Call Down the Moon (3 page)

“No. He came merely to pass on the duchess’s good wishes and to deliver another bank draft, bless the woman for her great kindness. I don’t know how we would carry on without her benevolence. Why do you ask, child? You are not usually interested in the comings and goings of outsiders. In fact, you go out of your way to avoid visitors.”

“I don’t know … there was something different about him,” Meggie said truthfully. “I suppose you’ve already explained it—as you said, he wasn’t comfortable here.”

Sister Agnes’s eyes suddenly sharpened. “Did you sense something, Meggie, something I should know about? An illness, a mental imbalance, perhaps?”

“No, Sister, nothing. Really, I only saw him for a moment,” Meggie replied, pulling out the row of stitches she’d made that evening. The line had gone badly askew, not unlike her composure. She didn’t want to have to explain any further. She wouldn’t know how to explain in any case.
Actually, Sister, I do believe he stirred carnal desire in me.
Oh my, yes. That sentiment would thrill the sister.

“I see,” Sister Agnes said. “Well, that is reassuring; these problems can run in families. If I were you I would not concern yourself any further on the issue of Lord Hugo, as I doubt very much he will ever return. His world has nothing to do with ours.”

Meggie nodded. Sister Agnes was right—there was no point concerning herself with him. Lord Hugo Montagu belonged to another world, one she would—could—never be a part of. He had nothing to do with her.

Yet a small, treacherous voice at the back of her mind badly wished that he had. This wish concerned her most of all, for Meggie knew how dangerous it was to wish for things that could never be.
Especially
when she found herself wishing for a tall, dark-haired man with eyes like daggers of blue ice that sliced right into her and opened her body up to its most primitive desires.

She was a disgrace, she really was, for entertaining such thoughts at all. Look where that path had led her mother.

“And Meggie, dear, I do wish you’d wear your hair up and covered with your cap when you are outside of your private quarters,” Sister Agnes said, glancing over at her, a touch of humor crinkling her lined eyes. “You might find that it will save you from unwanted attention.”

Meggie’s mouth dropped open and she quickly snapped it shut again. “I will try to remember,” she said dutifully. Even though Sister Agnes was not able to read people’s minds, she still saw far too much.

S
tanding on the stretch of land that looked out over the river Butley, Hugo drew in a deep breath of the tangy salt air blowing off the North Sea not far beyond. The raucous cries of seagulls resounded in his ears, a wild cacophony that echoed on the wind and seduced his soul into believing it could fly just as freely as birds on the wing.

He turned and gazed back at the magnificent edifice known as Lyden Hall. It was a classic Palladian house, built in 1734, the land agent had informed him, barely drawing breath before he’d barreled on. “The Hall, which as you can see consists of the square central block and two wings, is built entirely from brick made on the estate.”

He’d beamed proudly as if this gave the house extra value. As if the price of sixty thousand pounds wasn’t inflated enough, Hugo thought, shoving his hands into his pockets. Then there was the troublesome matter of the two elderly spinsters, the Misses Mabey. What in the name of God was he going to do with them?

“You see, my lord, the old earl felt it best that Lyden be sold after his death,” the agent had said, gingerly broaching the subject of the Mabey sisters. “His concern was that his wife’s two cousins have lived here since his marriage, and he could not in good conscience remove them from what has become their home, simply because he was going to be inconsiderate enough to die. This is why he made it a provision of sale that his relations, distant though they may be, be allowed to stay on until their own deaths.”

Normally, Hugo considered dryly, a house came with furniture, not relatives. He frowned. All in all, Lyden Hall was not what he’d had in mind at all. He’d been led to believe that he was going to see a fine period house, impressive, but nothing too extravagant. He was beginning to wonder what the land agent considered extravagant.

Lyden was well over the price he had in mind and far too large for his needs. Still, he could afford it—-just. The house was contained in an encircling park of nearly five thousand acres, and a lovely estate it was, containing huge tracts of farmland and good hunting grounds. Surely all of that would bring in a healthy income? He could live like a king without having to expend any capital, he rationalized.

His brother Rafe did it, after all. Southwell alone provided him with an enormous income with its countless acres, despite the upkeep for a house as big as all of kingdom come.

But then his sainted brother had been slated to inherit that great pile from birth, as well as numerous other properties
and
a vast fortune to support them all. Hugo, second in line, had been left a mere three unimpressive estates that he’d quickly sold for the ready money he was always in need of.

Lord, how he regretted the follies of his youth. He’d behaved like a perfect fool, hot-headed and impetuous, not caring what anyone thought of him and forever embroiled in scandals. He spent money like water, throwing huge sums away at the gambling tables. He had never thought about the consequences—and there had been plenty of those.

He winced, not wanting to remember his three miserable years of exile in Paris where he’d slowly gambled away the little money he had left. It was only by the grace of God that the night he was at his most desperate, he’d won an enormous fortune on a single throw of the dice. Two hundred fifty thousand pounds, free and clear, enough to pay his debts and leave him the bulk to turn his life around.

He’d sworn to himself that he would never gamble again and he hadn’t, as strong as the temptation was at times. He’d also sworn to prove his newly reformed character to his family and he was damned well going to do it.

Still, was this the way? He scratched the back of his neck, wondering if he was crazy even to consider buying Lyden Hall.

There was something about the property, something that kept him from dismissing it out of hand. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Somehow the place made him think that it might actually be possible to find a measure of peace and completion here.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt either peaceful or complete—he hadn’t even realized until this moment that either condition was something he might desire, and he couldn’t have been more taken aback. Life had always been about staving off boredom. Quietude was the last thing he’d ever desired.

So why did he stand there feeling as if a part of him that had lain sleeping for most of his life had suddenly stirred and stretched, called out to him that this was life. This was what he had been missing for all of his twenty-six years without even knowing it. That here he might find real happiness.

He caught himself up short, realizing that he was being ridiculous—and worse, sentimental, an emotion he abhorred and considered the refuge of the weak. His task was to find himself a sensible place of his own. Nothing more, nothing less. Why battle so hard over what was in the end a simple decision? Surely he wasn’t letting the idea of inheriting two old spinsters get in his way?

He clenched his fist and brought it down hard by his side. He’d do it. He’d buy the place. He wanted to make something of himself, and this was a way to go about it. He would settle down and become a dignified country gentleman, entertaining and enjoying the rustic life. Moderation. That was the answer.

Lyden Hall would be his salvation and would keep him on the straight and narrow. He couldn’t wait to tell his mother.

He would show her and the world that he walked not in his brother’s ducal shadow, but in his own footsteps.

The Dowager Duchess of Southwell gazed impassively at her son over the rim of her tea cup. Hugo suppressed a furious desire to sweep the fine porcelain straight out of her hand. Here for once he’d done something right in his life, and she didn’t look the least bit impressed by the import of such an act.

“Mama? Don’t you have anything to say?” Hugo asked, hurt battling with impatience. “I just informed you that I’ve laid out an enormous sum of money for an estate on the Suffolk coast, and you look at me as if I’ve said nothing more significant than I decided to invest in cattle futures.”

“What would you have me say?” his mother replied, her expression remaining neutral. “You told me that you saw the property once, thought it perfect for your needs, and bought it on the spot. Did you ask about the exact income the estate brings in? Did you inquire as to the state of the tenancies, which crops thrive and which have failed over time?” She placed her cup back in its saucer. “Did you have anyone inspect the condition of the house to make sure that it is sound? You have mentioned nothing of this, which to my mind indicates that you acted without serious thought.”

Hugo glared at her. “I said nothing because I did not think you would wish to be troubled with such details.” In truth, he hadn’t asked at all, or at least nothing beyond the obvious, but he really couldn’t see why that should be an issue. He’d seen Lyden, liked it, and that was enough for him. It was none of his mother’s business beyond that. “I suppose you think that as usual I should be more like my brother and examine a situation to death before making a decision. Allow me to point out, Mama, that I am not anything like Rafe, as much as you might wish me to be. I am my own man and I make my decisions according to what pleases me.”

“That is my concern,” his mother said calmly. “Buying a property of this size is a large commitment, darling. I would hate to see you lose your investment simply because you didn’t bother to investigate it properly. Attention to detail is paramount in such matters.”

“Naturally I investigated it properly. From everything I saw in the books there was no problem. Lyden manages itself, with the help of a steward, of course. Why shouldn’t it?” he added, realizing belatedly that he was digging himself an ever deeper grave by prevaricating so thoroughly and had better forestall any more questions. “There are thousands of acres of arable land, good grazing grounds, and the river traffic brings an entirely separate resource. Just think of the goods that come in—and I now control one of the ports, as it is located on my property. I might even invest in overseas trading.”

“I see.” His mother suddenly smiled. “It seems that I owe you an apology, my dear. You have been responsible in the matter, then. I was worried only because your past behavior has not led me to have a great confidence of your judgment, but it appears I was mistaken.” She leaned across the sofa and took his hand, clasping it warmly in her own. “I only wish to be proud of you. I know you told your brother and me that you had turned over a new leaf when you returned from Paris last year, and I wanted so much to believe it. But,” she said, hesitating for a moment before she continued, “you must understand that given your prior behavior—the duels, the gambling debts, the unsavory women…”

“Mama, that is all in the past, as I’ve told you,” Hugo said, stung to the quick that she would bring all that up now. “I came back to England having realized the errors of my ways. I don’t know what more I must do to prove it to you and Rafe.” He dropped his forehead into his hand, frustration seething through him. Why did he always have to
prove
himself?

“Only be responsible, darling. Show us both that you can sustain your intention. That is all that matters to me. I realize how difficult it has been for you to grow up without the guiding hand of a father. You were so young when he died, but I suppose that cannot be helped. Raphael did do his best.”

“As I have done mine!” Hugo roared, fed up with hearing about his brother’s eternal perfection. Rafe had never hesitated to lord it over his younger brother, as if four years’ difference in their ages gave him the right of fatherhood as well as a right to criticize every move Hugo had ever made. He was sick to death of always being second best, sick of already being perceived as a failure before he’d even begun.

“I have done my best,” Hugo repeated in a quieter voice. “I apologize if I have not lived up to your expectations. I am trying. Buying this property is an effort to make that clear to you; it is my way of showing you that I am serious. I only hope you can appreciate that.”

His mother nodded and squeezed his hand. “I will take you at your word, Hugo. You have no idea what happiness it would give me—and your brother—to know that you have given up your wild ways for good in favor of settling down to a temperate life.”

“And buying Lyden Hall is a good beginning, is it not? I regret that I lost the other holdings Papa left to me, admittedly by my own foolishness, but I cannot change that now. I do promise you that my gambling life is behind me, and I plan on making you proud of me.”

“Then find yourself a wife and establish yourself and your family in the home you have chosen for yourself,” his mother said, releasing his hand.

“A wife?” he said, gaping at her.

“Why not? It would be the next logical step, would it not? I cannot imagine you want to spend your time rattling around your new home all by yourself.”

“Well, actually there are two elderly relatives of the previous owner, Lord Eliot, who will be living there as well. I agreed to keep them on so that they would not find themselves in distressing circumstances.”

“Hugo! How very good of you,” his mother said with obvious pleasure that he would be so charitable. “How very good indeed! Who might these relatives be? I knew Lord Eliot and his wife slightly. So tragic, her dying only two years after their marriage.”

“They are cousins of Lady Eliot’s, by the name of Mabey. I believe they must be infirm, not able to go about much, as they were confined to their quarters. I did not actually meet them when I was there.”

A peculiar look crossed the dowager’s face. “The Mabey sisters? Yes … indeed, I do recall meeting them in London many years ago. How very interesting. Goodness, I haven’t thought of them in years. They must be in their eighties by now.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Well. How nice that you will have some company, but I was thinking of someone of your own age.”

“I will consider it, Mama, but I make no promises. After all, look how long it took Rafe to find a wife.” He thought that a rather inspired defense.

“Raphael’s wait was well worthwhile, for Lucy makes him very happy. And look at your cousin Aiden and his wife Serafina—they are blissful together. I do not suggest you marry for anything less than love, my darling, only that you might start looking for the right person to give you the same happiness.” Her smile broadened. “You know I am not a stickler for dynastic unions. A nice girl who suits your temperament will do well enough.”

“Yes, Mama,” Hugo said dutifully, hoping she would now change the subject.

She must have been satisfied with his response, for she rose. “Good then. Go forward, Hugo, and demonstrate yourself to be a man of strength and character. I know that is what your father hoped you would become, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see you fulfill your potential.”

Hugo turned his head toward the window. “I will try not to disappoint you,” he said, forcing himself to speak in a neutral tone. He would rather die than let her know how deeply her words cut.

“I would prefer that you did not disappoint yourself,” she replied gently. “In the end it is ourselves we have to live with. I will see you at dinner.”

Hugo barely registered the swish of her skirts as she left. He felt like a man who’d had his belly ripped open and his entrails pulled out. He fully understood the instinct that caused a man to try to stuff his guts back into his body—nothing could be worse than having them hanging out where they didn’t belong. Emotions were exactly the same, and they had no business being anywhere but carefully locked away.

He crossed the room to the tray of drinks and poured himself a large glass of whisky, downing it all at once. He took a sharp breath against the fire that burned in his belly and waited impatiently for the spirits to numb the pain that raged through him.

Here he’d expected to finally win his mother’s approbation and had only received a qualified blessing along with a bucketful of skepticism.

Apparently it wasn’t enough that he’d bought Lyden, now his mother wanted him to fill it with a wife. Was there no pleasing her?