The Deception

by Joan Wolf

“People are hungry, Mr. Noakes, and there are not enough jobs to go around.”

  “The problem is that too many people have left the land to go to the cities,” he said.

  “Many of them were forced off the land, Mr. Noakes,” I pointed out. “And since the war has ended, a huge number of soldiers and sailors have been forced out of the military. There is no room for them on the land, and so they too have gone to the cities. And there are just not enough jobs!”

  The old man growled.

  “Enough of politics,” Mrs. Noakes said briskly. “I hope you brought your appetite with you, my lady, for I’ve made your favorite tart.”

  I assured her I was exceedingly hungry, and the rest of my visit passed happily. The next day Louisa, Harry, and I left for London.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The move to London was accomplished with remarkably little fuss. I arrived at the Greystone townhouse in Grosvenor Square to find the horses settled in, the servants settled in, fresh flowers in all of the rooms, and Remy preparing one of his famous ragouts for dinner. I made the acquaintance of the London housekeeper, Mrs. Richards, and she gave me a tour of the house, which was spacious and elegant without being intimidatingly palatial.

  The following day, Louisa dragged me around all of the shops on Bond Street. It was completely unnecessary, but she enjoyed herself hugely and I didn’t have the heart to destroy her pleasure. As I watched Louisa ogle bonnets in a store window, it occurred to me that she didn’t have any of her own money to spend. I decided that I would give her half of my own enormous allowance and tell her that the money was a stipend from Adrian.

  The second day we were in London, I took Elsa for a noontime ride in Hyde Park. I was a little concerned that she would spook at the noisy London traffic, and so I asked Harry to accompany me. He rode a sedate gelding with whom Elsa was friends, and between Monarch’s unruffled demeanor and my own encouraging pats and comments, she made it to the park with only a few minor shying episodes.

  I heaved a sigh of relief as we passed through the gates. If anything happened to Elsa, Adrian would kill me.

  “That mare hasn’t seen traffic like this in her entire life,” Harry commented as we trotted side by side under the trees. Their leaves had turned that particular pale green that one only sees in the springtime, and I regarded them with pleasure. Spring was my favorite season. Harry went on, “I was afraid she might put you under the wheels of a cart, but she was as steady as an old campaigner.”

  “She has a great deal of sense,” I replied, “and she trusts me.”

  The speedwell-blue sky above the trees was dotted with high white clouds, so perfectly arranged that they looked as if someone had painted them. I was still looking upward, reins loose, completely inattentive to my horse, when a squirrel scuttled out of the trees and ran across the bridle path. Elsa jumped, bucked twice, and I came off.

  I was so surprised, and so unprepared, that I lost the reins, a cardinal sin that would have enraged my father. I landed on my seat so hard that the breath was knocked out of me.

  Elsa, thank God, was as surprised by my abrupt departure as I was. She didn’t run away, but instead stopped dead, pricked her ears, and looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. It said as clearly as any words could have: What are you doing down there?

  “It’s all right, girl,” I said breathlessly. I glanced at Harry, but he had been smart enough to hold up his hand to stop the two riders who were behind us. Strange horses coming by would most certainly have spooked the riderless Elsa into flight.

  I got slowly to my feet, talking to her all the while. When at last my fingers closed securely around the hanging reins, I shut my eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks.

  “You all right, Kate?” Harry asked.

  “I’m embarrassed,” I returned.

  He chuckled and kept his hand up to hold the oncoming horses until I was once more safely in the saddle.

  The party that had witnessed my humiliation now came trotting up to us. “Is everything all right here?” one of the men asked.

  “The only thing that is hurt is my self-esteem,” I returned with a smile. “Thank you for stopping. If my mare had run away I really would have been in trouble.”

  The two men smiled back. Then the youngest one said, “I say, aren’t you Harry Woodrow?”

  Harry recognized the young man in return, and after a brief conversation he turned to me. “Kate, may I present George Marsh. He was at my college and came down last year.”

  In his turn, Mr. Marsh presented his companion, a sallow-faced man in his mid-forties named Chalmers. There was something about Chalmers that looked naggingly familiar.

  “Have we met before, Mr. Chalmers?” I asked as we chatted, while Harry made plans with George Marsh to go out that evening.

  “I have not had that pleasure, Lady Greystone,” he returned with a practiced smile. “Believe me, if I had met you, I would remember it.”

  I didn’t believe him, but at the time it didn’t seem important whether or not I had ever met Winston Chalmers. We all would have been saved a great deal of trouble had I remembered that afternoon.

  When Harry and I returned to Grosvenor Square, we were greeted at the door by Walters himself, who announced majestically, “His lordship has returned.”

  My heart began to slam. “He’s here?”

  Walters was too polite to comment on that stupid remark. “You will find him in the red salon, my lady,” was all he said.

  “How nice,” I replied feebly. My eyes fixed on Harry, who had begun to make his way cautiously toward the stairs. “Where do you think you’re going?” I demanded.

  “You won’t want me intruding on your reunion with Adrian, Kate,” he replied with one of his most angelic smiles.

  “I’ll just go along upstairs out of your way and you can explain to him about my being in London.”

  I shot forward and put my hand on the sleeve of his riding coat. “Oh no you don’t, Harry. If you think you’re going to leave the explanations up to me, you are much mistaken.” I closed my fingers more tightly on the blue superfine. “You are the one who insisted that Adrian wouldn’t mind you coming to London with me. If there is any explaining to do, you are the one who’s going to do it.”

  Harry scowled. We both knew that Adrian had expected Harry to remain at Greystone to work on his studies with the vicar, who was a classics scholar. I had let him come to London, partly because I understood his restlessness, but mainly because I did not want to be alone with my husband. “Come along, now,” I said briskly, keeping a firm hold of his coat, “it won’t be so bad. Adrian doesn’t yell.”

  Harry said, “Adrian might not yell, but that don’t mean he can’t make himself dashed unpleasant when he wants to.” He was looking exceedingly gloomy, but I had no intention of letting him off. I began to walk down the hall toward the red salon, ruthlessly towing him along beside me.

  When I reached the room the door was closed. I took a deep breath to steady myself and pushed it open.

  My eyes found him immediately, standing before the windows with a paper in his hands. The door hinges were well oiled, and the door had opened soundlessly, but he looked up almost instantly, and his eyes locked with mine.

  No one spoke. My heart was pounding so hard, I was certain that Harry must be able to hear it. Something flickered in the dark gray gaze that was holding mine, and I had the strangest sensation that he had touched me. I pressed my feet into the floor to keep them from flying to him, and said breathlessly, “Welcome home, my lord.”

  “Thank you.” He slowly folded the paper, put it on a small piecrust table, and began to cross the rich Persian carpet in my direction. He looked as if he was going to kiss me, and I knew I couldn’t let him do that. If he kissed me, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from flinging my arms around his neck and kissing him back passionately. I would completely give myself away.

  I panicked, and extended my hand.

  He stopped in his trac
ks, looked at me, and slowly raised an eyebrow. I felt my cheeks grow scarlet, but I didn’t move my hand. At last he took my fingers into his, bowed over them, then returned them gently. Next he looked at his brother.

  “Hallo, Adrian,” Harry said nervously. “Good to have you home.”

  “I did not expect to see you in London, Harry,” Adrian replied.

  “I thought Kate would appreciate some company,” Harry said.

  Adrian glanced at me briefly. “Louisa did not come with you, Kate?” His voice was quite unnervingly courteous, and I understood perfectly what Harry had meant when he said that Adrian could be dashed unpleasant.

  “Yes, she did.” I gave Harry a quick look. His angelic face was marred by an unusually sullen look, and that was not the way to deal with Adrian. I said quickly, “But I did think it would be nice to have Harry’s company, my lord. He has brought his books with him, and he has promised me he will study every day.”

  “That is certainly admirable of him, Kate. Did you bring the vicar with you as well?”

  I bit my lip. Of course he knew we had not brought the vicar with us. “No,” I said.

  “I see. Well then, Harry, since your intentions are so scholarly, do you wish me to engage a tutor for you?”

  Harry’s expression had grown increasingly sullen as we discussed the vicar. “I don’t see the point of studying all that Greek and Latin anyway,” he muttered in the general direction of the carpet. “It’s nothing but a bloody bore.”

  I saw Adrian’s lips tighten at the swearword, and said hastily, “It’s all right, my lord, I don’t mind.” I knew that poor Harry was suffering because I had put Adrian out of temper, and I cast about vainly for something to say that would lighten the atmosphere.

  Harry raised his eyes from the carpet. “You never had to study this boring old stuff,” he said, making bad worse. “I’m twenty years old, Adrian! I don’t want to be a schoolboy anymore. When you were twenty, you were an officer in the Peninsula.”

  “I was in the Peninsula watching men get killed,” Adrian agreed. “And you are kicking up larks and getting yourself sent down from Oxford.”

  A dark flush highlighted Harry’s high cheekbones. “I got sent down because I was bored.” His eyes slid away from Adrian’s face and he went back to staring at the carpet. “Oxford is so ... so futile.”

  Silence as Adrian looked at his brother’s bent head. “What do you wish to do with your life, then, if you don’t wish to return to Oxford?” he asked at last. The tone that had set my teeth on edge was gone; he sounded genuinely interested.

  Harry shook his head violently. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want a cavalry commission?”

  “There is nothing for the cavalry to do in peacetime, Adrian. It would be as boring as Oxford.”

  A baffled look passed over my husband’s face as he regarded his surly young sibling. There was silence in the room as he walked over to the fireplace and stood with bent head looking down into the flames. Then, evidently having made up his mind, he kicked one of the logs into place and turned to face us. In the light of the flame his hair looked more gold than silver. “All right,” he said, “you may take a vacation from your studies and remain in London, Harry. Caroline will be arriving shortly, and it will be nice for the three of us to be together again.”

  The sulkiness lifted from Harry’s face and he grinned. “Thank you, Adrian. You’re a great gun.”

  Adrian said, “We’ll discuss your future again in the summer, before you go back to Oxford.”

  Harry’s grin faded and he sighed. Then he mumbled something about going upstairs to change his clothes, excused himself to me, and left the room. The door closed firmly behind him.

  There was a faint line between Adrian’s brows. “I hope I haven’t made a mistake,” he said. “I haven’t the time just now to look after him, and an untried boy loose in London can get into a great deal of trouble.”

  I said, “He admires you tremendously, my lord. He wants to be like you, but he doesn’t know how.”

  The line between the silver-blond brows sharpened. “He shouldn’t want to be like me,” my husband said. “He should want to be like himself.”

  “He has to find that out.”

  He was still standing in front of the fire and I was standing by the door. He looked at me, and I knew that he was waiting for me to make the next move. Part of me wanted to run away like Harry, and part of me wanted to throw myself into Adrian’s arms. I knew I could do neither, so I took a few cautious steps farther into the room and said brightly, “You won’t believe what just happened to me. I came off Elsa!”

  “Did you?” His eyes looked me up and down in a way that made every nerve in my body tingle. “Are you all right?”

  I conjured up a wall of words to throw between us. I told him all about Elsa; I told him about Euclide; I told him about Louisa and the Poor Relief; I told him about my court dress; I even told him about Mary Blackwell’s new glasses. The only item of information from the last month that I neglected to mention was my meeting with Charlwood.

  Adrian listened to this long and remarkably silly speech with an expression that was both serene and impenetrable.

  When I finally ran out of chatter, he said, “I am glad to hear that you have been so busy, Kate.”

  “I have always wanted to have a home, you see,” I said idiotically.

  His head moved fractionally and his eyes grew a shade darker. “Greystone was never a home,” he said. “Perhaps you will change that.”

  I did not know how to answer him.

  He moved away from the fireplace, and I hastily stepped out of his path. He walked to the door, stopped, turned, and gestured to the paper that he had been looking at when I came in. “My sister writes that she will be arriving in London either tomorrow or the following day. Her husband will be accompanying her, as well as their two small children. Will you tell Mrs. Richards to have their rooms ready?”

  “Of course.”

  He gave me a courteous smile. “If you will excuse me, then, my dear, I too have an appointment.”

  I said again, “Of course.”

  He turned without another word and disappeared into the hall.

  The long-anticipated meeting was over and I had not given myself away. Why, then, did I feel as if I wanted to cry?

  * * * *

  There was only one master bedroom in the Grosvenor Square townhouse. It was extremely large and had attached dressing rooms that opened off either side of it. The countess’s dressing room contained several wardrobes for clothing, a long mirror, a dressing table with another mirror, two upholstered chairs, and a chaise longue. The earl’s dressing room contained wardrobes, a shaving mirror, a long mirror, and another bed.

  I was thinking about that bed as I bade good night to my new lady’s maid, a French girl Walters had found for me, and climbed into the huge four-poster that I had slept in alone for the past two nights. Adrian had not been home since the afternoon. He had sent word that he had met a friend at the House Guards and would be dining out. It was now eleven-thirty, and still he was not home.

  I was miserable. I had repulsed him this afternoon and he had not liked it. I knew what that raised eyebrow had meant when I had offered him my hand and not my lips.

  Where was he going to sleep? This was the question that was exercising my mind at the moment and keeping me awake.

  It would be better for me if he slept in his dressing room. I knew that. He had captured my heart already. If I slept with him, and continued to sleep with him, I would become so entangled with him that I would never be able to let go. I would suffocate him and in the process destroy us both.

  I knew all this, and still I did not want him to sleep in his dressing room.

  I waited and waited, but all was quiet next door. I could see a crack of light under the connecting door and I knew that Rogers, his valet, was waiting for him too. Finally, at about one in the morning, I fell asleep.

  I
came awake as soon as the dressing-room door opened. I didn’t move, however, just half-opened my eyes and watched as Adrian entered. He was wearing a dressing gown and his feet were bare. He crossed silently to the empty side of the bed and put the candle he was carrying on the bedside table. He took off his dressing gown, went to drape it across the back of a chair, then returned to the bed. I opened my eyes more widely and watched him come. He walked lightly, like a giant cat, and his muscled body glimmered in the candlelight. He was beautiful.

  He bent to blow out the candle, then saw that I was awake. Our eyes met.

  “You’re late,” I said softly.

  “Yes.” He didn’t speak again, just regarded me out of eyes that looked dark and heavy. I had seen that look often enough on my father to know what it meant. He’s been drinking, I thought.

  I said, “You’d better come to bed before you catch a chill.”

  “I never catch chills,” he said gravely. His enunciation was perfect. He wasn’t drunk, then. But he had been drinking.

  He folded back the quilt and got in beside me.

  “Aren’t you going to blow out the candle?” I whispered.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I want to see you.”

  I gazed up into his dark, heavy-lidded eyes. His hair, which had grown longer while he was in France, framed his head like a silver helmet.

  “I missed you,” I said. I couldn’t help it.

  “Did you?” he murmured. And then his lips came down to mine.

  I could taste the wine that he had been drinking. I buried my hands in his hair and held him to me. His mouth moved from my lips to my breast, and the treacherous sweetness began to spread through my loins. I whimpered with pleasure.

  When we were together like this, I couldn’t hide from him what I felt. His weight pressed me down into the feather mattress and I felt myself open for him as a flower opens to the warmth of the sun. I stared up at the tapestry canopy over us and felt him enter me, and it was like sunlight pouring into me, hot, irresistible, life-restoring. The feather bed was soft beneath my back and I arched to meet him, his powerful thrusts filling my womb with wave after wave of stunning pleasure. I locked my arms around his neck and said his name, over and over, like an incantation, like a prayer.