Valerie King (21 page)

“He never lacked for ability.”

“Robert, why did you not warn me?”

“Because until this moment I only had my suspicions that you held to your love for him. But I want you to know something, which may for the present give you great pain but which I hope will illustrate Mr. Woolston’s true nature.”

Hetty paled. Lucy suspected she knew the truth but did not want to believe it.

“I will say nothing more unless you wish for it,” Robert added wisely.

Hetty nodded her willingness for him to speak.

“Very well. Lady Sandifort took Mr. Woolston as her lover last year.”

Hetty clapped her hand over her mouth but still the gasp that occurred at the same moment filled the chamber. She paled ominously. “Good God,” she whispered. She shook her head, more tears seeped from her eyes, and she began to shake. “When Papa was so ill?”

“I should not have told you,” Robert moaned.

She was silent for a very long time. Finally she said, “No, I am glad you did.”

Lucy addressed her softly. “May I take you to your bedchamber, Hetty?”

She nodded several times in quick, painful succession.

Robert lifted her to her feet. Hetty took her letters from Henry, clutching them tightly.

Lucy held Hetty’s arm the entire distance to her bedchamber. Once within, Hetty sat down on the bed and began to sob, the letters she had been holding falling to the floor.

Lucy did not leave her the rest of the afternoon or the evening. Only when she was assured that the greater part of her grief had been given its full expression did she leave her resting relatively peacefully.

 

 

When Lucy at last retired to her bedchamber, she found Robert sitting in a chair by the window waiting for her.

“Will my sister be all right?” he asked.

“Of course,” Lucy responded. “Hetty has a great deal of strength.” She expected him to rise from his seat and take his leave but he did not.

As though reading her mind, he said, “I saw you leave Hetty’s bedchamber and I ordered a tray brought to your room. Nothing to signify, just a few cold meats, salad, and a little wine.”

“Thank you.” Suddenly, she was exhausted. She sat on the edge of the bed. “Did you truly know that she was still in love with Mr. Woolston?”

“As I told her earlier, I had always had my suspicions but it never occurred to me that the blackguard would have sustained her hopes in this manner, encouraging her to keep loving him. What manner of gentleman does something so wretched?”

“I do not believe I would call him a gentleman. Do you remember the walks she would take once each month? Her ‘nature’ walks?”

“Good God! She was meeting him, then?”

“To exchange their letters.”

Robert ground his teeth.

Lucy sighed. “I cannot bear to think of him here at the come-out ball, for he has been invited, you know.”

“The invitation must be rescinded,” he stated sharply, “else I will not be able to account for my actions should I set eyes on him.”

“I shall send a letter, if you like.”

He glanced at her apace. “That is so much like you,” he stated, a sudden frown between his brow. “Why is it you are so good, so willing to fill the breach, to do what it is not your duty to do?”

“How is this not my duty?” she asked. “Hetty is my friend and if it is in my power to spare her pain, how is that not an obligation of mine?”

He sighed. “You never cease to amaze me.”

But not sufficiently to declare that you love me when you are sober
, she thought. She wished he were not in her bedchamber tormenting her with his presence and his professed admiration of at least this quality of hers.

A maidservant arrived bearing the requested tray and settled it at Lucy’s direction on the bed next to her. Once she was gone, Lucy began to nibble on the meat and celery and to sip the wine. Robert did not speak for a long time, nor did she. Fatigue was settling into her bones now. The only wonder was that Robert did not take her hint and leave.

“I suppose I should go,” he said at last.

“Yes,” she stated, lifting her gaze to his.

“You are still angry that I kissed you while I was foxed.”

She laughed a little hysterically. “No, Robert, of course not. I never regretted any of our kisses. I am angry that your heart is dead to me unless you are foxed.”

He stepped toward her, his complexion heightened. “What does it matter to you the state of my heart, foxed or otherwise?”

She shook her head and sipped her wine. She wanted to say, “It matters to me because I am in love with you.” But she did not feel he deserved to hear the truth. “I suppose it should not matter one whit and to that end I am striving to deaden my own heart. Will that suffice?”

“No, it will not.”

“What do you want of me, Robert? Answer me that. I have told you what you said and what you did three nights past. Beyond that I am unwilling to discuss the matter further because you have made it clear you want none of me.”

He seemed to debate within his mind just what he wanted to say next. Finally he said, “What do you want of me?”

“What difference if your heart is dead to me?”

“You keep speaking in circles.”

“That is because you must earn the right to hear what my heart would say to you.”

He shook his head several times. “I am convinced this would be a mistake,” he stated, but she could see that he was speaking to himself.

“Go to bed,” she stated wearily. “I am finished with my meal and I wish to retire.”

“This cannot be the end.”

“That is your choice, not mine.”

“Why do you insist on being difficult?”

“I will answer you if you will answer me this: why do you refuse to speak your heart?”

He was silent for a moment, his expression serious. “There is something I truly must know.”

Lucy felt greatly impatient with him, but she remained silent.

“I wish to know why you refused Henry’s offer of marriage.”

“So you know of that?”

“Yes, he told me at once.”

“This question I will answer—I do not love him. I cannot speak more plainly than that. He is a friend, nothing more.”

He nodded several times. “Very well.”

With that, he turned on his heel and quit the chamber. Lucy sighed heavily. She removed the tray from her bed and, without changing her clothes, crawled beneath the counterpane and fell into a deep, if somewhat troubled, sleep.

 

 

On the following morning Lucy sought out Mr. Frome, as she often did when she was troubled. She did not necessarily always speak of what was distressing her. Sometimes his mere presence was sufficient comfort.

Today she had no words for the depth of her sadness. She was still pained by Hetty’s suffering, and her conversation with Robert late last night was still weighing on her heart.

She sat on the stool and he presented her with a cup of tea. “You always seem to have it ready for me, as though you know I am coming.”

He smiled and while she sipped her tea he worked at a whistle he was carving. He made his cuts slowly and carefully. “I will be leaving soon,” he said quietly.

Lucy blinked at him, unable to credit what he had just said. “Indeed?” she queried in scarcely more than a whisper. Only now, with the possibility of his quitting Aldershaw, did she truly come to comprehend how much she depended upon him. “I do not know what to say except that I wish you would not! I believe I have been hoping you would stay at the very least until my own sojourn here comes to an end.”

“That would be a very long time, indeed,” he murmured, laughing at the same time.

“I beg your pardon?” She was certain he knew quite well she was leaving in September.

He cleared his throat. “I wish that I could stay longer but a friend in Devonshire has sent me word, by way of The George at Bickfield, that he is building a fishing boat and desires my assistance. His wife is quite ill and a son recently died. So, you see, I believe I must go.”

“Of course.” She had been very sad when she approached his camp, but upon hearing such news she thought her heart would break.

He reached over and pressed her arm gently. “All will be well. Sir Robert will set everything to rights. He is a good man, indeed, an admirable one. You have but to be a little more patient with him. You will see.”

Lucy tilted her head at him. Was he able to read her mind that he would speak the very words she needed to hear? Whatever was she to do once he was gone? “When do you leave?” she asked

“At noon on the day of the come-out ball, I’m ’fraid.”

“Oh, but you cannot!” she cried.

He pressed her arm again. “My work is finished here. Truly, I must be going. I have already bought a pony from one of Sir Robert’s tenant farmers.”

“Then there is nothing more to be said.”

“Only this: I have enjoyed my stay at Aldershaw more than I can ever say. You have great abilities and talents, Miss Lucinda Stiles. You created an exquisite garden. I expect to hear extraordinary things of you in the future.”

Lucy could not imagine to what he might be referring. “You are much mistaken,” she said, her throat beginning to ache profoundly. “I play the pianoforte tolerably but not so well as Hetty and when I sing I sound like a chicken squawking. I cannot paint in the least and even Rosamunde embroiders better than I. Indeed, you are quite mistaken.” Was he really leaving?

He chortled almost gleefully. “You have misunderstood me entirely. Your abilities extend far beyond musical notes or the use of watercolors. No, you have great abilities, and when you are mistress of your own home I suspect you will soon find need to express your talents in a larger community. Do not hesitate to do so. The world needs such a heart as yours. Never forget that. I know I never shall.” He paused and lifted his head. “And if I am not mistaken I believe Violet is calling for you.”

Lucy looked up but neither saw nor heard anyone. A moment later Violet appeared from around the corner of the maze. Even at such a distance Lucy could see that she had her doll tucked beneath her arm. She was never without it. “Lucy!” she called out. “You promised to go on our walk with us today. We are all waiting for you!”

Though Lucy wished to remain with Mr. Frome more than anything in the world now that she knew his time at Aldershaw was coming to a end, she rose from her seat, returned the cup to him, and bid him good day. “Of course, I shall see you in but a few minutes, for we are taking the western tour of the park, which as you know always ends in your camp.”

 

 

Over the next few days, Hetty recovered far more swiftly than anyone would have supposed. Lucy was privy to her thoughts one moment to the next and understood quite well the journey she had taken in relinquishing the unworthy Mr. Woolston. He was the sort of man who had all the appearance of goodness but very little true character, as his conduct had proved. In quick stages she relinquished her love for him and certainly all respect, even concluding that he was perhaps the most selfish man she had ever known.

Walking with her in the garden the day before the ball, Lucy asked, “What do you mean to do with his letters?”

“I have already burned them in the grate. After all I learned of his conduct, I could only conclude that his words were worthless. There is only one thing about which I am truly curious—why did Lady Sandifort choose that moment to expose my secret?”

“I know this may come as a shock, Hetty, but I believe it is because she is convinced that Lord Valmaston has a
tendre
for you.”

“What?” Hetty cried, obviously dumbfounded. “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.”

“Well,” Lucy mused. “I do not see why it is ridiculous since you are after all a considerable beauty, and you have a great deal of wit and charm and a very good heart. The real question is this: why would his heart not beat a little more strongly when you walk into a room?”

“Lucy, you are become as mad as bedlam!” Her complexion was greatly heightened.

Lucy only laughed. “It hardly signifies, however, what his true sentiments might be. The only thing that matters is that Lady Sandifort
believes
it to be true.”

Hetty grew silent again. When they reached the maze, Lucy suggested they return to the house, since she had promised to have nuncheon with the children in the schoolroom.

As Hetty turned about, she sighed very deeply. She was silent for a long time as they made their way back up the garden. At last she stopped. Holding Lucy’s gaze, she said, “There is just one thing I wish to know: how will I ever trust another man again?”

Lucy saw the tears brimming in Hetty’s eyes and offered her comfort by embracing her and holding her close. How, indeed? she wondered.

 

 

From the window of the library, Robert watched the tender scene below and felt his heart beginning to ache anew. This was what he loved best about Lucy, that her disposition was so warm, so generous that she could be such a comfort to his dear sister in what must be a most painful time. He could see Hetty’s sufferings but he had been completely incapable of offering her more than a pat on the shoulder now and then and a sympathetic smile.

Only once had he been able to give her at least a portion of real comfort. He had become so enraged with Mr. Woolston and his unconscionable conduct that he had finally approached Hetty in a private moment and said, “I will call him out. That is what I will do!”

She had seemed startled but afterward had begun to laugh. “What a darling you are, Robert! How I love you!” She had then risen from her seat and clung to him for a very long time. He had not heard her crying but his coat had been nearly wet through when she finally pulled away.