by Georgie Lee
‘I don’t want to study French. I want to go downstairs and see the guests getting ready for the hunt,’ Catherine whined. The twins joined in the chorus of complaints about being kept upstairs while everyone gathered below.
Joanna was about to change the subject, when she remembered Vicar Carlson’s words. If the girls wanted a reward, then she’d make sure they got it, but only if they did their work. ‘If you complete your lessons, we might have time to sneak down to the landing and watch the riders before they leave.’
Instead of fighting her as they usually did, they set to work. Joanna might not want to venture down from the third floor, but it wasn’t fair to keep the girls locked up here because of her fears. Besides, with so many people about, she and Major Preston weren’t likely to be alone together. She’d make sure they weren’t.
In a few minutes, the girls’ work was complete and they followed Joanna down the stairs to the first-floor landing overlooking the entrance hall. Joanna held tight to the banister as she watched the women in their dark riding habits stand with the men in their breeches and coats. They didn’t interest her as much as the possibility of seeing Major Preston, but he wasn’t here. Perhaps he hadn’t come down yet. Every sense became aware of the hallway behind her as she wondered if he would appear there before continuing down. She hoped he didn’t. She couldn’t trust herself to be so close to him.
With a surly sneer, Gruger oversaw the footmen moving among the mingling guests carrying silver trays of hot brandy to fortify the riders against the bracing weather. Sir Rodger’s black hunting dog sat beside his master, who chatted with the men in their tweeds and boots. The ladies in their long habits were spattered among the men, their voices filled with their anticipation for the coming ride. The clouds which had hung over Huntford Place all morning began to clear and thick shafts of sunlight dropped in through the windows over the front doors, much to everyone’s delight.
‘I want to go all the way down,’ Catherine whispered, shifting from foot to foot at the excitement just out of her reach.
‘Your father said you’re not allowed to, but if you’re good here, I’ll talk to your mother about joining in charades after dinner.’ She hoped she refused the request. It would keep Joanna out of the sitting room and away from Major Preston.
Catherine considered the choice and decided going along was better than fighting Joanna and risking her father’s reprimand. Even the twins were behaving as they knelt at the balustrade to watch the guests. Whether or not their new obedience would last, or be enough to secure Joanna’s position here, she wasn’t certain, but she was happy for the change, no matter how small. It restored the confidence shaken out of her by Sir Rodger’s warning and Major Preston’s rejection.
Minutes passed and Major Preston still didn’t appear among the guests. His family wasn’t present either and she wondered if the incident with Mr Selton had driven them from the house. If it had, it was for the best. She wouldn’t be at ease until he was gone, then he would fade in potency like the overly spiced biscuits Rachel had once baked.
The tinny notes of the hunter’s horn filled the entrance hall. Guests filed out of the house, the barks of Sir Rodger’s dog mixing with the yipping of the hunters made louder by a footman holding open the front door. The excited chatter of the guests hurrying to their mounts joined the eagerness of the hounds for the hunt. Joanna wished she could share in the thrill of riding out. It would give her something more to look forward to than the dreary passing of one same day into the next.
As the entrance hall grew quiet, the footmen began to collect the drink glasses. More than one of them finished the contents before they carried them out on their trays. Gruger trailed behind them, mumbling his usual abuses. Behind her, the girls rushed to the landing window overlooking the front drive to watch the riders preparing to set off.
Not seeing Major Preston, and not wanting to keep torturing herself with what she couldn’t have, Joanna moved to gather up the girls. Then Major Preston’s voice caught her notice and made her halt.
‘It amazes me how much you want me to stay now that I’m of some use to you. You were all too eager to pack me off when you purchased my commission,’ Major Preston accused, following his father who stormed out of the sitting room. ‘I’m surprised you spent what you did to make me a lieutenant.’
Lord Ingham whirled on his son, ready to snap back before he seemed to think better of it. He settled his shoulders, his words measured and calm. ‘I didn’t buy you a posting as a lieutenant to get rid of you! I did it because I wanted you to make something of yourself and you did. I’m proud of you for doing it.’
The tightness along Major Preston’s jaw eased at his father’s response, but it didn’t settle the tension in each of his arms as he dug his fists into his hips. ‘Then you asked me to give it all up.’
‘I asked no more of you than my father asked of me when my elder brother died.’ His father laid a steadying hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I realise the sacrifices you’ve made on behalf of the family.’
Major Preston glanced past his father, up the stairs to where Joanna stood. ‘I’m not sure you do.’
She held her breath, afraid to move and make Lord Ingham aware of her. Like every other guest except Major Preston, he’d failed to notice her.
‘I do because I made the same one when I became the heir and had to sell my commission. Trust me, a year from now when you’re settled with a wife and, God willing, a son, you’ll feel very differently than you do now. However, I can see it won’t happen with any of the ladies here, which is fine.’ Lord Ingham let go of his son and tugged on his gloves. ‘There are more lucrative women in London anyway.’
Lord Ingham strolled out the door, unaware of his son’s lingering frustration as he stood in the centre of the entrance hall staring at Joanna. The conflict hardening the lines at the corners of his eyes matched the one in her heart. He lowered his hands to his sides and she dropped down a stair, ready to go to him and ease the pain torturing them both. Despite having silenced him yesterday, if he summoned her to him now, she would answer it. The sound of the barking dogs and chatting guests from outside faded as they continued to regard one another. She shouldn’t want this, but she did. In the smoothing of his face as he viewed her, she knew he did, too.
Then, with a small frown, he nodded and strode out the door to join the others.
Joanna grasped the rough handrail, bracing herself against the weakness and relief filling her. Thank goodness he hadn’t motioned to her and she hadn’t been foolish enough to fly down to him and throw everything away on the promise of a mere conversation. It wasn’t her place to be his confidante, especially not with the girls chatting at the window behind her. Anna and Ava would’ve run through the house yelling about Joanna and Luke at the top of their lungs if Joanna had been so rash.
‘Miss Radcliff.’ Mrs Winston, the nurse, came up behind Joanna and the girls. The nurse’s crisp voice brought Joanna back to her duties and responsibilities. They did not lie with Major Preston. ‘It’s time for the twins’ walk.’
‘Of course, and, Miss Catherine, you have lessons with the drawing master,’ Joanna reminded her.
‘I hate drawing lessons,’ Catherine mumbled as she tromped off down the stairs.
‘Miss Radcliff, I almost forgot, this arrived for you.’ Mrs Winston removed a letter from her apron and handed it to her.
Joanna took it, thrilled to recognise Isabel’s small, neat handwriting decorating the front. Mrs Winston took the twins by the hands and led them to the nursery to collect their coats and sturdy shoes. With the girls occupied, Joanna had two hours to herself.
She ran upstairs to fetch her pelisse from her room, then made for the back garden. She hurried across the weedy gravel path and up the back rise to the Greek temple perched on top. After seeing so many people gathered together, laughing and talking, she ne
eded some words from her friend to remind her she wasn’t so alone and to stop her from thinking about Major Preston.
* * *
Luke tugged on Duke’s reins, forcing the animal to fall behind as the other riders surged forward, fast on the heels of the hounds. This wasn’t so much a fox hunt as it was a husband hunt, with the most eligible young ladies circling him like a regiment of Hessians. More than one skilled female rider had tried to isolate him from the herd. He’d outwitted them all, having dodged too many enemy soldiers in battle to let a few Amazons in search of a mate outflank him. After an hour of evasive manoeuvres, he craved the peace of a solitary ride and time to ponder the conversation with his father, and his silent encounter with Miss Radcliff.
He turned Duke around and guided him into the woods to keep from being noticed by any eagle-eyed ladies. The sun warming the moist earth and the tart smell of old leaves and moss reminded him of his time with Miss Radcliff here the other day. When he’d seen her at the top of the stairs this morning, his vow to remain on course and not be distracted by the arch of her hips, the alluring brush of her curls against her ears had almost deserted him. He’d wanted to go to her and not give a damn about anything or anyone else, but his father’s words had grounded him, even while he’d struggled to accept them.
He slowed Duke to an amble and the fall of the horse’s hooves was muffled by the soft forest ground. His father suggesting he’d adjust to being home was like telling a prisoner he would come to love gaol, yet his father had said something similar the day he’d seen him off to the Army. He’d been right then, as he’d been right about Luke working his way up the ranks. For the first time, Luke wasn’t mad at his father for being stingy with money to purchase his commission. He’d had a reason for it, not to foist Luke off on the world with the least amount of expense, but to give him a chance to make something of himself. And he had. The bitter sense of rejection Luke had carried since the day he’d been told of the commission faded. His father had been proud of his accomplishments. He would make him proud again.
If only it didn’t mean turning away from Miss Radcliff.
Luke guided Duke out of the forest and back across the field towards the peaked gables of Huntford Place. The sight of Miss Radcliff this morning had added to the disquiet making every small annoyance from the lack of coal in his bedroom fireplace to the tittering of the ladies grate on him. In the hallway yesterday, with Miss Radcliff’s finger on his lips, her pulse flickering faintly against his skin, he’d almost taken back everything he’d told her and every promise he’d made to himself and his family. He couldn’t disappoint them or lead Miss Radcliff in a merry dance. She didn’t deserve to be trifled with.
He manoeuvred the horses around the house to the stables. In the paddock, he dismounted and left Duke with the groom, who was as slow in coming to fetch him as he was leading him inside. Luke considered going to the sitting room and composing another letter to Lord Helmsworth, or even Reginald, and then changed his mind. He couldn’t sit still inside with Miss Radcliff somewhere about. He needed peace, not the constant distraction of listening for her voice.
He followed the winding path leading from the stables through the garden too wild to be considered fashionably unkempt. Heavy ivy covered stone statues and the topiaries had escaped their confines to obscure the original animals. The plants here were a great contrast to those in Spain. They’d been tougher there and more woody, their leaves sparser but green against the dry grass and brown earth of the fields. The air had been warmer, too, except in the mountains in winter.
He started up the small hill at the far end of the garden and the Grecian temple set atop it, all the while imagining returning to Spain when the war was over. He longed to see the country through eyes not looking for an enemy or a tactical advantage. In his musings, he wondered what Miss Radcliff would think of the land of Isabelle and Ferdinand with its mix of Catholic and Moorish influence. He didn’t doubt she’d embrace the bright colours and varied flavours of Spain. He would show them to her if he could, help her to break out of the bleak existence trapping her as his duties trapped him, except it wasn’t his place to do so.
Luke admired the Grecian temple as he approached it. The stone building with the columned veranda and domed roof appeared out of place so close to a Stuart-era house. In the shadow of the dome, statues filled tall niches set at even intervals. As he grew closer, one of the statues on the far right stepped out of the shadows, revealing itself to be Miss Radcliff.
Instead of waiting for him, she slipped around the back of the building and out of sight.
‘Miss Radcliff, wait.’ He hurried after her, ignoring the instinct telling him to walk away. He climbed the stairs and rounded the grey stone to see her standing at the far edge, her back to him and a letter dangling in one gloved hand. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, I’m quite well.’ It was clear the moment she turned that she wasn’t. Her pretty lips were drawn thin and her eyes were hard with her troubles. ‘I often come here to think when the girls are taking other lessons or with their nurse.’
‘But that’s not why you’re here today, is it?’ He dragged his fingers over the rough wall as he approached her, noting how her distress intensified the blue of her eyes.
‘Not today.’
‘Bad news?’ He motioned to the paper.
‘No, not at all.’ She raised the letter and it fluttered in the breeze. ‘It’s from my friend, Isabel. She’s married Viscount Langford’s son.’
Apparently, Luke wasn’t the only son of a titled gentleman enamoured with a governess. ‘You don’t approve of him?’
‘I don’t even know him. She barely knows him.’ She paced back and forth across the unpolished stone. The plain, brown pelisse hanging shapeless over her curves fluttered with each stiff step. ‘There’s almost nothing in her letter saying why she married him, except that she had to and he hasn’t turned out to be the husband she imagined, but she doesn’t say how. What if he’s a monster?’
‘Or better than she expected.’ Given what Luke knew of William Balfour and his reputation, Miss Radcliff’s worries weren’t unfounded, but he said nothing. He didn’t want to add to her distress. If Mr Balfour was at last settling down, then maybe he’d changed. He wouldn’t be the first wild rake tamed by a gentle hand. He leaned against a pillar, far more philosophical than usual. ‘That’s the thing about chances, you never know how they’ll turn out until you take one.’
She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pulling the pelisse tight to trace the curve of their fullness. ‘Don’t tell me you’re a romantic.’
‘Not at all, but I’ve taken a chance or two in my time.’ He dug the regimental badge from his pocket and held it out to her. She opened her palm and he dropped it on the soft cotton of her glove. ‘Back in May, at Fuentes de Oñoro, there was a break in the line. My men, alongside the Light Division, were sent to reinforce the right flank. During the fighting, some distance away, I noticed a squad trapped by heavy fire and on the verge of being overrun. I could’ve wasted time telling my commanding officer, leaving it to him to order men to their aid. Instead, I took a chance and led my squad to cover them. We were outnumbered, but we held the French off until the men and their wounded could retreat, then we crushed the French, helping to secure the line. It earned me a promotion to major.’
She fingered the badge, then handed it back to him. ‘Chance seems a very unpredictable way to plan a life.’
‘It’s a mistake to think you can plan it.’ He slipped the badge back in his coat pocket. ‘I’d intended to enjoy my major rank for longer than four months. You came here to mould young ladies. I’d say neither of our plans unfolded as we’d expected.’
‘No, they didn’t.’ Her words trailed off with the same disappointment which racked him every time he thought he might never return to his regiment. He raised his hand to take hers, then r
ested it on a column instead. He couldn’t allow his misguided sense of chivalry to make him cross the boundaries which separated them.
‘All will be well with your friend.’ He hoped so for Miss Radcliff’s sake and her friend’s.
She folded the letter and shoved it into the pocket of her drab pelisse. ‘Isabel is taking a chance and I should wish her the best, and I do, but...’
‘You envy her.’ They shouldn’t be sharing confidences, but he couldn’t walk away. She’d helped him in the woods with Edward. It was only right for him to do the same for her.
She nodded, her pale round cheeks colouring with her shame. ‘She’s going to have everything I’ve ever wanted, a real family and children. You must think I’m awful for being so petty.’
‘No, I don’t.’ Together, they stood at the edge of the temple and looked out over the woods at the leaves turning brown and orange and red. Her nearness awed him as much as the stunning breadth of the land and the sky above it. He understood the conflict making her sigh with frustration because it was his, too. ‘Yesterday, I received a letter from my friend, Captain Crowther, telling me of their victory in a skirmish. I should’ve written at once to congratulate him, but I didn’t. I’m jealous because he’s there and I’m not. We wouldn’t be human if we weren’t petty sometimes.’