Rachel smiled. “Does your husband have any notion how devious you are?”
“Not a single one,” Daisy confessed in a remarkably matter-of-fact tone. “I like to keep it that way… I can natter on about whatever I like and then if I do something he doesn’t agree with I can simply tell him I asked and he agreed. He doesn’t pay enough attention to gainsay me, and so it all works out quite well.”
“So there is a method to your madness, after all. I’m quite impressed!” Rachel admitted with a laugh.
The echo of laughter from the drawing room made Hugh pause as he lined up his shot. His heart wasn’t in the game and Simon was trouncing him thoroughly. There was a first time for everything, it seemed.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” he asked.
Simon looked up, shook his head and then went back to looking at the table. “Don’t ask. They might tell you. God help me, that woman carries on enough for fourteen people… I think her mother had her lips sewn shut when I was courting her. How did I not notice that?”
“You were never looking at her face,” Hugh laughed. “Not once. You couldn’t even tell me what color her hair was!”
Simon shrugged. “True enough… Your Miss Penworth is lovely. And she is still your Miss Penworth. That’s been apparent since the two of you walked in this house together. Like spitting cats!”
“She won’t talk to me… She looks at me and it’s all hurt feelings, hurt pride and a decade of hardships suffered mostly because I made a fateful error in judgement,” Hugh admitted. “I think everything that has happened in her life that was unfortunate or difficult can be traced back to that night.”
“Some things cannot be repaired, my friend. And maybe they shouldn’t be.”
Hugh considered that for a moment and then promptly discarded the notion. “I can’t accept that. There must be a way to make things right.”
“She won’t talk to you… why on earth would you wish to rectify that?” Simon demanded. “That’s the perfect relationship!”
Hugh’s lips quirked upward. If he’d been in Simon’s position, married to a woman such as Daisy, he would likely have agreed. “I believe we have different requirements for perfection.”
“Short of kidnapping her and forcing her to spend time with you, what can you do?”
The idea had more merit than he wished to admit. “I’m not going to kidnap her… not yet, at any rate. If that becomes necessary, I trust that I can count on your discretion?”
“It was a jest!” Simon protested. “You sound positively mad!”
It was mad. He didn’t even know why he’d uttered the words, but now spoken, they made sense to him in a way that nothing else had. “I have to do something. I followed the rules, Simon, and it ruined her life. Mine—it wasn’t as I’d envisioned it but I didn’t truly suffer, not the way she did. Perhaps by showing her that I’m willing to break those rules this time, she’ll see just how determined I am to bridge this chasm between us.”
“How much brandy have you had?”
“Not enough,” Hugh replied with a smile. “Not nearly enough.
Chapter 10
The following morning dawned cloudy and colder than the previous days had been. Resolutely ignoring the chill air and the unpredictable nature of the weather and hoping to avoid further encounters with Lord Elwynn, Augusta had retreated to the garden to avail herself of the peace and quiet there.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Augusta looked up to see Rachel walking toward her. The laundresses at Seffington Park had worked their magic and somehow managed to salvage most of their clothing. Dressed in one of her nicer walking dresses, Rachel looked like a breath of fresh air.
“It appears the country life agrees with one of us at any rate,” Augusta said. “The roses in your cheeks would be the envy of any bloom in this garden… if it weren’t the dead of winter and there were blooms to be had.”
“It’s excitement, dearest. We’re going on an adventure!”
“I thought we’d had enough of those of late?” Augusta demanded, wondering at Rachel’s coy smile. “Will it have the same disastrous results as our last one, do you think?”
Rachel shuddered. “No. It will not. And we’re going on foot… A lovely walk through the countryside will do us both a world of good. I thought, if you’re amenable, we’d go visit our cottage. It isn’t quite ready for habitation yet, but it will be soon.”
“Whatever could be wrong with it that it is not inhabitable?” Augusta demanded, wondering precisely what was afoot.
“The chimney is damaged,” Rachel replied evenly. “We’ve no hope of being able to build a fire until it is repaired. We’d be colder than we were in our not-quite-Cheapside hovel!”
“Let me get my pelisse,” Augusta said, rising to her feet.
“There is no need. I’ve sent Alice to fetch it… She’ll bring it out shortly and we’ll be off. You wouldn’t wish to risk running into Lord Elwynn, would you?”
Augusta frowned at that. “Your behavior is not above suspicion, Rachel. I’m quite well aware that you are not entirely innocent in this mess and that somehow, someway, you’ve had some involvement in bringing us together here. The why of it remains a puzzle to me, but I know you are guilty. Do not feign innocence now.”
Alice emerged from the house then, bearing her pelisse and her bonnet. She helped Augusta into both and only when she’d once again retreated did Rachel reply.
“I confess that I do have romantic ideas and that once I learned he’d been widowed, I had hopes that you might be able to set the past aside and reconcile. I know it was very bad of me to keep that information from you, but it was the only way to get you here. Even if reconciliation is impossible, at the very least, I had thought you might reach a kind of peace with all that has happened. I know you blame him—.”
“But I don’t.” Augusta paused, thoughtful for a moment before continuing, “Not for everything. For marrying someone else when he’d made his desire for me so evident, yes. For stating his intentions to offer for me and then reneging, yes. But for all that came after… I do not blame him. That does not mean I will allow him back into my life. Or any man. Every improper offer that came in the wake of our financial ruin, every man who thought that the change in my social status made me suddenly lose sight of my virtue, those men can be blamed for my current distaste for their gender as a whole… and for my decision to remain happily ensconced in spinsterhood.”
As they began walking, following a graveled path that led away from the estate and over a rolling hill, Rachel was quiet for some time. When she finally spoke, she said simply, “I feel you do yourself a disservice, Augusta. You are not meant to live a life alone. None of us are. I married foolishly, putting my trust in a man who did not deserve it and until such time as he shuffles off this mortal coil, or I do, we will be tied together by law. You have a chance to rekindle a romance with a man who truly loved you, a man who did the honorable thing even when it cost him what he desired most for himself.”
“Rachel—.”
“Augusta, just consider what it would mean. We are not so old yet that the prospect of having children is gone from us… Would you not desire that if the opportunity presented itself? To hold your own child in your arms, to share that with a man who loved you?”
The longing those words produced was so intense it was like a physical ache. She’d long since given up any notion of having children, of marrying well enough to feel that bringing a child into the world would be a joyous occasion and not a burdensome one. It was not the first time in her life that she had entertained the notion of bearing Hugh’s children, of imagining what they would look like.
“I will think on it, but I cannot say that I will change my mind,” she offered grudgingly. “And it’s premature to assume that he wishes to resume a relationship with me, at any rate. At this point, he seems determined only to gain my forgiveness because he wishes to assuage his own guilt. That is har
dly the same as rekindling a lost love!”
It wasn’t entirely the truth, she knew. He’d essentially stated the very opposite the day before in her room, but she still had difficulty putting any faith at all in what he said. His actions were where the truth lay.
“But it is a step in that direction, is it not?” Rachel asked.
Augusta didn’t wish to talk about him. She wanted nothing more in that moment to put it all from her mind and have a moment’s peace. Looking up at the darkening sky, she said to Rachel, “We should turn back. Our good weather will not last long.”
“Nonsense,” Rachel said. “It is but a short walk… Oh, I forgot something at the house.”
“We’ll go back then,” Augusta offered. She had a very bad feeling about the entire situation. She had no doubt that Rachel, as always, had her best interests at heart. But she was beginning to believe they had fundamentally different ideas about what her best interests were.
“No! You go on ahead, I’ll run back, fetch it and meet you shortly,” Rachel promised. “It’s only a basket of food that I said I would deliver to one of the neighboring cottages.”
“I have no idea which cottage it is!” Augusta protested. She felt she was being managed, once again pushed in a direction she didn’t truly wish to go.
“It’s directly along this road, just over the next rise. Cousin Daisy said the door has been painted a lovely shade of blue for us!”
As Rachel hurried back to the house, Augusta considered turning and following her, abandoning this journey altogether. But she didn’t want to go back to the house and feel the weight of expectation pressing down on her—his, her own, everyone else’s. And curiosity about the cottage got the better of her. She did want to see where they’d be living. In truth, she wanted to determine just how close she’d be to Wynn House and whether or not she could bear it.
Continuing alone, it was not long before Augusta realized that she’d been hoodwinked. The gently rolling hill was deceptively steep and by the time she reached the top of it she was quite winded. Pausing for a moment to catch her breath, she continued on. She could see the cottage sitting atop the next hill, situated prettily in a copse of trees.
It was as she reached the bottom of the hill that the first fat raindrop fell, landing with a heavy plop on the sleeve of her pelisse. The distance to the small cottage was shorter than the distance back to Seffington Park. Making a dash for it, Augusta gave up any pretense of being ladylike. Grasping her skirts in one hand, she picked them up and ran for the cottage as the heavens simply opened.
Rain fell in buckets, great torrents of it. Her boots slipped and slid on the path. Mud caked them and the hem of her dress, weighing it down and making it even more difficult to walk up the hill. With the weight of her now sodden garments, the chill that had already seeped deep into her bones, each step became more difficult. It was just as she reached the small gate before the cottage, that disaster struck. She stepped forward, and as she did, her heel slipped, her foot twisting to one side. The burning pain that seared her ankle caused her to cry out. Had she not been holding onto the gate, she would have fallen face first into the muck for the second time since coming to Seffington Park.
Righting herself, Augusta tested her ankle. It would bear weight, but only just. Each step was a misery as she limped toward the cottage door and let herself in.
At any other time, she would have been charmed by the high polish of the wooden floors and the lovely mantle above the stone hearth. The windows that flanked the front door let in a good amount of light, despite the rain. Easing toward the hearth, which according to Rachel did not work, Augusta sank onto a simple wooden chair.
Carefully, she removed her boot and looked at her ankle. It was already turning a nasty shade of purple. “What an auspicious entrance to my new home,” she muttered with sarcasm as she shivered again.
“When Rachel arrives, she will have to return to Seffington Park and have a carriage fetched. It is simply a small inconvenience,” she reminded herself.
Thunder rolled outside the window and lightning flashed across the sky as if to naysay her. Wisdom dictated that she remain silent afterward. There was little point in testing fate any further.
“I fear, Lord Elwynn, that Miss Penworth may be in need of rescue again.”
Hugh looked up, caught the light streaming in through the window, weak as it was, and instantly regretted it. His brandy consumption the night before rivaled any lack of restraint from his youth. But since brandy had been the only vice he could indulge, and it had taken the edge off more pressing needs sparked by an innocent kiss, it had seemed well worth it at the time. It appeared slightly less so now that it felt as if he had a crew of workmen breaking rocks inside his skull. “What?”
At his sharp tone, Mrs. Atwell raised her eyebrow. Mrs. Wilmont was at her side, a vision of wide-eyed innocence, no more convincing than her cousin’s. “I see you’re feeling as fine this morning as my husband is! It’s what the pair of you deserve—carrying on like young bucks on the town, honestly!”
“And why does Miss Penworth need to be rescued? Again?” he asked, not really in the mood for more of her endless, epic monologues. Of course, even he were to rush to her rescue, it was unlikely to be well received. Whatever fate had befallen her, she’d likely rather suffer it than his presence, and in his current regrettable state he didn’t have the ability to alter her position.
“She went for a walk earlier stating that she intended to inspect our cottage,” Mrs. Wilmont stated.
“That’s correct,” Mrs. Atwell concurred. “She and Rachel have leased the Wexton Cottage. For two women alone, it’s just perfect! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I should have. I should have sent you word about that cottage years ago, dear Rachel. Then you and Miss Penworth could already be safely ensconced in your lovely new home—.”
If he had to listen to her extoll the virtues of the cottage one by one he would surely go mad. “When did Miss Penworth leave and why on earth would she undertake such a journey when the weather was expected to turn so foul?”
“The weather was fine when we—she left, but it’s turned now!” Mrs. Wilmont explained hastily. Her slip of the tongue was telling enough. Daisy Atwell and her cousin seemed determined to throw them together at every turn despite Augusta’s express wishes to the contrary. He could have told them it was unnecessary as they all ultimately shared the same goal, but they did not strike him as the sort to leave off their meddling without complaint.
Daisy began wringing her hands again. “The rain is pouring down and I very much fear she will take a chill if left in it too long. You must go after her, Lord Elwynn. I cannot imagine what we would do if something were to happen to her. I cannot be responsible for such a thing!”
Hugh sighed. “I agree someone should go after her, but she might prefer it if it were Mr. Atwell. I hesitate to say it, but she will be more apt to accept needed assistance if it is offered by someone else. Miss Penworth has little use for me, madam, regardless of my intentions. She may very well refuse my assistance and if she is in a dire situation—.”
“Simon can’t leave, Lord Elwynn! Not with our other guests expected to arrive.”
It was all too pat, too neatly packaged, further confirming his belief that the matchmaking cousins were throwing the two of them together on purpose. Perhaps repeated exposure to his presence would soften Augusta’s feelings toward him. If that were the case he’d gladly brave rain or snow. In spite of their kiss and her clear enjoyment of it, she’d shored up her resolve in the hours before dinner. During the evening meal she’d been as cold and distant as ever. Given that she’d made it quite clear she had no desire to be anywhere near him, he couldn’t imagine what possible good could come of it. But leaving her to her own devices during torrential downpours in unfamiliar settings was not an option. “Very well, I shall collect her, willingly or not, and return her to the house… If I find, Mrs. Atwell, that you have had some hand in plac
ing her in dangerous situations out of some harebrained attempt at matchmaking, I can promise you it will go very poorly for you.”
Daisy Atwell drew herself up to her full height, thrusting her impressive bosom forward. At that point, Mrs. Wilmont began to chew her bottom lip nervously as she took up the family trait of handwringing. “You must do what you feel you must, my lord. But I pray you find Miss Penworth unharmed and none the worse for having been caught out in such foul weather. She has had a trying few days.”
Hugh nodded and rose from his seat, ignored his churning stomach and aching head and went to change into riding clothes. After yet more hand wringing from his valet, he was dressed appropriately for the foul weather outside and set off in search of Augusta, once again. She’d be no happier to see him this time than the last, he thought.
Chapter 11
Inside the cottage, Augusta was freezing. She’d considered for a moment taking off her sodden clothes, but if Rachel did send help, she didn’t want to be found in a state of undress. It would do little to shore up her already tenuous reputation.
Gathering several of the dust covers from the furniture, she used them to wrap herself in. It might have been an effective strategy, had she any body heat left to hold in. The fact was, she was frozen, wet though to the bone, and had no ability to build up a fire. Hobbled as she was by her injured ankle, she’d not make it past the cottage gate, much less all the way back to Seffington Park.
Hungry, tired, bitterly cold, and with her ankle paining her more than she cared to consider, Augusta watched the rain through the window and made peace with the fact that she was well and truly stuck.
“They have a plan. I’m sure of it. And I’m just as sure that it will involve Fitzhugh Elliott,” she muttered to herself. “Now, I simply have to wait it out and hope that he’ll come once again to the rescue.”
Worth the Wait Page 8