Lois Menzel (17 page)

Nearly an hour later, the gentlemen formally took their leave. When Mr. Murphy had collected his various papers and fastidiously stowed them away, the duke bid Anne farewell, encouraging her to contact him if she had any further need of his services. The two men left the Castle together, climbed into the coach, and were soon on their way.

Anne stood at the windows of the salon and watched until the coach disappeared from sight. She thought for a moment how easy it would be to believe she had imagined the whole thing, for it had seemed as unreal as Tenbury’s kiss in the dark woodland pool. Yet when she looked down at the leather pouch in her hand, a pouch containing two hundred pounds in small notes and golden guineas, she knew it had really happened. She had never seen so much money at one time in her life. When she had objected to taking it, both gentlemen were adamant. They insisted she would need money for new clothes, for travel expenses.

Anne was still standing at the window when both Arelia and Lady Tenbury entered, demanding to be told how it was that Anne came to be acquainted with the Duke of Chadwicke.

“He is Tenbury’s uncle,” the countess offered, “but I have not seen him in years. He seldom leaves his estates in Norfolk.”

“I don’t know him,” Anne replied. “I never met him before today.”

“What did he want?” Arelia asked. “You sat so long with him we were nearly overcome with curiosity.”

“His Grace brought me wonderful news, something I never suspected. It seems he is a trusted friend of my maternal grandfather. He informed me that when I turn twenty-nine on the fifth of August, I will be in possession of an independence.” It was an outrageous understatement, but she could bring herself to say no more.

“How wonderful!” Lady Tenbury exclaimed. “What good fortune!”

“Indeed, my lady, I am most fortunate.”

“I am not so sure I agree,” Arelia said, half-teasing. “If you have an independence, you will leave us. I am not certain I care for that.”

“Leave you?”

“Well, you would hardly wish to continue as governess,” Arelia reasoned. “Did he tell you how much you would have?”

“It seems there is an estate, and a modest London residence, and some income as well.”

“That settles it, then,” Arelia said, a broad smile showing her pleasure at her friend’s wonderful news. “Your days as a governess are over. Belinda must have a holiday until I find a replacement for you. I am so happy for you, Anne!”

Another hour passed before Anne was able to escape her well wishers and go off on her own. It seemed no amount of time would be sufficient to take in all that had happened in the last few days. Her life was changing suddenly, radically, and she was not at all certain she wished it to. These last few months at Tenton Castle had been some of the fullest she had ever known. Although she had been content with her father, she had never had the opportunity to make friends her own age—friends like Jack, Dennis, and Arelia.

If she were to leave the Castle, she thought she would miss Arelia most. She had spent less time with her than with the others, yet their friendship was special. She had shared many of her private thoughts with Arelia, and Arelia had confided equally in her. She suspected it was a friendship such as sisters shared—a friendship she had never expected to have.

Anne spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room, finding that her head ached from all the information it was being forced to deal with, for the more she pondered it, the more unbelievable it seemed. Since she was looking forward to a quiet meal in her room and an evening of solitude, she was distressed when Lady Tenbury sent a message inviting her to join the family for dinner. Not certain what she should do, she went to find Dennis to seek his advice. She briefly explained her new-found wealth, once again making light of its size and extent.

“If there is a problem in all this, I don’t see it,” he replied. “Were you not just telling me a few weeks ago that you hated the thought of having no control of your life? Now you will have; you should be delighted.”

“Of course, I am pleased,” she responded, “but what should I do about Lady Tenbury’s invitation to dine with the family?”

“You should go.”

“But how can I? Yesterday the governess, today a guest at dinner. I would feel most uncomfortable.”

“Anne, you are not a servant here; you never were. You were a gentlewoman forced to earn her living, but a gentlewoman all the same. The position did not change who you are.”

“Perhaps not. But I feel as if it did. Arelia did not ask if I wanted to stop teaching, she simply assumed I would. She said Belinda could have a holiday until I was replaced. If I no longer have my post, then there is no reason for me to stay. I can see Arelia was right when she said I would leave. I must leave; there is no place for me here.”

When she looked at Dennis, she found him regarding her steadily, but he did not reply. “You agree with me, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes. I understand how you feel. You are caught in an awkward situation.”

“I can be uncaught simply enough. I have money; I have a home to go to. The duke said it has even been prepared for me. How do I hire a coach to carry me there, Dennis?”

“The Duck ‘N’ Drake in Winthrop hires post chaises. For a few pence I could send a village boy with a note.”

“Will you write the note for me? I would not know what to ask for.”

“How far do you plan to go?”

“To Lincolnshire.”

“When would you like to leave?”

“Tomorrow, as early as possible.”

“Anne, are you sure? Perhaps you should take more time to consider.”

“I am sure, Dennis, of only one thing—I no longer belong here. I will do my thinking elsewhere.”

Anne joined Arelia, Jack, and Lady Tenbury in the drawing room before dinner. She came at the last moment, hoping they would all be there before her.

All three looked up as she entered, and she decided to speak at once. She addressed Lady Tenbury, “I thank you for your kind invitation to dine with you, my lady, but I regret I must decline it. With your permission, I should like to leave tomorrow, and I must do all my packing tonight.” At Lady Tenbury’s pained expression, Anne added, “You have been most kind to me, all of you, but I need time alone to adjust to this change in my circumstances.”

She could think of nothing further to say. It was Jack who recognized her discomfort and rescued her from having to say more. “Of course, you do. We understand. But you must promise that when you have settled your affairs, you will come back to visit.”

She smiled at him but made no promise.

Noticing the omission, Arelia stepped closer and said, “You were always much more than an employee here. Go
if you must, but know we shall all miss you.”

Very near tears by this point, Anne quickly excused herself and hurried to her room. There she carefully packed her belongings into trunks and cases. Near midnight, both mentally and physically exhausted, she crawled into bed and was soon asleep.

At nine the following morning, Dennis stopped at her room to inform her that the earliest the posting house could send a coach was eleven o’clock.

“Kimble says the footmen can carry your things down now, if you like.”

“Thank you, Dennis. They are ready.” By ten o’clock Anne’s belongings were stacked in the great hall. She had said good-bye to the children and to Arelia, Dennis, and Lady Tenbury. She was not anxious about the carriage ride ahead and had even allowed the cook to pack her a lunch, which she had every intention of eating. Attired in a modest russet traveling dress, she sat in the library with Jack, awaiting the arrival of the hired post chaise. They were not speaking of her reasons for leaving; they were reminiscing instead about all the things they had done together that summer.

* * * *

Lord Tenbury was in a foul temper. He had been driving almost continuously for four days on a fruitless mission. He had traveled first to London, then to Norfolk in search of the Duke of Chadwicke, only to learn upon arriving at the duke’s residence that His Grace was away from home on a visit to Tenton Castle!

So Tenbury had journeyed back to Wiltshire. Just outside Winthrop, he was forced to collect his team to a trot as he came up behind a slow-moving post chaise. He waited impatiently for a straight stretch of road wide enough to pass, then swore irritably when he saw there was a vehicle approaching in the opposite direction.

At each crossroad, where there was a possibility that the coach might turn, it proceeded stubbornly on his route. When it slowed to turn in at the gates of the Castle, he swung his team around it, cantered them the wrong way down the drive normally used as an exit from the park, and arrived at the Castle first.

Jumping down from the curricle, he mounted the steps quickly and demanded of Kimble, “Are we expecting visitors?”

Given no opportunity to welcome Lord Tenbury home, Kimble replied, “No, my lord. I believe this is the coach hired by Miss Waverly. She is leaving today.”

“Leaving?” Tenbury stepped into the hall and stood for a moment contemplating the pile of baggage stacked there. He slowly stripped off his driving gloves and handed them to Kimble, then glanced through the doors as the hired coach pulled up before the Castle. “Pay off the post boys and send that vehicle back where it came from,” he ordered Kimble. “If Miss Waverly plans to travel, she will do so in my coach, with servants I can trust. Where is she?”

“I believe Miss Waverly is in the library, my lord, with your brother.”

While Kimble stepped outside to dismiss the hired chaise, Tenbury walked the short distance to the library doors.

Anne rose instantly when she saw him on the threshold; she had hoped to be gone before he returned. As he advanced, she noticed his blue coat was wrinkled and his breeches creased, while the customary shine of his boots had been obscured by dust  and his fair hair disordered by the wind. His eyes looked tired, but beyond the fatigue was something else.

“Excuse us, Jack,” Tenbury said abruptly, never taking his eyes from Anne’s face.

A shiver of fear raced through Anne at those words, an emotion she had never before connected with Tenbury. She wanted more than anything for Jack to stay, but she would not ask him to defy his brother.

“I will see you before you go,” was all Jack said before he left them alone.

“Kimble tells me you are leaving,” Tenbury stated.

“Yes. A great deal has happened since you left the Castle on Friday, my lord. I cannot think where to begin.”

But she did begin, telling him she’d had a visitor and who the visitor was. Several minutes into her dialogue, Anne had the impression the earl was not listening. His eyes had a vacant, far-away look, much like the one a teacher sees in the eyes of a student who is not attending. She paused, for some reason suddenly remembering the words she had overheard Tenbury speak to his mother.
“She was hired by my contrivance. I have a specific reason for wanting to keep her within my control.”
That memory, coupled with Lady Tenbury’s revelation of the kinship between Tenbury and Chadwicke, raised a sudden suspicion. “None of this is news to you, is it, my lord?” she asked.

She watched carefully as his eyes and thoughts focused on her, returning from wherever they had been. He did not answer but walked away to the windows and stood looking out, offering her only his profile to study. After a moment she followed him there, standing directly before him so she could read his expression clearly.

“You knew I was to receive an inheritance,” she accused.

“Yes, I knew.”

“When did you know?”

“From the beginning.”

“How did you know?”

“Chadwicke told me. That is where I have been these past days. I went to his home in Norfolk. I intended to ask his permission to tell you about the inheritance myself. But my trip was in vain.”

“Because he had already left to come here.”

“Yes.”

“When you say you knew from the beginning, when precisely was that?”

“Before we met. I planned to have you hear of the position in my house. I arranged to have you hired.”

Her eyed widened in surprise. “To what purpose?”

“Chadwicke was concerned when you moved to London. He wanted to be certain you came to no harm, that you found a safe refuge until the day he was free to tell you of your grandfather’s plans. He enlisted me to help him.”

“So I was not hired for my qualifications after all. When Mr. Raymond sent me away, that was all a ruse, so I would not suspect.”

“No. That was a point where my plans went awry. Raymond knew nothing of my design. I did not expect you to come without references, so I did not foresee that he might dismiss you.”

Now it was her turn to walk away. She sat on the edge of a nearby chair, shaking her head in disbelief. “But why could you not simply tell me the truth? Why was all the deception necessary?”

“Pentworth wanted nothing said until all was arranged. Chadwicke actually knew few of the details until recently, though he suspected the property would be considerable.”

“Then all these months, when I thought you were being kind to me, you were filling the role of
duenna
—a watch-dog to the Pentworth heiress! Is that right?”

“Not precisely.”

“But wait,” she said, as another thought intruded. “You said you knew everything before we met, but that is not possible. We first met in the milliner’s shop. You were not there by design.”

“I was,” he confessed. “I followed you that day. I heard you speaking with your companion about the position you were seeking. I then acted on the information.”

“So you came to my aid that day only because you were protecting my interests?”

“That is partially true, yes.”

“Come now, Lord Tenbury. Only partially? I viewed you that day as some sort of guardian angel, while the truth is you only helped me because you felt obligated. Your gentle concern for my lack of recommendations—it was all a sham. You hired me, or undoubtedly forced your sister-in-law to hire me, despite my qualifications being less than adequate. Your apprehension when I walked about the town, your solicitude when you discovered my motion sickness, even your heroic rescue at the lake—you did not do any of those things for Anne Waverly, your niece’s governess—you did them for Anne Waverly, heiress-to-be. You could not allow this heiress to drown in the lake, nor permit her to fetch and carry; she must not work too hard, nor too long, nor too strenuously.