The Fifth Kiss (25 page)

“I don't see why you should say that, ma'am,” his lordship said, a sneer disfiguring his face with chilling malevolence. “There is nothing horrible about the ‘incident' that I can determine. It's all rather amusing, in fact. First your brother becomes betrothed to my
governess
, and now
you
seem to have an attachment for my
tutor
. Tell me, my dear, would your brother Jamie care to join the group? We have an upstairs maid who might suit him very well.”

She stared at him in horror, and then swung her hand furiously to his face, slapping him with vicious rage across the cheek. The sound reverberated from the walls with terrifying loudness. Olivia gasped, her distended eyes taking in the blotchy red patch spreading on his cheek. Appalled at her own behavior and devastated by his, she burst into tears, brushed rudely past him and ran out of the room.

Strickland remained looming in the doorway. His sneer was quite gone, leaving behind only a look of threatening menace. The tutor's eyes dropped to the floor. “You've c-completely misjudged the m-matter, my lord,” he said, not able to conceal his inner quailing.

“Take yourself out of my sight!” Strickland growled, not wishing to hear another word.

The tutor drew himself up. He'd made a mull of everything—his relationship with Miss Olivia, his prospects for the future, everything. But he would make his exit from this house with some shred of dignity. “Very well, my lord,” he said as steadily as he could. “I shall collect my things and leave the premises at once.”

His lordship was staring somewhere in the middle distance, his eyes blank, but at the tutor's words he brought them back into focus. “What's that you said?” he asked abstractedly.

“I said that I shall be off the premises at once,” the tutor repeated.

“Who said anything about leaving the premises?” Strickland barked. “You will go nowhere, do you hear me? She wants you to remain, doesn't she? Well, if she wants you here,
here you'll stay
!”

chapter seventeen

It was Charles, with his calm reasonableness, who finally managed to straighten out the tangle. After he'd learned the details from his weeping sister, he sought out Strickland and, by using considerable patience and repeating the facts as logically as possible, eventually convinced his stubborn and angry brother-in-law that Olivia was not in any way attached to the tutor. However, when Olivia learned from Charles that Strickland intended to keep the tutor on, she burst into tears again.

Olivia, using Charles as a go-between (for she could not bear to discuss the matter with Strickland face-to-face), informed his lordship that, under the circumstances, she would find it quite impossible to visit the schoolroom in future if Mr. Clapham remained on the staff. He had
twice
lost his self-control, she informed her brother-in-law, and she would not subject herself to the humiliation of a possible third experience of that kind. Reluctantly, therefore, fully aware that Perry was fond of the tutor, she nevertheless had to recommend that Strickland let him go after all.

It was this message which truly convinced Strickland that the girl was sincerely indifferent to Mr. Clapham, and it was not without a small touch of wicked satisfaction that he informed the tutor that he was to leave the premises after all. He handed Mr. Clapham a letter of recommendation which, in its praise of his scholarship and his affectionate handling of his charges, guaranteed that he would be able to find another post, but his lordship pointed out drily to the tutor before leaving him to his packing that he had better keep his affectionate handling of the
other
members of the households where he would in future be employed more strictly in check.

With that last sardonic admonition ringing in his ears, Mr. Clapham left Langley Park, his emotions a mixture of bitterness and relief. The recommendation insured that he would find a satisfactory post, for which he was profoundly grateful. But as far as
women
were concerned, he swore to himself that never would he permit himself to become emotionally involved with one again. Plato had been quite right about love being a grave mental disease; he would not soon again permit himself to be reinfected.

Dinner that night was a disappointing affair. Although Charles had succeeded in convincing Elspeth to join the family at the table, his announcement of their forthcoming nuptials to Cousin Hattie and Aunt Eugenia did not cause an outpouring of good will. Eugenia, in obvious disapproval of so unconventional a betrothal, remarked that she wished them well, of course, but added that they “should not expect a sanguine acceptance from the
ton
. An unequal match, while sometimes considered acceptable by the less exacting members of
country
society, is much frowned upon in
town
, I'm sorry to say.”

Cousin Hattie, pursing her mouth in disagreement, immediately responded. “What utter rubbish! I, for one, am quite delighted, Charles, to see that you have the character to ignore the difference in your stations. If all men looked for
character
in their betrotheds rather than wealth and social position, London society would be all the better for it,”

At this point, Olivia leaned toward her cousin Hattie to assure her that Elspeth was every bit as well-born as Charles; while, at the same time, Strickland informed his aunt Eugenia coldly that
any
society, town or country, with an ounce of discernment would welcome into its circle persons of such obvious value as Charles and Elspeth. The betrothed couple looked gratified by this sincere defense, but the spirit of jubilation, which they had every right to expect to flow over the assemblage at such a time, was quite missing. Olivia and Strickland were at pains, all evening, to keep from looking at each other or exchanging words; Hattie and Eugenia were, as usual, quite at odds; and Charles and Elspeth had to be content to gaze across the table at each other and sigh.

Shortly after dinner had ended, Strickland excused himself and retired. Gaskin followed him into the bedroom, but Strickland told him to go to bed. The valet, already disturbed by the lack of occupation, left with ill grace, but Strickland didn't even notice. He threw himself down on his bed without removing anything but his coat in excessive perturbation of the spirit. The scene in the schoolroom had disturbed him more than he'd been able to admit to himself. But now, several hours later, with the matter settled and the tutor dispatched on his way, Strickland still felt shaken. There was little question in his mind about what had upset him. He had found Olivia in a man's arms, and he'd felt
murderous
. He didn't know which one of them he would have liked to murder, but he knew
why
he'd wanted to kill. It had been naked, unrestrained, violent
jealousy
.

For the first time, he had to admit to himself that the girl meant something more to him than he'd supposed. He had habitually thought of her as an irritating nuisance inflicted upon him by marriage. But somehow, at some moment in the past, that feeling had changed. He could not have told when or how, but there was little question
now
that he was strongly attracted. How Clara would laugh if she knew! She'd said many times that he and Olivia had more in common than he realized. Clara had even predicted, that last night, that …

But no, it was foolish to dwell on it. Clara had been so ill. In her right mind she would not have been the sort who would have wished to control people's lives from the grave. In any case, this attraction toward Olivia was not to be encouraged. The girl obviously disliked him completely. In every way she indicated her disapproval of his habits, his viewpoints, his politics and his character. She thought of him as a jaded Tory libertine, and he supposed that was just what he was. How could an idealistic, radical little bluestocking have any interest in a man who stood for everything she hated and, even worse, who was too old for her in both age and experience.

Perhaps, if things had been different—if he had just met her and could have consciously attempted to make a favorable impression on her—he could have managed to win her affection. He could have charmed her with his easy manners and assured style … he could have made light of their political differences and disparaged the difference in their ages. It would not have been an impossible task—he'd won admiration from young girls before. But he and Olivia had fallen into the habit of disagreement. There was too much in their pasts which had set them at odds. He could never win her now.

Besides, the girl deserved better. She was young and innocent; she should have a fresh-faced, clean, openhearted young man to love her—one who was not encumbered with memories of past love or jaded by the vestiges of past dalliance. And she should not be permitted to bury herself away from society for too long, or she might be too late to
find
that deserving young man. It was not good for her to remain here at Langley … and it was not good for him either.

But how could he convince her to leave? She felt as strong a responsibility for the children's welfare as he did. Even if he forced a quarrel upon her and drove her away, she would soon feel impelled to return to the children. She would return from time to time in any case. And each time she came, he felt certain that her nearness would create an ache in his insides as strong as the ache he felt at this moment, an ache which would only emphasize the already painful loneliness of his life. What he needed was someone to act as a buffer between himself and his sister-in-law—someone who would love and care for the children too. Obviously, neither Eugenia nor Olivia's cousin Hattie would be satisfactory. It had to be someone more like Clara herself. Good lord! What he needed was … a
wife
!

Of
course
! That was
it
! He had to marry again. A new wife could take over where Clara had left off. It would be the answer to every problem. But the thought was repugnant to him. Could he face a relationship of such intimacy with a woman he didn't love? The answer, he told himself sternly, was
yes
. Even with Clara, the last few years had not been particularly satisfactory, but they had managed. He would manage again.

Finding a wife would be no very difficult matter. There were a number of London ladies who had flirted with him in the past when he'd appeared at social events without Clara on his arm. They had made it clear that they would have welcomed his advances
then
. Now that he was free to remarry, his advances would be all the more welcome. He was too wise in the ways of the world not to realize his value on the Marriage Mart. He had titles, wealth, an acceptable appearance and a certain measure of prestige. Those were just the sort of superficial qualities which most women wanted. He would have no trouble at all.

As he began to think of the various eligible ladies in his circle, he fell asleep. He dreamed that Perry and Amy were leading him up a rugged mountain path, higher and higher until it became dangerously steep. Above him was a ledge which promised a haven of safety. He lifted Amy up to it without much difficulty, but Perry was too heavy. Terrified that he would drop the boy, he shouted for help. Two arms reached out over the edge, lifted Perry from his grasp and disappeared from his view. He reached up and grasped the edge just as the road beneath his feet crumbled away. Hanging by his hands over a deep ravine, he tried desperately to pull himself up but found himself unable to heave his enormous weight. The veiled head of a woman leaned over the ledge and peered at him. “My hand … take my
hand
,” he begged, reaching out to her. She laughed and grasped it. “Trust me,” the woman said in Clara's voice. “Let go and I shall lift you.” He did as she bid and found his body floating free and weightless in the air beside the ledge. With his free hand, he reached for her veil and snatched it away, revealing the face of Olivia, her mouth a sneer. She laughed cruelly and let go of his hand. At that moment his body felt heavy as lead, and he began to fall head over heels into the ravine, the sound of her laughter following him down …

He awoke with a start. His candle had burned out and the room was in blackness. The constriction of the waistband of his breeches reminded him that he had not yet undressed. Wearily, he pulled himself up and unbuttoned his shirt, aware that a feeling of depression seemed to have settled into his bones. The pain was less sharp than the grief he'd been experiencing during the past months but was somehow more oppressive. The weight on his spirit seemed to exude a threat of permanence—a pervasive heaviness that he knew had settled in to stay, if not forever, then at least for a long, long time.

Charles left the next morning after whispering a warning to his betrothed that, if she didn't settle her business and return to him before the month was out, he would return and drag her bodily from the premises. He left behind him a household gloomier than it had been when he'd arrived. Eugenia and Hattie were engaged in a bickering war that was carried on throughout the day, and Olivia and Strickland seemed more strained and distant with each other than they'd ever been before. It was only in the presence of the children that they pretended to friendliness.

Olivia did not find this state of affairs at all to her liking. Before the arrival of her brother and the two “chaperones,” she had been well on her way to achieving a comfortable kinship with Strickland. They had even laughed together. If only that fool of a tutor had not instigated that dreadful scene. Charles had assured her that Strickland was convinced that she'd spoken the truth when she'd said that there was nothing between herself and the tutor. Then why was Strickland still so distant? Was he still smarting from the slap she'd given him?

Whenever she remembered that slap, the palm of her hand burned. She did not know what had come over her. He had been infuriatingly scornful in his remarks, of course, but the situation he'd come upon was certainly deserving of scorn. Her reaction had been unwontedly violent, and she was at a loss to explain it. Everything about her relationship with Strickland always seemed to be fraught with unexplainable tensions and excitement. Why couldn't they develop a peaceful, friendly
rapproachement
? Why couldn't she see him at the table or pass him on the stairs without this strange acceleration of the pulse and constriction of the chest? Was it guilt for having struck him so angrily on the face? Should she apologize?