"You want revenge on this man?"
"Yes."
"And you will ruin our relationship as husband and wife to get it."
Harry went still. "I do not see that our relationship should be affected by this business. If it is, 'tis only because you allow it to happen."
"Aye, my lord," she muttered. "That is the way to go about it. How very clever of you. Blame me for whatever ill feelings arise because of your cruelty."
Harry's anger flared once more. "What about your cruelty to me? How do you think it makes me feel to know that you have chosen to defend your brother's memory rather than give your loyalty to your husband?"
"It seems a great chasm has opened up between us, my lord." She turned around to confront him fully. "Whatever happens, nothing can be the same between us again."
"There is a bridge across that abyss, madam. You may stand forever on your side, the side of the brave, dashing Northumberland Ballingers, or you may cross over to my side, where your future lies. I leave the decision entirely up to you. Rest assured I will not take the poem from you by force."
Without waiting for a response, Harry turned and let himself out of the bedchamber.
A polite, frozen calm settled over the household during the next two days. The grim atmosphere was all the more noticeable to Harry because it contrasted so sharply with the weeks of flowering warmth that had preceded it.
It was the marked change in the mood of everyone at Graystone that brought home to Harry just how much of a transformation the household had undergone during the time Augusta had been its mistress.
The servants, always a punctilious, well-trained lot, had, since Augusta's arrival, begun to go about their duties with a cheerfulness that Harry had never before noticed. It had brought to mind Sheldrake's comment on Augusta's habit of being kind to staff.
Meredith, that miniature scholar of serious mien and obedient temperament, was suddenly painting pictures and going on picnics. Her simple muslin dresses all seemed to have grown flounces and ribbons lately. And she had begun to wax enthusiastic on the subject of the characters in the novels Augusta was reading to her.
Even Clarissa, that dour, sober-minded female of irreproachable character who had once devoted herself to her duties as a governess, had altered. Harry was not precisely certain what had happened during the few weeks of his marriage, but there was no doubt that Clarissa had definitely thawed toward Augusta. Not only had she thawed, she had been showing definite signs of having developed some passionate enthusiasm that, in another woman, might have signaled a romance.
Lately Clarissa frequently excused herself from some planned outing or from joining the family in the drawing room after dinner to rush upstairs to her own bedchamber. Harry got the impression she was working on a project of some sort, but he hesitated to inquire. Clarissa had always been an intensely self-contained, unapproachable female and he had always respected her privacy. It was, after all, something of a Fleming trait.
Harry was quite certain there was no romance in Clarissa's narrow, constrained world of the schoolroom, but the unfamiliar sparkle in her eyes had made him exceedingly curious. He had attributed that change, along with all the others, to Augusta.
But during the two days following the outbreak of hostilities with Augusta, the household visibly altered once more. A frigid, correct atmosphere reigned. Everyone was painstakingly polite and formal, but it was obvious to Harry that the inhabitants of Graystone were collectively blaming him for the chill.
That knowledge was vastly annoying. He contemplated it as he went up the staircase to the schoolroom on the third day. If the various members of the household were inclined to take sides in the silent battle of wills going on between himself and Augusta, it was patently obvious they should have taken his side.
He was in command here at Graystone and everyone's livelihood on the estate depended on him. One would have thought the servants and Clarissa, at least, would have been acutely aware of that feet.
One would have thought Augusta would have been aware of it.
But it was becoming increasingly clear that Augusta gave her loyalty where she gave her heart and her heart had been given to the memories of the past.
Harry had spent the past two nights alone in his bed contemplating the closed door of Augusta's bedchamber. He had told himself it was his wife who must open that door and he had been certain she would eventually. Now, as he faced the prospect of a third night alone, however, he was beginning to question his assumption.
At the top of the stairs Harry turned and walked down the hall to the schoolroom door. He opened it quietly.
Clarissa glanced up, frowning. "Good afternoon, my lord. I did not realize you would be visiting today."
Harry heard the distinct lack of welcome in her tone and decided to ignore it. He knew he was not particularly welcome anywhere in the house lately. "I had a spare moment and decided to see how the painting lessons are going."
"I see. Meredith has started early today. Her ladyship will be along in a moment to take over instruction, as usual."
Meredith looked up from her watercolors. Her eyes brightened for an instant and then she looked away. "Hello, Papa."
"Continue with your work, Meredith. I only want to observe for a while."
"Yes, Papa."
Harry watched her select a new color for her brush. Meredith moistened the bristles carefully and put down a great wash of black paint on the pristine white paper.
Harry realized it was the first time he had ever seen his daughter select such a dark backdrop for her work. The paintings that showed up regularly now in the picture gallery were generally bright, energetic creations that glowed with sunny colors.
"Is that going to be a picture of Graystone at night, Meredith?" Harry went forward to examine the painting in more detail.
"Yes, Papa."
"I see. It will be rather dark, will it not?"
"Yes, Papa. Augusta says I must paint whatever I feel like painting."
"And you feel like painting a dark picture today, even though it is sunny outside?"
"Yes, Papa."
Harry's jaw tightened. Even Meredith was being affected by the silent warfare in the household. And it was all Augusta 's fault. "Perhaps we should take advantage of the beautiful day outside. I shall send around to the stables to have your pony saddled. We shall ride to the stream this afternoon. Would you like that?"
Meredith glanced up quickly, her eyes uncertain. "Can Augusta come with us?"
"We can ask her," Harry said, wincing inwardly. He had no doubt about Augusta's response. She would politely decline, of course. She had somehow managed to ensure that she spent no time in Harry's company during the past two days except at the dining table. "She may have other plans for the afternoon, Meredith."
"As it happens," Augusta said calmly from the doorway, "I have no other plans. I should very much enjoy riding to the stream."
Meredith brightened at once. "That will be fun. I shall go and change into my new riding habit." She glanced quickly at Clarissa. "May I be excused, Aunt Clarissa?"
Clarissa nodded with regal approval. "Yes, of course, Meredith."
Harry turned slowly to meet Augusta's eyes. She inclined her head politely.
"If you will excuse me, my lord, I, too, must change. Meredith and I shall join you downstairs shortly."
Now, what the devil is this all about? Harry wondered as he watched her disappear after Meredith. On the other hand, perhaps he should not inquire too closely.
"I do hope you enjoy your ride with her ladyship and Miss Meredith, sir," Clarissa said very primly.