This was too much. “If that is true, which I dispute, I made it clear in London that you would not be mine. And, for your information, I am not going to spend Christmas with Edwin and Lucilla—as though I would! I am on my way to Lady Halston’s.”
Carbury grasped her meaning at once. “The only way that old beldam would house you is as paid companion, and precious little pay at that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with honest employment. I told you I could look after myself, and I can. I wish you would take me back to the inn.”
She knew she was being absurd. If he obeyed her request—and there was as much chance of that as sunshine at midnight—she would have to ask him to lend her a guinea or two, and she could just imagine his supercilious response. He’d given her the lantern to hold while he drove. In the pool of light, his face was impassive, his attention on the task of steering the horse along a dark road. But Carbury rarely displayed much emotion. He was cold as ice.
Yet a distant memory crossed her mind: Wyatt at the gathering after her mother’s funeral in all his nineteen-year-old magnificence, taking a sad little girl by the hand, feeding her cake, and telling her he would always be her friend. And again a few months ago, when he brought her the news of her father’s death in London, he had seemed a rock to cling to in a sea of misery.
If only a rock had feelings for the drowning sailors it saved.
“You would prefer to live as a poor relation?” He didn’t need to add that he meant she’d prefer it to marrying him. “You will be little better than a servant.”
“There are different kinds of servitude, and at least with this one, I will have the choice of leaving.”
Carbury’s fine mouth hardened, and she wondered if her implied insult had hurt him. Perhaps a little, but only his pride. He said nothing more until they arrived at Dinfield Park.
*
Mrs. Herbert, a slender dark woman, received Robina politely as a country neighbor of Carbury’s who had been stranded by a coach accident. Clearly bursting with curiosity, she insisted on showing her unexpected guest upstairs herself. Robina had the impression her languid hostess would normally have left the task to a servant and expected an interrogation.
“I suppose your abigail will arrive with your bags,” Mrs. Herbert said, lingering while Robina washed the dirt of the journey from her hands and face.
“My bag is on the stagecoach. I traveled alone.”
“How very singular.” Her hostess’s fine eyebrows arched, suggesting that such a lowly creature was unworthy of one of the best bedchambers. It was a charming room, draped in chintz patterned with floppy pink and yellow roses. “How precisely are you connected to Carbury?”
“Our fathers were friends and neighbors.”
“Let me see. Oh, yes. Sir Richard Weston. I believe I remember hearing of his death. My condolences.” Clearly she knew of Sir Richard’s sensational collapse onto the table of a London gaming hell, scattering a terrifying pile of his IOUs all over the crowded room.
“Thank you, ma’am. I didn’t wish to impose, but Lord Carbury insisted.”
“Of course, I will always welcome any acquaintance of Carbury’s. Do you see much of him?”
“In recent years, very little.”
Robina had the impression the lady was relieved by the answer. Beneath her die-away look she subjected Robina to a very beady examination and liked what she saw: her oldest and shabbiest carriage dress suitable for a lady’s companion traveling on the stage.
“Wyatt—Carbury, I mean—has such a strong sense of duty, even toward the merest connection.” Very mere was her message. “He is guardian to my boys, you know, and I rely on him completely. He is excessively fond of them, almost like a father. He insisted on coming to Nottinghamshire in person to see us since I am settled in the country until my year’s mourning has passed. After that, I expect we shall join him in town.”
So Mrs. Herbert had designs on Carbury, did she? Robina wondered if the gentleman was aware of the fact. “I understand that your eldest son is almost eighteen.”
“Not for many months. I was almost a child bride, you know.”
“I would never guess that you had a son almost grown,” Robina said. She meant it too. She wasn’t much taken with Sybilla Herbert, but she could admit the lady was very handsome and looked little more than thirty. There was no reason why Carbury shouldn’t marry a woman a few years older than he. From this lady he would doubtless receive the degree of gratitude and obedience his domineering character demanded. She hoped they would be very happy.
A maid entered to light the fire and apply a warming pan to the sheets. Robina expressed every polite appreciation of the comfort while Mrs. Herbert waited until they were alone. She hadn’t finished her questions.
“Why were you on the stagecoach?” she asked. “Such an uncomfortable vehicle, at least that is what I have heard. I do not believe any of my acquaintance is accustomed to travel thus.”
“I am on my way to take up a position as companion to Lady Halston in Yorkshire.” She briefly described the drama of the last part of the journey.
Her hostess shrieked with horror that the local highwayman had struck again, but otherwise seemed pleased, all fear of Robina as a rival for Carbury’s hand put to rest. Her china-blue eyes took on a calculating look. “Since you may have to stay a day or two, I would like you to mind the younger boys. Their tutor is away, and they are sorely in need of supervision.” She lowered her voice to an attractive purr with a little confidential lilt. “I shall be busy with Carbury and would be much obliged.”
It appeared that Robina’s life of servitude was to begin sooner than expected. On the whole, she was pleased. Entertaining three young boys would get her out of the house, and she wouldn’t have to watch Sybilla Herbert’s gratitude and obedience or Carbury’s arrogant delight in the face of female fawning. The pair of them were well-suited, and there was no reason for Robina to be upset about it. None at all.
But she’d rather not have to witness such a revolting sight.
Chapter Five
‡
Robina’s job as makeshift tutor began the next morning after breakfast when the younger Herbert boys announced their intention of gathering greenery to decorate the house for Christmas.
“I am told it is unlucky to bring it into the house before Christmas Eve,” their mother objected.
“We’ll keep it outside until then,” George said. “Please, Mama. We could look for a Yule log too.”
“I don’t want a dirty, wet thing dragged across my carpets.”
“I’ve seen them burned in old houses,” Robina said. “But the fireplaces here are too small. Not,” she added tactfully, “that they don’t put out splendid heat. I would be happy to go out with the boys, ma’am.” She was dying for fresh air, and she loved snow.
The eldest, Nolly, who had consumed cold beef and bread in sulky silence, announced in lordly tones that he might as well come too. Mrs. Herbert’s objections to herbaceous decoration melted away when she realized she would be left alone with Carbury.
“We’ve never been at Dinfield Park for Christmas,” Johnnie said. Or perhaps Toby. They were twins and not only very alike, they also tended to speak in a duet of just-broken voices. “When Papa was alive, we only came to Dinfield for the summer.” “Our housekeeper has been telling us about all the country customs for Christmas.” “It’s going to be ripping fun.”
Ten-year-old George had charged ahead with the forceful energy peculiar to small boys. “I’ll beat you to the holly,” he yelled over his shoulder, and that was the end of the twins’ attention to her. Not to be outdone by their junior, they raced off over the snowy fields, and the three of them were soon attacking a bush with little finesse, undeterred by the prickles.
“They are very young,” Nolly remarked from his elevated stance of seventeen years. “They will tear their clothes, and Mama will fret.”
Robina supposed she should prevent the rending of garments,
but since her position of tutor was both unpaid and temporary she decided not to spoil their fun.
Nolly was a slender young man with his mother’s good looks, as yet unmarred by bristles. Unlike Carbury, who had gravely carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for as long as she could remember, the eldest Herbert boy evinced a veneer of ennui.
“Are you up at university, Mr. Herbert?” she asked. “If so, I daresay you find country life less exciting than your brothers do.”
“Mama says she can’t do without me and I must remain on the estate and learn how to manage it now that Papa is gone. But,” he burst out, “there’s not much to do but listen to the steward bore on about crops and drainage. I wish I was going to Oxford with the other men from school.”
“It’s a beautiful park and house. Did your father build it?”
“M’grandfather,” Nolly said with an air of pride. They stood for a minute looking over rolling meadows toward a substantial wood.
“Part of those woods are mine. The rest belong to the Duke of Oxthorpe, who lives at Killhope Castle on the other side of the village. The Great North Road marks our boundary. I say, Miss Weston, would you tell me about the highwayman? Cousin Wyatt says I should not ask because it might distress you, but I should like to hear about it, if you don’t mind.”
Robina rolled her eyes. “I’m not such a weakling that a little matter of being robbed at gunpoint would overset me.”
“I should think not! I wish I could have an adventure like that.”
They discussed the activities of the New Sheriff of Nottingham for a while. Nolly had made quite a study of the crimes of the local thief who had evaded all attempts at capture. Nolly was keenly interested in Robina’s description of the man. They ambled along, happily chatting, until the younger boys rejoined them.
“We’ve cut piles and piles of holly,” Toby said, “but how shall we get it home? Do you have any idea, Nolly?”
“You should have thought of that, you idiots. I have other things to do.” Nolly bowed to Robina, his courtesy intact when not addressing his brothers. “I enjoyed our conversation, Miss Weston, but I must take my leave. I have a matter to attend to.” He took off at a brisk walk in the direction of the road to the village, the route she had driven with Carbury the night before. She turned her attention to the boys’ problem. Before they found a solution, help was to hand. Lord Carbury came across the field, followed by a gardener pushing a large wheelbarrow.
“I thought you’d need help bringing home the branches,” he said. Within a couple of minutes, he had the boys collecting greenery in a methodical way and piling their bounty in the cart.
The gardener directed them to an oak tree in the woods with a supply of mistletoe, and the three of them tore off. Carbury offered Robina his arm. “Shall we follow at a more sedate pace?” he asked.
She accepted his invitation with trepidation. The sight of him striding toward them, his greatcoat hanging from his broad shoulders, buttoned tight so the breeze didn’t disturb the folds of cloth, his tall hat perfectly straight on his perfect head, had given her strange quivers in her stomach. She wanted to drink in the sight of his splendid masculine figure. And she had the oddest urge to unbutton him and knock him over so that he was as dirty and torn and rumpled as his young cousins.
“Did Nolly say where he was going?” he asked.
“He said he had a matter to attend to. Do you need him?”
“Perhaps Sybilla is right. She thinks he’s entangled with the innkeeper’s daughter. The boy needs to be unloosed from his mother’s apron strings. While he remains at home with no independence, he is bound to get into trouble.” He hesitated. “Do you think it possible he is in love?”
“I am surprised you wish for my opinion.” On any subject, she added silently.
“As a lady, you know more about these things than I.”
“I see. Love is a matter of no importance and thus can be left to females.”
“That is not what I said,” he replied calmly.
Instead of stamping her foot at being put in the wrong, as usual, she made herself answer his original question. “Nolly is not likely to confide in me, but I think there’s something on his mind. We spoke mainly of the highwayman.”
“I told him not to,” he said with a frown.
“I’m not made of glass, and I survived the encounter. I thought about tackling the man, but I decided I couldn’t do it alone.” She knew that would get up his dander.
“How could you be so foolish?”
“I wasn’t. I considered the matter, as any person of spirit must, and rejected it as unwise. I am just as capable of rational behavior as you are.”
“I’m not going to answer that,” he said with odious serenity, “because I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
Robina gave him marks for recognizing her provocation. It occurred to her that she would enjoy a good quarrel, and it might be good for Carbury. He was far too used to getting his own way. “Does anyone ever defy you, Carbury?” she asked.
He actually smiled, a look that suited him all the more for not being often seen. “I wish they did not. I am a member of the party in opposition. Even if my opinion prevails among my Whig colleagues, by no means a certainty, I am usually defeated by the government.”
“Why do you do it, then? Politics sounds very disagreeable.”
“It is the most hateful business in the world and the most absorbing. There are so many important issues before us, so much that needs to be done for the improvement of the nation and its people. Yet the practice of politics is hard and often unpleasant. Do not ever tell a politician that he always gets his own way.”
“I assume the world would be a better place if you always carried your argument.”
“I think so.” He laughed. “You are teasing me. You always were a pestilential little girl.”
“How can I resist? Perhaps the frustrations of your work in Parliament make you a dictator in other parts of your life. Or perhaps you are naturally tyrannical.” She put a gloved finger to her lips and pretended to consider the matter. “I believe it is the latter.”
“You are unfair. I wish to look after my dependents, not to dominate them.”
“I’m not sure you know the difference, and that is why I do not wish to be your dependent.”
The air felt thick with the knowledge of her refusal.
“I do not like to see you alone in the world, Robina,” he said.
“I don’t understand why you can see that Nolly needs to be free, but I do not.”
“The answer is obvious. You are a woman.”
“I am twenty-five years old and far more capable of making sensible decisions than a seventeen-year-old boy.”
“That’s not saying much, I fear. I respect your intelligence, but you are a member of the sex with less strength and power than men. It is the way of the world.”
“Sometimes I wish it were not,” she said, pleased at the implication that her impotence was dictated by society rather than by natural inferiority. “It seems unfair. Do you know that if I had accepted your proposal, my paltry two thousand pounds would become yours?”
“I assure you I did not offer for you for your money. As my wife I would have given you far more. I would have taken care of you.”
“You want to take care of everyone.” It came out as an accusation, yet wasn’t that unjust? Care for others was an admirable trait, and Carbury was very good at it. But Robina didn’t want to be another on his long list of responsibilities.
He didn’t seem embarrassed about speaking of his offer. She would grant that he possessed the virtue of not being easily offended. Still, raising the subject had been gauche, and she’d sooner die than have him think she was hinting for a repetition. She removed her arm from his and increased her pace to get ahead of him. “I wonder if the boys have found the mistletoe.”
*
Wyatt had joined the greenery party because a little of Sybilla’s company went a
long way. He’d fended off questions that were none of his affair. He might be guardian to her sons, but he was not required to have an opinion about what she should wear to the Christmas assembly, even if the Duke of Oxthorpe was rumored to be attending. Why the devil should she think he was qualified to judge the merits of deep flounces and bias tucks, whatever they were, or even remotely interested in the topic? Pleading genuine and heartfelt ignorance, he escaped the overheated parlor into the pleasantly cool outside.
Intending to spend time with his wards, instead he’d got into conversation with Robina and started to feel mildly regretful that she’d turned him down. Perhaps it was only the contrast with Sybilla, but he enjoyed their talk and even found her disagreements stimulating. He didn’t understand her decision about her future—he often found women incomprehensible—but she intrigued him. And because they were walking in a muddy field covered with half-melted snow, and he didn’t have a dozen appointments crowding in on him, he had time to explore her mysteries.
Possessed of wealth and influence, time was the one thing he could not create. Leisure was an unaccustomed luxury. He breathed deeply and filled his lungs with clean air. Light-headed as he hadn’t been in years, he grinned at Robina striding on ahead of him, taking a moment to appreciate that she had a neat figure and her hips swayed prettily. He caught up with her at the wheelbarrow, parked near the edge of the woods and piled high beyond capacity with holly, pine, and laurel boughs.
“I don’t think Sybilla is keen to welcome half a forest into her house.” They stood together, contemplating the bounty. “When I left her, she was complaining about pine needles on the carpets.”
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