by Lacey, Lilac
Rodney burst out laughing and Tara would have been tempted to join him had Leo not seemed to harassed. She had known old Lord Hulme for many years and he had never been anything but grandfatherly towards her. ‘Goodness, no,’ Rodney said. ‘He is an aged widower twice over and has no plans to acquire a further wife. Besides I’m quite sure Tara wouldn’t have him when she could have any man she chooses.’
‘I see,’ Leo said faintly, and Tara would have given anything to have known his thoughts.
‘Shall we discuss the transaction?’ Rodney asked.
‘Yes, of course,’ Leo said, recovering his aplomb. ‘Perhaps Lady Tara would like to step through to the parlour for some refreshment?’
Tara allowed herself to be conducted into the adjacent room, which indeed was arranged as a very small parlour with a chaise-longue, a writing desk and a small sideboard. Leo poured her a glass of wine, there was a brief moment when their fingers brushed, and then he was gone.
Suddenly Tara found she was in a very bad mood indeed. How dare Rodney return when he did, when Leo was just on the point of kissing her! She couldn’t see how such a situation could ever arise again, worse, she didn’t know if she would ever see Leo again after today. True he attended some society functions, but she had managed to complete four London seasons without every laying eyes on him before this one. It seemed all too likely that he was about to vanish without trace again. She longed to go back into the studio and throw the wine in Rodney’s face even though she knew he was entirely blameless. With a shaking hand she set the glass down on the writing desk and the familiarity of the handwriting on the letter lying there caught her eye.
Dear Fosse,
I am holding a small house party at my father’s home at Wallingford, Oxfordshire…
Rodney had invited Leo to the house party too! Suddenly the source of her reluctance to attend tumbled into place. She had not wanted to leave London while Leo was there but now spending a week in Wallingford seemed far more desirable. But was Leo planning to attend? Hastily Tara leafed through his correspondence hoping to find a half penned letter of acceptance but Leo had left her no clues there. She would have to bring it up in conversation and see if Leo responded. Impatiently she looked towards the door. Surely the simple sale of a painting couldn’t take much longer.
It didn’t, at that moment the door swung open and Tara snatched up her undrunk wine and stepped back from the writing desk guiltily.
‘Drink, Hulme?’ Leo was asking. ‘Wine? Brandy?’
‘Brandy will do nicely,’ Rodney said cheerfully. Leo poured Rodney a moderate measure but Tara noticed he poured nothing for himself.
‘The oil should be dry enough for the painting to travel on the fifteenth,’ Leo said, apparently continuing the conversation they had been having in the studio.
‘That is the date of your house party, isn’t it?’ Tara cut in, unable to believe the opportunity to bring up the topic had arisen so easily.
‘Yes,’ Rodney said. ‘I’ll give it to father then, it’s his birthday the following day.’
For a moment Leo caught Tara’s eye and she could almost feel him thinking that such a sensuous painting was a quite unsuitable gift for an old man, but Rodney had commissioned the portrait and he had a right to do with it as he chose. Would Leo be delivering the painting himself? It was on the tip of Tara’s tongue to ask when Rodney added ‘You can see, Tara, how nice it will be for father to have you there, he has always been very fond of you.’
‘Yes,’ she said and then wondered if she’d just agreed to go. Leo said nothing, giving Tara no clue as to his intentions. Suddenly she could bear it no longer, standing in this room full of people not asking what they really wanted to ask. Rodney would not ask her outright in public if she were going to come to his party, she could hardly say that she would if Leo was going to and as for Leo, he had asked her if she would stoop to a tryst with a penniless artist and she had not been able to answer. But he could not possibly repeat the question in front of Rodney and she certainly couldn’t demand to know what he had meant by it.
She set down her wine again, still untouched. ‘Rodney, I am out at the theatre this evening and I need to return home to change.’
‘At your service,’ Rodney said, gulping his brandy hastily. Tara glanced at Leo one more time, but he stood with his back to the window, his face in shadow, and she could not see what he was thinking. Well, she had implied that she would be at Wallingford, she would have to wait and see if he decided to act. Pushing aside the thought that if he did not she might never see Leo again, Tara swept regally from the room, resisting the impulse to turn at the door, run back and fling herself into his arms.
‘Will Mr Fosse be delivering the painting to Wallingford himself?’ she asked Rodney almost as soon as the horses had taken their first step.
‘No, I shall collect it on my way down,’ Rodney said. It would be terribly, terribly rude of her to ask if Leo would be coming to the house party as a guest. Not only was it none of her business, but to make it clear that she would only wish to attend if Leo was there would be insulting in the extreme. Tara steeled herself to be that rude. ‘Have you made up your mind?’ Rodney asked wistfully. ‘Will you come?’
Tara felt her resolve melt. Rodney was her friend, how could she have considered treating him so heartlessly? ‘Of course I will,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘The matters I need to attend to are not important. I would be delighted to accept your invitation, thank you for asking me.’
As the door closed behind Tara and Rodney Leo felt an unaccustomed gloom settle over him. He had very nearly made a huge fool of himself over Tara, he had suggested… he didn’t know what he had suggested, what he had said had been mercifully vague. All he knew was that when she was in his arms he would have done anything to keep her there. And he had misled her, portraying himself as a penniless artist was hardly accurate. He had hidden his title from her, not wishing the parallels between himself and that despicable Frenchman, Philippe, to be any clearer; but instead of taunting Tara over a woman’s concerns of marrying for position, he should have used his title to make a favourable impression on her. Goodness knew, his father had not left him anything else of value. Now when Tara found out he was a lord, all she would see was that he had deceived her.
He had been so sure she felt as he did, the burning attraction that was between them, but she had left literally without a backward glance as if she could not care less whether she ever saw him again. Leo paced around the confines of the tiny room. Rodney’s letter, inviting him to Wallingford, lay on the beaureau taunting him. Tara had made it obvious that she would be there. Had she changed her mind about Rodney? It seemed likely if she was now planning a sojourn to his home. In frustration Leo snatched up the letter and crumpled it, then something caught his eye. The ammonite fossil he used as a paperweight had been moved from off the stack of papers it held down and now sat impotently on the top of the desk. Furthermore the papers were no longer in a tidy pile, it looked very much as if someone had read his letter from Rodney and then leafed through his correspondence looking for further information.
She knew he had been invited to Wallingford and she wanted to know if he would be there! Now what exactly had she said to Rodney? Leo made himself review the conversation dispassionately. Rodney had commented that it would be nice for his father to see Tara again and she had replied ‘Yes.’ It was hardly Romeo and Juliet. Suddenly life looked rather less bleak. He would go to Wallingford and spend a whole week in Tara’s company. Yes, things looked rather less bleak indeed. Whistling softly Leo penned a quick reply to Rodney.
Dear Hulme,
Delighted to join you at your home on the fifteenth,
Fosse
Chapter Six
Tara had been to Wallingford six years earlier, shortly before her come out and while her father was still alive. Lord Penge had been a friend of old Lord Hulme and while the two families had not met often, Tara had always thought of Rodney’s father as
a sort of grandfather and was sure he viewed her as a daughter or granddaughter in return. He would have liked to have seen a match between herself and Rodney, but she was quite sure he would be equally taken with the prospect of pretty Lady Susannah Maxwell as a daughter-in-law instead. She hoped Rodney would propose and announce the engagement while she was visiting, it would be fun to share in the excitement of a betrothal. She couldn’t help thinking a little wistfully though, of the last time she had been here, with her mother and father and her little brother Richard, not so little now, and in his fourth year at Eton. It was almost the last thing they had done as a family - her father had succumbed to the depression which had plagued him for many years and taken his own life a scant month later. This time she was travelling here quite unchaperoned, with only her maid Betty for company on the journey.
The road ran parallel to the Thames, which, once away from London, sparkled and danced in the June sunlight. The journey was not arduous, but Tara was pleased when at last the carriage rounded a corner and Wallingford Manor came into sight. Its long lawns swept down to the edge of the river and a double row of elms marked the arrow-straight driveway. Briskly the horses crossed the stone bridge and then trotted up to the house. With a toss of her head Tara shook off her gloomy thoughts. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself last time she had visited and this week held the same promise of luxury and fun - tinged with the possibility of so much more if Leo were there too. She gazed at the house, he could already be inside, but its many windows twinkled blandly in the sun and told her nothing.
Her carriage drew up in front of the Manor and the Hulme’s butler came out to greet her, trailed by two footmen who at once started unstrapping her luggage. ‘Lady Tara, welcome to Wallingford,’ the butler said and Tara wondered if he had recognised her or had simply been well briefed as to the appearance of each guest. With a guest list as small as this one it was quite possible.
She was shown into an exquisite peach-coloured room, its walls lined in pale peach paper and the curtains and bed covering in a darker peach satin. There were tiny cushions, patterned with little pink flowers, on the white sofa and there was a sampler on the wall, its verse in praise of the bounty of autumn and its border composed - rather incongruously - of embroidered blossoms and peaches. She suspected Rodney had allocated her the best bedroom to thank her for agreeing to spend the week here. The rug on the floor was pale and Tara’s immediate thought was that she must not step on it in her outdoor shoes, it would be sure to mark. ‘When you are ready, Lady Tara, you will find the other guests gathered in the green drawing room,’ the butler said. ‘You will find it at the north west corner of the house.’
‘Thank you,’ Tara said, and then could contain her impatience no longer. ‘Which guests have arrived?’ she asked.
‘Lord Frederick is here with his cousin Miss Palmer,’ the butler said immediately, ‘and Lady Susannah arrived a short time ago, ma’am.’
‘Thank you,’ Tara said again, struggling to hide her reaction. Just because Leo wasn’t here yet did not mean he was not coming. She changed out of her travelling dress into a light muslin frock and went to join the others.
Rodney and Freddie were both gratifyingly pleased to see her and later, as they gathered for dinner, old Lord Hulme made her feel particularly welcome. ‘Tara,’ he said, ‘how lovely to see you again. I believe you grow more beautiful every day.’
Tara laughed. ‘You flatter me too much, Lord Hulme,’ she said, but she knew he was sincere and it reminded her sharply of Leo who had paid her the greatest compliment she had ever received simply by painting her as he saw her. They sat down at the table and with dismay Tara saw that there was no extra place waiting for an additional guest. Perhaps Leo was not expected after all. During the long two weeks since she had last seen him she had told herself repeatedly that he would be bound to come, and it seemed she had convinced herself. But he was not here and there was no evidence that he was expected. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Rodney if Leo were coming, but something held her back. Not good manners, she admitted to herself wryly, but a fear that asking would somehow jinx his arrival, or perhaps it was just that she wanted to hold on to hope. As long as she had not been told Leo was not coming, she could still wait for him.
But dinner drew to a close with still no sign of Leo. The ladies withdrew and when the men rejoined them after their brandy and cigars Tara thought just for a moment that Leo was with them, but the tall, dark-haired man she had caught sight of out of the corner of her eye was a strong, young footman, waiting on Lord Hulme whom, Tara was saddened to see, was no longer steady on his feet.
After a little while Lord Hulme retired and Tara joined in a desultory hand of bezique. But the other ladies’ hearts were not in the game either, Susannah clearly would rather be at Rodney’s side and Antonia looked as if she could hardly keep her eyes open. It was cruel to Susannah, Tara knew, but it would be a kindness to Antonia, and to Rodney’s Aunt Phyllis, who had agreed to act as chaperone, as both looked as if they would appreciate an early night. Tara rose.
‘If you would excuse me, ladies,’ she said. ‘I find I am too weary to keep my mind on the cards. I think I shall go to bed. I am sure we all have a very exciting week ahead of us,’ she added, seeing from the dismayed look on Susannah’s face that she had deduced that once Tara left the room the other women would follow suit and she would have to leave too. ‘I for one wish to be rested enough to enjoy it to the full,’ she added.
The peach bedroom was, of course, south facing, and in the moonlight Tara could easily make out the road following the far side of the shining river. When she was ready for bed she dismissed Betty and returned to the window, to stare out into the darkness at the London road. She had given up waiting and had got into bed, telling herself firmly that she would deal better with her disappointment if she got a good night’s sleep when some sixth sense impelled her to get up again and go back to the window.
The road was empty for as far as she could see and then, at first barely discernible, she saw a horse and cart approaching. The horse walked steadily as if the driver knew that asking it to trot at this time of night would be too much for an old hired pony, but as the cart approached she thought she saw the man’s gaze turn to the house. Anyone would look up at Wallingford Manor, an imposing shadow in the night, she told herself as her heart started to beat faster. There was nothing else to look at around here, it did not mean that the driver was Leo. Then, unerringly, the driver turned the pony and they crossed the bridge into the manor grounds. It must be him. As he drew up to the front of the house and passed out of sight Tara threw up the sash window and leaned out, straining to catch a glimpse of him.
She saw him, just, as he leapt down from the cart and took the pony’s head. She could make out no features, but she was sure, by the powerful, easy grace with which the man moved that it was Leo. Her heart soared and she only just restrained herself from calling out to him. She willed him to look up, and perhaps she made some slight noise because all at once he stilled and raised his head in her direction. The moonlight gleamed in his eyes and she knew he had seen her. He did not wave or speak and neither did she, but it was enough, even at that distance his look was like a touch. She withdrew from the window and threw herself into bed, rapturous. Leo was here, and he knew she had been waiting for him.
Despite the long journey he had made by means of stage coach and then hired horse and trap from the inn at Wallingford, Leo woke up early the next morning, alert and ready to begin the day. He wasn’t surprised to find himself the first one down to breakfast, from what he remembered of the house parties his parents had held when he was a child, the gentlemen would be sleeping late, recovering from the camaraderie of the night before, and the ladies would spend a considerable period of time perfecting their appearances before being seen in public. Some of the women would even take breakfast in their rooms and not emerge until luncheon; he sincerely hoped Tara would not show such reticence.
Two fo
otmen soundlessly appeared in the breakfast room bearing scrambled eggs, kippers, tea and toast. As he helped himself Leo found he was smiling at the thought of Tara. Although he had never yet seen her appear less than beautifully clothed and coifed, she had not had too much pride to lean out of her window at midnight, dressed only in her nightdress, to see him. At least he was almost sure it was her, he couldn’t imagine any of Rodney’s other guests doing such a thing. Surely someone so impetuous would not hide in her bedroom until the afternoon.
But Tara frustrated him almost as much as she intrigued him. It seemed that whenever he thought they were in perfect accord, she said something which reminded them how far apart their positions in society were. Her careless dismissal of the Frenchman’s eligibility as one of her suitors, for instance, suggested that she would never consider a man who had to work for a living a suitable husband. She was so unconsciously snobbish. Leo was proud of the way he had managed to build a career doing the thing he loved, although he was longing for the day when he could give up portraiture and concentrate on painting landscapes. He had amassed enough capital to do that very soon, possibly even this summer, particularly if he could get a commissioned landscape to begin with. But even if he did remain a portrait painter for the rest of his life there was no shame in it. He earned enough to support himself and a family in some comfort, he was well respected in the ton and every door was open to him. Yet at Freddie’s dinner party Tara had accepted Philippe La Monte’s presence without question, but she had thought he had been invited to make up the numbers.
