Chapter 12
Clemency was at his house when Richard finally strolled up the path from the pond.
“Where have you been?” she chided. “The rain stopped ages ago.”
“Ah, Clemency. I did not expect you.” Richard walked past her, tossing his hat in the general direction of the table in the hall.
His coat he dropped on a nearby chair. One of the servants Clemency had hired would take care of it—or not, he didn’t really care.
He felt exceptionally well, in top form, and nothing could shake his good humor.
His sister followed him into the drawing room. “Did you forget? I brought the boys, as we agreed. You promised to show them how to tie knots.”
“Did I?” Still smiling, he pulled the bell rope. “Where are they?”
She stared at him. “Gerhard took them riding, since you were away. Why are you in such good humor?”
“Should I not be?” He spread his arms wide and laughed.
“I cannot deny that I am.” Frau Loretz entered in response to the bell, and he told her, “Something to eat, bitte. And a glass of wine.” He glanced inquiringly at his sister, who shook her head, looking startled. “That will be all, Frau Loretz.”
Clemency’s brows went up as the housekeeper left. “What happened to you out in the rain?”
He came over and put his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you, Clem. You were correct and I was completely wrong about staying in England and about taking this house.” He kissed her forehead. “In fact, I intend to buy this house.”
She fairly goggled at him. “What?”
He released her and went to the window. The sky was still gray, but the rain had blown away and everything looked very green and lush.
Down that hill lay the pond, and a mile beyond that lay Wyndham House.
He couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there—as was she.
“Yes,” he told his sister. “Immediately.”
Her skirts rustled as she came to his side and peered out uncomprehendingly at the trees, then up at him.
“Why?” she demanded, sounding almost alarmed.
“What about it has changed? When we first saw this house, you despised everything about it! The light is terrible, it’s old-fashioned, the rooms are small . . .”
He waved one hand. “I was wrong. You were right.” He smiled at her expression. “I have admitted it twice now! What more can you want?”
A series of expressions flitted across her face: consternation, suspicion, bemusement, and finally determination. “I hope you take a lesson from that,” she said stoutly. “I’m often right, and you might as well admit it more readily in the future.”
“Of course.”
Clemency folded her arms. “Is it a woman?”
He took a deep breath. He could not keep this secret. It was burning inside him like a fire scorching him from the inside out until he might combust if he didn’t tell someone. He must speak of it, or be consumed by it. “A most remarkable woman.”
“Who?” she demanded.
“The Countess Courtenay. Evangeline.” He said her name softly, reverently.
“Lady Court—?” Clemency’s eyes went wide, and for a long moment she said nothing. Then she asked in astonishment, “How on earth did you meet her?”
He smiled a little, remembering. “At a benefit ball you urged me to attend.”
She was shocked again. “A benefit ball? Those were all years ago! When did you meet her?”
He waved one hand. “It doesn’t matter now. I met her, and Clemency . . . I like her. Very much.”
Her eyes nearly popped from her face. She chewed her lip, then put her hand on his arm. “Richard . . . Of course I want you to be happy. But . . . Are you certain? She is . . .”
“What?” He waited patiently as his sister struggled to find words. “Notorious?” he finally offered.
“Yes! Scandalously so!” She exhaled in relief. “I’ve heard gossip.”
“Indeed. What does the gossip say about her?”
“Well—she’s not respectable.”
“How so?”
Clemency seemed to be racking her brains for an answer to that. “Her husband died in very shocking circumstances.”
“That is about him, not about her. What were the circumstances?”
He knew he was making her uncomfortable, but he had known Clemency all her life. She did not like to be told things and would grow indignant if argued with. But if he simply asked patient questions, she would eventually come to see things in a rational light.
There was also a chance Evangeline had lied to him. Perhaps there was more to the story than she’d told him. There were two sides—if not more—to every tale, and Richard wasn’t so drunk on infatuation that he dismissed any chance of it.
Her face was pink, but she finally whispered, “His mistress’s husband shot him!”
“His mistress’s husband?” Richard nodded. “So Courtenay was unfaithful to his wife and committed adultery with a married woman?”
She opened her mouth, then nodded.
“And what was Lady Courtenay’s role in this affair?”
“I—Well—She . . .” Clemency frowned. “She didn’t love her husband.”
“How do you know?” Richard knew, because Evangeline had told him, but he doubted the scandalmongers knew—or cared.
“Their marriage was also scandalous,” Clemency said, not answering the question. “They say she seduced him and trapped him into marrying her!”
“That is a serious charge,” he said gravely, even though it was nothing of the sort. Men routinely schemed to marry heiresses, just as ambitious women plotted to marry men of consequence. “But all it demonstrates is that it was not a love match.”
She gave him a sharp look. She knew what he was doing. “Likely not.”
“I see. You believe it is a woman’s duty to resign herself to pleasing the man she marries, no matter how or why they were wed.
Very well, let us consider love. Is it a tight rein on a man?
If she had loved him, would he never have strayed?
It says nothing of his affection for her, which seems more important in guiding his actions.
How would you have felt if Daniel had been caught in a lover’s bed? ”
“Oh, I would have killed him,” she cried, then put one hand over her mouth in alarm.
He shrugged. “Clearly Lady Courtenay did not murder her husband, if someone else did. Let us suppose, at worst, she was shrewish to him and drove him away?”
“Yes,” she said at once. “They say she’s very fast.”
“I see,” he said again, thinking of riding breeches and brandy-spiked tea. “How so? It must have been egregious indeed to send an otherwise faithful husband fleeing into the arms of another woman, who was also married.”
“Richard!” She gave up with a cross sigh. “Perhaps she’s not so black as she’s painted. But she is still . . . Well, she is a great deal older than you.”
He grinned. He hadn’t thought so, and he’d seen the lady without a stitch of clothing. “She is far from her dotage. And I am no boy to be taken advantage of, even were she a cunning seductress.”
“But what if she is? The rumors don’t end with her marriage, you know.”
He rocked back on his heels. “Indeed. What are they?”
She pursed her lips. “It’s indecent.”
“You raised the subject,” he pointed out.
She chewed her lip and looked around, then closed her eyes with a long-suffering expression and whispered, “She’s had several lovers since.”
Richard paused. That was not surprising, but he had not known.
She hadn’t told him. Of course, he himself had been one of those lovers, and he had hardly been disgusted by that.
Well, there was much she did not know about him, too, and he planned to have plenty of time to learn everything about her.
“I can only care about the future,” he said. “I have not been chaste, either—”
“Oh, good heavens, I don’t want to know about that!” His sister’s face was scarlet. “Just—do be careful with her. I would hate for you to be entangled in scandal . . .”
“Scandal!” He grinned, relieved that that was her main worry. “My dear sister, I don’t care what gossips say. Nor can I control it. I can only live my life as best suits me.”
Clemency looked at him in mingled reproach and astonishment. “And she suits you?”
He couldn’t stop smiling. “She does, Clem. Very much so.” Impulsively he added, “Will you meet her?”
She blinked at him. “Meet her? I have met her . . .”
He shook his head, already planning the evening. “Become acquainted. At dinner. Here. I shall have a dinner party, and you must be my hostess.” He rang the bell for the housekeeper. “Do you think three days is enough time to plan it?”
“Three days!” Clemency goggled at him. “A dinner party? Here? You’ve only just taken up residence!”
“But you specifically promised me I could have dinner parties if I took this house. You have furnished it splendidly and found an excellent chef. What else am I supposed to do?” He smiled at his sister’s thunderstruck expression.
“Ah, come in, Frau Loretz. Would it be possible to have . . . shall we say eight for dinner in three days’ time? ”
The housekeeper’s eyes darted to Clemency, but she nodded. “Ja.”
He nodded. “Very good. Clemency, will you be my hostess and plan the menu?”
“Well—yes, if you are really determined to do this—”
“I am. I shall write the invitations.”
And he walked out, whistling faintly, as his sister and his housekeeper stared after him.