Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
A nne and Charles were strolling alongside the river, and Tina dropped behind to give them some privacy. The way Charles hardly took his eyes off Anne made her wonder if at last he was about to propose; she just wished he’d get on with it. At that point Horace, somewhat to her alarm, joined them.
“Not too warm for you, Tina?” he said, adjusting the tilt of her parasol with a frown. “This weather can’t last much longer.”
Tina hoped he was wrong. Her time at Arlington Hall had been something she would never forget, and when she let her memory wander back along these paths, it was to a backdrop of blue skies and sunshine. Perfect days without a hint of rain.
As they walked she found herself relaxing in his company, returning to the way she used to feel long ago, when they were friends, and before she made her husband- hunting plans. Perhaps it was her own fault everything had changed, and she couldn’t entirely blame Horace.
“Do you think we can be friends again, Tina?” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “I miss our friendship.”
Tina met his blue eyes. He was a handsome man, but his good looks left her unmoved. She knew now she’d never marry him, even if he asked, but that did not mean they could not still be friends.
“I hope we can,” she said.
“I haven’t been quite myself these past days. I don’t know what got into me, but I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any upset. We’ve been friends for so long, and I don’t want to lose you.”
He sounded sincere, and she was touched. She reached out to take his hand, squeezing it warmly. “I don’t want to lose you either, Horace. We are almost like brother and sister.”
Something in his eyes told her that wasn’t quite what he wanted to hear, but he smiled anyway and returned the pressure on her hand.
“Can I confide in you, Tina? I want you to understand the reason I haven’t been quite myself. I met a woman, a married woman.” He grimaced at her shocked expression. “I suppose this isn’t the sort of thing I should be telling you, but I want you to understand. I visited her several times while her husband was away, and then she came to see me. Do you remember the night of my soiree?”
Tina remembered only too well. That was the night she tried to make Horace notice her by behaving rather recklessly, and the same night she had drunk too much champagne and met Mr. Little. There had been a moment when Horace had seemed uncharacteristically upset, now she came to think of it.
“She came to tell me that she was having a child. My child. She had barely left my house when I had to go and play host and pretend nothing was wrong.”
Tina’s eyes grew big. “You have a child, Horace?”
“Yes.” He sighed. “But I will never see him—I think of it as a son. She’s made that plain.”
“Do you want to see him?” Tina said curiously. Horace a father? Well, stranger things had happened.
“At first I didn’t but now . . . Well, it is my own fault, I suppose, that I have been separated from him. I’ve learned my lesson.”
Had he? Somehow Tina doubted that Horace would ever change. Her temptation to tell him all about her own problems faded. What was the point in sharing disasters? Horace must sort out his own life, and so must she, and besides, she didn’t want to dwell on that today. She wanted to enjoy herself before it was time to leave tomorrow.
One more day of freedom. One more day of Richard.
Before she faced the bleak reality of her situation.
Charles and Anne had stopped and were watching as Lady Isabelle directed some servants to wheel the bathing machine out into the river. She noticed them, and called, “If anyone wants to bathe, there are costumes in the pavilion. Do give it a try, it is very invigorating.”
Horace shuddered, but Margaret Allsop and her American beau had paused to watch, too, and he was encouraging her to join him in the water. In no time they were splashing about, teeth gritted, and when Margaret climbed out she looked blue. The ever- attentive Joseph Freer bundled her up in a blanket.
“You aren’t bathing, Miss Smythe?” It was Mr. Little, who had been standing behind her, also observing the happy couple. His smile appeared genuine enough, as if Margaret’s fickle heart did not bother him one bit, but Tina could not help but wonder if it was a veneer. Surely any man would be wounded to see the woman he’d begun to think was his own enjoying herself with another.
“No, Mr. Little, but what of you? Do you like to bathe?”
He shook his head, his gaze drifting back to Margaret and Mr. Freer, as if he couldn’t help himself. “I knew a fellow once, went bathing when the water was too cold and became cramped. He drowned.”
He said it with such relish, as if he was wishing the same fate upon the American. Tina was glad when Horace offered her his arm again, and they began the slow stroll up through the garden toward the terrace, where afternoon tea was awaiting them.
Lady Isabelle had excelled herself, and if her color was a little high and her eyes a little bright, Tina felt she could be forgiven her show of emotion. Sir Henry was there, too, as the guest of honor, seated in a large, comfortable chair that had been carried out of his library for the occasion. Although he looked drawn, and his head was still bandaged, he was chatting freely with his guests and accepting their congratulations on his recovery.
“Marvelous to see him up and about,” Lady Isabelle declared, reaching for his hand and lifting it to her lips. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “I don’t know what I would have done if he’d . . . Well, I shall not go there.”
Sir Henry gave her an adoring smile. “I hope I may be around for a good many years yet, my dear. Perhaps we can go on that trip to the Continent you’re always banging on about. Our very own Grand Tour.”
“To Italy to see Signor Veruda,” Horace whispered in Tina’s ear.
She gave him a warning glance and moved away from him, only to find herself within range of Mr. Little. Not wanting to speak with him either she slipped through the guests toward the steps that led down from the terrace into the garden.
A warm breeze had sprung up, and with it a few clouds to cover the sun. If anyone asked her where she was going, she could say she’d forgotten her shawl and was going to fetch it. With a smile she reached up and removed the scrap of paper from inside her bodice. The note had been delivered to her by Archie a moment ago, and now she read it with a thrill of excitement.
Meet me at the folly,
R
The folly was an Italianate building on a man-made hill, designed by Lady Isabelle. Tina had not visited it before, and Lady Isabelle had not encouraged her guests to do so, saying it was being repaired. Now she quickened her step, wending her way through the shrub borders and flower gardens, toward the white columns she could see through the trees on the rise above her.
Eventually she was able to see the folly in its entirety; the circular building with its outer shell of columns seemed to float above her like an ancient temple. There were several low steps, also constructed in a circle, leading up to it. When she reached the top she saw that it was actually like a large open room, with bright cushions and furnishings. A place to relax and contemplate the garden, perhaps.
Or a place to make love.
Was that why Lady Isabelle had discouraged them from coming here? Was it her own personal hideaway?
Someone had left a sketch pad and pencil upon a table, and Tina flipped through the drawings, recognizing Vincenzo Veruda in varying stages of undress. She dropped the pages, and they scattered onto the floor.
“What is it?”
Richard had come up behind her without her hearing him—he was good at that—but she was so glad to see him that she didn’t mind. For a moment she simply smiled at him, enjoying the moment, but as she moved toward him, her foot sent one of the pages sailing across the marble floor.
Richard bent to retrieve it.
“Good God,” he muttered, when he saw what it was.
“This must have been their special place,” Tina said, glancing about, feeling a hint of sadness. “Where they had their trysts.”
“At least the signor has gone, and for now Sir Henry can have his wife back.”
Tina gave him a curious look. “You make it sound as if it is a story you have heard before.”
“I have. I’m afraid Lady Isabelle is not a faithful wife, Tina. Signor Veruda was just one in a long line of lovers she has chosen to bestow her favors upon.”
Tina put a hand to her heart. “But that is awful! Does Sir Henry know?”
“Of course he does.”
“And yet he condones it?”
“He loves her, so he puts up with it.”
Tina shook her head. “I can’t imagine it, Richard. I would not put up with it. Marriage . . . love . . . they are forever. That is one thing your lessons have taught me. While I was learning how to pretend to love, I discovered I would never be very good at pretending, not for long. One should choose a partner carefully, and if one is not sure, then one should say no.”
He touched her cheek gently, and smiled. “That is good. Do not lose that, my dearest.”
But his reaction wasn’t what she wanted. He was treating her like a silly innocent, and Tina was neither. She might be young, but she had grown up a great deal lately, and now that she’d formed her opinion she didn’t believe she would change it.
The heart, once given, would be given forever.
Behind her Richard was still speaking. “My brother was married to a woman who was unfaithful to him.” She heard him crumpling up Lady Isabelle’s sketches, one by one. “He never knew, but others did. They looked upon him like a fool, a dupe. I cannot forgive that. He did not deserve that.”
“I’m sorry.”
Richard threw the crumpled pages into a pile on the floor and wiped his hands on his trousers, as if he felt soiled. Tina realized that it mattered to him, too, that loving someone, marrying someone, was a serious business to Richard Eversham. Not something he would take on lightly.
Remembering his words from last night, she wondered if that was how he felt about her. Did he really want to spend the rest of his life with her? But surely, if he did, he wouldn’t let this promise, whatever it was, get in the way. Men, she thought with a touch of scorn. Why did they have to complicate everything?
“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” she told him, watching him carefully, but he didn’t react. “Charles and I will be going back to Mallory Street . . . or wherever we are to live. I’m sorry I won’t be able to pay you for your lessons, Richard.”
“I didn’t want to be paid; well, only if you succeeded in capturing Gilfoyle. Remember? That was our bargain. And frankly I was hoping you would fail.”
Tina smiled— that was better. “The strange thing is that now I don’t want him, Horace suddenly seems to be finding me fascinating. But I know I would be miserable with him. I’m sorry to disappoint my parents, but actually in an odd sort of way I’m looking forward to being poor.”
He laughed. “Tina, do you have any idea what being poor means?”
She pursed her lips, pretending to be serious. “I will have to dress myself and fetch my own breakfast, I suppose.”
“Minx,” he growled, and came toward her.