Theory of Magic
Page 5
A figure ran back and forth along the short garden path, and she frowned. Who could be out there at this hour and what could they possibly be doing?
Needing diversion, she donned her pelisse and crept into the hallway. Light shone under Moira’s doorway, but Harriet didn’t wish to intrude upon the lady’s private time. A floorboard groaned under her weight, but this old house creaked in the wind. She doubted any would notice. She took the servants’ stairs down to the back door.
A footman glanced up sleepily, but she simply walked past him.
At this time of year, the sun had set hours ago. The only illumination was a lantern someone had left on a post. In the garden, she was nearly bowled over by a mangy hound who ran straight into her skirts and across her feet before darting under a hedge. A second later, a shirt-sleeved boy followed, but instead of running into her, he halted and looked wide-eyed in surprise.
“Miss Christie, sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”
Harriet sorted through his array of emotions. Ashford had been correct about his elder son’s confidence and the younger’s immaturity. This was the younger son, Hartley. He had a soft heart that was easily hurt. She related too well, but she had no means of understanding the difficulties of a little boy.
“You should be wearing a coat. Was that your dog I saw a moment ago?”
His shoulders slumped. “No, miss, he’s just a stray. I’ll go in now.”
“Not because of me, please. I’m out here for a stroll. If you don’t mind keeping me company, I’ll fetch a blanket I saw just by the door and you could wrap up in it.”
“Like a mummy!” he cried, immediately enthusiastic. “I’ll fetch it. Keep an eye out for the puppy, please? I think he’s hurt.”
Human contact was far better than brooding over what she couldn’t change, Harriet concluded, glancing around the garden. By this time of year, most of the roses were spent, but in the flickering lamplight, she could see one or two blooms struggling to survive.
She could hear the puppy sniffing around in the bushes. If the cook had an herb garden out here, she wouldn’t appreciate a dog watering it. But Hartley had been sad until he talked about the dog, so she didn’t say anything when the boy dashed back down the steps, wrapped up in an old horse blanket.
“Have you found him?” he asked, immediately setting off down the path.
“I think I heard him near the rosemary.”
“Hugh is the one who knows bushes,” Hartley said in disgust. “I’ll never learn them. Mr. Baker should ask me about dogs, but he wants to show off Hugh to Papa a’cause he’ll be the one to run Iveston someday.”
Harriet raised her eyebrows at this perspective. “One day is a long time in the future, since I’m sure your father will be around until you’re both old and fat.”
Hartley laughed, presumably at the thought of being old and fat. “I’ll be like Uncle William and raise dogs to save people. But Papa is mad at me now and will probably send us back to our mother. I hate living in town.”
That was quite a great deal to process all at once, but far more diverting than her own grievances. After watching the marquess return dripping wet earlier today, she’d heard several variations of the afternoon’s adventures. “Your father is angry with himself, not at you. He knows you didn’t mean to knock him into the pond.”
“He yelled and cursed. And then he made us come home and told us he’s sending us back to school. I hate school. They don’t have dogs there.” Hartley crouched down and held out his hand.
Harriet smiled, realizing the boy had taken the opportunity to steal a sausage from the kitchen when he’d fetched the blanket. Wise child.
“I always wanted to go to school,” she said. “I wanted to have friends. Don’t you have friends that you miss?”
He shrugged, broke off a piece of sausage, and flung it under a bush. “I have Hugh and my dogs and Uncle William.”
“Yes, but I assume your Uncle William has friends who help him sell his dogs, doesn’t he? He can’t just raise them and keep them.”
Hartley pondered this while the stray poked its nose out to sniff the sausage. “Maybe. There’s one or two fellows at school who aren’t too bad. But I hate Greek. Dogs don’t understand Greek.”
“But I’d wager the Greeks loved dogs. What if there were books in Greek that told you how to treat an injured dog, but you couldn’t read them?”
“Then I’d pay someone to read them.” He broke off another bit of sausage after the dog nabbed the first one and scooted back under the shrubbery.
“Only if you had lots of friends, so you could sell lots of dogs and make lots of money. Growing up is hard because you don’t know everything that’s out there in the world. Not knowing can hurt you.”
“I still want to go back to Iveston,” he said stubbornly.
“Well, I’m sure you will for the holidays, won’t you?” Harriet admitted to curiosity about how one lived between two different parents. High society was well beyond her limited scope.
“Maybe, if Papa isn’t still cross.” He darted a look to her. “You’re sure he’s not mad at me? He yelled and cursed something fierce.”
“I have a feeling he does that frequently, does he not? He’s a grown man and can’t cry, and he’s too busy to chase stray dogs to feel better. So he just shouts to let out all the bottled-up steam. I’m very sure he loves you and wouldn’t want to hurt you. He simply doesn’t understand how he sounds.”
That was the impression she’d received, anyway. Ashford had been very angry that he hadn’t been prepared for Hartley’s stumble. But it was the same anger she’d felt in his study—frustration, mostly at his limitations. She didn’t know how deep the pond was, but the boy could possibly have drowned. The inability to save his son would surely drive Ashford to madness.
“He never says he loves us, but men don’t do that,” Hartley said with assurance. “That’s mawkish stuff for women and girls. Could you ask him to send us to Iveston? We hate it in town.”
“I’d rather tell him that you’d like to return to school. Don’t they have grounds to play in? Perhaps if you asked if you could take your dog?” Harriet didn’t know why she was interfering, except that she really had longed to go to school and knew education was important.
“I want to fix hurt animals,” Hartley said. “They don’t teach that at school. Uncle William can teach me.”
“I don’t think what I say to your father matters,” she said honestly. “You must ask him yourself. But you must do it by showing you know you could be an important man someday, an asset to your family. Little boys who hate Greek will not impress him.”
Little girls who whined because they had no suitors weren’t very impressive either, she realized. How did she set about impressing a marquess? Or others?
The puppy finally belly-crawled from the shrubbery to sniff at the sausage in Hartley’s hand. The boy dropped the treat just before sharp teeth could connect, then rubbed behind the dog’s ears while it ate as if starved.
“I’ll be an important man?” Hartley asked. “How? I’m a bastard nobody.”
Oh, ouch, so that was why he hated school. Harriet pondered a moment. “First, anyone who says that is very ignorant. Ignorant people and cowards think they can make themselves look bigger and cleverer by bullying others. You’ll have to ask your father how to deal with bullies because I’m not good at it.” Actually, she was extremely bad at it. She preferred hiding.
Hartley nodded wisely and held out the last piece of sausage. “I can beat up bullies but girls can’t. Why do you say they’re ignorant? I am a bastard.”
“For many, many reasons. Just think about it. Your father is a very important man who loves you, so he will do everything he can to help you be whatever you want to be. You’re intelligent, you’re kind, you will have many friends as well as a large family to help you. Does that sound like a nobody to you? Perhaps your bully is jealous of how much you have.”
“Huh. Maybe he thi
nks just a’cause he’s got a title, that anyone else is a nobody. But that’s stupid. Uncle William and Uncle Pascoe are very important somebodies, and they’re bastards, too. Dogs don’t marry, so they’re all bastards, but they save lives.” Hartley pulled the mongrel into his blanketed lap to examine its paws.
“See, I told you that you’re clever. Who you are is much more important than what you are. Why don’t you give your friend there the blanket to sleep on and go on up to bed? He’ll be here in the morning now that you’ve fed him.”
“I’ll fetch him some water first,” Hartley agreed. “Thank you, Miss Chris. Do you like puppies? I can have Uncle William bring you one.”
Miss Chris. The nickname warmed her all over, and she nearly wriggled in pleasure like the puppy.
“I like puppies very much,” Miss Chris said boldly. “And in April, when I have my own home, I would very much like a puppy and a kitten. Perhaps you can visit me when your term is over.”
She left him to tend the dog while she considered what she’d just said. She had never made any plans for her financial freedom after her birthday. She had always assumed she’d be married well before the ancient age of twenty-five. But now . . . the date was only six months away. Would it be a terrible awful thing to live alone if she could have pets and friends?
Not having to hide from Townsend and his mean-spirited household gave her a whole new perspective on the world.
6
“Christie!” Ashford bellowed for the third time Thursday morning, furious that he had to leave his lair. He groped his way past furniture that had no place in the corridor, to the front parlor where he heard the women chattering.
“Does everyone always run when he shouts?” the damned woman asked in that seductive voice, which told him she knew he could hear her.
“It depends,” Aster’s cousin, the blasted decorator, replied. “Aster tells me that shouting is the Ives’ principle means of communication. They generally do not expect an answer, but if you have need of his attention, now is the time.”
If Ash wasn’t so frustrated, he’d laugh, knowing his sister-in-law had formed that theory from astute observation. “The witch doesn’t know everything,” he countered, entering the salon by shoving an object from his path with his stick. “Miss Christie, if you expect to live another day, you will answer when I call.”
“Murder would lose you no end of votes,” she replied impertinently. “And I might respond with more promptitude should you send a servant with a polite request to come at my convenience. We are in the midst of arranging your furniture so you needn’t stumble through your own home. Perhaps you might tell me if your request is more important than my task.”
“I have a duke and two earls arriving shortly, two more stacks of correspondence to attend, and my son tells me you advised him to go to a school with dogs!”
“Oh, dear, no good deed goes unpunished.”
He could hear her sigh of exasperation. He shouldn’t enjoy disrupting her day so much, but Hartley’s demand had made it impossible for him to concentrate on work. It seemed fair payback if she was the cause. His son had called her Miss Chris—indicating a certain level of familiarity.
“Moira,” his secretary-general said, “if you don’t mind, I’ll take a little break while that handsome footman helps you shove chairs around.”
The scent of lilies approached. Today, she wore fewer petticoats and apparently boots. She walked like a country girl, with long stomping strides and not mincing little steps. He despised going outside, but he wanted to see more of her. Ashford held out his arm. “Call for your pelisse. I have need of fresh air.”
“I am not dressed for the street, my lord. If you wish to traverse the mews, I’ll be happy to accompany you.”
“By Beelzebub, must you argue everything?” he asked in impatience, waiting for the footman to fetch her outerwear. He actually preferred the privacy of the garden, now that she mentioned it.
“Previously, no,” she muttered, “and see how far that has taken me. So if doing what I’m told accomplishes nothing, why shouldn’t I do as I think best? I can scarcely accomplish less.”
She took his arm. Since she now wore gloves, he assumed she was properly attired for the outdoors. He let her steer him past the confusion of furniture into the safer haven of the back of the house. He didn’t mind her subtle nudge that told him left or right, or a gentle squeeze to be cautious where he stepped, not when applied by this Valkyrie. He might have punched a man who presumed so, or been humiliated by some petite princess he felt obligated to protect, but he was coming to respect that Miss Chris was a force all her own.
Townsend’s letter had returned to the stacks. Theo had read it to him. Ash had no way of knowing if Miss Christie had simply not noticed it or had deliberately not mentioned it. Perhaps the pathetic Miss Townsend who must be traded off for votes was her friend—but how would Miss Chris have known the letter’s contents?
And hadn’t she said Miss Townsend was already about to be married? She was still a liar. He needed to know more of the lady who was teaching his sons rebellion.
“Hartley summoned the temerity to confront you?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.
“It takes courage to talk to me?” Ash thundered in surprise. “Why?”
“If you would keep your voice to a low roar, my lord, you might not send the servants into hiding.”
She took her hand from his arm to unfasten the door latch on her own, presumably because the footman had fled.
“Puling cowards,” he muttered, using his stick to find the steps. “And you’re changing the subject. Why is my son afraid of me?”
“Oh, perhaps because you swore and yelled at him yesterday. He is just a little boy, and he’s a bit out of sorts from some incidents at school. You should probably talk to the twins separately about what got them sent down. They may be intrepid, but underneath all that bravado, they have feelings that can be hurt—just as you have.”
“Balderdash. Women have feelings because they’re helpless. Men have choices. My sons chose to misbehave, presumably in retaliation for some slight. That’s what boys do.”
“And men thunder and sulk and seek revenge or build up constituencies to support them against other men who have treated them badly. I suspect a great deal more could be accomplished with less posturing and more intelligent discussion, but I realize this is asking too much.”
“I am neither hurt nor seeking revenge. I am merely putting the best men into office to move this country forward. I am asking about my son.”
The late autumn day smelled of coal smoke and a hint of burning leaves. Ash tried to remember the layout of the garden. Wasn’t there a potting shed that concealed a corner of the garden from the house? He ignored Miss Chris’s nudge toward the gate and steered her to the right. For a brief moment, there was a battle of wills until she gave in and turned down the path he’d chosen. Ha, he’d won another round.
“There is nothing I can say about your son that he cannot say better. Hartley is more sensitive than Hugh. He is more interested in animals than Greek. He is being bullied by a titled idiot calling him a useless bastard. And he wants to return to the country. There, that is the utter extent of my knowledge—all of which you probably already knew.”
He did. He hadn’t put it together as succinctly or as quickly as this woman who had lived here less than a week. That alone ought to make him wary, but she had succeeded in distracting him, and his mind had found a new outlet. “He needs schooling,” he said, defying her to argue so she wouldn’t notice that he was literally leading her down the garden path.
“Of course he needs schooling,” she agreed, throwing him off balance. “But he also needs love and attention to feel important. Animals give him that. And apparently, his Uncle William. Hence, his desire for Iveston.”
Ash stumbled over a broken paving stone, righted himself, and caught his hand on the brick shed. The garden wall would be just a few more steps away.
“Then find Hartley a school with animals, as he requested,” she retorted. “And this path ends here. We must turn around.”
“I am not yet prepared to return to the pandemonium of my house. Your presence is infinitely saner.” He turned her so she faced him. Daylight made it easier to see her silhouette, he confirmed triumphantly. She had gorgeous curves in all the right places.
She stepped back, as he’d known she would. “My presence is irrelevant. You have said yourself that it is improper to opportune a woman under your roof.”
Able to gauge the height of her delectable jaw, he caught it in one hand and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Ah, but out here, there is no roof.”
Out here, he could almost see shadowy movement, if he turned his head just right. His heart took ridiculous leaps of joy, which he ignored. He preferred to follow his cock in this instance.
“That’s specious reasoning!” she protested, stepping away again. “I will have to leave your employ.”
He knew when she hit the wall. Her shadow blended in with the bricks, but he still had a good idea where she stood. He placed his hands on the ivy on either side of her head. “A few kisses will make us both feel better. None will ever know.”
He lowered his head and tasted her gently, not forcing her. The women he’d seduced over the years had always been experienced. They’d liked feeling helpless at his aggressiveness and had been eager for romps—except for his ex-fiancée, of course. Margaret had been cold as a marble statue when he’d tried this with her. He’d thought a little experience would teach her to enjoy kissing. He could see that had been arrogant.
Miss Chris was inexperienced, but she responded with enthusiasm and an exciting warmth that even the most skilled of his lovers had not possessed.
When she was practically melting into his arms, Ash used his tongue to ply at her lips. She gasped, and he was inside, stroking her, pushing into her magnificently crushable bosom at the same time. For a brief, exhilarating moment, she allowed him this blissful state. He could almost believe he was his old self, with a willing woman in his arms.