by Diane Farr
“Talgarth! What a stroke of good fortune that you are present—the very man who might know!”
The captain was mildly surprised to find himself addressed. “What might I know?”
Kilverton gave an odd little laugh. “Where, exactly, is Rosemeade? And how far is it from Hatley End?”
“Rosemeade!” cried his sister. “Why, that is where—oh!” Serena’s voice choked in midsentence. She turned pink with indignation. “Oh, Richard, you wretch! And Caitlin! I would never have believed she could use me so! Why, I had nary an idea—”
But her brother was no longer listening. Lord Kilverton and Captain Talgarth had plunged into earnest conversation with Lady Colhurst. The two men were making plans to leave directly after dinner for Rosemeade, which the captain believed they could reach before dark if the captain drove them in Kilverton’s tilbury. Lady Colhurst was complaining of their rudeness, but it was clear that no matter what she said, she found the situation vastly entertaining.
Overcome, Serena sank onto the ottoman. Ned watched her, his expression growing grave as he saw various violent emotions chasing each other across Serena’s face. He would have given a great deal to know whether it was Richard and Caitlin’s perfidy in keeping secrets from her, or the fact that Captain Talgarth was about to pay a visit to Rosemeade, that had temporarily robbed Serena of the power of speech.
Addison arrived to announce dinner, and Richard and the captain, still engrossed in their plans, together escorted Lady Colhurst from the room, Serena rose without a word, and took Ned’s arm.
Mr. Montague looked down at Serena’s woebegone little face. He suddenly felt a burning desire to choke the life out of Captain Philip Talgarth. “Do you mind it so much, Serena?” he asked in a low tone.
She gave an uncertain little laugh. “Well, it is just so odd. To think that Richard said nothing to me—and what is worse, that Caitlin said nothing to me—and that I never guessed!”
Ned stopped in the passage. He lifted Serena’s chin with one finger and gazed searchingly at her. “Is that what is bothering you?”
Her eyes met his, genuinely puzzled. “Why? What else is there?”
Ned took a breath, and struggled to find words. “I thought—I thought you were distressed because—well, Talgarth going off to Rosemeade, you know! I daresay he means to speak to Mr. Campbell. And I thought—” He stopped.
Serena blushed hotly. “Oh. That. I see.”
“Yes, that! I am afraid—Serena, you must put on a brave face. The captain will offer for Emily, sure as check.”
Serena looked thoughtful. “Yes, I am sure you are right,” she said slowly.
Ned looked at Serena’s downcast eyes, his heart wrung. “I am so sorry, Serena,” he said gently.
“Are you?” asked Serena, addressing his waistcoat in a small voice. “The odd thing is—I am not sorry in the least.”
“By Jove!” whispered Mr. Montague, much moved.
Serena looked up at him, shy but hopeful.
There’s no knowing where this scene might have ended, had Addison not opened the door at that moment. Edward Montague, normally a man of action, was forced to quell his impulses and usher Serena sedately into the dining room.
Chapter XXV
During the soft glow of a June twilight, day lingers well into the evening in Hertfordshire. Caitlin closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, still, golden air. It was beautiful. How strange that beauty, these days, only made her heart ache.
She had hoped that coming home to Rosemeade would cure her. She had expected, once she removed herself from places where everything reminded her of Lord Kilverton, and where she was forever on tenterhooks with the possibility of actually meeting him, that she would instantly recover her spirits and be cheerful, practical Caitlin again.
She sighed. I must give it some time, she reminded herself. After all, home was very dear to her. It was lovely to be back with Mama and Papa and the children. And it was, in fact, a great relief to be freed from all possibility of seeing Richard Kilverton. She could rise in the morning and put on whatever first came to hand; it no longer mattered to her what she wore or how she looked. She could spend her mornings doing whatever needed to be done, feeling no compulsion to linger in rooms where she might listen for the knocker. Evenings could now be spent quietly sewing or reading by her own fire—rather than being pinched and pushed and crimped and perfumed to stand about in lady So-and-So’s drawing room, watching the door out of the corner of her eye and wondering Who might come through it next. Oh, the fever of hope and fear and excitement and misery! And the sleepless nights! It was all behind her now.
Well, perhaps not the sleepless nights. But those would pass, too, she promised herself firmly. Someday soon her appetite would return, her peace of mind would be restored, and life would no longer seem to be a dreary and meaningless affliction.
There was enough light to afford one more walk before evening closed in. Caitlin’s spirits lifted faintly. Walking was the only thing that brought her solace these days. Tramping about the beloved countryside, every byway familiar to her feet, she could give herself over to her tumbling, chaotic thoughts and find some measure of relief in the combination of exercise and solitude. No need to hide her emotions, no need to make conversation, no need to do anything but think and dream if she wished—or, more often, not think at all. She longed to walk herself to exhaustion, but of course that was an absurd idea. Still, she could not help thinking it would be lovely to be really tired. Too tired to think, too tired to grieve, tired enough to sleep the night through. She pushed open the garden gate and headed for her favorite path.
A worried voice called after her. “Caitlin, dear! Are you going for another walk? You mustn’t forget your shawl, my love, with the evening setting in.”
Caitlin stopped, turning courteously toward her mother, framed in the doorway behind her. From where Caitlin stood, looking at her mother across the garden, it seemed as if Mama’s form was rising from waves of roses; a plump little Venus with an absurdly anxious expression.
“Mama, you know I never catch cold. And I will be back directly, I promise—long before it grows damp.”
Amabel hesitated. Caitlin was wearing a long-sleeved woolen dress, which had privately distressed her mother very much at dinner—heavens, the child cared so little about anything, she came down to dinner in her morning dress!—but if she planned to walk, her arms were covered just as surely as if she wore a shawl. Caitlin’s strained expression and haunted eyes wrung her mother’s heart. Oh, let the poor child do as she wishes; there’s little enough she enjoys these days, thought Amabel. She forced a wavering smile to her lips.
“Very well, Caitlin, I won’t tease you. But be careful, my dear, and don’t be too late.”
“No, Mama.”
Amabel walked slowly back to the parlor. Her husband was idly flicking over the pages of a London periodical, but held out his hand to her as she entered.
“Well, my love! This is cozy, to have you all to myself. Where are the children?”
“Agnes and Nicky are upstairs, and Caitlin has gone for another of her walks.”
Mr. Campbell raised an eyebrow. “Caitie is very fond of exercise since she came home.”
“Yes,” agreed Amabel absently. He pulled her down beside him on the settle.
“What troubles you, my dear? Is it our Caitlin?”
Amabel clutched her husband’s comforting hand and nodded vigorously. “Oh, John, I am so worried! What can have happened to her, do you think? I’m glad to have her home, of course—but I was never so astonished in my life as when she came back from London so suddenly, with never a word of warning. It’s unlike her to behave impulsively; she has never done so! Something terrible must have occurred, to send her home like that. And do not tell me it was Nicky’s broken arm that brought her, for I don’t believe it! She is so unhappy—what on earth can be troubling her? I can see how she tries to support her spirits, and tries so hard to behave as if nothi
ng is wrong, and, oh, John, it is pathetic! And the way she picks at her food—the expression on her sweet face when she stares out the window and thinks no one sees—why, it would make a cat weep! She has yet to say one word to me about it. I hardly like to ask her—I don’t wish to force her confidence—but do you think I ought?”
John frowned thoughtfully, playing with his wife’s fingers. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Like you, I have been much struck by the changes in our little Caitie. But she has just spent many weeks in her aunt’s household, you know, with nothing to do but amuse and indulge herself. I hope she is not pining for what we can never give her.”
Amabel sat bolt upright with an indignant gasp. “Our Caitlin? Pining for wealth? Why, it’s nonsensical!” she declared. “How can you indulge such a thought for even an instant?”
“Well, of course I don’t mean it in any mercenary sense—”
“I should hope not!”
“But you know, my love, life here might seem very dull to her, compared to London in the height of the Season.”
Amabel sniffed. “Pooh! Caitlin isn’t bored, John. She is unhappy.”
Their tête-à-tête was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the front door. Mrs. Campbell jumped hastily out of her husband’s arms, patting her hair into place. “Heavens! Whoever can that be? Why, it’s nearly nine o’clock.”
“I daresay it is Isabella and Tom; did not Isabella tell you they would stop on their way home from the vicarage? Only family would pay a visit at such an hour,” replied John, rising leisurely from the settle. “I’ll let them in.”
Amabel brightened. “Perhaps they have brought the baby!” she said hopefully. She was curled comfortably on the settle with her feet tucked beneath her when her husband returned with a rather dazed expression on his face and two complete strangers in tow. One of the strangers was the handsomest man she had ever seen, and the other the most elegant. Mortified, Mrs. Campbell leaped to her feet and threw her husband a look of reproach wholly wasted on that bemused gentleman.
“My dear, two of our daughters’ friends from London have arrived to make our acquaintance,” said Mr. Campbell. “I have the honor to present Lord Kilverton and Captain Talgarth to you. Gentlemen, my wife.”
Mrs. Campbell was favored with two beautifully executed bows. Not by the flicker of an eyelash did she betray the painful train of speculation racing through her mind. She seated the gentlemen and managed to make small talk with them for nearly a quarter of an hour without betraying the various emotions surging within her heart. Was one of these gentlemen the author of Caitlin’s unhappiness? And, if so, which of them? And had he come to make amends, or to make her cherished daughter even more unhappy? She hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry when Captain Talgarth asked very soberly if he might speak with her husband in private.
This sounded serious. The captain’s heightened color and self-conscious air was not lost on Amabel. It was all she could do to keep her tongue between her teeth. She exchanged a Speaking Glance with her husband as he bowed Captain Talgarth out of the room. This must be He—Caitlin’s unknown heartache!
Impossible to know if John understood her silent message. He still appeared dazed by the extraordinary and unprecedented arrival on his doorstep of two completely unknown Corinthians. The door closed behind her husband and the captain, leaving Amabel alone with Lord Kilverton.
Mrs. John Campbell was not in the habit of entertaining persons of rank. However, after weathering the anxiety and mystery of the past few days, she felt herself equal to anything. At any rate, she would make a push to discover who these gentlemen were and what their errand was. If the happiness of her beloved daughter was at stake, why, she didn’t give two pins for their consequence—she would show them the door, and out they would go!
Amabel cast a speculative glance at his lordship, who was staring abstractedly out the window. His aspect did not strike her as particularly villainous, but one never knew with persons of rank. She had heard it said, often and often, that many a charming nobleman possessed the heart of a scoundrel.
“Do you make a long stay in Hertfordshire, Lord Kilverton?” she inquired politely.
Kilverton turned courteously to answer her. “Not long, I think,” he said. A rather disarming smile lit his features, and he met her gaze frankly. “In truth, madam, my plans—and all my future plans, for mat matter—depend upon what I find here at Rosemeade.”
Amabel stared at him. “What you find here?” she repeated.
“Well, yes.” Lord Kilverton’s neckcloth appeared to have suddenly become too tight. He swallowed, and cleared his throat.
But before he could speak again, Amabel struck her hands together in dismay. “Is it you, then, and not Captain Talgarth who—oh, dear!”
This was dreadful. Her gaze traveled unconsciously to the door. If only John would return and rescue her! This had all the makings of an extremely ticklish situation. But he was off with Captain Talgarth; she must brazen this out alone.
Amabel Campbell turned to face Lord Kilverton, her spine very straight and her cheeks very pink. “My lord!” she pronounced awfully. “I cannot pretend to know why you have come here, or what you may mean by your ‘future plans’—”
“That is easily explained, at any rate,” said Kilverton. “At least—” He paused, seeming at a loss to continue. “Well, perhaps it is not so easily explained.” The disarming smile lit his features again. “In fact, it’s the deuce of a coil! But explain it I must.” He took a deep breath, and began.
Ten minutes later, Lord Kilverton strolled down a charming country lane where his kind hostess had, in the end, directed him with her blessing.
The gathering darkness was muting the twilight’s glow from orange to purple. Stars glimmered in an umbrella of night sky that had opened above the still-glowing horizon. A nightingale’s song and the distant lowing of cattle were the only sounds to punctuate the fragrant hush of the warm June evening.
Just as Mrs. Campbell had told him it would, a solitary figure soon appeared on the crest of a low hill before him—a slender form that checked its approach when it saw him. The girl took a few steps more, then halted completely. A smile disturbed the gravity of Kilverton’s features. He had been recognized, then! He continued toward the motionless silhouette at a leisurely pace.
Caitlin, wrapped deeply in her own thoughts, was nearly home when she saw him; a tall man strolling toward her—improbably, but indisputably, clothed in immaculate evening dress. This was an incongruous sight deep in the country, but not startling enough to pull her out of her reverie. Her thoughts had been conjuring just such a figure; he might have stepped out of her imagination. A pleasant sense of dreamlike unreality swamped her, watching the man’s graceful, athletic stride as he advanced, his white shirtfront pale against the gathering gloom. He very much resembled Richard Kilverton. Ah, but then, he would. If only it were he . . . Caitlin’s stride faltered; she paused. This was no figment of her imagination. The man was real.
Oh, madness! She must be dreaming, she told herself. She took another step forward, and stopped again. Her hand crept to her throat. Her heart seemed to have leapt there, and was pounding crazily beneath her fingers. The eerie sense of having stumbled into a dream seized her again. She watched, utterly still, as her fate approached.
Kilverton strolled up to her, the picture of nonchalance. His manner was as formal as his attire; they might have been meeting casually in a London drawing room. He executed a graceful bow. “Good evening, Miss Campbell,” he said pleasantly. “Delightful weather, is it not?”
She stared, unbelieving. A thousand possible rejoinders jostled each other in her brain, but she found herself unable to utter any of them. After struggling for a few seconds to regain the power of speech, she managed only to blurt out: “What are you doing here?”
The ghost of a laugh shook Kilverton, but he managed to raise an eyebrow at her as if suffering pained surprise. “I am walking, Miss Campbell,” he said gra
vely. “Walking. One of the principal forms of healthful exercise enjoyed in the country, I believe.” He waved a graceful hand to indicate the surrounding woods and fields. “How lovely the evening is, with the moon beginning to rise! You perceive me rapt, Miss Campbell, in contemplation of nature’s majesty. A charming spot! I am glad I came.”
All the heartache Caitlin had suffered in the past week came crashing in on her. To her annoyance, she found herself fighting back angry tears. Impossible man! Why had she been longing to see him? He never failed to put her out of countenance! The shock of this meeting was too much. She was not prepared. She could not maintain her composure. She was tired and unhappy and life was a miserable affair. When she spoke, her voice quivered. “If you have come here—I know not how—merely to make a May game of me, I wish you will go away!”
Kilverton smiled down at her, an oddly tender light in his eyes. “I never play May games in June. Look at me, Caitlin! Can you not guess why I have come?”
Caitlin found she was trembling. She took a deep breath and achieved something like an air of cool amusement. “Yes, I see—to admire Hertfordshire, and to comment upon our weather.”
“I will be happy to discuss the weather with you, or anything else you like—if you will first hear me in another small matter.”
Her eyes searched his, bewildered. She saw no mockery there. “What have you come to say to me?” she whispered. “What is there to say?”
“Only this,” he replied, none too steadily. He took her hands in his. “In all my life and in all my searching, I never met a female other than yourself who could brighten my life merely by walking into a room. You haunt me, Miss Campbell. You fill my thoughts when I am awake and my dreams when I am asleep. When we are apart I long every moment to be with you, and when we are together I feel I have come home. I want you, and only you, for my life’s companion. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”
Caitlin stood very still. She looked down at her hands in his. She looked back up at Kilverton’s face. She forced a wavering smile to her lips. “I cannot help feeling glad to hear these words from you,” she said, with difficulty. “You must be aware that I feel the same. But we must forget we ever said these things.”
