The Famous Heroine/The Plumed Bonnet (37 page)

“And I cannot lie about it,” she said. “I am not good at lying.”

He felt his lips twitch, but he would not spoil things. “What would you suggest?” he asked.

“I did think at first,” she said, “that you might set me down at the gates of Sindon and I would walk the rest of the way. Though it would seem horridly inhospitable of me when you have come so far out of your way and the house is mine, after all. But that whole idea would not
do. They would want to know where I came from, and perhaps there would have been no stage or mail coach anywhere near the time I would arrive. I would have to tell the truth after all, and if I were going to do that anyway, then you might as well take me all the way.”

“I can see,” he said, “that you might be no better off with that solution, Miss Gray.”

“And so,” she said, “I think it would be best, sir, if you set me down in the next town. I can take the stage from there and arrive properly just as if I had traveled by stage all the way.” She blushed deeply again. “Though I will have to beg money to pay the fare. I daresay it will not be much. I will insist on sending it back to you if you will give me your direction in London.”

He watched her closely. He was enjoying himself vastly. “I have developed a deep concern for your safety and well-being during the past few days, Miss Gray,” he said. “I do not believe that in all conscience I can abandon you now. I would worry too much that after all something had gone awry, and you had not arrived safely to claim your inheritance.”

She tipped her head slightly to one side. “How kind you are,” she said. “But really—”

“You must remember, Miss Gray”—he gazed benignly at her—“you must remember that you are no longer either a clergyman’s daughter or a governess. You are a great heiress. You have a certain degree of power. If you arrive at Sindon timid and cringing and expecting censure for the manner of your arrival, you will find that there will always be men—and women—willing to rule you and control your life. You and I have done nothing improper, apart from indulging in one small kiss, for which I am deeply sorry.
You
have done nothing improper. It would be far better for you to arrive in my carriage with my escort and prove to whoever is waiting
to receive you that you are a woman of independent mind as well as means.”

“Oh, but—” she said. She stopped to bite her lip once more. “Are you sure it will not appear very improper, sir? I have not really thought a great deal until now about the impropriety of having traveled alone with you because I have been in such desperate circumstances and have been so grateful for your help. But will it not appear improper to others? Will not my reputation be damaged? And perhaps yours too, sir? I should regret that of all things.”

“I think not, Miss Gray,” he said. “Sit back and relax. I insist on taking you to the door of Sindon Park and delivering you personally into the hands of your grandfather’s solicitor and of your grandmother’s cousin. I shall not abandon you. I shall see you inside the house, where you will be safe at last. And home at last.” He finally allowed himself a reassuring smile.

She said no more, though he could see unease in her face and in her posture. He could almost see her mind racing over the possibilities of last-minute escape.

Think all you like, Stephanie Gray
, he told her silently.
And squirm all you like. I have earned this pleasure
. The social events of the Season were going to seem tame indeed when he finally got to town. But then perhaps he would have a new mistress to brighten life for a few weeks or months. Eventually, he would surely tire of her ever fertile imagination. But perhaps not for a while.

She squirmed in good earnest when the carriage finally turned between two stone gateposts and proceeded along an elegant driveway lined with lime trees. He heard her draw a deep breath, which she let out raggedly through her mouth.

“Oh dear,” she said, “my heart is pounding and my palms are clammy—and shaking.” She held up both hands to prove her point. He had no doubt that she was
not acting. “What will they think of me, dressed like this? And arriving with you instead of in the carriage that they have probably sent by now? Will they believe it is me, do you suppose? And what if it is all a hoax after all? What if none of it is real? What if they look at me as if they had never heard of me or anybody of my name?”

Ah, she had been using her time well. She had been thinking of a way out of her dilemma. She was paving the way.

“Relax,” he told her soothingly.

“Oh,” she said, “that is all very well for you to say. Ohh!”

The last exclamation came out on a note of agony. The house had come into view. It was a house of gray stone and indeterminate architectural design. There were turrets and gables and pillars, all somehow combining to create a surprisingly pleasing effect. The house was larger than he had expected, and the parterre gardens before it were magnificently kept. When he glanced at Stephanie Gray, he saw stark terror in her eyes.

He almost relented. He almost suggested rapping on the front panel and giving his coachman the order to turn around. He would get her to tell him her real destination. And then he would make his proposition to her. They could consummate their agreement tonight before returning to London. There was something distinctly exhilarating in the thought.

But no. He must see this to an end. And, indeed, it was too late to turn back without incident. The double doors at the top of the horseshoe steps had opened, and three people had stepped out to watch the approach of the carriage—two men and one woman, all of middle years and of thoroughly respectable appearance.

“Oh dear,” Stephanie Gray said. Her voice was all breath. “What shall I do? What shall I say?”

“I am sure,” he said, his mouth quirking again, “that you will think of just the right words.”

“Do you think so?” she asked doubtfully. “You are so kind. But I am not good with words.”

And she had just claimed to be a poor liar?

The carriage drew to a halt.

S
HE HAD NOT
expected to feel such terror. After all, there was no reason for it. She was not coming as a supplicant or as an employee. She had not come to make a favorable impression on anyone. She had come because all this was now hers.

But the thought brought only a renewed wave of fright.

It was
enormous
. And it was
magnificent
. She had somehow pictured Sindon Park as a larger version of some of the prettier, more prosperous country cottages she had seen. She had pictured the park itself as a large country garden. She had expected to feel very grand as the owner of such opulence.

But this …

Well, this would dwarf Mr. Burnaby’s estate. His house and garden would fit into a corner of this property and not even be noticed. This was a house and a park fit for a king.

She had known that her grandfather was wealthy. But she had no real conception of wealth. To her, the Burnabys had appeared enormously wealthy. Was she now wealthier than they?

The thought that she owned all this seemed absurd to her, and she was quite serious when she suggested to Mr. Munro that perhaps everything had been a hoax. Surely, it could not be real. She felt at a terrible disadvantage. How could she arrive like this, a woman without baggage, without servants, without even her own clothes,
except for her dress? There were
holes
in her gloves. And how could she arrive in Mr. Munro’s carriage with Mr. Munro for escort?

It was an impossibility. She was on the verge of leaning forward and begging him—as she had begged him for a different reason last night—to direct his coachman to turn back, to take her somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But of course there was nowhere else to go.

Besides, it was too late. They had been seen. There were people coming out of the house. She could only go forward. And why should she not? She remembered Mr. Munro’s words. She was no longer just a vicar’s daughter or just a governess—not that there was anything demeaning in either identity. She was an heiress, a wealthy woman, the owner of Sindon Park, the granddaughter of the previous owner.

If she was cringing and timid, he had said, there would always be people willing and eager to rule her. She had had to be timid—and even a little cringing sometimes—for too long. She would be neither ever again. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Mr. Munro had jumped out of the carriage and set down the steps himself. He turned now to hand her down and smiled encouragingly at her. There seemed to be almost mischief in his smile as if he were telling her that this was a new adventure and he looked forward to seeing how well she would acquit herself.

Well, she would not disappoint him.

The three people who had emerged from the house had come to the bottom of the horseshoe steps by the time she had descended from the carriage. She lifted her head to look at them and saw their smiles of welcome fade in perfect unison with one another. Oh dear, her wretched bonnet. The plumes had stubbornly refused to be detached from it, though she had tried again last
night. But she kept her chin high and took a step forward, lest she give in to the temptation to hide behind Mr. Munro. This had nothing to do with him. This was her concern entirely.

She curtsied and smiled at them one at a time. “Good afternoon,” she said. “I am Stephanie Gray.”

They all succeeded in looking simultaneously aghast. Their eyes all swiveled to Mr. Munro. But clearly they got no encouragement from that direction. They all looked back at her.

“Mr. Watkins?” she said, looking from one of the men to the other.

One of them half raised a hand, seemed to think twice about acknowledging his identity, and scratched the side of his nose with it. Stephanie smiled at him.

“After I had your letter, sir,” she said, “I decided not to wait for the carriage you offered to send for me. It was foolish of me, as matters turned out.” But no, she would not be abjectly apologetic. “I took the stage, but at the first change from one to the other, I succeeded in having my valise and my tickets and almost all of my money stolen. I had to spend a whole night in a hedgerow beside the road, and during that night I was robbed of almost everything I had left. Fortunately, those assailants were frightened off by the approach of a carriage. They left me with my reticule and my d-dress, but they took my cloak and bonnet and parasol. The occupants of the carriage were very kind. There were actually two carriages. They were a troupe of traveling actors and offered to take me with them. But they were going in the wrong direction. They did give me a cloak and bonnet, though, from the trunk that contained their stage costumes.”

The eyes of all three rose at the same moment to gaze at the plumes of her bonnet.

“It
is
a monstrosity, is it not?” she said and smiled.
“But the cloak has kept me warm and wearing this bonnet has been marginally less shocking than going bareheaded. May we go inside?”

Mr. Watkins cleared his throat, and the other man exchanged glances with the woman.

“Oh,” Stephanie said. She had omitted something, of course. “Mr. Munro very kindly took me up in his carriage when he saw me trudging along the side of the road. And he has very generously brought me the whole way.” She looked them all very directly in the eye. She would omit none of it. Let them make of it what they would. “That was three days ago. Without his help it would have taken me a few weeks to walk here, I am sure, and I might well have perished on the way. I have enough money in my reticule to buy only one small loaf of bread, you see.”

“Mr. Munro?” Mr. Watkins said, looking sharply at that gentleman and frowning.
“Munro?”

“Yes,” Mr. Munro said. It was all he said.

“He insisted on bringing me all the way here,” Stephanie said, “even though I have brought him out of his way. I owe him a deep debt of gratitude.
May
we go inside?”

“Horace—” The woman spoke for the first time, laying her hand on the arm of the man who had not yet spoken.

Horace cleared his throat. “How do we know you are who you say you are?” he asked. “If you will forgive me for saying so, Miss …”

“Gray,” she said. “Stephanie Gray. I suppose I do look like a-an actress. Is this proof enough?” She opened her reticule and took out the letter Mr. Watkins had sent her. She handed it to him.

Mr. Watkins took it and opened it and appeared to be reading it, just as if he had not seen its contents before.

“But how do we know,” the woman said, “that you
did not find this somewhere? How do we know that you and this … this
gentleman
were not the ones to attack Miss Gray and rob her?”

Mr. Watkins cleared his throat. “I believe I can vouch for … er … Mr. Munro, Mrs. Cavendish,” he said.

“And I can vouch for Miss Gray, ma’am,” Mr. Munro said, stepping forward and offering Stephanie his arm. She smiled at him gratefully, even though his voice had sounded very much as if there were ice dripping from it. “Shall we step inside, Miss Gray? It occurs to me that you do not have to stand here waiting for permission to do so.”

“Thank you, sir.” She took his arm.

The other three came up the steps behind them. But she had little time to think about them or the awkwardness of her arrival. Soon they were stepping through the doorway into a marble, pillared hall that quite robbed her of breath. She had expected the whole house to be smaller than just the hall was proving to be.

“Oh,” she said and glanced up at Mr. Munro. His face looked strangely like the marble by which he was surrounded. The hall must have taken his breath too, she thought.

But there was another man standing in the hall, obviously a gentleman rather than a servant. He was younger than the other three, of medium height, almost bald, bespectacled. Stephanie smiled at him.

“Peter,” Mrs. Cavendish said, “this is her. Miss Gray.”

“Yes,” Peter said, his voice and whole manner stiff and disapproving. “I heard everything, Aunt Bertha. You came with this … gentleman, Miss Gray? Alone with a stranger?”

“For three days,” Bertha Cavendish added.