Trouble With Harry (14 page)

Plum used the cloth at the side of the bed to wipe off her belly, then rolled over onto her side and propped her head up on one hand. “You can speak.” She sighed a mock forlorn sigh. “I must not have done it right if you can still speak. I shall simply have to do better the next time. I will make it my life's goal to improve, Harry. No doubt with practice, I will.”

His eyes rolled back in his head. “If you do, you really will kill me.”

“Flatterer,” Plum said and snuggled up against his damp chest.

“How did you know about the Steeplechase?” he asked a few minutes later.

Plum had been prepared for that. While she wasn't willing to admit she was the author of the
Guide
, she had decided that Thom was right in judging Harry open to such instruction, and that hinting she had read it would not be a bad idea. The key was to tell him the truth without telling him too much truth. “The Steeplechase is one of the activities described in the
Guide
to
Connubial
Calisthenics
.”

Harry cracked open one eye. “You've read it?”

“Yes. I've read it.” Frequently over the past few years, if for no other reason than to remind herself exactly what sort of things went on in a marriage bed. It had been so long since she had any experience in that matter…

“Ah. I was hoping to get you to read it a bit later, after we've had some…uh…experience with one another, but it's just as well if you're familiar with the book. I assume your first husband gave it to you?”

Plum picked her words carefully. “He was responsible for me reading the
Guide
, yes.”

Harry made a noncommittal hum and closed his eye again, his arm tightening around her as she relaxed against him. That was one hurdle past. Things were going to work out. They had to. It was simply a matter of her putting her mind to the task.

***

“My life is going to rack and ruin, you know that, don't you?” Plum asked four weeks later.

Unfortunately she asked it of Edna, her timid maid. Edna had improved over the past few weeks to the point where she now no longer crossed herself whenever her mistress spoke, but she was still a bit twitchy whenever Plum gave free rein to whatever unconventional thought floated around in her mind.

“But, ma'am, that's ever such a pretty gown,” Edna said, her eyes puzzled as she watched Plum frown at herself in the looking glass. “The color suits you perfectly. I don't see that it will ruin your life.”

“That's not what I meant, although Harry does have a very good eye for color, much better than mine.” Plum stopped frowning at her thoughts and took a good long look at herself in the glass. The rich wine of the watered silk set off her dark hair well, and the cut of the gown, although a bit higher in the bodice than she was accustomed to, was flattering. “He really is very good to us, bringing in Madame Sinclair to make new wardrobes for Thom and me, and yes, Edna, the gown is very pretty, but the fact remains that despite being the possessor of ten new day gowns, four dinner gowns, six chemises, three ball gowns, two riding habits, and more stockings and gloves than I can count, my life is still going to rack and ruin.”

Edna made an inarticulate, near-
eep
sound that had Plum closing her lips over the rest of her complaint. Edna was looking wary enough; the last thing Plum wanted was for the maid to be run off before her hair was done.

Fifteen minutes later Plum dismissed Edna and went in search of her husband. Today was the day of reckoning. Her reckoning. “Good morning, Thom. Have you seen Harry?”

Thom paused at the top of the staircase, the two footmen who were trailing her halting obediently behind. “I believe he went down to work on his project.”

Plum nibbled her lower lip. “Oh.”

“He was whistling, and he looked like he wanted to smile,” Thom said helpfully.

“Was he?” Plum blushed a little, just a tiny bit, just a wee little pinkening to her cheeks. She had to admit that although there were definitely parts of her life that could be improved, her physical relationship with Harry had been absolutely perfect. Harry had been most enthusiastic about working through the exercises presented in the
Guide
, and even had a few calisthenics of his own to show her. In addition to their nightly engagement, Harry had awoken her each morning with another testament to his stamina and creativity. Plum didn't wonder that he was smiling. He often left her grinning her head off.

“Yes, he was,” Thom answered, eyeing her with far too knowing a look. Plum made an effort not to look smug. “Temple told me he hasn't seen Harry so happy in years, since before the first Lady Rosse died. He says it's because you're keeping Harry content.”

“Temple is impertinent.” Plum's blush turned a bit hotter. “Where are you off to with that large net and the ladder?”

“Bats,” Thom said succinctly, and after giving Plum a cheery smile, she turned to march up the next flight of stairs. Plum stood back to let the footmen pass, trying to decide whether to go beard Harry in his den or to check on the children first. It was really a matter of the lesser of two evils—the children were always up to something, usually something guaranteed to make her look bad in front of their father, while going to speak to Harry…she took a deep breath and turned her feet toward the stairs leading down to the hall. She loved Harry. She loved him a great deal, more than she had ever loved a man, and after the incident last night, the time had finally come for her to tell him the truth. Or part of it—the part concerning Charles. She owed him that much.

“Good morning, Lady Rosse. You look as charming as one of the tea roses you uncovered in the garden.”

Normally Plum would have enjoyed Temple's compliments, although she knew his approval had more to do with the fact that she had persuaded Harry to allow his study to be cleaned than anything else she'd done since she married him, but this morning she had an ugly secret to bare. Trading compliments would have to wait. She bit her lip. “Is Harry working on his project?”

“Yes. Another two crates arrived from Rosehill early this morning. He's sorting through them.”

Drat it all. Boxes of papers had been arriving for him at a steady rate for the past two weeks, the arrival of each heralding a period when Harry was incommunicado until he staggered out for the evening meal. Plum was dying to know what the project was about, but all Harry had told her was that he was looking into an episode in his past for someone in the government. She hadn't wanted to pry, although the fact that he didn't trust her with the details about his project rankled. The irony of her situation—that she hadn't trusted him with her own secrets—did not escape her; they just made the rankle that much more uncomfortable. Only the fact that she had been busy trying to bring some order to the house, the staff, and the children, not to mention attend daily fittings from the modiste Harry had brought in, choose wallpapers and paint colors, select furniture to be thrown out or refurbished, prowl the attics in search of hidden treasures to scatter throughout the house, and a hundred other everyday tasks kept her from pressuring Harry into telling her more about his project.

“Temple…” Plum eyed the door to Harry's room for a moment, then turned her attention to the secretary standing before her. “Just what exactly is this project Harry is engaged upon?”

Temple's glance slid from her to a spot on the wall just beyond her shoulder. “I couldn't say, ma'am.”

“Of course you could, Harry tells you everything. You mean you
won't
tell me.”

Temple inclined his head to allow that was so.

“I dislike secrets, Temple,” Plum said, pushing back the knowledge that she had no right to adopt such a self-righteous tone, justifying her annoyance with the memory of just what sorts of secrets men kept. They could be very harmful, indeed. “Harry said his work has something to do with an event in his past. What event?”

“You'd have to ask his lordship that, ma'am.”

Plum allowed herself to have one of her three daily sighs and turned toward the door to Harry's inner sanctum. “I'm disappointed in you, Temple, I truly am.”

“I am indeed grieved to hear that.”

“I had expected better of you.”

Temple bowed his head as if he was overwhelmed with grief.

“I had thought we were friends. Friends, as you must know, tell each other things, particularly when those things concern a much loved individual.”

He didn't look the least bit contrite. “Do they, indeed, ma'am? I will remember that for the future.”

It was no use. She couldn't shame him into telling her Harry's secret, and in a way she admired him for standing firm; she knew what the repercussions could be of someone spreading details that were not meant for common knowledge. Taking a deep breath, she rapped briefly on Harry's door, then entered the room. It was still dark and murky, but at least it was clean, and the windows shone brightly, allowing in more than just a mote or two of sunlight. Today they stood open, the fragrant smell of baked earth and newly scythed grass wafting in, the distant low of cattle and the chatter of birds reminding her of just how wonderful summer could be. If only she could get Harry outside to enjoy some of that lovely weather.

“Harry, do you have a moment?”

He looked up from a mountain of papers, his eyes brightening. “For you, however many moments you desire.”

She gave him a weak smile, nervous and feeling a bit clammy about her midsection now that the moment had come to unburden herself. She walked toward his outstretched hand, allowing him to pull her onto his lap.

“I don't suppose you came in here to work your womanly wiles on me?” he asked, nibbling along her neck. “Dare I hope that you've come to seduce me and save me from the mind-numbingly tedious work of sorting through these papers?”

Plum squirmed on his lap, trying to slow her beating heart, trying desperately to hang on to her good intentions. Harry always managed to drive even the simplest of thoughts from her mind whenever he touched her. Delaying her moment of truth, she seized the opening he offered. “Is your work so unpleasant, then? Is there something I can help you with?”

He kissed her ear. “Thank you for such a selfless offer, but no. I wish you could, but it's something I must see through myself.”

She squirmed again, and he caught her hips, holding her still. “What is it you're looking for?”

“Just some boring old notes. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

“I'm very good with notes. I would be happy to be of assistance.”

The wonderful laugh lines around his eyes crinkled delightfully as he grinned at her. “Sweetheart, I wouldn't be able to get a single thing done were you to try to help me. I'd be too busy planning what calisthenic I wanted to try with you.”

“But—”

“No, thank you, Plum. I should be done with this in a week; then I promise I'll be a better husband.”

Guilt washed over her in a wave that had her heart contracting painfully. He was so wonderful to her now, how could he think he was anything less than perfect? Shame made her words sound pettish and ungrateful. “Very well. If you don't wish to share your burden with me, I won't pry.”

Harry laughed and kissed her chin. “As if I haven't burdened you with enough?” Plum's heart sank. His words and tone were playful, but his meaning was clear. She hadn't done very well with the responsibilities he had given her, it was no wonder he didn't trust her with anything more. Before she could protest, he continued. “Before I forget myself and investigate the charming breasts I know are hiding beneath your bodice, what was it you wanted to see me about?”

Plum couldn't meet his eyes. She bit her lip, told herself to stop being such a coward, and blurted out, “It's something…unpleasant.”

Harry groaned. “All right. Out with it. Who did what now?”

After a month's experience of rescuing animals, objects, and sometimes people from the almost always disastrous attention of her stepchildren, she knew just what he was asking. “The children haven't done anything.”

“No? There hasn't been another accident, has there?”

Plum frowned. “No, you know I'd tell you if anything else happened, but as you bring that up…Harry, don't you think it rather odd that so many things have gone wrong during the last few weeks? First McTavish got sick eating something that we've still to identify—”

Her husband cocked a brow. “I thought we decided he ate a poisonous berry by mistake?”

Plum shook her head. “I'm not convinced of that. He says he didn't eat any berries, but he's hiding something. Then the girls and Thom were accosted by that gypsy while they were out walking in the fields—”

“That was likely just a vagrant looking for a handout.”

“—and then Digger had that fall from his horse. You said yourself that you found two burrs under the saddle, so poor Frozen Dawn had no choice but to buck when Digger mounted him.”

Harry's hand slid up her thigh in a most distracting manner. “Yes, but I also said that the boys had been playing with the saddle blankets, and they could have inadvertently picked up a burr or two while they were being dragged God knows where.”

“That's unlikely,” Plum argued, ignoring the heat his touch generated.

“But not impossible.”

“Then there's—”

Harry sighed—he did not have to ration his sighs. “Plum, are you going to recount every incident that's happened during the last month? Because if you are, I'd prefer you be naked so I can at least enjoy the scenery.”

She slapped his hand away from where it was creeping, annoyed that even after a month of her trying to control the children, they still behaved like maniacs. “Harry, I'm serious.”