Summer Folly

by Kruger, Mary

  Summer Folly

  Mary Kruger

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Mary Kruger

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover art by Daniel Wieghmink

  Cover copyright 2011 Princess Pages

  Chapter One

  The mists lifted, and suddenly, there it was. Land. England, at this distance only a cloud on the horizon, but land, all the same. Standing in the bulwark of the ship, Anne Templeton felt a lump come to her throat. Home, after all these years. Her family. Dancing and assemblies and the best of society. Sophisticated clothes in colors she could wear, now that she was a widow past the first blush of youth. Home. Facing down the scandal she’d left behind years ago. Facing Giles again.

  “Mama!” A small boy careened across the deck, nearly knocking down a sailor. “Diah says we can see England!”

  “So we can, pet.” Anne lifted her son, whirled him around, and then settled him on her hip. Jamie, one of the few good things that had happened to her these past years. He favored her; his reddish gold curls gleamed in the sun, and his skin had acquired the same golden hue that life in Jamaica had given her. He looked like a little heathen, she thought affectionately. God only knew what the proper people of English society, particularly his father’s family, would make of him. Or her.

  “It’s only a cloud,” Jamie said, and wriggled in her arms.

  “You’re too heavy for that, lovey,” Anne said, and set him down. “We’ll be there soon enough. You’ll see.”

  “Will I like England?” he asked, for the thousandth time.

  “Mm, I think so. The grass is very green and you’ll have your own pony. And we’re going to live in a castle with the duke.”

  “With a moat and a drawbridge?”

  “Yes, but no knights in armor, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m going to be a knight when I grow up. Diah!” He dashed back across the deck, and the tall man walking barefoot toward them with a peculiar grace, lifted him, his head, completely bald, glistening mahogany in the sun. “Diah, does that look like land?”

  Obadiah shaded his eyes with his hand. “I see signs in the clouds,” he intoned, in a sepulchral voice that sent shivers down Anne’s spine. “I see hauntings, a dragon, and a fair knight.”

  “Really?” Jamie said. “Are there ghosts in the castle, Mama?”

  “No, Jamie, Tremont Castle is not haunted. You are a complete hand, Obadiah,” Anne chided, but she was smiling. She had caught the glint in his eyes that told her that this prophecy, at least, was made in jest.

  Obadiah inclined his head. “Thank you, lady.”

  “Though the Tremonts do tend to live in the past. I fear the next weeks won’t be easy, Obadiah.”

  “How long will we be staying, lady?” he asked, in cultured tones that would not have been out of place in a Mayfair drawing room.

  “I don’t know. Jamie, lovey, why don’t you see how Nurse is?”

  “I don’t want to,” Jamie said.

  “But she’ll want to know we’re near land. Hm, maybe I’ll go tell her—”

  “No, I’ll go!” Jamie wriggled free of Obadiah’s grasp and ran off. Anne smiled as she watched him go, but her eyes were worried.

  “I don’t know,” she said again. “It depends on the duke. And if I know him...”

  “A hard man, lady?” Obadiah said, when she didn’t go on.

  “No. Oh, no. A good man, and fair. Or he was. It’s been a long time.” She fell silent again, and this time, Obadiah stayed equally silent, while the crew stepped around them, eyeing them with wary respect. Obadiah was in her employ, but he was far more than a servant. He was confidante, advisor, and, above all, friend. When Freddie had died last year, leaving her with a plantation poorly run and saddled with debt, Obadiah had helped her straighten matters out. He was the best overseer Hampshire Hall had ever had; he was respected by servants and house folk alike, and he had consulted with her on a program that had the plantation running well again. Until the duke had meddled, sending an overseer of his own to replace Obadiah, undoing all the changes they had made, and ordering her back to England. That he was now guardian of her son and had the right to do what he had made no difference to Anne’s resentment. Thus she had asked Obadiah to accompany her, ostensibly to get his position back. She wondered what the Tremonts would make of him.

  “When I left he wasn’t the duke,” Anne said, abruptly. “His father was still alive and he didn’t have the responsibilities he has now. He and Frederick were cousins. We all grew up together. It was natural for Frederick to name him Jamie’s guardian, and I suppose we would have had to return to England sometime.” She grimaced. “I don’t know what the duke has in mind, but I have the awful feeling he’ll want us to stay. Jamie should be educated. The Templetons go to Eton, and then Oxford. Family tradition.”

  “Not a bad one, lady.”

  “No, perhaps not. But no one’s even thought of changing it. If things were done a certain way one hundred years ago, all the more reason it should be done that way now. Tremont Castle isn’t haunted, Diah. The Tremonts are too dull for it.”

  Again Obadiah smiled. “You’re not dull, lady.”

  “No.” Anne smiled back. “Scatterbrained and flighty, perhaps, at least Frederick said so, but never, never dull.”

  “Mrs. Templeton.” Captain Warwick, short and portly, came up, touching the brim of his cap. “We’ll be making landfall in Portsmouth soon. When we’re docked I’ll find an inn for you.”

  “Thank you.” Anne smiled at him. It wasn’t his fault, after all, that he’d been given the task of bringing her back to England. Like her, he’d had no choice. When the Duke of Tremont ordered something done, it was done.

  Soon they were passing through the Solent, the narrow passage between the mainland and the Isle of Wight, and their destination was in view. Jamie pointed with excitement at the men of war in Portsmouth harbor, and all of them looked with awe at Victory, Admiral Nelson’s flagship. They dropped anchor, and, after the ship had been visited by a customs official and the quarantine doctor, a lighter was put over the side for the Templeton party. The odors of salt and tar, fish and horse assailed Anne’s nostrils as the boat was rowed to the quay, and another scent, elusive, but familiar. A fresh scent, a scent that reminded her irresistibly of spring, a scent she had never found in Jamaica’s lush tropical gardens. The scent of England. A feeling of rightness settled in her, and the lump rose in her throat again. She was home.

  Captain Warwick gave her his arm as they walked up the stone stairs at Portsmouth Point, she and Jamie giggling at the way the land seemed to shift under their feet, so used were they to walking a constantly moving deck. He had found rooms for them at the George, the captain said, casting a look back at Obadiah, with a place in the stables for her servant. Obadiah, hefting a trunk on his shoulder, said nothing, but Anne’s lips tightened. She was about to demand better lodgings when she caught sight of a man at the end of the quay, and all other concerns flew from her head.

  In contrast to the bustle around him, crew loading and unloading ships, people embarking or streaming toward the coaching offices, the man stood very still, his hands, in pearl- gray gloves, resting atop the silver knob of an ebony walking stick. His coat and pantaloons were black, his shirt white, his waistcoat the same pearl gray. He was hatless
; the only sign of life, of color, in him, was his hair, still the color of ripe corn, ruffled by the breeze. It couldn’t be—

  “Hello, Anne,” he said, and she stopped still, the lump in her throat lodging in her stomach. The Duke of Tremont. Giles, whom she had once thought she’d marry.

  Chapter Two

  He had changed. That was Anne’s first thought, and she didn’t know why it surprised her so. After all, it had been seven years. She had changed in that time. She had grown up. It was suddenly very important that he realize that she was no longer the girl she had been. That girl had been thoughtless, silly. That girl had left him, with barely a second thought.

  Except for speaking Giles hadn’t moved, and yet Anne had the sense of tremendous power held in check. Perhaps it was the way he stood, leaning forward ever so slightly, his hands clenched on his walking stick. Perhaps it was the way his eyes, those penetrating, clear gray eyes, were studying her, sizing her up, as he might an opponent. Outwardly he wasn’t so very different. Older, of course; it showed in his eyes, which no longer held the light she had remembered. He seemed taller, somehow, and his leanness had a whipcord strength to it that was new. He was, undoubtedly, a man. A man used to power. She could tell by the way he waited for them to come to him. He would be a formidable opponent, she thought, and shivered.

  The duke smiled. “Welcome home,” he said, and Anne realized she had forgotten nothing about him, not his voice or his smile or his face. Nothing.

  He came toward her, his hand outstretched, and she panicked. She wasn’t ready for this. There was only one thing she could do. To the surprise and amusement of the fishmongers, the sailors, the passersby, she dropped into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace,” she said, and rose, her eyes sparkling, to see him regarding her, his face blank, except for the faint color on his cheeks. Good heavens, was he embarrassed? “May I tell you how sorry I am about your father?”

  Giles’s eyes flickered briefly. “Thank you. And who is this?”

  Anne looked down. Jamie, usually not at all shy, was clinging to her, hiding behind the skirt of her traveling dress and peeping at Giles with one eye. “This is my son, Your Grace. James. This is the duke, Jamie. Make your bow to him.” For answer, Jamie clutched harder at her. She stared at Giles, silently challenging him to comment on Jamie’s lack of behavior. Instead, looking not the least bit discomposed, he inclined his head.

  “James. A pleasure to meet you.” His eyes went past her, and though not by a flicker of a muscle did he show surprise, something in his very stillness gave him away.

  She hurried into speech, not certain why. “And this is Obadiah Freebody,” she said, almost defiantly.

  “Ah, yes. I recall the name.”

  “I thought you would.”

  “Come.” He reached out and grasped her elbow, so quickly and smoothly that she couldn’t pull away without causing offense. “I’ve a carriage waiting.”

  “Captain Warwick found rooms for us at an inn.”

  “That is no longer necessary. Come,” he said again, and this time Anne went along, across the cobbled street to the carriage he indicated. It was a large traveling carriage, painted in the Tremont colors of maroon and gold, with the ducal crest on the door. In spite of herself, Anne was impressed. Giles, her childhood friend, was really a duke.

  “Mama? Where’s his crown?” Jamie piped up.

  “Hush, lovey. What crown?”

  “You said a duke was like a prince, but there’s no crown.”

  Giles’s fingers tightened on her elbow. “We’ll stop on the way to Tremont, of course,” he said, handing Anne into the carriage. “We’ll be there by tomorrow evening. Up you go.” This to James, whom he swung in effortlessly. “He looks like his father.”

  “Mama says I don’t.”

  Giles glanced up. “A trifle pert, is he not?”

  Anne, settling herself in the carriage, glared at him. “He’s high-spirited.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Giles stepped back from the carriage. “Enjoy the ride. We’ve a long journey ahead,” he said, and turned away.

  Her lips tightening, Anne leaned back against the squabs as the carriage drove away, ignoring Jamie’s excitement at the carriage and at meeting the duke, and Nurse’s exclamations over what a fine gentleman the duke was. She was used to being in charge of her own destiny. Since when had she allowed a man to take over her life so efficiently, and with nary a protest from her? That would change. It would have to.

  Hours later, after Nurse had stopped exclaiming with excitement, after Jamie’s bouncing had turned to whining, and after even Anne herself was starting to feel cramped, the carriage drew to a stop. Before her in the twilight stood an inn, the Fox and Hounds. Long and low and rambling, of the flint and brick architecture so common to this part of the country, it was so familiar and dear that Anne felt that lump in her throat again. Home. Though it was far cooler than she was accustomed to, and though the sun had hid behind clouds all day, she was home, and she was happy. Grinning, she spread her arms wide and twirled around.

  Giles dismounted from his horse, a chestnut stallion, in time to see her. “Anne,” he said, frowning.

  “Yes?” She looked up at him, her eyes bright.

  “You are behaving in a most unseemly matter.”

  “Heavens!” She burst out laughing. “You sounded like your father then.”

  “Anne.” He shifted onto his other foot. “People are staring at us.”

  “Just the stable boys. Are you embarrassed? Oh, really!” She laughed again, and he quickly came to take her arm.

  “Come. You’re causing a scene.”

  “You are embarrassed,” she chattered. “You never used to be when I did something funny.”

  “Some people grow up, Anne.”

  Anne’s head came up at that. She was about to retort when a series of thuds, followed by a wail, made her spin around. Jamie lay sprawled face-down in the innyard, just beyond the carriage stairs. “Oh, dear!” Anne pulled away from Giles. “What happened?”

  “I couldn’t stop him, ma’am,” Nurse said, looking apologetic and scared all at once. “He wanted to go, and before I knew it, he had.”

  “I know how fast he is, Nurse.” Uncaring of her lilac traveling gown, Anne knelt on the ground, taking her son by the arms and hoisting him to his feet. Tears mingled with the dirt on his face to present a most pitiful sight. “Now, let’s see what you’ve done, lovey.”

  “I fell down, Mommy.”

  “I know, pet. Hm. No scrapes. Maybe a bump on your forehead.” She rose. “You’re all right. Just tired.”

  “No, I’m not! I’m not tired, Mommy!”

  “Hush, pet.” Anne waved Nurse away and picked Jamie up. “I think we’ll have some milk and bread, and then to bed, pet.”

  “But I’m not tired!”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “I want to go home.” He knuckled his eyes. “I want to go back to Jamaica.”

  “I know, lovey.” Casting an apologetic look at Giles, she walked past him into the inn. “I think we’d best just go to our rooms, Your Grace. If you don’t mind.”

  Giles followed her in. “We have much to discuss, Anne.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Tonight. I’ll have dinner served in the private parlor.”

  “But,” she began, and stopped. Giles had turned his back to her and was talking to the innkeeper. He was ignoring her! He’d never done that in the past; she didn’t like his doing it now. “Very well, Your Grace. I’d curtsy, Your Grace, but I think I’d fall over.”

  Giles turned, and their eyes clashed. “Will half an hour be sufficient, Anne?”

  “Oh, doubtless,” she said, and climbed the stairs toward her room, her son heavy in her arms.

  It was closer to an hour before she came downstairs. Jamie, all protests to the contrary, had fallen quickly asleep. It was she who had needed the extra time. Ignore her, would he? Treat her like someone he could order about? Well, they would see abo
ut that. And so she pulled out her most fashionable gown, of coral pink muslin, and sent it out with the maid to be pressed. She managed to bind her unruly curls into a reasonably neat knot, and she even took out her secret pot of rouge, applying a very little bit to her cheeks and lips. There, she thought, turning so that she could see herself in the tiny dresser mirror. Let him ignore her now.

  A maid opened the door of the private parlor for her and she swept in, her gown whispering about her. Giles, pouring wine into goblets, glanced up, his face impassive. He, too, had changed for dinner. Though he still wore black, his waistcoat now was of white satin, embroidered in white, and his coat was of the finest superfine. Against the dark colors, his hair shone almost a silver blond. He looked most elegant, she thought, unhappily aware that her most fashionable gown was also two years old. Neither had there been the slightest flicker of admiration in his eyes.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said, and swept into another curtsy.

  Giles corked the bottle and set it down, the wine a rich ruby against his waistcoat. “Do you plan to curtsy to me every time you see me, Anne?”

  “But isn’t that what I should do?” She smiled at him as he seated her. “I haven’t been near a duke in a very long time, you know. Perhaps I’ve forgotten how to behave.”

  “I think you know,” he muttered, sitting across from her, and Anne hid a smile. Ah, a hit. Apparently he didn’t like having his consequence pierced. Did no one tease him anymore?

  “Jamie went off to sleep as soon as I put him to bed,” she said, as the maids came in with the fish course, poached turbot in lobster sauce. “He was worn out, poor lamb.”

  Giles sipped at his wine, and then looked at the glass with surprise. “A tolerable vintage. He seems a trifle spoiled.”

  “Spoiled?” Anne stared at him. “Jamie’s not spoiled. He’s very bright for his age.”

  “He is pert. He talks to his elders when he hasn’t been spoken to first. And he whines.”

  “Whines—Giles, he’s only five years old!”