The basket hit the ground with a thud. Hal leapt onto the stage, swept the fellow aside, and grasped Tia by both hands. “Come away now,” he hissed. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“No.” She pulled him toward her in time with the music, then pushed him away again. “You are making a spectacle of both of us. Now dance. I’ll tell you the steps—if I can remember them.”
This was intolerable. But people had blocked him in on every side, so he had no alternative but to comply.
Never taking his eyes off her, he worked through the measure—and was bumped into and had his toes trodden on. His dignity was truly shattered when a large woman wearing an appalling bonnet lost her balance and collapsed into his arms.
Tia, damn her, laughed. As did Polly, the woman, and everyone else who noticed. When he glanced around, he discovered lots of people were losing their balance, making mistakes and guffawing about it. Clearly, dignity had no meaning at a dance at a rural fair.
He thought about the chilly, formal affairs he’d attended in the ballrooms of the ton, the multitudinous rules, and interminable etiquette—and his mouth twitched. There were no such rules here, and everyone was enjoying being liberated. He was relishing holding Tia about the waist and swinging her around when the music stopped.
They came to a halt, breathless and grinning at each other.
“Papa? Will you dance with me now?”
He cast Tia a horrified look.
She avoided his gaze. “I’d better rescue our basket or the sweets and toys will be gone.”
“Traitor,” he murmured after her before taking his daughter’s outspread hands and rejoining the set, struggling to mask his chagrin. But Polly was thoroughly enjoying herself, particularly because the difference in their heights meant he often had to propel her through the air, making her squeal in delight.
In his daughter’s face, he could see what Mary must have been like when she was a child, full of joy and optimism, completely unaware she would meet an early and unexpected end. The familiar pain of loss and guilt clawed at his chest, but with every sinew of his being, he fought against them, for the sake of his child, for the sake of the lovely young woman observing them from the edge of the stage.
Someone tripped and cannoned into someone else, and for a moment the dance was in uproar and people burst into laughter as they collided with each other, turned the wrong way, and struggled to right themselves.
A small, breathless voice piped up, “I like it when you look like that, Papa.”
“Am I looking happy? I shall cease this instant. It is most unbecoming for a gentleman of my status to look cheerful in a place such as this.”
“No, I know you’re joking with me.” She poked him. “No, promenade right, Papa, promenade right.”
Finally, the torment ended, and he was able to rejoin Tia. He raised an eyebrow, daring her to laugh at him.
Instead, he surprised an expression on her face that was not amusement. Were her brown eyes moist?
“Is there something wrong, Miss Wyndham?”
“No, no, not at all. I think we should go home now before Polly becomes tired and disagreeable.” What was that odd catch in her voice?
“Is she as disagreeable as me?” he asked, hoping to restore Tia to her normal, playful self.
“No, sir. Impossible.”
Excellent, an insult. Her good humor had returned. He hadn’t liked the other expression—it reeked of despair and loneliness. What had rendered her thus at such a jovial time? Had she been reminded of the dismal days in Selbury Poorhouse?
They should leave, lest they all become tired and maudlin.
He held out his arm, expecting to be given the basket to carry, but instead found Tia had wrapped her hand about his elbow. It was a thrill to have her so close to him again.
He held out his other hand to relieve her of the basket, but suddenly that was occupied as well, by a smaller, decidedly sticky, hand. Polly grinned up at him winsomely, so he gripped her firmly, pressed Tia’s hand against his ribs, and escorted them through the crowd.
Was this what it was like to be part of a genuine, loving family? Or was it only a fleeting moment, a memory to be treasured but not repeated? If only he could be sure he held Tia’s heart. If only he knew whether or not Polly could come to love her papa.
Yet, if he unlocked his heart, fully opened it to them both, wouldn’t he be opening himself up to more pain?
Chapter 30
Being in love was a hard journey to make if one didn’t know how the object of one’s love felt. When Tia saw Hal unbend toward Polly at the fair, she knew she was well and truly smitten.
But what was supposed to happen now?
She wanted to spend every waking moment with him, to converse and spar with him, to bask in the glory of his smile—and to have him gaze at her the way he had when they’d made love.
It was madness, of course. How could she have fallen in love with someone she barely knew, who kept so many secrets from her, who was irascible and selfish, not to mention far above her touch? She longed for the company of Lucy, or any of her childhood friends. But the others had all drifted away when the Wyndhams were faced with penury.
How fickle the world could be. Tia was beginning to appreciate why Hal had decided to remove himself from it.
The only person she could ask about his feelings and intentions was Hal himself—the one person she had not the courage to ask, for fear of being rejected. How would she cope?
Maybe he did care for her in more than a physical way. But if he wasn’t ready to disclose the fact, she’d best be patient. He was a complex man, and she didn’t want to risk losing him by doing the wrong thing.
Consequently, if she wasn’t going to go mad with frustration and uncertainty, she must find some diversion. An activity of benefit to Polly would do very well.
Having come up with what she considered a masterful plan, she went in search of Mama to see what she thought.
“An afternoon of tea and croquet?” Mama put down her embroidery and beamed broadly. “What a splendid idea. But do you think Henry will agree?”
“Surely he can’t object to a handful of children and their nurses playing croquet on the lawn for a couple of hours? Mrs. Dunne positively danced on the spot when I mentioned the idea—I think she’d welcome the challenge of having more than the four of us to care for.”
Her mother’s eyes sparkled. “Had you better talk to the head gardener to make sure the grass is nice and short and the lawn rolled? We’ll need some cards made up for the invitations. How will you know whom to invite?”
“Therein lies the challenge. But I’m sure if we ask the older servants, they’ll be able to identify those children with whom Polly associated before her mama died.”
“What about the village children? It would be as good as a fête for them.”
“I fear Hal might draw the line at that.” Tia wandered across to the window and peered out at the balmy July evening. There was a certain magic in the air this time of year when the days were so long, each sunset beautiful and prolonged. Purple clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon, perhaps a sign of rain heading their way. She wondered where Hal was now, and whatê he was doing.
“Why?” Mama persisted, breaking Tia’s train of thought. “He was always a champion of the poor. I can’t see why he’d object to helping those on his own threshold. When will you put the scheme to him? Or should I do it?”
“It’s quite late. He may be lingering at his supper or taking a glass of port wine before he retires.”
“I wonder why he won’t come down and dine with us? He can bear our company at breakfast now, and even luncheon on occasion—but dinner, never.”
“Perhaps the dining room holds some unpleasant memories,” Tia suggested, hal
f-seriously. “Or mayhap Hal turns into a were-beast after dark and wishes not to be seen.”
Mama chuckled. “It would explain a good deal, would it not? Perhaps you shouldn’t disturb him after all.”
The long shadows outside now merged as the sun dipped behind the clouds, making it harder to see. Tia smiled and turned away from the window. “I’m sure I can find something made from iron for protection—or is it silver I need? I can take a fork from the dining room canteen.”
“Better safe than sorry, my dear. Shall I await your return, in case you come to harm, and I need to send out the hue and cry?”
“No, don’t wait up. I’ll be quite safe. Who knows, Hal and I may even engage in a normal conversation.”
Not that any conversation would be normal now, after what had passed between them. There would always be an undercurrent.
Closing the door behind her, she set off for Hal’s side of the house and knocked softly on the door of his study.
No response. She worked her way along the darkened corridor, tapping gently at every door, even his bedchamber, but there was no sound. He had either retired early and was already fast asleep, or . . . Could he be back in the folly again? She thought she’d managed to distract him from whatever it was he got up to in there.
She screwed up her courage and made for the stairwell at the end of the passageway. There was one lantern burning in a niche at the top of the stairs, so she took it to light her way down into the shadowy cloisters.
Once again, she experienced unease, the idea of medieval specters made all the more a reality by the eerie way the light bounced off the grotesque and grinning heads on the roof bosses. She wished she hadn’t imagined Hal turning into a werewolf—for here, islanded by impenetrable darkness and ancient strangeness, she could almost believe it possible.
She darted across to the archway and out onto the lawn.
There was light in the folly. It could only be Hal, surely?
Tia hesitated. By moving across the grass, heralded by her tiny pool of light, she would announce her presence and her vulnerability to all the night things that were abroad. She would also risk Hal’s wrath by seeking him out at the folly.
A bat flitted past her head and slanted in beneath the archway. The trees soughed in the gentle night breeze and shivers ran across her skin, even though it was mild.
No, she couldn’t let her courage fail her now. What kind of mother would she make for Polly if she was afraid of the dark?
A mother to Polly? Now from where had that thought sprung?
Don’t get distracted, Tia. Lifting her head and her lantern high, she strode across the lawn toward the folly, hastened up the steps, and knocked heavily on the door. Next, she put her back against it and turned to face the night, to ensure nothing evil or untoward had sneaked across the grass in her wake.
For some moments she stood there, afraid she’d get no answer. Then, to her relief, she heard the door open behind her and turned at Hal’s surprised voice. “Tia? Whatever are you doing here?”
“I’m so glad you answered. I was afraid you wouldn’t open the door.”
“Afraid?”
“I’m sure someone or something was watching me as I came across here.”
“Foolish girl. No one’s there.”
It was a relief to hear the comfort in his tone, but he didn’t invite her into the folly. Instead, in a notably obvious fashion, he pulled the door shut behind him, took the key from around his neck, and locked it.
“What do you want?” There was no anger in his voice. Hopefully, a positive sign, but clearly the folly remained forbidden territory.
Before she could respond, he took her hand. “I’ll walk back to the house with you if you wish, but I’m sure you’re not being watched. The dogs would have made a ruckus if there were an intruder. They have extremely good noses and know exactly who should be about and who should not.”
Of course—she was being ridiculous. She took a deep breath, tried to steady her heartbeat . . . and failed. Hal had her hand captive in his. Did the wretched man have no idea what his touch was doing to her? A tremor of fear became a quiver of desire.
“Has something happened, my sweet?” His voice was soft.
She swallowed hard and forced her thoughts back into their proper channel. “I wanted to ask your permission for something. Can we descend before we talk?” Her knees had already weakened, a considerable problem on the steep, gritty stairway.
“Certainly. Shall we go for an evening stroll?”
He helped her down with a care bordering on chivalry. Gracious. Was this really the same man she’d seen on her arrival at Foxleaze, so devoid of emotion or interest, she’d believed him a hermit?
Refusing to allow her mind to stray down the path of lust again, she burst out, “Mama and I want to invite some of the local children to join us for a game of croquet one afternoon. Polly has had no company her own age since her mama died. I’m certain it would be good for her to practice sharing and taking turns, and maybe get involved in a bit of rough and tumble.”
“In a stately game like croquet?”
She could barely see him in the darkness, but no doubt he’d raised a quizzical eyebrow, a gesture that made her insides melt. She gave no reply, unsure she could trust her voice.
“How many children?” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they wandered back in the general direction of the house.
“Oh, I thought perhaps ten. No more.”
“Let us reduce the number to five. I know how much children can make their presence felt. So, who will you invite and who will accompany them? Will you have Cook organize a picnic? What will you do if it rains?”
“So, you don’t refuse me outright?”
“I’m finding it increasingly difficult to refuse you anything, Miss Galatea Wyndham.”
The warmth in his voice, as he spoke her name, thrilled her. It seemed she might be on the verge of winning more than one battle here.
“We’ll make sure everything is well planned. I want to cause you as little inconvenience as possible.”
“I don’t intend to be inconvenienced at all. I shall go out.”
Up ahead in the darkness a duck muttered to itself. A tawny owl wafted past on silent wings.
“But you never go out.” Tia tried to keep the disappointment from her voice.
“Except to London and fairs.”
“Apart from those. I assumed they were exceptions to the rule.”
“Not anymore. You’ve undermined all my rules, turned my life upside-down, driven me out of my refuge, forced me to cut my hair, and let me make a laughingstock of myself in front of the local peasantry. I don’t know what to do with you, Tia. I don’t know what to do without you, either.”
The darkness hid her elation, but she thought she had never been happier than when she heard this confession fall from his lips.
Yet, until she knew the secret of the folly, she could never truly consider herself the victor.
Chapter 31
As he confessed his feelings to Tia, Hal inwardly begged Mary’s forgiveness. It seemed—if no obstacle were to be found—he could now progress with his life. He could marry Tia, she would be a mother to Polly, and Mary’s shade would drift back into the darkness, where it belonged. But not until he had completed his homage to her. Which he had no expectation of doing yet.
Tia’s soft voice penetrated his musings. “It might please Polly if you were to join us. She’d be proud to present her Papa to her new friends.”
He turned toward her and laid a hand on each shoulder, bringing his head close to hers. Her flesh welcomed his fingers, and her lips turned up to his, full of invitation.
“Tia.” Their faces were so close he could smell the lavender scent of her hair. “You’re
always trying to push me too far. You know by now of the uncertainness of my temperament, that I can be as quick to condemn as I am to praise. You also know, with but little provocation, I will do unimaginably sinful things to your body. Have you no idea the power you exert on me? Why, even now, when we are talking about the most normal of things, I want to seize you in my arms and kiss you until you beg for mercy. Or expire, for lack of air.”
She quivered in his grasp. He shook his head violently and retreated. “I’ve revealed too much. I’ve frightened you.” He was infuriated at himself.
“I’m not afraid, Hal.”
“Why were you trembling, then?” He hated the idea he might have made her fear him.
“I tremble for you. From . . . desire.”
Oh, sweet, hesitant innocent.
What an extraordinary woman she was, so frank and open. Completely the opposite to himself. But nothing could have prepared him for what came next.
“I don’t have a great deal of experience of such matters.” Her voice was so quiet he had to lean in to hear her. “But the basic fact is I enjoyed my . . . our . . . lovemaking and was curious to attempt it again.”
Dear God.
He dared not come any closer, nor attempt to touch her. If ever there was a moment when a man should be kissing a woman, this was it. But he wasn’t just any man.
“We’ll talk about this further,” he managed. “It was heaven, but we can’t simply launch into some torrid affair. There’s too much to think about. I long to take you, my darling, if you’re foolish enough to take me, but it must be done in my own way, in my own time. Now, forgive me—I must return to the folly. Shall I walk you back inside?”
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