Skylark

by Jo Beverley

  Thomas left and Laura opened her eyes. Despite everything, she even found herself smiling. “How typical of you, Stephen, to be giving orders in someone else’s house.”

  “Playing lord of creation. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  But what if he’d come to tear her bit of creation apart?

  A final act of revenge? No, she couldn’t imagine Stephen sinking so low. They had been friends once, good friends.

  He came to sit beside her on the sofa and she noted a new grace in him. He had grown into his height and strength, but that shouldn’t surprise her. They had met now and then over the past six years.

  He was in boots and leather breeches. Country wear, but London made, she noted. After all, they called him the Political Dandy. A riding crop lay with his hat and gloves on a table.

  He’d ridden here. From where? People rarely chose to ride long distances—off the hunting field, that was.

  His lips twitched. “As readable as ever, Laura. What am I doing here? I stopped by to speak to Caldfort about some Parliamentary matters.”

  She straightened and gathered her wits. “Yes, you said. But stopped by? Berkshire is hardly next door to Devon or London.”

  “A little out of the way. Am I unwelcome?”

  Yes. But she couldn’t say that.

  “Of course not. It’s only that I’m still shaken by the incident with Harry. I fear you’ve wasted a journey, however. I doubt Lord Caldfort will appear in Parliament again. He can hardly leave the house.” She lowered her voice. “He may not last long.”

  “Unfortunate. He’s always been a supporter of military reform, which is the issue in hand.”

  She tried to read his expression, but he’d always been skilled at concealing thoughts and feelings. Was the explanation of his presence that simple? No connection to her father-in-law’s distress? She distrusted coincidence, but she supposed it did happen.

  The tea arrived with the brandy decanter on the side. Stephen would have poured, but Laura insisted, even though the pot felt heavy in her still-unsteady hands. She stirred more sugar into her cup than she normally took, and let Stephen add some brandy. As soon as she sipped, her nerves began to calm and she smiled at him.

  “This is exactly the thing. You must have thought me demented.”

  “Just distressed. A threat to your son is explanation enough.”

  She froze with her cup halfway to her lips. “Threat?” His brows rose. “Possible poison is a threat, is it not?”

  She forced a laugh. “Yes, of course. It’s just that threat sounds deliberate, and of course it was not. An accident, that’s all.”

  She was babbling, so she occupied her mouth with tea again.

  When he didn’t say anything, she grimaced at him. “This has not been a good day, but there’s no mystery, so don’t turn your gimlet mind to it.”

  “You know the source of the tainted bun?”

  She should have known she wouldn’t deflect him.

  She gestured it away. “Oh, it probably wasn’t tainted at all. Children’s stomachs are upset by the slightest thing, including excitement. If I’m distressed, it’s that I fear I forced the emetic on Harry for no reason, and he’s wrung out, poor mite. If not, I’d take you up to meet him. So,” she said, forcing the conversation back to his affairs, “what journey brings you past Caldfort?”

  She thought he might reject the change of subject, but he relaxed. “I’ve been in Oxford—a neighboring county at least—and I’m on my way home.”

  That route would bring him close. Relief unsteadied her almost as much as fear had, but she still had to deal with him.

  Even in normal circumstances, Stephen’s arrival would be a strain. Today it was close to intolerable. How quickly could she speed him on his way? Not until he’d spoken with Lord Caldfort. She would arrange that now. . . .

  But then the clock chimed five.

  “So late?” The words unfortunately escaped her.

  He put down his cup and rose. “I’ve kept you with this idle chatter when you have a sick child. Forgive me. I’ll put up at the local inn and return tomorrow to talk to Caldfort.”

  She rose, too, and acted as she must. “Of course, you will stay the night here, and I’m sure Lord Caldfort will be happy to speak to you now if he is able. He misses involvement in the world’s affairs. I’ll go and see.”

  This time he made no attempt to stop her, and Laura could escape.

  She paused halfway across the hall, struck by a sickening new realization. Stephen did nothing without thought. He’d arrived here late in the day and then, yes, he had kept her talking when she had a sick child in the nursery. He’d made an invitation to stay impossible to avoid.

  He and she had avoided each other for six years. He would never come to her home for a trivial purpose. Whatever the purpose was, however, she could see no way to prevent it.

  She carried on to Lord Caldfort’s study and watched his reaction to news of the guest. Pure delight. She took Stephen to him and would have loved to linger and find out more, but Lord Caldfort would never stand for that.

  In the hall again, she shrugged. If a sword was to fall on the Gardeyne family, it would fall. She summoned Mrs. Moorside and gave instructions for the preparation of a room.

  “And tell Cook there’ll be one extra for dinner. A gentleman likely to eat more than the rest of us together.”

  Despite Stephen’s slim build, he’d always had a healthy appetite, especially after riding. She remembered—

  She blocked that. “Oh, and as there’s no sign of a valet, tell King to be ready to assist Sir Stephen if needed.”

  King was Lord Caldfort’s man and might enjoy attending to a man of fashion.

  Laura wanted to check on Harry, but she took a moment to be sure that she’d done all that was necessary. There was one more task. She went to Lady Caldfort’s room to inform her that they had a guest. Laura had taken over the running of the house, but she tried not to ignore the older woman.

  “A young man?” Lady Caldfort asked, turning to face Laura, brandishing a beetle on a pin.

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Good. You should marry again. Get away from here.”

  Lady Caldfort turned back to her work and Laura left, wondering if that was a warning, but no one was less likely than her mother-in-law to know of secret plans. After all, she was clearly blind to the fact that Laura was pinned here like a beetle in a box.

  Now, thank heavens, she could go up to the nursery. When she saw how much Harry was recovered, most of the knot of tension in her unraveled. He was awake from his nap and demanding his supper. Laura checked again for fever or pain, but no one would guess he’d been so unwell.

  “Very well, but just soup with bread in it. And then some stewed apples and cream if you feel like them.”

  His bright eyes said he did. She played with him a while, but couldn’t stay with him all evening when they had a guest and Harry was clearly recovered. She kissed his brow and went downstairs, but her mind wouldn’t stop circling the events of the day.

  Had she imagined Lord Caldfort’s distress?

  Had that bun really been poisoned, or had that been her own unbalanced interpretation?

  Was Stephen’s arrival an innocent coincidence?

  One shock after another after another had caused a turmoil inside her that was almost as violent as the one caused in Harry by that bun. She could no longer tell truth from fiction.

  She entered her boudoir and leaned back against the door, trying to reason away her fears.

  Lord Caldfort’s problem probably had nothing to do with her.

  If Jack wanted Harry dead, why try such a clumsy way when better occasions would turn up in time? Boys will be boys, and in a few years Harry would be climbing trees, boating on the river, learning to ride, and even to jump fences. A fatal accident could literally be child’s play.

  As to Stephen’s arrival, at least it must mean that he’d put old ra
ncor aside. It might be time for her to forgive and forget, too. They were close to strangers now.

  Laura’s maid bustled in. “With a guest for dinner, ma’am, you need to change.”

  “Not for Sir Stephen, Catherine. We’re old . . .” Laura sought the right word and in the end settled on “acquaintances.”

  “And that dress is likely older, ma’am! I only chose it because I thought you might need to do more sick-room duty.”

  Laura looked down and saw that she was indeed in one of her oldest, simplest dresses. It had been a favorite once and that was probably why she’d kept it, but only for the messiest household tasks.

  Not one she’d have chosen for greeting any guests, let alone Stephen.

  She spread the skirt. “You’d never know, but it was lovely once. A leaf-green stripe on white.” And now the stripes were faded like tired leaves, the white yellowed. “I do believe this dates from before my marriage.”

  Before her marriage, indeed.

  She’d been wearing this gown—the green fresh, the white pure—when Stephen had proposed.

  Had he recognized it? What had he thought?

  Chapter 7

  “Come along, do, ma’am, or you’ll be late!”

  Laura went into her bedchamber but she couldn’t stop memories breaking through the barriers she’d erected around them.

  A June picnic at Ancross, hosted by Stephen’s parents up on the hill that was crowned by the ruin of ancient Ancross Castle. Her whole family there and most of Stephen’s, along with Hal and his hosts, the Oxholmes, and some other local families.

  Most of the party had still been eating in a sheltered, sunny spot, but she, Charlotte, and Stephen had taken Hal on a tour of the ruins.

  Charlotte had teased Hal to help her climb the crumbling stone steps to the tower. Had Charlotte been jealous that such an eligible gentleman had asked for Laura’s hand? Laura had never considered that before, but it was probably the case.

  She and Stephen had dallied on the ground. The ruins were familiar and held no great interest anymore, and perhaps she’d been thinking that she didn’t want to risk her lovely new gown in the climb.

  But they’d stopped while the other two had gone on.

  Why . . . ?

  Because they’d been caught by the song of a skylark.

  It was as if she could hear the beautiful tune now. They were not so common around lush Caldfort, so it was a sound she associated with her home.

  The bird had shot up not far from their feet, perhaps because they’d come too close to its nest. As skylarks do, it had soared up, singing to distract them, climbing and climbing. There was only one way to watch a skylark, so they’d sunk to the ground and lain back, eyes on the pristine blue sky as the bird became a dot too small to distinguish.

  As presented by her memory, it had been one of those perfect moments when nature seems heavenly, with no hint of predators, blight, or storms.

  Once a skylark was out of sight, the only thing to do was to wait for it to descend in the mad plunge that always seemed suicidal but never was.

  She had never seen the bird return.

  Stephen had sat up, then pulled her up to sitting. Then he’d asked her to change her mind, to marry him, not Hal. To wait a few years until he finished his legal studies . . .

  Catherine began to undo buttons, pulling Laura out of the past. She swallowed and managed not to shudder.

  Stephen could not possibly think she’d worn this dress to torment him. Coincidence again, which meant his arrival here was the same, and there was no particular significance to it. She had only to survive dinner. Tomorrow he would leave.

  She washed, then put on her one silk mourning dress. A dull weave, as was appropriate, and an equally dull lilac color. She was suddenly desperately tired of these mourning shades. Even the bilious old dress was preferable.

  For a moment she considered her wardrobe of rich colors, but then put that aside. She would give Hal his full twelve-month due, and she certainly could not feed Lady Caldfort’s twisted mind by appearing for dinner in fine feathers. Heaven knows what she would say.

  She could wear pearls instead of jet and steel, however, and so she did so. That raised her spirits a little, but the lilac-trimmed cap that matched the gown made them plummet. Purple shades had never suited her, but she’d given the matter no thought before tonight.

  She glanced at the clock. She must go down to make sure all was in order for a guest. Not too soon, however. She always calculated her arrival in Lord Caldfort’s study so that she would have to spend as little time as possible there before dinner was announced.

  On the other hand, she suddenly thought being early might provide an opportunity to look for the cause of Lord Caldfort’s distress. He always made the laborious journey across to his bedchamber to change, and he’d take especial care for a guest. If she hurried down now, the room might be empty and she could . . .

  What?

  Poke around in the desk? Read Lord Caldfort’s correspondence? The very idea appalled her, but she steeled herself. She’d break into the Tower of London if it was necessary to protect Harry.

  She glanced at the clock and hurried downstairs. The study door was open, as it always was from the time Lord Caldfort went to his bedchamber until they went in to dinner. She braced herself, feeling as if her wicked intent must be obvious, and walked in. Her struggle was for nothing. Lord Caldfort was there, in his chair by the fire.

  He scowled at her. “Isn’t it time for you to be in colors? That tired old thing you had on earlier was more cheerful than that.”

  How very peculiar that he was echoing her own earlier thoughts. It was hardly sympathy, however. He was complaining as usual, which was why she always avoided these moments.

  “It is not yet a year, sir.”

  “Damn near enough. If I don’t care, why should you?”

  She met his pouched eyes. “I will give Hal his due.” Before he could jab at her anymore she asked, “How are you, sir? I hope the day’s alarms haven’t weakened you.”

  “Alarms?” He stiffened as if he’d try to rise from his chair. “There’s been more than one? And I haven’t been told?”

  “An exaggeration,” she said quickly. “Sir Stephen’s arrival was not an alarm, but it was unexpected.”

  He sank back down. “That it was. Pack of trouble, guests are, but he’s a sensible man, for a youngster. Old friend of your family, I gather.”

  She was surprised Stephen had mentioned it. “His family estate lies three miles from Merrymead, yes. And, of course, he’s member for our local town, Barham.”

  They talked of her home area without much interest on either side until Stephen and Lady Caldfort came in together. Not arm in arm, Laura noted, though she was sure Stephen had offered.

  Lady Caldfort halted near the door to wait in her usual impatient silence, but at least she seemed willing to wait. Stephen shrugged slightly and came forward to converse with Lord Caldfort.

  Since they spoke of military pensions, Laura seized the chance to stroll about the modest, book-lined room. She looked for letters, though she didn’t expect to find any lying out in the open. More to the point, she studied the desk. Though shocked at herself, she faced the fact that she was going to try to search it in order to read the letters that had arrived today.

  The inlaid, walnut, bowfront desk had seven drawers, three in each pedestal and one in the center. All had brass lock plates, and none had a key sitting in it. She assumed the desk would follow the normal pattern and one key would fit all the locks, but without that one key she would be at a loss. She could hardly force open the drawers. It would leave marks.

  She looked casually over the top of the desk. No key was obvious. There were two small boxes—one of inlaid wood and another carved from onyx—but she couldn’t poke around in them. Not now, at least.

  Later tonight, when the house was quiet, she was going to have to return here and do just that.

  It was possible t
hat Lord Caldfort kept the key on him, but he frequently complained that getting anything out of his pockets with his swollen hands was a “plaguey nuisance.” She strolled back to his side and confirmed at a glance that he didn’t wear a watch chain or any fobs where a key could be hung.

  He might give the key to his valet for safekeeping, but why? She didn’t think he kept anything of value in the desk, and having to send for King to lock and unlock would amount to another plaguey nuisance. So where would it be . . . ?

  “Laura?”

  She started and found Lord Caldfort standing, braced by a hand on his chair and another on his cane.

  “We are summoned to table,” Stephen said, extending his arm.

  She blushed as she took it, and they followed Lord and Lady Caldfort. For once, Lady Caldfort was keeping pace with her husband’s slow progress.

  Laura’s blush wasn’t just embarrassment at her distraction. There had been a question in Stephen’s eye and she didn’t want him alerted to mysteries. To distract him, she said, “I’ve been trying to remember when we last met. Some social occasion in London. A glittering one.”

  “The Arden wedding ball.”

  “Oh, yes!” She in red; he looking splendid in dark evening clothes. “The social event of last year.”

  “And a successful one. The Ardens are now blessed with a son.”

  “It was in all the papers. I gather the christening was magnificent, too.”

  “But of course. The next heir to Belcraven. Though Beth Arden seems determined to raise the child in as normal a manner as possible for a future duke.”

  She glanced at him, surprised that he seemed intimate with such an aristocratic family when his circle was more that of the political reformers. But then she remembered.

  “The Rogues,” she said. “Arden is one of the Company of Rogues, your group of friends at Harrow. You’re all still close?”

  Too late, she recognized danger. Talking of youthful matters, of more intimate days, felt like stepping near the edge of an unreliable cliff.

  “Did I really bore you with stories of them that much?” he asked wryly. “But yes, Arden is a Rogue, and we keep in touch.”