by Sandra Heath
She got up angrily, knowing that she wasn’t handling the situation very well. “It seems to me that Leonie is able to cause a great deal of trouble without ever seeming to.”
“To what are you referring now?”
“Well, you and I are quarreling over her, and it was because of Rupert’s unfortunate interest in her that Nadia was caused a great deal of distress.”
“I’m not quarreling, you are. And as for Nadia Benckendorff…well, she doesn’t merit any sympathy whatsoever.”
“Guy!”
“It’s true, she is the most callous, unfeeling, and generally disagreeable creature it has ever been my misfortune to encounter.”
“I won’t listen to you,” she replied, turning away.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but did she not ask Dorothea Lieven to keep Leonie at the seminary when news of Richard Conyngham’s fate reached London?”
“I have no idea.” She didn’t look back at him.
“Don’t treat me as if I’m a fool, Imogen. I know perfectly well that you are aware of Nadia’s activities. She was afraid that I could carry out my threat to see Leonie installed at Thornbury House, and this business of unpaid fees has been disgracefully inflated to keep Leonie where she is. So don’t expect me to sympathize with, or even like, Nadia Benckendorff.”
Imogen felt stung. “If she did anything such as you suggest, it was because she loves Rupert.”
“She wants him. There’s a subtle difference. She won’t win him, though, I can promise you mat.”
At last she turned. “What do you mean? Do you know something? If it’s because he’s still supposed to be infatuated with Leonie, let me assure you—”
“On this occasion it has nothing to do with Leonie. I was thinking rather of Marguerite St. Julienne.”
She stared at him, and then gave an incredulous laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s the ugliest and dullest creature in London!”
“And one of the richest. Rupert Allingham may like wagering on any damned silly thing, but I’ll warrant he won’t take a gamble where his wife is concerned. He’ll want a fortune, Imogen, and the St. Julienne fortune is handsomer than most. Nadia must suspect something of the sort, for she has recently thrown all caution to the winds. But then you probably already know.”
“Know? Know what?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Don’t tell me you aren’t party to her every thought? Miss Benckendorff, determined to make sure of the Duke of Thornbury, has embarked, as they say, on the voyage to Cythera. She’s his mistress, Imogen.”
She looked at him in astonishment. “I can’t believe it.”
“As you wish, but I promise you it’s true.”
“How do you know?”
“Thornbury, gallant gentleman that he is, told me himself. He isn’t one to respect a lady’s reputation, certainly not a lady he regards as nothing more than an adventuress. Scruples have no place in his character, Imogen, nor do they have any place in Nadia’s, as her despicable interference in poor Leonie Conyngham’s life reveals only too clearly.”
She was stung, both by being excluded from Nadia’s confidence and by this renewed defense of Leonie Conyngham. “Leonie! Leonie!” she cried. “Why do you always have to mention her? I’m beginning to think I was right after all, and that in spite of your noble denials, you do have a tendre for her!”
He rose angrily to his feet then. “Don’t be so damned tedious, Imogen! I’m not in the mood for it. Perhaps it would be better if I left now, for this evening has hardly gone well, has it?”
She was alarmed at his reaction. Tears swiftly sprang to her eyes. “Oh, Guy, please don’t go like this!”
At that moment they heard Edward’s carriage entering the pillared porch outside, and Imogen knew that Guy would certainly leave now, for he and Edward disliked each other.
She ran quickly to him. “Please stay,” she begged, slipping her arms around his neck.
He caught her close for a moment, but he didn’t change his mind. “No,” he said softly, “I think it best to forget tonight and begin anew tomorrow.”
“But I have to leave for Oxford tomorrow—you know that Edward and I must attend my cousin’s wedding! If I hadn’t been delayed at Windsor, we would have had three days, but as it is—”
He kissed her on the lips. “Then we will begin anew when you return. No, Imogen, don’t ask me to stay again, for if I did, then the evening would become a positive disaster. We are neither of us in the best of moods, and it would be wiser all round if we left well alone for the time being.”
She nodded. He kissed her again and then left. She couldn’t help but be aware of the reserve in him, and the unease that had been with her throughout the evening became more insistent. He could have stayed had he really wished to, and he could also accompany her to Oxford, for the invitation had been extended to him; but he had taken neither option. Why? Did he, as he had said, wish to stay in town because of Stella? Or was it maybe because of Leonie? Leonie. The name seemed to haunt her, and tonight it had almost been as if she had been with them at Devonshire House, and then here, in this very room. What exactly were his feelings toward the woman he had so carefully seen was in charge of his niece? Imogen’s blue eyes were thoughtful and cold. She had never liked Leonie, not even when they had been children together at the seminary; now she hated her.
* * *
As Guy drove away from Curzon Street in his carriage, around the corner in Park Lane his niece was gazing out of her bedroom window at the snowy moonlit park. She was ready for bed and was wearing a warm wrap over her nightgown. Katy had just finished combing her dark ringlets and was tying on her little night bonnet. A moment later the maid had withdrawn, leaving Stella and Leonie to retire when they were ready. Stella’s eyes were very pensive as she stared out into the night.
Leonie was seated at the dressing table, just as countless times in the past. It was good to be back in her old room after the cold discomfort of the floor above. It was good too to be again awoken each morning by Katy and the morning tray. Stella had quickly come to look forward to the maid’s arrival each morning, for she enjoyed sharing in the unlikely friendship. There was no affectation about Stella de Lacey, Leonie thought approvingly; she was honest and genuine, and above all very likable indeed. Glancing at the girl, standing so motionless at the window, Leonie began to wonder why she was so quiet and thoughtful. “Stella? Is something wrong?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not used to such silence from you. Has anything happened to you in class?”
“No, they’re still refusing to speak to me. I don’t care, though. Most of them are silly anyway, especially the ones who look down their superior noses at you.”
“It’s inevitable that some of them will feel like that about me, Stella.”
“No, it isn’t, they’re just too stupid to think for themselves. They heard their families condemning your father unheard, and so they do the same to you. I couldn’t care less if they never spoke to me my whole life through.”
Leonie smiled. “What a tiger you are, to be sure.”
“I like you,” replied Stella simply.
“And I like you too, which is why I’m concerned about your odd silence tonight. Usually you chatter nineteen to the dozen.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“I know.” Leonie glanced at the copy of the Times which lay on the little table at Stella’s side of the bed. Whatever had caused Stella’s quiet mood had something to do with that paper, which she had so carefully begged from a very reluctant Miss Hart.
Stella turned to her then. “I’ve been thinking about Uncle Guy. You were right when you said that the only way for me to get home again is by changing my ways, and that is what I’ve been doing. I’ve attended all my classes, I’ve done my lessons, and I’ve obeyed all the teachers. I have been good, haven’t I?”
“Yes, you have.”
“I know that Miss Hart is on Imogen’s side, but I
also know that you aren’t.”
“No, I’m on your side.”
“And you promised that you would tell him how good I was being, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Stella closed the shutters with a clatter and quickly drew the curtains across before going to the bed and sitting up in it, her knees drawn up and clasped with her arms. Her eyes were shining conspiratorially. “I’m going to be so good that Uncle Guy won’t know me when next he calls. I’m going to be a positive angel.”
Something about her caught Leonie’s sudden attention. “What are you up to?” she asked suspiciously.
“Up to? Me?” Stella’s eyes were all innocence.
“Yes, you. I may not have known you for long, but it’s been long enough to know when you’re plotting something. I only hope for your sake that it isn’t anything foolish.”
Stella looked positively sleek, the gleam in her eyes more anticipatory than ever. “All right, I admit that I’m up to something. I won’t tell you what it is, but I promise you it isn’t anything foolish.” Her glance moved fleetingly toward the newspaper beside her.
“Is it something to do with that paper?”
“Well, in a way. It just gave me the idea, that’s all.”
Leonie was a little disturbed. “You do promise that you aren’t going to be silly again, don’t you?”
“Silly? Oh, I’m not going to run away or anything like that, honestly I’m not. I have it all planned, and all I want now is for Uncle Guy to come to see me again. He must come alone, though, that’s all.”
“Why?” asked Leonie suspiciously, still afraid that the girl was about to launch into something unwise.
“Because it won’t work if she’s with him, that’s all.” Stella smiled slyly. “And she’s in Oxford at the moment, at her cousin’s wedding. Oh, he must come soon, Leonie, he simply must!”
Chapter 18
A week passed and Stella had begun to fear that Imogen would return before there was a chance to speak to Guy alone. It was another fine but bitterly cold morning when he went riding in Hyde Park, where the ways had been cleared and the snow piled at intervals beneath the trees. Seeing the white facade of the seminary, he decided that the time had come to visit his niece again. He had stayed away deliberately since the night she had run away, hoping that if she was left to her own devices she might come to realize that he did indeed mean every word he said concerning her unacceptable behavior. But even now he wasn’t sure if the time was right to see her, for he had that very morning received a less-than-encouraging report from Miss Hart. However, since he had formed a dislike for the headmistress on meeting her, he decided that the best person to see about Stella’s conduct would be Leonie. When Joseph admitted him to the seminary, therefore, he requested to see Leonie first, and then he went to await her in the visitor’s room.
He deliberately avoided glancing at Dorothea Lieven’s portrait, turning his back toward it and standing by the window to look at the garden. It seemed that few had ventured out into the deep snow that had drifted against the high walls, but someone had thrown crumbs out for the birds, and their tiny prints were everywhere. Something made him glance toward the school wing, and there, in one of the classrooms, he saw Leonie seated at a high desk. She was facing a group of small girls and appeared to be reading to them. His eyes moved slowly over the slender figure in its plain donkey-brown dress. Her silvery hair was pushed up beneath a neat frilled day bonnet, but one curl seemed intent upon escape, tumbling down from its pins, only to be immediately pushed back into place. He couldn’t help noticing how dark her eyes were, and how pale her skin; there was something about her which stayed in the memory long after she had gone from sight. There was no doubt, he thought, that had not events so cruelly intervened, she would have taken society by storm.
As he watched, Joseph entered the classroom to speak to her, and a moment later she had dismissed her class before going out herself. Then her light steps were at the door, and he turned as she came in. “Good morning, Miss Conyngham,” he said, crossing to her and raising her hand to his lips.
“Good morning, Sir Guy. You wished to see me?”
“Yes. I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you in any way.”
“No, my class was just about to go to Herr Meyer for a music lesson.” Oh, how good it was to see him again. Until this moment she hadn’t realized how much he had been on her mind.
“Please take a seat,” he said, escorting her to a chair close to the fire.
She sat down and then looked up at him. He didn’t speak straightaway; it was as if he wasn’t quite sure how to begin. He stood by the fire, one hand upon the mantelpiece and one foot upon the fender, and he gazed into the flames for a long moment. She was reminded of the day she had first seen him; he had been gazing into the vestibule fire in just that way.
He looked at her suddenly. “I wanted to see you about Stella. How is she?”
“She’s very well.”
“And her behavior?”
“Cannot be faulted.”
He looked away. “There’s been no disobedience?”
“No.” She was puzzled by his manner. “Sir Guy, is something wrong?”
“I’m not sure. You see, what you’ve just said rather contradicts the report I received from Miss Hart this morning.”
“Oh.” She felt an embarrassed flush leap to her cheeks.
“And given that there is only one Stella, I find it perplexing to say the least that she is apparently an angel one minute and the devil incarnate the next. Which am I to believe, Miss Conyngham?”
The color heightened on her cheeks and she felt suddenly very hot. How could she possibly tell him the truth, that Imogen had ordered Miss Hart to tell lies about Stella?
He watched her. “Is there something I should know?”
“No. At least….” She got up. She had to say something—but what? “Sir Guy, since the night that you insisted that I have charge of Stella, Miss Hart has actually had very little to do with her.”
“I can accept that. I presume, therefore, that Miss Hart consulted with you before writing to me.”
“No. She didn’t.”
Anger and disbelief flashed into his eyes. “She didn’t bother to speak to you, and then still presumed to write to me expressing an adverse opinion?”
“I’m sure it was a misunderstanding,” she said quickly. “Believe me, Sir Guy, Stella is being very good indeed—in fact she is a model pupil.”
He searched her urgent face. “Miss Conyngham, is my niece happy here now?” he asked suddenly.
The change of direction startled her. “Happy? She…she will only be happy when she’s with you again.”
“Apart from that consideration, is she happy here?”
“She’s happy when she’s with me.”
“I note the qualification.” He smiled unexpectedly. “And I can well believe that she is happy with you, for it would be a very strange soul who would not be, but I am left with the fact that at all other times she is presumably not at all happy. Am I right?”
“Yes, but she endures it because she believes her reformed behavior will ensure an early return to you.” She held his gaze. “She is everything you could wish, Sir Guy, and when she does leave I shall miss her very much. I like her a great deal.”
He nodded. “I wish that I could hear those words on Imogen’s lips,” he said softly, “but I suppose I must acknowledge that Stella’s past conduct didn’t in the least encourage feelings of affection.”
She lowered her eyes. Affection? Imogen wasn’t capable of any. “Miss Conyngham, please forgive me if I’ve given the impression of disbelieving what you say about Stella. The truth is that I don’t find Miss Hart at all to my liking, and indeed had it not been for your presence here, I would have removed my niece and placed her in another similar establishment.” He smiled at the look of astonishment in her eyes. “The night Stella ran away and you tried to stop her, I saw then that there was a certain rapp
ort between you. She responded to you in a way which made me very hopeful that an improvement in her conduct would not be long forthcoming. I love her very much indeed, but sweet reason was achieving nothing, and it seemed that the shock of being sent away was the only solution. I decided upon that course very reluctantly, for I have to admit that I disagreed with Imogen on the point, but due to your presence, Miss Conyngham, it seems that it was the right decision after all, and so I will be forever grateful to you.”
She didn’t quite know what to say, and she smiled in some embarrassment. “You…you have nothing to thank me for, Sir Guy.”
“Oh, but I think I have. Now, it’s time for me to see Stella herself.”
“I will leave you, then—”
“No, please, I would like you to stay.” He went to the bell and rang for Joseph, who immediately went to find Stella.
She came straightaway, and in such delight that she completely forgot Miss Hart’s stern strictures about the inelegance of running. She virtually burst into the visitors’ room, and without seeing Leonie, ran to her uncle, her arms outstretched and the white sash of her new green school dress flapping wildly behind her. “Uncle Guy!” she cried. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me!”
He laughed and swung her into the air. “Forget a minx like you? There’ve been times of late when I’ve dearly wished I could!”
“Don’t be beastly!” She laughed, slipping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder for a moment. “I’m sorry for having been so dreadful. I’m going to be good from now on, I promise.”
He lowered her gently to the floor. “I trust you mean that, for if you do, then you will soon be able to come home again.”
“Take me with you today. Please, Uncle Guy.”
“No, for I need to be convinced that this change for the better is a permanent thing, and not some temporary expedient you’ve decided upon in order to have your own way.”
