A Love Laid Bare

by Constance Hussey

  Jensen touched his heel to his mount. Lady Halcombe’s favorite path led through the copse that ran between the Halcombe and Merton properties. What could be more natural than a guest of Lady Merton’s riding there? If she traveled elsewhere, there was always another day, but the sooner the better. He had to get possession of the Folio.

  Damn his father for getting him into this situation. Jensen still had trouble believing the old man had been so incredibly stupid as to steal the Legacy Folio from von Steffin’s library. Greed and avarice were a dangerous combination. The Count’s heir had no right to even call for an evaluation of the library contents while the father lay on his deathbed. Now the Count was miraculously recovered and might discover any day that his precious treasure maps have disappeared.

  Jensen’s mouth twisted with anger. Stealing the Legacy was bad enough. Selling it to Halcombe’s father was disastrous. If he had his way, both von Steffins—father and son—would meet an untimely end. That way, once the Folio was in his hands, it could be resold and the Jensen coffers would be so much the richer.

  Or preferably your own pocket. You can pay your gambling debts and have a tidy sum left over. But first…

  When he reached the shaded lane that ran through the wooded area between the manors, Jensen dismounted. He lifted one of the gelding’s hoofs and pried loose the shoe, using the pliers he had brought along solely for this purpose. He led the horse forward a few paces. Satisfied that the evidence of lameness was adequate, he pocketed the tool.

  While it was enjoyably cool under the trees, he did not have to wait long before hearing the clip-clop of several horses. In all likelihood, Lady Halcombe had a groom with her. No matter. His goal today was to make her acquaintance, not engage in dalliance.

  Jensen began walking toward the Merton estate, his horse trailing behind him. He came to a stop and swung around when the riders sounded close.

  “Have you a problem, sir?”

  The question came from a dark-haired woman on a pretty, smallish chestnut mare, and Jensen assumed an expression of rueful resignation. “My horse has a loose shoe, I’m sorry to say, but no doubt a walk will do me good.”

  The lady gave him a sympathetic smile. She half-turned in the saddle and gestured to her companion. “Jim, please take a look and see if there is anything to be done.”

  “Very well, my lady.”

  The stern-faced, middle-aged man examined Jensen and frowned. He was distinctly unhappy about the request. Nevertheless he dismounted to inspect the gelding’s hoof and shook his head. “Nothing to be done without a blacksmith, madam.”

  “Oh dear,” the woman said. She looked at Jensen. “Have you far to go?”

  Jensen moved closer and smiled up at the young woman. “Not far. I am a guest at Merton House and the groom there informed me that riding here was permitted. My apologies if I have trespassed.”

  “No, both estates allow access to this property. Halcombe Manor neighbors the Merton land. I am Lady Halcombe.”

  The lady’s smile had faded when he uttered the name Merton. No love lost there, Jensen judged. He cast around for a way to distance himself from any connection to Lady Merton. He did not want to give the impression he was on intimate terms with the viscountess.

  “Paul Jensen, at your service,” he said with a slight bow. “It is my misfortune that none of the other guests wished to ride this morning, so I am alone and have no one to carry word of my predicament.”

  Lady Halcombe’s expression lightened. “I was not aware that Lady Merton was having a house party. It is a pity the others left you to your own devices today.” She paused, eyes narrowed in thought, then smiled. “We are closer to the Manor than Merton House, Mr. Jensen. If you wish, you can walk home with us and borrow one of our horses. A groom can bring your horse over later.”

  Jensen smiled, hiding his relief. This was much better than simply meeting Lady Halcombe. It not only gave him a chance to talk to her, but also provided an excuse to call at the Manor again. “That is most kind of you, my lady. I will gladly accept the offer.” He glanced at his now-dusty high black boots. “These boots, while comfortable when riding, were not intended for strolling about.”

  A smile lit her face. “No, it does seem that a gentleman’s footwear is not always practical.”

  Jensen laughed and took the reins of his horse from the disgruntled groom, who remounted and watched Jensen with obvious disapproval. Ignoring it, he walked beside Lady Halcombe, conversing about the area’s attractions, and carefully avoiding any mention of his hostess. He did not want to lie further about fellow guests. There were none at present, although some few would be arriving within the next several days. Fortunately, Victoria was too well versed in deception to allow anyone outside her household to know she had a lover, whatever their suspicions might be, and her servants were unusually discreet.

  The discomfort of his boots was more fact than fiction by the time they reached Halcombe Manor. Jensen’s effort to hide a slight limp was unsuccessful, much to his chagrin. The copse may have been closer to Halcombe Manor than to Merton House, but not by much.

  “If you prefer a carriage instead of going back to Merton on horseback, I will have one readied,” Lady Halcombe said as they approached the stable yard.

  Jensen shook his head, and smiled. “The loan of a horse is sufficient. I appreciate your generosity and will see that the animal is returned promptly.”

  She waited for a groom to come forward and help her dismount. Aware of the watchful eyes of a half-dozen servants, Jensen made no attempt to assist her, although he was not averse to closer contact with the lady. Her handsome riding habit outlined a trim body not lacking in womanly curves.

  “Good day, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Lady Halcombe settled her skirts and held out her hand

  Jensen gripped it gently in his and bowed. “The pleasure is mine, my lady. Thank you.”

  He watched her as she walked swiftly toward the house. The plan was begun and the first step taken.

  “Your mount, Mr. Jensen.”

  Jensen turned to see a sour-faced Jim standing behind him holding the reins of a decent looking hack. “I’ll have one of Merton’s grooms return him and lead my horse back,” he said, and passed the man a coin.

  Jensen adjusted the stirrups, mounted and rode away. The lady was carefully guarded, it seemed. Whether to hem her in or to keep others out was not yet clear. Given her decidedly firm chin, he had a feeling the lady had a mind of her own.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jensen would have been dismayed to know Frances had all but forgotten him by the time she reached the house. He had made little impression on her, being too blond and conventionally handsome for her taste—an Adonis, she believed the ton would label him, with only a rather charming accent to lift him from the ordinary. Besides, being a guest of Lady Merton’s was not a recommendation, and he was responsible for cutting short her ride.

  Frances stopped by the nursery en route to her bedchamber. There was no sign of Nancy or Flora, which meant naptime continued. The child woke so early that by mid-morning she was sleepy. This fitted nicely into Frances’ self-imposed schedule. There were often disruptions, but she managed to get outdoors for an hour most mornings.

  The nursery suite had been the first to be thoroughly cleaned, repainted, and refurnished, including Flora’s bedchamber and the room assigned to Nancy. Frances glanced around the play area with a sense of satisfaction, pleased with the bright, airy surroundings. The toys that had withstood the vigours of several generations of Ehlmans were neatly aligned on shelves and a colourful rug covered the wide-planked floor.

  Her attention caught by a cloth rabbit she had not seen before, Frances perched on the window seat and held the animal up to look into its whimsical face. Halcombe again, she guessed. In the past ten days Richard had bestowed a half-dozen new toys on his daughter. Frances laid the rabbit on her lap and idly stroked one of the long, floppy ears.

  Richard spent time wi
th Flora every morning when he came in to break his fast, and he made it a point to visit her in the evening before her bedtime. They went to the stables to pet the horses, the barn to inspect the kittens, and they fed the ducks in the pond. He’d even put her up before him in the saddle and taken a short ride, something that had Frances’ heart in her throat. Having come late to horsemanship, she was not as easy around the animals as someone who had been raised with the creatures.

  It was difficult at times to step aside and not intrude on their playtime. Halcombe clearly adored Flora. That fact alone kept her protests unspoken—that and her unquenchable hope that eventually his desire for more children would spur some desire for her. Sighing softly, as she had seen no change in his feelings toward her, Frances quietly left the room.

  Her new maid, Joan, had laid out a gown for her. It was one of those commissioned in London and somewhat less plain than she normally wore. Frances had several tradesmen scheduled to call and a meeting with Mr. Compton, Halcombe’s steward. The earl no longer kept a personal secretary on staff. Instead he depended upon the steward that he had hired not long after her boating accident. The man was likable enough and seemed competent. Even so, she dreaded the upcoming session with him. It was past time she knew the terms of the marriage settlements, something that had never been discussed. You were too timid and ignorant to broach such a subject, and Richard was too…secretive? No, more a case of disinterest.

  “He won’t be so unconcerned after today,” Frances muttered, splashing water on her face.

  “Did you say something, my lady?” Joan put a fresh petticoat alongside the gown and eyed her curiously.

  “Nothing of importance.” Frances wrinkled her nose at her reflection, removed the pins from her chignon and applied the brush briskly. She was tempted at times to have her long tresses clipped to a more manageable length, but such temptation was always overridden by vanity, since she believed her hair was her best feature. She discounted her sea-green eyes and creamy skin as too commonplace for beauty. One of those blonde, blue-eyed belles that graced the ballrooms she was not.

  Frances twisted the mass into a knot, pinned it securely, and stepped into her petticoats. She waited for Joan to slip the dress over her head and do up the buttons before looking in the mirror. She was pleased with the simple gown of sprigged, pale green muslin. The yellow flowers and dark green leaves embroidered on the sleeves added a touch of contrasting colour, and Frances thought the small ruff at the neck was flattering. She rummaged through her jewelry box and picked out her favourite piece—a cameo brooch that had been a gift from her father and thus doubly precious to her.

  “Please send word to Mrs. Blount that I wish to see her later this morning,” Frances said. She glanced at the clock. “At half-eleven, in my parlour.” That gave Frances enough time to put her accounts in order and write the letters that had to go out today.

  Dismissing the maid, Frances picked up a light shawl and hurried downstairs. She generally took a light meal with Flora around noon and had no mind to miss doing so today. Halcombe was seldom indoors during the day, so there was little chance he would interrupt her. Halcombe is rarely to be found at all! He has been quite successful at avoiding you. How much longer do you expect it to continue?

  Forever, Frances suspected, if the man had his way. He was out before she arose, closeted in his study whenever he was inside, and he went late to bed. Nor had there been any other dinners together in his suite. Instead, they dined in the huge dining room, each seated at opposite ends of the long table. If they spoke at all, it was a stilted conversation that annoyed her to the point that she wanted to throw something at him. So far, she had tolerated the routine, having numerous other matters in hand. However, it could not be allowed to go on much longer.

  Frances trimmed her pen, removed a fresh sheet of stationary from the desk drawer, and began to write. Thomas had delivered two letters from her correspondents recently and they needed replies. There was not much news of Napoleon’s recent activities, but what there was she would pass on to London. Thomas Blount would copy the reply before sending it further along. It was a precaution she thought wise in case Lord Summerton had occasion to see a sample of her handwriting now that she was in England again. Frances had tried to alter her hand somewhat in the previous letters, although she doubted she was successful.

  Aunt Olivia was also awaiting a reply. Frances was encouraged by Livvy’s most recent letter to think that her aunt had at long last realized Charles was perfect for her, that he wanted to marry her and had for years. His name had been mentioned so often that Frances expected an invitation to their wedding to arrive any day—and would be pleased to see it.

  The mantel clock chimed the half hour just as Rose tapped on the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

  “You wanted to see me, my lady?”

  Frances smiled at the neatly dressed little woman. Her grey-streaked dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, sensible shoes clad her small feet and her brown eyes held a serene warmth that, even after many years together, still had the power to infuse Frances with optimism.

  “Come in and sit down, please.”

  “I’d just as soon stand,” Rose said, “but suppose you will badger me about it if I do.”

  Frances gave the housekeeper an ‘of course I will’ look, and Rose obligingly perched on the edge of a chair facing Frances’ desk.

  “I have letters to give to Thomas and there is a book to go with one of them.” Frances pushed a slip of paper toward her newly appointed housekeeper. Dismissing Mrs. Carroll and installing Rose here had been the most rewarding of many changes.

  “I do wish Halcombe had left Father’s—my—books at Clifftop. It would make things much easier. One day someone will question why you are in the box room.”

  “I’m careful to go when everyone is busy elsewhere. And if they do ask, I will say you requested a book and entrusted me with the errand, which is the truth,” Rose said in her calm manner. She picked up the paper containing the name and author of the book and put it in her pocket. “Leave the letters here. I will see they get to Thomas.”

  Rose sat up even straighter and narrowed her eyes. “From the look of you, there is more than these letters on your mind. I’ve heard naught that is amiss with Lady Flora, so it must concern Lord Halcombe.”

  Frances placed her pen in the inkwell, moved the letter aside, and leaned her forearms on the desk. She laced her fingers together and looked earnestly at Rose. “I am meeting with Mr. Compton today. I hope to learn the terms of the settlements Halcombe and my father arranged. He was much too careful to leave me without resources.

  “With the exception of the nursery suite, I have paid for the work here. While I have not spent all of my funds, the remainder will not be enough to entirely refurbish this house. Besides, I need what remains to continue the business.”

  “You should be asking Lord Halcombe about this,” Rose began.

  Frances’ jaw clenched. “Lord Halcombe rarely speaks to me. I doubt he will tell me anything.” She slapped her hands on the desk and jumped to her feet. “I should not need to ask at all! Father meant for me to have some independence. I know he did, for we spoke of it once. Halcombe was quick enough to appropriate my dowry to spend as he wished. It is not like I’m going to indulge in clothes or jewelry. All I want is some decent furniture, attractive draperies, and rugs that are not worn and faded. I don’t care in the least if some revered ancestor of his carried them back from the Holy Land!”

  Shocked at her near-shout, Frances felt a flush rise in her face. She took an angry turn around the room, avoiding Rose’s eyes.

  “Perhaps Lord Halcombe wants much the same thing. His mother—”

  Frances cut her off. “His mother treated this house like a shrine to the whole line of Ehlmans, preserving every gimcrack and geegaw they trekked home with for centuries,” Frances said in a hard voice. “I doubt the King has more pride of family than the dowager—and she but an Ehlman by mar
riage!”

  Frances plopped back in her chair, pushed the loose pins holding her hair back in place and scowled. “No one can live comfortably in a musty old museum,” she said more quietly.

  Rose’s mouth curved down and she shook her head. “You have been resty and out of sorts ever since I got here, Miss Frances.” She touched her finger to her lips. “Lady Halcombe, I meant to say. It appears to me you’d better make up your mind what you want and go after it before you make yourself miserable.”

  Since Rose never called her Miss Frances unless her patience was seriously tried, Frances’ scowl faded. Her eyes filled and, both ashamed and embarrassed, she averted her head and groped for her handkerchief. “I want a family, a pleasant home—and a husband who does not hate me,” she confessed.

  More than a bit irritated to hear her voice shake, Frances wiped her face and sniffed. With her expression now under control, she met Rose’s gaze. “I am sorry for the outburst. Some days I wonder why I ever returned. The future appears so…bleak. Then I think of Flora and remind myself it is her happiness that is most important.”

  “I do not believe Lord Halcombe hates you,” Rose said, getting to her feet. She walked around the desk to lay a hand on Frances’ shoulder. “He is angry, hurting as much as you are, if not more, because he cannot understand why you did not let him know you were alive once you reached Portugal.” Rose patted Frances’ back several times, moved toward the door, and then stopped and turned. “I am not sure anyone can understand why, my lady.” Her voice broke and dropped to a whisper. “We all grieved.”

  The expression of bewildered sadness on Rose’s face tore at Frances’ heart. She went to put her arms around the older woman. “I hope you can forgive me. I was selfish and thoughtless. It’s unbearable to realize how hurtful it was to you all and my reasons seem so unimportant now.”