Ariadne's Diadem (17 page)

Hugh’s thoughts were very different in those first moments. He judged her unremarkable in every way, and his inner dislike and resentment was so great that he had to concentrate upon maintaining a semblance of interest and charm.

After the somewhat stilted and awkward introductions, he opened the conversation with an obvious politeness. “Aren’t your parents at home, Miss Willowby?”

“I fear not, sir. They’re in Ireland.”

“Ireland? I had no idea.” Excellent, for he had expected their presence to supply his crime with two more potential witnesses; now it seemed he did not have to concern himself about that particular problem. He smiled. “No doubt I will meet them in due course.”

“Oh, yes, you will.” She thought it a little peculiar that he was ignorant of her parents’ absence; after all, Charles had known, and both had recently been in conversation with Mr. Critchley, to whom her father had apparently written.

He glanced around. “What a charming home you have, Miss Willowby. I fancy my ancestors were unwise to leave it for grander pastures.”

She smiled. “I’m glad they did, sir, I mean, Your Grace...for I have certainly always loved it here.” She had no idea at all how to speak to him. Her mind was blank, and she couldn’t recall how she’d addressed his late uncle last year.

He smiled. “That is a little formal, don’t you think? As we are to be man and wife, would it be too heinous a crime against property if we used our first names? Or would that offend etiquette too much? What do you think, Mrs. Jenkins?” With a convincingly gallant smile he suddenly turned to the housekeeper, who gave a surprised start.

“Me, sir? Oh, I wouldn’t presume to...”

He continued to smile winningly, for instinct told him that the woman would be an invaluable ally. “Oh, come now, I am sure a
ménagère
of your admirable experience and qualities can judge in an instant.”

Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t quite sure what a
ménagère
was, but as the remainder of what he said made her feel most flattered, she felt certain the foreign word wasn’t anything insulting. “Well, I do not know that my view is of any consequence, sir...”

“Of course it is. So, what is it to be? Formality, or congeniality?”

“Why, I suppose the latter, sir,” the housekeeper replied after a moment.

Anne gave her a surreptitious glance, knowing that if Charles Danby had asked the same question, the answer would have been very different!

Hugh smiled at Anne again. “I trust you do not mind such a decision being made for you?”

“I have no objection, sir.”

“I have no objection,
Hugh,”
he prompted.

“I have no objection...Hugh,” she repeated obediently.

Mrs. Jenkins looked inquiringly at her. “Begging your pardon, Miss Anne, but should I prepare some refreshment?”

Hugh intervened hastily, for he had promised Kitty he would dine with her. “There is no need, for I intend to eat later at the inn.”

“The Salmon’s Leap in Peterbury?”

“Er, no, at the White Boar,” he replied reluctantly, for the question caught him off guard.

Anne looked swiftly at him. “Indeed? Then no doubt you have encountered Mr. Danby?” She felt Mrs. Jenkins cross gaze upon her, but under the circumstances, not to mention Charles would surely appear odd.

“Danby?” Hugh looked blankly at her.

“Of Messrs. Critchley, Faulkner, Oliver, and Danby. Your lawyers, I believe?” she added with a smile.

Hugh was alarmed, not wanting one of Critchley’s cohorts in the very inn he was staying with Kitty! But then he remembered something. “Forgive me, er, Anne, but there is no Mr. Danby at the inn. On my arrival I had the pick of rooms because the landlord specifically mentioned there being no other guests at the moment.”

“Oh.” Anne looked away. “Well, I expect he has returned to Monmouth, for he did say he had other business to attend to.”

Hugh prayed this was indeed the case, but he was still curious about the apparent visit. “Are you
sure
this Mr. Danby is from the lawyers?”

“Quite sure. He came to examine the ledgers.”

“I find this most intriguing, because when I spoke to Mr. Critchley a few days ago, he knew I was coming straight here, so I would have thought he would have told me if one of his partners had left on such an errand.”

“It must have slipped his mind,” Anne replied.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Hugh conceded, but privately determined to ask the landlord about this Danby fellow, for something didn’t feel quite right about it. An awkward silence had descended over the hall, and Hugh made an effort to restore their former bonhomie. Besides, he wanted to examine the boats at the willow-hung jetty he’d spied while riding up the drive. “Shall we stroll in the sunshine, Anne? I vow it is too pleasant a day to stay inside, and it looked most agreeable by the river.”

“Why, of course.”

Again Hugh turned to the housekeeper, whom he wished to lull into as false a sense of trust as Anne herself. “Mrs. Jenkins, I’m sure correctness and other such things will be best served if you come too.”

“Accompany you, sir?”

“You are clearly a person of unquestioned propriety, and apart from that, why should you not enjoy the sunshine too?” He smiled into her eyes.

The housekeeper was won over completely. “If you wish me to be there, sir, I will go for my shawl.” Her skirts rustled and her shoes tapped as she hastened up to her bedroom on the third floor.

Alone with him for a minute or so, Anne felt quite uncomfortable, although she could not have said why. He appeared to be everything she could wish, and yet there was something—she could not have put her finger upon what, exactly—that made her wish to draw away from him. He caught her eye and smiled, and for a fleeting second, oh, so fleeting, she thought she detected a chill behind the apparent warmth.

Hugh guessed he’d been less than guarded, and was at pains to rectify the slip by reassuring her. At the same time he gave in to the conceit of painting himself in as noble a light as possible. “I have a confession to make. Miss Willowby. Unlike you, I am under no compulsion to proceed with this match.”

She was shaken. “You aren’t? But I thought—”

“My late cousin was indeed obliged to bow to his father’s wishes, but it seems I
can
escape if I so wish, there being no actual provision for Gervase’s death and my succession to the title. True, it would be a little complicated to get out of but not impossible. However, I
choose
to proceed because I wish to be settled and married, and since you are still bound by the exact terms of the will, I believe we will do well together.” Even the Archangel Gabriel would have been taken in by such noble sentiments, he thought.

In spite of her momentary reservations, Anne was taken in too. “I am relieved you feel that way,” she replied, lowering her eyes quickly as Charles Danby’s face seemed to hover before her.

“Then the marriage will proceed,” he said quietly, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. He didn’t want to kiss her fingers—he wanted to sink his teeth ferociously into them.

Mrs. Jenkins returned, and Hugh offered Anne his arm. They crossed the courtyard, then walked alongside the maze as they made for the river. Something pattered on the gravel path the other side of the high hedge of the maze, and, thinking it was Joseph’s lurcher on the roam, Mrs. Jenkins frowned as she remembered the currant buns cooling on a rack on the kitchen table. “That Jack—Joseph swore he’d take him with him to the east woods today,” she muttered beneath her breath, vowing that if a single currant were missing on her return, she’d tie a knot in the thieving dog’s tail.

But it was Sylvanus, not Jack, on the other side of the hedge. The faun had slipped out of the temple not long before in order to see Gervase, and had just been on his way back to his hidey-hole—intending to go by way of the kitchen, and then, if possible, his beloved Penelope in the drawing room— when he’d been appalled to recognize Hugh riding into the courtyard. Sylvanus didn’t dare try to eavesdrop in the castle itself because he’d have to pass young Martin, who had suddenly appeared with a ladder to clean a second-floor window, so he waited just inside the maze to see what happened in order to report back to Gervase. As Anne, Hugh, and Mrs. Jenkins at last emerged from the courtyard and came within earshot, the listening faun accompanied them on the other side of the hedge.

Mrs. Jenkins turned to call out to the boy up the ladder. “Martin, you keep an eye out for that dratted mongrel! He’s in the maze, and if he goes anywhere near my currant buns...!” Her voice faded on a dire note.

Martin looked down in puzzlement. “Jack can’t be in the maze, Mrs. Jenkins; he went with Joseph this morning.”

“He’s in there, I tell you, I can hear him. Just keep a lookout.”

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins.” With a shrug, Martin went on polishing the window.

Anne glanced at Hugh. “I trust the cuisine at the White Boar meets with your approval, for it is considered excellent, especially the Wye salmon.”

Only three feet away, Sylvanus’s pointed ears pricked. The White Boar?

Hugh murmured something about liking salmon no matter from which river it came, then he nodded toward the jetty. “I, er, notice you have rowing boats. Do you often go on the river?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” Anne smiled as fond memories of past jaunts and picnics flitted briefly through her mind.

Hugh observed the nuances on her face. “What are you thinking?”

She told him all about the excursions on the river and even mentioned the next day’s omission of the annual moonlight picnic and trip downstream to St. Winifred’s Well.

Hugh listened with grim delight as she innocently presented him with a heaven-sent opening. “It is your birthday tomorrow?” he repeated.

“I fear so.”

“I had no idea. We must observe it, of course.”

“Oh, there is no need...”

“Forgive me for presuming, but maybe you and I—and Mrs. Jenkins, of course—could celebrate your birthday picnic after all?” he ventured, turning to smile conspiratorially at the housekeeper.

Anne was so agreeably surprised by his thoughtful spontaneity, that she felt ashamed of her earlier unease. “Oh, I
would
like that,” she replied gladly.

“Perhaps you would also like to be rowed across to the well?”

She smiled. “Yes, I would, very much, and I’m sure Mrs. Jenkins will too.”

Mrs. Jenkins was flattered to be included, but had certain reservations. “It will be most agreeable, sir, but I have a dread of boats, so will remain on dry land if you don’t mind.”

Mind?
It suited him most excellently! Hugh could have laughed out loud that his plan seemed to be falling into place so ridiculously easily. They would have the picnic on the jetty, and then he and dear Anne would cross in the darkness to St. Winifred’s Well. How charming she would look seated in the stern of one of those boats; how easy she would be to render unconscious and tip into the water as soon as an opportune moment presented itself. His frantic but unsuccessful attempts to rescue her would be dimly witnessed from the shore by the housekeeper, who already thought him everything that was admirable, and who would be further taken in by his exhibition of anguish and guilt because he had persuaded dear Anne to go out on the water with him in the first place....

He felt so arrogantly confident as they walked on, that it amused him to indulge in more small talk. “I trust your parents’ visit to Ireland is proving agreeable? As a country it can be so very
wet,
don’t you agree?”

“As it happens I haven’t heard from them since they left, but I don’t think the climate will have much bearing on their particular situation.” she replied.

Her next words were lost to Sylvanus, for they passed out of hearing as they struck across the park toward the jetty. After a precautionary glance at Martin, whose back was safely turned toward the maze, the faun made his way swiftly to the rotunda to acquaint Gervase with all he’d learned.

Gervase was dismayed to learn that his loathed cousin had arrived.
“Damn it, I was hoping he’d take longer.”

“So was I.”

“
I
wish you could turn me to flesh right now, so I can face him as he should be faced!”

“Well, I can’t, it only works after dark. Besides, you need Anne to tell you she loves you
before
you confront Hugh.”

“How do you arrive at that conclusion?”
Gervase demanded.

“Because Bacchus has decreed that she must tell you of her love without knowing who you really are. By confronting Hugh too soon, you run the risk of being identified by him, which will mean remaining half-man, half-statue for the rest of your existence,” the faun warned.

Gervase knew the advice was wise, and so strove to quell the bitter rage that burned through him.
“Is Hugh staying here at Llandower?”
he asked after a moment. That would be too much!

“No, he’s at the White Boar.”

Gervase thought swiftly. “
I
trust to God Charles Danby’s name doesn't crop up in conversation, for Hugh is sure to say that there is no such person staying there. I wish now that I’d thought of some other false identity. Hugh is bound to have visited Critchley, and will be very curious—if not to say suspicious—that he wasn’t informed of Danby’s business here.”

“It’s too late now,” the faun replied pragmatically.

“Thank you, I do realize that!”
Gervase responded sharply.

Sylvanus gave him a look. “Well, I see no point in worrying about something you can’t rectify.”

“Just as you didn’t worry when Bacchus knew you’d misused your power on Anne and me, I suppose?”
Gervase supplied in the sort of unhelpful tone the faun was only too frequently wont to use.

Sylvanus chose to ignore the remark. “Your cousin is supposed to bring the diadem here, so I think I’ll go to the inn tonight and see what I can find.”

“I’d quite forgotten about the diadem.”

“I certainly haven’t,” the faun muttered, sitting on the bench and swinging his hooves thoughtfully.

“Don’t forget that you are bound by Bacchus’s conditions too. Hugh has to give the diadem to you willingly.”
Gervase reminded, fearing Sylvanus might be tempted to steal it on the spur of the moment.