Chapter Eight
Master George Hawthorn climbed over the steep side of his cot, landed on the nursery floor, and grabbed hold of Tabitha’s skirts to steady himself. He grinned up at her with such a wealth of pride and mischief that she laughed.
“Don’t encourage him,” begged his mother. “How are we to keep him safe when he can do that?”
Tabitha ruffled the child’s fair, tousled head. There was an odd ache behind her amusement. “That’s why you have a nursery maid.”
“Even nursery maids have to sleep sometimes,” Louisa said.
“Fortunately, so do children. Or so I’m told.”
Little George wrapped his arms around his mother’s legs and she bent and lifted him into her arms. “You, my little man, are a large sack of trouble. What are you?”
“Large sack of trouble,” George said obligingly and pressed his cheek to his mother’s, his fat little arms around her neck.
She laughed, kissed him, and deposited him on the floor. “Go to Kitty, then, and Papa will come and see you shortly.”
Tabitha led the way out of the nursery, surprised by her own reluctance.
She rather liked George. Not that Louisa’s party was dull.
She had enjoyed a treasure hunt and an excursion to the local castle ruins, amateur dramatic practice and a tea dance.
On top of which, some of the company was witty, and Lily was proving quite a success.
She behaved well in company, managing an excellent balance between lively and natural on one side, and modest and polite on the other. Tabitha was proud of her.
The girl had many admirers, of course, and she was careful not to favour one over the others. But there was a special warmth in her eyes whenever they landed on Lieutenant Meade.
“Another fine afternoon for tea in the garden,” Tabitha remarked.
“And opportunities for quiet walks in the gardens,” Louisa said, nudging her elbow lightly. “Carily seems to be growing quite desperate.”
“He is certainly growing confoundedly dull.”
Louisa blinked. “Truly? But I thought you liked him! You did in Brighton.”
“On closer acquaintance, I was mistaken.”
“Are you just saying that because of Lily’s presence? There are discreet ways to meet, you know. But in truth, Tabbie, I think he is serious. He would marry you in a trice and it is a good match.”
“Good God, no. It took me five years to be rid of my last husband. I am not about to be trapped with another.”
Louisa could not help giggling in a shocked kind of way. “You do say the most outrageous things! Carily is nothing like Sark, and marriage need not be a prison.”
Tabitha patted her arm. “You are very lucky with Sir Peter, and I am happy for you, but marriage does not suit me. In fact, I’m not sure I don’t prefer celibacy. I shall retire to my dower estate and breed pugs.”
“Pugs? Seriously?”
“Seriously. They are such amusing little creatures and so affectionate. Loyal too. Why would I need a man?”
Louisa took her arm cozily. “Well, my dear, if you don’t know...”
“Stop,” Tabitha said as they strolled out into the garden, “I aspire to utter respectability.”
“Ha,” said her hostess rudely. “Go on without me. I hear Chivers in the hall...”
Tabitha discovered Lily seated informally with some other young people on a rug spread over the lawn. Meade was among them, but fortunately Carily was not.
“Tabbie!” Lily greeted her. “You must join our team—you are the best at pall-mall.”
Tabitha lowered herself among them. “I’m not, you know.”
Before the inevitable chivalrous arguments could arise and bore her, Lord Durward strolled over, surrounded by his usual aura of recklessness and danger.
He was the surprise attendee at the party, for he was rumoured to have fled the country to avoid retribution for his latest duel.
He had arrived at Hawthorn Court only yesterday, several days late, and caused a ripple of eager interest.
Tabitha had no chance to speak to him before and was not really in any hurry to introduce him to Lily, for his danger lay as much in his charm as in his temper. In fact, Tabitha rather liked him and was, indeed, on terms of friendly flirtation with him.
Lounging at her side, he presented her with a daisy chain. “Accept my humble offering, Lady Sark.”
“Gratefully,” Tabitha responded, placing the circle on her hair at a rakish angle. “Just what my ensemble needed. How are you, Durward? I thought you were abroad.”
“Skulked in Harwich for a week or so with that aim, fell badly in love with a tug-boat captain’s daughter, and strove to mend my ways.
Then I heard Foster was sitting up in bed, bright as a button, and I was unlikely to be had up for murder after all.
Naturally, I could not resist Lady H’s gathering.
” He smiled into her eyes. “Especially as I knew you would be present.”
“How gratifying to be recalled in the same breath as the tug-boat captain’s daughter. But I’m glad about Foster.”
“Me too,” Durward said, and for an instant, there was rueful fervour in his voice that provided some hope he would give up his appalling habit of duelling. The near death of his last opponent seemed to have given him a much-needed fright. “Won’t you introduce me?”
There was a distinct flutter among Lily’s friends, including the very young men who were quite in awe of the notorious Durward. Several chaperones moved nearer and sat down at the closest garden table to protect their charges.
Only Lieutenant Meade seemed unaware of the Foster on-dit.
“Who is Foster and what did you do?” he asked bluntly.
“Can’t say in front of the ladies,” Durward replied. “An unedifying tale of idiocy and remorse. Hello, what’s got Carily so puffed-up?”
Carily was indeed strutting across the lawn like a bird showing off his plumage, but he was also clearly big with news, as the saying went. His bright blue eyes positively gleamed as he swerved toward Tabitha’s group.
“Out with it, Carily,” said Durward. “Unless it’s too scandalous for company.”
“Don’t be an ass, Durward, how would you know if it was?” He grinned to the company in general, and then, more broadly, to Tabitha. “You’ll never guess who is with Lady H.”
“You are right,” Tabitha murmured.
“Who?” asked Lily naively.
“The Duke of Death.”
It was so totally unexpected that Tabitha’s stomach bumped. Lily paled.
“He isn’t real,” Lily’s new friend, Amelia scoffed.
“Of course he is real,” Barty said. “I saw him at Oxford once.”
“So did I,” Durward said. “The year I left.”
“Is he in a bath chair?” someone asked.
“No, on his legs,” said Carily, grinning, “although a puff of breeze through the closing front door did almost blow him over.”
“What on earth brings him here?” Miss Saunders wondered. She carried with her the superior confidence of a successful Season in London. “Surely Lady Hawthorn did not invite him? None of the hostesses do so anymore because he never comes and no one has ever met him anyway.”
Lily was gazing at Tabitha, her eyes stricken.
“It makes no difference,” Tabitha said to her, which had the effect of soothing Lily and baffling the others. “His grace is Lady Hawthorn’s guest,” she said vaguely.
“Is he staying, then?” Lily’s friend Amelia asked eagerly. After all, an unmarried duke at the party raised the stakes for everyone, but particularly those in the marriage mart.
“I have absolutely no idea,” Tabitha said, just as Louisa led a gentleman out of the French window onto the lawn.
A ripple of excitement was spreading around the garden, via the listening dowagers and those who had overheard Carily’s announcement.
All eyes had turned on the two figures strolling out into the garden, some more surreptitiously than others.
The commotion was subtle but definite, as mamas positioned their daughters to attract attention either by walking in the duke’s path, or sitting at a table with an invitingly free chair beside it.
A buzz of conversation swelled, like an approaching swarm of bees.
Tabitha did not watch the progress. She made some remark to one of the chaperones, which began a trivial conversation in which she had no interest, while her mind spun a whole web of questions.
Why had he come? Could it possibly be for her?
Had he missed her, or solved the mystery of Smith and decided to keep his word about telling her?
Or had he come for Lily? God knew that was the likeliest answer. He was doing the right thing, and he would find her at her best. Whether Lily would forgive him his deception or not was another matter, for Tabitha had told her nothing about her late-night conversation at the Headless Horseman.
“Come on Durward,” Carily said, grinning as he rose gracefully to his feet. “Let’s blow the reed over.”
“Not I,” Durward said lazily. “Always curious to meet a living legend.”
“Only just living,” Carily drawled.
One of the younger men chuckled and rose with him, attracted, no doubt, by the atmosphere of a schoolboy prank.
And Tabitha suddenly panicked for Jack, who had never been to school, had known only a very sheltered version of university life, and was entirely unused to society of this kind, to snakes like Carily.
She did not even question her suddenly clear opinion of Carily. He had always been a snake. He even moved like one. She just hadn’t cared until now when he could surely destroy Jack’s social credibility and any burgeoning self-confidence. The urge to protect him took her by surprise.
At least Louisa was bringing him this way. At last, she turned her head and her breath vanished.
There was no sign of the diffident young duke, escaping undue attention in worn riding dress. Just for an instant, she even thought it was not Jack at all, but some imposter, or Jack had lied to her about that too.