Anthony looked at his brother in dismay. The bad feeling was twisting up his insides again. With a curt motion of his head, Andrew indicated they should leave.
By unspoken agreement they changed their direction. Instead of going to the morning room to join Anne, they went to the formal dining room, found the proper carved oak leaf, twisted it, then went through the hidden door that swung noiselessly open.
Pulling the door shut behind them, they moved swiftly along the low-ceilinged passageway and down the steep, twisting stairs. They did not speak until they came to the door at the other end, which opened into a small empty room behind the wine cellar. No one could enter except through the outer room, which was kept locked, or through the secret corridor, which no one knew about except them, so they knew they would not be disturbed.
It was all Anthony could do not to cry. But he didn’t want his brother to think he was a baby, so he blinked back his tears.
“The thing to do is get rid of Anne.” Andrew said, a scowl on his face.
“What? I don’t want to get rid of her, and I thought you wanted her to stay here, too.”
“Not permanently. Just temporarily. Just until after we have a chance to tell Uncle Bronson our side of the story. We might be able to get him to listen if we can talk to him first—”
“Before Uncle Creighton talks to him?”
“No, that doesn’t matter. Before Uncle Bronson tells Anne to pack and get out, is what I mean. After he tells her she’s fired, then even if we convince him she’s innocent, it won’t matter. Because once he gives the order, he won’t want to change his mind. Grown-ups are funny that way. They don’t want anyone to think they’ve made a mistake. Even when everyone knows they have. That’s what happened to Nanny Barlow, remember?”
“Course I remember. Uncle Creighton fired her for stealing his watch, and even when he found out later it was her father’s watch, and his watch was under some papers on his desk, he still didn’t do anything to fetch her back, not even when you cried.”
“I didn’t cry, you cried.”
“Well, one of us cried, it doesn’t really matter which one. What matters is stopping Uncle Bronson from firing Anne.”
* * * *
The twins were late in joining her, but Anne was not worried. They were indeed used to fending for themselves, especially when it came to satisfying their bottomless appetites. When they did finally appear, they ignored the kippers and back bacon, which meant Sally had probably taken a tray up to the nursery, or the boys had simply gone down to the kitchen and wheedled what they wanted out of the cook.
Laying down her own napkin, she stood up. “So, shall we go hiking on the moor today? Or would you prefer to ride over to see how the new colts are getting on? Or what would you like?”
“We have been talking it over,” Andrew announced. “And we realized you have not had even a half day off since you got here.”
“So we have decided you should have the whole day off today. You can even ride into Tavistock if you wish. I am sure you could use some new ribbons.”
“Or a bonnet or something. We can stay here and work on our lessons while you’re gone.”
The boys’ attempt to look innocent was so phony, Anne did not believe for a minute that they were not up to some mischief.
“But I would not want to leave you two all alone.”
“And why not?” Andrew’s look of indignation was remarkably realistic. “Are you implying we are incapable of taking care of ourselves? We got along on our own just fine before you came. We are not babies, you know,” he said with great scorn in his voice.
She looked from one to the other of them. “Why do I get the feeling you are trying to deceive me?”
Just for a moment she thought Anthony looked guilty, but then he smiled angelically, which made her even more certain they were up to something. “Now I wonder what sort of mischief you could be planning? Have you perhaps decided to bedevil your Uncle Creighton?” The idea had appeal, even for Anne. For the last several days Trussell had been making snide comments about her under his breath every time their paths crossed, and all she could do was pretend not to hear.
“Really, Anne, we promise to be good,” Andrew said easily. “And we always keep our promises.”
“Yes,” his twin added. “We truly only want you to have a little holiday.”
It was tempting. It really was. As much as she loved the boys and enjoyed being with them, she had been rather isolated here at Wylington Manor, with no one to talk to except the boys and the servants. If she took the entire day, she could call first on Lady Thorverton, who had been feeling poorly, and then afterward visit Mrs. Thirsk in Tavistock. And a little browsing in the shops would be fun, even though she could not think of anything she particularly needed.
But could she trust the twins? That was the question that was still not answered to her satisfaction. “Do you promise you are not planning some kind of mischief?”
“We promise that we are not going to do anything mean or malicious.”
“But we don’t have to be nice to Uncle Creighton, do we?” Anthony asked. “I mean, it will be enough if we just sort of avoid him, won’t it?”
That did not sound as if whatever they were planning would be too bad.
“I guess you don’t trust us,” Andrew said flatly.
“Before I decide,” she said, “I want you to come with me. We shall have a small lesson, just a very quick one, and then, perhaps, I shall take the day off.”
With the boys following her, she descended to the servants’ level, where she fetched a fresh egg out of the larder and showed it to them. “For the purpose of our lesson today, this is not merely a hen’s egg. This egg is a symbol of my trust in you. If you break the trust—” She dropped the egg onto the stone floor, and the kitchen cat hurried over and started licking up the spilled yoke. “Now, Andrew, please put it back the way it was before it got broken.”
“I can’t,” he said.
“How about you, Anthony?”
The other boy shook his head.
“Do you understand what happens when you break your word? You destroy your reputation as someone who can be trusted, and it is virtually impossible to regain that trust.”
They both nodded. “We promise—”
“That we are not going to get into trouble—”
“While you’re gone, or do anything—”
“Mean or malicious.”
They were no longer smiling angelically, which was a good sign as far as Anne was concerned.
“Very well, then I will trust you to stay out of trouble until I get back.”
They looked at one another, but she could not read on their faces what they were thinking.
“You don’t need to hurry back.”
“You can be gone all day.”
“We can even put ourselves to bed—”
“If you’re very, very late.”
“I will not be that late. I shall stop for a while at Thorverton Hall to visit Lady Thorverton, and then I shall ride on into Tavistock. I will plan to be back by teatime,” she said with a smile.
An hour later, when she was riding her favorite horse away from the manor, she wondered if perchance the boys’ oath had been couched in ambiguous terms that had slipped by her—if, in fact, she would be met by disaster upon her return, with the boys swearing that they had followed their promise to the letter, but that it had not included ... what?
* * * *
“It isn’t exactly breaking our promise, is it Drew?” The twins were walking down the road in the direction of Tavistock. They were planning to stop when they reached the edge of the estate and wait for Uncle Bronson to come.
“Course it isn’t. She didn’t say anything at all about not talking to Uncle Bronson. Nor did she ask if he was coming today.”
“But we are planning to tell him something she wants us to keep secret.”
“We are assuming that she wouldn’t want anyone to know that Un
cle Creighton tried to climb into her bed, but she has never said that we are to keep it a secret. She can’t blame us for doing something she never told us not to do.”
“And it’s not being malicious, because we are just trying to help her.”
“Right. The worst she can do is say we should have asked her, but then she never told us we had to ask her for permission to talk to Uncle Bronson.”
“Even so, maybe we should have told her Uncle Bronson was coming today?”
“That’s Chorley’s responsibility.”
“But Chorley found the bottle of brandy we left on the front hall table.”
“We cannot be held responsible for Chorley’s weakness in drinking from it, can we?”
“Only if Anne finds out.”
“If she asks us directly, did we sneak down a secret passageway into the back of the wine cellar and remove a bottle of brandy and deliberately leave it where Chorley could find it so that he would get too drunk to remember to tell Anne that Uncle Bronson is coming,” he paused for a breath, “then of course, we will have to tell her the truth.”
“I think it’s unlikely she will ask us that.” Anthony grinned at his brother. “Race you to the gate!”
They were both off like a flash, although by the time they reached the remains of the ancient stone gate that marked the edge of the Wylington estate, neither one paid any attention to who had gotten there first.
* * * *
Someone was shouting in a high-pitched voice, and Bronson reined in his horse. At first he could not determine where the sound was coming from, until he spotted two small boys, sitting each of them atop a stone pillar, looking like grubby little gargoyles.
“Uncle Bronson, we’ve been waiting for you.”
His wards. He should have known. Without worrying unduly, he watched them scramble down from their perches. As agile as the monkeys he had seen in the jungles of South America, the twins were just as fearless. In any event, he could not afford to let himself worry just because they were climbing around on stone pillars that were undoubtedly weakened by age until they could collapse at any moment, in the process likely crushing one or the other of the boys.
That was what the governess was paid for—to do his worrying for him, and to restrain his wards from the more death-defying feats. Except the governess so recently hired by Trussell was nowhere in sight. She did not appear to take her duties seriously, but then he had expected nothing better.
Deftly lifting one twin up behind him, he swung the other one up in front of him, then signaled his horse to continue at a walk in the direction of the house and stables.
“We have something very important to tell you, Uncle Bronson—”
“About Anne—”
“Our governess—” As usual, both boys were talking at the same time.
“Uncle Creighton wants you to fire her—”
“Because she wouldn’t let him kiss her—”
“But it was all his fault—”
“So we think Anne should stay—”
“And you should kick Uncle Creighton out of the house—”
Kissing her accomplice in front of the boys—it was beyond belief. The sooner he got rid of her the better. “Just where were they kissing?”
“In Anne’s bed—”
“Except they weren’t kissing—”
“They were wrestling—”
“But Anne was stronger—”
“So she sat on Uncle Creighton—’
“He was moaning.”
The devil take that woman! Bronson could picture it quite clearly—the lovemaking, which the boys in their innocence thought was wrestling. He just bet Creighton was moaning— moaning with pleasure.
“How did you happen to see all this?” He was proud of himself for staying so calm, but he did not want to upset the boys any more than they obviously were already.
“Oh, Anne made a lot of noise—”
“So we went to see what was wrong—”
“But she said she didn’t need any help—”
“And she sent us back to bed.”
I’ll just bet she did, Bronson thought.
“She says from now on, she’s going to lock the door.”
A little late for that, now that she had already let the boys see what kind of light skirt she was.
“The next day Uncle Creighton said she was fired—”
“But Anne says she doesn’t work for him—”
“She works for you, but you’re not going to fire her—”
“Are you, Uncle Bronson?”
So, there was a falling out among thieves. “When did all this happen?”
“Four nights ago.”
Since so much time had elapsed and the governess was still in residence, it would appear that the conspirators had gotten over their lovers’ quarrel. “I will need to talk to Miss Hemsworth and your Uncle Creighton and see what they have to say before I make up my mind.” He felt the twin in front of him take a deep breath, as if preparing to argue further. “And that is all I am willing to promise at this time,” he added, not sure he could control his temper if the boys began relating more nefarious doings at midnight.
Arriving at the stables, he swung the boys down before dismounting himself. “Now then, perhaps I might have a talk with your governess.”
“She’s not here.”
“She took the day off.”
Bronson felt like cursing, but he reminded himself that no matter how irresponsibly she was behaving, he could not become more angry with her, because he had already reached the limits of his temper. “So where did she go? And when will she be back?”
“She went to see Lady Thorverton.”
“And she said she’d be back by teatime.”
It was now eleven o’clock. He’d be hanged if he would wait around until she decided to show up. No, by all that was holy, he would drag her back by her hair, and then he would throw her out on her ear.
But first he would find Trussell and deal with him.
He found his wards’ uncle sitting down to a late breakfast of coddled eggs and back bacon. The food smelled so good, Bronson filled his own plate. There was, after all, no point in ripping another man to shreds on an empty stomach.
“I hear from the boys that you have been having trouble with the new governess you hired,” he said, deliberately keeping his voice cool.
Trussell turned white as a sheet, and for a moment it appeared he might faint, but then he made a recovery. “The boys talked to you? Oh, they probably exaggerated. It was nothing, really.” He laughed rather sickly. “If you will excuse me; I am not feeling at all well.” The dandy practically ran from the room.
Rather energetic for an invalid, Bronson thought. Finishing his own meal, he ordered a horse brought around from the stables, then set off to track down the missing governess.
He missed catching her at Thorverton Hall by three-quarters of an hour. She had taken lunch with them and had then set off for Tavistock.
Hoping to catch her before she got to town, where she could lose herself in the crowds, he put his horse to a gallop, but he met no one along the road until after it joined the main road from Tavistock to Plymouth. After that, there were any number of travelers to choose from.
Once he arrived in town, it did not take long to realize he had no idea what the errant Miss Hemsworth looked like, other than that, according to Mr. Black, she would do very nicely as an opera dancer.
Having had experience with opera dancers in his salad days, Bronson had a reasonably good idea of the type of woman he was looking for. He was also able to eliminate women with small children in tow, older women, farmer’s wives, and so on, which narrowed the field considerably.
After an hour of looking, he had worked up enough thirst that he stopped in the Red Stag for a glass of ale. The landlord himself waited on him, and without thinking, Bronson asked him if he had seen his wards’ new governess in town that day.
“Aye, she left her horse h
ere an hour or two ago.”
“Do you know which way she was headed?”
“Nope.” The landlord was being uncommonly laconic.
“Did you happen to note what color of dress she was wearing? If I knew that, it would be easier to spot her in the crowd.”
Someone behind him snickered, and he heard someone else say in an undertone, “Easier to spot—that’s a good one.”
Leaving the rest of his ale untouched, Bronson stalked out of the taproom without waiting for the landlord to give a more specific description of the missing governess. He had changed his mind about dragging her back to the Hall. Apparently she was wandering around town in a gown that was so indecent, he had best forget about seeing to it that she was suitably chastised, and simply concentrate on getting her back to London where she belonged.
Behind him he could hear loud laughter coming from the taproom, which only added to his feelings of rage.
* * * *
Having enjoyed a nice cup of tea with the vicar’s wife, who had shown a surprisingly motherly affection for “those two poor neglected children,” Anne was now enjoying herself, walking along the high street, looking into the shop windows, when someone coming out of the tobacconist’s bumped into her.
“Excuse me,” she heard a deep voice say. She looked up into a pair of dark brown eyes—such kind, intelligent eyes, it took her a moment to realize she was looking up instead of down. She stared at the man wordlessly, too overcome by his magnificence to utter a word.
For the first time in her life, she did what people had so often done to her—she looked him up and down, from head to toe and back again, shamelessly memorizing every detail of his physique: his broad chest and muscular shoulders, his narrow hips and shapely legs, his firm jaw and square chin....
Then her eyes met his again, and she had the strangest feeling that they were communicating without words. The intensity of his look was so strong, she almost forgot that he was a stranger, that they had not been properly introduced.
Despite an inner shiver, undoubtedly occasioned by his forceful gaze, she could not feel the proper regret that she had allowed him to see her interest. Indeed, she doubted she could have hidden it, no matter how hard she might have tried.
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