Rendezvous (27 page)

He slammed his fist against the arm of his chair and got to his feet. He had told Augusta on the journey down from London that he did not particularly care about love. Loyalty was the thing he demanded from a wife. She had agreed to give it to him. She had agreed to fulfill her duties as a wife.

She could bloody well do precisely that.

Harry made his decision. Augusta had issued enough challenges of her own. It was time he issued one to her.

He strode across the Oriental carpet, opened the library door, and went out into the tiled hall. He stalked up the red-carpeted staircase to the next floor and went down the corridor to the door of Augusta’s bedchamber.

He opened the door without bothering to knock and walked into the room.

Augusta, seated at her small gilt escritoire, was busy sniffling into a lacy handkerchief. She started when the door opened and looked up immediately. Her eyes flashed with fear and fury and unshed tears.

The Northumberland Ballingers are a bloody damn emotional lot
, Harry thought with an inner sigh.

“What are you doing here, Graystone? If you have come to wrest Richard’s poem from me by force, you can forget it. I have hidden it very carefully.”

“I assure you, madam, it is highly unlikely you could
think of a hiding place that I would not find, were I to try.” Harry closed the bedchamber door very softly and stood facing her. His booted feet were braced slightly apart as he prepared to do battle with his wife.

“Are you threatening me, my lord?”

“Not at all.” She looked so thoroughly miserable, so tremulously proud, so very hurt, that Harry momentarily felt himself weaken. “It need not be like this between us, my love.”

“Do not call me your love,” she spat. “You do not believe in love, if you will recall.”

Harry exhaled heavily and walked across the bedchamber to Augusta’s dressing table. He stood gazing meditatively at the array of crystal containers, silver-backed brushes, and other delightfully frivolous, delightfully feminine items arranged on it.

He thought briefly of how much he enjoyed walking into this bedchamber unannounced through the connecting door and catching Augusta seated in front of the looking glass. He liked finding her dressed in one of her frilly wrappers with a nonsensical little lace cap perched on her chestnut curls. He took pleasure in the intimacy of the situation and in the blush his arrival always brought to her cheeks.

Now she had gone from thinking of him as a lover to believing him to be her enemy.

Harry turned away from the dressing table and looked at Augusta, who watched him with a deep wariness.

“I do not believe this is a good time to discuss your notion of love,” Harry said.

“Really, my lord? What shall we discuss, then?”

“Your notion of loyalty will do.”

She blinked uncertainly and looked even more wary. “What are you talking about, Graystone?”

“You vowed your loyalty to me on our wedding day, Augusta. Or have you forgotten so soon?”

“No, my lord, but—”

“And on our first night together in this very bedchamber, you stood over there by the window and swore that you would fulfill your duty as a wife.”

“Harry, that is not fair.”

“What is not fair? To remind you of your vows? I will admit, I did not think it would be necessary to do so. I believed you would honor them, you see.”

“But this is a different matter entirely,” she protested. “This involves my brother. Surely you can understand that.”

Harry nodded sympathetically. “I understand that you are torn between your loyalty to your brother’s memory and your loyalty to your husband. It is a difficult situation for you and I am more sorry than I can say that I have caused your dilemma. Life is rarely simple or evenhanded in a moment of crisis.”

“Damn you, Harry.” She clenched her fists in her lap and looked at him with eyes that glistened.

“I know how you must feel. And you have every right. For my part, I apologize for having sprung my demand upon you with so little consideration. I ask your forgiveness for the summary fashion in which I ordered you to produce the poem. I can only say on my own behalf that the matter is of some import to me.”

“It is a matter of some import to me, also,” she tossed back furiously.

“Obviously. And you have apparently made your decision. You have made it very plain that protecting your brother’s memory is more important than doing your duty as a wife. Your loyalty goes first to the last of the Northumberland Ballingers. Your lawful husband will only get what is left over.”

“My God, Graystone, you are cruel.” Augusta got to her feet clutching the handkerchief. She turned her back to him and dabbed at her eyes.

“Because I ask that you obey me in this matter? Because
as your husband I ask for your full loyalty, not just some small portion of it?”

“Are duty and loyalty all you can think about, Graystone?”

“Not entirely, but right now they appear to be paramount.”

“And what about your duty and loyalty to your wife?”

“I have given you my word not to discuss your brother’s wartime activities, whatever they may have been, with anyone. That is all I can promise, Augusta.”

“But if there is something about that poem that seems to indicate my brother was a … a traitor, then you will very likely interpret it that way.”

“It will not matter, Augusta. The man is dead. One does not pursue the dead. He is beyond the reach of the law or my own personal revenge.”

“But his honor and reputation are not dead.”

“Be honest with yourself, Augusta. It is you who are afraid of what may be concealed in that poem. You are fearful of having the brother you have placed on a pedestal knocked down to the ground.”

“Why is the poem so important now that the war is over?” She glanced back over her shoulder, searching his face.

Harry met her gaze. “For the last three or four years of the war there was a mysterious man called the Spider who worked for the French doing very much what I did for the Crown. We believed him to be an Englishman partly because his information was so accurate and partly because of the way he operated. He cost the lives of many good men and if he is still alive I would have him pay for his treason.”

“You want revenge on this man?”

“Yes.”

“And you will ruin our relationship as husband and wife to get it.”

Harry went still. “I do not see that our relationship
should be affected by this business. If it is, ’tis only because you allow it to happen.”

“Aye, my lord,” she muttered. “That is the way to go about it. How very clever of you. Blame me for whatever ill feelings arise because of your cruelty.”

Harry’s anger flared once more. “What about your cruelty to me? How do you think it makes me feel to know that you have chosen to defend your brother’s memory rather than give your loyalty to your husband?”

“It seems a great chasm has opened up between us, my lord.” She turned around to confront him fully. “Whatever happens, nothing can be the same between us again.”

“There is a bridge across that abyss, madam. You may stand forever on your side, the side of the brave, dashing Northumberland Ballingers, or you may cross over to my side, where your future lies. I leave the decision entirely up to you. Rest assured I will not take the poem from you by force.”

Without waiting for a response, Harry turned and let himself out of the bedchamber.

A polite, frozen calm settled over the household during the next two days. The grim atmosphere was all the more noticeable to Harry because it contrasted so sharply with the weeks of flowering warmth that had preceded it.

It was the marked change in the mood of everyone at Graystone that brought home to Harry just how much of a transformation the household had undergone during the time Augusta had been its mistress.

The servants, always a punctilious, well-trained lot, had, since Augusta’s arrival, begun to go about their duties with a cheerfulness that Harry had never before noticed. It had brought to mind Sheldrake’s comment on Augusta’s habit of being kind to staff.

Meredith, that miniature scholar of serious mien and
obedient temperament, was suddenly painting pictures and going on picnics. Her simple muslin dresses all seemed to have grown flounces and ribbons lately. And she had begun to wax enthusiastic on the subject of the characters in the novels Augusta was reading to her.

Even Clarissa, that dour, sober-minded female of irreproachable character who had once devoted herself to her duties as a governess, had altered. Harry was not precisely certain what had happened during the few weeks of his marriage, but there was no doubt that Clarissa had definitely thawed toward Augusta. Not only had she thawed, she had been showing definite signs of having developed some passionate enthusiasm that, in another woman, might have signaled a romance.

Lately Clarissa frequently excused herself from some planned outing or from joining the family in the drawing room after dinner to rush upstairs to her own bedchamber. Harry got the impression she was working on a project of some sort, but he hesitated to inquire. Clarissa had always been an intensely self-contained, unapproachable female and he had always respected her privacy. It was, after all, something of a Fleming trait.

Harry was quite certain there was no romance in Clarissa’s narrow, constrained world of the schoolroom, but the unfamiliar sparkle in her eyes had made him exceedingly curious. He had attributed that change, along with all the others, to Augusta.

But during the two days following the outbreak of hostilities with Augusta, the household visibly altered once more. A frigid, correct atmosphere reigned. Everyone was painstakingly polite and formal, but it was obvious to Harry that the inhabitants of Graystone were collectively blaming him for the chill.

That knowledge was vastly annoying. He contemplated it as he went up the staircase to the schoolroom on the third day. If the various members of the household were inclined
to take sides in the silent battle of wills going on between himself and Augusta, it was patently obvious they should have taken his side.

He was in command here at Graystone and everyone’s livelihood on the estate depended on him. One would have thought the servants and Clarissa, at least, would have been acutely aware of that fact.

One would have thought Augusta would have been aware of it
.

But it was becoming increasingly clear that Augusta gave her loyalty where she gave her heart and her heart had been given to the memories of the past.

Harry had spent the past two nights alone in his bed contemplating the closed door of Augusta’s bedchamber. He had told himself it was his wife who must open that door and he had been certain she would eventually. Now, as he faced the prospect of a third night alone, however, he was beginning to question his assumption.

At the top of the stairs Harry turned and walked down the hall to the schoolroom door. He opened it quietly.

Clarissa glanced up, frowning. “Good afternoon, my lord. I did not realize you would be visiting today.”

Harry heard the distinct lack of welcome in her tone and decided to ignore it. He knew he was not particularly welcome anywhere in the house lately. “I had a spare moment and decided to see how the painting lessons are going.”

“I see. Meredith has started early today. Her ladyship will be along in a moment to take over instruction, as usual.”

Meredith looked up from her watercolors. Her eyes brightened for an instant and then she looked away. “Hello, Papa.”

“Continue with your work, Meredith. I only want to observe for a while.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Harry watched her select a new color for her brush.
Meredith moistened the bristles carefully and put down a great wash of black paint on the pristine white paper.

Harry realized it was the first time he had ever seen his daughter select such a dark backdrop for her work. The paintings that showed up regularly now in the picture gallery were generally bright, energetic creations that glowed with sunny colors.

“Is that going to be a picture of Graystone at night, Meredith?” Harry went forward to examine the painting in more detail.

“Yes, Papa.”

“I see. It will be rather dark, will it not?”

“Yes, Papa. Augusta says I must paint whatever I feel like painting.”

“And you feel like painting a dark picture today, even though it is sunny outside?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. Even Meredith was being affected by the silent warfare in the household.
And it was all Augusta’s fault
. “Perhaps we should take advantage of the beautiful day outside. I shall send around to the stables to have your pony saddled. We shall ride to the stream this afternoon. Would you like that?”

Meredith glanced up quickly, her eyes uncertain. “Can Augusta come with us?”

“We can ask her,” Harry said, wincing inwardly. He had no doubt about Augusta’s response. She would politely decline, of course. She had somehow managed to ensure that she spent no time in Harry’s company during the past two days except at the dining table. “She may have other plans for the afternoon, Meredith.”

“As it happens,” Augusta said calmly from the doorway, “I have no other plans. I should very much enjoy riding to the stream.”

Meredith brightened at once. “That will be fun. I shall go and change into my new riding habit.” She glanced quickly at Clarissa. “May I be excused, Aunt Clarissa?”

Clarissa nodded with regal approval. “Yes, of course, Meredith.”

Harry turned slowly to meet Augusta’s eyes. She inclined her head politely.

“If you will excuse me, my lord, I, too, must change. Meredith and I shall join you downstairs shortly.”

Now, what the devil is this all about?
Harry wondered as he watched her disappear after Meredith. On the other hand, perhaps he should not inquire too closely.

“I do hope you enjoy your ride with her ladyship and Miss Meredith, sir,” Clarissa said very primly.

“Thank you, Clarissa. I am sure I shall.”

Just as soon as I find out what Augusta is up to now
, Harry added silently as he left the schoolroom.