Reckless Angel (20 page)

It would seem the tempest had passed. Hesitantly, she came toward him, rubbing her crossed upper arms with her hands. “'Tis not cold in here.”

“Nay, the cold is within yourself,” he replied, taking her hands and chafing them vigorously. “We will never forget what we have seen today. No one who saw it will ever forget it. But we must go on, nevertheless. The fight must be continued because no honest man can live under the rule of regicides.”

She swallowed. “What mean you, Daniel? You have compounded, taken the Covenant.”

He shook his head. “I did not swear allegiance to regicides. Charles the First is dead. Charles the Second lives, and to him I owe my fealty.”

“What will you do?” The question was barely a whisper.

“I go to The Hague,” he said simply. “To the king in exile, and pledge myself to his cause.”

Henrietta nodded slowly. “There are many families in exile. We will not feel strange amongst their number, and the children will learn much from such travels.”

Daniel stared at her for a minute. Not thinking further than his own imperative, he had intended leaving Henrietta and his daughters safe in their Kentish backwater. But his wife had already once today demonstrated her views on the way in which a marriage partnership should be conducted.

He smiled and cupped her face, running his knuckles against the high cheekbones. “Think you Mistress Kierston will take to life in exile?”

Light and life returned to the previously solemn brown eyes. “Must we take her?”

He nodded. “I am afraid so, elf. You will have enough to do as my wife at court without caring single-handed for Lizzie and Nan.”

“At least there'll be no butter to churn,” she said with a roguish glint in her eyes.

“And no trees to climb,” he replied solemnly. “You must learn to be a courtier.”

Henrietta contemplated that prospect. “I do not suppose it can be any harder than anything else I've learned to do.” She grinned suddenly, reaching up to put her arms around his neck, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “But I do not suppose it will be as pleasurable as some other things.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, holding her lithe body against his length, feeling her warmth and eagerness, feeling his own stirring in response. Abruptly, he was engulfed by an urgent desire, a need for the body he held, as if in passion's union would be found a healing of the day's unhappiness.

Henrietta felt the change in his hold, saw passion chase all else from the black-eyed gaze bent upon her. And with her own wanting came a curious sense of triumph as she drew him to the bed.

“N
an, do stop dawdling.” Henrietta reached for the child's hand, her voice impatient. “We have tarried overlong as 'tis.”

“I expect we shall be late for dinner again,” said Lizzie cheerfully from behind an armful of fresh-cut lavender.

“And Daddy will prob'ly have invited guests,” Nan chimed in with what Henrietta considered uncalled-for insouciance.

“Highly likely,” she muttered, increasing her speed along one of the narrow cobbled streets that meandered through the busy city of The Hague. Cries of street vendors enticed the children, unaccustomed to city living, and she had constantly to tug one or the other of them away from the seduction of a smelly fish stall or the nimble fingers of a basket maker or the succulent aromas of a pastry cook's. It was not that she did not understand their perpetual fascination; indeed she shared it. But they had spent too long picking lavender in a field just outside the city and the household would be waiting dinner for them.

Daniel would, as usual, have spent the morning at court, where fevered plans were being concocted to raise another army against Parliament with the support of the still-loyal Scots. He had not said he would be bringing guests home, but it was a not-infrequent occurrence since they kept open house for the many impoverished exiles in the city. An absentee hostess and
delayed dinner did not reflect well upon the quality of the hospitality.

Finally they reached the stone house with its steep gabled roof that was the Drummonds' home in The Hague. It was not an insubstantial house: by the standards of the majority of this court-in-exile, whose estates had been sequestered, Daniel was moderately affluent. They had managed to leave England unnoticed by the authorities and had brought with them a considerable sum. It required careful husbanding, however, since he could not risk returning to England to raise more funds from the estate. Parliament's agents were now watching the ports, on the lookout for those active in the exiled king's cause, and he had no desire to be identified as such and thus jeopardize his property.

The house stood in a quiet square of similar houses and boasted a pretty walled garden at the rear. The April wind carried the smell of the sea and the scent of wallflowers, and it was with some reluctance that Henrietta closed the front door on the spring day. Voices rose in soft cadences from the parlor to the left of the hall.

“I wonder who 'tis?” Lizzie, inveterately curious, ran to the door, putting her eye to the keyhole, straining to hear through the heavy oak.

“Lizzie!” Henrietta protested, half laughing, when the door swung open.

Lizzie tumbled off balance into the doorway at her father's feet. Daniel looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. “Have you dropped something, Elizabeth?”

“Nay…nay, sir. I t-tripped,” the child stammered, scarlet with embarrassment as she scrambled to her feet and bobbed a hasty curtsy.

“How unfortunate,” Daniel murmured solicitously. “I trust ye did not hurt yourself.”

“No, sir.” Lizzie curtsied again, shooting her stepmother an anguished look of appeal.

Henrietta came swiftly to her rescue. A quick glance into the room beyond Daniel told her who his visitors
were and she now stepped forward, tossing back the hood of her cloak as she pushed the children in front of her. “My Lord Hendon, Mr. Connaught, I do not think you are acquainted with my stepdaughters…Elizabeth and Ann.”

“Indeed not.” The Earl of Hendon put up his glass and smiled vaguely at the two little girls. “Delighted, my dears. Charming, Drummond…quite charming.”

“Thank you,” Daniel said dryly. “However, their governess is waiting for them abovestairs, so I trust you will excuse them.”

The children curtsied a little too precipitately for true decorum and beat a thankful retreat.

“It's to be assumed you had a productive morning,” Daniel observed, regarding Henrietta with a smile in his eyes. She seemed to have brought the spring day in with her, sparkling in her eyes, glowing in her wind-pinkened cheeks, scenting the tumbled corn silk-colored curls and the damask of her skin.

“We have been picking lavender to dry for potpourri,” she said, giving him that irresistibly coquettish look she habitually produced when she might conceivably be at fault. “I trust I haven't kept you waiting too long for your dinner, but I am afraid the time ran away with us.”

“Your hospitality, Lady Drummond, is most generous.” William Connaught spoke up in customary ponderous tones, his air of importance not a whit diminished by his shabby broadcloth doublet and the fake silver buckles on his down-at-heel shoes. “'Twould be the height of gracelessness to find fault.”

“Nevertheless, we are a trifle sharp-set,” Daniel pointed out. “It being all of three of the clock.”

“I will take my cloak abovestairs and instruct the cook to serve dinner directly.”

Henrietta went up to the bedchamber, examining herself critically in the glass. On the whole, she was not displeased with what she saw. She also knew that these days Daniel was actively pleased with what he
saw. Her face seemed to have changed in the last months, but it was hard to identify the changes. They were mostly in her eyes, she decided, then blushed slightly. The truth was that her eyes always looked as if she had just been making love…glowing and knowing and utterly satisfied. It was an accurate reflection of the way her body felt most of the time.

The thought set up a tingling sensation in the pit of her stomach and she hurried downstairs again, trying to think of dinner and the responsibilities of a hostess. The cook, who was broad and Flemish and spoke little English, had early taken charge of the kitchen with sufficient skill to enable Henrietta to take credit for the table without having to do anything significant about it. Now, he nodded in stolid comprehension when she appeared in the kitchen and gestured toward the bubbling pots on the trivet in the hearth. With a sweeping movement, he removed the lids, inviting her inspection and compliments. She peered knowledgeably, smiled and nodded at the rich mutton stew, the potato dumplings, the dish of peas with lardons of bacon. With a mixture of signs and monosyllables, she managed to establish that the children and Mistress Kierston had already been served in the schoolroom abovestairs. The cook invited her to exclaim suitably over the apple tart he had prepared especially for Lizzie, who had not the least difficulty communicating her preferences and was frequently to be found in the kitchen chattering nineteen to the dozen to the silent but attentive cook, the lad who came in daily to do the heavy household work, and the little maid who lived in the attic.

Dinner was a cheerful meal, but Henrietta immediately detected a suppressed tension in Daniel. It was excitement rather than anxiety, she sensed, and there was a question in his eyes whenever they fell upon her as she served their guests, refilled glasses, chatted pleasantly.

Somewhat to Daniel's surprise, she had taken to the role of hostess with much enthusiasm when they had
set up house in The Hague last July. Her efforts had been amply rewarded by flattering attentions and plentiful compliments, and she had blossomed quite amazingly. Their present guests were frequently at the Drummonds' generous and open table. Both Hendon and Connaught had fled England after Preston, leaving sequestered estates and all their worldly goods. They lived, in company with the majority of Englishmen at present at The Hague, from hand to mouth, relying on the generosity of those better placed and whatever they could borrow. In this, they were no different from their king, who, as penniless as they, was obliged to beg and borrow from his fellow monarchs throughout Europe. The universal revulsion felt throughout the Continent over the bloody execution of his father generally ensured an openhanded response.

Daniel Drummond was about to take a decisive part in the king's cause, and his present excitement came from the knowledge that his king had made a request of him—a request embodying the trust King Charles II had in his subject, Sir Daniel Drummond. However, he did wonder how Henrietta would react to the news, and even more whether she would be able to undertake the tasks and responsibilities that would be laid upon her.

“So, Lady Drummond, how d'ye think ye'll like Madrid?” The astonishing question came from the earl, who was looking pinkly well fed and well imbibed, although as sartorially threadbare as his friend.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” The knife she was using to slice the apple tart slipped from her fingers to clatter on the pewter platter.

“I have not yet had the opportunity to speak of the journey to my wife, Hendon,” Daniel said, greatly chagrined by his guest. “'Twas only mentioned when I had audience with the king this morning.”

“Oh, I crave pardon!” Hendon looked suitably confused. “Of course it was. Can't think what I was thinkin' of.”

“Madrid?” Henrietta stared across the table at Daniel.

“His Majesty has asked that I go as ambassador to the king of Spain, to ask for funds to raise another army,” he told her quietly. “But let us discuss it later.”

“Aye, if you wish it.” She lowered her eyes to her platter, pushing her tart aimlessly with a spoon while questions roiled in her head. It was this that had presumably caused Daniel's excitement. It would be a most hazardous journey; Spain was a wild and savage land, was it not? Yet with a court governed by the most rigid rules of etiquette. How could she possibly perform as an ambassador's wife? A comparatively short time ago, she had been racketing around the countryside in boy's clothes…It was an utterly terrifying prospect.

She stood up suddenly. “Pray excuse me, gentlemen. I will leave you to your wine as I have some household matters to attend to.”

Daniel rose and went to open the door for her. “We will talk about it in full very shortly,” he said softly. “But one matter you might deal with without delay…”

“Yes?”

“You might instruct Lizzie that if she wishes to discover what is happening on the other side of a door, it is perfectly simple to knock upon that door.”

For a second, she forgot the issue of Madrid and her eyes danced mischievously. “But 'tis not nearly so amusing, Daniel.”

He schooled his features sternly. “Listening at keyholes is devious and unprincipled, Harry.”

“But on occasion useful,” she pointed out.

“Nevertheless, if I find Lizzie engaged in such an activity again, in your company or no, she is going to have a very uncomfortable time of it. So if you wish to spare her some trouble, I suggest you make certain she understands that.”

Henrietta frowned. “Why must I tell her? Surely you should do so.”

He shook his head, and a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I strongly suspect she believes you do not disapprove of such behavior, and I would have you disabuse her of that notion without delay.”

She looked so conscience-stricken that his smile found full expression. “My elf, you have simply to explain to Lizzie that, unlike you as a child, she has no need to develop questionable habits.”

She nodded ruefully. “Y'are right, of course. And I did laugh. I will talk to her.”

“We will talk about this other matter as soon as our guests have departed,” he promised, tipping her chin with a warm forefinger. “There is no reason to be uneasy.”

“No,” she said, sounding unconvinced. “I will send Hilde to clear the table.”

Half an hour later, she was sitting pensively beside the open window in her bedchamber, overlooking the pretty walled garden, Lizzie and Nan playing cat's cradle on the floor at her feet, when Daniel came in.

“Have they gone?”

“Aye,” he said easily, bending to examine the elaborate structure his daughters were creating. “Take that strand, Nan, then you will have it.”

She beamed up at him, following the advice, and Lizzie cast him a quick, speculative glance from under her lashes. Clearly, Henrietta had had her little chat. He pinched the child's cheek, shaking his head in gentle admonition, and she smiled tentatively.

“I wish to talk to Harry,” he said, having long given up his prohibition on the girls' use of the nickname. “Run along to Mistress Kierston now.”

“Oh, but Daddy, if we go to the schoolroom she will make us go to church with her,” protested Lizzie. “She always goes to the evening service and it is so drear.”

“And we cannot understand anything that is said,” Nan piped up.

“But 'tis good for the soul,” he teased. “And yours are in great need of redemption. Off with you.”

They went without further overt protest, although with muttered grumbles and dragging feet.

“Will we take them to Madrid?” Henrietta asked, playing with the silk fringe of her shawl.

Daniel shook his head. “Nay, I'd not expose them to the hazards of the journey, or of the climate.” Dropping to one knee beside her chair, he laid a hand over her restlessly plaiting fingers. “Or you, elf, if ye'd rather not.”

“Oh, how could you suggest such a thing?” she cried, springing to her feet. “You would leave me behind to attend church with Mistress Kierston while you amuse yourself with the grandees at the Spanish court!”

Laughing, he rose from his knees. “Nay, I would not. But do you truly wish to accompany me?”

“Not if you do not wish me to,” she declared, tossing her head. “I had thought married people essayed most dangers together, but if you think otherwise…Oh!” This piece of mock-dignified mischief ended on a squawk as Daniel caught her by the waist, dumping her unceremoniously onto the poster bed.

“You are sailing in very dangerous waters,” he informed her pleasantly, pinning her hands on either side of her head and kneeling astride her as she wriggled helplessly. “I should have a care, if I were you.”

She became quite still, summoning an expression of the utmost docility, except that her eyes burned with a quite different message, and her tongue flickered over her lips.