The Memory of Your Kiss

by Wilma Counts

  Yours, etc.

  F. Taunton, Visc. Hoffman

  As she read the letter again, her initial fear hardened into a knot in her chest. Her first instinct was to rush upstairs to the nursery to check on Jonathan. But that was silly. She had been with him only half an hour ago and all was well. Besides, just after Henry’s death, she had hired three additional footmen whose primary duties were as bodyguards. One or more of these stalwart fellows was on hand whenever Jonathan was taken out of the house—even for a simple airing in the small park at the center of the square in which Paxton House was located.

  As she tried to tamp down her fear, Roberts appeared to announce the arrival of Major Quintin. She hastily tucked the Hoffman letter in her pocket and assumed her hostess mask.

  She was momentarily startled at Major Quintin’s appearance, for instead of the military uniform in which she had always seen him before, he was attired in civilian dress: doeskin pantaloons, a dark green tailored jacket, and Hussar boots. It struck her that this man would be incredibly attractive no matter what he wore. They exchanged polite greetings and she instructed Roberts to produce a tea tray.

  “Right away, my lady.”

  “How would you like to proceed, Major?” She gestured at the desk. “I have the ledgers all right here—they include everything but the household accounts at the Hall. These go back only three years, but others are in storage at the Hall and will be made available to you as you wish.” She knew she was speaking too fast, babbling, in fact, trying to cover her nervousness, trying to appear wholly at ease. But she could feel that letter in her pocket and she worried about what he might see in the books.

  He held up a hand. “I will look at them in due time. Right now, I should like to be introduced to the current Earl of Paxton, if he is available.”

  “I think he is probably making life rather difficult for Nurse Watkins. Half an hour ago, he was wearing nearly as much of his lunch as he actually ate.” She tugged on the bell pull and murmured instructions to the footman who responded.

  Ten minutes later a nursery maid arrived with Jonathan in her arms. Sydney immediately took him into her own. The child babbled and Sydney said, “Actually, once in a while nurse and I can understand a word here and there. He does know how to say ‘Mama.’”

  At this, the little boy said, “Mama” and the three adults in the room all laughed.

  Zachary shook the child’s small hand and said in a formal tone, “I am pleased to meet you, my lord.” He turned to Sydney. “A fine lad. He looks just like—like Henry, but he has your eyes.”

  She beamed and, with a kiss, handed her son over to the maid. Returning to the subject of the ledgers, she waved a hand toward the desk. “You will find here reports from the farms—proceeds from crops, sale of wool, and so on. I will be happy to leave you alone to peruse them at your leisure.”

  “That is very thoughtful of you, my lady, but if I am not intruding on your time unduly, I should like to go over them with you. This whole business is outside my usual realm of expertise, so I am sure to have questions.”

  “In that case, Major, we can work over here at the map table—more room to spread them out.” She felt herself slowly relaxing, though she was very much aware of his mere presence in the room.

  When their hands chanced to touch as they gathered up the books, she was startled by that same thrill his mere touch had given her in Bath so long ago. She quickly jerked away and she could see her action puzzled him. Soon they were seated side by side at the map table.

  She sought to lessen the tension that she, at least, felt between them. “I must admit, Major, that when I first learned that Henry had named you guardian of all things Paxton, it came as a surprise.”

  “It was not a position I sought. However,” he paused and held her gaze forcefully, “I accepted it. I did not expect—Henry did not expect—that I would ever have to assume it. Now that it is upon me, I intend to fulfill this duty as I would any other.”

  Was he warning her? She shifted her gaze and murmured, “Of course, Major. I quite understand.”

  He leaned back in his chair and seemed relaxed. His voice held a trace of the teasing challenge she remembered from Bath and there was a distinct twinkle in his eyes. “I wonder, Lady Paxton—would it be dreadfully offensive to your sense of social decorum if we went back to being Sydney and Zachary in private discourse?”

  She smiled. “I should like that.”

  Roberts brought the tea tray in and set it at one end of the table. Sydney got up to pour a cup for each of them, then resumed her seat and began to explain the books.

  “This red volume provides a quick summary of everything. These gray ones are numbered and labeled: farms, mills, mines, other properties—all of which are doing reasonably well despite the general state of the economy.”

  “And this tan book?”

  “Frankly, that one causes me some concern.”

  “Why?”

  “As you may or may not know, Henry was keenly interested in transportation—I suppose because getting goods from mills and mines to ports and markets is always a problem.”

  “And?” Zachary prompted.

  “And he invested rather heavily in a canal system and in two companies—that is, two men, George Stephenson and Richard Trevithick—who are producing locomotives that run on rails.”

  “What is your concern?”

  “In three years we have seen no return on these ventures. None.”

  Zachary rubbed his chin. “Hmm. I think my father has money in the Stephenson concern. He may know something about it. However, rail transport—other than within mines—is new. Sometimes it takes years for such innovations to catch on.”

  She nodded absently. Every time she shifted position in the chair, she felt that letter in her pocket. She remembered Henry’s saying Zachary would protect Jonathan. But could he? Would he? Zachary had parental duties of his own now.

  They continued to study the books for over an hour. That is, Zachary studied and Sydney answered his occasional question. She was deeply conscious of their physical closeness—the familiar warmth and scent she associated with him. But there was something else, as well. Almost a meeting of minds—a sense of shared purpose. But even as they worked, her mind kept drifting to that letter from Viscount Hoffman.

  After a while, Zachary said, “The numbers are beginning to dance around like butterflies in my head. If you will agree, I should like to take these and spend some time truly examining them.”

  Apprehension assailed her, but what could she do? Legally, he could do whatever he wanted. Asking her permission was a polite fiction. She shrugged. “Of course. You may do as you please with them.”

  He frowned slightly, but said, “Thank you.” He stacked the books neatly, then reached for his teacup.

  “Let me refill that,” she said, going into her hostess role again.

  “Please.” He sat back, his arm draped over the back of his chair. “There is another matter I should like to discuss with you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I do not mean to plague you with what might be a painful subject, but this has to do with Henry’s other son. As you know, I am guardian of that child, too.”

  “Yes. I do know that.” She did not elaborate. She did not want to admit that, since that last night before Henry died, she had studiously avoided thinking of that other side of her husband’s life. She knew he had provided for the child and that was that.

  “I recently visited both Lady Ryesdale and the child. His name is William.”

  Sydney wanted to say, “I do not want to know his name. He is nothing to me.” But she did not say this; she merely nodded and waited for him to go on.

  Which he did. He told her as much as he knew of Lady Ryesdale’s position and the arrangements for care of the child.

  Sydney listened quietly, then said, “How very sad, but the child seems to be getting adequate care. Frankly, I am wondering what this has to do with me and my son.”

>   “Perhaps nothing,” he said. “But I know of your involvement with the Fairfax women and I was wondering if you thought they might be willing to take in this child on at least a semi-permanent basis? That way, Lady Ryesdale might at least see her child occasionally.”

  “‘Semi-permanent’? Is that not an oxymoron?” She grasped at the inane to allow herself time to consider what he had said. He “knew of her involvement with the Fairfax women”? What did that mean? Was he investigating her? Why? How? Ah, Allyson. She should have foreseen this.

  He smiled fleetingly. “I suppose it is contradictory. But what do you think?”

  Sydney sat silent, unconsciously toying with a strand of hair at her ear. What did she think? It was surely most unusual to ask a wife—a widow in this case—to be involved in such a situation, and Zachary’s bringing it up to her merely confirmed for her that Zachary had known of and condoned Henry’s betrayal. On the other hand, Louisa and William were being treated with unnecessary cruelty, or at least crass indifference. Finally, she said, “I will ask Miss Fairfax and her sister. Perhaps they can handle this matter for you.”

  He gave her a questioning look, but said only, “Thank you.”

  As he rose to take his leave, she rose as well. Again, she felt Hoffman’s letter against her leg.

  “Uh—there is another matter,” she said, and sat back down.

  “Another matter?” he echoed, resuming his own seat and turning to look at her directly.

  Now that she was actually facing the issue head on, she could not keep the tremor out of her voice. “Did—did Henry tell you about his—your—cousin Percival Laughton?”

  “Yes, he did. But I knew of him long before, of course. His father tried to embroil my mother in an attack on her brother, Henry’s father. That was a huge error on his part. My mother may have been estranged from her family, but she loved them. Percy has been known to applaud his father’s efforts and bemoan their failure.”

  “Read this.” She thrust the letter at him and watched as he read it, then reread it.

  “Hoffman is right to worry. Percy is capable of almost anything. I trust you have taken precautions?”

  She explained and was gratified at his nod of approval. He patted her hand and said, “Try not to worry. My friends and I will look into his activities. Tell your people to be extra alert, though, what with the chaos of this royal visit and all.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Just discussing it aloud helps, I think. I did not want to worry Aunt Harriet.” She was keenly aware of his nearness, his touch, and she remembered the ease with which they had once discussed any number of topics.

  His gaze searched her eyes, then shifted to her lips. Was he remembering that kiss in the park, too? Suddenly her mouth felt dry. Involuntarily, her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

  He rose abruptly and gathered up the ledgers. “I must go. I shall return these day after tomorrow.”

  Outside, Zachary found his coach had returned and waited for him as he had instructed. He climbed in, leaned his head against a squab, and cursed himself. How was it that she always made him feel like a green schoolboy? He had wanted to kiss her as they sat there together. He had wanted desperately to kiss her, even though she had made such a fool of him three years ago.

  He shook his head and deliberately turned his thoughts to the substance of their meeting. Perhaps Henry and Phillips had been right after all to put such trust in a woman. Sydney certainly seemed to have mastered the nuances of Paxton business affairs. He knew of few women who would have the expertise—let alone the interest—to jump into this male arena. He was sure his mother would have relied on the steward and the lawyer, but Sydney, Lady Paxton, had apparently initiated the purchase of steam-driven weaving machines. And what were those changes in workers’ living conditions she had mentioned? Mill workers and miners were but foot soldiers in a different kind of army.

  He sensed that Lady Paxton, for all her “do-good” charity work, had been wholly indifferent to the plight of Lady Ryesdale and the child William. He did not think her angry or resentful—just, well, disinterested. For some reason, he found her reaction disappointing. Well, why not? Was she not reacting as a wife was supposed to react? That is, pretend her husband’s mistress simply did not exist? Yet, according to Harrelson, Sydney had herself received Lady Ryesdale in Paxton House as Henry lay dying.

  He shook his head over this—and over his own near slip: He had very nearly said Jonathan looked exactly like William. Which he did—except for the eyes. Both boys had inherited their mothers’ eyes; William’s were a clear blue, Jonathan’s gray-green.

  The next morning, as he did every morning, Zachary reported to the nursery suite to spend time with his son. He found Lucas in the common room of the suite he remembered from his own childhood. Tall barred windows let in an abundance of daylight, yet prevented a child’s falling from an open window. Pictures of animals adorned the walls and a number of cupboards held a large collection of toys. Lucas was happily holding court from the “throne” of his grandmother’s lap.

  “He is such a sweet, happy child,” Lady Leonora said. “His mother must have been a sweet, biddable girl.”

  Zachary emitted a bark of laughter at this. The image that popped into his mind was Elena returning from Arroyo Robles where she, Miguel, and other partisans had so gleefully mowed down a company of French soldiers. But this was not an image to share with his mother, so he merely said, “She had a mind of her own.”

  “That much is obvious in her willingness to defy the conventions of her society,” his mother said. “I would imagine that was very hard for a young, protected woman of her class in today’s Spain.”

  “Yes, I think it was,” Zachary said, but he wondered if Elena had not actually been freed by the life fate had thrown at her. “Seems my lot in life to deal with strong women.” He reached for the baby, who was flailing chubby arms toward him.

  Lady Leonora gave up the child with a kiss, then settled back in her chair, a wooden rocking chair with a padded seat and arms. Zachary took a barrel-shaped chair nearby and held the bouncing, standing baby on his lap.

  “You speak of Lady Paxton?” his mother asked.

  “Yes—and the Lady Leonora, who also defied conventions, I think.”

  “I am sure it was much easier for me than for either of these young women. I had your father to support me. Lady Paxton has no one.”

  “She has her aunt and her cousin and God knows how many servants,” he replied.

  “Zachary, dear, do try not to be so obtuse. Mrs. Carstairs and her daughter do lend propriety to the household, but they also add to Lady Paxton’s responsibilities. And, besides her own child, she must be concerned for the welfare of her dead husband’s sisters, as well as her own brother and sister. It cannot be easy.”

  Zachary frowned. “You seem to know a great deal about the Countess of Paxton.”

  “Of course I do. Her husband was my nephew—or had you forgot that little detail? I have not foisted myself on her, but I see her about town now and then. I do hear things.”

  “And?”

  “And I am quite sure I would like her if I knew her better.”

  Later in the day Zachary met the lawyer Phillips. He began by apologizing for not visiting the solicitor earlier.

  “No apology necessary,” Phillips said, gesturing to a leather couch in his office where the two sat on either end. “I knew you were back in town and I intended shortly to contact you.”

  “About anything in particular?”

  “Yes. Percival Laughton.”

  “You don’t say! I came here today wondering if he had made any overtures to you. I have just learned he is back in England.”

  “I’ve had no dealings with him directly,” Phillips replied. “However, I did have a letter from a solicitor named Wharton inquiring about the terms of your guardianship of the young earl and suggesting that his client, one Percival Laughton, had a stronger claim to the estate than a soldier
who was not only absent for such an extended period of time, but whose relationship came from a female rather than a male connection.”

  “Do I need to be worried?”

  “Legally, I would not think so. Henry Laughton made his wishes quite clear. The documents are in order.”

  Zachary raised an eyebrow. “But? I hear some hesitation in what you are saying.”

  “Wharton is not the most ethical member of my profession. He may file a nuisance suit, but that is all it will be. However, I have had my people do some poking around. Percival Laughton is associated with people around the Princess of Wales, but he has other connections that one would definitely label ‘nefarious.’ And there’s more.”

  “More?”

  “He was deeply in debt when he left England. Mostly gambling debts accrued in some rather disreputable gaming hells. Those people are not inclined to be patient, but lately he has put them off with expectations of a windfall.”

  “Which for him can come in only two possible ways,” Zachary said.

  Phillips leaned forward on his end of the couch and pressed his hands to his knees. He nodded. “Right. Either he becomes the child’s guardian or the child dies. I would bet that if he managed the former, the latter would be a certainty. And Laughton is rather desperate at this point. I have not wanted to alarm Lady Paxton unduly, but I think the man poses a very real threat to her son.”

  “She is aware and has taken precautions. I will do what I can to put a spoke in his wheels.” Zachary stood. “Thank you—I think.”

  Phillips gave a rueful nod and offered his hand.

  Zachary’s next task this day was to consult his erstwhile Rangers and enlist their aid in foiling any plans Percival Laughton might be fomenting. He sent around notes to Gordon, McIntyre, Richardson, and Harrelson. They met in one of the lounge rooms at White’s, perhaps the most exclusive of London’s gentlemen’s clubs. The five of them occupied a grouping of comfortable leather chairs in a corner. Zachary called for a bottle of brandy and glasses, which a waiter soon set on a low table before them.