by Sandra Heath
Stella’s lips pressed rebelliously together. “She won’t let me, she hates me!”
“It’s the only way, sweetheart.”
After a long moment the girl nodded slowly. “I know.”
“And you’ll give me your word?”
“Yes.” Stella smiled ruefully at her. “I’ll be as good as gold from now on…. I really will.”
Leonie smiled, ruffling her hair fondly. “I sincerely hope you mean to stand by your word this time.”
“I do. I was afraid tonight, Leonie, more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life before, and if it hadn’t been for you….” Her voice died away and she looked curiously up into Leonie’s eyes. “If you don’t like Lord Edward, who is your lover then?”
“My what?”
“Your lover. Nadia said that you’d—”
“Nadia Benckendorff has by far too much to say for herself, Stella de Lacey. I haven’t got a lover, as you’d know well enough if you’d stopped to think. When on earth do I have the time to entertain a beau?…. Well?…. I teach all day and I’m with you all night, or had you forgotten that?”
Stella looked shamefaced then. “I didn’t think.”
“You most certainly did not.”
“I’m sorry, Leonie, truly I am. Do you forgive me?”
“Of course I do, because I know how dreadfully upset you’ve been about things. Now then, I think it’s time we went home.” She turned apologetically to the soldier. “I know I’ve imposed most dreadfully on you tonight, and I’m ashamed to ask you to help again.”
He smiled. “Ask away.”
“Will you escort us back to my hackney coach?”
“It’ll be an honor, miss. Come on.”
Stella clung close to Leonie as they walked back to the shore, and to Leonie’s immense relief, the hackney was still waiting, the driver huddled asleep inside. He woke with a start as the soldier opened the door.
As the hackneyman climbed wearily back onto his perch and Stella was seated safely in the old coach, Leonie turned to thank her rescuer again. “I’ll be forever grateful to you, sir, you are a true gentleman.”
“I’m just a soldier, miss.”
“What’s your name?”
“Whittacker, miss. Private John Whittacker of the Fifty-first Light Infantry Regiment, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Mainwaring.”
“Where are your barracks?”
“I’m not stationed back here in England, miss. I was wounded in Spain and got sent back here. I’m hoping to get over there again soon—a feller doesn’t like to miss out on it.”
She smiled. “I wish you well, Private Whittacker, and I will be sure to write to your commanding officer, informing him of your kindness and gallantry tonight.”
He blushed. “There’s no need to do that, miss.”
“There’s every need.” She took out some coins and pressed them into his hand. “Please accept this.”
“Oh, no, miss! I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She smiled again. “Won’t you drink the king’s health, sir?”
He hesitated and then grinned. “I’m the king’s man, miss, and I’m always willing to drink his health. Thank you.”
“Thank you. Good night.”
“Good night, miss.”
He assisted her inside and closed the door. The sound of the fair was suddenly and blessedly muffled. A moment later, Jupiter was turning the coach around and trotting slowly back up the lane toward the busy thoroughfares of the city.
Chapter 30
Guy returned to his house at midnight after dining with Harry Fitzjohn. He handed his hat and gloves to his butler, and then paused for a while to look at Imogen’s portrait above the fireplace. Tonight Harry had praised her as the loveliest woman in England, and perhaps he was right, for there was something ethereal about the sweet face gazing down from Lawrence’s canvas. The artist had captured her perfectly, and yet was she really as flawless as the portrait suggested?
The butler cleared his throat. “Sir Guy?”
“Yes?”
“A message was delivered earlier.” The man held out a silver plate on which lay a folded, sealed piece of paper.
Guy broke the wax and read: “If you go to the seminary immediately, you will find that your niece has flown the nest and that Miss Conyngham is away in the arms of her lover.” He looked sharply at the butler. “When did this arrive?”
“Some time ago, sir. I trust it isn’t of great importance, for you did say you weren’t to be disturbed at Sir Henry’s—”
“I know, I know. Who brought the note?”
“A boy, sir, a ruffian who ran off when I tried to question him.”
“Have Archer bring my carriage around immediately. With luck it will still be harnessed.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler almost ran to carry out the order.
Guy slowly crumpled the piece of paper, his dark eyes angry.
* * *
The hackney conveying Leonie and Stella halted at last on the corner of Park Lane and Curzon Street. Leonie looked quickly toward the seminary. It was in darkness; there was no sign of any alarm having been raised. They had a chance! She got out and helped Stella down before paying the hackneyman handsomely for his trouble. As she parted with the last of her coins, she sighed inwardly, for now she had nothing left.
The hackney drove slowly away, on its way home at last, and Leonie turned Stella to face her. “It looks as if we’ll be able to get away with it, provided we can get inside without disturbing anyone. I know that Joseph often sits up very late in the kitchens, practicing his reading and writing, and I have my fingers crossed that he’ll be there now. We’ll go in the back way, from South Audley Street.”
Stella nodded, and they hurried down Curzon Street toward the corner. South Audley Street was silent and their footsteps echoed a little as they ran to the tiny alley leading to the seminary garden. At last they could see the kitchens, and to their immense relief, a light was glowing there. They crept through the snow, glancing up at the main building all the time, afraid that someone would look out and see them, but then at last they’d reached the kitchens. Peering inside through a crack in the curtains, they saw Joseph, his wig discarded on the table before him, his curly head bent over a book. Leonie tapped on the window and he gave a start, his eyes wide as he stared toward the sound. He couldn’t see them, and so she tapped again. Slowly he rose to his feet, picking up a large poker from the hearth before coming warily toward the window. He drew the curtains sharply back and the flood of light illuminated their faces. His mouth dropped with surprise and he hastily discarded the poker and came to unbolt the door. A moment later they were safely inside in the warmth.
“Miz Leonie? Miz de Lacey? Why on earth—?”
“It’s a very long and complicated story, Joseph,” said Leonie, holding out her hands to the fire. She smiled at him. “Will you promise not to tell anyone we were out tonight?”
“Of course, Miz Leonie.”
“And will you do something for me?”
“I owe you many favors, Miz Leonie,” he replied, gesturing toward the book. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just go up through the house and see if anyone is up and about. We want to get back to our room without anyone knowing we’ve been away.”
“I’ll do that right now,” he said, snatching up his wing and putting it carefully on his wiry curls. He hurried out, and it seemed that he’d been gone for ages, but at last they heard his steps at the kitchen door again. “It’s all right, Miz Leonie, they’re all asleep, there’s not a sound from anyone.”
“Thank you.” She smiled gratefully at him and then ushered Stella out into the passage. They tiptoed through the silent building, pausing only once, their hearts suddenly thundering as something brushed past them, but it was only Mrs. Durham’s cat.
They at last reached the sanctuary of their room, closing the door thankfully behind them. They were safe, they’d got back, and no one was any the
wiser! But even as the relief coursed through them, they heard a carriage driving swiftly up Park Lane. It came to a halt outside the seminary, and a moment later someone was hammering urgently on the front door.
* * *
Miss Hart awoke with a start, getting quickly out of her bed and pulling on her wrap. What on earth was all the noise about? Her curl papers bobbing and her night bonnet slightly askew, she hurried down to the vestibule, where a startled Joseph had just admitted Guy.
“Sir Guy?” she cried in astonishment. “Whatever is the matter?”
“I wish to see my niece.”
She stared at him. Was he in drink? “At this hour? But she will be asleep!”
“Then wake her. I wish to see that she’s all right.”
“Sir Guy, it’s past midnight.”
“Madam, I am fully aware of the time. I still wish to see my niece. Immediately.”
She stiffened, her curl papers quivering. “Very well, sir, if you insist.”
“I do insist. I also insist upon seeing Miss Conyngham. She is in, I take it?”
“In? Of course she is, sir. Joseph, go directly and inform Miss Conyngham and Miss de Lacey that they must come down to the visitors’ room.” She glanced coldly up the stairs, where a sea of curious faces was peering down. The whole school, it seemed, had been aroused by the commotion. “Go to your rooms,” she commanded icily. The sea of faces vanished immediately.
In the visitors’ room, Guy took up his position with his back to the fire. His hands were clasped behind him and he looked very severe. Miss Hart felt both bewildered and uncomfortable, and she was aware that she looked a little ridiculous in her voluminous nightgown, the curl papers jutting all around her face.
At last they heard steps. The door opened and Stella came hesitantly in in her nightgown, her bare feet pattering on the polished floor. She was followed by Leonie, who was still tying on her wrap. Their hair was tousled beneath their night bonnets and they looked as if they had just awoken.
Stella’s eyes were huge. “Uncle Guy?”
His eyes had lightened the moment he saw her, and now he smiled, holding out his hand. She ran to him then and he lifted her up in his arms for a moment before setting her down once more and looking seriously at her. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
She couldn’t help glancing at Leonie for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Uncle Guy. Why do you ask?”
He took a deep breath. “Because I rather think I’ve been the victim of a tasteless practical joke. I’m sorry I’ve woken you, sweetheart. Run along back to your bed now.” He kissed her on the forehead.
Tears filled her eyes and she looked guilty for a moment, before gathering her skirts and hurrying out again.
Leonie turned to leave as well, but he called her back. “Miss Conyngham, with your permission I would like a word with you. In private,” he added, looking pointedly at Miss Hart.
The headmistress bridled. “Sir Guy, it would hardly be proper.”
“I was alone with you a moment since, madam, and I was not aware of your mentioning any impropriety then.”
She said nothing more. Dull color tinged her cheeks and she swept out, her nightgown billowing and her curl papers trembling with indignation.
“Please sit down, Miss Conyngham,” he said, indicating a chair.
She obeyed.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but believe me, I had good reason.”
“I’m sure that you did, sir.” She was shaking inside and couldn’t meet his gaze. She felt as guilty as if she’d deliberately taken Stella to the fair with intent to deceive him.
“I was given to understand that my niece had run away again,” he said.
Her heart almost stopped, and she stared at him. “As…as you can see, she is safe enough,” she said at last. It was the truth, she wasn’t lying….
“Yes, and that makes me feel a little foolish for having stormed in here as I did. However, it has at least given me an early opportunity to tell you about my dinner with Harry Fitzjohn. It might interest you to know that he agrees with you about your father, and he tells me that there are others at India House who also feel that way. He is hoping to probe further into the matter, and if anything should come to light, he will see that I am informed immediately.”
A glad smile touched her lips then. “Thank you, Sir Guy, I’m very grateful to you for putting yourself out in this way on my account.”
He gazed at her for a long moment, and it seemed to her that a veil descended over his eyes. He looked away, turning to gaze into the dying embers of the fire. “I was brought here tonight by an anonymous note which informed me that my niece had run away and that you, Miss Conyngham, had gone to meet your lover.” He looked at her then. “Had you such an assignation earlier tonight?” he asked softly.
The room was suddenly very quiet. She was so startled and dismayed by what he had asked that she could only stare at him.
“Well? Haven’t you anything to say?”
At last she found her tongue, and it was an angry tongue. “I have indeed, sir, and it is that I don’t think it’s any of your business what I do in my private life.”
He rounded on her then, his eyes flashing. “Not any of my business? Madam, you astound me!”
“And you, sir, astound me!” she cried, caught on the raw and leaping to her feet. “You aren’t my husband. By what right do you presume to question me in this disgraceful way?”
“I may not have the misfortune to be your husband, madam, but I do have the right to question you, since you are in charge of my niece. If you have a lover and are neglecting your duties, then I believe it is very much my business.”
“I’m not the one neglecting duty, sir,” she replied icily.
“Meaning that I am, I suppose.”
“If the cap fits, sirrah, pray wear it.”
“Have a care, Miss Conyngham, don’t press me too far.”
“Why? What will you do? Will you strike me?” She knew she was almost taunting him, but she was so angry and beset with a strange sense of guilt that all caution had been thrown to the winds. “Strike me if you wish,” she challenged recklessly, “but it won’t make one iota of difference to the facts. You have been neglecting your duties, you’ve placed the spiteful, vindictive caprices of a cold and selfish woman above the needs of a lonely child who has no one else in the world but you, and who loves you with all her poor little heart!” Her voice broke a little and tears suddenly filled her eyes, making her turn away to blink them furiously back.
“Damn you for saying that,” he whispered, his eyes very bright.
“And damn you for accusing me of having a lover,” she replied, her voice trembling with the closeness of the tears.
He bowed his head for a moment then, and when he raised it again to look at her, his anger seemed to have evaporated. “Forgive me,” he said softly, reaching out hesitantly to take her hand and turn her slowly toward him. He saw the tears then, and his fingers tightened over hers as he drew her almost sharply into his arms. “Don’t cry,” he whispered, “don’t cry, for I can’t bear to think I’ve been such a monster that I’ve reduced you to tears.” He stroked her hair, and for a moment he seemed to press her even closer, but then it was as if he realized what he was doing, and slowly he released her. “Forgive me,” he said a little awkwardly, “I did not mean….” He left the rest unsaid.
She felt weak, as if the few seconds in his arms had drained her of all her strength. Her cheeks were warm and her eyes dark, and the ache of loving him was almost too much to endure.
“Forgive me too for making unwarranted and insulting accusations. What makes it worse is that I knew in my heart that you were innocent, but still I felt compelled to ask you. I don’t know why….” He paused. “No, that’s not strictly true, I know damned well why I asked you, and you were correct to tell me to mind my own business, for what you do in your private life has nothing whatsoever to do with me. I have no rights over you and should not
conduct myself like a jealous husband. I trust that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for I would be grateful if we could both put my disagreeable conduct tonight from our minds.”
She managed to smile, and she even managed to make her voice sound light. “Of course it is forgotten, Sir Guy. No doubt we are both tired and that is why we both said things we would prefer not to have said.”
When he had gone she lowered her eyes again, the tears welling from them. How could she forget that tonight he had taken her in his arms? That his heart had beaten for a moment close to hers? She could never forget. The anger and recrimination would not endure, but that tender moment would live on forever.
Chapter 31
Stella had fallen into an exhausted sleep when Leonie returned to the bedroom, but on waking the next morning she at last revealed what Imogen had said that had so devastated her. Evidently wanting to provoke an act of defiance which would alienate Guy for a long time, she had told Stella that he had decided she must remain at the seminary until she was at least eighteen, after which, provided the war in Europe permitted, she would be sent to a finishing school in Geneva. Leonie listened sadly, appalled that even Imogen could be so heartless, for she must have known how much misery would be inflicted by such news. It seemed that there were no depths to which that lady would not sink in order to have her own way, and it was small wonder that poor Stella, frightened and alone, had become so hysterical.
Leaving the matter of Imogen’s visit, Leonie pressed Stella to tell her who had put her up to going to the fair, although even before the girl admitted that it had been Nadia, Leonie had suspected that this would prove to be the case. Stella was still reluctant to break her word to Nadia, and only did so in the end because she felt she had been tricked and that Nadia had never had any intention of accompanying her. The fact that Leonie herself had been deliberately drawn into it, they put down to Nadia’s jealousy and Imogen’s dislike, and they thought that Edward had been involved because he wished to assist his sister. They also guessed that Edward had been the author of the anonymous note which had brought Guy so swiftly to the seminary in the middle of the night, for Stella remembered looking out of the window and seeing him give a piece of paper to a small boy, who had run away in the direction of Curzon Street; Lansdowne Passage lay that way…. Leonie knew that only the fact that Guy had been dining out with Sir Henry Fitzjohn had prevented him from receiving the note at the correct time, for if he had been at home when it had been delivered, he would have come to the seminary and found both his niece and her teacher absent, and the note’s lies apparently only too true! The plan, elaborate as it had been, had so very nearly worked.
