A Promise Given Page 21

  Those thoughts were far from her mind now, though, as she felt Clive fumbling to undo the belt of her trousers. Surely he didn’t mean to make love out here in the open air just a few miles from the house? The thought of it excited her, however, but she felt nervous as he released her from the belt and undid her trousers, tugging them down around her thighs, when they both froze at the sound of something, or someone, crashing through the underbrush very nearby. Clive’s hand went for the inside pocket of his jacket, and Henrietta realized that he was carrying his revolver.

  “Shh,” he whispered as he pulled her down beside him. They continued to stare in the direction of the noise until they finally saw a figure in the distance making his way through the woods. They peered closer. It was Wallace, limping along as fast as his crippled leg would allow him.

  “Where’s he going?” Henrietta whispered.

  “It would appear he’s headed toward the village,” Clive whispered back. “But the bigger question would be why would he not take the road, or better yet, drive? He seems in too much of a hurry for a casual walk …”

  “That is a bit odd …” Henrietta agreed, considering his poor leg.

  “I’ve been trying to get him to take me down to the Burrows, but I can never seem to find him. And yet here he is,” Clive muttered.

  Together they watched him hurry by, and when they felt confident that he was safely out of hearing, they cautiously stood up, Henrietta’s trousers ridiculously undone, and Clive’s shirt pulled out.

  “We look a mess!” Henrietta laughed.

  “Foiled!” Clive added, the mood obviously shattered now. “So much for my plan to seduce you in the fairy bower. Be warned, though, fair maiden, I mean to have you here, so be on your guard.”

  “Oh, I shall, sir knight,” Henrietta said, doing up her breeches. “Until then, I shall bestow upon you a favor of my regard.”

  “A token?” Clive asked, intrigued as he tucked in his shirt.

  “Only this,” she said, coming closer to him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

  “I’ll take it,” he said, lovingly now, and took her hand as he went to gather the horses, happily nibbling the grass, long now after a summer of growth, by the brook.

  Chapter 13

  When they returned to the house, they were quickly absorbed into the fold of guests, their time alone for the day clearly over. Henrietta was approached by Sara Fairfax, the younger of the two Fairfax girls, as she and Clive made their way into the main hall, informing her that they were attempting one last game of croquet, probably for the year, “seeing as it is so lovely out today,” on the south lawn if she wished to join, while Stevens informed Clive that his lordship would have a word in his study when it was quite convenient.

  Clive decided to oblige his uncle first thing, before the shoot that was scheduled for later in the day. Henrietta made her way upstairs on her own, then, to change, removing her riding hat as she mounted the stairs, shaking out her long auburn hair, Clive wistfully watching her go as he made his way to the study.

  Once in their room, Henrietta tossed her hat onto the bed and walked across to the window where she could see the croquet lawn below being readied by the servants. A small white canopy had been erected at one end of the court, where she could see Lady Linley seated near the countess. Stevens was walking toward them with what looked like a large tray of tea service, the under butler and a footman struggling behind, each carrying large trays of accoutrements as well. Henrietta sighed. She had no real desire to play croquet or to face all of these aristocratic women on her own, in all honesty, but she knew she couldn’t get out of it. She would have much preferred to stay indoors and write a long-overdue letter to Elsie and Ma, knowing that they would most probably be worried at not having heard from her in so long. She had sent a brief postcard from New York, and one from Liverpool, but that was all. She could potentially beg off from the day’s events with a headache, but she didn’t want to be perceived as the disagreeable American, nor did she want to begin down Ma’s road of feeble excuses.

  There was a knock at the door, then, and her maid, Phoebe, poked her head in and curtsied. “Excuse me, madam.” (It felt strange to be called “madam” and not “miss.”) “Would you like me to help you dress?”

  “Yes, Phoebe, come in,” Henrietta murmured and reluctantly pulled off her gloves. Any letter home would have to wait until later. Perhaps she would find time in the afternoon.

  As it turned out, however, Henrietta had had little free time at all that day and had not returned to her room until it was time to dress for cocktails in the drawing room before going in to dinner.

  Clive had come in late from the shoot, and Roberts, his acting valet, had run a bath for him. Henrietta had already finished her toilette, with Phoebe’s help, of course, and was rather pleased with the effect. She sat waiting for him now in their bedroom rather than descend to the drawing room without him. When Clive finally emerged from his dressing room in his white tie and tails, she felt a surge of love all over again. His hair was combed back now in a rather elegant style, though she could see his few silver hairs just above his ears. It didn’t bother her in the slightest, however. Indeed, she felt it gave him an air of refinement and added to his attractiveness. His warm hazel eyes caught hers, and she felt herself melt just as she had that first night at the Promenade. This was the longest they had spent apart since their wedding day, and she felt excited to see him, as if they had been apart for weeks. She went to him, and he put his arms around her.

  “You look beautiful, darling,” he said as he observed her dress. During the extensive packing sessions for the trip, Antonia had helped her to choose it specifically for tonight’s reception. It was a Jeanne Lanvin creation of black velveteen with a scooped-out back and bare shoulders, the dress held in place only by thin straps of velvet. “Are you really my wife, or just some fantasy of my damaged mind?”

  “I’m really your wife,” she smiled up at him.

  He gave her a quick kiss, careful not to disrupt her ensemble, and then took her hand. “Had a nice day?” he asked.

  “For the most part. The girls were very eager to teach me croquet, though I’m certain that the countess put it down as a mark against me that I didn’t already know how. Lady Fairfax, it turns out, is quite good at it and won. We moved on to bridge after luncheon, then, and I’m pretty sure they were rather shocked when Lady Winifred and I managed to win, which I, of course, have your mother to thank for.”

  “Well, well, you’ll have to tell her. She’ll be ever so pleased to hear it, coming from you,” he said with an arched eyebrow. “Do I hear a hint of gratefulness from the neophyte?”

  “Really, Inspector, that’s hardly fair!” she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

  “I have to tease you sometimes,” he laughed, “as I so rarely get the chance; you are so perfect otherwise, you see.”

  “Flatterer! Still, I will forgive you,” she said majestically. “Just this once.” She smiled at him. “Now, you tell me about your day. How was the shoot?”

  His face grew more serious and he reactively reached into his pocket for his pipe. “Bearable,” he grimaced. “Just.” He had located the pipe now, but he merely stared at it before absently returning it to its place in his jacket.

  “What is it, Clive?” Henrietta asked softly, reading the shift in his demeanor.

  “It’s nothing. Just that the guns … the rapid fire … it unsettles me sometimes,” he confessed.

  “Yes, of course,” she said sympathetically, resting a hand on his arm. “So many bad memories.”

  “Sometimes,” he said, giving her a grateful smile and patting her hand.

  “Shall we go down?” she tried to say cheerfully, hoping to change the mood.

  Clive glanced at the little clock on the mantel. “I suppose we should,” he said with a sigh. “Ready?”

  Holding his arm out to her now, he led her out and down the grand staircase. And though she was the one to be anxious w
ith the gala event upon them, it was Clive’s hand that slightly shook as he grasped hers in his own.

  “Here they are!” boomed Lord Linley from where he appeared in the doorway. “Stevens is about to ring the gong and you haven’t even had a drink yet! Don’t dawdle out here in the hallway!”

  Clive gave her hand a squeeze then as they joined the others in the drawing room. “Let them be,” Mrs. Sedgewick was saying. “You know how newlyweds are!”

  “I can assure you, madam, that Roger and I were never like that!” the countess said snidely. “We never forgot our duty, wedding trip or no.”

  Clive looked at Henrietta and gave her almost an imperceptible wink before they let go of each other to take the drinks offered them.

  Dinner progressed as expected. It was a very lavish spread, which Henrietta thought odd, especially as the Howards, according to Clive, anyway, were so cash poor. She had hoped to be seated near some of the local families, thinking it might be easier to converse with them, but instead Henrietta found herself seated near Miss Jane Fairfax, who had been absent from the croquet match, but whom, it turned out, thankfully, was not in the least threatening and was, indeed, rather amusing, marveling as she did that she and Clive had had Helen Forrest sing at their wedding. She then proceeded to ask numerous questions about jazz in general, as if Henrietta were the expert on the subject. Henrietta tried to answer as best she could, though she could see that Lady Fairfax did not approve of this particular line of conversation.

  To her right sat the countess, who meanwhile seemed intent on asking her about the Von Harmon connection, claiming that Louisa Von Harmon was a distant cousin of hers whom she had met at court, as Louisa was a lady in waiting to Queen Mary and that she had likewise been a particular friend of Victoria Eugenie of Battenberg, who was Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, of course, and who later became the Queen of Spain. After further, careful questioning of Henrietta and dissection of her limited answers, the countess abruptly determined that this same cousin, Louisa Von Harmon, that is, must have indeed been a cousin of sorts to Henrietta’s father as well.

  Henrietta rather quickly perceived that the countess’s conclusion regarding the Von Harmon connection caused her to immediately rise in the estimation of all in the vicinity, and she smiled sadly to herself thinking that her father would have been so proud. She forced this from her mind, however, and instinctively looked down the table at Clive. He seemed engrossed in a discussion with Lord Linley and the Honorable St. John Sedgewick about hunting, and she wished she could join that conversation instead.

  Anything would be preferable to having to listen to the countess, whose attention had shifted now, in her rather shameful attempts to thrust poor Lady Winifred at Wallace, who was deflecting her efforts with only passable grace.

  “I say, Wallace, dear,” the countess was saying, “Winifred does so enjoy a game of croquet, don’t you, Winifred? Such a youthful game, I’ve always felt, wouldn’t you say, Wallace? Yet suitable for any physical condition.”

  Henrietta winced at her patent reference to his injured leg.

  “Yes, I daresay it is,” Wallace put in tactfully with what seemed a false smile, though Henrietta thought she saw his jaw clench.

  “Perhaps you might get up a game tomorrow, Wallace? Winifred, I’m afraid, missed today’s match as she was suffering from one of her headaches again. She’s quite delicate, are you not, Winifred?”

  Lady Winifred did not respond but looked morosely into her wine. Henrietta felt sorry for her and tried to assess whether the poor woman resented being addressed as a child despite the fact that she was well over thirty, but it was difficult to tell. It was obvious that the countess still felt it the height of fashion for well-bred young ladies to be fragile and rather pale. Henrietta was of the opinion, however, that a stalwart war veteran such as Wallace would need someone with a bit more wherewithal to her, both mentally and physically, to attract his notice.

  “If you wish it, Countess, then of course,” Wallace said begrudgingly after a scorching look from Lady Linley, who had an amazing ability, despite the slightly dotty persona she often chose to present, to be part of several conversations at once. “Though it may be too chilly. One never knows what the weather will be. It’s so very fickle these days,” he said smoothly.

  “Splendid,” the countess said serenely, ignoring his insinuations, if they were indeed insinuations, confident for the moment in what she saw as her victory. Lady Winifred remained silent.

  Lady Fairfax was not to be undone, however, and asked Wallace if he had enjoyed London and recounted with excellent detail how he had been so very kind to escort her Jane to the latest exhibition at the Tate when they had both been in town.

  “Jane had a delightful time, did you not, Jane?”

  “Oh, yes, M’ma!” Jane said enthusiastically.

  Henrietta caught Lady Fairfax’s look of triumph toward the countess. It was becoming apparent to Henrietta that Wallace Howard, future Lord Linley of Castle Linley, was considered quite the catch, though besides the title, Henrietta could not understand why. He was not exactly what one would call handsome, with his angular face and sunken brown eyes that seemed to hold a permanent sadness, a pain almost. He could be polite if need be, but he was distant and aloof, seemingly interested in nothing or no one around him. He would make a most disagreeable sort of companion, Henrietta mused. He was listless most of the time, unless, Henrietta had noticed, the discourse turned political, as it did now at Lord Linley’s end of the table.

  “Did I hear you say you plan to continue on to the continent, Clive?” Captain Russell, one of Wallace’s friends, was asking.

  “Yes, in a few weeks,” Clive answered. “We’re going to stay for a short time in London, and then on to Paris and eventually Venice,” he said, looking down the table at Henrietta and catching her eye with a smile.

  “You might think twice about that, old boy,” Lord Fairfax put in. “What with Mussolini invading Ethiopia. Seems a bit of a mess just now.”

  “Yes, it’s all the talk in chambers these days,” the earl added solemnly. “There’s a rumor that Mussolini plans to align with Hitler.”

  “Preposterous!” blustered Lord Linley. “Hitler’s an inconsequential upstart.”

  “I wouldn’t overlook him, Lord Linley,” Captain Russell said carefully. “He’s gaining more and more power. The Nuremberg laws are a perfect example.”

  “Agreed,” the earl said, tossing his napkin onto the table now.

  “Surely that has no bearing in Paris, however,” Clive said quietly as he tightly gripped the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and forefinger.

  “We’d be foolish not to think so,” Sedgewick put in. “If we’re not careful, there’ll be another war. Just look at Spain. Even now French volunteers are swarming over to back the Republicans.”

  “And why shouldn’t they?” Wallace said loudly, drawing the men’s eyes to him. “They should be backing them! We should, too. Every one of us should be fighting against Franco and the Nationalists. I would if it wasn’t for this bloody bum leg!” he said, giving his leg a look of disgust.

  “And be aligned with the Soviets? Don’t be ridiculous!” Lord Linley said.

  “Better them and the working man than the Nazis and the Fascists!” Wallace argued.

  “I do fear that what we’re seeing in Spain and Italy is a microcosm of what might spread across all of Europe before too long,” the earl broke in. “The writing is clear.”

  “Exactly my point,” Wallace said bitterly.

  “Surely not after all we’ve suffered in the Great War,” a Mr. Cooper ventured to add quietly, not having spoken yet at all this evening besides the usual pleasantries. He was the owner of the local Masson Mill and had lost two sons in the war.

  “Of course it’s not over!” Wallace said hotly. “Hitler has taken up where the Kaiser’s left off, and there’s no one to stop him!”

  “Wallace!” Lord Linley said with quiet fierceness
.

  “Gentlemen! Gentlemen! That is quite enough!” Lady Linley said querulously from the other end of the table. “You can continue this over your port. But don’t keep us waiting, mind you!” she demanded, as she stood up now, a footman hurrying to hold her chair. “We’ve arranged for a quartet to entertain us,” she added to the murmured delight of Sarah and Jane Fairfax.

  “Oooh, might we dance, Lady Linley?” Jane asked hopefully.

  “Jane!” Lady Fairfax barked. “Don’t be impertinent!”

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said, somewhat remorsefully. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Not at all, my dear,” put in Lady Linley. “Of course the young people might want to dance. I’ll see that Stevens has one of the carpets rolled back for anyone that wants to indulge,” she said, her eyes resting on Wallace for a second, but his face did not reciprocate any enthusiasm as she swept out of the room, the ladies dutifully following her.

  The reception room located in the front of the house was smaller than a ballroom but bigger than the drawing room and was aglow with soft lights as the ladies entered. The quartet had set up at one end of the hall near the grand piano, where straight-backed chairs with gilding and thick, light blue upholstery had been placed. There were also more comfortable armchairs in groupings around the room, including in front of the massive fireplace. On one side of the room, the servants had already removed one of the carpets. The older women took up residency by the fire, keen on listening to the quartet, Lady Linley bemoaning the fact that young ladies no longer stood up and sang to accompaniment for the evening’s entertainment, a sentiment the assembled matrons were quick to agree and sympathize with.