Tabitha's Folly

by Jen Geigle Johnson

  Oscar returned the balls to the table and smacked one into a pocket. “Who? Mrs. Hemming?” He laughed. “She’ll be asleep against the wall.”

  Tabitha was secretly pleased that was the case. All this hovering was beginning to smother her. She moved to leave.

  Tauney joined her in the doorway. “Why are you all just sitting around? Let’s load the carriage and be off!”

  “At last!” Edward put away Oscar’s stick. “You are as ridiculous as Prinny with your fashion nonsense.”

  After an interminable ride in the carriage—and one night in a respectable inn—they at last arrived in front of the Countess du Breven’s home in a deluge of rain. The front approach itself took twenty minutes, wheels slogging through wet shale.

  And now the great expanse of her lovely house stretched in front of them.

  Tabitha lifted the covering over their window to see the approach to the estate. Beech trees lined their entry, limbs bent under the weight of the torrent, but the water brought out a lovely shade of pink in the shale rock of the drive. The whole scene felt otherworldly, and for the first time, a measure of hope rose within her when thinking of the party. “I do love Somerstone Manor.” She longed to get lost on the grounds, walking among the flowers and hedges in the countess’ expansive gardens.

  Mrs. Hemming snored in the corner.

  “As long as we can get out of this carriage, I don’t care where we stay.” Oscar sat stiffly, wedged and jostled against his brothers. Rain pounded the roof, their mounts followed behind. Four broad-shouldered, impatient, and damp men sat pinned together, forced to ride inside once the rain commenced.

  They arrived in the hall, shaking water off their persons, the brothers forming a line to Tabitha’s front, Henry at her side.

  The Countess stepped forward. “We are so happy you have come, Lord Easton.” She held out her hand, and Edward bowed over it. The others bowed with him, and Tabitha lowered in a deep curtsey.

  Three gentlemen caught Tabitha’s eye, coming down the stairs. Anthony Pemberton, one of the Pinkerton twins, and Reginald Beauchamp: three of the most sought after men in the ton, all in one place. “Oh. My. I wonder who else the countess has included in her invitations.”

  Edward followed her gaze and immediately bristled. “Brothers. As soon as we change, let us meet in my room to receive our assignments.”

  Tabitha sighed.

  Henry placed his hand on hers. “Will you be all right? I believe I’ve been summoned elsewhere.”

  “Yes, quite.” She indicated Mrs. Hemming, who was already bustling her away to get out of her wet things before she caught a chill.

  Many eyes watched her move up the stairs. Accustomed to attention, she did not let it rattle her too much. But she would have much preferred a smaller gathering.

  Reginald Beauchamp approached on the stairway, flipping his hair away to reveal a brilliant pair of green eyes. She held out her hand. “Hello, Mr. Beauchamp. Pleased to see you again.” He was more handsome than any man deserved to be. A pity his attention never focused very long in one direction.

  He bowed, and his kiss lingered on her gloved hand.

  “Come child. We must get you warmed.” Mrs. Hemming scowled at poor Mr. Beauchamp.

  He raised his eyebrow in amusement then turned back to Tabitha. “Will I be seeing you at dinner?”

  “Yes, she is going to eat, now if you’ll excuse us.”

  “Mrs. Hemming, really.” Deep embarrassment filled her. After the discomfort of travel and the slipping sense of control over her life, the emotion almost overwhelmed her. Grasping for something, any decision completely her own, in a moment of pure rebellion, she stepped closer to Mr. Beauchamp, quirked her lips in a half grin.

  “Unless you want to meet sooner.”

  His eyes flew open in shock. Then he recovered, a teasing glint lighting his face.

  “You surprise me.”

  2

  A Delicious Distraction is Afoot

  Unless you want to meet sooner.

  Tabitha paced the floor of her bedroom in great agitation. “What was I thinking? What am I doing?”

  She wrung her hands so much they began to chafe.

  She had presented herself—she had been so…so forward, like a woman of the night, or one of those widows people talked about behind their hands.

  Her mother would be appalled.

  Unless you want to meet sooner? How could she have said such a thing? To Mr. Beauchamp! She hadn’t meant that. She didn’t want some sort of flirtation, or worse—a dalliance—of any kind.

  But before she could retract her words, he had agreed!

  And now they were to meet in the music room, at the pianoforte, to practice for the musicale. He intended to turn pages for her.

  But his wink suggested that’s not all he intended.

  Her cheeks heated. Blast her wretched brothers, Mrs. Hemming, and this whole party.

  Furious with herself and them, she grabbed a shawl and determined to tour the house. Perhaps she would become good and lost and avoid the whole evening altogether. Dinner did sound delicious, however. Smells wafted up a stairwell earlier. She’d ask for a tray.

  She hurried down the hallway, careful not to get caught outside anyone’s bedroom. She thought about waking Joanna. But her dear maid would have enough to do if Tabitha decided on dinner after all, so she let her sleep.

  She found a circular stairwell at the end of the hall, and she hurried down the steps. A new excitement thrilled her. She was at last deciding something for herself. Even if it was just a solitary tour of the house, she reveled in it. And no one was hovering. She squealed and did a few steps to the quadrille as she skipped down each stair.

  “Did you happen upon a spider?”

  She jumped. “Who is that?” The curve of the stairs blocked her view.

  “I am under here.” His voice was mellow, golden like honey.

  “What?” Her heart skipped.

  She rounded the bottom. The stairwell opened up into an expansive, well-lit gallery. She turned toward his voice. But then she stopped, looking away quickly. A man dressed in livery sat at the base of a white statue, and she couldn’t dare to gaze upon it again.

  The statue depicted a completely naked man in half repose, and she had seen enough in one glance to know she should not take a second. She turned immediately and made to run up the stairs, but the man’s voice stopped her. “Wait.”

  She paused, curious in spite of her embarrassment.

  “It is art. One of the great sculptors. One of the most beautiful I have seen.”

  She turned back to him. “I have not seen you.” She told herself it was ridiculous to be nervous. The man was a footman, one of the countess’ many servants. Perhaps he would help her find a good part of the house to explore.

  He nodded. “You wouldn’t have noticed with the rain coming down the way it was, but it was I who held your umbrella.”

  Of course she did not notice, and she would not be made to feel guilty for it. “Well, I will leave you to your…” what? Why was he sitting here alone?

  “Hiding.”

  She stopped. “So am I.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

  He tilted his head. “This painting is lovely.” He sat facing a beautiful depiction of the view out her bedroom window. “I could assist you in your hiding. The artwork here is remarkable, despite the unfortunate lack of apparel on the man behind me.”

  He had dark hair, jet-black almost, his eyes an icy blue. His jaw was sharp, sculpted. The man was beautiful—tanned and rugged-looking—even in livery. Intriguing. She chided herself for the direction of her thoughts. But the mystery felt delicious—because it was harmless. What trouble could one encounter with a footman?

  Although amused, she refused to smile. One did not hide with a footman. “I must be going.”

  “Might I accompany you?” Again, his voice sent shivers up her arms.

  “But then neither of us”—her voice cau
ght, and she cleared her throat—“would be alone.”

  He quirked an eyebrow, and she tried to avoid a view of the statue behind him.

  Standing, he moved closer. “I didn’t know the goal was solitude; I am hiding, but I do not have to hide alone.” His white teeth flashed in an open grin. Disarming, charming, friendly. “The countess asked that I ensure the comfort of all our guests, which includes preventing you from becoming lost.” His eyes widened, waiting.

  She nodded and indicated that they begin walking, keeping her eyes turned away from the statue. “Then I would appreciate your assistance.”

  He joined her side with a bow. “Shall I lead us, or do you have a nefarious plan in mind?”

  “You’d best lead. I’m not accomplished at anything nefarious, and this house is the largest I have ever seen.”

  “I do know a few places and am quite versed in nefarious deeds.”

  When she gasped, he winked and added, “But we shall stick with activities as un-nefarious as possible.”

  His smile sent a delicious thrill down her back.

  He led her to a room with a wall of windows, and, at the end, a beautiful pianoforte. Mr. Beauchamp sat at the bench, running his fingers along the keys.

  Oh no. Oh no!

  She tried to back away silently, pulling on the footman’s arm. But her guide called into the room, “Pardon us for the intrusion.”

  She wished to float away out the window and onto the countess’ extensive grounds.

  Mr. Beauchamp turned, and his eyebrows shot up higher on his forehead than she thought an eyebrow could go. His gaze flitted from her to the man at her side. Then a slow smile spread across his face. He stood to approach them, bowing to her. “You surprise me again.”

  He nodded in her direction and then left the room.

  She wanted to sink, to melt, to do anything to stop her embarrassed thoughts.

  The footman cleared his throat. “Do you know him?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have some sort of understanding?”

  “Not at all. But I had agreed to meet him here.”

  “But you were hiding away from here.”

  “Yes.”

  “And then I brought you to the very spot.”

  “You did.”

  He burst out laughing.

  “You are bold for a footman.”

  When she frowned her irritation at him, he tried to stop. “Oh come now, surely you can see the hilarity of the situation. And his expression.” He paused and tilted his head to the side. “He took it well, all things considering.”

  “Yes, he did.” She dreaded already meeting Mr. Beauchamp again. How could she ever breach this subject to explain?

  “Why the despondent face? Let us sit and make music.”

  She did not want to face anyone at the party just yet, so she nodded. As she searched through the sheets looking for a piece she enjoyed, he ran his fingers over the keys and began to play.

  “You are wonderful!” She sat beside him, ready to turn his pages, but he played from memory. And then he began to sing; she had never heard lovelier tones. She joined him, creating harmony where she could.

  When the song ended, a magic had settled over her. The music echoed in her mind, still. She wondered, who was this talented person? How did he come to be musically trained?

  But clapping behind her startled them both.

  Henry, followed by Edward, entered, and the room seemed to shrink.

  Edward’s face darkened as he stood there in silence, looking from her to the man at her side.

  Henry cleared his throat. “That was beautiful playing. I don’t believe we have met…” He stepped forward, eyes wide in expectation.

  Tabitha opened her mouth. Henry would introduce himself to a servant?

  An awkward moment settled on them. Then the man stood and bowed. “My lord. No, we wouldn’t have. If you’ll excuse me.” He tipped his head and then walked from the room.

  Tabitha grinned. How liberating to see him disregard an introduction—to do what he pleased, when he pleased. She turned to Henry. “I don’t know him either.”

  “What?” Edward at last found his voice. “You sit here alone, cozy on the bench with a man none of us know? A servant?”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose…”

  “That doesn’t make any sense at all. Of course you did it on purpose.” Edward stepped closer. “Did he do anything to you?”

  Shocked, she stuttered, “D-do anything? Of course not. Unless you mean escorting me on a tour of the house.”

  Henry sat beside her. “Edward is just asking if he behaved in a gentlemanly manner.” His eyes searched hers, kind concern softening her stubborn resistance to the overbearing Edward.

  She sighed. “He was a perfect gentleman. We stumbled upon this room, and when he sat to play, I was enchanted. Did you hear his voice?”

  Henry’s face pinched and then cleared. “Do you hold some sort of regard for him?”

  “Of course she doesn’t.” Edward frowned. “For a servant?” He stepped closer to her. “There will be no regard for anyone until we have discovered who the man is and who are his family. There are things to consider, Tabitha. You can’t just go around feeling regard for people without consulting me.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Listen to yourself, brother. He is a servant. Can’t you behave in a rational manner?” She sighed. “Just because the man is handsome and marvelous on the pianoforte”—Henry stiffened beside her—“does not change how ridiculous you are being.” She turned to Henry. “Or you. Regard? You wondered if I felt regard—for a servant?”

  Even after all the absurd things she had heard Edward and Henry say, this topped them all. Though if she were to admit it, regard might have been felt, were it allowed.

  The chagrin on Henry’s face made her laugh. He brought a hand up to his mouth, covering his own growing smile. Then he gave up and burst out laughing. “Really Edward. She has a point. We quite lost ourselves. Consult you in the future? About her regard?”

  Henry turned around on the bench and nudged her with his shoulder. “I quite forgot what I was about. You did look rather cozy in here together.” He shifted through some sheet music. “But let’s leave that behind us, shall we? I would love to hear you play. Won’t you?”

  His face, boyish in his pleading, eased her frustration. “Of course.” Her heart picked up. Perhaps he could finally see her, not as a kid sister, running after them everywhere, but as the woman she had become. Suddenly shy, she glanced at his face.

  He watched her with an intensity she hadn’t seen before. Then he tilted towards her, nudging her shoulder with his own again. “Come now, Tabby Cat, don’t trip over the keys like last time.”

  Her hope deflated. But she rallied. “I never trip over keys.” Friendship had worked well for many years. At least he sat close to her, their clothes almost touching. His warmth made her feel alive. So she made a show of stretching out her fingers and placed them on the keys, as if she were a great maestro about to begin—and played a silly little tune they had all learned in the nursery.

  He tipped his head back and laughed, singing the words. Their fun sounds were nothing like her previous harmony with the mystery footman. But she joined him, and their song was warm and lovely. And completely hilarious. If the women of the ton could see their lord now.

  Edward cleared his throat. “If we are finished being juvenile.”

  Henry shook his head. “Oh, we are not nearly done, Edward. Come, you remember it.”

  “They are about to call us for dinner.”

  Tabitha waved a hand at him over her shoulder. “Don’t be concerned on my account. I’m having a tray sent up.” She was not about to tell him about Mr. Beauchamp. Just the thought of him brought heat to her cheeks. She stared at the floor, remembering.

  “Tabitha?” Henry’s voice was soft. He reached over, running the edge of his little finger along her cheek.

  She shook her he
ad. “It is nothing.”

  Edward moved so that he stood on the opposite side of the piano. “We still need to discuss what happened here, Tabitha.”

  “Nothing happened. I wanted to be alone, stumbled upon a footman, and we walked together. I have never seen him before. And he obviously does not wish to be known.”

  She grinned before she could stop herself.

  “You cannot behave in such a way. Alone with a man. A footman. ” He pulled out his timepiece. “Come, I’ll walk you to your room before going in to dinner.”

  She straightened her back. “I’m not ready to go up just yet.”

  Henry stood. “Perhaps you’d like a tour of statuary hall first?” He offered his arm. Then he turned to Edward. “Would that be acceptable? Much more public part of the house.”

  Edward replaced his timepiece and straightened his jacket. “I thank you Henry. We could not look out for her without your assistance. Do let me know if this becomes bothersome.”

  Tabitha stiffened.

  Henry placed a hand on her shoulder. “No bother, of course. You are like family to me, all of you.” He turned to grin at Tabitha, and her heart sank. Then, in a lower voice to Edward, he said, “But if a young lady changes from being passably interesting to intriguing, I may need to take a moment elsewhere.”

  A spark of irritation flared inside Tabitha so hot and so fast she could not squelch her reaction. “Don’t let me get in your way.”

  He tilted his head in curiosity. “You wouldn’t of course, I just said I would step away to pursue the interest.”

  She stood, not able to bear another moment of their callous manner. “No tour will be necessary. I think I should like to go to dinner after all.”

  3

  Awash in the River

  After being caught alone with a footman in the piano room, Tabitha had expected little good could come of last night’s dinner, especially as she was determined to express her disapproval of Henry.

  As expected, dinner had been a nightmare. Surrounded by her brothers, she refused to sit anywhere near Henry. And she had avoided even looking at Mr. Beauchamp. Her cheeks burned again, thinking of him. At one point, everyone on all sides of her had been engaged in conversation with someone else.