Page 24 of The Society Catch
‘There must be a lot of paperwork.’
‘Yes. We believed we had it all, but I thought it worth checking the panels in the study and sure enough, we found a concealed cupboard with another stack of ledgers and letters.’
Joanna rode in silence for a while, firmly biting back the question on the tip of her tongue. Finally it got the better of her. ‘Will Lady Suzanne not be in Brighton? I should imagine that might restrict your efforts to create a mild scandal. Your father will hardly believe you have plunged into a life of dissipation if he hears that you are squiring her about by the seaside.’
‘Indeed it would, and I have absolutely no desire to end up with another argument with Papa over Suzy and my intentions in that quarter. No, fortunately Lord Olney disapproves of Brighton so he will probably take the whole family up to stay with his mother in Harrogate.’
‘And what,’ Joanna said tartly, ‘will Lady Suzanne say when she hears about your activities in Brighton?’
‘Darling Suzy will no doubt tease me unmercifully.’ He grinned. ‘That young woman understands me very well indeed. Come on, let’s canter or we will be late.’
Darling Suzy!Joanna dug her heel into Moonstone’s flank and let have her head. Giles was so relaxed about Lady Suzanne,so confident about her reactions. His voice when he spoke about her was warm, affectionate, caressing. What she would not give to have him speak to her in that way. She closed her eyes for a moment against the tears that stung her lids and followed the big black hunter.
After luncheon Joanna spent the rest of the day with the rose petals she had collected for thepot pourri, separating them and spreading them on muslin to dry in the stillroom.
It was a pleasant occupation in the cool, scented room, but one which gave her far too much time to think. Would her parents allow her to go to Brighton? And if they did and Giles was there, was that better or worse than being separated from him entirely? And what about Lord Clifton? Was he going to persist in his suit?
Her thoughts went round and round like a dog in a turnspit. She had run away wanting time to think. But now, when she had it, it seemed she was no further forward in planning her life.
Dinner time passed with no sign of the men, only a note from the Squire saying that they had decided to work on and finish all there was to do that day. They had sent out to the nearest inn for food he assured his wife, and he thought he would probably go direct to Peterborough that evening to ensure that all the evidence was safely delivered, so she was not to expect him home that night.
By ten Giles had still not returned and Joanna found she was restless and quite certain that if she went to bed she would not sleep. The ladies had retired to the sitting room with its big window onto the garden and the scents of the sun-warmed flowers still drifted in through the open casement, mingling with the song of the nightingale in the long hedge.
‘May I wait up?’ Joanna asked as Mrs Gedding put down her sewing and announced that she was for her bed. ‘I am not tiredand I am sure the Colonel will lock up if you want to send the servants to bed.’
‘Very well, my dear. Everything will be secure except for this window and the front door, if you will ask him to attend to those and to make sure all the candles are out. The decanters are there, on the sideboard. I am sure the Colonel will welcome a drink when he returns.’
Joanna glanced at the grate with its fire basket full of pine cones, ‘Might I light the fire? It will just keep the chill off.’
‘Of course. The tapers are on the mantle shelf. Just make sure the embers are raked right out before you go to bed. Good night.’
Joanna found some old papers in the log basket and lit a small fire. She heaped on pine cones, enjoying the crackle and the bright blue light they produced. The fire was not so much a source of warmth as of company, and she sat on the floor leaning against the arm of one of the wing chairs, close enough to the hearth to toss on cones as they burned up.
The longcase clock in the hall chimed eleven and then the quarter before she heard hoof beats on the carriage drive. She got up and put the front door ajar, leaving the sitting room door open as well, and set the tray of decanters and a glass on the side table next to the wing chair. The candle on the mantle shelf was guttering so she trimmed it and lit another. With the firelight they cast a soft glow in the room and a few moths blundered in from the garden.
When she heard his step she called, ‘Giles, will you lock the front door please? Everyone has gone to bed.’
There was the sound of bolts being shot then Giles appeared in the doorway. ‘Joanna, still up?’ Even in the dim light she could see how tired he looked.
‘Come in and let me take your coat,’ she urged. ‘See, the decanters are here. Sit down and have a drink, you look too tired just to go to sleep.’
Obediently he shrugged out of his riding coat, stretching with a sigh as he flexed his shoulders. Joanna took it and hung it over the back of a chair, smoothing out the creases with a hand that lingered on the cloth, warm from his body.
When she turned back to him he was standing by the window where the moonlight was just beginning to spill onto the boards. ‘Those nightingales. Heartbreakingly beautiful. They would sing on the battlefields, you know. Some of the soldiers were superstitious about them, said they were Death’s bird.’
Joanna shivered at the thought. ‘Come and sit down. Have you and the Squire finished now?’
He sank into the wing chair and lifted the brandy decanter, stretching long booted legs out in front of him. ‘Yes, all complete, thank goodness. I fancy we have cooked the Thoroughgoods’ goose for them.’ He splashed some spirits into the glass and raised it to his lips. ‘Ah, that is good. What are you doing up at this hour with everyone else in bed?’
Joanna came and sat down again in her place by the hearth, leaned against the arm of his chair and tossed a handful of pine cones into the blaze. ‘I wasn’t tired and the scents and the sounds from the garden are so lovely I stayed up.’
Giles did not seem to want to talk, and Joanna was too content just sitting with him in the firelight to disturb the mood. Gradually she relaxed until her head rested against the chair and after a few minutes she was conscious of a light touch on her hair which she had twisted into a crown on the top of her head. Giles seemed to be stroking it gently, as he might a cat which had settled in his lap, and she realised that he was probably quite unaware he was doing it.
Unlike the cat which would have stretched and curled tighter to his caressing hand Joanna kept as still as she could, willing him to continue.
‘That smell of burning pine cones,’ he said, almost to himself,his voice deep and quiet. ‘It reminds me of camp fires when we were in the foothills of the Pyrenees.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she said softly, as though speaking to a sleepwalker.
