The weather turned after Thomas left to return to Devon, marking the beginning of the end of the warmest weather of the year. Bands of rain swept in, darkening the sky along with the children's spirits. The ground quickly changed to mud after one full day beneath the inclement skies, and Regan refused to let Jack and Maria out to play in it, no matter how sturdy they claimed their boots to be and no matter how much they begged every time they saw her.
On the second day, she tasked them with creating and putting on a puppet show for little Peter to enjoy in the nursery. The show was such a success they brought it down to the drawing room, putting on a repeated performance for the entire family and those servants who were able to abandon their duties long enough to enjoy it.
By the fourth day, the children were bickering with one another over every slight - both real and imagined - and Regan was forced to separate them in order to preserve not only her own sanity but that of every other person in the house.
By the sixth day, like Noah standing at the bow of the ark waiting for the return of a dove with a branch, Regan stood at the window, gazing up at a sky that no longer tore itself asunder to drench the countryside. The rain had stopped the night before, and sunshine - glorious sunshine - scythed its way through the clouds and turned the drops of water still clinging to every surface into rare jewels.
Regan dressed and went down to breakfast, joining Katharine in the sun-dappled parlour. The children would no doubt be bouncing off the walls of the nursery, waiting for her to come up and deliver her verdict to them as to whether they would be permitted to play outside or not. Regan sipped her coffee and smiled at the thought of making them wait just a few minutes more for their pleasure. After driving the household mad for nearly a week, they could suffer for another hour.
"There is something for you," Katharine said, glancing up from her plate long enough to push a small stack of letters towards her side of the table.
Regan pursed her lips at that. Most of the letters were usually for her, but then Katharine's eyes twinkled and she tapped on the topmost letter on the pile. "From Mr. Cranmer."
"Oh." A corner of toast held between her teeth, Regan snapped up the letter, cracked the seal with her thumb, and unfolded the messy pages until she found her way to the beginning of the missive. "Ah, good," she said, scanning the scrawled lines. "Mr. Dale has proven to be a godsend, he says, and they have secured positions for Miss Kennet's former cook and maid within Mr. Cranmer's own staff... Wait. No. His brother's staff. Ah, that makes more sense." She continued reading silently, smiling at a secret joke, then blushing slightly at a more ribald pronouncement she certainly would not be mentioning aloud within Katharine's hearing. "Apparently his brother is currently staying at his country house in Norfolk, so Mr. Cranmer hopes to take a small detour that will bring him back here for a day before continuing on to visit with his brother's family."
Katharine looked up from her own letter, one Regan suspected from the familiar handwriting was from Mr. Winthrop. "Does he say when he will return? I'm sure Jack and Maria would love to see him again, especially now that the weather is not so dismal."
"Hmm." Regan read through another paragraph. "He does not say. Though considering when the letter was dated and the state of the roads, I doubt we will see him for at least another two or three days."
"Oh, Maria will be disappointed."
"I am sure she will survive it."
But for her own part, Regan experienced a small thrill of anticipation. She had not expected to see him again for several weeks, perhaps not until after Katharine's wedding if his visit with his family became an extended trip. But he would be here again within a few days, and Regan had to tamp down the edges of her smile before her mouth threatened to push past the boundaries of her face.
"Well," she said as she finished her food and her second cup of coffee. "I should venture upstairs before your brother and sister burst through the windows in search of sunlight."
"They'll still need their boots," Katharine said, sounding so grown up and motherly that Regan almost tripped on the edge of the rug as she stood. "Mrs. Dale said it is still nothing but mud everywhere, but it does seem to be drying quickly enough."
By the time she arrived at the door to the nursery, she found all three children - Peter included - dressed for outdoors and sitting very quietly together, as if they knew their fate depended on their behavior. Miss Kennett sat near the window, working on more of her embroidery, singing to herself while the children played and whispered in subdued tones.
"Well?" Regan announced without preamble, drawing all four sets of eyes to herself. "Who is ready to walk down to the lake and see if the rain has made it overflow its banks?"
They made a merry party marching down the drive, Miss Kennett carrying Peter on her hip and Regan bearing the load of a small bag of apples for the children to snack on when they needed a rest and bit of refreshment. Regan thought they would keep to the lane for as long as possible rather than cut across the lawn, giving the grass more time to dry out beneath the sun. They had only been outside for a minute when Regan caught sight of a black shape on the horizon, the soft sloping hills situated in a way that gave her a view of the gatehouse and the beginning of the drive leading up to the house.
"What is it, mama?" Maria tugged on her sleeve. "Is it Mr. Cranmer? Has he come back already?"
Regan squinted beneath the brim of her bonnet. The carriage was unfamiliar to her, but it was certainly not the one Mr. Cranmer and Mr. Dale had left in six days before. "I do not know. Shall we return to the house and wait for their arrival, or shall we walk a little farther and meet them along the way?" The weather was so fine it had made her playful, and the idea of their little band trundling up to greet their visitors made her smile.
"My lady," Miss Kennett said from behind her.
Regan turned. Miss Kennett's complexion was pale, her eyes wide and unblinking. And fixed in the direction of the approaching carriage.
"Miss Kennett?" Regan took a step towards her, her arm outstretched. The poor girl looked ready to drop where she stood, though her grip on Peter remained strong, even tighter than before.
"I recognize the carriage," she said, finally blinking, finally tearing her gaze away to swing it towards Regan. "It belongs to Lord Hays."
It could not have been a greater shock if someone had thrown a pail of icy water onto Regan's head. Her breath stopped, perhaps even her heart as it thudded once, twice in her chest. And then she inhaled, and she spun on her heel as she took in her surroundings as if seeing them clearly for the first time.
"Take Peter to the nursery," she told Miss Kennett. "Keep him there until I tell you when it is safe to come out again."
The young lady did not hesitate, but returned to the house as fast as she could with Peter in her arms.
"Jack, Maria?" Regan called her children to her. "Go to the kitchen. Tell Mrs. Dale I need you to help sort out refreshments for our guest, hmm? And then tell her you may stay there - out of everyone's way, please - and have as many treats as you wish."
The children scampered away, the gravel from the drive spitting out behind their heels as their departure turned into a race between the two of them. Regan waited until everyone else had disappeared inside again, and then she set her mind to work.
"Right," she said under her breath, and looked down at her gown, then raised a hand to touch her hair, pulled back in a plain, rather untidy knot for the day. "Best to make him wait."
***
She gave her instructions to the servants: Put Lord Hays in the drawing room. Offer him all manner of drinks and delicacies. Make him feel welcome. Make him feel at home. Have Mrs. Dale apologize for the delay but make certain to let him know that the mistress of the house would be down in only a moment.
That had been an hour ago.
Regan stood outside the drawing room, her hand hovering an inch from the doorknob. Her gown had been changed, the faded, outdated muslin put aside for a day dress in pale yellow silk. Her hair had been brushed to a shine, styled in intricate braids her maid twined around her head, and held in place with small combs of gold and silver filigree. She wore no jewels but for small chain with a single, small teardrop pearl around her neck. The pearl had been a gift from Thomas before he left for Devon. She reached up and held the small treasure between her fingers for a moment, willing it to take on the role of a talisman and give her strength.
She opened the drawing room door.
Lord Hays sat on a sofa, angled away from the door and set towards the cold fireplace. With one arm stretched out across the back, he appeared to have made himself comfortable during his extended wait. Regan bristled at the sight. He looked too comfortable, as if he were trying the room on for size and finding it just to his liking. But she wanted him to be comfortable, to be fully at ease when she spoke to him. She wanted to catch him off his guard.
She tapped on the inside of the door with the her knuckle and cleared her throat delicately.
"Ah!" His face lit up when he saw her. He stood quickly, then slowed his pace as he walked around the sofa and reached out to take her offered hand. "Lady Griffith. I do apologize for coming upon you without an invitation, but as I was in the area, I thought it would be more impolite of me to miss the chance to pay a call."
"Lord Hays." She gritted her teeth as he kissed the air above her hand. When his gaze touched her face again, her smile softened. "I would certainly take offense if I had learned you had traveled so near to us and did not deign to make a visit." She deftly pulled her hand from his grasp and gestured towards the sofa and chairs. "I take it you have been well looked after while I have been detained? I do apologize for making you wait, but the running of a household can take up more hours than we often anticipate." She would give him no more details than that, and she doubted he would ask for more. He did not seem the type to be truly interested in what made up her day to day life. He was there, she was his audience, and she doubted that this would end up as a mere social call. At worst, he had deduced Miss Kennet's presence there in her household. At best, he had come to flirt with her and perhaps take another chance at winning her hand. The latter, at least, she could put an end to easily enough.
"You do not have a capable steward to look after these matters for you?" Lord Hays waited until she had chosen a chair opposite him before he resumed his seat on the sofa. "As a well-bred gentlewoman, I would not think you should have to take so much upon yourself."
"I have a very capable steward," she said, busying herself with the remains left on the tray that had been brought in for him. The tea was still warm, and so she poured a cup for herself. She offered to pour for him as well, but he declined. "An extraordinarily capable housekeeper and butler as well, but as my husband did before me, I prefer to oversee things as much as possible. All of this will one day pass to my son, and I would not care for it to be frittered away through neglect or mismanagement."
"You should marry again." He spoke easily, as if it were a bit of a joke to be shared between them. But Regan watched his expression, the narrowing of his eyes as he appraised her.
"I think I just might take your advice," she replied, and sipped her tea. She had made it sweeter than she usually preferred, but it suited the falseness of her mood. "My son should have another parent, especially as he will soon be navigating the twists and turns of school at the beginning of the year."
Lord Hays smiled. Was that a predatory gleam to his eye, or was Regan allowing her imagination to see something that was not there? "I hear you are also to have a daughter married soon. Miss Griffith is to be wed to... oh, what was the gentleman's name again? I fear it has quite escaped me."
Regan took another sip and matched his smile over the rim of her cup. She doubted he had forgotten Mr. Winthrop's name, instead choosing to pretend he had as a veiled insinuation that the man was not worth remembering. "Mr. Winthrop," she supplied, and reached for a biscuit. Quite boldly, she dunked a corner of her biscuit into her tea and took a dripping bite. "He is becoming quite well known in academic circles, if what Katharine tells me is true. I must admit, I am quite in awe of the extent of his knowledge on historical matters."
"Ah, yes. History," he said, his voice dry enough to rival the Sahara. "And what of you, my lady? Will you be venturing back into the marriage mart once you have seen your daughter married off?"
"Oh, no. I do not believe I shall trouble myself with any of that." She brushed a few crumbs from her fingers and set to plucking the rest from her lap with overly dainty movements. "You see, I already have a gentleman in mind, and I think he will do very nicely."
Lord Hays shifted in his seat. His brow furrowed, his mouth twitching between a grin and a twist of confusion. He was suitably nonplussed, with just a tinge of hopefulness framing it all. "And... is this gentleman's name a great secret?"
"Not at all!" She set down her cup and clasped her hands together in her lap. "You know him, of course."
"Of course." His mouth settled into a smile. He thought she was toying with him. And she was, though not in the way he suspected. "And what a very, very lucky gentleman he is."
"Very much so," Regan went on. "Though I must admit I find myself to be just as lucky, just as blessed. Mr. Cranmer is indeed one of the finest gentlemen I have ever met."
It took a moment. The eyes changed first, the brows sinking down over his eyes. Then the smile faded, his lips parting as his jaw wobbled with words he could not seem to properly speak. "What?"
"Mr. Thomas Cranmer," she said again, her manner just as bright as before. "We are betrothed. Did you not know? Well, it is very recent and we have not spoken of it too much. I do not want to draw any attention away from Katharine and Mr. WInthrop. I am sure you would pay the same courtesy were you in my place."
"You are going to wed Mr. Cranmer?" His voice had changed, like controlled thunder.
Regan sat up straighter. Her hands itched to ball into fists, but she exhaled slowly and flattened her palms on her thighs instead. "Yes. Do you not wish to offer us your felicitations?"
The fingers of his right hand drummed on his knee. His other hand gripped the arm of the sofa, his knuckles turning white. "You little bitch," he muttered, possibly low enough that he thought she would not hear. But years of raising children had trained her ears to hear every muttered word, every mutinous whisper.
"Well," she said, and rose from her chair. "I am so sorry you must be going now, my lord. Such a shame your visit had to be of such short duration."
He blinked at her, his mouth still partially open.
"Shall I order your carriage brought around?" she prompted, while he gaped like a fish.
"Lady Griffith." He pronounced her name like a swear. The bow that he gave her was stunted and meant to insult. He walked out of the room, his movements stiff, his shoulders hunched up inside his jacket.
Regan located the nearest footman with a glance and raised her eyebrows at him. He nodded once and fixed his attention on Lord Hays, his weight shifting forward onto the balls of his feet. The man looked ready to pounce at the first signal, and Regan could only hope it would not come to that.
Lord Hays crossed the hall, but instead of walking towards the front of the house as she had anticipated, he cut a line towards the stairs and the private sections of the house.
"Lord Hays!" she said, loud enough she was sure every person under the roof heard her.
He turned to face her, one foot already on the first stair, his left hand gripping the bannister with such ferocity she thought he might tear it free from its holdings should someone attempt to pry him away from it. "I came here today because of a rumor that reached my ears. Your... betrothed-" he spat out the word, "-was seen at an inn not a half-day's journey from here, in the company of my ward, Miss Kennett. Now," he breathed, and lifted his chin, putting as much height between them as he could. "Where are they?"
A spoiled child. That was how Regan saw him. An overgrown boy who thought he could rant and rave and win what he wanted by throwing a tantrum in her presence.
"Mr. Cranmer is not here," she said, her voice vibrating with tension though she fought to keep her tone level. "And Miss Kennett's whereabouts are not your concern."
"I am her guardian!" he ground out between gritted teeth.
Regan held her breath. She counted to three. She exhaled. "You will compose yourself while in my home. Or I will have you removed from it."
Lord Hays released his hold on the bannister. The sweep of his gaze widened, taking in the manservant behind Regan, the shadows of other maids and servants lingering in doorways, just beyond sight. The commotion had brought them bubbling to the surface, and now he seemed suddenly aware of the audience settled in place to watch the performance.
"Perhaps..." he began, and took his foot off the first stair. "We should discuss this. Somewhere else."
She could still have him thrown out. But that would only be a temporary solution. Legally, she knew, he was in the right. If he were not content to allow the matter to be swept under the rug - and his behavior today gave every indication that he would not be - he could return and have Miss Kennett and her son forcibly taken from the house. He was a member of the peerage. He was above her in rank. And he was a man. The law would sit comfortably on his side.
"I have a lovely bit of woodland on the north side of the garden," Regan said, for all the world as if their conversation had never deviated from such banalities. "My children like to play in it and pretend it is much wilder than it actually is. Would you join me for a stroll?" Her tone was sharp, yet edged with enough sweetness to leave him no recourse. He would come with her, or he would leave.
He lowered his chin and gestured for her to lead the way.
The lovely bit of woodland was little more than a collection of young elms flanked on one side by a hedgerow thick with dog roses, but it was near enough to the house that Regan did not feel to be putting herself in any danger with him, yet provided the distance necessary to lend them some privacy. And Regan greatly preferred keeping him out of the house and away from Miss Kennett for as much as possible.
"I am sure Mr. Cranmer has filled your head with all manner of tales about my treatment of Miss Kennet," Lord Hays said the moment they were out of earshot of the household servants. "But as I said before, I am her guardian. Her father entrusted me with her upbringing and care. It would be remiss of me to... to abandon her when she was most in need of my guidance and protection."
"Your protection," Regan echoed. She set herself several paces away from him. The urge to do him physical harm might prove overwhelming and she did not wish to give in to the temptation, no matter how satisfying it might be. "It might surprise you to know that the details of Miss Kennett's situation did not come from Mr. Cranmer but from Miss Kennett herself. She told me that you are the father of her child. Is she correct?"
He hesitated. Regan would remember that much. The fleeting look of panic, hastily hidden away again as he tried to regain his equilibrium. But she would not give him the chance to deny it. Better to chip away at his foundation now that she had witnessed the first crack.
"The child resembles you, quite strongly about the nose and mouth." She had not thought about it before, but it was true. As young as Peter was, some of his features had already begun to echo those of his accused sire. And no doubt as the boy grew, the resemblance would only strengthen.
"You will tell me I must marry her, then?"
Regan inhaled. Not a denial. Nor an absolute admittance of the truth. But it would do. "I am fairly certain that prospect is the last thing she wishes. Though it is what you wanted, is it not? Her dowry, while not remarkable, would be enough to pay off at least some of your most impending debts."
He had the grace to at least look somewhat shameful at this accusation, but it did not win any amount of sympathy from her.
"It is why you took an interest in me at Brandon Hall, because even though my husband only had his title bestowed upon him a few years before his death, the fortune he left to me is quite substantial." It was crass to speak so boldly of such matters of debt and dowries, but she no longer believed Lord Hays to be worth exerting herself over the various rules of conversational etiquette.
"You lay a greater sin at my door than I deserve," he told her, his tone still haughty even through his attempt at absolving himself. "Any interest I showed in you was only of the most sincere kind. Your fortune had nothing at all to do with it. Of course, now that you have thrown in your lot with the likes of young Mr. Cranmer, perhaps I should regard it as a blessing that I did not succeed in obtaining your affections after all."
A part of her wanted to fume in greater anger than what his words provoked, but she found everything he said merely left her feeling exhausted. "How much?" she asked suddenly. "How much to give up your guardianship of Miss Kennett, to leave here and never come back?"
He drew back in surprise at her sudden change in direction. Would he call her out on her offense? Would he recoil in horror and claim that money meant nothing at all to him? Or would he-
"The full amount equal to Miss Kennett's dowry, plus fifty percent."
Regan raised her chin. She had not expected him to acquiesce so quickly, but neither was she surprised. "Twenty-five percent."
"Forty."
She smiled. "Refuse to accept my offer and you will receive nothing. I will send Miss Kennett to the continent where you will never find her and let slip to the ton a salacious rumor I heard of Lord Hays' indiscretion with his ward."
"You despise the ton and London," he said, grey eyes narrowed.
"For you, I would make an exception."
He raised his arms at his sides and let them fall again. "It seems you have me at your mercy, Lady Griffith."
She ignored his comment, spoken in tones no doubt meant to provoke. "I shall have my solicitor contact you at his earliest convenience. If there is nothing else...?" She paused, not long enough for him to think, only enough to make him believe she would give him a chance to speak up if he so wished. "Then I will order your carriage to be made ready for you. Good day, my lord."
Swift and without a look back, she turned and made her way out of the trees, around the hedgerow and up the front steps of the house. If Lord Hays chose to follow her, she did not care. She glanced at a table in the foyer and saw his walking stick and gloves there, and realized he would need to return, if only for those, but she would not be there to make inane conversation with him. Once his carriage had been brought around, once he was on his way and she had seen him go passed the gatehouse, then she would go up to the nursery and tell Miss Kennett that it was safe to come down again. Until then, she gave the orders necessary to expedite his departure, and she went into her study - cool and dark and with the curtains still drawn - and paced the length of the room a half dozen times until her heart stopped feeling as if it were trying to leap from her throat.
Not once had Lord Hays mentioned a desire to see his child. Not once had he asked after the welfare of Miss Kennett or her son. Did he even know whether he had a son or a daughter? She had been careful not to say either way, but she doubted it would have mattered. He had pounced on her offer of money in exchange for his guardianship rights like a cat on a mouse. She had expected something more from him. No, not that. She had hoped for something more, some kernel of possibility that he cared for more than what a woman could bring to him financially. Apparently, Regan had been more optimistic than she realized.
Several minutes passed before she could breathe steadily. She glanced out the window, peering between a slight gap in the curtains like some heroine from a gothic novel, she thought. There was nothing of interest to be seen from this side of the house. Se abandoned the study and crossed to the drawing room, where one of the windows was open and a buzz of commotion met her ears before she was even halfway across the carpet.
"... I have done nothing untoward..." Lord Hays, that was. She recognized his imperious tones. The next few words were too muffled for her to make them out. And then "... if I had known how easy it would be to bed her, I'd have been between Lady Griffith's legs before she could have even given a whelp like you a second glance."
The words did not shock her. Perhaps they should have, but instead of reeling from the offense, she only felt that same exhaustion again, that Lord Hays should continue to stoop so low when he had already placed himself there on the strength of his own behavior.
"What?" Lord Hays again. "You are not going to call me out? Defend the honor of your betrothed and challenge me to pistols at dawn? If she were mine-" Whatever he said next was cut off. Regan pulled back the curtain fully and looked down at the drive. There stood two carriages, Lord Hays' already standing ready for him with the door open, and behind it was one of her own, Mr. Dale directing the servants to have it taken around to the rear of the house.
But it was the sight of Thomas that caught her attention. He was not standing near enough to Lord Hays to touch him. Another step or two forward would have been necessary for that. But he held one arm out towards him, his palm out as if telling Lord Hays in no uncertain terms to simply... stop.
And Lord Hays had stopped. At a gesture from a so-called "whelp," the older gentleman had faltered into an uneasy silence.
There were no more words. Regan watched as Lord Hays made an attempt to push his shoulders back, to set his jaw with a determined air. But he moved like a chastised dog as he climbed into his carriage, disappearing into the darkness before the door was shut, the driver adjusted the reins in his hands, and the vehicle set into motion.
Goodness, she hoped to never set eyes on the man again.
Regan left the drawing room and met Thomas just as he came in from outside.
"I see you had a visitor today," Thomas ventured in lieu of a greeting.
Regan took in the sight of him. She was beginning to tire of so often seeing him coming and going on various journeys. He looked tired - again - and if it were not for the bustle of servants, for the children most likely about to escape from the kitchen, she would drag him up to his room for a bath and a long nap. And perhaps a little more than that.
"No one of real consequence," she said, and let him take her hand, her breath held as he kissed her fingers. "There will be some fuss about paperwork and such, I am sure. But if all goes well, we should not have to trouble ourselves about him again." She would tell him about the money that would have to go to Lord Hays to buy out his guardianship of Miss Kennett. But not here, not in the open where everyone or anyone could listen in.
Thomas removed his hat and absently beat the brim of it against his palm. "I admit, I was worried when I approached the house and saw his carriage sitting in the drive, but it seems you managed everything quite well on your own."
"I am a very capable woman," Regan said, trying - and failing - not to grin as widely as him.
"I see." He took a step towards her. "Perhaps you do not need a husband after all," he said, his voice pitched low enough that his words would not carry. "If you can vanquish even the worst villains without setting a single hair out of place."
He was teasing her, she knew. But the thought of being on her own again, of slipping back into the existence she had known before he had swept into it, filled her with an entirely new kind of grief. There would still be her children, yes. Her love for them, the joy they brought into her life would never diminish. But with Thomas she was reminded of how much more love there could be. And now that she had found it, she trembled at the thought of losing it.
"No, I do not need a husband," she said, attempting to keep her voice light, though a quaver on the last word betrayed her. "I have no doubt I could continue on quite well on my own. But if given the choice, I would rather not."
"Then we are of the same mind." He had released her hand. He stood in front of her, not touching her, the space between them of an appropriate measure should any of the servants look back and see them standing there. "I would much rather be here with you than anywhere else."
She could have kissed him. She wanted to, but held back to preserve what shred of propriety they still maintained. Later, she thought. When they were alone, in either her room or his. And she would tell him she loved him. And hear him say it in return.
**********************************
One. More. Chapter.
We will be finishing this up on Wednesday, September 18th.
To all of you wonderful readers, thank you. We're almost there.
Quenby