In the next room, I could hear Leslie preparing for bed. And I knew, then, that I did love him. God help me, it no longer seemed to matter what he had done. And I began to fear I should lose him. I lay in bed, considering what I might do. Then, trembling at my audacity, I rose and threw off my nightdress. Instead I chose one of sheer lawn: the one I was to have worn on my wedding night. I moved quietly to the connecting doors, a candle in my still-trembling hand. All was quiet in Leslie’s room. I prayed he were already asleep that I might slip into his bed and then waken him. I could not have traversed the distance under his piercing gaze. Swallowing, I silently unbolted my door and stepped through to his. I turned the handle. And found the door bolted from the other side. I could not believe this and tried, quietly but frantically, to open the door. It would not open, and I could no longer doubt he had bolted it as I had mine. In disbelief and hurt pride, I retreated to my room and bolted my own door. Sitting on my bed, head swimming, I tried to understand. Only one thought was clear: he did not want me! He did not want me. And I began to cry.
Chapter 18
I did not sleep that night, but considered carefully my position. By the hour Ellen brought my morning tea, I had made my decisions. I wore, again, my usual nightdress and the fine one of lawn was back in its place. I was determined no one would know of my attempt or of my newfound feelings for Leslie, feelings I had finally come to accept. I loved Leslie. In the cold light of dawn, I could face that fact. But I had come too late to such a point. For Leslie had clearly embarked on a course that did not include me save in the most formal sense. I had too much pride to try to move him from it. No, again I deceived myself. No pride could have stopped me had I only been able to see how to reach him. But I could not expose myself to his contempt. I should continue as before unless, or until, I had cause to believe he had altered his feelings. Ellen’s calm voice drew me from my reverie. “My lady, are you well? You seem tired and a bit pale.”
I smiled, wanly at first, then more firmly. “I am fine, Ellen. I shall wear my favourite green muslin this morning.”
“Yes, my lady.”
I was soon dressed and could no longer postpone my descent to table. Leslie was already seated but looked up quickly as I entered the room. For a moment he merely regarded me quizzically, then he spoke. “Peter informs me, Heather, that it was you who left a pair of gloves with him. Intended for me.”
I spoke coolly, afraid that I should betray my emotions. “Why, so I did, Leslie. They caught my fancy and I thought you might like them.”
He continued to eye me carefully, and to cover my confusion, I bent over my plate. “Indeed?” he said evenly, “well I do. You needn’t have troubled yourself, however.”
I blushed, feeling unwell at the odd note of irritation in his voice. Again, I took refuge in coolness. “ ’Twas no trouble, I assure you.”
He watched me a moment longer, then stood, tossing his napkin to the table. When he spoke, the edge to his voice was sharper. “I see. Well, if you intend to pursue such habits—that is to say, purchasing all that catches your fancy—I suppose I must replenish your purse. No doubt it has grown light of late.”
He made a soft sound of contempt and turned, clearly intending to leave the room. I rose saying, “Leslie! Wait ... I...”
But my voice was too soft and he would not or could not hear me. I sank back into my seat, knowing I was so far from the love I wanted between Leslie and myself. I ate mechanically, without noting what I was served. It was Sunday and I knew, save for family, I should be safe from callers and I determined to seek refuge in the library, where I had so often found it before.
The room was empty, and I curled up into a chair. My book was one I had begun days before. But today the words seemed to dance on the page and would not be still. My frustration grew, aided by the lack of sleep I was now beginning to feel. Then a footman came to announce a caller. “Who is it, William?” I asked, helpless to eliminate the petulance from my voice.
“Lady Anne,” was the ominous reply.
With resignation, I rose and followed William to the morning room. There stood Lady Anne, the most formidable of Leslie’s aunts. “Good day, my lady,” I said.
She stepped forward to greet me. “Nonsense, child! There is no need for such formality between us. You are to call me Anne. And how are you enjoying your first taste of society?”
I smiled as we both seated ourselves. “Very much. Everyone has been kind and there are so many invitations it is difficult to choose between them.”
“Kind?” she exclaimed tartly. “Beware of kindness, Heather. In women it usually hides a pair of sharp claws! They are kind only until they’ve some fault to charge against you. Then beware!”
I suppressed a smile and asked as gravely as I could, “Are the men also like that?”
She gave me a sharp look. “No, of course not. But there are other dangers. Now, I presume you are to be presented?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Very proper.” Again the sharp glance. “Though I hope you are not too proper. I find such women unutterably boring!”
I laughed. “You need not fear on that score! Leslie’s sister Mary has more than once chided me for...”
I broke off, seeing a glint in Lady Anne’s eye. Her voice was dangerously soft, as Leslie’s could be at times. “And how have you displeased Lady Mary?”
I chose the least dangerous response I could think of. “I delivered a baby.”
“By yourself?”
“No, no,” I said hastily. “There was a midwife also. The mother was one of Leslie’s tenants. Her husband was off to market and she was alone. So I sent Leslie for the midwife and stayed myself.”
Ann’s laughter rang out loudly for several moments. Then, wiping her eyes, she said, “Yes, I can see that should have distressed Mary. I like you, child. But I trust you are more discreet in Town?”
“Oh, yes,” I said wryly. “I am discreet when it is necessary to be so.”
She nodded approvingly. “Good. Now tell me about the ball.”
“The ball?” I asked.
“The ball!” she retorted impatiently. “At my age, it isn’t considered fitting to attend unless one is sponsoring a granddaughter or something. But I have not yet lost my taste for such things. Who were the musicians? Who was there? What did Lady Pontworth’s daughter look like? Whom did you dance with?”
I answered her questions as best I could. It was painful, for I could not erase from my mind the picture of Leslie with the duchess. When I thought we had finally done with the matter of the ball, Lady Anne asked, “Was the Duchess of Carston there?”
I jumped. As I answered, my voice sounded strained even to my ears, “Yes, she was.”
“Still setting her cap for Leslie?” she demanded. I blushed and she took that as an answer, for she muttered, “My nephew is a gudgeon!”
I raised my chin and said coldly, “He found her attentions rather wearying, I think.”
Anne nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s the tone to take. With Leslie as well.”
“Would you care for some tea?” I asked, still speaking coolly.
“No, child. I must be leaving.” As we both stood she tilted her head. “I shall see you again.”
I rang for William to escort her out, then sank back into a chair. Everyone seemed to know about the duchess. Not feeling well, I retreated to my room, informing Ellen I would take my meals there. She thought it odd, of course, and asked anxiously over my health until I bluntly dismissed her. I tried to read, but with no greater success than in the library. Nor could I sleep. Leslie came to my room that afternoon. “Heather?” he said as he entered. “Are you ill?”
“I ... a little,” I confessed.
His dark eyes roamed over my face until I felt he must read my thoughts. “My aunt was here this morning, the servants tell me,” he said frowning. “Did she disturb you?”
“No.” Then more firmly: “No, of course not. We dealt famously with each other.”
>
His eyebrows were raised. “Indeed? I never found her an easy woman.”
“Ah, but you are not female,” I parried.
Leslie frowned again, pacing back and forth. He, too, seemed aware of the change in how we answered one another. But neither would he speak of it. Then, remembering, he paused. “I saw your father at White’s, this morning. He begs you will call upon Lady Phyllis tomorrow. The two of you are to begin preparations for your presentation. If you are still ill, I shall have a note sent round, explaining you cannot go.”
“Oh, I shall be well enough,” I said quickly.
Leslie regarded me. “Indeed? You seem very sure.”
I flushed at the sound of sharp suspicion in his voice. I could almost read his thoughts, considering and discarding possibilities. When he spoke, it was caustically. “You are neither pale nor unduly flushed, madam, save at passing moments. Ellen informs me your appetite is undiminished. You inform me you know you will be well tomorrow. I must conclude your illness is a convenient means of avoiding someone. And there can be only one person you mean to avoid, since you need only ask the servants to inform callers you are not at home. That person must be myself. Very well, madam, I shall not inflict my presence on you. You may safely roam the house and take your meals at table. I shall be out all day.”
And night? I wondered. Close to tears, I tried to speak but could not. In his presence, I was helpless. His face dark with anger, Leslie strode from the room, the door slamming behind him. A few moments later I heard him shouting for his phaeton. And then he was gone, careless of the pace he set his horses. And I? I softly cried.
He kept his word and did not return until midnight. I know, for I sat with my needlework waiting for the sound of his voice in the room next to mine. Ellen vainly tried to convince me to take myself to bed before then. But I would not and dismissed her, saying I would tend to myself that night. Though the evening was warm, I shivered often. Sleep was elusive and came in fits. And my pillow was wet when I woke the next day.
Leslie rose as I entered the dining room. “I am happy to see you in better health,” he said bitterly. “If it is to continue, I had best absent myself, hadn’t I.”
This time I found voice. “No, Leslie ... please stay!”
He hesitated, then seated himself, regarding me warily. Suddenly he smiled wryly. “Ah, yes, I have it. Your purse is sadly flat and you need to ask for funds.” He drew a pouch from his pocket. “Very well, here is—”
“I don’t want your horrid money!” I cried out, and promptly burst into tears.
Leslie slowly set down the pouch. He walked over’ and tilted up my chin. “Heather?” he asked, quietly, “What’s wrong?”
His voice was almost tender, and at its sound, the tears came more freely. He handed me his handkerchief as I searched in vain for mine. At that moment, William entered the room. I hid my face as he spoke. “My lady, a gentleman wishes to see you. A Mr. Reginald Crewes. He begs you will forgive the earliness of his visit.”
Leslie stood very still, his face dark with anger. “Now I understand, madam! Well, I will be reasonable in all other demands. But not that!”
And then he was gone, leaving William staring at me, openmouthed. I strove to speak calmly. “Please tell Mr. Crewes I am not at home, William. And you may inform him that should he call again, no matter when, I shall not be at home.”
William was again in control of himself, though I fancied I saw relief in his face. “Very well, my lady.”
And I was left to myself, unable to eat, but afraid to leave the privacy of the room until I should be calmer. Soon I slipped upstairs and sent Ellen for cold water. I bathed my face with it but would not answer her anxious queries. Soon she stopped asking. Silently she helped me change dresses, for mine was wet with tears. Unable to bear the house any longer, I pulled on my gloves and hat and called for the barouche to take me to my father’s town house.
Fortunately Lady Phyllis was also an early riser and she greeted me warmly. “How I shall enjoy myself!” she said. “I confess I have always thought it would be great fun to bring out a daughter. Now at the least, I shall have be able to present one!” In spite of myself, I smiled. “That’s better,” she said frankly. “Never look as though you have been crying ... even if you have. Always smile. Now, to business. Is your carriage outside? Good, I feared you might have sent it home, and Robert is using ours. We are off, at once, to Mademoiselle Suzette to arrange for your gown. The earlier we arrive the longer we shall be able to have her for ourselves. Come along, dear.”
Feeling rather as though I were embarking on an adventure, I followed Lady Phyllis to the barouche. As we moved from the house she nodded approvingly. “The carriage is well sprung. I wish ours were as good. Well, never mind. How did you enjoy the ball?”
By now the pain was only a dull ache. “Oh, ’twas quite exciting,” I replied.
She looked at me shrewdly. “I ought to warn you, Heather, it will be an on-dit if you dance with any man more than with Leslie.”
“Mr. Crewes?”
“Mr. Crewes,” she confirmed. “Oh, you need not fear. In this case, your attentiveness to Leslie after was well marked. By all except, perhaps, Mr. Crewes. And therein lies the danger. He may feel you have encouraged his attentions and try to call and further his position with you.”
I sighed. “He ... he called this morning. I have given orders that I am not at home—ever—should he call.”
Phyllis nodded. “Excellent. Oh, do not frown so, Heather. ’Tis no great matter, I assure you. Ah, we are here. Smile!” I obeyed her, though I had little heart for it. The coachman was instructed to call at three and we swept into the shop. I doubted we should need so many hours, but Lady Phyllis proved to be correct. We would have fifteen or twenty minutes with Mademoiselle Suzette, and then she would be called away for twice again as long. At some point, a nuncheon was brought and we ate with hearty appetites. Between times, however, Lady Phyllis set herself to lecture me on the delicate matter of court etiquette.
I also tried to somehow talk with her about Leslie. And about marriage. But she misunderstood my veiled questions and spoke instead about herself and my father. There was amusement in her voice as she said, “Robert? Oh, of course he loves me. But he doesn’t know it. He thinks us a quiet, rational couple ruled by reason and not emotions. And I? I have loved him passionately. Ever since I was a young girl. But I was wise enough never to let him know it. It would have frightened him. Therefore I have let him believe I felt only a comradely affection. And above all, I have never allowed him to see my jealousy, even when I felt I should die of it. And in time he came to love me, even if he doesn’t know it.”
I was silent, wondering if this were the course I, too, must take. I considered Lady Phyllis’s understanding to be superior and yet, our cases were not the same. For there had never been a question of Lady Phyllis fulfilling her wifely duty. Was it an unpleasant task I was well saved from, as Mary would have me believe? Lady Phyllis did not seem to feel it such a burden. And I? I wanted Leslie’s arms around me, holding me close. But more? I did not know.
And then it was over. All the fitting and choosing done with. And it was a little after three. Our barouche was waiting, and we stopped first at my father’s town house. As she stepped out of the carriage Phyllis exacted a promise to visit her again soon. “I know,” she said, “that there is not so very much more to be done to prepare you, but Robert will feel reassured if he sees you often at our home. And I confess, I enjoy your company.”
“I will come,” I assured her.
Then I was alone in the barouche and the horses swept away from the curb. I was no closer to an answer to my problems: indeed, I was more confused. And yet, Lady Phyllis’s calm could not but affect me. I was now less afraid of disgracing myself with tears when next I saw Leslie. But he was not home when I returned. Quietly I stripped off my gloves and removed my bonnet as I climbed to my chamber. Ellen was waiting and I told her I would rest before t
ea. But peace was as elusive as ever.
We met over the evening meal, Leslie and I. He was cool and distant, as though I were a stranger. I was not well enough to care, though I had not dared anger Leslie by refusing to dine at table. Yet I could not hide the occasional spasm of pain that caught me unaware. After one of these, I looked at Leslie to find him staring at me. “You have spilt your wine,” he said quietly. “Is something wrong?”
I blushed. I could not explain, even if he were my husband. I shook my head, but was betrayed by another spasm. Leslie’s hand gripped my wrist. His voice was soft but harsh. “I have asked a question, madam. I expect an answer. Come ... the truth, this time. What is wrong?”
I tried to smile and would again have denied it, but his hand closed tighter. “Oh, very well. ’Tis just the ... the time ... of ... month. I ... am late and ... there is more trouble than usual.”
His hand released my wrist. He signalled for a footman to refill my glass. “Drink it!” he ordered. “It will help.”
I obeyed and indeed did feel a little easier. I even managed a creditable smile. He nodded. “Good. But why the devil did you come down to table if you felt unwell?”
I replied hesitantly. “I feared you would misunderstand and grow angry.”
Our voices were low, but still Leslie dismissed the servants before he replied. Then it was with a mixture of chagrin and exasperation that he said, “Heather ... I never meant to frighten you. Had you told me the cause of your indisposition, I should have understood.”
An Improper Companion Page 24
