A Love Laid Bare (35 page)

“You are very kind.” Jensen half-bowed and smiled
sheepishly at her. “But I wonder if perhaps a map may be available?
Father has a somewhat keen fondness for maps.” He indicated the map
cases with a jerk of his chin. “I could not help but notice you
have some.”

“They are Halcombe’s, not mine. I am not familiar
with the entire collection, but we can take a look if you like.”
She stood and went to take a key from a small drawer in the desk.
Jensen wanted a map? He had shown little interest in any of the
maps before today, but then this was for his father, not for
himself.

Jensen joined her by the largest chest as Frances
rolled out the drawers in search of a folio she had seen recently
that contained several maps. While they were not of impressive
value—being both woefully inaccurate and nor particularly old—the
designs were highly unusual. Frances recalled that the amateur
mapmaker had embellished his idea of the west coast of Africa with
charming pictographs of native animals and flowers.

“This may do,” she said, gratified that her memory
was indeed correct. She handed the folio to her guest, closed and
relocked the storage chest, and indicated a nearby table. “Please,
take a look. I don’t think my husband would object to you having
these, if you wish.”

Jensen’s smile was forced. Frances imagined he was
less than happy by her choice, but it was all she had to offer and,
really, the matter was taking far too much of her time. She was
eager to return to her examination of the house plans. There was
something off on one of the drawings and it continued to nag at
her. She intended to ask Halcombe about it the first chance she
had.

When Jensen looked up from his study of the two maps,
his face once again wore its customary mien of affable
accommodation. “They are delightful, my lady. I am sure Father will
be pleased. If you will tell me the cost, I will write a draft on
my London bank.”

Frances pronounced a reasonable sum, sent for some
additional paper to wrap the folio in, and supplied Jensen with
stationary and a pen. It seemed she was unsuccessful in hiding her
impatience, for Jensen handed her the draft with an apologetic
smile.

“I am keeping you overlong, my lady. Forgive me. My
father…” He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “Father will be
pleased with the gift, even if it is not his
true
heart’s
desire.”

“And what might that be, Mr. Jensen?” Frances asked
as she walked toward the door.

“Oh, that rarest of antiquity maps—the Legacy Folio.
I personally believe it a mythical thing, something akin to the
Golden Fleece or Holy Grail!” Jensen laughed.

Masking her shock with an effort, Frances laughed
too. “There are many such myths in the world of antiquities. I
believe my father once mentioned this one, but I have no idea
whether it actually exists.” Her remark
was
made with all
honesty, for they had solely the mention of it amongst the previous
earl’s papers to go by, and they had yet to find the thing. Frances
glanced sideways at Jensen but saw nothing in his polite expression
to indicate undue interest in the Legacy maps. Yet surely it could
not be coincidence. She herself was not much of a believer in
coincidence, but in this case…? Perhaps she was suffering from an
excess of imagination.

Pushing aside her misgivings, she stopped at the
doorway and held out her hand. “A safe journey to you, sir. Perhaps
we will see you again should you visit England in the future.”

Jensen bowed and actually kissed the back of her
hand. “My pleasure entirely, my lady. You have been very kind. I
hope you will give my regards to Lord Halcombe.”

Resisting the urge to rub her hand against her skirt,
Frances managed a weak smile. “I will do that, sir. Now, here is
Benson to see you out.” She gave her departing visitor a friendly
nod and turned back into the room.

Frances could
not
like Jensen’s mention of the
Legacy Folio. It was immensely disturbing, but what could be done
about it?
Nothing at all, Frances. You are making too much of a
casual comment. Tell Richard of it, and put it from your mind.
After all, Jensen is leaving and you will not be seeing him
again
.

Mildly reassured by this line of reasoning, Frances
thanked Rose for her attendance and went to see if Flora was
napping. She suddenly felt a need for one of their lively walks,
and if they came upon Richard and persuaded him to join them, so
much the better.

“I see you are going out,” Halcombe said as he walked
into his wife’s chambers, an obvious observation since Frances wore
her riding habit. She was seated at her dressing table while her
maid arranged her hair. Halcombe watched as Joan set the last pin
in place and then caught Frances’ gaze in the mirror. Correctly
reading his expression, the countess smiled at the young woman.
“Very nice, Joan. You may go.”

“How do you always know what I want?” Halcombe asked.
He came up behind her, bent to kiss her cheek, and then
deliberately brushed her ear with his lips and nibbled on the outer
edge.

“Richard!”

Her cheeks coloured with a delightful shade of pink
and he laughed. “You are so very tasty,” he teased.

“And you, sir, are dreadfully forward.” She made a
face at him, her eyes dancing with amusement.

“Indeed.” He drew out the word, thinking of the
morning she had scolded him about it and knew she was also reminded
when her blush deepened.

“Don’t ‘indeed’ me,” she said with mock severity,
rising and turning to face him.

“No?” Halcombe put his hands around her waist and
brought her close. “Something else, then.” Her lips were warm and
soft, and a hint of sweetened coffee lingered on her mouth. “Umm,
you
are
tasty,” he said.

“We will never get out of this room if you continue
so,” Frances said with a mischievous smile. She took a prudent step
back when he released her.

He raised a brow and grinned. “You will have to
venture further than that if you wish to be safe.”

Still smiling, Frances moved out of reach. “I would
prefer the enjoyment associated with being ‘unsafe’, but had not
put you in my schedule this morning,” she said with a sly
glance.

“And would you put me in your schedule if I wanted it
so?” He said this jokingly, but with an underlying seriousness that
made him realize he still was unsure of her.

“Always,” she said and came back to him. She cupped
his face with her hands. “
Always
.”

She rose up on her toes and brought him near enough
to put her lips to his, so sweetly and tenderly he was tempted to
take her to his bed and make good on her promise. Instead, all too
aware of his pressing responsibilities—and hers—he satisfied
himself with a long, deep kiss.

It was never like this before, this intimate banter
and exchange of affection. Halcombe had to keep in his mind that,
in many ways, they were as a newly wedded couple learning of each
other every day.
With the added reward that you know much about
her already, as she does you.

As they moved apart, the
other
reason for his
visit returned to mind. “I came in to tell you that I expect
Summerton to arrive sometime in the next few days. We will need a
room prepared for him.”

Frances picked up her hat, smoothed the feather, and
looked a question at him. “This is a friendly visit, or is
something amiss?” Her eyes narrowed. “Have you told him I am his
informant?”

“I am leaving that delight up to you.” Halcombe took
the hat from her hands and put it on her head, careful not to
disarrange her hair. “No need to look so worried. Colin will be
pleased as punch—once he gets past his disbelief.” He tied the
ribbons under her chin. “And yes, this is a friendly visit.” There
would be time enough to tell her of the mysterious stranger at
Clifftop—or the possible intruder—when they had more
information.

The earl waited until she had found her gloves and
then opened the door for her. “Are you going anywhere in particular
or just for your ride?”

“I thought to ride along with Thomas as far as
Mary’s. It’s on his way and will save one of the grooms from
escorting me.”

Halcombe stopped abruptly and frowned at her. “You do
not plan to ride back alone, I trust?”

Frances sighed. “It is not so very far and the road
is good…”

“No.”

His tone was firm and concise. Frances took one look
at his face and sighed again. “Very well, sir. I will have one of
Mary’s grooms accompany me or you can send Jim around eleven. It
seems that I never stay more than an hour with her.”

“Jim is busy elsewhere, but Mathew will meet you
there promptly at eleven.” Halcombe started them walking again
along the passageway.

Frances was silent until they descended the stairs
and then halted outside his study door. “I have been meaning to ask
you what you know about Mary,” she said in a low voice. “I hold her
in affection and feel something is very wrong in her life, but I
have been unable to persuade her to confide in me.”

Halcombe considered her inquiry. “I know very little
about the family, or Lady Alten. The family has held the property
for years, but were only occasionally in residence, preferring
their London home. But they moved here permanently about three
years ago. Mr. Cauley was alive at that time. He died a year or so
after Mary wed Lord Alten, I believe. Mrs. Cauley, who I’ve heard
is in poor health, remained in the house with a companion. Lady
Alten moved in to care for her after Lord Alten was killed in a
riding accident.” He looked at her somewhat apologetically. “I’m
afraid that is all I know and most of it is hearsay.”

“Did you know Lord Alten?”

“By reputation only. I admit I was curious as to why
a young woman like Mary chose to marry such a man, but I supposed
it to be money, or maybe position.” That last remark touched a bit
close to home, but Frances did not appear to notice and he quickly
went on. “Colin might know more. He is far more cognizant of the
ton
than I.”

“I will certainly ask him,” Frances said. “Now I must
go. Thomas has a goodly ride ahead of him.”

Halcombe touched her cheek, aware that the eyes and
ears of lingering servants might be nearby. He shook off any
concern and lost himself for a moment, his gaze preoccupied with
the fullness of his wife’s lips. Let them linger. If I want to kiss
Frances in plain sight…He allowed his hand to trail lightly along
her jaw. “I will be in and out most of the day if you need me.”

Frances had apparently caught the gleam in his eye.
“Thank you, sir. I will do just that.” Then she turned away, a
little smile tipping up the corners of her mouth as she hurried
off.

***

Frances was not exactly sure why she felt Thomas had
another reason for his visit—besides seeing Rose and collecting
parcels from Frances. Thomas denied any such thing, and her efforts
to draw him out being unsuccessful, the two friends parted company
at the Cauley’s house with her curiosity left largely
unsatisfied.

She knocked at the Cauley’s front entry and waited.
Frances believed her suspicion about Thomas was somehow connected
to Halcombe. The men had talked yesterday morning and she was sure
it was the one time they had done so since her return. Frowning,
she watched Thomas ride away, briefly ignoring the maid who had
appeared at the door to answer her knock.

Mary met her in the small parlour used for guests.
She appeared pale and drawn, and Frances rushed to greet her with a
hug. “My dear, you look terribly fatigued. Come, sit down and tell
me what is amiss.”

Frances guided her unresisting friend to the sofa,
and then sat beside her, gripping Mary’s limp hand with both of
hers. “What is it?” For once, the overbearing and intrusive Mrs.
Norton was not in sight.

“You really should not stay, Frances,” Mary said. “We
have illness in the household. I would not see you become ill.”

“Nonsense. I am as healthy as a horse,” Frances said
stoutly. “That explains the absence of your companion, I suppose.
Who else is infected? Not your mother, I hope!” Mary’s mother was
already beset with a number of ailments and had little defense
against infection of any sort.

Mary nodded glumly. “And one of the maids as well. I
sent most of the staff away and am terrified we will all succumb.
Mr. Morrison has been by several times. He says there is little to
be done except to keep the patients quiet and well watered.”

“Well watered, indeed,” Frances repeated with a
laugh, glad to see even a
spark
of amusement in Mary’s eyes.
Mr. Morrison was the local apothecary. He was famous, or perhaps
infamous,
for his conviction that copious draughts of water
and broth encouraged recovery from the fever—and just about every
other ailment. He was not quick to bleed his patients
either—another oddity in his method of treatment. Since Frances was
in full agreement with the regimen of fluids, and abhorred the
practice of applying leaches to extract so-called impurities from
the body, she had no quarrel with his treatments.

“I cannot stay and chat for long,” Mary said,
allowing her hand to rest on Frances’. “Mother gets very restless
when I am not there.”

Surprised and touched, Frances kept her grip loose,
grateful that Mary accepted any solace at all.

“I will not overstay,” Frances said. “Have you
everything you need here? Adequate food and bedding? We have both
to spare and I know how often the linens need to be changed when
someone is ill. With the maids away, I imagine no one has been
doing the laundry.”

Frances shook her head to stop Mary’s protest and
continued on. “I will send some sheets and blankets. You can use
them or not as you will. I will feel much better if you allow it, I
assure you.”