The Heart's Companion

by Holly Newman

  A frown of uncertainty creased Mr. Culpepper’s brow. He turned to look at Miss Grantley, finally appreciating her condition. "What happened to you?" he inquired bluntly, pouting a bit for having his sails trimmed.

  During the altercation Jane managed to mentally adopt her formal society cloak. "I misstepped and took a tumble down a hill," she said serenely. "Won’t you all come inside? I’m confident we can discuss this situation in a more civilized fashion with the addition of some refreshments." She gracefully extended her arm in the direction of the house and proceeded, head held high despite the trailing ruffle, filthy attire, and squashed bonnet, to lead the way.

  It was a surprisingly subdued group that followed in her trail. Mrs. Culpepper, requesting her husband’s arm in lachrymose accents, leaned heavily on him as they walked toward the manor. Her whimpering and sniffles accompanied the procession. Henry sneered at Bertram and tried to look superior. Bertram held his head high, adopting Royce’s disdainful mien. Maria Culpepper, though engaged to the son of Viscount Lemington, sidled up to the earl to bat her faintly darkened eyelashes and beg, in high breathy accents, his arm to the house. The earl looked down his nose at her and allowed faint surprise to lift his brows. He gently reminded her she was not a matron yet, and Lady Elsbeth Ainstree's position as daughter of a duke came before hers. Miss Culpepper blushed fiercely, stammering excuses, and ran off to follow her parents.

  Lady Elsbeth’s lips twitched once, but she kept them from turning upward in a smile. "Well done," she murmured, her eyes dancing with contained mirth.

  "Do you think so?" drawled the earl.

  "Oh yes, and don’t try to play that bored, jaded aristocrat with me. I’m entirely too familiar with the role. I know it for what it is and isn’t."

  "Why do I feel back in the schoolroom suddenly?" the earl mused to no one in particular. "And I find myself wondering how you came by your knowledge, for you are much too young."

  Lady Elsbeth could not help but preen slightly at his compliment, but in reaction looked at him more severely. "I am older than you, my lord, and I’ll thank you to cease your cozening ways."

  He did not respond to her scold, but stared ahead at Jane as she led the group. There was a considering expression in his eyes, as if he suddenly remembered something and was turning that memory over in his mind, examining it. It was an expression that made Lady Elsbeth uneasy.

  "I have discovered in my travels that people have layers upon layers of meaning behind their actions," he said as languidly as one would speak of the weather. "What at first may be taken for good or bad, upon reflection reveals hidden, almost forgotten reactions to circumstances in one’s past. The trick is to discover these repeat habits and sever the ties so that they may cease binding one in knots."

  He looked down at Lady Elsbeth, a slight smile playing upon his lips. "I find myself wondering from what experience you speak. Just as I find myself wondering what experience has driven your niece to her Ice Witch persona. Intriguing questions, don’t you think?"

  Lady Elsbeth’s step faltered, but she responded readily to the gentle pressure he exerted to continue. She looked up at him uncertainly. She prayed he did not know any of her history, but feared he did, for she remembered he’d been sent down from Oxford and was on the town the year she had her disastrous season. And he was just the sort to have been in John’s train, she thought bitterly. She felt a soupcon of relief that there was no discernible knowledge of her past in his expression. It was not something she wished anyone to remember. She silently congratulated herself on deftly staying out of John’s orbit all these years so that memories could not be stirred to bubble to the top of society’s scandal broth pot.

  "La! I take back what I said. You must be bored to be considering that which would not plague an ant." She laughed slightly and smiled her understanding spinster smile, though her heart hammered loudly in her chest.

  He did not react as most did. "My interest does not lie with the insect world, Lady Elsbeth, but rather with people," he returned deftly, and smiled so charmingly Elsbeth was left in doubt as to the precise meaning of his words. "But tell me," he continued crisply, his bored air falling easily away, "how came Miss Grantley to her current state of disarray?"

  Relieved to have the conversation turned from herself. Lady Elsbeth launched into a detailed recital of the events of the afternoon. The earl nodded thoughtfully and patted her hand where it rested on his arm.

  "I’ll take care of Culpepper," he promised as they crossed the threshold and her hand fell away from his arm. He strode over to Bertram’s side and placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder. "Culpepper," he said loudly, "let’s allow the ladies to retire to the parlor while we gentlemen adjourn to the library to discuss this matter. A discussion of any pugilistic match is not for a lady’s delicate sensitivities."

  "My lord, you overstep yourself!" protested Jane, whirling around to face him. Her white, pinched face was beginning to show delicate signs of bruising.

  "Now see here, Royce!" argued Mr. Culpepper, his lower lip thrust out as he pried his wife’s fingers from his arm.

  The earl went cold. "We will discuss this matter in the library in a gentlemanly fashion. If, afterwards, you still feel the necessity of addressing Miss Grantley or Lady Elsbeth, you are free to do so. But I am not in the habit of discussing affairs of honor before women."

  "Affairs of honor!" Jane shrieked.

  The earl ignored her. "Bertram, lead the way. Ladies, if you will excuse, us, we will join you later. Miss Grantley I would see to those scrapes and bruises immediately." He turned to follow Bertram to the end of the hall and the door leading to the library. Mr. Culpepper and Henry followed silently behind. At the doorway Royce stopped and requested a hovering Jeremy to fetch a bottle of port and glasses to the library.

  Jane stared open-mouthed after him. Rage flared her eyes and cold fire lit their emerald depths. Lady Elsbeth hurried to fill the silent void left by the men’s departure.

  "Yes, Jane, why don’t you go on upstairs and rest. You have had a most frightening experience. I shall do very well with Mrs. and Miss Culpepper. Miss Twinkleham, please take Edward upstairs now." So saying she marshaled them together like a mother hen her chicks.

  A quick glance in a tall pier glass on the stairway landing convinced Jane it was a good idea for her to freshen up; but, she would not remain above stairs. She fully intended to have words with the Earl of Royce for his high-handed manners before too much more time had passed! His arrogance obviously knew no bounds. If those were continental manners he’d adopted, she would be certain to let him know they were not appreciated in England!

  When she came down some twenty minutes later, bathed, her hair once again neatly arranged, and a soothing unguent applied to the worst of her scrapes and bruises, she discovered Jeremy once again in his listening position, this time hovering against the library door. An amused, appreciative smile twisted her lips and lit her eyes.

  "Listen closely, Jeremy, for I’ll expect a full report," she whispered.

  The young footman stiffened and turned. "Begging your pardon, ma’am?"

  "Oh, it’s to be that way, is it?" she observed, nodding her head sagely. "Just be careful lest you forget for whom you work and be out of work," she snapped, thoroughly nettled.

  Behind the footman came the rising sound of voices. The library door cracked open, and Jane distinctly heard Mr. Culpepper addressing his son. "If you’re going to eavesdrop, get it right, boy!" His words were followed by his person dragging his son out by the ear.

  "Ouch, ouch! Please, Papa! I promise, Papa!" the child wailed as he was led past her.

  Jane blinked in surprise at this turnabout. She looked questioningly at the earl, who followed the Culpeppers out; but a little negative shake of his head forced her, seething with curiosity, to hold her peace.

  Mr. Culpepper led his son to the manor house door and pushed him outside. "Wait for us in the carriage. I’ll attend to you later," he told the red-faced
child. Then he turned his back on Henry and shut the door.

  He glanced up at Jane and scowled, his lower lip protruding sulkily. He looked as if he wished to say something, then changed his mind and raked a beefy hand through his scraggly gray-streaked hair. Shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other, he nodded shortly at her and turned to enter the parlor to fetch his wife and daughter.

  Jane looked at the earl. "What has been going on?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.

  "Wait," he said, nodding in the direction of the parlor. He turned toward Bertram. "I’m certain Miss Twinkleham is waiting to fuss over you. You’d best go on up."

  Bertram made a sour expression.

  "Be thankful you have people interested in your welfare. The world is a cold and cruel place without them, and you are not, entirely, without blame," the earl reminded him sharply.

  The boy nodded and with dragging feet slowly mounted the stairs.

  Impatience welled within Jane. "Will you please tell me what’s been going on? I’ve been on tenterhooks for the past half hour!" she hissed softly, glancing around to see that no one was listening.

  The earl glanced up and down the hall and led her to a long bench near the door. "Henry apparently overheard his sister telling her mother about your—ah—nickname. But he did not hear their conversation clearly. He only overheard snatches. Somehow he thought you were referred to as an Old Witch rather than an Ice Witch and taunted Bertram with that name."

  "Old Witch?" Jane repeated, dazed. Then she fell to laughing.

  The earl remained punctiliously serious. "It was, quite naturally, more than the boy’s honor could bear. "

  "Oh, come now, my lord. What’s in a name?" she returned easily.

  The earl refused to be drawn. "You fail to appreciate the enormity of the situation, here. You were being insulted. He, as the nearest male relative, was defending your honor."

  "Defending my honor? Oh, come now!"

  "Do not think to shuffle it casually aside. Bertram strongly feels he has a responsibility to you and Lady Elsbeth as the nearest and oldest male relative available."

  "But he is only a child!"

  "That does not weigh with him. Do not belittle his action. "

  "But he was fighting!" protested Jane.

  "His pride and honor are involved here. Do not crush them with feminine nonsense."

  "Feminine nonsense!"

  "If you feel strongly that the boy should be punished, then punish him for something that he knows was wrong and won’t affect his pride. Punish him for wandering off without letting anyone know."

  "Well that, certainly—"

  "No, make it that only, Miss Grantley. "

  Jane looked like she would protest again, but just at that moment the rest of the Culpeppers came out of the parlor and hurriedly made their good-byes. Mrs. Culpepper was observed quietly badgering Mr. Culpepper for information on what had transpired. But it didn’t look as if she met with any success. They saw them out to the carriage. By the time Mr. Culpepper bundled his nagging wife into the carriage, his face had again assumed a choleric hue. He slammed the door on her and climbed up beside his coachman so abruptly, that the man nearly dropped the reins. Though the driver looked uncertainly at Mr. Culpepper, he didn’t say a word as he whipped up the horses and turned down the drive.

  Watching them race down the lane, Jane leaned against the doorframe. She was suddenly exhausted. Muscles she didn’t even know existed began clamoring for attention.

  The earl studied her closely. "You, young woman, belong in your bed."

  "That’s what I told her when I sent her upstairs," added Lady Elsbeth.

  "Enough, both of you. I am all right."

  "Listen to her. She talks as if falling down a hillside were an everyday occurrence," snapped her aunt.

  "It is perhaps good that I am accustomed to hell’s fires," the earl casually told Lady Elsbeth, "for I don’t feel ice."

  Before Jane could react he had bent over and scooped her up into his arms as he did at the blackberry patch.

  "Lady Elsbeth, would you care to lead the way?" he drawled, ignoring Jane’s outraged gasp.

  "Of course, Lord Royce. This way please," Lady Elsbeth said, struggling to keep laughter from her voice. "Now Jane, don’t carry on so, you’ll only injure yourself further. I’m confident you’re quite safe. That is, you will be if you’ll stop squirming. Be careful lest his lordship drop you on the stairs and you tumble down, adding bruises to the ones you already have."

  Realizing her aunt and the earl were beyond reason, Jane gave up struggling and settled for glaring at them with a full Ice Witch’s freezing intensity.

  Later that evening Lord Royce summoned his groom to see him. When the man appeared, the earl handed him a letter.

  "I want you to take this to the Marquis of Conisbrough. I believe you’ll find him in Brighton somewhere. If he’s not there, track him down. Give him this letter with my compliments. Do you understand?"

  The grizzle-haired old man nodded and tucked the letter into a waistcoat pocket. "Aye, my lord. And I take it I’m off tonight?"

  "Yes, Robert, I’m afraid so. But first, have a glass of brandy to warm your insides," the earl invited, smiling.

  The old man smiled as well. He’d worked loyally for the earl. He knew the earl’s copybook was blotted within society, but that didn’t matter to him. If the earl was truly the Devil’s Disciple, Robert would follow his path to hell itself, he would, and no denying that. He tossed back the small glass of brandy, then sighed contentedly as it fired his insides.

  "Thank you kindly, my lord. Good day to you, sir," he said, setting the glass back down on a small table and bowing. He placed a grubby cap on his head, then turned to leave the room, his hobnail boots ringing on the marble hallway floor.

  When Jane woke the next morning she knew immediately that she’d taken her tumble down the hillside far too lightly. There did not seem to be a square inch of her body that did not ache. She groaned as she stretched.

  "Sore ye’d be, I prophesied to Lady Elsbeth, and sore ye are," stated a clipped, Irish voice.

  Jane turned her head to see her dresser, Mrs. O'Rourke, lay down the petticoat she was mending. The widow of an impressed seaman, she’d been with Jane since her come out and had long adopted the forwardness of a lifetime servant. She was an imperious looking woman with a stern, long face and gray hair swept severely off her high brow. Other servants were in awe of her. She was good at her job but secretly given to periodic indulgences with the bottle, spouting prophecies and conversing with 'little people' no one else could see.

  "You were not alone in that prophecy," Jane said tightly as she straightened cramped limbs and struggled to sit up. "I believe I was the only one who did not. I stand, or rather sit," she amended as her legs gave way under her when she attempted to stand, "corrected. I do not recall ever hurting so. I suppose my aunt has another liniment ready for me to try?"

  "Aye, a minty one. Sweet smellin’ and bound to clear yur head if not ease yur pur muscles." She crossed to the dressing table and came back carrying a white, wide-mouthed jar. She liberally rubbed the creamy lotion into Jane’s skin, her wide, spatulate fingers kneading tight muscles. Slowly Jane relaxed and gave herself over to enjoying the massage.

  "Hmm, I must admit I do feel better," admitted Jane when Mrs. O'Rourke stopped and recapped the jar, rubbing her hands on her apron front.

  "Now you be restin’ there while I send fur yur breakfast and inform yur lady aunt that yur awake."

  "You’ve massaged my muscles until they’re incapable of movement. I will not be going anywhere," Jane assured her, languidly closing her eyes and savoring the cold-hot sensations of the lotion on her skin.

  She must have drowsed lazily for several minutes, for the next thing she was aware of was the sound of rattling china. She opened her eyes to see Lady Elsbeth pouring a cup of tea. Jane struggled to sit up against the pillows.

  "Tea? You know I prefer coffee in th
e morning," she protested.

  "This is a special herbal blend. It will help you feel much more the thing." Lady Elsbeth handed Jane the china cup, then drew a chair forward to sit beside the bed. "Serena has written again. She has supplied me with a list of those that accompany her. I may thankfully say it is not a long list."

  "Oh?"

  Lady Elsbeth nodded. She held up a closely written letter. "Mr. Raymond Burry is, as you may guess, escorting her."

  "He has been in her entourage all season. What does Beau Burry see in Lady Serena? Or she in him? He’s neither wealthy, wise, nor—if you consider his corpulence—healthy."

  Lady Elsbeth looked reprovingly over the edge of the letter. "Such cynicism does not become you."

  Jane waved her hand in apology and request to continue. "Serena also mentions a Lord and Lady Willoughby. "

  "Who?"

  "Willoughby. She says they’re from somewhere up north. Evidently this is their first trip south. "

  "How odd," Jane mused. She took a sip of tea. "Is that all?"

  "No. And I’m afraid the last is a name you’ll not like."

  "Gracious, such hesitancy in your tone! Dislike more than my two relatives? Impossible, I’m sure. Who could be more unwelcome than Aunt Serena and Cousin Millicent?"

  "Sir Garth Helmsdon."

  Silence fell between them. Then Jane blinked and rallied. "It appears that of late I’ve been too impetuous," she said lightly. "I did not believe it was possible to ache so after a fall and I did not believe there could be a name more unwelcome to me than my aunt’s and cousin’s. It appears I was wrong." Shadows darkened her eyes. She took a sip of the tea.

  "Perhaps he is now dangling after Millicent," Elsbeth offered.

  "Oh, I’m sure he is. However, recall that we agree Millicent is likely coming here to throw her cap at Royce. She most likely desires someone to take Helmsdon off her hands. And who would be better than the very woman he so ardently pursued during the season?" Jane asked bitterly.