by Sandra Heath
Stella’s hand tightened around Leonie’s. “Please,” she begged. “I do so want you to be there, and I shan’t enjoy it at all if you aren’t.”
Leonie turned to Guy. “If…if you’re sure you wish me to come…?”
“I’m quite sure.”
“Then I accept. Thank you.”
Stella was ecstatic, dancing around the room like a wild thing and setting the candleflame gyrating.
Guy went a little closer to Leonie. “You’ve been crying,” he said softly. “Will you tell me why?”
“I haven’t been crying,” she said quickly.
“You’re an appalling liar, Leonie Conyngham. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong.” To tell him the truth would look as if she was throwing herself on his charity.
He searched her face for a moment. “I won’t press the matter, but remember that you once promised to come to me if anything was wrong.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Maybe not, but will you act upon it, I wonder. Still, no matter, for the moment there are other things to discuss—the arrangements for tomorrow, for instance. I’m leaving a day earlier than expected because my agent has requested me to. It seems he’s concerned about the effect of the long hard winter on a bridge adjacent to my estate.” He smiled a little. “It’s my misfortune to be responsible for said bridge, which carries the highway and is therefore much in use. Since I will therefore be closeted with my agent, and since the other guests will not arrive until the day after, you might find it rather dull at Poyntons at first. We will be the only three there.”
“Oh. Sir Guy….”
“Yes?”
“What of Lady Imogen?”
“She will be coming on the ninth, as originally planned.”
Leonie was a little surprised, for it wasn’t like Imogen to allow something like this to slip by.
“We will be leaving directly after breakfast, Miss Conyngham. I trust that that will not be too inconvenient.”
“Not at all.”
“And if you are in any doubt at all about Miss Hart—”
“She will not prevent me from coming with you.”
“You seem very certain.”
“I am.”
He nodded. “Very well. Until tomorrow morning, then. Good night, Miss Conyngham.”
“Good night, Sir Guy.”
His attention was suddenly drawn to the letter she’d written. “You’re a woman of your word, aren’t you?” he murmured.
“I like to think that I am.”
“Lieutenant Colonel Mainwaring will also be receiving a letter from me, for I too have cause to be grateful to Private Whittacker. Had it not been for him, I might have lost not one, but two people who mean a great deal to me.” He took her hand suddenly, drawing it swiftly to his lips.
She stared at him, but almost immediately he had released her hand and was walking to the door, addressing Stella as he did so. “Come on, young lady, it’s time to get you home to your bed. We’ll be rising early in the morning.”
Stella flung herself into Leonie’s arms once more, stretching up conspiratorially to her ear. “It’s going to be all right, Leonie, I have it all planned,” she whispered.
“Stella…” began Leonie uneasily, but the girl had gone, running out in Guy’s wake.
The outer door of the seminary closed behind them and silence returned to the classroom. Leonie gazed at the slowly moving candleflame, a million emotions tumbling through her. She could still feel the touch of his lips on her hand, and still hear his voice. Had it not been for him, I might have lost not one, but two people who mean a great deal to me.
Chapter 35
Leonie said nothing to Miss Hart about being invited to Poyntons; indeed she did not speak to the headmistress again before leaving the following morning. Her sudden departure caused a great stir throughout the seminary, some of her young pupils bursting into tears on being told. In the kitchens, where she spent the remainder of her last evening, everyone was very sad, especially Katy and Joseph. Guy’s carriage arrived very early, and there was still a thin mist clinging between the trees in the park. It was strange to walk out of the front door for the last time, and she couldn’t help remembering how in the past she’d often dreamed of this moment. If fate hadn’t intervened, she would be stepping down to her father’s carriage now, a bouquet of flowers and two inscribed prayerbooks in her arms, Miss Hart’s farewell words of praise ringing in her ears, and the whole school gathered to wave her off. Instead she was leaving like this, with only Katy and Joseph to say good-bye to her.
It was bitterly cold outside, but there was the promise of another fine day in the glowing sky to the east. Guy’s coachman was well wrapped against the cold, and the team of bays stamped and snorted impatiently, their breath standing out in clouds. She paused on the pavement, watching as Joseph loaded her two valises in the trunk. Two half-empty valises, that was all she had to show for all her years at the seminary…. She glanced back at the building again, in particular at her balcony and the tree growing up toward it, then she turned away forever.
Guy held his hand out to her, assisting her into the carriage, where an excited Stella sat, warmly tucked out with traveling rugs. The carriage pulled slowly away, Leonie waved to Katy and Joseph until they were out of sight, and then the carriage was turning a corner, and part of her life was over. She did not know what lay ahead; she only knew that while she was at Poyntons she would live each day as it came.
* * *
Miss Hart arose just in time to see the carriage draw away. Astonished, she stared at it, and then she rang quickly on the bell. Joseph came hurrying in. “Yes, Miz Hart?”
“Where has Miss Conyngham gone?”
“With Sir Guy and Miz de Lacey, ma’am. She’s to be a guest at his country house.”
The headmistress stared at him and then waved him away once more. She took a deep breath, wondering if she should inform anyone of this unexpected development, but then she decided not to. She had done her duty by dismissing Leonie at Dorothea’s command; the matter was now out of her hands. Besides, the only one who might expect to be informed was Imogen, and after that lady’s rudeness the other night, the headmistress no longer felt disposed to assist her in any way whatsoever.
* * *
They were nearly at Poyntons now, for the stark silhouette of Windsor Castle could be seen in the distance. The sun was high above the snow-covered countryside, where wisps of smoke rose straight from cottage chimneys and herds of cattle stood huddled together in the fields. It was bitterly cold, the trees hanging frozen over the wide road, where the passage of countless vehicles and horses had packed the snow to a smooth, glassy, dangerous surface. The carriage moved slowly, the horses picking their way carefully as they turned in between massive wrought-iron gates by a lodge. The lodge-keeper removed his hat and bowed as it passed.
They drove on between an avenue of oaks. Leonie saw deer moving near a wood, and then, at last, she saw Poyntons itself. It was a beautiful, classical mansion, with an immense portico and symmetrical wings ending in pavilions, and it stood on rising ground beyond a lake. The lake was frozen, smooth and white, and from its center rose an island on which had been built a temple of Apollo. All around, the park stretched away in serene winter beauty, and Leonie could only stare at it all in admiration, for Poyntons was surely one of the loveliest estates in the whole realm.
The carriage halted before the house, and a butler and two footmen came hurrying out to it. Guy alighted and handed Stella and then Leonie down. He held Leonie’s hand for a moment. “Welcome to Poyntons, Miss Conyngham.”
All the servants were gathered in the vast entrance hall to welcome them, and after the small staff at the seminary, Leonie felt as if she was facing an entire army. The entrance hall was quite magnificent, with pale green walls decorated with gilded plasterwork and niches with statues. A wide, sweeping double staircase rose up between great Ionic columns to a ha
lf-landing, where she could see a number of gilt-framed portraits gazing down at her. There were more statues on the landing, and guarding the foot of both staircases, and there was a roaring log fire in an immense pink marble fireplace. Before the fire lay three large hounds, and they rose to their feet immediately they saw Guy, their great paws pattering on the black-and-white-tiled floor as they too came to greet him.
The butler assisted Guy with his coat, hat, and gloves. “Welcome home, Sir Guy.”
“Thank you, Belvoir,” Guy replied, fondling the long ears of one of the hounds. “I trust all is in hand?”
“It is indeed, sir. Everything is in readiness for the arrival of the guests, and all arrangements have been made for the ball tomorrow night.”
Leonie was a little startled. The ball was tomorrow night? Somehow she’d thought of it as being some days away yet.
“Did you receive my instructions about arranging a shoot?” went on Guy. “I understand a party of gentlemen guests will be arriving fairly early tomorrow, and there must be some diversion for them.”
“The keepers have been alerted, sir, and word has been sent out all over the neighborhood. A considerable number of gentlemen have indicated their intention to attend, and so it should be an excellent day’s sport.”
“Good. Now, will you please have someone attend to my niece and Miss Conyngham? I trust you have set aside the adjoining apartments at the front of the house?”
“I have indeed, sir, just as you instructed.” The butler bowed and then beckoned forward two maids, who immediately bobbed curtsies and turned to lead Stella and Leonie toward the nearest branch of the staircase.
Stella followed them quickly as far as the half-landing, but there she stopped, thus ensuring that Leonie and the maids halted as well. The girl grinned impishly at Guy for a moment and then very deliberately began to study one of the portraits Leonie had noticed earlier, that of a very handsome young man in the full wig and lace collar of the Stuart period. “That is my ancestor, Sir Edwin de Lacey,” she said, raising her voice so that Guy was bound to hear from the hall below. “I really must ask Uncle Guy to tell you all about him, Leonie.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well—”
“Stella!” Guy’s voice echoed sternly up to them. “Not one more word, is that quite clear?”
“Oh, but—”
“That’s enough.”
“Yes, Uncle Guy,” she said meekly, but Leonie knew full well that she would return to the evidently contentious subject of the handsome Sir Edwin.
Leonie glanced curiously at the portrait again, and then followed Stella and the maids.
The adjoining apartments Guy had spoken of occupied prime positions at the front of the house, overlooking the lake. The rooms were furnished luxuriously and were very warm from the glowing fires which had been lit in every hearth. The walls were hung with silver-gray brocade, and the ceilings were richly coffered and painted. There were chandeliers, elegant chairs and sofas, some exquisitely inlaid, and the carpets had been woven especially for each individual room, the designs softly echoing the colors of their surroundings. The bedrooms were next to each other and were connected by a folding door. Stella’s bed, an immense four-poster in which she looked totally lost, was draped with crimson velvet, while Leonie’s was of golden brocade. Both sets of rooms were indeed very grand and could have been a little intimidating, but someone had thoughtfully placed bowls of flowers in each room, and somehow this seemed to make everything more personal and friendly.
Stella lay delightedly on her bed, gazing up at the intricate draperies. “I’m here again at last. What do you think of Poyntons, Leonie?”
“It’s very beautiful indeed,” replied Leonie, gazing out of the window at the island in the center of the lake.
“I knew you’d like it,” said Stella softly, an anticipatory gleam in her eyes.
* * *
Guy’s business with his agent did not take as long as expected, for the bridge was no longer causing alarm, and that afternoon, when the winter sun was just beginning to sink toward the western horizon, he took Stella and Leonie for a drive in the park.
The tracks had all been cleared in readiness for the house party, and so the light phaeton moved easily, drawn by four high-stepping chestnut horses which Guy drove with consummate ease past the frozen lake. The trees were hung with icicles which glittered like crystal in the dying sunlight as the phaeton crossed over a small Chinese bridge where a small stream flowed into the lake beneath a lacework of ice. There were rhododendrons and azaleas on either side of the track now, and great evergreen trees which soared majestically into the lilac sky, and then suddenly Leonie saw ahead, set in an Oriental garden, a beautiful pagoda, its roofs painted gold, crimson, and sapphire, its dragon carvings gazing so fiercely down that they seemed almost alive.
Stella sat forward excitedly. “Oh, please stop, Uncle Guy, I’d like to climb up and ring the chimes.”
He reined in. “All right, but don’t take a long time, it will soon be dark.” He helped her down and she ran away through the snow, disappearing into the pagoda. He turned to Leonie then. “Are you ready yet to tell me what’s wrong?”
The question caught her unawares. “There isn’t anything,” she said quickly and very unconvincingly.
“You don’t fool me, Leonie Conyngham, I can see in your eyes that you’re unhappy about something, it’s there in your expression when you think no one’s looking.” His shrewd glance seemed to peel back all the veils she’d placed so determinedly between them.
“I’d really rather not talk about it, Sir Guy.”
“Am I going to have to shake it out of you?”
She lowered her eyes. “I….”
“Yes?”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve been dismissed from the seminary. When I left there this morning, I left for the last time.”
“Where will you go?”
She didn’t reply.
“You haven’t anywhere, have you?”
“No.”
“You have now. You can stay here, as Stella’s governess.”
She stared at him, and then quickly shook her head. “Lady Imogen—”
“Cannot possibly find anything to object to in such a sensible arrangement. It’s quite obvious to me that my niece’s education is far from complete. She’s had governesses in the past and I was about to engage another one when Stella’s misconduct brought about thoughts of sending her to the seminary. You’re good for my niece, and you are in need of a roof over your head; the solution seems to me to be quite obvious. Will you think about it?”
At that moment Stella appeared at the top of the pagoda, reaching out to ring the chimes which hung from the eaves. The melodious sound rippled out over the snow-covered park.
* * *
In London, well after sunset, Edward was in the drawing room at Longhurst House, pouring himself another glass of cognac. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and then took out his fob watch. It was six, and still Imogen hadn’t returned home. He wondered if she’d already found out about Leonie Conyngham being invited to Poyntons, but then he heard her carriage entering the porch outside.
A minute or so later she came a little angrily into the room, still wearing her fur-lined cloak. “Edward, what’s the meaning of your order that my carriage is to prepare to leave immediately for Poyntons?”
“I take it that you haven’t heard, then.”
“Heard?”
He swirled the cognac. “Leonie Conyngham is there, with Guy and the brat.”
She stared at him. “If this is your idea of a jest—”
“No jest. Fact.” He leaned one pale hand against the mantelpiece, an elegant foot resting on the gleaming fender, studying her for a moment. “You may take my word for it.”
“How do you know?”
“I have my methods, in this instance a cooperative kitchen boy who has proved useful in the past. Arrangements for the visit were made last nig
ht, and Guy called for her this morning. She has, therefore, had him all to herself today.”
Imogen threw her reticule furiously onto a table. “I can’t believe it!” she breathed. “After all my efforts, the creature has actually got herself ensconced at Poyntons! Damn her! And damn Guy too!”
“Perhaps now you understand why I left orders concerning the carriage, for I imagine you’ll wish to set off immediately.” He paused. “Or maybe you feel safe leaving the two of them alone all night as well.”
“I would as soon trust you not to cheat at cards.” He bowed. “Thank you for those few kind words.” He drained the glass of cognac then. “But I forgive you—you are under something of a strain, are you not? Shall we go, then?”
“We?” She looked sharply at him.
“My dear Imogen, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“I thought you were persona non grata with Guy at the moment—at least that is what I presume from the coolness between you.”
“He is being a little disagreeable, but it will take more than that to deter me.”
“I trust you don’t expect Miss Benckendorff to join us.”
“Miss Benckendorff? My, my, it was ‘dear Nadia’ not so long ago.”
“That was before you became so smitten with her.”
He smiled. “You don’t really believe I am, do you?”
“What else am I to think? She’s been practically your only companion for a number of days now.”
“She’s unwittingly serving a purpose, that’s all.”
She relaxed a little. “A purpose? Is it something to do with your quarrel with Rupert and this wretched business at White’s?”
“Yes. Need I say more?”
She smiled then. “No, I understand perfectly. But do you really think she will settle for a future earl rather than a present duke?”
He spread his hands innocently. “She will if she believes he’s about to marry someone else. Marguerite St. Julienne, for instance.”
Imogen gave a short laugh. “Even Rupert wouldn’t go that far—the wretched creature should not go out without something over her head to stop her from frightening the horses, Besides, everyone knows that he intends marrying Nadia; he more or less admitted it at White’s.”
