Moonlight And Mistletoe

by Louise Allen

  Hester decided she was refining too much upon the possibility of misjudging Sir Lewis, firmly told herself that there was no excuse to write Guy a note and ask him to come over and hear what Annabelle Redland had told her and settled instead to cutting out her new petticoat and whipping the seams. It was an occupation that kept her hands busy and allowed her all too much time to think.

  It was chastening to realise that being firm with oneself, facing the facts squarely and not deluding oneself had no effect at all upon an unruly imagination. Hester’s hands stilled on the seam and the fabric, which she had tucked under her arm to maintain the tension, sagged unregarded. It was as though she was incapable of thinking about anything but Guy Westrope. She recalled the feel of his body against hers, the pressure of his lips on her mouth, the wicked twinkle in his eyes when they shared a joke. How much longer was he going to stay in Winterbourne and torment her? And would the torment be any less if he were not here?

  The notion of life without Guy was not one she had considered before and it was unexpectedly distressing. ‘I am in love with him,’ she murmured to herself. And all that this admission brought her was the same painful choice once more: to try and forget him once he left or, if it was offered, to surrender all her principles and yield to an immoral liaison. Hester was shaken to realise that she could even consider such a choice; it seemed she was less resolute than she had believed.

  The next day found her no calmer and eager to bury her disconcerting thoughts in a discussion of clothes with Susan.

  ‘This walking dress?’ The maid pulled out a rather practical garment and shook the skirts free of wrinkles. ‘It should be fine for climbing up and down from that high-perch seat if his lordship’s using the curricle.’

  ‘No, not that one. I want to look particularly well dressed this afternoon. I do not want to give the slightest impression that I have been worrying about a mystery or dealing with alarums and excursions.’

  ‘But his lordship knows you have.’ Susan put back the rejected gown and began to rummage.

  ‘Not for his lordship, for the Nugents. If they are behind this I do not want to give them the satisfaction of appearing in any way anxious or distracted.’ She began to lift out folded garments. ‘What do you think to the amber walking dress with the frogging’? And the kid half-boots and the deeper brown bonnet with the grosgrain ribbons?’

  ‘Very smart,’ Susan approved. ‘And his lordship will like it,’ she added as Hester poured hot water into the washbasin.

  Hester told herself that she would not dignify this observation by a reply, then, as she was washing her face, admitted to herself that she probably could not muster a convincing one in any case. Susan appeared to be reading her state of mind very clearly which was an uncomfortable thought.

  * * *

  It was an elegantly attired and somewhat sobered lady who stepped out of her front door as the curricle drew up at her gate. Some ruthless self-examination had convinced Hester that whatever the temptation to abandon her principles she would not yield to it. She already knew what the stigma of being labelled as a fallen woman was like-she had no intention of justifying that description. And, in any case, she was probably refining too much upon the possibility that Guy would make her such an offer.

  ‘Good day, Miss Lattimer.’ Guy helped her up on to the high seat and waited until the groom took himself back to the Old Manor’s stable yard. ‘You look very fine, Hester; not intending to give the Nugents the satisfaction of thinking they have rattled you, I presume?’

  ‘Precisely.’ Hester settled herself on the seat and looked admiringly at the pair of matched greys that were fretting at their bits. ‘That is a fine team.’

  Guy looked at her again, wondering what it was that had changed about her. Or perhaps the change was in him and the way he felt about Hester Lattimer. On an impulse he asked, ‘Would you care to drive them later?’

  ‘Truly? I have never driven a pair before, I must confess.’ Her eyes sparkled, the intriguing flecks of gold he looked for to gauge her mood showing quite clearly, then they vanished, almost as quickly as they had appeared. Something was oppressing her, he could sense it. Was it simply the mysterious persecution hanging over her household?

  ‘Yes, truly. They are spirited, but good mannered, and once they have shaken the fidgets out they will give you a good drive. How is everything at the Moon House?’

  ‘Very well.’ Hester settled down to recount the news of the day before and Guy could tell that, if it were not for the mystery, Hester was more and more at home in the house. He listened with half his mind. Did he really need to buy it, now he knew it was in safe hands, owned by a woman who loved it as much as its first occupant must have done?

  But he could not walk away from it without telling her the story of the house, of his involvement-and to do that he would have to ask for Georgiana’s consent for that secret to be revealed. Would his sister agree? Somehow he doubted it.

  And could he walk away from Hester Lattimer? That too was something he was beginning to doubt.

  ‘… Sarah. Guy, are you listening to me?’ she demanded.

  ‘No,’ he admitted with a smile to deflect her wrath. ‘But I was thinking about you.’ The blush that coloured her cheeks was delicious and renewed his hopes that she was not indifferent to him. Surprised by the pleasure the thought gave him, he pursued it. Just what did he hope for from Hester Lattimer? He was not given to trifling with well-bred virgins-any virgins, come to that-nor had he any plans to settle down, but Miss Lattimer was shaking that certainty.

  ‘Guy! Now what are you thinking about?’

  ‘I was still thinking about you, but-’ he threw up one hand as if to ward off a blow ‘-you now have all my attention. Tell me all the gossip about Sarah Nugent.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  T0 recount all of Annabelle Redland’s gossip about the Nugents took until the curricle reached the gates of the Hall.

  Guy reined in the greys and regarded Hester thoughtfully.

  ‘It sounds as though Miss Nugent is the stronger character of the two, and not above chicanery, if the tale of her unfortunate fiancé is true. I wonder if he has decided to stay safely in the West Indies and break off the engagement by letter. If they were relying upon his wealth to restore their fortunes, that may well account for them taking desperate action.’

  ‘But it still does not account for the desperate action taking the form of scaring me out of my home,’ Hester pointed out.

  ‘No, indeed it does not. Remind me, what excuse do we have for this call?’

  ‘I am enquiring about Miss Nugent’s health and you have kindly agreed to drive me.’

  ‘Yes, that is perfectly plausible, but I wonder if I cannot manage to explore further.’ Guy let the greys walk on and regarded the front of Winterbourne Hall critically. ‘I am glad that is not my brickwork or my roof,’ he remarked. ‘I wonder if the work you observed was to repair the house or simply to get it into good enough condition to sell. It all depends on what their debts are and where they come from, I presume.’

  No one materialised when they halted at the front door so Guy drove on round to the stables. Hester remained meekly in the background while he embarked on a lengthy conversation with the groom who took the horses, making no complaint until he finally joined her and began to walk round to the front door again.

  ‘You certainly have the knack of extracting information,’ she said admiringly. ‘Sir Lewis has been selling horses, the work on the repairs to the rear elevation has stopped and I could swear that man was within an inch of asking you if you had any vacancies in your stables.’

  Guy accepted the compliment with a smile that caused Hester’s heart to contract, it was extremely unfair of him to have such expressive eyes that seemed to speak to her without any need of words. ‘It begins to fill out the picture. I will ask my London agent to make enquiries about Sir Lewis and see if we can garner any information about his debts.’

  The butler o
pened the door to their knocking and appeared to be on the point of saying that the Nugents were not at home when Hester skipped briskly past Guy and into the hall. ‘Dear Miss Nugent,’ she gushed. ‘I know she would not deny me for I have called to enquire after her health. I could not bear to think of my new friend being unwell and-oh, good afternoon, Sir Lewis.’

  He appeared from the library into the shadowed hall so silently that Hester jumped. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Lattimer, Westrope. How kind of you to call, but I am afraid Sarah is from home, staying with an aunt in Aylesbury to recover from having a tooth pulled.’

  To Hester’s frustration he showed no sign of either stepping forward into the better light, or of inviting them in. ‘How dreadful! No wonder she was feeling so low the other day when I was here if she had toothache. Was it an abscess?’

  ‘Yes, rather a bad one.’ Lewis appeared to hesitate and Hester was very conscious of the difference between his attitude now and when she had visited alone. ‘Perhaps you would care to take tea?’

  At last! ‘That would be delightful-’

  ‘But I am afraid we have an appointment elsewhere,’ Guy interjected smoothly. ‘However, I do wonder if I might trespass on your hospitality and ask for the loan of one of your books of local history and antiquarian lore? I find the subject fascinating and Miss Lattimer happened to mention that you had a collection of works by a relative-’ He broke off and simply stood there, radiating a willingness to encumber the Nugents’ hallway for as long as it took to get what he wanted.

  Hester hither lips to prevent herself smiling. It was refreshing to see someone else on the receiving end of Guy’s technique. ‘Your great-uncle William, was it not?’ she added helpfully.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Lewis appeared to pull himself together and accept their presence. ‘I’ll just go and find you something.’ He turned back through the library door with his uninvited guests hard on his heels.

  ‘Such a charming room,’ Hester gushed.

  ‘And such a well-lit one,’ Guy added, his eyes fixed on his host’s head.

  Lewis turned, the morning sun streaming through the casements and directly on to his face, its smooth, handsome planes unmarked by so much as a shaving scratch.

  Hester felt her breath leave her throat in a sigh which, just in time, she turned into a cough. She knew she could not meet Guy’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, it is one of my favourite rooms.’ Lewis turned, almost at the door, and stepped across to a section of shelves, lifting down several books and offering them to Guy, who pulled off his gloves before taking them. Across the knuckles of his outstretched right hand the skin was reddened and sore and Lewis’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘You have been indulging in fisticuffs?’

  ‘It was nothing, merely a rogue I ran across.’

  ‘Doubtless the rogue will he sporting at least an equal injury.’ Lewis’s voice was quite neutral, hut Hester thought she glimpsed a flash of anger in his eyes.

  ‘One hopes so. Thank you.’ Guy took two of the proffered volumes and began to examine them, apparently impervious to Lewis, who seemed quite willing for him to take the entire pile.

  Hester glanced around the room while the men were occupied. Under the chaise in front of the crackling tire was a box giving every appearance of having been thrust there in a hurry. One stray leaf of paper lay forgotten under the low table by the side of the seat. With an eye on Lewis, who was urging Guy to take the whole collection, she wandered over to the chaise and sat down, insinuating one booted foot under the table until it rested on the corner of the paper which she could draw out into the open.

  It seemed to be a letter, the ink faded, the writing a flamboyant, characterful, rather old-fashioned hand that was difficult to read. Hester squinted, bent as low as she dared and finally managed to make out the words ‘…Moon House… precious… so fearful… we have to hide it…’

  ‘Miss Lattimer?’ It was Lewis’s voice and Hester almost dropped her reticule as she tried to suppress her guilty start.

  ‘I am so sorry, were you speaking to me? I thought I had a loose button on my boot. Are you ready, Lord Buckland? My goodness, what a lot of books, I should imagine that will totally satisfy your antiquarian zeal, my lord.’ She stood up as she prattled, holding Sir Lewis’s gaze with hers while she nudged the letter back under the chaise with her toe. ‘Please give my kindest regards to poor Miss Nugent. I do hope she feels very much better soon. Now we must be off, for I am sure we have trespassed upon your hospitality far too long.’

  Once the library door was closed behind them again, Sir Lewis appeared to regain his normal character, speaking of holding a small entertainment before Christmas if his sister felt better able to emerge a little from her mourning. Hester, shaking hands as she took her leave, found herself almost doubting the impression she had had of a secretive, frightened man. And the fact remained: no one had hit Sir Lewis Nugent in the face with enough force to damage their own knuckles in the past few days.

  He walked with them back to the stables, assisted Hester up on to her seat, complimented Guy on the greys and waved them goodbye. ‘Very determined to see us off the premises,’ Guy remarked as he waved back cheerfully.

  Instead of turning right to go back into the village he turned towards the downs and drove in silence up through the beech woods, their greenish-grey trunks and branches interlaced over the deep drifts of copper-coloured leaves. At length they emerged on to the open, sheep-cropped tops. He turned off the road on to the first reasonably dry track they came to and drove on a little way to where a tangle of hawthorn bushes gave shelter against the wind and the view over the Vale of Aylesbury opened up in front of them.

  ‘I’m sorry, I had promised that you could drive.’ Guy climbed down, tossed the reins over a bush and helped Hester down from the high seat.

  ‘I do not think I could have done,’ she confessed with an attempt at a laugh, holding out her shaking hands to show him. ‘I had not expected it to be so tense and strange.’ Guy reached behind the seat, found a lap rug and shook it out around her shoulders. Hester stood, rather blankly staring out over the Vale. ‘Guy, he did not have a mark anywhere on his face.’

  ‘No, and that does have me puzzled. I have been trying to remember what the ghost smelt of, and the answer is, of nothing but plain Castile soap.’

  ‘Which is expensive.’ Hester caught his meaning at once. ‘So it is not a groom, or some local criminal paid to break in.’

  Guy leaned against the carriage beside her. His body sheltered her and she glanced up at him from under her lashes, letting herself think only about him and her feelings for him for the first time that day. The air was chill and her toes cold, but inside something burned warm and constant, a glow of trust and attraction and, she was beginning to fear, of wanting.

  ‘And what were you up to, sitting demurely on the chaise?’

  ‘There was a box which had been pushed hastily under it; all I could see were bundles of papers, and what looked like journals. But one sheet was on the floor under the table. I think it was a letter in old-fashioned handwriting. The ink was faded.’ She wrinkled her brow in an effort to recall the words and told him.

  ‘Moon House, precious and hide,’ Guy repeated slowly. ‘That confirms what we suspect, that there is something of value hidden there which their father did not know of and they discovered too late. And their only hope is to find and remove it before you do, or to scare you into selling the house back to them so they can pillage it at their leisure.’

  Hester sighed, suddenly depressed by the whole coil. She had so much wanted peace and quiet, the chance to start afresh with her reputation intact. Now she had fallen impossibly in love and the home of her dreams was tainted by some strange mystery.

  ‘You are tired and frustrated by our lack of progress.’ Guy put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side. She went with the movement without conscious thought, aware only of the comfort of his body and the gentleness in his voice. ‘I w
ish I could take you away from this, take you somewhere peaceful where you could relax, sleep, forget all about it.’

  ‘That sounds so good,’ Hester murmured, turning her face up to smile into his. ‘Peace, sleep.’ She did not finish the thought. Guy shifted position, until he was standing facing her, pressing her back against the carriage, so close she could see the pulse in his throat above his neckcloth. He had pulled off his gloves and with gentle, bruised fingers began to untie her bonnet ribbons, ‘Guy…’ The bonnet came off and was tossed up on to the seat.

  ‘Mmm?’ He was trailing kisses across her forehead now, down the line where her hair grew at her temple, down her neck and up again to nibble at her ear.

  ‘Guy, you should not…’ I should not… we should not… Hester felt her body arch instinctively against his, moulding itself to his larger, stronger frame. Despite their heavy winter clothes she felt heat from him, knew her own breath was coming in little gasps to cloud the still air.

  ‘Why not?’ The murmured question seemed to burr against her ear. ‘The sun is shining, we are alone and quiet and this is a sort of heaven.’

  Hester put up her hands to push him away, turned her head to look him in the eye and sternly order that he stop this outrageous, immoral, scandalous behaviour immediately. Instead her fingers clenched on Guy’s lapels, her lips sought his mouth and without conscious volition she found herself kissing him.

  This was not like that kiss in her dining room when she suspected he was sending her a warning as much as taking a liberty. This was a slow, gentle, mutual exploration of scent and taste and sensation as his tongue teased and caressed, his lips gentled hers into surrender and his teeth made her gasp with sudden, delicate nips. She was aware of the sunlight on her closed lids, of the cold scent of dead leaves all around them, of the harsh cry of a pheasant and the thud of a heartbeat- hers or Guy’s she could not tell and did not care.