Wicked and Wonderful (26 page)

Stolford approached Judith but she met him with her shoulders squared. Perhaps because of her countenance or because he had Lady Radsbury on one arm and Mrs. Newnott on the other, he did nothing more than praise her quite fulsomely. Kelthorne’s sisters did as well, but their appreciation was expressed in a cool manner. Judith believed she understood why.

As she left the concert, she realized the only person she had not seen afterwards was Kelthorne. A very deep disappointment settled over her heart. Did he not know, not understand that in little more than a day, she would be leaving Portislow?

*** *** ***

Kelthorne knew he was being ridiculous skulking in the shadows as he was, but he had to see Judith one last time, alone.

As the crowds streamed away from the stage, he stole into the wooded growth at the edge of the hill and watched and waited. He had seen her address his sisters and Stolford. How proud he was that she had met the marquess so confidently. He had smiled thinking of her dagger and to a degree wished that Stolford would provoke her that he might feel the sting of her blade.

He watched her leave the concert area at last and as she began making her way westward back to the camp, he kept track with her progress holding to the shrubby growth of the hillside. She kept glancing all about her as though looking for someone.

He heard Miss Currivard’s voice and saw that she and Laurence were calling to Judith. How animated Miss Currivard was gesticulating with her hands in a manner that reminded him of an excited bird. How much she enjoyed performing with Judith. How guilty he felt about her presence in his home when his desire was all for Judith. Still, he waited.

At last, Laurence and Miss Currivard moved on. Laurence politely offered his arm and Miss Currivard took it. How good Laurence was to have tended to her when he had not. He would have to thank Laurence later.

Now, however, he must speak with Judith, he must say good-bye in the only manner that would ease his heart. He must hold her in his arms, only how to reach her with so many people around, though fewer by the minute. She dawdled. She spoke with those who passed her. What was she waiting for? Why did she not turn toward camp? Worse, still, how was he to keep her from doing so? Once Laurence and Miss Currivard were well out of sight, he stepped from the woods and waved to her. The hour was late and the light very dim. She saw him and did not hesitate but picked up her skirts and began to run.

When she reached him, he drew her deep into the shadows.

“I am leaving very soon,” she said a little out-of-breath.

“I know. I had to see you one last time.”

“I wished to say good-bye as well so I kept looking for you. When I could not find you, I was desolate. But here you are.”

He could barely see her face. “I am here. Judith, my darling, whatever am I to do when you are gone?”

She touched his face gently. “I was never happier than when I was with you,” she said quietly, her thumb stroking his cheek.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, taking her strongly in his arms. He kissed her forcefully and to his great delight she wrapped her arms about his neck. A powerful desperation existed between them in that moment. Was she really leaving? Would he not see her again? How could he bear such separation? How would Judith fare without him?

*** *** ***

Judith felt her tears begin to seep from her eyes and roll down her face and along her neck. She could not seem to stop them. She realized now that she loved him. That all which had transpired between them was more than just a transient
tendre.
She loved him. Her heart belonged to him and always would.

She drew back and swiped at her tears. “I fear I have become a watering pot, but dear Lord Kelthorne, I am going to miss you, quite dreadfully.”

“I... I love you,” he proclaimed suddenly, taking her once more into his arms. He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her chin. “I love you, Judith. With all my heart, with all my being. You have become as necessary to me as the sun to the moon, the tides to the sea, the day to night. Would there be any beauty in my life without you, any perfection, any completion? Judith, I wish you to—”

“Aubrey,” a female voice called out sharply.

Judith released him and turned to stare into the field beyond. She saw that both Kelthorne’s sisters were not fifteen feet away.

Kelthorne took her hand and led her from the woods. “You begin to frighten me,” he called to them. “I was sure we could not be seen.”

Lady Radsbury shook her head. “We saw Miss Lovington running toward the woods and became concerned for her.”

“And how fortunate,” Mrs. Newnott said, scowling, “that ‘twas we who saw her. Good God, Aubrey, what were you thinking?”

Judith was deeply embarrassed on so many score.

Kelthorne drew her close to his side. “I am in love with her,” he stated. “I mean to marry her.”

His sisters’ mouths fell agape in unison. Judith might otherwise have been amused but the situation was rife with every possible pain. She turned toward him and withdrew her arm. “You cannot be serious,” she said, so much so that he turned to her with a shocked expression.

“I was never more so. Do you not wish to be my wife?”

“What I wish I forsook eight years ago. I have never been ignorant of that nor should you. The things you said to me in the orchard the other night, these are precisely what will always be thought and believed of me. How could I ever assume the role of your wife without feeling the disapproval of everyone who is important to you for so long as I lived?”

“I do not give a fig for that.”

“For the comfort of your family, of your sisters, of your children? Good God, Kelthorne, you have not thought the situation through in the least.”

“She is right,” Lady Radsbury said, but so gently that Judith turned to her. She saw much to her surprise that Kelthorne’s eldest sister was weeping. “You are very good, Miss Lovington. I did not expect to hear these words of sense from you and for that I beg you will forgive me. All the while you were in my brother’s drawing room I felt as though you belonged among us but we all know ‘tis impossible, utterly impossible.”

“But I love her,” Kelthorne said.

Judith heard the break in his voice, but pressed him by adding, “Your children deserve better. You know what people are, you know the gossip will never die, you know my reputation was ruined the day I took up with the troupe.”

“My
reputation is a thousand times worse.”

“You will always be forgiven because you are a man and now I must go. Indeed, I must.”

“You cannot.” He tried to take her arm, but she slipped behind Lady Radsbury.

“Prevent him,” she whispered. “Speak to him, reason with him, remind him a hundredfold of these truths.” With that, she ran away.

For the next hour or so, Judith shed her tears. Eventually, however, she realized no amount of weeping would suffice to relieve the deep suffering of her heart. How odd to think that just a few short weeks before she arrived in Portislow she had been fairly content in her life, certainly resigned to her fate, because she was working toward purchasing a cottage in Devonshire. But in that space of time, she had tumbled violently in love with a man she could never possess. Even as sweet as the moments were that she had shared with Kelthorne, she would have wished her love for him undone for the pain that sliced through her now.

There was nothing left to be done, however, except to begin packing. On the morrow, the camp would pull up stakes and begin the slow process of moving south into Devonshire, accompanying the fair. A new audience would be found and there would be more shillings to earn as well as precious memories to forget.

From the bottom of her wardrobe, she drew a satchel and settled it on the bed, drawing it wide open. Slowly and carefully, as she had done a hundred times before, she began to pack her most treasured belongings.

“So, ye had thought to get yerself a lord.”

Judith tuned, startled by the sound of Charles’s voice. “I did not hear you scratch the canvas,” she stated, lifting her chin. He could mean no good by coming to her tent at so late an hour. Her knee twitched where the bottom of the sheath and dagger rested against her leg. She did not think she would have need of it, but there could be no two opinions on the subject that Charles Hemyock despised her.

“Quite full of yer importance these days, traipsing up to the castle every other minute. Thought to live there, did ye?”

“I never entertained such a hope,” she stated calmly, turning her back to him and removing a sampler from the wall of the tent.

He snorted his disbelief. “Did not ye just hope to do exactly that,” he said bitterly. “Always thinkin’ yerself above yer company, better than the rest with yer accent so prim, so genteel.”

She turned back to face him. “What do you want? Why are you here? If you mean to tell me again how greatly you detest me, there is no need for you have never kept that opinion to yourself.”

He lowered his lids, glaring at her through a squint. “I made a new friend tonight: The Marquess of Stolford. He knows talent and he sees it in me. He means to do great things for me.”

“Everyone sees the breadth of your abilities, Charles. You are the most gifted actor I have ever known.”

He shook his head and snorted again. “Do ye mean to flatter me now? To what purpose?”

“To no purpose. I merely offered my opinion. But as to your character, I only think it unfortunate that it does not match your abilities, for then you would be a truly great man, worthy of every success and attainment. As it is now, you will astonish me if you achieve even a mediocre career for all your profound persuasiveness of gesture and speech.”

He stood up very straight. “I knew it would come to this. Ye are jealous of me. Ye always have been and for that reason ye’ve stood in my way but fer the last time. The last time, I tell ye, so be warned, my pretty Judy. Be warned.”

With that he laughed harshly and quit her tent.

Judith sat down on her bed, carefully as always lest the corner give way yet again. She did not take his threats seriously. She had the loyalty and protection of the troupe. What could he do to her?

*** *** ***

Kelthorne stood outside the conservatory, the summer night air cool on his face. He could hear Miss Currivard’s laughter coming from the music room as well as Laurence’s voice. He smiled, if sadly. Laurence certainly had the ability to make Miss Currivard laugh. He was grateful she enjoyed his company for once Kelthorne married her, Laurence would often be at Portislow.

Still he delayed opening the door. He felt certain in doing so he was sealing his fate.

The hour was near midnight by his calculation. After he escorted his sisters back to the castle, he had left them at the front door and walked about the grounds for a very long time. He pondered all that Judith had said as well as the arguments his sisters had presented against any such union with a songstress.

In the end he had felt he had no choice but to agree with all of them. Judith was an actress. She was tainted. She would never be viewed as anything more by the society in which he moved.

She had been right about one thing, no matter how questionable his own conduct over the past ten years, his escapades would be entirely overlooked. Hers, real or imagined, would not. Even their children would suffer the insults about her past, about having lived and labored for so many years as part of an acting troupe.

Having come to an acceptance of his situation, that Judith could never be the Countess of Kelthorne and that Miss Currivard was in every respect an appropriate bride for him, he finally resolved to do his duty. Now he stood by the door to the conservatory. If he must leave Judith behind, if he must go forward with Miss Currivard, then he would begin tonight. He would ask her to become his wife even now.

He opened the door and with a steadiness if grimness of purpose, he walked to the music room where the door was half-closed. He was surprised that he could hear neither Laurence telling one of his amusing anecdotes nor Miss Currivard’s attending laughter. He pushed the door open and, much to his great astonishment, found Miss Currivard locked in Laurence’s arms.

“What the deuce? What is the meaning of this? Laurence, I cannot believe you would use me in this manner.”

They had drawn apart sharply and now stared at him. Laurence appeared conscious but Miss Currivard seemed rather amused. “I beg your pardon?” she responded, her lips twitching. “I cannot imagine what you mean.”

“Well, why are you kissing my friend? Are you not here to become betrothed to me?” The ill-usage he felt was powerful in the extreme.

For some reason, she began to laugh. “I only wish you could see the self-righteousness in your expression right now.”

“Abigail—Miss Currivard,” Laurence began softly. “Do but consider.”

She took his hand. “I have considered. I have considered for days, even weeks now, even from the beginning. He never loved me, not even in the slightest degree, and you did.”

“You love her?” Kelthorne asked, stunned.

“Aye.” He murmured, his expression haunted.

“But I do not understand? When did this happen? How?"

Miss Currivard looked at him as though he were a complete simpleton. “It happened every time your friend felt obliged to atone for your truly odious conduct or did you think me oblivious to your feelings for Miss Lovington or to your quite dogged pursuit of her?”

“I...that is…I never meant…it was a mistake…it should never have happened. I would not have hurt you for the world. I esteem you greatly. I admire you.”

Miss Currivard looked away from him, her expression growing momentarily somber. When she met his gaze anew, she said, “Did I not comprehend your character so much as I do, that you are truly a fine man, despite your notorious reputation, I would not hesitate to say that I have never been so humiliated as I have these several weeks beneath your roof. But it will be an even greater insult to me to hear you deny that you have behaved wretchedly.”

Kelthorne threw himself into a chair by the pianoforte. “Good God, so I have,” he murmured. “I have been so lost in my own struggles, trying desperately not to love Judith, that is, Miss Lovington, that I did not even see you.” He looked up at her. “My dear Miss Currivard, how will you ever forgive me? I have been a perfect cretin.”