Skylark (2 page)

Now sweat trickled down her spine. She tried, as she did all the time, to convince herself that no man, especially a vicar, would wish harm to his innocent nephew. Even if the child did stand between him and a title, a fortune, and all the hunting, shooting, and fishing he could want.

She wasn’t convinced, and she couldn’t stop herself from hovering over Harry’s play as if watching could hold off disaster. No one could watch a child all the time, however, and as he grew older it would become impossible. A boy must be allowed to explore and have adventures, but as things stood now, Laura didn’t know how she could bear to let him out of her sight.

She noticed that he was throwing the ball more wildly and becoming frustrated. Time for his nap . . .

Then she leapt to her feet and ran.

Harry had hurled the ball right past Nan. It was rolling down toward the river and he was chasing it, but that wasn’t what alarmed her. A black dog had streaked out of the woods with the same intent.

The dog got there first and snatched the ball in its sharp teeth. Harry had already reversed. He’d spun around and was fleeing toward safety—toward her. She swung him into her arms and held him close, murmuring reassurances that she could hardly hear over her own thundering heart.

“Don’t be cowardy custard, Harry! Bouncer won’t hurt you.”

Laura glared over her child’s head at the source of the hearty voice. Jack Gardeyne was strolling toward them, jolly smile in place.

How could anyone see him as a monster? He was a fleshy man, portly around the middle, but strapping, like all the Gardeynes, and full of vigor and bonhomie. He carried a gun under his arm, but safely pointed down.

In his casual country clothes he looked as harmless as could be, but his free hand gripped the legs of a dead pheasant, its limp head brushing the grass. Laura was not mawkish about dead animals, but at this moment the corpse made her shiver.

“Your uncle’s right, darling,” she said, hiding her tension. “His dog won’t hurt you.”

She made it a statement for Jack rather than for her son. When Nan hurried up, Laura passed Harry to her, then went to his retriever and grabbed the ball. “Release, Bouncer!”

Bouncer snarled deep in his throat.

Though fear leapt inside, Laura didn’t let go. She wanted Jack to know that he faced not only a small child but her. She stared a demand at him.

His smile set a little. “Bouncer, release! Heel!”

The dog let her have the ball and turned to settle at his master’s side. It was surely her imagination that saw a sneer in its panting expression.

Jack shook his head. “Laura, my dear, dare I suggest that perhaps you are a little overprotective of Harry?”

He’d started this line recently, trying in subtle ways to separate her from her son. She feared that he was slowly turning his father, Lord Caldfort, to his side.

“He’s only three, Jack,” she said, drying the ball on her handkerchief. “There’ll be time to toughen him up later.” She attacked back. “I’m surprised to see you out. We received word that Emma’s confinement had started.”

“Nothing for a man to do there,” he said. “In the way, in fact. I’ve been through this three times before, remember.”

“But I hope all is going well.”

“Midwife said so. Hoping for a boy, of course, this time. Father would be pleased. Always good to have a spare as well as an heir.”

Laura’s throat tightened, but she looked straight at his cheerful face. “I’m sure it is, though it’s unlikely that anything will happen to Harry, isn’t it? Children don’t die as frequently as they used to.”

“God be praised! But still, His divine will takes some innocents. Wise men pray for the best, but prepare for misfortune.” He nodded. “Good day to you, Sister. I’ll drop by to see how Father is, then get back home.”

She watched him stroll toward the house, corpse dragging on the grass, trying to persuade herself that the threat was entirely in her imagination.

Jack Gardeyne was a man of God, and a good enough vicar in his way. He ran the services responsibly, preached excellent sermons, and organized the care of the less fortunate of the parishes. He was a good father and a kind husband. In fact, he seemed to care for his Emma more than Hal had cared for her once the first bloom was off their marriage.

She looked at Harry and saw he was limp in Nan’s arms, his head on the maid’s shoulder.

“Time to go in, Minnow,” she said as if nothing unusual had happened, and bent to gather up the blocks and ball, wishing Jack hadn’t been on his way up to the house. She didn’t want another encounter.

She sighed. It was considerate of Jack to visit his ailing father so often, to talk with him, play cards, and perhaps laugh over wicked, manly jokes. Laura would have done the same—even the latter, but Lord Caldfort didn’t care for the conversation of women. He also believed women should never gamble, and he enjoyed playing cards only for money.

She straightened, tightening the drawstring of the bag. Lord Caldfort was not an easy man to live with but she tried to be understanding. He’d been an active man for most of his life, and becoming an invalid had turned him sour. It had been particularly bitter that his health had failed just as his fortune turned, just as he had inherited a title and estates from his brother.

An unlucky family, the Gardeynes. Her father-in-law had come into the title because his brother’s only son had drowned in the Mediterranean. Now his own older son, her husband, Hal, was dead at thirty-two.

Any ill luck wouldn’t carry on to her son. Laura made a vow of it. She picked up her newspaper, checked that nothing else was left, and led the way back up the slope toward the house.

She had once thought Caldfort House delightful. It wasn’t large, which was part of its charm for her, since she’d grown up in a modest house. Built only fifty-two years ago, it was perfectly designed for a private family home and occasional gracious hospitality. Its proportions were elegant and it had plenty of long windows to let in the light.

Yes, she’d liked it when visits had been an occasional respite from life in the fashionable whirl. Being stuck here forever with bitter Lord Caldfort and peculiar Lady Caldfort was another matter entirely. Add in Jack and her macabre suspicions, and the house was as appealing as a cell in the Tower of London.

Needing the comfort of her son in her arms, Laura exchanged burdens with Nan. Harry had his thumb stuck in his mouth but she didn’t try to remove it. He only did that when he was upset and tired.

He was a sweet, trusting weight, the most precious thing in the world. Hers to raise. Hers to protect. Even if her fears seemed insane at times, she couldn’t afford to ignore them. She’d never forgive herself if anything that she could prevent happened to Harry.

The closer they came to the house, the slower she walked. She didn’t permit herself pointless regrets, but they settled on her now. She’d felt blessed by the gods on her wedding day, but she’d not found true happiness in her marriage and now her future was bleak.

She was only twenty-four years old, but she was a prisoner as surely as if she was in the Tower.

Lord Caldfort insisted, with some justification, that his heir be raised here. She was allowed to take him away, but only for short visits to her family. Her movements were not restricted, but how could she leave Harry, even for days, when she worried about his safety?

She straightened her shoulders and walked into Caldfort House. Her prison until her son was of an age to take care of himself.

As they entered the marble-tiled hall, Harry gave a little
hic
as if he might be crying. Laura moved him slightly to see, but he was fast asleep. She brushed a kiss across his forehead.

Had he detected something bad about Jack? They said children and animals were sensitive, and Harry had never taken to his uncle. She mustn’t build monsters out of nothing, though. A snarling dog would upset any small child.

“What’s the matter with him now?”

Laura started and saw Lord Caldfort, wheezing, bloated, and leaning on his cane, at the open door of his study.

“Nothing, sir. He’s just tired.”

“Jack said he ran screaming from his dog.”

“The dog growled at him, sir.”

“You mollycoddle him! Jack’s right. The lad should spend some time with him. Learn manly ways.”

Laura hoped her dread didn’t show on her face. “What a good idea,” she said cheerfully. “He’s a little young yet, though, don’t you think? He would benefit from your attention, sir, if you feel able to give it. You have raised two fine sons, so you know the way of it.”

It was blatant flattery but he nodded, even preened a little.

“Might be something in what you say, m’dear. Not up to outdoor stuff these days, but I’ll spend a bit of time with the lad. Get him in the way of things.”

Laura thanked him, dropping a curtsy, then headed upstairs, hoping that her suggestion blunted the impression of Jack’s. The trouble was that it was perfectly reasonable for an uncle to take his brother’s place in guiding his son. In other circumstances she would have suggested it herself.

Laura climbed the stairs, praying that all went well with Jack’s wife. She had offered to attend the birth, but Emma had pleasantly refused. Remembering her own confinement, Laura hadn’t been surprised. She and Emma were always cordial but they were too different to be close. At such a time, a woman wanted harmonious companions.

She knew Emma longed for a son as much as Jack did, but as she entered the nursery and passed the sleeping child to Nan, Laura prayed that this child be another girl. If there was anything to her suspicions, then Jack having a son could be disastrous.

That prayer wasn’t answered. When she went downstairs for dinner, she found Jack with her father-in-law, and both men were beaming.

Jack pressed a glass of claret into her hand, and Lord Caldfort raised his. “A toast, m’dear! To Henry Jack Gardeyne!”

Laura froze, glass at her lips. It was family tradition to call first sons Henry, but it was as if a replacement for her Harry was being prepared.

Jack smiled at her. “If you don’t object, Laura, we mean to call him Hal.”

“Of course not,” she said, and found a smile. “Congratulations.”

She was about to ask about Emma when Lady Caldfort wandered in, thin and vague as usual. She stared when given the news, as if she’d forgotten that her daughter-in-law was confined, then said, “How convenient. An heir in case the other one dies.”

Even the two men seemed taken aback at this blunt statement of fact, but they were all accustomed to Lady Caldfort’s ways. She tended to say exactly the words that others were too discreet to let out.

Laura wished she’d been watching Jack. She might have learned something from his reaction.

Lady Caldfort was a cold, angular woman who had little interest in other people and no facility for dealing with them. Apparently Major John Gardeyne, as Lord Caldfort had been then, had married her for her money.

Her only interest in life seemed to be insects, which she collected and arranged in display boxes. That wasn’t unusual, but Lady Caldfort kept the boxes stacked in a spare room, never on display. Laura worried that one day her mother-in-law would become completely insane—and that she’d have to take care of her.

“Isn’t it time to eat?” Lady Caldfort said, and headed for the dining room, even though the meal hadn’t been announced. With a shared look, Laura and the two men followed.

As soon as they were seated, Lord Caldfort and Jack began a discussion of estate matters. As Harry’s mother, Laura had an interest in his future property, but that was a battle not worth the powder at this point. She listened, as she always did, gathering knowledge. Eventually their talk turned to sporting details, and she looked away.

Lady Caldfort was frowning at the nearest candle. She might be angry because the food wasn’t in front of her, but she could as easily be pondering some problem of entomology. Laura knew that an attempt to start conversation there was hopeless. She was a veteran of hundreds of dinners exactly like this, except that if Jack was not here, there was often no conversation at all. Even so, she was expected to attend.

How many such dinners?

Eleven months since Hal died. That would be about 330.

Since Harry’s birth, she’d spent at least half the year here, because both Hal and his father had objected to her taking him away much, and she liked being with her son. She’d enjoyed visits to London, Brighton, and other fashionable spots, but happily sacrificed time at hunting house parties.

Hal had probably been here with her about half the time—a quarter of the year. Sitting opposite her. Looking at her with that look in his eyes that said he was already thinking of an early retreat to their bedchamber and his other favorite sport.

At thought of that sport, her body clenched like a hungry stomach. She pulled her mind back from those lost pleasures.

Calculations. Her antidote to lust.

Two years and five months from Harry’s birth to Hal’s death. Two times 365 plus about 150 equals 880. She had been here without Hal about a quarter of that time: 220.

Add the 330 since Hal’s death: 550.

No, more, because Hal had left her alone here through much of her pregnancy. It had overlapped prime hunting season, after all. She hadn’t minded. Her sister Juliet had been with her during the last months, and then her mother had come. Watcombes were powerful medicine against sourness and gloom.

She could add perhaps 50 to make it a round 600.

Six hundred of these dinners, with thousands still to come. Perhaps she would become as eccentric as Lady Caldfort, except in her case it would take the form of eating in her room with a good book or the newspapers. How crazy would she have to appear to get away with that?