“The merest inconvenience, as I assured Julia yesterday.” He cast a meaningful glance in his daughter’s direction. “Would you care to have tea with me in the drawing room, Lady Radbourne? Ordinary, unremarkable tea, I mean. I missed my breakfast and would appreciate some company over a bite. We can ring for a maid to attend Julia.”
“Yes, thank you, Colonel. I’d like that.”
Well, that was something, at least—he must not have sunk himself completely beneath contempt. Win tugged the bell pull, and when the maid arrived he ruffled his daughter’s hair and left her to continue playing with her dolls.
As soon as he and Lady Radbourne left the nursery, Win began in an undertone, “I’m not sure what to say, or how deeply I’ve landed myself in hot water—”
“You’ve landed yourself in hot water?” She was blushing. “You saved my life. When I think of the way I spoke to you about the pennyroyal tea, as if you might be responsible... And I was the one who let myself into your room last night. If anyone is in the wrong, it’s me.”
So it had definitely been no dream. “In the wrong? You?” He took her by the elbow and pulled her into an alcove, where there was little chance they would be seen or heard. “Last night was the best thing that’s happened to me in ages. But I fear my memory of events is a trifle fuzzy. We didn’t actually, er...”
She stiffened, her cheeks flaming. “Certainly not.”
Lovely. Now he’d offended her. “I didn’t think so, but... When did you leave my room?”
“It was about nine o’clock.”
“At night?”
“Yes.”
He lowered his brows in a frown. “And you walked back to the dower house alone? While I did what—went back to sleep?”
“Apparently so.”
“Why on earth did you let me do something so curst idiotic?”
She gave an uneasy laugh. “Between the laudanum and the broken arm, you were in no fit state to do anything else. Besides, it seemed easier for one person to leave undetected than two.”
“But it’s winter, and pitch black at nine o’clock.”
“The moon was full, and in any case I’d know the way back to the dower house with my eyes closed.”
“That may be true, but you’re a woman—a small woman, and one in a delicate condition. Devil take it, just yesterday someone tried to kill you. I heard what you told Mr. Channing about the fall you took in Malton, but that didn’t look like an accident to me.”
A flash of uncertainty crossed her face, but she said, “No one was going to attack me. You were the only person who had an inkling I was in your room last night. After I tucked your daughter into bed, I made a show of leaving and then let myself in through the stillroom door with Edward’s old key.”
“Did it never occur to you that I’d want to see you safely home?” He raked a hand through his hair in agitation. “How can I call myself a gentleman, knowing I was flat on my back, sleeping the sleep of the damned while you were making your way home in the cold and dark?”
She looked surprised to hear him say such a thing, as if she truly expected such shabby treatment. It made him wonder what kind of men she’d dealt with all her life. Lady Radbourne and her siblings were dependent on the generosity of their mother’s protectors, Dr. Strickland had told him. Clearly, none of those men had been shining examples of chivalrous conduct.
“I didn’t want to trouble you,” she said, her head at a proud angle.
He’d been growing vexed with her, or at least with the stubborn way she insisted on putting him in the wrong, but there was a faint note of melancholy in her voice that brought him up short. For a moment, he’d forgotten all she’d been through recently. And now he was upbraiding her because, after deciding to thank him and even letting him kiss her, she’d been too independent to require his assistance? Good Lord, he would have been delirious with joy if Harriet had shown half so much self-reliance.
And Lina had such a vulnerable, determined dignity about her, it was all he could not to pull her against him and show her he was a damn sight better kisser when he wasn’t half senseless with laudanum.
Instead he tried his best to match her gravity with his own. “You had every right to ask for my escort, and it would have been my privilege to provide it. From now on, please, I beg you to show a greater care for your own safety than for my comfort—or trust that your safety is my comfort, since I’d never be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you when there’s a chance I could have prevented it.”
She stared back at him, her green eyes wide and solemn, then gave a short nod and turned abruptly toward the stairs.
What? She wasn’t going to argue the point? Truly?
Bemused, he fell into step alongside her. It felt strange to have the last word. The best he’d ever managed with Harriet was a resentful glare.
As they descended the stairs together, Lina drew a deep, resolute breath. “What you said about what happened in Malton, Colonel—”
“Win,” he reminded her, again in an undertone, flashing back to the softness of her lips. “When we’re alone, I insist on Win.”
“Win, then. You’re wrong—well, wrong about Mr. Channing. I didn’t tell him it was an accident. In fact, I told him I was pushed. I’m certain of it. But he spoke to the driver of the Mail, and the driver said he didn’t see anyone assault me and I must simply have been embarrassed about stumbling.”
“And Mr. Channing took the word of a coachman over that of a countess?”
“He took the word of a man over that of a woman.” Her jaw set. “A woman he doesn’t particularly like.”
Win nodded. So he’d been right about the incident after all. He wished he’d been paying closer attention to the people in the crowd around them, but he’d been too focused on keeping Julia back from the approaching horses. “Then you don’t know who pushed you?”
A little of her quiet dignity left her, her shoulders drooping. “No. I didn’t see. I didn’t even think to take a good look at the people on the pavement after it happened, or insist that Mr. Channing listen to me. You were hurt and your brother ran off to order your carriage and Cassandra and Julia were crying...” She shook her head. “In all the chaos, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I know that was cowardly of me, and probably foolish too—”
“Foolish remains to be seen, but I can’t imagine you doing anything cowardly.”
Ah, good—there was her dignity back again, her head resuming its usual proud angle. “It’s generous of you to say that, but I haven’t felt particularly courageous lately. Whether because of my husband’s death or because of my—my condition, one minute I’m ready to fly into the boughs, and the next I want to wrap myself in cotton wool and have a good long cry.”
Win led the way into the drawing room and gestured her toward the most comfortable chair before ringing for Dyson. “I suspect that’s rather the way with expectant mothers.” He could remember having come home from a parish vestry meeting not long before Julia was born to find Harriet sobbing brokenly because she didn’t like the flower arrangement she’d just made. “And as you say, it hasn’t been that long since you lost your husband. I won’t pretend I was entirely myself in the months after my wife’s death.”
The countess fingered the gold band on her left hand, her splendid eyes veiled under dark lashes. “How did she die, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Taking the seat across from her, Win schooled his features to a polite mask and busied himself with adjusting the sling over his shoulder. “Perhaps that’s a topic best saved for another time.”
Lina’s head snapped up. “She died in childbirth.”
He met her gaze and gave a reluctant nod. “Yes.”
She gulped. “I’m not sure why the possibility never occurred to me, except that you told my sister you lost your wife
two years ago, and Julia must be at least five, surely.”
“It was my wife’s second lying-in that ended in tragedy. The baby was breech and we lost them both.”
“Oh. I’m sorry...”
“Not as sorry as I am to be sharing that story with a lady in your condition. It’s a rare enough occurrence, or so her doctor assured me. In similar cases he’d always succeeded in turning the baby, and he was visibly shocked when things went wrong. There’s every reason to expect your own lying-in will have a far happier ending.”
She regarded him with her head tilted to one side. “What was she like?”
“My wife?” Win tried to smile, but somehow his face wouldn’t cooperate. “Beautiful. Witty. Elegant.”
“The match wasn’t a great success, then?”
“What makes you say that?”
She blushed faintly. “Elegant is complimentary enough, but it’s not the word one chooses to describe one’s heart and soul. I could see lovely or charming or enchanting, but elegant has a certain coolness about it.”
Win sighed and rubbed his jaw. “My wife’s family was rich. I wasn’t. She believed it wouldn’t matter, and I promised her I’d make my own fortune. The difference in our circumstances proved a greater obstacle than either of us foresaw.”
How strange that four long years of bitter disappointments, tearful scenes and escalating shouting matches could be reduced so neatly to one brief sentence. Almost from the start, he’d known his marriage was a mistake.
Oh, his honeymoon had gone well enough. The bedroom was the one place Harriet had never found fault with him. But with every week that passed, she’d grown increasingly dissatisfied. Their life together had quickly become a litany of complaints.
Her sister Charlotte’s husband kept a house in Town, so why couldn’t they? She was dying of boredom, rusticating in Hampshire for the entire Season. And having to drive about in that old chaise, with those plodding farm horses! Couldn’t she at least have a low phaeton of her own to drive, with a sweet-tempered pair of geldings? Why, Charlotte drove a high-perch phaeton. And Charlotte certainly didn’t have to go past a smelly old dovecote every time she ventured out. Why did he let Frederick keep those horrid, noisy birds? He ought to put his foot down about that. Speaking of his brother, she refused to attend the vicar’s card party if Frederick was going, because he was bound to say something half-witted again. And that was the second pair of new boots Frederick had had in as many years. If he could have new boots just because he’d grown a trifle, surely she could have a new pelisse for the Knapps’ Christmas party—she’d seen the most cunning one in La Belle Assemblée, fur-trimmed and nothing like her old one. Win couldn’t possibly expect her to wear the same outmoded old pelisse she’d worn the year before, or make do without a new winter bonnet. And when were they going to throw a proper party of their own? A ball might liven things up, at least.
He’d done what he could to keep her happy, though he’d drawn the line at making poor Freddie miserable in the process. Criticism of his failure to provide her with sufficient luxuries had deteriorated into accusations he’d married her under false pretenses, and was intentionally depriving her in order to pressure her family into handing over her fortune. Papa was right about you. I should have known better than to fall for a half-pay officer with nothing to recommend him but tight breeches and a good pair of shoulders.
Then their daughter arrived, and Julia had been reason enough to white-knuckle his way through Harriet’s grievances and the quarrels that followed. Not that he and Harriet hadn’t had the occasional good day—usually when she was in an amorous mood and disposed to look more favorably on him. One such truce had resulted in her second pregnancy.
Nine months later she was dead. The suddenness of her passing had left Win reeling. She’d been a good mother and he’d grieved for Julia’s sake. But mostly there was guilt—guilt that he’d encouraged Harriet to marry beneath her, guilt that he’d failed to keep his promise or make her last years happy, guilt that he’d fathered the child who had cost her her life. Occasionally he experienced a sense of relief that he was no longer stuck in a bad marriage, and that left him feeling guilty too.
What would Harriet think of his circumstances now, knowing he’d come so close to inheriting a title and fortune? Probably that even thirty thousand pounds a year would be too little, too late.
Lina studied his face, her brow furrowing. She looked as if she was about to speak when Dyson appeared.
“Yes, sir?”
“Some tea, please, Dyson, and whatever food can readily be got together.”
The butler had no sooner gone again than Lina sat forward. “I realize you didn’t ask for my opinion, but if there’s one thing I learned when I was still a child, it’s that men and women in love rarely see the obstacles in their way. You mustn’t blame yourself, or your wife either. She couldn’t have realized what it would be like, being poor.”
Though her tone was sympathetic, Win bristled. He wasn’t poor, exactly, just not wealthy in the way Harriet’s family had been. It wasn’t as if anyone had gone slipshod or hungry at Hamble Grange. He’d seen to that. Did she imagine he’d simply given up and let his wife live in penury? Night after night he’d stayed up late, studying dry texts like Blaikie’s On the Conversion of Arable Land into Pasture, trying to find some answer to the Grange’s financial woes even as the weather refused to cooperate—
Gad. Was he really that prickly, even two years after Harriet’s death? Besides, he doubted Lina had meant the word poor as an insult. With only forty pounds a quarter, she was little better off than he was—unless, of course, she gave birth to a son. “I suppose every marriage has its challenges.”
“And those between high and low have more than most. As happy as I was to go from being poor Lina Douglass to the Countess of Radbourne, I confess even that was a struggle.”
Win smiled a faintly quizzing smile. A struggle, with thirty thousand pounds a year? “And what was so difficult about being high and mighty, Lady Radbourne?”
Despite his ironic tone and the emphasis he placed on her title, she refused to take back her words. “I suppose you imagine I’m inventing hardships where none existed. Well, I’m not. I grew up in what can only be described as genteel poverty. My mother taught me all the essential things—which fork to use, and how to speak properly, and that a lady really oughtn’t to mention money at all. But knowing how to be a lady isn’t the same as knowing how to be the mistress of a great estate.”
“Isn’t that a lesson any bride would be happy to learn?”
“One would think so. The problem is, who’s going to teach her that lesson?” She met his eyes with a challenging look. “What businesses does a grand lady patronize, which charities should she support? When handing out vails at the end of a visit, what is she expected to give to a lady’s maid, or to a particularly helpful housekeeper, and how much of that largesse is best left to her husband? What does she wear for a public day—her best or her simplest? I never knew the answers, and what was worse, I could tell that everyone around me did know, and that they found me lacking.”
Win could see her point, but... “It’s still far easier than having to go without.”
“Oh, it’s physically more comfortable to be wealthy, make no mistake. But to feel accepted and understood? To belong? That’s all but impossible. Middling folk are always ready enough to help a great heiress learn to live more simply. What could be more satisfying than sharing one’s hard-won expertise with a fine lady, or more charitable than helping one’s betters learn to economize? Besides, people enjoy seeing the proud brought down a peg. Ladies who marry beneath them rarely find themselves at a loss for a friendly smile or a kind word.” She shook her head. “But for the rich to admit the poor and ignorant into their fold? I’ve never met anyone willing to do that, aside from my late husband.”
W
in had never stopped to consider that Harriet had met with support in Bishop’s Waltham as well as disappointments. His sister Anne, for instance, had been eager to welcome her into the family, but Harriet had preferred to keep a certain distance. For some reason, he’d always assumed it was his fault she’d felt so out of place. “And what was your husband like?”
“Edward?” Lina broke into a nostalgic smile. “He was a perfect darling—never cross, never bored, always full of energy and good cheer, always ready to laugh and enjoy himself. And he was that way with everyone, despite his rank and fortune. Cassandra believes it’s because he inherited so young he never had the chance to grow spoiled or self-important, but I’m convinced it was his natural temperament and he would have been just as unaffected even had his parents lived.”
If she thought his choice of the word elegant to describe Harriet suggested a certain coolness in his marriage, then a perfect darling struck Win as something a fond sister or a mother might say rather than the words of a woman in love. What had Dr. Strickland told him? Fortunately Lady Radbourne was accustomed to looking after her younger brothers and sisters, and never seemed to mind looking after her husband as well.
No wonder she hadn’t thought to wake him so he could see her safely home.
Dyson appeared with the tea things, complete with a tray of sandwiches. Win waited until he’d withdrawn before asking the question that had been much on his mind since the incident in Malton. “Tell me, who has reason to wish to harm you or your baby?”
Lina had picked up the teapot to pour for him, but at this she stilled and pinned him with a look. “You mean besides you?”
Despite the arch reply, he sensed she’d already ruled him out. He could have stood by and allowed her to be trampled by the Mail, and besides, he doubted she’d have slipped into his room the night before if she still thought him capable of murder. “Yes. Who else might have an interest in keeping you and your child from the Radbourne fortune?”
An Heir of Uncertainty Page 11
