by Jo Beverley
“It is planned that he escort us, yes.”
“Then Sir Arthur and I will have to take care of Lord Stanforth for you,” said the lady with a smile. “We will invite him to our house for Christmas. Our son and his family always come to us for the celebration, so there will be some young faces. What of you, my dear? Will you miss this part of England?”
Chloe felt bereft at this practical discussion. It seemed so final, as if she was never to return. “Yes, I will,” she said. “I will miss it very much. It may not be majestic, like the Lakes, or pastoral like the southern countries, but I find it very beautiful.”
“So do I. I have often wished I were an artist, and able to record the scenery. Do you paint, Lady Stanforth?”
“I do,” said Chloe, “but I claim no particular gift.”
“Still,” said the older lady, “I would like to see your pictures, if you would be so kind. It is always interesting to discover how others perceive familiar scenes.”
By the time the gentlemen joined them, Julia had the harp tuned and began her first skillful trills. After a further request from Lady Swayning, Chloe left the room to find her portfolio of sketches and watercolors. She had taken them from the drawer in the library when she became aware of someone entering the room. She knew it would be Justin, and feelings warred within her.
When she turned, however, it was not Lord Stanforth she saw, but her other suitor, Sir Cedric.
“Should you not be admiring your sister’s performance, Sir Cedric?” she said lightly, hoping to stave off what she feared was going to be a proposal.
“I have many opportunities to enjoy her playing,” he said calmly, “and far too few opportunities to enjoy your company.”
“At the moment, I am afraid, we should both return to the party.”
“Julia will be happy to play for a little while yet,” he said with the amiable firmness that infuriated her.
It had never been so clear to her before, but now she realized he spoke as if nothing she said had any real importance at all.
“I wanted to inquire,” he carried on, “as to how you are, given the distressing events of Tuesday. It would not have been surprising if you had felt obliged to cancel an entertainment after such an ordeal.”
Was that a criticism? If it was, Chloe had no patience for it. She knew she had at times been guilty of behaving as he expected, not as suited her nature, but she decided such times were past. “It is certainly unpleasant to be involved with sudden death, but not sufficiently to prostrate me, Sir Cedric.”
“You are very brave,” he said indulgently. “To find a corpse cannot but distress a lady. I noticed, however, how very unsympathetic and unsupportive your cousins both were. . . .”
“Justin is not my cousin, Sir Cedric.”
“By marriage,” he allowed with a smile.
“As you will,” Chloe sighed. Cedric was impossible to irritate or excite, and it would be impolite to give vent to her exasperation. “We really should rejoin the company, Sir Cedric.”
He merely smiled. “The word is out you will soon be leaving here, dear lady—”
“However did you hear that?” Chloe interrupted.
“You know the local gossips, my dear. In fact, your footman is meeting with my gardener’s daughter. Kestwick’s wife is dead so Sarah keeps house for him. I gather she walks over here frequently to speak to him.”
“Matthew?” she queried in surprise.
“Yes. If you disapprove, you’ll have to speak to him. As the girl is not in my employ, I have little say concerning how she spends her time, and Kestwick is too good an employee to disturb with such a matter.”
“I don’t disapprove,” Chloe said. “Servants should be allowed some life of their own. I just had no idea. She must be a very frequent visitor, for I only decided to leave on Tuesday.”
“I gather the girl was over twice that day. She came back in the morning full of the news of the accident.”
“She was here at the time of Frank’s death?” asked Chloe with interest.
“Yes, but she saw nothing. I did check. She and Matthew spoke briefly in the kitchen garden.”
“With Budsworth nearby?”
“No,” he said, looking irritated. “He had gone in for a cup of tea. My dear Lady Stanforth, I didn’t come here to talk about the servants’ courting. I came to talk of ours.”
“Ours?”
He was obviously put out at having made such a blunt declaration of his purpose. “You know, surely, how I feel about you, my dear. I have waited impatiently until such time as you had a man to guide you. I thought of asking Lord Stanforth’s permission to address you, but he is not, in fact, your guardian.”
“No,” said Chloe, biting back sharp words about his patriarchal attitude. He was only behaving in a manner the world would think correct. She could not help but add mischievously, “There is my cousin, however. He could be held to stand in loco parentis.”
Sir Cedric’s lips tightened. “I hardly think Lord Randal . . . I understand he is a suitor himself for your hand.”
Again, Chloe held back a comment. The local gossip was working overtime. This must explain Cedric’s urgency. He feared rivals. The only thing was to allow him to make his prepared speech and then refuse him gently. She was aware of having, in a mild way, encouraged him.
“I have long hoped you would become my wife, Chloe,” he began. “I can offer you much the same comfort as your first husband, and a home here, where you are loved . . .”
Next door to Justin, thought Chloe with a shudder.
“I admire you greatly, my dear, and not just for your beauty, which is fine but must surely fade with time. I desire nothing so much as to cherish you and remove all your cares. Your path will always be smooth and even with me by your side. No obstacle shall ever lie in your way.”
“Cedric.” Seeing he was well set into one of his perorations, and horrified by the picture he was painting, Chloe had been forced to interrupt. “Cedric, I am truly honored and touched. We have been good friends, you and I, and you have been a great support to me during this trying time. But I cannot feel for you as a woman should toward a husband. I’m sorry.” Chloe was very pleased by this speech. She had never had to refuse an offer before.
Cedric, however, was not accepting his dismissal. He took her hand and was about to attempt further persuasion when the door opened and Justin walked in. His brows rose, and Chloe felt like sinking through the carpet. What must he think, always coming in to find her in a man’s clutches?
“Am I intruding?” he said politely, but with icy displeasure.
“No, of course not,” said Chloe gratefully.
“I was just asking Chloe to be my wife,” said Sir Cedric primly.
She heard the breath hiss pass Justin’s teeth but he merely became as formal as his rival. “Am I to wish you happy, Chloe?”
They reminded Chloe of two dogs, curling their lips at each other, and walking stiff-legged about the edges of their territory.
“I have just told Sir Cedric it would not do,” she said simply. “Please excuse me.” With that she swept from the room and silently hoped the two of them enjoyed a pleasant conversation.
As she entered the drawing room, Randal came over, grinning. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight,” he said. “You’ve sliced up the pair of ’em. I admire your style with the lovelorn. I must copy it sometime.”
Chloe looked over and saw Herr van Maes looking eager. She sighed. “I warn you, Randal, if you start to pay court to me, I’m likely to accept. It would serve you right.”
Chloe found safe refuge with the older ladies for a while as they admired her art work. The watercolors were not impossible. She had a certain gift, and in some of them, she had caught the subtle mood of the sea.
She looked up to find Justin beside her admiring her work. He leaned forward so his lips were by her ear.
“I didn’t know you had such skill,” he said softly. “How can you
appear so perfect and yet constantly reveal new delights.”
She flashed him a warning look. The ladies seemed absorbed by her art, thank goodness.
“Randal said you were threatening to accept the next proposal you received,” he murmured. “I thought—”
Chloe stood and moved a little away from the group. “I said no such thing,” she said. “I merely threatened to accept him if he proposed. I know nothing would be less to his taste.”
“You’re too harsh on yourself, my dear,” said Justin, with a twinkle of amusement. “Mrs. Thornton, for example, would rank lower in his preferences, as would the sharp-edged Julia. . . .”
Chloe relaxed and chuckled. “Why not bring Lady Kellaway into the budget?”
Justin shook his head. “Even Randal, my dear, would not pursue a married lady.”
“Of course not,” said Chloe dryly. “They never run away.”
She looked up to see Justin regarding her with fond good humor. She noticed how the lines of care she had noticed on his arrival seemed to be smoothing out.
“You look happy,” she said.
“I am happy, just to be near you. I could, however, be happier,” he added meaningfully.
At this moment, Chloe was rescued by the doctor and his wife taking their leave. They were soon followed by others. Eventually even Sir Hambly, who had fallen asleep, and his lady were eased out into their coach. Chloe couldn’t help feeling relieved to have them all gone.
She found herself thinking wryly of the glittering social life she had been promising herself. She remembered now that it was not all delight. Yes, there were wonderful occasions where spirits were high and the wit flowed like champagne, but there were so many others—the fashionable crushes where one always met people one would rather avoid; the amateur musicales that threatened the ears; the dancing partners who smelled of garlic and less bearable things and trod on one’s toes.
Peaceful domesticity at Delamere had a great deal to offer. Evenings by the fireside with Justin would be delightful. She no longer had the desire to be constantly in the company of strangers.
The Duchess and Belinda had retired, and the gentlemen had disappeared somewhere—doubtless to seek a restorative from the brandy bottle. Many of the candles were guttering, and Chloe extinguished them, leaving only two, and the firelight, to ease the darkness. She sat quietly at the piano and played simple music as she thought.
She had hardly had a moment to herself since the afternoon with Justin. Now she could consider that meeting, and all the secrets surrounding Delamere.
Who had received the missing papers, and where were they now?
Belinda and Frank were both under suspicion, though she failed to see the young woman’s motive. George was the most likely person to have received the papers. To the sailor, the Honorable George Delamere might have appeared important enough to be trusted with them. If so, however, there was no reason for him not to have passed them on to the proper authorities.
Chloe suddenly realized Matthew also was a suspect. In the throes of refusing Sir Cedric, his words about Matthew had not fully sunk in. Now she realized Matthew had been in the garden at the time of Frank’s death. If there was any connection between the death and the papers, the footman required close scrutiny. He had come to Delamere shortly after the papers went missing, recommended by Humphrey Macy. If Macy was a government man, perhaps Matthew was one too. It should be looked at, she thought.
She remembered then that Justin had promised an explanation tonight. Had he forgotten? She toyed with the idea of seeking him out but abandoned it. He was doubtless with Randal and Macy, and if she should find him alone, goodness knows what would happen. Her resolution to make decisions about her future with a cool head was being slowly eroded.
She returned her mind hastily to the mystery. Frank, she decided, was by far the most likely candidate for traitor and a safe one now he was dead and buried. Having survived one scandal, Chloe had a horror of being involved in another. If Frank had obtained these mysterious papers, however, he would have sold them to the Bonapartists, bought his livery stables, and been a prosperous man. Instead, he had lived on, poor and unhappy, at Delamere. Why did this mystery always go in circles, never making sense?
She was interrupted by Justin, alone. She fumbled the notes and produced a discord.
“I persuaded Randal to play billiards with Macy,” he said as he came over to the piano. “I’d like to keep that man under our eyes while we decide what to do. I think our conference will have to take place in the Duchess’s bedroom later, after he’s retired. She has part of the explanation to give and there’s no danger of us being overheard there. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow to try to drag the truth out of Belinda.”
“You think Macy’s a government investigator too,” Chloe said. “We certainly don’t want him to arrest Belinda.”
“Don’t we?” He seemed startled by her words.
“Surely not,” she said anxiously. “If she has those papers, we can persuade her to return them. We wouldn’t want the scandal of a trial for treason.”
He frowned. “I suppose not, though it may not be in our power to prevent it if she is guilty.”
“She is certainly nervous around Macy, and yet she implied at one point that she would consider marrying him.”
“I appear to make you nervous,” he said with a direct look, “and yet I hope you have every intention of marrying me.”
“That’s not the same—” she said and then broke off, red-faced. “I don’t know my intentions.”
He smiled slightly. “Well, mine are strictly honorable. Unfortunately.”
They were feet apart, separated by the bulk of the instrument, and yet he could make her ache, dry her mouth, speed her pulse. . . . The crumbling fire flared up, tinting the shadowy room a hotter shade of red.
“Being with you like this is almost more than I can bear,” he said, calmly, though she could sense the strain in his shadowed face. “I can see you respond to every word I say, and yet you deny me.”
She leapt to her feet, prepared to flee him, prepared to flee her own wantonness. “Are you suggesting I should take you to my bed?” she demanded.
He moved slowly toward her. There was a slight smile on his lips, but his eyes were pure passion. “Would you? If I suggested it?”
“Of course not,” she said in an unconvincing whisper, her traitorous body melting toward him.
So casually she did not think to resist, he took her into his arms. Being there, against his body, felt so right. She fit. She belonged. Helplessly, she relaxed and laid her head against his chest.
“Just think,” he said softly as his warm hand rubbed comfortably on her back, and his breath stirred her hair. “We could do this every day, every night.”
She raised her chin to stare at him. This was seduction of the most subtle kind. His hand traced gently along the side of her face.
“Do you know how dreadful it is, my darling, to lie in my bed at night and know you are so close? A few steps to heaven. It is sacrilegious to ignore what we have here.”
To fight her desire to let him take her here, on the drawing room carpet, bathed in the crimson light of the dying fire, she said sharply, “That is a highly irreligious statement.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “You are my religion, my goddess.”
Chloe used all her willpower. “Profanity too,” she said, moving out of his arms.
He took the separation calmly, though the warmth in his eyes bridged the gap. “Not in my religion,” he said lightly, leaning against the side of the piano. “There, the only sin is denial of love.”
Chloe felt as if she should hug herself, do something to prevent herself from flying into pieces. “Not many years ago,” she retorted, struggling for a light tone, “you would have been burnt at the stake, My Lord.”
“And you are burning me now, my darling.”
Surely it was only the reflection of the fire that made his eyes smolder so,
but then why did her body feel heated, consumed? Oh, this was terrifying, what he could do to her. She must escape. She made as if to walk past him to the door.
“I prescribe a course of sea-bathing,” she said flippantly, thinking it might do her good too. “The waters of the bay are suitably cold—”
He caught her shoulders, almost bare in her fine silky gown, and pulled her roughly against his body for a violent, burning kiss which bruised her lips and heated her blood, leaving her trembling with shock and passion.
He pushed her slightly away and she stared at him.
“I will give you time, Chloe,” he said. “I will let you dance around this that we have—for a while at least. But never convince yourself it is a flimsy thing, blown in the wind. I will never let you go to another man. It is only a question of time, and I’m sorry, I cannot give you endless amounts of that and survive.”
Chloe was speechless, adrift. Never in her life had she known this kind of passion; the kind she saw clearly in him and sensed in herself; a hunger which could wipe out reason, discipline, breeding, and all the laws of society.
He must have read her thoughts in her face. He closed his eyes briefly. “I never knew it would be like this, Chloe,” he said softly. “I thought I could woo you gently, wait patiently. I have waited so long, after all. You push me to the brink of insanity. Perhaps you are right when you say you must leave here. . . .”
After a moment during which Chloe could count every beat of her heart, he released her, then walked to the door. “In the Duchess’s bedroom, as soon as Macy retires,” he said curtly and left the room.
His last statement, coming so quickly after the passion, conjured up the most peculiar vision in Chloe’s mind and she collapsed on the sofa in hysterical giggles. When she had collected herself, she paced the room, hugging herself. In the mirror she studied her huge, shocked eyes and reddened lips.
Stephen, her only real experience of men, had always been gentle. His lovemaking had been courteous and quiet, and though she had felt a vague dissatisfaction, she had never imagined it being any other way. Justin had revealed a whole other side to life, a side that both terrified and excited her. Earlier, walking through the gardens and the farm, she had been promised halcyon days of sunshine and laughter. Now she knew there would be stormy nights too.
