Judith went back to have her hair dressed, stunned by the word ravish. After last night she had some notion of what it might mean.
* * *
When they entered the rooms where the assembly was being held, Judith saw that he and Beth had spoken the truth. Nearly all the ladies wore low necklines, and many had little to support their bodices.
She also noted that there were few men to match Leander in looks, and none to match his style. He was completely unostentatious, and yet there was an air about him which set him apart.
The company was as mixed as one would expect at a country affair, with all kinds from well-to-do farmers to aristocracy. The master of ceremonies greeted them and steered them over to a corner of the ballroom where the local lions, Lord and Lady Pratchett, and Sir James and Lady Withington, held court. This was clearly supposed to be their natural milieu.
The Withingtons were a comfortable middle-aged couple with a son and two daughters present. The son, about twenty, looked bored, though he brightened at the sight of Judith, and ogled her bosom. He suddenly stopped, and she guessed Leander had done something about it.
The girls were about sixteen and eighteen. The older one had an air of ennui, but the younger was bright-eyed and fidgety. Judith guessed it was her first grown-up event, and gave her a warm smile.
The Pratchetts were clearly used to lording it at these events and were not entirely pleased, their title being a mere viscountcy, to have an earl in their midst. On the other hand, the connection could not but do them credit. They were quite a young couple, but acted old and cold. Judith rapidly tired of Lady Pratchett's disparaging comments about everything, accompanied as they were by, "...as you and I both know, my dear Lady Charrington."
"In fact I don't," said Judith at last. "Until a few days ago, I lived in a cottage, and my main concern was where the next meal was coming from."
The lady gaped, but was rescued from having to respond by the first music. Leander bowed and asked Lady Pratchett for the dance.
As Judith allowed Lord Pratchett to lead her out to the country dance, she was sickeningly aware she'd disgraced herself. Lady Pratchett was doubtless even now complaining to Leander about her behavior. She'd known this would never work.
She told herself that both this marriage and this assembly had been his idea, so he could take the consequences and set to enjoying herself.
As she'd told Leander, she'd rarely danced since her marriage, but she remembered now the jolly village hops of her youth. For a brief moment she wondered if a countess was supposed to romp, but then consigned such thoughts to the devil. How else was one supposed to do a country dance? A glance around showed her lots of bouncing and laughing.
After a cooling promenade, in which she conversed only with Lord Pratchett, as others seemed nervous of intruding, she danced the next set with Sir James, who despite his portly build was well able to swing and pass.
As she stood and chatted to him, another couple joined them—the Dean and his wife. When the Countess of Charrington proved to be approachable, there were more introductions. News that she had children thawed the ladies in no time, for children are the same no matter what their station.
She saw Leander at ease among another group. She was sure he was handling everyone perfectly. He looked up and smiled across the room in a way that was as good as a kiss.
The next dance was a waltz, and not everyone was able or willing to take part. Judith was trying to tactfully refuse an invitation from the Withingtons' son and heir when Leander was at her side. "So sorry, my dear fellow, but Lady Charrington only dances the waltz with me."
In seconds they were on the floor and the music began. For a few minutes Judith was nervous, for she could see any number of eyes on them, but then she relaxed into his guidance and floated. They didn't speak, and yet she felt this was as public a declaration of their joining as their wedding vows.
When the music stopped, they just stood smiling at each other for a long moment.
Then he led her to the next room where refreshments were laid out, and found her a glass of negus. Before he could speak, they were interrupted by a nervous young man. "Lord Charrington, I understand."
He was of sturdy build, with neat brown hair, and tolerable clothes, but very young to be accosting an earl. About twenty.
Leander admitted his identity, but with a reserve that would have chilled away most intruders.
"I'm James Knollis," the young man said. "Your cousin, don't you know..."
Judith thought then that she saw a faint resemblance. Why had she heard no mention of cousins?
There was a strange pause, but then Leander warmed and held out his hand. "What a pleasant surprise. Delighted to meet you, James. This is my countess, Judith."
The young man blushed and bowed. "A pleasure to meet you, my lady." He turned back to Leander. "We received your message that you were married, cousin."
"We're on our way to Temple Knollis," Leander said smoothly. Judith recognized his diplomatic manner, and wondered just what problem he perceived here. Was it the reason he had let her believe he had no family? "Are you heading to Somerset, too?"
James tugged at his high cravat. "No, er... Leaving. Fact of the matter is, there's sickness there. Diphtheria."
Judith caught her breath. Diphtheria! That was a killing disease.
"How terrible," said Leander in a strange tone. "Who is afflicted?"
"The two youngest. Matthew and Elizabeth. And it was feared Thomas might be taking it. I'm off to stay with a friend."
"Very wise," said Leander. "I hear music starting up and I have promised Judith this dance. But I would like to talk more later. Will you meet me in the tap room for a drink after the assembly?"
The young man agreed, but without gushing enthusiasm. As they went toward the ballroom, Judith whispered, "Diphtheria! We can't possibly take the children there!"
"Of course not. If it's true."
Judith turned to look at him. "Why should he lie about such a thing?"
"I don't know." This strange encounter with his cousin was building that impervious manner she resented.
"I am not willing to take the risk. The whole area could be infected."
He led her to join a line of dancers without answering.
Judith was prepared to fight over this, but not in public. She was angry at his manner, though, and that he had kept his family secret. What was there about them that she wasn't supposed to know?
She danced stiffly and in silence. He hardly seemed to notice. When the dance was over he said, without consulting her, "Our wisest course will be to go to London and make inquiries from there. The children will enjoy it, and you will be able to add to your wardrobe."
Judith had no real objection to this plan, but resented the manner of its announcement. She couldn't wait to get him alone.
The assembly was just about over, and he escorted her up to their rooms, but then turned to go to his appointment with James Knollis. Judith couldn't stand this.
"Why didn't you tell me you have cousins?"
His brows raised. "Doesn't everyone?"
"Everyone doesn't keep them a secret."
"You've never mentioned yours."
That was indubitably true. "They have no bearing on our life," she protested.
"I rather hoped mine would have no bearing on it either."
Judith felt as if she were beating against polished marble. Everything he said was reasonable, and she hated it. "Do I gather that these cousins of yours live near Temple Knollis?"
"My dear," he drawled, robbing the endearment of warmth, "they live at Temple Knollis."
Her heart was pounding. "And you didn't think to warn me?"
"I told them to leave."
Judith took a deep breath, afraid of hovering disaster, determined to be reasonable. "So why are you so anxious to talk to your Cousin James?"
"To see what he's up to."
"Do you suspect that there's mischief afoot?"
"I'm not sure what I suspect."
"But you do suspect something," she insisted.
His lips tightened with annoyance at her persistence. "All I know is that my uncle has done his damndest to keep me away from the Temple since I returned to England."
Judith wanted to drop the subject, but this could be crucial to her children's safety. "What has he done?"
He raised his brows. "What are you imagining? Poison? Hired assassins? He has merely written a number of strange letters designed to make the place unappealing."
"And you think diphtheria is another such ploy. Why would he do this?"
"It need not concern you. I have set a number of inquiries in train which may be bearing fruit. A return to London will serve its purpose."
He was speaking, but telling her nothing. "Don't you think you should tell me all about this?"
He looked at her, blankly. "No. It is nothing to do with you."
"I am your wife, "she protested. "I am your partner in life."
"You put it too strongly," he said coldly. "Do not concern yourself about my personal affairs." With that, he left her.
Judith felt chilled to her soul. She was seeing his other face with a vengeance, but had no one but herself to blame. He had always made it clear that this marriage was one of practicality—how could it be anything else? It was her foolishness to succumb to his practiced charm and grow fond. When she had promised not to, as well.
One thing was sure, she could not bear intimacy with him tonight. She didn't bother to try and move Bastian, but slipped into bed with Rosie.
For a while she lay nervously, expecting Leander to charge in and drag her to his bed. But time passed, the fire died, and the town clock chimed midnight. Judith began to drift off to sleep.
What was she to make of this business at Temple Knollis? If he wanted his family out he need only ask them to leave. And what were his family up to that they were trying to scare the rightful owner off?
* * *
Leander returned to their rooms and found an empty bed. He checked the parlor in case Judith was sitting up waiting for him, but he already knew she'd be with the children. That was one thing to be said about marrying a woman with children. She was unlikely to flee into the night.
Which was what he deserved.
He couldn't imagine how he could have been so discourteous. He was discovering that if Judith was possessive and touchy about her children, he was the same about his family problems.
Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard change his spots? He had wanted a home, a family. He had wanted to belong to his place in the world. But can a man who has learned to walk alone learn to lose his self in others? The thought of sharing his personal problems with anyone made him flinch. But Judith was not just anyone....
He'd hoped his family would obey his instructions and leave the Temple. He and Judith could have moved into the place without contretemps and begun to build their new life.
"Hell," he muttered, and it was an assessment of the whole situation.
He rubbed his hand over his face, knowing he was drink-sodden. Young James had a surprisingly strong head and it had taken a while to loosen him up. Unfortunately, after all Leander's efforts, there had been only a brief interval between the drink taking hold and unconsciousness. But one piece of information had been obtained. Whether or not there was diphtheria he didn't know, but Uncle Charles had apparently been recently struck down by a seizure and it wasn't sure he would live.
How that fit into the pattern, he didn't know.
He stripped off his clothes, and since he had no modest wife to consider, climbed into bed naked. All in all, this wouldn't have been a good night to consummate the marriage, but he regretted having hurt Judith, and wished he could tell her that.
He would make it up to her tomorrow, and then take her to bed. Lord, if he didn't get round to bedding her soon, she'd begin to doubt his ability.
* * *
His intentions were good, but by the time he awoke the next day, Judith and the children had been up for hours, and had already been for a walk. He had a headache.
He settled to a late breakfast, aware of his wife's chilly formality and the pain behind it, trying to ignore the throbbing behind his temples.
Temples. Lord save him from temples of all kinds.
He needed to put everything right with Judith, but they couldn't possibly discuss their problems in front of the children. There were clearly reasons why God designed children to come after the honeymoon.
"Did your mother tell you we have a change of plan?" he asked Bastian and Rosie. "We are to go to London for a little while, instead of to the Temple."
She clearly hadn't told them.
Rosie pouted. "But I wanted to see the Temple ever so much."
"Don't be silly, Rosie," said Bastian. "We'll be living at the Temple sooner or later. In London there's all sorts of things. Parades, theaters, Astley's."
Rosie brightened. "Will we see the king and queen?"
Judith answered calmly. "Not the king, dear. He's not well. But you might see the queen and the princes and princesses." She glanced at Leander. "When will we leave, my lord?"
He noted her use of his title and his head throbbed even more. He abandoned breakfast. "As soon as you are ready. It's a full moon. By pushing hard, we can reach London today. I'll make the arrangements."
Chapter 11
It was late and long dark by the time they arrived at Montague Square in London, and Judith was travel-weary. Both Rosie and Bastian were asleep. She and Leander had scarcely exchanged a word all day, which was probably as well, as his mood had not been of the best. She knew he probably had a drinker's head, but she wasn't inclined to be sympathetic.
Their stops had been brief and neither of them had made any attempt to be alone together. They could hardly hiss their grievances over the children's heads, even when the children were asleep. Anyway, she didn't know what she wanted to say. She was sick with despair at the situation in which she found herself, and not at all sure what to do for the best. She was very tempted to take the two thousand pounds per annum and leave him to his family and his personal affairs.
The groom opened the carriage door, and Leander picked up Bastian, but the boy awoke and said he wanted to walk. So Leander picked up Rosie, who slept peacefully on.
The groom rapped at the door, for the knocker was off, and after a pause they were confronted by a startled footman in shirt and breeches.
"My lord! We didn't expect..."
Leander strode into the house. "I didn't expect to be here myself, George. Have the bags brought in."
He led the way through an elegant narrow hall to a chilly reception room, where he gently deposited Rosie on a sofa. Moonlight was the only illumination, but the room, and the house, looked expensively furnished.
Leander walked into the hall and shouted, "Ho, the house! The master's home, so stir yourselves!"
A somewhat unorthodox way of announcing oneself but it worked. Within minutes a portly butler and two maids appeared, all very flustered.
"My lord..." stammered the butler.
"Yes, I know. You didn't expect me. It's all right. But I have my wife with me and two children, and we're all bone tired. We need candles, tea, and food of some kind. Soup, if it's available. Air the necessary beds, the children's first. Put them on the main floor near the master suite in case they wake in the night. I don't suppose anywhere has a fire except the kitchen?"
"No, my lord."
"Never mind. We'll be in bed soon, but find a couple of blankets for the children while they wait."
Soon all was bustling.
Bastian had slumped back to sleep at an awkward angle, but Judith didn't move him for fear of waking him. The footman brought a branch of candles and lit them. A maid hurried in with two blankets and tucked them gently around the children, then left with a curtsy and a curious look.
Leander disappeared, to reappear with two glasses and a decanter.
"Brandy," he said and offered some to Judith.
Judith shook her head. She wasn't precisely cold in her sumptuous Russian mantle and muff, but she felt chilled. It was mostly exhaustion, for she hadn't slept well last night, and it had been a terribly long day. But it was also the rift between them.
Here they were in his house, where the fact that they were married had rocklike reality, and yet their relationship was more brittle than it had ever been.
To avoid sitting facing him she walked about the room. It was expensively furnished, yes, but in the style of a generation ago, and had all the warmth of a neglected furniture showroom. She wondered if the house was hired, but even such a simple question was beyond her.
Over the mantel was a splendid portrait of a young woman with anxious amber eyes. The clothes, the style, the pose all spoke of arrogant wealth, but the eyes pleaded.
"My mother," Leander said quietly from behind her. "Henrietta Delahaye, only inheritor of two large fortunes. This house was part of her dowry."
Henrietta could only have been about sixteen when this portrait had been done. Judith wondered what kind of woman she had become, other than a clinging mother. She thought she saw a physical resemblance to Leander in the finely curved lips, amber eyes, and soft brown hair, but his character must have come from his father.
As if reading her thoughts, Leander said, "She learned to shield her vulnerability better, but she never lost it. She was too easily hurt."
By then the food was being laid on the table. Judith turned, realizing that she had not contributed to that "conversation" at all, and yet it had thawed the ice a little—as he doubtless intended.
She wouldn't be handled out of her distrust.
As the butler, Addison, finished laying out the food, a maid came in to say the children's beds were made.
Leander told the footman to carry up Bastian and took Rosie himself. Judith brought up the rear.
The rooms were chilly, but what else could be expected? The new fires had not had time to have effect. The maids were passing two warming pans through Rosie's bed, and when Judith ran a hand between the sheets she found no damp. With the help of the maid she just took off the girl's outer clothes, her boots and dress, and tucked her up.
Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] Page 15