Polly rose and came over and touched Maggie’s cheek. ‘My dear Lady Maggie,’ she said softly, ‘don’t you know I would do anything in my power to keep you safe and happy?’
It might have been a conspiracy, but it had been one of love and concern. Blinking back tears, Maggie gave the maid a hug. ‘Very well,’ she conceded, letting go the last of her anger. ‘But no contacting her in future, without letting me know first!’
‘As long as you’re doing what’s best for you,’ Polly replied.
‘In whose opinion?’ Maggie muttered, knowing that half-concession was the best she’d get from her independent, irrepressible, but loving caretaker. ‘Very well, let’s get the packing finished. I can’t wait to get to Huntsford!’
‘Or get Mr Handsome to Huntsford,’ Polly said. ‘Remember, those are country folk. Promise me you won’t scandalise them by carrying on while you’re in the neighbourhood.’
‘Under the eyes of my mother and brother?’ Maggie replied. ‘I haven’t a discreetly hidden away house of my own to use there, you know.’
‘You have Raven’s Cliff.’
Maggie froze, the sudden pain so intense, it robbed her of breath. ‘I couldn’t go there,’ she said when she could speak again. ‘And I could never take...anyone else there.’
Polly looked at her, an echoing sorrow in her eyes. ‘Then I am sorry to have mentioned it.’ She pressed Maggie’s hand, then returned to the gowns. ‘You’ll need to see to your papa’s dinner soon. How many are to dine tonight?’
Whether she’d meant to or not, the maid’s mention of her home with Robbie and the immediate anguish of remembering his loss had a cautionary effect, underscoring Aunt Lilly’s warning.
She must be careful not to let herself get too close to the far-too-charming Giles Hadley. Even if she had begun to suspect he might be a man who could keep her intrigued—and tantalised—for a very long time, she couldn’t bear to open herself again to the prospect of such pain.
As Aunt Lilly had said, one broken heart was enough for a lifetime.
Chapter Fourteen
A week later, anticipation buoying her up like a boat on a wave crest, Maggie sat beside Giles in the post chaise for the final leg of their journey to Huntsford. Protesting that he didn’t like being cooped up in a vehicle, he had ridden most of the way beside the carriage, keeping pace by her window. But with the prospect of seeing her beloved home soon, she’d asked him to stay in the carriage, so she might point out aspects of the view as they neared the house.
He was an excellent rider, with an easy command of his various mounts, she’d noted—so not just a park-strutter, who could maintain his seat well enough to walk a job horse around Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. Although they had met in the park several times, they had never actually ridden together, so until this journey, she hadn’t known what his level of horsemanship might be.
Maggie wondered whether he’d been put on his first pony before he and his mother were exiled from Abbotsweal, or whether the uncle who had sponsored him had taught him equitation, as one of the skills required of a gentleman. It had to be one or the other; an exiled woman living in a simple cottage wouldn’t have possessed the means to keep a riding horse.
Not until they began the journey had she wondered whether returning to a great landed estate would be painful for him, even though Huntsford was probably quite different from Abbotsweal, nor would visiting it require meeting the estranged father who had rejected him. Amiable but rather reticent during the transit, Giles had given her no clue to his feelings.
Perhaps he was normally a quiet man, when he wasn’t debating political issues. Their few long conversations had focused on that topic, and at Upper Brook Street, their time was mostly spent in conversation of a different sort. Just as she’d not known until the drive here how good a rider Giles was, she had to smile again at how ignorant she was about the man with whom she’d become so quickly intimate.
But she would not have postponed intimacy for an instant in order to get to know him better.
A dearly familiar stretch of road outside the carriage window brought her back to the present. A few moments later, the carriage passed through Huntsford’s elaborate iron gates and entered the Long Drive through the parkland.
Maggie clutched Giles’s sleeve. ‘Watch, now,’ she said, pointing out the window on his side of the carriage. ‘As soon as we round the next curve, you’ll have a view of Huntsford in the distance.’
Almost as she spoke, peering around his shoulder as he turned to the window, she made out the brick-gabled outline of her beloved family home. As they did every time she returned, no matter how short her time away, her spirits soared with a thrill of gladness.
‘Tudor brick work, isn’t it?’ Giles asked, watching the vista pass before them, before the road took them back into the shelter of the Home Woods.
‘Yes, an ancestor who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s courtiers gave it that Tudor façade, but inside, it’s a hodge-podge—medieval Great Hall, Tudor antechambers, and a new wing behind the façade added by my grandfather in the Georgian style, rooms with larger windows and French doors that open to the garden.’
‘It sounds quite impressive. You’ll have to lend me a footman for a guide, so I don’t get lost on my way from my bedchamber to breakfast.’ He turned back to gaze at her. ‘Unless, by happy chance, our bedchambers are adjacent?’
Oh, that they might be! But to be safe, she’d instructed the staff to assign him a chamber that was a temptation-resistant distance from the family wing. ‘Regretfully, no. I’m afraid we’ll both have to be on our best behaviour for the duration.’
‘A pity. Then I must seize what might be my last opportunity.’
With that, he tilted her chin up and claimed her mouth.
Ah, how well she knew him now, the contours of his chin and face under her exploring fingers, the wine-sweet taste of his mouth, the raspy softness of his tongue stroking hers. With the sudden realisation that it might be their last moment of privacy, by wordless consent they deepened the kiss, Maggie moving his hand to caress her breast while she dropped hers to trace the length of him, rigid under her fingertips.
And then, before she could reconsider what she was doing, Maggie slid to her knees in the cramped carriage, popped open the buttons on his trouser flap, and took him into her mouth.
Giles uttered a garbled sound and batted at her shoulder. But any motion towards stopping her quickly ceased, and a moment later, he arched his back against the cushions, giving her full access.
With the plethora of detail needing to be accomplished before he could leave London, Giles had cried off their last two mornings, and was obviously as starved as Maggie to savour the explosive attraction between them. For though she prided herself on having learned the range of touch and pressure that brought him the greatest pleasure, she needed none of that expertise for him to swiftly reach his peak.
As he subsided against the cushions, gasping, she crawled back up beside him, shaky herself with unsatisfied desire. ‘No,’ she whispered when his vision cleared and his eyes refocused on her. ‘Don’t even think of returning the favour. We’re much too close to the house now.’
‘What, leave you unfulfilled when you have just pleased me so thoroughly?’
‘There’s no time to undo my bodice, and I can’t—’
Stopping her words with a kiss, Giles coaxed her lips open and began an assault on her tongue, sending her quickly back to full arousal. While she whimpered against his mouth, he laid her back on to the seat.
Kissing her still, he threaded a hand under her skirts and began caressing her leg slowly, from ankle, to knee, to thigh.
He spent a maddeningly long time running his fingers along the tender junction between leg and torso, flicking a fingertip just to the edge of her nether lips, until she was on fire
and desperate for him to finally caress her there.
Squirming under him, she moved her hips, trying to bring his stroking fingers closer to the centre of her desires, aware in the dim recesses of her mind that within moments they’d be arriving at the house, a footman running up to open the carriage door...
Finally, finally, Giles eased his fingers to her slick centre. He must have been studying her, too, for he stroked right to the most sensitive place along the little nub, then into her passage, then back, until she convulsed against him.
He pulled her up into his arms, cradling her against him while her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest. Chuckling, he placed little butterfly-light kisses over her nose, her eyes, her chin, while she struggled to control her breathing and recover some semblance of wit.
A few moments later, he eased her upright on her seat, gave her a critical inspection and straightened her bonnet. ‘Well, my sweet love, it appears we are about to arrive at Huntsford.’
He peered out the coach window, then pulled out his small travelling flask and offered it to her. ‘Have a quick sip to settle your nerves. If my assessment of the lady’s appearance is correct, I’m about to meet your mother.’
* * *
To her surprise, standing beside her brother Julian on the entry steps to welcome them was Lady Witlow. Joy—mingled with a bit of alarm—filled her at the sight of that dear face. Just what message had Papa sent to Julian, that the lady who seldom ventured further from her chamber than the morning room or its adjacent parlour had been prompted to come greet her?
And her charming guest.
Hoping Papa wasn’t reading too much into her friendship with Giles, Maggie let the footman hand her out.
Julian bounded up to wrap her in a hug as Giles exited behind her. Pulling away, Maggie said, ‘Lord Lyndlington, may I present my brother Julian, Lord Esterbrook.’
The two men bowed, then walked with her to where her mother awaited them on the doorstep. ‘How sweet of you to greet me,’ Maggie said, giving her mother a kiss, then stepping back to inspect her. ‘You’re looking very well, Mama. Are you feeling better?’
‘How could I not feel splendid, when my dearest daughter has come for a visit? Bringing such a handsome escort, too,’ she said, as Giles bowed to her.
Isn’t he? Maggie thought. And, oh, so clever with his hands.
Gesturing to Giles, she said, ‘Mama, may I present Giles Hadley, Lord Lyndlington. My mother, the Marchioness of Witlow.’
‘A great pleasure, Lady Witlow. Thank you for allowing me to visit your magnificent home.’
Knowing how much the walk must have strained her mother’s fragile strength, Maggie said, ‘Shall we go to the morning room? Breakfast at Maidstone was hours ago! I could use some refreshment, and I dare say Lord Lyndlington could as well.’
Giles looked at her and grinned. ‘It was a very...taxing journey.’
Giving him a frown, she tucked her arm in her mother’s and steered her in the direction of the morning room. ‘Did you stop at The Soldier’s Rest?’ her mother was asking Giles. ‘We always found it a most excellent coaching inn.’
‘Is that where you stayed when you accompanied Lord Witlow to London?’ Giles asked.
With a few more questions, Giles engaged her mother in a conversation about inns, travelling, and the delights of returning home. Maggie smiled approvingly; Mama could be reticent with strangers, but Giles was doing an excellent job at drawing her out.
Her suspicion that her mother had pushed herself to her limit was confirmed by the ever-increasing weight that lady put on her arm as they progressed. A little anxious, Maggie hurried to seat her mother on the sofa, brought a shawl for her shoulders and hunted for her favourite footstool.
‘Don’t fuss, Maggie,’ her mother scolded gently. ‘I’ll be quite restored, once we have some tea. Lord Lyndlington, I understand that Julian is to show you around Huntsford and give you an idea of the workings of a large estate, such as you will manage once you inherit Abbotsweal?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I’m going to Romesly later, my first visit to any part of the estate since I left it as a child.’ Maggie noted how smoothly he passed over the circumstances of that departure. ‘Lady Margaret was kind enough to suggest that I visit your estate and observe first-hand the most important tasks in its management, so that I can be evaluating those aspects of Abbotsweal during my visit.’
‘You haven’t reconciled with...’
‘Regrettably, no,’ Giles answered, his expression bland.
Maggie wondered at the pain, resentment and anguish that must hide behind that carefully emotionless façade. A simmering resentment of her own bubbled up that the earl couldn’t have shown himself more a man, getting over his pique and stepping forward to heal the breach with the child who deserved no part of the blame for the estrangement of his parents.
‘Are you too taxed from the journey to ride this afternoon?’ Julian asked.
Avoiding Maggie’s gaze, Giles said, ‘I believe a bit of tea will be sufficient to revive me. We travelled all the way to Maidstone yesterday, so there would be daylight enough to see some of Huntsford after our arrival. As much as I would enjoy a longer visit, I can’t afford to be gone from London more than a few days.’
‘Excellent! Maggie, I thought we would ride out first to the Home Farm and show Lyndlington the cattle barns and sheep pens, then back through the oak forest. Tomorrow we can drive by some of the tenant farms, the church at Wexford and Tarney Village.’
‘An excellent plan. After tea, I’ll change into my habit and join you.’
* * *
So, for the next few days, Julian showed their visitor around Huntsford, explaining the purposes of different types of cattle and sheep, looking over the Home Wood’s supply of oak and walnut that was harvested for building and furniture making, and explaining the crops grown on the farms. They stopped by several, Maggie greeting by name the tenants who hurried over. While the men talked of ploughs and grain and crop rotation, she enquired about the health of the family, complimented mothers on new babies, and teased children who’d grown several inches since she’d seen them the previous autumn.
After passing through hop gardens and fields of barley, past oast houses where the grains were malted for making ale and beer, they called on the vicar of the Wexford church, a Romanesque building dating from ancient times. Julian ended their tour at the village of Tarney, where they lifted a mug of home brew at the Lamb and Calf.
As her brother walked off to consult with the innkeeper, Giles raised his mug to him.
‘Huntsford is a vast enterprise indeed, yet Esterbrook seems to have every detail in hand.’
‘He has been working at it all his life. If you can write and steer a complex bill though Parliament, you can master this,’ she assured him.
‘I don’t doubt I can—eventually. But it will take time to learn it all. In the interim, I don’t want to make mistakes that might injure the people I’m supposed to protect. Not to mention, I know nothing about cattle or sheep.’
‘The men who tend them will know. Or you might ask your Whig colleague, Mr Coke of Norfolk—it’s said he’s the foremost expert on sheep breeding in England.’
‘I’d heard he’s a great agriculturalist. All our previous conversations have centred around politics; he’s been a Foxite Whig and supporter of Parliamentary reform for years. Very well, I shall ask him.’
‘So you see now why it is so important to have a skilled manager tend the land, someone who loves and is invested in it, who can oversee and co-ordinate the whole? Maybe you will be not quite so radical a Republican, ready to take it all away from the owners and distribute it to the masses.’
‘A skilled manager is necessary, yes; but if the man who owns it isn’t knowledgeable, or doesn’t care about the welfare of his people, they mi
ght be better off if it were confiscated and parcelled out to the masses,’ he countered.
Maggie shook her head and laughed. ‘I don’t suppose we will ever agree on that.’
Julian paced back to rejoin them. ‘Maggie, would you mind if I turn you over to Lyndlington to escort you home? The village solicitor has obtained deeds for land whose ownership is being disputed by two neighbours. I should look at them.’
‘Of course, Julian, I’ll be fine.’
‘Thank you, Esterbrook,’ Giles said, shaking her brother’s hand. ‘These last two days have been...illuminating.’
Her brother chuckled. ‘Not fair to give it all to you in one big swallow. It’s much easier to take, I promise, when you can gnaw at it a bite at a time.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘I’ll see you at dinner. Don’t worry, Lyndlington—Maggie still knows the way home.’ Giving her arm a pat, Julian nodded to Giles and walked off.
* * *
Their ale drunk and the afternoon light beginning to fade, Maggie headed them back to Huntsford Manor on a less-travelled route that wandered in and out of the Home Woods. They emerged a second time into the sunlight near a field of barley.
An elderly farmer hoeing at the edge of the field looked up, then trotted to the fence, hat in hand. ‘Mistress Maggie, it’s good to see you!’
‘And you, Mr Grey! The field looks in excellent form.’
‘Yes, if the weather holds fair, we should have a bountiful crop.’
‘Won’t you welcome Lord Lyndlington, a family friend who’s come to consult with my brother? We’ve been riding him about Huntsford today.’
‘Welcome, my lord,’ Grey said. ‘Will you be taking the gentleman to see your land, too, mistress?’
She closed her eyes at the sudden, sharp pain in her chest. ‘Maybe on another visit,’ she said after a moment. ‘Lord Lyndlington’s time here is rather short.
Forbidden Nights with the Viscount Page 17
