Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (11 page)

From the milliner—two bonnets for herself and two for Rosie.

From the cobbler—a pair of half boots for herself and Rosie, three pairs of slippers each, and a pair of shoes and boots for Bastian.

From the haberdasher—all the intimate items any of them could possibly require. By this time she was beginning to feel a little numb at the sheer quantity of her purchases and tried to be moderate.

She had no problem with replacing her patched shifts and drawers with new ones of fine lawn, prettily worked with embroidery or threaded with ribbon. Nor with the purchase of three pairs of silk stockings to go with the dozen of wool. She balked, however, at the purchase of a silk nightgown.

"How impractical," she said, adding in a mutter, "especially as he says he wants me to be naked."

Beth heard, and her eyes twinkled. "But perhaps," she said softly, "he will want to disrobe you himself."

Judith didn't know what to make of this, and knew she was pink at the thought. Sebastian had always announced before bedtime his intention of visiting her, and then come to her in the dark. Even if Lord Charrington—Leander—wished to take off her nightgown, would it make much difference in the dark if it were silk or cotton?

Being distracted, she found she now owned the silk nightgowns, and two of cotton flannel. "For occasions," said Beth, "when warmth is of more importance than looks. Now, new stays."

Beth's footman shuttled backward and forward to the carriage with packages.

Judith felt that perhaps she shouldn't, but she stopped at the small shop that sold toys and books. She bought each child a new book for their studies, and some paper and pencils. How pleasant it would be not to have to ration such things anymore. Then, feeling they should share in the general frivolity, she bought Bastian a hoop, and Rosie a top.

When they left the shop she said, "Heavens above, let's go home before I buy the town! I daren't think how much I have spent."

They were both content to settle in the carriage, but Beth said, "Whatever the sum, I assure you Lord Charrington will scarcely notice it. Besides, you have bought only the bare necessities. It would be pointless and foolish to be going about looking shabby, and it would upset him. I suspect that, apart from the army, his life has been rather rarefied."

Judith looked at her in surprise. "I thought you were well acquainted."

"Oh no. He's an old friend of my husband's, but I met him for the first time a week ago. Lord Charrington has been out of England since he was eighteen."

Stranger and stranger, thought Judith with sudden concern. "Do you think he will want to go abroad again?"

Beth looked at her. "You would not like it?"

"No, I don't think I would."

"You had best ask him, though I understand that he intends to live in England now."

Judith felt sick."But I've just spent all that money!"

Beth put a hand over hers. "Don't let it count with you for a moment, Judith. I'm sure he would not be so petty as to make an issue of it, but if he does, I will pay your bills."

"I couldn't let you do that," said Judith, though she had no idea what else she would do.

"Of course you could. I don't forget that I persuaded you into this."

However, when the subject was raised, Leander said without hesitation that he intended to live in England. He suggested they might want to visit the Continent at a later date, but only for a brief visit.

He was delighted with the account of her purchases, and dutifully admired the children's new toys. Then both she and he were coaxed out to admire Bastian's expertise with the hoop, and Rosie's with the whip and top. Rosie found it hard to keep the top spinning, and so Judith went to help her.

When she heard Bastian asking Leander for help, she suspected that it was more a plea for equal attention. She heard Leander confessing that he knew nothing of hoops, and looked over at him, sad for the childhood he seemed not to have had. What had his parents been about? Even if they had little time for him, could they not have hired better attendants?

Rosie demanded her attention again, and so she concentrated on the girl until the top was spinning well under the lash of the whip.

When she looked up, it was to see elegant Lord Charrington running down the lane, bowling the hoop under her son's tutelage. She bit her lip to hold back a laugh, and hurried into the house to put on the kettle.

When they all came in at last, bringing frosty air and laughter, she poured tea and served cake. She only realized when she sat that she'd cut a piece of cake and placed it before Leander without asking him, just as if he were another child. Heavens, she'd be cutting his food up next!

He didn't seem to notice, nor did he seem put out by the indignities in which he had participated.

He raised his brows, however, when introduced to Magpie. "Perhaps not the wisest acquisition when we are about to go on a journey..." But then he grinned at them all. "But we'll manage. Remind me to tell you sometime of a bunch of piglets we transported across the Pyrenees."

She remembered again that he'd been a soldier, and presumably there he'd not been able to preserve his perfect gloss. And he'd been a schoolboy, and had surely been in some rough and tumbles.

She had the feeling, however, that she didn't know him at all, and it frightened her. She'd been raised in the country where strangers were a five-day marvel. She'd married Sebastian after a six-month engagement, and even then she hadn't known him aright.

What, in time, would she discover about this mysterious man who was to be her husband? And would she only discover it too late?

* * *

On Tuesday Leander borrowed the Arden's carriage for the ten-mile drive to Hunstead. He insisted on taking the children. This made Judith nervous for it would be his longest continuous exposure to them, but Bastian and Rosie were on their best behavior to an almost painful extent. It seemed they, too, couldn't quite believe this good fortune, and feared it would slip away.

When they approached the parsonage Judith watched him anxiously. Hunstead Glebe House was a plain building, and never in good repair. The diocese was supposed to maintain it, but didn't. Judith suspected that the Vicar of Bassetford, whose curate her father was, misspent the money.

She saw no expression on Leander's face, though she suspected those strange amber eyes were not missing any detail. The children were hanging out of the window, unable to suppress their excitement, for visits to their grandparents were rare. Leander grabbed the back of Rosie's gown to make sure she didn't tumble out.

As soon as the carriage stopped, the children were out and running over to their gray-haired grandparents. Plump Reverend Millsom and his tiny wife were both delighted to see them, but plainly bewildered by the visitation, especially in a grand carriage.

The two of Judith's siblings who lived at home came out to see what was going on.

She made the introductions and explanations. Her sister, Martha—an uncomplicated soul—practically fainted with excitement. Her brother, John, however, was suspicious. That was hardly surprising. He was very like her.

Her parents said all that was proper, but they looked a little dubious without having the nerve to question such a wonderful surprise. For the first time she wondered what they'd really thought of her marriage to Sebastian.

When they went into the house, Leander proved his diplomatic abilities. He accepted without a blink a seat on a threadbare sofa, deaf to the objections of the two cats who'd been moved to make room for him. He discussed with equal ease the terrible lack of employment, the question of absentee churchmen, the prospects for lasting peace, and the difficulty in obtaining good currants.

When Martha made a sweeping gesture and mashed a cake against the sleeve of his Melton-cloth jacket, doubtless finer than anything that had visited this room before, he passed it off smoothly, somehow giving the impression that a smear of cream and jam was just what the brown fabric had always needed to be complete.

Soon, everyone was gathered around him like doting sheep, even John.

Judith was not entirely sure why she resented this until she realized that her family were not being visited, they were being skillfully handled. They were one of the prices
he
had to pay in this arrangement.

All her doubts resurfaced. Perhaps he was handling
her,
and in such a subtle way that she hadn't noticed. Perhaps she would be handled all her life—which brought to mind the events following her betrothal, where he had indeed handled her. And brought to mind Beth Arden's comments about him undressing her, and nakedness...

She could feel her color rising. She was horrified to be sitting here in her parents' parlor with the man who had... who would.... She had never felt this way about Sebastian.

She took a deep drink of tea and choked. John slapped her back so heartily she almost fell off her chair. She stared at Leander who was perfectly straight-faced, but she could see the laughter bubbling behind his eyes.

She resented the fact that he was holding in the laughter, laughter at her family.

Before she said something better left unsaid, Judith concentrated on gossip with Martha. Unfortunately it was interspersed with whispers like, "He's like the hero from a novel, Ju."

"Will you have to wear a coronet?"

"How many servants will you have?"

"If you set up in London, will you have me to visit?"

She didn't know the answers to these questions, and they frightened her. Perhaps Leander should marry Martha instead. But then she realized that Martha, for all she was twenty-five, was just the sort of young widgeon to fall in love with him, and perhaps was already on that road.

Judith made a solemn vow never to embarrass him and herself in such a way.

Concentrating on Martha, Judith only slowly realized that Leander was encouraging her family to speak of their financial situation. The Millsoms were not grasping, but when there is never enough money it soon becomes the focus of existence. Judith knew that all too well.

It was suddenly just too much. She put down her cup and rose. "My lord, a word with you please."

The room fell silent. Somewhat surprised, Leander followed her out into the dim narrow passageway. "Is there some problem?"

Judith faced him and whispered tightly, "You have my family all wrapped around your fingers already, my lord. There is no need to
buy
them, too."

His chin rose under the attack. "Why do you object? Do you think I'll take the cost out on you?"

She winced at that, which came too close to the mark. "I don't want you to feel any obligation. My family was no part of our agreement."

In the familiar, dim, cluttered passageway he looked as out of place as a diamond in the ashes. He acted it, too, brushing a crumb from his sleeve, and drawling, "You see me as a very feeble fellow, don't you? But I assure you, Judith, I am never put upon. Am I to leave your family in straitened circumstances when funds I would consider loose change could make all the difference? The fifty guineas for your sister and brother-in-law's lease, the hundred for John's articles.... These are nothing to me." He gave one of those expressive Continental shrugs, and it seemed to dismiss her family entirely. "I don't expect, or want, gratitude."

She wanted to hit him. "How absolutely
splendid,
for you!"

She would have swept by him back into the room, but he grasped her shoulders. "We are to be wed, Judith. With all my worldly goods I will thee endow. Do you
not
want me to ease your family's lot?"

Anger quivered in the chill air. Alarmed, she stepped back, but in the narrow passage there was nowhere to go. She ended up pressed against a wall between the hook holding his greatcoat, and that holding her mother's old musty cloak. Symbols of their different lives.

He let her go, but put his hands at either side of her head, caging her. "Well?" Bred-in-the-bone authority rang through the word.

Her knees were knocking. She didn't know how to handle this, only wanted to escape. "Yes, I want you to help them," she said thinly. "We should go back."

For a moment he leant closer, as if he would demand more. But then he drew in a deep breath and straightened. "What is this all about?"

The anger, the danger, faded, but her heart still pounded. "I don't know."

He studied her. "I've frightened you. I apologize. I don't know what came over me. Perhaps this is the notorious bridal nerves. Thank heavens there are less than three weeks to go."

Three weeks, thought Judith, until she and her children were in his power forever.

* * *

That evening, Leander found himself alone with Lucien drinking port. At Hartwell, it wasn't the practice for Beth to leave the men for this ritual, but this night she had pleaded a headache and gone early to bed.

Leander was deeply troubled by that moment of anger at the vicarage. It was not part of his nature at all.

"Luce, excuse my probing into personal matters, but it would appear that you and Beth sometimes fight."

Lucien grinned. "It has been known."