Lyons Gate

CHAPTER 16

“ Everett! Don’t eat that nail!”

Three adults and Martha ran toward the little boy, but his mother was the fastest. Corrie whipped him up in her arms, pulled the nail out of his hand, spit on her handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “No, no, no!” she yelled in his face and shook him for good measure.

Everett stared at his mother, screwed up his face, threw back his head and yowled.

His twin, Douglas, grabbed his mother’s skirt and yanked hard. Corrie, both hands trying to hold Everett still, crooned down to Douglas, “Just a moment, baby, just another moment, and Mama will pick you up too.”

Everett ’s voice went up another octave. Douglas screwed up his face, opened his mouth and matched his twin’s volume. Martha patted their hands. “Heavenly groats, my lady, me own little brother niv-never-made so much racket as these little nits.”

Jason called out, “Who wants to waltz with me?”

There was an instant of complete silence, then, “I do!”

“I do!”

“Me first, Uncle Jason!”

Everett was trying to pull away from his mother and Douglas was jumping up and down, now pulling on Jason’s dirty pant leg.

Jason, laughing, picked up Douglas and gathered Everett to his other side, and called out, “I need some music, please.”

Hallie, who’d come running out of the house at Everett ’s yells, didn’t hesitate. She started singing one of Duchess Wyndham’s ditties, written some twenty years before and still a favorite in the king’s navy. She sang it in three-quarter time to a popular waltz tune so the words fit the rhythm of a waltz, for the most part, making anyone listening laugh his head off.

Jason whirled and dipped and glided. The twins laughed and shrieked. Every adult within one hundred feet stopped working to watch, and listen.

“ ’E ain’t the man to shout ‘Please, my dear!’

’E’s only a lout who shouts ‘Bring me a beer!’

’E’s a bonny man wit’ a bonny lass

Who troves ’im a tippler right on ’is ass.

And to hove and to trove we go, my boys,

We’ll shout as we please till ship’s ahoy!”

Three of the workers knew the ditty and began singing along with Hallie. They were all swaying, then Mackie, a bricklayer, yelled to one of the women, “Meg, come dance wit’ me!”

Soon there were at least four couples waltzing, Martha herself doing very well with young Thomas the blacksmith’s son, who had just celebrated his tenth birthday. Alex heard her say, “She’s my mistress, she is. Jest listen to those beautiful pipes inside her purty self.”

The dowager countess, Lady Lydia, hummed and swayed in her chair, in blessed shade beside the front door, Angela Tewksbury at her side, laughing, trying to clap her hands in three-quarter waltz time.

Hollis stood in the doorway smiling benignly, foot tapping. He caught Jason’s eye and pointed to the platter and formed the words lemonade, biscuits. Jason whispered in Everett ’s ear, then in Douglas ’s. To his astonishment, both little boys grabbed him around the neck and yelled,

“Dance!”

“Dance!”

It required another full rendition of the sailor’s song before the twins decided they wanted lemonade, all because Hollis was drinking a big glass, letting a dribble run down his chin, not three feet from them.

Soon they were seated on a blanket in the shade next to Lady Lydia and Mrs. Tewksbury, a plate of cakes and biscuits on the blanket between them. They were jabbering in twin talk, each trying to grab the most cakes.

“Give me water, Hollis,” Jason said, breathing hard. “Merciful heavens those two have more energy than Eliza Dickers. I don’t think even she wore me out as much as those two.”

One of his father’s eyebrows kicked up. “A Baltimore belle?”

Hallie sneered, her expression condemning as a nun’s. “Ah, yes, my lord. I understand that Jason’s belle, Eliza Dickers, could perhaps be considered something of a virtuous widow, once upon a time, before your son’s arrival to Baltimore.”

Jason stiffened straight as the new fence poles he’d hammered into the ground only an hour before. He gave her a look to curdle butter and a voice to freeze the outskirts of Hell. “Eliza Dickers is a lady who is one of Jessie Wyndham’s best friends. She, unlike you, Miss Carrick, is an adult. She hurts no one, either with actions or words.”

He turned on his heel and walked back to his brother.

Hallie stared after him. “Oh dear.”

Douglas said, “Why do you dislike my son so, Miss Carrick?”

“Oh dear,” Hallie said again. “I didn’t mean-truly I didn’t, it’s just that I’m-”

“You’re still furious with him because he owns half of Lyon ’s Gate?”

“No,” she said, staring at Jason whilst he spoke to his mother now, his hand on her sleeve.

“Ah,” said Douglas ’s father, and smiled at her.

Hallie stilled. “I don’t like what you’re thinking, sir, even though I don’t know what it is, and I don’t ever want to know what it is.”

She watched Jason raise a glass of water and down the entire glass, his strong throat working. His shirt, open halfway down his chest, was sweated through and clinging to him. The hair on his chest was dirty and shiny as well with sweat, which she wasn’t going to think about.

If Douglas wasn’t mistaken, and he never was about things like this, Hallie Carrick was staring at his son with a rather alarmed expression on her face. He would wager a bundle of groats that she’d been jealous. Yes, she’d given a display of nice, raw jealousy, as low and human as could be. It was difficult to see another side to her, Douglas thought, a charmingly human side, since he’d wanted to strangle her for so long.

He watched Jason toss his glass to one of the workers standing near Hollis. Douglas said to Hallie, “Your voice is good and strong. Do you know that Duchess Wyndham is James Wyndham’s cousin-in-law?”

“Oh yes, she’s very famous in Baltimore. I believe Wilhelmina Wyndham quite hates her, although she hates a goodly number of people so that’s no particular distinction.”

“I can’t believe you made that ditty fit waltz time, sort of. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir. I suppose it’s time for me to get back to hanging the new bedchamber draperies.”

Douglas watched her walk into the house, her eyes on her shoes, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, her shoulders a bit slumped.

James came up behind his brother, his arms folded over his own sweaty shirt. “Hallie hasn’t worn breeches since that very first time we met her.”

Jason, no hesitation at all, laughed. “I’m not about to say anything. She’d strip off her gown and pull on breeches just to spite me. Blessed hell, it’s hotter now than it was a minute ago.”

James took a glass of water from one of the workers, took a sip, then dumped the rest of the glass over his twin’s head. “Better?”

Jason yelled, then groaned in pleasure. “Much better. Why don’t we swim later?”

“You’ll freeze your parts off,” said their father.

“I can’t wait,” Jason said. He heard an ancient cackle and looked over at his grandmother, sitting close to Mrs. Tewksbury, an elderly lady herself, but not by any means an octogenarian. She couldn’t be older than seventy. She had white hair threaded with soft brown strands, a sweet round face with few lines. She seemed utterly unflappable, and the greatest shock of all-his grandmother seemed to like her immensely. Not five minutes after they’d met, Jason heard them yelling at each other in the drawing room. He’d never heard a single person yell back at his grandmother before. He was nailed to the spot.

His grandmother sailed out of the drawing room some minutes later, saw him standing there, and gave him a sweet smile. He’d hugged her to him. “You don’t like Mrs. Tewksbury, Grandmother?”

She eased back from him and patted his cheek. “Angela? I do believe she’s got a nice wit, my boy. You may call Horace. I wish to go home now and speak to Cook. Angela’s coming to dinner.”

James’s voice brought him back. “I like Angela. You never know what’s going to come out of her mouth. I do believe she fascinates Grandmother, and vice versa.”

“It is a miracle,” said their mother, hugging both of them even though Jason was wet and dirty, James only dirty. She stepped back and raised her face to the sky, her eyes closed, her lips moving.

“Mother, what are you doing?”

“Ah, James, I’m praying this miracle doesn’t disappear with the arrival of nightfall.”

Douglas said, “If the miracle fades away, I’ll do my best to cheer you up tonight.”

His boys looked at each other, then down at their boots, not a word coming out of their mouths.

That evening, after dinner, the weather continued warm, a sickle moon hanging high in the sky. Jason walked into the east garden where all the naked male and female statues cavorted in timeless pleasure. Strangely enough, he was thinking of the last race he’d run against Jessie Wyndham. He’d been on Dodger, she on Rialto ’s son, Balthazar. Dodger’s head was down, he was dead serious, focused on the finish line in the distance. With not more than twenty feet to go, Jason turned to look over his shoulder to see exactly where Balthazar was. His heart fell to his boots. Jessie wasn’t on his back. Oh God, she’d fallen. Jason, terrified she was hurt or even dead, immediately wheeled Dodger about only to hear Jessie laugh. Laugh? He watched numbly as she hoisted herself back straight in the saddle, dug her heels into Balthazar’s sleek sides and galloped past him, over the finish line a moment later. She whipped a rearing Balthazar around and called out between shouts of laughter, “Jason, I’m sorry to do that to you, but Balthazar can’t bear to lose a race. He stops eating. Once he nearly died he was so distressed over a loss at the McFarly racetrack. I had to do something.”

And Jason said mildly, “It’s no problem at all, Jessie. That was an excellent trick.”

“I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. I’ve never had to fling myself sideways with you before. I’m surprised James didn’t warn you.”

“No, James never said a thing.”

“I wonder why the children kept mum.”

“There was no reason for anyone to warn me since I’ve never before beaten you in a race.”

She’d given him a fat smile and nodded, recognition that if she hadn’t done him dirty, he would have won. When she dismounted, praising Balthazar, Jason rode up to her, smiling, and let Dodger at him. He bit Balthazar’s flank, hard. Dodger hadn’t been as philosophical about the dirty trick.

He was smiling absently as he looked up at Corrie’s favorite statue, a kneeling man frozen for all eternity between a woman’s legs.

He turned quickly when he heard a gasp. “Hallie. You found your way in here.” She didn’t look at him, only stared around at the various statues.

Jason said, “There are fifteen statues. Each, I suppose you could say, with a different approach to the theme. I believe it was my great-grandfather who brought them back from Greece.”

She didn’t say a single word. Her eyes did not waver.

He pointed up at the statue. “Most women prefer this one, once they are married, but only if their husbands aren’t clods.”

She looked more closely and blanched. “Oh dear, what is he doing?” Her voice shook, but she didn’t look away from the statues. Jason said, his hand on her arm, “Come along.” When she still didn’t move, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away. He left the east gardens, still pulling her back toward the glass doors that opened into his father’s-no, James’s-estate room.

“No, no, please, Jason, please, let’s not go in yet.”

“You shouldn’t be looking at those statues. You’re too young and too ignorant.” He said nothing more, merely looked down at her, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched her tongue rub over her bottom lip.

“I’m not young nor am I particularly ignorant, but I will be honest here. It was difficult to break myself away.”

“You’d still be there, staring up, your mouth open, if I hadn’t dragged you away.”

“Probably true. Please, don’t go in yet. I wanted to talk to you, and it’s not about the statues.”

A elegant brow went up.

She was scuffing her slipper against a small rock.

Finally, after the silence dragged out, he sighed. “Spit it out, Miss Carrick.”

Her head came up and she said, all stiff and cold, “Please don’t call me Miss Carrick in that awful formal voice again. You’ve called me Hallie for a good week now.”

“Ah, the princess gives a direct order.”

She wrung her hands. “No, I didn’t mean that, truly, I only meant that when you speak in that tone it makes me feel lower than a slug. I hate it when you use my last name like you despise me so much you don’t even want to acknowledge Hallie.”

Jason leaned back against a sessile oak tree older than his grandmother, arms folded over his chest, and waited.

“I wanted to talk to you-All right, I really wanted to apologize. I was wrong to speak like that about Mrs. Dickers. It was such a shock to know that you and she-”

“You’re ruining it, Miss Carrick.”

Hallie sucked in her breath. “You can freeze someone with that voice.”

“Yes. I learned it from my father. James as well.”

“Don’t you see? She’s so much older than I am, and I simply couldn’t imagine you and she were, well-”

“This is getting better and better. How long do you plan to make excuses for yourself?”

She took a step toward him, reached out her hand, then dropped it again at her side. “We’re going to have to live together, Jason. I can’t live with you freezing me like this, like you’re still angry, perhaps still disgusted with me. Oh, very well, I’ll spit it out like you want. No more excuses. What I said was mean, it was petty, I’m a horrible person. Are you content now?”

“Hmm,” he said, turned on his heel, opened the door to the estate room and disappeared inside. She stared after him, angry that he’d walked away and wanting to fall to her knees and beg him to forgive her.

Jason turned back to see her still standing where he’d left her, her face pale in the moonlight. He called out, “If I were a man who wished to marry, something I will never wish to do again in this lifetime, I would be strongly inclined toward Eliza Dickers. She is warm and kind and very funny.” He didn’t look back again.

And she wasn’t.

Well, all right, so perhaps she wasn’t warm and kind and funny all the time. She doubted strongly that Eliza Dickers was either. How could one be all those good things all the time? Surely even Mrs. Dickers had moments of pettiness. A pity her husband was dead, or he could be consulted. Surely she’d occasionally called him a bonehead or a fleabrain.

Hallie turned and walked back to the east gardens. It took her a while to find the entrance even though she’d already been in there. She supposed it made sense to keep these awesome statues well hidden. She wondered at what age James and Jason had found them. She stood in front of the married woman’s favorite statue-if the husband wasn’t a clod-whatever that meant.

The fact was, she was a jealous bitch. She shook her head. No, she wasn’t jealous, that was ridiculous, she was simply a bitch, no jealousy involved. She had imagined he’d bedded every woman he’d wanted to in Baltimore, that Eliza Dickers had been one of many. But maybe there hadn’t been a long line of women, and that he, like a sultan, had to merely crook a finger to the one he wanted for the night. Maybe she’d been wrong about him, and he only shared himself with Eliza Dickers. He was certainly fond of her. But the fact of it was, he was so beautiful, so finely fashioned, she couldn’t imagine him not taking what was offered. After all, he was a man, and her stepmother, Genny, had told her candidly that every man Hallie met would think of little else other than bedding her, that it was simply the way of the species, and that they couldn’t help themselves. But Jason, he’d never shown any lecherous tendencies around her, and how could that be? Surely she was pretty enough to warrant at least one interested look, wasn’t she? Perhaps he was simply very good at hiding what apparently all men wanted.

“You’re a fool, my girl,” she said, looking up at the woman lying on her back, her mouth open on some sort of scream. Why was she screaming? Was the man hurting her? A woman would willingly allow her husband to embarrass and hurt her?

She continued to study the statue. The man’s mouth was where she couldn’t imagine a man’s mouth being anywhere near, particularly not all settled in like he appeared to be.

Well, no matter. Jason Sherbrooke never wanted to marry. That was good. That was fine with her because she didn’t want to marry either, ever.

She ran back to the Hall, aware that she was feeling warm, but not all over. No, not all over at all.

She found Martha curled up in her chair, sound asleep. She’d told her to go to bed, but naturally she hadn’t. Hallie led Martha into the dressing room where she slept, took off her shoes and covered her. She’d worked as hard as any of the women, jumping around, exclaiming over this and that, happy as a lark.

Hallie wondered, as she lay in bed that night, exactly what had happened to Jason five years before.