It was a question Clarissa was uncertain how to answer. She poured a cup of tea for each of them, and spread jam on a scone. “I see her several times a week, Lord Kinsford. Because you're very seldom at the Hall, you haven't had the opportunity to get to know your brother and sister."
“But I've known them all their lives. You underestimate my interest and my concern.” He chose the veal-and-ham pie with a muffin and marmalade. Before taking a bite, however, he added, “I do not take my responsibility for the children lightly."
“Hmmm. I can see you believe that, and yet you spend so little time here. Children change, and their needs change.” She waved aside his attempted protest. “Forgive me. I don't wish to quarrel with you, sir. Certainly not over breakfast. Let us say that you are showing a decided concern for your sister in her illness."
“I'm always concerned for both Aria and Will. I have obligations in London as well. Matters of state can be very pressing."
Clarissa regarded him over the rim of her teacup. “Matters of state,” she said, replacing the cup on the table, “can be an excellent excuse for doing precisely what one wishes. In your case, that might include not residing in the country with a rather odd stepmama and two charming though undisciplined half-siblings."
His eyes flashed. “I suppose this is more of your plain speaking, Miss Driscoll. And that you think it is perfectly acceptable for you to speak in such a fashion on behalf of your charges."
Clarissa replied with a calmness that was meant to defuse the situation. “Please don't misunderstand me, Lord Kinsford. I'm not criticizing you. I wouldn't, in your place, be any more anxious to spend time in the country than you are, I dare say. You can see that William and Lady Aria are delightful children and it must seem to you that they go on perfectly well without your guidance. Unfortunately, that's not quite true."
“One doesn't have to be on the scene every minute to give guidance. Plenty of other children manage perfectly well without their guardians living on top of them."
“William has been sent down from school, and there's very little for him to do in the country except get into trouble,” she pointed out. “Please, believe me that I understand the demands on you in town. And I realize you think I have no right speaking to you this way. I suppose I shouldn't do it, and I probably wouldn't if I weren't so concerned for both of them. Perhaps you could take your brother to live with you in town, take him under your wing, as it were. He's just at the age when that would be most useful."
Kinsford was obviously struggling to match her reasonableness. “I've thought of having him there with me, but think of the trouble he could get up to in London! Gambling, drinking, women, there's no end to the vices he could indulge."
Clarissa raised her eyebrows in astonishment. “Surely you aren't suggesting that the boy has to behave better than you did at his age! You were hardly a paragon of virtue, Kinsford! You can't keep him away from the metropolis forever. With or without your patronage, he's going to make it there eventually. Is it that you would be bored with guiding such a pup?"
“As you have so kindly pointed out,” he observed as he carefully set down his knife, “I am hardly the best person to demand perfect behavior from my brother."
“He doesn't have to behave perfectly.” Clarissa leaned toward him, earnestness softening her face. “He's just a youngster. He's full of high spirits and basically sound judgment. You have only to guide him to the best of your ability. Show him how to go on. Interest him in some endeavors that will use his energy and his time; give him a chance to feel productive. You know, Kinsford, what finally brought you around was not your father's harangues or your mother's tears. It was your experience in the military and finding afterwards that politics interested you, and that you were good at it."
Stung, Kinsford said, “I think, Miss Driscoll, that your reproofs are somewhat misplaced.” He was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a fashion, especially not by someone who had rather shaky claims to proper behavior. “I'm perfectly capable of managing my brother without your assistance. I have already arranged with Alman to have Will start learning estate business in all earnestness, both to keep him occupied and to prepare him for his future. And, in due course, I intend to see that he gets the proper town polish that every young man needs."
“It sounds a splendid program for William,” she acknowledged with a warm smile. “I only meant to suggest..."
But Kinsford was not finished. “I fail to understand how you, a spinster without husband or children, have come to regard yourself as such an authority on how young people should be raised. Perhaps as a substitute for never having married, you have adopted my family's concerns as your own."
Astonished, Clarissa stared at him. “I assure you I'm perfectly content with my way of life, Kinsford, and I do not claim any expertise in raising children. Lady Aria and William, however, have undoubtedly needed some guidance and I would be the first to applaud your decision to offer them yours."
Chagrined at her ready acquiescence, since he was now in the mood to do battle, Kinsford pressed her on yet another subject. “And I do not believe for one moment that such a woman as Lorelia Snolgrass exists, and that if she does, I doubt very much if you have ever laid eyes upon her!"
A laugh was startled out of Clarissa, who demurely lowered her eyes. “Now how can you suspect such a thing, Lord Kinsford? In all these years no one else has seen fit to question her existence."
“There was no hairbrush in your room,” he replied succinctly.
“Ah, yes, I should never have allowed you in my bedchamber,” she murmured, her lips quivering.
He was unable to resist her teasing and a grin dispersed his darker mood. “But I'm right, am I not?” he insisted.
“Of course. Aren't you always?"
Kinsford sighed. “I'm not so sure. I should go see Aria now,” he said, and with a half-bow left the room.
Chapter Thirteen
Kinsford's tap at Aria's door was answered immediately and he let himself in to find his sister sitting up in bed with a tray across her legs. She had eaten most of her breakfast, but put down her spoon when he entered.
“Don't frown so, Alexander,” she begged him. “I was not myself in the night. You know I wouldn't have spoken to anyone in that fashion if I'd been myself."
“But you remember doing it?” he asked, taking the rocking chair beside her bed. “It's not something that disappears from your mind when you become yourself again?"
Aria shuddered extravagantly. “I wish I could forget doing it. Oh, Kinsford, it's so frightening.” She burst into tears, her whole body shaking with sobs.
Kinsford removed the tray, setting it on the floor before he slipped onto the edge of the bed and put his arm around her shoulders. “My dear child, of course you're frightened. You're afraid something has happened to your mind, that the accident has somehow damaged it. I don't think it has, Aria. Most of the time you're perfectly all right."
He stroked the hair back from her forehead where it lay pressed against his shoulder. He wasn't sure he was telling her the truth. He was telling her what he wanted to believe, but not perhaps what he feared in his own heart.
In a voice broken by hiccoughs, Aria said, “I don't know when it's going to happen. It just does. I'll think at the time that what I'm saying and doing is perfectly normal. And then, a few minutes later, when Miss Driscoll reminds me of where I am, and who I am, I know it was all wrong."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And each time it's been a little worse, hasn't it? Oh, Meg and Betty were so upset about it. I could see it in their faces this morning. Only Miss Driscoll seems to accept what's happening without a blink of her eyes. She's been so very kind to me.” She pressed his arm and added fervently, “I hope you've thanked her for everything she's doing."
“I'm sure I have,” he said dubiously.
Aria's eyes pooled up again. “Oh, Alexander, you aren't still unhappy with Miss Driscoll, are you?"
Evasively,
he replied, “I think we should move you up to the Hall."
His sister pushed away from his comforting shoulder, a look of confusion on her face. “But ... but the ride. It might jar me. And cause my condition to worsen. Mightn't it?"
He regarded her intently for a long moment. “It's only a precaution, keeping you here. I think you would tolerate the ride very well."
Aria leaned back against the pillows and turned her gaze to the window. Outside were the twitterings of birds and the swaying of vines, the sky now blue and scattered with plump white clouds. Without looking at Kinsford, she confessed, “I feel safe here, Alexander. Safer than I think I would be at the Hall. I don't ... actually want to come home, until I've learned what's happening."
Kinsford was stunned. “Don't want to come home?” he repeated, incredulous. “But Aria, we have every comfort there, and your own family around you, and any number of servants to provide for your needs."
“But I feel safe with Miss Driscoll and Meg."
“I think you're being unduly influenced by your illness. Surely you would feel just as safe at Kinsford Hall."
A tear trickled down Aria's cheek. “Miss Driscoll is my friend. She understands me. Even if it turns out to be something horrid, she'll understand and accept it."
“But so would we, your family."
Aria looked down at her folded hands, and slowly shook her head. “Not in the same way. You would want to. You would try to. But think of Mama. She would make such a scene about it, and carry on. And Will would be so upset that he wouldn't be able to act normally with me. And you."
A painful little smile lifted her lips. “You would think of all the consequences, and make plans for them, as if you were carrying a bill through the Lords. I would be something that required serious thought and close attention. You would see to it that I had the very best care.” Another tear slid down her cheek and she brushed it away with a knuckle. “But you wouldn't be there. You would have other things to do. Important things."
“Aria, I care very deeply about you."
“I know you do. But Miss Driscoll is here. And she's going to stay here. And she accepts me in a way no one else quite does. Maybe it's because she isn't family, and she still loves me for myself."
“I love you for yourself, too, Aria."
“Yes, but you don't know me very well, do you?” She laid her hand over his, as though he were the one who needed comforting. “It's all right, Alexander. I know you'll take care of me. I just need to stay here until I know what's happening to me. Can you see that?"
''I suppose so,” he lied.
“Thank you, Alexander. For understanding."
He didn't understand, of course. He didn't seem to have understood one damn thing that was going on since he'd returned to the Hall. By the time he left Miss Driscoll's cottage, pulling the door to behind himself with slightly unnecessary vigor, the Earl of Kinsford would gladly have retreated to his comfortable, impregnable home in London if it had been at all possible.
It was not Aria and her illness, or Will and his problems, or his stepmother and her oddities, that most disturbed the earl at that moment, however. It was the growing realization that Miss Driscoll had come to play a large role in his family. Dismiss this as he might to the woman herself, it made her influence no less powerful.
Worse, he was becoming disturbingly attracted to her. Clarissa Driscoll, whom he had kissed at a stile one glorious spring day when they were young, seemed to hold a renewed fascination for him. He hadn't intended, even then, to let her slip from his life. But he and his father were at loggerheads constantly at that period of his life, which made it impossible for him to continue to live at Kinsford Hall.
He left with regret for only Clarissa. And in the excitement of his new military life, thoughts of her were forced to the back of his mind. Or, occasionally, she was the woman of his fantasies. Not the real Clarissa, of course. Not the woman who became a spinster and taught pianoforte to young ladies. That woman he hadn't known, with her fierce independence and determination and idiosyncrasies.
Mounting Longbridge with absentminded ease, Kinsford admitted to himself that he hadn't wanted to know her. The reality of the situation was too complicated. She might very well blame his family for her severely reduced circumstances. She had never made any attempt to draw his attention or to ask for his assistance. He had a life in London that required great amounts of his time and energies. It just hadn't made sense to get to know her.
Until now.
* * * *
Clarissa had a long talk with Dr. Lawrence. He had shaken his head ruefully as he said, “Who is to doubt that Lady Kinsford might have produced a child with an oddity or two? I've seen it happen more than once. I tend to believe, however, that the present behavior must have some relation to the accident."
He regarded Clarissa solemnly for a moment, pressing her hand in a kindly fashion. “My prescription for you, my dear ma'am, is some fresh air and a long nap. Promise me you'll take care of yourself."
“I promise,” Clarissa agreed.
Aria seemed rather subdued when Clarissa went up to check on her, but perfectly normal. Relieved, she crawled into her own bed and slept until late in the afternoon.
* * * *
Lord Kinsford arrived in the early evening bearing hampers of food. He had sent a note to Aria advising her to expect this largess, and to advise Miss Driscoll and her household help of there being no necessity to prepare the evening meal. Aria was delighted by the possibility of Kinsford and Miss Driscoll sharing a meal in such a friendly fashion and joined them in the dining parlor in spirits that she attempted to tone down a bit for the occasion.
Looking around the table at the joint of cold roast beef, the roast duck, the pigeon pie, the basket of salad, the stewed fruit, the pastry biscuits, the cheesecake and the plum pudding, Aria exclaimed, “You have done us proud, Kinsford. Mrs. Stalker knows how to prepare a picnic better than anyone on earth! Did you bring wine?"
Her brother regarded her ruefully. “Are you sure you're not well, Aria?” At the stricken look on her face, he instantly repented his teasing. “I've brought it to tempt you, and Miss Driscoll, of course. And yes, I've brought wine, though I'm not at all sure whether it would be good for you. I brought lemonade."
He turned with a politely questioning look to Clarissa. “Oh, I daresay the wine will do her no harm,” she said. “She assures me she has quite tired of ginger beer and lemonade."
“Mama allows me wine with my evening meal,” Aria informed her brother. “I am, after all, fifteen years of age."
“Oh, ancient,” he laughed. “However, I feel certain I was drinking ale and claret at fifteen, so how can I deny you such a treat?"
Kinsford poured wine for each of them in crystal glasses he had brought from the Hall. Lifting his glass in a toast, he said, “To Lady Aria's quick return to perfect health.” His companions gladly drank to that, though Lady Aria's eyes sparkled rather suspiciously in the candlelight even before she'd had a sip of the wine.
Aria watched with pride as her brother provided charming dinner table conversation, his topics ranging wide over the spectrum of politics, society and country matters. Aria thought Miss Driscoll seemed to particularly enjoy this display, and when Kinsford called on Miss Driscoll to participate in the exchange, explaining where she had herself learned the pianoforte, drawing, and voice, she readily accommodated him with delightful tales of a companion who sang in the schoolroom at night, and a drawing master who occasionally used his neckcloth to wipe off his paint brushes.
Even as Aria was laughing over this last episode, she saw Kinsford lean back slightly in his chair, having almost finished with his meal, and observe Miss Driscoll with a mixture of playfulness and curiosity on his strong features. “And do I take it that it is your very own Miss Snolgrass who acquaints you with the latest dance steps? Does she pick them up in her wanderings?"
Clarissa, mellow from the wine and easy companionship at the table, inc
autiously admitted to the truth. “Oh, no. Lorelia has no interest in dance steps at all. It is Steven who has a remarkable facility for picking up the latest dances. Bath is the ideal place to discover what is new, if one cannot be in London."
Kinsford's brows had lowered alarmingly. “You mean he teaches you the steps here, in your house?”
The tone of his voice alerted Aria instantly to his extreme disapproval. Recklessly, she interjected, “Well, how else is Miss Driscoll to learn the steps, Alexander? She never goes anywhere. They must come to her."
Her elders were not distracted by her attempted reason. Kinsford was regarding Clarissa with flashing eyes, and she returned his gaze with cool imperturbability. They were locked in this pose for several minutes.
“How close a relative is Mr. Traling?” he finally inquired.
Clarissa looked disposed to refuse an answer to this question, but Aria pleaded silently with her to speak. With a sigh, Clarissa said, “He's a second cousin. One of my few living relatives. He should have inherited at least a nominal share of Pennhurst, as the only living male. My father left both of us rather stranded."
Aria breathed her relief. No one could possibly see anything wrong in such a connection. Rather the reverse. There was every reason for Miss Driscoll and Mr. Traling to share this painful burden of being dispossessed. Aria turned to Kinsford, expecting to find him satisfied. But his frown remained. Nevertheless, he picked up the thread of a former piece of conversation, elaborating quite unnecessarily on the management of his succession houses, as he proceeded to finish his meal.
This confused Aria. She knew Kinsford wasn't happy, but he obviously intended to say no more about the matter of the dancing instruction. Aria quite liked the idea of Miss Driscoll and Mr. Traling waltzing about the sitting room of Miss Driscoll ‘s cottage, with perhaps Miss Driscoll herself humming some Viennese waltz as they swung to and fro. When she and Will took instruction, Miss Driscoll played the pianoforte and hummed as well.
After a while Kinsford turned to his sister and said, “You seem to have eaten your fill, my dear. And you are looking quite tired. Perhaps you had best go up and climb into your bed. The last thing I intended was to overtire you."
The Village Spinster Page 12
