My Sweet Folly (15 page)

“My dear.” Sir Howard closed the drawing room door as Folie entered. She had left Melinda in Sally’s tender care, swearing upon her heart that it would all be fixed tomorrow. “I have no right to advise you,” Sir Howard said, “but I cannot deny I am deeply concerned at what I saw here tonight.”

She drew an unsteady breath. He reminded her so much of Charles that she could hardly recall that she had only met him an hour ago. “I should be glad of advice. I am in desperate need of it.”

“What is the situation, my dear?” he asked warmly.

“He is my trustee and Miss Melinda’s guardian,” she said. “He insists that we live here, and is adamant that Melinda will not go to London, though we have planned a season for her for years. As you saw. I know not why.”

Sir Howard frowned. “He strikes me as a strange fellow. Refused all my calls until this very afternoon, when he up and invites us to dinner. Ha!” He shook his head. “I wish I knew more of him. How long have you been here?”

“A week, no more.”

“You had made his acquaintance before you came?”

Folie pressed her hands together. “No. Not in person. We have had...some correspondence.”

“You will forgive my impertinence—he makes no reasonable explanation of why you must stay here? That the chit is too untamed? That lack of funds requires it?’’

“Neither is the case, I do assure you! Our funds have been perfectly adequate to our needs for the past five years, and I have already put back enough for a modest season. And Miss Melinda...” Folie made a helpless shrug. “I have not seen her have the hysterics since she was a child. She is most well-behaved and gentle-mannered, though I do not ask you to believe me after such a scene.”

He waved his hand. “Oh, I am accustomed to girls. They are easy broke to bridle, but the meekest will buck if you put a sufficient burr under her saddle. And I daresay that to deny a chit her day in London qualifies as such. Though if I were you I would not let it pass unpunished, or she will be spoilt in a trice.”

Folie lowered her head in deference, though she had no intention of castigating Melinda further.

“You tell me you had made plans for town already?”

“Oh, yes—we were to go up on the first of March, but I was not quite satisfied with the house we had obtained. I understood from a neighbor more experienced than I that it’s in an inferior street. I confess, I had entertained a little hope that Mr. Cambourne might lend us the use of his town house, but...” She trailed off.

“Ah!” He gave her a smile. “I see now why you are here.”

“He is Miss Melinda’s guardian,” she said, with a faint defensive lift of her palm.

“You need not blush! Dear God, when I think of how I have beseeched the man for the favor of a mere morning call! It sickens me. But it is the way of the world, my dear. I don’t fault you for doing whatever you can for Miss Melinda.”

“Well, it has been a complete disaster. I should have predicted!”

“Predicted? How could you predict such strange conduct? I don’t like you staying here without an older companion.”

“Yes, I have thought the same,” she said unhappily. “I was under the misconception that his wife was still living, and would be here. But—he is Melinda’s guardian, and I am a widow of respectable age myself, you know.”

“A respectable widow!” he exclaimed with a grin. “What talk. As if you are not barely beyond the schoolroom yourself. A respectable widow. Ha!” He shook his head. “No, I tell you, Mrs. Hamilton, I do not like you being here alone with him. I believe he may be a little unsteady.”

“Oh! I am so frightened that is the case! I fear he is mad.”

“Mad?” Sir Howard drew back his chin in surprise. “Well...”

“Oh, I should not have said that,” Folie said quickly. “It is nonsensical.”

He rubbed his jaw.
 
“No...no...I understand what you mean. There is something about him that disturbs...”

Folie turned away guiltily, fixing her attention on a tabletop. The yellow rosebud lay there. He had remembered. Her own Robert.

She turned back, lifting her chin. “I must go back up and see to Melinda. I should like to call upon Lady Dingley tomorrow, if she is well enough.”

“I hope you will, my dear. I assure you that she will be well enough to receive
you!”
His tone said that she would be well enough or be the sorrier for it, which made Folie smile a little. “Now I shall bid you goodnight. It would seem that our host does not intend to reappear. Will you be quite all right?”

“Oh yes,” Folie said, picking up her candle. “I’ll have Lander light me upstairs.”

Sir Howard made a bow over her hand and gave her a wink. “I am charmed to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton. And in such intriguing circumstances!”

Folie smiled and made a little curtsy. “It is my pleasure, sir.”

He turned smartly and left her. Folie stood looking at the door after it closed behind him, feeling slightly giddy at the attention, her cheeks burning. She was not used to the compliments of gentlemen, that was all.

SIX

“I ordered the carriage nigh a half hour ago,” Folie said in surprise, as she and Melinda stood in the front hall, dressed in hat and gloves for their call on Lady Dingley.

The footman bowed and said unhappily, “I was told, ma’am, that they are charged in the stable not to bring the carriage to you.”

“Not to bring it?”

“Aye, madam. I do fully beg your pardon, ma’am.”
 

“We are not to use the carriage?”
 

“No, madam.”

Folie drew in a sharp breath. “Indeed! Then you will give me the direction to Dingley Court. We shall walk.”

He looked uneasy. “Ma’am. I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am. Perhaps the gatekeeper may tell you.”

“Come, Melinda,” Folie said, and swept out the door.

The morning was foggy and chill, and neither of them had worn pattens to keep their shoes free of the dew, but Melinda did not utter a word of protest. Both of them walked quickly. Folie felt as if each step was a jab at Robert Cambourne’s throat. She barely saw the nodding branches, and did not even stop to look after the rabbit that darted across the drive.

She was breathing rapidly by the time the gatehouse came into view. The wrought-iron gates were closed, a pair of dragons united at the peak. Folie strode to the green door of the gatehouse and rapped hard with the knocker.

A servant answered, one of the burly sort that Robert Cambourne seemed to favor. He pulled his short forelock and gave his apologies as the footman had done; he was not to open the gate for them.

“What?” Folie frowned at him. “This cannot be true!”

The gatekeeper stood with his head bowed, silent.

“We are not held in hostage here!” she cried. “I will not believe this for a moment!”

“The master’s orders, ma’am,” the gatekeeper said, crushing his hat in his hands. “There was nothing about hostage said, only that I was not to open the gate for you. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Folie felt a wave of panic. She had not, until this moment, really allowed the truth of the situation to reach her. And Melinda was standing silent, her face pale, the cheerful yellow ribbon on her bonnet drooping in the damp. Her mouth made an anxious bow, trembling a little at the corners. She stared in wide-eyed question at Folie.

Folie looked back at her stepdaughter. Her heartbeat doubled with anger and mortification. She felt her jaw lock. She turned without a word and began to walk with strong strides back toward the house, her mind boiling with the words she had for him. No, she would not even
speak
to him; they would pack their things and quit this place if they had to climb the wall in their slippers to do it.

Robert had known it the moment she left the house. He stood by the window of his dressing room, watching her walk with her stepdaughter down the drive. She went away with a soldier’s stride, as if there were fifes and drums playing; as if she meant to put miles behind her before the march was over.

His hands pressed hard on the windowsill. A shout clenched in his throat. If he moved one inch of his body, if he even took a breath, he would begin to howl with despair. The room and house would fly apart around him and he would rip anything within his reach to bloody shreds. Even her. Especially her.

She was leaving him, and he could not go after her. He felt like a trapped animal, faced with the choice of dying in the snare or escaping by chewing off his leg.

This was Phillippa’s doing. Long ago he had retreated into a bunker to evade her, closed down the hatches, bolted the doors, for fear that he would lose his reason, lose himself completely. And that was something he had known he must guard against with all the strength he could muster. He had lost his career for it. He had lost his future and forfeited his friends.

And now Folly. Folly, Folly, Folly.

He watched her figure vanish among the dark trees at a curve in the drive.

Why should you have her?
Phillippa’s voice said.
Why should you have her when you wouldn’t have me?

“Quiet,” he muttered. “Be quiet.”

She wouldn’t take you anyway. She’s going, leaving as fast as she can. Even a plain little mouse like that won’t have you.

Robert made a low noise in his throat, staring at the empty grounds.

What is wrong with you?
she whispered.
You paltry bore, always on about your hideous natives and your ugly dog; Good God, it’s no wonder I couldn’t bear it.

“Shut up,” he said savagely.

I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it!
Her scream rose like a wraith’s cry in his ears. It echoed in the halls. He could see her fingers clenched thin; red and white against the pale muslin gown she wore. Red and white marks on his cheek in the looking glass.

He held himself stiff. That maddened her; the colder he made himself, the more hysterical she became. The arch of her screams rose; she danced furiously, stamping her slippers like a child.
You never think of me! You never think of me! I hate you! Why can’t you think of me?

Long ago he had tried to reach out to her, to tell her that he thought of her, that he loved her. He had lived his life trying to foresee what she would want, trying to give it to her before she asked, a daily scramble to anticipate her mood—money, dresses, compliments, parties; he had begged for funds from his father; he would have stolen the jewels from the sultan’s turban—anything to stop her from weeping until she could not find breath. But it had not been enough.

Never enough. There was never enough for her. He could not make her happy. He could not stop her from hating him for it. He froze himself, congealed to ice, retreating to whatever safety he could make in his mind. He let her shriek and cry and smash what was in her reach; he managed to lose himself in the bazaars and his notes, and often enough even lose his patrol, too. So his father had disavowed him and John Company had removed him from any responsible office, which only drove her fury at his failures to a new height.

But he had not cared, not by then. By then he had Folly. His Folly, the simple voice of reason and friendship. He had clung to her letters like a man drowning, loved her so that sometimes he slept at his desk with them beneath his hand, as if somehow he shared a physical bed with her that way. With his cheek pressed against the hard wood he dreamed hot ecstatic dreams of her body. From the
guuruus
he had learned an eroticism that consumed his mind with all the ways he could love her and please her. When Phillippa demanded why he never touched her, he looked through her and saw Folly, kissed Folly, lost himself inside her soft welcome.