Jo Beverley - [Rogue ] (31 page)

"Without paying?" she teased. "How cheap."

He placed a hand dramatically to his brow. "My conscience is suddenly assailed! The House of de Vaux is doubtless even now crumbling for lack of the guineas."

They both burst out laughing, and the children demanded to be told the joke.

Judith became aware that their laughter had drawn attention. Any number of eyes were focused on their box as people whispered to one another. She put her chin up and tried to look like a countess, but she was relieved when the lights were dimmed, and the curtain drawn up.

The first item was a farce, and the children thought it very funny. Judith was pleased they didn't understand all the jokes. In truth, there were some she didn't understand herself, but she had no intention of asking for an explanation.

At the intermission a number of people stopped by, and Leander introduced her, but he always said, "We are not officially here, mind. We have merely stopped off for a day or two before going down to the Temple.

"Otherwise," he whispered to Judith, "you'll have them all leaving cards."

Two young men, however, refused to be fobbed off that way. Blond, fine-boned Sir Stephen Ball said, "None of that. I'll be by tomorrow."

And Irish-eyed Miles Cavanagh winked at Judith. "With me at his side, dear lady." He kissed her hand with devastating flare. "A truly charming addition to the Rogues."

The music signaled the resumption of the program and the visitors departed. Judith looked at Leander. "Are they saying I have been recruited to your Company of Rogues? I'm not sure I approve."

He took her hand. "Apparently Nicholas has decreed that wives are given the privileges of membership. Without the penalties, you'll be pleased to know."

"Penalties?" Judith asked quietly as the curtain went up.

"Schoolboy nonsense. We scarred ourselves on our right palm." He extended his hand, and even in the dim light Judith could see the white mark.

"That's terrible," she whispered. "I won't have Bastian subjected to such a thing. It could have become infected."

He grinned and raised his hand to her mouth. "Kiss it better then."

Judith did so, thankful that everyone's attention was on the stage. It might be her time of month, but her foolish body didn't seem to realize that. It was seduced by the rough warmth beneath her lips, and the taste of his skin on her tongue.

The children did not flee
Hamlet.
True, Rosie crept over to Judith and cuddled by her side, and hid her face during the slaughter at the end, but she appeared to enjoy most of the play.

When the lights went up, Judith turned to Leander. "Thank you. This has been wonderful."

He smiled back. "You are easily pleased. Will you not give me something harder to do? A dragon to slay? A ghost to face?"

She chuckled. "I come from too simple a background to have ghosts. It is the high aristocracy who are plagued by them, my lord earl."

Bastian asked a question, and Leander turned to answer it. Judith checked that they had all the wraps and gloves they had come with. She looked over the emptying pit, and gasped.

The sight of Sebastian staring at her brought a darkness around her vision. She clutched the rail at the front of the box, afraid she would fall.

When her vision cleared, and she blinked, there was nothing there. She took deep breaths to calm her racing heart. And she'd thought it would be Rosie whose imagination would be over-stimulated by the play!

She checked again, searching the parting crowd, then shook her head. Imagination, or some fleeting resemblance. Now she thought of it the pale-faced man—if he had existed at all—had had darker hair. There had been no true resemblance to Sebastian. The shivery feeling lingered, however, not just from the illusory apparition, but from the expression.

Bitter.

Vengeful, even...

On the way home, there was a lively discussion of ghosts. Judith and Leander strove mightily to convince Rosie that the ghost had not been real, had merely been an actor dressed in flowing cloth, but she was not entirely convinced.

Bastian scoffed, "Next you'll be saying they all died at the end."

"Of course not," said Rosie. "For they stood up afterward to bow."

"The ghost bowed, too, so there. And I don't think," added Bastian rather fiercely, "it was at all fair that Hamlet die. He was only trying to help his father."

Judith and Leander shared a look. From his tone, the boy felt strongly about it, but the rights of deceased fathers was a ticklish debate to get into at this time of night. Judith said, "We can discuss it later. I think Hamlet did some things that were not quite nice."

"His uncle did worse," said Bastian.

Leander ruffled his hair. "Then perhaps he, at least, deserved to die."

By then they were back at Montague Square and the sleepy children were taken off to bed.

Judith and Leander sat down to a light supper. "I'm surprised at how seriously they take it," said Judith. "But then I confess, as long as the players were on the stage, I was convinced it was all real. I felt all Hamlet's anxiety, and poor Ophelia's despair. I'm glad we took the children. Thank you."

He touched her hand. "It was my pleasure. I'm somewhat jaded, you know. It's delightful to see these things again through fresh eyes."

"Yes, children are like that, aren't they? They gift us with the world afresh."

"I wasn't just speaking of the children."

Judith glanced at him uncertainly. "I'm sorry I'm so unsophisticated."

"Don't be. The children will grow up, and you will grow worldly. Let us enjoy this little innocence while we can." His eyes twinkled. "One day before we leave, I am going to take you all to the circus. I can hardly wait."

* * *

The next day the two Rogues did call, accompanied by a third—a handsome, one-armed man called Hal Beaumont. Judith began to wonder if the Rogues hadn't been chosen for their looks. The Marquess of Arden, after all, must be one of the most handsome men in England, and Hal Beaumont could run him a close second in dark-haired fashion, even with his infirmity.

There was no question, it would appear, of proper calls of twenty minutes' duration. The three guests made themselves thoroughly at home. She gathered this was another way of the Rogues, and she had no particular objection, though she sensed she was being assessed almost as if she were joining a family.

That's what it was, she thought. A kind of family, with the same loose yet powerful bonds. She could see why Leander, with his lack of home, placed such store on the group.

When the children came back from their walk, they sent Addison to ask if they might enter the drawing room. Judith found this painfully awkward, but when permission had been given, and they came in, Leander complimented them on correct behavior.

Rosie, incurably honest, said, "We asked Addison and he said that would be the correct thing to do."

"Even better," Leander said. "To seek good advice and follow it is a sure path to success. Now, let me introduce you again to my friends, for I am not sure you could drag your thoughts away from the stage last night long enough to pay attention. This gentleman is Sir Stephen Ball, and he is renowned for his brilliant speeches in the House of Commons. This is Mister Miles Cavanagh, who likes to pretend to be an Irish rascal, but in fact is the owner of vast acres there. If you make up to him he may one day be willing to sell you one of his magnificent horses. And this is Major Hal Beaumont. He covered himself in glory during the war until he lost his arm and had to let some other fellows have a chance."

Judith gasped at this blunt reference to the infirmity, and she saw Rosie's eyes grow wide. It was clear, however, that Major Beaumont preferred to have the matter dealt with honesty. His only comment was, "Not lost dear fellow. Makes me sound dashed careless."

"And these, as you know," said Leander proudly, a hand on each child's shoulder, "are my new children, Bastian and Rosie Rossiter."

Bastian gave a bow and Rosie a curtsy, though they were tongue-tied.

"Two new Rogues!" declared Mr. Cavanagh. "That's almost outdoing Nicholas, my boy."

Leander laughed. "I suppose that could be true. Bastian will be going to Harrow soon, so he can keep the Rogues' traditions alive. I've already arranged his admission, so I suppose those masters who remember us are already shaking in their shoes."

They spun off into schoolboy tales, to which Bastian listened with rapt attention. The tales mainly involved merry japes and sporting feats, so his enthusiasm for his school days grew visibly, despite occasional mention of retribution.

Rosie sat quietly, sneaking looks at Hal Beaumont's empty sleeve.

When the groupings shifted, Judith found herself talking to Stephen Ball, a quieter man than the other two, but with eyes that missed little."Are you perhaps related to Mister Sebastian Rossiter, Lady Charrington?"

"Please," she said, "I can see how it is with you, and you must call me Judith. I am not accustomed to a title anyway. As for Sebastian, he was my first husband."

"Really," he said. "Then if you wish to live quietly while here in town, we must keep that to ourselves." She must have looked her bewilderment, for he added, "He had devoted admirers, don't you know, who would be inclined to view his widow and children as living shrines."

Judith thought of the trickle of devotees who had made their way to Mayfield and supposed he might be correct. She certainly didn't want any more silly poets dogging her footsteps. She was surprised, however, that such a man as Sir Stephen had even heard of Sebastian. She wondered if he were a secret poet himself.

She was distracted when Rosie was drawn to Hal Beaumont by a welcoming grin. She tensed, wondering what her daughter would say.

"You may ask about it, you know," said Hal kindly. "I don't mind talking about it. In fact, I like to milk it for every scrap of sympathy I can get, particularly from pretty ladies."

Rosie leant against his leg. "I'm afraid it must have hurt."

"Yes, off and on." Then he burst out laughing "Gad's, what an awful pun!"

"What happened?" Bastian asked eagerly. "Was it a cannon, sir?"

"Yes. Smashed it. Luckily, my sergeant had the presence of mind to tourniquet me, and I made it through."

"When did it happen?"

Beaumont went on to describe a minor skirmish in Canada. Judith could not feel comfortable with this frank discussion of such a thing, but she could see no one else minded. For the most part, she watched Rosie, all her maternal instincts clamoring the alarm. But since Beaumont seemed so at ease talking of his injury, she couldn't think what the girl might say to embarrass.

Then Rosie piped up. "Sir. What
happened
to your arm?"

He looked blank for a moment, and then said, "Oh, you mean, where did it go? Do you know, I don't know."

Rosie looked up at him with big eyes. "Then do you suppose it was eaten?"

"Rosie!" exclaimed Judith, and saw Leander straggling to keep a straight face.

"Eaten?" echoed Hal blankly. "What a thought. But if so," he said briskly, "I'd be glad of it. Always hated waste."

Talk swung onto other matters. Judith snared Rosie before she could say something worse. "I'm sorry if I shouldn't have said that, Mama," Rosie said warily, "but I wanted to know." After a moment she added, "I suppose there are more carnivores in Canada than there are in England."

"Yes, I believe that is so," Judith said faintly, pleased to at least have the specter restricted to a distant land. "Wolves and bears."

There was a lengthy silence and Judith began to relax. Then Rosie said, "Do you think it is wasteful to be buried, Mama?"

Judith groaned.

Bastian had come over. "Silly. When we're buried, we're not wasted. We're eaten by worms. It's in Job. 'And though, after my skin, worms destroy this body.'"

"Mama!" wailed Rosie.

Judith quickly shepherded her two children away. That night she had to sleep with Rosie and try to put into perspective her new realization of mortality. It was as well there had been no question of sleeping with Leander this night.

Chapter 15