Amanda Scott (13 page)

“No, thank the Lord, it didn’t. Not that Clarence didn’t try, for he did, but I was never intended to be a sweet, submissive wife, you know, not for anyone, and certainly not for a self-important Irish earl. His son’s just like him, too,” she added with a sigh. “But never mind that. Anne, you might as well know now as later that Edmund was killed in a duel by an understandably jealous husband. I can’t tell you the whole, since they took care to hush it up—for the lady’s sake, no doubt—but Edmund’s behavior was not that of a properly grieving widower, I’m afraid—nor, before Agnes’s death was it that of a dutiful husband.”

“Now, Hermie,” Lord Ashby said hastily, “you can scarcely blame the man, what with all the talk after she died. Didn’t suit his dignity to hear folks speculating the way they did.”

Anne felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the air around her. “Her reasons? Good gracious, surely she didn’t—”

“She did,” Lady Hermione said. “Took her own life and didn’t so much as leave a note behind to explain why she did it. Poor Edmund was distraught, insisted that her death was an accident and that the lack of a note was proof that she had never intended any such thing as suicide. Thankfully, the parson agreed with him—bound to do so, of course, when the grieving husband is the Duke of Upminster—but I’m told it went against the pluck with him to do so. No one knows why Agnes did it, for she did not confide in a soul, though to my mind, young Sylvia knows more about the incident than anyone wants to believe.”

“But how could she, ma’am?”

“She couldn’t,” Lord Ashby said flatly. “She was only a baby at the time.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Hermione said. “Sylvia is nine, quite old enough to be awake on most suits, and there’s no knowing what Agnes might have said to her. Not a sensible woman, Agnes wasn’t, for she married Edmund, didn’t she—no doubt just to become a duchess.”

“Can’t recall that she had much to say about it,” Lord Ashby said. “Marriage was arranged by my brother John and her father. Even Edmund hadn’t much to say about it. Usual sort of thing, of course. One good thing about being a younger son is that no one cares much about whether one gets married, or to—By Jove, hang on, ladies,” he exclaimed when the balloon lurched in a sudden sharp gust of wind. “These winds get trickier near the ground, and I can’t make out much below us anymore. We passed right over Wadshelf, so I hope that open space ahead is the field I recall.”

The pale crescent moon overhead cast but a dim glow on the ground, and Anne could not tell what lay below. She hoped she could trust Lord Ashby to get them down safely, but just as she had begun to breathe properly again, her thoughts shifted as of their own accord to Lord Michael. Knowing that by now he must have learned of their absence, and certain he would discover what they had done and would not be as confident of their safety as Lord Ashby was, she trembled to think what he might say.

They lurched again when Lord Ashby threw something overboard and, before Anne realized how low the balloon had drifted, its basket checked suddenly as if it had caught on something solid.

Lord Ashby said, “The hook’s slowing us. We’re nearly down now, ladies. Whoa, there!” The last exclamation came as the basket tilted dangerously, hit the ground hard, and bounced up again, nearly flinging Anne out. Had Lady Hermione not grabbed her and yanked her down to the floor of the basket, she was certain she would have been thrown out.

Moments later, they bounced again and yet again, then stayed down, the grappling hook apparently holding. Bruised and battered, and not a little dizzy, Anne slowly straightened.

Lady Hermione said, “I’ll unlace the entrance.”

“Do that, but don’t get out,” Lord Ashby said, “or the thing will soar upward again. Let me release more gas first. Hate to do it, because I’ll have to fill it again, of course. I’d hoped we’d come down close enough to a house or village to shout for help, but there don’t seem to be anyone about. Nothing for it but to collapse the balloon, dash it, and walk back to Wadshelf where the lads will be bound to find us.”

Anne realized that a great deal of the air had been let out of the balloon already, for she could see its shape against the sky now, and it was no longer round but tear-shaped. At last, they managed to deflate it enough so that she and Lady Hermione could hold it in place while Lord Ashby secured the grappling line to nearby shrubbery. When at last he was certain the craft would remain grounded, they set off to look for help.

Again Anne was sorry she had not changed back into her garden shoes, for the ground was still muddy from the previous day’s rain, and by the time they found the first cottage and were able to rouse the inhabitants and explain that they required assistance, she knew she looked like one of the scaff and raff. She let Lord Ashby do the talking, hoping no one would even ask who she was, and began to fidget more than ever about what her husband would have to say.

More than an hour passed before Lord Ashby’s men arrived, and by then Lady Hermione had grown as impatient as Anne. “Just one moment, Ashby,” she said imperiously when he began to tell the men where they would find the balloon. “I hope you do not mean to leave Anne and me here to kick our heels until Haydon and Douglas can collect your fool balloon and load it onto the wagon.”

“Dash it, Hermie, I’ve got to go with them if they’re to find the
Royal George
tonight. If you’re in such a rush, we can hire a gig from one of these folks to take you and Anne home.”

“Don’t be absurd. Anne cannot go home in a gig, and if she did, just who do you think is to drive her? Me?”

“Well, you could do it, couldn’t you?”

“So I could, but I doubt we’ll reach the Priory before ten or eleven now, and if you think Michael will be pleased to see his wife come home at such an hour, in a gig and escorted only by an old woman, you must be all about in your head.”

Lord Ashby sighed but agreed that she had made her point. “Very well. Let me see what sort of vehicle can be had here.”

The best the village had to offer that would carry the three of them in any degree of comfort was a cart and pair, but Lord Ashby became reconciled to the plebeian vehicle the instant its owner, hearing the field described to him, expressed willingness to guide Haydon and Douglas to the balloon. His lordship then took up the reins almost cheerfully. They arrived at Upminster hours after they had been expected to dine, however, and in no grand style.

Lord Michael was waiting for them, and his set expression warned Anne that he was extremely displeased. His tone was even, however, when he said, “Good evening, Lady Hermione. I am afraid you’ve long since missed dinner, but I’ll order something at once, for I assume that you mean to spend the night with us.”

She chuckled. “No need to hide your teeth with me, young man. I daresay you are livid with us all, but you know how it is with your uncle. He meant no harm, just wanted to show off his favorite vehicle to your delightful wife. We came to no harm, I promise you, and I believe she enjoyed her adventure very much.”

“Oh, I did,” Anne exclaimed. “Please, sir, do not be too angry with us. I have never enjoyed such a marvelous experience before! Indeed, it was most magical. Have you never gone aloft with your uncle?”

“Never,” Michael said curtly.

“Then you should. The earth looks just like a patchwork quilt, all squares and odd shapes where the fields and villages are, and the total silence is amazing. We did not hear so much as a single bird. Oh, you must let him take you up one day.”

His expression softened, but he did not reply. Instead, he turned back to Lady Hermione and said, “You have not answered me, ma’am. Shall I tell the servants to prepare a room for you?”

“No indeed,” she said, “for although Wilfred does not command me, he will look for my return before dawn. My horse is in your stable, with my groom. I’d be grateful for some bread and cheese and perhaps a glass of wine, but I require nothing more.”

Lord Ashby spoke with annoyance, “Now, see here, Hermie—”

“Don’t bluster, Ashby. I shall do very well on my own.”

Lord Michael said calmly before Lord Ashby could reply, “I have no doubt you would, ma’am, but it does not suit my notions of propriety to send a female guest home on horseback after dark. You will go in a carriage with a coachman and footman in attendance. Your groom may return your horse tonight or tomorrow, as you wish. As to bread and cheese, I think you will find that Bagshaw will arrange something rather more appetizing for you than that.”

“It will take twice as long by road,” Lady Hermione protested.

“Nonetheless, that is how you will go.”

Anne expected him to insist that they all sit down to a proper meal first, but he did not, and she soon discovered he had ordered a basket of food prepared for Lady Hermione to take with her.

Having seen her off, they returned to the house. The hall was still lighted, but the rooms on either side of it were dark.

Lord Ashby said, “Where’s young Andrew? Rather expected him to make one of the welcoming party, by Jove.”

“He has gone to bed,” Michael said curtly.

“Don’t tell me you came to cuffs with the lad again! I daresay you were short-tempered because of our little adventure, but you needn’t have taken your irritation out on him.”

“You may rest assured, Uncle, that any irritation I feel toward you will be expressed to you when I have sufficient time to devote to the exercise. My displeasure with Andrew arose solely from the fact that I learned he had not spent the morning with his books as he had taken pains to lead me to believe he had.”

Anne gasped, but he did not so much as glance at her before adding in the same chilly tone, “He went fishing instead.”

“Can’t blame a fellow for that,” Lord Ashby said. “Ain’t his fault he prefers fishing to studying. Did myself. Daresay at his age you did too, for that matter.”

“And suffered the consequences, just as Andrew did.”

An arrested look leapt to Lord Ashby’s eyes. “See here, you didn’t do anything reckless, I hope.”

“No doubt it will offend your sense of the respect due to his great rank, Uncle, but I have lost all patience with the notion that being a duke entitles him to do as he pleases. He is still a boy, and I am his guardian, and I can no longer see any reason not to treat him like any other boy. It is time and more for him to learn that his actions will result in predictable consequences.”

“I suppose you sent him to bed without his dinner again,” Lord Ashby said on a hopeful note.

“I did that, but I thrashed him soundly first, and I certainly do not mean to apologize for it. I won’t tolerate a liar.”

“He did not lie, exactly,” Anne said without thinking. “You asked if he had occupied himself properly, by which I am persuaded you meant with his studies, but he replied only that he had occupied himself. I remember that quite clearly.”

“That, madam, is a mere quibble, and you know it. I hope it does not also mean that you were aware that he had disobeyed me.”

“Do you mean to send her to bed without supper, too?” Lord Ashby demanded. “Or perhaps you mean even to—”

“Don’t try my patience too far, Uncle. I do have a number of things to say to you about tonight’s business, but I’d prefer to regain control of my temper first. Come along, madam.” Grasping Anne’s arm none too gently, he urged her toward the stairs.

She waited until she was certain Lord Ashby would not hear her. Then, striving for a light note, she said, “I certainly hope you don’t mean to send me to bed without my supper. I’m ravenous.”

“Serve you right if I did,” he said, “but I won’t. Nor do I mean to thrash you, though I’ll admit the temptation to do so occurred to me more than once during these past few hours. Do you realize it is after eleven o’clock?”

“As late as that?”

“Yes. You deserve that I should be very angry. Did it never occur to you that to let my uncle take you up in his balloon at night—or indeed, at any time—was dangerous folly?”

“I did not know at first what he meant to do,” Anne said, “but once I did, I own that I thought more of the adventure than of the danger. And to be truthful, sir, I am very much afraid that, had I truly recognized the danger, I might have refused to go, which would have been too bad, for I enjoyed myself hugely, except for the very last minutes, which were admittedly rather frightening. But, oh, sir, you must let him take you aloft one day. The experience is beyond anything you could ever imagine.”

“Is it?” The hard edge was gone from his voice, but she scarcely noticed, for they were passing through the state drawing room and her attention was drawn to the fire blazing on the hearth.

“There are fires in all these rooms again,” she said, vexed.

“There always are,” he said.

“But I gave orders today to reduce their number for economy’s sake. Surely, it cannot be necessary to keep fires blazing in every large room of the house, every evening.”

He said with a sigh, “It cannot cost as much as all that, and no doubt Bagshaw has excellent reasons or he would not order them lit. The house is in capable hands, my dear. I know you shouldered many responsibilities at Rendlesham, for your father was justly proud of your abilities and recited them all to me, but such constant supervision is not necessary here. Bagshaw and Mrs. Burdekin have kept things well in hand for years, and you will only set up their backs by interfering with their ways, you know. You can quite safely leave everything to them.”

She wanted to ask if he would be content to leave the running of the estates to the duke’s bailiff or land steward, but before she could screw up her courage to do so, he pushed open the door to her dressing room and she saw further proof of the servants’ efficiency. A table had been laid for her supper before the cozy fire, with chafing dishes to keep the food warm.

Maisie awaited them, but Michael said gently, “You may go. I will bear your mistress company and see she gets safely to bed.”

She glanced at Anne.

“Thank you,” Anne said. “I will see you in the morning.”

Lord Michael drank a glass of wine while she ate. She described their journey in the balloon, and was relieved to note that he listened without visible annoyance, even chuckling when she told him about Lady Hermione kneeling on Lord Ashby’s precious barometer. When she had finished her supper, he arose and held her chair for her. His nearness stirred a tingle of anticipation, but although he escorted her to her bedchamber and assisted her with her disrobing, his demeanor remained matter-of-fact and dutiful rather than romantic. And though he undressed and climbed into bed with her, the interlude that followed was a brief one. He had been right in predicting that the second time would not be so painful, but that was about all she could say for the experience.