Love on Assignment

by Cara Lynn James

  At the sound of footsteps, he turned toward the staircase. Ah, he wasn’t alone after all. He felt a surge of relief as a middle-aged maid hurried down the steps.

  “Good afternoon, sir. Are you Professor Wilmont?”

  “Yes, I am. Would you kindly tell Miss LeBeau I’ve arrived?”

  The maid nodded and climbed back up the stairs. Within a minute or two the young woman he waited for slowly glided down the steps. A sultry grin curved Missy LeBeau’s lips, unusually full and red, as if a bee had stung them. Her features looked brighter than normal. He suspected she’d painted them for emphasis. Not that such a stunning girl needed such tawdry enhancement. His voice hitched in his throat as he attempted to greet her.

  Then he noticed a narrow-faced young woman with frizzy hair followed at her heels. Charlotte’s cousin, Penelope. What was she doing here?

  “Good afternoon, Miss LeBeau. Miss Smith. You’re Miss Hale’s cousin, aren’t you?”

  She looked him straight in the eye and came forward, her hand outstretched. “I am, indeed, Professor. And I’m Missy LeBeau’s cousin as well. But we’re related through our mothers’ families. Our great-grandmothers were sisters, which makes us—well, kis-sin’ cousins, I suppose. I’m so glad to see you once again.”

  “You’re here for the retreat?”

  “Indeed, I am. Miss LeBeau invited me even though I’m not a student at Aquidneck or a member of her prayer group. But she thought I might benefit from your talks.”

  Missy’s jaw tightened as she glared at the wiry woman.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I shall adjourn to the library for a while.” Penelope strutted off.

  Daniel’s gaze fastened upon Missy’s strange, almost seductive expression as she drew closer. She wore a low-cut gown possibly appropriate for a ball, but all wrong for a ladies’ retreat and immodest for any occasion. The yards and yards of shiny, champagne-gold fabric shimmered in the dim gaslight. He cleared his throat and glanced toward the door, his nearest escape route. His hands clasped behind his back, he leaned forward slightly and rocked back and forth, then stopped. He must look like a professor unnerved by a question he couldn’t answer.

  “Where is everyone else?” Daniel asked, glancing around the lodge as his apprehension mounted.

  Missy floated toward him, her high-heeled shoes barely touching the floor. “The rest of the ladies will arrive shortly. They’re waiting for the weather to clear.” Her voice came in airy puffs of soft sound. Most disconcerting.

  He nodded as he stepped back toward the fireplace. “That’s an excellent idea.” Arriving late was actually a dreadful idea. Now he was alone with a femme fatale. Sweat erupted on the back of his neck.

  “So what shall I do until the retreat begins?” As soon as the words emerged, he recognized his faux pas.

  Missy’s eyes gleamed with unspoken answers. For a moment he feared she might suggest something entirely unsuitable. But she smiled sweetly and her eyes widened with an earnest innocence. He couldn’t tell if she was sincere or playacting.

  “We can stroll by the pond or . . .” she began.

  He certainly didn’t want Missy to entertain him. Who knew what her idea of entertainment might be, though he felt sure it wasn’t the same as his. “The weather is still bad, so perhaps I should check in. I wonder where the innkeeper is. I think I’d like to go to my room.” And lock the door. He wouldn’t spend the night, though Mrs. Finnegan had packed him a bag just in case the retreat discussions ended too late for him to return home that evening. But he would appreciate the privacy of a room between sessions with the ladies.

  Missy laughed. “There is no innkeeper. Spring Creek Lodge belongs to my parents. It’s our summer cottage. Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No, you neglected to mention that very relevant fact.” Maybe he should grab his valise and head home. “And where are your parents?” Upstairs, he hoped.

  Lord, don’t desert me now. This woman seems a bit deranged.

  “They left for Greece yesterday. But don’t fret. They gave me permission to hold the retreat here and explicit instructions to make you comfortable. Most of the staff is still here.” She descended onto an overstuffed loveseat facing the fireplace and patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit down,” she murmured in her soft-as-silk voice.

  “No, I’ll be quite comfortable right here.” He dropped onto the raised stone hearth. The blaze from the fire oiled his face, and he reached for his handkerchief to mop off the perspiration. “I’m sorry, Miss LeBeau, but I can’t remain here, since this isn’t an inn.”

  “Don’t be silly. You won’t bother the ladies and I promise we won’t bother you,” Missy purred.

  “Naturally you understand I must return home this evening.” Staying overnight with a houseful of young females would cost him his reputation. He’d always shied away from compromising situations and he wasn’t going to change now. In fact, he shouldn’t remain in the lodge alone with Missy for one more second.

  “Of course you can stay. Our servants will watch over all of us. But if you’d prefer to return home tonight, we’ll understand. While we’re waiting for my prayer group, shall we take a walk? I’ll show you around the grounds. They’re really quite splendid, though I would’ve designed formal gardens, if given the choice. My father prefers nature at its most wild, as you can probably tell.”

  Daniel brightened. A breath of fresh air might clear his head, even if a little drizzle still lingered. “A grand idea. But first I’d like to telephone my mother. She’s been ill and I need to check up on her.”

  A stab of irritation flashed across her face. “Of course. The telephone is in my father’s study. Please follow me.”

  Missy led him down a hallway and opened the door to a small, dark room with a desk and bookshelves. She turned up the gaslight, pointed to the telephone, and departed. “I’ll be in the main hall, Professor.”

  In short order, Mrs. Finnegan put his mother on the line. “Mother, how are you feeling this afternoon?”

  “Much better, thank you. Doctor Lowe examined me earlier. He said I’m not out of the woods yet, but I’m doing as well as can be expected.”

  “That’s good news.” Daniel paused. “Is Charlotte close at hand? I’d like to speak to her, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, I do mind, but in any case, she’s not here. She left us awhile ago.”

  Her snicker came across loud and clear. “Now I’ll have to hire another governess, someone dependable who won’t walk out without notice.”

  “Charlotte quit? Did she explain why? Was she going back home?”

  “She didn’t say. As soon as you return, would you mind contacting the domestic employment agency? I’m not at death’s door, but I shall require assistance for another few months, at the very least.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve got to go. Take care of yourself.” He hesitated. “Do you need me home right now? I could leave—”

  “That’s not necessary. Mr. McClintock is taking good care of me. Now don’t worry, Daniel. I’ll be fine.”

  “If you’re sure.” His mother often exaggerated her aches and pains, though he knew she still suffered from the aftereffects of her heart attack.

  “I am sure. Go about your business. I’m going to play charades with Mr. McClintock and the children. They like that.”

  Daniel hung up the telephone and sank into a hard wooden chair set in front of Mr. LeBeau’s desk. He’d hoped Charlotte would stay even though she’d turned down his marriage proposal. Yet he suspected she’d find working for him too awkward. He’d have to convince her otherwise, but the Lord had to figure out the details.

  Daniel returned to the foyer and found Missy pacing in front of the fireplace, a scowl marring her normally beautiful face.

  “Miss LeBeau, shall we take a walk now if the weather permits?”

  Instantly she flashed a wide smile. “I’d be delighted.”

  They stepped outside into the cool air, heavy with dampness. The clouds st
ill hovered close to ground level, obscuring most of the lawns, woods, and bridle paths. Rain dripped from the branches of elm trees and red maples, spraying fine droplets with each breath of wind. A few leaves broke off and skittered across the grass and down the path through the deep woods.

  He shivered in his lightweight summer suit and wished he’d worn thicker clothing. He’d give his last dollar to be any place but there with Missy, strolling so close he could smell her overpowering perfume. His nose twitched at the exotic odor. It reminded him of Middle Eastern dancing girls decked out in skimpy clothes and dangling gold bracelets.

  Missy tugged on his arm. “Would you like to see the duck pond?”

  “Certainly, if you wish.” He glanced at his watch. Time dragged by.

  As they started down a dirt path wide enough for only one carriage to pass through, Daniel walked slowly, unwilling to lose sight of Spring Creek Lodge and the imminent appearance of the other students.

  “I’m sure the ladies will be here within the half hour, so we’ll stay close by. The pond is only a short distance ahead.”

  Relief spurted through him. “Perhaps you should leave a note explaining you’re going out for a walk.”

  Missy dismissed his suggestion with a shake of her head. “No, the servants will take care of them until we return. Or they can visit with my cousin Penelope.” She slipped her gloved hand into his.

  Snatching his fingers away, he slowly walked down the path deep into the shadows of the woods.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Charlotte sprinted toward the stables at the top of Cove Road, not caring if anyone spotted her unladylike stride. In a hurry and soon winded, she nevertheless kept up her pace until she reached the stables. Once inside she located a stable boy grooming a roan.

  He looked toward her. “Can I help you, miss?”

  “I’d like to take Professor Wilmont’s gig, if you please.” She looked around for his buggy, then realized he must have driven it to Spring Creek Lodge. “I see that it’s gone. How about his other carriage?”

  The blond-haired boy shook his head. “Mrs. Finnegan took it to do errands.”

  Charlotte groaned. “Did she say how long she’d be gone?”

  “No, miss, but she usually takes her time. I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you all the same. I’d best be riding a bicycle unless I want to walk.”

  She’d never traveled to Bolling Hill Road, but Charlotte thought she’d seen a street sign not too far from Summerhill.

  “The bicycles are kept in the carriage house,” he said. “But wouldn’t you rather ride this horse? She’s gentle.”

  “No, I don’t ride.” After Becky was thrown off their uncle’s horse and paralyzed, Charlotte had never wanted to learn.

  “Thank you so much.” With a wave, Charlotte jogged the short distance to the carriage house, found the bicycle leaning against the back wall, and wheeled it outside. She rolled up her long skirt. If only she had more time, she’d change into her more practical split skirt. Fortunately the rain had stopped. Grasping the handlebars, she hurled upward, steadied herself, and peddled down the driveway. Pumping hard, she flew past Summerhill’s entrance gate and turned onto the Ocean Drive.

  Before she found Bolling Hill, the fine mist thickened to soup. She could barely read the names of the estates carved into the stone pillars by their entrances, let alone view the sweeping lawns. Even squinting she couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond the front tire of her bicycle. But she rode on hoping the weather would soon improve.

  She peddled on and on without spotting the sign for Bolling Hill Road. How far could it be? Panic squeezed her chest. She was lost in a sea of gray without any idea of her whereabouts.

  From behind Charlotte heard the clip-clop of a horse. She turned her head and glimpsed the smudged outline of a horse and cart fast approaching. A young man with the smooth skin of a boy soon came into focus. Flagging him down, she stopped by the side of the road and hoped he would as well.

  “Can I help you with something, miss?” He halted his horse and looked at her with curiosity.

  “Yes, I do hope so. I’m looking for Spring Creek Lodge on Bolling Hill. Do you know where it is? I seem to be lost.”

  “You’ve passed the road. Turn around, go back half a mile, and take a left.” He pointed to where they’d both come from.

  “Thank you. I believe it’s an inn owned by the LeBeau family.”

  The fellow scratched his brown thatch of hair. “No, miss. There’s no hotels or inns on Bolling Hill. I know for a fact Spring Creek is a private residence owned by the LeBeaus. It’s called a lodge because it looks like it belongs in the mountains. That’s what I’ve been told.” He nodded proudly. “I’m a gardener for Mr. Travers at Elmwood, right next door to Spring Creek.”

  Charlotte leaned against the handlebars to keep her legs from buckling. “Are you sure it isn’t an inn?”

  He pulled his cap down over his face. “Yes, miss, of course I’m sure. I work close by, now don’t I?”

  “I apologize. I didn’t mean to question you. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” So Missy LeBeau had lured Daniel to her parents’ summer home. A raindrop dripped off the brim of her straw boater onto her nose. “I’d better go before a downpour comes.”

  The young man patted the empty wooden seat beside him. “Get in. I’ll take you there myself.”

  “Thank you kindly. I’ll gladly take you up on your offer.”

  The gardener jumped down from the cart, tossed the bicycle in the back with a load of manure, and started off down the road. Charlotte held her nose against the stench of the fertilizer and the fellow’s dirty clothes mixed with the cold, dank air blowing in from the sea. The cart jolted down the road, plunging through potholes and puddles, spewing up mud that soiled the bottom of Charlotte’s skirt. They travelled silently until they came upon a rutted lane separated from Bolling Hill Road by a simple iron gate set between rustic stone pillars.

  The cart jerked to a halt. “Here we are, ma’am.”

  “Thank you so much.” Charlotte stepped down into the squishy mud. Once the fellow handed her the bicycle, she rummaged through her reticule for coins.

  He held up his callused hand. “No need to pay me. I’m glad to help.” He tipped his cap, flicked the reins, and took off.

  Charlotte surveyed the narrow road stretching beyond the Spring Creek Lodge sign. The far end vanished in a puff of fog. She pushed her bicycle through several deep puddles and then stopped for a few moments. Steadying her breathing, she propped the heavy contraption against a tree and started off on foot.

  Sucking in a big gulp of air, she sloshed through the coffee-colored water. The muck oozed up to her ankles, soaked through her thick black stockings, and mired her feet. She took a tentative step, but her high-top boot refused to budge from its burial plot. Her arms swung out and windmilled, but she tottered, pitched forward, and lost her balance. Her hands sank through layers of mud. Charlotte lay still for a second, shocked by the fall. Cold water soaked her uniform, sending shivers through her body. She groaned from pain that spread from her arms to her legs. Slowly she rose, anchored her stocking foot in the mud, and then fished around the dirty water for her boot. She tried to brush the mud off her shirt and wring out her skirt, but it was hopeless. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes!” she cried, looking up into the dark sky. Did God not want her to do this?

  Lord, help me! I’ll never get to Daniel in time to save him from Missy. And maybe Mr. Phifer. Take pity on me, Lord. You’ve taken me this far, please don’t abandon me now.

  Her heart still pumped like a steam engine, but a sudden wave of confidence propelled her forward. She’d take one small step after another, with the Lord’s guidance. Although still early afternoon, the pelting rain and the clouds had darkened the day to gray dusk. A gust of cold wind whipped her wet skirt around her legs and sent shivers to her arms.

  She spotted his gig in front of the lodge. No other carriages stood in the circular driv
e. Then off to the side of the road, hidden behind brush, she glimpsed an empty carriage, painted the same dark maroon as Mr. Phifer’s. Her heart thudded. She didn’t dare guess. Perhaps her overactive imagination was playing tricks. Undoubtedly many Newporters owned similar carriages. But why was this one parked here?

  Wet and shivering, Charlotte moved down the road, splashing through puddles. When she reached the darkened lodge, she waited a few moments to catch her breath. No gaslight glowed from inside. Lights ought to be burning on such a dreary day. Odd. She knocked on the carved double door, wondering what exactly she’d say once the butler opened it. No answer. She gave a few hard pounds, but still no one came. Finally she pushed open the heavy door to find a deserted lobby. No, this was the LeBeau’s summer cottage, not a real lodge. So this gloomy and cavernous room was the foyer.

  Where was Daniel? Or Missy?

  “Professor? Miss LeBeau? Are you here?”

  Charlotte stole through the room as she waited for a response.

  No answer. A fire flickered behind a screen, so someone had recently been in the room. Charlotte inhaled the smell of burning wood and listened to it crackle and sizzle. From the rough paneled walls she felt the dead-eyed stares from deer and moose heads.

  “May I help you, miss?” A female voice startled her. A uniformed maid came forward.

  “Yes, thank you. I’m looking for Miss LeBeau or Professor Wilmont.”

  “They were here a short time ago, but I believe they’ve gone for a walk. Would you like to wait for them here? Would you like a towel to wipe off the mud?”

  “No, on both accounts, but thank you all the same. I shall go search for them.”