by Sandra Heath
“That’s more than enough, madam,” he breathed furiously.
“Is it? I could go on.”
“I’ll spare you the effort by sparing you my presence! My carriage will convey you back to Park Lane. Good night to you.” He turned on his heel and strode angrily away.
Stella was still weeping bitterly shortly afterward as she and Leonie drove away from the hotel, and Leonie herself was close to tears. An evening that had been almost enchanted had become an evening of disaster.
* * *
Nadia was so cold that she was on the point of ordering the hackneyman to drive on, but then suddenly Guy’s carriage drove past and drew up at the curb outside the seminary. She watched as Leonie and Stella alighted alone and hurried inside. So, wherever they’d been and whatever they’d been doing, it didn’t seem likely that they’d been with Rupert. Now it only remained for Imogen to be informed of the night’s events, Leaning out, she instructed the dozing hackneyman to take her to Longhurst House.
As the coach turned around, she glanced out again at the seminary. Tonight she’d been forced to realize that Rupert’s interest in Leonie Conyngham was far from over, in spite of her reduced circumstances and the scandal attaching to her father’s name. Evidently it was not enough to keep her in a lowly position at the school; now something more would have to be done. Nadia’s green eyes were vengeful. Leonie would have to go. She must be dismissed and thus sent away from all future contact with Rupert.
* * *
Imogen was seated in her boudoir, Miss Hart’s note in her hand, when Nadia was shown in. Her face was pale and she crumpled the note. “I’m glad you’ve called, Nadia,” she said quietly, “for it seems that during my absence—”
“When the cat’s away, the mice will play?”
Imogen’s blue eyes went swiftly to her face. “You know about the visit to the theater?”
“I was there, with Rupert. We both have cause now to wish something to be done about Leonie Conyngham. Don’t we?” Nadia held the other’s gaze. “We must talk.”
Imogen nodded.
* * *
Leonie lay in the bed listening to Stella’s muffled sobs beside her. The girl hadn’t stopped crying since rushing from the dining room at the hotel, and nothing Leonie had said seemed to offer her any comfort at all. Oh, if only Stella had been a little more wise, if only she’d bitten back her comments about Imogen, or even if she’d had the wit to apologize when she had the chance, then things might have remained as they had been. As it was, Guy was furious with his niece again, and furious with Leonie herself.
Leonie stared up at the bed hangings. Never in her whole life had she so lost her temper with anyone as she had tonight. She’d said such things to him, and in a very public place. Maybe he’d merited every word, but that was still no excuse for having spoken as she had. She closed her eyes for a moment. She’d lost her temper because he’d hurt her. Tonight she’d fallen finally in love with him, and when he’d turned his anger upon her, it had been like a knife twisting in her heart. By reacting as she had, she had forfeited his good opinion of her, and no doubt the next day he would come to the seminary to remove Stella to another establishment. Her furious defense of Stella had probably cost her something else too, for it was hardly likely now that he would put himself out to speak to anyone about Richard Conyngham.
Stella was quiet now, her face turned away to the wall. Outside, the street was almost deserted, with the sound of only one carriage to break the silence. It came very slowly down from Tyburn, coming to a halt outside the seminary. There was no sound of opening doors, no voices, just a silence broken by the occasional jingle of harness and stamping of hooves. Leonie sat up, puzzled, and then slipped from the bed to look out. By the light of a streetlamp she saw the carriage drawn up opposite. It was a handsome vehicle, drawn by matched bays and driven by a liveried footman. There was a coat of arms on the door panel, but she couldn’t make it out.
As she watched, the glass was lowered and a gentleman looked out, directly at her window. In the fraction of a second before she drew hastily back out of sight, she recognized Edward Longhurst. After a moment she heard the carriage drive on and turn the corner into Curzon Street. The night became quiet again.
Chapter 22
Two days passed and there was no word at all from Guy; things were left just as they were. Stella was very quiet and withdrawn, never once mentioning what had happened at Grillion’s. Leonie was very sad to see her brought so low after being so very happy, but there was nothing that could be done. Too many things had been said that night; now they simply had to wait and see what happened.
On the Friday, Imogen and Nadia came to the seminary, demanding to speak in private with a rather uneasy Miss Hart, who guessed what they had come about. She was right, for they immediately demanded Leonie’s dismissal, and the headmistress was forced into the unenviable position of having to refuse them. She was all of a fluster, explaining that to grant their demand would be to risk Dorothea’s displeasure, and that was something she simply could not contemplate, not even for ladies as exalted as themselves. She was willing enough to see Leonie go, but only if Dorothea gave her permission. They left in a fury, and Miss Hart took refuge on her golden sofa, calling for a glass of something strong to steady her ragged nerves.
Leonie watched the carriage drive away, and she wondered what had happened. She’d seen their determined faces on arrival, and then she’d seen their absolute fury on leaving, but what their purpose had been, she could not guess.
* * *
In the carriage, their frustration was immense, for Miss Hart’s refusal to comply was a stumbling block neither of them had foreseen. Imogen’s anger was doubled because as yet Guy had not mentioned the visit to the theater. He had had ample opportunity, but he had not said a word about it. His silence made her uneasy, and for some reason she found herself unable to bring up the subject herself. She had been banking on Leonie being dismissed from the seminary without further ado, but now that was not to be, not until Dorothea intervened, and Dorothea was still out of town with her lover and no one knew exactly when she would return. Nadia had hinted that it might not be for another two weeks yet, and that was a length of time which it alarmed Imogen to consider.
That night was very cold indeed, bringing the thaw to an abrupt halt. London awoke the next morning to find itself once again in the iron grip of frost. The melting, broken ice which had been flowing slowly down the Thames now became choked by the ancient piers of London Bridge, freezing together to form a solid, uneven expanse which stretched upstream as far as Blackfriars Bridge. Before the end of the morning, people were seen on the ice, at first just testing it and then walking right across from shore to shore. By nightfall the first booths had appeared. The frost fair was beginning.
It was snowing on the Sunday morning when the entire seminary set off for church. Miss Hart had to admit grudgingly that Dorothea’s uniforms looked very well indeed, the matching green hooded cloaks fluttering prettily in the cold wind blowing down Aldford Street.
Stella walked silently at Leonie’s side, her eyes downcast all the time, and as they entered the church, she remained equally silent. Leonie was by the aisle, with Stella seated beside her, and they had been there for some five minutes, waiting for the service to commence, when suddenly Stella whispered to her, “You have an admirer.”
“Admirer?”
“The Duke of Thornbury. He’s behind us, on the other side of the aisle. He’s been staring at you ever since he came in.”
Leonie turned in surprise and found herself looking into Rupert’s hazel eyes. He smiled and inclined his head, and she turned quickly to the front again. Why had he come to this church? He had never been there before. The service began and everyone rose to sing the first hymn. Leonie didn’t look around again, but she could feel Rupert’s eyes upon her all the time.
The sermon was a dull affair, delivered without sparkle, and soon the younger girls near Leonie were beginni
ng to fidget. Not long after that the rest of the congregation began to shuffle, and it was with some relief that everyone rose at last for the next hymn. As the organ began to play, Leonie suddenly realized that they were all about to sing her father’s favorite hymn. The Grosvenor Chapel seemed to melt away before her and she was no longer in wintry London, she was a small child in hot, sunny Madras, in St. Mary’s Church, and Richard Conyngham’s beautiful baritone voice was echoing poignantly in her ears. The memory caught deep inside her, and suddenly the loss of her father was as painful and fresh as the moment she had first been told. The tears which had been so long in coming sprang to her eyes, and she was afraid that she was about to break down completely. She had wanted to be able to grieve properly, but not now, in this public place. Gathering her skirts, she hurried out of the building. The hymn seemed to follow her, echoing all around.
Outside, the line of carriages waited at the curb, their coachmen and postilions standing together in groups. Snow-flakes touched her hot cheeks, catching in her hair and on her cloak as she walked quickly past them to a quiet part of the street. The wind swirled the snow, making it eddy all around, and the coldness of the air was strangely soothing. She paused beneath the naked branches of a plane tree. The pain began to subside.
“Are you all right, Miss Conyngham?”
She whirled about to see Rupert standing behind her, a concerned look in his eyes.
“I’m quite all right,” she said a little stiffly. She liked him as little now as ever she had, and she would never forgive him for having forced his way into her room.
“You seem distressed,” he said, “and I wondered if there was anything I could do to help.”
“Nothing at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself further.”
“It’s no trouble, I promise you.” His voice was soft, his glance unmistakably warm.
She moved perceptibly away from him. “I said that I am quite all right,” she repeated coldly, stepping aside to return to the chapel.
He put a quick hand on her arm. “Please, don’t go yet.”
“Sir, I don’t think you and I have a great deal to say to each other.”
“I wish to make amends for having behaved so poorly in the past.”
“If that was an apology, sir, then consider it made. Now, please let me go.”
“I cannot blame you for feeling as you do, but I’m truly sorry for trespassing as I did. Can we not be…friends?”
She was amazed. Friends? After all that he had said and done? “No, sir, we most certainly cannot.”
“But—”
“How is Miss Benckendorff?” she asked deliberately.
He raised an eyebrow. “Very well, I should imagine. What has she to do with this?”
“I rather think she might think she has a great deal to do with it, sir.”
“What she thinks is no concern of mine.”
“I beg to differ on the point, sir.”
He smiled a little. “May I call upon you?” he asked suddenly.
She stared at him. “Sir, I cannot prevent you from calling, as you well know, but I promise you that I will not receive you. I trust I have made myself perfectly clear?”
He still smiled, apparently completely unperturbed. “Oh, yes, Miss Conyngham, you’ve made it very clear, but I shall still call upon you.”
At that moment the service ended and the congregation began to leave the chapel. Leonie walked determinedly away from him.
* * *
On the walk back to the seminary, something happened which was to put Rupert, Duke of Thornbury, completely out of her thoughts. The crocodile of green-cloaked figures was walking quickly down Park Lane, for the snow was falling more heavily than ever now, and there was a great deal of excited chatter about the frost fair, which everyone now knew had begun to appear on the river. The accident happened very quickly, just as they had almost reached the seminary. One moment Stella was walking quietly at Leonie’s side, the next she had stepped into the road to avoid a very large lady with six excitable little dogs on leads. The hackney coach was approaching from behind, making no sound because of the snow, and the unfortunate hackneyman had no chance to rein in before Stella was knocked heavily to the ground and almost trampled by the terrified horse.
There was immediate chaos, the dogs yapping, the large lady having the vapors, and many of the pupils beginning to cry. The horse was alarmed, tossing its head and whinnying as the anxious hackneyman maneuvered the coach away from Stella, who lay motionless in the snow, her face drained of all color.
Leonie knelt beside her. “Stella? Stella, can you hear me?”
The girl’s eyes flickered and opened. For a moment she looked up in puzzlement, but then she saw the coach looming above her and fear leapt into her eyes. She tried to sit up, but Leonie gently restrained her.
“No, don’t move, you may have broken some bones.”
Miss Hart pushed forward then, having taken a moment or two to recover from the shock of what had happened. She heard what Leonie said and she was angry, for the last thing she wished was for Stella to remain where she was and thus draw unwelcome attention to the fact that an accident had befallen one of the seminary’s young ladies, especially since at the time of the accident the young lady had been in the care of no less than the entire staff! “Miss Conyngham,” she said icily, “I hardly think it sensible or desirable to leave Miss de Lacey lying in the street.” She turned to the hackneyman. “You, fellow, carry her into the seminary.”
Leonie was alarmed. “She shouldn’t be moved,” she protested. “Not until a doctor has examined her.”
“Any examination which may be necessary will be carried out in the privacy of the seminary,” replied the headmistress, her eyes angry as they fleetingly met Leonie’s.
The hackneyman hurried to do as he was told, picking Stella up very carefully and carrying her inside. The girl whimpered as she was carried up to the bedroom, but as she was laid gently on the bed, she passed out, lying there very still and ashen-faced.
Joseph was immediately dispatched to the doctor, with instructions that after that he was to go on to tell Guy what had happened.
* * *
While all this was going on, Imogen and Nadia were paying a morning call upon Imogen’s ailing great-aunt, the dowager Lady Baswell, whose house was in Berkeley Square. Their duty done, they emerged into the snow to enter their waiting carriage. Nadia wore white, and looked coolly beautiful. Imogen was in brown, and beside Nadia’s blond loveliness she felt at a disadvantage; indeed, it seemed that she often felt thus when with Nadia, and it wasn’t a feeling she cherished. Imogen was forced to admit to herself that she did not often outshine her new friend, and it was galling, for why should a Russian adventuress be compared favorably with an earl’s daughter?
Nadia sensed nothing of Imogen’s jealous thoughts. “Imogen, has Edward mentioned anything to you about a wager he has with Rupert?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, it’s just that there’s something going on and I can’t find out from Rupert what it is.”
Imogen gave a short laugh. “Indeed, and here was I thinking that I was the only one to be suffering from the disagreeable reticence of the man I love.”
Her tone piqued Nadia; indeed a great deal about Imogen piqued her of late. “There is perhaps something else you should know, Imogen, since you’ve brought up the subject of reticence. This morning I was told that not only did Guy take Leonie Conyngham to the theater, he subsequently took her and his niece to Grillion’s for an intimate dinner.”
Imogen stared at her. “Who told you?”
“Emily Cowper, and she may be relied upon. It seems that Stella made a dreadful scene, and it also seems that Guy and Leonie had a very heated argument. She and Stella then returned alone to the seminary, which is when I saw them.”
Imogen looked quickly away. The carriage was now driving from the square into Berkeley Street. So much had happened that night, and yet Guy still
hadn’t said a word to her. Why? She should have been exulting in the fact that Stella was again in disgrace, and Leonie apparently out of favor, but she gleaned little solace from the situation. Guy’s silence disturbed her more and more, for she didn’t understand it, and in this particular instance, what she didn’t understand made her feel very vulnerable and uneasy. She wanted him to tell her all about it, to leave nothing out, but she knew in her heart that he wasn’t going to do that. Eventually she was going to have to ask him herself, and she was beginning to wonder if she would like his reply.
At that moment they were passing his house, and Nadia sat forward suddenly. “Look, isn’t that the footman from the seminary?” She pointed as Joseph hurried away from the house after delivering his message to Guy.
Imogen’s every instinct warned her that this was a moment when she must be sure to be with Guy, for anything connected with the seminary meant not only Stella but also Leonie Conyngham. She quickly lowered the glass to order the coachman to halt, and as she did so she saw Guy’s footman emerge from the house, glance quickly toward the halted carriage, and then step hastily back inside. A moment later Guy himself came out.
Imogen alighted and hurried to meet him. “Guy? I was passing and saw the footman from the seminary. Is something wrong?”
He took her hand and pressed it quickly to his lips. “Stella’s had an accident,” he said. “I must go immediately to see her.”
“Oh, no!” she breathed, feigning anxious concern. “How very fortunate that I have my carriage ready and waiting. I can take you there straightaway. Come, we mustn’t delay.”
As he handed her back into the carriage, she exchanged a brief glance with Nadia, who had overheard everything. Nadia’s smile was inscrutable. Imogen sat back, her hand resting reassuringly in his. Unease still swept through her, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing her intuition had been right. Now she would be there when next he came face to face with Leonie.
