Skylark (13 page)

“My, my,” he said to Harry, who was presenting a lion. He managed a ferocious roar that had Harry pealing with laughter and crying, “Again! Again!”

“Next time,” Stephen said with a smile that seemed to encompass more than a child’s games. Then he mounted and rode away.

When Jack walked into Lord Caldfort’s study without knocking, the old man quickly slid another letter on top of the one from Azir Al Farouk. “What is it?” he grumbled. His legs were swollen, he hadn’t slept, and he felt as if he could hear his weary heart laboring in his breast.

And here was Jack, taunting him with life and vigor. Jack wouldn’t feel so cocky if he knew what was going on. Tempting to tell him, but not yet, not yet. Not until he decided what to do.

“Just dropped by to see how you are, Father.”

“Piss awful, but that’s no news.”

Jack paced the room as if demonstrating health in the face of illness, complaining about him letting Laura take little Harry away for so long. Preaching a damn sermon, but Jack was no saint.

Lord Caldfort knew he hadn’t been a perfect father, but he’d always understood his sons because they were a lot like him. There was something cold about Jack, however, and he’d never been a cold man himself. Nor had Hal.

The boy probably got it from his mother. Thirty-five years ago it hadn’t seemed to matter that Cecily was a bit strange. Her dowry had been twenty thousand pounds, and she’d been plain and peculiar enough for her family to be grateful for a younger son. He should have remembered that you didn’t breed a bad hound.

“A month at her home’ll do Laura good,” he said when the sermon ended. “She’s been looking a bit worn.”

“A bit demented, if you ask me. She’ll smother the boy with her cosseting! All that fuss because he picked something up off the ground and ate it. I’m not sure she’s a fit mother, Father.”

So that was how it went. “Who would take care of the lad if not her?”

“Emma and I,” said Jack, every inch the charitable vicar. “He’d be better off in the midst of a family, and he’d still be close enough to Caldfort to know the place. Or,” he added, “we could all move here.”

Ah. Jack would like that, but Lord Caldfort wasn’t having a pack of noisy brats all over the place. One quiet one was bad enough.

“It’d be better for Laura, too,” Jack went on. “She’s still a young woman, and must be hot to marry again. She’d be free to take up residence in some lively spot. Heaven knows, her jointure’s rich enough. Hal was besotted to increase it like that.”

“I approved it,” Lord Caldfort growled.

Jack looked at him sharply, but didn’t let go of his bone. “Then you should let her enjoy it. She’d be welcome to visit Harry here as often as she wished.”

So cogent. Lord Caldfort admired his younger son’s way with words. He preached well to his parishioners, too. Not too long, livened with a bit of earthy humor, and making a worthy point. What he said about Laura made sense, too. She’d find another husband in no time, but Jack, typically, hadn’t thought it through.

“She’s still a beautiful woman, Jack, so she’d probably marry well. If a powerful man becomes Harry’s stepfather, we’d find it hard to keep him here, where he belongs.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged. “We can face that fence when we come to it.”

What fence? That was the question. Keeping Harry here, or getting rid of him altogether? But Jack wouldn’t go that far. Not that far.

“This isn’t the hunting field,” Lord Caldfort growled. “Law be damned, a powerful stepfather for Harry would be a plaguey nuisance. Then there’d be no way to stop Laura mollycoddling the boy to disaster.”

Jack smiled. “He’s a Gardeyne, Father, and boys will be boys.”

Lord Caldfort was sure then. As sure as he could be until the day Hal’s boy lay dead, dead of some boyish enterprise gone wrong. But what was he to do? Dr. Trumper warned he could go at any time, and then Jack would be Harry’s guardian.

Time to change that, but to whom? You didn’t leave a woman as guardian to a peer of the realm. Laura’s father? The man was little better than a farmer and lived days away. . . .

“Father? Are you all right?”

Lord Caldfort looked up into Jack’s ruddy, healthy face. Did he see a glint of anticipation? If he died and then Harry died, Jack would have it all. Except that Henry Gardeyne might be alive. He felt a touch of glee at maybe having Jack’s plans scuppered like that, but mostly he wished everyone would leave him alone.

“ ’Course I’m all right. Or I was before you barged in here haranguing me. Go away!”

Jack pulled a saintly, forbearing face and took his leave.

Lord Caldfort pulled out the plaguey letter. Pain in the bloody arse, but it needed handling. How, how? If he put it in Jack’s hands, he knew what would happen.

But perhaps he should. It would all be taken care of then, and he could have some peace.

When the chaise rolled into Barham, Laura remembered that Friday was market day. Streets full of stalls and animals slowed their progress, but made her smile. Despite the noise and smell, she’d always loved the town in the market-day bustle, and loved exploring the wares of itinerant merchants.

Moreover, she and Harry would soon be home, where she could take action about HG. She’d had two days to think, and Stephen’s rationale was inescapable. She had to go to Draycombe. Now her chief concern was to get there before Jack.

A post chaise with regular changes travels as fast as humanly possible, but she’d stopped last night when the light went and not started again until the sun was up. Someone on an urgent mission might not do that. Her hopes were pinned to Lord Caldfort’s innate caution and Jack’s parish responsibilities, but most of all to the fact that neither man could guess that anyone else knew about Farouk and HG. They had no reason at all to think there was urgency.

She hoped the letter from Redoaks awaited her at Merrymead, but even so, it was already late afternoon, so she could not leave until tomorrow. More delays. More danger for HG.

“A cock, Mama!
Cock-a-doodle-dooooo!
”

Laura looked. They were leaving the town, and a cock paced in male arrogance among his harem of hens.

Stephen’s animal noises had made a lasting impression on Harry, which hadn’t made the journey any easier. They’d passed all too many cows, horses, sheep, and pigs, not to mention ducks and chickens. No lions, thank heavens, but that hadn’t stopped Harry from practicing his roar.

“Are we there yet?”

Laura laughed and hugged him. “Very, very soon, Minnow. Just around the next bend. Do you remember the lions at the gates?”

He nodded and pressed to the window, letting out his best roar. Oh, dear. Was he going to do that throughout their visit?

Stone lions guarded the entrance to Merrymead House, and on their last visit, they’d fascinated Harry. That was why she’d bought him the inappropriate lion for his farmyard animals.

The lions had been her father’s contribution to the family’s rise into the gentry. Merrymead Farm—three hundred years old—had become Merrymead House in her grandfather’s time, masked by a new facade that included a pillared entrance. Her father had transformed the paddock between the house and the road into a garden and marked the entrance with low stone pillars topped with crouching lions.

Having been designed by her father, the lions did not snarl a warning. They grinned merrily, welcoming all, and seemed designed for children to pretend to ride. They probably had been.

Harry’s nose was squashed to the glass, so she let down the window so he could hang out a little. “See the tower of St. Michael’s? Merrymead’s very close to there.”

Laura was almost as excited as he was, and tempted to hang wildly out of the window to catch a first glimpse. The chaise turned the bend and Harry pointed. “Happy lions! Happy lions!
Roar!
”

Laura laughed as the postilions guided the horses carefully between the smiling guardians and up the short drive to the door.

Her mother and Juliet rushed out to stand under the classical portico, grinning and waving. Her mother was unchanged—round, gray, and beaming. Juliet looked to have reverted to younger years. She was wearing her brown hair tied back and a simple blue dress, and was bouncing with excitement like a mere girl. No one would imagine she was the wife of an important servant of His Majesty.

As soon as the coach door was opened, her mother swept Harry into her arms. Laura climbed out and into Juliet’s arms.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Laura! And for a whole month. We could hardly believe the message you sent ahead. And Harry’s grown so much.”

Juliet took Harry’s face and planted a kiss on his nose.

Harry didn’t squirm away, but he was looking overwhelmed, so Laura took him in her arms. “Where’s Father?”

“In town for market day, of course,” Laura’s mother said, shepherding everyone inside and to the drawing room.

The so-called drawing room was large and part of a new extension, but despite the name it was as comfortable and informal as the old parlor next to the kitchen.

“Him and Ned both,” her mother went on. “Aggie! Here’s Laura home. Come and take their coats and such and find George to deal with the luggage. And they’ve taken Tom and Arthur,” she added to Laura as the middle-aged maid rushed in smiling to take away the clothing.

“That explains the quiet,” Laura said, putting down Harry and stripping off his warm coat.

Tom and Arthur were her brother Ned’s seven- and ten-year-old sons. There was a thirteen-year-old, too—Edward, who was off at Winchester School. Merrymead was usually bursting with noisy life, and even with only the women at home, it completely lacked the chilly calm of Caldfort.

Dogs circled, and the two indoor cats leapt up from in front of the drawing room fire, possibly with an eye to escaping Harry. Laura watched for a moment, but they seemed willing to be stroked.

Her mother was ordering tea and chattering at the same time, as if she’d give all the news of the family and gossip of the county in a minute.

Laura sat down on the familiar red-striped sofa, feeling very, very happy. Even the smells were familiar. Wood smoke, baking, rose potpourri, and a hundred others that told her she was home.

“Laura!”

Her sister-in-law, Margaret, came in smiling, with her baby in her arms. Her four-year-old daughter, Megsy, was at her side, cradling a doll in solemn imitation. Mother and daughter looked so alike that it made Laura smile—both were sturdy, forthright, with bubbling brown curls, and dimpled smiles.

Megsy and Harry had played well together on their last visit, and he talked about her sometimes. She hoped it would work out now.

Megsy marched over and offered her doll to Harry. “But she’s only to lend!”

Harry took it, nodding solemnly, and arranged it in his arms as Megsy had. Laura gave thanks the Gardeyne men weren’t here to see Harry cradling a doll. She’d brought his bag of toys from the coach and wondered if she’d have to prompt him to share in turn. He sat down on the carpet, however, and tumbled out his animals with one hand.

After a hesitation, he chose the lion and offered it. “Only to lend. It’s a lion, and it roars.”

He demonstrated, which made the adults laugh.

Negotiations over, the two children settled to playing with the animals, the doll, and the cats when the cats allowed.

Laura turned to Margaret, who was beside her on the sofa. “She’s becoming quite the little lady.”

“Only when it suits her, I assure you. You’re looking well, Laura.”

“It’s good to be home.”

It was, but Laura saw her mother’s flicker of alertness at the word
home
. She’d forgotten the other thing about home. Everyone had their nose in everyone else’s business, and her mother knew all her children too well. Telling lies might be even more difficult than she’d imagined. Besides, having arrived, the last thing she wanted to do was leave.

For the moment she settled to enjoying a normal homecoming, including holding and admiring darling four-month-old Ruthie. Tears suddenly pricked her eyes. Why hadn’t she realized how much she wanted more babies? Perhaps because she wasn’t the sort to pine for impossibilities. As long as Hal had been alive it had been in God’s hands, and since his death, it had seemed impossible. If HG was the true Viscount Caldfort, however, things could change there, too.

Escape from Caldfort.

A new home, one much more like Merrymead.

More children.

She tried not to hope, but it swirled in her as she tried to follow six months of news.

The baby stirred and demanded food, so Margaret took her and put her to the breast. Laura rose. “Come along, Harry. You must help unpack your trunk.”

Anyone would think she’d suggested a penance. “Can’t I stay with Megsy?”

“Leave him here,” her mother said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Juliet bounced to her feet. “I’ll come with you. We’re in our old room.”

“He’ll be indulged to death,” Laura said as they went upstairs.

“Of course. It won’t hurt him any more than it hurt us. He won’t get away with brattiness.”

Juliet led the way into the room they’d shared as girls and young women. It had been papered with red roses after Laura had left home, but otherwise looked just the same.

“I was so unhappy when I couldn’t go abroad with Robert,” Juliet said, “but this almost makes up for it. We’ll be like girls again!”

“Except that we’re now wicked women of the world.”

Juliet grinned. “And isn’t it lovely? Do you remember our whispered speculations about what happened between husbands and wives?”

Laura turned away to unlock her trunk. “I remember that book you got your hands on.”

“Oh yes. It mystified us rather than enlightened. It makes more sense now.”