The Rake's Redemption (4 page)

“He’s been wounded apparently, and sent here to convalesce.” John completely missed the quizzical look on her face and instead of telling her about the wound resumed his own rant. “Marched into headquarters and started issuing his orders, bold as you like.”

“Father, I must return to the rents.” She could feel herself start to tremble, and it would not do to show distress. The servants were bound to stir themselves into a frenzy of rumour about this. When they did there must be no suspicion that she had been anything other than aloof to the news. “I’m sure John has much to tell you about the militia, but I have little interest in military affairs.”

Judith genuinely tried to return to the rent rolls, but she couldn’t settle to it. The figures still wouldn’t make sense, but this time because they were swimming in front of her eyes. The inevitable knock came five minutes after she’d drifted upstairs to her room in frustration. It could only be Lucy, alerted by the other servants and come to see if she needed anything.

“Mistress Rogers said I was to come up, Miss, to see if you wanted to dress now.” Judith could see excitement behind her maid’s deference. Rumours must already be racing round the servants’ hall. “Will you want the green satin, Miss?”

“Whatever for, Lucy? And it’s far too early to dress now.” A bobbed head told Judith her tone had been too sharp. Lucy was only trying to be helpful.

“It’s ever so lovely, Miss Judith.” It was, and it had cost an exorbitant amount, which she’d thought worthwhile for the way it picked up the colour of her eyes. “You wore it last when Viscount Alsbury came to dinner, Miss.”

Thomas had smiled his appreciation for the low cut gown. His eyes had filled her with heat as though she were one of the new gas lamps being turned up to illuminate the dark.

“It’s also an antique, Lucy. That hasn’t been in style for years. It’s far too low for the fashion now.”

“You could wear a fíchu, Miss. The Viscount Alsbury was handsome, Miss. When he was sweet on you.” Lucy must have seen the balefires ignite, for she dropped a curtsey and scuttled out the door before harm could come her way.

Thomas Stainford might be handsome, but he brought nothing but trouble. All the days of waiting hopefully, of expecting Aunt Chloe’s butler to announce him, of not wanting to accept that he wouldn’t come. Her own fault for being naive and trusting. Thomas had been a rake, easily able to bamboozle a green girl. Nor was it likely that she was alone in her ruin. Three years ago, there had been a tale of a duel over the wife of a Spanish Marqués. Amara said it was a faradiddle not to be listened to, but for once Judith hadn’t believed her.

There was no denying she’d been a fool. The entire season Aunt Matilde had given her had gone by in a whirl of gaiety, attending routs and concerts and balls. Father had been very mindful of the cost and so grateful to his sister. Leaving Judith to suffer in her guilt, for she never intended to accept any of the polite, eager young men. Not when Thomas would be coming back for her. A fool indeed. Well, she was older and wiser now. Too wise for such foolishness.

Dinner was a very quiet meal. There was not a single reference to the Viscount Alsbury, and Judith guessed her father had spoken with John. Not for the first time she found herself wondering how sharp father’s suspicions had been. He’d never explained the sudden trip to Launceston, and when they arrived Aunt Chloe had favoured her with two cringing lectures on the ways of young men.

She went to bed early, but lay awake late. The same circle of thought kept running through her mind. Ruin was such an irremediable word: it was unfair, unjust, and final. Leaving her with only anxiety. Anxiety that if she dared to marry she might be returned to father the morning after her wedding, and anxiety that father would then feel bound to defend her honour. Anxiety that he might die for what a silly, foolish girl had done.

And when she saw Thomas, for she would have to see him, would he acknowledge their past? If not, it would be unbearable, but how could she let him when that might betray her secret? It would be petty and childish to slight him, but it would be safer. And it would free her too of that last lingering hope. The exhaustion that had been stalking her finally won and she never knew when she tumbled over into sleep.

If dinner had been quiet, breakfast was not, which was unusual in the Hampton household. A raised voice was not heard in the morning, and certainly never at breakfast. But then this voice belonged to John Hampton, whose attendance at breakfast was a rare curiosity.

“He all but cut me, damn it.”

After her restless night the devil was in Judith and she listened to John with impatience. He obviously considered that father’s stricture on mentioning Thomas had expired last night. Judith looked up from her brioche to see how her father would react to John’s outburst.

“You forget yourself, John. Apologise to your sister.” Jonathon Hampton left his son in no doubt that profanity was unacceptable.

“My apologies Judith.” John Hampton apologised as instructed, but the anger was still plain within him.

“You are inclined to intemperance, John, especially when you work yourself up with such denunciations of Thomas Stainford.” Judith knew a softly spoken censure would annoy her brother far more than raging at him and sure enough he reacted as she expected.

“He just nodded and went on his way. Too high by far. I thought he’d have been keen to share tales of the Peninsula with his friend.” John’s face flushed as he spoke, and her father glanced warningly at Judith.

“At least the Major’s demands for morning parade have brought you to the breakfast table, John.” This time she avoided father’s reproach by the simple expedient of keeping her eyes downcast as she delivered her bon mot. It was unkind, but John had puffed himself up so.

“He’s put Sir Theodore out of sorts too. Ordered up a parade as if he were running the regiment.” John Hampton obviously saw this as conclusive backing for his point of view. “If he’s not careful Theo’ll have him packed off back to London.”

“Is that likely, John? “ Jonathon Hampton was keeping one eye on his daughter and the other on his son. “The Volunteers need stiff training, do they not?”

“Whether they require training or not, Theodore will not put up with this. After all he paid for the regiment out of his own pocket.” John’s certainty was so absolute Judith had to stifle the absurd urge to giggle. Her brother’s stance as champion of the militia was unconvincing. Until last week John had attended parades rarely, spending most of his time in London.

“Do you think Viscount Alsbury will call?” Judith voiced the thought with an insouciance she didn’t feel. There was no choice but to receive such a call, and not to slight Thomas when she did. Her father would be shamed if she couldn’t behave toward him with the politeness that society required of the mistress of Oakenhill.

“It seems likely. I shall drop a card at Trefoyle, Judith. Look odd otherwise, my dear.” Father was apologetic when he was entirely correct. The returning war hero would be the lion of the neighbourhood, every mama who had a daughter out eager to receive him. The salver at Trefoyle would be groaning under cards. For the Hamptons to pass would be remarked. And Amara Guilmor was a good friend.

“I shall expect him before four, father.” She looked at John to see if he thought the call should be later, but her brother gave no sign that he wished to revive the friendship. Judith felt a surge of relief. Keeping Thomas Stainford at a formal distance would make it easier. He would have no part in her life beyond that of any other gentleman visiting the neighbourhood. Judith placed her coffee cup carefully back on its saucer. Father did so detest clattering china in the morning, and she would not want to upset him unnecessarily.

“There appears to have been a deluge of cards, milord.” Wright proffered the silver salver with a certain glee. “The neighbourhood must think someone of importance is visiting Trefoyle.”

“Damn nuisance. I’ll return cards for most. Sir Edmund was right about the Volunteers’ drill. Did you ever see a battalion make such a shambles of a wheel? Horsley coloured up to a charming shade of plum.” Even if he had enjoyed their colonel’s discomfiture, Thomas was still appalled at the state of the Volunteers. “Lacey might have some idea what’s he’s about.”

“While Captain Hampton would benefit from a transfer to the cavalry, milord.” Graham Wright showed no hesitation in making a comment entirely improper for an enlisted man. “Card here from Lord Hampton, Major. At home three till four.” Wright was even more annoying when he tried to sound sympathetic.

Lord Hampton’s visiting card had a clear message; call at the formal time of visiting before family and close friends would consider paying calls. Was that to be the way of it now? Previously Judith’s father had been the epitome of hospitality. Right up until he had taken Judith away. There was no doubt about what Thomas had to do now. Returning a card would be the coward’s way.

“I’ll call there tomorrow, Wright. Thank you.” Thankful to be rid of even a loyal audience, Thomas returned to thoughts that had never gone away. He’d always known how far they transgressed society’s code, but Judith had been so bewitching, and all that had mattered was being with her. He knew better now. Love didn’t conquer. Just as on the battlefield, duty was the key that turned the world. No matter what your feelings might be. Or Judith’s. For it could be only arrogance to think that she might retain any affection for him. Most likely he was nothing but a fading memory.

Her father’s note had encapsulated the position so efficiently,
‘Lord Hampton is pleased to inform you that he and the Honourable Miss Judith Hampton intend to benefit from warmer airs... look forward to renewing acquaintance....next spring residing in London with the Earl and Countess of Tresham.’
There could be no mistaking the message, it was both civilised and unambiguous. Offer for Judith next year in her season, and disappear till then. Civilised and formal, and it should have been wholly incapable of dissuading him from pursuing Judith.

~

“Lord Hampton and Miss Hampton are in the drawing room, my lord.” Judith heard Bridges’ voice as a clarion call to battle. A deep breath was needed to stop a heart desperate to race away with itself, and she couldn’t help smoothing down a gown that was already immaculate. Last year’s, it still made her smile every time she looked at the wavy windowpane check in the white muslin. It always draped well, and since there was no reason to make a major effort today, it was perfectly suitable.

She’d already checked the maid’s work twice, but that didn’t stop her sweeping her glance once more around the room. Everything was as it should be, every surface dusted, every ornament in its place, a home perfectly prepared to receive visitors. Only father, his face full of worry and concern, spoiled the picture. He’d been taciturn since the discussion on visiting cards, permitting himself only one observation.
‘You haven’t heard from Alsbury since he went to Portugal.’
Judith hadn’t been quite sure if it were a statement or a question and she’d kept her reply equally terse.
‘Jeremy mentioned him a few times.’

If she could see how fretful father was Thomas would too, so she smiled encouragingly at her parent. “Something seems to be keeping our caller in the hall, father.” Just as the door opened for Bridges to announce their visitor.

He was pale, very pale, with a faded white gouge cut across his forehead and down his cheek. The scar took away his youth, and this was not the same sweet Thomas she had known. This man was hard eyed, broader, and seemed taller, though he couldn’t possibly be. His uniform was immaculate, as his clothes had always been, but the fit was loose, as though he had lost weight, perhaps from the wound. And his jaw, that had always been so strong, seemed even sharper now.

He was still Thomas though, dark haired and beautiful, looking as if he would sweep away empires if someone only gave him the order. She caught herself before the fancy went any further. Viscount Alsbury was here as a matter of form, on a courtesy call.

He inclined his head respectfully to her father, precise as always, then turned to include her. Judith managed a nod, but that was all she could do, and she sat frozen while her father rose and extended his hand. Through the fog that encompassed her she could hear the murmured exchange of polite words, till Thomas moved to catch her eye.

“Not quite so pretty as I once was, Judith.” His deprecation was light and amused, his smile inviting her to laugh with him at that long ago boy he had been.

“We had heard you were wounded.” Her father’s voice was kindly but puzzled, because the scar was healed and plainly no reason for an officer to have returned to Britain.

“Of little account, other than to bring me back here.” The smile was still courteous, but had tightened a little, as though to discourage further questioning. “I trust my adornment does not cause you distress, Judith.”

How like Thomas to put the responsibility on her so adroitly. It was unthinkable that she would be rude enough to object to his scar, but he could take her acceptance as forgiveness. “A wound honourably gained in the service of our country cannot possibly give offence, Major. You deserve our respect for carrying out your duties so bravely.”

The words she had written to him had been far more direct:
heartbroken,
unforgivable, treacherous, dead to me.
Now that he stood before her she felt guilt for those words, and for wishing him dead. Yet it had been long ago, and had so little to do with her now. There was no reason why that thought should make her feel sad and empty, but it did.

“Thank you, Judith, I shall try to deserve your confidence.” Thomas made a half bow to emphasise his words before he realised he was inches away from starting to flirt with her. Stepping into Lord Hampton’s hall had brought back so many memories. To find this quiet, grave eyed girl sitting watching him so intently. She had such dignity. She’d matured, fined down, with no trace left of the mischievous minx she’d been. His second thought was how well it suited her. Judith might be sitting there like a stranger, but an extremely elegant stranger.

Her hair was shorter now as far as he could tell, with the brunette tresses piled behind a headband that pushed every last hair clear of her face. It had streamed behind her like a banner, wild, indecorous and quite glorious when she had galloped Sherbery all over Oakenhill and dared him to catch her. He couldn’t help but notice one thing that hadn’t changed: the soft muslin of her dress was clingy enough to show that Judith was as toned and lithe as she had ever been.

“In fact you have my sympathy, Major.” She spoke clearly, voice sweeter than a bell, and words sharper than flint. Thomas was left wondering how he’d lost a sparring match before he’d entered into it. He’d look a fool to object to her sentiment, it was correct and proper, and the last thing he wanted to hear.

“I am obliged.” Where had she found this remarkable calm, and a sophistication that would catch the eye of any man? That dress would have been the height of fashion last year, and now with the blue tartan sash bound just a little too tightly beneath her bosom it was hypnotic. Puffed sleeves and lace ruffles at her collar and cuffs made it an invitation to dalliance totally at odds with her prim style.

“How does your godmother fare, my lord?” Jonathon Hampton’s enquiry was scrupulously polite, perfectly pertinent, and directed the conversation down an eminently safe path.

“Well, sir. In London at present. Lord Guilmor is too concerned with His Highness’s government to leave town. She hopes to come down to Trefoyle in a week or two. Are you in good health, sir? My godmother spoke of an ague.”

“Quite recovered, my boy. Quite hale.” Father sounded bluff and approving, and Judith found the thought that he might be kindly disposed to Thomas even more infuriating then his show of concern for her yesterday. “Your brother is still in Spain? Is he well?”

“Quite well when I left him, thank you. In the Peninsula nothing is certain. My condolences on your loss, sir. Jeremy was a fine officer.”

“Thank you, Thomas. My son did his duty. It seems a difficult war? Her father’s tone was conversational, one gentleman to another, and Judith had to fight down her impulse to run from the room.

“It is, sir. Made more so by allies who cause us more trouble than the French.” There was exasperation in his voice that caught Judith’s ear. Was Viscount Alsbury thinking of a particular Spanish Marqués?

“Is that not disloyal of you, Major?” Judith surprised herself at the sugar coating she gave to her pointed question. It almost made it sound as though she intended a trap for him. She consoled herself with the thought that he deserved no better. The way his eyes had walked over her had been insolent. The open admiration he’d shown her four years ago had thrilled her. Now she was older and wiser she knew it for the presumption it was.

Thomas looked at her, the start of a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I speak frankly, Judith, to answer your father’s question. Would you have me do otherwise?”

“I’d have you show respect for your allies, Major. The Spanish have suffered greatly in this war.” The sentiment sounded too righteous, pompous even, and Judith needed to make the words more cutting. “Perhaps the British are not devoid of fault?”

“Do you mean the Peer, Judith? I had not realised you were acquainted intimately with grand strategy.” Supercilious was the only word to describe him.

“John is taken with of the idea of transferring to the army in Spain.” Her father’s voice was almost sepulchral, and Judith looked at him sharply. Till now she’d not realised he placed any credence in John’s boasting.

“That might be unnecessary, when there is ample work for him with the militia. Too many officers devote only what time they can spare from the hunt.” It was said in a considered way that lent the words credibility, and Judith watched her father’s face brighten at the thought of retaining his younger son at home. Could Thomas have changed enough to be concerned with someone beyond himself?

“Are you sufficiently recovered to ride with the hunt, Major?” The question was simply an olive branch for the consideration he had shown her father. Thomas gave the impression of swaying slightly, though there was no other outward sign of infirmity but curiosity was gnawing at her.

“I doubt I will have time, Judith. Do you still have Sherbery? He was a superb animal.” His way of pronouncing the horse’s name left a little pause between the two syllables so that the word sounded like a caress.

The question left Judith shaken, and her answer sounded too tart. “He still is. Quite my favourite horse.” Had Thomas known the effect his question would have? Did he care nothing that he might offend her, or did he do it deliberately to test her response? Could he think her merely a convenience he might renew? Was that what he had though of her then? “I find he surpasses most of the hunt, Viscount Alsbury.”

“The Major will be unlikely to ride much, Judith. While he convalesces.” Her father made the words sound almost a command, and Judith was surprised to see steel in his rheumy eyes. “You will visit your father though, Thomas?”

“I may not have time, my lord. The Volunteers are... absorbing. My father like the hounds may have to wait.” Thomas had slipped back to the respectful visitor and Judith felt a little of her exhilaration slip away with his retreat. The regret lasted just as long as his silence. “So Sherbery may continue to lead the hunt, Judith.”

How could she have imagined any good of him? He should be begging her forgiveness, and here he was teasing her instead, and she was flapping and fluttering at his words.

“It would be well if John decided to stay with the militia, Thomas.” Her father’s importuning was embarrassingly transparent and Judith felt herself impatient with him. The last thing she wanted was to be beholden to Thomas Stainford for any reason.

“Do you expect the French to invade, Major? That the militia are so necessary?” Her father’s look of rebuke had the same chance of stopping her as Canute had of turning the tide.

“Necessary, but unready, I fear. Did you think them only an indulgence, Judith?” His very reasonableness was maddening, especially when he so patronising in it.

“Sir Theodore has laid out a great deal of his wealth to raise and equip the militia, Viscount Alsbury. We must be grateful to him for his patriotism. He is to be considered a man of vision.” Judith was warming to her work, irrespective of her lack of enthusiasm for the baronet in question. Theodore Horsley had swept back hair and fleshy cheeks and always put Judith in mind of pictures she had seen of beavers from the Canadian wilderness.

“Though unfortunately no military experience.” Thomas kept smiling as he delivered what he obvious considered to be the trump card. “Something of a drawback, don’t you think?”

“I know little of military matters, Major. I should have to ask Colonel Horsley. As the senior officer he would know best, would he not?” She couldn’t help rising to his tease, trying to cap his  impertinence.

“I’m sure he would say so, Judith.” His eyes were brimming with amusement and confidence, smiling with enjoyment of their fencing, and all at once Judith felt the urge to laugh with him instead of continuing this ridiculous dance. But that was the way of him, Thomas Stainford was calculated to charm. You had to resist it. “It is surprising the militia do not meet your satisfaction, Major. John is proud of his company.”