by Sandra Heath
Guy’s voice spoke from the deep armchair by the fire. “Good morning, Miss Conyngham, what an early riser you are.”
She gave a gasp and dropped the cover with a clatter, whirling about. “Sir Guy! I didn’t know you were there!”
“So it seems. I thought for a moment you would jump out of your skin,” he said, folding his newspaper and rising from the chair. The sunlight had been streaming from behind him and that was why she hadn’t seen him. He came toward her, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “Shall we begin again? Good morning, Miss Conyngham.”
“Good morning, Sir Guy.” She smiled. “From what Stella said, I was expecting to be practically the last one to arrive, but it seems that I am the first.”
“From what Stella said? What, exactly, did she say?”
“That breakfast was always served early at Poyntons.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Did she indeed? Well, let me assure you that it isn’t served any earlier here than anywhere else, especially not when there are so few guests, and those there are, yourself excluded of course, are prone to lie in bed until all hours. Personally I cannot abide lolling about in the mornings, and that is why I always come down at this hour, but everyone else will come as and when they please.”
She felt a little embarrassed. “If…if I’m intruding—”
“Intruding? Far from it. I’m delighted to have your company. I usually have to sit in solitary splendor.” He smiled.
It was one of those smiles which made her heart seem almost to turn over, and she had to look quickly away, pretending to examine the contents of the domed dishes. She stepped back a little as she lifted one and the strong smell of smoked fish rose up over her.
Guy laughed a little. “I take it that kedgeree does not appeal to you this morning.”
“Nor any morning.”
“Ditto, but I fear that Lord Edward Longhurst finds it very much to his taste and so it is always served when he is here. I think I will settle for bacon and egg, what do you say?”
“Yes, I think so too.”
“But not lashings of it, as my disgusting niece would say.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Leonie, eyeing the deliciously crisp bacon.
“Miss Conyngham, I’m surprised at you,” he murmured, forking large quantities onto her plate.
“Oh, that’s more than enough!” she gasped.
“Are you sure? I realize that the country air has a diabolical effect upon town appetites.”
“Not that diabolical,” she replied, replacing some of it.
“Do you still like taking walks, Miss Conyngham?” he asked, drawing out a chair for her at the long polished table.
“Yes.”
“Then will you walk with me afterward?”
She looked quickly at him. “But what of your guests? And then there is the shoot.”
“Are you placing obstacles in my path, by any chance?”
“No. No, it’s just that I thought you would have much to do.”
“Guests are capable of arriving without me to guide them, and shoots invariably take place without my presence, I would much prefer a quiet walk with you, while there is still a little solitude here. By this afternoon it will be like Bedlam itself, I promise you.” He poured her some coffee from an elegant silver pot. “So, it is agreed that we walk together?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“So would I.”
Their eyes met for a moment, and again she had to look away.
“Miss Conyngham…Leonie…. Have you thought any more about my offer yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at him then. “I don’t think I should, Sir Guy.”
“Just ‘Guy’ will do. Why don’t you think you should?”
She took a deep breath. “Because I think I stand in the way where Lady Imogen and Stella are concerned.”
He studied her for a moment. “Is that your real reason?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think it is, but for the moment I will accept it.” His eyes moved slowly over her pale face. “But only for the moment.”
“Please…. ”
“I’m embarrassing you?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s talk of something else. Do you mind attending the ball tonight without any jewelry?”
She was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”
“It seemed to me last night that you wished you had a necklace, or a jeweled comb, something like that. Mind you, it also seemed to me that you had no need of such things, you are very beautiful without them, but I know that such things do matter. I was wondering therefore if you would like to choose something from among my mother’s jewelry.”
“I thank you most deeply, sir, but I couldn’t possibly accept.” She felt a warmth creeping over her cheeks.
“Why not? I promise you that my mother, if she were still alive, would be very cross indeed with me if I did not attend to the matter.”
“I was thinking more of Lady Imogen,” she said quietly. “She might—”
“Misinterpret?”
She colored a little more. “Something of the sort.”
“But there is nothing to misinterpret. Is there?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I don’t think there is anything more to be said, do you? The moment we’ve finished breakfast, I will take you to inspect the jewelry, you may choose what you wish to wear, and then we will go for a walk.” He smiled then. “My, how masterful I am this morning—the country air must have gone to my head as well. Eat up, if we dally much more we might run the risk of Edward Longhurst and his wretched kedgeree, and that I simply could not stomach. He is odious in the extreme, without any good quality to commend him at the best of times, but when set beside a mound of kedgeree, he’s quite beyond belief.”
She laughed. “I can quite imagine that he is.”
“So we’ll make ourselves very scarce indeed, comforting ourselves with the hope that maybe he’ll be abominably sick afterward, or maybe that he’ll take himself off on the shoot where some shortsighted fellow will mistake his elegant posterior for a pheasant and pepper him accordingly.”
“I’ll drink to that, sir,” she replied, still laughing, and raising her coffee cup in salute.
* * *
Shortly after that they left the breakfast room and Guy conducted her to the library, where his mother’s jewelry was kept in a secret place. The library was a long, narrow room lined with shelf after shelf of books and sporting a very handsome wooden gallery reached by a wrought-iron spiral staircase. The secret place was a cupboard hidden among the shelves and disguised by having false spines, purporting to be a set of rather obscure Italian poems, fixed cleverly over the door. Guy carried the key in his pocket at all times, and he took it out now to unlock the little door. Inside there was a chased-silver casket, which he took down and opened on a nearby table. It contained a magnificent collection of jewelry, some in velvet-lined boxes from exclusive London jewelers, some just loose.
Leonie’s breath caught at the beauty of some of the pieces, for they were quite exquisite, and the settings the most intricate and dainty she had ever seen, but there was one diamond necklace in particular which immediately caught her eye. She lifted it carefully out and held it up so that it caught the light from the window, flashing with all the colors of the rainbow.
“There are matching earrings,” he said, searching through the casket and taking them out.
“No, I think it is perfect on its own.”
“Try it on. Here, I’ll help you.” He took the necklace, standing before her to slip it gently around her neck and fasten it. His fingers were very warm against her skin, and she was very conscious of him. She felt the spell coiling softly around her again. She felt breathless. After a moment he paused, his hands resting where they were. He hesitated, but then slowly bent his head to kiss her on the lips. He lingered over
the kiss, his lips moving very softly, arousing every sense within her. She felt almost weightless, swept along by the heady desire which coursed through her veins. She no longer cared if he knew the truth about her love for him, and she put her arms around him, returning the kiss. He drew her closer then, his lips more urgent and demanding, and her body yielded against his.
A madness seemed to seize her for a while then; she wanted him so much that all thought of resistance was gone, and there was only a need to surrender to him, but then a cold, sober sanity settled abruptly over her and she broke away. “No!” she cried.
“Leonie—”
“No. It’s wrong. You’re going to marry Imogen and tonight there’s to be a ball to celebrate your betrothal. Soon all the guests will be here and society will be toasting your future with her. You belong to her, not to me.” She was trembling with emotion, still almost intoxicated with the sweetness of his kiss, but also so very sober because her conscience reproached her. “I must leave here. I…I will stay until tomorrow,” she said, struggling to sound more calm. “I would go today, but I know that that would disappoint Stella—she wants me to be there at her first ball. But I will leave here in the morning. Please, don’t say anything, for I think I’ve said all that should have been said.” Tears shone in her eyes, and gathering her skirts, she hurried out.
She didn’t see Edward Longhurst’s stealthy figure slip quickly out of sight behind a velvet curtain in the passage outside. He watched her hurry away toward the entrance hall, and he heard the smothered sound of her sobs, but then she had passed from his sight. He glanced back toward the library. She had left the door ajar and he could see Guy quite clearly, standing motionless, his face very pale as he closed his eyes for a moment. Then he picked up the casket and slowly replaced it in the secret cupboard.
Edward heard someone at the main door of the house, and then there were voices in the entrance hall. Footsteps approached swiftly, the heavy sound of a man’s boots, and Edward shrank back once more as Guy’s agent hurried toward the library, the damp hem of his cloak dragging on the black-and-white-tiled floor. The agent paused nervously in the doorway, as if uncertain of his reception, then took off his hat, turning it anxiously in his hands. “Sir Guy? May I have a word with you? It’s important.”
Guy turned sharply, having been so deep in thought that he’d been unaware of the man’s arrival. “Ellis? What in God’s name brings you here at this hour?”
The agent took a deep breath. “The Hartwell road bridge, sir.”
“Dammit, man, that bridge brought me down here a day early, and then you informed me that it was a false alarm and there was no need for concern after all! Am I now to take it that there is some trouble with it after all?”
“There may be, sir, but I cannot be certain, and I would feel much more at ease about it if you would examine it yourself.”
“What’s happened since yesterday, then?”
“A thaw. The ice has moved on the river and now there’s new pressure on the center piers of the bridge. I believe there’s a crack, and if there is, then the middle of the bridge might sink or even collapse completely. I’m no engineer, Sir Guy, and I might be quite wrong, and that’s why I’d be grateful if you could come and take a look.”
Guy turned exasperatedly away. The bridge was on the very far perimeter of his land and was his responsibility, and if there was any danger, then the road would have to be closed. He knew he had to go, but it was the last thing he wished to do when he had so much else on his mind, for it would take him away from the house for practically the whole day. He glanced back at the agent, nodding. “Very well, I’ll come immediately.”
“Thank you, Sir Guy.”
Edward watched as they hurried away. He heard Guy calling to the butler to have his horse brought around as quickly as possible, and then after a moment all was quiet again. He slipped from his hiding place and into the library, smiling a little as he picked up the key which he had seen Guy leave forgetfully on the table. He opened the secret cupboard and took out the casket, searching through it until he found what he was looking for, the earrings that matched the necklace Leonie had chosen. He put them quickly in his pocket, replaced the casket, and locked the cupboard once more. He left the key where he had found it on the table, then slipped out of the library as silently as he had entered it.
* * *
Leonie was in her room when she heard the sound of horses outside. She looked out in time to see Guy hurry out and mount; then he rode away across the park accompanied by his agent, whom she had seen the previous day.
Stella came quietly to stand beside her, slipping a little hand into hers. “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”
“I have to, Stella,” whispered Leonie, watching him still. “I love him too much, and now…. Now it is no longer a secret from him.”
“I thought this morning, when first you awoke and then went down to breakfast, that you wouldn’t do as Imogen ordered.”
“It isn’t because of that, it’s because I know I must go.”
Stella stared up at her. “I won’t let you leave,” she said. “I’ll make you stay here somehow!”
She ran back into her own room then and closed the folding door firmly behind her.
* * *
The carriage conveying Nadia and Dorothea to Poyntons was almost at the lodge now, having left London before dawn due to Nadia’s impatience to be with Edward again. A note from him had been delivered at the embassy the night before, having been written before he and Imogen left for Poyntons, and it left Nadia in no doubt that he intended to propose to her at the ball that night.
Dorothea was not amused by such a very early journey, for she liked to rise late and do things as and when she pleased, not at the whim of others. She sat huddled among furs, feeling cold and sour-tempered. She wore a very dark blue pelisse with a high military collar, and her hat was also in the military style, with tassels and braid. It was a very stylish outfit, but somehow it emphasized her long neck and beaky nose; many women it would have flattered, Dorothea Lieven it did not.
Nadia wore white, and as always she looked very beautiful. Her hat was of white fur, and her pelisse had the same fur on its collar, cuffs, and hem. Her hands were plunged deep into a white fur muff, and the only relief from this dazzling whiteness came from the amethyst-studded gold brooch pinned to her breast.
Dorothea gave an irritated sigh as Nadia leaned forward yet again to see if they were almost there. “Do you really believe Edward Longhurst is about to make an honest woman of you?”
“The note he sent last night—”
“Said absolutely nothing. It was a lot of words which conveyed no real information at all. He missed his vocation; he should have gone into politics.”
Nadia flushed a little. “You are just furious that Lord Palmerston was seen out last night with Lady Cowper again.”
“I’m nothing of the sort. I was tired of him anyway.”
“Really?”
“I hardly think you are in a position to throw stones, my dear, for Edward Longhurst is no safe anchoring ground, of that you may be sure.”
“I’m satisfied that before today is out I will be his wife.”
“Then you are very easily satisfied,” replied Dorothea acidly. “May I remind you that you were once equally as satisfied that the Duke of Thornbury would come up trumps?”
“I’ve heard nothing from him since he lied to me just before leaving town. Lies and silence are not the actions of an ardent lover. I’ve already forgotten him. My future now lies with Edward.”
“For your sake I trust you are right, but let me warn you of one thing. I will brook no trouble from you, I want no requests for my intervention, no embarrassing scenes, and no covert attempts to do anything to Leonie Conyngham, for in my experience covert too easily becomes overt, and I’ve risked too much already where you are concerned. I have my own reputation to consider, and it may be irreparably damaged if I pay heed to you anymore. Do
anything, anything at all, Nadia, and I will cut you, do you hear me?”
Nadia was seething with anger, “Oh yes, Dorothea,” she said icily, “I hear you. Well, you’ve served your purpose as far as I’m concerned, and now you can go to the devil.”
Dorothea quivered with fury, but she bit back any further retort and looked away. Not another word passed between the cousins as the carriage drove along the avenue of oaks toward the house. The horses kicked up slush now, and from time to time the wheels splashed through puddles. As the carriage passed the lake, there was an occasional flash of sunlight upon water, as the ice began to melt.
* * *
The noise and bustle at the front of the house drew Edward to look out. There were carriages arriving all the time now, and he saw Nadia and Dorothea alight from theirs. Close by, the shoot was gathering, a large number of men and gun dogs, and Guy’s keepers explaining the lie of the land and the sport they could all expect. But none of this activity in the foreground really caught Edward’s interest, for he quickly noticed a solitary figure in the distance, walking along the far shore of the lake. It was Leonie. He recognized her because she had flung back the hood of her cloak and the sun was shining on her silvery hair. So, he pondered, for the moment at least nothing more could happen, for she was out on her own and Guy was away somewhere inspecting bridges. Imogen had yet to be informed of the interesting events in the library, but she would be told the moment she deigned to wake up. There were times, he thought, toying with the stolen earrings in his pocket, when his sister almost deserved to lose de Lacey to the schoolteacher.
He heard the door open and close softly behind him, and he turned to see Nadia standing there, her magnificent figure outlined by the clinging folds of her white muslin gown. He smiled and held out his hand to her. She came quickly into his arms, her lips full and warm as she kissed him. Her perfume enveloped him as he drew her close. Today was the day Rupert had set for his revenge, but Rupert wasn’t even here yet. Was he still so cocksure that he thought he could turn up when he chose and produce his special license? Did he intend to make a dramatic appearance at five minutes to midnight, with a clergyman in tow, and then make sure of his revenge with barely seconds to spare? Yes, that was probably how he meant to do it, but he had reckoned without the craft of his opponent. Midnight would come and go, and Nadia Benckendorff would still not be Duchess of Thornbury, but then, nor would she be the future Countess of Wadford either…. Until the witching hour, though, she was still of interest, and in the meantime he had every intention of enjoying the charms she used so calculatingly to further her ambitions.
