Catherine Coulter the Sherbrooke Series Novels 6-10 (9781101562123)

by Coulter, Catherine

  Jason said, “Surprisingly enough, we managed to come to agreement, for the most part, and that includes draperies and paint colors as well. I scarce remember how bad the house looked when I first saw it. And the paddocks, all freshly painted, the tack room—” and on and on he went, his family so very pleased they smiled and nodded and asked questions even though they’d heard this nearly same recital every evening. When finally no one could think of another question to ask him, James turned to Hallie, “When are you taking your mare to Lyon’s Gate?”

  She said, “Piccola’s stable is all ready for her, but she will remain here until Jason and I actually move to Lyon’s Gate. Did I tell you—”

  Unfortunately, Hallie wasn’t the long absent son of the house, and was cut off by Corrie. “Oh yes, you told us all about her, Hallie. Goodness, Jason, another week and even the furniture will be there. This is marvelous. And less than an hour’s ride from Northcliffe. We are all so very pleased, particularly my husband.” She beamed at him only to see that Hallie and Jason were now arguing in low voices. It was so common to see them going at it, she said something sure to snag Hallie’s attention. “Hallie, you’re very nearly as beautiful a woman as Jason is a man.”

  Hallie turned in her chair so quickly, she knocked over her teacup. She stared at Jason’s sister-in-law and found herself without a word to say. As for Jason, he was laughing.

  Hallie said, “Well, thank you, Corrie. However, truth be told, I am only a very vague copy of my father.”

  Corrie said, “Come now, Hallie, he’s your father, thus you see him with less objectivity than you would another man. Come now, admit it.”

  But Hallie shook her head. “Wait and see.”

  As everyone filed out of the breakfast room, Alex placed her hand on her husband’s arm. “Do you know, everything has changed so utterly since Jason came home. I’m quite enjoying myself.”

  Douglas looked ahead at Hallie and Jason, still arguing about God knew what, and said thoughtfully, “I wonder.”

  Alex said, “Don’t wonder, I beg of you. Can you believe that Hallie and your mother had a fine time visiting Lyon’s Gate? Hallie told me later that when she confessed to Lady Lydia her partnership with Jason, your mother told her to take the upper hand as soon as possible because her two precious grandsons were stubborn as stoats. But then again, she told Hallie, all gentlemen were stubborn and used to getting their own way. Since, she told Hallie, she’d lived eight decades she’d witnessed this many times and Hallie would be wise to take note of it.”

  Douglas laughed. “If you had been the one to tell her, she would have accused you of fostering immorality and God knows what else.”

  “Well, I must say I’m relieved that Hallie was the one who told her. I thought that at last she’d blast her.”

  “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

  “I can’t help it. Do you know that Hallie took both Lady Lydia and Hollis to Lyon’s Gate yesterday in the carriage? She even thought to bring a picnic lunch.”

  “Yes, I knew. Hollis was grinning from ear to ear, told me about everything going on, just as Jason does every single evening.”

  Alex sighed. “Why would Lady Lydia like Hallie Carrick so very much and detest me?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I think it’s because Hallie jumped her before she could get the bit in her mouth and chew on it. I think it would behoove both you and Corrie to learn a lesson from this. It might be too late, but who knows?”

  “Hmm. Are you going to work at Lyon’s Gate today?”

  Douglas shook his head. “With James gone all the time, I must see to business here.”

  She went up on her tiptoes, drew him down to her, and whispered against his ear, “I haven’t minded rubbing down your sore muscles, my lord.”

  “I married a baggage, thank God.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Lyon’s Gate

  Five Days Later

  “Everett! Don’t eat that nail!”

  Three adults and Martha ran toward the little boy, but his mother was the fastest. Corrie whipped him up in her arms, pulled the nail out of his hand, spit on her handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “No, no, no!” she yelled in his face and shook him for good measure.

  Everett stared at his mother, screwed up his face, threw back his head and yowled.

  His twin, Douglas, grabbed his mother’s skirt and yanked hard. Corrie, both hands trying to hold Everett still, crooned down to Douglas, “Just a moment, baby, just another moment, and Mama will pick you up too.”

  Everett’s voice went up another octave. Douglas screwed up his face, opened his mouth and matched his twin’s volume. Martha patted their hands. “Heavenly groats, my lady, me own little brother niv—never—made so much racket as these little nits.”

  Jason called out, “Who wants to waltz with me?”

  There was an instant of complete silence, then, “I do!”

  “I do!”

  “Me first, Uncle Jason!”

  Everett was trying to pull away from his mother and Douglas was jumping up and down, now pulling on Jason’s dirty pant leg.

  Jason, laughing, picked up Douglas and gathered Everett to his other side, and called out, “I need some music, please.”

  Hallie, who’d come running out of the house at Everett’s yells, didn’t hesitate. She started singing one of Duchess Wyndham’s ditties, written some twenty years before and still a favorite in the king’s navy. She sang it in three-quarter time to a popular waltz tune so the words fit the rhythm of a waltz, for the most part, making anyone listening laugh his head off.

  Jason whirled and dipped and glided. The twins laughed and shrieked. Every adult within one hundred feet stopped working to watch, and listen.

  “ ’E ain’t the man to shout ‘Please, my dear!’

  ’E’s only a lout who shouts ‘Bring me a beer!’

  ’E’s a bonny man wit’ a bonny lass

  Who troves ’im a tippler right on ’is ass.

  And to hove and to trove we go, my boys,

  We’ll shout as we please till ship’s ahoy!”

  Three of the workers knew the ditty and began singing along with Hallie. They were all swaying, then Mackie, a bricklayer, yelled to one of the women, “Meg, come dance wit’ me!”

  Soon there were at least four couples waltzing, Martha herself doing very well with young Thomas the blacksmith’s son, who had just celebrated his tenth birthday. Alex heard her say, “She’s my mistress, she is. Jest listen to those beautiful pipes inside her purty self.”

  The dowager countess, Lady Lydia, hummed and swayed in her chair, in blessed shade beside the front door, Angela Tewksbury at her side, laughing, trying to clap her hands in three-quarter waltz time.

  Hollis stood in the doorway smiling benignly, foot tapping. He caught Jason’s eye and pointed to the platter and formed the words lemonade, biscuits. Jason whispered in Everett’s ear, then in Douglas’s. To his astonishment, both little boys grabbed him around the neck and yelled,

  “Dance!”

  “Dance!”

  It required another full rendition of the sailor’s song before the twins decided they wanted lemonade, all because Hollis was drinking a big glass, letting a dribble run down his chin, not three feet from them.

  Soon they were seated on a blanket in the shade next to Lady Lydia and Mrs. Tewksbury, a plate of cakes and biscuits on the blanket between them. They were jabbering in twin talk, each trying to grab the most cakes.

  “Give me water, Hollis,” Jason said, breathing hard. “Merciful heavens those two have more energy than Eliza Dickers. I don’t think even she wore me out as much as those two.”

  One of his father’s eyebrows kicked up. “A Baltimore belle?”

  Hallie sneered, her expression condemning as a nun’s. “Ah, yes, my lord. I understand that Jason’s belle, Eliza Dickers, could perhaps be considered something of a virtuous widow, once upon a time, before your son’s arrival to Baltimore.”

  Jason st
iffened straight as the new fence poles he’d hammered into the ground only an hour before. He gave her a look to curdle butter and a voice to freeze the outskirts of Hell. “Eliza Dickers is a lady who is one of Jessie Wyndham’s best friends. She, unlike you, Miss Carrick, is an adult. She hurts no one, either with actions or words.”

  He turned on his heel and walked back to his brother.

  Hallie stared after him. “Oh dear.”

  Douglas said, “Why do you dislike my son so, Miss Carrick?”

  “Oh dear,” Hallie said again. “I didn’t mean—truly I didn’t, it’s just that I’m—”

  “You’re still furious with him because he owns half of Lyon’s Gate?”

  “No,” she said, staring at Jason whilst he spoke to his mother now, his hand on her sleeve.

  “Ah,” said Douglas’s father, and smiled at her.

  Hallie stilled. “I don’t like what you’re thinking, sir, even though I don’t know what it is, and I don’t ever want to know what it is.”

  She watched Jason raise a glass of water and down the entire glass, his strong throat working. His shirt, open halfway down his chest, was sweated through and clinging to him. The hair on his chest was dirty and shiny as well with sweat, which she wasn’t going to think about.

  If Douglas wasn’t mistaken, and he never was about things like this, Hallie Carrick was staring at his son with a rather alarmed expression on her face. He would wager a bundle of groats that she’d been jealous. Yes, she’d given a display of nice, raw jealousy, as low and human as could be. It was difficult to see another side to her, Douglas thought, a charmingly human side, since he’d wanted to strangle her for so long.

  He watched Jason toss his glass to one of the workers standing near Hollis. Douglas said to Hallie, “Your voice is good and strong. Do you know that Duchess Wyndham is James Wyndham’s cousin-in-law?”

  “Oh yes, she’s very famous in Baltimore. I believe Wilhelmina Wyndham quite hates her, although she hates a goodly number of people so that’s no particular distinction.”

  “I can’t believe you made that ditty fit waltz time, sort of. Well done.”

  “Thank you, sir. I suppose it’s time for me to get back to hanging the new bedchamber draperies.”

  Douglas watched her walk into the house, her eyes on her shoes, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, her shoulders a bit slumped.

  James came up behind his brother, his arms folded over his own sweaty shirt. “Hallie hasn’t worn breeches since that very first time we met her.”

  Jason, no hesitation at all, laughed. “I’m not about to say anything. She’d strip off her gown and pull on breeches just to spite me. Blessed hell, it’s hotter now than it was a minute ago.”

  James took a glass of water from one of the workers, took a sip, then dumped the rest of the glass over his twin’s head. “Better?”

  Jason yelled, then groaned in pleasure. “Much better. Why don’t we swim later?”

  “You’ll freeze your parts off,” said their father.

  “I can’t wait,” Jason said. He heard an ancient cackle and looked over at his grandmother, sitting close to Mrs. Tewksbury, an elderly lady herself, but not by any means an octogenarian. She couldn’t be older than seventy. She had white hair threaded with soft brown strands, a sweet round face with few lines. She seemed utterly unflappable, and the greatest shock of all—his grandmother seemed to like her immensely. Not five minutes after they’d met, Jason heard them yelling at each other in the drawing room. He’d never heard a single person yell back at his grandmother before. He was nailed to the spot.

  His grandmother sailed out of the drawing room some minutes later, saw him standing there, and gave him a sweet smile. He’d hugged her to him. “You don’t like Mrs. Tewksbury, Grandmother?”

  She eased back from him and patted his cheek. “Angela? I do believe she’s got a nice wit, my boy. You may call Horace. I wish to go home now and speak to Cook. Angela’s coming to dinner.”

  James’s voice brought him back. “I like Angela. You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. I do believe she fascinates Grandmother, and vice versa.”

  “It is a miracle,” said their mother, hugging both of them even though Jason was wet and dirty, James only dirty. She stepped back and raised her face to the sky, her eyes closed, her lips moving.

  “Mother, what are you doing?”

  “Ah, James, I’m praying this miracle doesn’t disappear with the arrival of nightfall.”

  Douglas said, “If the miracle fades away, I’ll do my best to cheer you up tonight.”

  His boys looked at each other, then down at their boots, not a word coming out of their mouths.

  That evening, after dinner, the weather continued warm, a sickle moon hanging high in the sky. Jason walked into the east garden where all the naked male and female statues cavorted in timeless pleasure. Strangely enough, he was thinking of the last race he’d run against Jessie Wyndham. He’d been on Dodger, she on Rialto’s son, Balthazar. Dodger’s head was down, he was dead serious, focused on the finish line in the distance. With not more than twenty feet to go, Jason turned to look over his shoulder to see exactly where Balthazar was. His heart fell to his boots. Jessie wasn’t on his back. Oh God, she’d fallen. Jason, terrified she was hurt or even dead, immediately wheeled Dodger about only to hear Jessie laugh. Laugh? He watched numbly as she hoisted herself back straight in the saddle, dug her heels into Balthazar’s sleek sides and galloped past him, over the finish line a moment later. She whipped a rearing Balthazar around and called out between shouts of laughter, “Jason, I’m sorry to do that to you, but Balthazar can’t bear to lose a race. He stops eating. Once he nearly died he was so distressed over a loss at the McFarly racetrack. I had to do something.”

  And Jason said mildly, “It’s no problem at all, Jessie. That was an excellent trick.”

  “I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. I’ve never had to fling myself sideways with you before. I’m surprised James didn’t warn you.”

  “No, James never said a thing.”

  “I wonder why the children kept mum.”

  “There was no reason for anyone to warn me since I’ve never before beaten you in a race.”

  She’d given him a fat smile and nodded, recognition that if she hadn’t done him dirty, he would have won. When she dismounted, praising Balthazar, Jason rode up to her, smiling, and let Dodger at him. He bit Balthazar’s flank, hard. Dodger hadn’t been as philosophical about the dirty trick.

  He was smiling absently as he looked up at Corrie’s favorite statue, a kneeling man frozen for all eternity between a woman’s legs.

  He turned quickly when he heard a gasp. “Hallie. You found your way in here.” She didn’t look at him, only stared around at the various statues.

  Jason said, “There are fifteen statues. Each, I suppose you could say, with a different approach to the theme. I believe it was my great-grandfather who brought them back from Greece.”

  She didn’t say a single word. Her eyes did not waver.

  He pointed up at the statue. “Most women prefer this one, once they are married, but only if their husbands aren’t clods.”

  She looked more closely and blanched. “Oh dear, what is he doing?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t look away from the statues. Jason said, his hand on her arm, “Come along.” When she still didn’t move, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away. He left the east gardens, still pulling her back toward the glass doors that opened into his father’s—no, James’s—estate room.

  “No, no, please, Jason, please, let’s not go in yet.”

  “You shouldn’t be looking at those statues. You’re too young and too ignorant.” He said nothing more, merely looked down at her, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched her tongue rub over her bottom lip.

  “I’m not young nor am I particularly ignorant, but I will be honest here. It was difficult to break myself away.”

  “You’d still be there, staring up, y
our mouth open, if I hadn’t dragged you away.”

  “Probably true. Please, don’t go in yet. I wanted to talk to you, and it’s not about the statues.”

  A elegant brow went up.

  She was scuffing her slipper against a small rock.

  Finally, after the silence dragged out, he sighed. “Spit it out, Miss Carrick.”

  Her head came up and she said, all stiff and cold, “Please don’t call me Miss Carrick in that awful formal voice again. You’ve called me Hallie for a good week now.”

  “Ah, the princess gives a direct order.”

  She wrung her hands. “No, I didn’t mean that, truly, I only meant that when you speak in that tone it makes me feel lower than a slug. I hate it when you use my last name like you despise me so much you don’t even want to acknowledge Hallie.”

  Jason leaned back against a sessile oak tree older than his grandmother, arms folded over his chest, and waited.

  “I wanted to talk to you—All right, I really wanted to apologize. I was wrong to speak like that about Mrs. Dickers. It was such a shock to know that you and she—”

  “You’re ruining it, Miss Carrick.”

  Hallie sucked in her breath. “You can freeze someone with that voice.”

  “Yes. I learned it from my father. James as well.”

  “Don’t you see? She’s so much older than I am, and I simply couldn’t imagine you and she were, well—”

  “This is getting better and better. How long do you plan to make excuses for yourself?”

  She took a step toward him, reached out her hand, then dropped it again at her side. “We’re going to have to live together, Jason. I can’t live with you freezing me like this, like you’re still angry, perhaps still disgusted with me. Oh, very well, I’ll spit it out like you want. No more excuses. What I said was mean, it was petty, I’m a horrible person. Are you content now?”

  “Hmm,” he said, turned on his heel, opened the door to the estate room and disappeared inside. She stared after him, angry that he’d walked away and wanting to fall to her knees and beg him to forgive her.