Chapter 17 #2
Miss Chamberlain formed them all into a large circle to play some singing games—“to quieten them down,” she explained to Fleur, who had helped with the races. “Duncan always fails to realize that tiring children does not necessarily quieten them, but frequently has just the opposite effect.”
“Well,” Mr. Chamberlain said, ignoring the outstretched hand of a small girl with a hair bow almost as large as her head and pinching her cheek instead, “dancing and chanting in a circle is quite beneath my dignity, I am afraid. Miss Hamilton and I are going to leave you to it, Emily. We will all have tea after this. Ma’am? ” He held out an arm for Fleur’s.
“There are limits to the depths to which I will sink,” he said, strolling with her toward the rose arbor at the side of the house. “ ‘Ring around the rosy’ is definitely below that limit.”
“I do believe your son is having a wonderful time,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed. “One is seven only once, I suppose. Tomorrow he will be his normal boisterous self again. The hysteria will have passed.”
Fleur chuckled.
They were inside the arbor, surrounded by the heady smell of roses. He released her arm, cupped her face with his hands, and kissed her briefly and warmly on the lips.
“I have missed you,” he said.
She smiled.
“If you were not a governess,” he said, “and did not have daily duties to perform, I would probably have haunted Willoughby Hall in the days since our theater visit.” He touched her lips with his thumbs.
She looked into his eyes and knew with regret that there were limits for her too beyond which she dare not go.
“Don’t,” she said as he drew breath to speak again. She lowered her eyes to his chin. “Please, don’t.”
“What I am about to say is not welcome to you?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I cannot,” she said.
“Because of inclination?” he said. “It is something about me? Or my children?”
She shook her head and bit her lip.
“There is some obstacle?” he asked.
Her eyes dropped to his neckcloth. Yes. There were the charges of theft and murder hanging over her head. There was the loss of her virginity. There was the profession she had sampled briefly before becoming a governess.
She nodded.
“Insurmountable?” he asked.
“Yes.” She looked up into his eyes again and knew a great sadness of regret. “Quite insurmountable, sir.”
“Well, then.” He smiled, lowered his hands to her arms, and leaned forward to kiss her firmly once more.
He patted her arms. “Enough of that. This arbor was my wife’s pride and joy.
Did Emily tell you that? I love to sit here to read—when the children are safely indoors at their lessons or games, that is. Shall we wander indoors for tea?”
“Yes. Thank you,” Fleur said.
All her delight in the afternoon was gone.
She had not realized that he was quite so close to a declaration, but she had sensed it coming there in the rose arbor.
And she felt that she had hurt him and feared that despite what she had said, he would think that it was some lack in himself that had made her draw back from him.
It was almost no surprise when they came from the arbor onto the back lawn again to see the Duke of Ridgeway, his daughter sitting up on one of his shoulders, talking with Miss Chamberlain.
“Ah,” he said, turning and smiling and looking at them both with keen eyes. “Duncan? Miss Hamilton?”
“I might have known you would be wise enough to avoid the games and clever enough to arrive just in time for tea,” Mr. Chamberlain said. He extended his right hand. “Welcome to Timmy’s birthday party, Adam.”
“I won second in the girls’ race, Papa,” Lady Pamela was shrieking, “and we would have won the three-legged race if William had not fallen down.”
Fleur turned away with Miss Chamberlain to shepherd the children back to the house for tea.
THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY rode back to Willoughby Hall sometime later, one arm about his daughter, who rode before him, and listened with half an ear to her excited chatter.
He wished that Fleur were riding beside them, but pushed the thought from his mind.
It was as well that she was returning home in his carriage.
She really was good for Pamela. He always had been capable of arousing these moods of childhood excitement in her and he had always tried, when he was at home, to take her to visit other children as often as possible.
But of course he was away from home for long stretches and always felt guilty about abandoning her.
He could not possibly love her more if she really were his, he thought.
Fleur was giving Pamela extended opportunities to be a child. Sybil and Mrs. Clement between them overprotected her. And on the rare occasion when Sybil did take her out, it was to visit adults so that she might sit quietly and Sybil might be complimented on her well-behaved daughter.
Fleur was good for her. She should have children of her own.
Pamela was tracing the line of his scar with one soft finger and singing under her breath. “How did it miss your eye, Papa?” she asked.
“Someone must have been looking after me,” he said.
“God?”
“Yes, God.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes, I suppose it must have,” he said. “I don’t remember much.”
She resumed her quiet singing as she ran her finger along the scar again.
He was feeling guilty. Duncan had spoken very briefly with him as he was leaving.
“It seems you are not in imminent danger of losing your governess after all, Adam,” he had said.
His grace had been looking ever since his arrival for some sign of what had happened. They had been alone together somewhere just before his arrival, but their expressions and behavior had given nothing away during tea.
“You changed your mind?” he had asked.
His friend had grimaced. “Rejected,” he had said.
Duncan Chamberlain was his friend. He wished for his happiness. Four years before, he had lost a wife of whom he had been very fond. Fleur would be the perfect second wife for him and stepmother for his children. He should have been sorry to hear that she had rejected Duncan.
But he was feeling guilty. He had felt a surge of elation. And then more guilt. Had she felt forced to refuse because of what he had done to her and made her into? Of course she would have felt forced.
But there was that other, too. He must talk with her. He would have done it that morning, but had not wanted to risk doing anything to spoil the day Pamela had been so looking forward to. He must talk with her the next day.
“Did you kill anyone, Papa?” Pamela asked.
“In the wars?” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid so. But I’m not proud of it. I cannot help thinking that those men had mamas and perhaps wives and children. War is a terrible thing, Pamela.”
She nestled her head against his chest. “I’m glad no one killed you, Papa,” she said.
He hugged her to him with one arm.
The carriage was drawing to a halt on the terrace as he and Pamela walked from the stables.
“Miss Hamilton,” he called as she was about to disappear through the servants’ doors.
She stopped and looked at him inquiringly.
“Attend me in the library immediately after breakfast tomorrow if you will,” he said.
She turned a shade paler. Perhaps she had heard that he had a tendency to conduct any unpleasant business in the library.
“Yes, your grace.” She curtsied and continued on her way.
Perhaps he should have said nothing, he thought, staring at the closed servants’ doors. Perhaps he should have just summoned her when he was ready for her. Probably she would worry all night about what she had done wrong.
“Tiny will be sad,” Pamela said, tugging on his hand. “She has been without me all afternoon.”
“Let’s go and see how happy she is to see you, then,” he said, smiling down at her.
THE DUCHESS HAD TAKEN to her bed in the middle of the afternoon after a prolonged coughing spell, with chest pains and a fever. She blamed the ride she had taken that morning with several of her guests. She did not ride very often, considering it a dangerous and generally unhealthy activity.
Lord Thomas Kent let himself into her bedchamber an hour before dinner and dismissed her maid. He sat on the side of the bed and took her grace’s hand in his.
“How are you, Sybil?” he asked.
“Oh, better,” she said, smiling at him. “I am just too lazy to get up. I will come to the drawing room after dinner.”
He raised her hand to his lips. “So beautiful and so delicate,” he said. “You do not look one day older than when we were betrothed. Will you look as young the next time I see you, I wonder.”
Her eyes flew to his face. “The next time?” she said. “You are not going away, Thomas? Oh, no. This is where you belong. You can’t go away again.”
“I have promised Adam,” he said, kissing her hand again and smiling gently at her.
“Promised Adam?” She gripped his hand. “What have you promised?”
“That I will leave within the week,” he said. “I cannot really blame him, Sybil. It is not like the last time. You are, after all, his wife.”
“His wife!” she said scornfully, sitting up and looking directly into his eyes. “I am his wife in name only, Thomas. I have never let him touch me. I swear I have not. I am yours. Only yours.”
“But in the eyes of the law you are his,” he said. “And there is Pamela to consider. She must never know the truth. It would be too hard for her to bear. I have been ordered to leave, Sybil, and leave I must. In all conscience, I must leave.”
“No!” she cried, gripping his hand even harder. She turned her head aside to cough. “Or if you must go, take me with you. I’ll leave him, Thomas. I cannot be away from you ever again. I’ll come with you.”
He drew her against him and kissed her lips. “I can’t take you,” he whispered against her ear. “I would not expose you to that sort of scandal, Sybil. And you could not leave Pamela without either of her parents. We must be brave.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck. “I don’t care,” she said. “I care only about you, Thomas. Nothing else matters to me. I am going to come with you.”
“Hush,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “Hush, now.”
And as she quietened down he kissed her again and fondled her breasts through the satin of her nightgown.
“Thomas,” she moaned, sinking back against her pillows. “I love you.”
“And I you,” he said, slipping the satin down over her shoulders and lowering his head to kiss her throat.
He straightened up when a tap at the door was succeeded by its opening.
The Duke of Ridgeway closed the door quietly behind his back. “You are feeling better?” he asked, his eyes on his wife. “I just heard from Armitage that you have been ill again this afternoon.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said curtly, turning her head away from him.
“You will wish to dress for dinner, Thomas,” he said. “You are in danger of being late.”
His brother smiled at him and left the room without a word.
“I have sent for Dr. Hartley to call on you tomorrow morning,” his grace said. “I can send for him to come immediately if you wish.”
“I have no need of a doctor,” she said, her face still averted.
“You must see him anyway,” he said. “Perhaps he can give you some new medicine that will cure you of that troublesome cough once and for all.”
She turned her head suddenly to look at him. “I hate you, Adam,” she said vehemently. “How I hate you!”
“For caring about your health?” he said.
“For not caring about me at all,” she said. “For ordering Thomas to leave again. You know we love each other. You know we always have. I hate you for ruining our lives.”
“He told you that I have ordered him to leave?” he asked.
“Do you deny it?” Her voice was sharp.
He looked at her for a long time, at the woman whom he had loved so passionately once upon a time and whom he could now only pity.
“I suppose that is what my words to him amounted to,” he said.
She turned her head away from him again. “I am going with him,” she said. “I am leaving you, Adam.”
“I doubt that he will take you,” he said quietly.
“You know him well,” she said. “You know that he would not hurt me for worlds. But he will take me when I have finally convinced him that I will be far more miserable here with respectability and you.”
“I doubt that he will take you,” he repeated. “I think perhaps this time you will have to face the truth, Sybil. I am sorry. I shall make your excuses to our guests for this evening. I shall come to see how you are later.”
“Don’t,” she said. “I don’t want to see you, Adam, not tonight or ever.”
He pulled the bell rope next to the bed and waited in silence until the duchess’s maid appeared.
“Her grace will need you, Armitage,” he said, and left the room.