Endearing Young Charms Series

by M. C. Beaton

“’Course, silly. Why do you think he’s staying so long with Pemberton? Hoping Hunterdon will slip up somehow.”

  “When do we start hugging and kissing the Scotch fright?”

  “Slowly, slowly. Dawning respect and admiration followed by impulsive outbursts of affection.”

  “You’re beginning to talk like Dr. Johnson’s dictionary. What’s impulsive?”

  “Sudden-like.”

  “Oh.”

  “Race you to the end of the beach.”

  Jean watched the flying figures without bothering to follow them. The tide was in and they could not get past the outcrop. She envied them their resilience. Despite the warmth of the day, she felt cold and alone. She would have liked someone to lean on, someone to tell how really frightened she had been. Although she was used to scenes of violence, of bodies rotting on gibbets, the sight of the dying Perdu lying on her bedroom floor seemed imprinted on her brain. But there was no one to care.

  She kept the twins out as long as possible so that they should enjoy the best of the day’s sunshine before turning reluctantly back to Trelawney Castle. She dreaded going indoors. The great house that she had been beginning to love now seemed a dark place full of horrors.

  Mrs. Moody met her in the hall. “If you please, Miss Morrison,” the housekeeper said, “his lordship thought you might enjoy a change of bedroom, and so we have taken the liberty of moving your things.”

  Jean suddenly remembered the necklace she had hidden under her pillow. “Mrs. Moody, Lord Hunterdon lent me some very expensive jewels for the ball and I left them in my bed.”

  “They are safe, Miss Morrison. I found them myself and took them to his lordship.”

  Seeing that the maid, Betty, was walking closely behind the girls as they mounted the stairs, Jean followed the housekeeper. The room allotted to her was one of the guest bedrooms. It had a small dressing room and adjoined a private sitting room. It was light and airy with a fine view of the sea through the open windows.

  The bed was modern, without posts, but surmounted with a canopy like a crown from which hung curtains of fine lace. There was a nosegay of flowers on the toilet table at the window and a flat red morocco box. Wondering, Jean opened the box, and there was the sapphire necklace with a little card saying “Thank you for your bravery, H.”

  Mrs. Moody had left. Jean sat down suddenly, her legs shaky. He cared a little. He cared enough to know she would dread sleeping in the room where Perdu had been shot down.

  A footman appeared. “His lordship’s compliments, miss, and would you join him for dinner in half an hour?”

  All Jean’s gloom and misery fled. With a feeling that all her troubles were over, she put on her best gown, boldly fastened the sapphires about her neck, and went down to the dining room.

  Chapter 7

  THE VISCOUNT ROSE as Jean entered the dining room and surveyed her appreciatively. She was wearing a gown of soft blue jaconet with a fall of lace at the low neck. The sapphires blazed against the whiteness of her skin. “You look very fine,” he said as a footman drew out a chair for her. He put up his quizzing glass. “Dear me, that is cotton lace.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Jean suddenly thought: This is ridiculous. We have shared adventure and near-death and yet the first thing he notices about me is that my lace is cotton!

  The viscount was a genuine Regency dandy, that peculiar type of aristocrat who was able to concentrate on trivia even in the middle of a war. Jean remembered her father telling her of some lord, who, when in Flanders, suddenly saw what he thought was a rare flower growing in the midst of the carnage. With musket shot tearing about his ears, he bent down and plucked the flower, took a small notebook out of his pocket and a lead pencil, and carefully wrote down place, time, and date when he had found the flower before pressing it in the pages of his notebook and then recommencing the fight.

  The viscount began to talk about the gardens at the back of the house, saying work was to begin on them the next day and the summerhouse would perhaps be torn down.

  When the servants had retired, Jean said, “Thank you so much for this necklace. I cannot help, however, thinking that perhaps it might be too grand a gift for a governess.”

  He considered the matter. “I suppose it is. Still, you need not wear it in company if you think it will occasion comment.”

  For some reason this practical solution hurt Jean, and she said waspishly, “I fear my reputation has been ruined.”

  He smiled at her over the rim of his wineglass. “Who’s the lucky fellow?”

  “I am not funning, my lord. On leaving your bedroom this morning, or, rather, early afternoon, I was seen by Lady Conham and Miss Eliza.”

  “Were you now. That must have poured cold water on the marital ambitions of that family.”

  Jean said in a thin voice, “But as far as they were concerned, you had been taking your pleasure with a servant, and that will not put any ambitious mama off. But the question of my reputation is another matter.”

  “Of course it is,” he said. “I’ll write to the Conham woman. The story of the smugglers is all over the county by now, so it will be easy to explain what you were doing in my room.” His eyes teased her. “Was my bed comfortable?”

  “My lord, we must talk of serious matters. I am flattered that you have asked me to dine with you, but should not the Misses Courtney be also present?”

  “No, Miss Morrison. I shall dine in solitary state from now on, but this evening I felt like indulging myself. Besides, we must talk of the girls’ future. Even before the smuggling episode I had been considering the possibility that I might have to send them away if they proved to be actually villainous—which they have. I was asking my guests about various places, not letting them know, of course, that it was for the Courtney girls. So … it appears there is in Bath a highly successful seminary for young ladies who have strayed from either the path of the law or the path of morality. It is a rigorous regime, more like a genteel prison, but they appear to get results.”

  Jean leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “My lord, as I said, I am sure they are truly penitent. Think for a moment how easy it was for such a man as Perdu to lead them astray. I gather their father loved them and indulged them, but he did not actually have anything much to do with them. He allowed them to rout a series of poor governesses and then let them run wild. So, bored, and with empty minds, and no refinements of speech or manners, they were easy prey for such as Perdu. He could be very charming. He supplied them with interest and adventure, and I think both were a little in love with him.”

  “What is your experience of love, Miss Morrison?”

  “My lord, I am being deadly serious.”

  “And a bit of a bore, too. The fact that I didn’t shoot that pair as well as Perdu amazes me. Oh, very well, what are your plans for Goneril and Regan?”

  “They are still children and not like King Lear’s daughters,” Jean said severely. “My lord, give me a little more time with them and I am sure the improvement will amaze you.”

  “Any improvement would amaze me. It actually does look quite well by candlelight.”

  “My lord?”

  “Your lace. But there is a lace box somewhere. Ask Mrs. Moody. She’ll give you the lace book and the key to the box. Keep it locked, or the girls will be selling priceless lace behind your back in order to buy chocolates.”

  “My lord, such a box should be kept for your bride along with the jewels.”

  “Do you think so? Oh, well, take some of it and then score off what you have taken in the lace book.”

  Well, what was he supposed to say? thought Jean bleakly. I shall never marry. I want to marry you.

  But some imp prompted her to ask, “Do you intend to marry, my lord?”

  “I suppose I ought to. Lots of fine girls at that ball of mine. But I couldn’t see one of them here. Not walking about or sitting at table in the evenings with me. I picture the lady I want as my wife tall, I think, and beautiful, smiling gra
ciously, but she is always silent in my dreams, for the minute I imagine her speaking to me, I conjure up the sound of bad French or lisping baby-talk or any of the other horrors they go in for. Who is the man of your dreams, Miss Morrison?”

  What if she said someone like you? “Oh, tall, strong, noble, intelligent, worthy, serious, kind,” Jean said, ticking off the virtues on her fingers.

  “I’m tired,” he said crossly, “and you are not enlivening the evening by singing the virtues of some puritan bore. Talk about something else.”

  “What do you wish me to talk about?”

  “Miss Morrison, were you never taught to flirt?”

  “Of course, my lord, it is part of every young lady’s education. But governesses do not flirt with employers, not unless they wish to face a life of ruin.”

  “Really …” he said peevishly, “if you go on in this vein, I will need to cut off your supply of novels.”

  Jean rose to her feet. “I will leave you to your wine, my lord.”

  “Have I given you permission to leave?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Then sit down.”

  Jean sat down, staring at him wide-eyed. What if he made some sort of advance? Could she resist him?

  “Rhododendrons, I think,” he said.

  “I beg your pardon?” Jean looked at him stupidly.

  “For the gardens at the back,” he said patiently. “Here, I’ll explain. It’s been a sort of terracing. It would be pleasant to have a winding walk bordered by rhododendrons going down to the beach. Perhaps the gardener can get some without going all the way to India. I’m sure he could get some out of Pemberton’s gardener. And fuchsia. Statuary, too. I don’t know much about trees and flowers.”

  “You need a proper landscape gardener,” Jean said. “He would know exactly which trees and plants to use and how to create vistas.”

  “Good idea. I’ll get Stewart, if he’ll come. His reputation is now almost as high as that of Capability Brown. But the men can begin clearing the mess tomorrow.” He talked on about his plans while Jean slowly relaxed. At last he said, “You may retire, Miss Morrison.”

  “And will you give me some time to improve the girls?”

  “Yes, if you must. But do not let them out of your sight, or, rather, when you are not with them, make sure someone is guarding them.”

  He walked around and drew Jean’s chair back as she stood up. She smelled of rosewater and soap. He kissed her hand and felt it tremble in his own. He straightened up and looked down into her green eyes, his own suddenly watchful, as if searching for something. Then his gaze fell to her lips.

  Jean stared up at him, trapped helplessly in that blue gaze. To her horror, large tears welled up in her eyes.

  He drew back immediately. “I had forgotten your recent ordeal,” he said gently, “and I am a beast to tease you so. Old habits die hard, Miss Morrison. Forgive me.”

  Jean curtsied and left. She trailed up the stairs, thinking sadly that he had certainly explained his behavior. She was the only woman present, and he had automatically flirted with her.

  Betty was sitting guard outside the girls’ door. “Lock them in and leave them for the night,” Jean said wearily.

  Inside, Amanda heard the click of the key in the lock and nudged Clarissa. “Remember,” she whispered. “Good as gold and I’ll have her forgetting to lock that door in no time at all!”

  The next few weeks were for Jean the happiest she had ever experienced. The twins worked hard. Their rough voices were being transformed, they began to read well and to write proper English. She rode or walked with them in the afternoons, and although they did not talk to her very much, Amanda would sometimes take her hand and even on one occasion gave her an impulsive hug. The viscount was impressed at the improvement and said so. It was an Indian summer of the kind so rarely seen in England, long, mellow days and cold, starry nights.

  Although Jean did not dine with the viscount again, he often joined her in the drawing room after dinner and sat and listened while she read to the girls or played the piano.

  And then one evening he announced he was going to London. Jean’s heart sank. London and Nancy. London and his friends. London and parties and routs and dances. What if he came back with a bride?

  With a heavy feeling in her breast she stood outside a few mornings later and watched him drive off, experiencing a numbing sensation of loss.

  That evening she visited the girls as usual, but was startled when she was leaving to hear Amanda cry plaintively, “You don’t trust us. We try so hard, but you don’t love us. Nobody has ever loved us.”

  “But you are doing so well and I am proud of you both!” Jean cried.

  “Then why do you lock us in like prisoners?”

  Jean hesitated. But she thought Amanda was in the right. She must become their friend, and she could not do that while they still regarded her as their jailer. “Very well,” she said. “I trust you. You will not be locked in again.”

  “And that settles that,” Amanda crowed when Jean had left. “Now for Basil Devenham.”

  A week later Basil rode along the coast toward Trelawney Castle, wondering why on earth the Misses Courtney had summoned him. He was to meet them on the beach below the castle. The grooms slept over the stables, and Amanda and Clarissa had decided it would be too risky to take out horses during the night. In order to deliver the letter to Basil they had previously walked all the way to the Pembertons’ mansion and did not want to make such a walk again.

  Basil, until he had received their letter, had given up hoping that Hunterdon might slip up in some way. He had tried to court one of the Pemberton girls, but without success, and now Lord Pemberton was hinting broadly that it was time he took his leave.

  He hoped against hope that the Courtneys were going to complain to him about their treatment.

  He saw them down on the beach, dismounted, tethered his horse, and made his way down the steep slope to where the two little figures stood side by side on the sand.

  “I am come in answer to your letter,” he said. There was half a moon shedding only a little light. Their faces were round disks pierced with the black holes of their eyes.

  “We have a proposition to put to you,” Amanda said.

  “Which is?”

  “How would you like half of the Courtney fortune? That is, half of the money and half of what the castle, estates, and farms are worth?”

  “Well, of course I would,” he said indulgently. “But I cannot gain any of the inheritance unless you complain of your treatment or are neglected in any way.” He looked at them sharply. “Well … are you?”

  “No.”

  “Why am I here, then?”

  “Listen, fool,” Amanda said. “It is of no use us complaining about our lot, for the lawyer would come from London and find that not to be the case. Hunterdon is the model guardian and the model landowner. So … you kidnap us and hold us for ransom.”

  “Monstrous!” Basil exclaimed. “Run home, little girls, and do not plague me again with your fantasies.”

  “Don’t come hoity-toity with me,” Amanda snapped. “Think on’t. Without us Hunterdon cannot keep the estate. He loves the place. He would pay you half of everything in order to try to keep it. He don’t like us, but he’ll do his duty, particularly if you threaten to kill us.”

  “You must be mad. All Hunterdon would do would be to shoot me.”

  Amanda groaned. “Listen hard. Hunterdon wouldn’t know it’s you. He’s in London just now and due back next week. We disappear, you find a place to look after us, a place no one can find. You write a letter demanding the ransom. We’ll find a place for him to leave it.”

  “There’s something wrong here.” Basil tilted back his hat and scratched his head. “Do you mean I get this fortune and then you return? What do you get out of it?”

  “Five percent’s enough for us,” Amanda said. “But that governess will lose her post and be in disgrace, and Hunterdon will have a
hard time of it trying to run those estates with little capital, so he might give them up finally. He’s to be punished as well, d’ye see?”

  “No, I don’t. What’s he done to you?”

  “That’s our business. But think on our plan—for what can go wrong? Who will suspect you?”

  Basil shifted restlessly. He thought of all that money. That was the trouble. Money. He received only a small allowance from a family trust. He was sure that was why the Pemberton girl had snubbed him. With money he could get any woman he wanted. With money he could cut a dash in Town. Besides, what could go wrong? If nothing happened to his ransom demand—yes, he found he was beginning to think of it already as his ransom demand—he could simply tell the girls to go.

  “When does this take place?”

  “Within a few days. Find a secluded place first. This is Monday. Be at this spot at this time on Friday.”

  “Leave it all to me,” Basil said, making up his mind.

  By the time he returned to the Pembertons, he had more or less convinced himself that it had mostly been his planning. It was not as if he were being ordered and manipulated by a couple of little girls.

  The following day Jean received a letter from the viscount. In it he said he would be arriving the following Monday with the lawyer who wished to make sure the Courtney girls were well cared for. He asked her if she would act as his secretary in the meantime, open all letters, and deal with his bills.

  Jean decided not to tell the twins about the lawyer’s forthcoming visit. They might become too nervous, she thought indulgently. She was proud of them as they were and did not want them overacting or showing off because of nervousness. Amanda had confided in Jean that the viscount’s threat to send them both away still haunted them.

  She set them some lessons, and leaving Betty in charge of the schoolroom she went down to the desk in the library and started to go through the viscount’s correspondence. There were a few invitations to balls and parties to be held locally the following month. She put these separately in a neat pile. He would need to decide himself which to accept. There were no urgent or pressing bills, and so she decided these, too, could await his return, but she wrote down on a sheet of paper the sums demanded and to whom they were to be paid. There were two letters from friends, both male. She skimmed through the first few lines to make sure they were only social letters and not in need of any urgent reply. Then there was a heavily scented one with an ornate seal. She opened it. She read the first few lines and blushed scarlet before glancing at the signature at the bottom. Nancy! Nancy reminding the viscount of the pleasures of the bed and saying she was weary of her current lover.