Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3)

by Rosemary Morris

  “I congratulate you on your promotion. You deserve it.”

  “Thank you, Lady Castleton, now please tell me where you disappeared to after your father’s death.”

  “I returned to England where I met my father-in-law.”

  The colonel frowned. “If you will forgive me for saying so, your husband’s close friends knew he was not on good terms with his father. So although we wanted to help you, we could find no trace of you and little George.”

  “Arthur,” Harriet corrected him, with an inward sigh. “the Earl of Pennington prefers his grandson to be called Arthur.” She spoke, while thinking that if only she had known they wanted to offer assistance, she would never have approached the earl. She forced herself to smile to conceal her painful thoughts. “To answer your question, I returned to England where I met my father-in-law.” There was no need to describe the dreadful hardships she and Arthur endured.

  Harriet swallowed, determined to change the subject of their conversation when they strolled around the edge of the ballroom before the next dance. She paused to greet Gwenifer, who sat next to her mother.

  “Lady Faucon, Lady Gwenifer, may I introduce you to Colonel Leigh?” Harriet asked. The ladies nodded. “Colonel, Lady Faucon and her daughter Lady Gwenifer.”

  A glow in his eyes, the colonel bowed. “May I have the pleasure of a dance, Lady Gwenifer?”

  Gwenifer gazed into his vivid blue eyes. “Yes, thank you, I shall be pleased to stand up with you.”

  Harriet pressed her lips together to prevent a smile. It seemed Gwenifer was not immune to the handsome officer, resplendent in his dress uniform.

  “And, if I may be so bold, would you also grant me the supper dance?” the colonel asked, the colour in his cheeks heightened.

  Harriet smiled, her friend was too young to remain a childless widow for the rest of her life. Moreover, after nobly-born Colonel Leigh’s participation in so many bloody campaigns, and the final battle at Waterloo, it was time for him to settle into a happy marriage.

  “Lady Castleton,” Morwenna began, “I hope you will call on me with your son. Ah, you look surprised. My daughter told me you have become good friends, and says she has fallen in love with Lord Castleton.”

  At the mention of her son, Harriet smiled. “Thank you for your invitation.”

  Morwenna tapped her daughter on the arm with her fan.. “Gwenifer, you must bring them to visit me in your brother’s carriage.”

  When the musicians played a few notes, Harriet inclined her head to Mister Markham, who had come to claim her for the quadrille.

  The colonel smiled down at Gwenifer. “My lady, although I fear I am an indifferent dancer, shall we take our places?”

  “I am sure you are too modest, Colonel,” Gwenifer chided him.

  Harriet laughed. “Yes, he is. No one dances a Highland reel or a strathspey better than Colonel Leigh.”

  “You are too kind, Lady Castleton,” the colonel had time to reply, before Mister Markham led her to form a square with two other couples.

  The first notes sounded. The gentlemen bowed. The ladies curtsied to their partners.

  Harriet danced under the influence of some magic spell in which her steps and Mister Markham’s matched perfectly.

  When the last notes died away they lingered, a little out of breath, while entranced.

  Harriet gazed at Mister Markham.

  “Lady Castleton,” Gwenifer prompted.

  The enchantment broken by her friend’s voice, and the sudden awareness of many observant eyes, Harriet quit the ballroom floor, escorted by Mister Markham.

  “Lady Castleton, will you dance a reel with me?” asked Leigh, who followed them with Gwenifer. “Of course, without bagpipes -” He broke off.

  Harriet guessed he was remembering the gallant Scots Greys who, bagpipes playing and kilts swinging, marched out of Brussels on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo, and died almost to the last man.

  “Colonel, Leigh,” Gwenifer murmured.

  “I beg your pardon, ladies, I was intended to say only the bagpipes do justice to reels such as Ranting Highlanders. Lady Castleton, please do me the honour of being my partner.”

  “How could I refuse?” Harriet responded. “I shall be pleased to.”

  The tall colonel bent his head towards Lady Gwenifer. “Will you allow me to take you back to your mother, Lady Gwenifer.”

  “Thank you, colonel,” Gwenifer replied, and placed the tips of her gloved fingers on his arm.

  * * *

  Although gentlemen, whether married or single, were expected to ask ladies to dance, Dominic stood between two pillars watching Lady Castleton dance the foursome reel. Her feet in dainty silk slippers decorated with turquoise satin rosettes skimmed over the floor. How gracefully, she raised her arm and snapped her fingers, surely no other lady could match her.

  Candlelight gleamed on Lady Castleton’s jewellery. Her gold net gown worn over a turquoise silk robe, heightened his impression of a being from another world, one who deigned to mingle with mortals.

  If only Pennington sanctioned the waltz, he would whirl Lady Castleton around the ballroom, only conscious of her eyes, so deep a blue that a gentleman could lose himself in them, he thought, sinking into a realm of imaginary delights.

  Leigh uttered a yell, an imitation of the Scots’ battle cry intended to put their enemies to flight. Harriet laughed up at him. A surge of jealousy took Dominic by surprise.

  “They make a handsome couple,” Gwenifer commented.

  Her words acted like cold water on the painful proportions of his desire to possess Lady Castleton.

  “Yes.” He looked down at his sister, whose mouth drooped.

  “They knew each other in the Peninsular so it is not surprising they suit each other so well,” Gwenifer remarked, in a small voice.

  Dominic wished Leigh were anywhere other than in the ballroom, his steps in perfect rhythm with Lady Castleton’s.

  “Come, Dominic, Mamma wishes to know why you are standing here instead of dancing the reel with one of the ladies, who don’t have a partner.” Gwenifer giggled. “She says you look like a disgruntled statue.”

  Dominic laughed as he turned around to make his way to his mother.

  “Ah, you have joined me instead of staring at a lady like a moonstruck calf,” she scolded.

  “Surely not a moonstruck one, Mamma. Please allow me some dignity.”

  “You are definitely bewitched like a moonstruck calf.” Morwenna rapped his arm with her furled fan. “Admit it, for since your birth I have understood you better than anyone else.”

  Not an impossible claim. Unlike many well-born mothers, Mamma saw her children regularly, and had not consigned all of their care to nurses, governesses and tutors.

  Mamma sat a little straighter. The diamonds in her tiara blazed with the colours of the rainbow.

  Before Morwenna spoke, she smoothed her lilac silk gown, which set off her fair skin and dark hair to perfection. “The moment I saw both of you together, I knew,” she declared.

  Dominic took a deep breath. His starched shirt point, as almost rigid as uncompromising steel, seemed to strangle him. Confound Mamma’s astuteness. “Kn…knew what?” he stuttered, like a schoolboy guilty of a misdemeanour.

  “Lady Castleton is unsuitable,” Morwenna declared, her voice almost masked by the babble of conversation and music.

  Before he could rally, his mother continued her verbal assault. “No, don’t pretend you don’t understand. Faucon has endured the loss of your younger brothers, and we must accept the imminent loss of his heir. Our hopes for the future rest on you.”

  Dominic knew her grief must equal Papa’s, yet she spoke without self-pity or thought of herself, for she loved his father so much that she only considered his deep-rooted grief.

  “I am well aware of my duty to the family, Madam.” Although he wanted to curse his obligation, he spoke in an even tone, and voiced his displeasure by addressing her as Madam instead of M
amma.

  Yet, if he married to please himself, he would not be the first gentleman to marry beneath him. Marry Harriet! What was he thinking of? He was not yet ready to be shackled by a gold ring.

  Dominic sighed at the thought of his duty to marry and provide an heir for his parents’ sake; and, because life was both precious and precarious, he should do so without delay. He winced. If he made a marriage of convenience one good thing would result. He would neither be the subject of gossip nor a target for unmarried ladies in his parish.

  Leigh, with Lady Castleton by his side, arrived to claim Gwenifer for the supper dance.

  His inner turmoil leashed, Dominic turned to face Harriet, whose pretty cheeks bloomed rosy after her lively participation in the reel. “A glass of wine if you are thirsty.”

  “Thank you. Instead of wine, another glass of orgeat would be most welcome.”

  “Very wise, Lady Castleton,” Morwenna agreed. “There is time to partake of refreshments before the supper dance. Dominic send a footman to serve us with wine and orgeat.”

  Dominic sighed, he needed to speak to Lady Castleton in private, but seemed there was no possibility of doing so this evening.

  * * *

  Although the ball did not end until three o’clock at night, when the golden harvest moon shone on most of the guests as they left the abbey, Harriet woke at nine o’clock. She stretched and smiled at the memory of supper, when attentive Mister Markham’s green eyes expressed much which lay unspoken between them. She did not think Edgar would begrudge her happiness if she re-married, but had her heart really been stolen for the second time? Did the charming rector want to marry her?

  If he did, she was certain Mister Markham would be an excellent stepfather. Harriet sat up and put her arms around her knees. Arthur! She would join him for his morning ride without Jack or her father-in-law, who she doubted would wake so early.

  Harriet reached out her hand to ring the bell. A few minutes later, her hand over her mouth to conceal a yawn, Plymouth entered the bedroom.

  “Your hot chocolate, my lady, or would you prefer either tea or coffee this morning?”

  Harriet shook her head and got out of bed. “I shall ride with Lord Castleton.”

  Half an hour later, on her way to breakfast parlour on the ground floor, Harriet saw the butler at the foot of the stairs. “Ah, Jarvis, do you know if Lord Pennington and Lord Wareham are awake?”

  “Yes, they are, my lady.”

  “In the breakfast parlour?”

  “No, they went to the stables with Lord Castleton.”

  “When?”

  Jarvis’s forehead puckered. “Perhaps half an hour ago.”

  Disappointed, she sighed. “Ah, I am too late to accompany them. I shall have breakfast.”

  A footman opened the door. To her surprise Viscount Buckley sat at the table, a tankard of ale in his hand. “Good morning, Lady Castleton.” He indicated his plate of thickly sliced ham, steak and chopped kidneys in a cram sauce. “There are advantages. It is true the early bird usually catches the worm. If I am not mistaken, your worm has escaped.” He sipped some ale. “Did you intend to ride with Pennington?”

  Her eyes widened. Did the affable viscount consider her father-in-law a worm? To hide her expression, bent her head as she served herself with toast. When she looked up, Buckley’s face was impassive.

  A footman brought a silver coffee pot, which he put it down on her right.

  “Nothing like hot coffee to revive the spirits,” Buckley remarked.

  Harriet picked up the pot and poured a steady stream into a cup. “My spirits, don’t need to be revived.”

  “I disagree. It stands to reason that anyone cloistered with my supposedly esteemed father-in-law in this mausoleum would need them raised.”

  Astounded by such frank speech, and in an attempt not to giggle, Harriet nearly choked on her mouthful of crisp toast spread with butter and delicious damson preserve.

  “Allow me to speak plainly. Although my wife’s hopes of our children inheriting a generous proportion of her father’s wealth has been dashed, I suggest you ignore any unnecessary resentment she might display towards you.”

  “I don’t blame Lady Katherine if she harbours resentment towards me and my son.”

  “If my wife does so, it is needless because I am able to provide her with all the elegancies of life, which she expects, and also for my sons and daughters.”

  Appreciative of Buckley’s frank speech, although the haute ton considered it vulgar to refer to their incomes, or, to put it more bluntly, money, Harriet sipped her coffee.

  The door opened for Mister Stanton, dressed in clerical black, to enter the room. “My lord, my lady.” He bowed to them. “Jarvis told me I am not the only person to rise early despite the late hour at which we slept. Mrs Stanton is occupied with our son, if she knew you are here, Lady Castleton, I don’t doubt she would have joined you.”

  Harriet inclined her head towards him. “Good day, sir, I hope you slept well.”

  “No, how could I in this place which I expected-” he broke off, obviously aware he had been on the brink of committing a faux pas. “I mean this place which is a testament to the other faith.”

  Puzzled, Harried stared at him.

  Buckley laughed. “I understand your confusion, Lady Castleton. Cousin Stanton refers to the Church of Rome.”

  “Oh, I harbour no animosity towards it,” Harriet began. “I have already explained to Jack, some monks did much good in the Peninsular. They nursed the sick, and the Irish contingents were glad of the priests, who heard their confessions before battle.”

  “A good Christian lady, who has spiked your guns, Mister Stanton,” remarked Buckley, who seemed amused.

  Harriet’s hand hovered over the coffee pot. “A cup of coffee, Mister Stanton?”

  The door opened. Arthur, his riding habit muddied, his hair flopping over his forehead and tears streaming down his face, ran to her. “Stop Grandfather, Mamma! You must stop him! Come to the stable.”

  When Harriet gathered him into her arms, he pulled himself free. “Come to the stables before it is too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Hysterical, Arthur could not answer.

  “Shocking behaviour,” Gerald Stanton commented. “I shall severely punish Frederick if he ever forgets himself like this.”

  Buckley stood. As though Arthur was one of his own children he picked him up and patted his back. “Come along, little gentleman, we shall go and see what your grandfather intends to do.”

  With quick footsteps Harriet followed Buckley out of the Abbey. They crossed the large, flagstone quadrangle to a door in a wall. On the other side of it they saw Mister Markham dismount from his horse. At the sound of Arthur’s hysteria, he turned around.

  Dominic handed the reins to a groom. A few quick steps and he reached her side. “What has happened? Why is Lord Castleton distraught?”

  “Prince.” Arthur choked the words out.

  A footman hurried past them, a pistol in his hand.

  At the end of the stable yard stood Pennington, Jack, stable boys and several grooms, one of whom held the Exmoor pony’s reins.

  With measured footsteps the earl walked towards them. “Buckley, put Lord Castleton down.

  Grim-faced, Buckley deferred to the older man.

  Harriet knelt and put her arms around her son while her father-in-law looked down at him.

  “Castleton, you are a lord. I expect you to act like one. I shall help you to pull the trigger.”

  “I don’t know what caused Arthur’s distress, but I assure you he will not fire your gun.” Her child rigid in her arms, Harriet glared at her father-in-law

  Pennington scowled, his hateful grey eyes hard as slate. “My heir will not be raised to be a coward.”

  “What do you want the child to shoot?” Buckley asked, a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

  Jack crossed the stable yard. He plucked Arthur up from Harriet’s
arms, and cradled him in his arms. “Don’t cry, Arthur, I will not allow Grandfather to slaughter Prince.” He faced Pennington. “If you had not encouraged my cousin to jump over that high hedge on his pony, I don’t think the saddle would have slipped, and the child would not have been thrown. Instead of blaming the poor creature, ask yourself why it happened.”

  Harriet stood, all the blood seeming to drain from her body. She pressed a hand over her heart. “The girth?” she hazarded.

  Jack’s face set in the harsh lines a much older man. “Just so.”

  “Someone loosened the girth?” Dominic asked.

  Jack nodded.

  Mister Markham drew closer to her. “Are you faint?”

  “Yes, no, I don’t know.”

  “Why would anyone do such a thing?” Gerald Stanton fingered the clerical bands at his neck.

  “Of all people, it should be obvious to you.” Buckley spoke in the manner of a gentleman addressing one who had lost his wits.

  Mister Markham handed the reins of his horse to a groom. “With your permission, Lord Castleton, I shall take care of your pony.”

  “Thank you,” Arthur managed to say between sobs.

  “Who would loosen the girth?” Pennington asked, his face pale despite his powder and rouge.

  Buckley held up his hand and contemplated a ring on his finger. “Well, I did not. I am sure Lady Castleton would not have tried to murder her son. Jack is rich enough to snap his fingers at a possible inheritance from you, father-in-law. So, one asks oneself who could have done such a thing?”

  They looked at Mister Stanton, who gulped. “You could not, do not think that I, a man in holy orders, could be the culprit.”

  “You could,” Pennington snapped, “if you steeled yourself.”

  Harriet shuddered. “Who was responsible for attempted murder? Jack or Lady Isabel, Buckley or Lady Katherine, Reverend or Mrs Stanton or an unknown person.”

  Harriet scrutinised Pennington’s face. He showed no sign of remorse. Her anger seethed. She would not, could not remain under the roof of a monster. One who had intended to force a four year-old to shoot his beloved pony. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Jack, please put Arthur down. I shall take him to the nursery.”