Rendezvous

9

Augusta stared at Harry in shocked silence. "I do not understand, my lord," she finally managed to say. "I—indeed, everyone—was under the impression your first wife was a most admirable female."

"I am aware of that. I saw no reason to disabuse the world of its opinion. Prior to the marriage I, too, believed Catherine to be a model of female propriety." Harry's mouth curved bitterly. "You may be certain she was careful to allow nothing more than a few chaste kisses during our engagement. I, of course, mistook her lack of warmth for true virtue."

"I see." Augusta blushed hotly as she recalled how much she had allowed Harry before the wedding.

"It was not until I found her as cold on our wedding night as she had been during the engagement that I finally realized she did not have any affection for me at all. I also strongly suspected there had been someone else. When I confronted her she broke down in tears and explained that she did indeed love another and had given herself to him when she discovered she would be obliged to marry me."

"Why was she obliged to wed you, sir?"

"The usual practical reasons, namely my title and my fortune. Catherine's parents insisted on the match and she agreed to it. Her lover was quite penniless and Catherine was not so lost to common sense as to actually run off with him."

"How very sad. For both of you."

"You may well believe I wished she had run off with the bastard. I would gladly have paid him to take her away if I'd known my own fate. But what was done, was done." Harry shrugged. "She told me she regretted everything but that she would endeavor to be a good wife to me. I believed her. Hell, I wanted to believe her."

"And it would not have been right for you to hold her lack of virginity against her," Augusta said, frowning seriously. "Unless you yourself were, uh, untouched?"

Harry quirked a brow and did not respond to that comment. "In any event, there was little I could do about the situation except make the best of it."

"I understand. Marriage is so very permanent," Augusta murmured.

"I believe Catherine and I could have made a go of it if Catherine had not lied to me right from the start. Dishonesty is something I cannot forgive or condone."

"No, I can see where it would be very difficult for you to make allowances for a woman or anyone else who lied. You are very severe about some things, my lord."

He eyed her sharply. "Catherine, as it happens, had no intention of ever trying to be a true wife. The best I can say for her was that at least she was not carrying her lover's babe when she came to me. She did, however, become pregnant on our wedding night and was extremely angry about the fact. Apparently her lover lost interest in her as she grew big with my child. To keep him bound to her she began giving him money."

"Harry. How awful. Did you not notice that she was doing so?"

"Not for quite some time. Catherine could be extraordinarily convincing. Whenever she came to me for more money, she would tell me she needed the funds to further her charity work. Which was not precisely a lie, I suppose, when you think about it. Her lover was entirely without means and quite dependent on her largesse."

"Oh, dear."

"I have let the rumor stand that she died of the fever after giving birth to Meredith," Harry said without inflection. "The truth is, she was recovering quite nicely when she learned her lover was seeing someone else. She rose from childbed too soon and slipped away to confront him. When she came home she was distraught. She had also caught a chill that settled in her lungs. She went back to bed and never recovered. Toward the end she was out of her mind and she began calling for her paramour."

"That was how you discovered who he was?"

"Yes."

"What happened to him?" Augusta demanded, a sense of foreboding closing in on her.

"Cut off from his only means of reliable financial support, he was obliged to join the army. Quite soon thereafter he managed to die a hero's death on the peninsula."

"How dreadfully ironic. No one knows about all this?"

"I have kept my own counsel until now. You are the only other person I have ever told and I fully expect you to keep equally silent on the subject."

"Yes, of course," Augusta said weakly, thinking of how badly Harry's honor must have been savaged. "After such a disastrous experience, 'tis no wonder you are so concerned with the proprieties, my lord."

"It is not only my own pride that concerns me," Harry said bluntly. "I wish to maintain the fiction of Catherine's perfection for Meredith's sake. A child needs to be able to respect the memory of her parents. Meredith is nine years old and as far as she is concerned, Catherine was a loving mother and a virtuous wife."

"I comprehend completely. You need not worry that I will alter her impression of her mother."

Harry smiled faintly. "No, you would not do any such thing. You are very kind and very loyal to those for whom you feel affection, are you not? 'Tis one of the reasons I married you. I am hoping you will come to care for my daughter."

"I am certain I shall." Augusta looked down at her gloved fingers, which were laced on her lap. "I just hope she will learn to love me."

"She is an obedient child. She will do as she is told. She knows you are to be her new mother and she will show you every respect."

"Respect is not the same as love, my lord. One can force a certain amount of respect and good manners from a child, but one cannot force love from anyone, can one?" She slanted him a meaningful glance. "Not even from a wife or a husband."

"I will settle for respect and good manners from both my child and my wife," Harry said. "In addition, I shall expect loyalty from my wife. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, of course." Augusta went back to plucking at the braid trim on her gown. "But I have tried to tell you from the beginning, my lord, that I cannot promise to be a model of perfection."

He smiled gravely. "No one is perfect."

"I am very glad you realize that."

"I will, however, expect you to make a few earnest efforts in that general direction," Harry added, his voice quite dry.

Augusta looked up quickly. "Are you teasing me, sir?"

"Good Lord, no, Augusta. I am a dull, prosing scholar entirely lacking in the sort of lightness of spirit that would inspire me to any levity."

Augusta scowled. "You are teasing me. Harry, I must ask you something."

"Yes?"

"You say you cannot abide deceit in a wife, but I myself have not always been completely straightforward with you. I did not tell you about that stupid gaming debt I owed to Lovejoy, for example."

"That was not a matter of deliberate deceit. You were simply acting in your customary reckless fashion, carrying the standard of Northumberland Ballinger honor, and you quite naturally got into trouble."

"Quite naturally? Now see here, Harry—"

"If you have an ounce of common sense, madam, you will refrain from reminding me of the incident. I am trying to put it out of my head."

"It is going to be difficult to do that, sir, considering the fact that the 'incident, as you call it, led directly to your being obliged to marry me out of hand this morning."

"I would have married you sooner or later, Augusta. I told you that."

She looked at him, perplexed. "But, why, my lord? I still do not completely comprehend why you settled on me when there were so many other more suitable candidates on your list."

Harry eyed her consideringly for a long moment. "Contrary to everyone's opinion, impeccable manners and perfection of behavior were not my chief requirements in a wife."

Augusta 's eyes widened in surprise. "They were not?"

"Catherine's manners and deportment were exemplary, as it happens. Just ask anyone who knew her."

Augusta frowned. "Then, if it was not perfection of manners and behavior, what precisely were you looking for in a wife?"

"You said it yourself that night I found you sneaking about in Enfield's library. All I wanted was a truly virtuous woman."

"Yes, I know. But surely for someone such as yourself, female virtue goes hand in hand with a sound knowledge and respect for the proprieties."

"Not necessarily, although I will admit it would be convenient if it did." Harry looked rueful. "As far as I am concerned, virtue in a woman is based solely on her capacity to be loyal. From all I have observed, while you are unfortunately inclined to be impetuous and headstrong, you are also a very loyal young female. Probably the most loyal one I have ever encountered."

"Me?" Augusta was startled at the observation.

"Yes, you. It has not escaped my notice that you have demonstrated great loyalty toward your friends, such as Sally, and the memories of the Northumberland Ballingers."

"Rather like a spaniel, I imagine."

He smiled at her disgruntled tone. "I happen to like spaniels."

She lifted her chin, anger flaring in her. "Loyalty, my lord, is like love, at least as far as I am concerned. You cannot purchase it with a wedding ring."

"On the contrary. I did precisely that a few hours ago," he said quietly. "You would do well to remember that, Augusta. I am not concerned with the emotion you call love. But I shall expect the same degree of respect and loyalty from you that you give to the other members of your family, past and present."

Augusta drew herself up proudly. "And am I to have the same in return?"

"You may depend upon it. I shall do my duty as a husband by you." His eyes gleamed with sensual promise.

She narrowed her eyes, refusing to be drawn by the hint of teasing warmth. "Very well, my lord, loyalty it shall be. But that is all it shall be until I choose otherwise."

"What the devil is that cryptic statement supposed to mean, Augusta?"

She turned her head to gaze resolutely out the window. "Merely that as long as you do not value love, I will not provide you with any." She would force him to realize that there had to be more to this marriage than a cold exchange of loyalties, she told herself fiercely.

"You must suit yourself," Harry replied with a shrug.

She shot him a swift, sidelong glance. "You do not mind that I do not plan to love you?"

"Not as long as you fulfill your responsibilities as my wife."

Augusta shivered. "You are very cold, my lord. I had not realized. Indeed, based upon certain recent actions of yours, I had begun to hope you might be as reckless and hot-blooded as any Northumberland Ballinger."

"No one is as reckless and hot-blooded as a Northumberland Ballinger," Harry said. "Least of all myself."

"Pity." Augusta reached into her reticule and drew out the book she had brought along to read on the journey. She opened it on her lap and gazed pointedly down at the page.

"What is that you are reading?" Harry inquired softly.

"Your newest, my lord." She did not deign to look up. "Observations on Livy's History of Rome."

"Rather dull fare for you, I should imagine."

"Not at all, my lord. I have read some of your other books and I find them quite interesting."

"You do?"

"Why, yes. If one overlooks the obvious flaw in all of them, that is," she concluded smoothly.

"Flaw? What flaw is that, pray tell?" Harry was clearly outraged. "And who are you to point it out, may I ask? You are hardly a student of the classics, madam."

"One does not have to be a classical scholar to notice the persistent flaw in your work, my lord."

"Is that so? Why don't you tell me just what that flaw is, then, my dear?" he ground out.

Augusta raised her brows and looked straight at him. She smiled sweetly. "The chief irritation I feel in reading your historical research, sir, is that, in every single one of your volumes, you have contrived to ignore the role and contribution of females

"Females?" Harry gave her a blank look. He recovered at once. "Females do not make history."

"I have decided one gams that impression chiefly because history is written by males, such as yourself," Augusta said. "For some reason male writers choose to pay no attention to female accomplishments. I noticed that particularly when I did research for the decor of Pompeia's. It was very difficult to find the information I needed."

"Good lord, I do not believe I am hearing this " Harry groaned. It was too much He was being taken to task by an overly emotional little baggage who read Scott and Byron. And then, in spite of himself, Harry started to smile "Something tells me you are going to be an interesting addition to my household, madam"

Graystone, the great house that reigned over Harry's Dorset estates, was as solid and forbidding as the man himself. It was an imposing structure of classical Palladian proportions that loomed above impeccably maintained gardens The last of the late afternoon sunlight was gleaming on the windows as the traveling coach rolled up the sweeping drive.

A flurry of activity erupted as the servants rushed out to handle the horses and greet their new lady.

Augusta gazed about eagerly as Harry assisted her down from the coach. This was to be her new home, she told herself over and over again For some reason she could not yet seem to fully comprehend the change that had taken place in her life that morning. She was now the Countess of Graystone. Harry's wife. These were her people.

She had a home of her own at last.

That thought was just sinking in when a small, dark-haired girl raced out of the open door and flew down the steps. She was dressed in a severely plain white muslin dress that did not boast a single flounce or ribbon.

"Papa. Papa, you are home. I am so glad."

Harry's expression softened into a smile of genuine affection as he bent down to greet his daughter. "I was wondering where you had got to, Meredith. Come and meet your new mother."

Augusta held her breath, wondering what sort of welcome she was about to receive. "Hello, Meredith. I am very pleased to meet you."

Meredith turned her head and looked at Augusta with intelligent, crystal gray eyes that could only have come from her father. She was a beautiful child, Augusta realized.

"You cannot be my mother," Meredith explained with unshakable logic. "My mother is in heaven."

"This is the lady who will take her place," Harry said firmly. "You must call her Mama."

Meredith studied Augusta carefully and then turned back to her father. "She is not as beautiful as Mama. I have seen the portrait in the gallery. Mama had golden hair and pretty blue eyes. I will not call this lady Mama."

Augusta 's heart sank, but she summoned a smile as she saw Harry start to scowl in response to that observation. "I am sure I am not nearly as pretty as your mother, Meredith. If she was as pretty as you, she must have been very beautiful indeed. But perhaps you will find other things about me that you will like. In the meantime, why don't you call me whatever you like? There is no need to call me Mama."

Harry frowned at her. "Meredith is to show you the proper respect and she will do so."

"I am certain she will." Augusta smiled at the little girl, who was suddenly looking quite stricken. "But there are lots of respectful things she can call me, are there not, Meredith?"

"Yes, madam." The child cast an uneasy glance at her father.

Harry's brows rose repressively. "She will call you Mama and that is that. Now, then, Meredith, where is your Aunt Clarissa?"

A tall, rawboned woman dressed in a soberly cut, unadorned dress fashioned of slate-colored material appeared at the top of the steps. "I am here, Graystone. Welcome home."

Clarissa Fleming descended the steps at a stately pace. She was a handsome woman in her mid-forties who carried herself with rigid dignity. She looked out on the world with remote, watchful gray eyes, as if fortifying herself for disappointment. Her graying hair was done up in a severe bun at the back of her head.

"Augusta, this is Miss Clarissa Fleming," Harry said, completing the introductions swiftly. "I believe I may have mentioned her. She is a relative who has done me the favor of becoming Meredith's governess."

"Yes, of course." Augusta managed another smile as she greeted the older woman, but inside she heaved an unhappy sigh. There was not going to be any welcoming warmth from this quarter, either.

"We received word of the wedding by messenger only this morning," Clarissa said pointedly. "A rather hasty business, was it not? We were under the impression the date was some four months hence."

"Circumstances changed abruptly," Harry said without offering either apology or explanation. He smiled his cool, remote smile. "I am aware this all comes as something of a surprise. Nevertheless, I am certain you will make my bride welcome, will you not, Clarissa?"

Clarissa's eyes were speculative as she surveyed Augusta. "But of course," she said. "If you will follow me I will show you to your bedchamber. I imagine you will want to refresh yourself after your journey."

"Thank you." Augusta glanced at Harry and saw that he was already busy issuing orders to his staff. Meredith was at his side, her small hand tucked in his. Neither of them paid any attention as Augusta was led away.

"We understand," Clarissa intoned as she started up the steps and into the vast marble hall, "that you are related to Lady Prudence Ballinger, the author of a number of useful schoolroom books for young ladies."

"Lady Prudence was my aunt."

"Ah, then you are one of the Hampshire Ballingers?" Clarissa asked with a touch of enthusiasm. "A fine family and one noted for its many intellectual members."

"Actually," Augusta said, tilting her chin proudly. "I am descended from a different branch of the family. The Northumberland side, to be precise."

"I see," said Clarissa. The hint of approval died in her eyes.

Much later that evening Harry sat alone in his bedchamber, a glass of brandy in one hand and a copy of Thucydides' The Peloponnesian War in the other. He had not read a word for quite some time. All he could think about was his new bride lying alone in her bed next door. There had been no sound from the adjoining chamber for some time now.

This was definitely not how he had envisioned spending his first night under his own roof with his new wife.

He took a sip of the brandy and tried to concentrate on the book. It was hopeless. He closed the volume with a sharp snap and tossed it onto the end table.

He had told himself during the journey that he was going to make a subtle point about his self-control to Augusta. Now he wondered if he was being a bit too subtle.

She had as good as thrown down the gauntlet when she had flung the fact of his reckless lovemaking in Sally's carriage in his face. As far as Harry was concerned, she had virtually challenged him to prove he was not a slave to his physical desire for her. He was not going to play Antony to her Cleopatra.

He could hardly blame Augusta for her assumptions, though. After the way he had seduced her in Sally's carriage, she had every right to conclude that he could not keep his hands off of her. No woman was above using that sort of power. And in the hands of a bold, daring little chit like Augusta, such power was exceedingly dangerous.

Harry had therefore decided it would be best to take a stand early on in his marriage and make it clear he was not lacking in self-control. Begin as you mean to go on, he had told himself.

Last night when they had stopped at an inn, he had booked a separate chamber for Augusta, making some excuse about her being more comfortable with her maid. The truth was, he had not trusted himself to spend his wedding night on his own side of the bed.

Tonight he had forced himself to bid his wife an excruciatingly polite good night at the door of her bedchamber. He had deliberately not given her any indication of his intentions. He wondered if she was lying awake even now, waiting to see if he would come to her.

The uncertainty would do her good, he told himself. The woman was decidedly too headstrong and far too quick to issue a challenge, as that whole damn business involving the debt to Lovejoy proved. She had gotten into that dangerous situation precisely because she had been trying to demonstrate to Harry that she was not obliged to bow to his wishes.

Harry got up from his chair and stalked across the chamber to pour himself another glass of brandy. He had been far too lenient with Augusta thus far; that was the problem. Too indulgent by half. She was, after all, one of the Northumberland Ballingers. She needed a firm hand on the reins. He owed it to their future happiness to restrain her reckless streak.

But the more he thought about it tonight, the more Harry wondered if he was taking the right tact by staying out of his wife's bedchamber.

He swallowed more brandy and contemplated the stirring heat in his loins.

There was another way of looking at his current situation, he decided on a flash of brandy-induced wisdom. If one were to be quite logical about this—and he did pride himself on his ability to think logically—one could see that he might do better to assert his privileges as a husband right from the start.

Yes, that reasoning was much more sound than his previous thoughts on the matter. It was not, after all, his self-control he needed to demonstrate, but rather his dominant role in the marriage. He was master in his own home.

Vastly more satisfied with this new line of logic, Harry set down his glass and went across the room to open his wife's door.

He stood in the doorway and gazed into the deep shadows around the bed. "Augusta?"

There was no response.

Harry walked into the bedchamber and realized there was no one in the canopied bed. "Damnation, Augusta, where are you?"

When there was still no response, he swung around and saw that the door to the bedchamber was ajar. His insides clenched as he realized she was not in the room.

What trick was she up to tonight? he wondered as he strode toward the door and let himself out into the hall. If this was another one of her efforts to lead him in circles until he was dizzy, he would put a stop to it in no uncertain terms.

He stepped out into the hall and saw the ghostly figure. Garbed in a pale dressing gown that floated out behind her, candle in hand, Augusta was heading for the long picture gallery that fronted the house. Curious now, Harry decided to follow the wraith.

As he trailed softly behind her, Harry was aware of a sense of relief. He knew then that a part of him had secretly feared she had packed a bag and run off into the night. He should have known better, he told himself. Augusta was not the sort to run from anything.

He followed her into the long gallery and stood watching at the far end as she went slowly along the row of portraits. She paused at each picture, holding the taper high to study each face in its heavy gilt frame. Moonlight filtering in through the tall windows that lined the front of the gallery bathed her in a silvery glow, making her appear more of a ghost than ever.

Harry waited until she was examining the picture of his father before he started forward.

"I have been told I resemble him very closely," he said quietly. "I have never found it much of a compliment."

"Harry." The flame flickered wildly as Augusta spun around, her hand at her throat. "Good grief. I did not know you were there. You gave me a terrible start."

"My apologies. What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, madam?"

"I was curious, my lord."

"About my ancestors?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Well, my lord, I was just lying there in my bed thinking that they will be my ancestors, too, now, will they not? And I realized I did not know much about any of them."

Harry folded his arms across his chest and propped one shoulder against the wall beneath his father's stern face. "If I were you, I would not be in too much of a rush to claim this lot. There's not a particularly pleasant soul among them, from all I've ever heard."

"What about your father? He looks very strong and noble." She peered up at the portrait.

"Perhaps he was when he sat for that painting. I only knew him as a bitter, angry man who was never able to deal with the feet that my mother ran off with an Italian count shortly after I was born."

"Good heavens. How terrible. What happened?"

"She died in Italy. My father locked himself in his library with several bottles for a week when he got the news. He drank himself into a stupor. When he came out, he refused to allow her name to be uttered in this house."

"I see." Augusta slanted him a searching glance. "The earls of Graystone have certainly had rather poor luck with women, have they not?"

Harry shrugged. "The various countesses of Graystone have been notorious for their lack of virtue. My grandmother had more affairs than anyone could count."

"Well, it is the fashion in Society, Harry. So many marriages are made for reasons of money and status rather than love that such things are no doubt bound to happen. People instinctively seek love, I believe. And when they do not find it in marriage, many go outside it."

"Do not even think of going outside our marriage for whatever you may feel you are missing in our alliance, Augusta."

She tossed her dark hair back over one shoulder and glowered at him. "Tell me honestly, my lord, were the various earls of Graystone any more virtuous than their countesses?"

"Probably not," Harry admitted, remembering his grandfather's string of passionate liaisons and his father's endless parade of expensive mistresses. "But one tends to notice a lack of virtue more in a woman than in a man, don't you think?"

Augusta was instantly outraged, just as he had guessed she would be. Harry watched the passionate light of battle leap into her eyes as she drew herself up for the skirmish. She held the taper in front of her as though it were a sword. The glow of the flame danced on her face, enhancing her high cheekbones and giving her an exotic allure.

She looked like a small Greek goddess, Harry thought. A young Athena garbed for war, perhaps. The thought made him smile with anticipation and the smoldering fire in his groin that had been plaguing him all evening suddenly burned hotter.

"What a perfectly odious thing to say," Augusta raged. "That is the sort of statement only an extremely arrogant, extremely obnoxious man would make. You should be ashamed of yourself, Graystone. I expected more even-handed logic and reason from you. You are supposed to be a classical scholar, after all. You will apologize for that silly, inane, totally unfair remark."

"Will I?"

"Most certainly."

"Perhaps I will do so. Later."

"Now," she retorted. "You will apologize now."

"I doubt if I will have sufficient breath left to say anything at all, let alone apologize, after I have carried you back to your bedchamber, madam."

He unfolded his arms and came away from the wall in a smooth, swift motion.

"Carried me back to my—Harry, what on earth do you think you are doing? Put me down at once."

She struggled briefly as he picked her up in his arms. But by the time he had carried her down the hall to her bedchamber and deposited her beneath the canopy, she was no longer putting up even a token resistance.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered in an aching voice. She put her arms around his neck as he came down beside her on the bed. "Are you going to make love to me?"

"Yes, my dear, I most certainly am. And this time," he told her softly, "I shall try to do a better job of it. I am going to turn you from Athena, the beautiful warrior, into Aphrodite, the goddess of passion."