Twelfth Night Secrets (16 page)

“I can’t,” she said, setting her lips. “Not yet. The Duke’s just waiting for a reason to pack him off to school, and he’s not ready.” Another sigh escaped her. “I do miss Nick. He always dealt with this kind of thing.”

Julius looked at her strangely, a mixture of compassion and something that for a second she almost thought was remorse. Then he said, “Just leave it to me.” He walked quickly up to Tom, taking his arm and drawing him firmly off the narrow path and into the bushes alongside. They were out of sight for a few minutes, and then Tom reappeared, looking rather subdued, to join his twin, followed by Julius, who rejoined Harriet.

“What was it?” she asked in a low voice.

“A mouse. It’s gone now.”

“Oh, dear.” Harriet put a hand over her mouth to stop the laughter that threatened to convulse her. “Just think of what a mouse in church would have done to the aunts.” It was too much, and she yielded to the gale of amusement that broke from her.

Julius looked at her in astonishment. “What on earth can you find to laugh about? A minute ago, you were at your wit’s end.”

She controlled the bubbles of laughter and said
rather more soberly, “I know, but you see, since Nick died, the twins had stopped playing their tricks. They hardly got into mischief at all. They’ve been so sad, although they’ve kept it to themselves most of the time. But that . . . well, that was the old Tom, the one who was always up to something, and it’s such a relief to me. It means they’re getting over the worst of their grief.”

Julius was silent for a moment, and she couldn’t know that he was struggling with the extraordinary urge to hold her tightly to him, to kiss those paper-thin eyelids, to whisper assurances that she didn’t carry the burdens of her brother’s death alone.

“We need to hurry,” she said into the silence. “There are the bells.” She moved ahead of him to catch up with the children, taking their hands.

“Sorry, Harry,” Tom said, looking up at her.

“For what?” she asked with a smile. “The mouse?”

“Well, that, too, but for making life difficult for you. Lord Marbury said we both did and we have to stop.”

“I think Great-aunt Augusta would probably swoon if she saw a mouse, don’t you, Harry?” Grace asked.

“Quite likely,” Harriet agreed drily, hurrying them
through the lych-gate and up the path to the church doors. “So it’s fortunate she won’t.”

Julius followed them into the dim, incense-scented church just as the bells stopped ringing. The verger closed the doors firmly as Julius slid into the pew next to Tom. Harriet couldn’t help a little mental sigh of relief as she saw him take his place. The children were imprisoned between them, just as they always had been between herself and Nick. For the next hour, she could relax her vigilance and let her mind wander through the service.

But her mind had only one path of choice, it seemed. The man singing carols in a powerful and remarkably melodious baritone at the end of the pew. What was he? A traitor, a betrayer, a deceiver, an assassin? Could such a man also show a deep well of strength and compassion? Could such a man actually be as attractive, as sensual, as utterly appealing as she found Julius Forsythe to be? Was she in the grip of some strange enchantment that drowned her doubts, somehow made nothing of the facts she knew about the man, rendered her powerless to resist his appeal?

Was he responsible for Nick’s death?

How could he have been when he seemed so easily to slip into Nick’s skin, or at least his family role?
Even the Duke seemed to view him as some kind of a substitute for Nick. But then, if he was what the Ministry suspected, a double agent working with the French, his cover depended upon his gaining the trust and liking of Nick’s family so that he could enjoy their hospitality and pursue his own traitorous course from the safe house they provided for him. In order to use them, he had to have their friendship.

And that thought filled her with white-hot rage once more. As it surged through her, she heard her own voice raised in song, every word a stab of fury aimed at the man at the end of the pew.

And then the carol came to an end, and she became aware of heads and puzzled glances turned in her direction and realized that she must have been singing so loudly she’d drawn attention to herself. She sat down abruptly and buried her head in her hymnal as the vicar climbed into the pulpit for his Christmas sermon.

If only she could find definitive proof, one way or another, of the Earl’s guilt or innocence. Would he return to the clearing in the woods? What had the hieroglyphic on the tree meant? Or, rather, whom was it meant for? If she could discover that, she would find her answer.

“That’s quite a voice to emerge from such a dainty frame,” Julius observed as they finally made their way back out into the frosty air. “You were singing to bring down the rafters.”

“You’re not exactly a whisperer yourself,” she retorted, feeling herself flush, annoyed that he had noticed her outburst, but then, so had everyone else in the church, she reminded herself.

“True enough, but no one would call my frame dainty,” he pointed out with a humorous glint in his eye.

“No, I suppose they wouldn’t,” Harriet conceded. “Mind you, I don’t consider myself to be particularly dainty.”

“Well, believe me, dear girl, you are. Delectably so.”

It took her a moment to recover from this openly flirtatious gambit. “Permit me to inform you, my lord, that that is a most indelicate remark.”

“Oh, you’re being supercilious again,” he chided, still with that humorous glint in his eye. “Delectably dainty and annoyingly supercilious.”

“You’re the only person who thinks so,” she responded.

“Really?” His eyebrows lifted in question. “Which facet, delectably dainty or annoyingly supercilious?”

“Oh, do stop playing silly games. I don’t find them in the least amusing.” She increased her pace as if she could leave him behind, but he kept pace easily, lengthening his stride.

“I only play silly games with supercilious women,” he said. “Now, cry truce, Harriet. I was merely paying you a compliment.”

“An indelicate one,” she muttered, unwilling to give up just yet, her earlier surge of rage still simmering.

“Very well, if you say so.” He drew her hand out of her muff and tucked it into his elbow. “Let us walk on in a decorous fashion, exchanging amiable and unobjectionable small talk, if that is your wish.”

An inconvenient bubble of laughter came to her lips, and she fought it down. She didn’t want to encourage him, but he
did
make her laugh, and then she got confused all over again.

“That’s better,” he said encouragingly. “You want to smile, and you’re trying not to, but I should inform you that you have an entrancing smile. You should show it to the world more often, you know.”

His tone was that of a kindly uncle dispensing advice,
and it proved too much for Harriet’s gravity. She laughed and felt a curious lightness in her chest, a sense of losing some burden, as if the rage had finally gone from her, which was ridiculous because nothing had happened to change that moment in church.

“
Much
better,” he said, patting her hand as it rested in the crook of his arm. “Now, tell me what to expect for the rest of the day.”

It was no good. She couldn’t possibly keep up her anger or even a semblance of annoyance. She gave in with a good grace and explained the day’s program to him. “What kind of a card player are you, by the way?” she asked as she finished her description.

“Adequate,” he said. “Why?”

“Because there will be tables for whist and piquet set up after the feast. It’s the one compensation the Duke has, apart from tomorrow’s hunt, for entertaining all these relatives whom he generally despises. The great-aunts are rather good whist players.”

“And you?” he asked.

“Adequate,” she responded.

“Then perhaps we should engineer to play as partners. That way, we won’t annoy anyone by trumping their ace or some other solecism.”

“You wouldn’t do such a thing?” she exclaimed,
then shook her head. “No, you can’t fool me. I cannot believe there is anything you do that you fail to do superbly.”

His eyes seemed to darken even more than usual. “Oh, you mistake, my dear. You give me too much credit. In some things, I have failed miserably.”

“Such as?” She asked the question without giving herself time to think about it.

His eyes moved away from her to some point in the distance. His mouth had hardened, and she felt a faint shiver of apprehension. Whatever he was looking at, she had no wish to see it herself. Then he shrugged and said easily, “Oh, divided loyalties are the very devil, didn’t you say that yourself, my dear?”

She had done. And now he was admitting he struggled with them. Was that as good as an admission of following two masters? But it wasn’t, of course. Harriet had her own divided loyalties, and she certainly wasn’t betraying anyone. “I suppose we all have them,” she said as easily as he.

They had reached the house, and Harriet went upstairs to take off her outdoor clothes. The local dignitaries were gathering in the great hall for their traditional Christmas drink with the Duke and his family, but she knew she could safely leave their entertainment
to her grandfather and, on this occasion, the great-aunts, who enjoyed welcoming their social inferiors with ample condescension.

The children had been whisked to the nursery to be dressed for their appearance in the dining room, and she had a few minutes to herself. She sat at her dresser and examined herself critically in the glass. She thought she looked surprisingly well. The tiny lines of strain that so often these days appeared around her mouth and at the corners of her eyes were nowhere to be seen. Indeed, her eyes seemed larger and more lustrous than usual. And her skin had a dewy pink glow to it, presumably from the walk in the frosty air. But perhaps there was another cause. Perhaps it had something to do with that lightness that persisted in her chest. With the sense of her skin being somehow alive. With the feeling of energy that coursed through her. At that moment, Harriet didn’t think there was anything she could not do, any problem she could not solve. Any fence she could not jump. She was quite simply exhilarated.

And that was a feeling she realized she had not experienced since she had been given the news of Nick’s death.

The feeling persisted throughout the rest of the
day, through the “Boar’s Head Carol” that heralded the beginning of the feast, through the interminable meal, the constant flow of claret, the long afternoon and evening of cards, piquet, and backgammon. She seemed to be aware of Julius at every moment, whether he was at her side during dinner or elsewhere making polite conversation with other members of the party. He performed his social obligations remarkably well for a self-confessed lover of his own company. And she had been right about his ability with cards. She watched with admiration as somehow, when it came to drawing partners, he engineered the cutting of cards so that they drew each other.

“What did you do?” she whispered as they moved around the table to take their places. “Some sleight of hand, I know it.”

He merely gave her an enigmatic smile and held out the chair of the lady to his right. He played without expression, calling his bid, laying down his card, once or twice glancing at her when she called a bid as if reading her expression for clues. He certainly seemed to read correctly, because they rose the winners by a handsome sum at the end of the evening. Harriet knew she was quite a good player,
but she had never been as good as when she was playing to Lord Marbury’s lead.

The party began to break up close to midnight, and Julius accompanied Harriet into the hall to the table at the foot of the stairs, where the carrying candles were set out around a blazing candelabra. He lit one for her and gave it to her, his fingers for a second closing around her wrist. “Good night, my lady.” A smile flickered across his eyes, touched the corners of his mouth. “My thanks for a profitable evening.”

“Good night, my lord.” She curtsied demurely. “It would not have been so profitable if I had not been playing with an expert.”

“You flatter me, my dear. You follow a lead to perfection.” He lifted her free hand to his lips. “Sleep well.”

“I shall. For those who wish to hunt, breakfast will be served at seven in the dining room. Should you wish for anything earlier, you have only to inform Thomas.”

“Could you pretend, for just a few moments, that you are not in charge of this entire production?” he asked, his voice still low. “Not for a minute do you let it go.”

“I don’t know how to,” she responded, now with
a touch of acerbity. “It’s been my responsibility since I put up my hair. It’s second nature, and believe it or not, sir, I enjoy it.” She dropped another curtsy, an ironic one this time, and twitched her hand free of his fingers. “I bid you good night, Lord Marbury.”

“Lady Harriet.” He bowed to her departing back as she swept up the stairs. Why did it bother him so, this huge responsibility that she took with such seeming ease on those slender shoulders? At her age, she should be dancing the night away at some ball somewhere, flirting with possible suitors. She would have flocks of eligible young men at her feet if she chose to lift a finger. With her beauty, her fortune, her lineage, she was every young man’s dream. And every potential mother-in-law’s dreams for her son.