Jack rose to his feet, a flash of anger in his eyes. “There is no call for that remark, Nate. You have not the least notion of what is happening here.”
Tenbury answered with a sarcastic smile. “Au contraire, my dear brother. It is quite obvious.”
Anne rose to leave, knowing it would be impossible for her to voice a reasonable explanation of their behavior in the face of Tenbury’s disapproval. She had best leave it to Jack to explain.
Jack took her arm to detain her. “You need not go.”
“I wish to.”
He smiled. “Very well. But don’t forget your book.”
As he held it out to her, she hesitated. “It is his lordship’s.”
“Tenbury won’t miss it,” Jack insisted. “Take it with you. I will see you tomorrow. I enjoyed our talk tonight.”
When she was gone, he turned on his brother. “Why do you treat her so? She is as well born as we.”
“Only on her father’s side. Her mother’s family included any number of dirty dishes. Truly, Jack, don’t you think she is a trifle old for you?”
“Are you interested in hearing an explanation of what you saw?” Jack parried.
“I am sure any explanation you had to offer would be vastly amusing, but I don’t need you to explain a scene a child could understand.”
Jack turned away and strode angrily toward the door. Tenbury’s next comment stopped him with his hand on the latch. “I only intend to say this once, Jack. I will not have any dependent under my roof abused, coerced, or deceived by a member of my family.”
Jack’s only answer was to slam the door, leaving his brother alone in the library.
What was Jack playing at? Tenbury wondered. Despite his warning, he had never considered his younger brother the kind of man who would take advantage of a governess’s vulnerable position within the household. But if not flirtation, then what? Could Jack’s intentions be honorable? Miss Waverly was four years older than Jack … but still … Tenbury could only hope that the Duke of Chadwicke would conclude this business promptly before the situation with Miss Waverly grew any more complex.
Chapter 9
The rain persisted through the night and into the next day. Arelia stopped in the schoolroom as Anne and Belinda were finishing their lessons.
“I should like you to bring Belinda to the drawing room tonight after dinner,” Arelia said. “Several of our guests have asked after her, so I thought she should put in an appearance. She need not stay long.”
“I shall be happy to bring her down. Is there anything special you would like her to wear?” Anne asked.
“Perhaps the pink, with the lace ruching?”
“She looks well in that,” Anne agreed.
Arelia soon left and made her way toward the housekeeper’s room via one of the narrow back stairways. On the first floor landing she paused, cocking her head to one side as she listened attentively. Barely perceptible strains of music drifted on the still air. Forgetting the housekeeper and the menus for the moment, Arelia moved down the corridor toward the little-used east wing of the Castle. The volume of the music increased as she advanced. It was soon discernible as a piano sonata, a piece unfamiliar to her, yet as beautiful as any she had ever heard.
She paused at the closed door of the room, not wishing to disturb the pianist. Yet as she listened to the well-executed piece, she became more and more curious to know which of her guests possessed such proficiency. She opened the door silently, regarding her son’s tutor with almost equal amounts of amazement and admiration.
Mr. Pierce was deeply immersed in his music, yet something made him glance up, then stop playing abruptly as he saw Mrs. Saunders standing there. He pushed back the bench and rose. Her lemon-yellow gown seemed to bring daylight into the darkly paneled room. He had the fanciful impression that her golden hair was itself a ray of sunshine.
She advanced immediately to protest. “No! Please don’t stop. It is marvelous! I have never heard it before.”
“It’s Mozart. A lesser-known piece.”
“And more difficult to play than some,” Arelia added. “Please sit down,” she encouraged. “I will sit myself, then you may be comfortable.” She perched on the edge of a nearby chair. “I would love to listen to the end. Unless you had rather not have an audience?”
One look at her appreciative face was enough to tell him she was sincere, so he reseated himself and picked up the piece where he had left off.
She sat silently. The one time he glanced at her she had her eyes closed, her head leaning back against the chair.
He finished with a flourish and, as the vibrations of the last chord died away, Arelia leaped to her feet, clapping her hands as an exuberant audience of one.
“Wonderful! Wonderful! What a splendid gift you have. Why have you never mentioned it? Do you come here often?”
Typically, Arelia’s comments and questions came too quickly for the listener to reply to them all. Mr. Pearce did as most people did in conversation with her—he answered the last question she asked.
“I have been coming a few days only, for I only recently learned from Miss Waverly that this instrument was here. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Of course not. Why should I mind? I only wish you would play in the drawing room where there would be more ears to hear you. You have only the mice for an audience here.”
“How can we know they are not appreciative?” he asked.
She smiled. “How, indeed? While I have the opportunity, I have been wishing to speak with you … about Tom.”
“Yes?”
“I want to thank you for the miracle you have wrought in him, for it is little short of that, I assure you.”
“I don’t understand, ma’am.”
“I must tell you truthfully, sir, that I had little confidence you could do any better with Tom than all the others.”
“All the others?”
“The other tutors who came before you. Surely Tenbury told you of them?”
“His lordship told me he needed a tutor for his nephew. He said the boy had been sent down for a series of pranks and what the school termed an ‘uncooperative attitude.’ ”
“He did not tell you about the other tutors? How like Tenbury. There were six of them—six highly qualified men who could do nothing with Tom. They all quit; several informed me that my son was the most trying student they had ever encountered.”
“Lord Tenbury did say Tom was having difficulty accepting his father’s death … that he refused to apply himself.”
“We kept him out of school more than six months after Henry died,” Arelia said. “Then he asked to go back, but he never settled in. This unusual behavior began … the mischief … so unlike him.”
“Grief is a strong emotion and can exhibit itself in many ways,” Pearce offered. “The period of mourning a loved one is different for everyone. What of you? Do you mourn your husband still?”
At first taken aback by the question, Arelia realized that somewhere in the midst of the conversation, Mr. Pearce had gone from tutor to clergyman. She found she did not mind as she tried to answer truthfully. “Yes. I suppose I do. I can talk about him now, with Jack and Tenbury, and the countess. I could not do so for a long time. Tenbury had to tell Tom and Belinda when the news first came. I could not do it. Could not bring myself to say the words ‘your father is dead.’ Even now, after all this time, they are still painful.”
She was looking down, clasping her hands tightly. He stepped close and said quietly, “Tom has those same feelings—loved his father as you did, misses him as you do. His belief that lives are wasted by war convinced him that his father had died in vain, that his life was forfeited with no reward. I think now that he is older, he is starting to understand why a soldier becomes a soldier, and why wars can be necessary. Perhaps that is why his attitude and his work are improving.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked.
“Say the things you could not say t
hree years ago. Tell him about the pain and the loss you feel, then perhaps he will share his feelings with you.”
She smiled at him, unshed tears making her blue eyes glisten. “You have given me good advice; I shall try to follow it. I will leave you now so you may return to your music. Perhaps I can come another time … to listen.”
He nodded as he walked her to the door. “Please do. You are always welcome.”
Arelia walked down the corridor until it turned. Then she stopped and waited. Within a few moments Mr. Pearce began to play again. This piece was much different from the last—slow and melancholy; Arelia did not recognize the composer.
When the gentlemen had joined the ladies in the drawing room after dinner, Anne brought Belinda down to formally meet the guests. She had helped Cassie dress the child carefully in the frock Arelia suggested. In the bright pink dress, with her blond curls bouncing against her back, Belinda looked delightful. Anne dressed herself in the best gown she owned, the burgundy muslin Mrs. Saunders had purchased for her.
By this time, Anne recognized most of the house guests. She took Belinda to Arelia’s side, relieved to see that Lady Mason, who had such uncomplimentary things to say about both children and governesses, was on the far side of the large room.
While Lord Wilmington, a particular friend of Arelia’s, engaged Belinda in conversation, Anne took time to observe the other guests. They were all dressed formally, the ladies in richly colored evening gowns, the men in dark coats and knee breeches. In her simple gown, Anne felt plain indeed.
Lady Constance, who had used Anne’s horse without permission, was stunning in deep blue satin. The three men clustered about her appeared to hang on her every word.
Lord Tenbury, dressed in severe black and white, sat beside Miss Pauline Redditch, the youngest and most appealing of Arelia’s three candidates for the position of future Countess of Tenbury. The earl’s mother was seated near the hearth, where a small fire had been kindled to chase away the dampness of the evening. Since Arelia had taken Belinda in hand, Anne excused herself and went to greet her ladyship.
“Sit with me, Anne,” Lady Tenbury invited. “I so enjoy your company.”
While the countess chatted, and Anne supplied an occasional response, she stole another look at Lord Tenbury. Something about him tonight drew her eyes. He was as handsome as ever, his clothes fitting his form to perfection. His blond head in the candlelight glowed tawny, while his pleasant smile appeared often for the young lady at his side.
Anne then transferred her gaze to Miss Redditch. If the petite brunette could capture the heart of the elusive earl, she would be a fortunate woman.
Anne had not encountered Tenbury since he had interrupted her kiss with Jack. She hoped Jack had somehow managed to explain. If not, it was more than likely that Tenbury was still displeased with her.
It was unfortunate he had walked in when he had, for she had been enjoying her first kiss. She tried to remember it now and found that recalling the moment was difficult. Her gaze returned to Tenbury and focused on his lips. They were smiling again—barely separated, showing a narrow line of fine, straight teeth.
Were all kisses the same, she wondered? Would kissing Tenbury be much the same as kissing Jack? A moment later she raised her eyes to find the earl returning her regard. She flushed and turned aside to Lady Tenbury, forcing herself to make a response to something the countess said.
The next time she glanced up she groaned inwardly, for Lady Mason was making her way toward the countess. Anne considered the woman both rude and insensitive, but knowing there was no escape, she simply looked down at her folded hands and hoped the lady would ignore her. She did not see the earl excuse himself to Miss Redditch and cross the room toward his mother.
“Ah, Lady Tenbury,” Lady Mason gushed, “You are wise to sit near the fire, for the evening has grown chill.”
“The Castle has ever been a drafty place,” the countess replied. “I always keep a shawl near me, even during pleasant weather.”
“I wonder, Miss … I am sorry, I cannot recall your name.”
Anne looked up in dismay as she realized Lady Mason was addressing her. “Waverly, my lady,” she supplied.
“Yes, of course, Miss Waverly. Would you mind fetching a shawl for me? I left one on the bed in my room.”
Anne stood. “Certainly, my lady. Which room is yours?”
“The queen’s room, I believe it’s called. Two doors past Lady Tenbury’s apartments, on the opposite side of the hall.”
As Anne would have walked away, she found that Tenbury was standing behind Lady Mason.
“Please sit down, Miss Waverly,” he said quietly.
“I was just leaving, my lord. Lady Mason—”
“I heard her ladyship’s request.” Turning toward the door Tenbury caught the eye of a footman standing there. In a moment the man was at his side. “You may give your instructions to this man, Lady Mason,” he said politely. “He will be more than happy to fetch whatever it is you need.”
As Lady Mason stood in rigid silence, Anne thought she would do as Tenbury suggested and give her instructions to the footman. But suddenly, without a word, she turned and walked away.
With a nod Tenbury dismissed the footman. When Lady Mason was out of hearing Anne said quietly, “I will fetch the shawl. She told me where it is.”
“That will not be necessary, Miss Waverly,” Tenbury replied.
“But I think she is offended, sir.”
“If she is, it is her own concern. You are not a servant; I will not allow my guests to treat you as one.”
“Tenbury is right, my dear,” the countess added. “We have footmen three deep to do such tasks.”
Tenbury spoke again. “You are still standing, Miss Waverly.”
“Yes, sir. I must go. Belinda has stayed long enough; it is well past her bedtime.”
“Take her, then,” the countess remarked, “but when you have seen her upstairs, you must return. You have already enlivened my evening, as I knew you would.”
“I don’t think … Perhaps we could meet tomorrow, Lady Tenbury,” Anne said.
“If my mother desires your company tonight, Miss Waverly,” Tenbury remarked, “I don’t see any reason for you to deny her.”
“No, sir,” she conceded. “I will be back, ma’am, as soon as may be.”
When Lady Mason had walked away, undisguised anger on her face, the Earl of Haverham moved to her side.
“You are unhappy with our host, my lady?”
“Tenbury has the oddest notions,” she offered. “He treats that mousey woman more like his light o’ love than a governess. I merely asked her to fetch a shawl for me. To hear Tenbury, one would think I had asked her to walk to China for it.”
As Lady Mason continued in the same vein, Haverham found it curious that someone besides himself had noticed the unusual solicitude Tenbury showed his niece’s governess. Haverham himself had seen them driving together; then there was the rumor flying about that Tenbury had deserted a riding party to rescue the governess from an overturned boat on the lake. Probably nothing to it … yet … if Tenbury left a mistress behind in London, perhaps he discovered that Miss Waverly had talents beyond those necessary in the schoolroom. Such an unobtrusive, quiet woman was not Haverham’s usual style, yet one woman was much like another in the dark, he reasoned.
After the governess had taken the child away and then returned to sit with the countess, Haverham made his way to Tenbury’s side. A few carefully worded questions should yield him the information he sought.
Tenbury was watching Anne, thinking of her kiss with Jack and what it could have meant, when Haverham approached him. He listened with only half an ear to the man’s comment and answered without thinking.
“I say, Tenbury, I believe your niece’s governess is not all she seems.”
“You are absolutely correct, Haverham. There is a great deal more to Miss Waverly than meets the eye.”
Anne retired late th
at night and was wakened from a sound sleep when someone pulled back the coverlet and began climbing into the bed with her. Half asleep she asked, “Belinda? Could you not sleep?”
“Not Belinda, my dear, but Haverham, at your service.”
He chuckled at his own joke, but Anne had not heard the words. At the first sound of his voice she scrambled for the far side of the bed. Thinking he must be drunk or sleepwalking, or at the very least in the wrong room by mistake, she said, “My lord, I am Miss Waverly; you are in the wrong room!”
“Not at all. I am exactly where I wish to be.”
As he crossed the bed and exited on the same side she had, she moved around the end to the opposite side again, keeping the bed between them. Since she preferred to leave both her bed curtain and window hangings open at night, his shadowy form was revealed in the dim light passing through the windows.
“You will leave my room instantly, sir,” she demanded.
When he chuckled, her belief that he had made a mistake was replaced by fear. She realized she had erred in coming around the bed, for now he stood between her and the door.
“Must we play at cat and mouse?” he asked. “Your employer told me plainly that there is a great deal more to you than meets the eye. I am anxious to find out what that is.”
“My employer?” she asked, aghast at his suggestion.
“Yes. Tenbury himself. I’m not certain he actually offered you to me, but we need not tell him. This can be our little secret.”
He made his move then, quickly around the foot of the bed. Anne attempted her only route of escape, over the high side of the bed itself. He caught her easily, and they landed together on the soft ticking. She considered screaming but feared frightening Belinda, who slept in the next room. Haverham was not a large man; perhaps she could still get away. As she struggled with him she soon realized that regardless of his size he was much stronger than she.
Kicking her legs frantically, she managed to contact some delicate spot, for he swore and momentarily slackened his hold. She rolled away, but as her feet touched the floor he reached out and grabbed at her shoulders. As his pull swung her toward him, the sleeve of her fragile gown tore away in his hand. His face was immediately before hers now, and she sensed rather than saw the lasciviousness there. He pulled her against him, trapping one arm between them. Her right arm, however, remained free, and she raised it until her fingernails contacted the warm skin of his cheek. Arching her fingers with a will, she pulled with all her strength.
Lois Menzel Page 9
