by Sandra Heath
“If you wish to be alone, I won’t be a moment. I only came for my shawl.”
“No, no, please don’t rush off, you’ll make me feel guilty.” He glanced out of the window again. “I don’t think there’s a finer view than this in the whole of England,” he murmured.
She went to stand next to him. An early-autumn moon had risen outside, casting a silver light over everything. The high moors were very clear, she could even see some ponies moving among the heather, while closer to the house, the fountain danced like diamonds in the terraced gardens.
He smiled at her. “I used to sit in this window seat when I was a boy, just gazing at this view, knowing that one day it would be mine. I remember thinking myself the most fortunate and privileged being in all the world.”
“I’d have felt the same.” She glanced at him. “If this is still your favorite room, why don’t you use it?”
“Tradition decrees that each Lord St. Clement must occupy the King Charles suite.”
“How many monarchs have slept here?”
“We’ve been honored by Queen Elizabeth, Charles the First, Queen Anne, and our present king, when he first came to the throne.” He smiled a little. “All the best royal heads have rested here, although, of course, that might seem an unfortunate turn of phrase where poor Charles is concerned.”
“It might indeed.”
“What do you think of Bellstones, Christina?” he asked suddenly.
“I like it very much indeed.”
“Does Jane like it as much?”
“I’m sure she does, but we haven’t really discussed it.” She felt a little uncomfortable mentioning Jane to him so soon after the revealing interview with her sister.
He was silent for a moment. “You and she are poles apart in many ways, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose we are. She’s very definitely a sparkling Vesey, whereas I’m a much more staid Stapleton.”
“Champagne and water?”
“An appropriate comparison,” she admitted.
“On the contrary, it’s an entirely inappropriate comparison. I have the notion that you regard water as something dull and unexciting, whereas I am inclined to view it as something vital and essential.”
She smiled a little wryly. “I’m hardly that, sir, but you’re very flattering and diplomatic to suggest I am.”
“Diplomacy is an art I’ve had to perfect very recently,” he replied, with more than a hint of self-mockery.
She looked curiously at him. “Why do you say it like that?”
He smiled ruefully. “Take no notice, Christina, for I’m selfishly indulging in the low pastime of cynicism.”
For a moment she didn’t know what to say, for a change had come over him. “Can I help at all?” she asked at last.
The offer seemed to amuse him. “A quaint thought, under the circumstances,” he murmured.
She searched his face. “More self-indulgent cynicism?”
“I fear so.” He smiled again. “Forgive me, I have no right to burden you with my moods.”
“If you’re going to marry my sister, you have every right.”
“What do you really think of this match, Christina?” he asked softly, holding her gaze.
“I ... I’ve already said ...”
“Have you?”
“Yes.” She had to look away.
He put his hand to her cheek, making her look at him again. “Are you, in your heart of hearts, as overjoyed about it as you say?”
She stared at him, a tumult of emotion coursing through her. She was perilously close to blurting out the truth, perilously close to reaching out to him. His fingers were so soft and warm against her cheek, and his eyes were very clear and gray; she loved him so much it was all she could do to keep a hold on her emotions. Somehow she managed a smile. “Of course I’m as overjoyed as I say,” she said.
For a long moment he continued to hold her gaze; then he took his hand away. “Then I must believe you.”
Swallowing, she looked out of the window again, in time to see the lamps of a carriage shining through the moonlight from the direction of the lodge. “I ... I think Mr. Grenfell is arriving,” she said, aware that her voice sounded lame.
“Then let us go down to greet him,” he murmured, offering her his arm.
Turning to pick up her shawl, she accepted the arm, and they proceeded from the room, but as they descended the staircase she was still finding it difficult to appear calm and unruffled.
At the bottom of the staircase he halted suddenly, turning her to face him. “I know I’ve upset you, Christina, and for that I beg you to forgive me. I don’t want to harp on about your attitude to the match, it’s just that ...”
“Yes?”
“It’s just that your answers matter so very much, indeed they matter far more than they should.” He looked into her eyes.
She didn’t know what he wanted her to say, and then the need to reply was removed because William’s carriage was heard on the gravel outside.
Robert glanced at the door almost in irritation, then continued to escort her toward the great parlor, where Jane, Lady Chevenley, and Mr. Richmond were waiting.
Chapter Twenty
The dining room was vast and baronial, and the six diners sat at one end of the long polished oak table that ranged down the center of the stone-flagged floor. All around there were shadows, except for the flicker of the two fires at either end of the room.
Tapestries were dimly revealed against richly paneled walls, suits of armor stood guard in the corners, and a bright array of gold plate shone on a huge Elizabethan sideboard that had legs of carved lions. A tall oriel window gave onto the view behind the house, in daytime a splendid panorama of the high moors, but now all was in darkness, except for the faint glimmer of stars.
The Exmoor venison had been quite superb. It had been preceded by a deliciously light cream of celery soup, and followed by a pineapple ice cream worthy of the great Gunter himself. Now the footmen removed the tablecloth, leaving the silver-gilt epergne, some small cut-crystal glasses, and a decanter of amber liqueur.
The epergne tumbled with nuts, grapes, and nectarines, and the decanter clinked softly against the glasses as Robert poured the liqueur; it should have been the perfect end to the meal, but Christina hadn’t enjoyed anything.
She had so much on her mind, from Jane’s revelations concerning secret meetings with William Grenfell, to her own barely controlled response when Robert had put his hand to her cheek. She knew how very close she’d come to telling him how she felt, and didn’t know now how she’d managed to hold back.
As a consequence she’d sat unhappily through dinner, aware of all the undercurrents caused by William’s presence, and aware, too, that she was beginning to think of possible ways she could leave Bellstones and return to the untroubled haven of Richmond House. But how could she do it without causing a very unwelcome stir? The answer was that she couldn’t, for there wasn’t an excuse in existence which her father and Jane would understand and accept. She stared at the epergne, her glass of liqueur untouched.
“A penny for your thoughts, Christina,” said Robert, watching her.
She looked up quickly, flushing. “They aren’t worth a penny.”
“A halfpenny?”
“Not really.”
“A farthing, maybe?”
“Not even a farthing,” she replied, managing a smile.
He smiled as well. “Well, whatever their worth, they’re evidently very absorbing indeed.”
Mr. Richmond grunted. “She’s probably wishing she was in her room with her nose in that disreputable tome she takes everywhere with her.”
She looked at him. “Gil Blas is hardly disreputable, Father. Why, it happens to be the blessed Mr. Pitt’s favorite book.”
William spoke up. “It’s my favorite as well, indeed Le Sage is almost the only point upon which Pitt and I are in agreement.”
Mr. Richmond glowered at him, and fell silent.
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An awkwardness immediately descended on the small gathering, and William lowered his eyes to the table. He looked as elegant and distinguished as he had on the night of the ball; indeed, he was perfectly turned out, from his sober dark-blue velvet coat and cream silk breeches to the sapphire pin on the knot of his stiffly starched cravat.
There was no suggestion of the more outlandish extremes of high fashion, and there hadn’t been anything improper in his demeanor throughout. He’d been the perfect gentleman; Jane hadn’t been particularly singled out, nor had he glanced at her too often or too long. But no matter how William conducted himself now, Mr. Richmond wasn’t about to forget his conduct in the past, and couldn’t conceal the hostility the pilot had aroused from the outset of their acquaintance. Under such circumstances it was inevitable that the meal hadn’t been an entirely comfortable experience for anyone concerned.
Mr. Richmond and William had so far crossed verbal swords several times on the topic of politics, and then on a discussion concerning, of all things, the growing of climbing roses. Now The Adventures of Gil Blas threatened to provoke another display of controlled acrimony, unless someone could divert the conversation.
Lady Chevenley acted with discreet speed, but unfortunately chose another awkward topic. “Tell me, William, do you intend to make many ascents in your balloon now you’re home?”
“Er, yes, as many as I can. Indeed, I hope to make a number of free flights, and a night flight.”
“Do you really? How very exciting. But isn’t that a little too dangerous?”
“Not in the right conditions and when all precautions have been properly taken.” William’s glance moved fleetingly toward Jane.
“And what, exactly, are the right conditions?” inquired her ladyship.
“Fair weather, without much of a breeze.”
“Like today?”
“Today was a little windy, which is why I made only a captive ascent.”
“I see. Do you know, I find it all immensely interesting, but then, I’ve always been intrigued by the notion of flight.”
Lady Chevenley was belatedly realizing that in her haste to divert the conversation, she’d chosen a subject even more contentious than Gil Blas. She looked uneasily at Mr. Richmond’s dark expression, and then gave a stifled sigh, which she attempted to conceal by dabbing her napkin to her lips. She looked very lovely in a white silk undergown and fawn lace tunic dress.
Mr. Richmond wasn’t about to let the matter of balloons pass him by without comment. “It’s against all the laws of nature for man to emulate birds, Alicia,” he declared, sitting back and sipping his liqueur while he looked down the table at the pilot.
Lady Chevenley felt obliged to respond. “Hal, it’s also against the laws of nature for man to travel at speed across the countryside, but he does so by means of the horse.”
“Horses are not made of rubberized taffeta or filled with inflammable air.”
“Why, I do believe you haven’t the courage to make even a daytime ascent, Hal,” she replied provocatively.
“Nonsense.”
“Do you have the courage, then?”
“Of course.”
“Oh, good. You see, earlier today I discussed the matter with William, and he’s very kindly offered to take us all up on the next fine day. Haven’t you, William?”
“Yes, Lady Chevenley, I’d be only too delighted.” William’s glance slid toward Mr. Richmond. “Would you care to take me up on the invitation, sir?”
“I have no desire to be another Icarus, Mr. Grenfell.”
“Nor have I, but we’ll be Daedalus instead.”
“I’m content to have my feet firmly on the ground.”
“But how will you know the truth about flight if you do not attempt it?” pressed William a little wickedly.
“I think I know the truth, my boy.”
“In other words, you’re prepared to criticize without really experiencing it?” William raised his glass to his lips, holding the other’s gaze.
There was silence, with all eyes on Mr. Richmond, who really had brought this upon himself. Robert seemed amused, lounging back in his chair, his hand to his mouth. Jane was of two minds, being vaguely discomfited by the whole thing, and at the same time knowing a certain satisfaction that William was at last striking back after being picked on all evening.
Christina sympathized with her father to a certain extent, and gave William a cool glance. She was very suspicious indeed of his perfect behavior tonight. Only once throughout the meal had she intercepted him in a glance at Jane that was anything other than correct, and that glance had been far too warm. He was still very attracted to her, and the strength of that attraction could yet override his promises both to Jane herself and to Robert.
Lady Chevenley couldn’t resist twitting Mr. Richmond a little further. “Come now, Hal, you must say yea or nay to the challenge.”
Mr. Richmond glowered, but knew he was cornered. “Oh, very well,” he said huffily. “I will accept the invitation, but it won’t change my mind in the slightest.”
Lady Chevenley clapped her hands. “Excellent! So, we’re all going to make an ascent!”
Jane smiled, but Christina hastened to decline. “I, er, think I must cry off, for the thought of going up in a balloon fills me with horror.”
Jane was dismayed. “Oh, Christina, you can’t ...”
Lady Chevenley was anxious to persuade her to change her mind. “But, my dear Christina, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. You must come with us, otherwise you’ll be all on your own.”
Robert sat forward. “Not entirely on her own, for I will be with her. I share her views about balloons, and intend to keep my feet firmly on the ground.” He raised his glass to Christina, smiling.
Lady Chevenley sighed. “Oh, well, I suppose you’re both entitled to do as you wish.”
“We are indeed, Aunt,” he murmured.
Mr. Richmond drew a long, disgruntled breath. “How is it,” he muttered, “that everyone at this table is doing what they wish to do, except me? I don’t want to go up in that thrice-cursed contraption, but somehow I am!”
Lady Chevenley chuckled. “You talked yourself into a fix, my dear.” Then, to prevent further discussion on the matter, she folded her napkin and rose to her feet. “I’ve had enough of this drafty hall. Shall we adjourn to the great parlor?”
Robert got up immediately to draw her chair away, and soon made it plain that he had no intention of lingering over the port with two gentlemen as abrasive as William and Mr. Richmond. “We’ll all adjourn to the great parlor,” he said firmly, offering his aunt an arm.
Mr. Richmond rose quickly, moving to Jane’s chair before William could, and so William turned to attend to Christina instead.
They followed the other two couples into the hallway and across to the great parlor, but before going in, Christina halted. “May I have a word with you, Mr. Grenfell?”
“By all means.”
“I’ll come straight to the point. What are your intentions toward my sister?”
He gave a light laugh. “That is indeed what I call coming straight to the point. Are you asking the question because you find some fault in my conduct tonight?”
“Your conduct has been almost exemplary, Mr. Grenfell, but I have to tell you that I saw how you looked at Jane tonight, and I don’t think I misinterpreted anything.”
“Robert’s ring isn’t on her finger yet,” he said quietly.
She was amazed at his audacity. “So, you admit you intend ... ?”
“To win her if I can? Yes.”
“Then it ill becomes you to come to this house, sir, for you’re no friend of its master,” she breathed, her anger rising.
“And are you a friend of Jane’s?” he inquired softly.
“What do you mean?”
“It means that you aren’t the only one to interpret looks. You’re far from being indifferent to Robert—indeed I’d say you and I are in very much the same boat:
we both love someone we shouldn’t.”
Guilty color flooded into her cheeks. “You’re wrong, sir.”
“No, I’m not. Miss Richmond, I would have thought that you, of all people, would understand how I feel.”
She looked away, thoroughly disquieted at being discovered in spite of her efforts. “Perhaps I do, sir, but there’s one great difference between your situation and mine.”
“Is there?”
“Yes. I have no intention at all of causing trouble because of my love. In fact I’m striving to keep it a secret from all concerned, but you ... Well, I have no such faith in your intentions, sir, for even though you know that Jane loves Robert, you still accepted the invitation here tonight, and you don’t hesitate to confess to me that you regard her as still available until she wears your friend’s ring.”
He lowered his glance for a moment. “I haven’t told you out of uncaring arrogance. I told you out of honesty. You say she’s in love with him, but I’ve yet to be convinced. I promised to keep my distance, and when I accepted Lady Chevenley’s kind invitation, I fully intended to keep my word; but when I actually saw Jane again, when I spoke to her and was exposed to her enchanting personality, I knew I couldn’t stand by my promise. I love her, Miss Richmond, and I have to fight to win her if I possibly can.”
“Have you no honor, sir? I think it despicable of you to come to this house and blatantly declare your intention to steal my sister if you can!” Christina was upset, for every word he uttered confirmed the fear she’d felt on arriving at Bellstones and seeing the balloon on the horizon: William Grenfell’s presence was going to cause trouble.
He paused for a moment, looking quizzically at her. “Do you dislike me, Miss Richmond?” he asked suddenly.
She thought about her reply. “No,” she said at last, “but I do disapprove of your actions.”
“And if you heard from Jane herself that she wanted me, not Robert?”
Jane’s words echoed in Christina’s head. I didn’t want to make a mistake by marrying Robert if it was William I really loved.