Again, My Lord: A Twist Series Novel (24 page)

“That was cleverly contrived.”
Tacitus watched Miss Smythe and Mr. Curtis continue along the path, walking side by side a proper distance apart yet entirely oblivious of the drizzle and puddles and everything else around them.

A smile of pure satisfaction curved Lady Holland’s lips as she stared after them.

“How did you know they would be so swiftly compatible?” he asked.

“Oh, anybody could have seen it. Thank you for wresting Penny away from her mother. I suspected Mrs. Smythe would not deny her daughter a tête-a-tête with
you
.”

“I am Dare, after all,” he said mildly.

Her smile burrowed straight beneath his waistcoat.

“I wonder,” he said, “how you guessed that I would play along with this subterfuge.”

“Knowledge of your character, of course.”

“Hm. I don’t know whether to consider that a compliment or not.”

“You certainly should. Now, my lord, I must bid you good day. Again, thank you.” She pivoted on the path and started off, her umbrella swiftly obscuring his view of her. Too swiftly.

He’d spent no more than an hour in her company this morning and he wanted more. More of her sparkling eyes and blinding smile. More of her agile hands that still captivated him and her laughter that intoxicated him.

It did not matter that she was married. He had no dishonorable intentions—
none that he would act on
. She drew him now just as she had six years ago. But there was something different about her, something he had not seen in the foyer the night before, something he could not fix on and yet he wanted more of it. God or fate or who-knew-what had trapped him with her in this tiny village for a single day. He had lost his chance of having her years ago, but he could not allow this opportunity of simply being with her to pass.

“Where are you off to, Lady Holland?”

She paused and turned her shoulder to peek at him around the edge of her umbrella.

“Church,” she said.

“May I accompany you there?”

Her lips seemed to flirt with a smile.

“That would be lovely, my lord.”

The church flanking the inn was a modest building, featuring a tower from which the loudest bell in Christendom had woken him almost five hours earlier.

“May I enquire as to your purpose in going to church on Saturday?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

She offered him a grin full of mischief. Then her attention turned to a man walking up the aisle toward them.

“There you are, Mr. Pimly.” She went toward him. “Thank you for this.”

“Good day, ma’am.” The man was all sinew and bones, and seventy if he were a day. “Are you ready?”

“Ready and eager. And here is Lord Dare to laugh at my attempt.”

“My lord.” Pimly nodded, but his attention was all for the lady. Tacitus didn’t blame him. She practically glowed with anticipation.

“I think I should like to know what I am to laugh at before I decide whether or not I shall,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes alight. “I am going to learn how to ring the bell.”

~o0o~

And she did.

“There you go!” Pimly shouted over the deafening throb of the first toll emanating from far above in the belfry. “Put your back into it! Brace your feet. Now pull! Yes, yes. That’s it. Hold on tight!”

Gripping the rope with bare hands, she rose to her toes with the swing of the bell, her mouth and eyes and entire face laughing.

“Don’t let go,” Pimly called out. “Keep those arms—yes!”

“She won’t hurt herself?” Tacitus said across the clamor. His stomach was knots, his heartbeats a steeplechase.

“She could,” Pimly said. “It don’t seem to be worrying her, though. Mighty strong for a lady. Wouldn’t have thought it.”

The bell’s toll pounded through the tower again.

“Won’t everybody in Swinly be horrified that the rings are uneven?” she shouted breathlessly as her heels again left the ground.

“They might,” Pimly called back. “But the Lord Almighty’ll only hear the music.”

“Well said.” Tacitus was torn between enjoying the shape of her legs revealed by her clinging skirts and worrying over her hands slipping on the rope.

“I don’t think I can do this for much longer,” she called over the reverberations. “But you forgot to teach me how to stop!”

“How d’you think you should, lass?”

She pulled and the rope hauled her arms upward again.

“I don’t know!” Her eyes were wild.

“You’ll know it.”

“Before she breaks an arm?”

“Yes!” And then she was stumbling away from the rope as it danced in the air and snaked across the floor. Tacitus lunged forward and caught her up in his arms. Laughter shook her and she clung to him, her lips parted and cheeks bright. She pulled away from him and they watched as Pimly got hold of the rope and resumed the ringing.

When the twelfth ring finally faded to a hum, Mr. Pimly complimented her on both her form and courage, and he saw them to the door.

“How did you release the rope?” Tacitus said as they walked toward the inn, wishing he had another excuse to hold her, even briefly.

“All at once. It bit into my fingers and burned my palms horridly, so I tried to readjust my hold. But I realized that my arms simply were not strong enough to sustain it. So I let go, all at once. And the pain disappeared.” She lifted her reddened palms and flexed them. “That is, not entirely. But I suspect this will fade soon enough.” Her smile now was simple.

“You were remarkable. Are you disappointed that you did not pull all twelve rings?”

“No. I only wanted to pull seven.” She halted and looked at him. “Here I must part with you, my lord.”

His heart had not ceased its swift pace since they descended from the tower. He thought perhaps that in her presence it might never.

“Off to do another errand?”

“I am indeed. Good day.” She strode away and he tried with every ounce of his imagination to devise a justification for continuing with her. Nothing occurred to him that did not shout
roguish scoundrel,
which was a clear message in itself.

Approaching the inn, he heard Mrs. Smythe in the foyer before he saw her. He’d no idea if Miss Smythe and Mr. Curtis had finished their stroll. Retreating from the door, he retraced his steps and continued down the street to the pub. After the activities of late morning, the book in his pocket seemed poor company. But he was accustomed to solitary pursuits. That such pursuits now paled violently in comparison to even the few minutes he had just spent with Calista Holland was a penance he must, as before, learn to endure.

~o0o~

When he returned to the inn hours later, it was bustling with activity. The men with whom he had played cards until a lady had employed him in her matchmaking scheme were at work draping garlands formed of paper loops from one corner of the taproom to another. Three threadbare children sat a table contriving the garlands. An elegant, compact woman with a pretty face directed a fashionable fellow in arranging brilliantly colored cloths on all the tables, followed by a woman in a spectacular hat placing bouquets of flowers planted in bonnets in the center of each.

The whole place smelled of baking—cake, he thought. He was rewarded for this guess when a trio of flour-smeared people he could have sworn were guests at the inn paraded into the room with plates loaded with sweets.

Someone bumped his shoulder from behind and abruptly his knee was scalding hot.

“Oh!” The innkeeper’s serving girl covered her mouth with her palm. The other hand held a dripping pot of coffee. “I’m that sorry I am! And with Lady Holland making that special glove for me, now I’ve gone and forgot to use it.”

The knee of his trousers was bathed in coffee.

“That’s quite all right,” he said and her face relaxed. “What’s going on in here?”

“A surprise party for Mrs. Whittle! Lady Holland thought since Aunt Meg’s always taking care of everybody else’s needs, we could use the flooded day to give her a party, to thank her. Mr. Pritchard took her away to the pub for what he told her was a very important meeting so that we could prepare now.”

“What a splendid idea. How may I assist?”

The elegant little woman presented him with a length of shimmery fabric.

“As you are the tallest here, sir, except for Mr. Dewey, who has gone to milk the cow, you can hang this on that curtain hook.”

“Good heavens, George,” came the voluble whisper of Mrs. Smythe behind him in the foyer. “She doesn’t even know who he
is
.”

“Oh, come now, Capricia,” the fashionable fellow said. “He’s offered to help.” He extended his hand. “Alan Smythe, sir. And this is Mrs. Cooke. With whom may I have the pleasure of becoming acquainted?”

“I am Dare.” He bit back a grin and wondered where the instigator of these party preparations was.

“When the children have completed those links, sir,” Mrs. Cooke said, “you may hang them from the picture frame in the foyer.”

“How did you enjoy your stroll with Penelope, my lord?” her father asked. “She’s a good girl, isn’t she?”

“A fine young lady,” he said. “I wish her all the best in her work with orphans.”

Mrs. Smythe gasped. “She did not tell you about
that,
did she, my lord?”

“She did, and I am deeply impressed, Mrs. Smythe. These days all the great ladies are devoting their time to caring for the poor, of course,” he drawled. “Why, only a fortnight ago the Duchess of Hammershire told me that she plans to found a school for orphans not a half mile from Hammershire Hall,” he invented. Then he nodded soberly to her husband. “I recommend that you find your daughter a suitor dedicated to such work, Mr. Smythe. Together they could be the toast of society. Now, Mrs. Cooke, where was it that you wanted me to hang this?”

The cool breeze from a window
cracked open set candles to dancing like the villagers and travelers capering about the taproom to the fiddler’s sawing. Cakes had been consumed, as well as a fair quantity of wine and ale, and tables pushed against walls to make space for the dancers.

“I don’t know when I’ve had such fun!” Mrs. Whittle exclaimed as Mr. Pritchard swung her across the floor. Cheeks rosier than ever, she paused to take Calista in a quick embrace. “I never thought a grand lady could seem like a daughter to me. Bless you, dear!” She danced away, and Harriet took her place at Calista’s side.

“That green hat is positively ideal for her. And I simply adore the alterations we made to my shop today.
Dear
Calista, what an eye you have for everything.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I have an eye for everything.” Mostly for the handsome lord across the room, now in conversation with Penny and Charles. He smiled at something Penny said, and warmth filled Calista. She had wished that warmth away so many times she’d lost count of the wishes. But it happened every time, nevertheless. She could spend a lifetime seeing him smile and never tire of it. “I am happy you like the changes we made to your shop.”

“Is my new business partner sharing our news, my lady?” Alan said, coming to stand beside Harriet.

“Business partner?”

“Mr. Smythe wishes to sell my hats and bonnets in Leeds and London,” Harriet exclaimed. “We are going to open two shops together!”

“They are ingenious creations,” he said. “More taking than any other designer’s I’ve seen in England. I’ve no doubt we will turn a tidy profit.”

“How thoroughly wonderful.” Calista grasped Harriet’s hands. “I congratulate you both.”

“Oh, there is Elena Cooke now,” Harriet said and wiggled her brows at Mr. Smythe. “I suspect
she
will be positively in alt over your plans to stop in Swinly regularly, sir.” With a bob of her bright curls, she twirled away.

Alan looked after Harriet with an unusually tight jaw.

“She will ruin the thing before it’s even gotten started,” he muttered.

“Hasn’t it already gotten started?” Calista ventured.

His usual devilish grin resurfaced.

“It has, my lady. And I am grateful to you for making the introduction this morning. In fact it was Mrs. Cooke’s idea that I should visit the millinery shop today. She has a very fine eye for fashion.” His words trailed off as his hungry gaze sought the dressmaker across the room.

“And yet she does not wish to have her own fashions sold in Leeds or London?”

“She does, indeed,” he said. “She intends to remove to Leeds within the month. Permanently.”

“Does she? How delightfully—”

“Convenient.” He smiled fully now. Then he took her hand and lifted it past his splendid neckcloth to his lips. “Thank you, my lady. I am eternally in your debt.”

He went to claim a dance from Elena, and Calista let the merriment ebb around her. But she had one final task to perform tonight: her most important task.

Slipping into the foyer and taking her cloak, she went out into the night that glistened with starlight and walked past the sheep pasture and along Mr. Drover’s field. Opening the latch on the door to the little house, she peered around the shadowy room lit only by the glow of dying embers.

“Tommy?”

“I’m here, mum.” He sat on the empty cot, his palms cupped around his knees.

She sat down beside him.

“Your brother and sisters are already tucked in bed at the vicarage,” she said. “You have been very courageous these past weeks, and I know you are worn out. Will you come have a cup of tea and a cake now, and then some sleep?”

“I’d like that. It’s only that … It’s …” A tear trickled down his cheek.

“It is difficult to leave here, isn’t it?” she said softly. “It feels as though you are leaving her.”

“Yes, mum. I know I’ve got to be strong for Fred and my sisters. It’s tough going, though.”

She put her arm around his shoulders.

“I know, Tommy. But this part is supposed to be hard. If it weren’t, it would not be love.”

As they walked the soggy path to the center of the village, gradually his steps grew lighter and soon he launched into a description of Mr. Smythe’s top-drawer carriage horses. Youth and vitality disliked loitering in sorrow, she had learned. By the time they arrived at the vicarage he was almost smiling.

“Here you are,” Reverend Abbott said as he opened the door to them. “Your brother and sisters have been waiting for you to arrive before they eat their bedtime cakes, Tommy.” He gestured the boy inside. Tommy offered her a game tug of his cap, and disappeared into the house.

“Lady Holland, you were a godsend to these children today,” the vicar said. “You can sleep well tonight knowing the good you have done for them.”

“I am happy they are in your care and Dr. Appleby’s now. Good night.”

She went around the church to the inn yard. Music and light spilled out of the inn’s open front door. Lord Dare leaned back against the hitching post, watching her.

“Good heavens, my lord. What are you doing out here without your coat? You must be frozen.”

“And yet I am not,” he said, coming toward her. “Perhaps due to the oven of seventy people all dancing in one small room. Or perhaps it is the wine I’ve drunk.”

They halted face-to-face. Starlight glimmered in his eyes.

“Are you foxed, Lord Dare?”

“No, Lady Holland. Merely bemused. Who would have imagined so many people lived in this tiny village?”

“You mustn’t forget the guests at the inn.”

“How could I? Especially one guest who escaped the party she herself engineered, without a word to anyone.”

“Oh!” She glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. “Has someone needed me for something?”

“Yes.”

She moved around him. “Who?”

“Me.” He touched her sleeve and Calista closed her eyes. It was best when he did not touch her. Tumbling into his embrace in the tower earlier had been a sweetness she no longer allowed herself.

But she could not resist this temptation; she turned her face up to his.

“For what did you need me?”

“I wonder if you would care to stroll with me. To the ford. They say the creek has already dropped half a foot. I thought to see it for myself.”

“That does sound more pleasant than an oven. But you must first don your coat.”

“Wait here,” he said as he backed toward the doorway.

She spread her hands. “I’ve nowhere else to go, my lord.”

A moment later he reappeared, pulling his coat over his shoulders.

“You don’t dress like an arrogant lord,” she said. “Did you always dress so …”

“Unfashionably?” He gestured her in the direction of the high street. She tucked her hands into her pockets before he could offer his arm.

“That isn’t what I hear,” she said. “I haven’t been to London in an age. But according to Mr. Alan Smythe, a true arbiter of style, you dress in the height of austere fashion, in fact.”

“Do I? I shall have to thank my valet for that. Claude is a clever fellow, three steps ahead of me in most matters, I’m afraid.”

“Did he dress you in the past?” She cast him a quick glance and wanted to swallow whole the image of his silhouette. “That is, when—”

“When I visited Dashbourne six years ago? Yes, he did.”

“His taste is understated for a man of your rank. It suits you.”

“On his behalf, I thank you.”

“Of course,
you
are understated for a man of your rank.”

Their footsteps splashing through puddles and the fading sounds of revelry from the inn were their only companions for some minutes.

“I dressed myself that morning,” he said.

“That morning?”

“The last morning of my sojourn at the inn at Dashbourne. Six years ago. You see, I wished to look my best that morning. My most lordly and consequential.”

Another silence stretched, the burble of the swollen creek ahead growing louder while Calista searched for her tongue.

“Did you?” she finally managed.

“Yes. I intended to call upon your father that morning. I wished to make my authority and power indisputably clear to him, and I was determined to be admitted.” He spoke without haste. “I think I even pinned the House of Dare emblem somewhere on me, on my lapel, or someplace or other.”

They had come to the edge of the ford. The night wrapped around her as she let the music of the rippling water seep into her senses.

“In your cravat,” she said into the silvery blackness. “You wore a gold pin of the Dare crest in your cravat.”

In the corner of her vision, she saw him turn his face to her. Another moment passed in silence.

“You remember that? That detail?”

“I remember every detail of that morning. I ruined your plans.” She offered him the only smile she could. “What a very foolish girl I was.”

His gaze swept over her features. “You have changed, it seems.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. I am still foolish enough to do things like walk in the frigid cold outdoors at midnight.”

Upon the word, Old Mary struck the first of her final twelve rings for the day.

“Shall we return to the inn?” he said.

“You must first assess the level of the creek.” She went forward and down the slope. “That was why you wished to walk over here, after all.”

“Was it?” He followed her to the edge of the water sloshing up the bank.

“What is your opinion? Six inches?”

“Perhaps. Still far too high to cross, even on horseback.” He offered his hand and she took it, twitching her skirts aside to mount to the street again. “The rains were excessively hard,” he said. “Perhaps it will not drop swiftly enough to allow for travel tomorrow and we will all be trapped here another day.” He did not release her hand and she did not ask for it back. Not yet. “What would you do with your day then, Lady Holland? For it seems you have done all that could be done in this little village already today.”

“I daresay I would find some project to keep me busy.” Drawing her fingers from his, she moved toward the street. “Now, however, I find I am excessively sleepy. It has been a busy day, indeed.”

They walked back along the street in companionable silence. As they passed the alleyway, Calista heard a shushing sound, then soft, masculine laughter followed by a sigh in Elena’s alto tones.

She smiled and quickened her pace.

Within the inn, the merrymakers had dispersed, all except Molly, who drooped over a broom in the middle of the room strewn with the remnants of the festivities.

“Dear me, Molly,” she said, whisking the broom from her slack fingers. “You have been awake since before dawn. You must go to bed at once. This can wait.”

“But—”

“Molly,” Lord Dare said, “Do as her ladyship requests.”

“May I make up the fire in milady’s room first, milord?”

“You may.”

Molly dropped a grateful curtsy and disappeared.

Calista twisted her lips. “You are certainly not understated when you wish to be, my lord.”

He bowed.

She looked around the room. “What a catastrophe. Ah well. I’ve nothing better to do.”

“Mere minutes ago you mentioned sleep.”

“That was before this.” She set the broom to the floor. “Good night, then, my lord.”

“What a shabby gentleman you must think me, to leave a lady to sweep and clean by herself.” He pushed a table toward the center of the floor where it belonged.

“I think you a vastly peculiar gentleman to assist anyone at sweeping and cleaning, actually.”

“Yes, you have called me that before.” He pushed chairs into place. “Twice, I think.”

“Certainly more times than that.” She pulled a linen from the table and began folding it. “You are, after all.”

“Clearly that girl from six years ago is still alive and well in you, Lady Holland.”

“Thank you, Lord Dare. I think we should leave the garlands. The children made them in honor of their grandmother. I imagine Mrs. Whittle won’t mind it.”

“The doctor told me what you did for those children today.”

“I did very little, in truth. And anybody would have, I’m sure.”

“Not anybody. You are an exceptional person, Calista.”

“I’m not, really.” She took up another cloth and folded it into a neat square. “I miss my son. Dreadfully. It was the least I could do for those children.”

“Say what you will, but— Well, good evening. Who are you?”

Calista’s head came up to see him watching the cat leap into the room. It bounded onto a balled-up wad of paper and batted it under a table.

“That is Plato.” Her cheeks warmed, ridiculously. “He lives here.”

“Does he?” He bent to pry the ball from where it had lodged under a table leg. “What a fine name you have, sir.”

“Mrs. Whittle doesn’t have any idea where he came from, or why he does not live in the stable as all respectable cats should. But she says she hasn’t seen a mouse in the place in two days. I know, however, that he is partial to bacon and eggs. He even drinks tea. Without milk. I have never seen a cat drink tea before.” She laid the last table linen on the pile and glanced up.

Lord Dare stood perfectly immobile, a sheet of crumpled paper spread open in his hand, his eyes fixed on it. Plato sat at his feet, flicking his tail back and forth across the floor.

Strange, hot fingers of tension crept up her back. Finally, the marquess lifted his eyes. The candlelight caught in them like stars on fire.

“What is that?” she said.

He came toward her and extended the paper.

“It is yours. Forgive me. Once I began reading it, I could not— Forgive me.”

She accepted the paper from him and recognized it in an instant. Her eyes darted to the floor, but Plato had disappeared.

Folding the letter from Mr. Baker, she tucked it into her sleeve and reached for the broom.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I offer you and your son my deepest sympathies, and my apology for reading what was not mine to read.”

“It’s fine. Truly.” She plied the floor with the broom bristles, sweeping debris toward the door. “It is an old letter.”