Reckless Angel (30 page)

“Are we to have the pleasure of Julia's company, Daniel?” Henrietta inquired, passing a dish of Jerusalem artichokes to Mistress Kierston, who was finding it impossible to maintain her air of hurt disapproval under these attentions.

“Lady Morris was happy to accept the invitation for Julia,” he responded. “Lizzie, do you prefer a wing or breast?”

“Both, please.” Lizzie's appetite made up at dinner what it lacked at breakfast.

Henrietta helped the child to vegetables, her mind now running on another course. She must somehow let Will know of this success. He had been so wretched yesterday when he left them that she had ached for him in his unhappiness. But at that point she had not had time to formulate any plan and had had no opportunity to speak with him since. She would visit him after dinner. No, she could not do that, not with Nan still feverish. She had taken on that responsibility and would not hand it over to the governess. Daniel was bound to go out again, so would not be able to sit with the invalid. But Lizzie could take a message. The child was quite old enough to walk three streets and deliver a letter. She must take Hilde with her as escort, but that should prove no problem.

The plan proved easy to implement. Lizzie was delighted to be given such responsibility and, since Will was one of her favorite people, even happier at the
prospect of visiting him. Nan had woken from a long nap, fretful and demanding that Harry read to her. Mistress Kierston had retired to her own chamber with her sewing, telling Lady Drummond that she would be happy to attend in the sickroom whenever she was required, and Daniel had gone out about the king's business.

Harry wrote a brief note to Will, telling him that she had a plan and he was to come to the house as soon as possible, explaining why she could not come to him herself.

“Now, you know the way to Will's lodging, Lizzie.” She folded the paper carefully and handed it to the child. “Just tell Hilde that she is to leave her tasks for the moment and accompany you. 'Twill not take you above half an hour.”

Lizzie, with an air of great importance, put the letter into the pocket of her apron.

“Wear your thick cloak,” Henrietta said. “There's a bitter wind.”

The child ran down to the kitchen in search of the maidservant, who was nowhere to be found. Lizzie stood thoughtfully in the empty kitchen. Hilde was presumably to be found in the attic, taking a little time to herself after her labors of the morning. It didn't seem very kind to expect her to go forth into the freezing afternoon when Lizzie was quite capable of making such a journey unaccompanied. Besides, it would be much more amusing to go alone. On which undeniable conclusion, Lizzie set off.

It was at the corner of the first street that she ran into her father.

“Where on earth are you going?” Daniel stared in astonishment at the small cloaked figure of his daughter.

“To see Will. Harry wants me to take him a message because she couldn't go herself because she was looking after Nan.” The explanation poured without punctuation from her lips, but did not appear to have the reassuring effect intended.

“Henrietta sent you out to run such an errand alone?” he demanded in disbelief.

Lizzie shuffled her feet on the cobbles. “She said I should take Hilde, but I could not find her and 'tis not so very far.”

Daniel stood in frowning silence. Just why did Harry need to send messages to Will? Not one day could pass, it seemed, without some communication between them. And she had no right to involve Lizzie in whatever it was. If she needed an errand run, then she could have asked him. The fact that she had not done so struck Daniel as most suspicious, merely confirming his earlier conviction that his wife and Master Osbert shared a secret from which the husband was excluded. It was time to put a stop to it, that husband now decided.

“Give me the message,” he commanded.

Lizzie looked uncertain. She had no desire to relinquish her commission. “But 'tis Harry's message for Will,” she ventured.

“I am not going to be obliged to repeat myself, am I?”

The consequences of further procrastination were not to be invited. Lizzie delved beneath her cloak, into the pocket of her apron, and handed over the folded paper.

“Thank you.” Daniel slipped the document into the pocket of his doublet. “I will deliver it for you. 'Tis not meet that you should roam the streets unaccompanied, as ye well know. Come, I will take you home.”

He escorted her back down the street to the house, saw her inside, then strode off in search of Master Osbert.

Henrietta heard the front door and emerged from the sickroom, leaning over the banister. “That was quick, Lizzie.” Then she saw the child's downcast expression. “What's amiss, love? And where's Hilde?”

“Daddy has taken the message to Will.” Lizzie climbed the stairs without her customary bounce. “I could not find Hilde so I went alone, and I bumped
into Daddy and he said it was not meet for me to be out alone so he brought me back and took the message himself.” She paused for breath. “He was not at all pleased. Should I not have given him the message?”

“Of course you should,” Henrietta said promptly, hiding her dismay. Lizzie must not be allowed to imagine her stepmother held secrets from her father, or that she would advocate filial disobedience. “Why would you think otherwise? But you should not have gone alone, you know that. You had best go to Mistress Kierston and do some sewing.” Her tone was sharp, and Lizzie, unaccustomed to being chided by her stepmother, obeyed, unhappily but without a murmur of protest.

Henrietta returned to Nan's bedside and settled down uneasily to wait for whatever was about to transpire.

W
ill was pacing miserably around the small chamber of his lodging, racking his brains for some solution to love's dilemma. He had walked over to the Morrises' lodging that morning, fully intending to press his suit with Julie's father yet again, and then realized that if, as was highly likely, he was again refused, then Julie would be strictly confined once more, and he would not even see her before she left for Scotland.

He would call upon Harry, he decided abruptly. She always had a bracing effect, mainly because she never accepted defeat until it was forced upon her and was not at all tolerant of moping and sighing. He picked up his beaver hat, slung his cloak about his shoulders, and marched to the door, just as the door opened to admit Sir Daniel.

“Ah, Will, it seems I am in the nick of time,” Daniel observed, taking in the younger man's dress. “I do hope you can be persuaded to delay your departure for a minute.”

“Aye…aye, of course, sir, d-delighted to see you, sir…'Tis…'tis an honor.” He stepped back from the door and tripped over a stool. “P-pray come in. What may I offer ye? I do not keep much in the way of wine, I am afraid, sir; 'tis poor hospitality, but there's tolerable ale, or I could ask the landlady for cider, if ye'd prefer.”

“Why do I make ye so nervous these days, Will?” inquired Daniel with a pleasant though puzzled smile,
refusing these stumbled offers of refreshment with a wave of his hand. “At the very sight of me, you flush up as crimson as the sunset. And you don't seem to be able to put two words together anymore.”

The crimson tide flooded to the red roots of Will's hair yet again, and he began to stammer a denial that in the face of the evidence was manifestly absurd. He fell silent under Daniel's steady gaze.

Daniel took the letter from his doublet pocket and tapped it thoughtfully against his palm. “I bring you a message from Harry,” he said, remarking the sudden spark of interest in his young friend's eyes…interest, or was it hope? “Since the letter is addressed to you, I have of course not read it,” he continued in a somewhat ruminative tone. “However, I do have a certain interest in what my wife might be writing to others, so perchance you will apprise me of the contents.”

Will looked stricken. “Ye…ye could not imagine that Harry and I—”

“Nay, I do not imagine that,” Daniel interrupted. “But I know my wife, Will, and I am certain she is up to mischief.” He stroked his chin, continuing in the same pensive tone. “She has this habit, you see, of falling in and out of scrapes with appalling regularity…always from the purest of motives, of course. I would forestall this one, if possible.” He held out the letter.

Will took the document with nerveless fingers. He could not possibly betray Harry. If she believed her husband would disapprove of her actions to help her friends, it was not for those friends to act traitor. The only thing they could do was refuse to implicate her further. It was all at an end now, anyway, now that Julia was going away. He opened the letter.

Harry's impulsive flowing script jumped out at him with all the eager confidence of the writer, and for a second he forgot his despondency and felt a surge of hope. She had a plan. But the hope died at birth as he looked up at his visitor, whose gaze was uncomfortably searching.

“Well?” Daniel gently prompted.

“'Tis just that she wishes me to visit her, since she cannot come here,” Will said. “I am sorry Nan is unwell, sir. I trust 'tis not serious.”

Daniel shook his head. “It seems not. Might I ask why she wishes you to visit her so urgently?”

Will decided to get as close to the truth as he dared. He met the older man's look. “She is the only person I can talk to, Sir Daniel.” He received a noncommittal nod and a gesture of invitation to continue. Will did so awkwardly. “I am having some difficulties…personal difficulties…and I need to have someone to talk—”

“I beg your pardon, Will.” Daniel broke in swiftly. “I do not wish to pry into your affairs; they are no concern of mine. Henrietta's are, but yours are not. If she is simply your confidante in time of trouble, then that is all I need to know. Unless—” He smiled. “Unless, mayhap, I can be of some service to you myself. You should know I would stand your friend in all things, Will.”

Will felt ready to sink through the floor with guilt and embarrassment. It was not as if he had lied, yet he felt as if he had committed a monumental deception in the face of the kindly concern and understanding Daniel so freely offered.

Daniel cut short Will's stammered thanks and denials with an easy gesture. “Enough said, Will. Come. If you've a mind to visit Harry, then we'll keep each other company.”

It was not an offer Will could refuse, but he went with the absolute determination to call an immediate halt to Henrietta's involvement in his doomed, clandestine love affair, regardless of her planning.

Henrietta jumped at the sound of the front door. She had been expecting it, but it still sent her heart into her throat. She waited, hearing two sets of footsteps on the stairs.

Will and Daniel came into the sickroom. “I have brought Will, Harry, since you wished for him,” Dan
iel said. “He insisted upon visiting the invalid.” Smiling, he came over to the bed. “See who's come to cheer you up, Nan.”

Harry shot Will an anxious look of startled inquiry. Had he been obliged to take Daniel into his confidence? If he had, then surely her husband would not be quite so sanguine and cheerful. Will answered the look with a tiny shrug before turning his attention to the now-perky Nan.

“Where is Lizzie?” Daniel addressed Henrietta, sounding to her apprehensive ears as relaxed and genial as ever.

“Sewing with Mistress Kierston.”

“For her sins?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

Henrietta looked rueful. “She should not have gone alone. I am sorry, Daniel.”

“There was no harm done. If you and Will wish to talk, I'll stay here and entertain this little one.”

“Will ye tell me the story of the dragon and the maiden?” Nan demanded, her voice still a little croaky but definitely stronger.

“I don't know if I can remember it,” he teased, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. “Let me see, now.”

Will and Henrietta left them to it. “Whatever happened?” Henrietta demanded as they reached the seclusion of the parlor. “I made sure Daniel would have questioned you about my message. He has become a little suspicious of all your visits recently.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and rubbed her upper arms restlessly. “Suspicious is not quite the right word, but he thinks I am up to something.”

“Which y'are,” Will said flatly, and told her what had transpired between himself and Daniel. “I felt the size of an ant,” he concluded.

“Aye, I can imagine.” She could, with no difficulty. “And I had this wonderful plan to invite Julia to stay with me when her parents left.”

Will's face was transfigured. “But that would be so wonderful, Harry.”

“Yes, it would,” she said gloomily. “But I cannot possibly do it. You see, I asked Daniel to invite her, because that would be most likely to satisfy Lady Morris, only of course I did not tell him why. And he did ask this morning, and Lady Morris gave her permission.”

“Oh, God.” Will groaned, seeing the whole ghastly tangle. “You cannot deceive him, Harry. You would put him in the most abominable position. Surely you realize that.”

“Yes, of course I do,
now
,” she said impatiently. “For you to conduct a clandestine liaison while Julie is under Daniel's roof and protection at his invitation would be impossible. I do not know how I could have been so stupid as to have thought of it. I do things sometimes without thinking very clearly,” she added dismally. “I shall have to tell him the truth, and he will have to withdraw the invitation without explaining why. And he's going to say I have been duplicitous and unprincipled again, which I have, but I did not mean to be. And everything was going so nicely since we returned from Spain. Oh, why d'ye not just elope, Will? It would be so much simpler!”

“I would if we could find the means to do so.” Will paced the parlor, pulling at his finger joints in a way that made Harry wince.

“Take Julie to your mother,” she suggested. “Mistress Osbert is such a sensible person; she will scold you both most dreadfully, but then she will do what has to be done. I do not think even Lord Morris would be able to withstand her if she decided to take issue with him.”

Will grinned reluctantly. He could not argue with that. His mother was more than a match for Lord and Lady Morris combined. “I do not know if Julie would be willing.”

“I will ask her,” Harry said. “And then I will tell you. But you cannot meet here together, at least not until I have told Daniel what has been happening.”

“He will not permit it, once he knows everything,” Will said. “No responsible man would.”

“Oh, dear.” Henrietta sighed. “Matters were proceeding so beautifully. I have been doing everything right with the girls and the house and other things—” She stopped, blushing slightly. Close though she was to Will, discussing those other delicious aspects of her marriage was not something she could do, anymore than she could tell him that she hoped soon to conceive. More than anything, Daniel's agreement to this had indicated his acceptance of her as a sensible, mature wife, and now she was about to destroy that belief by demonstrating that she was still as impulsive and reckless and irresponsible as ever.

“'Tis my fault, not yours,” Will said. “I should never have agreed to it. Let me explain it to him.”

Henrietta shook her head. “I may be a thoughtless idiot, but I'm no coward, Will. But I'll talk to Julie first. 'Tis only fair to prepare her. I can visit her in the morning.”

 

Daniel found his wife in low spirits that evening, resisting all his efforts to draw her out. He delicately brought up the subject of Will and his troubles, offering again to help, suggesting she might have more success than he in persuading Will to confide in him, since it was clear the young man was wretchedly miserable.

Henrietta nearly burst into tears. She did not deserve such a husband, indeed, never had done. Everything good she tried to do turned to dross beneath her touch. What could someone so kind and considerate and loving and humorous and…oh, so many other wonderful things as Daniel possibly find to love in her? No one else, except for Will, had ever found anything. Perhaps those others were right and Daniel and Will were mistaken.

She went up to bed early, pleading unusual weariness, looked in on the now peacefully sleeping and relatively cool Nan, and curled miserably under the covers in her own bed, hoping she would fall asleep
before Daniel came up. She did not, and he was not deceived by the pretense, but when he ran an exploratory caressing hand beneath her smock, the immediate rippling response to which he was accustomed was not forthcoming. “Harry?”

“I'm asleep,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“Oh, that would explain it,” he replied, waiting for the chuckle that generally greeted that particular droll tone. It was not forthcoming either. “We could at least cuddle,” he suggested.

“I don't know why you would want to cuddle me,” she muttered without volition. She had not intended making her confession until she had talked with Julie, but matters seemed to be running away with themselves.

The words took a minute to sink in, then Daniel sat up, twitched aside the bedcurtains and scraped flint on tinder. Candlelight flickered, then settled into a strong, steady glow.

“What have you done?” he asked with the calm of resignation.

“'Tis not so much what I
have
done as what I was going to do. Although what I have done is bad enough if you look at it in a certain way.” The balm of relief at the prospect of unburdening herself was more soothing than she would ever have imagined, and quite surpassed her apprehension as to Daniel's reaction to the tale. She rolled onto her back, shielding her eyes with the soft curve of a forearm, ostensibly from the candlelight but more because it seemed easier if she did not have to look at him.

Daniel took her arm away. “Sit up. I don't know what I am about to hear, but the sooner it is said the better.”

She sat up, hugging her knees, her beribboned nightcap askew on the cascading corn silk-colored mass, and looked at him anxiously. “I think perhaps you will not wish to be married to me anymore.”

He looked startled. “'Tis not that bad, Harry, surely?”

“Worse,” she said.

“God's grace!” he muttered, getting out of bed. “Well, whatever mischief y'are in this time, I can safely promise you that I will never wish such a thing.” He shrugged into his warm nightgown and drew it tight against the night chill before throwing more logs on the fire, creating a roaring blaze. “Come, let us be done with this.”

She told him, her voice faltering as his expression went from resignation to disbelief, and then became utterly wrathful. But the storm did not break until she had fallen silent.

He did not raise his voice and the sleeping house around them remained oblivious of the drama, but angry words buzzed around the bedchamber like the troubles released from Pandora's box. Henrietta remained huddled over her knees. Although she winced beneath the sting of his tongue-lashing, she was more conscious of relief than anything else. She had feared a repetition of that cold, silent contempt, but this was just the fury of a very angry man. He was also most eloquent in his anger, she noticed abstractedly. In her wide experience of such matters, wrath tended to render the speaker gobbling and incoherent, so he was obliged to resort to physical expression of that rage. There was no fear of that with Daniel.

She had given him the bald narrative, unadorned by excuse or explanation, and waited for the tirade to subside before venturing on either. When at last the castigation ceased and Daniel had swung away from the bed with a muttered “Hell and the devil!” she spoke up.