Nina Coombs Pykare (25 page)

The earl nodded. “Good evening, Leonore.”

Edwina searched his face for some evidence that he was still angry with her, but she could find none, and relief flooded through her, making her go weak in the knees.

“Good evening, Charles dear.” Lady Leonore moved toward the earl, and Edwina tore her gaze away. “You’re looking pale tonight,” Lady Leonore told him.

The artificial sweetness of her voice set Edwina’s teeth on edge. How could the man be taken in by such obvious tactics? Besides that, the lady’s comment wasn’t true. The earl looked no paler than usual. If anything, he looked somewhat better than he had. His anger had in some sense rejuvenated him. There was more life in his step, his face looked less haggard, and generally he acted less lost in grief than was usually the case. So, what did Lady Leonore hope to gain with her false solicitude?

Did she mean to impress him with her concern for his health? Edwina scrutinized his lordship’s face as he and Lady Leonore continued to talk. It didn’t seem as though the lady meant anything to him, anything personal anyway. He looked at her as he might look at Crawford or anyone else. But then, those things were sometimes difficult to see.

Suddenly Edwina grew aware that the viscount was scrutinizing her features and she turned her gaze away from the earl. She must be more careful. If the viscount suspected her secret, he might reveal it to the earl. She couldn’t tolerate that. It had been bad enough to feel his anger, but to have him pity her—or even worse—to think that she really was out to snare herself a rich husband—that was too horrible to consider.

She shifted her attention to Lady Leonore’s gown. A new one, it had obviously come but lately from London. Of sheer white muslin sprigged in green, it was trimmed with narrow velvet ribbon of the same hue, tied high under the bodice and flowing in long strands down the front. Bows of similar ribbon adorned the low round neck and the wrists of the long narrow sleeves which fell from small puffs at the shoulders.

Actually the gown was a simple style, rather too maidenish for a woman of her age. Made even more so by her choice of jewels. Her throat looked even whiter than usual in contrast to the great emeralds blazing there. Matching emerald drops hung from her ears and a bracelet circled her wrist.

It wasn’t a combination that Edwina would have suggested and she thought with some asperity that Lady Leonore looked like a little girl playing grown-up woman or—even more damning—a grown-up woman playing little girl. But of course a mere governess could know nothing of fashion. And even if she did, she must hold her peace. Besides, it was quite impossible for her to make any sort of objective judgment where the lady was concerned. Quite impossible.

Since she didn’t wish to be found staring at Lady Leonore, Edwina was forced to seek another object for her eyes, and in doing so met the viscount’s glance. He smiled—the smile of a conspirator. She colored up immediately, hoping that the earl hadn’t observed this byplay, that he hadn’t misunderstood this exchange of glances. She risked a look at him, but he was engaged in talk with Lady Leonore and seemed to have seen nothing.

Edwina let out a sigh of relief and returned her attention to the viscount. Had he guessed at her reaction to the lady’s gown? He had a disturbing way of discerning what Edwina was thinking. Or was he only trying to elicit from her a token of recognition that something existed between them? But it was that very thing that she wanted to avoid.

She most emphatically didn’t want the earl to think that anything untoward had occurred between his cousin and herself. If only she hadn’t admitted to that damaging kiss- But then it was that admission that had provoked the earl’s kiss and given her the wonderful, if painful, knowledge of her feelings for him. So could she really regret it?

Offering Lady Leonore his arm, the earl moved off toward the table and Edwina was forced to decide between cutting the viscount dead by ignoring his arm or taking it and chancing the earl’s anger. The former seemed almost impossible. The viscount would insist on knowing the reason for her actions. If not now, then later. Even the earl would wonder at such sudden rudeness to his cousin. With a sigh, Edwina accepted the arm that was offered her.

* * * *

Dinner proved not to be as bad as Edwina had feared. The walk in the woods had given her an appetite that even her confrontation with the earl hadn’t diminished and she dug into her roast beef with a will. She was definitely not the pale vaporish sort, she thought, with an inner smile. No peckish appetite for her.

The meal progressed in relative silence, each attending to the food. When it was finished, topped off by a fresh apple tart, Edwina leaned back in utter contentment. The castle might be the home of ghosts, her love for its master might be unrequited, but one thing was certain, at the castle she was never hungry. After all those years with her father, years in which she had seldom known the source of her next meal—or even if there would be a next meal—not to be hungry was a comfort not to be ignored.

She was preparing to push back her chair and return to her bedchamber for the evening, when the viscount turned his charming smile on her. “When you first came here, Miss Pierce, I invited you to walk in the garden with me. You begged off because you were tired. And I let you. But tonight it’s quite beautiful out. Will you join me now?”

She hesitated. She had promised to join him in the garden sometime. The condition of her heart couldn’t be blamed on the viscount. He was lonely here, poor fellow, with so little company, and . . . Almost without thinking, she turned toward the earl. He was regarding her steadily, but his face was expressionless. She couldn’t tell anything from it. He didn’t seem angry. And yet-

She really didn’t want to walk with the viscount in the moonlight. That sounded far too romantic. But neither did she want to refuse him and give Lady Leonore a chance to laugh at him. As she had no doubt she would. After all, the viscount had been a friend to her when she arrived in this place, a stranger.

But how could she . . . And then she knew. “I should like to do so, milord. Such a walk sounds delightful. Perhaps Lady Leonore and the earl will join us.”

She read the viscount’s disappointment in the moment before he rallied and said brightly, “Of course, Miss Pierce. The invitation was meant to include the entire company.”

Lady Leonore’s sniff was audible clear across the table, but the earl ignored it. He smiled slightly and got to his feet. “That sounds like a fine idea. A little air will benefit us all.”

In the face of this, Lady Leonore could hardly refuse the arm he offered her. She gave him one of those coy smiles that Edwina so detested. “Of course, Charles. If that’s what you wish.”

Edwina felt herself bristle up at this intimate use of the earl’s Christian name. When she, who loved him, had to address him as milord, it hardly seemed fair that Lady Leonore could take such liberties. But then, life had never been fair.

The viscount got to his feet and gallantly offered her his arm. “We have some lovely flowers in the rose garden. Shall we stroll there?”

She took his arm.

They stepped out through the French doors onto a stretch of lawn. The night was just pleasantly cool. It was only a little way to the rose garden, but pacing along at the viscount’s side, she felt Lady Leonore’s eyes boring into her back. Even more disconcerting was the knowledge that the earl was watching her too. She tried not to get too close to the viscount, tried not to appear too interested in what he had to say.

If only she were walking with her arm through the earl’s, feeling him near her, breathing in the sweet fragrance of the flowers. The moon was full and in its light it was easy to see that though the rose garden had suffered some neglect, many plants had survived and someone—probably Wiggins—had been working to keep the weeds in hand.

She breathed deeply again. She was very fond of roses. Before her early death, Mama had been fond of them, too. Edwina swallowed hastily. Better that Mama had been spared the travail of those last years—far better.

The viscount paced slowly round the garden and stopped before a bush riotous with scarlet blossoms. “These,” he said, snapping off a blossom and offering it to Edwina, “are my favorites.”

Edwina fought to keep the telltale color from staining her cheeks. To refuse the rose would be to insult the viscount. So would dropping it after she’d taken it from him. And to keep it- She suppressed a shiver. To keep it might well convince the earl that he’d been right in his suspicions, that she was engaged in a dalliance with his cousin. She sent the earl a timid glance, but his face told her nothing. And the viscount was waiting, the rose still in his outstretched hand.

So she took the flower—there was nothing else to do really—and hoped that the moonlight did not reveal her flaming cheeks.

Charles saw the governess hesitate. For a moment he thought she might refuse Crawford’s offering. His heart pounded. If she did, would that mean- She looked at him, right at him, a plea in her wide eyes, and then she took the rose from Crawford’s outstretched hand.

What did she mean by that look? Was she trying to tell him something? After this morning he felt really responsible for the girl. For a brief moment he could feel her body warm against his, her lips- If only he could-

“Charles.” Leonore plucked annoyingly at his sleeve and leaned closer, pressing her bosom into his arm and enveloping him in a cloud of cloying scent that made him want more than anything else to sneeze.

He swallowed hard, fighting for patience. She was Catherine’s sister, after all. He owed her courtesy. “Yes, Leonore?”

“Do you like the scarlet ones too?” She smiled up at him, her eyes provocative. He wished she would practice on Crawford—such looks were unseemly in the circumstances. She batted her lashes. “Or are some others your favorites?”

He looked down at the bush. “I’m afraid scarlet roses are too heady for me.” Leonore pressed closer still and he quelled the urge to push her from him. Instead he paced on to where another bush grew. “I prefer these white ones. They have a certain purity about them.”

He saw Edwina stiffened. Did she think he was accusing her of something? Perhaps he was. Anymore he hardly knew his own thoughts.

He picked a white rose bud, but he didn’t offer it to Leonore. With a sense of shock he realized he’d like to offer it to Edwina. That’s how he thought of her now, not Miss Pierce, not the governess, but Edwina. She was filling a lot of his thoughts, perhaps too many. If Catherine . . .

Edwina glanced up at the viscount. He didn’t appear to take any implications from the earl’s chance remark about purity, but then she doubted that purity was very meaningful to a man of the viscount’s stamp. At any rate, he merely shrugged and said, “How fortunate that we have different tastes. The world would be quite dreary if we were all just alike. Don’t you think so, Miss Pierce?”

“Yes, milord,” she answered quickly. “I suppose it would.”

Still, she couldn’t help wondering what the earl had meant. Was his reference to purity only a chance remark? Or was she supposed to read something else into it? Something personal, meant for her? In spite of all her efforts, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing looks at the earl’s face. In the moonlight it looked younger than usual, like that day by the sea when she had glimpsed the man he used to be. A mysterious smile curved his lips as he looked down at the white bud in his hand. “And you Miss Pierce?” he asked. “Which of these do you call favorite?”

Her heart pounded in her throat. If only she could possess the white rose bud that he now held, have him give it to her. But she didn’t dare ask for it. “I—I have no favorites, milord. They’re all too beautiful for me to choose.”

The viscount was obviously disappointed, but the earl continued to smile enigmatically. What was the man thinking?

She hoped that her embarrassment couldn’t be noted in the moonlight. Every word the earl said, every look, every motion, seemed fraught with some special significance if only she could decipher it. How did he feel about her? Was the reference to the white rose an accusation, a subtle way of saying that he didn’t believe her innocent? Thoughts whirled through her head, but she couldn’t come to any conclusions.

“I’m sure the roses are all quite beautiful,” Lady Leonore said, hanging on the earl’s arm, “though I do think you should speak to Wiggins about the dreadful weeds out here. But Charles, my dear, the night air is chill. My cough, you know. And some insect just flew by my cheek.”

The viscount squeezed Edwina’s arm, but she kept a straight face and ignored it. Lady Leonore’s cough—which Edwina had only that moment heard of—must be of a peculiar variety if it could be induced by air as warm and pleasant as this.

But the earl didn’t seem to think so. He turned to the lady with concern. “Of course, Leonore. We’ll go in immediately. Come, Crawford. Miss Pierce had best come in out of the night air, as well.”

The viscount was obviously not too pleased at this suggestion, but Edwina found her heart fluttering in her throat. Breathing night air wouldn’t harm anyone. But the prospect of being left in the garden with the viscount was more than a little frightening. Not that she feared the viscount himself, but to see that look of accusation in the earl’s eyes again and to know that she had caused it- She shivered.

“Thank you, milord,” she said. “I am feeling a bit tired.” So they made their way back through the flowers and in through the French doors. At the foot of the great stairs, the viscount released her arm. “Thank you for the pleasure of your company,” he said gallantly, giving her a little bow.

Edwina gave him a small smile. “Thank you.” She turned to include the others. “I greatly enjoyed the roses. Good night.”

“Good night,” the earl said. Lady Leonore remained silent.

Edwina allowed herself one a quick look at the earl’s face before she turned and made her way up the stairs, still holding the rose that had been the viscount’s gift. Had the earl’s smile been meant for her? And what significance—if any—could she put on his insistence that she, too, return indoors? She would like to read from it some evidence of affection for her. Oh how she would like to! But with a sinking heart she realized that it was more probably attributed to his concern for his cousin. After all, more than one rich man had been sucked into matrimony by a seemingly innocent young woman. The earl had a good heart, he was bound to be concerned for his friend and heir.