Wicked and Wonderful (21 page)

So the concert continued warm and wonderful, at moments sublime. Each song brought a new form of expression and meaning and another chance to delve quietly into the lives and experiences of those gathered in Kelthorne’s drawing room.

When at last a second encore had been performed and exclaimed over, Judith finally quit the chamber with Miss Currivard who hugged her arm tightly. Returning to the privacy of the small music room, Miss Currivard squealed her absolute adoration of the experience. “Never in my entire existence have I enjoyed my music more than during the course of this evening. It is no wonder that you travel with the troupe as you do, that you have not settled somewhere as a mere governess or companion as might be expected in one of your circumstances. How can you even think of taking a cottage in Devonshire? How could you ever relinquish so exquisite an experience as this?”

Judith was shocked by everything she had just heard. “I am deeply gratified to know that you took pleasure in our efforts just now but truly you must believe me when I say that I would trade it all were I able to do so. Only the worst of events could have forced me down this path. You must understand that.”

Miss Currivard recovered her usual restraint and good breeding. “I suppose I have spoken foolishly,” she said. “I must confess the entire experience has overwhelmed me. I only hope that we are able to perform together again.”

“It was wonderful,” Judith said. Hearing voices in the distance, she added quickly, “And now, I intend to walk back to camp. No, I beg you will allow me to do so. Try to understand. I do appreciate all that you are doing for me, but ‘tis too much.”

With that, she picked up her shawl and threw it quickly about her shoulders. “I shall leave by the conservatory so that I will not be seen. Thank you again. You have permitted me to hope that my cottage is not far distant.”

Even though it was clear that Miss Currivard would have remonstrated with her, Judith hurried away. A moment later, she was walking briskly down the steep path at the side of the castle.

*** *** ***

Kelthorne entered the music room to find Miss Currivard alone and seated at the foot of the chaise-longue. “She is gone,” she said.

He glanced at the door of the conservatory and saw that it was slightly ajar. “I see. She did not wish to meet our guests.”

“No, she was a little overset, I think. I wish she had stayed.”

“Perhaps it is just as well.”

Miss Currivard rose and when he approached her, she took his hands. “Were you not utterly enchanted this evening?” she asked, her expression enrapt.

“Y-yes, I suppose I was,” he responded.

“I have never felt such exhilaration before,” she said.

He smiled and felt a little relieved since his thoughts had all been for Judith. “You played beautifully,” he said, thinking how grand and generous he could be.

Sudden tears filled her eyes. He thought he understood her, that she was overwhelmed by accompanying Judith and by his compliments. “You must go to her,” she said quite suddenly.

“Go to whom?” he asked.

“To Miss Lovington.”

“Wh-why would you say such a thing?” he asked, startled. “Why would I wish to do so?”

She smiled but in her eyes was a surprising sadness. “I was not thinking of you,” she said. “I merely do not like to think of her walking home alone. No lady is ever truly safe even in so gentle and sweet a place as Portislow. Pray, go to her, my lord.”

When he hesitated, she pressed his hands, and continued, “Indeed, I will not be easy until I know that she is returned safely to camp. I have the worst feeling that she is haunted somehow, that something or someone has been the cause of her presence in this troupe.”

Kelthorne despised himself in this moment for the woman he was supposed to be pursuing was giving him the very excuse he needed to pursue the woman he desired. Still, he meant to protest, but she added, “I beg you will do so, for my sake. I will not rest until I know she is safe.”

“Very well,” he murmured. Perhaps she was speaking sensibly after all. “A young lady ought not to be on foot, at night and unprotected—especially Miss Lovington. I have always thought her a rather capable female, perhaps even able to protect herself for I know that Mr. Ash has taught her how to do so. However, I should go. I believe you are right. Yes, of course you are right. I shall do so at once.”

He released her hands and offered a bow then returned to the adjoining conservatory.

If the moment he passed through the doorway into the cool night air his heart began to beat heavily in his chest, he ignored the ridiculous thumping. He would do as Miss Currivard—the woman he knew he should make his wife—had bid him. He would escort Judith back to her tent, he would leave her, and that would be the end of the matter.

Once he reached a breach in the path that afforded a view of the narrow valley below, he caught sight of Judith in the lane. He knew she could not have left but a few minutes before, yet he was surprised by how far she had gone.

He began to walk faster.

Chapter Ten

“Miss Lovington.”

Judith had just reached the edge of the apple orchard, through which she meant to take a shorter path to camp when Kelthorne called to her from behind.

She was greatly surprised and not a little dismayed. She did not understand why he had followed her. Indeed, she wished he would go away.

She waited for him but as soon as he reached her, she lifted her chin. “I cannot imagine why you have come to me.” She was still stinging after his impertinent and wholly inappropriate question.

“I have been asked by Miss Currivard to escort you to your camp. She has insisted quite adamantly so I beg you will indulge her directive and not bite my head off. ‘Twas not my notion.”

“Very well, but I mean to traverse your orchard unless, of course, you have an objection for someone of my low character to do so.”

He lifted his chin as well. “I have no objection.”

She seethed. “Very well, then.” She had no intention of speaking with him. He might accompany her but that hardly demanded conversation.

After a third of the rows had been accomplished, he said, “I suppose I must beg your forgiveness.” He did not sound in the least penitent.

“I would not desire you to
strain
yourself, my lord.”

“I think my supposition was reasonable,” he said in his defense, but his tone was much softened. “Given the strength of your reaction, however, I must deduce that I was incorrect.”

She did not want to give him answer. She did not see why she must justify to him anything she did. Yet, there was something in his voice that compelled her to at least say, “You were wholly mistaken.”

He stopped her suddenly. “Will you not then tell me how it is you came to be with the troupe, for I can think of no other reason for you to have done so than that you had disgraced yourself. And yet, knowing you as I do, I cannot imagine how that might have been.”

She looked up at him. Moonlight through the leaves of the apple tree once more dappled his face. She could see that he was sincere, even concerned. “My lord,” she murmured, laughing in frustration, “I cannot tell you. To do so would be to reveal things that would place me in harm’s way. You must trust me in this.”

He began walking again but slapped the lower branch of the next tree. An apple thudded to the grassy turf below. “Very well,” he stated. “I suppose I must allow it.”

“‘Tis not about your allowing it,” she said feeling rather cheerful. “The truth is that you can have no choice in the matter and I believe that is the thistle in this field.”

He growled his frustration.

She chuckled. Perhaps she had come to understand him a little after all. “So tell me, how did you enjoy our performance this evening?” Perhaps a change of subject would set their uneven friendship to rights.

He chuckled and shook his head. “My God, where do I begin in answering this question? I was enchanted, charmed, cast completely beneath your spell as was everyone else in the room.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. She had not meant to solicit so many compliments. “Thank you. I am gratified. But I must confess that though Margaret plays quite well for one who was never before schooled in the art, Miss Currivard’s abilities made the experience rather sublime.”

“She is an angel.”

“She is a good friend.” Judith remembered her kind words in the music room.

“She seems to take a great deal of interest in you.”

“Yes,” she said, remembering their cryptic conversation. “Though I must say I am not certain why that is, save that we seem to have a very natural and warm rapport between us.”

“Indeed?” he said, meeting her gaze.

“Aye,” she responded. “Were my circumstances different, I think we would become the best of friends. There is a great sensitivity and understanding of the world in Miss Currivard that one does not often find. I admire her a great deal.”

He frowned a little. “I believe you are right.”

For Judith, this agreement softened her feelings toward him. “I wish you to know that I do think of you as a friend as well and I do not mean to offend you by not being more forthcoming about my past.”

“In turn, I have pressed you beyond what is acceptable. Although I must say, I would hope that one day you would be able to trust me to such an extent that you would feel safe in confiding in me. But perhaps that is expecting a great deal too much.”

Judith sighed, for this speech reminded her that the troupe would not stay forever in Portislow. Such knowledge, however, made her feel less threatened in his presence. She liked him very much. Indeed, there were moments when her longing for his company was so strong that she wondered if perhaps Cupid had touched her with one of his gold-tipped arrows.

Were she to remain in Portislow, therefore, she did not think she would have dared say, as she did now, “I have been very happy here. There have been occasions when I have wished I might remain in Somerset forever. There is much to the county and to this vicinity that quite enchants me. Were you often at the castle before you inherited?”

“No,” he stated with a laugh. “And had you known my uncle you would understand quite to perfection why it was that I was not.”

She chuckled. “Not everyone is made for society. I dare say your uncle was just such a sort.”

“To say the very least, I assure you.”

“You seem on excellent terms with your sisters.”

Again, he chuckled. “If you mean they feel obligated to offer their opinions on every possible subject pertaining to my private affairs then yes we are, indeed, on excellent terms.”

She smiled and found that she did not wish to hurry to camp so quickly as before. She slowed her steps and he kept pace. “I envy you your sisters. I had no siblings. My mother died when I was very young, two or three, I believe.”

“And did your father remarry?”

“Yes, but there was no issue. He fell very ill after a time.” The words spoken into the night air brought so much sadness flooding her heart that she had to give herself a strong shake. “There are no Lovingtons other than I.”

He glanced at her. “And is Lovington your real name?”

“No, of course not. ‘Tis a ridiculous name, but fit for a songstress I think.”

“Indeed? And what is—”

“I shan’t tell you,” she said, but she was smiling. From the first, this was what she had enjoyed in being with him. When they were not brangling, there was a natural, teasing quality to their discourse that pleased her immensely.

He pressed his hand to his heart. “I feel quite overwhelmed that you have confided at least this much in me, that you are not Judith Lovington. That must account for something.”

“Yes, it accounts for my stupidity.”

He laughed quite heartily. “How you delight me.”

She glanced at him, another warmth climbing her cheeks. Could he have said anything in this moment that would have pleased her more? She thought not.

The subject quickly fell to questions he posed about each member of the troupe. More than once she stopped their progress entirely in order to turn toward him and tell him some anecdote or other about the troupe’s numerous experiences throughout the kingdom. Finally, he led her to an old log upon which he overlaid his coat that her skirts might not become soiled. She sat beside him listening to undoubtedly somewhat abbreviated tales of his many adventures.

She observed, “Do you not believe that having lived in a manner that was not in the least traditional—as I have and even as Miss Currivard has—that one gains a perspective of life that one would not have had otherwise? I have thought so often, for instance, that in any class of people, there are those who live and walk with integrity and those who would find it impossible to offer a definition of the word in their speech, manners and especially their conduct. Many, for instance, who go by the name of gentleman are nothing of the sort. And I should in turn happily apply the term to any number of men I have known in our travels even though they might speak with so thick an accent as to be unintelligible.”

*** *** ***

Kelthorne looked into her eyes, glittering as they had that first night, beneath the scattered moonbeams piercing the orchard. “I believe I must agree quite wholeheartedly with you,” he said, surprised a little that his voice had fallen to little more than a murmur. A breeze swept a dangling curl over her cheek and instinctively he brushed it back toward her ear, his fingers touching her skin. He heard her sigh softly.

He met her gaze fully once more. He had never, throughout their slow walk through the orchard, considered kissing her, but the thought entered his head now with such force that before he could consider what he was about, he slid his hand behind her neck, leaned forward and placed his lips gently on hers.

She did not withdraw, a circumstance that gave him courage. The hand that supported her neck now slipped behind her back and drew her close. He felt her hand settle upon his arm, even fingering the soft fabric of his shirt and he deepened the kiss. How readily she parted her lips and received him. How greedily he responded, kissing her as though ‘twould be the last time he would ever kiss again.