by Sandra Heath
He smiled. “No doubt it is.”
“You will not mind if I go?”
“What right have I to mind where you go?”
She stared at him, for that was not the answer she sought. “None, I suppose,” she replied.
“By all means go to Taunton, Augustine. I trust that the visit will have an appropriate effect.”
“Effect?”
“I hope that it will make you feel better.”
“Oh.” To hide the uncertainty she felt, she went to him again. “Hold me, Nicholas, hold me close.”
“That is not easy with but one good arm,” he said, but he nonetheless slipped his arm around her waist. She tried to read his eyes as he kissed her, but they revealed nothing. She left him a little later, still uncertain. She did not wish to go to Taunton with James Grenville, but she was afraid not to. She also did not wish to go because she feared to leave Laura alone with Nicholas. Augustine knew in her heart that Laura was more of a rival for his love than Laura herself could possibly realize.
Chapter 34
In spite of the fact that his excellent green coat with its high collar was tossed casually over his shoulders, Nicholas still looked elegant, achieving that lazy gracefulness that is the aim of every gentleman of fashion. His arm was supported by a light sling and his full shirt looked very white indeed against his indigo waistcoat. A jeweled pin shone in the folds of his cravat, and the tassels of his Hessian boots swung as he crossed the library to where Laura sat waiting with Mr. Dodswell. Briefly he took her hand and brought it to his lips, but it was merely a gesture of politeness, no more than that.
The agent lit his meerschaum pipe and the aroma of his tobacco mingled with the smell of coffee. Sunlight streamed into the room, dusty sunbeams dancing by the tall shelves of books, and there was a rustle of paper as Mr. Dodswell opened up the final account books of the auction. Laura sat back. It was good to be merely party to this meeting and not to have any responsibility, for Nicholas could take that for himself now. He had gained in strength and health, improving visibly over the past week. There was color in his cheeks once more and his lips were no longer so deathly pale. His eyes were brighter too, having lost the awful dullness that had glazed them for so very long now.
It was also good, as far as Laura was concerned, to be free of Augustine Townsend and her mother once again, for they had gone to Taunton—to meet the earl, as Laura knew full well. She glanced at Nicholas as he consulted with the agent. The Duke of Gloucester’s remark about Augustine’s name being connected with the Earl of Langford’s had not had any apparent effect. Nicholas had not seemed surprised at the time, and he had made no mention of it to Augustine—at least, not when Laura had been present. Augustine had, of course, made a great thing of saying farewell to him, draping herself clingingly on his good arm and addressing him with a familiarity he did nothing to check. And yet Laura felt he was reticent, neither encouraging nor discouraging. Only one thing could explain his conduct: that since he loved her so very much, he was prepared to forgive and forget.
Charles Dodswell inspected his pipe, which was proving difficult to keep lit, and closed the final ledger. “There you have it then, Sir Nicholas. The books balance most excellently, pleasing both the agent and the lawyer in me. The various diminutions resulting from the auction and other necessary sacrifices have had the beneficial effect you sought. With the marsh drained, King’s Cliff will eventually be solvent again, and I foresee a goodly profit.”
Nicholas smiled knowingly at him. “Provided I am intelligent enough to employ high farming methods.”
“Naturally.”
“I believe that when you die the words ‘high farming’ will be found written across your heart.”
“I pray they are, for it is my most fervent belief that the future of estates such as this will depend upon such new ways.”
“I agree with you. Have you heard from Mr. McDonald?”
“Only that he has received our communication and will come as soon as possible.” Mr. Dodswell lit his recalcitrant pipe again, drawing heavily on to it so that a cloud of smoke surrounded him for a moment. “At least local opinion will change when people realize that the marsh project will provide work for about five hundred men. All work is good work in these depressed times.”
“The Tibdales and their kind will not see it that way.”
“I for one will be delighted to see them forced to seek other means of supporting themselves than stealing that which does not belong to them.”
“Charles, whatever situation they find themselves in, they will survive by illegal means, if not poaching from King’s Cliff, then poaching from someone else. Now, is there anything else we need to discuss now?”
Laura sat quickly forward. “Yes, there is.”
He glanced at her. “Yes?”
“It concerns those servants who still have not found positions elsewhere. There are only ten of them, Nicholas, and in view of everything having gone so well, I was wondering—hoping…. Could they not be taken on here again?”
He gave a slight nod. “I see no reason why not. Ten will not put me back in penury.”
“Eight,” said Mr. Dodswell. “There are only eight, as I happen to know that two took the wagon to Taunton last week and have found employment there.”
Nicholas gave a short laugh. “It seems the whole world converges on Taunton town!”
Laura was conscious of the irony of his statement. “Yes,” she agreed quietly, “even Baron Frederick von Marienfeld.”
Nicholas’s eyes went swiftly to her face. “I beg your pardon?”
“The baron. He once converged on Taunton too.”
“When?”
She was surprised by the interest her statement had obviously aroused. “I don’t know exactly; he merely told me that he had but recently visited Taunton. Why?”
“Idle curiosity,” he replied, but his eyes were lowered thoughtfully to the quill in his hand.
She was puzzled and so was Charles Dodswell, who watched him carefully for a moment before clearing his throat. “We take the eight remaining servants on again then?”
“Yes. See to it, will you, Charles?”
Laura sat forward again. “There is one I would like to inform myself, if that is in order. Frank Roberts.”
“Because he is your maid’s father?”
“Partly.”
And partly because the road to his cottage passes the gates of Daniel Tregarron’s house…. The accusation passed through Nicholas’s head, but he merely nodded to her. “Very well, tell him if you wish.”
“I will go directly,” she said, getting up.
The two men stood politely, but Nicholas made no move to open the door for her, leaving that task to Charles Dodswell. It was a deliberate and obvious omission and she could not help but notice it, although she gave no sign that she had.
Charles Dodswell could not fail to notice it either, and when she had gone he turned to Nicholas. “It grieves me that you are so unhappy in your private life, Sir Nicholas.”
“And what makes you think I am unhappy?”
“It appears quite obvious to me.”
“All is not what it seems, Charles,” said Nicholas, going to pour himself a cognac; “Will you join me?”
“Thank you. Maybe all is not what it seems, but I would like to tell you how it seems to me.”
“You intend doing that even if I forbid you,” replied Nicholas drily, smiling as he pushed a glass into the other’s hand.
“It is a liberty I allow myself as your friend and mentor. I make no apology now for speaking frankly to you. I do not think you have even begun to realize yet how very hard your wife has labored on your behalf these past weeks. She faced great opposition from the outset and extreme unhelpfulness from many quarters—most particularly from those now absent in Taunton—as well as the earl, your cousin, to whom she stood up very sturdily. She took responsibilities few women would consider, and she shouldered them as gallantly as an
y man. She sat up night after night reading ledgers, going through ancient accounts, deeds, and agreements until I swear she must know as much, if not more, than I do about this estate. She rode out herself with myself and Mr. McDonald on his first survey, and she did not sit idly by but asked pertinent questions which much impressed Mr. McDonald, for he told me as much.
“Furthermore she informed the servants herself that their numbers must be cut, and although this would normally be the duty of the lady of the house, I tell you of it because she found it particularly grueling, as she knew only too well how much losing their positions would mean to them. On their behalf she has done all she can to help, writing thankless letters to the gentry of the neighborhood, asking them to offer employment to those unfortunate enough to find their names on my cursed list. She did all this, Sir Nicholas, and you knew nothing because your precarious health caused your doctors to advise her against telling you anything which might cause you stress and which would then maybe impede your recovery. She is a very fine woman—beautiful, charming, and determined to at least try to do what she knows to be necessary. So, I am brought back to my opinion of what seems. She is admirably suited in every way to be your wife, she shares your humor and your thoughts, and she is more than a little desirable—which even a confirmed bachelor such as myself can acknowledge. In short, Sir Nicholas, you married her because you loved her, and any other reason you have given is only secondary to that. Now then, can you tell me that I am wrong?”
Nicholas was silent for a moment. “I confess that I hadn’t realized the extent of her labors here, but that cannot alter the fact that if I loved her once, I do not love her now.”
“Why?”
“You have many faults, Charles, but deafness to rumor is not one of them. Do you deny that you have heard whispers about my wife and Daniel Tregarron?”
The agent looked away. “No,” he said at last, “I do not deny that I have heard, but that is not to say I believe them.”
“I have evidence enough to know that they are lovers.”
“Evidence?”
“Her tale of her horse bolting and leaving her in Langford Woods where Tregarron happened to find her was merely to mask the fact that she went there solely to keep a meeting with him. One of my gamekeepers saw them lying in each other’s arms—and they were not admiring the flora and fauna, I promise you! I need no further proof of her infidelity. I married her because I had fallen in love with her, but I know now that she has always regarded the match as purely one of convenience. There is no surer remedy for lovesickness, I do assure you, Charles.”
“Have you ever given her cause to believe the marriage was anything but a temporary affair as far as you were concerned? I believe the impression she has had all along was that it was at best a makeshift affair, which you would terminate when you saw fit, so that you could then marry the woman you really love—Miss Townsend. By your own actions you could have driven her to turn to Daniel Tregarron, who is a man of passion and whose desire for her I believe to have been aroused from the outset. When I first met her, Sir Nicholas, I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that her heart was given to you and that she felt nothing beyond friendship for him.”
“Then it is obvious that her affections have undergone a considerable change, is it not? There is no mistaking her actions now and I find her sins quite unforgivable. She has committed adultery, not with a stranger, but with the man I once thought of as my best friend. I cannot and will not forgive, and that must be the end of this discussion. I do not wish you to mention the subject of my marriage again, Charles.”
The agent reluctantly inclined his head. “Very well, I will of course respect your wishes, but just one last thing I think I should tell you—I believe it is her intention to soon leave King’s Cliff.”
Nicholas turned sharply away, his knuckles gleaming white as he clenched his glass. Bitter anger burned in his eyes. No doubt she was leaving with Daniel Tregarron…. God damn them both to hell! God damn them!
Slowly Charles Dodswell put down his own glass. “If there is no other business to discuss, I will take my leave of you.”
Nicholas turned back again. “No, Charles, there is something else I wish to speak of, something very important and nothing at all to do with what we have just finished speaking of. You may think me unhinged for what I am about to tell you, but I wish you to hear me out. Then I wish you to do what you can to find out if my surmise is correct. It will mean you leaving King’s Cliff for a while, but it must be done.”
“I am at your disposal, Sir Nicholas, as always I am.”
“I am very much afraid that it concerns what almost befell me in Venice at the hands of a certain Austrian gentleman….”
* * *
While Nicholas was speaking, Laura was in the landau heading toward Langford. The carriage moved swiftly past Daniel’s house, but there was no thought in her head of visiting him, and the coachman tooled the team down the long hill towards the narrow bridge spanning the River Parrett.
It was a fine day and the hoods were down. Laura’s parasol fringe trembled in the warm breeze, and the ribbons of her Leghorn bonnet streamed behind her. She wore a chestnut spencer and a walking dress of sea-green merino, and she smiled as she thought of Kitty’s tearful delight on hearing the good news about her father.
The coachman’s whip cracked and the team gathered speed. Laura gripped the side of the landau in sudden fear as the carriage rattled and swayed over the narrow bridge, reminding her that once before this same coachman had almost caused the wheels to touch the parapet, which would have caused a terrible accident. In a blur she noticed the faces of some men sitting on the bank by the bridge, among them the Tibdale brothers. But then the carriage was safely over and pulling up the hill toward the church where she had been subjected to such cruel snubs by the Countess of Bawton and her followers.
Frank Roberts’s small cottage lay beyond the church. It was neatly whitewashed, its upper windows peeping out beneath a low thatch that had recently been repaired. A hedge surrounded the little front garden, rising to an arch above the gate, and from the gate a cinder path led to the porch, which was covered by a rambling rose of such splendor that she immediately guessed it had originally come from King’s Cliff.
She alighted and walked up the narrow path, noticing the neat vegetables growing on one side and on the other the glorious display of Frank Roberts’s brilliance—his flower garden. It was a riot of summer colors, and the air was heady with the perfume of pinks and sweet peas, while the tall spikes of lupins added their own peculiar grace to a garden which seemed to have been planted haphazardly but was in fact carefully laid out to achieve the finest show imaginable. Laura could understand only too well why the services of such a talented gardener had been so earnestly sought after by the Countess of Bawton.
The door was opened by a plump woman in a plain blue gown and crisp white apron. Frank Roberts’s wife stared at her illustrious visitor, adjusting her clean mobcap before managing a belated curtsy. “M-my lady?”
“Who is it, Ann?” A man’s voice called from inside.
“It’s Lady Grenville, Frank.”
“What? Then show her in, show her in, you daftie—!”
“P—please come in, my lady.”
Laura smiled. “Thank you.”
She stepped into a low room that smelled faintly of paraffin, for Ann Roberts had only shortly before finished cleaning and polishing the little windows. Flowery curtains hung at those same windows, and the table in the center of the room was scrubbed so well that it was almost white. The floor was tiled in red and there were low beams on the ceiling, from which strings, of onions, dried fruit, and bunches of herbs were suspended.
Frank Roberts sat before the oven, his broken leg stretched out carefully on a three-legged stool, and as he made to get to his feet Laura hastily stopped him. “Please do not rise, Mr. Roberts, for there is no need.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Lady Grenville. I cannot offer
you fine brandy or anything like it, but I can offer you some good elderberry wine.”
“Frank!” His wife felt uncomfortable, doubting very much whether a fine lady would enjoy such a country brew.
Laura smiled at her. “I would very much like to taste your wine, for I am sure it is delicious.”
“It is,” said Frank. “It certain sure is.”
Laura waited until the glasses had been carefully taken down from the corner cupboard where all the best china was carefully displayed, and when she had been given her wine, she told them why she had come.
“I will not delay a moment, Mr. Roberts; I have come to tell you that you have no need to worry anymore—your post at King’s Cliff awaits your return.”
He closed his eyes with obvious relief, and his wife’s eyes filled with tears, which she dabbed with the corner of her apron.
“Lady Grenville,” he said at last, his voice shaking with emotion, “you don’t know how glad I am to hear those words.”
“Oh, I think I do know, Mr. Roberts.”
“And to think that you should take the trouble to come here yourself—”
“I very much appreciated the tulips you gave me, Mr. Roberts, and does not one good turn deserve another?” A movement caught her eye and she glanced toward a chair in a corner to see Kitty’s little brother and sister peeping out at her, their eyes huge.
“Off with you now,” called their mother. “You’ve your tasks to do and shall not be idle!”
Giggling, they scrambled to their feet, their little boots pattering on the tiled floor as they ran out into the garden.
“They are lovely children, Mrs. Roberts,” said Laura. “You must be proud of your family.”
The countrywoman swelled with delight. “Oh, that I am, my lady. As proud as you’ll be when you have children.” She immediately flushed then, for she knew from Kitty that all was far from well between Sir Nicholas Grenville and his wife.
