Until your choice us do part, Nicholas. Your choice
….
* * *
She alighted from the landau outside Daniel’s house. For a moment she stood there, looking up at the elegant red-brick facade. The house had been built at the time of Queen Anne, and it was small by King’s Cliff standards, but nevertheless it was a spacious and pleasing building, its raised main doors approached by a double flight of stone steps set against the wall. The formal grounds had been laid out after the Dutch fashion, a long canal stretching away before the house with symmetrical beds of flowers and herbs. Behind the house spread the green expanse of Langford Woods
—but for which she would have been able to see King’s Cliff, some one mile away as the crow flew.
She mounted the steps then and Mrs. Thompson, the housekeeper, opened the door. Her eyes widened when she saw the identity of the visitor, but she stood aside and politely asked Laura to enter.
Laura waited in the red-and-white tiled hall. A beautiful vase of dark red peonies stood on a highly polished table, and several paintings which she judged to be by the very talented Mr. Turner hung on the wall opposite. A tall grandfather clock stood in an alcove, its slow pendulum swinging. Its mechanism began to whir and the delicate, melodious chimes echoed out in the silence.
Mrs. Thompson returned to the hall. “If you will come this, way, my lady, Dr. Tregarron will receive you in the drawing room.” The housekeeper’s keys chinked together as she led Laura up the black marble staircase.
Daniel stood by the window, his tall, slender figure bright in the shaft of sunlight that streamed in. The room was one of easy elegance, its chairs and sofas upholstered with bright tapestries and its walls hung with more of the landscapes and seascapes he seemed to favor so much.
He turned as she was shown in and she saw that he was wearing the same dove-gray coat he had worn the first time she had seen him. His dark eyes went to the housekeeper, who remained by the door.
“That will be all, Mrs. Thompson.”
The housekeeper’s eyes were reproachful, but she left them then, although Daniel knew that she did so against her own better judgment. He smiled at Laura. “Good afternoon, Laura, I see that you are as beautiful as ever.”
“Good afternoon, Daniel.”
“Does Nicholas know you are here?”
“No.”
“Then you risk his wrath.”
“I come on King’s Cliff business, which cannot offend him.”
“You think not?”
“I have not quarreled with you, Daniel,” she reminded him.
“To be sure you have not.” He came toward her then, taking her hands and raising them to his lips.
Slowly she drew her hands away. “How are you, Daniel?”
“As you see, I am well. But you look tired, Laura.”
“That is not what you should tell a lady when she has spent hours at her toilet, sir.”
“It is the doctor in me which speaks now, not the gentleman
—the gentleman sees only that you are quite the most lovely of creatures, Lady Grenville, not least because you are so original.”
“Original?”
He went to a table and picked up a newspaper. “I refer to the auction, so loudly proclaimed in today’s publications. I know of no other woman who would have embarked on even half the projects you have undertaken in your husband’s name. The odds are stacked against you, your position is hopeless, and yet you go determinedly ahead with all this. Yes, Laura, you are very original. And to me you are devastatingly attractive.”
She stared at him. “Daniel
—”
“Don’t embarrass you? Very well, I will behave. You say that you are here on King’s Cliff’s behalf?” He spoke lightly, but he was very close now to confessing his love. Was now the time? Would there ever be a
better
opportunity than this?
His words had disturbed her, but she collected herself. “Yes, I understand that you have first refusal on the portion of Langford Woods adjoining this house.”
“That is so.”
“Why have you not said anything? The first I knew of it was when Mr. Dodswell came to me today.”
“There seemed little point in saying anything when I shall shortly be selling this house.”
“You
—you are going to America then?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I hope to be gone within a month.”
“So quickly?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
He watched her for a moment, and then came a little closer. “Am I to hope from your reaction that you will miss me?”
“You know that I will
—I miss you now when you are but a mile away. You will be so much farther if you go to America.”
“There need not be any distance between us at all, Laura,” he said softly, taking her face in his hands.
“Don’t, please
—”
“I love you,” he said quietly, “As I believe you know well enough.”
“No!”
“Why did you come here today? Charles Dodswell could have done it, but you came in person. Why?”
She could only stare at him.
His thumbs caressed her cheeks. “I offer you the love Nicholas, denies you, Laura, and you are not indifferent to me, are you?”
“Please,” she whispered, “please let me go.”
He held her still, bending his head to kiss her on the lips. He took his time, his lips moving softly but firmly over hers, and to her shame she found herself clinging to him, returning the kiss. The shame overwhelmed her then and she pushed him away. “No!” she cried. “No, it’s wrong!”
“Why? Why is it wrong? Laura, I love you and I know that your marriage is empty. I am a man, not a mouse, and I want you even if your fool of a husband doesn’t. Maybe you think yourself in love with him, bound to him by marriage vows, but a moment ago I felt a flaw in that love, I felt your lips meeting mine as sweetly as I could ever wish. Maybe you think it is sinful, for I break one commandment in coveting another man’s wife, and I would break another by committing adultery if I damned well could! Do these protestations shock you, Laura? Well, they should not, for my heart is exposed to you now; I confess a love which has burned in me from almost the first moment I met you. I love you but your husband doesn’t, I can give you the warmth you are made for, but he never will. He has made his rejection of you quite plain, and now I make my love for you equally as plain. Come with me, Laura, and I promise you enough love to wash away the hurt and pain he has caused you.”
“I will never love you in the way you seek, Daniel,” she whispered.
“No? Your kiss tells another tale.”
She flushed and turned to pick up her reticule.
“I have a month in which to win you, Laura, and win you I shall.”
Mrs. Thompson hurried to open the doors for her, noting Laura’s flushed face and hurried departure. As the carriage drew away, Laura glanced out and saw Daniel at the drawing-room window. Their eyes met for a long moment.
The carriage took her from his sight then and she sat back. The shame still lay over her. How could it have happened? How could she have wanted him to hold her like that? She didn’t love him, she loved Nicholas, but she had returned Daniel Tregarron’s kiss.
Now that Mr. McDonald had departed, there was no reason for Laura to go down to dinner, and so she once again ordered her own meal to be served in the peace and seclusion of the library, where she could afterward do a little more work. But as she dressed for dinner, thinking about her afternoon meeting with Daniel Tregarron, she became more and more aware of how unusually silent Kitty was. The maid’s little face with withdrawn, and if Laura was not mistaken, it was also tearstained. “Kitty?” she asked at last. “What is wrong?”
Tears sprang immediately to the maid’s eyes. “Oh, my lady, it’s my poor father. He fell down the stairs two days back and broke his leg, and today the Countess of Bawton’s land agent came to say that she no longer wishes to employ him. We live in a King’s Cliff tied cottage, my lady, and I have a little brother and sister. There’s only me working, and we’ll have no roof over our heads
—I just don’t know what to do, and my mother’s fair out of her mind with worry.”
Laura was horrified. “Oh, Kitty, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry, for you know that I will do all I can. First of all I must reassure you that you will not be turned out of your home. Maybe I cannot reassure you about work as well, but I will do all I can. Please tell your parents.”
The maid smiled through her tears. “Oh, Lady Grenville, I don’t know what to say.”
Laura went slowly toward the library a little later. Allowing Frank Roberts’s family to remain in their cottage was all very well, but it was work he sought, for only if he worked would he have his pride and self-respect. The memory of Kitty’s tears lingered throughout her solitary meal and she hardly touched her dinner. The plight of Frank Roberts, more than that of the other servants, touched her personally and made her feel sad and responsible.
She had been working for some time by the light of candles, sifting through the maze of facts and figures concerning various acquisitions during the lifetime of Nicholas’s father when she distinctly heard the gallery door open and the rustle of taffeta. She looked up as Augustine leaned gracefully over the rail. She was splendid in turquoise, diamonds sparkling in her red hair and at her pale throat. A flouncy ostrich feather curled down from the bright comb holding her hair up, and her white, fringed shawl dragged lazily along the floor as she slowly approached the spiral steps to the lower level of the library.
Laura sat back warily, mindful of the purpose of Augustine’s visit to the Countess of Bawton earlier. “Good evening, Miss Townsend,” she said sweetly.
“Good evening, my
lady.”
As always, there was the sarcastic emphasis on Laura’s title. “My, my, are we working hard again? Your complexion will suffer if you labor by candlelight all the time. Indeed, now I come to look more closely at you, I fear my warning is too late. You look positively
ill,
my
lady,
and not interestingly so, I fear.”
“Really.”
“Yes
—really.”
“Have you some purpose in coming here, Miss Townsend?”
“Why does one normally frequent a library, unless it is to choose a book
—or to labor pathetically upon wifely tasks which will receive no thanks in the long run.”
Laura ignored the latter part of the statement, getting to her feet and going to a shelf where she had noticed a particular book. She took it down and held it out to Augustine. “This would appear eminently suitable for you, Miss Townsend.”
“A
History of the Borgias?
How very droll, to be sure.”
“Very apt, I think you will agree.”
Augustine’s eyes flickered and then she too selected a book, handing it to Laura. “This is what I would choose for your nightly reading, my
lady. The Life of Catherine of Aragon
would appear so pertinent to your own situation.”
“That presumably places you in the role of Anne Boleyn
—and we all know her fate, don’t we?”
Augustine casually tossed the books on to the table, but the action was not as casual as it appeared, for the force of the books landing caused several papers to flutter to the floor. A smile touched Augustine’s lips then, an unpleasant, triumphant smile, which made Laura feel cold inside. “How is Dr. Daniel Tregarron?” asked Augustine softly.
Laura stared at her. “Well, I believe.”
“Yes, well you would know, wouldn’t you? After all, you did visit him alone this afternoon, didn’t you?”
Laura said nothing.
“So handsome and charming, is he not? And so very different from dear Nicholas. Nicholas is a golden god; Daniel Tregarron is dark and interesting. A very intriguing gentleman, I think you will agree.”
Laura felt the guilt staining her cheeks and was glad that the candlelight would serve to disguise her color.
But Augustine missed nothing. “Yes,” she murmured, “no doubt you have decided to cut your losses and settle for Daniel when Nicholas casts you off. The world has remarked the good doctor’s obvious partiality for you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No? Oh, come now, don’t be obtuse, my dear, for you surely don’t expect anyone to believe that you have no inkling of the handsome doctor’s feelings.”
To Laura it was as if Augustine had witnessed everything that had passed between herself and Daniel that afternoon. She recovered swiftly, however, returning to take her place at the escritoire and dipping her quill in the ink. “If you have nothing agreeable to say, Miss Townsend, then I suggest that you leave me to my work.”
“But, of course, who am I to stand in the path of the lady who has power of attorney in this house? Your word is law, my
lady
—except when your husband overrules you. As in the matter of taking tea with the ladies of the neighborhood.”
“Am I to presume that you have something to impart to me, Miss Townsend? Or are you merely wasting both my time and your own?”
“I waste no one’s time. The necessary invitations have been issued, my
lady,
and it is set for you to receive the ladies in the red saloon tomorrow morning.”
“I will endeavor to remember.”
“You would be advised to be prompt, for Nicholas will not be phased if you let him down, would he? Oh, and do try to dress well, at least try to
appear
to be a person of quality. Appearances are so important, are they not?”
Laura toyed with the quill, stroking its shaft very slowly. She could not win this particular skirmish, but she would fire the last salvo. “I trust your presentation to the Duke of Gloucester went excellently,” she purred, knowing full well that it hadn’t. His Grace had remembered Augustine’s unfortunate connection with the Earl of Langford and had therefore virtually snubbed her when she had been presented. Augustine had suffered extreme mortification and her cheeks flamed scarlet now as Laura reminded her, thereby intimating that she knew all about something Augustine would much have preferred to keep secret.