She was taken into a room she’d never seen before and handed a large china basin into which she was promptly sick. There were vague memories of being bathed and dressed in a clean nightgown before being put to bed. But she didn’t become fully aware again until someone dabbed a stinging liquid on her hands.
“Ouch!”
“Oh, my darling girl.” Mama’s voice. “Please don’t fidget. Bessie is putting some alum water on your cuts. How do you feel?”
Tia tried to sit up, but the room swam. Easing back against her pillows, she waited for her mother’s face to come back into focus.
“I’m nauseous and slightly dizzy. But I’m not hurt. How’s Hal?”
“Somewhat damaged, but he’ll recover, given time and rest. So the doctor says.”
“Oh, thank heaven.” Tia closed her eyes in relief. Whatever the future held, whatever happened between them, she would at least have the chance to assure Hal of her love. Had he died, thinking she hated him . . . she couldn’t have lived with the guilt.
Opening her eyes again, she took in the elaborate hangings of the bed, the delicacy of the furnishings, and the tastefulness of the decoration. “What room is this?”
“The baroness’s bedchamber, adjoining Ansford’s suite. It’s easier for the doctor if you’re close together.”
“Can I see Hal?” Mama had said he was alive but damaged. What did that mean, exactly?
Mama pursed her lips. “Out of the question. He’s to be disturbed as little as possible. He looked so dreadful when they brought him in, I thought he was done for.”
“Where’s Polly?” What would it do to the girl to lose her father as well as her mother?
“In her room with Nurse, being comforted.”
“Can I see her?”
“Perhaps she could be brought to see you later, but for now, you’re in no fit state. Let me brush that awful grit out of your hair while Bessie finishes cleaning your cuts. I don’t know what you were doing with your hands. You’ve broken every single nail, some of them quite badly.”
“I was trying to dig Hal out.” Oh, the hell of those few moments, when she didn’t know if he was dead or alive.
“It was a mercy you were there. You were able to raise the alarm and help save Ansford.”
Tia’s heart thumped painfully. Had she—however inadvertently—brought about the entire catastrophe? Was she to blame? She fought to keep the wobble out of her voice as she asked, “What brought the building down? Was there an earthquake?”
“Lynch has sent for a surveyor to find out. Currently, he thinks the mortar may have failed. It could have been scoured out by the bad weather we had a few years ago, and frost might have weakened the masonry, making it spall and crack.” Mama paused and shuddered melodramatically. “I didn’t like that folly at all—it was eerie, and I never went near the place, as you well know. I do hope Ansford had nothing valuable in there, for everything’s been reduced to dust.”
“Do you think he’ll rebuild it?” She hadn’t meant to voice the thought aloud. Pondering Hal’s monument to Mary, Tia prayed he wouldn’t want to resurrect it.
“What an odd question to ask. Why, no. I believe Ansford declared—in a rather colorful fashion as they were cleaning him up—that he was relieved it was gone. It was as if the place had an unnatural hold on him.”
Tia couldn’t agree more. But was the hold now broken? Could she and Hal finally be free from Mary Pelham’s unforgiving influence?
“Tia, you’re so pale. Shall I fetch the basin?”
“Oh Mama, I fear it is all my fault.” She wrenched back a sob.
“Don’t be silly. How could it be?”
“Bessie,” she choked out, “would you leave us for a moment, please?”
“Of course, miss.” The girl bobbed respectfully and left.
Clasping her hands together, Tia discovered how sore they were. Every cut buzzed from the alum water, and the tips of her bruised fingers ached.
“Now, what’s all this nonsense about the folly’s collapse being your fault?” Mama asked softly.
“Oh Mama, Lord Ansford asked me to marry him.”
Chapter 45
“Well. Goodness. Gracious.” Mama fell silent a moment, regarding Tia anxiously. “But how could something as momentous as this come to pass and I not be aware of it? He always seemed so cold, so distant.”
With a shake of her head, Mama rose from her seat beside Tia’s bed and began a perambulation of the bedchamber. “He must have seen your value as a tutor to Polly, and how you get on with all the servants and thought you would make a good helpmate.”
Tia would have laughed had she not been traumatized. “I like to think he hasn’t been quite so calculating, Mama. He told me he loved me.”
“Now I’ve heard everything.” Mama spun back to face her. “I wasn’t certain the man even had a heart anymore. Though he’s been unbending more of late and coming out of his mourning clothes.”
Thank goodness Mama didn’t know exactly how much Hal had come out of his clothes.
“I wondered if that was all due to you. But it’s most remiss of you not to tell me the way the wind was blowing.”
“I hardly knew it myself,” Tia countered. “I accepted him, but we quarreled in the folly, and I changed my mind.”
How could she have been so rash? She loved him. She should have been prepared to wait for him to prove he loved her in return. Maybe this disaster could have been averted.
“When I ran out, he came after me and must have slammed the door behind him. I don’t know—I was too distracted. One moment he was standing at the top of the steps and the next, they simply disintegrated. I thought I’d lost him. It would have been all my fault.”
She could no longer hold back the tears. As the first painful sob burst free, Mama rushed forward and held out her arms. “Come, Tia, don’t be ashamed. You’re never too big for a mother’s cosseting.”
Sinking into her embrace, Tia gave vent to all the fear, guilt, and hysteria threatening to overwhelm her, sprung from the awful moment she believed the man she loved was dead.
After what seemed like hours, her tears lessened, and she became aware of a subtle tapping coming from the door to the adjoining room.
Hal. Who else could it be?
“Mama, I think I need to sleep now. Please go and take some rest yourself.”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“Quite sure. I’m so weary, I could slumber for a week. Thank you.”
Mama stood. “Rest. I shall return with some palatable refreshment in an hour or so.” She left the room.
Easing herself stiffly out of bed, Tia padded across to the door and put her ear to it, then whispered against the crack, “Hal, is it you?” Her heart thudded in her chest as she awaited the response and when it came, she almost sank to the floor in relief.
“Of course it is, foolish woman. Who else would it be? How is a man supposed to rest with all this ruckus coming from your room?”
Scarcely able to contain her joy, she turned the key and flung the door open.
Chapter 46
Hal couldn’t blame Tia for the horrified look she shot him as he hobbled into the room, his ankles protesting painfully. He’d caught sight of himself in the mirror earlier and was reminded forcibly of some of the wounded veterans he’d seen begging in the streets in London. His torso was bandaged tightly, as was his head. One eye was reduced to a swollen, reddened slit, and his nose bled.
His heart had been bleeding too, forced to listen to Tia’s sobs but unable to go to her. In the end, he’d decided propriety could go hang and he must access her bedchamber come heaven, hell, or high water.
Once he’d established Tia was alone, Hal wasted no time in settling himself on the bed beside her.
“Oh Hal, I was so worried! I thought I’d lost you.”
He tried to smile, but his lips were so dry it felt more like a grimace. “I thought I’d lost me, too. But the doctor says I’ll live—I’m merely somewhat fragile and have split my head.”
It pained him like the blazes but he wasn’t about to admit it. He’d broken some ribs as well. Doubtless, other hurts would come to light once the initial shock had passed.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m so sorry. It all just sort of . . . came out.”
He reached for her, then hesitated. “Are you badly injured?”
Mercifully, she shook her head. Still, he held her gently. How wonderful, to be able to touch another warm, vital human being. He’d spent too long in the half-light with a woman made of dead, cold stone.
“I only have a few cuts and bruises,” Tia murmured against his chest. “I have no excuse for being such a watering pot.”
“Nonsense.” His voice was hoarse from the dust he’d inhaled, and it was an effort to hold back a coughing fit. “You’ve been very brave, my love. You dug me out of the rubble when other young ladies would have run off screaming or fainted. And I was only jesting when I complained you’d disturbed me. I was desperate for an excuse to come in and see you, but Symons has become a martinet and is following Dr. Simpson’s instructions to the letter. Remind me never to be injured again—it gives the servants an excuse to turn into bullies.”
She sank farther into his embrace, laying her cheek against his chest. He rested his chin atop her head, and they sat there in companionable silence for many minutes.
Gradually he became aware her shoulders were shaking. “Are you weeping again, my sweet?” He held her as tightly against his damaged ribcage as he dared.
“Only a little,” came the muffled reply.
“I think rest is called for. And perhaps hot brandy and milk to help you sleep.” But he couldn’t leave her yet. There was something he needed to say.
She nestled closer. “I’m so foolish, getting all upset when it is you who are more badly hurt and in the most serious danger.”
“I beg you, don’t punish yourself. Would you believe me if I told you I never wanted to live more than in the moment the rubble buried me? After Mary’s death, the bitterness I awoke in her, the guilt I felt for allowing it to happen, I wanted to die. Whenever I gazed down from the top of the folly, I fought an almost irresistible urge to jump. I’ve not had the compulsion lately, not even when you walked away from me and I feared I’d destroyed all my hopes by showing you the sculpture.”
He shuddered at the memory. “When the folly began to collapse, I knew things couldn’t end that way, that I didn’t want release. I wanted another life, a new life, with you. So, I jumped.”
“You jumped?”
“Yes. I leapt as far out as I could, to try and get clear of the masonry from the tower. I landed on the grass some distance away and thus avoided being buried too deeply. My ankles continue to protest the feat, but they’ve been splinted and will mend in time. It was a terrible moment, I can tell you. There was so much weight on my spine I thought it would break, and I never expected to be able to breathe again. My head hurt like the devil, and I was in total darkness, thinking I’d been struck blind. Then I heard your voice, calling me back into the light. I made a gargantuan effort at movement and caught your attention. If I hadn’t had you to live for, I might have succumbed.”
“What about Polly?”
He hadn’t forgotten Polly. It was his duty to his child that had kept him going thus far, even though she reminded him of Mary, of the pain of losing his wife in such grim circumstances. “Children are resilient—she would have been well cared for if the folly had claimed me. And she would have had you.”
“She needs you too, Hal. At this very moment, she’s probably weeping in her room, desperate to see us and to know we’re all right.”
“Should I send for her?”
“You should. And you must make every effort to love her, be a true father to her. Promise me.”
He did love his daughter. It was why he’d planned to protect her by giving her a strict upbringing. But Tia had shown him how shortsighted the idea was. “I promise you I will. Now, I shall ring for Bessie, so she can fetch you that milk and brandy. You must sleep, my love.”
“And she must bring Polly too, even if only for a short while.”
Hal squeezed his eyes tight shut. It was ignoble for a man to weep, even if they were tears of joy. He could scarce believe he’d not only found someone who cared for him but was ready to love his daughter, too.
Tia’s hurts would mend. In time, his would as well, and as soon as they were both recovered, he would repeat his offer of marriage.
And he would most definitely not take ‘no’ for an answer.
Epilogue
On their wedding day, Tia had been delighted to find the church thronged with all the best local families, many of Hal’s former colleagues, his relations, and old friends. The latter included the Duke and Duchess of Finchingfield, both glowing with happiness in expectation of the arrival of their second child.
If Hal had been worried about being shunned by Society due to the wicked rumors about his wife’s death and his subsequent seclusion, it was plain he needn’t have done so.
The presence of the Duke and Duchess had lent respectability to the gathering, giving Tia hope Hal would soon be welcomed back into political life—and would once again have a purpose—one involving the living rather than the dead.
It was now a full month since the wedding. October was nearly ended, and the trees had started to drop their golden cascade of leaves upon the ground. The passageways of Foxleaze were chill, but the bedchamber had a fire burning cheerfully in the grate.
Hal still slumbered. They’d retired early the previous evening, made love with vigorous enthusiasm, and hadn’t fallen asleep until the first cock began to crow. Tia’s rest had been fitful, however. She had a gift she wanted to present to him today—but her courage had begun to fail her, not knowing if it would be taken in the spirit in which it was intended. She had secretly commissioned the work when he was bedridden, recovering from his injuries.
Throwing a wrap over her nightgown, she slipped out of his bedchamber and made her way to his study. The room had a completely different aspect to it now, with the late baroness’s portrait no longer hanging above the fireplace. Hal was already working on its replacement, in an attic he’d converted into a studio.
The old picture was to be substituted by a portrait of Tia. In fact, her husband was working on two portraits, but the first was for personal consumption only, depicting the new Baroness Ansford with her hair loose about her shoulders, wearing a low-necked muslin dress which clung to her curves in an almost indecent fashion.
The other painting he was creating was much more respectable. In that portrait, Tia was dressed in a smart riding habit, with a dashing hat and a pair of beige kid gloves in her hand. She glanced toward the viewer in three-quarter face, her expression both proud and benign.
She’d told him she could never appear so top-lofty, but he’d refused to make any changes. The portrait was destined for a new wing of the Selbury Poorhouse, being built with the joint patronage of her husband and the Duke of Finchingfield. It was to house the Lady Galatea Ansford School, where the young paupers would learn domestic skills, as well as their numbers and letters.
Hal had already generously donated some reference books from his library, prompting Polly to offer up some of her own illustrated storybooks. If he needed any proof Tia’s loving and indulgent approach toward the child hadn’t spoiled Polly, this was surely it.
Tia was, of course, delighted that her good fortune in marrying a wealthy and influential man meant she could help the pauper children she’d left behind. The new wing had been a sort of wedding present from her husband, and she’d told him—her eyes awash with tears of joy—that she could never have dreamed of a better one.
She wandered across to the study window and gazed out across the cloisters to the park beyond. Suddenly the door opened, but before she could turn around, she was grasped from behind and pulled up against a deliciously firm male body.
“Why did you get up?” His voice against her ear was a delicious purr. “Come back to bed.”
She trembled in Hal’s grasp as she felt the wonder of his growing arousal pressed against her bottom. His hands around her waist began to slide up toward her breasts, but she pushed them down. “Not now, Hal. We need to talk.”
“Oh dear, that sounds ominous.” Tia could hear the humor in Hal’s tone. He kept his hands where they were but didn’t release her.
“I can’t believe it’s actually gone.” She glanced toward where the line of the treetops was no longer interrupted by the darkly brooding tower. All trace of the folly had vanished and with it the secrets of the past, the ghosts, and the grim memories.
With its loss, the eeriness of Foxleaze had departed as well. She knew the shadows of the cloisters held no specters, the family mausoleum no vengeful spirits, and the gargoyles and ceiling bosses were no longer demons turned to stone, awaiting the right touch of magic to bring them all tumbling back into the world again.
It was just as well, for as she was now mistress of this house, it wouldn’t do to be afraid to walk the passageways at night.
“It’s gone. And I don’t miss it one iota. Not now I have you.”
Beguiling the Baron Page 19