The Dowager's Daughter (9 page)

He turned his head for one last glimpse of Camberly Hall, and thought he saw a curtain move. “You need not worry, my fine lady. I shall bother you no more with my foolish ravings,” he muttered.

He straightened in the saddle and applied a slight pressure to his mount’s flanks with his knees. “Come on, Orion, you can move faster than that.” Once out of the gates of Camberly Hall, he headed in the direction of Brighton, where he picked up the London Road and rode north. With a stopover at Fairfax Towers in Surrey, the countryseat of his parents, he expected to join his brother in London the following morning.

On the way, he had plenty of time to go over his encounter with the Countess of Camberly. He winced when he recalled the way he had spoken to her. As if babbling on about fairies and magic wands was not bad enough, what on earth inspired him to spend the rest of the time pontificating about how she should treat her mother?

“Oh, what difference does it make? I could be the most perspicacious fellow in England, for all the good it would do me. High-in-the-instep countesses do not marry second sons and that’s that.”

As if in response to his outburst, Orion gave a startled whinny.

For a brief moment John wondered if it would have helped his suit with Althea Markham if he had been born first and had his brother’s expectations. He immediately dismissed this line of thinking as ignoble.

The following evening after dinner, while enjoying a glass of the cognac with Marcus that he smuggled in from France from time to time, he confided his plight.

“For goodness’ sake, tell the girl how you feel.”

John scowled. “Really, Marcus, I sometimes wonder if you are in complete possession of your faculties. I should imagine that if a rough fellow like John Soames had the effrontery to plead his suit to such a highborn lady, she would have the dogs set on him for his pains.”

Marcus laughed. “I am sure Althea would turn such a fellow down out of hand—but set the dogs on him? I hardly think so. She is far too nice a person for that. But she might be receptive to John Ridley. You do quite nicely once you take a bath and put on some decent clothes.”

“You will forgive me for disagreeing with you, but apart from being the better for a little sprucing up, there is nothing else to commend me.”

Marcus pushed his shoulder. “Enough of that defeatism. What have you got to lose?”

“I fail to see where all this is leading.”

“Do not be so obtuse. If you ask the lady for her hand, what is the worst thing that can happen?”

John frowned. “She could say no, for starters.”

“Yes, she could. But she could also say yes.”

“That is hardly likely.”

“I quite agree. But if you do not ask, you will never know. In other words, brother, you have nothing to lose by trying.”

“I suppose not. Perhaps when this ridiculous masquerade is over, I shall try, in which case it behooves me to lay in considerably more of this cognac. I would have to be foxed for a week before even considering it”

“In which case, it would take another week for you to learn what her answer was.”

John laughed.

“That’s better, John. That is the first time I have seen you laugh since you got here. It won’t do, you know. No girl is worth that.”

John gazed thoughtfully at his brother. “You have never been in love, have you?”

“One or two have set my blood boiling. But not the sort of girl one marries, of course. But love? I expect not. Otherwise, I probably would have been leg-shackled long before now.”

As John lay in his chamber that night, waiting for sleep to give him respite from his misery, he envied Marcus’s seeming immunity to Cupid’s darts.

The arrival of autumn at Camberly was almost imperceptible, the weather in the early days of October varying little from that of September. Then one night, the frost turned the dew to crystals and the leaves upon the trees began to turn.

The following morning, Althea and Celeste strolled through the gardens, noticing the changes one night of cold had managed to bring about. Celeste plucked a wilted peony. “Even though I know it is inevitable, the passing of summer always fills me with sadness. It is like mourning the death of a friend.”

Althea looked askance; she could never understand her mother’s expenditure of emotion over what she deemed the most mundane of occurrences. “Come now, Mama. That is a trifle extreme. Summer will return next year. Alas, the same cannot be said of departed loved ones.”

Celeste tapped her on the shoulder with the flower.
“La,
child. Must you always persist in being so single-mindedly
English?
It can be very tiresome.”

Althea smiled.
How could two people from the same family differ so? I love Mama, but I fear I could never understand her.

Celeste chose that moment to venture off the path to take a closer look at a grouping of mature horse chestnut trees. Noticing how the ground pushed up around the trunks, Althea opened her mouth with the intention of warning her to watch her step, but was too late. With a startled cry, Celeste went sprawling on the grass.

With little heed for her own advice, Althea rushed to her side. Celeste raised her head and gave Althea a rueful look. “That was foolish of me, I must say.”

She held out her hand for Althea to assist her to her feet, but with a tiny moan, sank back. “It is no use—I think I might have sprained my ankle. You had better go for help.”

Althea dashed across the lawn and bounded up to the front of Camberly Hall. She tried to take the huge granite steps two at a time, but tripped and landed on her knees.

A young footman, standing on duty in the Hall, happened to be gazing through the window at the time and dashed outside to help her. But she waved him away and struggled to her feet.

“Pray do not waste time with me. My mother is hurt. She is over by the horse chestnut trees. Please, hurry.”

The young man dashed off and Althea went into the hall and pointed to another footman. “What are you waiting for? Go and help. Hurry. Come on now, for goodness’ sake,
hurry.”

Jarvis bustled into the hall. “Is something amiss, madam?”

“Ah, Jarvis. Will you please send for Doctor Hervey? Lady Camberly tripped over a tree root and, I fear, has sustained an injury to her foot.”

By the time the groom had ridden into Camberly and found the doctor, helped saddle his horse, and escorted him back, the better part of an hour had elapsed. By then, Celeste’s usually shapely ankle had swollen and she was in considerable pain.

Doctor Hervey was in his forties, with wispy gray hair and a pale, delicate-looking face. His inspection of Celeste’s ankle involved a lot of palping and squeezing on his part.

“There is no cause for concern—the ankle is merely sprained,” he said. He proceeded to apply a poultice to the injury and secured it with a firmly tied bandage. “I would strongly recommend the application of leeches, but I know that madam has no love for the treatment.”

“Absolutely not. I consider it a barbaric and disgusting practice. I would rather die than submit to it”

The doctor steepled his fingers. “I am unhappy to say that there may come a time, your ladyship, that such may be the case.”

After he left, Celeste had Colette remove the bandages, take off the poultice, and rewrap her injured ankle in a dry bandage.

“What on earth good will soggy bread wrapped in a rag do for anything? The man is a charlatan.”

She then submitted to the inevitable and sat facing the window with her foot propped up on a footstool. When Althea dropped in to check on her condition, she found her gazing outside, an exasperated expression on her face.

Althea hastened to her side and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “Oh, dear. You look absolutely miserable. Would you like something to ease the pain?”

“Nonsense, darling. As long as I do not move my foot too much, it feels perfectly fine.”

This statement was followed by a speculative look. Althea knew it did not—nay, could not—bode well for her.

“There
is
something that you could do for me, darling. Heaven knows I hate to impose, but I must prevail upon you to perform a trifling little service for me. In fact, I must
insist
that you do it.”

“What would that be, Mama?”

“Marcus called on me yesterday while you were out delivering baskets to the old and infirm of the village.”

“And he left you a letter to give to Mr. Soames.”

“Yes. But how did you know that?”

“Difficult to say. It just popped right into my head. It could have something to do with there being a full moon tonight For some reason, your rendezvous with Mr. Soames and the existence of a full moon seem to go hand in hand.”

Celeste beamed, “Then you will deliver it for me,
chérie?”

Althea nodded, surprised that her usually astute mother did not catch the irony in her response. “When do you expect to meet him?”

“About ten o’clock tonight. It should be dark enough by then.”

“Yes, it should, but the servants will still be up. Uncle Jean-Claude will most likely not even have finished his after-dinner brandy and cigars.”

Celeste huffed impatiently. “For goodness’ sake, Althea, pray do not make more of this than is necessary. Is not the lady of the house entitled to take a walk in the garden when she pleases? If you tippy-toe out, casting furtive glances right and left, of course you will be suspect. March through the front door as bold as you please and no one will give it a second thought”

Althea had to admit that Celeste’s view on the subject had merit. “That is very clever of you, Mama.”

Celeste waived the compliment. “Nonsense. It is merely common sense.”

Clad in a warm coat made of a pale blue superfine and wearing a silk bonnet of the same color, Althea walked—nay, strode—through the front door, nodding at every servant she encountered along the way.

From the moment she agreed to meet John Soames, a feeling of panic robbed her of all logical thought The memory of their last encounter was all too vivid. The slightest hint of a smile on his part had made her senses reel, and the sound of his voice had washed over her like a caress. She had thought her body had betrayed her in every way it could, but that was before he had taken her hand in his. …

“Dear heavens,” she moaned, “do not let it happen again.”

Even as she uttered the supplication, she peered into the looking glass to make sure that her bonnet was placed at a becoming angle and that she looked her prettiest She mulled over these contradictions as she made her way to the river, firmly convinced that she was quite mad.

As she neared the bridle path, John came forward to meet her. “Lady Camberly,” he called out when they were but a few feet apart, “how pleasant it is to see you once mo—”

He stood stock-still. “I seem to have my Lady Camberlys mixed up, but the greeting still applies.’’

“How good of you,” Althea replied dryly.

“How
is
the older Lady Camberly—not ill, I hope?”

“Not exactly. She tripped over a tree root this morning and twisted her ankle. Nothing serious, but the doctor recommends that she stay off her foot for a while.”

“I see.”

John took a step nearer. Her bonnet shadowed her eyes, making it impossible for him to see her expression. He took another step. The moonlight gave her face a luminous quality that took his breath away.
Steady, old chap. It mil not do to overstep the bounds.

Not trusting his emotions, John came no farther and to his dismay, Althea came to him, holding out a package.

“Mama asked me to give you this.”

Her voice was high-pitched and strained. John concluded that Althea was uncomfortable with the idea of meeting a comparative stranger in the middle of the night without a chaperone, and rightly so. He made up his mind to be scrupulous in observing the conventions.

He took the package and put it in his jacket pocket, telling himself that he would thank her and be on his way.

To his dismay she tilted her face up to his and parted her lips as if to say something. Helpless to resist, he pulled her close and kissed her.

At first, her body stiffened and her lips clamped shut; then, with a soft moan, she parted them and received his kiss. He claimed their softness with gentle probings and tiny nips, taking care not to frighten her, and to his infinite joy, he felt her arms slowly entwine his neck.

Emboldened, he showered her face and throat with kisses; then, no longer able to contain his desire for her, his lips joined hers in an ever-deepening kiss. John had never felt so right about kissing a girl in his life. Although kissing Althea raised him to the heights of passion, it also filled him with a sense of belonging.

At first he found this difficult to fathom; then he realized it was a sense of recognition. It was as if he had known her from the beginning of time and would continue to do so long after the stars grew cold.

“Dear girl. You have no idea how long I have wanted to kiss you, and to hold you close like this.”

He took her hand and held it to his chest. “Feel my heart—it is beating so rapidly it is liable to burst.”

She pulled her hand away and he reclaimed it and kissed the back of it, then unfolded her fingers like the petals of a flower and kissed each fingertip.

“We belong together. I have never been so sure of anything in my life.”

Her reaction to his declaration was like a dash of cold water in his face. She freed herself from his embrace and pushed him away.

“This cannot go further. I am sorry, Mr. Soames, but my life is not my own.”

John drew back. “My name is John.” He fought to keep his voice from breaking. “You cannot kiss a man the way you kissed me, and then treat him like a stranger.”

“John, then. But it doesn’t change the situation.” Her face crumpled with distress. “Oh dear, I cannot be a party to this. I am sorry, but I have to go.”

Before John could say anything to stop her, she took flight down the path that led to Camberly Hall. As he watched her disappear into the shadows, he felt as if everything important to his existence had disappeared with her.

It seemed to him that in her way, Althea Markham was no better than Belinda Vickery. Perhaps all women were alike. When it came right down to it, most marriages of the
ton
were based on wealth and rank rather than love.

“I fear that love carries no significance for you, Lady Camberly—or could it be that it is not in your nature to love any man?”

He turned to the river, realizing that it made no difference. No matter what qualities Althea Markham did, or did not, possess, he was doomed to love her until the day he died.