The Forest Lord (41 page)

Francis had made a considerable effort to accept her son. He had invited Donal to a children's gathering to be held one day during the party, and offered to take him riding.
Eden was determined to keep the marquess's goodwill—if she could let him down gently enough.

"How fortunate that there was one decent mantua maker in Ambleside, at least," Claudia said, obviously hoping to engage
Eden's enthusiasm. "I would have preferred that you had gone to
London for the fittings, of course—"

"But I could not leave for such an extended time, Aunt, with so much to be done at Hartsmere,"
Eden finished firmly.

God knew that she had been constantly busy since her declaration to Hartley. The harvest had come and gone, and October was nearing its end. The people continued to grow fat and merry and prosperous, as if they had never known want. All the neighboring dales wondered at the enormous crops of hay, the prize-winning ewes and tups, the vegetables lush and sweet as if from the soil of some soft southern shire.

Every day she found some new aspect of her duties as lady of Hartsmere—and as mother to Donal—to learn or perfect. Since the invitation's arrival, she had worked to prepare her son for his first significant social appearance.
Presentation to Rushborough's toMnish friends—once her friends as well—would be an important first step for his future.

Every day was filled with satisfying work and friendship.

But every night…

Every night was Hartley's.

Her joy had not fled with summer's warmth. Leaves fell, flowers withered, and animals and men began to prepare for winter, portending the season of cold to come. But the looming year's end no longer seemed the death of love and contentment. It was only the epilogue of the life she was leaving behind. The long, cooler nights gave her and Hartley more hours to spend talking, caressing, loving. He was by turns tender and wild and always concerned with her happiness.

Hartley's speech after their quarrel over Rushborough had banished almost every doubt from her heart and mind. They had not argued since. Nor had he brought up her forthcoming visit to Caldwick.

He had also failed to return her avowal of love. Yet whenever they lay together, or walked in the wood, or shared laughter with Donal, she saw something in his eyes that told her she had nothing to fear in his silence.

The party at Caldwick was a test of sorts, and she intended to pass it. She would prove to herself that she had no regrets in abandoning the former Lady Eden Winstowe. That she could play society's games for Donal's sake but keep her heart untouched and free.
For Hartley.

The thought of Hartley made the room uncommonly hot for a mid-October day. Thank God Claudia had not spoken of him, though
Eden had come to realize that she had been naive to think her aunt unaware. It wasn't anything Claudia said but the way she so completely avoided any mention of him.

"It's done," her aunt said. "There are no more adjustments to be made. Your wardrobe is complete, and I have no doubt but that it will dazzle our marquess."

Your marquess
.
"How shall I compare to you, dear Aunt? Everyone will believe that we are sisters."

Claudia couldn't hide a smile of satisfaction. At last, poring over patterns and ordering gowns, she had been in her element.
"Tut tut, Niece.
You know that is a patent falsehood. I shall look well enough for my age, nothing more." She examined herself in the cheval mirror. "I am happy to bask in your reflected glory."

Eden
did not relish the prospect of shattering Claudia's illusions. "Oh, Aunt—"

"No false modesty, my dear. Even with half your former looks, you would outshine all the rest."

"We shall see. Now it is time for me to help you with
your
gowns."

Claudia's eyes lit up like those of a girl on her coming out. "This is exactly what we both required at this dreary time of year—new clothes and a Society gathering to attend!"

Eden
smiled and resolved not to ruin Claudia's enjoyment.

The first day of the house party arrived with a bustle of packing trunks and last-minute adjustments of coiffure and hemlines.
Eden made sure that everything regarding the estate was in good order for her days-long absence. Mrs. Byrne promised a smooth-running house and prompt delivery of Donal to Caldwick on Saturday afternoon.

But all the time the landau traversed the rutted roads out of the dale and over the rolling fells to Caldwick, Eden was composing in her mind how best to refuse the expected renewal of Rushborough's proposal.

She and Claudia were not the first to arrive at Caldwick.
Eden caught sight of another carriage being driven to the stables, and a distant pair of walkers across the fine park. She swallowed and tugged at her gloves.

"You look lovely, my dear," Claudia said. "At last you are returning to your rightful place. I know you will find it all much easier than you currently suppose."

"Is it so obvious?"

"Only to those who know you well."
Claudia patted her hand. "I shall watch over you, as I have always done."

And how disappointed you will be in me
,
Eden thought. She avoided Claudia's piercing gaze and took the footman's hand to descend from the carriage.

As if he had been watching for their arrival, Francis met them at the door. His display of unfashionable eagerness was humbling indeed, and while his greeting was impartially warm to them both, his intimate glance was for
Eden alone.

Flustered, she was grateful to follow a servant to the room set aside for her, next to Claudia's. She saw at once that someone had been at great pains to make it suitable for one of her taste and experience. The walls were hung with silk, the floor covered with Axminster carpets. Gilded Grecian-style furnishings lent the room a refined elegance.

Francis's housekeeper arrived in person to offer her services and every comfort his lordship's guests might require.
Nancy had her own small room adjoining
Eden's, and she had plenty to say about the magnificence of the chambers.

It was a grand house indeed, twice the size of Hartsmere. A few hours before dinner—held on
London time, not country hours—Francis took her and Claudia on a tour of the house. The way he spoke of it gave
Eden the uncomfortable certainty that he soon expected her to become its mistress.

Nevertheless, she found herself relaxing in his company. It was almost like old times, when careless, light conversation was the order of the day, and flirting came as naturally as breathing. As the other guests began to arrive, her nervousness vanished amid the surprisingly warm greetings she received, from friends and strangers alike. The men were uniformly gallant, the women solicitous.

All of them were her kind: of the
ton
, the sons and daughters of peers and gentlemen. They knew the games as well as she. The glossy veneer of Society lulled her into an illusion of contentment. Suddenly her collection of gowns seemed very modest indeed. She missed the jewelry she had sold to bolster the estate. She found herself at the mirror in her room, looking for new wrinkles or sun spots.

Every hour she rediscovered some forgotten amusement or turn of conversation. Everything she saw was stylish and beautiful and expensive. Dinner was a lavish, sparkling affair that might have been held in one of
London's finest dining rooms. Duchesses and marchionesses, viscounts and earls sat side by side with distinguished knights and wealthy gentlemen. No expense had been spared. Eden felt simple pleasure in just holding the crystal goblets and sipping the costly French champagne, luxuries to which she had once been accustomed and seldom questioned.

That evening, Francis escorted her to her room to say good night. Everyone else must have seen, but he was scrupulously proper and not in the least forward. She tried, and failed, to broach the topic that was sure to give him pain.

In the morning,
Eden slept late and was still one of the earliest down to breakfast. The next day went by with the speed and fantastic, unreal atmosphere of a carnival, and once more she was unable to meet the marquess alone.

On the second morning, the men went out to observe a fox hunt with the local fell pack, kept by the neighboring squire.

Among those women who had elected not to join them,
Eden sat in the shade of a grand old beech, struggling with the disquiet that had settled over her since she had learned of the hunt. She ought not to have been surprised; this was shooting and hunting
season,
and it was no wonder that Francis's sporting friends should wish to partake of his generosity in sharing his coverts. There was already eager talk of a shoot tomorrow, since Lord Rushborough had hardly touched his birds.

This was an aspect of Society she had tried to forget. Who had been a greater sportsman than her father? How many autumns and winters had she been forced to endure the countryside she loathed, and produce great mountains of embroidered handkerchiefs and pillowcases, because he had insisted upon having
her
with him when the Season was finished?

But she had stayed away from the hunting fields. She had carefully not looked at the bagged birds Lord Bradwell's servants brought into the kitchen.
And now…

Now she knew something of the creatures
who
lived in those woods and fields.
The creatures facing death at the hands of her own kind.
They were no longer merely dumb beasts to her—not fox nor pheasant, badger nor rabbit, mouse nor stag.

Hartley would be ashamed of her for permitting such cruel sport. She saw his face, and behind it the noble head
of a stag, antlers
branching high and wide against a blue sky.

Unreasoning terror halted all other thoughts and left her mind spinning.
Hartley.
The stag
.

It could not be. They had lain together, laughed, loved. She had accepted that Hartley was not an ordinary man, but she would have known if he and the creature who called himself Cornelius were one and the same. She would have felt it in her very soul.

But he knew so many things about her that he should not. He behaved like a peer of the realm, not a laborer. He acted as if he were Donal's father.

Her stomach in knots, she rose unsteadily and strode away from the house, seeking answers no one at Caldwick could provide.

"Ah, my dear."
She stopped abruptly at the sound of Francis's voice. He stood before her, looking bemused. "You seem troubled. Is something not to your liking at Caldwick? Please tell me at once, that I may correct the omission."

"No.
No, my lord."
She forced a smile. "Your hospitality lacks nothing. Please forgive my freakish tempers. I have become quite unused to such luxury."

"How formal we are." He tucked her arm through his. "Here it is, a beautiful morning, and at last we have a moment to ourselves."

The opportunity could not have come at a worse time, but she had to take it. "You did not join the hunt?"

"Not today." His eyes were very warm. "I had promised myself to take you on a drive about the estate upon the earliest possible occasion. I can think of none better than now. If you agree…"

Eden
's stomach completed its plummet to her toes.
"Of course."

"Excellent." He turned her about and led her to the carriage house, which in itself was fine enough to accommodate a baronet. The waiting horses were the best matched pair she'd ever seen, and the phaeton gleamed with newness. They might as well have been nags pulling a ragpicker's cart in Seven Dials.

Eden
sat beside Lord Rushborough, watching his deft hands on the ribbons. But other hands superimposed themselves upon his spotless gloves: rougher, larger hands, equally skillful, and gentle with instinctive understanding of the beasts he drove.

God help me.

Francis drove the carriage down the lane through the park, over rolling ground that gradually started uphill along a sloping fell. The coppices and woodlands were painted with color, and the smell of woodsmoke drifted on the breeze.

"It is beautiful,"
Eden said, speaking the first words that came into her dazed mind.

"Thank you." He was silent for a moment, clucking to the horses. "I have seen the miracles you have wrought at Hartsmere. I can only imagine what you might accomplish with… greater resources."

"You compliment me too highly."

He reined the
horses
in. "When will you call me Francis again,
Eden? Must I beg you?"

"Please, do not. Francis."