Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (19 page)

“Certainly, a remarkable composition. I have not heard its like for years,” agreed the countess. “What did you think, Marguerite?”

“I… thought it was as though the whole universe had stilled, the better to hear it,” she answered dreamily.

“Brava! Well said.”

“Well said, indeed,” agreed the marquess.

“I expect Sir Lucian’s career is now completely established,” Cecile said.

“After a performance like that? I should think so!” the countess laughed. “But the air is so very dense in here. Shall we proceed to the foyer? There is to be a reception, and we may congratulate our master musician in person. And Miss Cartwell. That girl really is a wonder. Now, do tell me a little of your work, mademoiselle. Marguerite says that you are an artist.”

Hart offered the countess his arm as they proceeded out of the box.

*

Despite his extraordinary triumph, and the devout admiration of what had to be every single member of his audience, Sir Lucian reacted to this new fame with his usual grace.

“I think that I owe tremendous gratitude to you, Madame,” he said to Maggie when the group reached him. “I could not have done this without you and Miss Cartwell.”

Embarrassed to be praised for her part in front of the marquess, Maggie shook her head fervently. “Oh, no, Sir Lucian. It is Lord Hartley and Madame la Comtesse who are to thank, and not I at all.”

“Nonsense – I should say this is entirely your own doing,” Hart countered. “Though I congratulate you, Blake. It is a rare thing to have everything in the world that one could possibly want.”

The baronet inclined his head, thanking Hart.

“Now, really Hart – less of the gravity. Tonight is for celebrating grand triumphs, after all,” the countess laughed, playfully swatting her nephew with her fan. “I am certain Sir Lucian shall be swamped with invitations, commissions and students now. We may be hard-pressed to see you at all.”

Soon, Sir Lucian was indeed spirited away to meet more admirers and the countess wandered off to chat to Monsieur Thouin, who had taken a break from his botany to attend the concert.

Maggie and Cecile stayed at the reception a while longer, until Cecile began to look utterly exhausted and Maggie insisted that it was time they borrowed the countess’s carriage to take them to the townhouse.

“You have been working much too hard,” Maggie berated her friend. “It is time we were on our way home.”

“I should be honoured to escort you home in my own carriage,” Hart said, with a concerned look on his face as he too noticed Cecile’s pallor. “It is just outside.”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t like to spoil your evening, Lord Hartley,” Cecile said. “You aunt – ”

“Not a thing of it! My aunt shall be carousing with her acquaintance all night and will not want me in her way.”

Seeing the sense in his words, Maggie and Cecile said goodnight to their friends and made their way through the crush of concert patrons towards the theatre doors.

Maggie felt somewhat torn at being unable to say her goodbyes properly – for how could she explain to her new friends that she would be leaving Paris on the morrow? The countess would be hurt that she had not seen fit to share her plans until the last moment, and Sir Lucian, too.

Maggie had wanted to drive her own carriage back to Calais, but Hart insisted that his groom do that later in the day, along with most of her luggage, while she travelled with him. She supposed that he still didn’t trust her not to flee again.

If Maggie had expected Hart to look smug, or at least pleased, when his carriage arrived to take them back, then she was deeply mistaken. He stood next to her looking handsome, polite and controlled.

“I am very aware of how significant a sacrifice this is to you,” Hart told her after she had said her tearful goodbyes to Cecile and he’d handed her into the carriage.

She inclined her head at that, because she didn’t know how to reply. Instead, she focussed her attention on the familiar houses of the avenue de Richelieu. She wondered when she would see Paris again. Would she ever? And, if so, surely not for years and years. By then the city would be completely changed.

Already, Cecile was making plans for taking her own house on the considerable income the dress shop had begun to bring in. Soon, her life would move on and Maggie would be left behind, in old memories and monthly letters.

Hart watched her as she settled in her seat.

“Do you remember when we were children and we had such great fun hiding out in the shrubbery? We’d make ghost noises and wolf-growls at people who went by on the way to the village…” she mused idly. “We got into such trouble when we were found out. I thought Papa would surely never let us set foot out of the house again… But we agreed between the three of us that it had been entirely worth the fun anyway.”

Hart nodded, thinking back to that far-off day.

“Well, do you not think it a terrible pity that we no longer take chances on the things that make us happy? I wonder when we grew out of that. Like our childhood game, Paris has been worth every second of the trouble that will surely follow. Nothing can change that. Not my father and not Kingsley Stanhope.”

A well brought up young lady would never say a thing like that, Maggie knew. She was meant to be demure, ashamed of her thoughtless escapade. She half expected Hart to laugh or to declare her mad – or to be scandalised at this latest lapse in decorum.

But he did none of these things.

He simply nodded, considering her words. “Perhaps you are right. I think I admire you for that.”

That was the last thing she had expected. Maggie felt her cheeks warm, feeling suddenly awkward. “Thank you.”

Magpie,
she thought suddenly.
When last did he call me that?

Perhaps things had become much too tangled for ‘Magpie’.

His words from the night before came back to her.
I congratulate you, Blake. It is a rare thing to have everything in the world that one could possibly want…
These words would not let her go, though she wasn’t sure why they had stuck with her. What on earth had he meant? They seemed very important, though she could make neither heads nor tails of why she thought this.

The sky hung low and grey overhead as they left the city. The street lights had yet to be dowsed, giving Paris an eerie, timeless feel. A cold wind, smelling heavily of rain, blew in through the open carriage windows. Maggie shivered, wrapping her woollen shawl more tightly around her, as the wind chilled her cheeks and ruffled her hair under her bonnet.

The drive out of Paris was conducted in almost complete silence. A few months ago, Maggie would have been astonished that she and Hart could ever keep from bickering or talking for that long. But something had definitely changed. A strangeness lay between them, like a dam that could burst at the blink of an eye.

“I have not said a proper farewell to your aunt,” Maggie told him at last. “Not really.”

Hart shifted uneasily. “You can write to her when we stop for the night. She would like to hear from you. I told her the truth of the matter last night – only to discover that she had already guessed much of it. We are, according to her, very lousy actors. She is rather out of temper with me about taking you away.”

Maggie sighed. “I am glad that at least she will not be angry at my abrupt departure. She is a very kind woman. But she ought not to be angry at you, either. You are doing what you feel is right.” Having only ever seen the fun, whimsical side of Hart over the years, she was still a little surprised at his devotion to the things he considered to be his duty.

She wished that she had her needles or a sketchpad. She wanted to be doing something with her hands, keeping at bay the restless desperation bubbling within her.

A part of her really did want to contrive another escape despite the promise she had made. Not just because she dreaded so much having to return to Chenefelt, but because being so close to Hart made it difficult to breathe and think straight. She could never keep her wits about her when he was within reach.

The French countryside rolled past in an endless blur, and it looked so much like the English that it brought her no joy to look at it.

Two hours outside of Paris, big, heavy droplets first landed on the roof of the carriage. They were swiftly followed by lightning that lit up the sky and a roll of thunder so near it made Maggie jump just as the heavens opened up in a deluge. The air smelled acrid and hot despite the rain.

There was no time to think, as the horses panicked, and the carriage jerked sharply to the left. They heard another ominous, piercing crack, as though the world had split open under them and tilted over, before the vehicle came to a sudden, lopsided stop, throwing Maggie across the narrow space and on top of Hart.

She felt winded and shocked, and her mouth tasted of blood, so that for a moment it was impossible to move. Her right arm flooded with pain. Then her heart began to pound as though it meant to burst right out of her chest.

Her thoughts felt sluggish and unclear, at once too slow and too fast. What had happened? Had they crashed? Had they been hit by lighting? But surely not. They would have been dead then.

Hart shifted beneath her, resting his hands on her waist and blinking owlishly, as though to clear his own shock.

“Are you hurt?” he asked her, and his voice was reassuringly steady in light of her own sudden weakness.

Maggie took a moment to consider. There was no sense complaining about a battered wrist at a time like that. “No. At least, I do not think that I am. Are you?”

He chuckled tensely. “No, but we had better get out of the cabin.”

Maggie attempted to move off him and return to her own seat, but the cabin was tilted too awkwardly and she only succeeded in getting further tangled in her skirts. She tried to push open the door nearest her, but it seemed to be stuck. The heavy dark wood would not shift an inch.

“I think you had better climb out first, if you can,” she said apologetically.

Hart nodded. Just then, the driver opened the door overhead, and rain began to fall into the vehicle.

“Lord Hartley, Madame, are you all right?” the man asked, his hat missing and his hair sleeked back by the downpour.

“Ah, good, Driver!” Hart said. “We are unhurt, but you had better help Madame out of the carriage. I will follow in her wake.”

With the driver’s hand for support, Maggie clambered out of the carriage and into the rain.

She still felt extremely weak and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from shivering.

Her wrist, and her entire right arm, which had been knocked against the door when she got thrown across the carriage, felt very sore, and she supposed her skin would be covered with bruises in a few minutes.

She looked over at the carriage, which presented a sorry, forlorn sight. It had almost toppled on its side, half-mired in a deep ditch. Taking a closer look to distract herself from the pain in her arm, she realised that it was fortunate that the ditch had been there at all, or they might have gone crashing into the line of trees that bordered the road.

The horses were stomping restlessly, their nerves flaring as another rumble shook the clouds above, though the driver seemed to have calmed the animals somewhat before coming to check on the passengers.

“It was the thunder, I expect?” Hart asked him, climbing out to join Maggie on the muddy country lane.

“Yes, my lord. The sudden flash and the noise startled them. It must have struck somewhere very close. You can smell it in the air.”

Hart nodded, and looked around, considering the situation.

“We must keep moving,” Maggie said, because the solution seemed as plain as day to her. “It would be much worse to stay here.”

“You are correct, I think. It cannot be very long now to the next inn. You must take your valise. Driver and I shall each take one of the horses, and lead them – we will need both hands. Driver, if you would unhitch the animals?”

Climbing back into the carriage to retrieve their things, Hart handed Maggie her valise.

Maggie took it carefully in her uninjured hand. “I could take yours also?”

He shook his head. “It is of no consequence. We will send someone from the inn to retrieve the rest when the weather clears. I do not think there will be any bandits about in this storm.”

“Let us hope the rain does not get any worse, Lord Hartley,” said the driver anxiously.

*

By the time they arrived at the nearest inn, which stood a ways from an empty crossroads like a beacon of hope amidst the mud, they were soaked to the skin. Maggie’s heavy travelling dress weighed double, if not triple, what it usually did. Every step made her strength ebb further and she felt very hungry, worn out and miserable.

She had only to be grateful that it was not the cold rain of winter, when the wind alone would surely have frozen them to the bones.

Once they were out of the downpour, Hart wasted no time enquiring about rooms from a disapproving innkeeper, somehow managing to look dignified despite the water dripping from his hair onto his nose. Maggie had to fight with all her strength not to giggle at the ludicrous sight. Perhaps hysteria was beginning to set in, she thought as she watched the man peer at Hart over his spectacles.

“I’m afraid, Monsieur, that we are full up with travellers sheltering for the night. Ghastly out there right now. There is only one room left free, and that one is up in the rafters.”

This was an absurd echo of Maggie’s journey to Paris. She supposed this was a very typical turn of events, with the way her life had been going of late. She supposed that he would attempt to charge triple for the room, too.

She was too tired to be upset by this. She only wished she could stop shaking and retain her control over another inexplicable wave of giggles.

Having looked his fill at Hart, the proprietor turned his attention to Maggie, still looking extremely disapproving. No doubt he suspected them of an elopement. The expression on his face almost got the better of her self-control.

Yes
, Maggie thought.
Without a doubt, this must be hysteria, and I am not to blame for whatever I may do next.

Feeling particularly rebellious even while her dress and hair continued dripping onto the wooden floors, Maggie took a step forward, managing to do so with authority despite her heavy skirts.

“One room, you say? Very well. My husband and I will take it,” she said, looking down her nose in the perfect imitation of her aunt. “I expect the rafters will be a very
unique
experience. And do send up some hot water, my good man. As you have observed, the weather has been anything but idyllic.”

The proprietor gaped before nodding. “As you wish, Madame.”

Hart’s eyebrows shot up, but Maggie ignored him, and followed the elderly man up the stairs to their room. If the inn was a little shabby, she hardly cared as she flung her wet shawl over the back of the wooden chair, which stood invitingly by the fire.

Soon, a pair of servants appeared with a copper tub.

“I shall go and see to the driver while you bathe,” the marquess said with just a hint of irony.

Maggie ignored his tone, and began going through her valise for something dry, or at least for something that was marginally less soaked than her present ensemble.

She almost wept with relief when a maid appeared bearing a bucket of steaming water.

Once the tub had been filled, Maggie gratefully peeled off her travelling gown and submerged herself into the divine warmth of the water. She let her eyes flutter closed a minute while her body relaxed, her aches and pains fading in the gentle bliss.

As much as she would have liked to tarry in the water until it cooled, she had her bath quickly. She didn’t want Hart sitting around in wet clothes even if she
was
still unhappy about having to go home. By the time the marquess arrived back upstairs, there was a new tub waiting for him and Maggie was seated by the fire, trying to brush her hair into some semblance of neatness and dryness.

*

Hart took in the freshly steaming tub of water, and the sight of Maggie, her long hair undone. Despite her rather conservative dress, the sight of her, the way her loose hair caught the flickering light of the fire, was the most alluring thing he had ever seen.

He did his best not to ogle her as she glanced up at him and smiled.