by Brenda Hiatt
Bother Maggie, anyhow! Why did it sometimes feel as if she were Falcon’s own conscience? Falcon had been asking herself if this was the right course from the moment she had so impulsively chosen it, but that was different from having someone else question it.
Of course she was not running away from Sweeney. Hadn’t she come here pursuing him? A different tack was needed to catch up with him, that was all. She was not afraid of him, even if he had almost succeeded in shooting her. She just wondered if leaving London really made sense.
If Maggie meant that Falcon was running from Lord Danebridge, that notion was ridiculous. Why should she need to run from him? He had deceived her shamelessly. She was done with him; she had chosen to put him out of her life. All she had to do now was put him out of her mind and her heart as well.
Falcon tried to focus her attention on the scenery they passed and on her cousin’s occasional attempts at conversation. They had left London by Westminster Bridge and had headed southeast through the southern outskirts of the city until they joined the Kent Road amidst flowering fields and meadows. She knew she should be trying to be more sociable, but the sudden upheaval of events was taking its toll on her. She felt tired and very disinclined to talk.
They left the Kent Road at Lewisham Bridge and took a more directly southern route, stopping to rest in Bromley in mid-afternoon and passing through Keston and a few other prosperous-looking villages. In this western part of Kent the scenery was delightful; tracts of spring woodlands carpeted with bluebells and alight with hazel and dogwoods in bloom were interspersed between new-green fields and blossoming orchards and every so often the grand entrance to an estate. Falcon’s appreciation of what her father had sacrificed for the love of her mother grew stronger with every passing mile.
Colburne Hall was east of Westerham, a busy little market town about twenty miles south of London. The half-timbered buildings and small village green looked gilded in the fast-departing light of late afternoon, and Falcon gazed out at them while her cousin talked about the town. He was just mentioning its pride in being the birthplace of the hero of Quebec, General Wolfe, when she noticed a man emerging from a building labeled “the George and Dragon” who looked remarkably like Sweeney.
Nonsense, she told herself even as she pulled back from the window. There was no possible reason for him to be in this place! I am becoming obsessed—I think every tall, blond man is Sweeney. Perhaps it was just as well that she had left London after all. In the city she might have begun to see Sweeney everywhere! The events of the past three days must have rattled her a good deal more than she had suspected.
The last long shadows of the day were giving way to dusk as the carriages turned in under the archway of the impressive brick gatehouse at the entrance to Colburne Hall. They proceeded through more woodlands and rolling fields until finally the hall itself came into view at the top of a slight rise.
Falcon could not help catching her breath at the sight of her ancestors’ home. The hall was an imposing structure of rose-red brick with tall windows and many gables and chimneys. At one side stood a huge old beech tree and an ancient brick wall sheltering a garden of spring flowers. To the other side at a slight distance from the house stood what were undoubtedly the stables and a collection of other outbuildings and offices. Rolling lawns surrounded the house like an ocean of green, and beyond it lay a sweeping view of the Kent Weald to the south.
“Welcome to Colburne, my dear Sophia,” said the earl.
By the time the carriages drew up at the front entrance of the house a veritable army of servants had gathered there to greet their master. Once the formalities were taken care of, Falcon was escorted into the house itself, where she met another cousin, the earl’s sister Lady Rawlings, whose husband was a baronet, and a variety of houseguests. Eventually she was forced to ask her cousin about his wife. She had assumed he had one and yet no one among the group had been so identified.
“Ah. My wife and son are not in residence at the moment, although you may be sure that I will send for them now that you are here. I do not think there is any breach in propriety with my sister here. Otherwise, I would have you put up at the dower house with your grandmother.”
“When will I meet her?” Falcon had not actually seen the dower house, but the lane that led to it had been mentioned when they passed it on the main drive. She felt eager to meet the grandmother who apparently had never completely severed ties with her father. She also felt at this moment much more disposed towards dealing with one person at a time—she supposed it was only natural that she should feel a bit overwhelmed amongst so many strangers encountered all at once.
“The very minute she feels up to it,” replied her cousin. “She is not well, you know.” The earl smiled reassuringly at her. “Meanwhile, dinner will be a little delayed by our unannounced arrival. You should have time to retire to your rooms for a brief respite. After dinner perhaps you would like a preliminary tour of the house? We can conduct a more thorough one in the morning.”
Jeremy had spent the afternoon in the company of his son and mother, who had taken over his schedule at the first hint of his availability.
“You are not occupied with business matters today?” Lady Danebridge, ever the shrewd observer, had asked that morning.
“No, not today,” he had replied without thinking. Miss Colburne had been taking up all his thoughts from the time he had parted with her the previous afternoon. He had slept very little and he knew he was listless and obviously at leisure.
“Were you not engaged for a musicale last night at Lord and Lady Kedsley’s? You did not attend, I noticed.”
“No, I canceled that.”
“And tonight?”
“I have no current commitments.” He had sent notes to all of the people who had invited him to attend their functions with Doña Alomar de Montero, informing them with apologies that the lady had been called out of town and that he was unable to attend.
“Why then, you are available to escort Tobey and myself today, Jeremy.” If Lady Danebridge suspected the reason for her son’s sudden availability, she was too wise to mention it.
“Oh, jolly! You can go out with us this afternoon, Papa!” Tobey’s eagerness had made it impossible to refuse.
They had first gone to Haymarket to view the mechanical birds and animals exhibited at Week’s Museum. Ready for live animals that moved on their own, they had next proceeded to the Exeter ’Change in the Strand where Tobey was delighted by the tigers and the aging lion. Finally they had returned home by way of the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly, where they studied the real but perfectly static preserved animals and curiosities in Mr. Bullock’s exotic displays.
Tobey’s joyful enthusiasm might have been a balm to Jeremy’s deep pain, but the boy could not seem to keep Doña Alomar out of his conversation any more than Jeremy could keep her out of his mind.
“Doña Alomar would not be afraid of that mechanical tarantula, would she, Papa? She is not afraid of anything.”
“Do you think Doña Alomar would have liked to see the tigers? Why could she not have come with us today?”
“When is my next Spanish lesson, Papa?”
Hiding his discomfort, Jeremy had answered these and all the other endless questions as best he could.
Animals proved to be the theme of the day. That evening Jeremy accompanied his mother and Tobey to Astley’s where they witnessed a spectacle of human and equestrian acrobatics that was lively indeed. But Jeremy was no better able to keep his attention focused on what was in front of him than he had been all afternoon.
He had known that confessing his interference in Miss Colburne’s affairs carried a risk that she would be angry or even would reject him altogether. He had seen no choice—he could not further their friendship without honesty. He had believed that she cared for him, perhaps not as deeply as he cared for her, but at least enough to feed his hope that she might have forgiven him. Had he so deceived himself?
He had been wron
g. She had not even heard him out completely. So why, after arguing with himself for some thirty-six hours, could he still not bring himself to let her go? Was he so much worse off than he was before he’d met her? Why could he not simply return to his original plan to settle down and find a nice, commendable, comfortable woman to fill the void in his life and Tobey’s?
Lady Danebridge, the soul of forbearance all day, finally spoke to the matter after they returned to Fitzharding Street and Tobey had been sent off to bed.
“Whatever is troubling you, my son, is less likely to resolve itself if you do nothing but mope,” she suggested. “I will not press you to confide in me if you are not so inclined, but it is very difficult to be in your company when your heart and soul are apparently a thousand miles distant.”
She was right, of course. Jeremy had found no comfort in the solitude he had sought last night, nor in the busy activity with his family today. He was fighting against his instincts, something that as a rule he never did.
“Not a thousand miles, mama,” he replied with a rueful smile. “Probably less than fifty.”
What had really caused Miss Colburne to decide so suddenly to go with her cousin? Jeremy’s instincts were screaming at him, telling him that something in the picture was wrong. Could he truly have so misjudged her feelings? Such judgment was part of his work, a skill that had sometimes meant the difference between life and death. Had love made him so blind?
I am not ready to give her up so easily, Jeremy decided. He might no longer be officially investigating her, but that did not mean his hands were tied. There was still so much for him to learn! He could be stubborn and determined. In the morning he would pay a visit to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital; it was time to discover what Corporal Pumphrey knew.
Falcon spent much of the following day touring Colburne Hall, settling into her room, and exploring the gardens and grounds of the estate. The other guests tried to entice her into joining their various activities, but she was of no mind to do so. The estate was beautiful, yet it felt strange to walk on the pathways and pass through the rooms where her father had spent his childhood. Had he played in the rose garden? Had he spent his days confined in the nursery? She longed to ask her grandmother such questions, but the earl delayed the visit, saying that the Dowager Countess was not well enough.
Maggie and Triss did not exactly fit in the order of the house—Falcon saw them as friends rather than servants, and yet they could not be presented to the earl’s guests. After some confusion, they had been relegated to the domain of the upper servants, but Falcon worried about them. When she spent time alone in her room, she had Maggie keep her company.
“Are you and Triss comfortable enough, Maggie?” she asked. “It does not seem fair to have you tucked away like servants.”
“Whisht, don’t ye be worryin’ over us,” the Irishwoman replied. “To be sure, the housekeeper Mrs. Brock and that uppity butler Forbes don’t condescend to speak to us, but the steward treats us right enough. Truth is, we are what we are, and no better than we ought to be.”
“Are Carlos and Benita all right?”
“Fine, child. The younger servants are in awe of them. His lordship may soon find all his grooms speakin’ Spanish, and ’tis a charm to see the other ladies’ Frenchified abigails makin’ a study of Benita’s Spanish habits.”
Falcon smiled at that report, but she could not find it in her heart to actually laugh. Despite her elegant and comfortable surroundings, she was blue-deviled. She hated to admit it, but she missed Lord Danebridge. When she closed her eyes she saw his face, his gray eyes serious as at their last meeting or filled with warm humor as she had seen them so often. She wondered what he was doing and where he was. Had he packed up his family and left London? She had been so angry with him—he who had used his own body to shield her from Sweeney’s gun. How ungrateful he probably thought her!
Snatches of their last conversation haunted her. He had told her he cared, and she knew it was true. As much as he had interfered in her affairs and deceived her, he had also taken care to see that she had whatever she needed. Why else would he have come to her and confessed what he had done? What else would he have said if she had let him finish?
When she considered that, she thought perhaps it was just as well she had treated him so shabbily. There could be no future for them together. Despite what he may have thought, she was not a fit companion for an English peer. Her experiences in Spain had separated her from that forever. If she had hurt him, surely he would recover from it soon enough. She only wondered if time would heal her own pain.
On Sunday it rained, forcing the earl’s guests to amuse themselves within the confines of the house. They seemed bored and world-weary; apparently even the whirl of the London season held no interest for them, else why would they rusticate in Kent at this time of year? None of them attended church. Falcon was hard-pressed to avoid them, but she had no wish to gamble at cards, gamble at charades, or gamble at any other diversion they thought up. The only activity they indulged in that did not appear to involve wagering was music, and she did not want to play her mother’s harp for people like them. She did not like the way the gentlemen looked at her, like cats looking at cream. She wondered what her cousins found to like in them. She wondered, too, if the earl’s wife preferred to live elsewhere because such guests came too often.
On Monday the weather cleared. Like children released from school the houseguests reclaimed the garden and the park; Falcon stayed inside. She hoped that she would be given permission to visit her grandmother, but still her cousin said no. What if her grandmother’s health only got worse instead of better? Was waiting for a better day the wisest course?
From her bedroom window Falcon could see the dower house chimney stacks rising just above the distant trees, a constant reminder of her grandmother’s near presence. She tried to imagine the house or her grandmother in the house, but the exercise was futile. The portrait of her grandmother in the long gallery showed her as a much younger woman.
Falcon wrote a new batch of letters to send to Spain and spent part of her day playing her mother’s harp, practicing and filling the house with a soft melancholy sound.
Tuesday’s bright sunshine brought with it plans for an outing to the North Downs. Lady Rawlings tried her hardest to persuade Falcon to accompany the group.
“It is the nicest of spring days, Sophia, and the picnic site has the most beautiful views,” she wheedled. “We have an excellent stable—I do not think you have yet been out? If you do not care to ride, a few of our guests are taking their carriages. I’m certain we could fit you in with them, or take out one of ours.”
Falcon apologized but remained steadfast in her determination not to go. At breakfast the earl had suggested she accompany the group; he himself planned to be closeted in his study all day tending to business matters. His unavailability made it quite clear that there would be no official visit to her grandmother again today. It also suggested the perfect plan to Falcon, who had run out of patience.
She watched from her window as the group gathered in front of the house and the chaotic mixture of houseguests, grooms, horses, and carriages eventually sorted itself out. It appeared that everyone was going. That suited her perfectly. She hoped that the earl would assume that she had gone with them.
Shortly after the picnic procession departed, Falcon dressed to visit her grandmother.
“If she is entirely too ill to see me, I’ll simply come back,” she explained to Maggie as Benita helped her into her black silk pelisse. “I do not know if my cousin has even told her of my presence here. If she seems too weak to withstand the shock, I shan’t tell her at all. I just want to judge for myself.”
She had borrowed Maggie’s bonnet once again and had just put it on when she heard the sound of a horse cantering up the drive to the house. “Oh, no. I hope that isn’t one of them returning.” Looking out again, Falcon was the one to be shocked. “Sweeney?” She did not believe it until the tall ri
der dismounted and removed his hat as he approached the front entrance.
“It is!” She stared in horror as the man moved beyond her line of sight. “How can he be here? This time I know I am not imagining it.” As she accepted the reality of his presence there, her horror gave way to firm resolution. “I don’t know how he found me, but that is the biggest and last mistake he’ll ever make. Quick, Maggie. You keep watching here by the window!”
Falcon hurried to the wardrobe and began searching in the bottom of it.
“What are ye doin’, child?”
“I am finding Papa’s pistol.”
“Oh, no. Now what exactly do ye figure to be doin’ with that?”
“What I came here to do, Maggie. See justice done.” Falcon found the pouch and removed the pistol and ammunition. “He hasn’t left, has he? Keep watching.”
At the sight of the gun Benita began to protest in Spanish, but Falcon shook her head and warned her maid to silence. Working carefully, she loaded and primed the weapon, set the safety catch and then looked around for her basket. She put her reticule and the pistol in it and covered them with the linen towel from her washstand. Then she went to her door and opened it just enough so she could listen for sounds from the ground floor. She heard voices but she could not make out the words.
“I am going to slip out and go down the drive and wait for him,” she told Maggie. “It is better this way.”
Maggie wrung her hands. “Oh, no, it isn’t, child. Think what ye are doin’.”
“Oh, I have, Maggie, I have. The thought of this kept me alive for a long time. The time for thinking is over.”
Chapter Nineteen
Falcon was surprised at the calm determination she felt as she hurried quietly down the stairs and through the entry hall of the mansion. She even managed to smile as she put a finger to her lips to silence the footman waiting by the door. Once I am out of the house, I should have the upper hand, she thought.