardly marshal her thoughts for the way those tiny caresses were flooding her body with feeling, but she leaned closer to him and managed to say, “Have you discussed this with your mother?”
“My mother is not their guardian. I am.” They were both quiet for a moment, then he shook the hand he still held. “Is there some quarrel—antipathy—between you and my mother?”
Harriet slowly withdrew her hand and sat a bit more rigidly. “Um—not exactly—not overtly. I think—” Harriet spoke slowly, reluctant to speak ill of the woman who was, after all, his mother. She braced her shoulders. “I think she may have found it somewhat difficult to accept Win’s choice of a bride.”
Quint grinned. “‘Somewhat’ would be a glorious understatement, according to letters I had from him. I was in India at the time. Probably not so much his choice, but that he chose for himself, regardless of how eligible his choice might prove to be, thus ignoring her choice.”
Harriet nodded. “Lady Barbara Newhouse.”
“Who?” he asked sharply.
“Lady Barbara Newhouse—she is Lady Barbara Riverton now. She and Anne came out the same year, but Lady Barbara was clearly the leading debutante of that season. However, Anne just snapped Win up from under the noses of all the ton who had expected Lady Margaret to pull off that match for her son.” Harriet smiled at the memory of her sister’s happiness that year, but suddenly she became aware of a strange stillness in her companion.
He stood abruptly and looked down at her. “Are you sure of that? My mother was actively promoting a match between Barbara and Win?”
Something in his tone as he said the woman’s given name gave her pause, but she looked up and answered openly. “Well, no. To be perfectly honest I was not privy to such delicate information at the time—I was still in school. But I was allowed to attend the wedding and that was the common talk—especially among Anne and her friends. I am remiss in repeating it at all—particularly after all these years.”
“Never mind.” He reached a hand to draw her to her feet. “Mother is one of those people who simply likes to have things go her way. Unfortunately, that cannot always be so.”
Harriet thought there was more to it than this, but she had no clear explanation for the change in his demeanor. They parted, agreeing that they would go together after the evening meal to give Phillip and Maria news of the change in plans for school.
* * * *
Quint spent much of the remainder of the afternoon distracted by Harriet’s revelation that his mother had once actively promoted a match between his brother Win and Barbara Newhouse. How was it that he had heard nothing of that possibility when, home on leave three years later, he was himself buzzing about Barbara like a bee about honeysuckle? He had known that his mother—by then the dowager countess—and the younger woman were close friends and he remembered thinking at the time how nice that was, as Barbara had lost her mother some years before. He also knew that his mother then, as now, wielded a good deal of influence in social circles. Truth be told, he had been far too preoccupied in his pursuit of the beautiful Barbara to pay it much attention. But now—only a few days ago—his mother had been explicit in informing him that Lady Barbara would attend the house party. What was that about?
He was also feeling conflicted about those kisses he had shared with Harriet. Both times he had been seized by impulse and circumstance, and in each instance the embrace been just—well—right—somehow. And comfortable. She responded with simple honesty. No coyness or brazen teasing. He wondered how those changeable gray eyes would appear in the full throes of passion.
He gave himself a mental shake and set about his duties as host to the evening’s guests through pre-supper drinks in drawing room and the meal itself. Recalling his mother’s caustic comments about Harriet earlier, Quint suggested the gentlemen have their after-supper drinks along with the ladies and their tea in the drawing room.
He could tell his mother was a little put off by this shift in the social norm, but she managed to continue the polite chitchat that had been the table conversation. She had, after all, had an ongoing though distant acquaintance with the solicitor, Mr. Boskins, for several years. Quint noted, however, that she had effectively relegated Harriet to the sidelines as soon as drinks were served.
“Harriet, dear, would you play for us please? Something soft, perhaps?”
“Of course, my lady.”
Quint thought Harriet preferred such a role this evening as she took to the pianoforte, but he quickly offered to turn her pages for her, thus eliciting a small moue of displeasure from his mother.
“Miss Mayfield plays exceptionally well,” the dowager said to her guests. “I doubt she needs such help, my son.”
“Nevertheless…” Quint said brightly, carrying his and Harriet’s drinks over to the instrument.
He allowed the music and conversation to flow for some time, but eventually he extended a hand to Harriet to rise and he announced to the others, “If you will excuse us, Miss Mayfield and I wish to inform Phillip and Maria of the decision regarding their schooling and it is almost their bedtime.”
The dowager looked perplexed. “Surely that was quite clear this morning.”
“I think not, Mother.”
“Oh, do not, I pray you, tell me you have changed your mind about sending those youngsters off to school.” This came as something of a surprised wail from Lady Margaret as she suddenly sat more erect on the settee she shared with Mrs. Hartley.
“As a matter of fact, I have, Mother.”
“Or had it changed for you.” The dowager shot a scathing look at Harriet.
“Do not blame Harriet.” Quint immediately gave himself a mental kick on seeing his mother’s brows fly skyward at his use of Harriet’s given name in company. He shared a glance with Chet, who nodded sympathetically, and with Boskins and the clerk, both of whom seemed rather confused. He hurried on, “I happened to recall just how schoolboys were likely to welcome a newcomer who was the least bit ‘different’—shall we say.”
“Well,” she said in a great show of concession, “it is not the done thing, but you are their guardian.”
“Yes, I am.” His hand at her back, he nudged Harriet toward the door. “Miss Mayfield.”
In the hallway, Harriet, conscious of the slight touch of his hand at her back and the faint scent of sandalwood soap, said, “I doubt you have heard the last of that.”
He merely shrugged.
They found Phillip and Maria playing cribbage at a small table pushed up to Phillip’s bed. Phillip wore a maroon bed jacket over his nightshirt and Maria had on a blue robe over a frilly cotton nightgown. Her hair hung in a single plait over her shoulder and down to her elbow. Both youngsters looked up with eager smiles when Harriet and Quint entered the room.
“I was hoping you would come by before that foul-tasting potion worked its magic,” Phillip said, directing his gaze to his aunt. Then he added in an exultant tone, “I beat Maria at cribbage—twice!”
“Hah!” Maria said. “Only because I felt compelled to humor an invalid, don’t you know?”
“Not true!” Phillip protested.
Quint pulled chairs up for him and Harriet near Maria. “No bickering,” he said. “Your aunt and I have come to share some important news with you.”
Phillip and Maria went very still and immediately looked to Harriet. She, though, looked to Quint, who gestured for her to go ahead.
She gave a slight negative shake of her head. “This was your doing, sir.”
He sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, his hands interlaced on his knee. “So-o-o. The long and short of it is that after careful consideration, I have decided to agree to your request, Phillip,
and allow you to be tutored here at home for at least the next year.”
Phillip’s smile—a mix of surprise, delight, and hero worship—brightened the whole room. Quint thought, Parents must live for moments such as this.
“Thank you. Thank you, Uncle Quint. I promise that, when the time comes, I shall not quibble about going to school at all.”
“Fine.” Quint leaned forward and extended his hand, which Phillip took in his most grown-up manner. “I shall hold you to that, Phillip. For now I expect you to take some part in the process of our finding a tutor for you, so best you get yourself out of this bed soonest.”
“Yes, sir.” The smile became even broader if possible. Phillip exchanged a look with his aunt, then added, “As to that, sir—”
He was interrupted by Maria. “But what about me? If Phillip is allowed to delay a year, might I do so as well?”
Quint glanced at Harriet before answering. “That depends.”
“Depends? On what?” Maria sounded worried.
“Don’t tease her, Colonel Burnes,” Harriet said.
“As you wish, my lady.” He turned to face Maria directly. “It depends on what your wishes are after you have thought about it carefully. We are to have a proper tutor for the boys of the family and a proper governess for the girls. You, my dear, may choose for yourself whether to spend this coming year learning at home—or away at school.”
“I am allowed to choose?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes. I happen to trust your judgment.”
“Oh, Uncle Quint!” Maria jumped from her chair, took the step or two to his, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him resoundingly on the cheek. “That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!”
“I take it she likes the idea,” Quint said, disentangling himself.
“It would appear so,” Harriet said.
“I love it!” Maria said, returning to her own seat. After a moment, she said, “I think I should prefer to be at home too. And if I could be permitted to have some lessons with Phillip—say, in history and mathematics—I will love it even more.”
