Lady Lorna did not leave her room again that day or the next. One cannot entirely abandon a visitor and both Mama and I visited her, but it was clear our visits were not welcome. She claimed she was exhausted, yet she did not look at all ill. Balky, with knowing nods, informed me when Mama was not around that whatever ailed her, it was not her appetite for either food or drink. In other words, she was malingering — but why? Was she waiting for something to happen, or someone to come?
Or perhaps she was just afraid to go out. But afraid of what, or whom? I spent a good deal of time in the park, hoping to waylay Acton if he came to upbraid me. Fortunately the weather continued fine. To account for my sudden love of the park I took a sketch pad with me and worked on a sketch of Oak Hill as seen at a distance through the park.
It is a handsome house in the Palladian style, with a pillared entrance and a domed roof. In my rendition, it looked as if the roof wore a bonnet. My attempt at perspective and scale was poor. I had drawn one pillar shorter than the other, causing the house to tilt so precariously the roof was in danger of sliding off, bonnet and all. I gave it up, turned to a clean sheet and sketched a less demanding stand of fir trees instead.
In mid-afternoon I was rewarded. Acton came, not in his carriage but mounted on his fine gelding. He looked very gallant, a regular Sir Galahad riding straight and tall through the park to meet me as I rushed towards him, hoping to stop him before he reached the front door.
I had been rehearsing explanations and excuses, undecided whether to try the “best defence” of an attack, or to apologize. Imagine my astonishment to see a smile on his face. Had his aunt not told him of my disgrace?
He dismounted and walked the last two steps towards me, while his mount began nibbling the grass. “Where is your fellow ken smasher today?” he asked, using the Corinthian’s argot for thieves who sneak into houses to steal. “Or should I say sister ken smasher?” So he had been told all right.
“Lorna’s not feeling well. She’s in bed,” I said, but I’m sure my expression asked the question that was in my mind. Why was he not ripping up at me?
“That should limit her illegal activities,” he said with a satisfied smile.
“I daresay it was foolish of me to go along with her,” I said, making light of it as he was not angry.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. No harm done. She didn’t get away with the Fragonard. A fellow appreciates a little of the adventurous spirit in his girl, though for your own good, I suggest you stay on the right side of the law. Some folks are so narrow minded they dislike house breakers.”
His girl, not a girl. It left me speechless. When I could finally speak, my voice sounded unnaturally high. “Why didn’t Lady Mary call the constable, as she threatened?”
“It was not out of consideration for your guest, I promise you.” And that was all that was said about that awful night. I had been living a nightmare all that time — fretting all day and tossing and turning in my bed at night — for nothing.
“What are you sketching?” he asked, and took the pad from my fingers before I could stop him. He glanced at the stand of firs, that seemed to have turned into a spiky black cloud on the page, shook his head in confusion then flipped back to my poor attempt at Oak Hill, tilting it this way and that, trying to straighten the house up. “Ah, The House that Jack Built,” he said. “Should there not be a maiden all forlorn and a cow with a crumpled horn who — “
“It’s Oak Hill,” I said, snatching the pad back.
“I was going to suggest you sketch me but on second thought ...” I could contain my curiosity no longer. “Acton, aren’t you angry about what I did?”
“I find it difficult to be angry with you, Kate, but I’m disappointed that you’re letting that woman impose on your good judgment. What else have you been up to?”
“Nothing! I realize it was a foolish thing to do. But she knew how to get into the Abbey, and knew where she — or Lorna — kept things. She went straight to the jewelry case.”
“And finding the cupboard bare, helped herself to the Fragonard. A wise choice, the most valuable thing in the room. It’s certainly worth more than the bits and pieces of jewelry Lorna kept in her room for everyday wear.”
“She just took it in spite. I don’t think she even knew it was valuable. But she knew it was a sixteenth birthday present from your father.”
“I notice you don’t say her father. Are you beginning to believe me, Kate?”
“I don’t know what to believe,” I said, and sighed like Mama.
“I had hoped you were coming to know whom to believe at least,” he said, looking a question at me.
“Mama still says she is Lorna. And she does have that little ring that belonged to your mama,”
“Yes, that still wants explaining. I expect she showed some interest in the dresser,” he said, peering at me sideways, and noticing my start of surprise. “Specifically the bottom drawer. Did she remove it?”
“Yes. What was she looking for, Acton? You obviously know.”
“So does your guest. Ask her. But I can tell you I beat her to it.”
“I know. She was furious.”
“She obviously has some other source of information about Lorna. That’s all right. I have another source of information about her.”
“But what source? I don’t see why you make such a mystery of it!”
“I daren’t jeopardize my secret weapon, with such a determined opponent. If your guest ever got wind of it... Why I shouldn’t be surprised if she’d sink to murder.”
“So it’s a person. You can’t murder a thing. She’s not that bad, Acton. I can’t believe she’s actually capable of murder. I thought you would have your proof by now.”
He reached out and took my hand. “So did I, Kate. There has been an unfortunate delay, but soon.” For a long moment we just looked at each other. A tension began building as he gazed deeply into my eyes, till I felt hypnotized, drowning in their dark depths.
“Very soon, Kate,” he said softly, then his arms came around me and he began moving, walking me backwards, as if we were waltzing. I couldn’t imagine what he was doing, until he stopped at the big old oak tree, where no one could see us from the house. Then he gazed at me a moment, slowly lowered his head and kissed me, pinning me against the tree so I couldn’t escape if I wanted to. Escape was the last thing in my mind. I was caught up in the mad, whirling sensation of that kiss as his lips pressed on mine, tentatively at first then firming to passion as his arms crushed me so closely against his chest I could feel the buttons on his jacket.
I never dared imagine Acton cared for me in that way. In my youthful and maidenly imaginings we reached the altar without more than a chaste kiss on the cheek and a declaration of undying devotion. I had never imagined love could bring such a fierce, frightening passion either. His lips were like a spark to kindling, the fire swiftly blazing to an inferno inside me.
I didn’t make a single move to stop him or slow him down. I practically egged him on, lifting my arms around his neck, stroking the silky hair at his nape, with my lips returning the ever increasing pressure of his till I felt my lungs would burst. When he lifted his head and gazed down at me, he looked dazed, the way I felt. Then he smiled, a warm, conspiratorial smile, nuzzled my ear and said, “Thank goodness for that.”
I gasped for air. “What — what do you mean?” I asked in a breathless murmur, the only voice I was capable of.
“That it’s like this between us. Natural and right. I feared you might freeze up on me.”
Burning up was more like it. “It didn’t feel natural to me,” I said. Supernatural was more like it. But it had felt right, wonderfully, excitingly right.
He laughed softly and said in his old jaunty way, “It will, with repetition.” He released me and went to pick up the sketch book I had dropped without even realizing it. I looked at him, Lord Acton, the man every lady in the parish and half the London debs wanted to nab, and wondered how he could possibly have decided on me.
When he handed the sketchbook to me, I said, “Why did you not go to Larson’s rout party?”
“Why would I? I knew you weren’t going.”
“Oh, is that why?” I asked. I could feel the little smile peeping out, but I couldn’t suppress it.
“Whither thou goest,” he said. “That’s actually the lady’s line, isn’t it? In Shakespeare.”
“In the Bible, Acton.”
“I have trouble telling them apart. Some folk think Shakespeare didn’t write all those plays. I wonder if he wrote the Bible instead. Forgive me. I’m babbling. You do know I love you, Kate?”
“Yes, I do now.”
“Good.” He looked at me, as if waiting for something, then whistled for his mount, hopped into the saddle, waved and galloped off. I didn’t realize until he was gone that he had been waiting for me to tell him I loved him too.
I was too dazed by the charm of my first real lover to go home immediately. I leaned against the oak tree, smiling and reliving those few magical moments, and didn’t give a single thought to Lorna. As the internal fire subsided I became chilly and decided I had recovered sufficiently to go inside.
Balky met me at the door. “She hasn’t stirred out this afternoon,” he said, bringing me to earth with a thud. “Anyone lurking about the park?”
With my mind full of Acton, it took me a moment to realize he was talking about someone lurking about to meet Lorna. “No, no one,” I said.
“Stands to reason she’s been slipping out to meet someone. Why else would she do it?”
“Yes, very likely. She wouldn’t go back to the Abbey.”
“She got locked out that first time and had to break the window to get in as I locked the door before turning in. That’s the answer to that mystery. I’ll go after her if she slips out again.”
“Good. Let me know, Balky.” It seemed Acton had converted me to his view of our guest. I consoled myself that it was not all his doing. I had been halfway there already.