Twelfth Night Secrets (12 page)

“Oh, don’t be absurd,” Harriet declared. “I am merely trying to make conversation.”

“Well, if I may say so, interrogation is an unusual form of conversation.” He spooned scalloped oysters onto his plate. “I must congratulate you on your cook. Has she been with the family long?”

Harriet laughed. “Oh, very well, sir. I yield the floor. Yes, Mistress Hubbard has been cook at Charlbury since before my grandmother died. She and Mallow were here before Nick was born and were part of our childhood, as they are part of the twins’. The same with Judd.” She switched onto a parallel track. “Where did you go on your ride today? I should have told you about some of my favorite rides around here. The countryside is so beautiful, even in the middle of winter.”

“I certainly found it so,” Julius responded. “But as it happens, I decided to ride into Oxford. I was a student there many years ago and always enjoyed the
weeks before Christmas, when the city took on such a festive air. I had the urge to see how much it had changed in the last ten years.”

“And had it?”

“Probably not, but I have,” he said with a chuckle. “For some reason, the scents of roasting chestnuts from the braziers along St. Giles or the spice cakes they were selling in Carfax didn’t have the same richness as they did when I was a gangling and perpetually famished undergraduate.”

“You make yourself sound like a world-weary old man,” Harriet scoffed. “You cannot be that much older than Nick, and he never lost his pleasure in the city at any time of the year.”

Julius looked at her rather more sharply. “I can give Nick eight years, my dear. And you, nine.”

That would make him thirty. Harriet had thought him about that age, although his manner sometimes made him seem older. She observed, “Eight years is quite an age difference when it comes to friendship. It seems unusual that you and Nick should have been as close as you imply just based on pleasures shared. A joint enterprise perhaps might forge strong ties that could transcend such a gap, but just cards, or sportsmanship, or dancing . . . come to think of it, Nick
was never much of a dancer.” She regarded him with an air of mild inquiry. “What did you have in common, my lord?”

Julius considered his response. The lady was fishing, and she was fishing in quite good waters. She had acted as Nick’s poste restante, so she knew at least something of Nick’s extracurricular activities, and she was no fool. Her questions as a result were pertinent. But should he satisfy her curiosity with a fraction of the truth or continue in straight-faced denial?

The latter would probably close off all possibility of getting to know her better. That had not been an object of this particular Christmas excursion, but it was one that seemed to have become very important. He liked her. No, much more than that. She attracted him most powerfully. Not just physically, although he’d be the last to deny that particular attraction, but he enjoyed her company, and he admired her. And for Julius, admiration was the most powerful aphrodisiac. She had so much courage, and she was carrying far too much on those slender shoulders. He wanted to lighten her burdens a little. She had shared them with Nick, and her brother was no longer there to take his part. Nick had made his own choices, chosen the path that had led to his early death. But others had
been complicit in that tragedy, too. With the smoothness of a greased wheel, his mind automatically threw up the wall that prevented further exploration of that subject. What was done was done.

But Harriet was too young to carry the weight of so much loss, not to mention the responsibility for the twins. Of course, legally they were their grandfather’s charge, but it was as clear as day to Julius that their day-to-day care, both emotional and physical, fell to their sister. And that didn’t seem right to him. Nick had said as much on several occasions, and Julius now understood what he meant, now that he had met Nick’s beloved sister. There was no real reason he should create a rift between them at this juncture.

“There was an incident while we were in Paris. I’m surprised your brother didn’t tell you of it, but perhaps he didn’t wish to alarm you,” he said with a slight shrug, accepting a refilled glass from a footman with a decanter. “We were involved in a street fight—”

“A street fight?” Harriet interrupted him. “A brawl?”

“Not exactly,” Julius said, considering his words. “I came upon a young man being set upon by a trio of bully boys, and since the odds struck me as somewhat
uneven, I took my sword to the fight. I was hard pressed at one point, and by great good fortune, Nick happened to come around the corner and jumped in at the opportune moment. I think it no exaggeration to say that both my life and that of the young man were saved by his timely intervention.”

“Oh, I see.” Harriet absorbed this. She could believe such a story of Nick. But what if Julius had actually been one of the assassins and not an angel of mercy, and Nick had assumed that someone was in trouble and joined the fight without knowing anything about the participants or the cause of the imbroglio? But then again, Julius, as a double agent, could have been set upon by British assassins and Nick had happened to come to his rescue without knowing that he was helping the wrong man. Oh, it gave her a headache. Nothing was to be gained by such pointless speculation.

“That would certainly explain an unlikely friendship,” she said easily. “Nick was ever one to go to the rescue of the underdog.” She wondered with a degree of mischief whether the term
underdog
had bruised his lordship’s pride somewhat. But if it had, he gave no indication.

“Your aunt appears to be signaling you,” Julius
murmured, bringing her attention back to the table.

Harriet looked towards her aunt and saw her gesticulating with her eyebrows. Augusta was far too well-bred to call down the table to gain her great-niece’s attention. Harriet inclined her head in acknowledgment and made a move to rise from her chair. The signal was sufficient for the gentlemen to rise to assist the ladies from their chairs, and Aunt Augusta led the female procession from the dining room.

Before going into the drawing room, Harriet ran upstairs to the nursery floor. The nursemaid was sitting in front of the fire, darning Tom’s stockings, but she jumped up as Harriet came in. “No, please, sit down, Lilly. Has Nurse Maddox gone to bed?”

“Yes, m’lady. She said she’ll be up early enough wi’ the children in the morning, so she went early.”

“She’s right,” Harriet said with a rueful smile. “They’ll be up before dawn on Christmas morning. Are they asleep now?” She gestured to the door to the night nursery.

The girl nodded. “I looked in on ’em just a few minutes ago, m’lady. They’re out like lights.”

“Good . . . then you go to your bed, too, Lilly.” Harriet went to a cupboard and took a box from the top shelf. “Sugar plums have always been a tradition
on Christmas morning when the children wake early, so make sure they get these. I know Nurse Maddox will grumble, she always does, but she doesn’t really object. They may come down to me at eight o’clock but not before. I daresay I shall be late abed tonight.”

“Yes, indeed, m’lady.” Lilly was putting away her darning. She took the wooden box from Harriet and set it on the dresser.

“Good night, then.” Harriet left the nursery and returned downstairs to take her place in the drawing room while the ladies awaited the men.

Julius was one of the first men to leave the dining room. He looked around the elegant salon, where women sat in little groups, holding cups of tea and chattering among themselves. Only Harriet stood alone in front of a window. She was holding the heavy curtain aside, looking out into the dark. He came up behind her and laid a hand on the soft rounded curve of a sloping shoulder. The bare skin was warm beneath his fingers.

She jumped, turned her head, her green eyes wide. “You startled me, sir.”

“Forgive me.” He kept his hand where it was, cupping the curve of her shoulder. “You seemed so absorbed. I was wondering what you could see out there
in the cold dark.” His voice was soft, and she could feel his breath warm against her ear.

That feeling of intimacy came over her again, enclosing them in their own space while the hushed murmurs of the salon faded into the distance. “I was looking for snowflakes,” she responded as softly. “Remembering the magic of a white Christmas in my own childhood. The children would be ecstatic, although Grandfather would be devastated.” She turned with a little laugh, shrugging slightly so that his hand fell from her shoulder. “Divided loyalties, as always. Don’t you find them the very devil, my lord?”

“A personal question which I will answer if it’s asked in a personal fashion,” he responded with a smile that brought the deep lustre to his black eyes. “My name will supply an answer, Harriet.”

“Do you not find divided loyalties to be the very devil, Julius?” she asked, holding his gaze.

“I do what I can to avoid them,” he answered her. His hand moved, for an instant touched the curve of her cheek, and then fell to his side. “But yes, when they cannot be avoided, they are indeed devil’s spawn.”

A moment of silence fell between them. It was not an awkward silence, but it held something, a portent, a promise, a world of things unsaid.

Then he said lightly, “So what does the morning hold for us, my lady hostess?”

“Well, since none of our company is fit to go to midnight mass, having all eaten and drunk their fill this evening, matins will be an obligatory event,” she replied in like manner. “We shall process after breakfast at ten-thirty or thereabouts. The church, as you know, is just beyond the gates, so it’s a short walk. After that, there will be a party of sorts here in the great hall for the tenants and the folk from the village. You need not be there, but the family must, of course. Dinner will be at four.”

“And is there a gift exchange?”

“No, but Grandfather, myself, and the children have a small ceremony before breakfast.” She smiled. “They will be up at the crack of dawn.”

He nodded. “Then may I suggest you take yourself to bed now? You have performed your hostess duties admirably, and I can see not the slightest reason you should not slip away to the peace and privacy of your own bedchamber. You are looking sadly fatigued, dear girl.” A fingertip brushed the skin beneath her eyes. “Nick always said you took on too much.”

“I know he did.” For a treacherous instant, Harriet felt as if she could lean into this man, take some of his
strength for herself, as she had done with her brother. But Julius Forsythe was a suspected double agent, an assassin. Her task was to prove this. She couldn’t do that from the protection of his arms.

She stepped away from him, her smile suddenly brittle. “I will take your advice, sir. Thank you. Good night.” She moved away across the room, pausing for a moment beside her aunt before disappearing through the double doors.

Now, what the hell happened to change her mood so suddenly?
Julius stood frowning, before he, too, slipped from the room to the solitude of his own chamber.

Thomas was laying out his lordship’s nightgown when Julius entered his bedchamber. “A nice evening, m’lord?” He smoothed down the coverlet.

“Very pleasant, thank you, Thomas. I shan’t need you any more today.”

“You don’t need me to help you undress, m’lord?” Thomas sounded a little put out.

Julius shook his head, loosening his cravat with one hand. “No, I’m more than capable of putting myself to bed. You may wake me in the morning at eight o’clock.”

“If you’re sure, m’lord. I trust everything is to your satisfaction. Mr. Mallow will want to know, sir.”

“You may tell him that everything is very much to
my satisfaction,” Julius reassured him. “Now, go and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

“Very well, m’lord. There is cognac in the decanter on the dresser should you wish for a nightcap.” Thomas bowed and left.

Julius shook his head. He was so accustomed to looking after himself most of the time that the constant presence of servants could at times be quite oppressive. But when in Rome . . .

He shrugged out of his coat and poured himself a goblet of cognac, carrying the glass to the window, where he drew back the heavy velvet curtain. The sweep of lawn at the front of the house was partially illuminated by the pitch torches that blazed on either side of the double front doors. The rest of the garden was in shadow, although a fitful moon occasionally skipped out from behind heavy cloud cover. The woods that surrounded the lawn formed a solid black shape, but Julius knew that they were not as dense as they appeared to be and that within them were several small clearings. In one of them, he would meet Marcel the following night.

He sipped his cognac, frowning. His contact had precise instructions as to how to find the rendezvous, but as there were several clearings, he had told Marcel
he would find a mark on a tree in the correct place. He had intended to leave the marker in the clearing at some point during the day tomorrow, but now he wondered if he might find it difficult to slip away alone and undetected on Christmas Day itself. Better to do it now, when there was no possibility of anyone seeing him.