The Highwayman's Lady (26 page)

Half an hour later Imogen is sleeping peacefully. I ease myself from her bed and retrieve my clothes from the floor where I scattered my things. Once suitably attired, I slip quietly from the room to make my way back to my lonely chamber along the hallway.

Beatrice appears distracted, though I cannot quite put my finger on what is amiss. I came down to breakfast to find she had eaten already, as had the children. I check the clock to find the hour just approaching eight. I am not late, not especially.

There is no sign of Sir Phillip or of Gray. Or should that be Francis? I have been making a real effort to use the name familiar to the rest of the household since it would be difficult to explain my use of a different one. We are supposed to be recent acquaintances and distant at that.

“Has Sir Phillip left already?” I ask, as I help myself to eggs from a warm platter.

“He has business in Edinburgh, but will be home by this afternoon.”

“I see.” I join her at the table. “And Francis? Has he gone to Edinburgh also?”

“Children, if you have finished your meals then please be off. You have lessons this morning.” Her tone is sharper than any of us are accustomed to hearing from the normally mild-mannered Beatrice. Her brood know when not to provoke her when she is in this mood and make haste to consume the remaining crumbs of their breakfast. It is rare to see the children so eager to advance their education, but they scurry from the dining room with an enthusiasm bordering on frantic. As the door closes behind them, Beatrice turns her attention to me.

“Edward has a cough.”

“Oh, I did not notice. I hope it does not settle on his chest.” I glance at her, concerned. It is unusual for any of the children to ail much.

“It is improving. I think he is near to recovered already. He was restless during the night though and did not sleep well.”

“I see,” I observe warily. I am starting to gain an uneasy sense that I may know where this strange conversation is headed.

“I spent much of the night at his bedside, bringing him water to sip and Mrs. MacBride was kind enough to make up a mixture of sweet almond oil and syrup of violets along with a plaster of candle wax, saffron, and nutmeg, which I applied to his stomach. It is a remedy that is much recommended and appears to have done the trick.”

“We are indeed fortunate in the many and diverse talents of Mrs. MacBride,” I agree.

“I passed the end of the corridor where your chamber is situated, on my way back to the nursery. It was perhaps one o’clock in the morning. A movement caught my eye.”

I make no comment, preferring to fold my hands in my lap and await whatever is coming.

“It was Francis, leaving your chamber. So I wonder, Imogen, what urgent matter might have brought him to your room in the dead of night. Might you have some ready explanation, I wonder?”

I swallow and raise my gaze to meet hers. I have never seen Beatrice look so displeased. My heart sinks as I shake my head. “No, my lady. I have no ready explanation.”

“I am glad, for in that case perhaps you might bless me with the truth.”

“Does Sir Phillip know?” I make no attempt to deflect her suspicions.

“Know what? I do not yet fully understand myself what is happening here.”

“Yes, you do,” I murmur. “It is as it seems. Exactly so.”

“So, Francis is in the habit of joining you in your chamber at night?” She pauses, one eyebrow raised as she awaits confirmation. I manage a brief nod, so she continues. “You are a woman of most enthusiastic appetites, Imogen. I hope that I am not intolerant, but I find I do not care for it. Not at all.”

I start to offer my apology but she waves me to silence. “I asked you to find a way to get along with Francis and this is the solution you arrive at? It is not what I had expected of you—of either of you, in fact. I have been ready to accept your present condition on the basis that your life has been less than easy prior to your arrival here and any one of us might make a mistake. But this—this is quite unacceptable. You barely know Francis, yet you allow him to share your bed.” She pauses, shaking her head. “This is not behaviour I had expected under my roof and certainly not with my impressionable daughters in the house.”

“I am sorry. I did not intend for any of this—”

“You are almost an adult and on your twenty-first birthday, just two months from now, you will become mistress of your own life. Francis, too, is his own man. But this is
my
home, my
family
home and I expect you to behave with decorum and consideration whilst you reside here.”

I am stung by her implication. “I believe I have, Beatrice. We have been discreet.”

“Not discreet enough, or we would not be having this conversation. Do you think to trap Francis into marriage, perhaps?”

I shake my head, both indignant and adamant. “No, most certainly not. He will not wed me. He has said so.”

One aristocratic eyebrow is raised again as she digests that snippet. “So, you have discussed the possibility then?”

“I, er, no, not really.”

“Yet you seem convinced he will not offer marriage, despite enjoying the benefits of that happy state.”

“Yes, Beatrice, I am sure of that.”

“Imogen, I do not wish to see you hurt or Francis, for that matter.” Her tone has softened. She leans forward to regard me intently. “Will it do any good for me to demand that you desist, that you discontinue this ill-fated relationship? At once?”

I consider for a few moments, then shake my head. “No, Beatrice, I do not believe it will. You see, we… we care very deeply for one another despite our short acquaintance.”

“I see. In that case, I must ask you to exercise the utmost caution in your nocturnal ramblings about this house—you
and
Francis. I shall say as much to him when he deigns to join us this morning. I do not wish this, this—liaison—to become common knowledge among the servants.”

“Will you tell Sir Phillip?”

“Of course I shall. There are no secrets between us, not in this house. I doubt he will be any better pleased at learning this news than I was. He might even insist that his brother behave as a gentleman ought, though I dread to think where that might lead us. This is really a most complicated arrangement, Imogen. Most complicated. I prefer matters to be simple, as you know.”

“Of course. I understand. But, I hope we might still be friends. I value your friendship so much and I would hate for there to be a rift between us.”

“I do as well, Imogen, though you do not make it easy.”

“I may remain here then? Despite—everything.”

She appears surprised at my request. “Of course. Did I ever suggest otherwise?”

“And, after my birthday? After my baby is born?”

“You shall have a home here for as long as you require it, though I would prefer it if you could resist the urge to hop in and out of bed with every male visitor to cross our doors. Now, if you will excuse me, I really must check that Lucy is persevering with her embroidery. That child will skimp on the borders of her sampler if given the slightest opportunity.”

She leaves the room to supervise the domestic education of her youngest daughter, leaving me alone to ponder how her opinion of my moral character ever sank so low.

Those reflections remain uppermost in my mind when next I encounter Gray. He is descending the main staircase, dressed for the outdoors. I waylay him and usher him into the library.

I get straight to the point. “Beatrice knows. She saw you last night.”

He cups my face between his hands and kisses me before replying. “Yes, I know. I have had quite a lecture from her regarding my moral bankruptcy and general lack of any finer qualities. I confess I am surprised; I had thought she liked me. I gather she fears I might ruin you. Or break your heart.”

“She believes me to be a whore.”

“Did she say that?” He steps back, frowning.

“No, not exactly. But it
is
what she thinks.”

“She did not give me that impression. I rather think she considers you the wronged party and me the reprehensible villain who has led you from the path of true decency.” He pauses and sighs. “Ah well, she will become accustomed to us in time, I daresay.”

I gape at him, outraged. “How can you be so casual? Do you not care what she thinks?”

He shrugs. “I do, but not so much that I might alter my behaviour because of it. What about you? I get the impression you are somewhat upset.”

Is he quite deluded?
“Of course I am upset. I am mortified. Beatrice considers me to be a woman of low morals, a light skirt. She intends to tell Sir Phillip.”

“I believe my brother has already been informed. He accosted me on the upper landing to acquaint me with his general dissatisfaction with my conduct.”

“Oh, sweet Mother of God, you have quarrelled again,” I exclaim, horrified that this is going from bad to worse.

“We exchanged views, yes, but I would not describe our conversation as a quarrel exactly. Beatrice has taken the whole thing much harder, it would seem to me.”

I cover my face with my hands and start to sob. I am unusually emotional these days. Gray utters a low curse and enfolds me in his arms.

“It will pass, sweetheart. Beatrice is put out, disappointed perhaps. She will get over it.”

“I know,” I sniffle, “but I hate having her think so badly of me. She has been so kind…”

“Do you prefer me not to come to you again? That would soothe my sister-in-law’s outraged sensibilities and I daresay you could regain her good opinion soon enough.”

I shake my head, quite certain I do not want that. I am not sure what it is I
do
want exactly, but I am sure it is not that.

“Very well then. We shall continue as we are and allow matters to settle. Beatrice will become accustomed to the situation in time.”

I suppose what he says is true, but it is of little comfort right now. Even so, I gather my composure sufficiently to locate the handkerchief I keep tucked into my bodice and set my face to rights. I manage a watery smile.

“You are going out? When will you return?”

“Aye, I agreed to check the progress of lambing in the most northerly portion of the estate. It was the least I could do in order to assuage my brother’s discontent at my descent into moral turpitude. I shall be back by suppertime.”

I am gratified that Gray appears to be at last developing some interest in the fortunes of Kirkleven and begin to surmise we might yet salvage something from this miserable day. “I shall see you at supper then. Take care.”

He kisses me again and with a low, flourishing bow, he is gone.

Another four weeks have elapsed. My pregnancy advances and I become slower, more cumbersome with every passing day. Not that this seems to matter to Gray who has continued to spend most nights in my bed, only stirring himself to return to his own chamber when the servants start about their morning tasks. He is not always sexually demanding, equally content to lie with me in his arms on those occasions when I am too fatigued or just too clumsy to muster any interest in lovemaking. It is a position I find most comfortable and I have long since given up the belief that Gray finds my thickened body any less alluring than my usually much more slender form. He adores the sensation of the baby kicking inside me and will take every opportunity to spread his palms on my swollen abdomen to absorb the little bumps and bounces from within.

Beatrice is equally smitten and the pair of them vie for the chance to examine my pregnant belly. On one occasion Sir Phillip was even prevailed upon to join in the fun, though I suspect he found the experience somewhat disconcerting and has not chosen to repeat it.

Gray has acceded to his brother’s requests for assistance in matters of estate management and spends most of his days out on the land. Agriculture at Kirkleven is mainly pastoral, since the terrain lends itself better to the raising of stock than crops. Gray considers sheep somewhat silly, but mercifully, they require little in the way of supervision. Our cattle are similarly hardy. Gray has been attempting to convince his brother that the estate should commence breeding fine horseflesh and I detect signs that Sir Phillip is warming to the idea.

For myself, my project in the library is nearing completion. I have just to examine and catalogue the family journals and the task will be concluded. I have wondered what gainful pursuit I might find to occupy my time in the future, though Beatrice assures me my baby will offer ample diversion, at least for a while. I am not especially disheartened, therefore, as I settle myself in the library for a quiet afternoon’s work.

The journals are fascinating, offering a record of life at Kirkleven since before the time of Queen Mary. Every major purchase is detailed there, each alteration to the structure of the house itself and the costs entailed in the construction. Births, deaths, and marriages are also listed, along with details such as the value of the dowry brought by the bride, or the settlement to be made on the widow following the death of some long-departed earl. I learn that the portion that came with Sir Phillip’s great-grandmother saved the then impoverished estate from ruin and her husband successfully nurtured the investment to set Kirkleven back on the route to prosperity. Subsequent earls have proven themselves equally thrifty to arrive at the wealth enjoyed by the current generation.

I set aside the volume I have just finished studying and check the clock. In another hour I should start to prepare for the evening meal but for now, I can remain here. I leave the heavy journal on the table for Gray to carry back to the shelves later. It is only then that I realise I have no other tome to hand. The rest of the collection remains on the shelf and at a height that will require me to stand on a stool to reach.

Gray is not at home so I ring the bell beside me to summon Masterson and lean back to await his arrival. A minute later I ring it again. When he still does not appear, I go to the door and peer out into the hall, ready to request the assistance of whoever I might find there. The vestibule is deserted. I fetch the bell and ring it in the hallway itself. Surely someone will be within earshot.