Wicked and Wonderful (22 page)

Suddenly, she pushed him back. “You should not,” she said softly.

“Of course not” he whispered. “But I cannot seem to resist you in this moment.”

He drew her to her feet and before she could protest, he kissed her again.

*** *** ***

Judith was bewitched. She could account for her conduct in no other way. She was allowing Kelthorne to kiss her, the man who would soon be betrothed to a lady who had befriended her, who had shown her great kindness, who was making her dreams of owning a cottage one day come sooner than she had ever thought possible. But, oh, the magic of his caress. She did not understand why he could command her so easily except that they had been talking for an hour or two in the most delightful, the most intimate manner, sharing thoughts and ideas. How she treasured each second that he possessed her in this sweet, wondrous way, for she would soon leave Somerset.

She clung to him, to an impossible dream that she refused even now to acknowledge fully, a desire that she could have what she had grown up to believe she would one day have—a husband, children, a home shared with the man she loved.

As he plied her lips so tenderly, she wondered if she loved him. Was that why she could so easily lean into him in this scandalous manner? Did she love him?

She drew back again and searched his eyes. He held her hand close to his cheek and kissed her fingers. The hour was late. Margaret must be waiting for her. She must go. “I must return to camp. Margaret always waits for me.”

“Of course.” He retrieved his coat and put it back on.

Perhaps a quarter mile yet remained, but never had so short a space required so much time to traverse. That Kelthorne stopped to kiss her again and again made the approaching destination a hated thing. Judith felt agitated, even when she kissed him, as though each kiss would be the last and that as soon as the sun rose on the morrow, some great breach would occur to separate their worlds even more.

In this moment, she resented Lord Stolford more than she ever had before. It was his doing that now prevented her from being worthy of Kelthorne and yet it was his doing that had brought her to Portislow this summer. How great an irony.

“I shall remember this night as long as I live,” she whispered. She stood with him now at the edge of the orchard. They were but a hundred yards from the camp. She searched his eyes, barely visible in the pale moonlight. She could not imagine his thoughts.

*** *** ***

Kelthorne wanted more of Judith, particularly since with each day that passed, the hour drew near when not only would the troupe leave with her forever, but he would be forced to oblige his family and take a wife. He felt angry suddenly, angry that she had made him feel things he did not wish to feel, that perhaps love was possible after all. Yet the woman he desired was not fit to be the Countess of Kelthorne.

He kissed her roughly, his hand traveling along her cheek, her throat and sliding firmly over her breast. He might as well take now what he could not have in marriage.

As soon as these thoughts entered his head and as soon as his hand gave a squeeze, she drew back abruptly, pushing his hand away. She did not speak but reproached him with her gaze.

He was angry. “You permitted me to kiss you well enough,” he whispered, trying to draw near again, but she backed away.

“I beg you will not,” she returned sharply.

“Why do you demur now?” he spat. He tried to take her in his arms once more, but she crushed the heel of her shoe against the soft top of his foot and he reeled back in pain.

Hell and damnation. He winced and stretched his foot a couple of times.

“Good night, my lord,” she stated firmly. He saw the tears sparkling on her lashes.

She turned to go but even in his pain he lunged and caught her elbow. “How dare you pretend to be what you cannot possibly be,” he said, not knowing why he was speaking so cruelly to her.

“And you, on the brink of offering for a wonderful young lady. Are you no less a hypocrite, if I am so? What manner of libertine are you? I begin to think you as bad as Stolford.”

He glared at her for a long moment. “Were you a man, I should call you out for that remark.”

This time, when she turned and began the last part of the journey back to camp, he let her go. He watched her until she was safely past the first line of tents. Only then did he make his way back to the castle.

*** *** ***

“You are quite mistaken,” Judith said. “I am not overset in the least.” She pushed past Margaret who was standing in the middle of her tent and stubbed her toe on her dressing table. “Ow.”

Margaret held her hands wide. “Ye have been in high dudgeon all morning. Ye have an that.”

“I do not know of what you are speaking,” Judith said. “Now, if you please, I am gathering clothes to take to the church.”

“I have two shirts finished as well,” Margaret said. “And Mrs. Marnhull has several stockings she knitted.”

“Why do you stare at me in that manner?” Judith inquired hotly. “I promise you I am perfectly well.”

Margaret’s shoulders slumped. “As though I have not known ye these eight years.”

Judith tossed her head. “Well, today
ye
are mistaken.”

“Now I know ye are troubled fer ye never say ‘ye’.”

Judith sat down carefully on her bed and covered her face with her hands. “I—I should not be so upset. I am being ridiculous. I have always understood the opinion in which I would be held by any of the gentlemen I would meet or even engage in rational conversation. I am not so naïve and yet…”

She began to weep. She had not meant to weep. She despised herself for becoming a watering pot, yet it would seem the tears must come.

Margaret knelt before her and petted her head for her hair was still undone and her long chestnut curls hung down her back. “What terrible thing did ‘is lordship do?”

Judith sniffed soundly and withdrawing a kerchief from the pocket of her gown blew her nose. “How do you know it was Kelthorne?” she asked, as though pretense had any meaning at all.

“And who else would it be, Judy?”

Judith swiped angrily at two more tears daring to roll down her cheeks. “I... I have grown so attached to his company. And last night we talked and talked for hours. Well, you know how late it was, nearly two o’clock.”

“And I saw that ye were overset.”

“I was. I am. At any rate, I could not credit so much time had passed but we dawdled so in the orchard. Only with the greatest effort did I keep myself from revealing all of my past to him but even so he knows now nearly as much as you do. Then... then he kissed me.”

Margaret sighed. “And to kiss such a man.”

“Yes, I know. And it is far better than one can even imagine for he is the most tender of men. Is that not surprising when he is such an athletic sort?”

“Aye, very surprising. But a kiss does not sound so very bad.”

“Twas more than one kiss. Perhaps two score.”

“Oh,” Margaret murmured. “I see. Is that why ye are so distressed? That ye kissed him in what he might have thought were an unseemly manner?”

“An
unseemly manner?
You are beginning to sound like a lady of quality.”

“Split me corset, I am and that.” she said, smiling broadly.

Judith laughed and blew her nose once more. Her amusement faded abruptly. “He became quite rude in the end and I do not precisely comprehend why.”

“What did he say?”

“I fear it was not just what he said, but rather that he became agitated and I fear he touched me as he should not have and then he said, ‘How dare you pretend to be what you cannot possibly be.’ I was mortified and so angry. I cannot tell you how angry I was. I thought my head would come off.”

Margaret leaned back on her heels appearing pensive. “I think he might have grown afraid of ye in that moment.”

“Afraid of me? What do you mean?”

“Afraid of his feelings fer ye. Like he realized he was in love with ye but could do naught about it.”

Judith shook her head. Was it possible? “It seems so unlikely. I truly felt he was judging me again by my situation.”

“Think, Judy,” she said, clasping her hand firmly. “From what ye’ve said, there be a great bond between the pair of ye. To talk fer hours, ‘tis not so common as ye might think.”

“I think he wished for me to become his mistress,” she said mournfully.

“That would make things simple fer him but ‘twould not make him happy. There is only one thing ‘twould make him happy and ye know wat that be.”

“I do not,” she said, sitting up very straight. “How can I possibly know what would make him happy?”

“Because, my girl, ye’ve been kissing him all night. Yer in love with him and he is in love, too. I’ve little doubt of that.”

Judith covered her face again. She could not listen to her, for to believe such things was to allow thoughts in her head that ought not to be there.

She rose suddenly to her feet. “I must go. No, no, I beg you, Margaret, let us discuss this no more. I do not think I can bear it a moment longer. Let me walk to the church. Perhaps my head will clear with a little exertion.”

Margaret stayed her, however. “At least let me fix yer hair.”

Judith touched her hair and laughed. “I forgot that I had not yet dressed it. Oh, dear.”

An hour later, Judith found herself nearing the church, the basket of clothes in her arms growing, as it always did, surprisingly heavy after a mile or two on foot. A walk had been quite beneficial and she was calmer than she had previously been. She had reconciled in her mind that she thought it likely Kelthorne had become uneasy in the depth of his regard for her and had provoked her in order to end so sweet and magical and, indeed, quite hopeless an evening. She had, therefore, resigned herself anew to keeping her distance from him especially in the light of her growing friendship with Miss Currivard.

In this particular aspect of her conduct of the night before, she could not be content. Miss Currivard was her support, her friend, and her patroness. She had in that sense used her quite ill and meant not to do so again.

Fortunate for her that she had made such a resolution for when she entered the ancient Norman church, she met Miss Currivard who bore in her arms a large bouquet of roses and ferns.

“Well met, Miss Lovington. I have come with Kelthorne’s sisters to decorate the church.”

“How beautiful,” Judith murmured. The fragrance of the red roses filled the air. She glanced in the direction of the nave and saw that Lady Radsbury and Mrs. Newnott were conversing with a rather tall, thin gentleman who seemed vaguely familiar to Judith. The dark interior of the stone church did not easily allow for recognition. “I have come on a mission of my own. Some of the ladies of the troupe sew for the poor and I have come to bring our little offering.”

Miss Currivard settled her roses on a table nearby and recommended Judith do the same. She was grateful to set the basket down. Miss Currivard then picked up a boy’s shirt. “Is this your work?” she exclaimed.

“Yes, that one happens to be.”

“It is very fine. And how wonderful to see little dogs embroidered down the front. Charming. Truly charming.”

“I always feel so guilty though in taking the time to do the embroidery work when there is so much need for clothes generally. I suppose with the same effort I could have sewn another garment entirely.”

Miss Currivard shook her head. “You are too severe upon yourself. My thoughts are very different. Were I a little boy, in such desperate circumstances, I should be comforted by all these little brown pups in a way that I could never be by a mere plain shirt. Yes, Miss Lovington, too severe by half.”

Judith laughed and thanked her for her compliments and her kindness.

Miss Currivard glanced up the aisle in the direction of Kelthorne’s sisters. She appeared to hesitate and a slight frown creased her brow. “I believe I must make the introduction,” she said, her voice low. “Propriety demands it but I truly wish it were otherwise. Pray, forgive me.”

“Now who is being severe,” Judith returned laughing. She could not imagine any friends of the castle party being in the least objectionable.

As Judith turned to walk up the aisle with Miss Currivard, she wondered whom the gentleman might be. In quick stages, since her eyes had by now become better accustomed to the dim interior of the church, she realized who he was.

Dizziness assailed her causing her to grasp Miss Currivard’s arm more tightly than she ought.

Stolford.

“Is something amiss?” Miss Currivard inquired quietly as they moved together.

“No,” Judith whispered, struggling to regain her composure as quickly as possible. She took long, deep breaths and avoided Miss Currivard’s curious glances.

Once Judith had greeted Kelthorne’s sisters, Miss Currivard made the introductions. “My lord, may I present our famous local songstress, Miss Lovington.”

“Miss Lovington, the Marquess of Stolford.”

She dipped a proper curtsy and bowed her head. She rose slowly.

He bowed as well. “I have heard much of you, Miss Lovington. Lady Radsbury praised you so highly in her last letter that I found I—” he broke off and stared at her. “You are very familiar to me, but I cannot quite—”

Recognition dawned, of that she was certain. Judith struggled to keep her composure. Fear had taken strong hold of her.

A familiar smile shaped his lips, one that set her knees to trembling. His eyes grew clouded. She wondered if he meant to betray her identity even in this moment.

“But I am being uncivil,” he said. “Forgive me for staring at you but I thought for a moment I had met you in London this season past but now I am certain I am utterly mistaken. I hope to hear you sing very soon.”

“The troupe with which I am presently engaged will be performing this Saturday when I am given to understand the fair will have arrived in Portislow.” She then dipped another curtsy. “I beg you will excuse me, Miss Currivard, Lady Radsbury, Mrs. Newnott, but I am frightfully late for a rehearsal and I must speak with the good vicar before I depart.” She turned and moved back down the aisle, picking up her basket on the way.