Rendezvous (32 page)

“It would appear so on the surface.” Claudia shot her a quick searching glance. “Are you happy in your marriage, cousin?”

Augusta hesitated, unwilling to launch into a detailed discussion of how she actually felt about Harry and her marriage. It was all still too complex, still too new, and there was still so much she longed for in the dark hours before dawn. She did not know if she would ever have everything she desired from Harry. She did not know if he could learn to love her the way she loved him.

She did not know how long he would silently watch and wait to see if she was going to prove as lacking in virtue as the other countesses of Graystone.

“Augusta?”

“I have everything a woman could hope for in a marriage, Claudia.” Augusta smiled brightly. “What more could I possibly want?”

Claudia frowned intently. “That is quite true, of course. The earl is all that one could wish for in a husband.” She paused, cleared her throat delicately, and then added in a tentative tone, “I wonder, cousin, if you have had an opportunity to make any observations yet about husbands in general.”

“Observations about husbands? Good grief, Claudia. Does this mean you are seriously interested in Sheldrake? Is marriage in the offing?”

In the shadows it was impossible to see Claudia blush, but there was no doubt she was doing so. Her normally cool, calm tone of voice was clearly strained. “There has been no mention of marriage and I would naturally expect Mr. Sheldrake to approach Papa first if he intended to make an offer.”

“The way Graystone did when he offered for me? I would not count on that.” Augusta laughed softly. “Mr. Sheldrake is not nearly so given to old-fashioned proprieties. My guess is he will ask you first. Then he will go to Papa.”

“Do you think so?”

“Definitely. Now, then, you want to know my observations on managing a husband, is that the question?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that is what I am asking,” Claudia admitted.

“The first thing one must learn about the proper management of husbands,” Augusta said in her best lecturing tone, “is that they prefer to think themselves in command of the household. They quite enjoy the illusion that they are the field marshals and that their wives are the captains who carry out orders, if you see what I mean.”

“I see. Is it not rather annoying?”

“On occasion, yes. Without doubt. However, men are a bit slow-witted in some things and that rather makes up for
the problems caused by their tendency to believe they are in charge.”

“Slow-witted.” Claudia was shocked. “Surely you cannot be talking about Graystone? He is very intelligent and very scholarly. Everyone knows that.”

Augusta waved a hand with airy dismissal. “Most certainly he is intelligent enough when it comes to knowing the odd historical fact such as the date of the Battle of Actium. But I must tell you it is no great task to let a husband go on believing he is in command of the household whilst one goes about organizing things precisely as one wishes. Does that not imply they are a bit slow in some respects?”

“You may have a point. Now that I consider the matter, I must admit I have always known one could manage Father in that fashion. He is always so preoccupied with his studies, he pays no attention to household matters. Yet he believes himself to be in command.”

“I rather think we can say the tendency is a common trait of men in general. And I have come to the conclusion that women do not disabuse their men of the notion because men appear to be more accommodating when they believe themselves to be in charge of even small matters.”

“Quite a fascinating observation, Augusta.”

“Yes, it is, is it not?” Augusta was warming to her topic now. “Another trait I have discovered in husbands is that they have a rather limited notion of what constitutes proper female behavior. They tend to worry excessively about the cut of a neckline or whether one has gone riding without a groom or how much one has spent on even bare essentials such as new bonnets.”

“Augusta—”

“Furthermore, I would advise any female considering marriage to give careful thought to the matter of another common masculine characteristic I have discovered. That is their inclination to be astonishingly stubborn once they
have formed an opinion. And that is another thing: Men are never loath to form opinions very quickly. Then one must—”

“Uh, Augusta—”

Augusta ignored the interruption. “Then one must set about the annoying business of getting them to see reason. Do you know, Claudia, were I to be in a position of advising a woman on what to look for in a husband, I would ask her to consider the qualities she would look for were she to be in the mood to purchase a horse, instead.”

“
Augusta
.”

Augusta held up her gloved hand and began to ennumerate crisply. “Look for good blood, strong teeth, and sound limbs. Avoid the creature that shows any inclination to kick or bite. Pass up one which exhibits a tendency toward laziness. Avoid the beast which displays excessive stubbornness. Some thickheadedness is unavoidable and no doubt to be expected, but too much probably indicates genuine stupidity. In short, search out a willing specimen who is amenable to training.”

Claudia clapped her hands over her mouth, her eyes brimming with something that might have been either shock or laughter. “Augusta, for heaven’s sake, look behind you.”

An ominous sense of impending disaster settled on Augusta. She turned slowly around and saw Harry and Peter Sheldrake standing less than five feet away from her. Peter appeared to be having a great deal of difficulty swallowing his amusement.

Harry, one hand braced negligently against a tree limb, wore an expression of polite curiosity. There was, however, a suspicious glint in his eyes.

“Good evening, my dear,” Harry said softly. “Please feel free to carry on. Do not let us interrupt your conversation with your cousin.”

“Not at all,” Augusta said with an aplomb she felt would have done credit to Cleopatra greeting Caesar. “We were
just conversing about the qualities one looks for in a good horse, were we not, Claudia?”

“Yes,” Claudia agreed quickly. “Horses. We were talking about horses. Augusta has become quite an authority on the subject. She was telling me the most fascinating details about managing them.”

Harry nodded. “Augusta never ceases to amaze me with the breadth and scope of her knowledge about the most unusual subjects.” He extended his arm to his wife. “I understand they are just about to play a waltz, madam. I trust you will honor me with a dance?”

It was a command, not a request, and Augusta had no difficulty recognizing it as such. Wordlessly she tucked her hand under Harry’s arm and allowed him to lead her back into the house.

“F
orgive
me, my dear, but I had no idea you were such an expert on horses.” Harry fitted his hand to the small of Augusta’s back and swung her into the waltz.

It occurred to him in a flash of insight that she came to him here on the dance floor with the same sweet, willing sensuality that she displayed when she came to him in bed. She was light and graceful and enticingly feminine here, just as she was in the bedchamber. And he experienced a surge of desire that was very much akin to the feeling he got when he saw her lying against white pillows with her hair loose and her eyes full of womanly welcome.

Harry suddenly realized that until lately he had never particularly enjoyed dancing. It had simply been one more necessary accomplishment a man was obliged to learn in order to go about in society. But with Augusta, it was different.

So much was different with Augusta
.

“Harry, you are a beast to tease me. How much did you overhear?” Augusta looked up at him through her lashes, a
deep rosy blush staining her cheeks. The lights of the chandelier danced on her pretty paste necklace.

“A great deal, and all of it most interesting. Are you perhaps intending to write a book on the subject of managing a husband?” Harry inquired.

“I only wish I had a talent for writing,” she grumbled. “Everyone else around me appears to be producing a manuscript of some sort. Only think of how practical a book on husband management would be, Harry.”

“I do not doubt the practicality of your subject, madam, but I have serious reservations about your qualifications for writing about it.”

The gleam of rebellion shone immediately in her lovely eyes. “I would have you know, sir, that I have learned a great deal in the course of the few weeks we have been married.”

“Not nearly enough to write a book,” Harry told her in his most pedantic tone. “No, not nearly enough. Judging from what I overheard, there are several glaring errors in your theories and vast confusion in your logic. But never fear, it will be my pleasure to continue your instruction until such time as you have got it right, even if it takes years and years of effort on my part.”

She stared up at him, clearly uncertain how to take his outrageous comment. And then, to Harry’s surprise, she tipped back her head and laughed with delight. “That is most gracious of you, my lord. I vow, few other teachers would have such patience with their students.”

“Ah, my sweet, I am a very patient man. About most things.” Pleasure shot through him and his hand tightened against the small of her back. He wished he could drag her upstairs to the bedchamber right now, this very minute. He longed to turn the laughter into passion and then change it back again.

“Speaking of educators,” Augusta said, catching her breath as Harry drew her into a particularly daring whirl,
“have you noticed how well your aunt is getting along with my uncle? They have been inseparable since they met.”

Harry glanced across the room to where Clarissa, resplendent in a claret-red gown and a matching toque, was once more holding forth on the subject of teaching history to young ladies. Sir Thomas was listening intently and nodded appreciatively. Harry thought the gleam in the older man’s eyes had a distinctly nonacademic sparkle.

“I do believe you have managed to unite two kindred spirits, my dear,” Harry said, smiling down at Augusta.

“Yes, I rather thought they would suit each other. Now, if only my other little project will come to fruition, I shall be quite satisfied with this house party.”

“Other little project? What else are you working on, madam?”

“I have a feeling you will learn all about it soon enough, my lord.” Augusta gave him a distinctly superior sort of smile.

“Augusta, if you are plotting something, I would have you tell me about it at once. The thought of you carrying out another one of your rash schemes is quite alarming.”

“Rest assured this scheme is quite harmless, sir.”

“Nothing you attempt is ever
quite harmless
.”

“How very gratifying of you to say so, my lord.”

Harry groaned and swung her out through the open French doors onto the terrace.

“Harry? Where are we going?”

“I must talk to you, my dear, and now is as good a time as any.” He stopped dancing, although the last strains of the music were still drifting through the doors.

“What is it, Graystone? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, there is nothing wrong,” he assured her gently. He took her hand and led her deeper into the shadowed garden. He was not looking forward to what he had to say next. “It is just that I have decided to accompany Sheldrake back to London in the morning and I wanted to let you know tonight.”

“Go back to London in the morning? Without me?” Augusta’s voice rose with sudden outrage. “Whatever do you mean by that, Graystone? You cannot be intending to abandon me here in the country. We have only been married less than a month.”

He had known this was going to be difficult. “I have been talking to Sheldrake about that poem of your brother’s. We have drawn up a plan of action that might enable us to track down some members of the Saber Club.”

“I knew it had something to do with that damn poem. I just
knew
it. Did you tell him Richard wrote that verse?” Her eyes widened in anger and pain. “Harry, you swore to me you would not do so. You gave me your word.”

“Damnation, Augusta, I assure you I have kept my word. Sheldrake does not know who wrote that poem or how I obtained it. He is accustomed to working for me and he knows better than to pry when I tell him a subject is closed.”

“He is accustomed to working for you?” she gasped. “Are you telling me that Peter Sheldrake was one of your intelligence agents?”

Harry winced, wishing he had waited until later to bring up the subject. The trouble with that notion was that if she had started shouting at him in the privacy of her bedchamber, all the guests in the neighboring rooms would have overheard. He had chosen the garden as the best site for what he had known would be a heated discussion.

“Yes, and I would very much appreciate it if you would keep your voice down, madam. There may be others out here in the garden. Furthermore, this is a private matter. I do not want it bandied about that Sheldrake once worked for me. Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, of course.” She glowered at him. “Do you swear to me you did not tell him where you got the verse?”