Lois Menzel (14 page)

“I see nothing in this to lose sleep over,” Anne remarked.

“It was what came next that I regret. He embraced me, and I returned his embrace. We kissed. But in the midst of our embrace we were interrupted.”

“By whom?”

“Mr. Pearce.”

“Oh, dear! Did he say anything?”

“He said ‘Excuse me,’ and proceeded on his way.”

Anne digested this information for a few moments before she said, “But surely he must recognize your attachment to Lord Wilmington. We have all seen it. I do not think he will say anything, Arelia. Whether he approves or not, your affairs are not his concern. Besides, he is in your employ. I doubt he would wish to incur your displeasure and jeopardize his position here.”

“I do not think he will say anything, either,” Arelia said. “That is not what worries me.”

“Then, what does?”

“I did not realize, until this happened, just how much I value his good opinion. It distresses me to imagine what he must think of me now.”

“He thinks you are in love with Lord Wilmington,” Anne replied.

“But I am not. That is the unfortunate part, don’t you see? The irony is that Wilmington has been pursuing me for nearly a year, and in all that time my behavior has been above reproach. But the moment I give in to temptation, who is there to witness my transgression but the clergyman himself.”

As Arelia rambled on, Anne’s suspicions grew. If Arelia cared so much for Dennis’s opinion, she must be forming a strong attachment to him. Anne’s theory was strengthened by Arelia’s next comments.

“I know you have grown fond of Dennis.”

“I have,” Anne replied. “We are good friends ... but only friends. It sounds to me as if you wish more than friendship from him.”

“I doubt if even friendship is possible now.”

Arelia grew silent then, and try as she might, Anne could coax her to say no more. Even when Anne insisted that Dennis was a tolerant and forgiving man, Arelia held her peace, for she understood something that Anne did not. She knew that for a man, some things were harder to forgive than others.

Chapter 11

Anne stood at the window of the schoolroom staring down on the long row of carriages in the drive. Most of the guests were departing. It was another hot, sweltering day. High, thin clouds did little to filter the melting rays of the sun, which beat down relentlessly. Horses impatiently pawed the ground, raising small clouds of dust, while busy grooms and footmen hurried about with heavy trunks and portmanteaux, heaving them high onto the coaches and strapping them securely in place.

“In less than an hour we shall have the Castle to ourselves again,” Tenbury said from the schoolroom doorway.

“Are you sorry to see them go?” Anne asked.

“No.”

“Nor am I. Yet I fear Arelia might be.”

“Her matchmaking plans for the summer have failed again,” he said. He moved into the room and paused before a comfortable chair. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Please do,” she replied as she sat on the window seat behind her. “You are aware, then, of Mrs. Saunders’s hope.”

“Of course. Arelia is not devious. Covert actions have never appealed to her. Yet I fear I am a great disappointment to her. She insists I am impossible to please, and perhaps she is right; perhaps I am too exacting. Tell me, Miss Waverly. What did you think of Arelia’s candidates?”

“It is not my place to comment on my betters, my lord.”

“Rubbish! Why do you speak so?” he asked angrily.

“Because it is true,” she defended. “Lady Mason is the daughter of a duke, wealthy and beautiful—”

“Who has no sense of humor, an inflated estimate of her own worth, and a deep-seated dislike for children,” he finished.

“That
would
be inconvenient if one wanted children,” Anne admitted.

“Indeed.”

“Well,” Anne tried again, “Lady Constance is well connected, rides with great skill, and sings like an angel.”

“She also has a cruel streak, a total disregard for the feelings of others, and a father who is a loose screw. To refer to such people as your betters is to insult yourself.”

“Everyone has faults, Lord Tenbury. I can list mine just as you listed them for Lady Mason and Lady Constance.”

“Oh, yes,” he agreed, “you have faults. Not the least of which is a low opinion of yourself. Fortunately you also have initiative, which is a good thing, for without it you would in all likelihood be with Mrs. Hodder still, ruining both your health and your eyesight by sewing for her until midnight and beyond.”

Anne had not thought about her aunt for weeks and found it curious that Lord Tenbury should even remember her name. “How did you know I sewed for my aunt?”

“You must have told me.”

“I do not remember doing so.”

“I doubt you remember much of our first interview. It was rather unorthodox.”

She felt unorthodox was a mild description of that meeting. It all seemed so long ago.

“Speaking of interviews,” he continued, “I came specifically to speak with you about Arelia. She has been acting strangely the last few days, and I wondered if you knew why.”

“Strangely?” Anne asked, parrying the question.

“She has claimed the headache two days running. I cannot remember her ever suffering from such a complaint before. Last night she came down to formally bid our guests farewell, but she retired soon after dinner. She says nothing is amiss, yet I have not seen her at all today.”

“She is having some personal problems, my lord, and does not care for company just now. We all need periods of tranquility from time to time.”

“I have never known Arelia to need it; she is by far the least tranquil person I know.”

“She is, nevertheless, troubled at present,” Anne said. “I was thinking I might speak with Mr. Pearce about it.”

“Do you think he could help?”

“I’m not sure. The problem ... is a perplexing one.”

“Nevertheless, I hope you know you can depend upon me, should the need arise.”

“How can I not know it, sir, when you have come to my aid on numerous occasions? You assisted me that day in the milliner’s shop; you made it possible for me to apply for this position; you came quickly when the boat capsized. I do not distrust you, nor doubt your abilities, but the matter is a private one—”

“And more easily confided to the clergy,” he finished for her.

“Yes,” she replied, pleased that he understood.

Tenbury rose from his chair and walked to the window. Several of the coaches had rolled away while they talked. “There goes Miss Redditch,” he remarked. “I will miss her sweet hands upon the harp.”

“And will you not miss her otherwise, my lord? It is difficult to fault her. She is handsome, personable, accomplished, an heiress.”

“She is also very young, and I find I have lost all interest in the infantry. I believe I prefer a woman who has mellowed.”

She raised her face to his, and for a brief moment their eyes met and held while she wondered what he meant.

Before she could reply a footman spoke from the doorway. “Excuse me, my lord. Mr. Spafford would like a word with you before he leaves.”

When Tenbury had gone, Anne returned to her work while the row of waiting carriages continued to carry the guests away.

* * * *

As the last carriage disappeared from view, Lady Tenbury went in search of her eldest son, determined to discuss with him a matter that had been troubling her. She found him in the library and came directly to the point. “I wish to speak with you about Miss Waverly, Tenbury.”

He had lowered the paper he was reading when his mother entered the room; now he folded it and put it aside. “Certainly, Mother. What is it?”

“I have grown fond of Miss Waverly in the short time she has been with us, and because of that fondness I feel I must speak. What is she to you?”

“She is my niece’s governess.”

“She is more than that.”

“Yes. She has become a companion to you and a friend and companion to Arelia.”

“When I left town,” Lady Tenbury persisted, “there had been no mention of a governess for Belinda. Then, before the cat could lick her ear, Belinda had a governess—a governess, I might add, who was hired in the strangest fashion.”

Anne was crossing the hall to the library, hoping to find Lady Tenbury there. As she neared the partially open door, she clearly heard the earl’s voice. “That may well be, Mother, but you must admit that regardless of the way in which she was hired, she has filled the position admirably.”

Anne turned away. Were they discussing her? Then she paused again as she heard the countess speak.

“Perhaps I must phrase my question more plainly,” her ladyship said. “What is Miss Waverly to you, personally?”

Anne considered eavesdropping to be disgraceful, but her interest in his answer kept her rooted to the spot.

“She is nothing to me personally.”

“You will never make me believe that,” his mother replied. “I saw the compassion in your eyes as you carried her upstairs the day she arrived here. I know you drove her in your carriage, and I was there when you stepped in to protect her from Lady Mason in the drawing room the other evening.”

“Very well, Mother. I should have known better than to try to deceive you, at least. You are correct; Miss Waverly was hired under unusual circumstances. She was hired by my contrivance. I have a specific reason for wanting to keep her within my control and under my protection.”

Anne’s slippered feet carried her silently away from the library and up the stairs to the privacy of her bedchamber. Why did Lord Tenbury say she was hired by his contrivance? If anyone had contrived it was she: refusing to follow the butler to the door, forcing him to make an introduction, and then asking Lord Tenbury for an interview. His last words puzzled her even more, for although she rather liked the idea of being under his protection, she did not care for his presumption that she was within his control, and she could not even begin to imagine what his
reason
might be.

At one point she regretted not staying to hear more, but had she done so she would have learned nothing, for when the countess asked Tenbury to explain himself, he said he regretted that he could not. The matter was a confidential one, between himself and another party. With that her ladyship had to be content.

The more Anne thought about Tenbury’s words, the more confused she became, until she had so many more questions than answers that she concluded eavesdropping was indeed the evil it was purported to be.

* * * *

By that evening Arelia decided she’d had enough of her self-imposed solitude. Mr. Pearce could think what he wished of her. If he insisted upon walking about the gardens after midnight, then he deserved to be offended by what he saw. If she met him about the Castle, she was determined to be civil but distant. She was the employer, he the employee. That was all they were to each other.

For the next two days she took great care to avoid him, steering clear of those places where he was most often found. She never went to the east wing again to listen to him play, though she imagined it often enough—imagined his broad shoulders as he sat at the pianoforte, his dark head slightly bent in concentration, his long, nimble fingers gliding so knowledgeably over the keys.

When they finally met by chance outside the salon one evening, she greeted him with a forced smile but had difficulty meeting his eyes. His response was cool, diffident, and in that moment she knew that the friendship, which had begun so promisingly, had ended.

* * * *

A week of cool, rainy weather gave way to another warm spell. Standing on the terrace at twilight, Tenbury watched Tom and Will Carey coming back from a swim with their hair wet and damp towels draped over their shoulders. He smiled as he remembered how often he and Henry and Jack had done the same. Twenty minutes later he stood on the bank of the private swimming hole. Like Arelia, he had always found a bathing costume too restrictive; he wore only a pair of old knee breeches.

He swam for a spell, finding the water as refreshing as the boys had after a hot, humid day. Then he lay on his back in the shallows, watching the moonlight play over the gently swaying branches. Crickets chirped in the long grass nearby, while across the stream in a backwater, several frogs chatted back and forth. Occasionally the undergrowth rustled as a hare or badger scurried by. Soon, however, Tenbury heard the distinct sound of footsteps proceeding along the path to the stream. He waited silently, his eyes focused on the clearing where the path ended.

When the unmistakable figure of Miss Waverly emerged, Tenbury fully expected Arelia to be only a step behind. It soon became clear, however, that Miss Waverly had come alone. She glanced out over the pool, looking directly at the spot where Tenbury was. When her eyes traveled on, he knew she had not seen him in the shadows. He knew he should speak, but if she had come for a swim—why should he ruin it for her?

One by one, Anne undid the buttons of her simple gown, slid if off her shoulders and stepped out of it. She hung it carefully over a nearby branch. She wore no stays, so was dressed now in only a simple white shift. She sat to remove her slippers and stockings. When she stood again she hesitated, glanced around at the dark woods and then lifted her hands to one of the ribbons fastening her shift. Tenbury held his breath. If she decided to take off more, he would be forced to reveal himself. She turned her head as another small animal scurried through the bushes, then, retaining her shift, waded into the water. She swam the length of the pool several times before she moved in Tenbury’s direction. He knew he must speak now, for his voice would frighten her much less than her coming upon him in the dark.

“Good evening, Miss Waverly.”

Her progress was halted immediately as her feet sank to touch bottom and her heart pounded with momentary fear quickly dispelled by the familiar voice.

“Lord Tenbury!”

“I did not mean to frighten you, but when you started coming my way I had to say something.”