Brenda Hiatt (4 page)

“Of course we may. My presence will not be necessary in Town until late next week, and Father won’t be there before
Friday. At any rate, he and Camilla travel far more slowly than I prefer. This way we may set our own pace.”

Accordingly, they set off early in the marquess’s own carriage, a few hours ahead of the others. Hunt rode alongside the carriage much of the way and persuaded Holly to do likewise.

“I hate travelling with Camilla,” he confided when they were out of earshot of the coachman. “She gets mortally offended if I choose to ride and insists on stopping every five miles or so. Of course, at the rate she makes poor John drive, that’s still at least an hour between stops.”

“Perhaps the motion of the coach makes her ill,” suggested Holly. Though she now understood the reasons behind Hunt’s unfilial attitude towards his stepmother, she still had hopes of eventually healing the breach between them. “You cannot blame her for that.”

“I suppose not,” he conceded. “But I needn’t enjoy it, either!”

They kept a good pace, stopping only to change horses, and reached Tidebourne, Holly’s old home, well before dusk. As they drew up before the front door, it opened and her mother appeared in the doorway. There was no sign of Blanche.

“Come in, my dear, my lord. How delightful a surprise is this! Why did you not send word ahead? No fear, though, we will manage.”

“I knew you would put yourself out if you knew we were coming, Maman,” said Holly, dismounting. “We will only be staying a day or two, and if we can but have a fire lit in my old room, we will go on splendidly.” She concluded with a kiss on her mother’s cheek.

“I sent Mary to attend to it as soon as I saw you arrive,” Mrs. Paxton replied, effusively returning Holly’s embrace.

They all went into the parlour, where Blanche was occupied in painting a small table with remarkably ugly brown flowers.

“Good evening my lady, my lord,” she said formally as they entered. “How kind of you to drop by.”

“Blanche!” exclaimed Holly with a laugh. “You needn’t call me ‘my lady.’ I still have a name.”

“I thank you for the liberty. I do hope you will find lamb chops to your liking for supper. Had we known you were coming, I doubt not Maman would have saved the ducks for your arrival rather than let Cook prepare them for dinner.”

Holly saw Hunt’s jaw tighten as it had once or twice before when the duchess made one of her tactless comments about Holly’s nationality. On one of those occasions he had reprimanded his stepmother with a sharpness that startled Holly.

Even though, she thought guiltily, she might enjoy seeing him put Blanche in her place similarly, she knew it would make their visit less pleasant. “Lamb chops will be perfectly adequate, of course,” she said quickly. Then, turning to her mother, “If you don’t mind, I will go up to put off my cloak before tea.”

Her room looked much as it ever had, a cheerful fire already crackling in the grate in testimony to Mary’s efficiency. Mabel, her abigail from Wickburn, already awaited her there, a suitable gown laid out to replace Holly’s habit.

Quickly, she helped her mistress to change, then sat her at the dressing-table to repair the disarray riding had caused to her hair. Holly glanced through a small pile of letters that had arrived in her absence while Mabel repinned it.

Most were congratulations on her recent marriage from the surrounding folk, but near the bottom she came upon a folded sheet addressed to her in a hand she well recognized, though the writer had made an effort to disguise it.

It was from Noel.

“M
Y HAIR IS FINE
, Mabel, thank you,” said Holly as casually as she could manage, picking up a different letter and breaking the seal. “You may go.”

The moment she was alone, she dropped the letter she was holding and tore open Noel’s. So eager was she to know the contents that it took her a moment to realize that Noel had written it in their old childhood code—the code they had shared with no one else. It had been years since Holly had seen it, and though she herself had helped to devise it, for one panicked instant she feared that she had forgotten how it worked.

The memory came rushing back. It would read from bottom to top, of course, and from right to left. Every third word would be a nonsense word, and the others, their letters staggered by four so that
A
equalled
D
and
Y
equalled
B,
alternated French, Italian, German and English, in all of which she and Noel were fluent. Really, it was a rather clever code, she thought, particularly given that they were but fourteen years old when they invented it.

Carefully, she worked out the message. “Sorry this is so long reaching you,” it read. “I am sending it by way of America. Took ship to France and am safe in Paris. Have clerk position, making useful connections. Essential you maintain secrecy. Reply only in code. Send to M. Broux, Dover. Shall advise of changes if possible. I pray everyone is well and your debut was successful.”

Tears of relief trickled from the corners of her eyes as she read it through again to be sure. Noel was safe, or had been two months ago. Silently, she offered up a prayer of thanks.

“Ah, here you are! The tea is ready,” Maman greeted her when she reentered the parlour a moment later.

Holly chattered cheerfully about their journey as she poured out, her relief over Noel’s safety giving her added animation. Hunt was regarding her curiously, she noticed, but of course he could have no idea as to the reason for her added bounce. She smiled brilliantly at him as she handed him his cup, and he seemed to relax, rewarding her with the twinkle that appeared ever more frequently in his eyes of late.

After tea, Holly gave Hunt a tour of the rambling manor house. Fresh from the dowager’s instruction, she could not help noticing certain things about Tidebourne that needed improvement. Small repairs were left undone, and at least one of the maids was shirking her cleaning duties, but she decided against antagonizing Blanche by mentioning them.

Indeed, Holly intended to thoroughly enjoy this brief hiatus, away from the responsibilities of Wickburn. When they reached London, she would have to learn a whole new set of rules and duties, this time under Camilla’s tutelage. But for now, she could relax and spend some quiet time with her husband.

The next morning, Holly led Hunt down to the empty kennels, recalling his interest in foxhounds. “We have only old Arrow now, as I mentioned before, but you can see how Father designed the enclosure,” she said, pointing to the half of the barn that housed it.

“Very efficient use of the space, I must say. This area was for whelping, I presume?”

Holly nodded eagerly. “Yes, and we had some fine pups born here. Why, Mr. Assheton-Smith himself once sent to inquire about purchasing a couple of them.”

Hunt’s eyebrows rose gratifyingly. “Quite a local legend, your father’s pack, I perceive. Perhaps I shall check round to have a look at those you mentioned before. They were sold to a farmer hereabouts, you said?”

“Yes, Mr. Danvers, at Humblegate Farm. I must admit, I still miss Belltongue and Saddleback. They were rather pets of mine.”

Leaving the kennel, Holly went on to show Hunt round some of her favourite childhood haunts. Before receiving Noel’s letter she’d have been reluctant to visit those spots with anybody but her beloved brother. Now, knowing him to be safe, she was able to enjoy seeing them with her husband. He asked her occasional questions about the neighbourhood and she answered cheerfully, pleased to be sharing some of her background with him.

A day spent in such restful pursuits lent both of them added ardour in bed that night.

“Mmm. If that was my reward for bringing you to visit your home, we must make more such trips in the future,” said Hunt afterwards.

“Taking me to London will entitle you to a reward, as well,” Holly replied, snuggling close to him. “But I have enjoyed today tremendously, I must admit.”

“Most of your memories of Derbyshire are happy ones, are they not?” Hunt’s smile looked almost wistful.

Sensing that he was thinking of his own childhood, she nodded. “Yes, Noel and I were forever inventing games and romping about the countryside. Blanche tried to get us in trouble with Papa occasionally, especially when we played pranks on her, but that only added to the excitement—finding ways to cause mischief without being found out.”

“I must keep a careful eye on you, I see. Else I may find spiders in my pockets someday.”

Holly giggled. Not since Noel had left for France had she felt so lighthearted. “My lord!” she said with mock dignity. “Surely you cannot think the Marchioness of Vandover
would stoop to such childish tricks? My mischiefmaking is far more sophisticated now, I assure you!”

He laughed with her and soon their humour gave way to passion. Lying wakeful by his side afterwards as he slept, Holly felt even happier than she had on her wedding day. She and her husband were becoming friends, as well as lovers—and Noel was safe.

“P
ERHAPS WE
can go to visit that farmer you mentioned, the one who bought your father’s pack,” Hunt suggested as they rose from the breakfast table the next morning. “What was his name?”

“Mr. Danvers,” said Holly eagerly. It would be marvellous if Hunt were to buy some of them back. “I can give you directions to Humblegate Farm—’tis not difficult at all to find, and no more than three miles from Tidebourne.”

“You don’t wish to come along?” He was plainly surprised.

In truth, Holly would have very much liked to accompany him, but had more pressing uses for the brief time he would be gone. “I promised Maman that I would try to visit an old servant while I was here,” she improvised. “This would be a perfect opportunity.” The moment he left, she hurried upstairs to answer Noel’s letter.

She found it more difficult than she had expected, but not because of the code. How would Noel feel about the news of her marriage? He had told her to make a good match, of course, but she did not think he had really expected her to. Would he be hurt to hear she had married so quickly, not waiting for his return?

Finally, she composed her message, keeping the wording cool and precise, trying to convey her satisfaction at marrying Hunt, and Maman’s, as well. At least Noel need not worry that she had wed someone unworthy of her. Protective as he had always been, she knew that would be the first thing he would suspect, just as she would, if Noel married—she
could not imagine a woman who could deserve her brother. Smiling, she signed and sealed the letter, addressing it as Noel had instructed.

Did she have time to post it now? She would have to take it into the village herself, for she could not risk one of the servants gossiping about it. Hunt had been gone only half an hour—she should be back before he returned.

Holly felt a slight pang at keeping the matter from her husband, but she quickly subdued it. This matter had nothing to do with their marriage, and she had faithfully promised Noel to tell no one. Besides, it was rather exciting to have a secret. Pulling on her cloak, she slipped out of the house to walk the mile to the village.

While there, Holly bought a new bonnet and some ribbon so that she would have something to show for her errand, stopping at the post office last. No one was there but the postmistress, who was not the gossiping sort, so she was back outside in under a minute. She had not taken two steps, however, when she heard hooves behind her.

“Well met, my dear!” exclaimed Hunt, pulling to a halt and swinging down from the saddle. “Why did you not tell me you needed things from the village? I would have obtained them for you.”

Holly strove to appear natural, though she could feel her cheeks burning guiltily. “I, ah, wanted to walk. ’Tis a lovely day, is it not?” Though he could have no reason to suspect her real mission, he frowned slightly at her flustered response. Desperately, she tried to think of something that might account for it.

“You…you are not angry that I came alone, are you, Hunt?” she asked on sudden inspiration. The duchess, she recalled, had been adamant that she not go about unaccompanied at Wickburn.

His brow cleared, to her relief. “Of course not. This is not London. Everyone knows you here. You need not act the marchioness if you would rather not.”

Holly gave an exaggerated sigh. “Thank you—I would much rather not, actually. The townsfolk might think I was putting on airs.”

He fell into step beside her, leading his horse. “I understand. But, believe it or not, you may find occasions in Town when it will be quite useful to put on airs.”

“Indeed!” Holly grasped eagerly at the change of subject offered, seeing it as a chance to satisfy a portion of her insatiable curiosity, as well. “Pray tell me, what
can
I expect when we arrive in London, Hunt? You will introduce me to all of your associates at the Foreign Office, will you not?”

“Of course. But I fear you will find most of them as deadly dull as myself. Aging diplomats and bespectacled secretaries, for the most part, though a few of the foreign ambassadors are rather more interesting.”

“If they are indeed as dull as yourself, I daresay I will find them a vastly amusing crowd,” replied Holly, smiling up at him. “You do not give yourself enough credit.”

“With your help I am improving, I think.” He reached out and took her hand. “’Tis you who will be a credit to me, Holly. I believe you will bring some much-needed liveliness to those stuffy official functions.”

D
ESPITE
H
UNT’S
predictions, Holly did not find her first diplomatic gathering at all stuffy. There were issues of vital importance seething just below the surface, so many fascinating secrets to uncover, she was sure, if only she were to ask the right questions of the right people. But though she burned with curiosity and yearned to play some vital role in the affairs of the Foreign Office, she tried—at first—to limit herself to being agreeable.

She chatted with ambassadors and their wives, putting them at their ease by addressing many of them in their native tongues. Her fluent Italian, German and even French now stood her in good stead. Only the Russians baffled her,
for she’d had no schooling in that language whatsoever. But even the Russians spoke English, and she soon had made many acquaintances.

“You are even more of a success than I predicted,” Hunt murmured to her at one point, bringing her a glass of ratafia. “Quite the belle of the evening, in fact.”

There was no dancing tonight, only conversation and a light buffet, but the rooms of the Foreign Office were decorated as lavishly as those of any private home. Only the exotic mixture of foreign accents and the undercurrent of political tension set this party apart from the lavish routs Holly had attended during her debut last fall.

She and Hunt were talking to one of the diplomats’ wives when Lord Reginald came up to them with a young man at his side. He swept them an elaborate bow.

“Hunt, you know Teasdale, don’t you?” he asked. Hunt nodded. “I wanted to introduce him to Holly. He’s still fairly new to Town, and I’d noticed how good she is at making folks feel comfortable. Teasdale, m’ sister-in-law, Lady Vandover.”

The young man bowed over her hand. “Charmed, I’m sure.” To her surprise, his accent was purely English.

“But surely you are no foreign ambassador, Mr. Teasdale,” she said with a smile.

“Nay, merely a lowly clerk,” he replied. He was nearly as tall as Hunt, but very thin, with a narrow clever-looking face and carefully combed pale hair. “Lord Reginald was kind enough to put in a good word for me with Wickburn.”

“So you are a recent addition to the Foreign Office?”

He nodded. “And to London, as well. I arrived from Suffolk less than a month ago, in hopes of finding employment—youngest of four sons and all that. I was fortunate enough to encounter Reg at the Royal Academy a few days since.”

“Yes, Teasdale and I were together at Eton,” Reginald chimed in, enthusiastically waving his spy glass at the end of
its ribbon. “We discovered there a common interest in art, but lost touch when I went on to Oxford. I’m delighted to have found him again.”

“I fear I had only interest, while Lord Reginald has true talent,” said Teasdale modestly, “but I, too, am most pleased to renew our acquaintance.”

“Come, Mr. Teasdale,” said Holly brightly before the conversation could turn to art, as it so often did around Reginald. “You must tell me about your new duties here. I vow, I find everything to do with the Foreign Office utterly fascinating.”

“F
OR THE FIRST TIME
, I can honestly say I enjoyed a diplomatic affair,” said Hunt after they returned to Wickburn House later that night. “And I have you to thank, Holly.” They were alone in the sumptuous bedchamber he had refurnished for her during his earlier visit to Town.

Holly smiled up at him as she pulled off her gloves. “Perhaps you have simply learned to relax a bit. There is generally amusement to be found almost anywhere if one is but willing to look for it.” She smoothed the gloves with her fingers before turning to lay them on her dressing-table.

“If only it were so easy.” The wistfulness in his voice made her turn back quickly to search his face.

“It can be, Hunt. You…need not shoulder everyone’s burdens, you know.” He stared at her almost incredulously, and she hastened to explain. “Your grandmother and I had quite a lot of time for conversation while you were away. She told me how, for many years now, you have taken on responsibilities that should rightly be your father’s, both on the estates and with the Foreign Office. She said you have closed yourself off from the diversions most gentlemen pursue.”