Unmasked by her Lover, page 11
The horse moved restlessly, anxious to be off. She just had to hope that the head groom who lived above was a heavy sleeper and did not hear the thud of hooves as she led the animal into the fresh air.
It was certainly simpler to mount as a man, throwing her leg right over the saddle.
With her heart still beating hard in fear of discovery, she shaded the lantern with her cloak and walked the horse to the grassier ground. She headed immediately away from the house for the cover of the woods. From there, she doubled back toward the coast road and gave Martha’s mare her head.
Wanting to preserve the horse’s strength, she did not let her gallop for too long. But when she slowed her to a trot, she heard the muffled thunder of galloping hooves behind her.
In fresh alarm, she searched for a gap in the hedge that lined the road. The hooves grew closer. Then, just as she feared some highwayman would be upon her, she found what she was looking for and dismounted. She had to practically drag the resisting mare after her and hoped the animal’s snorts of disapproval would not be heard by her pursuer.
If he was a pursuer. It was just as likely, indeed more likely, that he was just another traveler in a hurry, and she was overreacting. Still, she had no desire to be seen in this guise by anyone, so hiding was her best option. And just to be safe, she drew the pistol from her saddlebag and waited.
The beat of the hooves seemed to blend with her drumming heart. Her fingers tightened on the pistol, though she was afraid to actually touch the trigger.
For a blessed moment, she thought the horse was going to gallop straight past her. And it did. Only, it began to slow an instant later. While she held her breath, the other horse snorted, and she seized the head of the mare to prevent her whinnying in greeting. The horse wheeled slowly around and walked back toward her.
A man’s head appeared over the top of the hedge. “You forgot about the lantern,” Harry observed.
“Oh, the devil!” she said furiously. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to make sure you don’t get hurt going wherever it is you’re going.”
“There is no reason for anyone to hurt me! Oh, Harry, please go back. I need to do this alone.”
He ducked downward and opened the gap in the hedge. “Come back on to the road.”
She obeyed, mounting by herself into the saddle. “You won’t mention this to Johnny or Calvert, will you?”
“No,” he said at once. “But I’m still coming with you or taking you back to Calvert Court.” He must have sensed her intention because before she could kick the mare into a sudden gallop away from him, he reached out and caught the bridle. By the lantern light, his face was as serious as she had ever seen it. “I mean it, Meg.”
“Then I have to go back,” she said flatly.
He regarded her, still holding the horse steady. “You’re going to Martha, aren’t you?”
“Damn you, Harry,” she exclaimed. “How do you know that?”
“Where else would you be going alone in the middle of the night?”
“I might,” she said with dignity, “have an admirer you know nothing about.”
“You might, but unless he’s a very odd admirer, I doubt you’d dress up as a boy to meet him.”
“I have my clothes with me,” she said triumphantly. “I mean to change when I reach our assignation.”
He smiled. “Meg, you’ve already admitted you’re going to Martha. Accept I’m coming with you, or we’re going back to Calvert Court. I don’t need to see her. I just need to escort you there and back.”
“Well, hurry then,” she said with ill grace, kicking the mare into motion.
This time he let her and was soon riding along beside her, matching her pace. Only when she slowed again, did he ask, “Where is she?”
Meg sighed. Her spurt of anger had dissipated in the gallop, and she had to acknowledge to herself at least that it was more comfortable to have Harry with her.
“Cliffstone,” she said grudgingly. “By the sea.”
“What—or who—is in Cliffstone?”
“Our old nurse. Whom I daresay you remember. She retired there when we all grew up.”
“Ah.”
“At least, I think that’s where Martha is,” she blurted. “But I can’t go on any longer without being sure.”
He only nodded. Then a few minutes later, as though he didn’t want to say the words, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not my secret,” she replied. She glanced at him and quickly away. “I can’t help it. I’ll always keep faith with her. Even when I don’t like her very much.”
“I know. Do you not like her now?”
“I didn’t,” she admitted. She tried to laugh at herself. “When she married Calvert, and you went abroad, I felt I had lost everything. I was pathetically sorry for myself for at least a month. Before I realized we all had to grow up. I forgave Martha a long time ago because there was nothing truly to forgive. Now, it’s myself I can’t forgive. I accepted too easily that she didn’t need me.”
He said nothing.
She swallowed. “I cannot imagine the pain she suffered with Calvert.”
“If it’s any consolation, I think he’s suffering now.”
She nodded. “I think so, too.”
“And Martha?”
“I don’t think she left for that reason, but it must have been a factor.” She urged the mare to a canter and was surprised when he did not immediately match her pace.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw his head cocked, as though listening intently, and then he urged his horse on and caught up with her a few moments later.
“Someone is behind us.”
“Robbers?” she asked uneasily.
“Impossible to tell. How far until we leave the Margate road?
“Not far, three, maybe four miles.”
“Then let’s hurry and see if we lose them when we turn off for Cliffstone.”
In their haste, they almost missed the fork in the road. There was no sign to guide them, so Meg had to haul on the reins at the last moment, and Harry swerved after her. In a little, they slowed, and, hearing no sign of pursuit, they dismounted to rest the horses.
Letting them crop the greenery and brambles at the side of the road, they walked up and down to ease their legs. Meg was glad to notice that Harry’s limp was not more pronounced than usual.
“Another hour, and we should be there,” she said comfortably.
“Won’t your nurse mind being wakened in the middle of the night?”
“Not by me,” Meg said simply. “And certainly not if Martha is there, too.”
“Will you bring her back with you?”
“If I can. She took a horse with her, so I imagine she can ride it back.”
“If riding is advisable for her.”
Meg glanced at him quickly, searching his face.
“Is she not with child?” he asked gently.
“Drat you, Harry!” she exclaimed. “Do you know all my secrets? All Martha’s? How did you guess?”
“I saw you realize it.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” she said ruefully. “I don’t know that I have realized anything. I have to be sure.” She turned away from him, staring blindly toward the horses. “I should never have left her alone.”
He touched her shoulder. “The closeness of childhood does not survive.”
“Never?” She glanced at him, suddenly very aware of his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps it just grows and changes.”
His eyes searched hers. “Are we still talking about Martha?”
She smiled, and just because she wanted to, brushed her cheek against the back of his hand. The involuntary tightening of his fingers, the sudden catch of his breath, felt like a triumph, so overwhelming that she immediately slipped away from him, back toward the horses.
You would be foolish to let him slip away into someone else’s arms… The truth of Aline Garrow’s words battered at her, along with a greater truth she could not think of or even acknowledge right now.
But Harry’s betraying breath, Harry’s kiss the night Johnny had arrived… Excitement swept her up, refusing to let her be still. She paced herself to gradual calmness, but even then, that excitement remained, barely below the surface, his familiar name echoing around her mind with wonder.
Harry.
Physical awareness of him devastated her. Whether he leaned against the hedge watching her in the lantern’s glow or boosted her into the saddle, handing her the reins with a brush of his warm, rough fingers…
But this was for later. Tonight was for Martha.
They talked less for the last part of the journey. And what they did discuss were practical matters, such as exactly where Nurse’s cottage was and where the horses could be left. Of whoever had been behind them, whether robber or innocent traveler, there was no sign.
The salty tang of the sea grew stronger as they entered the fishing village of Cliffstone. The clop of their horses’ hooves echoed around the dark, sleeping village. Even the sea was quiet on such a still night. Meg led the way to the seafront and then left past the little harbor and along the coast out to Nurse’s solitary cottage some hundred yards or so beyond the village edge.
Meg dismounted quickly before Harry could help her and led the mare up the grass lane by the side of the cottage. Nurse’s garden was separated from a patch of hedged common ground by a neat fence with a gate.
A horse whinnied, and both their mounts answered, moving instinctively toward the horse they recognized—Martha’s favorite.
“She’s here,” Meg whispered in relief.
“Give me the mare. I’ll look after them both. How long should I give you?”
“It must be three o’clock already. Maybe two hours to give the horses time to recover.”
“I’ll be back by then.”
“Where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
“You can come inside, you know. Nurse won’t mind.”
“You and Martha will do better alone. Go.”
She hesitated only a moment, for, in truth, her need to be with her sister was suddenly overwhelming. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered and flitted through the gate to the little vegetable garden and the back door of the cottage.
She had to rap several times. But eventually, a faint light appeared in the upper window. She heard the swish and thud of footsteps within and the creak of a bolt being drawn back.
She expected it to open a wary crack and already had her reassuring words ready for Nurse. But before she could open her mouth to speak them, the door was flung wide.
Martha stood there in her night rail, clutching an oil lamp in one hand. With the other, she reached out and seized Meg’s arm, hauling her inside and bolting the door.
“I knew it was you. You haven’t brought the rest of them down on me, have you?”
“Of course, I haven’t,” Meg replied indignantly.
“Someone else is out there,” Martha said suspiciously. “I heard you talking. If you’ve brought Calvert—”
“It’s Harry. And he’s only here because he saw me leave and followed me.”
“Bless my soul!” came another much more wavery voice behind them as Nurse waddled into the kitchen. She wore her best, warm dressing gown—a gift from Meg and Martha when she had retired—with a nightcap askew on her white locks. “I have both of you again!”
Meg went to her at once, hugging her.
The old woman’s embrace was fierce and affectionate. She even had to dash the back of her hand across her eyes and resorted to scolding. “Only you would knock on my door in the middle of the night, Meg Winter! What do you mean by gallivanting about the country in the dark? Who is with you? Where are you supposed to be?”
“I’m supposed to be at Calvert Court. Harry de Vere is with me, and I came to see you, of course.”
“In the middle of the night,” Nurse repeated. “Go into the parlor. I’ll bring you some hot chocolate.”
“Why are you at Calvert Court?” Martha demanded as they obeyed her, walking through to the little parlor, where she began to light a branch of candles. “I thought you were going abroad with the princess.”
“She took someone else. There was a bit of a scandal, so I came to you only to find you were in the midst of your own scandal.”
Martha’s lips curled. “Am I?”
“Well, you would be if Calvert hadn’t talked me into being you.”
“I doubt it makes much difference to him,” Martha observed.
Meg peered at her as she set down the candles on the table and flopped into the nearest chair. “You do remember you’re having a party? Your house is full of guests for the next ten days, and my nerves are in tatters trying to play both of us.”
That caused the flicker of a smile. “Are you? You shouldn’t pander to him, you know. And yes, I do speak from experience. I have been the chief panderer.”
Meg went to her, leaning against the worn arm of the chair next to her. “Is that why you’re hiding here?”
Martha appeared to consider. “Partly, perhaps, but it’s more about me than about him.” Her eyes refocused on Meg’s face. “Is it fun?”
“In parts,” she admitted. “But I needed to know what I felt was true.”
“I wondered if you would know. I wondered if you would care.”
“That you are with child? Of course I care! That is…huge!”
Martha’s eyes softened. Her hand smoothed across her belly. “Oh, Meg, it is. After almost five years. I thought I was barren and then… I was about to tell Selwyn when I had a letter telling me he had been seen with an old mistress. He’d told me months ago he would have nothing more to do with her, that he would be faithful. Only, he clearly wasn’t, even while he scolded me for encouraging Cedric Ives. I needed to get away from him. From everything that would spoil this.” She touched her belly again.
“What will you do?” Meg asked. “You can’t stay with Nurse forever. Someone will find you eventually, even if you can persuade Nurse herself to keep silent.”
“I know. I haven’t decided yet.”
Nurse bustled in. She gave them each a big cup of hot chocolate and sat down in the corner. She took out some mending, although the light was much too poor to work by.
Martha said dreamily, “It would be simple to live apart from him. Even in the same house, if I no longer cared.”
“Do you?” Meg asked bluntly.
“I don’t know that either.” She shifted restlessly. “Is he angry?”
“He was at first, I think. Now he’s worried sick, beginning to realize what he’s lost and why. Isn’t that what you wanted when you left?”
Martha grimaced. “I think I had already got beyond that. I won’t cause a scandal, but I can’t go back to him, not as we were.”
“You can’t keep the babe from his father,” Nurse interjected. “Even if it were right, the law wouldn’t let you. You’ll end up losing them both if you’re not careful.”
Martha waved that aside. “Now that the war is over, I could go abroad where he’d never find me.”
“It would be an adventure,” Meg said doubtfully. Who would look after her wayward sister in such circumstances? Perhaps if Meg went with her.
“Don’t talk foolish,” Nurse commanded.
“Would you tell him?” Martha asked Meg. “Did you tell him?”
“Of course, I did not,” Meg said impatiently. “My plan is to be back before anyone knows I’ve gone. I can at least think, now I know you’re safe.”
Martha regarded her in slightly moody silence. Then she said abruptly, “What was your scandal?”
Meg told her. It all felt very distant now, and she made them both laugh as she described hiding from the orgy in the Princess of Wales’s house, and then, discovering the house was empty, climbing over the snoring bodies on the stairs.
Then Martha sobered. “But that isn’t funny, Meg. That ruins you.”
“Which is why I came to you, to pretend I’d been with you for days already. It seemed more sensible than Papa’s solution, which was to marry me to Harry!”
Martha stared. “But that would have been the perfect solution! You have been friends forever.”
“I don’t want to ruin a friendship,” Meg said quickly. “And what’s more, neither does Harry.”
“Then he has changed his tune.”
“Haven’t we all in six years?” Meg retorted.
Martha thought about that quite seriously, then nodded. “I feel grown-up,” she pronounced at last. “I have a child to look after. It makes all the who loves whom, and who’s talking to whom, so trivial.”
“Grown-ups stay with their husbands,” Nurse said austerely.
Martha waved that aside and drank her chocolate.
“You could,” Meg suggested, “come home for the masked ball. I can’t help feeling it’s more grown-up to actually explain things to your husband than just run away from him.”
“That,” Martha said flatly, “is because you’ve never had a husband.”
Chapter Twelve
It had always been Meg.
Even when he had told himself he had outgrown his calf-love, that she was merely another sister to him. Even when he had been with other women and not consciously thought of her for weeks or months at a time, she had been in his heart. A fun, bittersweet childhood memory that could still make him laugh.
He hadn’t expected to fall in love with her all over again, not now that they were both grown up and had grown apart. And yet here he was, brushing down her horse, covering it with a blanket, and tethering it near the water trough with his own. Martha’s horse strolled over to renew its acquaintance with them.
Harry retreated to the beach and walked into the village. The tide was in, forcing him to clamber over rocks, before he decided to sit on one and gaze out to the dark sea, thinking of Meg. Of her ruin, which would no doubt cause her to reject him again, even as he knew he was winning her.
So involved was he with his intense thoughts that he grew uncharacteristically careless. The slow clop of hooves on the road were far too close before he realized they were there and hastily dropped off his rock to hide.
