Twelfth Night Secrets (5 page)

“Sherry, thank you.” She sat down on a sofa, thinking that the Earl seemed to be very much at home, dispensing
his host’s hospitality as easily as her brother would have done. She glanced at her grandfather, who showed no signs of annoyance at this presumption, instead holding out his own glass for a refill.

“We can, can’t we, Harry?” Tom prompted, bringing her back to the matter in hand.

“If the Duke says you may go out for half a day, then you may go out for half a day,” Harriet stated, taking her sherry from the Earl with a polite nod of acknowledgment. “You will be sufficiently fatigued by lunchtime to be glad to come home to a hot bath, I promise you.”

“Harry,”
they chorused, their expressions showing mingled disbelief and shock at their sister’s betrayal.

She laughed at their indignation, aware of the Earl’s open amusement. “You’ll see, I promise you.”

“Nick would’ve let us,” Grace said, her voice rather small.

“Yes,” her brother chimed in. “Nick would have let us ride with him.”

“If you’ll accept me as a substitute for your brother, I will undertake to ensure that you miss none of the excitement in the morning.” Julius bent down a little to the twins. “If you stay with me for the first hour, we’ll take every suitable fence in the field. If your sister
agrees, of course.” He straightened, turning his gaze again on Harriet with a conspiratorial smile. “What d’you think, Lady Harriet? Shall we try the fences as a family? Your brother told me of your fondness for the hunt.”

Harriet had decided to preserve her own cover by appearing to know nothing at all about the Earl. She said with credible surprise, “You were acquainted with Nicholas, sir?”

“Yes, indeed. Did you not know?” He sounded surprised, shooting a questioning glance at the Duke.

“Oh, surely I told you, Harriet,” Lionel said. “Nick brought Lord Marbury to Charlbury several years ago, and they were frequent visitors until the damned war took Nicholas away. The Earl has a standing invitation to visit whenever he wishes, and I issued a most pressing invitation that he join us for Christmas.”

“You didn’t tell me, sir,” she responded, even as she thought,
Two years. Nick had been bringing Marbury to Charlbury for two years and never said a word about him.
She thought she had known most of her brother’s close friends.

She smiled easily. “I daresay it was never relevant when I was visiting.” She continued swiftly, “But of course, I’m delighted that we shall have a good friend
of Nick’s with us. It’s the first Christmas without him, you understand, my lord.” She managed a wan smile.

“I can be no substitute, ma’am,” he said quietly. “But we
were
very great friends, and I have many treasured memories, as I’m sure you do.”

He sounded so sincere, his gaze was so warm, so private, that for a moment she felt as if he were drawing her into a very particular world that only they could share. Fortunately, the children’s clamor of excitement at the Earl’s offer gave her a breathing space. He turned to them, solemnly answering the flood of questions about his own hunting experiences, exhibiting all of the patience Nick would have shown, and it increased the strange, disoriented feeling. If she hadn’t known what she knew about the man, she would have found him almost irresistibly appealing.

She said abruptly, “I forgot to ask if you have sufficient ink and quills for your correspondence, sir?”

He looked a little startled at this sudden non sequitur but answered calmly enough. “I believe so, ma’am. I must admit I haven’t had need of them thus far, so I have not really noticed.”

And that was an out-and-out lie, she thought with a little prickle of satisfaction that restored her equanimity somewhat. It was a pointless lie, too, unless
he had something to hide. “Well, should that change, Mallow will take your letters to the post every afternoon, if you care to leave them on the pier table by the front door.”

“I will remember that, but I doubt very much I will have such a need, Lady Harriet. A man would have to be a churl to prefer writing inanities to distant acquaintances to spending time in such charming company.” The black eyes had an almost velvety lustre, and she was aware of a little frisson of something like anticipation.

He was far too attractive for anyone’s good, she decided. Had he worked this magic on Nicholas? It seemed out of character to think of Nick telling this man intimate facts about his brother and sisters and yet never mentioning the Earl to herself. He must have trusted him, and she had always considered her brother to be a good judge of character. But, of course, developing trust in one’s quarry was how the men in that business operated. Nicholas had probably done the same on occasion, led some trusting soul up a weedy garden path.

She felt the familiar burn of futile anger in the pit of her stomach. Such a waste. First their father and then Nicholas, sacrificed on the altar of patriotism.
And here she was doing much the same.
Set a thief to
catch a thief,
she thought with a grim inner smile.

The library doors opened, and Mallow announced, “Dinner is served, your grace.”

The twins leaped to their feet. “I’m ravenous,” Tom declared. “I could eat a whole sheep and six chickens.”

“So could I,” Grace added, making for the door.

“Just a minute.” Harriet grabbed them both by the arm as they raced past her. “Where are your manners? You don’t go in front of the Duke, you know that.”

They fell back, looking rather crestfallen, as their grandfather heaved himself from his chair. “It’s time Tom was sent to school,” he stated. “They’ll soon beat some manners into him at Westminster.”

Harriet shot him a look half protest, half plea. She had begged for time for Tom to get over losing his father and his beloved brother in the space of two years before he was packed off into the brutal world of Westminster School, and the Duke had reluctantly agreed, but she had no idea how much longer she could hold her ground, and the more unruly Tom was, the more likely his grandfather would insist on his going sooner rather than later.

“An empty belly can cause forgetfulness, sir,” the Earl said lightly. “May I offer you my arm?”

“No . . . no, give it to Harriet.” The Duke waved a hand in an irritable gesture of dismissal. “We’re dining in the yellow salon. I don’t want those brats creating havoc in the dining room.”

“Oh, dear,” Harriet murmured as her grandfather stalked from the library. “Tom . . . Grace, just try not to say anything for a while. Sit still, keep your hands in your laps unless you’re eating, and eat slowly. Don’t gobble, and don’t grab.” She pushed them in front of her.

“Turkeys gobble,” Grace said, seizing her brother’s hand. “Children don’t.” She tugged Tom to the door.

“For some reason, she always has to have the last word.” Harriet shook her head in resignation. “I’m surprised the Duke invited them downstairs tonight. Normally, he wouldn’t think of it when we have guests.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t think of me as a guest,” Julius suggested, offering his arm. “And perhaps soon you will not, either. Shall we, ma’am?”

Harriet laid her hand on his arm, annoyed that she could come up with no suitably repressive response. To her relief, the Duke seemed to have recovered his good humor as they took their places around the table in the yellow salon. It was a more intimate setting
than the dining hall, where forty covers could be laid comfortably under the brilliant light from the succession of chandeliers. The Duke sat at the head of the oval table, Harriet on his right, Grace next to her. The Earl took his place on the Duke’s left, with Tom beside him. The twins hated to be separated, but they were sufficiently subdued to accept their places without protest.

“So you’ve been at Charlbury for a week, my lord?” Harriet observed, taking up her soupspoon.

“His grace was kind enough to invite me for an extended stay,” he replied, deftly sliding Tom’s neglected napkin onto the boy’s lap just as Harriet was about to remind the child.

“And very good company you are,” Lionel declared, taking a sip of his wine with a considering frown. “This is the ’67, Mallow?”

“Indeed, sir. As you ordered.” The butler lifted the decanter. “I thought it robust enough for the shoulder of mutton . . .” A question mark lingered.

The Duke inhaled the bouquet, took another sip, then nodded. “Yes, definitely. How many bottles do we have?”

“Six cases, sir. If your grace recalls, your grace laid it down just after Lord Edward went away to school.”

A spasm crossed the Duke’s face at this mention of his dead son. “I recall,” he said shortly. “How many guests are you expecting tomorrow, Harriet?”

“I followed your list to the letter, sir.” She buttered a roll. “We will be forty in all. Great-aunt Augusta is expected before noon tomorrow. I understand she’s staying overnight with her friends in Witney. She prefers to do the journey in easy stages.”

“Milksop,” Lady Augusta’s brother muttered with a derisive sniff. “The woman’s ten years younger than I am. Can’t think why we had to invite her, anyway.”

“We do have to have a nominal hostess, sir,” Harriet reminded him.

“Can’t think why. You’re perfectly capable . . . do all the work as it is.”

“Yes, sir, but I am neither married nor a widow. People would talk.” He knew this perfectly well and, she suspected, would have been horrified if she had suggested such a breach of convention herself, but the Duke found his sister a serious irritant. She made much of what she insisted on calling her frail constitution, even while consuming large quantities of sweetmeats and glasses of ratafia while languishing upon a daybed among paisley shawls and bottles of sal volatile.

Julius stepped smoothly into the momentary tense silence with a question to the Duke about the coverts, and Harriet gratefully continued with her dinner, monitoring the twins as she did so. They were hungry enough to concentrate mostly on their plates, and the meal passed without further incident. The first cover was replaced with a Rhenish cream and a basket of macaroons, and harmony continued to reign.

When they had finished, she put aside her napkin. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, we’ll leave you to your port. It’s time the children were in bed.”

“We’re not tired,” Tom protested.

“No, not in the least,” Grace stated. “I haven’t yawned once.”

“Nevertheless, Nurse Maddox will be waiting for you. Say good night.” Harriet rose from the table, and reluctantly the twins followed suit. They dutifully bade their grandfather and his guest good night, and their sister hustled them out of the salon.

“We’ll repair to the library soon, my dear,” Lionel said. “We’ll take tea there.”

“I’ll be down shortly.” She propelled the children past the footman holding the door and hurried them up to the nursery floor, where she left them in the charge of their nurse and her underlings.

“We’re going to ride our ponies tomorrow, Harry,” Tom informed her as she kissed him good night.

“Yes, we have to practice before the hunt,” Grace said. “Just riding in the park in town isn’t as exciting as riding across the fields and jumping the hedges, is it?” Her voice was muffled as one of the nursemaids lifted her muslin dress over her head.

“No, probably not,” Harriet agreed. “We must hope it’s a fine day tomorrow.” She blew them a final kiss and left the nursery with a sense of liberation. An entire day in the twins’ close company was quite exhausting. She went to her own chamber before continuing downstairs. Agnes was passing a copper warming pan between the sheets as Harriet came in.

“Oh, m’lady, are you coming to bed now?”

“No, no, not yet, Agnes. In an hour, perhaps.” She sat at the dresser and adjusted her hair, repositioning a couple of pins that had worked loose, before going down to the library. It was empty, the men were still sitting over their port, but Mallow had brought in the tea tray, and she sat by the fire, poured herself a cup, and took up a copy of the
Morning Gazette.
She had read only a few lines when the door opened.

“Ah, Lady Harriet . . . did the children go to bed
without complaint?” The Earl smiled as he came over to the fire.

“I left before they could start complaining,” she said, pouring tea and handing him the cup. “Did you leave the Duke at the table?”

“No, he said he was fatigued and was going straight upstairs. I was to wish you a good night. He will see you at breakfast, ‘without the brats,’ and I quote.” He sat opposite her and took a sip of tea, still smiling at her over the lip.

“He puts on a pretense of finding them annoying, but generally, they amuse him as long as they don’t get under his feet,” she said, wondering why she felt a little quavery, as if she were nervous about something. It couldn’t be because she was alone with the man, surely?

“I rather thought so. But what of you, Lady Harriet? It must be quite a burden to assume the day-to-day responsibility for such a lively pair?” He sounded genuinely concerned, genuinely interested, and his eyes were on her again with that warm glow that made her feel oddly special.

“It was certainly easier when Nick was around,” she replied, carefully folding the
Gazette,
using the task to conceal her strange agitation. “We had responsibility
for them, really, since they were born. Our mother died in childbirth, and our father was not around very often. He seemed content to leave them in the nursery and let them grow as they would.” She shrugged a little, laying the newspaper on the table beside the tea tray. “It’s not an unusual way of parenting, but Nick and I were more interested in them, we felt an obligation, and it grew from that.”

“It must be doubly hard for you now, then?”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “You say you knew Nick well?”

“As well as I’ve ever known anyone,” he responded.

“How did you meet?” she asked casually, pouring herself more tea. How would he answer? Not with the truth, she was sure.

“In Paris,” he answered. “At a soiree given by the Countess de Fauviere. We discovered we had some interests in common and grew to enjoy each other’s company.”