by Sandra Heath
The housekeeper drew a long breath. “The kitchen intruder wasn’t the only stranger here last night, was he? Mr. Danby was here as well.”
Anne couldn’t meet her eyes.
“Oh, Miss Anne, what were you thinking of?”
“I didn’t know what to do, Mrs. Jenkins. I’d told him that it would be in order for him to call again, and that he did so when I was alone in the house put me in some difficulty.”
“Maybe it did, but I’ll warrant there was nothing accidental about his arrival. He knew you were alone.”
“Knew? What are you suggesting?”
“That Mr. Charles Danby is definitely not a gentleman. Miss Anne, I must warn you against him. I may be only a servant, and therefore presumptuous in speaking my mind at all, but for all that he says he is a man of the law, it is my opinion that Mr. Danby is not to be trusted in any way at all.”
“You’re very free with such a sweeping judgment, Mrs. Jenkins.”
“I have the evidence before me. His manner toward you since arriving has been too forward by far, and I cannot help but be aware that he puts you all of a fluster. You were like an open book to me that first night when he took his leave, and now I learn that he has been here again. It will not do. Miss Anne. You are to be the Duchess of Wroxford, and the duke is about to come here, so no hint of scandal must touch upon you.”
“You think I do not know that?” Anne turned away slightly, gripping the handrail as she struggled to recoup her lost composure. She’d hoped that last night’s visit would remain a secret.
“I’ve been giving his motives considerable thought. At first I wondered if he was simply intent upon seduction for seduction’s sake, but then I discounted that because if his activities were discovered, his firm would lose the duke as a client, and a junior partner would very swiftly be thrown out on his handsome ear. That leaves another motive entirely for his persistence. I’m sorry, my dear, but the only conclusion I can reach is that you are being tested to see if you are indeed suitable to be a duchess.”
Anne’s dismay was complete, for was that not exactly what she herself had thought?
Mrs. Jenkins searched her face. “You’ve gone very pale, my dear. Could it be that Mr. Danby took liberties last night?”
“Oh, Mrs. Jenkins, please don’t ask,” Anne whispered, close to tears.
The housekeeper put a concerned hand on her arm. “Did he...? I mean, you didn’t...?”
“I am still chaste, if you is what you fear to put into words,” Anne replied, mastering her emotions sufficiently to speak levelly.
“But something happened, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Miss Anne...”
“It will not happen again, for I have told him so. I have also told him that he will not be received in future unless he sends word in advance, so that I may have you in attendance at all times.”
“You would have done better to forbid him to come at all.”
“I cannot do that, for he is here in connection with my betrothal. Oh, Mrs. Jenkins, whether or not he is false-hearted, I would find it very easy to love him.” Anne’s eyes shone with tears, and she gathered her gingham skirts to hurry across the hall and out into the courtyard, leaving the housekeeper to gaze sadly after her.
Anne hardly realized her decision to go into the maze. It wasn’t until the cool shade of the high hedges made her pull her shawl closer that she knew, but she walked on anyway, and at last the maze splayed back to reveal the rotunda—and the statue. As she gazed at the latter, she knew why her subconscious had brought her here. The marble figure was so like Charles Danby that it drew her like a moth to a candle.
Gervase was very aware of her the moment she appeared, and when he saw the way she looked at his face, he was again afraid she had guessed the truth. If she looked at his hand and saw the scratch Mog had left, she would know! His marble heart tightened as she studied him intensely for a moment, before going to sit on the stone bench. His initial relief was almost immediately swamped by further apprehension, for his clothes—only too recognizable as Charles Danby’s—were hidden in the thick ivy growing all over the bench. Had he concealed them well enough? His only consolation was that at least Sylvanus was nowhere to be seen, for the faun was sleeping in the temple, having only come to the rotunda briefly just before the dawn in order to acquaint Gervase with his success with Penelope—for success he had certainly had.
But Anne didn’t notice anything as she clasped her hands in her lap and continued to gaze at the statue. She knew she should turn her back completely on her feelings for Charles Danby. He had awakened emotions she had never experienced before, and awakened them so passionately it was as if she had slumbered her life away until now. If only things were different, and she could not only be sure of his character and intentions, but have been at liberty last night to declare her true feelings; if only she could be sitting here now, waiting for him to come openly to her. But things weren’t different, and it was best if she forgot all about him, and certainly best if Mrs. Jenkins remained present at all times should he decide to call again. She prayed her trust would not be broken, and that if nothing else, Charles Danby would stand by his promise not to say anything of what took place last night.
She continued to gaze at the statue, taking in the lean but muscular body, slender hips, and well-shaped legs. And taking in too that part of the male body that had pressed so ardently against her when she’d been in Charles Danby’s arms last night! She’d felt wonderful, and to have given herself completely would have been to enjoy the perfect initiation— well, almost, for to lie with him in a wheat field beneath the summer sun would be the most perfect initiation of all... She lowered her glance. Was it really possible to feel this way about someone who was as false as Mrs. Jenkins feared? Could one’s heart be so misguided?
With a sad sigh she got up, but as she passed the statue, she halted to put a hand to Gervase’s cold face. “I wish you were my wickedly handsome lawyer,” she whispered, reaching up to kiss his marble mouth. There were tears in her eyes, and suddenly she linked her arms around his neck and kissed his lips more ardently. She pressed against him, remembering the joy of being embraced by a flesh-and-blood lover.
Imprisoned in marble, he ached to return the embrace, but was unable to do anything except feel the sweet yearning in her lips. If only she would whisper more, if only she would say the three words that would release him! Say them! Say them!
But after clinging to him for a long moment, she gradually became mistress of herself again and slowly drew back and left the maze.
As Gervase looked helplessly after her, he felt as if his marble heart were breaking.
Chapter Eighteen
Hugh wasted no time about making his first visit to Llandower. He hired a horse at the White Boar, and after asking directions of an ostler, set off along the winding country road that was flanked by sweet meadows and hawthorn hedges that frothed with white blossom. He hardly glanced at the beautiful scenery; indeed he might have been in the dingiest quarter of the port of London for all the notice he took. He was preoccupied with how he was going to dispose of his unwanted bride, but as he at last rode across the Peterbury road bridge over the Wye, his own words to Kitty suddenly echoed in his head. I’m going to make you the Duchess of Wroxford, and if I have to drown Anne Willowby in the River Wye in order to do it, then I will. He reined in to gaze at the shining water, and a cold smile played briefly about his lips as he rode on. Yes, a simple drowning would do very well!
* * * *
Anne was writing to her parents in the study when a highly flustered Mrs. Jenkins came upstairs to tell her who had called. Anne was hugely dismayed to be caught at such a disadvantage. She had intended to be elegantly turned out for Hugh’s first call, but instead of sending word ahead, he had just arrived at the door! There was no time to change out of the simple blue-and-white gingham into something more suitable for receiving a duke, so all she could hope was that she would
n’t create too provincial an impression. Taking a deep breath to steady nerves that were suddenly all over the place, she went downstairs with the housekeeper.
Her first impression on seeing Hugh’s tall figure in the hall was that he bore an astonishing and welcome resemblance to Charles Danby, although on drawing nearer she realized it was only superficial. However, she liked him well enough simply because he reminded her of the lawyer, so that when he smiled warmly and drew her hands to his lips as if they were friends already, she was sure they could get along together. He didn’t seem to notice her country gown or the simple way she’d attended to her hair, for he looked intently into her eyes when she spoke, and was gifted with the sort of easy conversation that removed all hint of awkwardness. Yes, she thought with relief, she would be able to get on well enough with Hugh Mowbray, but the thought was detached, lacking the fire and emotion that from the outset had marked her dealings with Charles Danby; Hugh kissed her hand politely, Charles scorched her very skin.
Hugh’s thoughts were very different in those first moments. He judged her unremarkable in every way, and his inner dislike and resentment was so great that he had to concentrate upon maintaining a semblance of interest and charm.
After the somewhat stilted and awkward introductions, he opened the conversation with an obvious politeness. “Aren’t your parents at home, Miss Willowby?”
“I fear not, sir. They’re in Ireland.”
“Ireland? I had no idea.” Excellent, for he had expected their presence to supply his crime with two more potential witnesses; now it seemed he did not have to concern himself about that particular problem. He smiled. “No doubt I will meet them in due course.”
“Oh, yes, you will.” She thought it a little peculiar that he was ignorant of her parents’ absence; after all, Charles had known, and both had recently been in conversation with Mr. Critchley, to whom her father had apparently written.
He glanced around. “What a charming home you have, Miss Willowby. I fancy my ancestors were unwise to leave it for grander pastures.”
She smiled. “I’m glad they did, sir, I mean, Your Grace...for I have certainly always loved it here.” She had no idea at all how to speak to him. Her mind was blank, and she couldn’t recall how she’d addressed his late uncle last year.
He smiled. “That is a little formal, don’t you think? As we are to be man and wife, would it be too heinous a crime against property if we used our first names? Or would that offend etiquette too much? What do you think, Mrs. Jenkins?” With a convincingly gallant smile he suddenly turned to the housekeeper, who gave a surprised start.
“Me, sir? Oh, I wouldn’t presume to...”
He continued to smile winningly, for instinct told him that the woman would be an invaluable ally. “Oh, come now, I am sure a ménagère of your admirable experience and qualities can judge in an instant.”
Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t quite sure what a ménagère was, but as the remainder of what he said made her feel most flattered, she felt certain the foreign word wasn’t anything insulting. “Well, I do not know that my view is of any consequence, sir...”
“Of course it is. So, what is it to be? Formality, or congeniality?”
“Why, I suppose the latter, sir,” the housekeeper replied after a moment.
Anne gave her a surreptitious glance, knowing that if Charles Danby had asked the same question, the answer would have been very different!
Hugh smiled at Anne again. “I trust you do not mind such a decision being made for you?”
“I have no objection, sir.”
“I have no objection, Hugh,” he prompted.
“I have no objection...Hugh,” she repeated obediently.
Mrs. Jenkins looked inquiringly at her. “Begging your pardon, Miss Anne, but should I prepare some refreshment?”
Hugh intervened hastily, for he had promised Kitty he would dine with her. “There is no need, for I intend to eat later at the inn.”
“The Salmon’s Leap in Peterbury?”
“Er, no, at the White Boar,” he replied reluctantly, for the question caught him off guard.
Anne looked swiftly at him. “Indeed? Then no doubt you have encountered Mr. Danby?” She felt Mrs. Jenkins cross gaze upon her, but under the circumstances, not to mention Charles would surely appear odd.
“Danby?” Hugh looked blankly at her.
“Of Messrs. Critchley, Faulkner, Oliver, and Danby. Your lawyers, I believe?” she added with a smile.
Hugh was alarmed, not wanting one of Critchley’s cohorts in the very inn he was staying with Kitty! But then he remembered something. “Forgive me, er, Anne, but there is no Mr. Danby at the inn. On my arrival I had the pick of rooms because the landlord specifically mentioned there being no other guests at the moment.”
“Oh.” Anne looked away. “Well, I expect he has returned to Monmouth, for he did say he had other business to attend to.”
Hugh prayed this was indeed the case, but he was still curious about the apparent visit. “Are you sure this Mr. Danby is from the lawyers?”
“Quite sure. He came to examine the ledgers.”
“I find this most intriguing, because when I spoke to Mr. Critchley a few days ago, he knew I was coming straight here, so I would have thought he would have told me if one of his partners had left on such an errand.”
“It must have slipped his mind,” Anne replied.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Hugh conceded, but privately determined to ask the landlord about this Danby fellow, for something didn’t feel quite right about it. An awkward silence had descended over the hall, and Hugh made an effort to restore their former bonhomie. Besides, he wanted to examine the boats at the willow-hung jetty he’d spied while riding up the drive. “Shall we stroll in the sunshine, Anne? I vow it is too pleasant a day to stay inside, and it looked most agreeable by the river.”
“Why, of course.”
Again Hugh turned to the housekeeper, whom he wished to lull into as false a sense of trust as Anne herself. “Mrs. Jenkins, I’m sure correctness and other such things will be best served if you come too.”
“Accompany you, sir?”
“You are clearly a person of unquestioned propriety, and apart from that, why should you not enjoy the sunshine too?” He smiled into her eyes.
The housekeeper was won over completely. “If you wish me to be there, sir, I will go for my shawl.” Her skirts rustled and her shoes tapped as she hastened up to her bedroom on the third floor.
Alone with him for a minute or so, Anne felt quite uncomfortable, although she could not have said why. He appeared to be everything she could wish, and yet there was something—she could not have put her finger upon what, exactly—that made her wish to draw away from him. He caught her eye and smiled, and for a fleeting second, oh, so fleeting, she thought she detected a chill behind the apparent warmth.
Hugh guessed he’d been less than guarded, and was at pains to rectify the slip by reassuring her. At the same time he gave in to the conceit of painting himself in as noble a light as possible. “I have a confession to make. Miss Willowby. Unlike you, I am under no compulsion to proceed with this match.”
She was shaken. “You aren’t? But I thought—”
“My late cousin was indeed obliged to bow to his father’s wishes, but it seems I can escape if I so wish, there being no actual provision for Gervase’s death and my succession to the title. True, it would be a little complicated to get out of but not impossible. However, I choose to proceed because I wish to be settled and married, and since you are still bound by the exact terms of the will, I believe we will do well together.” Even the Archangel Gabriel would have been taken in by such noble sentiments, he thought.
In spite of her momentary reservations, Anne was taken in too. “I am relieved you feel that way,” she replied, lowering her eyes quickly as Charles Danby’s face seemed to hover before her.
“Then the marriage will proceed,” he said quietly, taking her hand and raising i
t to his lips. He didn’t want to kiss her fingers—he wanted to sink his teeth ferociously into them.
Mrs. Jenkins returned, and Hugh offered Anne his arm. They crossed the courtyard, then walked alongside the maze as they made for the river. Something pattered on the gravel path the other side of the high hedge of the maze, and, thinking it was Joseph’s lurcher on the roam, Mrs. Jenkins frowned as she remembered the currant buns cooling on a rack on the kitchen table. “That Jack—Joseph swore he’d take him with him to the east woods today,” she muttered beneath her breath, vowing that if a single currant were missing on her return, she’d tie a knot in the thieving dog’s tail.
But it was Sylvanus, not Jack, on the other side of the hedge. The faun had slipped out of the temple not long before in order to see Gervase, and had just been on his way back to his hidey-hole—intending to go by way of the kitchen, and then, if possible, his beloved Penelope in the drawing room— when he’d been appalled to recognize Hugh riding into the courtyard. Sylvanus didn’t dare try to eavesdrop in the castle itself because he’d have to pass young Martin, who had suddenly appeared with a ladder to clean a second-floor window, so he waited just inside the maze to see what happened in order to report back to Gervase. As Anne, Hugh, and Mrs. Jenkins at last emerged from the courtyard and came within earshot, the listening faun accompanied them on the other side of the hedge.
Mrs. Jenkins turned to call out to the boy up the ladder. “Martin, you keep an eye out for that dratted mongrel! He’s in the maze, and if he goes anywhere near my currant buns...!” Her voice faded on a dire note.
Martin looked down in puzzlement. “Jack can’t be in the maze, Mrs. Jenkins; he went with Joseph this morning.”
“He’s in there, I tell you, I can hear him. Just keep a lookout.”
“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins.” With a shrug, Martin went on polishing the window.
Anne glanced at Hugh. “I trust the cuisine at the White Boar meets with your approval, for it is considered excellent, especially the Wye salmon.”