Fenella J Miller (18 page)

God damn it!
Why hadn’t he thought to rearrange the table seating and put that bastard
Frenchman well away from Penny? If that man had the impudence to touch so much
as a hair one her head he would not wait until he was certain he was dealing
with a traitor, but would kill him now. Someone touched his elbow and he was
obliged to transfer his attention from the far end of the table.

 
‘Weston, have no fear, my friend, Miss Coombs
will not be taken in by that man. Remember she is your hostess and it is her
duty to entertain your guests.’

Ned ground his
teeth, biting back a pithy retort. Forcing himself to relax he smiled at his
neighbour. ‘Of course, sir, you’re quite right. I must learn to trust her
judgement.’

‘Your young
lady is a beautiful and accomplished, my lord, it’s inevitable that she will
attract the attention of any gentleman who is not in his dotage.’ The lady next
to him gestured with her fan. ‘See how she shines like a beacon at the end of
the table. I can’t believe it’s the same quiet girl who had her come out only
two seasons ago. She is a diamond of the first water, an incomparable.’

Remington chuckled.
‘If Miss Coombs was making her debut now, you wouldn’t have had a chance,
Weston. I’ve no doubt she could have had a duke, or a marquis at the very
least.’

Ned knew he
was a fortunate man. He had won her heart and couldn’t see why she had stayed
true to him after his callous treatment. He didn’t deserve her love, but by God
he was going to keep it. Hostess or not, if either the Frenchman or his cousin
paid her too much attention they would have him to deal with.

The dinner was
served
à la Francais,
the dishes
placed down the centre of the table allowing the gentlemen to serve the ladies
either side of them with the choicest morsels. There were several removes and
by the time the fruit and nuts arrived a full two hours had passed since they
sat down. He had kept his basilisk stare on the far end of the table and was
certain nothing untoward had taken place between his beloved and the Frenchman.

He smiled at
her as she gracefully rose, preparing to lead the ladies into the grand salon.
As she swept past him, she glanced in his direction giving him a saucy wink. He
raised an eyebrow and he heard her delighted chuckle as she left the room. The
gentlemen would not linger over the port tonight. He wished to slip along to
his apartments and find the ruby parure that had been in his family for
generations. Before Penny retired, he would draw her to one side and present
her with the jewellery.

Less than half
an hour after the ladies had left, he pushed his chair back, cutting short the
conversation about the relative merits of a high-perch phaeton against a racing
curricle.

‘James, I have
some urgent business to attend to, would you be so kind as to take the
gentlemen through?’

His cousin
smiled. ‘Delighted to help: come along gentlemen we have been given our instructions.
It’s more than my life’s worth to gainsay my cousin.’ This sally was greeted by
general laughter, but no one argued or demanded a third glass of port.

Still smiling,
Ned hurried down the well-lit corridor to his chambers. The candle-filled sconces
flickered as he dashed past. It took him longer than he’d anticipated
to locate
the box he wanted. Eventually he found it
underneath a pile of documents right at the back of his strong box.

Flipping the
lid open he checked the contents were intact. His mother had never worn the
rubies,
in fact he had never seen them where they ought to
be, around the neck of a Countess of Rushford.

The
drawing-room doors were open and he could hear laughter and the sound of
someone playing the piano rather badly. He hoped it wasn’t Penny doing so.
There was still so much he didn’t know about his beloved. Was she musically
gifted, or like him, tone deaf? Could she paint a pretty watercolour and
embroider a cushion cover? The thought of her doing either made him smile at the
absurdity. She was an outdoor girl, a bruising rider and more interested in
growing plants than painting them. He strolled in to join his guests, his eyes
eagerly scanning the room. He
stopped,
his smile
fading. There was no sign of either Penny or the count.

Chapter Nineteen

Penny hoped the gentlemen would
not spend too long passing the port as she had learnt one or two interesting
facts about Count Everex and she wished to share them with Ned. Although he had
ordered her not to continue with her investigation, she felt sure anything
gleaned over the dinner table was allowable.

She circled
the room for a while doing her duty as hostess before pausing by her aunt.
‘It’s such a beautiful evening I’m going to stroll on the terrace and listen to
the nightingales. Could you direct Lord Weston to me when he arrives?’ She also
wished to be as far away as possible from the excruciating noise of Miss
Elizabeth on the pianoforte.

‘Put your wrap
around you, Penny. It’s only the end of May.’

‘But it’s
unseasonably warm, Aunt Lucy. However, I’m happy to do as you ask. I have
attracted more than enough attention this evening.’

She wandered
outside and the trills of a late blackbird resting in the honeysuckle that grew
close by attracted her attention. The air was pleasantly cool after the heat of
the drawing-room, having so many candles made the room over warm.

She leant
against the stone balustrade letting the liquid sound envelop her. How beautiful
the garden was; she could hardly believe this was where she was going to spend
the rest of her life. She heard male voices mingling with the plink plonking of
the piano and the laughter of the ladies. Smiling she turned to greet the man
who came to join her on the terrace.

‘Count Everex,
I was not expecting you to join me. Lord Weston would not approve of us being
out here alone.’

‘My dear, Miss
Coombs, when Mr Weston told me you were out here I could not resist the
opportunity to continue our conversation.’

He remained a correct distance
from her, making no attempt to crowd her or take liberties. Maybe she had
misjudged him; perhaps he was a
gentlemen
who just
happened to be a traitor.

‘Then you’re welcome, sir. I’m
waiting for it to be quite dark because the nightingales don’t sing until the
blackbirds have stopped.’

‘You’re a lover of nature, Miss
Coombs. My main estate, on the Loire, would please you mightily. We have dozens
of songbirds in the grounds, also deer and wild boar.’

‘It sounds delightful. You must
be so sad to have had it removed from your family by that upstart Napoleon
Bonaparte.’

‘I am one of the fortunate few,
Miss Coombs, who has been allowed to keep his land. It is in name only at the
moment, as all the revenues go to the government. However, I anticipate that I
shall be able to return home very soon.’

Penny felt a tingle of
excitement. Was she about to learn something really important? She moved
closer, as if attracted by his conversation. ‘What is your home like? Is it as
grand as Headingly Court? ‘

‘Far grander, in fact it is a
palace. Imagine the castles in your
fairytales
and
you will know what my chateau is like. I’m about to become a very rich man.’ He
lowered his voice and bent his head in order to whisper the next piece of information.
‘In a week’s time I shall receive a message from London which will tell me my
fortune has been restored to me.’

‘Good heavens! How very
mysterious. Have you an elderly relative about to meet his maker who has made
you his beneficiary?’

The count shook his head and she
smelt the pomade he used on his hair. This was unpleasant; she much preferred
the fresh smell of lemons.

‘I am not at liberty to tell you
the details, Miss Coombs. But I shall be far richer, far more influential than
Lord Weston. Would you not reconsider your attachment to him?’

In his determination to convince
her of his sincerity he snatched her hands and held them to his chest. Penny
was speechless with mortification. How could she extract herself from this
situation without offending him? She let her hands go limp in his and looked
directly at him.

‘Sir, I believe you have
misunderstood the situation. I have no interest in either you or your chateau.
I am betrothed to Lord Weston and happy to be so. Release my hands at once.’

He did so, stepping back his eyes
wide with embarrassment. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Coombs. I have allowed my
partiality to overcome my good manners. Pray excuse me; I shall not bother you
in this way again.’ Then he was gone, melting into the night, his black evening
clothes making him invisible in the darkness.

A movement at the French doors
alerted her to someone else’s presence and her heart sunk; it would be Ned
standing there, and he would have seen the whole. She braced herself for the
inevitable reckoning. He had warned her not to continue her game and she had
chosen to ignore him.

She kept her back firmly to him
as he approached on soft feet behind her. She almost smiled as it occurred to
her it could be someone else entirely. Then she would be in a worse position
than before. No – it was he. She would recognize his distinctive aroma
anywhere. She shivered and it wasn’t from cold.

‘Miss Coombs, would you be
so
kind as to accompany me to my study? I have pressing
things to discuss with you that cannot be said in public.’ He didn’t wait for
her reply. His arm, like a band of iron, closed about her waist and she was
given no option but to go with him.

He marched her down the terrace
to a second pair of French doors which were conveniently ajar. His freehand
reached out and pulled them open and she was bundled inside the pitch dark
room. She heard the distinctive click as he locked the doors behind them. She
was standing by herself somewhere in a room she hadn’t visited before.

She would not be intimidated. She
wasn’t a child to be chastised for disobedience. Was he hoping to demoralize
her by making her stand in the dark waiting for him to pounce? The situation
was ridiculous! Like something in one of the Gothic romances she used to read.
From nowhere came the irresistible urge to giggle.

Desperately she tried to stifle
the sound with her fists. Laughing at him might not be the best action in the
circumstances. She knew enough about jealousy to realize it might have caused
him to misconstrue what he saw and believe she had encouraged the count to take
liberties.

Taking several calming breaths
she decided her voice was steady enough to speak. ‘My lord, is it your
intention to hold this conversation in the dark? I have no objection, but would
prefer to be seated before we begin.’ She felt the giggles coming back. ‘I have
a tendency …..
have
a tend …..
ency
to lose

my
balance when I cannot see.’ She gulped and knew she could
hold them back no longer.

His hand reached out and rested lightly
on her shoulder. ‘Are you laughing at me, by any chance, Miss Coombs?’

His voice was soft and she found
it impossible to judge his mood. Was he still angry? She had no idea and
without being able to see him, could not decide. She decided to risk a light
reply.

‘Not at you, my lord, but the
situation I find myself in. I have always wanted to be a heroine in a romance
novel and now I find myself acting out the part.’ The sound of him grinding his
teeth gave due warning of his mood. Hastily she spoke again. ‘Are we to stand
around here in the dark or do you have a tinderbox and candles we can light?’

He almost growled his answer. ‘I
can see perfectly well. My night vision is excellent. I have no need to light
the room.’ He laughed but the sound didn’t reassure her. ‘If you wish to be
seated, find somewhere for yourself.’

Her amusement was rapidly turning
to annoyance. Loving someone apparently didn’t mean you had to like them! She
looked around her - he was correct, there was sufficient moonlight filtering in
through the
unshuttered
windows for her to find a
chair. She wondered what part of the house this was; certainly nowhere she had
been before.

She selected a single wooden
armchair with a high back and cushioned seat. Swishing past the looming shape of
her future husband she sat, taking her time to arrange her gown so the train
and overskirt wouldn’t become creased. When she was ready, she clasped her
hands demurely in her lap and stared frostily in his direction. She hoped he
could see she was equally angry.

‘Well, Lord Weston? What is it
you have to say that is so urgent it made you forget your manners and manhandle
me in such an unacceptable way?’

‘You disobeyed me. I distinctly
recall instructing you not to be alone under any circumstances with that man.
He is a dangerous criminal not the charming émigré he wishes to appear.’

He paused and she believed he was
waiting for her to answer. ‘I’m quite capable of making my own decisions. I’m
not a child or just out of the schoolroom. It might have escaped your
attention, my lord, but since my father’s death I have not only been running
both my estate and house, but also managing my investments.’

‘I’m not interested in what you
did before you became my responsibility. That is irrelevant. Here I am master
and you would do well to remember it. Do not interrupt me again.’

‘I shall not interrupt if you do
not continue to talk to me as though I was no more than ten years old.’

‘Be silent!’ His voice cut like a
whip and she shrivelled in her chair, her bravado evaporating under the
onslaught of his fury. ‘If our marriage is to work satisfactorily then you have
to understand what it is I require from a wife.’

She bit her lip so hard she
tasted blood. How could she sit here and say nothing whilst he snarled his
wishes? This was not how she had envisaged their union. She wanted the meeting
of minds and souls as well as bodies. Did her opinions count for nothing? It
had been only a few days ago, after she had almost drowned in the river, that
he had trusted her with his secret. Where was this trust now?

He continued,
apparently unaware of her growing disquiet.
‘I don’t want a woman who
argues every decision that I make; I don’t want to be see other men sniffing
around her skirts—’

At this outrageous statement she
leapt to her feet, too angry to consider the consequences. ‘I have heard
enough.’ She snatched the emerald ring from her finger and threw it in his
face. ‘There. The engagement is over. Now I don’t have to listen to your
opinions or remain in the same place as you.’

Her eyes had adjusted to the
gloom and she could see a door on the far side of the room. She would not stay
a moment longer. She expected to be dragged back, but to her surprise he
allowed her to stalk across the room and through the door. She slammed it shut
behind her. She was shaking too much to move away. She closed her eyes,
ignoring the scalding tears dripping down her cheeks. She had just broken her
own heart. She would never love another man as she did him, but she couldn’t
marry him if this was how he intended to treat her.

Why hadn’t he followed her? Was
he relieved to be rid of a tiresome burden? Angrily she scrubbed her face with
the corner of her wrap. This wouldn’t do. She could not remain hiding in this
room; she had to find her way back to the party before her absence was noted by
the eagle eyes of her aunt. Engaged or not – proprieties must be adhered to.

Penny stepped away from the door;
this room was darker as most of the shutters were closed. She groped her way
across to the glimmer of moonlight filtering through the slats. Reaching the
windows she unhooked a catch and pushed. With a rumble the shutters parted and
the room was bathed in a silver glow.

Where was the other exit?
Frantically she stared around the chamber. Then she realized where she was and
why he hadn’t prevented her escape. She was in his bedchamber. A huge tester
bed dominated the centre of the room. She stood, rooted to the spot with
horror. She was trapped in his private apartments. Her reputation of
unassailable purity would be in tatters after this. Then she remembered there
had to be a servants’ exit in his dressing room. If she could find that, then
maybe all would not be lost.

She needed a candle and although
there were several candlesticks around they were useless without a flint to
light them. She scanned the panelled walls looking for a clue. The door was so
well hidden she couldn’t spot it in the gloom.

He wouldn’t leave her alone for
much longer; she had to find an escape route immediately. She ran across the
carpet and began to search the wall beside the bed with her fingertips. She was
so engrossed she didn’t hear the door open, but she did hear the key turn in
the lock. In her terror she had not thought to turn this herself and now it was
too late. She was locked in the bedchamber of the man she had just jilted.

Her knees gave way and she sunk
to the floor her dress a pool of silk around her. She drew in her knees and
hugged them like a child.