Page 6 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 4

The Wyndhams had only been in residence a day and a night, and already Hal’s old anxieties were flooding back. He’d thought his backbreaking labors, his strict physical regime, and the amount of time he devoted to honoring his dead wife’s memory would have appeased her spirit.

Yet every time he ventured to please or reward himself, her ghost would rise up to chastise him.

The memory of her last cruel words to him resurfaced and repeated themselves like a chant in his head. You’re worthless. You’re a pathetic husband, a useless father, an eminently forgettable lover. I despise you.

Of course, Mary hadn’t meant those words, had she? She’d been ill, not herself, and he must never forget the fact. But he feared there was a kernel of truth in every word she spoke.

Except for the lover part. That aspect of their marriage had given great pleasure to them both, but Mary’s appetites, it seemed, could not be satiated by a husband who devoted so much of his time to his work.

And Polly looked a good deal like her mother.

As Hal mounted the stairs to the top of the folly, he reassured himself—yet again—that his daughter would not take after Mary in character. His wife had been gay but selfish, beautiful yet vain, as witty as she was incisive. He would do whatever was needed to make sure Polly never took after her mother. A few years at Miss Gates’ Academy would turn her into a truly respectable and proper young lady. When it came time to find a husband for her, she would be so poised, so perfect, the vicissitudes of her parents and dark family history would be completely forgotten.

When he reached the roof, he came out into sunshine. As he always did, he walked right up to the battlements and directed his gaze downward, to test himself. One day he would be able to view the steep drop with equanimity. Not that anyone was ever likely to throw themselves to their death from the top of the folly again . . .

Unless, perhaps, that someone was himself, when the black despair overwhelmed him.

An unexpected movement caught him up short. Three people were strolling across the lawns in the direction of the sheep pasture.

The smallest of them was clearly Polly. He always experienced a pang upon seeing her. Whether it was guilt, pain, or dislike, he had yet to fathom. Generally, he found it easier not to think about her much at all. One of the women kept falling behind due to her slower pace. Mrs. Sarah Wyndham, no doubt. She appeared refined and well-dressed, and he congratulated himself on having made his distant relatives a generous allowance for clothing. They had good taste in apparel.

The other woman, who walked close to Polly, was quick and determined in her walk. Good. A brisk character was exactly the kind to which Polly would respond.

If only the Wyndham girl didn’t walk quite so close to her. They even brushed elbows a few times, as the sway of their bodies crossing the rougher ground of the pasture brought them together. It made the trio resemble a loving family far too much.

And a loving family was something he could not condone. A loving family was something of which he couldn’t be a part.

Ever.

With his heart dead inside him, discipline was all that remained, all that kept him going.

As he continued to watch, Miss Wyndham paused, bent, and examined something by her feet.

In response to her invitation, Polly bent down as well.

Something was plucked from the ground, and as Polly and her new tutor stood up straight again, the Wyndham chit placed it in his daughter’s hair, before standing back to appraise her.

Hal clenched his jaw. He hadn’t invited the Wyndhams into his home to have them indulge in such foolishness as putting flowers in a young girl’s hair. Polly was not a toy with which to be played. Yes, he knew the Wyndhams had lost a daughter in the past, and he was sorry for it, but that gave them no excuse to be soft on Polly.

In fact, this sort of familiar behavior was the exact opposite of what he wanted for her. He would have a word with Miss Wyndham.

A cold sweat broke out on his brow, making him scrub irritably at his forehead. Deuce take it, why was he anxious again? Perhaps because he hadn’t had a normal conversation with anyone since Mary’s death. Could he even recall how to go about it? It would mean meeting his new dependents face-to-face.

Yes, he had already seen Miss Wyndham, but she’d nothing to say to him, which didn’t help the situation at all. A note would have to do. He’d write it now and give it to one of the servants to deliver.

Miss Galatea Wyndham needed to be taken to task immediately, before she completely scuppered his plans.