His Lady Mistress (20 page)

‘Thank you, Henny,’ he said. ‘When her ladyship comes in, perhaps you might ask her…I mean, tell her…er, suggest that she might care to dine with Mr Richard and myself tonight.’ Good heavens! Could he not even convey a message to his wife without stumbling over himself?

‘Certainly, my lord.’

The stiffness in his housekeeper’s voice warned him. He eyed her carefully. ‘Something wrong, Henny?’

Her lips tightened even more. ‘Well, it’s not my place to say, Master Max, but…’

Max braced himself. When Henny remembered her place and called him
Master Max
, squalls lay ahead. He’d been aware of the friction between Henny and her mistress, but he’d thought the problem had blown over…Better to let Verity sort it out on her own terms.

‘’Twould be better if you asked her ladyship yourself. Told her last night that she should go down, but she wouldn’t take a bit of notice and she’s not eating enough to keep a sparrow alive. Just picks at her dinner again, she does. Like when she first arrived. Says she isn’t hungry…but if you ask me, she can’t eat when she’s upset!’

Max swore and Mrs Henty favoured him with a glare. ‘Don’t you use that sort of language! Or I won’t bother turning the sheep tallow into soap before I wash your mouth out!
Plain it is that her ladyship doesn’t feel at home here yet. Maybe she misses her family.’

Max spluttered at the thought of Verity missing the Faringdons and his conscience went straight for the throat.
Are you any better?

Henny was still speaking. ‘…and so kind and sweet she was over poor Sarah, well, I didn’t know how to thank her.’ The old woman dashed a hand across her eyes. ‘So understanding. A real lady, she was. Said she wouldn’t be the first to cast stones. And telling me that I mustn’t leave…Well, after the way I treated her at first, I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d leapt at the chance to be rid of me. But not her. Good-hearted she is, and—’

Max broke in. ‘Henny, what the deuce are you talking about? Why were you going to leave? And what’s this about Sarah? You mean your niece? Isn’t she waiting on Lady Blakehurst?’

Mrs Henty pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘Yes, sir. So good her ladyship was. I told her I was giving notice and I told her about Sarah, and how she’d have to be dismissed, but her ladyship wouldn’t have none of it.’

Max tried to make sense of it. ‘Henny, what’s this about Sarah? Why did you give notice?’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You mean, her ladyship didn’t tell you?’

He refrained from telling her that her ladyship’s last words to him had been to go to the devil. Instead he shook his head. ‘She’s told me nothing.’

Mrs Henty swallowed. ‘Then…Well, Sarah was walking out. With Ted Granger.’

Max bit his lip. ‘Oh, God, no. Was she? I’d no idea. How is she?’

‘Breeding,’ said Mrs Henty baldly. ‘About to have the banns called they were, when he was killed. When she told me…I…I couldn’t think what else to do except leave and hope you’d give me a decent pension so I could look after her.’ She blew her nose again.

‘And?’ prompted Max.

Mrs Henty drew a deep breath. ‘Her ladyship said to find a decent woman nearby who’d take Sarah as a boarder, with the baby. Maybe a widow with young children so’s they could help each other and she’d pay board and a little besides so’s Sarah could get ahead. She said she’d do the same even if I gave notice to make a home for Sarah. That it was up to me, but she’d help, whatever we decided.’

‘I…see,’ said Max. He tried to imagine how any other lady of quality would react to the news that one of her maids was pregnant. Lady Arnsworth, perhaps? Or, his stomach condensed to ice, Lady Faringdon?

Mrs Henty eyed him nervously. ‘If your lordship doesn’t approve…’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t be a peagoose, Henny. I…I was just surprised.’
How many ladies of rank would have done that? Most would have flung the girl out penniless. Including Mama.
Not Verity. Having faced that fear herself, she’d never inflict it on another. No. He wasn’t really surprised.

‘So where is Sarah going?’ he asked.

Mrs Henty actually smiled. ‘Why, to Martha Granger. Her ladyship arranged it. She took me in the gig to see Martha. And once she got over the shock, Martha couldn’t agree fast enough. With the little ones, the offer of Sarah’s board was a blessing.’ She paused. ‘But it’s not just that. She said she didn’t care if the baby was a…a bastard. ’Twas just bad luck and she’d have something of Ted left to love and a new daughter into the bargain.’

She fixed his lordship with a glare. ‘I don’t know what her ladyship’s family’s like, but it’s a fine thing when a lady of quality tells an old woman like me that she’d have me as her aunt any day!’ She picked up her pile of linen…and waited.

He’d once asked Verity what she wanted—
a family…to belong again
—and he had pushed her away. Told her she had no place here.

The news that she wasn’t eating again rocked him to the
core. She had been gaining a little weight, getting some colour in her cheeks. He remembered the journey up to London from Faringdon Hall. She’d barely eaten then. Had she been frightened? Alone with a man who was savagely angry with her? Realising that Henny was still there, he pulled himself together. ‘Do you happen to know which way she might have gone, Henny?’ he asked.

She smiled. ‘She likes the cliffs out over the sands. Likes the view and the birds, I dare say. Shouldn’t be hard to find her.’

Max felt every drop of blood congeal as Henny turned to go. Verity…too upset to eat properly, near those damn cliffs. His stomach churned. Six hundred feet high the cliffs were in spots. Fear rose in his throat, acrid and metallic. No. She wouldn’t. He didn’t believe she would take that way out.

But if she was upset…she might not be as careful as she ought to be. And the cliffs could be unstable. If she were too near the edge…

High on the cliffs, Verity stared out over the Channel. Somewhere in the blue haze lay France. She kept well back from the edge, Mrs Henty’s warning fresh in her mind.
You be careful. Tricky the cliffs are. Falling all the time. And the turf is slippery.

The salt-laden wind buffeted her mercilessly, whipping around her, so that her dress moulded to her. It caught the seabirds and whirled them shrieking aloft. A falcon hovered out from the clifftop, waiting patiently for an unwary pigeon.

She watched it, yearning. If only it were possible to ride the wind, to fly beyond the disaster she had made of everything. Looking back, she could see the foolishness of her decision to deceive Max and become his mistress. If she had realised that he would find out…

And if only she had not been foolish enough to believe that she could regain his trust, that his concern for her was spurred by more than his respect for her father, that some
spark of his affection for Selina could be re-ignited for Verity. She should not have married him.

Dreams deceived, phantoms of hope that shimmered into nothing. Leaving only an aching heart with too many bitter secrets entombed. Better to be like the falcon. Alone. Dependent on nothing but the air beneath her wings. At least for the falcon, the air had more substance than her foolish dreams of love.

Yet she had her freedom. Freedom to come and go as she pleased. No one demanded anything of her. Nothing was expected of her. Because nobody cared. Freedom on those terms was as empty as the wind. The beat of hoofs and a yell brought her spinning around.

Mounted on a tall grey, Max was galloping towards her. He pulled up a few yards away and leapt down. ‘Verity—come back.’ The careful voice had her staring. His face was absolutely white. And he had used her name.

Puzzled, she said, ‘I’m not going anywhere. Not really. Just a walk.’ She flushed. ‘I suppose you think I should have my maid with me!’

He didn’t answer directly. ‘Please, come away from the cliffs. You—do you know about the cliffs? They can be—’

‘Mrs Henty was kind enough to warn me.’

‘Oh. Then…then you didn’t…’

His voice faltered and shock burst through her as she took in the lathered horse, its sides heaving and realised what he had thought. That she might…Her very soul shuddered at the idea of causing so much grief and pain to another.

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t believe that I would do that to you…that I would…’ Her voice failed. Even if Max didn’t care for her, he had taken responsibility for her, would blame himself if anything happened to her. She knew to the depths of her soul what that sort of guilt could do.

Holding her gaze, he nodded. ‘I…yes. I mean…no. Dammit! I was worried. The cliffs can be rotten in places.’ He held out his hand. Eyes wide, she walked to him, avoiding
his still outstretched hand. She had stopped dreaming. Surely, soon she would stop hurting?

After a moment he dropped his hand and picked up his reins. ‘That sketch…’

She flushed and, turning away, began walking. No doubt it was dreadful, the last thing one should give to a man whose ancestral walls were practically papered with masterpieces, but she didn’t need to hear it said. And she didn’t need him to see her with tears on her cheeks, even if it was just the wind making her eyes water. Never again would she try to reach out to Max. She had only put the sketch on the breakfast table because she couldn’t think what else to do with it.

He caught up with her. ‘I didn’t realise what you were doing,’ he said, his voice stiff. ‘If I’d known—’

‘I am perfectly aware that you want nothing of me!’ she flashed. ‘You need not worry. I would not dream of doing it again!’

‘I beg your pardon.’

Despite the burning in her eyes, she turned to face him, shaking with rage. ‘Just what did you fail to understand this time?’

He reddened. ‘That
was
an apology. For what I said the other day. I beg your pardon. Unreservedly. I never meant to imply that you were unwanted. I’m sorry. Will you not forgive me?’

Numbly, she shook her head. ‘No. No, it is not necessary. You owe me nothing, least of all an apology for speaking the truth. Good morning, sir. Thank you for your concern, but I would prefer to be alone. You need have no fear that I shall do any harm to myself.’

The hot pricking behind her eyes warned her. Blindly she turned to go. She could eat her lunch in the beech woods. It would be sheltered there, safe, protected. Only something as unfettered as the falcon could live safely out here.

‘Verity…’

She kept walking. If only she could have remained Selina.
Max had cared for Selina, enough to call her his sweetheart. Verity was no more than a duty to him.

She came in halfway through the afternoon, damp with a light drizzle, and listened to Mrs Henty’s urgings with an aching heart.

‘Told me to ask you to come down. Set on it, he was.’

She forced a smile as she untied her damp cloak. ‘Thank you, Mrs Henty. I’ll remember. Would you send Sarah up to me, please?’

He couldn’t have been terribly set on it. He’d said nothing to her out on the cliffs.

Mrs Henty nodded. ‘I did tell the master about Sarah. I…I didn’t realise you hadn’t mentioned it to him yet.’

Verity jerked around from removing her cloak. ‘What did he say? Was he angry?’ Fear clutched at her. If he tried to stop her helping the girl…she wouldn’t stand for it!

Mrs Henty smiled. ‘Master Max? No. He didn’t mind. He’s always been kind and serious-like about his responsibilities.’

Verity turned away to hang her cloak over the back of a chair by the fire. ‘Yes. Very kind.’ She fought to keep the wobble out of her voice. A man could resent his responsibilities. Deeply. Blinking rapidly, she faced Mrs Henty. ‘I won’t need Sarah now. I think I might have a nap. Send her up to wake me for dinner.’

A beaming smile chased wrinkles all over the housekeeper’s face. ‘Yes, my lady. I’ll come up with her meself and we’ll choose a pretty gown for you!’

Guilt niggled at Verity, but she forced a smile. ‘Thank you…Henny.’

Mrs Henty flushed. ‘Well, to be sure! You get a good rest, my lady. Get some colour back into those cheeks. You don’t want to go showing his lordship a pale face.’

‘No,’ said Verity. ‘I won’t.’

Max stared at Mrs Henty in surprise. ‘You thought she
was
coming down?’

Dinner was set out in the small dining salon. Richard leant against the chimney piece, listening, a very faint frown on his face.

Mrs Henty wrung her hands. ‘I’m sure she meant to! Told me to wake her in good time. And I helped her change into the prettiest gown. Sky blue with the prettiest pink trim. Lovely she looked! A bit quiet, she was, but there’s nothing new in that!’

And now she’d vanished. Max’s only comfort was that she was in the house somewhere, avoiding him. He didn’t blame her. He’d made it plain that he wished to have as little to do with her as possible and she’d obliged by withdrawing herself. Yet she had still given him the picture of Richard. And she was taking up her duties as mistress of the house, finding out how to go on, carefully taking up the reins of authority when necessary. She had given him exactly what he wanted. Out of sight, out of mind.

The devil she was. He should have thanked her for the sketch out on the cliffs, told her that he would look forward to seeing her at dinner. But he’d been so damn frightened that she might have gone out to the cliffs to…He felt sick just thinking about it. And then he’d let her walk away. She had said that she wanted to be alone.

His conscience piped up on cue:
Perhaps she thought she had no choice?
‘I’ve given orders for food to be left in her sitting room, my lord,’ said Mrs Henty. ‘She’ll usually eat fruit and cheese. And I said some cold meat. Likely she’ll eat it when she comes back. Tired she was after her walk. She slept for a good couple of hours.’

He knew she’d slept. He’d put his head through the connecting door and seen her curled up, fast asleep. She’d looked so pale…His heart clenched. Madness. It was madness to allow himself to care. But if she never knew…Couldn’t he look after her without her realising how deeply she affected
him? If he simply exerted his authority to make sure she ate properly…made sure she had everything she could possibly desire…A family? To belong?