Tabitha's Folly

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  “You seem quite satisfied with yourself.” Tabitha arched one brow.

  “I do? Well, I am. You know how I enjoy music.” As the first guest began to sing, he leaned closer and whispered, “Especially with someone as lovely as you beside me.” He paused. He had never flirted with Tabitha before, and his weak attempt felt terribly wrong.

  She tilted her head and stared at him in suspicion. “What is this? Did Edward put you up to this?”

  Edward? What would he have to do with this? “Put me up to what?”

  She waved her hand over him. “This…accompanying me…hovering.” Her eyes narrowed. “Can I not just enjoy a musicale without a guardian?”

  The exasperation in her tone made him wince. Before he could say another word, several of the guests turned with questioning eyes.

  Uncomfortable and unable to clarify he was not to play nursemaid, the frustration inside him grew.

  And what’s more, she paid him little attention. She had reclaimed her hand, leaving his forearm cold. Focused instead on Miss Anne, she spoke in low whispers.

  When Tabitha stood to sing, Henry joined to turn pages for her.

  She played and sang as she usually did while practicing at home: flawless, beautiful, and full of emotion. But he had never been moved by her performance as he was now. Watching the puckered concentration on her lip, the slight wrinkle around her eyes, he was enchanted. The music weaved its way through him, and he almost neglected to turn a page. Her lovely trilling notes soothed all his worries.

  Until he heard a soft humming. It would have been a beautiful addition, a perfect harmony to the notes Tabitha sang, except that he knew from whom the low accompaniment came.

  And Tabitha did also. Her eyes had become glued to the footman, and they shone with appreciation. He stood on the other side of the piano, at the wall, his face blank and his eyes unseeing, but his humming carried over to them.

  Henry doubted anyone else heard, but the reaction in Tabitha was unmistakable. Henry felt a simmering protection brew inside. They finished the song, the footman humming in harmony with her, their notes blending in an exquisite perfection that made Henry ill.

  The room erupted in applause. The countess said, “How refreshing to hear such a natural, pretty voice.”

  Miss Townshend and Miss Anne stood. He had never felt more grateful for a new piece to commence. He and Tabitha left the piano bench together, Tabitha still watching the wretched footman as though he knew the secrets of her heart. Perhaps he did. Another ball of fiery jealousy churned inside him.

  Even with the intensity from the river likely still fresh in her mind, Tabitha didn’t appear to be any more interested in him today than she was yesterday or any other day before that.

  Blast this new attraction.

  He checked his timepiece as if it had the answers. Eleven days of house party remained. Even if all she saw when she looked at him was that pesky twelve-year-old who used to carry around frogs, he would do his best to convince her otherwise.

  5

  A Choice in the Dark

  Dappled shade under a large oak tree cast light patterns on everything around her. The warm sun soaked deep inside Tabitha, and, much like a lizard baking on the rocks at home, she reveled in it. Since her drenching in the river, she had not felt comfortably warm. Nor comfortable.

  The more she thought about Henry, the more hopeless she felt. Surely he would never develop any real interest in her. Especially now he was on assignment from Edward to chaperone.

  And so Tabitha had accepted Reginald Beauchamp’s invitation to share a spot on the lawn, with a small picnic. All of the Easton brothers stood about nearby. She had yet to see Henry but knew he would appear. Edward had them on rotating assignment.

  Just the thought of her encounter with Mr. Beauchamp the other evening still burned her cheeks and made her want to hide.

  But she soon relaxed. Her companion was nothing if not congenial and fun.

  He flipped his hair out of his face, lounging on their blanket, one leg crossed over the other. “And this, my dear, is how you experience a grape.” He had spent a good amount of time peeling the fruit and now threw it into the air, catching it in his mouth.

  “Oh! All the work, Mr. Beauchamp. Perhaps you should just eat the grapes.”

  “If this were work, I’d have nothing to do with it. This, my lovely friend, is about pleasure.” He began peeling yet another. “You know, we haven’t discussed our rendezvous at the piano.”

  Dread filled her, and she felt her face heat anew. “Must we? I feel there is much to misunderstand in that moment.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Was there?” His lifted chin pointed out the footman in question. “It seems pretty clear to me.” A wicked, teasing gleam lit his eye.

  This would not do. He could not be left thinking she planned dalliances, especially with footmen. “I assure you, I happened upon him while I was finding my way.” Or losing it. “And he offered to accompany me. He was quite chivalrous.”

  “So, I left too soon?” He handed the next perfectly peeled grape to her. “Shall I have another opportunity for a delightful encounter?”

  “We are having one now, are we not?”

  “But it could be so much better.” He leaned closer to her and tucked her wind-blown tendril of hair behind her ear. “In a different location.”

  Henry cleared his throat.

  Tabitha leaned back, but Mr. Beauchamp stayed close and whispered, “Are you under lock and key?”

  She frowned. “It appears I am.”

  “I have ways around this.” He winked and then, as Henry joined them, sitting overly close, Mr. Beauchamp leaned back again on his hands. “Hello, Lord Courteney. Grape?”

  Henry grunted. “No, thank you.” He positioned himself to be at the center of their cozy space. “How are you, Beauchamp?”

  Tabitha couldn’t help admiring Henry, even while he was being incredibly intrusive. He looked so handsome, like he took extra care with his appearance: his hair just so, his clothing pressed to perfection. He even smelled better than usual.

  She smiled as she breathed in and closed her eyes.

  “You seem pleased with yourself.” Henry’s voice took on an accusatory tone.

  She started. “Oh, well…”

  “We’ve been having a lovely time.” Mr. Beauchamp raised his eyebrows. “She is quite safe with me here.” He toyed with a blade of grass. “Perhaps I could even step in at times, as a form of chaperone myself.”

  Tabitha opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again at the indignation in Henry’s face.

  “You will not.”

  Tabitha laughed. “What he means to say, and I am sure you can appreciate my dilemma, is that I have more than enough people watching out for me already.” She looked meaningfully at Mr. Beauchamp until he smiled.

  Restless, her eyes sought a distraction. “There is that lovely pond with a boat, waiting to be utilized. How is your rowing prowess?”

  Mr. Beauchamp’s face lit. “You, my dear, are looking at a regular rowing aficionado.” Standing, he offered his hand to Tabitha. “Shall we?”

  “That would be lovely.” She refused to look at Henry as she walked away, but she felt his displeased glare at her back. Satisfied, she rested a hand on Mr. Beauchamp’s arm. “Thank you. It has been years since I have been in a rowboat.” She leaned closer. “You won’t dump us over, will you?”

  “Heavens no. Though I am not as expert as I let on. I just sensed you could use some...space.”

  “You are not mistaken. Thank you.”

  Although she tried to enjoy his charm, his gentility, his affability, she could not help but think of the last time she and Henry had been in a boat together, when he taught her how to fish.

  “Reel it in gently, Tabby, or he’ll get away.”

  “Like so? I feel I’m being as gentle as I can. The fish is so strong, isn’t he?”

  “You are doing well; just be patient, and soon we’ll have hi
m right up next to the boat where we can see him.”

  His arms had brushed against hers, his hand on the fishing stick, ready to assist if she needed it. In that moment, she had thought life could not be more perfect. The brothers were on the lawn, and, except for Oscar’s occasional shout, the world was quiet. Bugs skipped across the glassy water. The musky, swampy odor of the other side of the pond, had tickled her nose.

  Henry chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Shh. Don’t scare the fish, now.” He tapped her nose, then cleared his throat. “I was just thinking, this is much like falling in love will someday be."

  She had held her breath and silently begged he would continue.

  "There I am, an innocent chap, swimming along, and something catches me, right on the mouth.”

  “Henry.”

  “Well now, hear me out. See, it’s gentle, so I hardly notice a subtle little tugging,"

  She leaned in closer, drinking in every word.

  "Until I am reeled in closer and closer, all the while oblivious she’s got me."

  They were inches apart, Henry staring off across the pond, Tabitha studying his face.

  “Then one day, I bump the side of the boat.”

  Her fish at last sidled up to them, flipping and rolling just below the surface.

  When he turned to face her, his eyes held a new light, searching deep inside her own. “I wonder if it will be just like that.”

  Then the fish flipped his fins out of the water and splashed her in the face. “Oh! Oh dear.” She laughed, and Henry handed her his handkerchief, the spell lost.

  Thinking on it again, she smiled.

  Mr. Beauchamp rowed them about the water for fifteen minutes, making her laugh. She felt light and happy, forgetting for a spell all the frustrating moments of the last two days.

  Then her gaze fell on her brothers, and Henry, watching from the shoreline. They all wore identical frowns.

  “We’ve got to do something. She can’t be growing any kind of tendre for Reginald Beauchamp.” Edward crossed his arms over his chest.

  Miss Greystock approached from the side, and Henry shifted to make room.

  “If you remember, Sir James agreed to go for a walk after breakfast this morning with Miss Easton.”

  They all paused and turned to Miss Greystock. Then one by one, they smiled.

  Julian raised both eyebrows. “Now there’s a smashing idea. She has something. He’s a right easy chap to know.”

  “Respectable.”

  “Impeccably dressed.” Tauney lifted his chin to draw attention to the new knot he sported.

  Miss Greystock interrupted “And eligible. I could aid in their spending more time together.”

  Edward moved to stand at her side. “Brothers, this lovely woman is also intelligent. Have any of you noticed how perfectly fetching our dear Miss Greystock is?” He offered his arm and led her away, conversing.

  Henry felt his frown deepen as he watched their backs. Utter nonsense. Sir James was in love with someone else: Miss Greystock, actually.

  But a worry tickled inside. The lady in question quite obviously did not seem to hold any interest in Sir James. And he would make an excellent match for Tabitha. A surge of jealousy began to rage, fed by one specific, and valid, worry.

  What if Sir James was the one to make Tabitha happy?

  She and Beauchamp approached the dock. He leapt out and held a hand, aiding her in exiting the boat. Laughing as their small watercraft tipped precariously, her face filled with light. And Henry realized he missed that carefree happiness. Much of it had been missing here at the house party. He filled with sympathy for her. And a tinge of guilt. His overbearance had been the cause of her troubled expressions.

  Beauchamp approached. “Easton.” He tipped his head toward the Easton brothers. Then his eyes wandered up toward the house. “Battledore! Smashing. And it looks as though Oscar is unevenly paired. Do you think he’s up to the task?” He turned to bow to them all, nodding again at Tabitha, before making his way toward the game.

  “Thank you for a pleasant afternoon Mr. Beauchamp.” Tabitha called after him, but he was already on his way up the grass, Miss Winters about to serve with shuttlecock in hand.

  An awkward silence settled over the Eastons and Henry.

  Tauney finally said, “So, how was your boat ride?”

  “Oh, do be quiet. I’ve had about enough.”

  Julian and Tauney stared. Henry had rarely seen her respond so bluntly.

  “Well, look at you. Lawn games all around, and the three of you have to stand here watching me row about the lake.”

  She brushed past them, heading up toward the house.

  And Henry’s hope further fizzled, the farther she walked.

  Later, when Tabitha should have been in bed, in the dark of night, she crept along with her brother Tauney, to find the ghost hunt. “Are you sure this is really happening tonight?” She couldn’t believe people were gathering in search of a legendary ghost.

  “Of course it is, why else would I have dressed in such a manner?”

  She giggled. “You do have that certain ghost-hunt flair…”

  He wore all black, even a black cravat; and on his head, a black beret. “Miss Anne said she was coming.” His eyes held hopeful excitement.

  “I like her.”

  “Like her? What a mild and perfectly detestable thing to say about such a creature. I have never seen a more beautiful sample of the divine. The very sun had not fully shined until it first laid eyes on her.”

  “Yes, I know, Tauney. And I am happy for the both of you because she seems to return your rapture in equal amounts.”

  He held a hand over his heart for a few seconds before they continued walking.

  Chatter from the group up ahead directed their path. Soon Tauney was at Anne’s side, and Tabitha was alone, unsure why she came. Everyone seemed to be talking with one another. Her brothers had thought two of their group was sufficient to keep an eye on her, and neither Tauney nor Julian were taking the role seriously. She relaxed by degree, beginning to enjoy the anonymity of the dark and the quiet of being alone and free.

  She followed the group at the back, caught up in the quiet steps, the whispers, and the occasional squeals from the ladies.

  Then a hand touched her arm, warm, gentle. And a finger gestured that she be quiet.

  The footman stood beside her, beckoning that she follow.

  6

  Midnight Meetings and Stained Glass

  The footman’s chiseled features flickered in the candlelight, and his hand moved to cup the flame. Tabitha’s heart flipped in her chest, from fear or excitement, she didn’t pause to discern. His roguish smile welcomed her, and she couldn’t resist a smile in return. She hesitated, allowing the others to move further away. He tipped his head to the side, indicating she follow him the other direction. His eyes held a hint of adventure, a welcoming warmth. She longed to follow.

  She looked back toward their group. Tauney and Miss Anne were intent, heads bent together in conversation. Julian was nowhere near.

  No one else paid her any more mind than they had when she’d arrived. The footman waited, eyes expectant, the slightest wicked gleam twinkling there.

  He was fascinating, willing, and devilishly handsome. And he was a servant. Nothing would come of it, surely.

  He let the candle dance while he held his hand out, palm up, to her.

  Three breaths later, she reached her fingers forward hesitantly, glancing in all directions.

  No one will know.

  He whispered, “Only our important guests are permitted to see what I am about to show you.”

  Her gloved fingers brushed across his, resting on his fingertips.

  And there is nothing untoward about a footman leading me on a tour.

  He curled his fingers, catching the tips of hers and urging her hand into his own.

  In the middle of the night. Alone.

  She slid her full ha
nd along his palm, testing. Even if he is the most handsome footman I have ever seen.

  She withdrew her hand and nodded her head. “Yes, let’s go.” Her heart shook her chest and pounded in her ears, but she hurried after the footman anyway.

  He whispered over his shoulder, “Excellent. You won’t regret this.”

  He led her back down the way they had come, turning one corner and stopping to face a wall. Pushing at the wood, he slid a panel to the side, and they entered a hidden passageway behind the wall.

  “What is this?”

  He held a finger up to her mouth, a hairbreadth away.

  She nodded, swallowing. The thrill of a secret filled her with adventure.

  They hurried down the passageway until voices carried through the wall. She followed him up some stairs to a raised platform, light streaming out from a narrow rectangular opening at her eye level. He crouched down to be able to see out through the sliver of light. Their faces close, peering at the group below, she enjoyed a hint of cinnamon and vanilla that hovered around him. He tentatively placed an arm around her shoulder as he positioned himself in such a way that they could both see out the opening together.

  “This is the best view of the specter.”

  She gasped. “Is there a specter?”

  When he didn’t answer, she studied his profile. “Who are you?”

  He paused, then turned to face her, the deep brown of his eyes turning amber as the light shone through.

  Their faces close, she waited, curious. “You don’t seem like a footman.”

  “Even dressed in livery as I am?”

  “That is but your costume. You seem to be much more, underneath.” She hoped it were true. Not that she assumed their situations equal, but he saw her when no one else had. There was a certain gentility about him, and she thought he deserved some good fortune. And with a voice such as his, surely he had been trained somewhere.