* * * *
"Thank goodness you're always in a pleasant mood, Master Radcliffe," Lady Honoria exclaimed, rushing the last few steps and looking back over her shoulder. "I had to get out of the house and away from all the shouting. It has been quite hideous, and I cannot even visit mama, since she has turned her back upon me."
He soon learned that the marchioness had been arguing all evening and into the next morning with her cousin, who had announced his recent marriage— an undertaking made without her permission or knowledge. Joss had left the house last night before this surprise was unveiled so he'd been spared the furor that followed.
"Surely Master Weston is old enough to choose his own bride," he muttered.
"But Minty thinks everybody with the slightest connection to her ought to heed her wisdom. Hugo Weston relies on her so much for financial assistance that he falls under her control more than most of us, and he cannot seem to get away from it, because he does not manage his money well. Every so often he comes here seeking her help. He must surely know she will cut him off now that he has married against her wishes. I must say, he went up in my estimation for being brave enough to marry a woman of his own choice."
Not terribly interested in the affairs of Minty or her annoying cousin, Joss got on with his work, his mind returning constantly to last night in the forest clearing and all the things he'd learned. The more he thought of it, the more certain he was that Persey couldn't truly believe he was holding her to a bribe when he took her into the trees. Deep inside she must have known what he felt. For some reason she simply didn't want to know it. She was happiest thinking him a scoundrel with wicked motives.
He shook his head and cursed. For as long as he lived he would never understand women. After last night he thought his eyes would be open, but they were more clouded and confused than ever.
"Hugo's wife arrives today, which should be amusing," said Honoria. "I cannot wait to see what she is like."
Joss set down his shovel and looked at her. "You ought to apologize to your mama."
Startled, she stopped fussing with her hat ribbons. "For what, pray tell?"
"I saw you ignore her twice when she tried to speak to you last night, and it hurt her feelings. You know she loves and cares about you."
"Not more than her new company!"
He sighed. "She does not have a lover. I suspect the marchioness put that thought into your head, but that is not why your mama advised you to visit her less often. I probably shouldn't tell you this, but since she cannot...and I do not like to see her hurt...I must tell you that your brother has asked her to keep a greater distance. To please the marchioness."
He had not intended to say anything about it, for it had not then been any of his business, but now it was. He had entangled himself in Persey's life, she was special to him, and he would defend her with everything in his power. Her happiness meant more to him than anything— more even than the possibility of facing her anger later when she knew he'd told Honoria the truth.
"She has kept the company of those gentlemen who visit the lodge just for you, Lady Honoria. She hoped to help you find a suitor who pleased you, and she knew your brother had failed in that task. So you see, she does care and almost everything she does is for you."
The girl was red-faced now, blinking and sullen.
"You may take my advice or leave it, Honoria, but I hope we are friends. You are a mature young lady who knows her own mind and can distinguish right from wrong. I trust you will know what is best, now that you have the facts of the matter."
Too many folk treated Lady Honoria Foyle like a child still; that was the problem. It was time they all stopped trying to fit her into a mould and trusted her to make her own decisions. They all schemed behind her back and kept things from her, which, in his opinion, was a mistake. She was clearly old enough to know her own mind and did not require sheltering.
He added, "Sometimes people keep secrets because they think it's for another person's benefit not to know, but they forget that not knowing can make that person guess for themselves. Which is usually much worse. I'm a firm believer in honesty as the best policy."
Lady Honoria appeared to be thinking about this, looking over toward her stepmother's house. Then she turned to him again. "You like her, don't you?"
"I do. Despite all the warnings." He gave a rueful grin. "I like her very much. Probably far more than I should for my own sanity."
She put her head on one side. "You're a peculiar fellow, but so is she. And she's in love with you too."
Joss paused in the motion of rolling down his shirt sleeves. "What?"
"You won't hurt my mama, will you?"
"Never."
Slowly she nodded. "Good. Then I suppose you have my blessing."
He wanted to laugh, although she remained somber. "How do you know she's in love with me?"
"Because although she once tried her luck as an actress, she was never a very good one."
He squinted. "She was an actress?"
"That's one of the stories she tells about her past. I'm never quite sure whether to believe it, of course. But she definitely cannot act. That much is certain. I did not realize how very bad she was at it until you came to Holbrooke."
"Ah. I see." His heart thumped to a livelier beat, but he must restrain it. This was, after all, Lady Honoria's opinion. Not necessarily fact.
Until he heard it from Persey's lips he would never be sure. Just his luck to fall in love with a notorious fibber.
* * * *
Persey was pitting cherries at the kitchen table, when she looked up to see Honoria standing in the open door through to the mudroom.
Appearing contrite, the girl came into the kitchen, holding her bonnet by the ribbons. "There is a great deal of noise at the house today, and they're all much too busy to worry about where I am." She paused. "Oh. Are you making a pie?"
"Yes. The cherries are in abundance this year."
Honoria came to the table and set her hat down. "I could help...mama."
What had prompted this change, she wondered. Last night the girl refused to look at her or answer her when she spoke. Without a word, Persey pushed the bowl of cherries closer to her and nodded at her to sit.
Suddenly the girl blurted, "Forgive me, mama. I know you want the best for me, but I don't want to be married. Not for a long time yet. Perhaps I never shall. But I am appreciative of your efforts."
Sensing this was not all, Persey waited patiently and went on pitting the cherries.
"And I am sorry that I was rude to you, mama. I should not expect to have your time all to myself. I was being selfish."
"You are quite forgiven, Honoria. Speak no more about it."
"But I ought to be punished."
"Will that make you feel better?"
The girl considered. "Probably not." She tossed a cherry into her mouth and chewed.
"It is enough that you apologized. Sometimes that is a harsher undertaking than any punishment. Especially when one suffers from too much pride." She thought of Joss and how wounded he was because she'd mistaken his intentions.
"If you leave me, I shan't make a fuss," the girl said glumly. "I've been fortunate to have you at all, and you must enjoy your own life too. You are still young."
"Am I?" she muttered wryly. "I don't feel it."
Honoria was studying her intently. "You look it today, mama. There is a very youthful bloom to your cheeks."
She said nothing, but waved a hand dismissively.
The girl spat a pip into her palm. "And... there's a bruise on your neck."
"Bruise? What bruise?" But her hand had flown up to cover it at once, proving she knew of its existence and where exactly that mark had been left upon her.
Honoria pursed her lips.
"Ah yes, I believe the pearls I wore last night...the clasp pinches."
"I don't remember you wearing pearls last night."
"The night before then."
A sudden clatter of hoo
ves and rumble of wheels passing, caused Honoria to leap up and look out of the kitchen window. "Oh, it must be Hugo's bride."
Curious, despite the fact that she ought to show more ladylike self-control, Persey got up to join her stepdaughter.
The cart passing belonged to one of the local farmers, which suggested Hugo's new wife had arrived in the village with the post and sought transportation for herself the rest of the way to Holbrooke.
"How typical of Hugo not to make provision for his bride," Honoria exclaimed. "He might have sent Albert's carriage to collect her. How thoughtless he is!"
There was a flash of colorful silk and through the open window her laughter gently trickled.
"I must get back to the house, mama. I wouldn't want to miss anything."
"No. Quite."
"Minty is sure to explode into a thousand pieces."
Persey laid a hand on her arm. "Do treat your brother's wife with as much sympathy as you can, Honoria. I know she makes it difficult, but Albert strives for peace and if you love your brother, as I'm sure you do, you will be tolerant of his wife, for his sake. I know I shall try to be more understanding myself."
"But she has always been so unkind to you, mama."
"And now I must forgive her. Holding grudges makes one's heart bitter."
Honoria frowned. "What has got into you, mama?"
It was who, not what, she mused.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The new Mistress Weston caused every bit the expected stir at Holbrooke. By that first evening news had already filtered down to the lodge through the servants' chatter, and Persey learned that Katherine Weston was a woman of fashion and airs to rival Minty's. She was no retiring violet that might be bullied and pushed about, but a blousy, over-blown rose, just as shameless and needful of attention as Hugo. A woman unapologetic about her lowly origins.
Minty must have been beside herself.
"Mistress Lyne has prepared dinner for you, madam," said Shawcross, coming to find her in the parlor and ushering out the gossiping Nell. "Shall I—"
"Oh, thank you, Shawcross, but I am going out."
"Going out, madam? But you did not say."
"No, I only just decided. Could you be a dear and pack my cherry pie in a basket? Please enjoy Mistress Lyne's supper yourselves and tell her I'm sorry, but a matter of some urgency has arisen."
"Very good, madam. And shall I send Ruth upstairs to help you dress?"
She thought for a moment, looked down at her simple day gown, and then shook her head. "No. This dress will do."
He looked startled but gave his usual bow and hurried out to do as she asked.
* * * *
The fire crackled merrily under the pot of rabbit stew.
"It's the herbs, you see, sir," said Bill Smith was built like a bulldog, short, stout and square. Looking at him, one would never guess the finesse and artistry with which he could conjure a good meal for ten men out of two rabbits, some carrots and a potato. "The herbs make all the difference. Too many can overpower the sauce. Too little leaves it bland."
Joss smiled. "It certainly smells delicious." Unfortunately he did not have much appetite tonight. After the day's work he should have been ravenous, but he felt oddly ambivalent about that rabbit stew.
He had no sighting of Persey all day, not since he left her in the glade that morning. Was that why he felt no enthusiasm to eat? It was pitiful that one stubborn, long-legged wench could—
Suddenly there she was, strolling toward the campfire with a basket in her arms. She was alone, dressed in that simple dark blue gown she'd worn the first day they met, but with no pinafore over it. Her hair was pinned up in a simple knot. No hat. No jewelry. No gloves.
She came to him like a housemaid bearing something her mistress might have sent for the workers.
Firelight fluttered across her face as she drew near and saw him standing there.
"Master Radcliffe."
"Lady Holbrooke."
Bill Smith almost dropped his ladle. "Your ladyship?"
"Good evening to you, sir. I hope you do not mind that I join you for supper, but your master did invite me once and tonight I have no other engagement."
"I— well, madam, I'm sure you are welcome, though 'tis but a humble stew." The fellow gave an awkward bow, the ladle swinging from his big fist. Then he looked at Joss. "The lady is welcome, is she not, sir?"
"I brought a peace offering," she said, holding out her basket. "Cherry pie. Baked by my own hands using cherries from my garden."
He looked down at it. Finally he felt a surge of hunger, despite the fact that the crust looked slightly burned at the edges. Since he had said nothing, Bill took the pie and thanked her profusely.
She took hold of Joss's sleeve. "Might I have a word, Master Radcliffe? If you are not too busy."
So he went with her to walk a short way along the lakeside.
"You've been working very hard, sir."
He sniffed, set his knuckles on his hips.
"I...I like what you've done to Holbrooke."
Oh, that must have cost her, he mused.
"Do you like cherries?" she asked, fidgeting with the pleats of her gown, not quite meeting his eye, but letting her gaze wander restlessly across his chest and shoulders. "I was not sure that you would, but I had so many...an abundance."
He waited, letting his hands drop to his sides, watching her face in the starlight.
"And I didn't want to come out here empty-handed. You did invite me to supper once," she added, her voice faltering. "When you were not angry with me."
She seemed to have run out of words, so he took her bare hands to stop them fidgeting. How soft her skin was. He looked at her pale, elegant fingers against his larger, rougher, sun-browned stumps and felt an overwhelming need to never let go of her hands again. "So you finally admit you like what I've done here, Lady Holbrooke."
"Yes. I like it very much. You're immensely talented. As everybody says."
He had trouble holding his smile back. "You haven't seen my best work yet."
"Really?" Her eyes widened and she licked her lips. "There is better to come? I cannot imagine—"
"I love you, woman. Do you believe me yet?"
"But you know what I am." It was little more than a whisper. "You know what I did all those years ago. I am not lovable. I can't be loveable to anybody who knows the truth."
He kissed her fingers, warming them gently. "That you were an orphaned maid, abused and beaten?"
Her lips shone damply where she'd just passed the tip of her tongue over them. "I poisoned that old woman with the berries of deadly nightshade and because of the hemlock in his drink, Doctor Woodruffe tumbled down the stairs and died." Briefly her eyelids lowered and then her lashes fanned upward again letting the reflected starlight dance there. "I am a wicked sinner and you—"
"That old letch would have met with a sorry end sooner or later, and it was his own gluttony that killed him, not you. As for Dame Glossop, you were not responsible for her death. Do you still think that? I thought by now you would have known. Surely Jasper told you the truth."
A frown gathered her brows together as she gazed up at him, bewildered. "What do you know of it?"
"I found that old witch slumbering in her chair before she'd eaten even one of those berries. I tipped them out, because I feared you would be accused, if anything happened to her."
"You...tipped the berries out?"
He nodded. "Of course, later I learned that she was not sleeping, as I thought. She was dead already. Her rotten old heart must have given out. But I know she didn't eat those berries, because I threw them in the fire. It wasn't you that killed her, Meg. It was God himself that brought vengeance on that old hag. And not before time."
* * * *
She could scarce believe her ears. Gradually that heavy mantle of guilt, borne across her shoulders for twenty years, began to peel away. As if his words were little birds that flew down and picked away the thorns and thi
stles from which the cloth was woven. Holes appeared, then threadbare patches, but underneath her skin was scratched and bloody. Wounds that must take time to heal, no doubt.
"I left the bowl there," he added. "Being only eight I didn't think what I was doing. Didn't think you'd still be blamed once they found the empty bowl. I only thought of removing the berries, but I told Jasper what had happened and he promised to clear your name. Nobody listened to a little wretch like me, but to him they would pay heed. Steady, even-tempered, reliable Jasper would save you."
So that was why Jasper had never seemed to pay attention to the rumors about her. She sank to the grass and a moment later Joss followed her down. "But all the gossip," she murmured. "Everybody suspected I'd done it, and he said nothing, not even to me."
"I'm sorry. I thought he told you the truth at least. That great, stupid oaf! Knowing how you enjoyed those gory stories and scaring folk, I assumed you did not care what was said about you. I always thought you were daring and brave. Fearless." He leaned over to touch her face. "My poor, sweet Meg. All this time you lived thinking you were to blame. I never got the chance to tell you myself," he gave a shy smile, "you were always intent on drowning me in the river whenever I came too close."
Her heart beat was slow, cautious. Was she still breathing? She must be, but she couldn't feel it.
"I wonder why Jasper never told you."
She thought. Shook her head. "We never spoke of what happened. We never spoke of anything except his plans."
"Perhaps if he told you that I'd tipped out the berries he'd lose you. While you had that cloud hanging over you he had control, I suppose. He always liked things in their place."
"Or he was waiting until my arrest and then he could step in and save me. Be the hero. Without the bravery."
His fingertips rasped over his unshaven cheek, as he looked away, his jaw tight and angry. "Today I thought you worried I would expose the truth about your humble origins in that village. But you feared much worse than that. I didn't realize." He leaned closer and kissed her tenderly on the lips.
His men might have seen and he didn't care. Neither did she at that moment. There was only one thought in her head.
The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg Page 25