Will was pacing miserably around the small chamber of his lodging, racking his brains for some solution to love’s dilemma. He had walked over to the Morrises’ lodging that morning, fully intending to press his suit with Julie’s father yet again, and then realized that if, as was highly likely, he was again refused, then Julie would be strictly confined once more, and he would not even see her before she left for Scotland.
He would call upon Harry, he decided abruptly. She always had a bracing effect, mainly because she never accepted defeat until it was forced upon her and was not at all tolerant of moping and sighing. He picked up his beaver hat, slung his cloak about his shoulders, and marched to the door, just as the door opened to admit Sir Daniel.
“Ah, Will, it seems I am in the nick of time,” Daniel observed, taking in the younger man’s dress. “I do hope you can be persuaded to delay your departure for a minute.”
“Aye…aye, of course, sir, d-delighted to see you, sir…’Tis…’tis an honor.” He stepped back from the door and tripped over a stool. “P-pray come in. What may I offer ye? I do not keep much in the way of wine, I am afraid, sir; ’tis poor hospitality, but there’s tolerable ale, or I could ask the landlady for cider, if ye’d prefer.”
“Why do I make ye so nervous these days, Will?” inquired Daniel with a pleasant though puzzled smile, refusing these stumbled offers of refreshment with a wave of his hand. “At the very sight of me, you flush up as crimson as the sunset. And you don’t seem to be able to put two words together anymore.”
The crimson tide flooded to the red roots of Will’s hair yet again, and he began to stammer a denial that in the face of the evidence was manifestly absurd. He fell silent under Daniel’s steady gaze.
Daniel took the letter from his doublet pocket and tapped it thoughtfully against his palm. “I bring you a message from Harry,” he said, remarking the sudden spark of interest in his young friend’s eyes…interest, or was it hope? “Since the letter is addressed to you, I have of course not read it,” he continued in a somewhat ruminative tone. “However, I do have a certain interest in what my wife might be writing to others, so perchance you will apprise me of the contents.”
Will looked stricken. “Ye…ye could not imagine that Harry and I—”
“Nay, I do not imagine that,” Daniel interrupted. “But I know my wife, Will, and I am certain she is up to mischief.” He stroked his chin, continuing in the same pensive tone. “She has this habit, you see, of falling in and out of scrapes with appalling regularity…always from the purest of motives, of course. I would forestall this one, if possible.” He held out the letter.
Will took the document with nerveless fingers. He could not possibly betray Harry. If she believed her husband would disapprove of her actions to help her friends, it was not for those friends to act traitor. The only thing they could do was refuse to implicate her further. It was all at an end now, anyway, now that Julia was going away. He opened the letter.
Harry’s impulsive flowing script jumped out at him with all the eager confidence of the writer, and for a second he forgot his despondency and felt a surge of hope. She had a plan. But the hope died at birth as he looked up at his visitor, whose gaze was uncomfortably searching.
“Well?” Daniel gently prompted.
“’Tis just that she wishes me to visit her, since she cannot come here,” Will said. “I am sorry Nan is unwell, sir. I trust ’tis not serious.”
Daniel shook his head. “It seems not. Might I ask why she wishes you to visit her so urgently?”
Will decided to get as close to the truth as he dared. He met the older man’s look. “She is the only person I can talk to, Sir Daniel.” He received a noncommittal nod and a gesture of invitation to continue. Will did so awkwardly. “I am having some difficulties…personal difficulties…and I need to have someone to talk—”
“I beg your pardon, Will.” Daniel broke in swiftly. “I do not wish to pry into your affairs; they are no concern of mine. Henrietta’s are, but yours are not. If she is simply your confidante in time of trouble, then that is all I need to know. Unless—” He smiled. “Unless, mayhap, I can be of some service to you myself. You should know I would stand your friend in all things, Will.”
Will felt ready to sink through the floor with guilt and embarrassment. It was not as if he had lied, yet he felt as if he had committed a monumental deception in the face of the kindly concern and understanding Daniel so freely offered.
Daniel cut short Will’s stammered thanks and denials with an easy gesture. “Enough said, Will. Come. If you’ve a mind to visit Harry, then we’ll keep each other company.”
It was not an offer Will could refuse, but he went with the absolute determination to call an immediate halt to Henrietta’s involvement in his doomed, clandestine love affair, regardless of her planning.
Henrietta jumped at the sound of the front door. She had been expecting it, but it still sent her heart into her throat. She waited, hearing two sets of footsteps on the stairs.
Will and Daniel came into the sickroom. “I have brought Will, Harry, since you wished for him,” Daniel said. “He insisted upon visiting the invalid.” Smiling, he came over to the bed. “See who’s come to cheer you up, Nan.”
Harry shot Will an anxious look of startled inquiry. Had he been obliged to take Daniel into his confidence? If he had, then surely her husband would not be quite so sanguine and cheerful. Will answered the look with a tiny shrug before turning his attention to the now-perky Nan.
“Where is Lizzie?” Daniel addressed Henrietta, sounding to her apprehensive ears as relaxed and genial as ever.
“Sewing with Mistress Kierston.”
“For her sins?” he inquired with a raised eyebrow.
Henrietta looked rueful. “She should not have gone alone. I am sorry, Daniel.”
“There was no harm done. If you and Will wish to talk, I’ll stay here and entertain this little one.”
“Will ye tell me the story of the dragon and the maiden?” Nan demanded, her voice still a little croaky but definitely stronger.
“I don’t know if I can remember it,” he teased, sitting on the bed and taking her hand. “Let me see, now.”
Will and Henrietta left them to it. “Whatever happened?” Henrietta demanded as they reached the seclusion of the parlor. “I made sure Daniel would have questioned you about my message. He has become a little suspicious of all your visits recently.” She crossed her arms over her breasts and rubbed her upper arms restlessly. “Suspicious is not quite the right word, but he thinks I am up to something.”
“Which y’are,” Will said flatly, and told her what had transpired between himself and Daniel. “I felt the size of an ant,” he concluded.
“Aye, I can imagine.” She could, with no difficulty. “And I had this wonderful plan to invite Julia to stay with me when her parents left.”
Will’s face was transfigured. “But that would be so wonderful, Harry.”
“Yes, it would,” she said gloomily. “But I cannot possibly do it. You see, I asked Daniel to invite her, because that would be most likely to satisfy Lady Morris, only of course I did not tell him why. And he did ask this morning, and Lady Morris gave her permission.”
“Oh, God.” Will groaned, seeing the whole ghastly tangle. “You cannot deceive him, Harry. You would put him in the most abominable position. Surely you realize that.”
“Yes, of course I do, now,” she said impatiently. “For you to conduct a clandestine liaison while Julie is under Daniel’s roof and protection at his invitation would be impossible. I do not know how I could have been so stupid as to have thought of it. I do things sometimes without thinking very clearly,” she added dismally. “I shall have to tell him the truth, and he will have to withdraw the invitation without explaining why. And he’s going to say I have been duplicitous and unprincipled again, which I have, but I did not mean to be. And everything was going so nicely since we returned from Spain. Oh, why d’ye not just elope, Will? It would be so much simpler!”
“I would if we could find the means to do so.” Will paced the parlor, pulling at his finger joints in a way that made Harry wince.
“Take Julie to your mother,” she suggested. “Mistress Osbert is such a sensible person; she will scold you both most dreadfully, but then she will do what has to be done. I do not think even Lord Morris would be able to withstand her if she decided to take issue with him.”
Will grinned reluctantly. He could not argue with that. His mother was more than a match for Lord and Lady Morris combined. “I do not know if Julie would be willing.”
“I will ask her,” Harry said. “And then I will tell you. But you cannot meet here together, at least not until I have told Daniel what has been happening.”
“He will not permit it, once he knows everything,” Will said. “No responsible man would.”
“Oh, dear.” Henrietta sighed. “Matters were proceeding so beautifully. I have been doing everything right with the girls and the house and other things—” She stopped, blushing slightly. Close though she was to Will, discussing those other delicious aspects of her marriage was not something she could do, anymore than she could tell him that she hoped soon to conceive. More than anything, Daniel’s agreement to this had indicated his acceptance of her as a sensible, mature wife, and now she was about to destroy that belief by demonstrating that she was still as impulsive and reckless and irresponsible as ever.
“’Tis my fault, not yours,” Will said. “I should never have agreed to it. Let me explain it to him.”
Henrietta shook her head. “I may be a thoughtless idiot, but I’m no coward, Will. But I’ll talk to Julie first. ’Tis only fair to prepare her. I can visit her in the morning.”
Daniel found his wife in low spirits that evening, resisting all his efforts to draw her out. He delicately brought up the subject of Will and his troubles, offering again to help, suggesting she might have more success than he in persuading Will to confide in him, since it was clear the young man was wretchedly miserable.
Henrietta nearly burst into tears. She did not deserve such a husband, indeed, never had done. Everything good she tried to do turned to dross beneath her touch. What could someone so kind and considerate and loving and humorous and…oh, so many other wonderful things as Daniel possibly find to love in her? No one else, except for Will, had ever found anything. Perhaps those others were right and Daniel and Will were mistaken.
She went up to bed early, pleading unusual weariness, looked in on the now peacefully sleeping and relatively cool Nan, and curled miserably under the covers in her own bed, hoping she would fall asleep before Daniel came up. She did not, and he was not deceived by the pretense, but when he ran an exploratory caressing hand beneath her smock, the immediate rippling response to which he was accustomed was not forthcoming. “Harry?”
“I’m asleep,” she mumbled into the pillow.
“Oh, that would explain it,” he replied, waiting for the chuckle that generally greeted that particular droll tone. It was not forthcoming either. “We could at least cuddle,” he suggested.
“I don’t know why you would want to cuddle me,” she muttered without volition. She had not intended making her confession until she had talked with Julie, but matters seemed to be running away with themselves.
The words took a minute to sink in, then Daniel sat up, twitched aside the bedcurtains and scraped flint on tinder. Candlelight flickered, then settled into a strong, steady glow.
“What have you done?” he asked with the calm of resignation.
“’Tis not so much what I have done as what I was going to do. Although what I have done is bad enough if you look at it in a certain way.” The balm of relief at the prospect of unburdening herself was more soothing than she would ever have imagined, and quite surpassed her apprehension as to Daniel’s reaction to the tale. She rolled onto her back, shielding her eyes with the soft curve of a forearm, ostensibly from the candlelight but more because it seemed easier if she did not have to look at him.
Daniel took her arm away. “Sit up. I don’t know what I am about to hear, but the sooner it is said the better.”
She sat up, hugging her knees, her beribboned nightcap askew on the cascading corn silk-colored mass, and looked at him anxiously. “I think perhaps you will not wish to be married to me anymore.”
He looked startled. “’Tis not that bad, Harry, surely?”
“Worse,” she said.
“God’s grace!” he muttered, getting out of bed. “Well, whatever mischief y’are in this time, I can safely promise you that I will never wish such a thing.” He shrugged into his warm nightgown and drew it tight against the night chill before throwing more logs on the fire, creating a roaring blaze. “Come, let us be done with this.”
She told him, her voice faltering as his expression went from resignation to disbelief, and then became utterly wrathful. But the storm did not break until she had fallen silent.
He did not raise his voice and the sleeping house around them remained oblivious of the drama, but angry words buzzed around the bedchamber like the troubles released from Pandora’s box. Henrietta remained huddled over her knees. Although she winced beneath the sting of his tongue-lashing, she was more conscious of relief than anything else. She had feared a repetition of that cold, silent contempt, but this was just the fury of a very angry man. He was also most eloquent in his anger, she noticed abstractedly. In her wide experience of such matters, wrath tended to render the speaker gobbling and incoherent, so he was obliged to resort to physical expression of that rage. There was no fear of that with Daniel.
She had given him the bald narrative, unadorned by excuse or explanation, and waited for the tirade to subside before venturing on either. When at last the castigation ceased and Daniel had swung away from the bed with a muttered “Hell and the devil!” she spoke up.
“I would like to say something.” Her voice sounded small and subdued in the crushing silence, but there was an edge of determination in it nevertheless.
He turned and came to the foot of the bed. He braced his arms on the wooden bar that was used to smooth the surface of the feather mattress when the bed was made, and surveyed her, his black eyes thoroughly intimidating. “If you are about to tell me that you were only trying to help, I will do you a favor, Henrietta. If I ever hear that excuse for trouble on your lips again, I shall really lose my temper.”
Henrietta swallowed. In the light of the last fierce minutes, that was an appalling prospect. “I was not going to say that,” she denied, plucking at the coverlet pulled tight around her knees. “I was going to ask you if you thought Julia’s parents have the right to prevent her marrying Will for such a stupid reason…or for any reason, for that matter.”
Daniel frowned and snapped, “That is no more my business than it is yours.”
“But I think it is,” she insisted, a note of vehemence entering her voice. “They love each other deeply, and you said yourself only last night that it would be criminal to keep apart two people who really love each other.”
His black eyebrows nearly met across the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you dare put words into my mouth, Henrietta. That was said without thought and at a particularly susceptible moment.”
“You still said it,” she persisted stubbornly. “And you meant it. I refuse to accept that Lord and Lady Morris have the right to keep Will and Julia apart simply because they know nothing of Will’s family and think he is not good enough. Julia has no fortune now that they are exiled. What can she bring him except love?”
“That is no excuse for your reckless and unwarranted interference! Julia is underage and her father’s responsibility…just as you are mine, God help me!”
“You and Lord Morris and Will may all be dead in a few months,” she said fiercely. “What is the point of adhering to the old rules? Why must they be denied the chance for happiness because of some outmoded convention, when the world has already fallen apart?”
She had lost the subdued mien of a scolded child; her eyes were now bright with passionate indignation, her voice strong with conviction, her back straight with purpose. Impatiently, she knelt on the bed. “I realize I have put you in the most abominable position, Daniel, and I do most truly beg your pardon. ’Twas thoughtless beyond belief. But I will not stand aside and see Will and Julia made unhappy for no good reason. Not when there are so many good reasons for despair. Who’s to say where we will all be in six months?”
Daniel could find no satisfactory answer to that question. Instead, he took off his nightgown and bent to snuff the candle. “I have had enough of this for tonight. Lie down and go to sleep. God alone knows what I am going to say to Lord Morris on the morrow.”
“I said you would not wish to cuddle me,” Henrietta declared, sliding down the bed and pulling the covers up to her nose.
“Mmmm,” Daniel said into the darkness and made no attempt to dispute that either.
He woke first and hitched himself on one elbow to look at the sleeping face on the pillow beside him. The hair escaping from her nightcap glistened silver and gold under a finger of early sunlight. The soft curve of her mouth, the rosy flush of sleep on the high cheekbones, the pertly snubbed nose had become such a wonderfully familiar sight for his newly opened eyes. Usually, he would lean over and kiss the paper-thin, blue-veined eyelids, and the golden crescents of her eyelashes would sweep up and those big brown eyes would gaze up at him in sleepy wonderment as she came to a realization of the new day. She would reach up and put her arms around his neck, drawing him down for the first kiss of the day, and he would revel in the warm, fragrant pliancy of her sleepy skin, the languid invitation of her body, the mischievous little chuckle with which she greeted his acceptance of the invitation.
Such love and companionship was a God-given blessing, he thought, for all that she was on occasion the most exasperating creature he had ever had dealings with. He had given up believing that she would grow out of these troublesome impulses. They seemed to be a part of her nature, and he supposed one must take the rough with the smooth. The joy of her far outweighed the annoyance.
He thought of Will and Julia. They were so young, on the threshold of life—of a life that, as Henrietta had pointed out, could come to an abrupt close very soon. His could also, but he would have had much joy and love, been thrice blessed in the two women who had shared his bed and in the benediction of his children.
He accepted the likelihood of death on the battlefield; it could as easily come from the scourge of plague or smallpox, from a broken limb, or from a severe chill. Such hazards were woven into the fabric of life. But the transitory nature of existence was surely easier to accept if one had experienced the joys adult life had to offer. Henrietta had been saying that last night, offering that wisdom as the powerful, motivating force behind her actions. If only those actions did not so frequently tend to the questionable, he thought, not for the first time. And almost certainly not for the last time, either! With a wry grin, he swung out of bed, shivering in the early morning chill.
“Are ye getting up so soon?” Henrietta sounded disconsolate as she blinked dopily at him over the bedcovers. The absence of the waking kiss seemed to indicate that a night’s sleep had not brought pardon.
“I have some most disagreeable business to attend to, or had you forgotten?” He kept his voice uncompromising, revealing nothing of his earlier thoughts, as he bent to mend the dying fire. “You have also a part to play, so I suggest you rise with all speed.”
She sat up. “How long are you going to be vexed?”
“I have no idea. ’Tis not something I can control,” he replied unhelpfully. “Now, get up and fetch my shaving water.”
Henrietta pulled on her nightgown over her smock and padded barefoot to the kitchen, where Hilde was already at work, stoking the range. “Sir Daniel would like his shaving water,” she said to the maidservant. “Would you take it up to him? I wish to see how Nan is.”
Nan and Lizzie were both awake, huddled together beneath the quilt. “Can I get up today?” Nan asked.
Henrietta shook her head, bending to kiss both children. “Nay, Nan, ye must rest after a fever, otherwise it might return.”
“I would rather stay in bed than learn psalms,” Lizzie grumbled. “And ’tis very cold, Harry. The fire has gone out.”
“I’ll tell Hilde to light it again when she has taken Daddy his shaving water,” Henrietta promised. “You may stay in bed until then.”
She returned to the bedchamber and addressed her husband’s back. “Nan seems quite better, but I said she should remain in bed today.”
Daniel wiped lather off his face with a damp towel. “I’ll look in on them now. Mistress Kierston will have to forgo her morning’s devotions, I fear, since she must take charge of them both today. Do you dress and come downstairs straightway. You have a task to perform.”
Henrietta made a face. Whatever did he mean? But his present attitude did not invite questioning. Presumably Daniel would reveal all in his own good time.
She dressed with more than usual care, choosing the most demure gown of pale blue linen, a white lawn neckerchief its only adornment. The ribboned sleeves of her smock revealed by the gown’s full elbow-length sleeves and the frill of her petticoat showing beneath the hem offered the only frivolity. She braided her hair and fashioned the heavy plait into a knot at the nape of her neck. A few undisciplined, feathery tendrils curled on her forehead, but they would not lie flat whatever she did. However, despite them, her appearance was as modest and unassuming as that of any Puritan on her way to church. She composed her expression to one matching her dress and went down to the dining room.
Daniel was not fooled, but he contented himself with a skeptical raised eyebrow that she had no difficulty reading. “Hilde has forgotten to bring the bread,” she said. “I will fetch it. Where are Lizzie and Mistress Kierston?”
“Breakfasting abovestairs,” he told her. “They are best out of the way for the moment.”
It was not at all reassuring. She went into the kitchen to fetch the bread.
Breakfast was an utterly silent meal. Daniel’s appetite did not seem in the least impaired by the present state of affairs, but Harry merely nibbled on a slice of barley bread and sipped a beaker of chocolate while she waited.
Finally, Daniel swallowed his last mouthful of deviled kidney, drained his ale mug, and rose from the table. “If you have sufficiently broken your fast, Henrietta, I would like you to go and fetch your friends.”
“Will and Julia?” She stared in surprise. “Here?”
“That is what I said.”
She stood up, plaiting her fingers in the way she had when she was uneasy. “I do not think it right for you to be horrid to them,” she said slowly. “’Tis all right for you to be so to me, because I belong to you in some sort—”
“Aye, and I have spent half the night trying to fathom what I could ever have done to deserve it,” he interrupted.
Henrietta looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Oh, I expect it was because you were an exemplary little boy, a credit to your parents. I am sure ye never fibbed, or played truant from your lessons, or dug in fox holes—”
“Harry!” Daniel exclaimed, halting this revolting description of perfection. “Of course I did.” Then he realized what she had done. “Y’are the most unscrupulous, duplicitous little wretch!” he pronounced savagely. “Just go and fetch them!”
She wanted to ask why, but decided she had ventured far enough for the time being and went meekly abovestairs for her cloak.
Will received the summons in gloomy resignation.
“I expect he’s going to tell me how dishonorably I’ve behaved. ’Twould be true enough in the old days, but now, when nothing is certain, when there is so little chance for happiness, ’tis surely not wrong to seize it when one can. Oh, Harry, how can I explain how I feel?”
“I think Daniel knows how you feel,” she said. “I do not know what he is going to do, but I think he is going to help.” She did not know quite why she should be so sure of that, except that she did know her husband. Last night’s ferocious scolding had been entirely genuine, and she would not argue about its justice, but it was finished, for all that he was apparently still with-holding pardon.
She left Will to make his own way to the house and went to fetch Julia. She had expected to find her friend relieved and happy, since presumably she knew of Daniel’s invitation, but instead Julia was pale and drawn, her eyes heavily ringed. Lady Morris, however, was all affability.
“I am delighted Julia will be staying with ye, Lady Drummond. ’Twill be so much pleasanter for her than racketing around with her father and myself. Indeed, after this last news from Scotland, there’s no knowing where we will be; but His Majesty has demanded my husband’s presence.” She adjusted her neck ruff and smiled with a hint of self-importance. “’Tis such an honor.”
“Indeed it is, madam,” Henrietta concurred. She found herself quite unable to resist the urge to prick that purblind smugness. The woman was a fool with her obtuse preoccupation with honors and position at such a time. “And ’tis an honor that leads to the battlefield.” Her gaze met Lady Morris’s. “For all those embracing the king’s cause.”
The older woman looked for a second both startled and annoyed at this bold and definitely challenging statement from one who, despite her married status, still owed her elders all due deference and respect. Then shadows gathered in her eyes. She sighed heavily. “Aye, ’tis so. You speak only the truth, my dear. But Julia will be a comfort to you, I trust.”
Henrietta extricated herself as expeditiously as she could. If she could have withdrawn Daniel’s invitation in correct and convincing fashion at this point, she would have done so, but it could only be withdrawn by the issuer. Any bumbling attempts she might make would only make matters worse for Daniel. So she simply begged Lady Morris to permit Julia to bear her company for the morning. A generally silent Julia received permission, and the two of them left.
Henrietta was too exercised with the present situation to have time to question her friend’s air of utter dejection, and since she had nothing but ill news, she was hardly surprised at Julia’s continued silence. “I do not know why Daniel said I must bring you,” she concluded as they hurried down the street. “But Will is to be there, also. If ye would agree to an elopement, Julie, I am certain Will can arrange it. I must not take further part, you understand why not, but Will does not need help. He will take you to his mother, who will love you. She has always stood my friend, and can be a most powerful one when she chooses. Will’s happiness is of the greatest importance to her.”
They turned into the square, and Henrietta became aware that Julia had showed not the slightest interest in this desperate yet feasible solution to the situation. “Are ye afeard of Daniel?” She looked up at her friend. “There’s no need to be, Julie. He will not consider it his place to reproach you…Will, mayhap, since he has known him for so long, but not you.”
Tears stood out in Julia’s eyes and she shook her head inarticulately. Henrietta, reflecting that Julia did not always bear up well when circumstances became a little difficult, said nothing further. As they reached the Drummonds’ house, the door swung open. Will, a little pale, stood aside to let them in.
“’Tis all right, love,” he said, taking Julie’s hand. “I am here.” He bent to kiss her in gentle reassurance. “We will find a way out of this maze, sweetheart.”
Henrietta glanced over his shoulder to where Daniel stood in the parlor door making no attempt to intervene in this illicit display of affection. She rather suspected that Will had had an uncomfortable hour of it before she and Julie had arrived, but she also knew that Daniel would credit Will for coming to him alone.
“Come into the parlor,” Daniel said, stepping aside to let the three of them pass. He closed the door quietly and stood regarding the trio in silence for a minute. “Well,” he said finally, “just what are we going to do about this scandalous pickle?”
Julia abruptly sat down on a stool and burst into sobs. “Oh, if ’twas only that!”
“Whatever d’ye mean, Julie?” Henrietta dropped onto her knees beside the weeping girl.
“Oh, I have been so anxious, but I kept hoping…I did not wish to trouble Will, but just yesterday morning, Harry, I was so sick…and again this morning…Oh, I think I am with child!” Julie gasped through her sobs and buried her head in her hands.
“But…but how could that poss—” Henrietta broke off in confusion. Her task had been simply to arrange the lovers’ trysts. What went on during them was nothing to do with her. She had somehow not thought…
This further complication did not surprise Daniel; the intensity of Will’s love for Julie had been made clear to him in the conversation they had just had. “I hope you realize how much of this trouble falls to your hand, Henrietta,” he declared, shaking his head wearily.
She sprang to her feet. “’Tis hardly my fault that Julie is with child. That is Will’s doing.”
Julie’s sobs became great wrenching gasps, and Will flushed crimson. He enfolded his weeping mistress in his arms and glared furiously at Henrietta. “D’ye have to be so indelicate?”
“Well, I hardly think ’tis a delicate matter,” she retorted. “I do not know why ye could not have—” Again she stopped as it occurred to her that Will had probably been as virgin as Julia, and the simple pre caution Daniel took to avert conception would not have occurred to him in his ardor and innocence. Her eyes darted self-consciously toward her husband.
“Exactly so,” he said, dryly comprehending. “I suggest you keep such thoughts to yourself. They are hardly helpful.”
“I do not know what you must think of me, sir,” Julia wailed, burying her head in Will’s shoulder.
Daniel’s eyebrows shot up. “What I think of your behavior, my child, is of little relevance. That is your parents’ province, not mine. And I have said what I have to to both Will and Henrietta, so I suggest we turn our attention to finding a way out of this morass.”
“I will take Julie to my mother in Oxfordshire,” Will said shakily. “As Harry suggested—”
“Oh, did she?” Daniel broke in. “We all know that Henrietta is a hive of brilliant and invariably questionable ideas. Ye’d be well advised, Will, for once to look for a more straightforward solution.”
“Like what?” Will appeared confused, even while he continued stroking Julie’s hair and murmuring soft nonsense words of reassurance and comfort.
“What Daniel means is that you should try telling the truth,” Henrietta informed him, her greater experience of her husband leaving her in no doubt as to his meaning.
“Y’are learning, it would seem,” Daniel observed on an arid note.
“Tell madam, my mother, that I have spoiled my maidenhead?” gasped Julia. “Tell her that I am breeding a bastard? Oh, sir, she would kill me!”
“But she would not stop ye from marrying Will,” Henrietta said practically. “She’d be only too happy in such an instance for the child to be born in wedlock.”
“I will go and speak with them,” Will said with sudden resolution. “You must stay here, love, with Harry and Sir Daniel. I will go to your parents.”
“Whilst I commend your courage, Will, I think we might be able to spare Lady Morris the shock of the whole truth and thus Julia the full extent of her mother’s wrath.” Daniel bent to poke a slipping log back into place. “Let us keep the secret of your pregnancy amongst ourselves for the present, Julia. If y’are wed without delay, before your parents leave for Scotland, no one will question the arrival of a child a few weeks short of the nine months. We will see if we cannot gain your parents’ consent without the implication of coercion. If ye must play that card, then so be it.” He brushed off his hands vigorously. “But let us try without, first.”
“You will lend your support, Daniel?” Henrietta asked as her husband’s intent became clear.
He nodded, saying with great deliberation, “And would have done so at the outset, if anyone had cared to take me into his confidence.”
The silence in the room was profound. Even Julia’s sobs had ceased. “A little too ordinary a solution was it, Henrietta?” Daniel inquired in a tone of mild curiosity.
She was for the moment tongue-tied, wondering why on earth she had not thought to enlist Daniel’s voice on Will’s behalf. Julia’s parents held him in great esteem and would assuredly have listened to him. He could have vouched for Will’s family, estate, and character in the most persuasive fashion.
“It was a grave error,” she said with some difficulty. “I ask your pardon.”
His eyebrows lifted infinitesimally, and he turned from her to Julia. “Go and wash your face, Julie. When y’are composed, we will see what we can do to make all right.”
They walked to the Morrises’ lodging in silence, and when they were admitted to the house, Daniel took charge smoothly, forestalling the parents’ angry questions as to Will’s presence in company with their daughter.
He, Will, and Lord Morris disappeared into his lordship’s private sanctum. Lady Morris, who at this point had no reason to accuse her daughter of wrongdoing, demanded what was happening, and when Julia burst into renewed sobs, her ladyship marched into the sanctum after the gentlemen, leaving Henrietta to do what she could for her distraught friend.
After one of the longest hours Henrietta could ever remember spending, they were joined in the parlor by the others. Will’s freckles stood out prominently against the extreme pallor of his complexion, Daniel was expressionless, Lady Morris tearful, her husband grim-faced.
“So ye would be wed, would ye?” he demanded of his daughter. “And a fine way you’d go about it. I’ve heard the whole disgraceful story from Sir Daniel.”
Henrietta’s eyes shot in questioning alarm to Daniel, but he shook his head very slightly and she breathed again. “I bear the greatest responsibility, Lord Morris,” she said firmly. “It would never have occurred to Julie to act in such shameful fashion had I not suggested it.”
“That may be so,” Morris said gruffly. “But your behavior is a matter for your husband, Lady Drummond.”
“And I do not condone it, as I have said,” Daniel put in. “But I do understand why Henrietta felt impelled to act as she did.” He walked to the hearth, where the coals glowed brightly. He began to speak in a voice resonant with feeling, one that held the attention of everyone in the room. “Love is a most precious thing. And I believe it to be a rare thing, particularly in wedlock. It is, after all, in general not a consideration in the arrangement of marriages.” Daniel’s bright black eyes rested for a second on his wife’s rapt countenance. “I have been blessed twice. There was great love between myself and my first wife, shattered only by her death.” He glanced at Lady Morris, noting with satisfaction that his words were having the desired effect. A certain softness had entered her eyes.
“I did not expect,” he went on with quiet deliberation, “ever to experience such joy again…ever to share in that way again. I did expect to wed again, but assumed that I must be satisfied with a helpmeet and a mother for my children. I certainly have that. But there is more…much more.”
Henrietta was aware that she was looking at him with painful intensity, that her cheeks were warm, that tears were pricking her eyes. She was also aware of Will’s gaze fixed upon her.
“If anything,” Daniel was continuing in the same steady voice, “the love I have found this second time is even greater than the first. I would never have believed it possible, but it is so.” He turned to Julia’s parents. “I would never deny a child of mine the possibility of such happiness…particularly when her heart has gone to such a one as Will Osbert. I would not hesitate to bestow the hand of a daughter upon him, and I know his parents will welcome his bride.”
He pursed his lips for a second in thought, and no one broke the moment of silence. “I would ask you also to consider this one other thing. Will is committed to the king’s cause, as are we, Morris. He will fight for that cause, and he may die for it, as may we. This is not a time to delay the pursuit of happiness when ’tis offered.”
He moved away from the hearth. “Come, Henrietta, let us leave these good people now to manage their own business as they see fit.”
She shook herself free of the cobwebby daze enfolding her. Daniel had stood in front of these near strangers and exposed his innermost feelings to aid Will and Julia. He had declared his love for his wife in the most public fashion. And she had not even thought to confide in him and ask his help. It was a dismaying reflection.
Out in the street, she skipped a little to keep pace with his long-legged stride, and he slowed instantly. “I do not know why I did not think to tell you,” she said.
“’Twas certainly a grave oversight,” he returned evenly.
“It was not that I do not trust you.”
“Nay, I am aware.”
They walked in silence for a few more minutes, then Henrietta asked hesitantly, “Did you truly mean what you said, Daniel, about…about loving me in that manner?”
“Aye, I meant it, every word. Just as I mean this: if you ever implicate me in such a disgraceful imbroglio again, all the love in the world will not protect you!”
An appropriate response failing to come to mind, she kept silent, but after a few minutes a small hand crept warmly into his.
Daniel looked down at her upturned face. Her brown eyes were laughing up at him, her soft mouth curved in that irresistibly sensual appeal. “Ramshackle creature!” he said. “I wonder if you’ll ever change.” He shook his head. “I wonder if I wish you to. Somehow, I do not think I do.” He shook his head again at this perverse but undeniable admission.