by Mary Balogh
“The Earl and Countess of Beaconswood, ma’am,” he said grandly.
Clara glanced quickly at Harriet. “Show them up,” she said. Her heart plummeted. She had liked Julia. She still did. But she did not want to see her. She wanted to look forward, not back. She smiled as the butler reappeared and bowed to the guests as they entered the room.
“Clara,” the countess said, almost rushing across the room, hands extended. “How lovely it is to see you again.” She took both Clara’s hands in hers, squeezed them tightly, and bent to kiss her cheek. “How do you do, Harriet?”
“Clara,” the earl said less effusively but in a thoroughly kindly manner. He took her right hand and raised it to his lips. He bowed to Harriet while Clara made the introductions.
“We happened to be passing and decided to call on you,” the countess said brightly, and then she went off into peals of laughter and seated herself on a sofa. “Actually we came here quite deliberately, did we not, Daniel?”
“Yes,” he said. “Julia has been feeling cheated of the company of her new cousin, Clara, since you left town. And my sister is upsetting herself with the thought that perhaps you will not return for her wedding next month. Hence this rather long journey to call for afternoon tea.”
“I am glad you dropped the hint, Daniel,” the countess said, laughing again. “I am parched. And starved too, though I know it is indelicate to say so and you will frown at me ferociously when you think Clara and Harriet are not looking.”
“Julia!” he said sternly as Harriet got to her feet to ring the bell.
“We were about to order tea anyway,” Clara said, smiling.
“It is all Daniel’s fault that I am so hungry anyway,” the countess said. “All his fault. Not mine at all.”
“Julia,” the earl said a little more quietly.
“Clara is family,” she said, smiling up at him, “and you know I burst to tell everyone I can. I think myself enormously clever, as if I am the only woman in history to have accomplished such a wonderful feat. Besides, it will be obvious to the eye soon, Daniel, and everyone will know anyway. Unless you plan to be Gothic and lock me up to save the blushes of those young ladies who still believe in storks. We are going to have a child in five months’ time, Clara.”
Clara restrained her hand from spreading over her own abdomen. “How wonderful for you,” she said.
“Do stop glowering and come and sit beside me, Daniel.” the countess said, reaching up a hand for his. “You know you are fit to burst with pride. You need not pretend to be angry with me.”
“Angry?” he said, shaking his head, but taking her hand and seating himself beside her. “You cannot see that it is embarrassment, Julia, having my impending paternity announced with only ladies present except for me?”
The countess laughed and gazed at him fondly.
Fondly. She had developed feelings for him, then? It was hardly surprising, Clara supposed. Feelings sometimes did develop after marriage even if they had not been there before. And Lord Beaconswood was a very handsome man—almost as handsome as Freddie. Clara guessed he was devoted to Julia.
Conversation was light during tea, and dominated mainly by the countess, though the earl was careful to keep topics general and was even courteous enough to draw Harriet into the conversation. Harriet usually made herself invisible to visitors.
“Miss Pope,” the earl said when they had finished their tea, getting to his feet, “I believe I saw a conservatory to the west of the house as we drove up. Are there many plants there? Would you care to show them to me?”
Clara looked at him, startled. Harriet was rising. The countess seemed quite unperturbed but was sitting smiling at Clara.
“It was planned, you see,” she said after the other two had left. “I hope you do not mind Harriet’s being without a chaperon for a short while. Daniel and I thought it would be better if I spoke to you alone.”
Clara looked at her warily.
“You left London the day after Camilla and I called on you,” the countess said. “Perhaps there was no connection between the two events, and you must tell me to mind my own business if there was not. Or even if there was and you think me impertinent for prying. Your marriage really is none of my business, as Daniel has been telling me for weeks past. But I cannot help feeling responsible for the fact that you have been banished here.”
The brightness had totally disappeared from her face. She was gazing at Clara earnestly and unhappily.
“Banished?” Clara said. “Freddie did not banish me, Julia. I came of my own free will.”
“But on the spur of the moment,” the countess said. “You were not planning to come, were you? Surely you would have told us if you were. You would not have led us to believe that you were going to pay a call on my mother-in-law within a day or two.”
Clara clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “I sometimes do things impulsively,” she said. “But it was thoughtless of me not to send you a note. I am sorry, Julia. It was kind of you to call on me in town. I should have sent an explanation when I decided to leave.”
“I think it was because of what I said, was it not?” the countess said unhappily. “And because of the quarrel I had with Freddie downstairs. He went back upstairs and quarreled with you too, didn’t he? And made you so miserable that you came here. I am so meddlesome. I should have left well enough alone. I should not have tried to explain something that perhaps did not need to be explained. I should have left it to Freddie if he thought it necessary.”
“Nothing was your fault, Julia,” Clara said. “And nothing is wrong. It is just that I prefer to live here and Freddie prefers to live in town. I visited him there for a few weeks and then came home. It was as simple as that.”
“And you will return for the wedding?” Julia asked. Clara hesitated.
The countess jumped to her feet. “I think we made a dreadful mess of it,” she said. “Although I discussed it with Camilla ahead of time and Camilla is always marvelously sensible, I think we made a mess of it. You think that Freddie was in love with me, don’t you? You think that is why he offered for me.”
“It does not matter,” Clara said. “What happened before my marriage is none of my concern, Julia.”
“Oh, but it is.” The countess had tears in her eyes. “If he was in love with me, asked me to marry him, was rejected, and then went to Bath and married you, it would be dreadful, Clara. Dreadful for you. But it was not like that. He did not love me. He was just being gallant. And I was not in love with him. Did you think perhaps I was, but married Daniel because he was rich? I married Daniel because I love him. Because I adore him. There never has been anyone else and never could be.”
Clara examined her hands. She did not want to ask the question. She did not want to know any more. But she asked it anyway.
“What is between you and Freddie, then?” she asked,
“Embarrassment,” the countess said quickly.
“No,” Clara said. “But we will leave it at that. I don’t think I want to know. I am afraid to know. There is so much more than what you have told me, is there not?”
The countess sat down again and was quiet for a while. “Why did you leave so abruptly?” she asked. “Camilla and I visited deliberately to try to make things easier for you. Because you are our cousin. Because we like you and wanted you to be our friend. Why did you leave?”
“I told Freddie that you had told me everything,” Clara said. “You had not. I don’t think you told me even a fraction of everything. But I think Freddie must have believed me.”
The countess closed her eyes and bowed her head. “It was nothing, Clara,” she said. “Nothing of any lasting significance. Oh, Freddie. Idiot Freddie. I could kill him. You love him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Clara said.
“I suppose he made you fall in love with him within five minutes of meeting you,” the countess said crossly. “Freddie is an expert at that. I could kill him.”
&nb
sp; “No,” Clara said. “I was not quite a foolish innocent, Julia. You don’t have to be afraid that he deceived me into marriage with protestations of love.” She smiled fleetingly. “Though he did try it, I must admit. I married him for reasons of my own. I have come to love him since.”
The countess leaned forward. “Forget about what happened at Primrose Park, then,” she said. “Whatever it was, you do not want to know. It was utter foolishness, typical of Freddie, and harmed no one in the end. Forget it, Clara, and be happy with what you have. Freddie is not a vicious person, believe me. He is even lovable in an annoying sort of way. I always loved him—as a cousin and a friend. Almost as a brother. Forget it all, Clara. Come back to London. Be a part of the family. We all want you.”
Clara smiled. “That is kind of you,” she said. “But I don’t think Freddie can forget, Julia. I think he was harmed. Whatever happened was all his fault, wasn’t it? I think he cannot forgive himself. And I cannot forgive him and give him the absolution he needs. It did not concern me.”
The countess closed her eyes.
“I think only you have that power,” Clara said sadly.
And yet a part of her rejoiced too. Whatever had happened—and it must have been something dreadful—it was not what she had thought. She had misinterpreted all the signs. Julia did not love him. She loved her husband. And if Julia was right—and she seemed quite certain she was—Freddie did not love her either. Never had. Oh, yes, part of her rejoiced. She did not care what it was as long as it was not that.
“I told him that afternoon,” the countess said, “the afternoon Camilla and I called on you, that I would never forgive him. Not because of what he had done to me. I think after all that that only helped bring Daniel and me together. But because of what he had done to you so soon after. I told him I hated him. It was such a lie. How could anyone hate Freddie?”
“He did not do anything to me,” Clara said, “except marry me and give me a taste of joy.”
“And a great deal of misery,” the countess said.
“Yes.”
“Oh, Freddie,” the countess said. “I could kill him.”
Clara smiled.
“I wonder if Daniel and Harriet have examined every leaf of every plant in the conservatory yet,” the countess said. “I must go down to rescue them, Clara. And we must be on our way. The inn we picked out must be five miles along the road.”
“But you will be staying here,” Clara said. “Of course you will. I took so much for granted that you would do so that I did not even think to issue the invitation when you arrived. Forgive me.”
“But we would not wish to impose,” the countess said.
“Impose?” Clara laughed. “You keep telling me that we are family. Well, then.”
“How delightful,” the countess said, getting to her feet. “But I must still go and rescue those two downstairs. I shall come right back. Is it dreadfully annoying to be confined to one spot all the time? And is it dreadfully rude of me to refer to your disability? Daniel would be frowning fiercely at me if he were here.”
Clara laughed as Julia swept from the room without waiting for a reply to either of her questions. She had been deliberately trying to lighten the atmosphere, and had succeeded. Somehow, Clara felt that a load had been lifted from her shoulders. Though why she should feel that she did not know. Nothing really had changed.
Nothing at all.
Chapter 15
The third visitor arrived four days later. Harriet did not have many callers of her own. But on this occasion the butler’s grand announcement was all for her.
“Lord Archibald Vinney for Miss Pope, ma’am,” he said to Clara from the doorway of her private sitting room.
“For me?” Harriet jumped to her feet in an uncharacteristically jerky movement. “Lord Archibald? Oh, no. There must be some mistake. He must have come for you, Clara.”
“Do you wish to see him?” Clara’s lips had compressed. “I shall send him away if you do not, Harriet. He has no business coming here without an invitation and without even a request to call.”
Harriet stared first at Clara and then at the impassive butler. “I’ll see him,” she said at last. “Would you show him into the drawing room, please, Mr. Baines?”
Why had he come? she asked herself as she flew along to her own room to glance desperately into her looking glass, but there was no time to change her dress, and there were no prettier ones to be worn anyway. There was no time to comb her hair into a prettier style. She pinched her cheeks ruthlessly to bring color to them and then straightened up, frowning.
What was she doing? What was she doing? She was going hysterical over the arrival of Lord Archibald Vinney? Her heart was going pitter-patter over a man who had offered to make her his mistress? Harriet straightened her shoulders, drew a deep breath, and left the room.
He was standing propped against the mantel to one side of the crackling fire, in a pose of studied casualness. He was gazing at her, a look of faint amusement in his eyes.
“Ah, Miss Pope,” he said. “How kind of you to do me the honor of receiving me. I half expected to be thrown out on my ear.”
He had come to a respectable home to see her. He had ridden the long distance from London just for that purpose. Why? Surely it was only in the realms of fantasy that a man’s intentions in such matters changed. Wasn’t it? But she found painful hope coming alive again. So much for good sense.
“What may I do for you, my lord?” She was proud of the quiet calmness of her voice.
“You may come here and kiss me, Harriet,” he said. “I have missed you.”
She stayed where she was, just inside the door, and clasped her hands loosely in front of her.
“Have you given any more thought to my offer, my little charmer?” he asked her.
She had thought of little else. “I gave you my answer, my lord,” she said.
“And it stands unchanged and unchangeable,” he said. He straightened up and took a step toward her. “I will not offer greater material inducements. They will not sway you by as much as an inch, will they? If I offer you my deepest regard, Harriet? My faithful and undivided attentions until such time as we are both agreed it shall be otherwise? We would be good together, my dear.”
Very good. She did not doubt it.
“I think of no one but you,” he said. “I dream of you. I awaken thinking of you.”
She knew just how that felt.
“Harriet.” The quietness of his voice caressed her. “Admit at least that you are tempted.”
She looked up at him. “It would be very strange if I were not,” she said, “and very unbelievable if I said I were not. But what you suggest is sin, my lord.”
“And yet you are tempted.” He smiled.
“There is no sin in temptation,” she said. “Only in giving in to it. I will not give in, my lord.”
There was a pause during which neither of them spoke. “No, I can see you will not,” he said. “I have miscalculated, have I not? Well, Harriet, you have the distinction of being my only failure. But then I have never before chosen a mistress from the ranks of virtuous women.”
Her heart was aching as she stared down at her hands and wondered if she should leave the room or wait for him to take his leave. She had no precedent to follow in such circumstances.
And then he was coming toward her and stopping in front of her and lifting her chin with one hand.
“You will be able to tell your grandchildren about the rogue who would have ruined you,” he said, “and compare him very unfavorably to the stalwart respectability of their grandfather. But perhaps you will admit to them, or perhaps only to the fire as you gaze into it, that you lost a little corner of your heart to the rogue.”
“I have not lost—” she began indignantly.
His mouth on hers prevented her from completing the sentence. The fact that it was open did not shock her quite as much this second time. It was warm and moist and seeking, and his tongue dar
ted once, swiftly and startlingly deep, into her own opened mouth. Then his silver eyes were laughing down into hers. And yet the laughter seemed tempered with a little sadness too. Or perhaps she was seeing what she wanted to see.
“You have my permission to tell them that he lost a small corner of his own to their grandmother too,” he said. “Will you now please stop haunting my dreams, Miss Harriet Pope?”
Only if he would stop haunting hers.
“Good-bye, then,” he said. “I daresay we shall meet again if Freddie ever decides to bring Mrs. Sullivan back to town. Perhaps time will weaken your sense of sin. But I shall not hold my breath.”
“Time will make no difference, my lord,” she said.
He touched the pad of his thumb lightly to her lips before removing his hand from beneath her chin. “Goodbye, little blusher,” he said.
“Good-bye, my lord.”
The door closed so softly behind him that she was not even sure for a while that he had gone. She did not move. If she counted to twenty slowly—no, better, to one hundred, very slowly—he should be gone. Gone from the house and gone along the driveway beyond recall. If she could hold out that long, counting very slowly, then perhaps she would be able to resist the almost overpowering temptation to go racing after him, calling his name.
But she had never called his name. What would she call him? What would she have called him if she had become his mistress? “One-two-three,” she counted silently, her lips moving. She had felt him from her shoulders to her knees. His body heat had enveloped her like a cloak. “Four-five-six.” Her knees had almost buckled when he had darted his tongue into her mouth. Was that a mere sampling of what a man would do with a mistress? “Seven-eight.” She loved him. “Nine, ten.” No. No, no, no. She spread her hands over her face, shaking her head vigorously from side to side.
The last time. She would not see him again. She must not. She must see to it that she never saw him again. Sin had never seemed so attractive. It became more so every time she saw him. She had only a certain degree of inner strength. It was almost exhausted. She must be sure she never saw him again. She must never go to London again with Clara.
