Summer Folly

by Kruger, Mary

  “Oh, he’s fine, apart from a scraped knee. He was in high gig, telling me all about how he found the heating pipes and what it was like crawling through them. He seems to think it was a brave thing to do.”

  “Mm. I think I’ll have a brandy. Would you like some more sherry?”

  “Yes, actually, I would.”

  Giles rose. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he said as he poured the sherry into her glass. “You insist that Jamie is merely high-spirited—”

  “Oh, you needn’t reproach me, Giles. I’ve done enough of that this evening to last a lifetime.” She took a long sip from her glass. “I quite realize I’m to blame for what happened. Do you know why he did what he did?”

  “I was wondering about that, yes.”

  “He was lonely. Nurse was asleep, Obadiah was busy, and I was gone. He wanted me to read him a story tonight.”

  “Anne—”

  “I couldn’t, of course. I was late, as usual, and couldn’t stay. Jamie wanted to talk to someone and decided to look for Terence.”

  “Terence!”

  “Yes, Giles. Our ghost. Jamie told me Terence lives in the pipes, and he was looking for him. Everything was fine, apparently, until he got stuck.” She set her glass down, hard, on the inlay table beside her. “My son climbed into a maze of pipes and could have been completely lost, because he was lonely and wanted to talk to someone. And where was I? At some God-awful musical evening flirting with a man I do not even like.”

  “Annie, you cannot blame yourself—”

  “Oh, can I not? Who can I trust to take care of my son? Not Nurse. She’s too old to control him anymore. And I’ll be damned if I’ll allow him to be brought up by servants, as I was. He’s my son. He needs me. Me.”

  “Anne, you can’t give up your life for him.”

  “What life? Attending routs with people I don’t particularly like, talking idle chatter and the worst gossip and eating indifferent food? And why? All to impress a group of people who among them don’t have the brains of a peahen! That’s not life, Giles. Raising my child, keeping him safe and watching him grow—that’s real. That’s life.”

  “Anne, you coddle the boy.”

  “You’ve never been a parent, Giles. What do you know about raising a child?”

  Giles eyed her as she downed the rest of her sherry. “Do you know, Anne, I think you are foxed.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. So, Your Grace, are you concerned now that Jamie has two drunkards for parents?”

  “Two?”

  “Didn’t you know? Freddie was quite fond of his rum.” She gazed reflectively at her glass. “I think I would like some more.”

  “And I think you’ve had enough,” Giles said, taking the glass from her limp fingers.

  “Oh, of course. You always know what is right for everyone, do you not?”

  “Anne.” He sounded weary. “I don’t wish to wrangle with you tonight.”

  Anne stared up at him. “What would you do? Now, don’t cry off, Giles. I know you’ve ideas on the matter. What are your plans for my son?”

  Giles returned her look and then sat, his forearms resting upon his knees as the silence stretched and crackled between them. Damn. This was not the best time to discuss this subject, not after this evening’s events, not with Anne in the mood she was in. And rightly so, he thought, looking into the fireplace, not wanting to meet her clear blue gaze. When he had heard that Jamie was missing he had felt the most absolute terror he had ever experienced, as if he were the boy’s parent, rather than his guardian. Then his training had taken over and he had, of necessity, taken charge of the situation. If he had felt that way, how much worse must it have been for Anne? No denying, though, that the boy’s future had to be discussed, and soon. Matters could not go on as they were. The boy did need more care than he had been receiving.

  “Very well,” he said, his voice low. “You wish my thoughts on this, I will tell you. Jamie is a bright, appealing child, and I think you’ve done well with him. However, as I’ve said, he needs a firm hand.”

  “He’s had that already,” she muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. Do go on.”

  Giles eyed her a moment before continuing. “He is undisciplined. Tonight’s events prove that, if nothing else.”

  “You never misbehaved as a child, Giles?”

  “Of course I did, and I was punished for it. Jamie is not too young to learn that his actions have consequences. He also needs more education than you can provide, Anne. He needs a tutor, and eventually school.”

  “Giles—”

  “I had hoped to leave off discussion of this until we returned to Tremont, but now I see it is necessary. What I decided before still stands. Jamie will stay here, where I can supervise his upbringing, and when he is old enough he will attend Eton.”

  Anne jumped to her feet, her hand to her throat. “You would take him away from me?”

  “No, Anne, of course not.” Giles rose, facing her. “I want only what is best for Jamie.”

  “I am his mother! I know what is best for him. Oh, please, Giles.” Her voice cracked. “Please don’t do this. Don’t take him from me.”

  “Annie—”

  “No, do not touch me!” She backed wildly away from the hand he held out to her. “You can’t do this, Giles, you can’t. I’d take him back to Jamaica sooner than give him up.”

  “Annie.” He made his voice gentle, quiet, not wanting to startle her. It dismayed him that he was the one who had brought her to such a state. “I have no intention of separating you from him. I know you love him, and he needs you. You’re his mother.”

  “You won’t—take him away?”

  “Word of a Templeton, Annie.”

  Anne stared at him, and then her hands flew to her face. “Oh, God.” Her voice broke, and she swayed. “Oh, God, I thought I’d lost him.”

  “Annie.” He reached her in an instant, gathering her close against him.

  “When Benson said he was missing, and then we couldn’t find him—”

  “I know,” he murmured, rocking her back and forth. “I know.”

  “You can’t know, how can you know—”

  “I know, Annie.”

  His voice was so firm that it penetrated Anne’s shock. Slowly she raised her head, crystalline tears clinging to her lashes. “How can you know?”

  “Because I love him too, Annie.”

  “You...” Her voice trailed off. She was caught by his gaze, by the look in his eyes. Never before had anyone looked at her like that, with such tenderness and understanding, and such frightening, frightening knowledge. This man knew her as no other did, yet it was all right. She could trust him. She was safe with him. “Giles,” she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek with gentle, wondering fingertips. “Giles.”

  He could not bear it. She was in his arms, soft, warm, trusting, and he could not fight it anymore. With a little groan, he brought his mouth down on hers.

  No gentle, tentative kiss this, but passionate, wild, as her mouth opened under his; a release from the terrors and tensions of the night, a surrender to the forces that drew them inexorably together. Anne’s hands dug into his neck, clutching him closer and closer still, and Giles’s arms were like steel bands around her, holding her to him as though he would never let her go. Not releasing her mouth, he bent and caught her around her knees, lifting her high against his chest and then falling back into the chair. He kissed her brows, her eyes, her nose, with ravening, hungry kisses, before his lips came down on hers again, open mouth to open mouth, their tongues dancing in their own kind of waltz. This was right, this was good, their lips moved in perfect unison, their bodies fit together as no others ever had, and Giles could no longer restrain the need to explore her, to know her. It had been so long, so long he had waited for this. Too long.

  Her hands pressed at his neck, urging him closer, closer; his roamed over her soft, warm curves of shoulder and back and hips. Her wrapper wa
s an encumbrance; his fingers, clumsy in their haste, fumbled with the sash. Anne murmured something against his lips as he struggled with the knot. The sash came free, and his impatient hand was pushing her wrapper off her shoulder, exposing her prim white cotton nightrail and the delicious secrets it hid. Seven years ago he had held a girl in his arms and exchanged tentative, exploratory kisses with her. Now she was a woman, with a woman’s fire and needs, a woman’s body. His hand cupped her breast, finding it full and taut for him. This was right, this was good, and though it had been well worth the wait, he knew he could wait no longer.

  Anne jerked back. “No,” she breathed and then repeated it, louder. “No!”

  “Oh, Annie,” he groaned, not caring, his mouth at her throat, his hand molding her, shaping her.

  “No!” Desperation lent urgency and strength to her hands, pushing him away. He fell back against the chair, and though he would have taken her with him, she was quicker, twisting from his grasp and bolting away. She tripped over her wrapper, stumbling in her haste, and then she was upright, clutching her robe, and her dignity, about her.

  “Annie!” Giles jumped up and ran after her into the hall, catching her arm. “Annie.”

  She looked at his hand and then at his face, her eyes wide. “I—can’t, Giles,” she choked. “I can’t.” Jerking her arm free of his grasp, she turned and ran up the stairs.

  “Annie,” he said again, setting his foot on the bottom step, and then stopping. She was gone. She had been sweet and warm and passionate in his arms, but she was gone. He shouldn’t be so surprised, so hurt; Anne was not a wanton, to allow a man to take liberties with her, for all she flirted and teased. He was hurt, though, aching, empty, with a need only she could assuage. No other woman would ever do for him, ever again. It was almost as if he—

  Giles stood very still, staring up the stairs, though Anne was long gone. The kisses, his impromptu proposal, tonight’s passion—it all came together in one blinding flash of revelation. Good God, why had he not seen it before? It was something he should have known, from the first moment he had set eyes on her again, something he had always known. He was still in love with Anne.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The wind was whipping off the water and the clouds were thickening when a slight figure cloaked in gray slipped out of the house on the Steyne. A passerby, not paying much heed, might have assumed her to be a maid on an errand, but he would have been wrong. It was Beth who clutched the hood of the cloak closely around her face, Beth who had taken what was, for her, the unprecedented step of going out unescorted. What she had to do was too important to leave off any longer, and was best done without witnesses.

  At the point where the Steyne met the Marine Parade, a man stepped forward, the splendor of his uniform in sharp contrast to Beth’s mourning-dove gray. “I had your note,” Thomas said, clasping her hands. “What is amiss? Are you ill?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” Beth stepped back, glancing quickly around to make certain their meeting was unremarked.

  “Then what is it? For you to send me a note at camp—”

  “I had to see you. Please, can we not walk a bit? Someone will notice us if we continue to stand here.”

  “Of course.” Gallantly Thomas held out his arm, and they began to stroll along the Marine Parade. “What is it, Beth? What has happened to overset you?”

  “Is it true you are to be posted soon?”

  Thomas glanced down at her, his face growing unreadable. “There are rumors.”

  “There are always rumors! Thomas, please. I need to know. Have you received your posting?”

  He didn’t answer right away. “I cannot tell you, Beth,” he said, finally. “Even if I knew, I could not tell you yet. Now, hush.” He turned her toward him, laying his hands on her shoulders and stilling her protest. “When I purchased my commission I committed myself to serving my country. If that means following orders and telling no one about our possible movements, then that is what I must do.”

  “I wouldn’t tell anyone, Thomas.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.” His smile was tender. “You’ve seen the good side of soldiering this summer, the uniforms, the parading, and such. But there’s another side to it, Beth. The real side.” He paused. “I am a soldier. I go where my country sends me, and I do what my country asks me to do. It means I cannot act as I would wish, but I cannot do otherwise, Beth. If I don’t help to subdue Bonaparte and bring peace to the world, I couldn’t live with myself.”

  “I know that, Thomas.”

  “This damnable war.” He gazed out to sea. “If it were just me—but it’s my family, too. And now it’s you, Beth. I chose the army. You didn’t, but if you marry me, you’re as bound as I am.”

  It was Beth’s turn to look away. “I cannot marry you, Thomas,” she said, her voice little above a whisper.

  “What!” Thomas went still as Beth continued to walk, and then caught up with her in two quick strides. “What nonsense is this? Of course you will marry me, Beth. I know it’s not the ideal life I’m offering you—”

  “It’s not that. Oh, Thomas, don’t you know I’d live with you in a tent if I had to?”

  “The daughter of a Duke of Tremont?”

  “Don’t say that!” she said, fiercely. “You once told me it was an insult to both of us, and I will not allow you to insult me, Thomas Bancroft!”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, and reached out to touch her cheek. “Beth, I’m sorry. I don’t wish to quarrel with you.”

  “Nor I, you. But, oh, Thomas.” She grasped his hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. “This isn’t just about us anymore. It’s about the country, you’ve said that yourself. And it’s about my mother.”

  “Dash it.” Abruptly Thomas turned back and began to stride along, dragging her with him. “I knew she’d come into it sooner or later. What has the old besom said now?”

  “Thomas!”

  He caught her shoulders again. “Are you going to let her run your life for you, Beth? Are you?”

  “I’m making my own choice in this.” She stood up to him, returning his gaze levelly. “My mother is old, and she is ill. She’s hidden it well, but I’ve seen her in pain. I cannot leave her.”

  “She won’t be alone. She has your brother.”

  “But she relies on me. I can’t leave her, Thomas. She needs me.”

  “Damn it.” He walked a few paces away. “I need you too, Beth.”

  “I know. Oh, don’t you think I know? I want to be with you, Thomas, I want that more than anything. But I can’t be. Not just yet.”

  “Damn it. I don’t understand this, Beth. We love each other.”

  “I know we do.” She smiled at him, sadly, feeling infinitely older and wiser than he. “But, just as you cannot turn your back on your country, I cannot turn my back on my mother. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.” She paused, looking for understanding in his eyes and not finding it. For the first time, she felt annoyed with him. Must men always be so blind to other considerations besides their own? “I can’t marry you, Thomas,” she said, and, turning, walked away.

  “This is what I wanted you to see, sir.” Holding his lantern high, Obadiah stepped into the furnace room. Gray daylight filtered in through the cellar windows, and yet it was still a place of darkness. “Somebody’s been usin’ this room.”

  “Besides our ghost, you mean?” Giles glanced around the room, and shuddered. Last night Jamie had been here, alone.

  “No, sir. I mean the ghost. Can’t prove who he is yet, but I know how he did it. The hauntings, I mean.”

  “He crawled into the ducts, as Jamie did. The sound would carry through the house.”

  “Yes, sir. Through the pipes. When the furnace is lit, the pipes carry the heat through the house. Think it has to be one of the house servants, sir.”

  “Maybe. We all knew about the furnace when we came here,” Giles said, thoughtfully. “It’s a novelty.”

  “Yes, sir. Look. Candle w
ax.”

  Giles stuck his head into the opening and looked at the bottom of the duct. There was, indeed, a small puddle of hardened wax there. “How do you know it isn’t Jamie’s from last night?”

  “It’s tallow, sir. The family uses beeswax.”

  “Of course.” Giles pulled back. “Any idea who’s doing it, Obadiah?”

  “No, sir, but I’ll keep looking. Thought of setting a trap, but that’s no good, now.”

  “No. Everyone in the house knows about this room.” Giles closed the door behind them as they stepped into the main part of the cellar, and fastened a large, solid padlock to it. “That should keep whoever it is out.”

  “Yes, sir.” Obadiah hesitated. “Lady Anne all right this mornin’?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” Giles said shortly.

  “I was wonderin’ how she took it all. Jamie means a powerful lot to her.”

  “I know he does.” It was Giles’s turn to pause. “Obadiah.”

  Obadiah turned. “Suh?”

  “She said something last night that troubles me. Was Mr. Templeton a drunkard?”

  Obadiah hesitated again. “He did like his rum, sir.”

  “I see. That must have been hard on Anne.”

  “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Giles’s eyes met his squarely, and though Obadiah was much the taller of the two, there was no question in that moment who had the authority. “I’ll wager you knew everything that went on on the plantation. Come, man. I know all was not well with the marriage. Anne pretends it was, but I know her better. Was she happy with Mr. Templeton?”

  Obadiah looked at him for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, sir. Not her fault, though. She tried. Mr. Templeton, he didn’t seem to want to grow up. Wouldn’t do what he knew he should, and he’d get mad if someone reminded him.”

  “Who reminded him, Obadiah? Anne?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So they quarreled.”

  “You ask me, sir, he was no kind of a proper husband!” Obadiah burst out. “None of us liked him, but what he did to Lady Anne—”

  “What did he do to Anne?”