Indiscreet (8 page)

Foolishly, the compliment pleased her. “She need not fear,” she said. “You are welcome to Miss Hudson or to any other lady
of Mrs. Adams's choosing, as far as I am concerned. It really matters not one iota to me.”

“And
I
matter not one iota to you,” he said with an audible sigh. “How dreadfully lowering you are to a man's self-esteem, Mrs. Winters. Why did you allow me to kiss you?”

“I did not—” she began, and bit the words off short.

“You might well halt midsentence,” he said, “when you have just come from church. You were about to utter the most atrocious bouncer. My question stands.”

“If I did,” she said, “I regretted it instantly and have regretted it ever since.”

“Yes,” he said, “one does feel one's—aloneness at such times, does one not? Have you relived it as often as I have during the past three days—and nights?”

“Not a single time,” she said, outraged.

“For which I cannot accuse you of lying, can I?” he said, looking at her sidelong. “I have not relived it a
single
time either, Mrs. Winters. Perhaps a score of times, but that would be a low estimate, I believe. You have not by any chance changed your mind about a certain answer you gave to a certain question?”

They had reached the cottage. She opened the gate, stepped hastily through it, and closed it firmly behind her.

“I most certainly have not, my lord,” she said, turning to glare at him. Why must men believe that one kiss denoted one's willingness and even eagerness to surrender all?

“A pity,” he said, pursing his lips. “You have whetted my appetite, ma'am, and I hate to have my appetite aroused when there is no feast with which to satisfy it.”

She was outraged. What she would really like to do was reach across the gate and slap him hard across the face, she thought. It would be wonderfully satisfying to see the mark of her fingers redden across his handsome cheek. But the thought that someone farther along the street might have vision perfect enough to see it happen denied her this pleasure. Someone might also notice if she wheeled about and stalked off up the path to her door in high dudgeon.

“I am no feast, my lord,” she said, “and you will never satisfy your appetite on me. Good day to you.” She turned with slow dignity for the benefit of anyone interested in staring down the street at them and made for the door, behind which Toby was having a fit of hysterics.

She made the mistake of glancing back before going inside and thereby marred the effect of her exit line. He was staring after her with pursed lips and what looked suspiciously like amusement in his eyes. He was enjoying this, she thought indignantly. He was entertaining himself at her expense.

After slamming the door behind her, she wished she could go back and do it differently. One slammed doors only when one was angry. She would have preferred to act with icy disdain. The very phrase had a ring to it.

“Oh, Toby,” she said, stooping down to rub his stomach and transport him from hysterics to ecstasy, “he is the most horrid man I have ever known. Not only is he a dangerous rake, but he also thinks it amusing to have a victim dangling from his line. I am no victim, Tobe. He will realize that soon enough. He might as well turn his energies toward a more willing woman.”

The trouble was that she had glanced at his mouth more than once during their progress along the street. And she had shivered at the memory of how it had felt against hers—warm, moist, lightly enticing. She had wanted to feel it again.

“No,” she said firmly, following the dog into the kitchen. “You may not jump onto the rocker.”

Toby jumped onto the rocker and proceeded to make himself comfortable.

“Males!” Catherine said with disgust, turning her attention to the fire. “You are all alike.
No
is not in your vocabulary. No means yes to all of you. I do wish—oh,
how
I wish it were possible to live without the whole lot of you.”

On behalf of males everywhere, Toby heaved a sigh and gazed at her with contented eyes.

•   •   •

HE
was not at all sure that
no
meant irrevocably no with Mrs. Catherine Winters. He regretfully suspected that it did, but he was not sure beyond any doubt.

He would be wasting his time to continue pursuing her, he believed. But then, he had discovered that there was not anything much more productive with which to occupy his time anyway. He was enjoying quite as much as he had expected being with Claude and Daphne again and of course he always enjoyed the company of his friends. When drawing-room conversation became just too insipid to be borne, they could always go off together, the three of them, and engage in a conversation that required the use of at least a small measure of their intelligence.

But he needed diversion.

It seemed unlikely that Catherine Winters was to be bedded. More was the pity. He very badly wanted to bed her. But even failing that—and he was not quite convinced that it was a hopeless case—there was amusement to be derived from talking with her, goading her, teasing her, outraging her, merely looking at her.

He had to be careful, of course, not to compromise her. Claude was suspicious. Clarissa was suspicious. Nat and Eden were more than suspicious. It would be unfair to try to seek her out alone again and risk being seen—as they almost had been by that gardener. And Clarissa was no longer inviting her to the house.

He had to solve the problem somehow. They had been out for a long morning's ride. He had danced attendance on Miss Hudson as usual, though he had relinquished her to Nat's care for part of the return journey, having noticed that she was far more relaxed in his friend's company than in his own. The weather had become cloudy and chilly. Clarissa had decreed that the afternoon would be spent indoors.

He was offending no one, then, when he suggested a stroll to Daphne and Clayton. The two of them were notorious for their Spartan adherence to outdoor activities in all weathers. They brightened visibly. Fortunately no one else did. It was easy enough once they were outside and marching to steer them down across the park toward the postern door, which Daphne had forgotten about and Clayton had never seen, and suggest a walk through the village, up the lane beyond it, and through the gate back into the park that he had entered a few mornings before.

And of course, it was easy once they were through the door to notice that Mrs. Winters's cottage was close by and to suggest that perhaps she would enjoy a walk with them. After all, he pointed out, he was walking alone while Clayton had a lady for his arm.

“Poor Rex,” Daphne said, laughing. “You need a wife.”

That was the last thing he needed. But his plan worked well. She was at home. This was not one of those afternoons, then, when she was off somewhere doing good works. And Daphne, bless her heart, took upon herself all the burden of persuading her to join them on their walk and spoke as if it had all been her idea.

“Well,” Catherine Winters said—she looked quite delicious in one of her plain wool dresses covered with a large white apron, one of her lace caps perched on her dark hair, “I have just finished baking. I hope you will excuse my appearance.” Oh, anytime. Anytime at all. “Fresh air would be pleasant. And Toby has not had a walk since early this morning. Would you mind if he came too?”

“What a darling he is,” Daphne said, bending to pat him. He had stopped barking in exchange for a stomach rub as soon as they had crossed the threshold.

And so a few minutes later, after she had removed her apron and her cap and donned a cloak and bonnet, his careful plotting had borne fruit and he had her in his company again and on his arm—she could hardly refuse when Daphne was clinging to Clayton's. And they were nodding left and right to villagers and proceeding beyond the village, all chatting together until they were
across the bridge and out into countryside and he drew back by imperceptible degrees until they were far enough behind Daphne and Clayton to necessitate a conversation of their own.

“I do apologize if you did not want my company,” he said, covering her hand with his own for a moment. “I was dragged kicking and screaming to your door by my sister, who has taken a fancy to you.”

She looked skeptically at him.

“It is two days and three hours since I saw you last,” he said. “Tell me that you have missed me.”

She made a sound that indicated incredulity without the necessity of an intelligible word.

“Yes,” he said, “I have missed you too. Is your card full for Friday's ball?”

“Oh,” she said indignantly, “
how
you are enjoying yourself.”

He found himself grinning at her.

“I want two sets,” he said. “The first waltz—I shall bully Clarissa into including some—and the supper dance. You will reserve them for me?”

“I believe,” she said, “that those two dances in particular should be reserved by you for a particular lady.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That is agreed, then.”

“I meant Miss Hudson,” she said.

He knew as soon as they followed Daphne and Clayton into
the park that she recognized the route they had taken a few mornings before. He deliberately stopped talking so that her attention would not be diverted from her memories—or his.

His sister and brother-in-law had stopped on the bridge.

“Do you remember how we used to balance on the balustrade and walk from one side to the other, Rex?” she called back to him. “It is amazing we did not break our necks.”

“Yes,” he said. “I have many memories of this bridge, Daphne. Most of them pleasant.”

He felt the hand that was resting lightly on his arm stiffen.

“You will come back to the house for tea with us, Mrs. Winters?” Daphne asked with a smile. “I am sure Clarissa would be delighted. She is always lamenting the fact that there is not one more lady.”

“No, thank you,” Mrs. Winters said hastily. “I have Toby. And I need to be home soon. But thank you.”

“It has been pleasant,” Daphne said. She laughed. “Rex was the odd man out this afternoon, you see, and was complaining that there was no lady for his arm.”

When they came to the main driveway, he was able to put into effect the final part of his plan. They were not far from the village.

“You and Clayton go on to the house, Daphne,” he said. “I shall escort Mrs. Winters home.”

“Oh,” Daphne said, looking from one to the other of them—he saw light dawn in her eyes. “Yes, if you will excuse us, Mrs. Winters. Thank you so much for giving us your company. And Toby too. He is quite delightful.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Winters.” Clayton tipped his hat to her.

“And I will be very good,” the viscount said when they were alone together. “I shall lead you down the garden path, Mrs. Winters, but not to perdition. To the village, in fact. I am afraid to suggest that we slink off in the direction of the postern door. I am afraid that this afternoon I really would get my face slapped. I came close on Sunday, did I not?”

It was very tempting, of course, to take her by the other route and to try to steal another kiss from her among the trees. But plenty of people had seen her walk through the village on his arm. The same people or at least some of them might be on watch for her return. It would not do for those people to see them emerging from the woods and the door.

“Very close,” she said. “I still regret that I did not risk being seen to do it.”

Several people saw him return her respectably down the drive from Bodley House and along the village street to her gate.

“Alas,” he said when she was on one side of it and he was on the other, “you had better not invite me in for tea no matter how strongly you feel inclined to do so. It would not be proper and we have been observed.”

She gave him a speaking glance and he let his eyes drop deliberately to her mouth.

“For the same reason,” he said, “you had better not offer me a farewell kiss. Another time, perhaps.”

“When hell freezes over,” she said.

He tutted. “My dear ma'am,” he said, “I have come to expect
more original pronouncements from you than that.
When hell freezes over.
What a lamentable cliché.”

“Good day, my lord,” she said coolly, and turned to walk up the path and let herself into her cottage, Toby ahead of her. She did not slam the door this time.

Ah, he thought, if only. He was still not quite convinced that it was out of the question, but even if it was, sparring with her was altogether more pleasurable than dodging a courtship with Ellen Hudson was proving to be.

He was going to have those two dances with her on Friday night too, he thought, even if she believed at the moment that he would not unless hell happened to freeze over in the meanwhile.

Now, why would anyone want to kiss someone else when hell had frozen over? To share body heat? The thought had its appeal.

S
HE
had been reading to Mr. Clarkwell. Then she had sat and listened to reminiscences of his earlier days that she had heard more than once before.

“You really do not have to humor him,” Mrs. Clarkwell had said with some impatience and perhaps a little embarrassment. “He has become a bore in his old age.”

“I like to listen,” Catherine had said, glad that the words had been spoken out of Mr. Clarkwell's hearing. “He looks so very happy when he talks of the past.”

“Yes, I know.” His daughter-in-law had rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “And times are not what they used to be. And the Lord only knows what is becoming of this world.”

Catherine had taken her leave. Now she was calling upon Mrs. Downes, who had been too poorly to come to church on Sunday.
At the same time she could have a good chat with Miss Downes, who was unable to get about as much as she would have liked these days on account of her mother and always welcomed company.

This afternoon she had enough to keep her happy for a whole week to come. Catherine had been there for less than ten minutes—the kettle had not even boiled for tea—when Lady Baird arrived, accompanied by her brother, Viscount Rawleigh.

Miss Downes was all aflutter and atwitter, as she explained to Catherine sotto voce while the latter helped her get the tea.

“What a singular honor, Mrs. Winters,” she whispered. “Though it is all on account of dear Mama, of course. I must not become puffed up with my own importance.”

Mrs. Downes had plenty to say during tea in her forthright, almost masculine voice. Lady Baird chattered away enough for two persons. Miss Downes fluttered. Lord Rawleigh made himself agreeable. Catherine sat almost mute.

Of course, she realized almost immediately, these four had been acquainted for a long time. When the viscount and his brother and sister had used to visit their grandparents at Bodley House, Mrs. and Miss Downes had lived at the rectory with the Reverend Downes. Apparently Mrs. Downes remembered them fondly as bright, mischievous children, who had liked to make excuses to call at the rectory to sample her currant cakes.

“I would have made some, your ladyship,” Miss Downes said, “if I had known you were going to call today. And your lordship too, of course. Not that I am saying your surprise visit is not very
welcome, of course. And a great honor, as I was remarking to Mrs. Winters just a few moments ago But if I had known—”

“You did not, Agatha,” Mrs. Downes said firmly. “Lady Baird is ready for more tea.”

That put Miss Downes back into a flutter.

Catherine rose before the others. “I must be going home,” she said. She smiled at Mrs. Downes. “I shall leave you to enjoy your visitors, ma'am.”

“Oh, do wait awhile,” Lady Baird said. “We were planning to make two calls in the village, were we not, Rex? We were to call here first and then on you. It is true we have seen you here, but I must confess that I want an excuse to see the inside of your very charming cottage. May we? Will you wait ten minutes longer?”

For some inexplicable reason Catherine looked at Viscount Rawleigh rather than at Lady Baird. Had this been his idea? He was looking at his sister with raised eyebrows. But he turned to Catherine. He looked amused and perhaps a little—surprised? As if this was the first he had heard of visiting her.

“If you please, ma'am,” he said. “I must confess to a similar curiosity to my sister's.”

The wretch! Catherine could picture him sitting in her kitchen suggesting that they help alleviate each other's boredom by becoming lover and mistress.

She sat down again.

And so fifteen minutes later the villagers of Bodley-on-the-Water were treated to another view of guests from the house walking the length of the street with Mrs. Winters. Viscount
Rawleigh walked with a lady on each arm. And at the end of the street they turned through Mrs. Winters's gate and disappeared inside her house.

“Oh, this darling dog,” Lady Baird said as Toby barked and then jumped up to greet her. She pulled gently on his ears. “I am going to steal you when I go home, Toby.”

“Will you go into the parlor?” Catherine asked. She felt suffocated with Viscount Rawleigh in the passageway. He was so very large and—male. “I shall set the kettle to boil.”

“For more tea?” Lady Baird laughed as Toby licked her hand. “I think not, Mrs. Winters. We will be awash in tea if we drink more, will we not, Rex? This is so very cozy.” She glanced into the parlor, though she did not step inside. “I believe I could be happy in a cottage like this—with my dear Clayton, of course.”

“With no servants, Daphne?” Lord Rawleigh said dryly. “You would starve in a fortnight.”

Lady Baird laughed. “Your cottage backs onto the river, Mrs. Winters,” she said. “Mrs. Lovering told us that you have a pretty garden. May we see it?”

It was not very pretty yet, of course. The fruit trees were coming into leaf, it was true, and the grass was a fresher green than it had been even a week or so ago. There were some primroses in clumps down by the river. But the flower beds closer to the house were almost bare and the vegetable patch was entirely so. The rosebushes, which trailed up over the walls on both sides, would be bare of blooms for a few months yet. Even so, it was one of Catherine's favorite places in all the world.

“Ah, yes,” Lady Baird said when they had stepped outside. “A
little haven of beauty and peace. With meadows and hills across the water. I am going to follow Toby down to the bank. You need not feel obliged to accompany me.” She strode off to the bottom of the garden without looking back.

Catherine was left standing on the small terrace outside the back door with Lord Rawleigh. She looked after her departing guest in some dismay—though her back garden was not particularly long.

“I believe,” the viscount said, his voice sounding rather bored, “our chaperone is doing what all good chaperones do. She is lending us countenance while at the same time affording us a little time to ourselves.”

“Our
chaperone
?” She stiffened. “You have arranged this, my lord? And Lady Baird has consented to be your accomplice? Will she afford us enough time to go
upstairs
?”

“Oh, good Lord, no,” he said. “More is the pity. Daphne is all propriety, ma'am. And this is all her idea, I do assure you. She has not consulted me any more than she has consulted you. I believe she has conceived the notion that I have a, ah,
tendre
for you.”

And she approved? She was abetting her brother's acquaintance with a woman of unknown background, a woman who lived alone in a small cottage without even a servant?

“And would she be shocked,” she asked, “if she knew the real nature of your interest in me, my lord?”

“I might almost say she would have a fit of the vapors,” he said, “except that Daphne is made of stern stuff. Rather like you.”

“Toby is going to have muddy paws and then cut up nasty
when he finds that he has to have them wiped before he can step indoors,” she said.

“That terrier,” he said, “needs to be taken in hand, ma'am. He is allowed to rule your life. If you are so indulgent with a mere dog, one dreads to think what you might be like with a child.”

Fury knifed through her. “How I choose to treat my dog is none of your concern, my lord,” she said. “As for the other, how dare you presume to know anything about my maternal instincts. I—”

But he had set his fingertips against her arm and taken one step closer. “That certainly touched a nerve,” he said. “My apologies, ma'am. Were you unable to have children?”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“This will not do,” he said. “I do wish you had not mistaken me for my twin that first day, Mrs. Winters. Or that your smiles had meant what they seemed to mean. You have a disturbing effect on me.”

“I believe it is called—frustration,” she said, restraining herself just in time from including the word
sexual.
She was not that ill-bred even with anger as an excuse.

“I daresay you are right.” His eyes roamed her face. “Our chaperone has given us all of—what? Five minutes? She has deemed that quite sufficient.”

Lady Baird was strolling back up the lawn. Toby was loping along at her side just as if they were lifelong friends.

“Clarissa has agreed to some waltzes the evening after tomorrow,” he said. “I expect to claim the ones I have reserved with
you, ma'am. If you are concerned about the progress of my noncourtship, I will explain that I reserved the opening set with Miss Hudson and was maneuvered into reserving the set after supper with her too.”

His voice was haughty, commanding. Catherine could not remember ever agreeing to grant him those two sets. The thought of waltzing with him was unbearable. It made her feel as if someone had removed a few essential bones from her legs and as if some giant pump had sucked most of the air from the garden.

“Charming,” Lady Baird said as she approached, looking from one to the other of them, though she did not explain what it was she found so charming. “We have taken enough of your time, Mrs. Winters. We must be going, must we not, Rex? I promised Clayton I would be gone for no longer than an hour. You will be at the ball? I so look forward to seeing you there.”

Catherine smiled.

She saw them to the front gate and raised a hand in farewell as they walked back along the street. Yes, she looked forward to it too. She ought not to do so. She should have refused her invitation. Even now she should send her excuses. But oh, to dance again. To feel young again. To dance with
him.

She knew she would not send her excuses.

She stood inside the door a minute later, her back against it, her eyes closed.

One dreads to think what you might be like with a child.

She gave a little moan of distress. She remembered holding a child, a tiny, underdeveloped child. For such a very short time. Ah, so very short. He had survived his birth by a scant three
hours, and for the first of those she had been too exhausted to hold him.

She had blamed herself bitterly afterward. It had been all her fault. She had not wanted him at first. She had not nourished him well because she had been unable to find the will or the energy to nourish herself well. And she had cried a great deal. She had felt very sorry for herself in those days. The midwife had told her—too late—that it was important to keep up her spirits. And afterward . . . Perhaps she had wrapped him too warmly or not warmly enough. Perhaps she had held him too tightly or not tightly enough. Perhaps if she had held him for that first hour . . .

He had died.

One dreads to think what you might be like with a child.

She spread her hands over her face and did what she very rarely did these days. She wept.

Toby was nudging her leg with his nose and whining.

•   •   •

MRS.
Adams had expended a great deal of energy on the preparations for the dinner and ball at Bodley House. It was a great deal more difficult to host a ball in the country than in town, she always found. In town one sent invitations to all the
ton
and trusted that enough would attend that the event would be proclaimed a squeeze. And enough people always
did
come. Claude was the brother and heir of Viscount Rawleigh, after all. In the country one sent invitations to almost everyone except the peasantry and hoped that enough would come that the event would not be proclaimed a disaster.

And early spring was not the ideal time to hold a dinner and ball. There were not enough flowers in the gardens and only barely enough in the greenhouses. The head gardener had a long face when ordered to denude them so that the house could blossom for the space of one evening.

But by late afternoon on the Friday, the ballroom and dining room looked festive enough for any
ton
event. The orchestra had arrived and set up their instruments. The extra hands in the kitchen had dinner and supper under control.

All else had to be left to fate. At least it had stopped raining after yesterday's all-day downpour and this morning's dreary drizzle.

Mrs. Adams sat at her dressing table while her maid put the finishing touches to her dress, clasping her diamonds about her neck and at her ears. She looked at her reflection with satisfaction and nodded a dismissal to the girl just as her husband entered the room from the door adjoining his own.

“Ah, beautiful,” he said, coming to stand behind her and setting his hands on her bare shoulders. “You grow lovelier with every passing year, Clarissa. Nervous?” He kneaded the tense muscles in her shoulders.

“No,” she said decisively. “There are to be forty for dinner. That is definite. As many more have been invited to the ball. Of course they will come. An invitation to Bodley is a coveted thing.”