But all Richard did was address her with a serious light in his eyes. He made her a bow that was far deeper than the one his cousin had made. “At your service, my dear."
Chapter Ten
Richard had watched the soft glow vanish from Selina's eyes. Her accusing stare had struck like a blow to his abdomen, so he did not see the benefit of his cousin's next remark.
“Oh, dear,” Wilfrid said in politely distressed tones. “I fear I have appeared at a most awkward time."
Much worse than awkward, Richard thought. Wilfrid could not have chosen a more damaging time if he had maliciously set out to do so, but, angry as he was at the interruption, Richard could not accuse his cousin of that.
He also could not explain himself to Selina with Wilfrid listening, yet he knew he had to do something to remove the hurt he had inflicted upon her, and as soon as possible.
Richard was on the point of asking Wilfrid to excuse them both, when Selina stepped into the breach.
“Not at all,” she said with her beautiful chin in the air. “It appears that you have come at a most propitious time."
Richard winced at the implication. She clearly thought that Wilfrid had saved her from a fate worse than death.
“May I presume,” she continued icily, “that you are the cousin—” she faltered, then recovered herself—"the cousin Lord Linton has spoken of? The gentleman who was to search the Cuckfield registries for proof of my ancestor's marriage?"
A glimmer of comprehension lit Wilfrid's eyes. He inclined his head. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with the utmost regret.
“I am indeed Linton's messenger. But alas, I can only bring you news that I fear must distress you. I am afraid there is no recording of such a marriage within many miles of Cuckfield."
Richard felt a sinking inside him, a surprisingly keen disappointment. The evidence which would have allowed him to throw his mantle over the Payleys had not materialized. He had not realized until that precise moment just how strongly he had wanted it to exist. And if he felt it, he knew that Selina was suffering far more greatly.
Ignoring Wilfrid, Richard reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. But she suddenly whirled to face him with such fury in her eyes, he felt like stepping back.
“You may reserve your condolences, sir, for someone who needs them. I believe I understand quite perfectly why your cousin discovered no proof of our kinship."
Feeling as if someone had shot him in the chest, Richard could only stare after her as she turned next to Wilfrid. “I must thank you as well, Sir Wilfrid, for such assiduous devotion to your cousin's interest."
With that last accusation, only thinly veiled, Selina tossed her hair over her shoulder and stormed from the barn, leaving an empty silence in her wake.
Richard, who had recoiled from her implications, felt as if his blood had begun to churn. Anger at her unjust thoughts warred with his guilt for knowing he had deceived her as to his true identity. He knew his behavior, no matter how well-intentioned he had thought it, had been underhanded and reprehensible. He had done his best to become intimately acquainted with two persons without allowing them to know his name. He had assumed upon their ignorance to linger among them for his own ends, a motive he had been reluctant to admit to himself, which was painfully obvious to him now.
He had stayed with the unacknowledged hope of taking Selina to bed.
Even now the frustration of his wishes had left him trembling, so much so that he was at pains to distinguish how much of his reaction was due to unfulfilled lust and how much to anger. And to have Wilfrid, of all people, witness his just deserts ....
Wilfrid's voice cut in. “I say, dear boy, I hope you will forgive my inopportune interruption. If I had had any notion of what might be going on in this dilapidated structure, I would never have—"
“Just why did you come, Wilfrid?” Richard was in no mood to hear his cousin's wanderings.
“But, Richard,” Wilfrid said plaintively, “I thought I had explained it all most clearly. You see, when your note came to me, my suspicions were at once aroused by your failure to frank it. I was most concerned, nay grievously so. It quite truly appeared as if someone might have tampered with the letter. Nevertheless, knowing you to be disgustingly fit and strong, I supposed you able to take perfect care of yourself. I obeyed your summons to the letter and faithfully searched all the miserable little churches and chapels for miles about Cuckfield. And, at this point, cuz, I absolutely must protest the futility of such a mission. If there is one crumbling, draughty, mildewing edifice in Cuckfield, there must be a thousand in the surrounding few miles. I hope you do not plan to have me investigate any further such claims, for if you do, I am sure I shall take my death of cold."
Richard felt like striking the peevish expression from his cousin's face, but he knew he was wrong to feel that way. He could not blame Wilfrid for his own mistakes. If he had truly wished to do Selina a service he ought to have gone himself.
“That does not explain why you came here instead of sending word as I had expressly asked."
“My dear boy—” Wilfrid seemed sincerely hurt by his displeasure—"if you plan to take the habit of disappearing without one word of explanation either to your servants or to your relatives, simply inform me now, and I shall wash my hands of you. But what was one to think when you appeared to vanish off the face of the earth without a trace? Should I have meekly handed over a ransom to the first person so bold as to demand one, or should I—as I was persuaded you would wish me to do—show the courage you so often accuse me of lacking and come in search?"
Richard was about to protest the nonsense in Wilfrid's logic, but his cousin's expression changed.
“And,” Wilfrid continued, his gaze burrowing deeply into Richard conscience, “I have to confess no small degree of shock at finding you engaged in activities that quite frankly have the appearance of a clandestine affaire. I very much fear, both from what I was told at the inn you directed me to, and from the umbrage that unhappy, young lady has justly taken that she had not been fully apprised of your identity."
Wilfrid's last words were uttered in a tone of gentle reproof. To be the object of his cousin's scorn on top of his other indignities was more than Richard could bear. He quite saw that this whole ghastly, disturbing episode had been his fault from beginning to end, and he would be immensely fortunate if Selina ever consented to forgive him.
By the look on her face as she had left the barn, Richard judged it would be quite some time, if ever, before that happy conclusion could ever be reached.
He could not help thinking, however, that if Wilfrid had turned up the evidence she was seeking, she would feel more in charity with him now. As it was, she clearly believed him to have conducted a false search in order to prevent her from claiming kinship to him. Worse—during that time of waiting, to have taken advantage of her trust. She could not know how hard he had tried to fight his attraction to her. He wished desperately to have some proof that his intentions had been good.
“You are quite sure, Wilfrid, that there was no record of a Payley—any Payley—in those church records?"
Wilfrid gave a sympathetic shrug. “Sorry, dear boy, but no. I can truthfully state that no such record remains in Cuckfield whether it ever existed or not."
“No mention, either, of the name Trevelyan?"
“I am sure if there had been, I should have noted it."
“Of course.” Richard heaved a sigh. So he would have nothing with which to comfort Selina except for his own apologies. He would be proud to offer to pay for Augustus's schooling, but her pride was such that he expected she would refuse him. He would hate to resort to telling her about the conditions under which the King's Scholars lived, but eventually he would be forced to. And then, though she might accept his aid for Augustus's sake, she would never forgive him for persuading her to do it.
The pull of Selina's warm body, her glow, and innocence still drew him strongly. He wanted nothing more than to purs
ue her into the house, to make her listen to him and see reason. To take her in his arms and kiss her anger away —
No. Richard stopped himself from thinking such things. She would not want his embraces now. If he knew Selina, she would hurl a pot at him the moment he showed his face at the door. But he could not let that danger prevent him from speaking his apology as soon as possible.
“Richard?” Wilfrid asked, “Shall you be returning to London now? If so, I must request a lift."
Wilfrid's plea damped Richard's plans.
“How did you come to Uckfield?” While listening for Wilfrid's response, he reached up to run his fingers through his hair and found it still full of hay. Selina's sweet scent seemed to cling to his hands, to linger in the air of the barn. Richard doubted he could ever enter a stable again without thinking of her.
But Wilfrid was answering him, and in a tone to make him feel more the villain. “I am ashamed to say that I was forced to come by mail coach part of the way, then to hire a gig. I am trying, sincerely trying to practice those little economies you suggested, Richard. But I cannot pretend to like them. No doubt but what they shall cost me my good health in the end. You can have no notion of the vulgar people who ride in such conveyances—every two out of three are afflicted with some violent cough or nervous spasm. You shall advise me, will you not, of the first hint of such symptoms in me? I have an excellent medical man, whom I consult quite frequently, but even he must have his fears when a man of my advanced years is subjected to mysterious illnesses. I was not so fortunate as to be gifted with your excellent constitution, Richard."
Richard had suffered enough of Wilfrid's prattle on top of his other setbacks that morning. Such speeches could only make him desire to be gone.
“Wilfrid, if you will be so good as to wait for me a few moments, I shall make my goodbyes to Miss Payley."
“Dear me.” Wilfrid's raised brows told him how ill-advised he thought that course of action to be. “It appeared to me, dear Richard, that she had taken her farewell already."
“That may be,” Richard said, absorbing the slap to his pride, “but I have not taken mine from her. I shall be with you shortly."
Leaving Wilfrid, arguing helplessly in the barn, Richard marched off towards the house, his angry, guilty, churned-up feelings still clouding his head.
When he arrived there, he was met at the door by Lucas, who barred his way. “Mistress Payley says she don't want no visitors. Sorry, m'boy."
Richard did not want to get in a brawl, but he would be confounded if he would take orders from Lucas. He struggled to control his irritation. “I do not think your mistress regards me strictly as a visitor, Lucas. If you will kindly step out of the way—"
“That's what I would've said, if anybody ‘ad asked me.” Scratching his head, Lucas refused to step aside. “But, fact is, she partic'larly mentioned you as someone she don't want let in."
That feeling of being kicked in the stomach returned full force. Richard did not think he had ever suffered such a blow to his pride ... if that was what he was feeling.
Confused, and suffering from a pain he did not recognize, he could only accede to Selina's wishes, hoping to find her less averse to hearing his explanation at a later time. He could not very well fight Lucas in front of Wilfrid, not after his cousin had reproached him. Richard did have some dignity to maintain. He had to remind himself of that.
But since he had come to The Grange it seemed, his dignity had flown out the window with his conscience. The latter had returned with a vengeance. It was long past time to take up the former.
“Very well,” Richard said, giving Lucas the look an earl should give an underling. “You may tell Miss Payley that I shall call upon her at her earliest convenience."
Concealed from his view at the top of the stairs, Selina heard the severe tone in Richard's voice. It wounded her, deep down where her heart had already crumbled into pieces, like broken glass that pricked and sliced her with every turn.
To learn that she had given herself, heart, body and soul, to a man who had deceived her was the greatest pain she had ever suffered, greater even than her sorrow on the loss of her parents. For this blow, not even Augustus's love or his need for her strength could act as a shield. She had suffered a wound straight through her chest, which nothing at all could ever heal. And, at the moment, she could not even summon the fury she knew she needed to fill it temporarily.
Richard tried again the next day, but was greeted at the door by Augustus.
“Is it true?” the boy asked with a droop to his features. “Are you truly the Earl of Linton?"
“Yes.” Richard braced himself. “I am afraid so."
“Then, you did not come to The Grange to buy trees."
“No, although—” at Augustus's calm demeanor, Richard gave a sad smile—"I would be grateful for the chance to buy some now. If,” he added, “you would be willing to sell them to me."
Augustus looked uncomfortable. “I would, I suppose, but my sister might not wish for me to do so."
“That's quite all right, Squire. I do not wish to get you in trouble with your sister, but perhaps, if she would see me, I could ask her myself."
“Selina is not here."
The boy's words stunned Richard. Until that moment, he had not realized how much he had been counting upon seeing her today and asking for her forgiveness. He had thought of nothing else throughout last night or all this morning. He had resisted all Wilfrid's attempts to make him see reason and leave Uckfield behind them.
And in the end, Richard had lost his temper with his cousin and sent him packing on his way.
“What do you mean, she is not here?” he asked Augustus.
Augustus cast him a slanted glance, as much as to say that Richard could not be trusted to know.
Richard winced at the boy's honest regard. “I know that my behavior must seem reprehensible both to you and to your sister. I hardly understand it myself. But, Augustus—” Richard hardly knew where to start—"all I can say is that, for the past two weeks, I have been earnestly trying to discover some means by which I could be of service to you both."
A gleam lit Augustus's eyes, telling Richard that the boy wanted desperately to believe him, but all he uttered was, “Selina said you were posing as our friend in order to keep us from proving our kinship to you."
“I gathered she believed something of the kind. However, she is wrong."
“I still cannot tell you where she is."
Richard swallowed his frustration. “Did she leave you alone with the work?"
“Lucas is here."
“Ah. Yes, Lucas.” Richard fought to control his sense of irony. Lucas had proven to be more reliable than he. “I would be happy to help myself, until she returns."
“No, my lord, you may not.”
Augustus's mode of address slapped Richard's ears. But a day ago, they had been friends.
Augustus looked down at his shoes and studied their tips. “My sister told me that I should send Lucas for the constable if you refused to leave."
“I see.” Nothing would be served by Richard's staying here now, not until Selina's temper had cooled at least.
Richard made the boy a bow, but refrained from making long farewells, for he meant to return.
As he turned to go, a disturbing thought came into his mind. He swung back rapidly. “Augustus—you would tell me, would you not, if your sister's disappearance had anything to do with Romeo Fancible?"
The Squire's puzzled look reassured him, long before a light dawned in Augustus's eye. “No—” the boy nearly blushed—"it has nothing at all to do with Romeo."
“Then, in that case,” Richard said more firmly, “I shall leave a message for you to give to your sister. You may remind her that she made me a promise with respect to that gentleman, and I expect her to keep her word."
Augustus seemed befuddled again, but without further questions, he agreed to pass Richard's message on.
The road to Lo
ndon seemed very much longer, far colder, and much more lifeless than it had on Richard's journey out to Uckfield.
The bustle of Bond Street, the haughtiness of St. James, and the pretentiousness of every rider in the park struck him as both alien and artificial. He felt as if he had been living almost in another time, before such things as Almack's and balls, phaetons and routs, had been invented.
His first days back, he was far too busy to examine his emotions closely. He was bombarded by requests for his time from everyone from his steward to his housekeeper, not to mention his anxious secretary, who had been obliged to make decisions on his own about which social engagements Richard would be likely to attend. Advised by Wilfrid of his cousin's impending return, the poor man had sent out various notes of acceptance for this or that ball or scheme, only to discover two days later that Richard did not wish to accept any of them. After begging his employer to reconsider at least some of them, the secretary was forced to concede.
Richard found that his coming home did not give him any degree of solace. On the contrary, after a few days passed, he felt, if possible, worse than he had ever felt before. The constant demands for his attention quickly wore him down, until he wished for nothing more than the peace and quiet he had discovered in Selina's cherry orchards.
White's, he found, when he had fled to his club in desperation, was agreeably thin of company by day. Tucking a newspaper under his arm, Richard found a deserted corner in which to read.
Soon, he had to resign himself to the fact that solitude was not all he had been missing. As the words on the printed page stubbornly eluded his brain, a great sense of loss invaded his heart. All Richard could focus on were memories of Selina, the fire that flashed in her eyes, the way she hiked her perfect chin, the sheer vitality that radiated from her. He fought the memory of her body pressing eagerly against his, so sweet and yielding. She had almost yielded to him. He still trembled with the yearning to fulfill that promise.
His daydreams were inevitably ruined by the recollection of the hurt he had done her. How long would it be before she could contemplate accepting his apology? Selina was proud. So proud. She would not be quick to forget the wound to her pride.
A Country Affair Page 13