Twixt Two Equal Armies (54 page)

Damn him!

Coward!

No!

Determined to respond to this bewildering situation with strength and equally determined that he must acknowledge what had just happened, she found her voice.

“Please explain yourself, sir. What is the meaning — why did you . . . do that?”

Baugham felt his feeling of panic rise. He knew his eyes were restlessly glancing about and could no longer meet hers. His heart raced and his blood rushed in his ears. How could this have happened? How could he have been such a fool? How could he have lost control so utterly?

He retreated ever more firmly behind his reserve and was determined to escape and put an end to this folly as soon as possible.

“Miss Tournier,” he said slowly, hearing his own voice distantly. It seemed to him to be so very cold and stiff, just like his own pose. “I . . . I am mortified. I have . . . I have just proved your reproaches beyond a doubt. I must beg your forgiveness.”

He noticed the light had gone out of her eyes, too, and she regarded him with a most appalling mix of negative and desperate feeling.

“I cannot explain myself,” he said helplessly. “I . . . I have no excuse to give. I can only promise you that . . . It will not happen again, I assure you.”

Holly turned and took several steps away. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply in an attempt to regain her composure. It took longer than she wished. When she felt equal to facing him again, she turned around, but avoided his eyes.

“Please see it does not. Your apology is accepted.”

She took her bonnet up from the garden bench and tried to tie it upon her head but her fingers were not working well. In frustration she pulled it back off again and turned toward the outer gate.

“I would beg you to leave now, sir. I will make your excuses to my mother.”

“Thank you. I will. I — Give her my warmest regards . . . ” The words stuck in his throat. “Say what you must.”

He simply bowed to stop his babbling and then, as if in a daze, began walking toward the gate. He stopped there, lingering for a while; following her with his eyes as she, just as slowly but with a great dignity, turned her back to him and headed toward the house. As he watched he felt all of his acute embarrassment and shame envelop him once more. Then he uttered an oath under his breath he had not used since he was a very much younger and more impulsive man and turned on his heel to find his horse.

Miss Tournier would return without him, and Baugham realised her mother would almost certainly deduce from her daughter’s countenance that something was amiss. He rode off in confusion, finding himself hoping that Miss Tournier would not disclose his reprehensible actions to Mrs. Tournier, but everything he knew about her told him that she would likely confess all. Added to his already acute feelings of remorse and mortification was a deep regret that by committing an unpardonable sin against a lady of character and good reputation, he had wronged her mother as well. That afternoon, in one moment of thoughtlessness, he had lost two friends.

M
RS
T
OURNIER WAS A NATURALLY
curious woman. Her interest and curiosity caused her to question many accepted facts and she was very fond of any process that could lead her to the discovery of new truths and revelations about the world around her. This, naturally, made her quite a reader and constantly thirsty for scraps of knowledge, and although she was always quick with her opinions, she did consider a good argument on the opposite side of a debate to be as essential and interesting as her own researched point of view.

That same noble and unusual trait in a woman also made her insufferably nosy at times. For someone who judged fact as truth, the limits of the personal sphere and inner doubts were sometimes hard for her to comprehend or even to respect. She knew she was once again pushing against those boundaries of respect when she stayed by the window even though her daughter and their guest could not be seen from it, but when the door slammed and just one set of footsteps could be heard, so obviously Holly’s, she abandoned all pretence of discretion and opened the window to peek out.

Her rudeness was not awarded. She could see no one, so she returned to her seat and waited on pins and needles, fighting the urge to run out of the room and find her daughter and insist that she reveal everything. She was certain there could be nothing too surprising in their failure to appear together in her parlour. Very likely there had been “words” exchanged between them again. But still. Why were they not busy keeping up appearances and fighting their sour countenances there in front of her?!

At that moment her daughter came in with a cup of tea and a piece of bread in her hand.

“There you are!” Mrs Tournier said, quite excitedly and losing all pretence of detachment. “What on earth has been going on?”

Her daughter gave her a look, but calmly put down her cup of tea and dipped some bread in it. It was evident from her pale face that
something
had happened, but as obviously as her feelings could be read from her countenance, just as stubbornly was she able to withhold any details or confessions about it if she chose.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Holly said calmly and hoped her ears did not explode into a crimson colour at the blatant lie. “His lordship had to attend to his horse — he’s quite a nervous specimen I understand — and he had to take his leave. He was quite shamefully late, he said. He begs your forgiveness, of course. I understand tea was cold so I made some for myself just now. Or would you care for me to warm up the pot again?”

“Never mind the pot! As if tea is the answer to every single predicament in life! What about before that?”

Holly looked up. “What do you mean, Maman?”

“Did you manage to behave civilly to one another or were you able to find something to argue about in the quarter of an hour he was out there?”

Holly said nothing for a full minute or longer. Why had she thought she could return to the parlour and simply resume normal life, to act as if nothing was wrong? A sudden apprehension that nothing about her life would ever be normal again swept over her and she struggled to keep her face calm and unaffected. Her mother was watching her expectantly; she must answer her question. But what could she say? If she confessed the kiss, what would her reaction be? Would she rail against Lord Baugham in anger, or would she somehow blame Holly for her unguarded behaviour? Or worse yet, would she dismiss it or laugh it off as a thing of no consequence?

The tea was bitter in her mouth, the bread sat like a stone in her stomach; unconsciously, her hand moved up to her ear. She must answer.

“We . . . we were simply discussing . . . he was asking me for purchase recommendations for the library. That is all.” Satisfied with herself for coming up with a fairly plausible story, she elaborated further, “He was asking my opinion on the works of de Forges when Mr Campbell’s dog ran too close to his horse,” her speech grew more rapid as she went on, “and he grew skittish and his lordship tried but could not calm him so he thought it was best to try to ride it out of him so be asked me to beg your pardon and he left.”

Without looking at her mother, Holly carried her cup to the tray and walked to the doorway.

“I think . . . I’m rather tired, Maman. I think I will go lie down for a while.”

Without waiting for an answer, she left.

Her mother watched her leave closing the door very carefully behind her. She was by no means impressed by the fact that the author of the poem
“Goddam! Goddam! par un French-dog”
and Mr Campbell’s harmless and docile pet together made up an explanation for his lordship’s absence, but there was not much she could do. Her daughter would not talk to her. For now, anyway.

H
OLLY RAN UPSTAIRS AS QUICKLY
as she could, her breath coming roughly. What had just happened ran over and over in her mind and it took quite some time before she could form any kind of coherent thought.

The thinking only made it worse. He had kissed her; he had looked at her in that way and then he had drawn away, cold and detached. And he had left without a word of explanation, only apology. The worst part to Holly of course, was that, because of that kiss and that look, she was fully aware of feelings which had been hidden from her before.
No,
she thought
, be honest
,
not hidden, you have just refused to admit them.
But now, here it was, she must acknowledge what she felt — though there was no good in it.

Her thoughts were in such turmoil — he had kissed her. Her first kiss, and instead of coming as a prelude to, or the result of, a declaration of love as she had always imagined, it came as a surprise, the result of temper and a prelude to regret — for him. As for her . . . his reaction gave her no room for any feelings save despair. She paced around her room wildly, the scene continuing to play in her head. She was wretched. She was miserable. She was mortified that she had responded to him and returned his kiss. She was embarrassed and ashamed and angry.

His words, her words, the warnings of Miss Tristam, tormented her and though it was still mid-afternoon, she stripped to her chemise, crawled into bed and covered her head with her pillow — willing sleep to come and rescue her — at least temporarily — from her distress. But she could not escape the facts. He had kissed her. He had kissed her and then he had walked away.

Netherfield
Hertfordshire

Baugham,

In keeping with all the traditions of our longstanding friendship, it is my pleasure to inform you of the fact that I have once again, as is my habit, bested you. For not only have I proven the existence of true, disinterested love as I watch the happiness of my good friend Bingley — I have at the same time secured that same love for myself, in the person of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. As for you, since Bingley and I have at this point secured the affections of the two brightest, liveliest and most beautiful women alive (although the exact numbering and order remains a matter of much debate between the two of us), I’m afraid you will be left with third best — if you should ever decide you are no longer satisfied with being a bystander to love and muster up the courage to enter the fray.

As I assume you mean to quit Scotland after Christmas and return to Town for the winter season, I have no hesitation in telling you that I would be much obliged if you could see your way to leaving a bit sooner than planned, staying here at Netherfield with Bingley and me until the ceremony. Your presence and company will be greatly appreciated . . . if for nothing else than to keep the rest of the Bennet family charmed and occupied.

I must confess to one more favour I must ask of you, if you still maintain your friendship with the ladies of Rosefarm Cottage. It appears that the presence of her cousin and her aunt are necessary for Elizabeth to be completely happy on the day of her wedding so I would ask you to deliver the enclosed missives to them. And . . . if Mrs Tournier appears to balk at the arrangements I have made for their travel, that you will do your best to smooth things along and assure their arrival.

Yours in triumph,
Darcy

S
O
B
AUGHAM SAT IN HIS
darkened library, looking at the letter in his hand even though there was no longer enough light to make out any of the words. The news it contained was not unexpected, but its contents had sent him into turmoil nevertheless.
When it rains, it pours . . .
he thought. Now why should he make that deduction? It was a happy letter; a letter he knew had been on its way and a letter, the contents of which he had been impatiently waiting for.

He separated the two additional folded up sheets from within the letter and looked at the directions. They stared back at him, the one made him wince, the other made him feel acute shame. He sighed. After an excruciating hour at Tristam Lodge, surrounded by smiling and giggling girls, unfortunately all lined up on the parlour sofa just as Miss Tournier had said, he had at last been able to take his leave and go home, expecting shelter and peace to sort out his necessary feelings of doubt and shame and regret. But he was faced, not with a place of refuge, but a letter which further accentuated his crime, rubbed his nose in his shortcomings — all of them — and most effectively not only conjured up his broken promise to his friend, but also imposed further obligations to live up to his friend’s expectations and atone for his sins

Among the sundry thoughts swirling through his mind was the question: how the devil was he supposed to deliver the enclosed letter to Miss Tournier with how things now stood between them, and knowing what news the letter contained? Under his breath he cursed Darcy for putting him in such an awkward position, then he cursed himself as well.

“ . . . if you still maintain your friendship with the ladies of Rosefarm Cottage.” The phrase mocked him.

Pompous, presumptuous ass,
was his next thought. Giving instructions to smooth things over for him — as if that was even possible any more, as if he still had a right to set foot through their door. And now, if he was to try to execute the office given to him, he would be faced with the necessity of first finding out from Miss Tournier whether her mother had been informed of his . . . behaviour.