The Heart Denied (21 page)

"Very well. She called you a cad."

Thorne snorted. "Is that all?"

Townsend's eyes narrowed. "I've known you to deck a man for less than that. She slandered your reputation, Neville. You, who are ever the protector and defender of the gentler sex."

"Did she say what I'd done to deserve such an epithet?" Thorne flicked imaginary lint from his sleeve.

"No, she didn't."

"Well, the woman has a right to her opinion. What say we take Bernie riding this morn?"

"Oh, so I'm to be left in the dark. Very well then, I'll see if I can abduct the little hellion from her cousins. You're a glutton for punishment, Neville, an absolute glutton."

* * *

Standing in the foyer of the Sutherland mansion, tricorne in hand, Thorne felt like a schoolboy come to beg forgiveness of his governess.

Old Marsh came trudging down the steps alone. "She'll not see ye, sir," she said, looking sheepish.

"Why not?"

Marsh shrugged. "She only says, sir, to tell ye she's not at home to callers today."

Coolly studying the gallery, Thorne considered scaling the elegant stairway and barging into Caroline's boudoir. "Tell your mistress," he said casually, "that I look for her to return to Chigwell as soon as she's able." He donned his hat and left the house, Caroline's butler, Gilbert, dejectedly holding the door for him.

"'Tis a rotten shame," Marsh muttered, eyeing Lord Neville through the window as he climbed jauntily into the coach. "After all he's done for her."

Gilbert shook his head. "Criminal, if you ask me." He winced as Caroline's voice chimed in from above.

"No one asked you, you old coot, so keep your bloody tongue in your head!"

* * *

"Too early for tea?" asked Arthur, tossing a corf on the worktable. "Four good-sized trout, caught this morning. Nigh forgot to collect them."

"Hilly, draw a breath!" Bridey called out, dropping an armful of winesaps on the worktable. The butter churn's rhythmic thump ceased, and Hillary came scurrying from the creamery.

"Come clean these fish, lass." Bridey eyed Arthur silently for a moment, then asked in an undertone, "Did ye perchance see Toby on your way in?"

"He's out," Arthur said, buttering a fresh scone.

"Aye, he's out all right," the cook grumbled. "Out with her ladyship. As usual, here of late."

Arthur paused, the butter knife in mid air. "What are you saying, Bridey?" he murmured, glancing Hillary's way.

The cook took a knife to the winesaps on her chopping board. "'Tis not my place to say anything," she replied flatly.

"'Twill go no further than my ears."

She eyed him grimly. "The pair o' them ride daily now...and of an evening as well, Monday past." She pursed her lips.

"Evening, eh." Arthur poured steaming orange-pekoe tea into his cup.

"Aye," Bridey chopped furiously. "Come in late, too. Found Combs in the reading room and raked her over the coals. Made her faint dead away, then turned her back on her." She gave an apple a vicious whack.

Arthur said nothing.

"Master'll be home soon," Bridey muttered. "There'll be no more midnight rides then, I'll vow."

"Midnight, Bridey?"

"Near enough. 'Tweren't more than two hours away when she sashayed in by the side door."

Arthur downed most of his tea, then pushed the trestle back from the table. "Well, as you say, Bridey, the master will be home soon. And
that
," he added firmly, "will be the end of that."

By Wednesday evening Thorne suspected Caroline wouldn't return to the house party. By Thursday morning he was all but certain.

He told himself he was merely restless when he took up a favorite book but couldn't concentrate, or began a game of cards only to lose and curse his luck aloud. He even found Bernie's impulsiveness more of a trial than an amusement, and it was Townsend who finally demanded an end to it.

"She has you by the bollocks, man, admit it!"

Thorne knew he wasn't referring to Bernie.

"You're like a brother to me, Neville, so I say this with sincere affection--get the devil home and get your house in order before you see her again. You're a lit powder keg at any rate, and damned if I want you around when you explode."

Thorne studied Townsend noncommittally. "Truly, I'm that much of a mess?"

"Every bit of it." Townsend softened his tone. "Not to say you're at fault, just that your situation isn't improving with time...although, who can tell? You might find Gwynneth's attitude changed, now that she's had some time away from you, and if that's the case, your...obsession, shall we call it?...with Mistress Sutherland will be a thing of your more tawdry past." He eyed his friend with fond annoyance. "Go home."

Thorne smiled crookedly. "I suppose there are worse ways of being put out of someone's house. I wonder, though, what Lady Townsend would do if she knew you were giving me the boot."

Townsend winced. "I may be twenty-six years old, but she'd box my ears soundly, and you bloody well know it. And that would be a picnic next to what Bernie'd do when
she
got hold of me."

Thorne chuckled. "Bless her, she's my champion all right." His smile faded. "All jesting aside, Townsend, you've probably done me a favor. You're right, there's little I can do from here. I'll collect my bag and find my hosts."

* * *

"Stop your dallying and fetch Bartholomew to the smithy's," groused Hobbs. When there was no answer he looked up to see Gwynneth silhouetted in the doorway. "Milady. Forgive me, I thought you were Nate."

"He's already gone," she said softly, "or I wouldn't have come."

Unable to read her expression in the dim light, Hobbs pulled a three-legged stool from under the worktable and set it out for her. 'Tis all I can offer," he said ruefully.

Gwynneth glanced about the room as she sat down. "I shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Hobbs laid aside the harness he was repairing. "Are these not your husband's stables?"

"Aye, but I believe I'm being watched. From the Hall." She sighed. "Did you miss our ride yesterday?"

Hobbs debated a reply.

"I'd errands in town," she explained, then smiled at his expression. "If you don't believe me, Tobias, ask at the coach house. All my riding was done in comfort yesterday."

He picked up a narrow strip of hide and began weaving it into the damaged harness. "Aye, riding horseback is a poor second," he said evenly, keeping his eyes on his work. "But some of us have little choice. I'm thus reminded, Milady, that I'm naught but a simple stableman, hence far too lowly to accompany you on your rides. I was mad to think otherwise. You needn't say any more, 'tis done. Henceforth, I'll stay right here in the stables, where I belong, and leave the escorting to your husband." 

Met with silence, he looked down to see reproach in Gwynneth's gaze.

"I came here," she said, a tremor in her voice, "to tell you I hoped to ride with you today. I wanted to arrange the time around your schedule so that no one could accuse you of neglecting your duties. But never mind, now. I shan't bother you again." Tears in her eyes, she shot up off the stool, gathered her skirts, and fled.

She was scarcely out the door when Hobbs seized her by the shoulder, but he let her go without a word as he spotted Arthur coming through the gate. Gwynneth never broke stride, giving the steward a nod and a terse "good morning" as she passed him.

One look at Arthur's face sent Hobbs back to his workbench.

"You've some business with her ladyship this morn?" Arthur pulled out the stool and sat down. Hobbs resumed his harness repair with a vengeance.

"Aye. What of it?"

"I'll not mince words, Toby. There's talk at the Hall, and I want it stopped before his lordship returns."

"Talk?"

"Aye, of you and her ladyship. Stay where you are and listen," he said as Hobbs made to rise. "This is for your own good. 'Tis up to
you
to prevent slander against the girl...and 'girl' she is, Toby, make no mistake. She's led a secluded life, hence is ignorant regarding certain matters, such as daily rides with her husband's stableman in her husband's absence. Steady, keep your tongue and your temper," he warned, seeing Hobbs bristle. "Hear me out.

"From this day hence, you'll refuse to ride with her ladyship, no matter how much she coaxes you. Be gentle but firm. Send one of the lads with her."

"Who started this 'talk'?"

"It matters not. What matters is her ladyship's reputation. Give an old man peace of mind, Toby, and keep your situation in the bargain. Lord Neville values you highly enough, but
by God
," Arthur said with quiet vehemence, "he'd kill you in a trice for cuckolding him."

Hobbs clenched his jaw. "Very well. For her sake, and hers alone, I shan't ride with her again. But I won't bar her from the stables. She likes to visit Abigail on the days she doesn't ride. Should I abandon my work and barricade myself in my quarters until she leaves?"

"Don't be insolent," Arthur groused, rising slowly to stretch the tension from of his limbs. "A polite greeting will suffice. Then leave her to her own amusement and go on about your business. Understood?"

"Aye, Mister Pennington." Hobbs muttered through his teeth. "Bloody
well understood."

* * *

As Thorne's coach rolled out of the Townsend's drive and into the lane, all but one person waved farewell. Looking deceptively angelic in blue eyelet and white lace, Bernie simply watched him go.

He blew a kiss out the window, prompting a halfhearted wave from Bernie, and saw Townsend put his arm around her shoulders.

Another year or so and she might have been his wife. The kind of wife he'd envisioned in Gwynneth.

Enough
.
He'd made his bed--with considerable help from his father and Radleigh--and now he would have to lie down in it. He chuckled cynically at the old adage, since he seemed destined to lie only in his bachelor bed.

But, who could tell? Townsend might be right. Perhaps Gwynneth had experienced a change of heart. By the time the coach reached London proper, Thorne felt cautiously optimistic, and settled in for the ten-hour journey home.

* * *

Hobbs sucked in a breath. Gwynneth was leaning against the doorframe. Behind her, wisps of fog drifted in the light of a waning moon.

He looked back at his ledger, dipped his quill into the inkwell, and resumed tallying the grooms' hours and wages for the week. But all he could think of was how brown his arm looked against the pale parchment, and how it would look just that way against Gwynneth's bare skin.

His heart pounded. He made a nasty blot on the page, then gave up, laying the quill aside and sprinkling sand on what he'd managed to finish.

"I shall stand here until you acknowledge me."

Hobbs stared at his clasped hands, half hoping she'd turn and walk away. Hearing the dry whisper of silk approaching, he spoke without turning his head. "You should not be here."

Her pace slowed, though her fragrance advanced, assaulting his senses. He closed his eyes, then opened them to stare at the wooden wall.

"I've come to fetch Abigail. Will you ride with me?"

He gritted his teeth at the caress in her voice. "I cannot."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm to refuse you, Milady."

"By whose instruction?"

"That of my master's steward."

"Your master's...Pennington?" She came closer. "Then I
am
being spied upon, I knew it. No doubt he's following orders. Ride with me."

"I
cannot
. Ride if you must, but at your own risk. I've no one to send, the grooms have all gone home." Hobbs swallowed hard. "I answer to both Pennington and your husband, Milady, and I've no choice but to follow orders or risk losing my situation."

"This is outrageous!" She blinked back tears. "I am Lady Neville, Baroness Neville of Wycliffe!"

"You are," he agreed, rising, unable to bear the distress in her voice. She was so close her skirts brushed his breeches. Hobbs made fists at his sides, resisting the urge to caress her cheek, stroke her hair.

"Then
I
say that the stable master
shall
accompany me when I ride!" A sob choked her voice. "All my life I've been ruled by men! First my father, then the priest...and now that I am a baroness and mistress of the manor, what do I find? Only that I'm bound as ever by a man's rules and expectations--a man who doesn't love me, who only wants to possess me." Her green eyes blazed through her tears. "Well I am no longer a child, and I shan't be treated as one! Did Pennington also tell you to put me out of the stables?"

"No, Milady." Hobbs struggled to keep his voice calm, his heart racing at her revelation that Neville didn't love her. "Only that you're to ride with one of the grooms."

Gwynneth stared into his troubled eyes, and shook her head. "You're no happier about this than I, are you? Speak truth."

Emotion tightened his throat. "My happiness is of no consequence, Milady. You are your husband's chattel."

Bowing her head, Gwynneth began to sob.

Before Hobbs knew what he was doing, his arms were around her. She did not balk. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he rocked her gently in his embrace while she wept, until the sound of something outdoors permeated his consciousness.

"What is it?" Gwynneth murmured, stiffening in his embrace as raised his head to listen.

"Wait here. Hide in that empty stall." Furious at the interruption, he strode to the doorway.

A coach was turning in from the Northampton road. Hobbs swore under his breath.

"Who is it?" Gwynneth hissed.

"Your husband."

"What?" She hurried out of the stall as Hobbs approached, her eyes wide. "But he isn't to return for two days!"

Hobbs twisted his mouth in irony. "Shall we march outside and tell him so?" He drew her cloak up over her shoulders, then jerked a kerchief from his pocket and blotted her face with it. "Pinch your cheeks."

"Pardon?"

"Pinch your cheeks. 'Tis a trick of my sister's when she's too pale."

Gwynneth eyed him dubiously. "Your sister."

"Yes," he said with a fleeting smile, then gave Gwynneth's face a quick inspection. "Now go. Use the west entrance and take the service stairs. You had better fly, he has a long stride. Go!"

* * *

"Quick, Byrnes, fetch me another frock, I don't care which. The master has arrived, and will likely be hungry."
For food, pray God, and naught else
, Gwynneth added silently.

"You answer it," she said as a knock sounded at the door. While the maid hurried to obey, Gwynneth tried to look casual in a chair near the fire, but craned her neck at the sudden clatter from the sitting room.

In came her husband, pushing a teakwood serving-cart bearing a cold supper and a dusty bottle of wine. "Good evening, my lady. I'm told you've had naught to eat since midday, so perhaps you'll share a small repast with me."

"Yes, of course!" Her tone was too bright; she could see it in his sharp glance, and her tension heightened. But while eating the Cornish hen, soda bread, Camembert, and poached pears in sweet cream and nutmeg, Thorne said little, and gradually Gwynneth relaxed. "You've returned early. Was the house party tiresome?"

"Not particularly. You were missed, by the by, and inquired after with much concern. You might want to remember that your Aunt Evelyn has been very ill."

Gwynneth's face grew warm.

"So, how have you occupied yourself?" Thorne asked pleasantly.

Expecting the question, Gwynneth had rehearsed a reply. "Needlepoint. Tending my roses, perhaps overmuch." She ruefully showed him her scratched hands. "I've helped in the kitchen, too, drying herbs and preserving apple butter." She ate a bit of pear before adding casually, "I've ridden, too, almost every day."

"Not alone, I hope?"

"Oh, no, I was quite safe."

Thorne lifted an eyebrow. "Hobbs was daily able to spare a groom?"

Pulse racing, Gwynneth managed an airy sniff. "Hobbs doesn't trust any of those simpletons. He thinks too much of you to leave your wife's safety to a mere boy."

Thorne eyed her intently. "Hobbs thinks very little of me, my lady, so you may as well save your breath on that score."