In the Garden of Deceit (Book 4) (20 page)

No,
that’s when she had gone to sleep—finally.

“My
nephew had a meeting with his man of business, and he left before the
morning meal was served.”

“Where
did he go?”

“He
met Mr. Smythe in Huxley.”

“Rather
than here at Lonsdale?”

Henrietta
looked thoughtful. “Strange, isn’t it?”

“I
thought a nobleman like my husband was waited on by the business
class. My father always goes to his clients. James must be very
open-minded in his outlook.”

“He
is.”

Amanda
searched the older woman’s features, looking for duplicity, for
Aunt Henry sounded sincerely proud of her nephew’s liberal
views.

Henry
glanced at her, seeming to understand Amanda’s doubt. “Huey
has made all of us reassess,” she said simply. “He has
been treated with much cruelty by people who should know better,
people who take their privilege for granted. My brother cannot help
how he was born. No one can.”

Which
attitude probably explained why the Lonsdales had been so welcoming
to her. Feeling a warm wave of gratitude, Amanda smiled.

“So
James met Mr. Smythe in Huxley because it was more convenient for Mr.
Smythe?”

Aunt
Henry returned the smile, her own rather sheepish. “I wouldn’t
say that exactly. Going to Huxley probably wasn’t any more
convenient for Mr. Smythe than coming to Lonsdale. Huxley is quite
close, you see. I think it’s something else, although I don’t
know for certain…”

“Go
on.”

“I
think James can’t bring himself to use his father’s
study, his desk, anything that signified ownership by my brother. I
think he feels disloyal taking over as though he’s somehow
benefitted from Herbert’s passing.”

“That’s
ridiculous.”

“Ah,
yes, it is. But how do you make your heart understand what your head
already knows? James loved his father dearly. Taking on the earldom
has been an obligation rather than a gift. Being an earl is not
nearly as fine as being the son of an earl. At least, for James it
isn’t.”

Well,
well, another aspect to her husband’s character she must
examine but when she was alone and could hopefully sort through the
contradictions. There was something good in a man who loved his
father that much. That love probably spoke volumes for the character
of the father as well.

“…and
of course there is the guilt,” Henry was saying. “He was
not here when Herbert died. Like most young people, I suspect James
thought his father would live forever. Nothing matures one more
quickly than losing someone dear.”

How
true, Amanda mused sadly, her thoughts turning to her mother.

They
finished the remainder of the walk in silence, arriving at Muriel’s
door moments later.

An
ancient butler answered the chime, and his face lit with recognition
when he saw Aunt Henry. “My lady,” he said, an affection
developed over many years of association tingeing his greeting.

Henrietta
reached over and touched his sleeve with gloved fingers, the
sentiment clearly returned. “I believe we are expected,
Harris.”

His
smile settled into grim lines and he nodded, leading the way to the
parlor.

The
dowager countess sat on a plush sofa, a large silver tea service on
the table in front of her, looking much like the queen preparing for
court. A spot of color dotted each of her cheeks, color Amanda
suspected was artificial—or perhaps induced by her choice of
beverage. She wore a high-necked gown in deep purple, and her hands
were laced primly across her lap. The look in her gaze was remote and
anything but warm.

For
goodness sake, why then had she invited them? Amanda wondered. Only
accepting that flight was not an option kept her from leaving
immediately. She wasn’t particularly happy with her husband
right now, but she owed it to him to make an effort.

She
glanced at Henrietta to see how James’s aunt was responding to
the dowager’s “welcome.” Nervousness almost made
Amanda giggle out loud. Never had she seen a blander, more colorless
expression as though Henry smelled something bad and must under no
circumstances let on.

Muriel
lifted one hand, negligently fluttering her fingers in the direction
of the two parlor chairs that faced the sofa. “Do take a seat,
my dears.”

Her
mother-in-law’s voice was cooler than her attitude and,
intimidated until now, Amanda felt her temper rise. To be asked to
call and then act as though it were an imposition was insulting.

Her
irritation must have slipped to the surface because Aunt Henry took
her wrist and gently but with determination guided her to one of the
chairs. Amanda understood the gesture. Despite the provocation, they
were going to placate the dowager and pretend they were happy to have
come.

“We
were very pleasantly surprised to have received your invitation this
morning, Muriel,” Henry said as she settled in her seat and
straightened her skirts.

“Were
you?” Muriel returned, her lip taking on a cynical twist.

Amanda
shot the woman a surprised look. Whatever one had to say about her
mother-in-law’s less endearing qualities, obtuseness could not
be considered one of them.

“Yes,
indeed,” Aunt Henry continued as though the tension in the room
were not a palpable thing. “It does us ladies good to have the
occasional party without the gentlemen. They do dominate the
conversation, don’t you agree? And I’ve yet to discover
the man who truly enjoys the art of taking tea.”

“Yes,
quite,” Muriel drawled. Henry opened her mouth to respond, and
the dowager held up her hand. “Oh, please, Henrietta, don’t
say anything more. You’ll start babbling nonsense, and we’ll
waste the next ten minutes talking about men and their proclivities.
A subject, I can tell you, I care little about.”

The
hush that followed made Amanda’s eye twitch. She was unused to
such blatant disregard of good manners, and she watched the by-play
between the two older women with equal parts fascination and horror.
She wanted to breach the silent void and say something, anything, to
get past the uncomfortable moment, but her mind was numb with
embarrassment.

Fortunately,
it proved unnecessary. Aunt Henry’s facile personality took a
sudden and unexpected turn.

“As
you wish, Muriel.” Her expression hardened. “As usual,
you choose directness over courtesy. I thought you might want to
expose Amanda to your better side, perhaps even make your son proud
for a change. But if you would rather be blunt, so be it.”

So
much for placating the woman.

“Oh
my, hoping to shame me, Sister-in-law? Can’t be done. You
should know that by now.”

Henry
merely gave a crisp nod, acknowledging the obvious. “Then why
did you invite us?”

Another
silence as Muriel began the motions of serving the tea. “Sugar?
Cream?” she asked as though the glacial exchange with Henry had
never happened. Not until she had served the small tea cakes and
settled back against the sofa cushions did she deign to answer.

“James
wants me to make an effort.”

“Does
he also want you to be rude?” Aunt Henry asked.

“Oh,
balderdash! He asked me to be hospitable to his new wife. He did
not—nor would it have done him any good if he had—ask me
to make a false impression. I am who I am. Best Amanda knows that
from the start.”

Raising
her cup, she saluted Amanda before taking a rather loud sip. Then she
nested the cup back in its saucer with a decided click of china on
china.

Amanda
found herself nodding back without comment as well, despite the irony
the dowager’s gesture implied. There was one thing of which she
was certain. She was not sitting in that chair opposite her
mother-in-law to please James. In fact, she began to wonder if it was
nothing more than simple curiosity that inspired the woman.

“How
do you like your new home, my dear?” Muriel asked.

How
condescending she sounded. Amanda had never realized that “my
dear” could be a disparaging term as well as an endearment.

“My
welcome has been most gratifying. I cannot imagine finding a more
engaging family than the Tremonts. I feel as if I’ve known them
all my life.”

“How
pleasant for you. Would that we could all take such pleasure in our
relatives—new or otherwise.”

Amanda
went back to sipping her tea, as any worthwhile response eluded her.
Beside her she could feel Henry’s simmering anger. Clearly
James’s aunt had decided that adding to this conversation
served little purpose and, whatever her good intentions had been,
they were now put to rest.

No
one spoke again, Amanda now slugging her tea, until Henry placed her
cup on the table with an emphasis that indicated another intention.
She was leaving.

“Muriel,
it’s been…interesting. However—”

“Have
you spoken to Derrick, Henrietta?” There was a sly quality to
the dowager’s voice that bespoke mischief.

Aunt
Henry, in the act of rising, paused before straightening. “Not
recently, no.”

Her
attitude was so hostile Amanda had to wonder. There was something
here she did not understand, and for the moment she was pleased to
remain ignorant. She came to her feet, following quickly after Aunt
Henry, who had already turned and was leaving the room.

“Ta
ta, ladies.” Muriel’s voice reached them in the hall,
smug and self-satisfied, as though their visit had been a rousing
success.

Coming
toward them from the opposite end of the hall was the butler,
carrying a tray with a full brandy decanter and a crystal goblet.

“In
the afternoon, Harris?” Henry asked.

“Indeed,
my lady,” he said wearily, coming abreast of them. “In
the morning and the night and all the hours in between.”

“You
poor man.”

He
nodded, moving to set down the tray.

“No,
no, carry on. We’ll see ourselves out.”

Never
had the outdoors seemed so bright, so fresh…so free of
insinuation. Amanda had to hurry to keep up with Henry’s
infuriated steps.

“Aunt
Henry, have I missed something? What happened in there?”

“That
woman, I-I’ve never been so angry—” she spluttered
to a stop.

“I
know it must be painful to have had her mention your son in, ah, in
that way…” Amanda was grasping at straws, for what her
mother-in-law had said had not seemed that terrible.

Aunt
Henry halted mid-stride to look at her.

“Oh
my, I’m sorry, perhaps I’m being insensitive, too,”
Amanda said.

“This
is not your fault, dear. A life of dissatisfaction has made Muriel
Tremont a spiteful and cruel inebriate. I’ve known that for a
long while. I should never have allowed her baiting to bother me.”

Amanda
murmured agreement, still uncertain what the baiting had been, but
relieved that Henry appeared to have found her equilibrium. They
continued their walk, exchanging only small talk, Amanda no more
enlightened over that strange altercation than she was before. She
decided, however, it was best to wonder rather than reintroduce the
painful subject.

Aunt
Henry excused herself as soon as they reached the main house. She
trudged up the stairs, a sad little figure, and Amanda felt her heart
well with pity. Derrick made her life miserable. Why would the
dowager poke her finger in that wound?

One
thing was for certain. Action defined character. And that being so,
the dowager countess was beginning to look like a most unpleasant
person.

***

CHAPTER 14

It
was the hour before dusk, and James was returning home, his horse’s
tired gait a reflection of his own fatigue.

He
had spent a long morning and the better part of an afternoon in
Huxley with his man of business Mr. Smythe. Mr. Smythe had been his
father’s man of business before being employed by James, and he
was a capable and trustworthy fellow with whom to work. James had
not, however, enjoyed his day. Following in his father’s steps
felt cumbersome and unnatural. And unworthy. Life had taken on a
seriousness he detested.

It
didn’t help that, as the hours had passed, his thoughts had
turned repeatedly—and anxiously—to his wife.

He
had awakened not long after dawn, wrapped around Amanda, more
reluctant than he thought possible to leave the bed. But he had a day
planned that could not be ignored. He found his feet with a groan,
the heat of her skin still warming his.

For
a moment he paused, transfixed by Amanda’s innocence as she
slept, the covers pulled to her chin, clutching them as though she
feared losing her grip. Her features in slumber were heartbreakingly
lovely, however, dark circles under her eyes underscored an
overburdened spirit. He had cringed to think what his part was in her
pain.

He
still did not understand how he had failed her. Lovemaking that had
brought him emotionally to his knees had made her cry—and not
tears of joy. How could that be? How could he have so misjudged the
situation? How could the same moment have affected them each so
differently? He was baffled and upset and desperate to discover how
to mend the breach.

Now,
as he rode toward Lonsdale, the last thing he wanted was to return
home to a chilly wife. After their night together they should be
desiring each other’s company as they never had before, not
just the anticipation of things physical, but an acknowledgment of
the spiritual bond that had been forged between them through the
simple act of making love.

He
might as well face the truth, James thought, disgusted with himself.
He’d made another mistake. But this mistake was less clear to
him than his lie had been because the lie could be defined as
absolutely wrong. Last night he had wandered into murkier territory
where the right and the wrong of it was less clear.