Chapter 35: Flirting with Disaster

"Somebody saw them?" Moll asked again, shaking her head.

"Plain as day," Tom assured her. "Right there in the little grove of copper beeches about a mile to the west, the fellows say. Gave the cottager quite a turn."

"I should say so!" Moll exclaimed, very indignant. "I don't know what's got into the Colonel--carrying on so, making his wife ashamed to show her face. You'd at least think the woman would have some sense!"

Tom shrugged, looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping on them. The castle was a silent place, early on Sunday morning. He had the excuse of a message from Mrs. Tavington to pay a call on Moll, but in a strange house, you never knew who might be on the watch.

"Got to get back to the boots, my flame-haired beauty, so give us a kiss!"

"Get on with you!" laughed Moll, giving him a hearty shove. Thinking again, she held onto his arm, and pulled him around for an equally hearty kiss. "That's all you get, Tom! No one's going to have cause to gossip about me!"

He grinned and lounged away, disappearing down the dark, narrow stairs. Moll shook her head again, wondering what the world was coming to. Should she tell Mrs. Tavington the honest truth? Would it hurt more than it helped? And should she be the one to make the decision?

"If I don't tell her, someone else will: and they might not break it to her easy."

As it happened, Moll was not put in that unpleasant position at all. At that very moment Pullen was giving Jane the whole story.

"--And the tenant of Greengage Cottage was passing by and saw them together on the ground. The lady was not—some of her clothes were off. 'Tweren't only kissing—the fellow saw him putting it to her—"

Jane flinched.

"Beg pardon, ma'am. 'Tis an ugly tale." The maid didn't intend to further wound her mistress, but added in her terse way, "I hate to see men deceiving women. I've seen it all my life. "Tain't right, you going around in a fool's paradise, while the Colonel sports with his cousin's wife. I'm sorry if what I tell you hurts you, ma'am; but I couldn't be easy until you heard the truth."

The maid set down the comb, and wrung her work-reddened hands, wondering if she had made a terrible mistake, and was about to be sacked.

Jane spoke after a long moment, very quietly. "I'm not angry with you, Pullen. You did what you thought was right. Perhaps it is best that I know the truth. Finish my hair, if you please, and then see to Miss Rutledge. I'm not sure I want you to tell her this, though. It's not—"

"Too late," said Letty, coming into the room. She sat down on the unmade bed, looking very depressed. "What are you going to do?"

"Go on with my hair, Pullen," Jane told the maid. She felt rather numb. "First of all, I need to see the baby. Then I thought I'd walk to church today. I'm told it is half a mile, but the weather is fair enough, and I most desperately want to get out of the castle. I've always rather held to the idea of letting the horses rest on Sunday. It seems silly to call the coach to go only half a mile. What do you say?"

Letty nodded. "It would be a quiet place.. Do you think anyone else will come with us?"

"Probably not. Nothing was said about it last night, though I left the drawing room early."

"I left a little after you did, but I didn't hear any talk about church, either. Everyone wanted to play cards, and I would have made nine, so there was no point in staying. I was tired out by Lady Sattersby's high spirits anyway."

Jane smiled bitterly. "That makes two of us."

-----

The rest of the inhabitants of the castle slept quite late, and then made their way to the sunny breakfast parlor to partake of a leisurely meal. Bellini, never an early riser in any case, was not among them. It was agreed by the balance of the party to give their horses a rest after the demands of the day before; and a stroll through the gardens was proposed, to be followed by a picnic luncheon.

"Might as well enjoy the good weather with a simply, rustic meal outdoors," Lord Colchester grunted, pleased with his idea. Having his family about him, enjoying themselves, was his favorite pastime. Dear Kitty looked so happy and lively. Even Sattersby seemed in good spirits. Usually he was sulky around William, for reasons the earl had never understood, but his son had had a good hunt yesterday, and exercise was always the best thing for a man. He smiled at his younger nephew, pleased with him too. Trust William to see that no harm came to a lady. Damned resourceful of him.

He frowned a little, looking John's way. That boy had had too much to drink last night, and was uncommonly quiet. Something was on his mind, but the earl knew better than to pry. If John wanted his advice, he'd ask for it. Probably thinking about all the renovations needed at Wargrave. An expensive business, but he was glad that John was taking an interest in the place at last. His daughter Anne was smiling to herself, the way she always did when she knew something no one else did. Some sort of surprise, probably. Perhaps she had some charming trifle to give at the picnic to William's wife, as a sort of wedding present. The earl had suggested it himself.

He looked about. Where were Mrs. Tavington and her pretty sister? He had not seen much of them in the past day or so. They had been quiet at dinner, he remembered, and then had retired early. He hoped they had not quarreled with one another. Women were always quarreling about trifles. They generally seemed the best of friends, playing their music and chatting with that Italian fellow he had engaged to amuse them. Good thought, that. Fine entertainment at the ball, and a nice way of presenting William's new wife to the county at large. The new Mrs. Tavington was no great beauty, but she was a quiet, modest creature, and played charmingly--and the pretty sister sang like an angel. Nice, agreeable girls, even if they were Colonials with an odd way of speaking.

He felt a little guilty in not arranging for Mrs. Tavington to take part in the hunt. It would not do for her to feel neglected. She had made the best of it, like a good girl, saying she would keep her sister company, but anyone would rather hunt that stay at home all day. Perhaps he could arrange a little party to venture down to that pretty bend of the river on horseback, and see if Miss Rutledge would like to learn to ride.

He considered his stable. Mrs. Tavington said she knew how to ride, and would enjoy Posy—good, smooth action, if a little tall. That meant—oh, yes—there was Shadow. Patient old fellow. The gelding would carry a woman, and nothing startled him—not even a woman's flapping skirts. Yes, Shadow would do for Miss Rutledge. He smiled broadly over the remains of his eggshells, as he shaped his pleasant scheme.

As his butler passed, the earl asked, "Where are Mrs. Tavington and Miss Rutledge?"

"I am told, my lord, that the ladies walked to church a little while ago."

"Oh! Well, very nice, that: very proper. Very considerate, letting the coach horses have their day of rest. Well done. When they return, see that they are informed that we are walking the gardens today and tell them about the luncheon. Wouldn't do for them to miss it."

"My lord."

-----

A trestle table, covered with fine linen, gleaming silver, and delicate crystal, was laid under the arbor. Tavington smiled at the sight, contemplating his uncle's idea of "simple" and "rustic." In South Carolina, the words meant sitting on the ground, consuming maggoty salt beef and foul tea. This was definitely an improvement.

They had had a pleasant stroll through the gardens, Kitty's arm in his. She looked at him, shining with happiness, every touch and look recalling the hunt, their tryst in the woods, and their even greater pleasure last night, when he had slipped into her room after all the house was asleep. She was very fond of flowers, and they all lingered in the rose garden, enjoying the very last blooms of the season. The men watched indulgently while Kitty and Anne ran about, smelling every single variety.

His uncle had told him that Jane and Letty had gone to church, and would be informed of the luncheon plans when they returned. They would be joining them soon, Tavington knew. He had seen them, at a distance, two cloaked figures walking slowly up the road. The girls had made an excellent impression on his uncle, who thought them good and gentle, and presumably devout, since they had risen early to attend divine service. Jane's stock, as the mother of a baby son, was very high with the Earl.

The latest plan, to include them in a riding excursion, he thought very kind of his uncle. I had no idea that Jane knew how to ride. He found it hard to believe that she could ride well. Certainly Letty knew nothing about it, and everything would have to be very sedate and undemanding. It was typically good of Uncle Colchester, of course, to wish to include them.

Kitty gave him another pert smile, looking up from a dewy pink rose. Now she could ride. Her fall he did not hold against her. There never was a daring rider who did not take a fall now and then. He had had his share of falls, himself. The memory of Cowpens made him scowl, and he felt for a moment that a shadow had been cast on the day. Remembering the battle made him remember the agony of his wounds, and how very nearly they had proved mortal. If Jane had not come to me—

"Uncle Colchester has informed me that we are going to Wargrave on Tuesday. Good of you to let me know my plans."

"John!" Tavington laughed at how his brother had startled him out of his thoughts. "Yes, I thought that was the plan all along."

His brother was not smiling. "Why Tuesday? Oh, yes—that's the day you ordered Mrs. Tavington to absent herself. The next time you want to deceive your wife, pray do not use me as your alibi."

Tavington was shocked at John's cold words. "Good God! Are you angry with me? And what's this about ordering Jane about? She wants to go to some concert or other."

His brother took him by the arm and hustled him away from the rest of the party. "We need to talk." Once hidden behind a wall, John lowered his voice and said directly, "You were seen."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You and Kitty. In the woods, playing Adam and Eve. You were seen. The tenant of one of Uncle's cottages passed by a critical moment. All the servants are talking."

Tavington grimaced, considered denying everything, and then glanced at his brother again. "God."

"Just so. I think Anne knows. She's smirking in that way she has. I daresay nobody has dared to tell Sattersby or our uncle."

"You don't think Jane—"

"Why do you think she wanted to leave, Will? She's been watching you make love to Kitty in public since you arrived. Perhaps she's had enough of it by now."

"Oh, come!" Then more quietly, he ventured, "Have we been very indiscreet?"

His brother did not dignify the question with a reply.

"Well," said Tavington heavily, "this is most—unfortunate."

"Ha!"

"Poor Kitty! If someone were to tell Sattersby!"

"Damned silly of her. She won't find it all so romantic if Sattersby petitions Parliament for a divorce and you are named as her partner in the scandal! What the devil were you thinking?"

"I think I'm rather in love with her," Tavington smiled. "She's simply exquisite. We lost our heads—it happens!"

"And what about your wife? I should rather say 'Poor Jane' than 'Poor Kitty!' If you had seen the look on her face last night as you brushed her aside to pay court to another!"

Tavington had not thought about how Jane would feel. "Was she very angry?"

John studied him, his face graver than ever. "Not angry—desolate. You have wounded her sorely—humiliated her in public. You yourself told me she was clever. How could think she would not notice?"

Because I did not wish to think about it. He quieted such qualms of conscience. "All she saw was foolish flirtation. She cannot know the worst of it."

"If I were so coarse as to make a wager about your wife, I would lay odds that someone has given her the news either last night or early this morning. Take a good look at her face when she sits down to luncheon—if you can tear your eyes from Kitty's 'exquisite' countenance!"

"Very well! I shall try to be a model of discretion."

"It may be too late for that. Good God, Will! Kitty is Sattersby's wife and she hasn't even given him an heir yet! What a way to thank our Uncle for his kindness—for he will be besmirched by the scandal as much as you or Kitty or anybody else. His reputation has been above reproach all his life—and now it may be ruined forever! Could you not spare the old fellow that?"

"All right," snarled Tavington, thinking hard. "It must be dealt with. We must track down the witness and pay him off. A hundred pounds should buy his silence. He can say he was drunk or dreaming. Have your man Pratt see to it today—better not to have my own manservant involved. There will be less to connect me to a meeting between them. I have the money with me, and we'll use a few quiet threats, too. I'll burn down his bloody cottage if he blabs."

John hacked at some tall grass with his walking stick. "As good a plan as any. I'll speak to Pratt directly. And I suggest you keep your breeches buttoned for the duration of our stay—or remember that you have a perfectly nice wife—if she'll still have you!" He stalked away, with another slash at the vegetation.

Tavington carefully avoided Kitty thereafter, attaching himself to his uncle and cousin, getting Sattersby to tell him more about the last kill of the hunt. He would try to talk to Kitty later, if they could find a moment when they could speak together unheard. But they must not disappear together. Tavington was beginning to see just how serious the situation was. Kitty was on the verge of ruin, and his uncle would never forgive Tavington if he were the cause.

To his further dismay, Jane and Letty arrived, both solemn as judges. He recalled the resentful look Letty had given him the day before. If even humble Letty thought he had behaved badly—well, his behavior must have seemed very bad, for her to dare show disapproval. Uncomfortably, he remembered that he had forgotten to dance with Jane at the ball. Thinking over it rationally, he admitted that women found such lapses insulting. In fact, if a woman had promised to dance with him, and then had slighted him for another... He scowled. Jane had good reason to be put out with him for that alone. He had not visited her bed once while they had been here. He had been neglectful and rude.

Jane and Letty stood at the edges of the party, looking at the late-blooming roses, talking quietly to each other. Tavington wondered if approaching them right now would be good strategy or a catastrophic mistake. The latter, clearly. Jane's eyes met his briefly, and in them he read a world of pain and anger. She knows everything.

And just at that moment, his uncle hurried over to tell her about his splendid plans for the morrow. Jane looked at him blankly, and then looked as if she had never heard anything so unappealing in her life. The expression was momentary; for immediately her schooling in manners and deportment triumphed, and Tavington heard her thank Lord Colchester for his solicitude for their amusement—in a quiet, subdued tone that only his uncle could mistake for enthusiasm.

"I cannot, however, be gone long from my son," she told him.

"But my dear," cried Lord Colchester, who had considered even this issue in plotting the entertainment, "How easy! I shall have your nursemaid and the child brought by carriage to meet us at the picnic site! The boy will have an airing, and you will have all the comfort and privacy you require."

"Then—that is very kindly thought of you, my lord. What say you, sister?" Jane asked Letty. "Would you enjoy such a outing?"

And of course, Letty would not dare contradict anyone. "Thank you, my lord. It sounds very interesting. I have never been on a horse."

His uncle positively swelled with excitement, like a big badger in a thicket. "My dear young lady, you will find it the best thing in the world! I have selected the gentlest of steeds for your first efforts. All will be done to make it a pleasure. We will only ride a few miles, and then have a picnic luncheon, and then enjoy a slow, easy amble back home. You will find yourself a skillful horsewoman by the end of the venture—and made one in the least taxing fashion!"

"I am sure you know best, my lord," Letty replied, in her sweet, submissive fashion.

Tavington prayed that no harm befell her. In fact, he would spend all his time with Letty and Jane. It was appropriate. It was unquestionably what he was called upon to do. Hard as it was, he would try not to so much as look at Kitty for the entire time.

"Will, my boy!" called Lord Colchester. "Your ladies have been so good as to agree to my little scheme. Such a relief. With Bellini dashing off tomorrow, I didn't want them to suffer boredom their last day! Only wish they could stay longer!"

Tavington smiled and walked over, feeling his uncle was sufficient protection against his wife's wrath. "It was kindly thought of you, Uncle. I shall look after them particularly, of course, and see that no harm comes to them."

"Well done! My dear young ladies, you know you need fear nothing. Just look at my dear Kitty! Took a tumble and Will here saw her safe. I'm sure he'd do as much for you."

"Certainly, my lord," Jane agreed civilly, spearing her husband with a look that would freeze lava. "but neither I nor my sister have any intention of falling."

Tavington forced an uneasy smile, sweating in the cool breeze. He considered offering Jane his arm, but knew that he should not risk it in front of all these people.

Bellini arrived, greeting them with an expansive, genial gesture, and Tavington felt a pang of jealousy to see his wife's quick, genuine smile at the sight of him. The singing master bowed elaborately, and he, rather than Tavington, gave an arm to each of his ladies. They wandered off, while the Italian began some long, convoluted story involving music, flowers, and star-crossed lovers.

The subsequent luncheon was one of the most uncomfortable occasions of Tavington's life. Kitty was as happy and lively as she had been at breakfast, but now Tavington could see that she was hopelessly transparent. She was flirting openly with him. It was flagrant: it was beyond indiscreet. Only blind passion had allowed him to imagine that no one else would notice.

Sattersby seemed undisturbed by Kitty's behavior, and it was possible that she behaved this way all the time. The idea that Kitty had flirted with other men thus was rather distasteful, but could not be avoided. So much the better. If Sattersby thought Kitty a flirt, but no worse, much danger could be averted. Trumfleet seemed interested only in the food and wine and horse talk. Sir John determinedly joined it, and Tavington participated earnestly. He tried to warn Kitty with his eyes to moderate her behavior. She did not understand, and looked back at him with pointed exasperation.

Tavington was beginning to be horribly embarrassed. Jane and Letty were very quiet, uninterested in their plates, and answering politely when spoken to. They rarely looked up, other than to chat quietly with Bellini. Lady Trumfleet glanced at Tavington with malicious amusement. He could deal with his cousin, and gave her a blank, uncomprehending stare which confused her.

At the end of the meal, Lady Trumfleet presented Jane with a little package wrapped in silk. "A trifling gift," smiled the earl's daughter, at her most patronizing, "to welcome you to the family."

Jane smiled automatically, and dutifully untied the ribbons. The soft flowered silk slipped away and revealed— "A snuffbox," Jane said. Who here has ever seen me take snuff? I think it's a dirty habit.

The little box was quite valuable: jewel-encrusted gold with brilliantly colored enamel detailing the Death of General Wolfe in miniature. Jane thought it the ugliest, most vulgarly ostentatious object she had ever seen.

"How charming," she said instantly, "And with a martial theme. I thank you for this keepsake of my visit."

"It seemed just the right thing for you," Lady Trumfleet said, too smoothly.

"How remarkable," Jane replied, just as smoothly, "that you could comprehend my taste on such a brief acquaintance."

Tavington saw the exchange, and saw at once that Jane was offended. Why on earth should she object to an expensive present? No, she did not use snuff, but the box was valuable as an ornament--or she could store pins in it--or whatever it was women did with such things. Jane, it was clear, was in no mood to be pleased with anything or anybody.

And then the earl had a new inspiration. "Look here! We have all these beautiful, accomplished young ladies! I should like to hear you all together. What do you say, Bellini? Don't you know something or other for all the girls to perform together? We have Miss Rutledge and Anne to sing, and Kitty on the harp and Mrs. Tavington on the harpsichord. That would be a fine thing! Wish I'd thought of it before!"

"Oh, that does sound delightful!" cried Kitty excitedly. "We can practice all afternoon and give you a gala performance after dinner tonight!"

Lady Trumfleet raised her brows. "I think it will be most entertaining." She sat back, watching Jane, a little secret smile playing about her mouth.

Jane thought it was the worst idea in the history of bad ideas, but the earl was her host and a good-hearted man. "I shall do my part, of course," she quietly assented.

Letty added, "And I, too."

"Capital!" cried Lord Colchester. "We have a memorable evening before us, eh, gentlemen?"

Not too memorable, Tavington hoped. He would barricade himself in the library and stay far, far away from the women as long as possible.

-----

Bellini proved himself worth every penny that afternoon. Jane had nothing to do but play notes. She did not, thank God, have to sing the silly words of the songs, which were all about love. The singing master chose three charming pieces, taught Letty and Lady Trumfleet their parts, marked the music to show where Mrs. Tavington should play, and where Lady Sattersby should play; and where they should play together. Had Jane not hated Lady Sattersby and her odious displays of friendship with all her heart, it would have been very interesting and enjoyable.

And Lady Sattersby would not stop her overtures, despite Jane's stony response. After finishing a lovely duet from The Faery Queen, Lady Sattersby left her harp and came to sit by Jane, touching her hand. "Wasn't that wonderful? How I love to play with others. You and I have so much in common! I know that we're going to be great friends!"

Jane stared at her in disbelief, and pulled her hand away. The woman was incomprehensible. Lady Sattersby did not seem to be malicious or spiteful; simply oblivious to the wounds she had inflicted. Jane choked out, "I am aware of all we have in common. I am not sure it is a sound basis for friendship."

She peered at her music, and pretended to practice a difficult measure. Lady Sattersby turned away, puzzled and hurt.

Letty was terribly embarrassed by some of the lyrics, and began to blush. Her voice faded to nothing, and Bellini came over, concerned for her. "I am sorry, Maestro," she told him, addressing him as she had been taught. "How can I sing such things in front of men?"

Bellini did not laugh at her, for he was a sensitive man; but he gave the other ladies a welcome pause in their labors, while he sat with Letty and explained how an artist distances himself from the ordinary mores of society when he creates his art. "When you sing these words, Miss Rutledge, you are a shepherdess singing on a timeless hillside. You are not the young lady guest of Milord the Earl of Colchester, but an instrument of music."

Letty blushed and laughed. "I am a musical instrument?"

"But of course!" he replied, smiling brilliantly. "You, the singer, are your own instrument. The music comes from you: from your heart, your voice, your body. The music is you: you are the music. Fear nothing, and sing your best!"

Dinner was not quite a family affair: the vicar and his wife had been invited to Sunday dinner, as they always were every Sunday when the earl was in residence at Colneford Castle. They were an unassuming pair, carefully pleasant in the company of a nobleman and his family and guests. Jane saw no harm in them, but nothing to interest her either. Besides, she would be gone on Tuesday. She made polite conversation and waited for dinner to be done.

The earl was so eager for the promised entertainment that the gentlemen joined the ladies almost as soon as the ladies had had time to sit down in the drawing room. There followed an organized bustle, and Bellini proudly presented his ad-hoc ensemble to his audience. It was not the first time he been employed thus, but he thought these particular ladies likely to reflect more credit on him that most of their ilk.

And so it proved. Even the song that embarrassed Letty so was a charming success, though Letty was not the only person to find the lyrics too pointed:

"Shepherd, shepherd, leave decoying,

Pipes are sweet as summer day,

But a little after toying,

Women have the shot to pay.

Hence are marriage vows for signing,

Set their marks that cannot write;

After that, without repining,

Play and welcome day and night.

Play and welcome,

Play and welcome,

Play and welcome

Day and night!"

Tavington looked away in discomfort when his brother raised his eyes at him. John was slightly drunk. In fact, they were all rather drunk. Tavington was still trying to decide whose company to seek out tonight. He would love to spend as much time as possible with Kitty, but Jane was already angry with him. He should have it out with her, make it up to her, and then, after she left on Tuesday, he could resume his romance with Kitty—with appropriate stealth and discretion, of course.

As soon as the ladies had finished their music and were vigorously applauded, Jane left to bring down the baby. It was a good opportunity for him, Tavington decided. Perhaps he could soften her displeasure by displaying his very real affection for his little son. Thus he took the baby from her and brought William Francis over to be played with by his doting great-uncle.

Lord Colchester was never able to get enough of his young relatives. Lady Trumfleet had two children, who were safely ensconced in their nursery in their country house half a kingdom away. That was the way Lady Trumfleet liked it. Her sister, the absent Lady Sarah, had a daughter, also at considerable distance. However, none of those children could inherit the earldom, and Lord Colchester was becoming anxious for his son to produce an heir. Perhaps, the earl considered, Sattersby might be inspired by his cousin's example. The two had always competed. Kitty, too, would certainly be as good a mother as William's little Colonial wife.

Lady Sattersby, indeed, came by to admire the baby. "Such a darling!" she said, overlooking Jane's coldness to her before. "How I envy you, Mrs. Tavington!"

Jane wanted to slap her. A number of replies crossed her mind.

"I hardly think I am an object of envy—"

No. Perhaps, "I'm sure my husband can oblige you with one of your own—"

Or, there was, "Get away from my son, you disgusting harlot—"

There was nothing she wanted to say that would not put her in the wrong. She managed a tight grimace in place of a smile, and said only, "Thank you."

When at last the men were done, she gathered her child up, and said goodnight to Bellini, who would be leaving early in the morning. "Thank you for your company, sir. It would have been—not so pleasant without you."

The tall Italian bent over the baby with a warm smile, and then gave her a graceful bow of farewell. "We will meet again soon in London, Madame. I shall call to give you, Miss Rutledge, a lesson on Thursday, and then you both must come to the Theater Royal on Friday to hear the concert!"

"We shall certainly be there."

-----

Only one more day. Jane lay awake, suffering something she had never anticipated: terrible homesickness for her life in South Carolina. She longed for her father's house, where she had rarely experienced worse than a few hard words. Or better—if only she could have remained with Cousin Mary, in the pretty house on Bay Street, surrounded by people and things she knew and understood, and where she was known and respected. If only she had not lost her senses over handsome, unreliable William Tavington.

If only I could leave him—

Impossible. They were married. He had her fortune, and all that was left to her were the few hundred pounds in her tin box. If she fled, she would be caught. And then, even if William were living in open adultery with Lady Sattersby, it was Jane who would be divorced for desertion. William could smugly strip her of everything she owned, and then take William Francis from her and give him to his mistress to raise. Jane would never see her child again. A father's rights to his child were absolute in law. Jane knew that perfectly well from her own upbringing.

She had dreamed of escaping her father's house, and she had done it. From her existence in England, however, there could be no escape. This was her life, for better or worse, and she must find a way to survive it. No one would be able to find fault with her own conduct. No one would have an excuse to take her child. No one was raising William Francis Tavington but Jane herself.

What could she do? Much as she would like to denounce the guilty pair before the whole world, how would that actually benefit her? The disgrace would besmirch them all, even the Earl, who was a well-meaning man and an innocent party. It would certainly not improve her marriage. She would like to lock her husband out of her room—to let him know how it felt to be rejected. If she did so, the world would regard her as an undutiful wife, who had brought her husband's unfaithfulness on herself. She would like to scream at William, excoriate him for the pain and humiliation he had caused her, but again—what good would that do her in the long run? She was not a child, to give in to every impulse. She prided herself on her intelligence. If she had made a dreadful mistake in choosing her husband, it was past and she must live with it, and never be so easily swayed by whims again. The question remained: how to keep her dignity and self-respect in the bleak situation in which she currently found herself?

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Jane thought first of Moll, and then of Letty, who had been concerned about her. She slipped cautiously down from the high, high bed, and went to the door.

"William!"

He was there, smiling. Jane rebuked herself once again for being so shallow as to choose a husband for his looks. His still pleased her, but she was now painfully aware of the character flaws hidden by his fine features and splendid physique. She would not shout at him, but neither would she swoon with joy because he had deigned to visit her.

"Have you not mistaken the room, sir? Is the door you seek not further down the hall?"

"Jane!" He entered the room, and shut the door behind him. "Are you very angry with me?"

She raised a curious eyebrow. "Should I be pleased with you?"

He looked regretful. "I am very sorry that this silly business with Lady Sattersby has distressed you. She is pretty and paid me attention, and I rather lost my head. But it is over, now."

"The flirtation was quite bad enough, but for you and she to—"

He had prepared himself to brazen it out. "Nothing happened during the hunt!" he passionately declared. "I swear it! I have only now heard that some cottager has spread some vile gossip, but it is a damned lie. I'll tell you what actually happened: Kitty was thrown from her horse—pretty roughly. Of course her clothing was disarranged. She lay stunned on the ground, and I had to examine her to see if she was badly injured. I confess I put my arms around her to comfort her, but nothing else happened. The idea is ridiculous! She was too shaken for anything of the sort, as you can well imagine. John has spoken to the rascal about inventing vicious tales about a lady to make himself important, and has put a stop to it!"

Jane was utterly taken aback by his denial. He seemed perfectly sincere. "You swear that nothing happened? You swear it?"

He put his hand on his heart. "I do, on my honor. You must believe me. Unthinking and careless—even vain--I may have been, but never so lost to what is owed you and my family that I would betray you all." He paused. She eyed him skeptically. Very urgently, he continued, "I ask you to treat these idle tales as they deserve. They can do immeasurable harm not just to Lady Sattersby, but to my good uncle, and to all of us. If you behave resentfully to Lady Sattersby, you will give only give substance to malicious gossip!"

"It was you who gave it substance in the first place by your attentions to your cousin's wife!"

"Yes—I confess it. I hardly know myself, behaving so." He took her by the hand, and led her to the bed. "Come, you are cold. Let us get warm and talk it all through."

Unwillingly, Jane consented to climb back into the bed, settling as far as possible from William. It was useless. He persisted in cuddling against her, lying on his side, one hand stroking her hip. "I am very sorry to have caused you pain. It was wrong of me. Since I have returned to England, I have—I don't know—been rather off-balance, you see. To be safe—to not be shot at—to be free of hardship and danger—I'm afraid it's been difficult for me to adjust to the change. I have been more idle than my wont, and was bored. Lady Sattersby was there and flattered my vanity, and you have been so busy with the baby—"

Jane's eyes flashed fire. She sat up in bed and gave her husband a hard shove. "How dare you! How dare you! If you excuse your own wrong-doing by blaming me for being a good mother to our son, then you're a worse man than I thought!"

"Jane!" His hand caught hers, and for a brief moment he looked very angry; but then he took a deep breath and said, "Forgive me. That was uncalled-for. I only meant that I selfishly wanted all your attention for myself. It was wrong. It is obviously impossible when one has children. You know I love our son."

"Yes," she admitted, still angry. "I know you love him. Because you love him, I expect you to protect him from harm—even the sort of harm the stigma of scandal could inflict. I don't ask it for myself. I sometimes forget that ours is only a financial arrangement. You have hurt me cruelly, but I cannot complain if you bestow your affections on others, when I know they have never been bestowed on me—"

He tried to protest, but she raised her voice and continued, "What I do expect is that you show me some measure of respect and courtesy—at least the courtesy you would show a passing acquaintance. When you scorn me in public as you have every single day here, you make me a laughingstock, and I have not deserved that of you!"

"Jane!" He pulled her close, and spoke very low. "You are wrong. You are very dear to me. I know that I owe everything to you—my life, my fortune, my present happiness. You have given me a beautiful child, and you are my wife. Nothing can ever change that."

His mouth sought hers for a deep, sweet kiss, and his hands stroked over her body. "You are my dearest Jane," he whispered, and used every power he possessed to convince her of it.

-----

Jane slipped out of bed very early the next morning, leaving her husband fast asleep. Pullen came to help her dress, whispering the latest news in a low voice. There was a trip up to the nursery to feed the baby and to talk and plan with Moll. Then she descended the stairs and found Letty already at breakfast with Bellini, who was packed and ready to leave for London. The carriage that was to take him home would arrive in less than half an hour, so the Italian was making a hearty meal before his four-hour journey.

"I will not stop on the way," he told them. "I hope to be back early in the afternoon, and see to some business in town. It is always pleasant to return to London."

He was gone before the rest of the house was stirring. Jane had another cup of tea, and then everyone seemed to arrive in the breakfast parlor at once. Lady Sattersby made her way to Jane at once, to see if she was properly equipped for riding. "If you did not bring any with you, Anne and I can lend the two of you a safeguard apiece."

Jane was confused for a moment, and then remember that a safeguard was a riding skirt with breeches, worn by women to protect their modesty in case of a fall. Jane refrained from asking if Lady Sattersby had worn one the day of the hunt. It might have been nearly as effective as a chastity belt. Instead, she tried very hard to be civil.

"Are they black?" she asked, and was assured that they were, and would thus do well with any color the jackets of their habits might be. "Then I thank you kindly for the thought. It is just as well. I have not ridden in some time, and my sister never."

Lady Sattersby was a little uneasy around her today, Jane sensed: a little too eager to please. Perhaps someone had told her about the gossip and she was frightened. Letty also thanked her for her help, and they all went upstairs to try on the garments. Letty found that Lady Sattersby's safeguard fitted her reasonably well, but Lady Trumfleet's offering required pinning on Jane.

There was a final visit to the nursery to see if William Francis needed anything and to see that Moll was prepared for her own outing.

The nursemaid laughed. "Reckon I'll feel like a queen, riding alone in the carriage with the baby!" She grew grave. "So the Colonel says it was just gossip, about that lady and all. Think it's true?"

"I don't know what to believe, Moll. Apparently the cottager has changed his story, and denied he ever said such things. I do know that nothing good will come out of too close an inquiry into the facts. If the Colonel was untrue to me, there's really not much I can do about it. He's said he was sorry that he flirted with Lady Sattersby and gave everyone the wrong impression. I shall have to be satisfied with that."

"Well, keep your eyes open anyway," Moll urged her. "I reckon he'll just be more sneaky about it from now on."

Once outside, Lord Colchester made his appearance, bounding about like a big dog, shepherding them toward today's amusements. With the help of her husband and a mounting block, Jane was tossed into a sidesaddle, and was relieved to find that she still knew how to hold her reins and her crop properly. Letty was settled onto a broadbacked, stolid old gelding, and looked as comfortable as anyone could look when five feet off the ground for the first time.

The earl led them down the road, and then past the quaint village church and through fields newly harvested of the year's crops. The earth was soft and brown under the horses' hooves, muffled by the moisture in the soil. Jane felt William's eyes on her, judging her seat and her posture, and she fixed her own eyes on Lady Sattersby ahead of her, making sure that she copied her in every respect. William seemed satisfied, for he then rode next to Letty and corrected her in a gentle voice. She had not yet fallen off, at least.

After about a mile, the woods rose up thicker on either side, and Jane and Letty rode beside each other, with William just behind.

Letty was enjoying herself. "This is—rather pleasant," she said to Jane. She was learning to move with the horse, and seemed to be doing well. Seeing them both secure, William helped them urge their mounts into a trot, and showed them how to deal with the jolting gait.

"It's a good way to see the earl's estate," Jane admitted.

Lady Sattersby was riding beside her husband, very demure, paying Lord Sattersby very flattering attention. Jane could not quite hear Sattersby's low answers, but he seemed pleased and happy to have his wife's notice. Perhaps no one had told him the gossip. It would be a fearfully wicked thing to do, if it were a lie.

And then the woods opened out into a river in a little valley, with thick woods on the other side of the water. Clouds scudded swiftly above them in the clear blue sky, casting vague shadows on the rolling ground.

"That's it," William told them. "That's the Colne." He smiled at them both, "Now why don't you ladies essay a canter?"

With a flick and a kick, the trot smoothed out into a quick, rocking motion. "Don't pull in your arms," William called. "Stretch them out—give the horses their heads!"

They flew down the slope toward the river. Lord Colchester hallooed out, grinning with pleasure at their tentative new skill. Everyone spurred their horses, galloping through the browning grass, kicking up clods as they went. Jane looked up sharply as Lady Sattersby shot past, her lovely mare running flat out. William smiled at the sight, and Jane had a sudden, unwelcome epiphany.

"--I'll tell you what actually happened: Kitty was thrown from her horse—pretty roughly."

Every other time he spoke of her, he had called her "Lady Sattersby." Is she "Lady Sattersby" to him, or is she "Kitty?" He was less guarded when he told his story. No, she is definitely 'Kitty' when they are alone together. Perhaps what he told me is partly true, but only partly. Something did happen, and he lied to me—on his honor.

She sighed. She had suspected as much. There was something between them. Lady Sattersby was "Kitty" to her husband. Something less than the cottager's gossip, possibly--kisses and caresses; or perhaps the man was telling the simple truth and had been threatened. It was unlikely she would ever know the full story. And as she told Moll, what could she do about it anyway? The most important thing she had learned was that her husband would not scruple to lie to her for his own advantage.

All these thoughts took only a few seconds to cross her mind, but they altered her way of thinking forever. Letty rode beside her, smiling at her sister with artless joy, her plumes whipping in the wind. Jane smiled back. It was up to her to make a life worth living for herself, without expecting William to arrange it for her.

Sir John pulled up his horse to ride beside her. "You are doing well, ma'am. Are you enjoying the exercise?"

"Yes, I like it very much. It is certainly a beautiful day for it."

"You know," said her brother-in-law, with more animation than usual, "if you and your sister would not find it too taxing, we could ride all the way to Wargrave itself this morning. It's only another five miles that way." He rose in his stirrups, gesturing vaguely to the southwest. "It's a rotten old pile, but I'm told that just makes it more picturesque. And there are the barrows and the hill, which I believe you would find interesting. William and I were going to see the steward this week, but there's no reason not to have a look at the place."

"Letty," Jane called, "Sir John wants to know if we can go another five miles and see Wargrave Hall. Do you feel up to it?"

"Oh, yes!" Letty cried. "I feel as if I could ride forever!"

But the rest of the party opposed it. Even Lord Colchester poured cold water on the plan. "If the young ladies were to ride another five miles there, it would mean another five miles back. And then they would still have the whole distance to Colneford. Another day, John. I don't want them returning to London sick and sore, and cursing my name!"

Sir John shrugged, "Only a suggestion."

"A good one, too," Tavington told his brother, "but not today. If it were only us—" He turned in the saddle to Jane, with a winning smile, "I hope you are not too disappointed."

"Rather disappointed, yes," she replied, thinking not only of the day's ride, but of the handsome man before her. "But I suppose I shall just have to live with it."

Notes: Divorce in the 18th century U.K. was difficult and expensive, requiring a private act of Parliament. It was virtually impossible for a woman to obtain a divorce. Very rich men sometimes did, usually for adultery or desertion. The only grounds women could cite were extreme cruelty with desertion. And extreme means just that, since it was perfectly legal to beat one's wife as long as the weapon used was no thicker than the man's thumb. Some men have very big thumbs, by the way. It was not, of course, legal to kill one's wife, but as long as the little woman didn't actually give up the ghost, it was AOK. " And as Jane knows, even if a woman, by some fluke, were granted a divorce, she would still lose her children. Always. Even if she fled her husband in fear for her life, she would lose her children. Always.

This chapter is dedicated to dear old long-gone Posy, who really did have the smoothest gait on the planet.

Next—Chapter 36: Gentlemen of the Road