The Nomad Harp

by Elizabeth Rotter Matthews

  “Peter,” Glenna interrupted firmly, “you are forgetting that Lord Pontley's aunt is related to this young lady. I had much rather hear what your mother has to say of the imminent arrival of King Louis's brother and whether there will be a reconciliation between the Prince of Wales and his father."

  Since Glenna had very little interest in either of these topics, and Peter was momentarily struck dumb, Phoebe turned to Pontley to fill the breach. “I must tell you how much we enjoyed our trip on board Captain Andrews’ ship, my lord. We had delightful weather, except for one storm, and found the experience quite exhilarating. Captain Andrews was everything that was kind and has been so thoughtful as to call on us to see how we go on."

  “I had heard from him that the passage went well, and that he found the company of two young ladies most welcome.” He did not miss the faint blush which arose on Phoebe's cheeks, and turned to Glenna. “It is not often he is provided with concerts on board ship, ma'am, and he expressed an uncommon appreciation of your playing of the harp. I had thought perhaps you would swathe it in rags and oilcloth to preserve it from the elements."

  “I had intended to, but Phoebe cannot restrain pinching at me about it ever since I stuffed it in the chaise to take to the vicarage. No damage resulted from the sea breezes."

  “Perhaps you would honor me with a performance this evening."

  The request, however natural, took on added significance when his eyes held Glenna's so intently. It occurred to her that he might be mocking her, for she had not forgotten the occasion on which she informed him that she was aware that her playing was one of the reasons he had offered for her. “I should like to oblige, sir, but my hands are still too swollen to do so with comfort."

  “Of course. Another time."

  Peter had by now recovered his equanimity and was not content to remain a bystander to the conversation. He was just as glad that Glenna would not be playing, as he had no real interest in music, though he was proud of her accomplishment and willing to reflect in her glory from it. With the dexterity of years of social practice, he unobtrusively regained the attention of his audience and began once more to lead the conversation gracefully into topics on which he was by far the most knowledgeable person in the room.

  After dinner, while the Carmichaels walked in the garden, the other four played a few desultory hands of whist, but Glenna could see that Pontley's casual game did not mesh with Peter's avid involvement in his cards, and she suggested that she might show the viscount about the house to enumerate her plans for the color scheme of each room. Phoebe caught the look of annoyance in Peter's eyes and challenged him to a game of cribbage, to which he reluctantly acquiesced.

  Glenna's obvious enthusiasm for her projects amused Pontley, but it also forced him to compare the mature decision with which she attacked them to the childlike, unsubstantial eagerness of Miss Stafford. There was a fairylike fragility about the latter which begged for a man's protectiveness, but Pontley could not look on Glenna's puffed countenance without a twinge of—what? He refused to delve more deeply into his reaction.

  “I thought the library should be painted a soothing color,” Glenna was explaining, “and yet the books are so dark and heavy, don't you think? So I have chosen a cream, with a darker trim to emphasize its lightness and yet harmonize with the volumes. Does that seem a good idea?” She glanced up at him as he stood holding the branch of candles, his eyes again fixed on her face in such a way that she drew a sharp breath.

  Before she could fully realize his intention, he had set the candles absently on the desk and, holding her shoulders gently, bent to kiss her. Glenna made no attempt to withdraw from him, but neither did she respond, though it was with an effort. “You ... you must not do that. It is most improper to go about kissing young ladies,” she gasped, her color heightened.

  “Yes, I imagined it would be,” he replied gravely, “and I have no doubt your friend Peter would strenuously object.” He drew his fingers gently over her face, as he had earlier in the day.

  “It is I who object. You have no right to kiss me."

  “No, but I once had and did not take advantage of the opportunity. I had a desire to rectify that mistake.” When she did not speak he added, “Now your face has become blotchy again."

  Glenna's hands flew to her cheeks and she turned away from him. “Why are you tormenting me? What have I done to lead you to believe I will tolerate your wretched behavior?"

  “Nothing, I promise you, Glenna. You must consider it a momentary aberration and forgive me if you will.” In spite of his words, there was no note of apology in his voice, and he casually retrieved the branch of candles. “Your plans for this room sound well enough. Shall you show me the bedrooms next?"

  Now she was sure he was mocking her, and along with a flash of anger she was overcome by a hysterical desire to giggle. In a choked voice she replied, “I shall show you nothing more, Pontley. Go away and leave me alone."

  “Very well. Look at me, Glenna.” He waited until she hesitantly faced him. “I am leaving for Lockwood in the morning and will not see you before I depart. Rest assured I am pleased with the progress of the renovations here, and sincerely thank you for your efforts. From now on I wish you will not work so hard but enjoy yourself as I had intended. The funds for the kitchen will be arranged so that that work may be done, and I hope you will see that additional windows are let into the existing structure there. No one should have to labor in such a hole."

  “When the work is finished ... will you come to inspect it?"

  Pontley considered her for a moment. “No, I think not. Glover should have little difficulty finding a tenant. You are not to leave until you are ready, even after the renovations are completed; stay for a few months to partake of the fruits of your labor."

  “When my commission is complete I shall have no cause, or desire, to stay."

  “Where will you go?"

  “I think it cannot be of concern to you."

  “In other words, you don't know."

  Glenna sighed exasperatedly. “That is not precisely what it means. I have not as yet decided whether to return to Hastings, but I suppose I shall.” She had led him from the room and now stood before the drawing room. “Is my face still ... discolored?"

  Holding the candles closer, he inspected the puffy cheeks, and touched her lips with a finger. “No. Excuse me to your friends, if you will. I will bid you good night and farewell."

  She nodded mutely as she slipped through the door he held open for her.

  * * * *

  In spite of the fact that Glenna entered the events of the day in her journal to rid her mind of them, she did not sleep well that night, and awoke to find that Lord Pontley had indeed already left. Although she told herself that she should be relieved, she could detect nothing of that feeling about herself. Instead her nerves were on edge, and much as she tried to attribute it to the fact that her face was still swollen, she was not so easily deceived. Her reflection in the glass was little better than the previous day, but this time she struggled to bring the curls under control, no matter how painful the process.

  How could he have wished to kiss her when she looked so ugly? It must have been pity, she realized suddenly, and her face colored with shame. Oh, how loathsome to be an object of pity! His pity! Why, Peter could dance circles around him for grace and charm, for manners and entree into the haut ton. And though Peter was distressed by her appearance now, his loyalty to her could not be doubted. Just last night as she had left the room for bed he had pressed her hand and informed her, in a very meaningful way, too, that he was delighted to have her company again. It was not Peter who had wandered off and been smitten by the first pretty face he saw. Peter, Glenna informed her reflection in the mirror, had spent years among young ladies of the first stare, and he had come back to her when the obstacle to their happiness had vanished.

  To be sure, Peter had not been constant in the years between, but Glenna could not have wished him to be. As the
pain of their parting had lessened, she had grown to expect that he would marry elsewhere, and had been almost surprised each time a letter had come from Lady Garth when it did not contain that intelligence. It had amused Glenna that Lady Garth continued the correspondence, almost as though the older woman had forgotten its original purpose and slid into the habit of exchanging letters, so intent was she on spreading word of any unusual happening in London. Her letters now acknowledged Peter's renewed interest and she hastened to assure Glenna that memory was short amongst her circle, and that Glenna had not, she hoped, taken too seriously her previous reports of Peter's flirts. Well, they had come to nothing, after all, had they? Lady Garth pointed out, commenting rather caustically that it was high time Peter settled down. Surely Glenna had not the least need of Pontley's pity, and she would have been glad to tell him so—in fact, ached to do so.

  In an excess of emotion she tugged unmercifully at her hair and refused to stop until she had it completely under control, although her eyes teared and her scalp smarted with the abuse. Satisfied, she donned another high-necked, long-sleeved gown of gray wool and marched determinedly to the breakfast table. Today she would begin organizing the work for the kitchen. The sooner she could shake the dust of Manner Hall from her, the better.

  Peter, now accustomed to her unnatural features, greeted her cheerfully with the news that the lord of the manor had taken himself off as abruptly as he had arrived.

  “Yes and I am glad of it,” Glenna grumbled. “He does nothing but bully when he is around one."

  Struck with the similarity to his own thoughts, Peter decreed, “Too autocratic by half, he is, my dear, and without the least pretense of understanding a lady's finer feelings."

  “Certainly not!” she agreed, her face flushing slightly.

  “I wonder that you should have been engaged to him at one time."

  “I did not know him so well then,” she returned sadly.

  “Ah, well, you have learned better, and have had a lucky escape."

  Glenna made no response, as she was intent on spreading her toast with butter. Convinced that it would be best to change the subject, she did so. “Would you care to ride in to Minehead with me this morning, Peter? I have several commissions to undertake."

  “No doubt for the landlubber land lord,” Peter quipped, pleased with his wit.

  “You are a guest in his house, Peter."

  Quelled by her frown, he mumbled an apology, such as it was, and agreed that he would ride with her. When Phoebe entered the breakfast room, Peter reestablished himself by chatting with her so that Glenna had an opportunity to plan what she wanted to accomplish in town. It was not really difficult to allow his words to drift past her and concentrate on other matters.

  Chapter 10

  Pontley had only been driving for two hours, and was looking to his first change in Taunton when he overtook a cavalcade of impressive proportions. First he passed the inferior stable men, the hack-horses, the whipper-in, and the pack of hounds; next the hunters with cloths of scarlet trimmed with silver, attended by the stud-groom and huntsman; at length a chaise marine with four horses carrying numerous services of plate escorted by several household members with blunderbusses. But the procession was headed by no less than three other vehicles: a coach and six with two postillions, coachman and three outriders; a post chaise and four post horses; plus a phaeton and four followed by two grooms. The upper servants rode in the coach while the mistress of the establishment luxuriated in the chariot. But the master, Pontley was told in Taunton when he described the remarkable procession, traveled only in the phaeton, and in all weathers, wrapped in his swan's-down coat. Pontley would have thought no more of it, other than perhaps that it seemed the sort of ostentation in which Miss Stafford would revel, had he not happened to catch the owner's name.

  The shock of learning that it was indeed Miss Stafford's parents, Sir George and Lady Stafford, headed from their estate in Cornwall to another in Leicestershire, was enough to give him pause. He had not been informed that Miss Stafford's parents were due to arrive at Lord and Lady Morris's, yet such an expedition must have been planned for some time, and it was but a few days since he had left Huntley. On the other hand he found it difficult to believe that they would not visit their daughters on their journey northward. Pontley had, it was true, left the Huntley estate rather precipitously when he learned of Miss Forbes's accident with the bees, and he had intended to return there after he evaluated the situation at Manner Hall.

  All in all, he did not like the disposition of the forces ranging against him, and he had no intention of bowing to the pressures brought to bear on him. Miss Stafford's sister, Lady Morris, had become a little less circumspect in her hints that an offer from him was expected. Pontley's Aunt Gertrude wrote in her usual impatient vein urging him to get on with it. And now this. He had a brief thought to drive on and affect never having realized who the travelers were, but it appeared cowardly to him, and it was his nature to face disagreeable tasks head on. Reluctantly he asked the ostler to inform Sir George Stafford that Lord Pontley would await him in a private parlor if he would be so kind as to step into the inn.

  Not only Sir George but his wife joined Pontley there. The viscount could detect no resemblance to Jennifer Stafford in her gruff, red-faced father, but Lady Stafford, for all her more than forty years, had an ethereal quality and delicate features much like her daughter. It was appalling to Pontley to see this older version of the girl, for, as he had suspected, the childlike quality did not become the woman—made her, rather, appear ridiculous with her hair dressed as an ingénue and her driving costume too revealing to be flattering on a woman whose body had not stood the years. Not that her appearance was of paramount importance; it was the inability to deal with reality which alarmed him.

  “Well, well, well, so you are Lord Pontley. We've heard a great deal about you, a great deal,” Sir George blustered, his eyes taking in the young man in great detail. “My wife, your lordship, Lady Stafford."

  A whimsical smile flitted about Lady Stafford's lips. "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Pontley. We had been looking forward to meeting you when we arrived at Cromer Lodge. Such a coincidence that we should meet on the road!"

  “Yes, indeed. Do you intend to stay long at the lodge?” he asked politely.

  She cast an uncertain glance at her husband, and he stepped in. “Really can't say as yet. Haven't seen our daughters in some months and you know how it is when the ladies get talking. Hard to prise them apart."

  “I had intended to return to Huntley after my visit to Manner Hall, but my plans are changed and I am now headed for Lockwood. When I learned that it was you I had passed on the road, I could not miss the opportunity to make your acquaintance. Lady Morris and Miss Stafford speak of you frequently."

  Sir George grunted at this intelligence and Lady Stafford fluttered about, expressing concern. “We had so hoped to have the opportunity to get to know you, my lord. It was our understanding that you frequently visit Cromer."

  “Lord and Lady Morris have been very tolerant of my presence, and have been most helpful in introducing me to the neighborhood. Miss Stafford, too, has afforded me her company on rides and drives to various spots of interest. She appears to relish the country life and her enthusiasm is contagious."

  Dissatisfied with the casual way in which this information was delivered, Sir George pressed on. “Engaging little puss, our Jennifer. Has the looks of her mother, too, thank heaven. Deeply attached to her, we are. Not to say we would hold her back from an eligible match—no, no, just the thing for her. Needs a bit of a guiding hand."

  Pontley was strongly tempted to inform Sir George that in his opinion Miss Stafford was in need of a keeper, not a husband, but he of course refrained. Instead he chose his words carefully. “Miss Stafford is still young to undertake the responsibilities of marriage. I should hate to see her burdened with the management of some household when her chief delight is roaming about her bro
ther-in-law's property knowing the carefree life of a child."

  “No, no,” Lady Stafford almost squeaked. “Why, Jennifer is eighteen and looks forward to a household of her own. Would not any young lady? I was married at eighteen and found it the greatest comfort to have an establishment of my own. I have often told you so, have I not, Sir George?"

  “Yes, m'dear, so you have. ‘Twill be the making of the girl, you know,” he informed Pontley. “Needs a little responsibility to settle her, don't you see?"

  The viscount refused to falsely agree to this piece of nonsense. Nothing and nobody was going to “settle” Miss Stafford, as unfortunate as the matter was. She was a charming, delightful child, but with swings of mood so violent as to astonish an observer. On his first visit Pontley had seen only the affectionate, joyous vitality of the girl. When he had ridden up to Cromer Lodge on his return he had witnessed another side altogether. Thwarted in her desire to rid herself of the tiny groom who perpetually followed her about, Pontley had watched horrified as she viciously struck the little lad, causing him to fall from his mount. Miss Stafford had been unaware of Pontley's presence, but on seeing him she had rushed to assure him that the groom had attempted to take liberties with her. The episode had been followed, if not by such a drastic example, at least by unnerving ones, which had disillusioned him, in spite of the infectiousness of her personality when she was “herself.” He had attempted to understand her, to help her to achieve some moderation of her black moods and violent temper, but with no noticeable results.

  Recalled to the present from these meditations by Lady Stafford's rambling monologue on her daughter's virtues, Pontley politely agreed that the girl was charming. “I should not delay your journey longer, ma am. If your stay at Cromer is lengthy, no doubt we will meet there. I hope you will convey my regards to your daughters and Lord Morris.” With a leisurely bow and a forced amiability, he took leave of the disgruntled couple, aware that he had not performed the only civility which would have been acceptable to them—to have offered for Miss Stafford.