The Dandy and the Flirt (The Friendship Series Book 6) Page 8

  He tapped on the door. Since Mrs. Davidson had no servants, she opened it herself. “Good day, Sir Hugh. Is someone up at the house unwell?”

  They both knew that wasn’t the case. He would have sent a servant to fetch her had her services been needed.

  He took off his hat. “Forgive the unexpected call, but I seek your advice.”

  She dipped her chin in a bow. “Please, come in.”

  ”If you would not mind, may we sit out here? It’s a lovely morning and your roses are splendid.”

  “Certainly. There is a another chair in the foyer, if you would be so kind.”

  After he situated the chair on the opposite side of the doorstep and absolved himself of any need of refreshment, they sat in the humid peace of the early morning. He had declined her offer to take his hat and kept it on his lap.

  People had already started moving along the road. Carriages paid no attention. Pedestrians pretended to ignore them. The lady sitting with him possessed a quiet nature, her presence somehow calming. This helped with the potentially awkward subject he wanted to present.

  The proscribed comments were made about the weather and their health. After which, Hugh accepted her silence as his cue to inform her of his reason for the visit. He wasn’t sure how to start and said so.

  Mrs. Davidson made things easier for him by asking, “How fares Master Waldo?”

  Relieved to have broken through his odd lack of aplomb, he answered, “Up and about the next day as if nothing had happened. You’d left before he awakened, since he had no fever.”

  “I could stay no longer. Mr. Wainwright was adamant to have the bandages taken off his arm and be back at work at his anvil. Waldo was sleeping comfortably when I left. Howard had snuggled up against his side like a little bird.”

  “They are quite inseparable. Always have been. Waldo used to sit by the cradle, rocked it whenever Howie grizzled.”

  “It won’t be easy for them, when they are grown and must be off seeing about their own lives. Another child or two may prove a blessing.”

  Hugh ran the tip of his finger along his hat’s curled brim. “That is mainly why I’ve come today.”

  When he looked up, Mrs. Davidson’s calm gaze met his. She smiled slightly in encouragement. It didn’t help. The words stayed trapped inside. He wasn’t a reticent man. Cautious at times, but not cowardly, and yet he felt struck by a vague fear that voicing his concerns might allow them to come to pass. It somehow seemed safer to say nothing.

  Even if he had his concerns relieved today, he doubted he could dissuade Emily from any goal she got into her head. She’d promised in her vows to obey, had implied the same promise when they first talked of getting married, but he knew her too well to believe it. Emily would smile and agree to any edict and later do exactly as she pleased. He’d initiated this trip to London, and now he had to deal with it and his worry about her health. The loss of the baby would be horrible, but losing Emily was not an outcome he would chance.

  Mrs. Davidson again came to his rescue. “Do you have concerns about Lady Exton-Lloyd?”

  He inhaled a deep breath of rose-scented air. “Actually, I do. More than one. I’ve always wondered if that last trip Beryl and I took to London had something to do with the baby coming two months ahead of time.”

  “It’s possible, although I would ask you to remember that there were two lost while she was here, when she had not done any activity to bring about an early delivery. Must you both travel away from Coldstream so soon after coming here?”

  “Our great aunt, Lady Goring, is having a birthday celebration in town. Beyond the fact that we are fond of her, our family is indebted to her for many reasons. As you know, she deeded Coldstream to me before I married Beryl. Otherwise, I doubt that I would have been an acceptable parti in the estimation of her family.”

  “Yes, Beryl made mention of how much her family liked the idea of her living here. Do I take it that your present concern has to do with embarking on this journey to London, that you might be endangering mother and baby?”

  “Precisely. I also cannot abide Emily being at the mercy of some unknown physician. You are well aware of my sentiments in that regard.”

  “I do agree with your suspicions as to the true cause of Beryl’s death. Mrs. Wilkins was adamant about cleanliness. The virulent fever you described was exactly as my mentor warned would occur when utmost cleanliness is not observed.”

  Hugh clenched the hand that wasn’t holding his hat. The horrific memory roared back, flooding his vision for a breath’s span of time, but its impact never lessened—Beryl, so still and grey-white on the bed. A tiny bundle, their dead daughter, had been tucked under her arm. Heaps of soiled linens had been removed from her room the night before, but the smell of blood remained thick in the air.

  The physician had arrived late, while Beryl still lived but had become too weak to register the pain. He would never forget the man’s filthy clothes and grime-rimed fingernails, the soggy, unlit cigar he kept clamped in his teeth, the man’s utter lack of concern for his patient, the amiable, soft-spoken Beryl.

  Then he had to tell his sons, their little faces staring up, expecting an explanation.

  “Sir Hugh?”

  Mrs. Davison’s soft words jerked him back to the present. “Yes, ma’am. So sorry. It’s not an event easily dismissed or forgotten.”

  “Understandably so, but if I may be allowed to answer your questions spoken and unspoken?”

  Feeling as if a great weight had been lifted, he said with relief, “Please, Allison, if you would be so kind.”

  She paused until he looked directly at her. He had a sudden wish to take her hand, but that could not be done in public. Her reputation was already compromised by speculation, and all she had done was share her grief after Beryl’s loss.

  His hopefulness must have showed in his gaze. She directed her attention and words to the flowers.

  “Your fears are warranted. Some women cannot travel while with child, but I do not believe this to be so with your wife. I’ve heard stories of her as a girl, how she loved to walk, ride and play in this beautiful countryside. She is healthy, athletic and active, but there is something else about her. Mrs. Wilkins encouraged me to pay attention to my innermost feelings. Bear with me while I try to explain. I can intuit certain things. Ailments and illnesses speak to me, merely by my sensing that something is not quite as it should be. I’ve never articulated this to anyone before, but I so thoroughly understand your worries that I can say this to you with complete confidence. Your Emily is one of the rare and most fortunate of women. She can carry babies safely and will deliver them easily. I’ve witnessed more than one woman with the ability to birth a child, tuck the babe in swaddling clothes, and immediately return to fieldwork. Some women are blessed that way. Your wife is one.”

  A terrible ache he had only vaguely acknowledged eased and seeped away. He hadn’t realized how he’d been holding in abeyance the complete acceptance of Emily as his wife. The easing of this anxiety, the fear of losing her, left him free to give his heart without reserve.

  Now he wanted to give Beryl’s friend a great, smacking kiss. Instead, he smiled and stood. “Well, ma’am, I would rather trust your intuition than another’s so-called learned experience. We won’t be staying in London for the entire Season and will head back to Coldstream well in advance of the birth. I would ask if you could come with us to London but know there are three women in the district nearing their times.”

  She walked him to the gate. “Forgive me for saying, but your sons are quite altered since her arrival. There has been a general sigh of relief in nearby houses.”

  Hugh replaced his hat and ruefully replied, “They are awestruck by her fearlessness and ability to control that hound they adopted.”

  “And Sir Hugh, thank you for showing such delicacy relative to my situation. We could just as easily have gone inside where you would have been much more comfortable. ”

  He hoped he wasn’t
blushing. “Not at all. The chair, although small, suited its task. The flowers were charming, and to be blunt, I despise conjecture and gossip. I don’t know how to quell such unfair talk and speculation. Perhaps I’ll set Emily down on those wagging tongues. She is, as you said, quite intrepid.”

  “They may say what they like. I adore my little nest and would have had nowhere to go without your generosity.”

  “Not me, Allison. You know that it was Beryl’s last request.”

  His throat closed off as he looked down into soft grey eyes filling with tears. In silence, they shared a last moment of grief. She had not conquered hers, but much of his had faded with this morning’s conversation. He didn’t expect to ever forget the night of Beryl’s death.

  He bowed, she dipped a curtsey, and he opened the gate. In a congested voice, he said, “I’ll have someone come down to fix the hinges.”

  “Send me a message if you need me. I will take care of Lady Exton-Lloyd, if I have to ride all the way to London without sleep.”

  “Let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said with a touch to his hat brim.

  The heat of the day had begun to gather. Staying under the shade of the trees didn’t help. Conversation with Mrs. Davidson had done some good but a shadow lingered, a niggling suggestion down deep in the crevices of his consciousness. He hadn’t told Mrs. Davidson that he shared her gift of intuition, and that was why he trusted all she had said. He’d never told anyone how he easily sensed things others could not and had used it to find his son in the murky depths of the pond. That same intuitiveness was telling him that an unpleasantness lurked in London. Now that his worry about Emily’s health had been assuaged, he had no idea what awaited in town.

  Chapter 13

  Hugh embraced each of his sons before they scrambled up into the coach. From the corner of his eye, he could see Emily, standing in the doorway’s lintel, giving final instructions to Hopton. The irascible butler had become her ill-tempered slave ever since she decreed that he must stay at Coldstream and that under-butler, Clarkson, must make the journey to London with the family. She had diplomatically explained that Clarkson needed the town polish if he were to ever become a proper major domo. A London Season would do nicely. Meanwhile, Hopton could remain in the comfortable surroundings of Perthshire.

  Hugh collected his bearings by blindly gazing down the long row of trees that marched down both sides of the entry road. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night with the impossible-to-erase memory of Emily’s slender fingers sliding up and down the wineglass stem. The erotic movements hadn’t been intentional. The instant she realized what she was doing, and his rapt attention, she tucked her hand out of sight. Her escape from his company immediately after the awkward moment further reinforced her initial pledge when she had asked for his protection. She would eventually accept him into her bed, but not until after the birth.

  How many times had he kicked himself for not clearing up and correcting that misunderstanding? She’d openly admitted her enjoyment of sex, but he’d been too muddled at the time to embrace such a gift. There was also the fact that she’d always made it clear that she never much cared for him, but he wasn’t entirely inept. There were any number of ways to satisfy a woman, and if she needed to imagine someone else, then they could douse the damn candles.

  That thought rankled. What if she’d been thinking of someone specific when she caressed the stemware? He couldn’t believe it had been Langston Blake. She’d acted and spoken as if she despised him. Or had she been worrying about the man taking her child, as she had said? Now that he’d witnessed how much she liked children, her strong feeling could have come from the fear of her baby being taken away. That was certainly enough to make any woman open to compromise. Well, perhaps not any woman. Females of the aristocracy rarely thought about their offspring, unless it had to do with the obligation of safeguarding primogeniture.

  He discovered that the recent near loss of Waldo had intensified his attachment to his sons. So much so that he readily agreed to their staying in London for most of the Season, rather than a temporary visit for Aunt Agatha’s celebration. Having them around as a distraction might help him keep his hands off his wife and continue their odd agreement.

  “Hugh?”

  He abruptly looked down. Emily stood by the carriage door, her face lit with a smile. Today, she graced him her nice one. She had a rendition for every occasion. When displeased, she could curve her lovely mouth into a smirk that sliced to the bone. She hadn’t used that one on him since they were children. He could never stop himself from succumbing to a melting sensation whenever she used the sweet version, the one that lit her dark eyes with warmth and humor, the one she wore now.

  He took the hand she extended to assist her into the coach. He held her back for a moment. “You’re positive that you want to ride with these two?”

  Her low, seductive chuckle traveled down his spine, started a burn in his loins as she followed that with leaning closer to whisper, “I’ve brought plenty to keep them occupied. Hopton had a picnic basket set inside. I have every intention of allowing them to get under its lid the moment we’re underway.”

  It took a moment to collect his scattered wits. “If the boys haven’t raided the contents already.” When she moved to the coach steps, he drew her back again. “Safe journey, my lady.”

  Her eyes widened when he bent down to kiss her cheek. While there, he inhaled her scent, all her own. She never wore cologne and always smelled of herself or the cedar of closets or lavender of baggage. He almost detoured to taste her surprise-parted lips. His own mouth became parched at the idea, and he slid his tongue over his lower lip as he straightened up. She must have divined his lurid thoughts, the rush of images that clouded his vision. He scarcely had enough presence of mind to assist her when she whirled and nearly leaped into the coach.

  The smile she wore as the coach pulled away looked fragile. What did that mean? Had he frightened her? The boys half-hung out the windows, waving and shouting. Their loud enthusiasm brought him back into focus, but her scent still filled his head as the coach shrunk in size and disappeared around the tree-lined curve. He called for his valet the instant he got inside the house, his intuition prodding him to get to London well ahead of Emily and the children.

  Chapter 14

  Emily wrote to Hugh to let him know that she’d decided to take more time sightseeing with the boys. She adored history, even though she disliked reading about it. She didn’t think sons of Hugh would be the same. Their father had done well at university, and Howie must, if he were to make his way in the world as the younger son. The charred ruin of Réveillez had dampened their spirits until she began to tell its history and how their father hoped to rebuild.

  It had been almost a sennight since they’d left Coldstream and entered the outskirts of London. She watched Waldo and Howie fidget on the carriage seat, unable to curb their excitement. She wished she possessed a fraction of their energy, as they chattered and pointed out sites beyond the windows. They had arrived weeks in advance of the Season. In a month, this part of London would be bursting with the activity of members of Parliament returning to sessions, entertainments, and society at its busiest. While Waldo and Howie begged to visit the Tower, the fireworks at Vauxhall, Week’s Mechanical Museum, all she could think about was a nap. Astley’s Amphitheatre must be attended straightaway and would their father take them to see Jackson’s Rooms, perhaps be introduced to the famous pugilist?

  She promised them Astley’s and the Week’s Museum but gave them no promises when it came to Jackson’s boxing saloon. Certainly women never entered the establishment, but would boys be allowed inside? She had no idea and left them to beg their father. She was too weary to think about more than getting there, taking a bath and a nap.

  She’d never been inside Hugh’s London house, a narrow, brick three-story in Mayfair. The dwelling was on the smallish side, but the windows sparkled, the stoop had been freshly washed, and the wrought-i
ron fencing gleamed. She wasn’t surprised to find the same meticulous order when she stepped across its threshold.

  She’d sent the luggage and servant carriage ahead, which meant Ferris stood by the staircase ready to take her things. Her dresser appeared nervous, and Emily didn’t blame her, feeling a bit nervy from the hooded-eye inspection of the man waiting by her side, the infamous Ulrich. English speakers butchered the pronunciation of his last name, Fürstenfelbruck, leaving him to request, to their relief, he be addressed by the first.

  Since they did not share a bedchamber, Emily had seen little of Hugh’s valet and sometimes secretary. She did know about his reputation from Ferris. A most superior sort of manservant was Ulrich. He looked every inch of his Prussian lineage and possessed such hauteur that Ferris had pronounced herself ill-equipped to speak to the man. Sturdily built, white-blond with high-cheekbones and pale blue eyes, he kept his attention directed at the floor. There were no wrinkles, smudges or hanging threads in this man’s domain. No wonder Hugh was always turned out in perfect style.

  When she approached to allow Ferris to remove her outerwear, the valet bowed and extended a message.

  Hugh had written a note on the back of one of his cards. While continuing to stare at the handwriting, Emily murmured to Ulrich, “He is not here, Ulrich?”

  Only a hint of accent could be heard in the valet’s reply. “No, my lady. He assumed you would return yesterday and accepted an invitation to a shooting party with the Brocktons.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. All sorts of mischief occurred during that sort of party, usually an excuse for adultery. She ought to know. She’d attended more than a few. Guests never slept in their own rooms. George never bothered to inform her when he wouldn’t be joining her, assuming she had an assignation of her own. More often than not, she slept alone, too aware of the giggles in the hallway, the opening and shutting of doors. It was rather tedious and tawdry.