by Mary Balogh
Claudia was seated at the escritoire in the morning room, writing a reply to a letter from Eleanor Thompson, when the butler came to announce the arrival of visitors. The collie, who had been curled up beside her chair, sleeping, scrambled to his feet. “Her grace, the Duchess of Bewcastle, the Marchioness of Hallmere, and Lady Aidan Bedwyn are waiting below, ma’am,” he said. “Shall I show them up?” Gracious! Claudia raised her eyebrows. “Lord and Lady Whitleaf are upstairs in the nursery,” she said. “Should this message not be delivered to them?” “Her grace said it was you she has come particularly to see, ma’am,” the butler said. “Then show them up,” Claudia said, hastily cleaning her pen and pushing her papers into a neat pile. At least she would be able to tell the duchess that her sister was well. But why would they call upon her? Yet again she had not slept well. But this time it had been entirely her own fault. She had not really wanted to sleep. She had wanted to relive the evening at Vauxhall. She was still not sorry. The dog greeted the Duchess of Bewcastle and her sisters-in-law with fierce barks and a rush of attack. “Oh, dear,” Claudia said. “Will he bite my leg off?” the duchess asked, laughing and bending over to pat his head. “A border collie,” Lady Aidan said, bending also. “He is just greeting us, Christine. Look at his tail wagging. And good morning to you too, you sweet little thing.” “He was a mistreated dog I was forced to adopt a couple of days ago,” Claudia explained. “I believe all he needs is love—and plenty of food.” “And you are providing both, Miss Martin?” Lady Hallmere looked somewhat surprised. “Do you collect strays as Eve does? But you do collect stray pupils, do you not?” She held up one hand when Claudia would have made a cutting remark. “I have one of them as governess to my children,” she said. “Miss Wood seems to have captured their interest. It remains to be seen if she can continue to do so.” The ladies took the seats Claudia indicated. “I do thank you for bringing Miss Bains to town in person, Miss Martin,” Lady Aidan said. “She seems a very pleasant, cheerful young lady. Hannah, my youngest, is already very attached to her, even after just one day. Becky is being more cautious. She has lost two governesses to marriage and she adored them both. She is inclined to be resentful of someone new. However, Miss Bains told the girls about her first day at your school in Bath, when she hated everybody and everything and was quite determined never to settle there even though she had agreed to go—and very soon she had them both laughing and begging for more stories about school.” “Yes,” Claudia said, “that sounds like Flora. She likes to talk. She studied conscientiously, though, and will be a good teacher, I believe.” She patted the dog, who had come back to sit beside her chair. “I am sure she will,” Lady Aidan said. “My husband and I did talk about sending Becky away to school this year, but I really cannot bear the thought of parting with her. It is bad enough that Davy has to go to school. Bad for me, that is. He is having a grand time there, as Aidan said he would.” Claudia, inclined to dislike the woman merely because she was a Bedwyn by marriage, found that she could not do so after all. She even thought that she could detect the slight lilt of a Welsh accent in Lady Aidan’s voice. “I am so glad,” the Duchess of Bewcastle said, “that James is still far too young for school. He will go when the time comes, of course, even though Wulfric did not when he was a boy. It is an experience he has always regretted missing, and he is determined that none of his sons will remain at home. I just hope that my next child will be a girl, though as a dutiful wife I suppose I should hope for another boy first—the spare to go with the heir or some such nonsense. The next, by the way, should make his or her appearance within seven months or so.” She beamed happily at Claudia, who could not help but like the duchess also—and pity her for being married to the duke. Though she did not appear to be a woman whose spirit had been broken. “You and Frances both,” Claudia said. “The Countess of Edgecombe, that is.” “Really?” The duchess smiled warmly. “How delightful for her and the earl. I suppose she will stop traveling and singing for a while. The world will go into mourning. She has a beautiful, beautiful voice.” The door opened at that moment and Susanna came into the room. All three visitors stood to greet her and the dog rushed about her ankles. “I hope I have not taken you from your son,” the duchess said. “Not at all,” Susanna assured her. “Peter is with him, and the two of them were looking so pleased with each other that I deemed my presence quite redundant. Do sit down again.” “Miss Martin,” the duchess said as soon as she had seated herself once more, “I had a brilliant idea earlier this morning. I do occasionally have them, you know. Do not laugh, Eve. Eleanor has written to say that she will definitely bring ten of the girls from the school to spend part of the summer at Lindsey Hall. I daresay you know that already—she wrote to you before writing to me, did she not? She almost changed her mind when she knew that Wulfric and I will not be away for the whole summer after all. Wulfric turns tyrant when I am increasing and insists that I do as little traveling as possible, and he claims to have lost his appetite for traveling alone. Besides, the Earl and Countess of Redfield are celebrating an anniversary this summer and have invited us to a grand ball at Alvesley Park among other things. It would not be neighborly to be from home on such a grand occasion. However, there is plenty of room and to spare at Lindsey Hall for ten schoolgirls.” Lady Aidan laughed. “And does Wulfric agree with you, Christine?” she asked. “Of course,” the duchess said. “Wulfric always agrees with me, even when he needs a little persuasion first. I reminded him that we had twelve girls stay with us last summer for the marriage of Lord and Lady Whitleaf and he was not at all inconvenienced.” “And I was very happy to have them at my wedding,” Susanna said. “My brilliant idea,” the duchess said, returning her attention to Claudia, “was that you come too, Miss Martin. I daresay you intend to return to Bath soon, and if the prospect of spending the summer in a school without any children in it is your idea of bliss—as it very well may be—then so be it. But I would love to have you come to Lindsey Hall with Eleanor and the girls and enjoy the pleasures of the countryside for a few weeks. And if any further inducement is necessary, I would remind you that both Lady Whitleaf and Mrs. Butler will be at Alvesley Park. I know they are both particular friends of yours as well as former teachers at your school.” Claudia’s first reaction was one of stunned incredulity. Stay at Lindsey Hall, setting of one of her worst waking nightmares? With the Duke of Bewcastle in residence? Susanna’s eyes were brimming with merriment. It was obvious that she was having the same thought. “We will be going to Lindsey Hall too for a short while,” Lady Aidan said, “as will Freyja and Joshua. You will be able to see how Miss Bains and Miss Wood are settling to their new positions, Miss Martin. Though they will not begin work in earnest until after we have returned home to Oxfordshire and Freyja and Joshua to Cornwall, of course.” So it would not be just Lindsey Hall and the Duke of Bewcastle—it would be the former Lady Freyja Bedwyn too. The idea that she should go was so appalling to Claudia that she almost laughed aloud. And it was surely not her imagination that Lady Hallmere was looking at her with a slightly mocking gleam in her eye. “Please say you will come,” the duchess said. “It will please me enormously.” “Oh, do go, Claudia,” Susanna urged. But Claudia had had a sudden idea, and it was only because of it that she did not say an instant and very emphatic no. “I wonder,” she said. “Would you balk at the idea of eleven girls instead of ten, your grace?” Lady Hallmere raised her eyebrows. “Ten, eleven, twenty,” the duchess said cheerfully. “Let them all come. And bring the dog too. There will be plenty of space for him to run about. And I daresay the children will spoil him quite shamelessly.” “There is another girl,” Claudia said. “Mr. Hatchard, my man of business in town here, has mentioned her. He sometimes recommends charity cases to me if he believes I can do something to help the girl.” “I was once one of them,” Susanna said. “Have you met this girl, Claudia?” “Yes.” Claudia frowned, hating the lie but finding it necessary. “I am not at all sure she is suitable or that she wishes to attend my sch
ool. But…perhaps.” The duchess got to her feet. “You will both be very welcome,” she said. “But we must be on our way. This was intended to be a very brief visit, since it is not at all the fashionable hour to call upon anyone, is it? We will see you both at Mrs. Kingston’s ball this evening?” “We will be there,” Susanna said. “Thank you,” Claudia said. “I will come to Lindsey Hall, your grace, and help Eleanor care for the girls. I know she hopes to spend some time with her mother while she is there, and now that you intend to remain at home too she will wish to spend time with you as well.” “Oh, splendid!” the duchess said, looking genuinely pleased. “This is going to be a delightful summer.” A delightful summer indeed, Claudia thought wryly. What on earth had she just agreed to? Was this her summer for going back in time to confront past horrors and perhaps exorcise them from her memories? Peter had just stepped into the room to greet the visitors. He and Susanna went downstairs with them to see them on their way. Lady Hallmere remained behind for a few moments, held perhaps by a very direct look from Claudia. “Perhaps Edna Wood told you,” Claudia said, “or perhaps she did not, that I did not approve of her taking employment with you. It was her own choice to attend an interview and to accept the position, and I must respect her right to do so. But I do not like it, and I do not mind telling you so.” Lady Freyja Bedwyn had been a peculiar-looking girl, with her fair unruly hair, darker eyebrows, dark-toned skin, and rather prominent nose. She still had those features. But somehow they all added up to a striking handsomeness, which Claudia resented. It would have been more just if the girl had grown into an ugly woman. Lady Hallmere smiled. “You bear a long grudge, Miss Martin,” she said. “I have rarely admired anyone as much as I did you as you marched down the driveway of Lindsey Hall on foot, carrying your baggage. I have admired you ever since. Good morning.” And she was gone in pursuit of her sisters-in-law. Well! Claudia sat at the escritoire and scratched the dog’s ears. If the woman had intended to take the wind right out of her sails and tie her tongue in knots and mix her metaphors, she had been entirely successful. But she soon turned her mind back to the Duchess of Bewcastle’s invitation and her own bright idea. Did this mean she had made some sort of decision about Lizzie Pickford? She would have to discuss it with the Marquess of Attingsborough, of course. Oh, goodness, she really was going to find it embarrassing to come face-to-face with him again. But it must be done. This was business. Was he planning to attend the Kingston ball? She was going. Susanna and Peter had told her so at breakfast, and somehow she felt caught up in this madness that was the spring Season and swept along on its current. A very large part of her longed to be back at home in Bath, back in her own familiar world. And a very small part of her remembered that kiss last night and perversely longed to linger here just a little longer. She sighed and tried to return her attention to the letter she was writing to Eleanor. The dog curled up at her feet and went back to sleep.
When Joseph arrived at the Kingston ball later that evening, the first set was already in progress. He had been delayed by Lizzie’s request for one more story and then just one more before she went to sleep. Her need for him was greater now that Miss Edwards was gone. He stood in the ballroom doorway, looking about him for familiar faces after greeting his hostess. He could see Elizabeth, the Duchess of Portfrey, off to one side, not dancing. He would have joined her, but she was in conversation with Miss Martin. In a craven moment quite unlike him, he pretended not to see them even though Elizabeth had smiled and half raised a hand. He strolled in the opposite direction instead to join Neville, who was watching Lily dance with Portfrey, her father. “You are scowling, Joe,” Neville said, raising his quizzing glass to his eye. “Am I?” Joseph offered him an exaggerated smile. “You are still scowling,” Neville said. “I know you, remember? You were not supposed to dance the opening set with Miss Hunt, by any chance, were you?” “Good Lord, no,” Joseph said. “I would not have been late if I were. I have been with Lizzie. I looked in at Wilma’s this afternoon, almost at the end of her weekly tea. All the other guests were leaving—and so I was fair game for one of her lectures.” “I suppose,” Neville said, “she thinks you ought to have secured the opening set with Miss Hunt. I have always been glad, Joe, that Wilma is your sister and Gwen mine and not the other way around.” “Thank you,” Joseph said dryly. “It was not just that, though. It was my behavior last evening.” “Last evening? At Vauxhall?” Neville raised his eyebrows. “It seems I neglected Miss Hunt in order to show a misguided kindness to the dowdy schoolteacher,” Joseph said. “Dowdy? Miss Martin?” Neville turned to look toward her. “Oh, I would not say so, Joe. She has a certain understated elegance even if she is not in the first stare of fashion or the first blush of youth. And she is dashed intelligent and well informed. Lily likes her. So does Elizabeth. And so do I. Miss Hunt said much the same as Wilma last evening, though, in Lily’s hearing. A trifle insulting to Lauren, who had invited Miss Martin to join the party, Lily thought—and so did I. But I ought not to be saying so to you, I suppose.” Joseph frowned. He had just spotted Miss Hunt. She was dancing with Fitzharris. She was wearing gold net over white silk, and the underdress draped her perfect form to give the look of a Greek goddess. The gown was cut low at the bosom to show off her main assets. Her blond curls were threaded with gold. “She is going to be at Alvesley,” he said. “Wilma wangled an invitation from La uren in Miss Hunt’s hearing, and Lauren, I suppose, had no choice at all. You know how Wilma goes about getting her own way.” “At Alvesley?” Neville said. “I suppose Lauren would have invited her anyway after your betrothal, though. That is imminent, I suppose?” “I daresay,” Joseph agreed. Neville looked at him sharply. “The funny thing was,” Joseph said, “that Wilma’s lecture included the detail that while I was entertaining Miss Martin, McLeith was charming Miss Hunt. Wilma was warning me that I might lose her if I am not careful. Apparently they looked very pleased with each other.” “Ha,” Neville said. “About to be jilted, are you, Joe? Do you want me to see if I can hasten the process?” Joseph raised his eyebrows. “Whyever would you think I might want any such thing?” he asked. Neville shrugged. “Perhaps I just know you too well, Joe,” he said. “Lady Balderston is waving this way, and I do not suppose it is at me.” “The dance is ending,” Joseph said. “I had better go and join her and ask Miss Hunt for the next set. And what the devil do you mean by saying you know me too well?” “Let me just say,” Neville said, “that I don’t think Uncle Webster does. Or Wilma. They both think you ought to marry Miss Hunt. Lily thinks just the opposite. I usually trust Lily’s instincts. Ah, the dance has ended. Off you go, then.” Nev might have kept his—and Lily’s—opinion to himself, Joseph thought irritably as he crossed the floor. It was too late not to offer for Miss Hunt even if he so desired. He proceeded to dance with her, trying not to be distracted by Miss Martin, who stood in the line of ladies just two places down the set, smiling across at McLeith, her partner. He had the feeling, though, that she was trying just as hard not to look at him. And yet again, as he had been doing at frequent intervals throughout the day, he looked back upon last evening with some incredulity and wondered if it could possibly have happened. Not only had he kissed the woman, but he had wanted her with a lust that had almost overpowered all caution and common sense. It was a good thing they had been in an almost public place or there was no knowing where their embrace might have led. He danced with Miss Holland next, as he often did at balls this spring because she was so frequently a wallflower, and her mother was too indolent to ensure that she had partners. And then, after introducing her to a blushing Falweth, who could never summon up the courage to choose his own partners, he stood with a group of male acquaintances, chatting genially and watching another vigorous country dance. As the music drew to a close, he agreed to step into the card room to play a hand or two with a few of his companions. But it struck him that he could not see Miss Martin dancing. She had not danced the first set either. He would hate to see her be a wallflower, though she was no
t, of course, a young girl in search of a husband. She was sitting on a love seat close to the door, he could see when he looked around, in conversation with McLeith. He was smiling and animated, she paying him close attention. Perhaps, Joseph thought, she was happy after all that she had met her old lover again. Perhaps their long-aborted romance was in the process of being rekindled. And then she glanced up and looked directly at Joseph in such a way that he realized she had known he was standing there. She looked away hastily. This was ridiculous, he thought. They were like a couple of pubescent children who had sneaked a kiss behind the stable one day and were consumed with embarrassment about it forever after. They were adults, he and Miss Martin. What they had done last evening had been by mutual consent, and they had both agreed not to be sorry. And when all was said and done, all that had happened was a kiss. A rather hot kiss, it was true, but even so… “You go on without me,” he told the other men. “There is someone I need to talk to.” And before he could think of an excuse to stay away from her, he strode across the room toward the love seat. “McLeith? Miss Martin?” he said, nodding genially to them both. “How do you do? Miss Martin, are you free for the next set? Will you dance it with me?” And then he remembered something. “It is a waltz.”