Page 18 of The Hidden Heart

The dream had been an aberration, he told himself. It was bizarre and unreal and clearly the opposite of what he really felt. After all, he disliked the woman intensely. The desire, he thought, must have been spawned in some strange way by the intense anger he felt for Miss Maitland. He did not understand it, but that had to be the reason. It was the same sort of thing as the way one laughed sometimes when what one really wanted to do was cry or scream. It had to be. Anything else was impossible.

With a sigh, he lay back down, turning onto his side, and set his mind to thinking of something, anything, besides Miss Maitland. Sleep, he found, was a long time coming.

* * *

Richard sat in lonely splendor at the dining table the next evening. He looked down the length of the gleaming mahogany table and thought, not for the first time, how foolish it was to sit here by himself to eat at a table and in a room meant to accommodate a small army of people. A huge silver epergne graced the center of the table, filled with fruit, and silver candelabras, each as ornate as the epergne, were spaced down the length of the table, candles ablaze. Two footmen stood at the ready, should Richard require something not on the table.

It would make more sense, Richard knew, to put a table in one of the small rooms downstairs and eat there, but Baxter, of course, would be horrified at the idea of his not dining formally. There were, after all, certain standards to maintain when one worked for a duke.

Richard began to spoon up his soup. He wondered idly where Miss Maitland took her meals—in the nursery with her charge, he supposed. It must be difficult for her, he thought, living in that odd limbo occupied by governesses, where one was neither a servant nor a member of the family, especially for someone like her, who came from a good family and had even had her season in London. Surely she must miss the life she had once had—doubtless that was one reason she had turned so sour!

He grimaced, wondering why he had allowed her into his thoughts. Up until then, he had been in rather good spirits. When he awoke this morning, he had still felt disgruntled, and he had decided that a good, hard ride would be the only way to rid him of the pent-up anger he felt. So after breakfast, he went to the stables and rode out on his stallion, Poseidon.

He had ridden hard and fast at first, which was exactly as the horse wanted it. The rides he took in London were far too tame for Poseidon, and he often thought, guiltily, that he should sell the animal to someone who would give him longer rides, but he loved the horse and could not bear to give him up. It felt good now to be on him again, to tear down the road or to take a fence. After a few minutes, a certain peace began to settle on Richard, and he slowed the horse to a more sedate pace.

It had been the first time he had ridden over his lands in over four years, and he had begun to look around him with interest, noticing the changes in the farms, where new fences stood and walls had fallen, what houses were there that had not stood there before, where a stream had altered course. The weather was cold, but invigoratingly so, and even though the sky was winter gray with clouds, the land was beautiful and rolling beneath it. It was his home.

He had run into Jem Farwell, one of his tenants, who had insisted on his coming into the house to see his family, then stay with them for lunch. It would have been rude to refuse, so he wound up staying and eating with them, and then chatting with neighbors who had seen him go by. He was warmed by their obvious delight in his return to Castle Cleybourne, and it was nice to sit by the fire in the neat little house and hear about the things that had happened in the past four years—births and deaths and marriages.

By the time he was able to tear himself away, it was late afternoon, and he rode home in a pleasant mood, his former irritations vanished. He wished he had not thought of the governess, for it spoiled the mood. Worse, as if his thoughts had conjured her up, he thought he heard her voice somewhere down the hall.

With a sigh, he set down his spoon and gestured for the soup to be taken away. One footman sprang to take the bowl, and the other followed deftly with the next course, a platter of fish, poached and elegantly dressed by the cook. Just as he laid the platter down on the table in front of Richard, the sound of the front door knocker clanged, muted by distance and walls.

Richard frowned. Who the devil would come calling at this time of night? He remembered Miss Maitland’s late arrival the other night, and he sighed again, suspicion seizing him that this, too, was somehow her fault.

He dished up a piece of fish, determined to ignore whatever was going on at the front door, but the sound of voices was impossible to avoid, even though he could not understand what was being said.

Then, ringing out clearly, came the governess’s voice, saying in tones of shock, “Lord Vesey!”

“The devil!” Richard exclaimed, jumping up and throwing his napkin down on the table. He strode out of the room and down to the Great Hall.

Miss Maitland stood at the foot of the stairs, staring at the group gathered in front of the door. There, though Richard would scarcely have credited it, stood Lord and Lady Vesey, handing their cloaks to a hapless footman.

“Bloody hell!” Richard exclaimed, with something less than hospitality, and he shot Jessica a look as though she were responsible for the couple’s presence. “What the devil are you doing here, Vesey?”

Vesey, who was in the process of smoothing down his jacket, turned toward Richard with a thin smile. “Ah, there you are, Cleybourne. Thought this was your place. Got rather lost, you see. Knew you wouldn’t mind putting us up for the night.”

Richard stared, bereft of speech. Beside her husband, Leona smiled in a warm, intimate way. “Hello, Richard.”

Richard turned to look at Jessica, who was standing still and white on the stairs, looking at the Veseys as if she had seen a ghost. She turned to him, her eyes wide, and for once she had nothing to say.

“Oh, the devil,” Richard said ungraciously. “Well, come in, then. I was just sitting down to supper.”

“Ah, just the thing,” Vesey said with a smile, starting forward. “I’m famished.”

It occurred to Richard then that he was going to be stuck eating his meal with Lord and Lady Vesey, and, surprising even himself, he turned back to the stairs.

“Why don’t you join us, Miss Maitland?” he said smoothly, and his smile told Jessica that he knew how little she would like the prospect of doing that.

Jessica frowned. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly.”

As she spoke, Lady Vesey said, “The governess? Really, Richard, how droll. You can’t be serious.”

Richard looked at Leona without expression. “I am.”

Leona’s words were enough to propel Jessica forward despite her previous disclaimer. “Thank you, Your Grace, I should love to join you.”

Leona shot her a look of active dislike, and her gaze swept down Jessica’s plain dark dress significantly. “You do not dress for dinner?”