Lady Hawk's Folly (9 page)

Mollie wished he would take his hands away, because the feeling of them, warm upon her shoulders, was making it hard for her to think properly. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, so many things that had built up inside her, but they seemed tangled all together in her mind, and when she looked up at him, wanting to speak, she could think of nothing at all to say. She remembered, instead, the look on Cathe’s face as she stood there watching them. Somehow, she thought, there always seemed to be an audience.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you in the gallery,” she said finally. “Not with Cathe standing there.”

“A proper wife,” he retorted with mock sternness, “does not shout at her husband at all.”

“You made me angry,” she said simply.

“I know,” he replied, “and I shall no doubt do so again, particularly if you insist upon denying my authority. Don’t shut me out, Mollie.”

“I don’t—”

He put two fingers over her lips, silencing her. “You do. It is as much my fault as anyone’s, for you’ve had no one to look to but your efficient Mr. Troutbeck. Yet you’ve kept this place running smoothly.”

“Only since your father died.”

Hawk smiled. “You must take me for a nodcock if you think I’ll swallow that whisker. You’ve been managing things here a good deal longer than that. His death merely gave you the freedom to do so openly. His death and Brewer’s departure, that is.”

Mollie bit her lower lip and stared at his waistcoat buttons. “That was one time when you were very helpful, my lord.”

He chuckled. “Nevertheless, you were annoyed with me for writing to Brewer directly.”

“I wanted to know what you wrote, and he refused to show me.”

“Can’t say I blame him for that. I was a trifle severe with the old gentleman.” Hawk’s hands tightened on her shoulders, and the look in his eyes grew more intent. “Look here, Mollie, can’t we put this business all behind us? We’ll be leaving for London soon and putting things here in Troutbeck’s care, anyway.”

“But even in London you will want to rule the roast, sir, and I have been used to doing as I please.”

There was a small silence, and Mollie stared harder at those waistcoat buttons when she realized how the words might be interpreted.

Hawk gave her a little shake. “I have business of my own in London, sweetheart, so I daresay I won’t interfere as much as you seem to think. If it is money you’re concerned about, I’ve no intention of drawing the purse strings tight. I shall enjoy seeing my lovely wife cut a dash.”

Mollie took a deep breath then and looked up into his eyes. The warmth she encountered there was encouraging. “I wasn’t afraid you would cut me off,” she said, “only that it might not be so much easier for us there as you think it will be. I know you have the right to do the things you do, and I can see now that you don’t mean to ride roughshod over us. But I can’t help it when my feelings just fly out and express themselves.”

“Will you try?”

She nodded, still looking into his eyes. He smiled and she had the feeling that she had pleased him. A sense of contentment washed over her suddenly and she put her arms around him. “I’m glad you’ve come back,” she said.

He drew her close in a hug that seemed destined to crush the breath from her. “I, too,” he said quietly against her curls.

His arms relaxed, but he didn’t let her go, and Mollie had no wish to move away. She felt his hand lightly caressing her back, and it felt good. The silence between them felt good, too. She didn’t want the moment to end. But at last Hawk’s hands came to her shoulders again, and he stepped back, smiling down at her.

“I promised Ramsay a game of chess before supper,” he said. “Shall I send a message instead, telling him to go to the devil?”

She shook her head, blushing a little at the thought that he would like to stay with her. “I must change my gown, sir. I’m all over dirt from—” The thought of how she had gotten mussed brought with it a niggling of her earlier resentment, and though she managed to stop herself from saying anything, her eyes glinted when she looked at him.

His smile was rueful. “Do you like your new rooms?”

She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed. “They are very nice rooms.”

“And they are the rooms that rightfully should belong to the Marchioness of Hawkstone.” He paused, waiting until Mollie nodded, whereupon he added gently, “But I should have consulted with you before I ordered Cathe to move your things.”

She glanced up at him hesitantly. “I did think it was the least you ought to have done,” she admitted.

“The very least,” he agreed, kissing her forehead gently. “I, too, must learn to take matters slowly. Forgive me?”

She smiled then, her spirits rallying. “I shall certainly forgive you this time, sir. But I warn you to have a care in future. I’ve no intention of dwindling into the sort of milksop wife who never shouts at her husband.”

Hawk chuckled. “We’ll just see about that.” He turned her toward the door to her own bedchamber and gave her a light smack on the backside to speed her on her way. “Now, you go change, and I shall do likewise before I teach that young fellow below how to play chess.”

“I hope he beats you soundly,” Mollie said, laughing as she went into her new bedchamber.

It really was a far nicer room than her old one. Still smiling, she remembered how angry she had been before. He had stirred her temper easily, she thought, and other emotions as well. Quickly, she washed and changed her clothes.

When she went downstairs later, Ramsay and Hawk were hunched in silent concentration over the chessboard, and Harry lay sprawled on the hearth rug, watching the fire, with Mandy curled up at his side. The boy glanced up when Mollie entered, then got to his feet and came to meet her, his eyes wide and apologetic.

“Mollie, I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She ruffled his light-brown curls. “It’s all right, Harry.”

“Was he angry with you? You shouldn’t have tried to protect me, you know. Not after all the times you’ve threatened to snatch me bald-headed if I went alone.”

She grinned at him. “He knows I care about you,” she said, “but you didn’t pay me much heed before today, did you?” Harry looked at his feet, and she added gently, “I daresay you won’t be quite so haphazard about obeying your brother.”

He looked up again, grimacing expressively. “I should think not. He scared the liver and lights out of me when he hauled me out like that. I hadn’t even seen him coming! I can tell you, I’d by far rather have Ramsay angry with me than Hawk. I say, Mollie, Hawk’s a bang-up fellow, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is, Harry,” she agreed, chuckling.

Lady Bridget entered some moments later, and the gentlemen finished their game. The conversation became more general in the dining room, and the rest of the evening passed quickly and pleasantly.

The following morning Mollie awoke in Hawk’s bed to find him gone again. Cathe was just entering with her chocolate tray.

“Good morning, m’lady. ’Tis nigh onto eight o’clock, but the master insisted ye’d not wish t’ be wakened earlier.”

“That’s all right, Cathe,” Mollie assured her, stretching. “Now that he’s here, I don’t have nearly so much to do every day. An extra half hour’s sleep is most welcome.”

“Ye’ll be wanting more than that once we reach London, m’lady. I ’ear the grand folks be out the ’ole night long during that Season they speak so much about.” It was to be Cathe’s first trip, and she was increasingly excited as the day of departure drew nearer.

“I sometimes sleep till noon,” Mollie confessed. “There are nights when we go to five or six different entertainments. ’Tis a most exhausting business.”

“It must be a wondrous thing, surely,” Cathe said.

“You’ll see,” Mollie promised.

She took her time over her chocolate, then dressed at a rather more leisurely pace than was her wont. It was nearly ten o’clock before she went downstairs, to find Lady Bridget working at her secretary. The elderly lady looked up, peering at Mollie over a pair of round, wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Oh, there you are, my love,” she said. “I have just been writing to Gwen to let her know we mean to be in Grosvenor Square on Monday. She and Worthing don’t intend to leave for town until the eighth, I believe. Have you any message you wish me to include?”

“Just tell her we look forward to seeing her,” Mollie said. She liked Lady Gwendolyn Worthing. Hawk’s sister was some few years older than Mollie, but she was an amiable person, always ready to share wickedly amusing gossip, and Mollie would indeed be glad to see her.

Lady Bridget agreed to include her message, and Mollie went in search of other tasks to attend to. Though she found many, by noon she was restless, wanting to get out into the sunshine. On any other day, she might have used the feeling as an excuse to ride out to inspect a field or an orchard, or perhaps to visit tenants and listen to their complaints. But after her discussion with Hawk the day before, she knew those activities would be frowned upon unless she talked to him first. And he was cooped up with Troutbeck again, determined to learn all he could before they left Kent.

Finally, with a widening smile, Mollie slipped back up to her bedchamber, and after a hasty search through the French garderobe that took up most of the gallery wall, she found what she was looking for. Quickly stripping off her dress, she changed into a pair of buckskin breeches, a white shirt with lacing and a soft collar, dragged a pair of leather top boots on over thick wool stockings, and then, snatching up a leather waistcoat, slipped back downstairs and out to the stables.

Her groom saw her coming and hurried to greet her, a broad grin on his weathered face. “Where ye headed this fine day, m’lady?”

“Fetch Baron, Teddy. And send one of the lads for my bow and quiver. I’ve a mind to practice a bit.”

“Want I should come along, me lady?”

“No, I’m going no farther than the butt we set up in the south-shore meadow. I’ll come to no harm.”

A few moments later, her quiver and bow slung across her back, Mollie cantered across the causeway and along the lake trail to the south shore, where some years earlier she and Ramsay had set up a target range. At first he had been by far the better shot, but Mollie had practiced diligently, and as time passed, her skills had first equaled and then surpassed his. Now, she could beat him easily. At distances of under one hundred yards, she was a better shot even than Haycock, whom many believed to be the best man with a long bow in seven counties.

Sliding down from the saddle, Mollie twisted Baron’s reins around the low branch of a tree. He had learned to stand with his reins grounded, but he had a tendency after a while to graze and eventually to tread upon the dangling rein. After three broken reins, Mollie had ceased to leave him for longer than a moment or two without tying his rein properly.

She ran to look at the straw-filled butt with the target circles painted on its canvas face. There were five rings. The outermost was white, then blue, green, red, and gold. The paint was faded, and the cover itself was thin and needed replacing. Making a mental note to have it attended to while they were in London, she straightened the butt, which had been blown a little askew by the heavy winds. Then she paced off the yards and took up a position at a distance that was, for her, point-blank range.

First she removed her riding gloves and replaced them with the soft, well-fitting kid gloves she kept in her quiver. She had put on her long-sleeved leather waistcoat before leaving the stable. It, too, fit her snugly, and the sleeves would protect her soft inner forearm from the bowstring. Stringing her bow was a matter of but a few seconds’ work, so it was not long before she was nocking her first arrow to the string. With a motion swift and sure, she drew back and let fly.

It had been some time since she had last practiced, so she was not astonished when the arrow settled low in the red circle. She nocked the second arrow. Again, the movement was swift, graceful, and confident. And this time the arrow went straight and true to the gold. Mollie let out a little sigh of satisfaction. She finished the round, then gathered up her arrows and paced off another ten yards.

Now she would be shooting by point of aim, so it was necessary first to send a practice shot to the target, aiming above where she aimed point-blank. Her first shot landed high, in the blue. She corrected, and once again her second shot was in the gold, a little higher than she would have liked it to be, but nevertheless in the gold. She continued with the round, and when she nocked her last arrow, eight of its brothers were clustered in the gold. Two had struck the red. Mollie drew the bowstring swiftly to her cheek and let fly. Gold again. She let out a long breath.

“Well done!”

Startled, Mollie whirled to see Hawk leaning against a tree watching her. She smiled at him. “I was restless, so I decided to try my skill. It has been a while, as you can see.”

“Good Lord,” he said, chuckling. “I see a veritable Diana, sweetheart.” He let his gaze drift from her plaited hair to her leather top boots. “Do you often leave the castle in such apparel?”

Stricken, she looked down at herself. She had forgotten he knew nothing about her unconventional clothing. Everyone else was pretty well accustomed to it, although she made it a practice to keep out of Lady Bridget’s way when she was so attired. Lady Bridget did not approve, and Mollie had no wish to distress her. But now she looked warily at her husband, wondering what he would make of her breeches.

“Skirts get in my way when I shoot,” she said.

“I see.” A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Under the circumstances, I think I prefer that only one of us shall wear the breeches in this family.”

“Must I take them off, sir?”

“Not here, you mustn’t,” he replied hastily. “But I prefer you in skirts, my lady. Or without skirts. But without breeches altogether.”

She gazed at him speculatively. “I have said I would make every effort not to flout your authority, sir. But I truly prefer breeches to skirts when I am shooting. Would you be opposed to a small wager?”

“What sort of wager?” he asked, amusement in his eyes.