The Phantom Lover (17 page)

“She's
not
wed. Nor is she betrothed, as far as I know. Of course, she is much sought after, but she is known to have excellent principles. Oh, Harry, she
must
be waiting for word of
you!
How can you remain hiding here—?”

Harry turned again, his lips compressed, his cheeks pale. “You go too far again, ma'am,” he said in the icy tone she'd heard before. “I must insist that you refrain from meddling in my private concerns.”

Nell reddened, her spirit quailing before the coldness of his manner. “You are quite right, my lord. I beg your pardon. I shall not—to use your own words—raise the question again.”

She fled without another word. When she reached her own room, she flung herself across the bed, troubled by a sharp and spreading pain which she was reluctant to identify. It was a pain quite new to her, and one which she would readily have exchanged for the physical one which recently had troubled her head. The severe headaches she'd suffered during the past week were nothing compared to
this
, which she knew was not physical. This anguish was of the
feelings
, and as she fingered the key which hung about her neck, she began to suspect the cause. If her suspicions were correct, she had not the slightest idea of how to effect a cure.

Chapter Eleven

T
HE SCENE IN
Harry's room did not augur well for the future of the new relationship between Nell and her moody host. But to her surprise, he appeared at dinner that evening in a cheerful mood and spent the hours before bedtime with the two ladies in perfect amiability. The next day, which was unexpectedly bright and sunny, brought Nell an invitation to ride with him. Then, on the day following, during a rainy afternoon, he invited her to assist him in his researches into the military strategies of Marlborough. Before a week had passed, they found themselves enjoying a stimulating and pleasantly friendly intimacy.

Nell kept a strict guard on her tongue. As Mrs. Penloe had learned before her, Harry was immovable in his determination to cut himself off from his previous life, and Nell wisely decided to abide by his wishes. Once it became clear that neither would try to influence the other's life, they were able to discuss even their pasts without embarrassment. During the following weeks, they spent part of each day in each other's company. They talked incessantly. Nell told Harry about her feelings when she'd learned about her parents' death in a terrible accident in their coach, and about the difficulties of life with Lady Sybil. She revealed, to Harry's hearty amusement, the shocking facts of her three broken betrothals and the resulting ruin of her reputation among the ladies of Quality. On his part, Harry kept Nell fascinated with tales of his exploits on the Peninsula, the battles, the customs of the Spanish people he'd met, and the strange sights he'd seen. And one day, to his own surprise, he revealed to her the story of how he'd been wounded, how he'd hobbled for miles, delirious, parched and agonized, until he'd been found by a Spanish peasant who'd taken him in and whose wife had nursed him back to health. It was the first time he'd told the tale.

It had happened on a morning which was gray and threatening. Ignoring the ominous clouds, they had decided to ride. With Harry on Caceres and Nell on the mare, they had ridden out along the cliffs and finally stopped in the sheltered area that Nell had found so many days before. Sitting on the rocks and staring at the churning sea, Harry had found it soothing to tell the wide-eyed girl of his experiences—experiences that he'd relived so often in nightmares. As he spoke, his eyes fixed on the water below, he almost forgot she was there. Details of those terrible days, things he'd thought he'd forgotten, came back to him. He remembered the heat, his parched lips, the excruciating pain in his leg as the wound slowly festered. He'd found a tree branch to use as a crutch, but it was so rough that his hand and underarm were cut and blistered. After a while, his delirium took over. He imagined he was on a fox hunt, that he'd been unhorsed, and when he'd come upon the Spanish farmer he'd shouted, “Which way, man? Which way have they gone?”

There had been no doctor, and, in a moment of lucidity, he'd realized that his wound had become gangrenous. Under his direction, the Spanish farmer had been the surgeon. He had no doubt that the surgery had saved his life.

A low moan from Nell brought him back to the present. Aghast that he'd revealed so much, he stared in horror as she dropped to her knees beside him, her eyes brimming with tears, and laid her head gently on his left knee. “Oh, Harry,” she sobbed, “thank God you had the courage.”

“Confound it,” he muttered, trying to lift her head, “what a crack-brained fool I am! I should never have let my tongue run on so. It's no tale for a young female to stomach. Forgive me, Nell.”

But she merely stared up at him, her eyes wide and full of something he refused to acknowledge to himself. Neither of them seemed able to move. At that moment, the storm which had been threatening all morning broke around them, the rain and wind whipping at their heads and backs. He put his hands on her shoulders to urge her to her feet, but their eyes remained locked, and she did not budge. There seemed to him to be nothing else to do but cup her face in his hands and bend his head to hers. It was natural to kiss her, as instinctive and artless as the violent waves below and the rain beating down on them.

After a long moment, a trickle of rain found its way behind his coat collar and ran down his back, bringing him back to sanity. He let her go abruptly. “We're
both
crack-brained,” he said with an embarrassed laugh. “Get up, girl, quickly! Let's get back before you're drenched through!”

She let him throw her on her horse without a word. He jumped on Caceres with an agility she always found amazing, and they galloped for home. By the time they dismounted in the stable, his manner had so completely reverted to pleasantly cordial friendship that she almost believed she'd dreamed the incident. Wet and shivering, she followed him back to the house, trying to ignore the feelings of confusion and anguish which his unaccountable behavior had roused in her.

During the morning, Amelia and Mrs. Penloe had also been having an intimate conversation. The weeks since Lord Thorne had revealed his presence had brought the two women into a close friendship. Initially, it had been their mutual affection for and interest in the young Earl that had brought them together, but time had revealed other compatabilities. Mrs. Penloe, well aware that her Cornish cooking had severe limitations, was delighted to learn that Lady Amelia was a collector of unusual recipes, and Amelia was only too happy to share her knowledge. The sharing of recipes soon led to a sharing of knowledge of medicinal and cosmetic concoctions, both women feeling a growing respect for the other's aptitudes. And when Amelia discovered that Mrs. Penloe felt it necessary every few hours (just as Amelia did) to restore her spirits with a cup of hot tea, the budding relationship flowered into friendship.

It became their habit to cease their activities at mid-morning and take their tea together. Amelia insisted that Mrs. Penloe ignore her position as housekeeper, take off her apron and sit down at the tea table in the morning room as if she were one of the family. The tea was served by Gwinnys who was too ignorant of the ways of the gentry to be at all surprised by the procedure. After Gwinnys was dismissed, the two women enjoyed a comfortable “coz” on one or more of their various mutual interests. This morning, however, the topic had been Harry.

Mrs. Penloe had felt positively euphoric over Master Harry's emergence from seclusion, but when day after day had passed without a real change in his attitude toward his inheritance, his responsibilities and his London life, she began to feel discouraged again. “I see nought to make me b'lieve he'll ever take up his old life again,” she confided to Lady Amelia.

“Tush, woman,” Amelia objected, refilling both their cups, “you're worrying needlessly. I have no doubt that he'll come round in a month or two.”

Mrs. Penloe shook her head. “The boy can be stubborn as any nogglehead when he sets his mind to somethin'.”

“Rubbish! When Nell and I go back to London, I have no doubt at all that Henry will go with us.”

Mrs. Penloe peered over her spectacles at the lady opposite. “Be'ee plannin' to leave soon?”

Amelia shrugged. “We've had no word from Lady Sybil and Lord Charles since we arrived. I tell you, Mrs. Penloe, a more ramshackle, thoughtless, irresponsible pair than they do not exist! But they can't leave poor Nell to wither away here indefinitely. Not that I think she's withering away at all, but as far as Charles and Sybil know she is. In any case, they are bound to relent and send for her sooner or later.”

“An' you reckon Master Harry'll go wi' 'ee when you're called back?”

“It's my guess that something will happen
before
Charles and Sybil relent. Nell will persuade Henry to take us back as soon as she's had her fill of Cornwall. With Henry with us, Charles and Sybil's permission is completely unnecessary. Henry is the head of the family, after all.”

“Seems he's the head of the family only if he wants to be. An' he don't want to be.”

“Don't underestimate Nell's influence with him, Mrs. Penloe,” Amelia said with a knowing smile. “She's a strong-willed, persistent chit with taking ways. She'll manage him, see if she won't.”

“She hasn't managed him yet,” Mrs. Penloe said dubiously.

“Give the girl a little time,” Amelia insisted. “A little more time is all she'll need. We're not in the suds yet, Mrs. Penloe. Just leave it to Nell.”

But Nell herself had no confidence that she had any influence with Harry. The times when she felt close to him occurred only when they discussed their pasts. The subject of the future was closed. If ever she broached it, his manner would become icy and she would retreat in haste.

When they returned from their rain-drenched ride, she quickly parted from him, claiming the necessity of changing her wet clothes. But she needed time to think, to try to understand the meaning of his conduct and the state of her own emotions. But Gwinnys hovered solicitously over her, prattling distractingly about the problems caused by her naggy relationship with Mrs. Penloe and her irritation with Jemmy, who was always under foot and who taunted her with the unmerciful glee of a little brother. By the time Nell was able to dismiss the abigail, she realized that it was time for luncheon and Amelia would be waiting.

Harry did not join the ladies for luncheon, but he found Nell soon afterward and bore her off to his study to show her a new map he'd discovered of the land surfaces of Blenheim, and she found herself alone with him without having had a chance to sort out properly the confusion of her feelings. Harry had obviously decided to treat the events of the morning as if they had not happened. Nell, however, had no wish to follow his lead. She had been kissed by several men in her rather wild past, but no kiss had so disturbed her equilibrium. She had no intention of ignoring so momentous an occurence. She fixed her eyes on him determinedly. “Are you going to spend the entire afternoon prosing on about Blenheim?” she asked bluntly.

He was standing opposite her at his work table, pointing out places of significance on the map he'd spread out between them. He looked up from the map in some dismay. “I didn't know I was ‘prosing on.' I'm sorry to be such a bore,” he said, mildly affronted. “I thought you were interested.”

“Of course I'm interested, ordinarily. But not today.”

“Oh?” he asked curiously. “Why not today?”

She frowned at him irritably. “Today was a bit unusual, was it not?” she asked candidly. “It's not every day that I'm kissed like that.”

He glanced quickly at her, flushed and dropped his eyes. “Oh. I … I'm truly sorry about that. I hope you'll forgive me. Can't think what came over me, but I assure you I'll not let it happen again.”

“Why not?”

This time he looked up at her incredulously. “What do you mean?” he asked, arrested.

“You heard me, my lord.
Why
won't you let it happen again?”

His stare became suspicious. “Come now, Nell, don't run sly with me. What mischief are you brewing?”

“No mischief at all. I've asked a simple question.
Why
, sir, is kissing me such a blunder that you must apologize for it? I can name several gentlemen who would give much for such a chance.”

“You needn't bother to name them—I have no doubt their number is legion,” he said drily. “Now let us have done with this conversation. I find it most improper.”

“Do you indeed? Well, I'm not accounted a very proper young lady, so I don't intend to ‘have done.'” She put her hands on the table and leaned across toward him. “The matter is important to me, Harry,” she said earnestly. “Why can't you answer me?”

Her sudden seriousness discomfitted him. “You know the answer,” he muttered, turning his back on her and sitting on the edge of the table. “Why do you taunt me with it?”

“But I don't, Harry, truly!” She sighed helplessly. “Is it … has it anything to do with Miss Manning?”

He lowered his head. “It has to do with
me
, don't you see?” he said miserably. “I have nothing to offer to you
or
Edwina.”

“Nothing to offer?” Nell asked incredulously. “What do you mean? Good heavens, Harry, are you speaking of your
leg
?”

“I am only part of a man. You deserve more, my dear. Much more. And when you go back to London, you'll realize I'm right.”

She clenched her teeth, strode around the table and confronted him. “You are a fool, Lord Thorne,” she said flatly. “A complete fool! You've exaggerated the significance of your impediment out of all proportion. And when
you
go back to London, you'll realize that
I'm
right.”