by Sandra Heath
Only three feet away, Sylvanus’s pointed ears pricked. The White Boar?
Hugh murmured something about liking salmon no matter from which river it came, then he nodded toward the jetty. “I, er, notice you have rowing boats. Do you often go on the river?”
“Not as often as I’d like.” Anne smiled as fond memories of past jaunts and picnics flitted briefly through her mind.
Hugh observed the nuances on her face. “What are you thinking?”
She told him all about the excursions on the river and even mentioned the next day’s omission of the annual moonlight picnic and trip downstream to St. Winifred’s Well.
Hugh listened with grim delight as she innocently presented him with a heaven-sent opening. “It is your birthday tomorrow?” he repeated.
“I fear so.”
“I had no idea. We must observe it, of course.”
“Oh, there is no need...”
“Forgive me for presuming, but maybe you and I—and Mrs. Jenkins, of course—could celebrate your birthday picnic after all?” he ventured, turning to smile conspiratorially at the housekeeper.
Anne was so agreeably surprised by his thoughtful spontaneity, that she felt ashamed of her earlier unease. “Oh, I would like that,” she replied gladly.
“Perhaps you would also like to be rowed across to the well?”
She smiled. “Yes, I would, very much, and I’m sure Mrs. Jenkins will too.”
Mrs. Jenkins was flattered to be included, but had certain reservations. “It will be most agreeable, sir, but I have a dread of boats, so will remain on dry land if you don’t mind.”
Mind? It suited him most excellently! Hugh could have laughed out loud that his plan seemed to be falling into place so ridiculously easily. They would have the picnic on the jetty, and then he and dear Anne would cross in the darkness to St. Winifred’s Well. How charming she would look seated in the stern of one of those boats; how easy she would be to render unconscious and tip into the water as soon as an opportune moment presented itself. His frantic but unsuccessful attempts to rescue her would be dimly witnessed from the shore by the housekeeper, who already thought him everything that was admirable, and who would be further taken in by his exhibition of anguish and guilt because he had persuaded dear Anne to go out on the water with him in the first place....
He felt so arrogantly confident as they walked on, that it amused him to indulge in more small talk. “I trust your parents’ visit to Ireland is proving agreeable? As a country it can be so very wet, don’t you agree?”
“As it happens I haven’t heard from them since they left, but I don’t think the climate will have much bearing on their particular situation.” she replied.
Her next words were lost to Sylvanus, for they passed out of hearing as they struck across the park toward the jetty. After a precautionary glance at Martin, whose back was safely turned toward the maze, the faun made his way swiftly to the rotunda to acquaint Gervase with all he’d learned.
Gervase was dismayed to learn that his loathed cousin had arrived. “Damn it, I was hoping he’d take longer.”
“So was I.”
“I wish you could turn me to flesh right now, so I can face him as he should be faced!”
“Well, I can’t, it only works after dark. Besides, you need Anne to tell you she loves you before you confront Hugh.”
“How do you arrive at that conclusion?” Gervase demanded.
“Because Bacchus has decreed that she must tell you of her love without knowing who you really are. By confronting Hugh too soon, you run the risk of being identified by him, which will mean remaining half-man, half-statue for the rest of your existence,” the faun warned.
Gervase knew the advice was wise, and so strove to quell the bitter rage that burned through him. “Is Hugh staying here at Llandower?” he asked after a moment. That would be too much!
“No, he’s at the White Boar.”
Gervase thought swiftly. “I trust to God Charles Danby’s name doesn't crop up in conversation, for Hugh is sure to say that there is no such person staying there. I wish now that I’d thought of some other false identity. Hugh is bound to have visited Critchley, and will be very curious—if not to say suspicious—that he wasn’t informed of Danby’s business here.”
“It’s too late now,” the faun replied pragmatically.
“Thank you, I do realize that!” Gervase responded sharply.
Sylvanus gave him a look. “Well, I see no point in worrying about something you can’t rectify.”
“Just as you didn’t worry when Bacchus knew you’d misused your power on Anne and me, I suppose?” Gervase supplied in the sort of unhelpful tone the faun was only too frequently wont to use.
Sylvanus chose to ignore the remark. “Your cousin is supposed to bring the diadem here, so I think I’ll go to the inn tonight and see what I can find.”
“I’d quite forgotten about the diadem.”
“I certainly haven’t,” the faun muttered, sitting on the bench and swinging his hooves thoughtfully.
“Don’t forget that you are bound by Bacchus’s conditions too. Hugh has to give the diadem to you willingly.” Gervase reminded, fearing Sylvanus might be tempted to steal it on the spur of the moment.
They were both silent briefly, then Gervase said, “So Anne intends to go out on the river with him?”
“Yes. Something about a birthday picnic in the moonlight, and then rowing across the river.” Sylvanus’s hooves stopped swinging. “Actually, I thought he was a little odd when he suggested it. Too eager by far, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean.”
“He’s up to something.”
“Of course he is, he’s intent upon stealing my name, my fortune, and the woman who is supposed to be my wife!”
“Is he? About the third of those things, I mean?” Sylvanus looked slowly up at Gervase’s motionless marble face. “I know I’m irrationally frightened because I nearly drowned, but there was something about the way your disagreeable cousin mentioned rowing across the river that made my goat hair creep.”
The faun’s meaning was borne in on a horrified Gervase. Without a bride, there could be no marriage. Anne’s life might be in danger!
Sylvanus rubbed a horn uneasily. “Well, if he does intend to try something—and I’m not saying he does—it won’t be until after dark tomorrow, so we’ll be able to keep an eye on things, eh? Besides, there is still tonight.” The faun gave a reassuring grin.
“Tonight?”
“You can call upon her again, and this time Penelope and I won’t disturb you.”
“She won’t receive me, and besides, the dragon housekeeper is there as well. As far as I can see, it’s an impossible situation.”
“Look, if you want to escape from what’s happening to you at the moment, you’ll find a way. You’d better, because I want to go home, and I want to see if my master will let me take Penelope with me. If she’ll come,” Sylvanus added.
Chapter Nineteen
Hugh rode swiftly back to the White Boar, to find out about the apparent visit of Mr. Charles Danby. At the inn the first thing he saw was the goat tethered on the grass verge opposite. It greeted him with another undulating bleat, and as he dismounted, Hugh’s mind raced back to those dreadful moments in the Italian grove. He shook the unpleasant memories aside as he sought the landlord, who was in the cellar, making a detailed record of his stock.
A shaft of slanting light found its way through a cobwebbed window, and the air was cool but dusty as he turned on hearing Hugh’s steps. “Good evening, Mr. Oadby—what brings you down here?”
Hugh glanced around a little nervously, for the shadows seemed to gather, and the goat called again outside. The landlord’s stolid Monmouthshire accent brought him back to the present. “How may I be of service, Mr. Oadby?”
“I’m curious about a recent guest here, a Mr. Charles Danby.”
The burly landlord looked blankly at h
im. “Mr. who?”
“Danby. A London lawyer on business at Llandower Castle.”
“I know of no London lawyer, sir.” The landlord picked up a dusty bottle and examined the label. “Someone has got it wrong, sir. If this Mr. Danby was in the neighborhood, he must have stayed elsewhere. He probably lodged locally, for there are many folks in these parts who take in guests. Too many, for they take my business,” he added resentfully, replacing the bottle.
“I’m told he stayed here.”
“Mr. Oadby, trade has been so unusually quiet of late that if a London lawyer had stayed, I’d remember. There was no one here of that name.”
“You’re quite sure about this?” Hugh pressed.
The landlord, who was already irritated with Hugh’s “sister” for inconveniently demanding a hot bath in her room, wasn’t prepared to keep repeating his answers. He drew himself up in a manner only too suggestive of his pugilistic past. “Are you questioning my truthfulness, Mr. Oadby?”
Hugh climbed down swiftly. “Er, no, of course not, it’s just... Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
The landlord smiled coolly. “Dinner will be in an hour, sir. I trust that will be in order for you and er, Miss Oadby?”
“Quite in order.”
As the landlord deliberately picked up another bottle to continue his task, Hugh turned angrily on his heel and left the cellar. He went straight up to Kitty, whom he found dressed only in a diaphanous cream muslin wrap, which she had deliberately left untied at the waist. She was anxious about his meeting with Anne and intended to make sure of her hold upon him.
But he was too preoccupied to notice as he took off his coat and flung it over a chair. He didn’t want to quarrel now, not when he had so much else on his mind. “Something’s wrong,” he said after a moment.
“Wrong? What do you mean? Doesn’t your Miss Willowby find you to her liking?”
“Oh, I promise you she finds me very much to her liking; indeed we got along famously.”
Kitty’s smile faded. “Really?” she said coolly.
Hugh didn’t notice. “She told me that Charles Danby has been to Llandower, and that he stayed here at the White Boar, but the landlord has never heard of him.”
“Neither have I. Who is Charles Danby?”
Hugh explained.
Kitty was mystified. “What does it matter? Danby clearly told her he was staying here, when in fact he was elsewhere. No doubt he was doing exactly what you are—dallying with a lady brought secretly with him.”
Hugh hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose it’s possible,” he conceded.
“More than possible, it’s highly probable,” Kitty said.
“But why didn’t Critchley mention sending him here?”
“Is it compulsory to keep you informed of everything?”
“No, but I would have thought... Oh, I don’t know, but I have an odd feeling about this.”
“Oh, forget it—besides, I want to know how you and Miss Primness went on. Is she pretty?”
“No.”
Kitty relaxed a little. “So she wasn’t to your liking?”
“You are the only one who is to my liking,” he said softly, his glance at last moving to her figure, so clearly visible through her muslin wrap.
“When will you see her next?” Kitty asked, moving a little closer.
“Tomorrow. It’s her birthday, and in her parents’ unfortunate absence, I am going on the river with her instead. It’s some sort of rustic family tradition, but I fear this will be the last time dear Anne enjoys it.” He told her his plan. “The housekeeper will think I am valiantly striving to save her, when all the time I will be holding my tiresome bride’s head under water.”
Kitty’s eyes shone with excitement as she came close enough to touch him. “I still can’t believe you really mean to do it,” she breathed.
“I must be rid of her if I am to make you my duchess,” he reminded her, stretching out a hand to touch one of her upturned nipples.
Slowly she discarded the wrap and put her arms around his waist. “So you and Miss Willowby got on, did you?” she whispered, moving her hips to and fro against his.
“Well enough,” he murmured, closing his eyes.
“As well as this?” She stretched up to put her lips to his.
He felt weak, and his concern about Charles Danby faded into oblivion as other emotions began to grip him. He cupped her full breasts in his hands, and she allowed him to caress her nipples for a moment before she drew away. “To the bed, I think,” she whispered, catching his hand and leading him across to the ancient four-poster, the blue hangings of which were faded on the side nearest the window.
Kitty watched as Hugh took off his clothes. He was more than ready for her, but she felt nothing as he took her. Her soft noises of delight were deceiving, for her gaze was upon the diadem, which she had left on a chair. She smiled. The Duchess of Wroxford would wear it at Almack’s.
As darkness approached, Sylvanus left the security of the temple, to which he had returned for a nap, and visited the stables to inquire of the horses which way to find the White Boar. Then he returned to the house, and listened at the door to the kitchens passage. He wanted to get Penelope so that they could slip away to the inn and search for the diadem as soon as Gervase had been brought to life for the night. The faun could hear Joseph lecturing Martin in the kitchens, because the unfortunate boy had cracked a windowpane earlier in the day. Mog and Jack sensed the faun’s presence and scratched frantically at the courtyard door in an effort to escape.
The faun was about to risk going into the passage when footsteps approached and Mrs. Jenkins swept past with a tray upon which stood an untouched cup of chocolate and an equally untouched scone filled with cream and strawberry preserves. The housekeeper placed the tray crossly on the kitchen table. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Martin, let those foolish animals out before they break the door down.”
As Martin got up to obey, Mrs. Jenkins surveyed the tray. “Well, now, wouldn’t you think Miss Anne would be pleased after what happened today? The new duke is as fine a gentleman as any young lady could wish, yet instead of thanking fate for sending Master Hugh instead of Master Gervase, she sits there as if all the troubles in the world were on her shoulders. Look at this tray. She hardly glanced at it.”
“I’ll have the scone, Mrs. J,” Martin offered hopefully.
Joseph was too quick for him. “Oh, no, you don’t my laddo. First come, first served, and I was on this earth before you.” There came the slight sound of a china plate sliding across a wooden surface, and in a few moments the sound of Joseph licking his fingers appreciatively. “By all the powers, Gwen Jenkins, you always did make a grand scone.”
“Thank you, I’m sure.” She sat down with a sigh. “Oh, I knew there’d be trouble from the moment I clapped eyes on him,” she muttered then.
“Clapped eyes on who, Mrs. J?” Martin asked curiously.
The housekeeper drew herself together. “Oh, no one. Pay no attention.”
Sylvanus gazed toward the arc of light from the kitchen. He knew to whom the housekeeper was referring, for that same gentleman was at this moment reposing in a casing of fine white marble in the rotunda. As silence descended on the room, the faun went softly toward the hall, then up the staircase as fast as he could. He hoped to pass Anne in the study again, but to his dismay, she was in the drawing room, reading by Penelope’s light.
At least she was trying to read, for she was so deep in thought that the volume of Waverley had lain open on her lap at the same page for half an hour now. She wore a long-sleeved primrose wool gown, and her curls were dressed up neatly, for she had no intention of being caught unprepared should Hugh decide to call again without warning. Not that she really expected him to; indeed if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t Hugh she anticipated might call, but Charles Danby. At least, deep inside she hoped he would, for she simply could not help herself where he was concerned.
She leaned her hea
d back wearily. Mrs. Jenkins was right to scold her, for Hugh was a vast improvement upon his late cousin, and any other bride making an arranged match with such a bridegroom would have been over the moon with relief. And Anne would have been too, if it weren’t for the continual intrusion of Charles Danby upon her thoughts.
She swallowed as conflicting emotions brought a lump in her throat. Maybe he’d obey the wish she’d expressed so vehemently when last they parted and would herald any future call in advance as demanded, but right now, when he filled her consciousness like the very air she breathed, she wished he would defy her. Her whole being ached to be in his arms, ached to submit to an attraction that was so fierce and consuming that if it hadn’t happened to her, she would never have believed it possible. Suddenly, she closed the book with a snap that made Sylvanus start in the shadows of the passage. Moping here wouldn’t do any good; what she needed was another breath of fresh air. It was dark now, but the moon was out and the riverbank beckoned.
Sylvanus pressed swiftly into the shadows as she set the book aside and hurried from the room. He lingered close to the staircase as she went up to the next floor, and then he saw her hurry down again with her plaid shawl around her shoulders. She was going out! In a moment the faun had scurried back to the drawing room, transformed Penelope, then grabbed her hand to hasten after Anne, who had already slipped secretly out into the courtyard from the entrance hall rather than the kitchen, in order not to face Mrs. Jenkins again. Prom the archway the faun and nymph watched Anne cross the grass to the jetty, where she lay back in one of the rowing boats to watch the stars through the willow fronds. Sylvanus led Penelope into the maze, and freed Gervase from the marble.
“You have a chance to get Anne alone. She has come outside on her own, and is at the jetty at this moment,” the faun explained hopping impatiently from one hoof to the other. He was anxious to get to the White Boar to see if he could ascertain whether Hugh had really brought the diadem with him, but felt obliged to stay until Gervase was ready. “Oh, do hurry with your dressing, for you may not have much time before she goes back inside again.”