Skylark Read Free Page A

Her antidote to lust.
    Two years and five months from Harry’s birth to Hal’s death. Two times 365 plus about 150 equals 880. She had been here without Hal about a quarter of that time: 220.
    Add the 330 since Hal’s death: 550.
    No, more, because Hal had left her alone here through much of her pregnancy. It had overlapped prime hunting season, after all. She hadn’t minded. Her sister Juliet had been with her during the last months, and then her mother had come. Watcombes were powerful medicine against sourness and gloom.
    She could add perhaps 50 to make it a round 600.
    Six hundred of these dinners, with thousands still to come. Perhaps she would become as eccentric as Lady Caldfort, except in her case it would take the form of eating in her room with a good book or the newspapers. How crazy would she have to appear to get away with that?
    Lady Caldfort suddenly banged her spoon on the table. “Where’s the food? Why is there no service in this house? Lazy slovens, the lot of them!”
    Thomas the footman dashed in. “It’s coming, milady. Just a few minutes more.” Then he dashed out again.
    Lady Caldfort kept rapping the spoon on the table, such a grim look on her face that Laura feared she was contemplating violence.
    “Take that damned spoon off her,” Lord Caldfort growled.
    Laura did so, grateful that at the same time he snapped, “Stop your folly, Cecy!”
    Lady Caldfort gave up the spoon but scowled.
    “Pour the wine, Jack,” Lord Caldfort ordered, and Jack rose to fill all their glasses with red wine. Lady Caldfort took a deep draft and it seemed to pacify her. Laura tried to feel sorry for the woman, who had endured the Gardeynes far longer than she had, but it was hard. She was so totally selfish.
    Like mother, like son? Laura wondered, for Hal had been selfish at bottom. Unlike his mother, he’d been blessed with good looks and a kind of jollity that passed for generous charm, but underneath . . . Fortunately, he’d had a kind of generosity in bed, for he took pride in pleasing a woman. A gentleman’s duty, he would declare, but she’d suspected that if she were hard to please, he’d have neglected her. Fortunate for their marriage that she had not been at all hard to please.
    The strangest thing was that she’d only quickened once.
    No, don’t think about the pleasures of marriage. Multiply the number of glasses by the number of plates. Add the number of candles in the chandelier. . . . At last, thank heavens, the servants hurried in with dishes.
    “And about time, too!” Lady Caldfort snapped, lifting the lid off the nearest dish herself and spooning soup into her plate.
    Laura smiled at the maid placing a tureen in front of her and thanked her. How lucky they were that Caldfort had a competent and forbearing housekeeper in Mrs. Moorside, who came to Laura rather than Lady Caldfort if any troubles arose. The soup, as always, was excellent. A good cook was another blessing, and Laura made sure to count them all.
    She believed in people accepting responsibility for their actions. She had married Hal Gardeyne by choice, thinking herself the most fortunate young woman in Dorset. In the first years of her marriage she would have described herself as a happy bride.
    She had made this bed and must lie in it, and she would do so with as good a grace as possible. She could even be content if she could only be sure that Harry was safe.
    A gun , she suddenly thought. A gun would be very useful.
    With that in mind, she welcomed Lady Caldfort’s early and abrupt exit from the dining room and followed her, even though there was no question of the ladies taking tea together. Lady Caldfort marched upstairs. Laura picked up one of the spare candles, lit it at the hall fire, and headed toward the back of the house. Toward the gun room.
    Hal had taught her to shoot. It had been amusement for him while living quietly here, and had amused her until he’d tried to get her to target a rabbit. She’d