Turning his attention to the boy he said, “You did well, Tom, and should be proud of your quick thinking. Perhaps you should accompany Miss Waverly to the Castle. I predict she will have difficulty walking with those wet skirts.”
Tenbury turned his horse and cantered off in the direction of the stables.
When his lordship’s valet was summoned to lay out dry clothing, he exclaimed at Lord Tenbury’s condition.
“What happened, my lord?”
“I have been rescuing a damsel in distress, Hadley, but I fear most of the distress has been mine.”
“How is that, sir?”
“I am, as you see, soaked to the skin. I have ruined these buckskins and most likely this shirt as well. But most distressing of all, I have missed an opportunity to race my Orion against Lady Constance’s black gelding.”
“I can see how you could feel cheated, my lord,” Hadley replied, handing Tenbury a towel with which to dry himself. “But these situations often have compensations. Surely the lady you rescued has pledged her undying gratitude?”
“On the contrary, Hadley. The lady, I regret to say, did not even thank me.”
Chapter 8
When Tenbury finished dressing, he went downstairs to the library. It would be some time before the riding party returned; he felt no desire whatsoever to join them.
He took a newspaper to his favorite armchair near the windows, yet found his thoughts too troubled to concentrate. He was trying to imagine the Duke of Chadwicke’s reaction had Miss Waverly managed to drown herself today. Tenbury knew the duke well enough to know that no excuse would be acceptable if any harm came to the woman while she was in Tenbury’s care.
“She is a plaguey nuisance,” he mumbled, then mentally counted the days till the end of his responsibility for her. Her accusation that he dealt unfairly from a position of strength rankled, but he was far from willing to admit she could be right.
He was still in the library half an hour later when laughter sounded in the hall outside before the doors opened to admit Jack and Anne. Their merriment ceased abruptly as Tenbury rose from his chair.
Anne had changed her sodden gown for one of soft blue. Since her hair was wet, she had gathered it simply with a broad ribbon at the nape; it hung in damp waves down her back.
“You see, Jack, that you were wrong,” she said uncomfortably. “We did meet someone.”
“Only Tenbury,” Jack answered irreverently.
“We came down the back stairs,” Anne explained, “certain we would meet no one. I apologize—”
“There is no need,” Tenbury cut her short. “I am not offended by loose hair. It is rather lovely, in fact.”
“So I told her,” Jack agreed. “When she said it would take hours to dry, I told her it would be silly to sit in her room on such a day.” Walking to the long windows that opened onto the terrace, he set one slightly ajar, allowing the warm breeze to invade the room.
As Jack walked away, Anne took a few steps closer to Tenbury and said quietly, “I failed to thank you earlier for helping me; you must think me rag-mannered.”
“I think you were overwrought at the moment, ma’am. One can be forgiven certain lapses at such a time.”
“You are generous, sir. Nevertheless, I should like you to know that I appreciated your help.”
“To a point.”
She looked past him to where Jack, seemingly ignoring them, had taken up Tenbury’s newspaper. “You are right. I do not like people to do for me what I am capable of doing myself.”
“And you are most capable, Miss Waverly, are you not?”
She drew herself up. “I like to think I am.”
“Then I suggest that if you intend to pursue boating, you should learn first to swim. It is a skill everyone should possess. If you will excuse me, it is time I dressed for dinner.”
When he had gone, Anne and Jack talked together for nearly an hour before she excused herself to go speak with Mrs. Saunders. She was dressing for dinner as well.
“Do you remember the day at the stream when you offered to teach me to swim?” Anne asked.
“Yes, of course.”
“Were you in earnest?”
Arelia turned from a perusal of her hair in the looking glass to confront Anne directly. “Certainly, I was. Why? Do you wish to learn?”
“Yes. Very much.” Anne then related the incident with Thomas at the lake. Arelia paled at the telling.
“My dear Miss Waverly,” she said, when Anne had finished. “You could have drowned.”
“I suppose I could have just after we capsized. But Tom was so clever. The moment my head came above water, he was there to grasp my hand and lead it to the boat. Once I had hold of it, believe me, I had no intention of letting go. We were far from shore, and Tom could see I was terrified, so he swam back and ran for help. He was so brave; I am proud of him.”
“No less am I, and so I shall tell him.”
“Lord Tenbury told him he had done exactly as he ought.”
“That should have pleased Tom,” Arelia approved. “Tenbury is as close to a father as the boy is ever likely to have.”
“Why do you say so? You might marry again.”
“Perhaps. But I have found there is a problem when you have been happily married to a good man. Even though you do not wish to, you find yourself comparing each suitor to what you had before. Invariably they are found lacking.” In an abrupt change of topic, something Anne had learned to expect of Mrs. Saunders, Arelia said, “When shall we begin the lessons? If it is as warm tomorrow as it was today, we will meet at the stream. I am engaged to ride with Lord Wilmington after luncheon. Shall we say two o’clock?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she forged ahead. “I must warn the children to stay away. It will be our private time. All right?”
“Yes. It would be wonderful; if you are certain you can leave your friends.”
“I love to swim. And I must admit I am already tiring of our guests. It will be good to get away from them. But there is one other thing. If I am to teach you to swim, then I think you must cease to call me Mrs. Saunders.”
“But you are my employer.”
“I am. But I also like to think I am your friend. I would be pleased if you would use my given name, and delighted if I could use yours—as Jack does.”
Ann blushed as she explained. “He refused to allow me to call him Mr. Saunders. So I called him sir, until he finally shouted at me, ‘Must you call me sir with every sentence? Call me Jack. Everyone calls me Jack. And I will call you Anne.’ And he refused to listen to any argument.”
Arelia smiled. “Then I will call you Anne as well, and now I must go, or I will be late for dinner.”
Anne went slowly back to her own room, hoping the following day would be a fine one. Having faced her fear of carriages, and feeling she was well on her way to overcoming her difficulties with them, she was eager to tackle her incompetence in water.
The next day proved warmer. Anne and Arelia met at the appointed time and at Arelia’s suggestion stripped down to their chemises in order to have maximum mobility in the water. “There is no one to see, and even if someone did happen along, we are decent enough in these so long as we stay in the water.”
Anne knew this to be true. In the water they were decently covered. Once out of the water, however, she hurried to reclaim her dress, for a wet chemise adhering to the skin was considerably revealing. After the first day, when she had been anxious for fear they might be seen, Anne relaxed somewhat, and by the third lesson she had gained enough confidence to sit with Arelia in the sun until their underclothes were dry. Only then would they resume their stays and gowns and return to the Castle.
Anne recognized that her “lessons” were far from what she considered a lesson should be. Much of the time she and Arelia were together they would simply talk, or paddle playfully in the water. Yet she realized that as the days passed she was actually learning.
If she wanted an example of a proper lesson,
she had only to sit in on one of Mr. Pearce’s sessions with Thomas. Not only was the man adept at dealing with children, he was an accomplished teacher and a brilliant scholar as well. Often, when the children were finished for the day, he and Anne talked for hours about the history and literature they both loved. She soon learned that his grasp of the classics was almost as broad as her father’s had been; he soon learned that she could step in and take over his Latin lesson with Thomas if need be. He was continually amazed at the scope of her education.
“I have never known a woman who could do more than quote a few words in Latin. You should be proud of your knowledge of the language.”
“I do well enough. Yet I believe I would trade some of my proficiency in language for a tiny bit of musical talent. I have started Belinda on the pianoforte, but it will not be long before she knows as much as I do.”
“Perhaps I could help,” he offered. “I play.”
She looked her surprise. “You do?”
“Yes. Does Belinda like music? Will she practice?”
“I believe so. She has set to with a will on the simple things I have given her so far. How is it that you learned to play?”
“My mother played beautifully,” he said. “I remember many an evening as a young boy, listening to her until I fell asleep in one of the big chairs near the parlor fire. When my sisters took lessons, I asked to take them, too. Neither of my parents objected. When I went away to school, I continued to study.”
“Will you play for me sometime?”
“I do not know how appropriate it would be.”
“We need not use the pianoforte in the drawing room. There is another at the far end of the east wing. Did you not know? It was placed there to keep monotonous practice from bothering the family and guests. It is almost as fine an instrument as the other and is perfectly tuned.”
From the day Mr. Pearce learned of the pianoforte in the remote corner of the Castle, he often went there in his spare time to play, while Anne occasionally followed to sit and listen. His was a talent she had always jealously coveted, but one for which she had no gift. She had often of an evening heard the ladies singing and playing after dinner for the assembled company. All their efforts paled into insignificance when compared with the exceptional talent of Mr. Pearce.
The warm days of early summer passed pleasantly for Anne. She enjoyed her governess duties and the time she spent with both Mr. Pearce and Jack. She shared adventures with the children. She continued to read to Lady Tenbury and had intimate discussions with Arelia that were like nothing she had ever experienced, for she had never had a close female friend near her own age.
One fine, clear morning she and Belinda finished their lessons early. They planned to ride with Mrs. Saunders before luncheon, so she could see for herself how Belinda’s horsemanship was improving. When they arrived at the stables, however, they were greeted by an apologetic Murdock. He had Belinda’s pony and Mrs. Saunders’s mare saddled and ready, but Anne’s horse was still in his stall.
“I doubt you will be wanting to take him out, Miss Waverly,” the groom said. “He is winded and has been hard used.”
They all stood beside the loose box that housed Anne’s brown gelding. He was heavily sweated over the neck and shoulders and in the flank. As he turned in the stall, a row of welts were visible on his near side.
Anne drew in her breath in dismay while Arelia exclaimed, “What is the meaning of this, Murdock? This horse has been cruelly spurred. Who is responsible?”
“’Twas Lady Constance, ma’am. Her black came in lame yesterday, and she ordered me to saddle Miss Waverly’s gelding for her this morning. I told her Miss Waverly was needing the horse herself, but she made little of that. Said she would have him back in plenty of time. I was not sure what I must do, ma’am. I had orders from his lordship to do as his guests asked, within reason. Her ladyship being such a bruising rider, I never imagined she would treat a horse so. She never did so to her black. Though I have seen her wear the spur, there has been never a mark on him, I swear.”
Anne spoke for the first time. “She would have no need to spur the black, Murdock. He is a horse of great spirit. Brun is only an old friend. My father bought him for his temperament, not his speed. Though he is always willing, he has never been fast nor particularly strong. No doubt her ladyship found him a lackluster mount.”
She had moved into the stall and was gently stroking the neck of her weary, mistreated horse. Although Anne was distressed, she did not feel she had any right to criticize one of Lord Tenbury’s guests. Arelia was not so circumspect. When Tenbury rode into the stable yard a few minutes later, she beckoned him to them and wasted no time in giving her opinion of Lady Constance’s behavior.
“It is unforgivable, Tenbury. She had no right even to take the horse without permission, but to abuse him is the outside of enough.”
After he had inspected the horse carefully, Tenbury said, “I think with a few days rest and some light exercise he will be fine. There should be no scarring from the spur, although I agree its use was ill-advised. Saddle Zephyr for Miss Waverly, Murdock. She has not been out for a few days and could use the exercise.” Then to Anne he added, “It is sometimes hard to break her cleanly from a walk to a canter, but otherwise she is easy to handle. You will have no problem with her. I promise you nothing like this will happen again.”
Tenbury followed Murdock to another stall where the groom began saddling a handsome chestnut. They spoke quietly for a few moments before Tenbury left the stables.
Anne enjoyed her ride on the well-mannered mare, and Arelia was impressed by the progress Belinda had made. Toward the end of their ride heavy clouds moved in quickly, and they barely made it home in time to avoid a drenching.
The rain continued throughout the day. Anne kept to her room and the schoolroom, but by evening found herself restless. She went downstairs to the library and found Jack there.
“The weather has driven all of Arelia’s guests indoors,” he complained. “This afternoon I narrowly escaped being a fourth at Mrs. Overset’s whist table. Tonight it is silver loo!”
“Poor Jack. Shall I read to you from where Tom interrupted us yesterday? It was Ben Jonson, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. Something about drinking.”
She scowled at him. “It was not about drinking. It was metaphorical.”
“Whatever you say. Though by now you should know you are wasting your time. You will never improve my mind; it is past hope.”
She ignored him and began where they had left off:
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I’ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.”
“More about kissing,” Jack said when she had finished. “It seems everything we read lately has to do with kissing. What was that line the other day? ‘Give me a kiss and to that kiss a score,’ and so on into the hundreds, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“And then there was that piece of Swift,” he continued. “How did it go?”
“ ‘Lord, I wonder what fool it was that first invented kissing!’ ” Anne quoted.
“Yes, that was it,” Jack agreed. “Have you ever noticed how much is written about kissing?”
Anne nodded. “I never thought much about it in classic literature, but even in novels there seems to be a great deal.”
“You read novels?” he asked.
“Your mother lent me several of hers.”
“My mother reads novels?”
“Yes. Should she not?”
“I suppose she may if she likes. I just never thought … Why is it, do you think, that one can never imagine one’s parents being passionate? You know—kissing, and so forth?”
“I don’
t know, but you are right. If I try to think of my father in that light … it seems quite ridiculous. Though I must admit, I am not much of an authority on passion and such.”
“Nor am I.”
“You must at least know about kissing,” she insisted. “You have certainly done some.”
“Of course, I have … some. Haven’t you?”
“No. None … never. There was never anyone. At least, no one who ever tried.”
“Do you wish there had been?”
“Truthfully? Yes. It is rather depressing to read year after year about passion, kissing in particular, and not have the slightest notion what it’s like. It is even more disheartening to think I may live my whole life and never have the experience.”
“I find that difficult to believe,” he said.
“Why do you? I’m twenty-eight years old, Jack. I’m not likely to marry. So—”
“If you would like, I could.”
“Could what?”
“Kiss you.”
“Kiss me?”
“Yes, if you like. I’m not an expert, but I have done my share.” He moved his hand to the side of her face, gently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “I think I should rather like to kiss you. It would be an honor. Could we dispense with these spectacles?” he asked, as he gently removed them and set them aside.
“I need them for reading—”
“We won’t be reading just now.”
Their eyes met as his fingers slid to cup her chin and turn her face up to his. His mouth was warm and tender, and she knew in that first instant that kissing deserved all the praise it received inside literature and out. It was wonderfully unique—an indefinable sensation unparalleled by anything she had ever experienced before. As her untrained lips parted beneath the pressure of his, his kiss deepened and his hands moved against her back, pulling her closer.
This idyll was brutally interrupted by Tenbury’s brusque voice from the doorway, “It’s past your bedtime, Jack, is it not?”
The couple drew apart. Neither of them spoke and Tenbury soon continued, “When I gave you freedom of the house, Miss Waverly, I did not expect you would forget your place in it.”
Lois Menzel Page 8
