Brenda Hiatt (8 page)

But she had repulsed his offer of help, and he had decided then that Holly must make the first move towards reconciliation. His pride, his honour, demanded it. Still, as he entered his own rooms, it occurred to him that pride and honour made for damned cold companions, especially at night.

H
OLLY’S FINGERS FROZE
in the act of tying the ribbons at her neckline when she heard the familiar firm footstep in the hallway. He had come. But the footsteps continued on past her rooms, and a moment later the door to Hunt’s chambers opened and closed.

“Thank you, Mabel, that will be all,” she said to her maid, who was pinning up a loose curl. Pressing her lips tight together to keep them from trembling, Holly rose and walked over quickly to open her door. She could not suppress one glance in the direction of Hunt’s door before turning towards the stairs.

The dowager was waiting in the parlour when she entered. “My, you managed to transform yourself quickly, my dear,” she said, patting the sofa beside her. “Come, sit down, do. I think we need to talk.”

Wondering again what Hunt had said to his grandmother, Holly moved slowly to take the seat indicated. “Talk, your grace?” she asked warily.

“Talk,” repeated the dowager. “And have you forgotten how to call me Grandmama, as you used to do? Hunt will tell me nothing, but I know things are not as they ought to be between you. I should like to help if I can.”

Holly was already shaking her head. She had missed the dowager even more than her own mother, but she dared not confide in her, especially now she knew Hunt had not. “We merely seem to have grown apart. Once we have got over the rough spots of marriage, we will no doubt rub along well enough.”

The dowager’s eyes gleamed. “Rough spots, you say? And what might those be?”

“The demands of Society, of his diplomatic duties, different friends, different interests,” Holly improvised quickly, wishing with all her heart she could unburden herself to this old woman who truly seemed to care. “And he has been away so much, we…have scarcely had time to get to know each other.”

“Different friends?” asked the dowager sharply. “Hunt has not taken another mistress already, has he?”

Holly could feel the colour leaving her face. She had not even considered that possibility before. “I—I really do not know,” she said finally. “I don’t think so.”

“And you? It isn’t at all the thing to be pursuing lovers before begetting an heir, you know, lass.”

Such plain speaking went beyond anything Holly had expected—even from the blunt dowager. With an effort, she closed her gaping mouth and swallowed before answering. “I’ve done no such thing, I assure you! A few men have flirted with me, of course,” she admitted, in case the dowager should question Reginald or the duchess, “but it was very innocent and I never gave any of them the least encouragement.”

Her cheeks were burning, and she feared that the dowager might misinterpret that as a sign of guilt, but the perceptive old lady nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Glad to hear it. In that case, I’m sure whatever’s come between you can be got over. Stands to reason you don’t know each other too well, what with such a short courtship and then Hunt off gallivanting over the Continent ever since the wedding.” She snorted. “Camilla is doing her damnedest to keep you apart, too, I’ll be bound. Well, I’ll do my best to put a stop to
that
while you’re here. But the
rest
is up to you.” She nodded again.

Holly wished it could be that easy.

H
ER FIRST SIGHT
of Hunt was across the dinner table that evening. Though she’d only been apart from him a week, she was almost astonished at how handsome he appeared. And how cool. Was this really the man she had married? He seemed almost a stranger.

Once, she caught his eyes upon her, and she ventured a tentative smile. He did not return the smile, but neither did he immediately turn away. It was a start, though to what she could not say.

After dinner, Hunt and his father stayed closeted together in the library until bedtime—long past the time Holly reluctantly followed the duchess upstairs. Though she tried to stay awake until he came up, her eyes drifted closed and the next thing she knew it was morning.

It was, in fact, a perfectly glorious morning. The sun was coaxing fragrance from grass, leaves and flowers to linger on the light breeze. After a hurried, solitary breakfast, Holly stepped outdoors to enjoy it. Standing on the top step, she breathed deeply of the mingled perfume of summer. She had missed the country!

As neither the duchess nor the dowager had yet arisen to order her day, Holly decided to explore the grounds. She and Hunt had done so before their marriage, but the rich emerald grass and deeper greens of fully clothed oaks and maples made it a different place entirely. Still, she found herself noting similarities, and soon her feet led her in the direction of the kennels.

Not until she had entered the building did Holly admit to herself that she had hoped to find Hunt there. But she refused to brood, instead hurrying forward to greet the animals. One or two hounds in particular seemed ecstatic to see her, nearly climbing the gate in their delight.

Startled, she looked closer. “Belltongue? Saddleback?” Certainly the dog on the right possessed the same black marking across his back that had inspired his name.

At her words, the pair began to whimper and whine, shoving the other hounds aside to get their cold black noses into her hand.

“It is you! But how ever…?” Of course—Hunt must have done it. He must have stopped in Derbyshire, at Mr. Danvers’s farm, on his way here last week and purchased them. Scanning the rest, Holly thought she recognized four others of her father’s old pack, though they did not respond to her the way her two favourites did.

After a happy half-hour spent crooning to the hounds, Holly headed back to the house, determined to thank Hunt for buying them. He had to have done it for her. Surely that was proof that his affection was not entirely extinguished, that their marriage still had a chance.

Perhaps here, at Wickburn, she could risk telling him the truth. Teasdale was not watching her now. Surely together they could come up with some way of foiling his plans. Whatever the danger, she knew she could not endure this estrangement much longer.

On entering the house, she was informed by Deeds that the duke and his son were again in the library, where they conducted most of the estate business. Thanking the butler, Holly approached that room’s double doors, which had been opened to take advantage of the fresh summer breeze circulating throughout the mansion.

“…don’t have the resources to investigate every single rumour.” Hunt sounded angry and Holly paused, unwilling to interrupt what might be an argument.

“But we cannot afford to take chances.” The duke’s voice was peevish. “You are one of three men eligible for a top ministry position. Even the slightest breath of suspicion would remove your name from consideration. Perhaps you should ask her to make a complete deposition, denying any correspondence with the French.”

“Of course I will ask her to do no such thing. Holly is no more a spy than you are, Father. Just because her mother is French—”

Dismayed, Holly backed away. They were talking about her! Fighting down a choking surge of panic, she hurried for the stairs.

S
HE COULD NEVER TELL
Hunt the truth now, Holly realized. With his strict code of honour, even if he agreed to remain silent for Noel’s sake he would never accept the post once he knew what she had done. She would
not
allow Hunt to sacrifice his career because of her stupidity. No, no matter what it cost her, she had to remain silent awhile longer.

Half blinded by tears of frustration as she reached the head of the broad, curving staircase, Holly ran headlong into the dowager.

“Oh! My pardon, Duchess Aileen,” she exclaimed, reaching out to steady the old woman. “I—I was not watching where I was going, I fear.”

The dowager peered closely at her, but only said, “No harm done, child. Indeed, I was hoping to run into you this morning.” She chuckled. “Though not quite so literally, I must admit. I thought you might care to drive with me round the cottages today.”

“Certainly.” Holly grasped at any excuse to be away from the house. “Have you baskets to deliver?”

The dowager nodded. “Aye, I’ve had them made up for some time, but ’tis not as easy as it used to be for me to get about, I fear. An active companion will make the task more pleasant, and quicker, too.”

Her hearty cheerfulness soothed Holly’s jangled nerves. She was able to smile. “I find myself praying, ma’am, that I will be half so active as you when I reach your age. Can
you not arrange for one of the servants to make the deliveries when none of the family are here?”

“Oh, I do. Necessities are sent out weekly, but I like to visit in person when I may. A servant cannot be trusted to notice the needs that proud people will not mention. And some of our tenants are very proud, indeed, despite their poverty.”

Even in London, Holly had heard that famine threatened much of England, but there, it had been the subject of political discussions on policy. Now she began to understand the human element involved.

“Your tenants are very fortunate to have you,” she told the dowager sincerely as she followed her down to the pantries, where the prepared baskets were ranged on a shelf.

“I hope they remain fortunate after I am gone.” Her voice was full of meaning and Holly understood. It would be her responsibility to see to the needs of the tenants then, as Camilla ignored their very existence.

“I will make every effort to see that they do,” she promised softly, praying that she would be allowed to do so once Hunt knew the truth.

The dowager gave her a quick hug. “Thank you, my dear. I knew that you would.”

“But pray do not leave us too soon, Grandmama,” Holly blurted out, seized by a sudden fear that the dowager’s concern stemmed from more than advancing age. “Not only the tenants would be devastated by your absence, I assure you!” She felt shaken at the thought of losing this old woman who had come to mean so much to her.

The dowager merely smiled, turning back to the shelves to point out the baskets to the footman waiting to carry them out to the carriage.

Holly’s respect for the dowager rose even higher during the course of that day, as did her desire to emulate her. It was borne in upon her that a woman’s role could extend far beyond that of wife and mother. A rewarding existence need
not depend on a husband’s companionship—or even his love.

Oddly, just as this realization strengthened Holly’s resolve to remain silent for his sake, Hunt’s manner towards her began to thaw noticeably. He still spent his evenings closeted with the duke and his days riding about the estate, but during his few free hours at home he did not attempt to avoid her. In fact, the very morning after she overheard those disturbing words in the library, he joined her at the breakfast table.

“Beautiful weather, is it not?” he asked casually while filling his plate. His back was to her, but there was no one else in the room. “If it holds, I may persuade a few of the local fellows to some cub hunting. Give the hounds an early start on their training.”

It was scarcely a loverlike speech, but it was something. Holly swallowed nervously, unsure after what she had heard yesterday whether she would be wise to attempt any kind of a reconciliation. Her heart paid little attention to such reasoning, however, fluttering giddily in her breast.

“I was down at the kennels yesterday looking at the hounds,” she said, her eyes on her creamed sole. “Thank you for purchasing part of my father’s pack.” Her words sounded blunt even to her own ears. They were not the ones she had framed on her way back to the house yesterday, but at least she had thanked him. Timidly, she risked a glance in his direction to find him half smiling.

“Did I choose the right ones? I thought I recalled you mentioning a Saddleback and Bell-something.” His eyes searched hers, asking a different question—one she was not yet ready to answer. She dropped her gaze again.

“Yes. Saddleback and Belltongue. They were my special pets, though Father always discouraged me paying too much attention to them. They…they knew me at once.”

“They seem to be fine animals, and Danvers assured me they hunted well last season. Saddleback, particularly, should make a splendid stallion hound, as well.”

Holly could not bring herself to meet Hunt’s eyes. Suddenly, she wished she had not overheard his conversation with the duke yesterday. Then she would be eagerly following up his peace overture instead of sitting here like a lump, afraid to take the discussion away from the hounds.

“Yes, Saddleback comes of excellent stock, out of Regina by Silvertone.”

“Silvertone? Was that Silvertone ’09?”

She nodded, risking a quick peek at him. His eyes shone, but not precisely at her.

“Why, that hound is practically a legend!” he exclaimed. “Danvers must not have realized it, or he’d have charged me four times what I paid. He never even mentioned their sires, in fact, now that I think on it.”

Holly felt a small glow. Hunt must not have asked then; further evidence that he had bought the hounds solely in an attempt to please her. She was glad that he felt he had made a good bargain on the purchase.

“Do you happen to know who Belltongue’s sire was?” he asked.

She was cataloguing Belltongue’s parentage, as well as that of the other hounds he had bought, when Reginald sauntered in.

“Don’t tell me he’s already got you doting on those smelly beasts, too?” he asked Holly in mock horror when he understood the tenor of their conversation. “I can’t abide the things, or the sport, neither. Surely there must be a more efficient way to rid the countryside of foxes.”

During the friendly debate that followed on the merits of fox-hunting, obviously only the latest in a series extending back several years, Holly slipped away. She and Hunt appeared to be on friendly footing again, for which she was
grateful. But she was not yet certain how close she could afford to let him get.

Watching her leave, Hunt lost the thread of his discussion with Reg as he thought over their conversation—the first they’d enjoyed in months. His brother noticed his abstraction at once.

“Have things still not ironed themselves out?” he asked sympathetically, letting the other subject drop. “She seemed friendly enough towards you just now.”

Hunt shrugged noncommittally. “She was willing to answer my questions about the foxhounds, at least. I haven’t dared ask her any others.”

“So you still have no idea what caused this change in her? She seemed happy enough when—” Reg broke off in evident embarrassment, which Hunt had no difficulty interpreting.

“When I was away?” he finished bitterly. “It does appear that I am the problem, does it not?”

Reg looked uncomfortable. “Well, it
was
upon your return from Lisbon last May that she first began to behave strangely. And then again, when you came back from Prussia…Are you certain you’ve done nothing to…to hurt or frighten her, Hunt? She really is rather a remarkable woman. I’d hate to think—”

“So I am to be the villain of the piece, am I?” Hunt tried to force a laugh, but the sound that came out was strangled. “My
remarkable
wife is incapable of anything blameworthy?” He stopped short of telling Reg that she had all but admitted her culpability the one time he had questioned her.

“Come now, Hunt, you know I didn’t mean it that way. But as I told you when you first asked, I can’t think what she could have done. I mean, Mother kept her busy every moment in London. Did she never tell you what the paper was she was burning?”

Hunt shook his head.

“Why not just ask her, then?” asked Reg practically.

“She requested that I not try to force her confidence, and I gave my word,” he replied curtly.

“You and your blasted honour!” Reg was plainly exasperated. “You cannot treat a woman as you would a man. It could be she’s dying for you to ask again.”

“Do you think so?” Hunt was struck by this idea. “If the opportunity arises, I could at least throw out a hint, I suppose.”

Reg clapped him on the back. “A capital notion, Brother! It will do my heart good—and Grandmama’s, too—to see you two behaving like lovebirds again.”

A
MIDST THE BEAUTIFUL
, nostalgic surroundings of Wickburn, Holly found it all too easy to forget the gulf she had deliberately created between Hunt and herself. Instead, she kept recalling those idyllic early days of their marriage, when life had held such promise, such laughter. She had to force herself to remember the danger that threatened; a danger that now seemed remote, belonging only to London.

Holly recognized the hazard this sort of thinking posed. It would be too easy to allow emotion to cloud her judgement. Until she gained better control over her response to Hunt, she reluctantly decided it would still be wise to give her husband a wide berth.

Hunt, however, seemed less willing than before to let her do so. He engaged her again in conversation at breakfast the next two mornings, and in the parlour before dinner the evening after that. The topics were impersonal, but more and more frequently the looks she noticed in his eyes were not.

On that particular night, as she undressed for bed, Holly felt a sudden premonition that he might come to her room, though he had not done so for more than two months now.

“Leave my hair as it is, Mabel,” she said to her maid on impulse. “I believe I shall sit up and read by the candle for a bit, and would prefer it out of my face. I can brush it out myself before I get into bed.”

She could tell by Mabel’s knowing look that the maid knew what she was about, but she didn’t care. By now, Hunt’s continued absence from her bedchamber was likely creating more gossip belowstairs than his presence would. She settled herself in an armchair with a new novel, nervously awaiting the sound of her husband’s footsteps.

“F
ATHER
, my eyes are beginning to cross.” Hunt yawned conspicuously. “I see no reason we cannot finish going over these figures tomorrow.”

“I suppose so,” replied the duke, standing to stretch. “I don’t know why Camilla insists on my leaving this till after dinner, anyway. Waste of candles. Make more sense to do this sort of thing during daylight hours, but she won’t have it. Wants me there while she sits for that portrait Reg is doing of her.”

“So that’s where you’ve been disappearing to.” Hunt chuckled. “Well, tonight Camilla can have you all to herself. I’m off to bed.” He rose.

The duke bade him good-night, then sat back down himself and poured another measure of brandy. Somehow, he didn’t think Camilla would be pleased to have him come up to bed early. No sense risking it. He took a satisfying sip of the stuff, the best his cellars had to offer.

Hunt, meanwhile, mounted the stairs with a sense of anticipation. He was not particularly fatigued, but it had been a plausible excuse to get away from a tedious task. And he had reason tonight to wish to go to bed earlier than had been his habit lately.

He went first to his own rooms and quickly divested himself of his neckcloth and coat without ringing for his valet.
Then, without giving himself time to think or reconsider, he tapped lightly on the dressing-room door.

“Come in.” Holly’s voice sounded as quiet and composed as she appeared to be when he entered her boudoir. She sat at her ease, a book in her hands and a single candle burning beside her. Looking up at him, she smiled. “Good evening, my lord.”

Hunt paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of her—soft and feminine in her lilac silk wrapper, her hair still piled high on her head. The significance of that detail penetrated his rush of desire—she had been expecting him.

“Good evening, my lady.” Though his voice was steady he trembled with his need for her. Gone was his half-formed intention of requesting another explanation of the note she had burned back in London, so long ago it now seemed. “I thought you might require some assistance in unpinning your hair.”

Holly stood, her sweet curves outlined in shimmering lavender. “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.” She took a tentative step towards him. “I was hoping you would come.”

He closed the distance between them in two long strides, and she came willingly into his arms. Hungrily, he sought her lips, revelling in her eager response. Her hair forgotten, he guided her to the bed.

Their lovemaking was passionate but brief, for Hunt found himself unable to go slowly. Only when he lay sated for the first time in more than three months did he finally remember the matter that lay between them. Though he hated to disturb the fragile truce they had achieved, he had to try.

“Holly, I have missed you.”

“And I, you, Hunt,” she replied softly. He imagined that she was smiling, though in the dimness it was impossible to be sure.

Steeling himself against the wave of tenderness that swept through him, he made himself ask, “Why have we been such
strangers to each other, my sweet? What is it you are hiding?”

She stiffened at once in his arms, though her voice was still soft when it finally came. “Pray do not ask me that, Hunt, not yet. You…you said that you would not…”

Mentally he cursed Reg for persuading him to break his word. But his self-condemnation warred with irritation and a sense of betrayal that she would not confide in him even now.