Page 47 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 30

Being in love was a hard journey to make if one didn’t know how the object of one’s love felt. When Tia saw Hal unbend toward Polly at the fair, she knew she was well and truly smitten.

But what was supposed to happen now?

She wanted to spend every waking moment with him, to converse and spar with him, to bask in the glory of his smile—and to have him gaze at her the way he had when they’d made love.

It was madness, of course. How could she have fallen in love with someone she barely knew, who kept so many secrets from her, who was irascible and selfish, not to mention far above her touch? She longed for the company of Lucy, or any of her childhood friends. But the others had all drifted away when the Wyndhams were faced with penury.

How fickle the world could be. Tia was beginning to appreciate why Hal had decided to remove himself from it.

The only person she could ask about his feelings and intentions was Hal himself—the one person she had not the courage to ask, for fear of being rejected. How would she cope?

Maybe he did care for her in more than a physical way. But if he wasn’t ready to disclose the fact, she’d best be patient. He was a complex man, and she didn’t want to risk losing him by doing the wrong thing.

Consequently, if she wasn’t going to go mad with frustration and uncertainty, she must find some diversion. An activity of benefit to Polly would do very well.

Having come up with what she considered a masterful plan, she went in search of Mama to see what she thought.

“An afternoon of tea and croquet?” Mama put down her embroidery and beamed broadly. “What a splendid idea. But do you think Henry will agree?”

“Surely he can’t object to a handful of children and their nurses playing croquet on the lawn for a couple of hours? Mrs. Dunne positively danced on the spot when I mentioned the idea—I think she’d welcome the challenge of having more than the four of us to care for.”

Her mother’s eyes sparkled. “Had you better talk to the head gardener to make sure the grass is nice and short and the lawn rolled? We’ll need some cards made up for the invitations. How will you know whom to invite?”

“Therein lies the challenge. But I’m sure if we ask the older servants, they’ll be able to identify those children with whom Polly associated before her mama died.”

“What about the village children? It would be as good as a fête for them.”

“I fear Hal might draw the line at that.” Tia wandered across to the window and peered out at the balmy July evening. There was a certain magic in the air this time of year when the days were so long, each sunset beautiful and prolonged. Purple clouds were beginning to gather on the horizon, perhaps a sign of rain heading their way. She wondered where Hal was now, and whatê he was doing.

“Why?” Mama persisted, breaking Tia’s train of thought. “He was always a champion of the poor. I can’t see why he’d object to helping those on his own threshold. When will you put the scheme to him? Or should I do it?”

“It’s quite late. He may be lingering at his supper or taking a glass of port wine before he retires.”

“I wonder why he won’t come down and dine with us? He can bear our company at breakfast now, and even luncheon on occasion—but dinner, never.”

“Perhaps the dining room holds some unpleasant memories,” Tia suggested, half-seriously. “Or mayhap Hal turns into a were-beast after dark and wishes not to be seen.”

Mama chuckled. “It would explain a good deal, would it not? Perhaps you shouldn’t disturb him after all.”

The long shadows outside now merged as the sun dipped behind the clouds, making it harder to see. Tia smiled and turned away from the window. “I’m sure I can find something made from iron for protection—or is it silver I need? I can take a fork from the dining room canteen.”

“Better safe than sorry, my dear. Shall I await your return, in case you come to harm, and I need to send out the hue and cry?”

“No, don’t wait up. I’ll be quite safe. Who knows, Hal and I may even engage in a normal conversation.”

Not that any conversation would be normal now, after what had passed between them. There would always be an undercurrent.

Closing the door behind her, she set off for Hal’s side of the house and knocked softly on the door of his study.

No response. She worked her way along the darkened corridor, tapping gently at every door, even his bedchamber, but there was no sound. He had either retired early and was already fast asleep, or . . . Could he be back in the folly again? She thought she’d managed to distract him from whatever it was he got up to in there.

She screwed up her courage and made for the stairwell at the end of the passageway. There was one lantern burning in a niche at the top of the stairs, so she took it to light her way down into the shadowy cloisters.

Once again, she experienced unease, the idea of medieval specters made all the more a reality by the eerie way the light bounced off the grotesque and grinning heads on the roof bosses. She wished she hadn’t imagined Hal turning into a werewolf—for here, islanded by impenetrable darkness and ancient strangeness, she could almost believe it possible.

She darted across to the archway and out onto the lawn.