Valerie King (20 page)

“Lucy, Lucy,” he murmured against her ear, placing little kisses down her cheek until he found her mouth again.

“Robert,” she responded, sighing as she received his lips once more.

After several minutes had passed, after he had whispered her name a dozen times against her ear, her cheek, her lips, after he had fairly squeezed the breath from her, he suddenly moaned in a manner that had nothing to do with his desire to kiss her.

Lucy drew back to look at him. “Are you perchance unwell?” she inquired, barely restraining her smiles.

He blinked at her. “I believe I am,” he said sloppily. “My head is swimming.”

“You need to go to bed.”

He smiled happily and nodded several. “Yes, and you are going with me.”

“Only if you gain your feet,” she said, not believing for a moment she could argue him from his conviction that he was taking her to bed.

With that, he rolled her clumsily off his lap so that she almost landed on her head.

“What are you doing in a heap?” he asked.

She looked up at him and saw that he had found his feet but was tottering unsteadily. “I cannot imagine,” she responded facetiously.

“Well,” he said, offering her his hand, “you promised to take me to bed, so now you must keep your promise.”

She took his hand and he lifted her to her feet, but in doing so stumbled backward and almost fell again, except that she was able to steady him by leaning hard in the opposite direction.

She slipped an arm beneath his and held tightly to his waist. “Shall we go?” she inquired.

He kissed the top of her head. “Yes-s-s.”

Lucy carefully took the candelabra in hand and began slowly guiding and supporting him back to his room.

She would never have believed that the trip to his bedchamber, which fortunately was on the same floor as the library, would have required as much time as it did. Worse, however, were her efforts to keep him sufficiently quiet in order not to awaken the entire house. Though he was in his altitudes, he did seem sufficiently aware that it would not do to bring any of the inmates from their rooms.

Once arrived at his bedchamber, she settled the candelabra on a table safely away from the bed, the draperies, or anything else that might cause a fire were he to carelessly swing his arm and send the candles flying. She reached for the bellpull to summon his man, but he stopped her, saying not only did he not wish to disturb his valet but he did not wish his valet to come anywhere near his bedchamber of the moment. With these words spoken, he grabbed her and began kissing her anew.

Oh, dear,
Lucy thought. She felt a strange sort of panic and tried to slip from his grasp but he held her firmly and walked her backward to his bed. He was not himself, that was certain, but would he take advantage of her? Somehow she thought it likely he might.

Her heart beat rapidly as he pushed her back on the bed. She tried to scramble backward out of his reach but he was quickly on top of her. “Lucy, Lucy, how much I love you. I have always loved you, at least since you were grown. Not as a child, that would be ridiculous, but I love you so now. Did I tell you how glad I am that you have come to Aldershaw?”

Though he was pressed against her, he lifted himself sufficiently to look into her eyes. They were clouded but his expression was so tender, so sweet, that for the barest moment she wished what he was saying was true. “You . . . you are not yourself!” she said. “It is the wine speaking. Indeed, Robert, you must let me go.”

He shook his head sloppily then kissed her anew. She wished his lips were not so perfect. She wished he had not spoken of loving her. And she certainly wished she were not pinned to his bed!

“Robert you must listen to me. You have had a great deal of brandy tonight—”

“Not brandy, sherry—”

“Yes, of course, sherry.” He kissed her hard on the mouth, but she was able to push him back. “Pray heed what I am saying to you! Robert, you have drunk too much. You are quite foxed and are making no sense. You must let me go.” She thought it would probably be of use to speak more loudly to him, but not for the world did she want any member of the house to see either of them in so scandalous a situation.

“No,” he said, almost petulantly as a child would. “I shan’t. I have you in my power and I shan’t let you go. I love you Lucy. I mean to marry you. Tomorrow.”

“That will be excellent. You shall marry me tomorrow and then we can share your bed, but not now. Tonight, you must let me return to my own room.”

“I do not want to let you go,” he laid down on her fully, his head nestled against hers. “If I do, you will never come back to me. You will go to Henry.”

“No, I will not go to Henry,” she stated firmly.

“Henry wants you, Lucy. He loves you but I love you more. He writes poems about you, but my heart aches so much when I look at you that sometimes I can’t breathe for wanting you. Henry can still breathe. I have watched him. But I cannot. Dear Lucy, I cannot breathe.”

Lucy did not know what to do. She knew he was completely foxed so that he could not be held entirely accountable for either his words or his conduct, but what on earth was he mumbling about Henry and about his own heart aching? Odd tears began streaming from her eyes. Did Robert truly love her?

She realized she understood completely what he meant about his heart aching and about being unable to breathe because more than once she had felt precisely the same way while with him. For the first time she considered quite seriously the possibility that after all of their quarrels and attempts to behave with polite indifference toward each other, that she might truly be in love with Robert and he with her. For that reason, she slipped her arms about his shoulders and held him tenderly, stroking his hair. “Robert, I do not know what to say,” she murmured.

He remained silent, but kissed her neck several times.

“Do you truly love me?”

“Yes,” he said in a very quiet voice. “So much, my darling.”

“I . . . I think I may be in love with you as well.”

“Of course you are. How could you kiss me as you do without being in love with me?” A heavy sigh followed.

She continued petting his head and stroking his hair. She hugged him and nuzzled him. A moment later, he was snoring against her shoulder.

She began to laugh, for it was absolutely ridiculous. Even her laughter did not awaken him. She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand and rolled him off her. She began scooting away from him, but he reached for her, pulling her close.

She tried again, but once more he held her tightly. Over the next hour, she tried again and again but always with the same result: he would reach for her and prevent her from leaving. She continued trying until she grew fatigued. She decided she would rest for perhaps an hour or so and try again. Perhaps then he would be so deeply in his slumbers that he would permit her to leave.

With a sigh, she gave in to the seduction of sleep until a strong light shone on her face. She blinked several times and only after a minute or so did she realize that the light on her face was coming from a sunbeam.

She thought it odd that the sun would by shining on her since her bed did not face the windows at this particular angle. And why were the curtains blue and not rose-colored?

A quick horror filled her. She turned abruptly in what proved to be Robert’s arms. He pinned her once more. “No, do not leave me.” Then his eyes opened and he looked at her. “What the deuce?” he cried.

He sat up so fast that she was able to watch as obvious pain flooded his head. “I shall be ill.”

She leaped from the bed and retrieved the basin at his dressing table and ran to him. He looked as though he might be very ill indeed, but after a few moments, and several deep breaths, he set the basin aside and reclined instead against his pillows. He stared hard at her, his brow furrowed deeply. “Good God, Lucy! Whatever are you doing in my rooms? And you are in your nightdress!”

Lucy shook her head. It would seem he remembered nothing after all. “You were quite foxed and fell while in the library. Your head was bleeding. I helped you to your bedchamber but you would not permit me to leave.”

“You are making no sense whatsoever. How could I have prevented you from leaving?”

Lucy did not feel it prudent to spend another moment in his bedchamber. If they were discovered, even though the situation was perfectly innocent, there would be no recourse but for Robert, a quite honorable man, to offer for her. Though she had already begun to think that she would like very much to be married to him, she was convinced no circumstance could be worse than for Robert to feel a sense of dutiful obligation.

“I must go,” she whispered, and before he could argue the point further, she was gone.

 

 

Two hours later, Lucy was busily helping the children sort leaves from a recent excursion to the farthest reaches of the park, when the children suddenly squealed his name. She turned and saw that he was standing in the doorway of the schoolroom. Dark circles framed his eyes and his skin was quite pale. He very much looked like a man who had been in his altitudes on the night before.

He winced as the children threw themselves upon him, but to his credit he caught each child warmly and gave kisses all round, afterward setting each of them on their feet. Though continuing to wince, he listened quite valiantly to an enthusiastic if disjointed recounting of their adventure, for apparently just as they were flanking the home wood a stag appeared at the very edge of the meadow with at least six points to his antlers. Allowing himself to be drawn into the chamber, he took up a seat next to her. She continued sorting beneath Miss Gunville’s supervision. The children once more took up their places.

After a few minutes, he bid his sisters and brother good day, promised to take William for a ride in the afternoon, then begged a word with Lucy.

She excused herself, saying she would return in a few minutes. She could see that Robert was not fully recovered. “Is your head aching you quite severely?” she asked, barely able to restrain a smile as she looked up at him.

“Yes, wretchedly so. I . . . I came to beg your pardon. Dear Lucy, what have I done?”

“Come,” she said, “and I will tell you, but not here in the hallway.”

She led him to the conservatory on the ground floor where there was little likelihood of being overheard. Taking up a seat on one of the stone benches, she gestured for him to sit beside her.

“I am completely mortified,” he said, not hesitating to sit down. “How could I have kept you imprisoned in my rooms?”

“Do not trouble yourself.” She searched his eyes, wondering if he recalled anything of what he said to her.

“Do not trouble myself?” he exclaimed. “Lucy, you were in my bed this morning. Do not speak to me of not
troubling myself
. I shall marry you, of course, that much is determined already.”

“I do not see why,” she returned easily, crossing her arms over her chest.

He glared at her. “You were in my bed last night. Do not attempt to tell me nothing happened between us, for I will not believe you.”

“You are so certain of your prowess that you believe you could seduce me when you were completely foxed?”

“I was not thinking of seduction,” he said, his expression absolutely pitiful.

“You did not hurt me in the least, if that is your strongest fear.”

He leaned forward, settling his face in his hands. “I want to believe you.”

She placed a hand on his back and as she had last night she rubbed it gently. “You did nothing about which you ought to feel the least shame or mortification. The only thing you did last night was kiss me. And I was, as it happens, quite flattered by your attentions.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Why, when I must have accosted you in the most ungentlemanly manner possible?”

She had debated for a very long time after leaving his room just how much of what transpired she would relate to him. She decided to hold nothing back. “Not in the least, I assure you. In actuality, you confessed that you loved me and that you believed you always had.”

“I did?” he asked, appearing astonished. “I must have been very foxed, indeed.” Lucy withdrew her hand. He sat up and looked at her. “I am sorry. Those words were uncalled for. Pray forgive me. I am not yet recovered.”

Tears once more bit her eyes. “I will tell you everything that happened and you must judge for yourself the various meanings, for I cannot make sense of it.” She then launched into an exact recounting of what had been said and done and how it had happened that she had slept in his bed, indeed, in his arms, all night, and approximately how many times he had kissed her. She felt it only appropriate that since she would have to live with the memory, he ought to as well.

When she was done, she could see that there was a very crushed expression on his face. “I do not know what to say. I have behaved abominably toward you. The only proper, the only gentlemanly thing to do is to marry. I consider myself betrothed to you.”

At that Lucy rose to her feet and faced him, her temper rising. “Oh, you do, do you? Well, let me tell you, Robert Sandifort, that I would not marry you were you the last man on earth, even had your passions overcome you and I was no longer a maiden. What’s more, I will never forgive you for how the only manner in which you could reveal your heart to me was in a state of complete intoxication!”

He opened his mouth to speak but she whirled away from him and left the conservatory quickly. Though she had told the children she would return to them, she could not do so because she had need of her pillow and a score of kerchiefs for the next hour or so.

“But Lucy, are you certain?” Henry appeared so hurt that she felt as though her heart would break anew. She was sitting with him in the children’s fort in the center of the maze. The lower rooms of the house were undergoing a great change in preparation for the come-out ball and there had been so many servants about, besides the rest of the family, that the maze had been the only place to have a private conversation.

“Yes, quite certain. I wish I had understood your sentiments long before this. I . . . I had been so used to your attentions and that for so many years that I had assumed it was from a sort of brotherly affection.”

He groaned. He was silent for a long moment, then asked, “Are you in love with Robert?”

Lucy felt stunned by the question because she had been asking herself the very same thing for two days now, two long days since she had spoken with Robert in the conservatory. There had only been one answer, one true answer, particularly when she pondered the breadth of her feelings for him; how she felt when she brangled with him, how she took such great pleasure in his kisses, how she still treasured his words on that fateful night even though he had been completely foxed, and certainly how hurt she was that he had been ignoring her since. “Yes,” she responded simply. “I suppose I must be.”

“For how long?”

“Forever,” she said sadly. “I must have loved him forever now that I look back.”

“Then you can comprehend my feelings in this moment.”

Lucy turned to him, her eyes flooding with tears. “Henry, I am so sorry, but if it is of the smallest consequence, I do not believe that your brother loves me. So you see, we are both made unhappy.”

“And you are absolutely certain of your feelings for him?”

She nodded and sighed.

She sat beside him for a long time.

Finally he said, “These chairs are deuced uncomfortable.”

Lucy chuckled. “Well they are meant for the children, after all.”

Leaving the fort, he offered his arm to her and she took it.

“Please tell me all will be well?” she queried gently.

He smiled sadly then laughed. “I must confess I never had a great deal of hope. I gave you so many hints and yet you remained completely oblivious.”

“I must have, for I cannot remember your having given me a single one.”

“I tried to tell you something of my feelings at the assemblies when I took you to have some refreshments but you were distracted by Hetty who was at the time speaking with Mr. Woolston. Do you remember?”

She shook her head and frowned. “I remember Hetty and Mr. Woolston, but not that you were attempting to engage my affections.”

He groaned anew. “There, you see. I tried to tell you how beautiful you were, that indeed you had never looked prettier.”

“You said such things to me?” she cried.

He nodded.

“How dreadful that I cannot remember your having done so. Henry, I do beg your pardon!”

“It is of little consequence and do not worry, my heart is not completely shattered.”

Making the circuit back through the maze, she asked, “Were you waiting to see if I would accept of your hand in marriage before taking holy orders?”

“Of course.”

“Am I right in supposing then that the sole reason you would have done so was for the sake of wedding me?”

“Precisely.”

“Have you no love for the church?”

“I have no love for being a priest.”

She stopped and turned toward him. “Henry, would you really have sacrificed so much for me?”

“I would have done anything.”

She shook her head. “That would have been unwise, you know.”

“That would have been my decision.”

“But do you not see that at some point I would have disappointed you and you would have been sunk in a life, a career for which you had no true love or interest?”

He smiled faintly. “Do you think I did not consider that a hundredfold?”

“Very well. If you insist on giving me such reasonable answers then I will no longer feel so badly, since I am persuaded my refusing your offer has saved you a lifetime of regret.”

“On that point I daresay we will always disagree.”

The sound of a woman’s voice screaming in anguish from the direction of the house disrupted their
tête-a-tête.

“Good God,” he cried. “I do believe that is Hetty!”

 

 

By the time they reached the armory, the eldest portion of the family as well as Valmaston had gathered there. The latter was walking away from the scene in the direction of the antechamber opposite. Henry quickly hurried to join Anne, Alice, and Robert, who had gathered about Hetty, who in turn was on the floor trying to collect what appeared to be over a hundred letters. Lady Sandifort stood on the hearth, imperious in her demeanor and expression.

Lucy, feeling she ought to absent herself, joined Valmaston.

“What is going forward?” Lucy asked quietly.

Valmaston drew her into the antechamber and said very quietly, “I do not know precisely what Lady Sandifort has done, or what the nature of the correspondence is, but I can tell you what precipitated this action. Lady Sandifort, I believe, has come to suspect that I have an interest in Miss Sandifort. We had come back from a walk in which we had taken the children to see Mr. Frome and to take him another basket of soup and bread and the like. I had said something that made Hetty, that is Miss Sandifort, laugh, and the next moment Lady Sandifort was standing before us. The tenor of her voice rose two pitches and she began to speak grandly about how charming it was for Hetty to be entertaining one of her guests. She was sarcastic, of course. There was no mistaking the precise state of her temper. She then begged a word with Hetty. I took my leave, as you well may imagine, retiring to the billiard room. A few minutes later, I heard Hetty crying out in a manner that pierced my heart. I have never heard such anguish before. I ran down the stairs and found this.” He waved a hand at the unhappy scene in the armory.

Lucy feared the worst.

Beyond the doorway, she watched as Robert sent Anne and Alice away. The girls did not hesitate but each kissed their elder sister on the cheek and then fled the chamber.

Keeping her voice very low, Lucy said, “I fear she is a very jealous sort and you must by now know that she sees you has her particular property. One of the first days you were here, for instance, you had walked with Hetty and the children toward the maze, then you broke away to go to the stables. Lady Sandifort was watching and she might have set the incident down as innocuous, but unfortunately Hetty turned to look in your direction.”

“She did?”

“Yes, I remember it quite distinctly. Of course it was perfectly innocent, for I must say,” and here she laughed, but continued her whispers, “that Hetty has been quite firm in her convictions that you should not be here. However, Lady Sandifort came to believe that Hetty had an interest in you and she absolutely flew into a rage.”

He scowled playfully upon her. “And you thought I might be charmed by such a vixen?”

Lucy smiled, if faintly. “I had no such notion, as well you know. I only wanted you to distract her so that Anne and Alice might be treated properly through their come-out ball, which leads me to say perhaps you ought to ignore Hetty for the present.”

He turned his attention to the armory once more. Robert was now arguing quietly with Lady Sandifort. Henry was on his knees beside Hetty, helping her to gather up the letters.

Lady Sandifort caught sight of them in the antechamber. To Robert she said in a clear voice, “I meant no harm. I believed it to be a matter about which the entire family ought to be informed in order to encourage our dear Hetty in a more proper direction. Surely you must see that?”

She quit the hearth, brushing past Robert as though his thoughts were completely insignificant, and moved toward Lucy and Valmaston. She carried herself quite triumphantly. “What do you think of that?” she cried. “I had suspected it for some time, and naturally being responsible for this family I did just as I believe my beloved husband would have wished me to. I made it my business to discover the precise nature of the truth.”

Lucy recalled Lady Sandifort saying that she knew a great secret of Hetty’s. It would appear that she had no longer been able to restrain the impulse to expose her. Worse still, it would seem her ladyship had taken extreme measures to support what she already knew.

“You cannot mean . . .” Lucy began.

“Of course. The affair had to be revealed, the sooner the better, and I wanted more substantial proof than the gossip of . . . of old friends. You see, my dear Lord Valmaston, Hetty has been Thomas Woolston’s mistress these many years and more. These are love letters she presses to her bosom.”

They all turned to look at Hetty, who held some of the letters tightly as she wiped at her cheeks. Robert was beside her again and slipped a comforting arm about her shoulders.

“Love letters?” Lucy queried, shocked not only because clearly Hetty had received them from Mr. Woolston, but that Lady Sandifort in turn had apparently thrown them on the floor in front of her.

“Yes, you may read them for yourself if you are in doubt. I felt obligated to do so, of course. They are full of confessed love, a steady exchange of quite intimate anecdotes, even a recounting of secret assignations, and all this has been going on for ten or eleven years. Why there must be one hundred and fifty letters, by my count!”

“Are you saying, ma’am, that you discovered the letters?”

She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, in Hetty’s bedchamber. I felt it my duty to expose the truth. In doing so I meant it for a proper lesson for Anne and Alice.” She addressed the earl, saying, “They are my particular charge, you see.”

Lucy seethed with rage. She felt the strongest desire to scratch Lady Sandifort’s eyes out. Her hands balled up into fists. Her breathing came in gulps.

Lord Valmaston glanced askance at Lucy, then cleared his throat. “Well, this is most unfortunate,” he said hastily, addressing Lady Sandifort, all the while moving to stand between Lucy and her ladyship. “But I find I am rather parched. I should dearly love a glass of sherry. Would you care to join me?” He offered his arm.

“With pleasure,” she said, taking his arm firmly. “Do you not think I did right?”

Though Lady Sandifort made as if to walk back into the armory, Valmaston held her in check. “But come, let us not pass through the armory. I find the scene rather . . .
tedious
, of the moment.”

“Indeed,” Lady Sandifort agreed readily. As they moved away, in the direction of the grand salon, she rattled on, “Poor Hetty! To have been so imprudent! I must say I was completely shocked. But then I am always the last to know such things, but the first I hope to place the blame where it belongs. She was always rather spoiled, though I hate confessing as much, but there it is! My husband, God rest his soul, was not the best of fathers, for he indulged them one and all, which is why—”

To Lucy’s relief, her voice trailed away and she could no longer be heard. Lucy believed she owed Valmaston a great deal for taking her away so pleasantly as he had. She was still completely outraged that Hetty had been exposed so brutally. She knew it would be some time before she would be able to speak congenially with a woman whose friendship had become a critical element in keeping peace at Aldershaw. How she detested the thought, however, of continuing so hateful a ruse.

Moving into the armory, she saw that Robert was speaking quietly to Hetty. She was still on her knees and Robert had taken one of her hands in his. She could not hear what he was saying until she drew close.

“But it is my fault and I am so very sorry. I could have prevented this. I have allowed her to reign when she should not have and this is the result.”

“I have disgraced everyone,” she said, smoothing a tear off her cheek.

“You have disgraced no one, my dear. She is the disgrace.”

Hetty looked up. “Lucy, she accused me of being Thomas’s mistress and I never was. Never.”

Lucy dropped to the floor as well. “We all know that,” she whispered earnestly. “Indeed, we do. Anyone who is acquainted with your character knows as much. On that point, you may rest assured.”

Hetty began sobbing anew. Henry came up behind her and gently relieved her of the letters.

“She went through all of my things. My bedchamber is in shambles. Is there to be nothing held sacred in this house?” she asked.

“I shall have a lock put on your door,” Robert cried. “And she may go to the devil if she does not like it.”

Hetty looked startled. “Robert! I have never heard you speak so severely.”

“No less than she deserves. And from this moment, you have my permission not to pay her the smallest courtesy or respect, for she deserves none of it.”

Hetty stared at him. “She will be very angry.”

“Yes, she will, but from now on she will have to wrestle with me if she is dissatisfied.”

Hetty’s shoulders collapsed once more. “I am so completely mortified, but I loved him, you see.”

“You always did,” Robert said, stroking her hair. “We all knew you were brokenhearted when he wed Miss Rookstone. We all knew you continued to love him. Indeed, whenever he was near, you were like a torch on the darkest night. If I have any feeling at all it is that I never believed him worthy of you. You loved where your love was not valued. His greed, and greed alone, led him to marry a richer woman. Your dowry and the living at Laverstoke would have combined to provide more than most men need in a lifetime, nonetheless each year. That he married, instead, a woman with fifteen thousand pounds bespeaks his character entirely.”

“I should have comprehended his baseness then, but his words were like honey.”