The Devil's Web (26 page)

There were three children on the bank, the youngest one in tears, the oldest scornfully ignoring him. The middle one, a girl, was patting the infant on the back reassuringly. They had one fishing rod among the three of them.
The oldest boy was holding it.

“What is the matter?” James called across the stream.
“Is the little lad not being given his turn?”

The child wailed more loudly when he realized that he had an adult audience.

“It is just that he rolled his ball into the water and Jonathan will not get it for him,” the girl said, continuing to pat ineffectively.

“The water would not reach even to his waist where the ball is,” the boy called Jonathan said, not even looking up from his rod. “Let him get it himself. He was told not to play so near the edge.”

“Can't you see that he is frightened?” the girl asked.
“And I can't go in. I'm wearing a dress.”

James swung down from his horse with a smile, though he was not particularly feeling a smile. “Perhaps I can risk it,” he said. He looked down into the water, which
was swollen from the rain. “Hm, I don't think my boots would survive it, would they?” He sat down on the bank to pull them off one by one.

The little boy had forgotten to cry. The older boy's attention had been fully diverted from his fishing. The little girl was giving advice.

“I would not go in if I were you, sir,” she said. “You will get your breeches and your stockings wet.”

James winked at her. “But I don't have a mama at home to scold me,” he said.

The two little boys laughed.

The ball was quite visible and easily retrieved. He was soaked to the knees after he had finally handed it back to the smallest child and climbed out on his side of the stream again, and was facing the ticklish problem of whether to pull his boots back on again or go riding home in his stockinged feet with his boots beneath his arm. He shrugged and pulled on the boots much to the amusement of the boys and against the advice of the girl.

“Where do you come from?” he asked, though he knew the answer very well. He had to hear it in words.

“Mama is visiting Uncle Carl,” the girl said.

“And who is your mama?” he asked, grimacing with some distaste as he pulled on the second boot.

“She is Mrs. John Drummond,” the girl said. “But she is a cousin to the Duke of Peterleigh and we have come to live close to here all the time, where Mama and Papa used to live before they moved to Somerset, where we were all born. I am Sylvia Drummond, and this is Patrick.
Jonathan is the oldest. And there is Lester too—he is the baby.”

“Indeed,” James said, vaulting into his saddle again. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Beckworth.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “You are the one with the new bride.
Uncle Carl was telling Mama about her. You had better gallop home, sir, before you catch your death.”

James smiled again, touched his hat with his riding whip, and turned his horse's head for home.

The two younger children were fair and somewhat stocky, like John Drummond. And with the coloring of Dora too, of course. The eldest boy was tall and thin. His thick dark hair fell over his eyes. And the eyes in his thin face were dark.

His son looked like him.

Jonathan. He had not known his name.

He had felt nothing for the boy beyond a certain curiosity and wonder. Wonder that he had fathered a child whom he had not seen until that day. He had wondered if he would feel a rush of paternal love. He had felt nothing.

But his son! His own flesh and blood.

He urged his horse into a canter. Not so much because his feet and legs were uncomfortably wet and cold, but because Madeline was at home. He wanted to be with her.

M
ADELINE WAS RIDING ALONG
the banks of the same stream the following afternoon with Henrietta and Mark Trenton. She rather enjoyed their company, since they were both cheerful and full of conversation. And it was a beautiful late September day after four days of rain and the gloomy clouds of the day before.

Indeed, she would have been perfectly happy if only James were with them. But he had an appointment at the house with his man of business and had been unable to come.

And why would she want him with her anyway? she
asked herself as she laughed at something Mark said and launched into an anecdote of her own. He would surely have ruined the afternoon with his taciturnity and lack of humor. And she surely would have ended up quarreling with him over something—after they were alone, of course.

It was better to be away from him.

But she felt a twinge of guilt, and was immediately annoyed with herself, when a voice hailed them from among the trees on the other side of the stream and the handsome figure of Carl Beasley, also on horseback, appeared.

“Well met,” he called, sweeping off his hat. “Are you out riding? And you have two lovely ladies to yourself, Trenton? This will never do.”

He had a very attractive smile, Madeline noticed, responding to it. He had white, even teeth.

“But a sister does not count,” she called back. “And I am a married lady. Poor Mr. Trenton is not to be envied after all.”

“Why do you not bring your horses to this side of the stream?” he asked. “We could take a ride up to the house and orchard.”

Madeline was quite glad afterward that Henrietta was the first to reply. She realized that she had been about to make an excuse. She did not like to consider why she would have done so.

“May we see the dogs?” Henrietta asked eagerly. “Have the puppies grown much? They were such darling little creatures the last time I saw them.”

“I believe they can still be classified as puppies,” Carl said with a smile, holding his horse still while Mark led the way across the stream.

They had to ride in single file through the trees, but when they came within sight of the manor, Carl Beasley drew his horse alongside Madeline's.

“This was a fortunate encounter,” he said.

“Yes.” She smiled. “I promised to go riding with the Trentons when we were at Mr. Hooper's party, but the weather has not been suitable until today. Unfortunately, my husband is otherwise engaged this afternoon.”

“Ah, yes,” he said. “Beckworth was never one to indulge in such frivolities as an afternoon ride for the sake of riding. Are you feeling very dull at Dunstable Hall?”

“Not at all,” she said hastily. “I have been finding a great deal to do with myself.”

“Have you?” he said. “But of course, the place and your marriage are all new to you. You must take a firm hand with Beckworth, though, ma'am, and not allow him to keep you closeted at home.” He smiled to take any sting from his words.

“But he encouraged me to organize next week's dinner,” she said. “You have had your invitation?”

He inclined his head. “And have penned an acceptance already,” he said. He turned back to the Trentons. “The dogs are in the stables. Perhaps you would like to look at them while I show Lady Beckworth the orchard.”

Madeline would have preferred to go to the stables too.
Not that she had minded for the past several years being alone with a gentleman. She had scoffed at the idea of chaperones after passing her twentieth birthday. And she was not, absolutely not, going to allow James's ridiculous notions of what was proper determine her behavior. It was true that Mr. Beasley was a very attractive man, but that made no difference to anything. She smiled determinedly.

“The house looks quite magnificent,” she said. “Do you live there all alone?”

“Except on his grace's rare visits, yes,” he said, dismounting from his horse and lifting her from hers before turning both horses over to a waiting groom. “It has been my home for many years. I had my sister with me, of course, until her marriage.”

“I still have not met her,” Madeline said.

“Her husband has been sick for more than a month,” Carl said, taking her arm on his and strolling with her in the direction of the orchard. “They have not been at church or at any entertainment in that time. She was here yesterday with her children. She is curious to meet you.”

“Is she?” Madeline said. “I shall look forward to the meeting, then. Oh, what splendid apple trees you have.”

“We are rather proud of them,” he said. He looked at her and laughed. “I wonder if Beckworth will try to prevent your meeting with Dora.”

“With your sister?” she said in surprise. “Why should he?”

His eyes twinkled at her. “There was a time when he was somewhat smitten with her charms,” he said. “But I should not be telling tales. They were both very young.
Doubtless, he forgot about her long ago.”

“I daresay,” Madeline said. “When I think of gentlemen I was smitten with years ago, I can scarce put a face to their names.”

“We sometimes do foolish things when we are young, don't we?” he said, opening the door of the orangery and allowing her to precede him inside. “Beckworth went quite berserk when Dora married John Drummond and moved away with him. He seemed to think there was some conspiracy against him. He succeeded in blacking
one of my eyes and breaking my nose. He might have done the same with John's older brothers had he not been unwise enough to tackle them both together. The foolishness of youth!” He laughed lightly.

“Gracious!” Madeline said. “Are you serious, sir?
Whyever would he do such a thing?”

“You have not discovered Beckworth's violent side?” he asked. But his voice was teasing. “This was many years ago. I am sure he learned long ago to control his impulses.
And I suppose he thought himself sufficiently provoked. He seemed to think … But never mind that. It is ancient history, and I must look to my sister's reputation. Besides, you are Beckworth's new bride. I would not want to tell tales. I am sure his new attachment far outstrips the old. I have told you all this only because it was a long time ago and you look like a lady with a sense of humor. Now, to change the subject. We have a gardener who has a passion for the orangery. I think he does rather well, don't you?”

“Yes, indeed,” Madeline said.

The door of the orangery opened at that moment to admit the Trentons.

“The puppies have grown,” Henrietta said. “What a shame. I do think they should stay tiny for much longer than they do. A footman stepped out of the house as we passed to tell us that tea will be served at your convenience.”

Carl smiled. “The housekeeper must have seen that we have visitors, then. Ma'am?” He extended an arm for Madeline's. “May I lead you to the house?”

“I really had not expected to stay for tea,” she said. “My husband will be expecting me home.”

“Ah,” he said, “you show the eagerness of a bride. The chances are that he is so engrossed in business that he has
not even missed you. Though he would be a fool if that is true. Half an hour, ma'am?”

She hesitated. “Half an hour, then,” she said, and felt rather like a child involved in some forbidden activity.

“It seems that my nephews and niece met your husband yesterday,” Carl said to Madeline during tea when there was a momentary lull in the conversation.

“Oh,” she said, “is that who they were? He came home very wet after retrieving a child's ball from the stream.”

“Patrick has a new hero,” he said, “as well as his ball.
Sylvie was only concerned that Beckworth might have caught his death of cold. May I reassure her that he has not?”

“Oh, no,” Madeline said with a laugh. “The only casualty is one ruined pair of boots.”

“Mrs. Drummond called upon Mama a few days ago,” Henrietta said. “What a darling the baby is. He has soft blond curls exactly like his older brother and sister. Only the oldest boy looks quite different. Indeed, it is difficult to believe that he has the same parents as the others.”

“Henrietta!” her brother said beneath his breath.

“What?” she asked, wide-eyed.

Carl smiled. “Jonathan is rather different from the other three,” he said. “Tall and thin and dark. He does not look like his mama or papa. It is a good thing that both my father and Drummond's were dark-haired men, or there might be some embarrassment for my sister.”

“Oh.” Henrietta flushed painfully. “I did not mean to suggest …”

“Of course you did not,” Carl said with an easy laugh.
“Have another scone, Miss Trenton.”

Mark jumped into the conversational gap. “Papa thinks the waters at Harrogate may help his gout,” he said. “I believe we will be spending a month there before Christmas.”

“Harrogate is somewhere I have always wanted to visit,” Madeline said.

Less than half an hour later she was riding across the stream with the Trentons, waving good-bye to Mr.
Beasley, who had accompanied them as far as the boundary, and riding in the direction of home.

James was thirty years old. He had, of course, done a great deal of living in that time. And this was his home, the place where he had lived most of the first twenty-six years of his life. Of course there would be people and events from his past that she could not be expected to know about. Perhaps one day she would persuade him to tell her more of his past.

Though it really did not matter. It would take her a week of nonstop talking to tell him all about her own past. And that did not matter at all. She was his wife now.
His. All those others meant nothing whatsoever to her in comparison with what he meant.

“Mark,” Henrietta said, turning to him accusingly when they were a safe distance from the stream, “whatever did you mean by hissing at me during tea? What had I said?”

“Nothing,” he said, frowning at her crossly. “Nothing at all, Henrietta.”

“But Mr. Beasley seemed to think that I had been suggesting that Jonathan Drummond does not really belong to his mama and papa,” she said. “And you must have thought so too or you would not have said ‘Henrietta!' in such an agonized voice. I could have died, Mark. If I had ever thought such a thing, I certainly would not have said it aloud. Did you have to draw attention to me?”