An Affair Downstairs (13 page)

He woke some time before dawn and went to the window. All was dark and quiet. The full moon reflected off the snow. Deep, but not impossible. He dressed in dry clothes and then woke her.

“Sweet Alice, the time has come.”

“Mmm.” She tugged the blankets tighter around her. “Can't we stay a little longer?”

“I dare not. I would like to get you home before morning, when Finch will certainly sound the alarm if I don't report back on your safety.”

She sat up. “The last thing we need is a frantic countess. How much snow did we get? Will we be able to get back to Thornbrook Park?”

“Come, it's quite a sight.” He held a hand out to her. Not as lovely a sight as his Alice rising from sleep, her glorious red hair hanging loose about her pale white shoulders. He thought of the Botticelli painting he'd seen in books,
The
Birth
of
Venus
. But she was more Artemis than Venus to Logan. She would always be his huntress, and he her very willing prey.

“It's extraordinary, Logan, every branch heavy with snow, the world done over in pure white. How deep do you think it is?”

“We had over a foot the other day, and it looks like we have another eight inches on top of it. It will have compressed down. We'll manage. I'll tend the horse while you dress. I hope he stayed warm enough through the night.”

By the time he got her back to the Dower House and headed for Thornbrook Park, the sun was beginning to rise. Grady didn't ask many questions when he returned the horse, but Logan had a feeling Mr. Finch would be more curious.

“Good morning, Mr. Winthrop.” Finch met him in the kitchen. “I trust all is well? I expected to hear from you before bed last night. I confess, I was a tad uneasy about you and Lady Alice.”

“Lady Alice is well. She was at the pond, but she had the good sense to seek shelter at the old McGinty place. I stayed with her there through the worst of it. Thank goodness I had the hearth repaired. We were able to build a fire.”

“Thank goodness indeed.”

“No need to mention it to anyone. I believe the young woman was embarrassed at her lack of judgment, waiting too long for her suitor to show up. She will be relieved at your discretion in not alarming the whole house.”

Logan was surprised at how easily he lied, but it was more that he wasn't telling everything than that he was dishonest. What had happened between him and Alice was no one's affair but their own.

“Have some breakfast, Winthrop. You look tired. Perhaps take the morning off.”

“I will take some time once I check on the lemon trees in the conservatory. They were looking worse for wear after the drop in temperature, and I have my doubts they're going to survive through the winter.”

He allowed Mrs. Mallows to make him some eggs and coffee, though it was early for the servants to eat. Up with the dawn, they usually worked until eight in the morning before having a chance to sit down briefly. Logan was shocked by his own hunger. He ate like a man who couldn't get enough. He ate like Alice, he thought with a laugh.

“Mrs. Mallows, thank you. Your eggs have never tasted better. I'm a man restored.”

She smiled at the compliment and went on about her work. Expecting that disaster awaited him, Logan went to check on the lemon trees.

***

Alice was careful not to wake Agatha on the way to her room. She was grateful that Mary was not yet up and about for the day. Her plan was to sleep a bit, give Mary time to start on Agatha's breakfast, and then request a bath. She ached in places she'd never ached before, but it was a delicious secret pain. She was truly a woman, able to check off one of the things to accomplish on her list.

But doing it once and moving on was not as easy as she'd supposed. Logan stayed on her mind. To see him again would be to want him again, and she couldn't afford for him to get caught. She would not be responsible for Logan losing his position.

And now she had Lord Ralston to contend with. On the way home, she'd finally asked Logan how he'd known where to find her. He told her about Finch's message. He knew Ralston had taken Alice to the pond on their ride, and he could only assume that was where they'd planned to meet. Good sense led him to check the only possible nearby shelters, and there she was. Alice wasn't sure anyone else would have known where to look. Logan was attuned to her fate, as Agatha would say.

Alice had taken a lover. She imagined how shocked her sister would be. She wondered if she should seduce Lord Ralston next, to know how one man compared to another in making love, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not so soon after Logan. Logan was the only one she wanted now, and she would consider herself lucky if they could find a way to be together again.

She supposed she would have to turn Ralston down gently. Then again, perhaps he had already rejected her. He'd made a date and then hadn't turned up. Had he been stuck in the snow? Or perhaps he had made plans with another. Lady Matilda Furbish? Alice had already decided to ride with Ralston in the Holcomb fox hunt, provided they still held it with all the snow, but Matilda could have him after the hunt. Alice didn't want to take any more of the earl's time without intending to marry him. It wouldn't be quite fair.

It seemed equally unfair to leave a catch like Ralston in the hands of a mousy, boring girl like Matilda. She had no conversational skills and nothing to mark her as interesting besides her family name and money. Obviously, Ralston's aunt preferred the match, but why? Why did it matter to Alice? Ralston could handle his own affairs.

She knew her sense of competitiveness was rearing up and that would be her undoing, as Agatha had once predicted. Alice couldn't bear for people to think Ralston preferred another woman. She wanted to be the one to turn him down, and she wanted everyone to know she'd been the one to turn him down. The idea of being jilted left a sour taste in her mouth. She would use the fox hunt to at least build the reputation of being in demand.

In a week, she hadn't managed to bump into Winthrop once. It was as if he remained two steps ahead of her at all times. Could he be avoiding her? Alice supposed she couldn't blame him if he was. But the truth hit her unexpectedly when she was talking to Sophia at breakfast one morning.

“With Winthrop gone home, who is to say what will happen to the lemon trees? Sturridge says they're hanging on, but I would much prefer that Winthrop return to tend them. Gabriel's mother will blame me if they don't survive.”

“What do you mean, gone home? Thornbrook Park is his home. I thought he had some dark secret in his past that prevented a return to his family.” Suddenly, Alice wished she knew where Logan's family home was. They'd never talked about it.

“His brother has taken ill, poor man. Winthrop rushed home to be at his side. I had no idea he had a brother to rush home to, but Gabriel says they have kept in occasional communication all these years.”

“How long has he been at Thornbrook Park?”

“Five, maybe six years. The previous agent retired and recommended him. His brother is a baron. Did you know?”

“I've heard, yes.” She wondered why he hadn't at least told her that he was leaving. They were friends, were they not? “How long will he be away?”

“Until his brother is out of the woods, I imagine. If his brother doesn't improve, I suppose Winthrop will become Baron Emsbury and we'll have to look for a new estate manager.”

“Is it as bad as all that?”

Sophia shrugged. “I imagine it can't be all that good. It's the first time Winthrop has left us in all these years.”

“I suppose,” Alice agreed. Winthrop, a baron? She knew he had the ability to live up to any title, but did he have the desire? She'd never bothered to ask what he dreamed for himself. Did he wish to leave Thornbrook Park? Was he not happy with his lot? She could have been a better friend. “I hoped he would be here for the fox hunt. I wanted his advice in hunting etiquette.”

“Gabriel will stay by you, and Grady will be on hand as well. Poor little fox. Do you suppose it will be easier for him to hide now that most of the snow is melted? Red fur would certainly stand out in all the white.”

“It will be easier on the horses without the snow. I care more that we avoid injuries among the riders and horses than that our fox gets away unharmed. What's one fox to dozens of men and horses? And women,” she corrected herself. Matilda Furbish would be riding, or so she'd heard from Lady Holcomb. And probably the Sentledens. They welcomed any opportunity to show off, except perhaps for June, who no doubt was eager to cater to the wishes of her fiancé, Brumley, poor thing. She was cornered more surely than the fox.

“Speaking of the hunt, be sure Mary packs your things,” Sophia reminded her. “We're to leave this evening.”

“The hunt isn't for two days yet.”

“Did I forget to tell you?” Sophia smiled, clearly pleased with herself. “When the Holcombs were here for dinner, they invited us to stay for a few days. I agreed for us all, of course.”

“Knowing this would keep me in proximity to Lord Ralston. Oh, Sophia, really.”

“He's a good match. You said yourself that you like him. Why should Matilda Furbish get all the advantages?”

“The Furbishes are staying over, too?”

Sophia nodded. “Unfortunately, yes, but don't worry. Mattie is such a droll, toady little thing. She's nothing to you.”

“Perhaps Lord Ralston likes droll.” Alice had always found Miss Furbish more dull than droll.

“Lady Holcomb likes her, for some reason. I suppose it's the enormous Furbish fortune, but Ralston doesn't need it. He has plenty of his own.”

“I don't care about his fortune.”

“You shouldn't. Leave that to me. Your job is to just relax for once and allow yourself to fall in love with the man. He has much to recommend him. I don't know what's taking you so long.”

“Taking me so long to fall in love with him? I'm sorry. I'll move it up on my list of priorities.” Alice couldn't possibly fall in love with Ralston when she remained preoccupied with Winthrop.

Besides, Ralston freely admitted that he'd allowed himself to be distracted by his aunt and a luncheon with Matilda Furbish instead of meeting Alice at the appointed time for a date that he'd made with her. She could have died out in the cold if not for Winthrop. She hadn't quite forgiven Ralston for his neglect, and she wasn't sure she ever would. Even if she did secretly thank him for putting her in a position to get exactly what she wanted with another man.

***

Winthrop was at his brother's side when the fever broke. He'd hardly left John's room the entire time he'd been at Stratton Place, and not strictly out of devotion. Logan had a strong desire to avoid running into young Grace, or any circumstances that would require him to explain his role in her life or his absence.

Better she had no idea that he'd come. John and Ellen had adopted her as their own, and they were far better parents to her than anyone could be—with the exception of her own mother who'd died giving birth to her. Through Mrs. Leenders, the nurse, Logan had made sure that Grace knew about Julia and how much she'd loved Grace even before she was born. As far as he was concerned, Grace didn't need to know the rest. No doubt she'd heard of him as the villain in her parents' story, and he didn't mind assuming the role as long as it kept her from the unfortunate truth.

“John.” He refreshed the cloth on his brother's clammy forehead and waited for some sign of recognition. John's eyes were open but struggling to find focus.

Eventually, he pinned his gaze on his brother. “Logan? Is that you?”

“It is. Let me ring for Barnett to inform Ellen that you're awake.” Uncertain what had caused John's sickness, Logan had tried to keep Ellen and their daughters from the room as much as possible. No sense in all of them becoming sick. The doctor had finally declared it to be a very strong case of bronchitis and had started John on the proper medication.

“It's good to see you, Brother, but you're a scary sight.”

Logan ran his hands through his hair. “I haven't had a proper bath. I didn't want to leave you.”

“Not like that.” John laughed until it became a wheezing cough. “I mean, I must be in sorry shape for you to have come. You haven't been home in years.”

“Eight years.” Logan nodded. “Nice to see the place hasn't changed much. And you're right. You were in sorry shape. Ellen thought she was going to lose you.”

“John.” Ellen came bounding into the room. “Of course I knew I wouldn't lose you. I finally saw our chance to get your brother home.”

“Do you see how married people lie to one another, Logan? She's sparing me from knowing I was on the brink. What do you think now? Will I live?”

Tears glistening in her eyes, Ellen placed her hand on her husband's cheek. “Dr. Hall will be here shortly. He'll have a better idea. But I'm thinking yes.”

The doctor did deliver good news. With the fever breaking, John had a strong chance of full recovery. Logan had planned to stay only long enough for John to recover, but it seemed only fair to spend some time with his brother before setting off again. Eight years was a long time to be apart, and Logan had to admit that he'd missed being part of a family.

On the third day after John's fever had passed, Logan happened to run into Grace in the garden where he'd been walking. She looked remarkably like her mother, with long, fair hair and rosy cheeks, as opposed to John and Ellen's younger daughters with their dark Winthrop curls and pale skin.

“Hello.” She looked up from her book to greet him.

He'd contemplated turning around and walking the other way, but she had already seen him. He might arouse more suspicion in fleeing than in blustering on with it. Her younger cousins pushed their dolls up and down the walkway in matching miniature prams. Mrs. Leenders, knitting while she watched over the children, sat on the garden bench by Grace.

“Hello,” he said quickly, meaning to walk on.

“You're the one who knew my mother,” Grace said boldly, making him stop in his tracks and turn. “I remember you.”

Mrs. Leenders looked stricken. “I'm sure the man is busy, Grace. We must mind our manners.”

“You remember me?” Logan asked, intrigued. “I haven't seen you since you were a very little girl.”

Grace disregarded authority as surely as her mother once had. She put down the book and approached him. “My mother, Julia. Julia Kirkland. I recognize you from her pictures.”

“Her pictures?”

“I have her sketchbook. She drew you all the time. You're the same man. She was a brilliant artist.”

“Yes.” He had to admit that she was. “She had a very sure hand, but I think I might have changed some in twelve years.” In Julia's sketches, he had been a love-stricken boy of eighteen at the oldest. Julia had been drawing him since they were children.

Grace cocked her head, as if studying him through an artist's eyes, and her expression was so like her mother's that Logan might have at last wept the tears he had not cried so long ago, if only they would come. “Your nose and chin. Such a broad nose and pointed chin. Some things change, but the structural lines give you away.”

“Are you an artist like your mother?”

She straightened, clearly proud. “I'm an artist, not like her. I'm my own sort of artist.”

“Well, of course. And so you should be your own sort of artist.”

“I'm going to study painting at the Royal Academy.”

“Is that what you would like to do?” He remembered Julia sharing the ambition. “I'm sure you will. Best wishes to you, Grace.”

She crossed her arms. “You're my uncle. Well, not my real uncle. You're Uncle John's brother, which would make you my uncle if Uncle John were my real uncle, which, of course, he's not.”

“No.” He followed along, knowing enough to avoid becoming confused.

“Did you know my real father, too?”

“Yes. I'm sorry for your loss. Losses.”

“It was an accident.” She took his hand, peering up at him with Julia's eyes as if she knew the truth. “A terrible accident. I wish I had my parents, but Uncle John and Aunt Ellen are as good as the real thing. You could stay longer and tell me more about my parents, maybe? No one seems to know them as well as I could hope, but your face is all over Mother's sketchbook.”

“That it probably is. I did know your mother very well. Your father, not as much. I was there when you were born,” he confessed, eager to give her some sort of happy information on the parents she never knew. “You cried. A lot.”

She laughed. “Oh, that's what you remember?”

He nodded. “Your mother was delighted by it. She said it meant that you were healthy and strong, like her.”

“And then she died.” Grace said it so matter-of-factly.
And
then
she
died.
But of course, Grace had never known her mother and didn't have the memories that still haunted Logan.

“In fact, yes. Not long after she remarked on your health, her own gave out and she died. She was sorry not to be able to watch you grow. She'd been very much looking forward to raising you.”

They both had, Julia and Logan. The plans they'd made. They were going to go to France and on to America, far enough away that her husband could never find them. Logan would raise the child as his own. Julia would take his name. Logan's greatest mistake was in allowing Julia to convince him to wait until she'd given birth before they could slip away. Stanhope wouldn't hit her while she was expecting a child, she'd said. Julia had wanted her ailing father to see his grandchild before he died. If only Logan had trusted his instincts and spirited her away sooner.

“Thank you.” She squeezed the hand she held, surprising him. “It's good to know. I'm sorry that she died.”

“So am I. Quite sorry. You should have had the chance to know each other better.”

“If you stayed longer, you could tell me so I would know.” Those eyes! Her mother's eyes, blue as the summer sky, looked up at him.

All these years, guilt had driven him away. Now guilt made him consider returning to Stratton Park for a longer stay. He was probably the only one who really could tell her about her mother. Messages he passed through Mrs. Leenders clearly hadn't been enough for the girl. “One day, Grace. One day, perhaps I will come back and stay a while longer. As it is, I have duties to return to at Thornbrook Park.”

He had Alice, though not really. He had to let go, but he found he wasn't quite ready to leave the dream behind.

***

On the day of the hunt, Alice woke with an ache at her core that could only be attributed to missing Winthrop. When she'd planned to join the hunt, she'd thought to impress him with her style and ability in the saddle. He'd once called her Artemis. With her new hunting whip, a gift from Ralston, she looked the part. But Winthrop wouldn't see her jumping her horse over hedges or commanding her place in the field. What if he never came back?

She needed to focus on the hunt. Sophia came with Jenks to help her dress.

“I have something for you.” Sophia presented a small enamel box.

“A present for me?” Alice took the box, hesitant to open it.

“For luck. It will go beautifully with your hunting habit.”

She looked inside. It was a cabochon ruby with seed pearls set in gold. “Sophia, it's extraordinary.”

“It was a gift from Grandmother on my coming-out. She said it would bring me luck in finding the right man, a husband. I should have given it to you sooner. Grandmother passed away before your coming-out, and I think she would want me to pass it on.”

“I'll wear it to remind me of Grandmother,” Alice clarified. “And nothing more.” Their grandmother had also given them each a sizable inheritance in case the right man never came along. Alice wanted to point that out to Sophia, but she held her tongue.