On the other hand, since Sir Gideon’s arrival, several gentlemen had already ridden over to the manor to make the acquaintance of its new owner. Returning these calls, Sir Gideon and his cousin had made the ladies’ acquaintance and had more than once been invited, in the country way, to stay and take potluck.
“It’s time I gave a dinner party,” he said to Catriona one afternoon, seeking her out in the small parlour where she was writing letters to her sisters. “Dare I hope that you will be my hostess?”
She set down her pen. “I don’t know, Sir Gideon.
Do
you dare?”
“I do. Without a hostess, I might conceivably contrive, but I’m aware of my limitations. I’ve not the least notion of how to plan a dinner party.”
Catriona laughed. “That is something of a backhanded compliment! Is the invitation to act as hostess a bribe to persuade me to plan for you?”
“Lord no, you teasing creature. You know me better, I trust.”
“All the same,” she said seriously, “it might be better if Letty and I simply joined your guests. I have no wish to figure among our neighbours as an encroaching female, unwilling to recognise that my time is past.” She saw that he was about to protest and hurried on. “But that can be decided later. Have you a list of those you wish to invite?”
“Of those I wish to invite, and those I feel obliged to invite. Here, Harry has kept a tally of our visitors.”
She ran her eye down the list, which was much as she expected, except— “Lord and Lady Rosebay! I did not know you were acquainted with the Rosebays.”
“His lordship called, and we returned his call. A most formal quarter of an hour! Is there some difficulty? If their coming will distress Letty—Mrs Rosebay, I can perfectly well—”
“Oh no. You must not suppose that they have ever been unkind to her, only rather distant.” She wanted him to understand Letty. “Her husband, Bartholomew, was one of several younger sons, you see, a handsome, hey-go-mad boy. He had a sister Letty’s age and she had known him for years. She thought herself in love with him as soon as she was old enough to take such a romantic notion into her head. Jeremy and I hoped nothing would come of it, for he had no prospects and not a great deal of sense.”
“You don’t believe in romance?” he asked.
“Yes. No. I’m not sure!” she said, flustered. “Not as a basis for marriage at that age.”
“But you yourself must have been very young when you married.”
“That is no argument for romance. I did not choose my husband, though I came to love him very much. But this is beside the point. I am attempting to explain to you any slight awkwardness with the Rosebays.”
“I beg your pardon, Lady Catriona.” The smile in Sir Gideon’s eyes belied his grave apology. “I shall endeavour not to interrupt. So Letty fancied herself in love with this scapegrace?”
“She was just seventeen when Bart announced that his father had bought him a pair of colours and he was off to fight with Wellington in the Peninsula. At once Letty resolved to wed him before he left. His parents were not averse—there were Marches at Marchbank when the Rosebays were still peasants. Besides, as you have discovered, Jeremy was far from poor and her portion was good.”
“A potent argument. How did you feel?”
“I was dismayed, I own. Bart seemed to me a care-for-nobody, and Letty too young to know her own mind. But, after all, I had never regretted marrying young. I decided I was being an over-protective mother. Jeremy was very much against the match, but unable to hold out against Letty. How she persuaded Bart himself to take on such a responsibility remains a mystery!”
“Not at all. As he was about to leave the country, the responsibility was far in the unimaginable future, and I daresay he was flattered by her eagerness.”
Though startled by his acuity and suspecting he was right, she said severely, “Or perhaps he was desperately in love. Be that as it may, they were wed scarcely three weeks before he went off to war. Letty stayed with the Rosebays, but she was very unhappy, and when she discovered she was with child, she came home.”
“And the Rosebays were affronted?”
“Not then, I believe. After all, it is natural to want to be with one’s mother at such a time. However, after the twins were born, when the news came of poor Bart’s death, they invited her to return. A matter of duty, I am certain, not of any affection for her or even for their son.”
“The proper place for a widow is with her husband’s family?”
“Precisely. My family would be horrified if I wished to return to Dunshannon.” Never having considered the possibility, Catriona was saddened by this insight. She sighed. “Naturally Letty preferred to stay at Marchbank, where she was loved. Her refusal offended the Rosebays, though not deeply. They have continued to send the children birthday gifts, and when Jeremy died, they paid a visit of condolence. They even renewed their invitation to Letty.”
“Which, of course, she once more refused.”
“Of course. The reminder of Bart disturbed her deeply. I believe she had at last become reconciled to his death.”
“She seems to me a cheerful young lady.”
“Oh, she is.” She did not want Sir Gideon to think Letty was still mourning Bartholomew. “She is quite recovered now, and she was never wont to let low spirits affect her demeanour or depress those of others.”
“Admirable. She is delightful, a credit to you. She and the children have brought a much needed liveliness to the house.”
Such praise ought to have left Catriona elated. Instead she felt a horrid, inexplicable, sinking sensation. Hastily she returned to the plans for the dinner party.
* * * *
Letty was miserable. Sir Gideon’s dinner party, postponed several times for various reasons, was at last to take place the evening before his departure for Town. Tomorrow Harry Talgarth was leaving for London and she was afraid she was going to miss him desperately.
Her struggle against her attraction to him, difficult enough at the Dower House, had grown a thousand times harder now that they lived at such close quarters. She was constantly conscious of his nearness, of his tall, lean, quiet strength, so different from Bart’s swaggering impetuosity. His thick fair hair tempted her fingers to touch it. His intent blue eyes made her shiver inside.
If only he were not also amiable, sympathetic, and chivalrous! He had even befriended Donald and Daphne, and he had just that blend of firmness with kindness and interest in their concerns that they needed. Nonetheless, even for the children’s sake, she would never marry again.
Of course, he might not offer for her. That would solve her problem neatly. Yet somehow the thought failed to cheer her.
And tonight she must wear a cheerful face. The last thing Mama needed was a mopish daughter. Serene, competent Mama, with her ready sense of humour, was in high fidgets over the dinner party. She had taken it into her head that in playing Sir Gideon’s hostess she might be considered encroaching. As though the daughter of an earl could ever be thought encroaching! Even Lord Rosebay was only a baron.
Mama’s other worry made more sense to Letty. They were two women sharing a household with two single men, even if their chambers were in opposite wings of the extensive manor. Sir Gideon’s relationship with Papa made it acceptable—as long as no one discovered how distant that relationship was.
“It’s silly to worry,” Mama had said anxiously, “for I am past the age of being a subject for scandal, more than old enough to be your chaperon. All the same, pray wear a dark, simple gown—your forest green sarcenet will do very well—and strive to appear as
widowish
as possible. I shall wear my dark grey silk.”
So Letty had Betsy pin up her hair and conceal it under a cornette cap with a minimum of lace. The maid went to help Lady Catriona. Letty stared at her despondent face in the looking glass. Practising a smile, she recited to herself a list of her blessings, as Mama had taught her long ago. She had two healthy, happy, adorable children, a loving mother, a comfortable home, agreeable company, employment enough to occupy her time without ever becoming a burden.
And she’d never again have to lie in bed waiting with despair in her heart for—
“Mama?” Red curls poked around the door, then Donald came in, in his nightshirt, followed by Daphne in her shift. “We’re ready for bed.”
“Grandmama told us a story.”
“We need a kiss.”
Daphne examined her seriously. “I hope I’m pretty like you when I grow up, Mama.”
As she kissed their soft, soap-scented cheeks, Letty’s smile became genuine. “Off to bed with you now. I shall see that Cook saves a slice of chocolate gâteau for each of you.” Those dreadful nights had been worth enduring since they had given her the twins.
Sleepy-eyed, they went off. Fastening round her neck the gold locket with a curl of Papa’s hair inside, Letty went downstairs.
The dinner party went very well. For all her unaccustomed fidgets, Mama was accustomed to entertaining, for Papa had been a sociable man. Sir Gideon was a superb host, affable, solicitous of his guests’ comfort without fussiness, readily taking his place among the gentry and not toadying to the Rosebays. And Harry moved from group to group, conversing with young and old, dividing his attention equally between plain and pretty…
Letty caught up her thoughts. It mattered not a jot to her, whether Harry Talgarth spent his time chatting to the Master of Foxhounds about the local hunt or to the Master’s flirtatious daughter about the next Assembly.
To her surprise, she enjoyed the occasion. She had known most of those present all her life. Contented though she had been at the Dower House, she had missed the social intercourse more than she had realised. When the front door closed behind the last guest, her spirits were still too high to think of seeking her bed.
“I shall not go up with you now, Mama,” she said. “I am too restless to sleep. I believe I shall play the pianoforte for a little while. Tell Betsy not to wait up for me.”
“Do not stay up too late, my love, if you wish to bid the gentlemen goodbye in the morning. You mean to leave early, do you not, Sir Gideon?”
“Yes, but not for the world would I drag you from your well-deserved slumber. I don’t know how to thank you, Lady Catriona. You have established my credit for hospitality without the least effort on my part.” He raised her hand to his lips.
Letty was astonished to see a blush on her mother’s face—or perhaps it was a trick of the light, for the servants were moving about the hall snuffing candles. The colour ebbed as quickly as it had appeared. She must have imagined it, she decided, as Mama and Sir Gideon said good night and went their separate ways.
She returned to the drawing room. She and one or two others had played after dinner, so the pianoforte was open. Searching out the slow movement of a Mozart sonata, she began to play. As she had expected, the music soothed her, and by the time she played the last chord, she was ready to retire.
“Bravo!”
The quiet voice startled her. “Mr Talgarth! I had no notion you were there.”
He lounged by the fire, his long legs stretched before him, a glass in his hand. The rich red of claret shimmered as he raised it to her. “A last drop of wine for a nightcap. I beg your pardon for not warning you of my presence, but I did not wish to interrupt. You play well.”
The simple compliment pleased her inordinately. To conceal her pleasure, she said, “I should play better if I practised more often. I am going up now. Shall I leave these candles for you?”
“No, I am done.”
Setting down the half-full glass, he extinguished the candles on the mantel while she did the same for those by the pianoforte. Together they went out into the hall. Their bedside candles awaited them on the table at the foot of the stairs.
At the lamp that stayed alight all night in the hall, he ignited a spill. He lit one of the candles, waited until the flame burnt steady, then turned to hand it to Letty. As she reached for it, he abruptly set it down again, fumbling behind him, and pulled her into his arms.
His lips were on hers, warm, gentle, yet insistent. His hand caressed the nape of her neck, sending tremors down her spine. Then he pulled off her cap, scattering her pins so that her hair cascaded about her shoulders.
He raised his head long enough to murmur, “Glorious!” His eyes burned into hers, and then his mouth met hers again and her bones melted.
Time stood still.
“Letty. Laetitia. Gladness.”
Was it his passionate whisper that brought her to her senses? She wrenched herself out of his arms. “Don’t! Don’t touch me! Don’t
touch
me!”
She fled up the stairs, along dark passages, to the safety of her chamber,
her
chamber, hers alone, with a key in the door.
For hours Letty sat on the window seat, gazing blankly into the night. At last the chill penetrated her daze. Slowly, with numb fingers, she began to undress.
Her locket was gone. And her cap! Her hairpins, scattered on the floor of the hall.
With a dry sob, she wrapped a warm shawl about her and crept back down the stairs. The polished oak of the floor was bare, no betraying sign of cap or pins. Her locket, which could have dropped off any time by chance, lay on the table, beside the flickering lamp. She picked it up.
The catch was undone. He had looked inside, had seen the lock of steel grey hair that must be her father’s, that could not possibly be her young husband’s.
What Harry might make of it, she was beyond guessing.
He was long gone when she awoke in the morning. When she rang, Betsy brought her tea and toast instead of the hot water she expected.
“Her ladyship said she’s set the children their lessons, madam, and you’re to lie abed as long as you want. Oh, and here’s a package Mr Talgarth asked me to give you.” She delved into the pocket of her apron.
Flustered, Letty took the small parcel. “I daresay he has left something for the twins. They will miss him. Thank you, Betsy. I shall get up in half an hour.”
As soon as the chamber door closed behind the maid, Letty tore open the parcel: her cap, of course, and the hairpins—had he really called her hair glorious?