by Sandra Heath
Afraid that they might glance up and see her, Leonie stepped back into the bedroom, looking out again to see the troika turn in through the park gates, the small group of onlookers parting to allow it through. Nadia maneuvered it expertly, swiftly bringing the team up to a brisk pace. The sleigh slid away over the snow, drawing admiring glances from all who saw it. Even the skaters on the Serpentine paused to stare as it swept magnificently by, the team kicking up the snow like glittering sugar. Leonie watched it for a while longer, and then left the room to go about her duties.
* * *
Edward held on to his top hat as the sleigh flew across the park, the runners whining and the bells jingling to the swift rhythm of the horses. The speed was almost alarming, and he glanced at Nadia’s unsmiling face. She wasn’t gleaning the satisfaction she should from the troika’s first triumphant appearance in London; she should have been basking in all the envious admiration, but instead she hardly seemed to notice it. Her mood was almost brooding, and her mind was most definitely on something else—on Thornbury, if Edward was any judge. He smiled to himself, for he knew that he was responsible for her lack of spirit, having very carefully over the past day or so hinted at Thornbury’s untrustworthiness. Perhaps she was now ripe for the plucking. He smiled at her. “I’m honored today, am I not? Shouldn’t it be Rupert beside you in your hour of glory?”
“He’s out of town,” she replied abruptly.
“Ah, yes. He’s returned to his family seat with his mother and Miss St. Julienne, hasn’t he?”
“No, he’s visiting a friend in Sussex or some such place.”
“I think you are mistaken, for I saw them departing from Grosvenor Square and they most definitely took the Oxford road.”
“Perhaps Sussex is that way too.”
“No, Sussex is to the south, across the river. Oxford is to the west. I don’t know who told you about Sussex, but it was untrue, I promise you.”
She reined the team in and then turned to him. “Rupert told me himself.”
Edward shrugged. “Well, I have the evidence of my own eyes. There’s no mistake, I assure you. I don’t know why he told you something else….” He allowed his voice to trail provocatively away.
“Why are you doing this to me? Why do you continually try to make me unsure of him?” she demanded, her tone angry because of the uncertainties milling around inside her.
“Perhaps because I don’t wish to see you hurt.”
“Hurt?” She stared at him. “Why should I trust you, milord? In the past you haven’t been a friend to me, no matter how much you’ve denied it since. Why should I believe you now instead of him?”
He held her gaze for a moment, managing to make his blue eyes very reproachful. “Oh, Nadia, that was unworthy, but I will not take offense, for I know you are upset. Very well, you doubt my veracity, and so it seems to me that the only course open to you is to go to Grosvenor Square and inquire.”
Without another word, she whipped the team into action again, turning the sleigh around and driving back across the park the way they had come. Edward settled back, his clever eyes shining, for he knew what she would be told; he’d made certain of his facts before embarking upon anything.
Grosvenor Square was quiet, the neat paths of the railed formal garden in the center covered with unblemished snow from which rose a gilded statue of the first George. The sleigh bells tinkled prettily as Nadia drove the troika toward Thornbury House, which occupied a prime corner site. It was a handsome red-brick building, with tall, symmetrically arranged windows and a pedimented door which was approached up a shallow flight of steps.
Edward remained in the sleigh as Nadia went to the door. He saw the footman shaking his head and then the door was closed once more. She walked slowly back toward the sleigh, dismay written clearly on her lovely face. He hid a smile. It was all so easy, especially when Thornbury was so overconfident that he didn’t take the elementary precaution of priming his servants to lie on his behalf. He’d gone on the Oxford road with his mother and the Jamaican Gorgon, that much was true, but if Edward’s information was correct, he’d subsequently gone to spend a day or so in the arms of a certain lady of dubious character, whose residence was in Amersham. A friend in Sussex, be damned! Well, friend Thornbury’s unfaithfulness was going to prove his undoing, and he was a fool ever to think he could so easily triumph over Edward Longhurst! And Nadia was also a fool, urged on by ambition, but without the wit to see the traps placed so skillfully before her.
He gallantly alighted to assist her back into the sleigh. She said nothing for a moment, but then she looked at him. “You were right, he hasn’t gone to Sussex, and neither the duchess nor Miss St. Julienne is at home. Why did he lie to me?”
He held her gaze, trusting that he looked sincere. “He lied because he’s gone away to marry Marguerite St. Julienne.”
Her face, already pale, lost still more color. “No. No, I will not believe you. Everyone knows he’s going to marry me,” she whispered.
“Has he said so?”
She hesitated. “Not in so many words, but—”
“Has he actually said he is going to marry you?” he repeated.
“No, but he gave me to understand….” Her voice trailed away.
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath. “That there would be a surprise concerning our future awaiting me at Poyntons.”
“An ambiguous statement if ever I heard one,” he said softly. “Oh, my dear, can’t you see? The surprise he has in store for you is his marriage to someone else. Think of him: has he ever been completely open and honest with you? Well, has he?” He leaned across suddenly, taking one of her hands. “Forget him, Nadia, for there is someone who loves you more than he ever did.”
She stared at him. “Milord?”
He drew her hand to his lips, turning it palm uppermost. “Forget Thornbury,” he murmured, his eyes warm and dark, “for I’m here now.”
* * *
For the next two days he laid siege to her, although he was always careful to keep the fact a secret from the rest of society, since he had no wish as yet to disprove Thornbury’s clever tale. The denouement, as originally planned, would take place at Poyntons on the ninth, but it would not be the one friend Thornbury fondly imagined it would be!
Nadia was more cautious than he had expected, and showed a desire to be as secretive about things as he was himself, thus conveying to him that she was not yet ready to finally cast Thornbury off, but he knew her confidence was very badly shaken and he offered her the salvation of her search for a wealthy, titled husband. Maybe being the future Countess of Wadford was not quite as grand a prospect as being the Duchess of Thornbury, but it would do.
Imogen watched the proceedings with growing disquiet, not having been taken into her brother’s confidence and therefore believing him to be in earnest where Nadia was concerned. Imogen was forced to examine very closely her own feelings toward her friend, feelings which had changed considerably of late, for it was one thing to encourage Nadia in her pursuit of Rupert, it was quite another to contemplate her as a sister-in-law. For Imogen, this latest development would have been bad enough, but there was also the irritating and galling presence of Stella de Lacey in Guy’s house. The child constantly eulogized Leonie Conyngham, and Imogen thought she detected a lingering interest in the schoolteacher on Guy’s part. The situation was intolerable, and by the evening of the third day Imogen had reached the end of her tether. She could do nothing about Edward and Nadia, she didn’t dare move yet against Stella, but something could most certainly be done about Leonie Conyngham! In a cold fury, Imogen set off in her carriage for Harley Street, to call not upon Nadia, but upon Dorothea.
Dorothea was in her boudoir, preparing to go out to meet Lord Palmerston. She was holding up her rubies to see if they went well with the dainty neckline of her revealing white silk gown. She put them down in surprise as Imogen was announced. “Ah, Lady Imogen, what a pleasant surprise.” Her smile fa
ded as she saw the expression on the other’s face. “It would seem that this is not merely a social call.”
“Forgive me, I did not mean to offend you.”
“I am not yet offended, since I do not know what is in your mind.”
Imogen took a deep, quivering breath. “I want you to see that Leonie Conyngham is immediately removed from the seminary.”
“I see. May I ask why?”
“If you had endured nearly three days of Stella de Lacey prattling on and on about her, deliberately turning the conversation toward her, and all the while bringing Guy into it, then you would feel as I do now. I know what that brat is up to: she wants that Conyngham creature to take my place. Well, I don’t intend to let it continue. That is why I want you to see Miss Hart—she’ll do as you ask.”
Dorothea nodded. “Very well, if that is what you really wish.”
“It is, and I want it done as quickly as possible. Like you, I leave for Poyntons the day after tomorrow, and I want that woman gone from the seminary before I set off. I wish to be able to go to Poyntons safe in the knowledge that I am free of her.”
Dorothea studied her. “Your uncertainty where he is concerned surprises me.”
Imogen stiffened a little. “I’m not uncertain, I merely wish to rid myself of a tiresome creature who believes she has a chance of luring him if she flutters her eyelashes often enough, I’ll rid myself of her now, and the child later. He’s mine and I mean to keep him, and I do not intend to share him with anyone.”
Dorothea smiled then. “My dear, how very Russian of you. I vow St. Petersburg would adore you. I admire such determination and unswerving resolve, and so I will do all I can to assist you. I will call at the seminary this very evening on my way to Lord Palmerston.”
Imogen smiled too. “Thank you. I will be forever grateful.”
Withdrawing from the boudoir, Imogen encountered Nadia at the top of the stairs. There was a very slight air of coolness in their greeting, for Imogen’s manner over the past few days had not gone unnoticed.
A carriage was arriving outside, and Imogen knew that it was Edward. She looked quickly at Nadia. “You shouldn’t trust him, you know—he isn’t capable of an honest act.”
“You don’t think I’m good enough for him, do you?” replied Nadia icily.
“I merely wish to protect you. I know my brother only too well.”.
“No, my lady, that isn’t it at all.”
“Believe what you wish,” said Imogen, beginning to descend the stairs.
“I believe that you’ve been masquerading as my friend,” called Nadia after her. “It amused you to think of me with Rupert, but it displeases you greatly when I am with your brother.”
Imogen paused, turning briefly back. “You are an adventuress, Miss Benckendorff, and not in any way fit to aspire to my brother. I consider our friendship to be at an end. Good night.” With that she went on down, passing Edward in the doorway and not saying a word to him.
Chapter 34
Leonie saw Dorothea arrive and go with Miss Hart to the visitors’ room, but although she wondered what the visit was about, she didn’t give it a great deal of thought. The matter of writing the promised letter to Private Whittacker’s commanding officer had to be attended to, and so she took a candle and some writing implements into one of the deserted classrooms, where the fire still warmed the air. Setting the candle on the teacher’s desk, she settled down to write, but she had hardly commenced when Joseph came to her.
“Miz Leonie? Miz Hart wants to speak to you straightaway.”
“But she’s with the countess, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
A sense of foreboding seized her then, and as she went toward the visitors’ room, she couldn’t help remembering the last time she had faced both the headmistress and Dorothea Lieven. Her hand trembled as she opened the door, and the sense of foreboding increased as the murmur of voices inside ceased abruptly.
Dorothea, glittering with rubies, was seated in the same place she had been on that other occasion, and as Leonie entered, she deliberately looked away, making no sign of acknowledgment or even recognition.
Miss Hart rose from her chair, her hands clasped before her as she faced Leonie. “I will not waste any time, Miss Conyngham. There have been serious complaints about the standard of your teaching, which is evidently far from satisfactory. In view of this, and after due consultation with the countess, I have no option but to request you to leave the premises immediately.”
Leonie stared at her, a horrid coldness seeping slowly and inexorably through her. Leave immediately? But where could she go? What would happen to her? Incongruously she thought of the outstanding fees. “But I haven’t paid all that is owing.”
“Your debt is to be waived.”
“Waived? But it was once considered of sufficient importance to make me sign an agreement!” She paused, her eyes flying from one face to the other. “If I’m to be dismissed, I wish that contract to be returned to me.”
The headmistress glanced at Dorothea, who gave a barely perceptible nod. Miss Hart then went to the drawer, unlocked it, and drew out the document. She gave it back to Leonie. “That will be all, Miss Conyngham,” she said coldly.
Leonie met her gaze. “My teaching hasn’t been unsatisfactory at all, and you know it. This is merely a ploy to get rid of me, isn’t it?”
“I said that will be all, Miss Conyngham.”
Leonie knew there was no point in protesting anymore. “Do…do you wish me to leave tonight?”
Miss Hart hesitated. Such haste would, if anything untoward befell Leonie, reflect poorly upon the seminary, which might be judged over-harsh and unchristian. “No, that will not be necessary,” she said. “You may leave first thing in the morning.”
Without another word, Leonie left the room. She felt numb and very, very cold as she went slowly back to the empty classroom, where the glow of the solitary candle on her desk threw only a feeble light. She moved automatically, almost as if in a dream. Sitting at the desk, she continued writing, and she had finished the letter and sealed it before she could no longer ignore the awfulness of her desperate situation. Tears pricked her eyes and suddenly she hid her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling as she wept.
The candleflame swayed suddenly as the door opened and Joseph came in once more. “Miz Leonie? You have some visitors.” He smiled, not seeing her tears in the half-light.
Hastily she dabbed her handkerchief to her eyes, rising to her feet just as a small figure almost hurtled into the room and into her arms. It was Stella.
“Leonie!” she cried joyfully. “Oh, Leonie, I’ve missed you so, and I’ve been simply longing to see you again!”
In spite of her tears, Leonie smiled, holding the girl close for a moment, but then something made her look toward the door, and her heart seemed to stand still, for Guy was there. Their eyes met and she felt a wild emotion tumbling through her. For a fleeting moment nothing else mattered but that he was there, and just to be able to look at him again brought her an immeasurable joy. Oh, how she loved this man. How she loved him….
Slowly she released Stella. “Good evening, Sir Guy.” Her voice sounded calm, but she was anything but calm.
His dark eyes rested shrewdly on her tearstained face. “Good evening, Miss Conyngham.”
Stella caught her hand excitedly. “I’ve so much to tell you, I just don’t know where to begin!”
Leonie smiled. “You’ve been gone for three days, not three years.”
“Sometimes it feels like years,” replied the girl, glancing deliberately at Guy.
He raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for the compliment.”
“I wasn’t meaning you.”
He took a deep breath. “Stella—”
“It’s all right, I’m not going to start anything,” she said quickly. “Besides, there’s something much more exciting and interesting to talk about.”
Leonie inwardly sighed with relief, for it had
seemed for a moment that Stella’s rattling tongue and impetuous personality were once again going to lead her to speak disparagingly of Imogen, who was evidently the real subject of the brief exchange.
Stella looked up at her again. “Leonie, we’ve come to ask you to stay with us at Poyntons during the celebration. You must say yes, you really must!”
Leonie stared at her, completely taken aback. “Stay with you?”
“Yes. You’ll be a guest, and you’ll go to the ball and enjoy all the other diversions. I want you to come, and I simply won’t let you refuse!”
“Stella,” reproved Guy a little sternly, “you are supposed to be inviting Miss Conyngham, not ordering her.”
Stella lowered her eyes, biting her lip a little. “I know, but I couldn’t bear it if she refused. You won’t, will you, Leonie? You must be there, you simply must.”
Leonie looked slowly toward Guy. “It…it’s very kind of you, sir, but I couldn’t possibly intrude—”
“It wouldn’t be an intrusion,” he replied.
Stella was aghast that the invitation was not going to be accepted. “Leonie! You can’t refuse! You mustn’t!”
Leonie shook her head. “No, Stella, I don’t think it would be right.”
“Why not?”
Leonie couldn’t reply, for how could she say that apart from the fact that Imogen would hardly be pleased if she was present, there was also the matter of being in love with Guy?
Guy studied her. “Miss Conyngham, believe me, I would like you to join us. I know that maybe we last parted on a bad note, but I have no wish to remember that.”
“It…it isn’t that, Sir Guy.”
“Then what? Do you think Miss Hart will refuse permission? I will speak to her.”
“It isn’t Miss Hart.”
He smiled then. “If it isn’t either of those things, I do not believe there can be any reason of sufficient importance to make you refuse. Please come, Miss Conyngham, if not for my sake, then certainly for Stella’s.”
