“Oh, Snowball,” she said with a sigh when she looked down at the trail of muddy paw prints that stretched from the door into the kitchen. “Lookwhat you have done.”
And look what I have done, she added silently.
The shreds of his contentment seemed to have deserted him, Harry admitted to himself later that same afternoon, and he despaired of getting them back. It had all started at Christmas, of course. But then it had continued into this thing with Lydia Tavernor, which had stumbled along from its improbable beginnings until it flared into a brief, uncontrolled burst of passion. And last night had not helped, even though he usually enjoyed the village assemblies.
What had happened, he supposed, was that during the past few months he had come face-to-face with the essential emptiness of his existence. It had been bound to happen sooner or later. He had this large house and park to enjoy, but no one with whom to share them. He had a troubled past, which was best left where it was, and a present that was marginally satisfying— thoughlonely, damn it— but no future to look forward to except more of the same. Somehowmore of the same, with which he had been perfectly content for four years, seemed like a dreary prospect.
There was no one special in his life.
No one to love or tocherish, to use his mother’s word.
He had come to hate that word whenever it popped into his head.
And no sex.
There had been plenty of the latter during the years with his regiment, lusty and satisfying. There had been none during the years of his convalescence, very little since.
And then Lydia.
He had spent an hour or so of the morning in his steward’s office, going over the account books, and then another hour or two out on the home farm, mostly admiring the new and not-so-new lambs. He had sat down to a cold luncheon, for the plainness of which his housekeeper, Mrs. Sullivan, had apologized with the peculiar excuse that she and the kitchen staff were more than usually busy taking inventory of their supplies. Afterward Harry had wandered out to the summerhouse among the trees east of the manor. He sat inside it now, out of the chilly wind, on the leather-upholstered seat that circled the interior wall of glass, gazing out over the park and across one corner of the village to the countryside beyond.
Perhaps this restlessness was a healthy sign. Perhaps it showed that he had finally and fully recovered his health and was ready to move on to a more active phase of his life. But what would that be? Or perhaps the restlessness had something—or even everything—to do with Lydia Tavernor. He frowned at the thought. For why should it? Whatever there had been between them was over, by mutual consent. She was not looking to marry again, and he was not ready for marriage yet—washe? She no longer wanted a lover, and he was not in search of a mistress. Not here, anyway. Not anywhere, actually.
Dash it all. Hewishedhe could get his life back, the one he had lived with such contentment and with very little reflection just a few months ago. The maddening thing about life, though, was that it would never go backward. It would not stand still either. And it did not offer any clear image of what was ahead. Which was perhaps just as well.
Maybe he needed to get away for a while. But where? London, heaven help him?
His thoughts were interrupted at that moment by movement among the trees to his right. He brightened immediately when he saw Tom Corning striding in his direction. School must be finished for the day. Tom opened the door of the summerhouse unbidden and stepped inside.
“Ah, warmth,” he said, closing the door quickly and rubbing his hands together.
“How did you find me?” Harry asked as he slid farther along the seat so Tom could sit beside him and enjoy the same view.
“Your butler thought you would be either at the lake or here,” Tom said. “I tried here first. It would be madness to wander about the lake on a day like today. Why is he all dressed up so smartly?”
“Brown?” Harry said. “My butler?Ishe? He looked his normal self when I saw him a short while ago. Not that I was paying particular attention. How was school today?”
“Fine.” Tom leaned forward slightly and rested his forearms across his thighs with his hands dangling down between them. He was looking down at the floor instead of admiring the view Harry had made available to him. “Harry, old chap, I think you ought to be warned that you were seen last night.”
“Seen.” Harry frowned at the back of his friend’s head. “Well, that is hardly surprising, since I do not have a magician’s power to make myself invisible. Let me see. I was at the assembly rooms for three or four hours, mingling and talking with almost every adult from the village and the countryside around. I danced almost every set. No,everyset. And I wasseen, was I? How very shocking. Seen to be doing what exactly?”
“Kissing Mrs. Tavernor in the doorway of her cottage,” Tom said. “I am not saying there is anything scandalous about that, especially when you must have had every reason to expect privacy from prying eyes. But the person who saw you was the lad who gives me the most trouble with truancy from school, the lad Tavernor saved from drowning. He is a sneak and a poacher as well as a truant and has apparently taken it upon himself to keep an eye on Tavernor’s widow, with what motive one can only imagine. My guess would be that he does it so he can report back to his mother on anything Mrs. Tavernor does that might reflect badly upon the late vicar’s memory. She was one of his more fanatical followers.”
“The Piper lad?” Harry said. “He says he saw me kissing Lydia last night? Then he is a damned liar in addition to the other things you listed.”
“Lydia, is it?” Tom asked, turning his head briefly to glance at his friend.
“I saw her to her door beneath an umbrella because it wasraining,” Harry said, “just as I did a few minutes before that with Mrs. Bailey. I stepped inside for perhaps thirty seconds while she went to fetch a scarf she had knitted for me. In return for a pile of wood I chopped for her a few weeks ago, before you ask,” he added when Tom raised his eyebrows. “I said thank you and I said good night and—ah, yes— I pecked her on the forehead. And left. A peck and a kiss are quite distinct things, Tom.”
“I will take your word for it,” his friend said, sounding uncomfortable. “It’s none of my business anyway. But even if youdidkiss her, I don’t know why there should be such a big fuss about it.”
“Isthere a big fuss?” Harry’s stomach was doing funny things.
“Afraid so,” Tom said. “Or so Hannah says. I found her pacing when I got home from school. Jeremy ran home to his mother last night with his shocking report, and Mrs. Piper confronted Mrs. Tavernor at her house this morning. Mrs. Tavernor apparently told her she would entertain whatever man she wanted to entertain and however many she chose and that she would kiss whomever she wanted to kiss and Mrs. P could go to the devil with a flea in her ear. Though I cannot quite imagine the lady using those exact words or even saying some of the things she is reputed to have said. I daresay what shedidsay to Mrs. Piper had been reworded and exaggerated and embellished beyond all recognition by the time it got to Hannah’s ears and then mine. But whatever the truth of it is, Harry, the whole silly episode has blown up into what seems like a grand scandal that will enliven everyone’s dull lives for days or even weeks to come. Hannah was bursting with indignation when I got home and would not even let me sit down to enjoy a cup of tea before coming to warn you of what is in store for you. She fairly pushed me out the door.”
“Good God.” Harry gazed at him. “And devil take it and any other blasphemy you care to add.” He jumped to his feet. “God damn it all, Tom, I’ll throttle that boy. What the devil was he doing out on a night like last night anyway?”
“Spying upon Mrs. Tavernor, apparently,” Tom said.
