The Improper Wife (16 page)

Gray gave Maggie an unfriendly look.

“Good day, Captain,” Hendrick said. Miss Miles curtsied.

“Good day.” His tone was affable toward them.

Sean leaned down from his perch as best he could to get Gray’s attention. “Horfe?” he asked hopefully.

Gray smiled, reminding Maggie how his countenance could sometimes quite take one’s breath away.

“Not today, soldier,” he said with gentleness.

“Today,” Sean demanded.

“Not today,” Gray repeated.

“Nooo,” cried Sean, and Gray’s glance to her was now somewhat beseeching.

“I will take him,” Maggie said, reaching for him.

“No, ma’am, I will take him.” Miss Miles stepped in front of her. “I shall get him cleaned up for luncheon.”

“Nooooo,” cried Sean, but he laughed again as Gray made him turn a flip to get down.

Miss Miles took Sean’s hand and hurried him off to the kitchens.

Hendrick gazed after her, watching until she disappeared. He turned back to Gray. “It was kind of you to take Lord Palmely for a ride, sir. I am certain it gave him great pleasure.”

Gray shrugged. “My nephew is pleasant company. If you are due any credit for that, I commend you.”

The young man looked quite pleased with this compliment. It pleased Maggie as well. Convincing Olivia to hire Hendrick, so fresh from university and so thin of experience, had worked out splendidly. Hendrick had quickly proven to be a fine tutor for a fatherless boy, and a fine example as well.

The earl, the only male family member available, barely noticed the children. Besides, the earl was not the sort of man a boy should emulate. Gray, however, would be a different matter. Maggie had seen strength of character in Gray, though she was not currently the recipient of his best behavior.

“Cook will be setting out a cold luncheon soon, Captain,” Maggie said.

“Indeed?” He gave a scornful lift of his eyebrow. “Cook has not changed her routine, you inform me.”

She felt her cheeks grow hot. She responded with false sweetness. “My apologies, sir. I was never cognizant of Summerton’s routines before my arrival.”

“Your arrival—” began Gray in a heated tone.

Hendrick broke in, “Well, I suppose I must go see these bees.” The tutor smiled. “I wonder if our young lord will wish to leave this nature lesson and recite Latin instead?
That which is not good for the beehive cannot be good for the bees.
” His eyes twinkled. “Marcus Aurelius.” He bowed to Maggie and Gray. “We shall not miss luncheon, I promise you.”

The tutor walked away, and she was alone with Gray again.

“Are you certain
you
can be spared from capturing the bees?” the captain asked, irony dripping from his words.

He was forming an impression that she meddled in Summerton’s affairs. Well, she did involve herself wherever she was needed, but she doubted he could ever be persuaded that she genuinely loved his family and would do anything for them.

She felt her temper bristle. “Sir, perhaps rather than engaging in uncivil comments, you and I should speak plainly to each other.”

“Yes.” His eyes flashed. “We have not finished, you and I. I await answers to my previous questions and to some new ones.”

Answers she dare not give him.

She bit her lip. “Luncheon is approaching. Speaking now will not suit.”

He rubbed his face, looking every bit as frustrated as she herself felt. “After luncheon? I am sure you can inform me which room is likely to give us privacy.”

A bedchamber, she thought, but dared not give him any reminder of his request for “husbandly rights.” Or herself.

“The gallery?” The servants were unlikely to even pass near its door.

“As you wish,” he said curtly.

They walked stiffly side by side and entered the house through the door opening to the ballroom, the largest of the rooms on the main floor. Huge allegorical paintings hung on the walls and classical Roman statues stood like sentinels in the alcoves. Royal red velvet chairs lined the walls, separated at symmetrical intervals by gilt and marble tables. The painted ceiling reflected the design on the specially crafted carpet, completing the symmetrical effect so prized by the previous generation. Vases of fresh flowers from the garden gave the room its final polish.

Gray had not had occasion to visit this room since his arrival. His mother might have just stepped out of it, so much was it like when she was alive. He could almost see her, powdered hair piled high on her head, hand held by some gentleman in clothing more colorful than her own. They would be performing the intricate steps of a country dance with other couples, equally as festive, moving from one end of the room to the other.

No one had bothered to fill this room with flowers after his mother died, and no one danced here. Gray glanced back through the glass panes of the doors. No one had so lovingly tended the garden either, come to think of it, but that too had been restored to its former glory.

“This room looks splendid,” he said more to himself than to the woman who had stepped in the room before him. Dressed in her pale yellow gown, she looked like another of the room’s ornaments.

An awed look came over her face, as if she too had imagined the dancers. “Yes, it is so beautiful. It should always have flowers, I think.”

He ignored her dreamy smile or the graceful way she turned around to capture the whole room in her blue eyes.

“
You
think?” he snapped. “Do you tend to the flowers as well as to the estate books and bees and the devil knows what else?”

Her expression hardened. “Yes, Captain. I do.”

Her candor effectively stilled his tongue. For the moment.

They entered the hall, and Gray noticed several vases of flowers adorning the tables there as well. When he’d left Summerton eight years ago, the house had been plunged in grief over his brother’s death, but even before Vincent died, even after Olivia came to be the house’s mistress, the house had not sparkled with life like it did now. Like it had when his mother lived.

The earl emerged from his study, breaking into a wide smile when he saw Maggie. “Maggie girl!”

He then noticed Gray, standing behind her. His smile vanished. The earl pointed to him. “You,” he spat. “Be gone from my house.”

Chapter
NINE

I
t should not matter.
Gray had long ceased caring about his father’s animosity toward him.
It should not matter.

But his body stiffened and he knew his face filled with color.

Maggie rushed to the earl’s side, putting her arm around the old man’s back. Making clear her alliances, Gray figured.

“Lord Summerton,” she said in soothing tones. “What an unkind thing to say! Cease being so inhospitable toward your son. It is wrong of you.”

“I do not want him here,” his father replied in his most disagreeable voice. “If he has come to take you away, I will not stand for it.”

She gave Gray an agonized glance before turning back to the earl. Forcing a little laugh, she said, “Nonsense!” The earl smiled back at her. “You are not to worry on that score.”

Maggie turned to Parker who had been hovering nearby. “Parker, my lord wishes his luncheon, I believe. Is it ready yet?”

Parker gave her an understanding look before addressing the earl. “Not quite, my lord. Shall I pour you a glass of claret while you wait? It shall be ready directly.”

“Very good, Parker,” the earl said, as if he had ordered the claret himself.

Seeming to forget all about banishing his son for a second time, he followed the butler back into the study, his cane tapping loudly on the marble floor.

Gray watched Maggie release a breath. She glanced at him apologetically. “Perhaps I had better see luncheon hurried along.”

Gray watched her rush out of the hall. He remained caught where he was, unable to move. It was not his father’s pointed demand that he leave that froze him in place. He expected no more from the earl. No, it was Maggie’s behavior that foxed him.

A word from her, whispered in his father’s ear, could send Gray packing before the sun hit its high point in the sky. But rather than play upon his father’s animosity, she had defended him. She’d mollified his father so he could remain at Summerton.

Gray shook his head and put his hand on the banister. It made no sense.

He went to his bedchamber to change out of his riding clothes. His new valet was there, ready to assist him.

Gray had not wished for a valet. He had not wanted to accept any more of his father’s grudging hospitality than was absolutely necessary, but he realized Wrigley would attempt to attend to him and his father’s ancient man looked as if he could barely attend to his father.

“Good morning, sir,” his new valet said. He had already laid out fresh clothes for Gray.

The young man was pleasant and efficient at least.

Gray asked, “How long have you been in the earl’s employ, Decker?” He surmised him to be not more than five years younger than himself.

“About six years, sir. Since I was seventeen.” Decker placed the coat upon a chair and reached back to help with Gray’s waistcoat. “My uncle arranged it. You might remember him, sir. He was a footman here at Summerton. Timms.”

Gray pulled off his shirt himself. “Timms? Of course I remember him! I fear I tried his patience a time or two as a boy. I have not seen him. Is he pensioned off?”

Decker handed him a clean linen shirt. “Passed away, sir. Almost a year ago now.” The valet conveyed somewhat more emotion than a gentleman’s gentleman ought.

“I am sorry to hear of it. I was fond of him.”

The young man shrugged and turned to hang up Gray’s riding coat. “I’m grateful to your wife, sir. She made sure his last days were comfortable.”

His wife.

Another involvement in Summerton affairs, but Gray could hardly condemn her for this one. It must have been a great kindness. He could all too readily imagine her sitting at the bedside, bathing the footman’s face with cool water, speaking to him in the soothing tones with which she had just addressed Gray’s father.

“Indeed,” Gray managed to respond. “How good of her.”

Decker nodded. “I’ll not forget it.”

Gray delayed his appearance at luncheon until he was certain his father had finished. When he entered the dining room, Maggie was also gone.

Rodney sat with Mr. Hendrick and gave Gray an exuberant greeting. As soon as Gray filled his plate, Rodney began a diverting moment-by-moment description of the capture of the bee swarm and its delivery to the hive.

Rodney completed his story, and Olivia came in, accompanied by Sir Francis, who had taken her for a morning ride in his curricle. Her cheeks were still pink from the fresh air and sunshine. She looked as if she had not a care in the world, almost like the young girl his brother had brought to visit all those years ago.

Rodney greeted his mother warmly, but he did not repeat the tale of the bees, and Mr. Hendrick soon rushed the boy out for some lessons.

After idle conversation with Sir Francis about the running of his estate and neighborhood matters, Gray turned to his sister-in-law. “How do you fare at running this household, Olivia? Is it burdensome for you?”

She darted a look toward Sir Francis and twisted the tablecloth with her fingers. “I confess I was never good at such things. Maggie helps me. Indeed, she does the most of it, though she is kind enough to often ask for my approval.”

Sir Francis gave her a fond smile, which she returned gratefully, before glancing back at Gray.

“I see.” Maggie, not Olivia, ran the household.

Gray excused himself as soon as was comfortable, and made his way to the gallery. Would she keep him cooling his heels there?

She did not. She was in the gallery cooling her heels for him.

The gallery was a long, narrow room used to display the portraits of Summerton ancestors, huge dark paintings that were too unfashionable to reside in the family living quarters. It also contained the Summerton armory, centuries of swords, shields, axes, and bows, as well as two full suits of armor, standing guard over all the weaponry.

Once when Gray was ten, unknown to his father, he set about trying on one set of armor. Vincent had helped him get into the contraption, but they’d had to summon Parker to help him out of it and return it to its appointed place. Luckily the earl never knew.

Maggie stood at the far end of the room, staring up at the portrait of the first Earl of Summerton resplendent in that same full armor that had almost trapped young Gray.

She turned at his approach, facing him with hands clasped casually in front of her, as if trying to treat this as a companionable visit rather than a skirmish that might ultimately decide the whole contest.

As he neared, she turned back to the portrait. “There is a beehive in this portrait,” she said with a tiny laugh in her voice. “Is that not a coincidence on this day? It is in the background. You can barely see it.”

“I believe bees signify industry,” he replied blandly. “Our ancestor was an industrious fellow, according to family lore.”

She gave a wan smile. “I have often gazed upon this painting. Is it not odd that only today, so full of bees, I should take notice of the hive?”

“I find it odd you take such an interest in old paintings.”

Maggie frowned. “They are family portraits. I like family portraits.”

She stared at him for a moment, then turned away and walked down the gallery away from the painting.

He followed her. “No more delay, Maggie. I want the truth from you. I will hear now why you have embroiled my family in this deception of yours.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I have told you! Your cousin—”

He put up his hand. “Enough of my cousin. There is more to this than you are telling me. I demand to know the whole of it.”

She met his eye. “I have told you all I am able to tell.”

“Your unwillingness to be candid helps nothing.”

“I cannot be more candid.”

He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch. “Why?”

Her face filled with color and she stared down at the carpet. When she looked back at him, her eyes were steady and seemed to bore into him. “I cannot tell you.”