“Chiara, no!”
“Taylor!”
The door opened immediately.
“Be so kind as to escort Lord FitzHenry out.”
“Yes, my lady.” The two footmen stood behind him.
Rafael bent over her and took her hand. He kissed it. Taylor took a step forward.
“This isn’t over.” He turned and walked out.
She hadn’t meant to say that, at least not all that. All the months, no years, of rage and tears and self-pity came bubbling out of her all at once. She had known, if he survived, he might want to claim her. It was a possibility she acknowledged when she planned to keep silent about the marriage and the baby.
He’d heard Radet’s ugly words. They established her mental innocence if not her physical innocence.
But, it wasn’t enough for Rafael to just say, “All right. You’re damaged goods, but you’ll do.” There had to be more than that. She wouldn’t settle for half a loaf.
She laid her head in her hands and cried as the door to the drawing room quietly shut.
“Lady Meriwether informed me of the musicale this evening. I will come for you at three o’clock. Be ready. R”
She crumpled the note Taylor delivered, thinking to toss it in the trash. The man had arrogance the size of Scotland. She lifted her hand to fling the paper away but hesitated. She wanted to hear the concert, but to arrive on her own might offend her friend and neighbor.
Hesitating in her rejection led to other thoughts: thoughts she didn’t want to examine or decide upon yet. Did she really want to unequivocally remove Rafaelle from her life, to toss him away like this used piece of paper? Was there the slightest chance that his undeniable, but understandable, biases could be overcome? Did she want to try? She told him the truth when she said that the baby was conceived in love. If she meant it, really meant it, didn’t she owe it to herself, and to their child, to exhaust all possible options?
Smoothing out the note, she laid it on the desk where she’d been working on her correspondence. She made her decision and shook her head as she traced the bold “R” where he signed the note. Wolverines were all an arrogant lot.
Sketching a most elegant bow, he looked up at her with the trace of a smile. “Am I forgiven?”
“No,” she said as she curtseyed, “but I’ve decided to give you a chance.”
“My lady is most gracious.” He stepped closer, caught up her hand, and brought it to his lips. Glancing over at the butler and two footmen standing still as posts next to the wall in the entry hall, he murmured, “Your guard dogs haven’t torn me apart yet.”
“Not yet, but we’d better go before they start straining at the leashes.”
She lifted the skirt of her green-sprigged muslin gown as she stepped into the curricle. For awhile, neither said a word. Just inside the border of her property, she waved at a family tending a garden near their cottage. The children tried to chase the carriage. The family dogs got closer, but eventually all gave up and returned to the garden.
“Isn’t it a little late for planting?”
“No, they can get a winter crop of cabbage, spinach, and the like. The winters are mild.”
“You like it here, don’t you?”
“Yes, I spent a lot of time here with my grandmother when I returned to England after my father died. My mother naturally gravitated towards hers. They died close on one another, and the cottage came to me. It seemed the natural place to come when I got back from Italy.”
“Don’t you have to deal with, shall we say, the small minds of small towns.” He looked over at her burgeoning tummy.
“Oh, there are some. Parson Underwood’s wife is even more sanctimonious than her husband. She’s the worst.”
“Gives you grief, huh?”
“Not really. Lord Meriwether holds the living and keeps both the parson and his lady on their best behavior.”
“I’m indebted to Lord Meriwether.”
Squerryes Court came into view through the trees. Two small wings framed a forecourt while the main house, of mellow orange brick, boasted seven bays under a hipped roof. As the road curved, a small lake flashed behind the house. Several vehicles moved through the driveway.
“It looks like my host is having a ‘small’ gathering today,” Rafe observed.
“They do this every year. When they come down from London, they have a house party. They host a series of events, each more elaborate than the last, until they end with a great ball with all the gentry in the area and any house guests.”
A groom grabbed one of the horses’ bridle, and Rafe and Chiara made their way into the already crowded house.
“Lady Key,” Lord Joseph Meriwether bellowed, “in faith, it’s been quite awhile since I’ve seen you. Missed you yesterday. And you look magnificent.” A bull of a man, he bent close. “Anybody giving you grief?”
“No, not at all. And you are getting handsomer every time I see you. Why, if Lady M. didn’t have her claws in you so firmly, I believe I’d have a go at you myself!”
The lady in question turned from the last guest she greeted. She was as short as he was tall. Putting on a stern face, she said, “I keep what’s mine, young lady!” Crossing in front of her husband, Barbara Meriwether reached up to envelop Chiara in a motherly hug, finished by a buss to the cheek. Whispering into the not-quite-completely-blonde hair, she said, “Mr. Pomfrey is ill and unable to attend. I know you’re devastated.” Chiara grinned.
Lord Meriwether snorted and extended his hand to Rafael. “Welcome back and thank you for fetching our little bird. Can’t be too careful with her, especially these days.”
“Joseph,” his wife admonished, “we have other guests. Lord FitzHenry will be with us for several days.”
Rafe extended his arm to Chiara and led her into the drawing room. Furniture, moved out earlier, had been replaced with chairs. Candelabras clustered around a grand piano at the front of the room. A substantial number of people milled about, some of them from London. Many of them greeted Chiara and Rafael. Only Parson Underwood and his wife greeted her coolly.
“The righteous reverend and his wife, I presume?”
“Indeed.”
“Bloody hell; am I never to have an evening out without the damned Lowells dogging my footsteps?”
Chiara followed his gaze. “Oh that’s Felicity Lowell. She came out, what last year, the year before? What’s the problem?”
“Three guesses and the first two don’t count. Let me point out that Miss Felicity is unmarried and while she’s a fetching little thing, she’s not a diamond of the first water, like someone I know and love.” He nodded to her. “Mr. and Mrs. Lowell want only the best for their daughter.”
“You?”
Mrs. Lowell spotted Rafael’s tall form from across the room and changed course to intercept him.
“Absolutely.” One eyebrow shot up as he looked down at Chiara and stepped closer. “However, now I have protection for my virtue in the form of a wife.”
Chiara grabbed a glass from the serving tray going around. “Don’t play that card, my lord. You may find it does not complete your hand. To the world, we are nothing more than casual acquaintances and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.”
The Lowells only a few feet away, found their path blocked by other guests. Rafe scooped up Chiara’s hand and pressed a fervent kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her gaze flew up to meet his. Conversation buzzed around them and about them.
It’s for show, her mind said. It’s his self-defense, her good sense said. It’s enough to send her pulse into a gallop, her heart said.
“My Lord FitzHenry, how delightful to see you here,” Mrs. Lowell gushed.
For the longest of moments, neither Chiara nor Rafael paid any attention to the Lowells. Mr. Lowell humphed, and Rafe slowly lowered Chiara’s hand, without letting to of it.
“Mr. and Mrs. Lowell and Miss Felicity, good evening. Do you know Lady Chiara Brownlee?”
“Ye
s, yes,” Mrs. Lowell didn’t give her the direct cut, but it was close. Only Rafael merited her attention. “Felicity has been wild to see you. She was ecstatic when she heard you were here.”
Good heavens, Chiara thought. FitzHenry raised that eyebrow. Felicity’s face took on a distinctly infelicitous look. In fact, the girl looked like a fox hemmed in by a pack of hounds.
“I’m sure Felicity would be delighted to sit with you, my lord.” Mrs. Lowell didn’t notice the eyebrow as her daughter did.
“Miss Felicity! Aunt Barbara said you were here. Mrs. Lowell, Mr. Lowell.” From the look in the young people’s eyes, this was the hedge hog that just might be able to fend off the dogs. Young, fresh-faced and innocent, like the object of his affections, he possessed an air of determination that might see him through to his goal.
Chiara saw young eyes spit a challenge at older, wiser, and infinitely less interested ones. A retreat seemed in order. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lowell, but we are engaged to sit with the Abernathy’s. Excuse us.”
Rafael bowed to the Lowells. His face remained impassive but she could almost smell his relief. “Excellent strategy, my love,” he whispered when they were out of earshot.
“Stop that.”
“Complimenting you?”
“No, the…the other.”
“But you are my love, with or without that piece of paper, which,” he bent towards her, “I may remind you, can be replaced.”
“You’re forgotten one little thing.”
“On the contrary, I’ve forgotten nothing. Do you think I’ve engaged this battle without an infallible strategy of my own? ”
“Lady Chee-air-a and Lord FitzHenry! What a pleasure to see you!” Lord DuBois stepped from behind her to greet them. “I saw you drive up earlier with a lady,” he said to Rafael. “I wondered who she was. Delighted to see it was you, dear lady.” He bowed.
Rafael looked down on the shorter man and sketched a brief bow. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Only just arrived.”
“It’s nice to see you again,” Chiara said politely, if not sincerely. George “Beau” Brummell would have paled at the sight of the dandy. Chiara tried to look anywhere but the sartorial splendor. DuBois’s head could barely more without endangering his cravat. His waistcoat was a lurid pink, pink for heaven’s sake, she mused. The fobs at his waist were so crowded they clinked when he moved, and if he were not careful, he’d trip over the out-sized shoe buckles.
“Indeed, indeed. I always like to spend more time in your company.”
Chiara watched Rafael’s eyes narrow and decided to intervene again. “Will you excuse us? I must find Mrs. Abernathy.” DuBois bowed and wandered off in the direction of the Underwoods.
As they walked away, Rafael leaned over and said softly, “DuBois doesn’t know how grateful he should be to Mrs. Abernathy. I do believe I detected some of the oil on him that I noticed at Lady Burlington’s.”
Chiara snickered and approached a handsome, middle-aged lady with rich brown hair. “Ann, may I present Lord Rafael FitzHenry? Lord FitzHenry, Mrs. Abernathy, one of my oldest friends.”
“Your oldest friend? Thank you, Key.”
Chiara laughed. “My oldest friendship, all right.”
“You’re forgiven, darling. How are you feeling?”
“Wonderful.”
Mrs. Abernathy leaned over to kiss her friend. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord FitzHenry. Have you been here long?”
“Only a couple of days. I hope Lady Chiara will give me a tour of the factory she’s building. It looks fascinating.”
“Well, trust our Key to be au courant with all the latest, even science. Soon, we’ll be sending all our fruit to her to be preserved. You might also ask her to show you her new oast house.”
“Oast house?”
“It’s a facility for drying and packing hops for beer making.”
“An innovator.” Rafael nodded his compliments.
“Indeed. Have her show you its improvements. She’s increased the efficiency so the hops dry more evenly. Makes better beer.”
A tapped glass signaled the beginning of the performance. Everyone moved towards their seats.
Rafael leaned over. “Do all your neighbors know you’re enceinte?”
She shrugged. “Most of them. As you can see, I haven’t been ostracized.”
“How much do they know?”
“They know I was in Italy on government business.” Rafe stared at her. “I’m finished with that, so what they know is of no consequence.”
DuBois passed them on his way to his seat behind them and nodded politely.
“Ann and Lady Meriwether helped take care of me after Radet…after what happened. They will more than counteract anything the local busybodies can say.”
“I like them even more than I thought I did.”
As everyone moved to their places, a tall, elegant, blonde woman entered the drawing room.
“Hell and damnation,” Rafe hissed.
“Your mother!”
Lady Eleanor FitzHenry glided through the throng as a queen among her subjects. Several people nodded, none of which were returned, as the sea of people parted before her. She stopped in front of Rafael.
“I was told you were here. I understand you’ve felt yourself too good for London society this year.”
Rafe said nothing, so Chiara introduced herself and dipped a curtsey.
“You do not have to curtsey to her, Chiara,” he growled.
“Oh, but I always curtsey to my elders.”
Lady FitzHenry looked at Chiara as if she had a bad smell. “Are you the reason my son is unavailable?”
“Unavailable?”
“My mother wants money, and I haven’t been in town.”
“Don’t be any more crass than usual, Rafael. You are a gentleman now. Try not to act like the little barbarian you always were.”
“If he is a barbarian,” Chiara began sweetly, “he obviously comes by it honestly.”
Eleanor FitzHenry raised her hand and started to swing.
Chiara blocked the blow with her arm, and Lady FitzHenry hissed in pain. “Don’t do that,” Chiara whispered as she shifted the arm down out of common view. “You might not like the results.”
Rafael chuckled. “I can vouch for that.” He took Chiara’s arm and walked away. She could feel her mother-in-law’s glare on her back. “Hasn’t lost her touch. She always did like to cause a scene. My compliments, by the way.”
Chiara looked sideways at him. “She practically told me she was going to hit me. It was too easy.”
They found their seats among the whispers and stares.
Lady Meriwether obviously knew her social cues. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began from the front of the room. “Tonight you will be hearing four sonatas by Beethoven. Leo North will perform Opus 2, No. 2 in A major and Opus 27, No. 2, Sonata No. 14 in C sharp minor, known as ‘The Moonlight Sonata’. During the intermission there will be light refreshments across the hall. After that, Charles Welby will play Opus 10, No. 3, Sonata No. 7 in D major and Opus 31, No. 2, Sonata No. 17 in D minor, also known as ‘The Tempest’. We hope you will enjoy the program.”
The enthusiastic applause, Chiara’s included, said a great deal about the audience’s expectations of the program.
They met; one might think it by chance during the intermission. One of them did.
“You do not look pleased with FitzHenry’s latest conquest.”
“They are entirely too happy with each other.”
“Indeed. If the look on his face is any indication, she may add another bastard to the family.”
A cool look greeted that observation. “Neither of them deserves any happiness. She’s a thorn in my side in more ways than one.”
“A brazen hussy, indeed, with her belly sticking out like a Haymarket whore’s.”
A hum was the only reply.
“I will endeavor to rid you of her permanently. All you have to do
is invite her for a carriage ride when I give the word. After that, you may leave the rest to me.”
A nod and they parted.
Dusk settled around them as they drove home. “That was wonderful!” Chiara bubbled. “Those pianists were top notch. Lady M. always did have a knack for finding talented people. Her musicales are not to be missed.”
Rafael looked over at her with a small smile on his face. “Absolutely.” He held the curricle to a sedate pace, obviously not being in any hurry to end the evening.
“Did you know that ‘The Moonlight Sonata’ was named for the moonlight on Lake Lucerne in Italy? Oh, I love it.” She began to hum snatches of the melody. “I have the music for it. I’ll have to get it out. She didn’t tell me what would be featured, the minx, or I would have been playing it.”
“You play?”
“Indifferently, but I enjoy it. I like to listen more than play.”
“You will have to play for me sometime.”
“I told you. I do not play well, or for an audience. Ever.” In the fading light, the straight line of her lips spoke of finality.
“We’ll see.”
They drove in silence for awhile. Then, she looked over at him. “Your mother was a surprise.”
“And not a welcomed one. I would have re-thought my trip here if I knew she was anywhere in the neighborhood.”
“I can’t say as I blame you. She is not…maternal.”
He snorted. “No. She has the morals of a cat in heat and the disposition of an asp. If you are wise, you’ll stay away from her.”
“I bow to your greater experience on that.”
“Thought you might.”
“Yet you give her money,” she said quietly.
“Yes.” He thought for a moment. “It keeps her out of my way, at least temporarily.”
“Have you ever thought…no, it’s none of my business.”
“Go ahead and ask. If it’s my business, it’s your business.”
She shook her head. At best, it was too soon for such intimacies. In any event, Stoneacre peeked out around the trees. It was not the time for a discussion of family now. Rafael slowed the curricle as it drew up to the front door. She waved to Sam Goode as he crossed to the rear of the house. A footman hurried to help her down.