“Why do you say that?”
“Crawley was a fool.”
“Was?” Augusta frowned.
“He died over a year ago. He was not only an idiot, he had some rather antiquated notions about the propriety of gathering military intelligence. He found that sort of task highly improper and far beneath the touch of a true gentleman. As a result, he knew very little about the process and would not have recognized a coded message if it had bitten him on the ass. Damn the man.”
Augusta set down her taper and rested her chin on her updrawn knees. “You think that poem is in code?”
“I think it very likely. I shall have to study it more in the morning.” Harry carefully refolded the paper.
“Even if it is a coded message, it might have been one Richard was carrying to an English agent, rather than a French agent.”
Harry put the poem on the nightstand. “The important thing is that it does not matter, Augusta. Not to us. I do not care what your brother was doing two years ago. I would never judge you by his actions. Do you believe me?”
She nodded slowly, her eyes locked with his. “I believe you.” She realized with a sense of relief that Harry would be scrupulously fair in that regard. His wife would not be held accountable for the actions of other members of her family.
“You are cold, Augusta. Come here and get back beneath the quilt.” Harry put out the candle flame and pulled Augusta into his arms.
She knew he lay awake for a long while as he held her in the darkness. She knew it because she was unable to sleep for a long time herself. The question of whether or not she had done the right thing by giving Harry the poem spun endlessly in her mind.
Shortly before dawn, Augusta stirred from an uneasy state that was midway between sleep and wakefulness. She did not turn her head on the pillow or open her eyes as she felt Harry steal softly out of bed.
She heard the faint crackle of paper as Harry picked up the bloodstained poem that lay on the nightstand. And then she heard the door to his bedchamber open and close quietly.
Augusta forced herself to stay in bed until there was a hint of light in the sky and then she, too, got out of bed and prepared for the long day ahead.
A glance out the window told Augusta that the new dawn had arrived beneath a dark, leaden canopy that promised rain.
Harry appeared briefly at the breakfast table, stayed just long enough to help himself to servings from the various egg and meat dishes on the sideboard, and then vanished into his library. He barely spoke a word to either Augusta or Meredith. His mood was one of intense preoccupation which the entire household appeared to take in its stride. It was obviously a mood everyone had witnessed on previous occasions.
“Papa gets like this when he is working on one of his manuscripts,” Meredith explained to Augusta. Her clear gray eyes were earnest as she gazed anxiously at her stepmother. “You must not think he is still angry with you.”
“I see.” Augusta smiled in spite of herself. “I shall bear that in mind.”
“Our guests will be arriving in three days’ time, will they not?” Meredith asked, her grave gaze betraying a hint of genuine excitement.
“They certainly will. And Miss Appley will no doubt be by this afternoon to finish fitting the last of your new dresses. Remind your aunt that lessons much be cut short today. We will all three be busy with the seamstress.”
“I will, Augusta.” Meredith got up from the table and hurried off to the schoolroom.
Alone in the breakfast room, Augusta sipped her coffee in silence. She went through the letters that had arrived earlier and then she read one of the London newspapers that had been delivered along with the post.
When she was finished she consulted with the butler and the housekeeper concerning the necessity of hiring extra staff for the house party.
The door to the library remained solidly shut all morning. Augusta’s eyes were drawn to it every time she went through the downstairs hall. The continued silence from within Harry’s sanctum grew intolerable. She could not stop herself from speculating on what he was concluding about Richard from the terrible poem.
When Augusta could stand it no longer she ordered her mare to be saddled and brought around. Then she went upstairs to change into her riding habit. When she returned to the front hall, the butler gave her a worried glance.
“It appears as though we might have rain later this afternoon, madam.”
“Perhaps.” Augusta smiled wanly. “Do not concern yourself, Steeples. A little rain will not hurt me.”
“Are you certain you do not wish a groom to accompany you, madam?” Every dour line in Steeples’s long face was turned down in an expression of deep concern. “I know his lordship would no doubt prefer you to ride with one.”
“No, I do not want a groom. This is the country, Steeples. We need not worry about the sort of problems a woman alone might encounter in Town. If anyone inquires, you may say I shall be back late this afternoon.”
Steeples inclined his head in a stiff, disapproving manner. “As you wish, madam.”
Augusta sighed as she went down the steps and mounted her horse. Even the butler was difficult to please here at Graystone.
She rode for nearly an hour beneath the ominous sky and felt her spirits begin to lift slightly. It was impossible to stay melancholy in the face of a gathering storm, Augusta decided. She raised her face to the brisk, snapping breeze and felt the first hints of rain. It refreshed and revitalized her as nothing else could have done on that dreary day.
Although she’d had plenty of warning, the first roll of thunder caught Augusta by surprise. She knew it was too late to get back to Graystone before the storm broke. When she spotted a tumbledown cottage in the distance, she headed for it at once. It was vacant.
Augusta found shelter for her mare in the small shed behind the cottage. Then she let herself into the single empty room and stood in the open doorway to watch the rain sweep over the landscape.
She was still standing there twenty minutes later when a horse and rider appeared from the heart of the storm. The stallion’s hoofbeats blended with a clap of thunder and lightning arced across the sky just as the beast was brought to a shuddering halt in front of the door.
Harry scowled down at her from atop the horse. His many-tiered greatcoat swirled around him like a black cloak. Rain dripped from his black beaver hat.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing out here in the middle of a storm, Augusta?” The stallion danced as more lightning crackled in the distance. Harry soothed the nervous animal with a gloved hand. “Good God, woman, you lack the common sense of a schoolgirl. Where is your horse?”
“Inside the shed at the back.”
“I shall see to my animal and join you in a moment. Do shut the door, madam. You are going to get soaked.”
“Yes, Harry.” Augusta’s muttered response was lost beneath the noise of the pounding rain.
A few minutes later the door promptly slammed open again and Harry strode into the room, dripping water onto the earthern floor. He was carrying kindling he must have found in the shed. He kicked the door shut behind himself, dropped the kindling on the hearth, and began removing his coat and hat.
“I trust you have an explanation for this nonsense?”
Augusta shrugged. She wrapped her arms around herself defensively, aware that the cottage seemed considerably smaller now that Harry was in it with her. “I was in the mood for a ride.”
“In weather like this?” Harry stripped off his gloves. He stamped his feet to get the water off his beautifully polished boots. “And why did you not take along a groom?”
“I did not feel the need of one. How did you find me, my lord?”
“Steeples had the presence of mind to note the direction in which you were headed when you left the house. I had little difficulty following you. A few of the tenants had noticed you as you went past their cottages and one of them remembered this place and suggested you might have taken shelte
r here. ’Tis the only vacant cottage for miles.”
“How very logical of you, my lord. As you can see I was perfectly safe at all times.”
“That is not the point, madam. Common sense or the lack of it is the point. Whatever possessed you to go riding on a day like this?” Harry went down on one knee in front of the hearth and with quick, practiced movements, began to build a fire. “If you have no thought of yourself, what about my daughter?”
That comment surprised Augusta. A small bubble of happiness rose in her. “Meredith was concerned?”
“Meredith does not know you are gone. She is still busy in the schoolroom.”
“Oh.” The tiny bubble of happiness collapsed in on itself.
“What I meant was, what sort of example do you think this kind of behavior sets for my daughter?”
“But if she does not even know I am gone, Harry, I cannot see a problem.”
“It is just chance she was not aware of your having left the house alone.”
“Yes, of course. I see what you mean.” Augusta felt some of her initial defiance crumple. “You are quite right, of course. I have set a very poor example. I shall very likely set more such examples in the future, my lord. I am, after all, a Northumberland Ballinger, not a Hampshire Ballinger.”
Harry came to his feet in a swift, dangerous motion that made Augusta take a hasty step back.
“Damn it to bell, Augusta, you will cease using the reputation of your family as an excuse for your own behavior, do you comprehend me?”
A chill went through her. Harry was very angry indeed and Augusta knew it was not just because she had gone out riding in the face of an oncoming storm. “Yes, my lord. You make yourself quite clear.”
He drove his fingers through his damp hair in a gesture of frustrated fury. “Stop looking at me as though you are the last Northumberland Ballinger standing on the castle ramparts preparing to fight the enemy. I am not your enemy, Augusta.”
“You sound like one at the moment. Do you think you will feel obliged to lecture me during the whole of our married life, Graystone? It presents an unhappy prospect, does it not?”
He turned back to survey the blaze he had started. “I have some small confidence that you will eventually develop the ability to control your impulsive inclinations, madam.”
“How very reassuring. I regret you were forced to come after me this afternoon, my lord.”
“So do I.”
Augusta studied the strong set of his broad shoulders. “You had best tell me the worst of it straightaway, Harry. I know ’tis not solely my riding off unescorted this afternoon that has you in this mood. What did you discover in Richard’s poem?”
He turned around slowly and gave her a hooded, brooding glance. “We have agreed that you are in no way responsible for your brother’s actions, have we not?”
A coldness clutched at her insides. No, Richard. You were no traitor. I do not care what they say. Augusta forced herself to lift one shoulder in a negligent gesture. “As you wish. What was in the poem, my lord?”
“It appears to be a message to the effect that the man we called the Spider was a member of a club called the Saber.”
Augusta frowned. “I do not believe I have ever heard of it.”
“That is hardly surprising. It was a small gentleman’s club that catered to military types. The premises were off St. James Street. It did not last long.” Harry paused. “There was a fire, I believe. Some two years ago, as I recall. The building was destroyed and the club was never revived by its members, to the best of my knowledge.”
“I do not recall Richard ever mentioning that he was a member of this Saber Club.”
“He may not have been. But somehow he found out that the Spider was. Unfortunately, he does not tell me the identity of the bastard in that damned poem. Only that he was a member of the club.”
Augusta considered that. “But if you had a list of the members you might be able to figure out which one was the Spider? Is that what you are thinking?”
“’Tis precisely what I was thinking.” Harry’s brow rose. “You are very shrewd, my dear.”
“Perhaps I missed my calling. I might have made you an excellent intelligence agent, my lord.”
“Do you even mention the possibility, Augusta. The very thought of you working for me as an agent is enough to keep me awake nights.”
“What will you do now?”
“I shall make some inquiries, see if the proprietor of the club can be found. He might still have a list of the members or be able to recall their names. It might be possible to track down some of them.”
“You are very determined to find this creature you call the Spider, are you not?”
“Yes.”
Augusta heard the frightening lack of emotion in his words and felt cold again. She gazed into the fire behind Harry. “Now that you have studied Richard’s poem, you are more convinced than ever that he was a traitor, are you not?”
“The matter is not yet resolved and probably never will be, Augusta. As you said, there is the possibility your brother was trying to get the information to the authorities.”
“But not very likely.”
“No.”
“As usual, you are depressingly honest, my lord.” Augusta summoned a weary smile. “I shall, of course, form my own opinion.”
Harry inclined his head gravely. “Of course. You must continue to believe as you wish on the matter. Whether or not Richard was a traitor is no longer of great consequence to anyone.”
“Except to me.” Augusta drew herself up bravely. “I shall continue to believe in his innocence, my lord. Just as he would have continued to believe in mine were the situation reversed. We Northumberland Ballingers always stuck together, you know. We would have trusted each other to hell and back. I shall not turn my back on my family, even though all I have left are the memories.”
“You have a new family now, Augusta.” Harry’s voice was harsh in the small room.
“Do I? I think not, my lord. I have a daughter who cannot bring herself to call me Mama because I am not as pretty as her real mother. And I have a husband who cannot bring himself to risk loving me because I might turn out to be too much like the other Lady Graystones who have gone before me.”
“For God’s sake, Augusta. Meredith is but a child and she has only known you for a few brief weeks. You must give her time.”
“And you, Harry? How much time will you require to decide that I am not like my predecessors? How long will I go about feeling as though I am being constantly tested and judged and perhaps found wanting?”
Harry was suddenly behind her, his hand on her shoulder. He turned her around to face him and Augusta looked up into his stark face.
“Damnation, Augusta, what do you want from me?”
“I want what I had when I was growing up. I want to be part of a real family again. I want the love and the laughter and the trust.” From out of nowhere the tears came, burning in her eyes and spilling down her cheeks.
Harry groaned and pulled her into his arms. “Please, Augusta. Do not cry. All will be well. You will see. ’Tis only that you are overwrought today because of the matter of the poem. But nothing has altered between us because of it.”
“Yes, my lord.” She sniffed into the warm wool of his jacket.
“But it would be best, my dear, if you did not go on making comparisons between your dashing Northumberland Ballinger ancestors and the members of your new family. You must accustom yourself to the realization that the earls of Graystone have always tended to be a rather dull, unemotional lot. But that does not mean that I do not care about you or that Meredith is not learning to accept you as her mother.”
Augusta sniffed one last time and raised her head. She managed to summon a smile. “Yes, of course. You must forgive my stupid tears. I do not know what came over me. My spirits have been very low today. The weather, no doubt.”
Harry smiled quizzically as he handed her a snowy white handke
rchief. “No doubt. Why do you not come over to the fire and warm yourself? It will be a while before this storm passes. You can spend the time telling me your plans for the house party.”
“Just the sort of topic to distract a woman of frivolous temperament, my lord. By all means, let us discuss my plans for the house party.”
“Augusta …” Harry broke off, scowling.
“I am sorry, my lord. I was teasing you. Not at all fair of me when I knew you were only trying to comfort me.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips across his jaw. “Let me tell you first about the menu I have drawn up for late supper on the night of the ball.”
Harry smiled slowly, his eyes still watchful. “It has been a long time since a ball was held at Graystone. Somehow I cannot quite imagine the place done up for one.”
The guests began arriving early in the afternoon on the appointed day. Augusta plunged herself into the role of hostess, directing the traffic on the stairs, consulting with the kitchens, and making last-minute arrangements for sleeping accommodations.
Meredith was constantly at her side, her serious gaze absorbing everything from the proper preparation of the bedchambers to the way one organized food for large numbers of people who would not be keeping regular hours.
“It is very complicated, is it not?” Meredith asked at one point. “This business of entertaining, I mean.”
“Oh, yes,” Augusta assured her. “It is quite a task to make everything come off in such a way that nothing looks as though it was difficult to organize. My mother was very good at this kind of thing. Northumberland Ballingers enjoy entertaining.”
“Papa does not enjoy it,” Meredith observed.
“I expect he will grow accustomed to it.”
Late that afternoon Augusta was standing on the top of the steps, Meredith and the housekeeper, Mrs. Gibbons, at her side, when a sleek green phaeton pulled by a matched set of grays bowled down the drive.
“I do believe, Mrs. Gibbons,” Augusta said as she watched Peter Sheldrake alight from the racy phaeton and toss the reins to a groom, “that we shall put Mr. Sheldrake in the yellow bedchamber.”