Twelfth Night Secrets Page 6

  “I know you will achieve your usual magic, Cook.” Harriet checked the last item on her list. “I think that’s all, unless you have any questions.”

  “No, that’ll do for me, my lady.” Cook brushed off her immaculate starched white apron. “I’ll be back to me kitchen now.” She bobbed a curtsy and rustled out.

  “Will you be able to manage without Doris, Mrs. Sutcliff?”

  “It’s to be hoped we won’t have too many young ladies without their own maids,” the housekeeper replied.

  “Well, I’m sure I can manage without Agnes waiting upon me all the time, so if there are any, you may send Agnes to them.” Harriet nodded a pleasant dismissal, hoping to cut off any objections from the housekeeper, who looked as if she were ready to launch into a catalogue of complaints.

  “Well, if you say so, m’lady.” Mrs. Sutcliff inclined her head in a stiff curtsy and sailed from Harriet’s parlor.

  Harriet leaned back in her chair and exhaled with relief. That was the worst of the morning’s tasks taken care of. She could safely leave the management of the household to those who understood it best. It was purely for form’s sake that she involved herself at all. She glanced at the clock. It was almost ten, nearly an hour since she’d left the Earl in the breakfast parlor. He would be expecting her in the Long Gallery. Great-aunt Augusta would not arrive much before noon. So what was she waiting for? She rose and headed for the door.

  The Earl was ahead of her in the Long Gallery, standing with his hands clasped behind him, examining a portrait of a gentleman in a cartwheel ruff, a gold slashed doublet, and skintight hose that left very little of his masculinity to the imagination.

  “The first Earl Devere,” Harriet said, coming to stand beside him.

  “A remarkably well-endowed gentleman,” Julius observed.

  Harriet gave an involuntary chuckle. “He definitely has something of a peacock’s strut about him. I’m sure he thought himself God’s gift to the female sex.” She ought to have ignored the inappropriate comment, but she’d had the same thought many times. “Family history has it that he was a pirate, a bandit, an all-round scoundrel, who did Elizabeth some sterling service, presumably enriching her treasury with his thieving, and she gave him an earldom in return. Charles I conferred the ducal coronet on the fourth Earl.”

  She moved along the wall, stopping in front of a gentleman in full Cavalier regalia. “He went into exile with Charles II and became known as something of a hell-raiser after the Restoration. Nick and I used to speculate on how many illegitimate children he had and whether there’s an entire branch of Fitz Deveres somewhere in the country.”

  “And is there a portrait of your own father?”

  “Yes, over here.” She turned and crossed to the opposite side of the gallery. “Our father, Lord Edward, and our mother, Lady Charlotte.” She gestured to the two portraits side-by-side.

  Julius examined them with his head slightly tilted. “Mmm. As I said before, the Devere family resemblance is very pronounced, but you have your mother’s forehead and chin, I believe.” He put his hand on her chin and turned her face slightly towards him, regarding her with a quizzical smile. “Yes, most definitely. The widow’s peak is exactly your mother’s, and this rather stubborn chin.” A finger traced the curve of her chin, and then his hand dropped to her shoulder, resting lightly as he continued to scrutinize the portraits, as casually as if he were unaware of it.

  Harriet froze beneath the touch. It was warm and light, and one finger moved almost absently up the column of her neck. She wanted to move away, to say something, anything to break this moment of physical contact. But something kept her right where she was, unmoving, feeling the warmth of his hand, the light stroke of his finger along her neck. He said nothing, seemed not to consider his position in the least out of place.

  Did he know what he was doing?

  “It’s strange how I feel I know you, Harriet,” he said in the sudden tense silence. “It must be because I knew Nick so well, and you are so very alike.” His tone was as light as the caressing finger. “Nick always called you Harry, but perhaps I may not presume that far.” He moved his finger to her chin again, turning her face to his. “May I?”

  Harriet swallowed, fighting myriad sensations, some unwelcome, some oddly pleasing, all of them unfamiliar. “No,” she said abruptly. “That is a family name, Lord Marbury.”

  He inclined his head in calm acknowledgment. “I understand. But you will not object to Harriet?”

  Did she? She shook her head. “Not really. It is my name, after all.”

  He gave a slightly twisted smile. “Not the wholehearted endorsement I might have wished for. But I’ll take what I’m given. You will call me Julius.”

  It seemed like a command, she thought. “I’ll have to see about that, sir. Shall we continue with the tour?” She moved away from him at last, and his hand fell from her shoulder, leaving an oddly cold patch on her skin. “This particular ancestor went to the wars with the Duke of Marlborough.”

  Julius followed her, wondering a little what he thought he was doing. He hadn’t intended to touch her, or even to invite this first-name play, but somehow it had just happened. He was not accustomed to acting on impulse, but he found Harriet Devere a challenge, and he was not in the habit of ignoring challenges. He didn’t know why some of the time she seemed to have taken a dislike to him, and at other times her smile, her ready chuckle, the sparkle in the green eyes seemed almost like an invitation.

  Oh, yes, she was certainly a challenge, but a most attractive and appealing challenge into the bargain. No wonder he was more than ready to rise to it.

  “Where did you say you met Nick?” she asked, coming to a halt in front of the portrait.

  “In Paris, two years ago.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember now.” She kept a safe distance between them. “Paris was hardly a comfortable place to visit two years ago.”

  “No, but the Directory had been appointed, and the Terror was officially over. I was interested in seeing the situation for myself.”

  “And was that why Nick was there?” She asked the questions casually, trying to conceal her passionate interest in his answers.

  “I gather so. He was with a group of curious friends, and we met and took to each other immediately.”

  “I find it strange that he never mentioned you to me,” she observed. “I knew most of his really good friends.”

  He shrugged, saying with a half laugh, “Well, as I said, perhaps I valued the friendship more than did Nick.”

  She turned to look at him then, her green gaze searching. “Nick valued friendships he could trust, sir. He valued openness in his friendships. Perhaps he felt you were withholding something from him?”

  His black eyes held hers in a steady gaze for a moment, and then he said, “I have the habit of reticence. Sometimes that impedes as close a friendship as I would like.”

  It seemed like a confidence, and she was debating how to respond when the sound of carriage wheels on the driveway below broke the instant of silence. “Oh, Lord, that’ll be Great-aunt Augusta. I must go down at once.”

  Julius watched her disappear in a blur of green muslin. He walked to one of the long windows overlooking the drive and stood looking down, stroking his chin thoughtfully. A massive Berlin carriage stood below, six horses in the traces, the roof piled high with luggage. A woman, clearly a lady’s maid, judging by her black pelisse and bonnet, was fussing with an armful of shawls at the carriage steps as a lady descended on the arm of a footman, who held a small pug in his other arm. The lady was swathed in furs, batting at the footman with her muff as he tried to take an enormous reticule suspended from her arm. Julius could hear nothing, but he could hazard a guess at the gist from what he’d heard of Great-aunt Augusta. Harriet appeared, hurrying down the steps, and surreptitiously he pushed open the window, leaning close to listen.

  “My dear ma’am, you must be frozen,” Harriet declared, anticipating the first complaint
as she curtsied to her relative. “There is a good fire going in your parlor, and hot water for a mustard bath if you feel you may be catching cold. Dacre, her ladyship’s bedchamber is prepared, and if her ladyship should need a posset, you must send instantly to the kitchen.” The maid disappeared up the stairs in a waft of black taffeta, giving instructions left, right, and center with all the assurance of one who knows her importance.

  “Ah, Harriet . . . there you are at last . . . let go of my arm, you silly man.” Augusta swatted the attendant footman with a degree of vigor. “Take poor Horace to my chamber, and fetch him some chicken livers. I am afraid he is catching an ague . . . such a dreadful, interminable journey. I don’t know why we don’t just stay at home, but of course, dear child, I must do my duty. My dear brother must have a hostess for his endless parties. Now, let me look at you.”

  A pair of surprisingly sharp green eyes subjected Harriet to an intent scrutiny. “Well, you don’t look too bad. You’ve left off mourning, I see.”

  “It was the Duke’s wish, ma’am. Nick has been gone almost a year,” Harriet responded. She had been prepared for this, and the sooner it was over and done with, the better. “Will you come inside? The Duke will be waiting to welcome you.”

  “Well, where is he, then?” The lady raised a lorgnette to her eyes and looked pointedly around. “Can’t be troubled to come to the door, I see.”

  “He was with his estate manager, ma’am. He asked to be informed the moment you arrived,” Harriet said soothingly. “Please come inside out of the cold.”

  Her ladyship allowed herself to be ushered up the steps into the house. As Harriet set foot on the bottom step, something drew her eyes upwards. Julius, standing at an open window of the Long Gallery, touched his forehead in a mock salute of congratulation, and there was something about the accompanying smile that seemed once again to include her in their own private circle.

  A little chill ran down her spine. It was how she and Nick had been. Negotiating their way through the family maze, sharing their own private jokes. But she couldn’t have that with anyone else. Most particularly not with Julius Forsythe.

  Chapter Five

  The bustle of arrivals continued for the next several hours. Julius kept to the sidelines, watching with considerable respect the deft way Harriet managed to be everywhere at once, solving problems, smoothing ruffled tempers, instructing servants, even as she deflected the more outrageous demands and complaints of Aunt Augusta and several other imperious dowagers, whose personal maids appeared more demanding even than their mistresses.

  “Good God, man, come into the library, it’s the only sane place in the entire house,” the Duke declared, entering the hall after welcoming a trio of gentlemen guests. “Don’t know why we have to do this every year, but Harriet insists upon it . . . says it’s our duty to the family.” He gave a snort of disapproval. “Come and join me in a glass of port, dear fellow.”

  He took Julius’s arm and ushered him swiftly into the library, closing the door behind them with a sigh of relief. “Oh, good, Harriet’s made sure we’ve some nourishment in here.” He gestured to a sideboard where a cold ham, smoked trout, and a loaf of wheat bread reposed beside decanters of port and claret. “The red salon will be full of gannets eating me out of house and home,” he announced, filling two glasses with port. “Bad enough to have their incessant chatter over dinner, without having to endure it in the middle of the day.”

  Julius took the glass with a smile of thanks. “You really dislike Christmas festivities that much, Duke?”

  The Duke gave a wry grimace. “I suppose I was overstating the case, somewhat. The first day is always the worst; once everyone settles in, it isn’t so bad. Harriet achieves miracles, don’t know how she does it, just a slip of a girl.” He sipped his port and turned to the sideboard. “Help yourself, dear boy. We won’t dine until seven tonight, after the carolers have come up from the village.” He piled a plate with the offerings on the sideboard and carried it to a fireside chair.

  Julius followed suit. The library was an oasis of peace and quiet amidst the noise and bustle of the house. “Any word on the Boxing Day hunt, sir?”

  The Duke looked much more cheerful. “Yes, indeed, we are in luck. Jackson thinks the ground will be fine if we don’t get another hard frost.” He took a hearty bite of bread and ham.

  Julius glanced towards the window, where weak sunlight sparked off the still frosty lawn. The long case clock chimed one o’clock. It would be almost dusk in three hours, and he needed to ride into Oxford and back before full dark. He set down his plate and glass. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ve a mind to ride out for a couple of hours. My horse has been eating his head off in the stables for the last couple of days, and if he’s to be fit to hunt, he’ll need to work out the fidgets.”

  “Of course, dear boy. Go with my blessing. I only wish I could accompany you, but Harriet will frown if I leave before the last guest arrives.” His grace shook his head with a mock mournful air. “In truth, I owe it to her to stay around at least for today. Augusta will demand my presence soon enough.”

  Julius laughed sympathetically as he rose to his feet. “I’ll bid you good afternoon, then.”

  “The carolers assemble in the great hall at six,” his host reminded him. “Harriet will not be best pleased if you miss them.”

  “I will be there, sir. I wouldn’t wish to displease Lady Harriet.” Rather the reverse, he thought with an inner smile. He bowed and left the library, leaving the house by the side door to avoid the seething hall, on his way to the stables.

  “Have you come to see the new colt, sir?” a child’s voice piped from somewhere close to where he stood in the stable yard.

  “Yes, he’s out of Sultana by Atlas, and Judd says we can name him,” another voice declared. “Only unofficially, of course, because he has to have a proper stud name.”

  “Where are you two?” Julius demanded, looking around.

  “Here, of course.” Two strawberry-blond heads popped up from behind a rain butt. “We’re racing water beetles in a bucket.”

  “You’re doing what?” Mystified, he stepped behind the rain butt. “Oh, I see.”

  The twins had filled a large pail with water in which two water beetles were scudding across the scummy surface, encouraged by little flicks from a desiccated leaf.

  “That one’s mine,” Grace declared, pointing.

  “No, it’s not, that one’s mine,” her brother protested. “Mine was always the one on the left.”

  “No, it isn’t, they change sides all the time,” Grace stated. “I know mine because he’s got one leg shorter than the other.”

  “Don’t be silly, of course he hasn’t. Anyway, how do you know it’s a he? It could just as easily be a she,” Tom pointed out.

  “Let’s see, then.” Grace encouraged one of the creatures onto the leaf, then frowned in puzzlement. “Where do you look? They’re not like horses or dogs.” She looked up at Julius. “Where do you look, sir?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “Biology was never my strong suit. Let the poor thing go, now, and show me the colt.”

  The water beetle and its leaf were dropped into the water, and the two children hurtled off towards the stable block, calling for Judd, who appeared from the stables, hands thrust into the pockets of a baize apron. “Afternoon, m’lord.”

  “Good afternoon, Judd. Could you have my horse saddled, please?”

  “Yes, but you have to see the colt. Doesn’t he, Judd? He has to see the colt.” Grace pranced around Judd.

  “All in good time, Grace,” Julius said. “You may show me the colt while my horse is being saddled, if that’s all right with Judd.”

  “Oh, aye, sir, ’tis all right by me. Them imps’ll show you where he is. But you mind, now,” he said, addressing the children. “No shouting, and don’t you be gettin’ him agitated, or the mare. It’ll turn ’er milk.”

  “I’ll make sure they’re quiet,” Juli
us said with a quick smile at the groom, who gave a laconic nod before going to fetch the Earl’s horse. Julius followed the children into the gloom of the stable block. They led him in exaggerated silence, fingers pressed to lips, to the end of the row, where an elegant chestnut mare was nuzzling a leggy brown colt.

  “What should we call him, do you think?” Tom whispered loudly. “We thought Legs because he’s all legs, but Judd said he wouldn’t always be like that.”

  “I want to call him Star, because of that little white spot on his head,” Grace said in a fierce whisper. “Legs is a silly name.”

  “Star is boring,” her brother objected. “It’s ordinary.”

  “So is Legs.”

  The mare stirred restlessly, raising her long head to regard her visitors with a somewhat baleful stare. “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Julius said firmly. “Come out, now, and leave them in peace.”

  The children followed him out into the yard, blinking in the weak sunlight. “Is that your horse? He’s so big.” Grace gazed up in awe at Julius’s raw-boned gray gelding.

  “When I’m grown, I’ll ride a horse that big,” Tom stated. “Nick’s Lucifer was that big.”

  “Lucifer was black,” Grace said. “When Nick died, he died.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, but Julius could hear a quaver that aroused an unusually powerful emotion in his breast. He had never considered himself in the least sentimental. He couldn’t afford to be in his business. He had counted Nick as a friend, one whose death had been inevitable. He had buried him and then turned his face forward to the next step of his mission. What else was there to do?

  Just asking himself the question surprised him. He had merely coped as he always had done with such situations, but now he felt a momentary stab of loss and for the first time acknowledged to himself that friends in his world were too few to be easily forgotten.