Chapter Six
Jared saw Guin to her front door, impeccably formal once more. ‘Until this evening, Lady Northam.’
She smiled a little as she made her way upstairs with Faith. The man was so reassuringly calm and confident and having someone to call her by her name again, after all this time, was ridiculously pleasurable. She hugged it to herself, a harmless little secret.
Twite descended as they climbed. ‘My lady. His lordship asked me to inform you that he will be in for luncheon and hopes you will be able to join him.’ A clock chimed down in the hall. ‘It will be served in half an hour if that is convenient?’
‘Thank you, Twite. That will be perfectly convenient.’
‘Mr Theo Quenten called and is with his lordship.’
‘Will he be staying for luncheon, do you know, Twite?’ She had a soft spot for Augustus’s scapegrace nephew, so close to her in age, even though she had no illusions about his faults. He was a charmer, a good-looking young man through whose fingers money flowed easily and who seemed incapable of settling to any useful occupation. His elderly, ailing, father was unable to control him and only Augustus attempted to exert any influence over his behaviour.
‘I am not sure, my lady. The discussion appears to be somewhat… heated.’
‘Oh dear. Money again?’
‘Possibly, my lady.’ Twite gave what, in a lesser butler, might have been a shrug. ‘And the delivery came from Parmentier’s. It has been placed in your sitting room.’
The fancy box of sweetmeats sat exuding expensive deliciousness in the middle of the table. ‘I wonder what temptation they have selected for me this time.’ Guin handed Faith her bonnet and gloves and went to untie the ribbon bow. ‘Lord Northam really is very good to indulge me with sweet things but I will be as round as an orange if I am not careful. You must help me out and eat at least half of them.’
She lifted the lid. ‘Violet creams and fruit fondants and – Oh no, look, Faith, they have put in half a dozen marchpane balls. Well, I will have no trouble resisting those at least.’ She popped a fondant into her mouth. ‘Delicious. Do take one, Faith. You may eat all the marchpane to start with, with my blessing.’
‘Thank, you my lady, but I can’t abide them either, they are so sickly they set my teeth on edge.’
‘Have one of the others then – and do not tell Lord Northam. He adores anything with almonds in it and you know his doctor said he was not to indulge in sweet things. I would not trust him not to steal them all.’
It was extraordinary how soothing a bonbon was. Once Faith had selected a crystallised orange segment for herself Guin put the lid back firmly on the box and went to wash her hands and restore her hair to order before luncheon. ‘You must hide that box, Faith.’
‘Yes, my lady. At what time will you want your bath this afternoon? I thought four o’clock, then there will be plenty of time to dry your hair and for you to have a little rest before you dress for the ball.’
‘That would be perfect, thank you.’
Guin went down to the dining room thinking about the ball, Jared’s warning about what gossip might say creeping back to destroy her momentary peace. How foul peoples’ minds must be to imagine such things. Yes, she had married a much older man for security and yes, Augustus made no secret of enjoying showing off a pretty young wife and appreciated having a domestic life and companionship once more. But that first night he had made it very plain that he would not trouble her in her bed. It had been clear that age had considerably dimmed her husband’s desires and that he had no wish to attempt to consummate the marriage.
Guin had been prepared to be a wife in every way, that was only fair. But she had been glad that she would not be going to her marriage bed as a virgin and beyond the sheer relief at being loved and cared for, and being able to return that care with affection and loyalty, she found she had no inconvenient longings for more, for anything physical. After her brief first marriage an undemanding elderly husband was a blessing, she told herself.
As she recovered her confidence and her spirits the niggling awareness began to grow that she did desire something more, that she was a healthy young woman and not naturally inclined to celibacy. Close contact with a man as virile and attractive as Jared Hunt did nothing to soothe those feelings but neither was she tempted to do anything indiscreet. Augustus had rescued her from a bad situation, she had made her marriage vows intending to keep them and she owed him her absolute loyalty.
He loved to see her dressed up and wearing the jewels he had lavished on her, bless him, and she fully intended to do him proud tonight and take their minds off the looming menace of her unknown attacker.
‘Jared, how nice to see you.’ Her Grace the Duchess of Calderbrook uncurled herself from the sofa in one corner of her husband’s bedchamber as Jared tapped on the door and let himself in. He submitted to a kiss on the cheek and an inspection –‘Are you feeding properly?’ – and wondered at the transformation time had made in Sophie’s attitude towards him.
At first she had thought him sinister and unlikeable and had not troubled too hard to hide the fact, but fighting for her husband’s life together the night he had been poisoned had marked a turning point and now she treated Jared like a brother.
‘I was hoping for a word with Cal.’ He settled beside her on th
e sofa.
‘He and Flynn are debating a waistcoat,’ she said with a grimace and a jerk of her head towards the dressing room door. It was just ajar and the soft Irish tones of Michael Flynn the Duke’s valet could be heard raised in plaintive lament.
‘…more than my professional pride will allow.’
Cal’s deeper rumble was less audible until the door opened and he stalked out. ‘I like it and that’s that. Besides, it was expensive.’
Michael followed him out holding a silk waistcoat in shades of deep purple and plum between thumb and forefinger. ‘The cost is no matter. Expensive it might be, but it looks as though you’re a bishop on his way to an orgy,’ he protested. ‘Hunt – look, tell Cal this is hopeless.’ Almost seven years of racketing around the world together, often guarding each others’ backs, had developed a closeness between the three of them that ignored rank.
‘It looks perfectly all right to me,’ Jared said. ‘It is purple – so what is wrong with that?’