Haverham uttered a cry of pain and simultaneously released her. She sped for the door, through it, and down the corridor to Arelia’s room. When she found Arelia’s door locked, she hurried down the hall toward the countess’s apartments. Before she got that far, she saw a soft glow beneath Tenbury’s door and without hesitation opened it and slipped inside.
Tenbury was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, writing, at a desk; a branched candelabra stood at his elbow.
He rose in amazement as a breathless Anne closed his door and leaned against it. “Miss Waverly! What is the meaning of this?”
It seemed for a moment as if she would not answer him. She wore only a simple white nightgown and even the dark waves of hair, which fell in disarray over her shoulders, could not hide the fact that the garment had been torn away from her left shoulder. Her feet were bare, her face so pale she appeared ghostly.
“L-Lord H-Haverham. He implied that you offered me to him.”
“What?” he thundered. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He pulled a quilt from the bed as he advanced on her. “Here, cover yourself.”
Looking down at her torn gown, she gasped, then leaned away from the door as he reached the covering behind her and pulled the ends together across her chest. He continued to hold the ends in closed fists as he demanded. “What happened?”
“I woke to find him crawling into my bed.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“No. I scratched his face and got away.”
“Good,” he nodded approvingly. “Come along. You cannot stay here. I must take you back to your room.” When he reached to open the door, she held back. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “We will be certain the room is empty, and you will lock the door behind me. He would need an axe to get through it. How did he get in, in the first place?”
“It was not locked. I never lock it. I did not realize there was a need to.”
With the quilt clutched about her shoulders and dragging on the carpet behind her, Anne followed Tenbury silently through the dark halls back to her room.
As he had expected, the room was empty. He lit a number of candles to assure her all was safe. The bed was destroyed, with blankets and sheets dragged about in all directions. “Fix your bed and go to sleep. Meet me in the library tomorrow morning promptly at nine.”
“But I have lessons with B—”
“At nine, Miss Waverly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You should wash the blood from your hand,” he added.
She followed the direction of his gaze to where the bloodied fingers of her right hand clutched the quilt.
“Come bolt the door behind me and say nothing of this to anyone,” he said.
She did as he bade her, while he waited outside until he heard the bolt slide home. He then walked silently down the corridor to the head of the stairs. He was angry enough to throw Haverham out of the house, bag and baggage, along with his daughter and her silver spur. But prudence prevailed. Rousing the Castle in the middle of the night would only spawn the type of scandal he most deplored.
When he finally went to bed, he did not sleep well. Once when he awoke, he brought to mind an image of Miss Waverly leaning against the inside of his door. She had appeared so vulnerable with her feet bare and her hair loose and disheveled. Yet she had acquitted herself well. She had put the lecher to rout. He was proud of her.
Chapter 10
The following morning, Tenbury learned from his butler that the Earl of Haverham had left the Castle at dawn, professing some urgent business in town. Tenbury thought it more likely he was on his way to his country estates, there to hide his face until the wounds inflicted by Miss Waverly had time to heal.
She appeared promptly at nine in a wheat-colored gown of sprigged muslin, with a spring-green ribbon adorning the high waistline. She closed the door and stood just inside it. Her dark hair was dressed carefully. Her wide green eyes regarded him steadily.
“You look tired,” he said. “Please sit down.”
She took the chair he indicated, sitting very straight on its edge, her hands folded in her lap.
“Did you get any sleep last night?” he asked.
“A little. Despite knowing the door was bolted, I kept imagining I heard it opening. It’s silly, I know.”
He walked a few steps away then turned to face her. “You said something last night that I should like you to explain—something about my offering you to Haverham. What did you mean?”
“I knew you would ask me, so I have been trying to remember exactly what it was he said. I believe he said you told him there was a great deal more to me than meets the eye.”
“I may have said some such thing. I cannot remember. It is true enough in any case, but clearly he chose to misconstrue my meaning.”
“But it is not true,” she objected. “I am exactly what I seem—a governess—plain and simple. Why would you wish him to believe I was anything more … or less?”
“I had no wish to discuss you with him,” Tenbury replied. “He raised the subject, and I answered him. I don’t remember clearly what was said, but nothing inappropriate, I assure you. Are you certain you said or did nothing that might have led him to believe—?”
“Certainly not! How could you think such a thing?”
“I think it because I saw you with Jack. Remember?”
“Jack explained, did he not?”
“No. I told him no explanation was necessary.”
“Well, it is necessary! We were not kissing for the reason you think we were kissing.”
“Really? And what reason is that?”
“You know. Because we wanted to.”
“You were kissing, then, because you did not want to?”
“No, of course not. We were kissing … as an experiment.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Truly?”
“No. But somehow I feel any further explanation would only confuse me more.”
“Lord Tenbury, I believe you are being deliberately obtuse in this matter.”
“Very well, ma’am, I will come to the point. Are you in love with my brother?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then you should not have been kissing him.”
“I have already explained—we were not kissing for that reason!”
“I think this the most ridiculous conversation I have ever taken part in,” Tenbury said. “Perhaps it would be best if you simply explained why you were kissing my brother.”
“I mentioned to him that I had never been kissed—and probably never would be—and he offered.”
“To kiss you.”
“Yes. And then you walked in—”
“And interrupted.”
“Yes. Which was perhaps unfortunate.”
“Undoubtedly. And tell me this, Miss Waverly. What sort of conversation could you and Jack have been having for this topic to arise in the first place?”
“It is rather hard to explain. I had been—”
“Wait! Never mind. I think I had rather not know.”
“As you wish, sir, but I promise you, it was all quite innocent.”
“I believe you,” he said, then with a noticeable change in tone added, “Last night, however, was not. Haverham is gone, but I should still like you to bolt your door at night so long as any guests remain in the Castle.” He walked to her and stood before her chair. “The family has grown fond of you. We would be distressed if any ill befell you.” Taking her chin he turned her face toward the windows. In the better light he could see dark circles beneath her eyes. “You did not sleep, did you?” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, which were slightly parted. “Did Haverham kiss you?”
“He tried. I managed to avoid him.”
“If he had kissed you, you would not have liked it.” He released her chin and walked to the windows, gazing out into the light mist that had replaced the previous day’s rain. “Of all the vices in men,” he said, “I despise most the one that leads them to be
lieve they have a right to use and abuse women, utilizing the advantage of superior strength. You lodged such an accusation against me that day by the lake. Do you remember?”
Her face troubled, she rose and went to him. “It’s not the same.”
“I think it is. Perhaps the same evils are present in us all, and how we manifest them is merely a matter of degree.”
He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. “I must go. You will remember to lock your door? And you will have Cassie sleep in the room with you if you are at all uneasy?”
She smiled at his concern as she nodded in assent.
Then he smiled down at her, the wonderful smile he had shared so often with Miss Redditch the previous evening. “And if you should ever want to practice kissing again, don’t hesitate to ask me. I have had a good deal more experience than Jack.”
He was gone before she could reply. He was teasing, of course, yet it was some time before she could get the thought of kissing him out of her mind.
“‘Veritas nunquam perit.’ Truth never dies.”
“Very good, Tom,” Mr. Pearce said. “I believe that will be enough for today. We will continue on page seventy-eight tomorrow.”
Tom was gone instantly, leaving Mr. Pearce and Anne alone in the schoolroom.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
“Herodotus. Listen to this: ‘This the bitterest pain among men, to have much knowledge but no power.’ Do you ever feel so, Dennis?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Yes. Since my father died, I have accepted that I have little or no power, especially regarding my future. All the knowledge in the world will not gain me security or a place where I belong.”
“You belong here.”
“For now. But in a few years Belinda will not need me. Then I must move on.”
“Tom will go back to school, too. Soon, I think,” he said.
“Yes. But it is different for you. You have an independence. You will take on students or a parish because you wish to, not because you must.”
“You would rewrite the quotation then to say: ‘This is the bitterest pain among men, to have much knowledge but no money.’ ”
She laughed. “Yes. I believe it is truer that way. But money and power have always been close allies.”
“And when they come together often accomplish more evil than good.”
“No sermons today, Dennis,” she teased. “The sun is finally shining, and I have a swimming lesson with Mrs. Saunders.”
“How are you progressing?”
“Well, I think. I can cross the stream by myself; I can tread water for five minutes. By the end of summer I will be as adept as any trout.”
“You and Mrs. Saunders have grown quite close,” he said.
“Yes, we have, and I find it remarkable. I have never had a close friend before, but I always assumed friends would have much in common. Yet she and I are nothing alike.”
He thought them more alike than she realized but didn’t say as much. “She seems to spend a good deal of time with Lord Wilmington,” he remarked. “Perhaps she is planning to remarry.”
“She wants to marry again. She makes no secret of it. But I know she has turned down four offers since the beginning of the year. I think she is searching among the wrong type of men.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“When I first met her in London, she went from party to party night after night, and I would expect that men flocked around her, attractive as she is. Yet none of them measured up. This summer she has invited those same frivolous people here. She does not seem to remember how she met Henry.”
“Her husband?” he asked. “How did she meet him?”
“Jack told me they met here at the Castle. Henry was down from university on winter holiday, and she was invited to a house party with her parents. He was walking along in his hunting jacket with three dead rabbits slung over his shoulder. She nearly rode him down on a bridle path and evidently ripped up at him for walking where she felt he should not have been. It was only later that she discovered he was a son of the house. He was a younger son, headed for a career in the army, but he had something special that she saw and loved.”
“Which makes it all the more tragic that he died so young.”
“Yes. And though she insists she would like to marry again, I wonder if she will ever find a man she can love as much.”
After the early morning fog burned off, the day grew hot, and the swimming lesson was not only instructional but refreshing.
Afterward, when Arelia returned to her guests, Anne and Jack went for a long walk together and then Anne joined Lady Tenbury in the library before dinner. She ate alone in the schoolroom and completed some sewing before Arelia entered the room.
“Anne. I want you to come with me.”
“Oh, Arelia, please, not the drawing room again. I’m not dressed, and I don’t—”
“No, no. They are all still eating. I excused myself for the evening. Said I had the headache, which was a lie. Have you ever known such a day?”
“It has been hot, but—”
“Come along. It is dark, time to go.”
Arm in arm, Anne left the Castle with Arelia. They walked together through the twilight. The oppressive heat of the day still hovered over the ground, for there was no freshening breeze to dispel it. The women soon arrived at the private bathing pool. Before Anne could ask why they had come at this time of night, Arelia started to remove her dress.
“You cannot mean to swim in the dark?” Anne said, even as she reached to help with Arelia’s stays.
“Not only in the dark,” came her companion’s answer, “but in the nude!”
“In the … Arelia, you cannot be serious!”
“I am. Henry and I often did this. Here, let me help you. There is nothing so exhilarating—well, almost nothing,” she added. “Hurry now or you will be left behind.”
“But we must not! What if someone sees?”
“It is dark, goose. Who will see? Besides, in all the time we have been coming here to swim, we have never seen anyone.”
“That is because you warned the children they must stay away.”
“The children are in bed, Anne. I never guessed you could be so milk-livered! Take off everything and come in.” There was a flash of pale skin in the moonlight as Arelia dove into the water. Anne stood alone on the bank, trying to imagine how it would feel to be in the water, completely free of any encumbrance. She wished she could be as uninhibited as Arelia—she wanted to be.
“Coward,” Arelia called, as she splashed back toward Anne.
That was the word Anne needed to hear. Within seconds she had stripped off stays and chemise and followed. As Arelia had promised, the water was wonderful. She was right; there was no other feeling quite like it.
“Did you truly do this with your husband?”
“Occasionally, of a summer evening, when it was hot, and we could not sleep.”
“Often, in literature, lovers are uninhibited, but I was taught and have always believed that we English are different.”
“In what way?”
“That we adhere to rigid rules of behavior, those that are considered proper; that husbands visit their wives at an appropriate time and at other times …”
“And at other times show no interest? Don’t you believe it. My marriage was not like that. Henry and I did outrageously inappropriate things. Even here once … we … our last summer together …”
Her voice trailed off in the darkness, and Anne regretted having led her into sad memories.
“I’m sorry; I never meant … I have no right to speak of these things.”
“Don’t be silly. You are old enough to say what you please, especially to me, and you may ask whatever questions you like. I do not mind them.”
“It is not proper to wonder about such things.”
“It may not be considered proper,” Arelia countered, “but I believe all women think about t
hem, whether they are willing to admit it or not.”
“All women? Even women like Lady Mason?”
Anne heard Arelia chuckle in the dimness. “Very well, I yield that point. Not all women and most definitely not Lady Mason. I can just hear her, can’t you? ‘Children and husbands must be borne—two of life’s necessary evils. One must keep a firm resolve and face one’s trials with fortitude.’ I must have been mad to think Tenbury could possibly fancy her.”
Later, as Anne and Arelia walked past the terrace on their return to the Castle, a man rose from the steps where he had been sitting.
“Mr. Pearce,” Arelia said.
“Good evening, ladies. I hope I did not startle you. I have been sitting here listening to Miss Redditch at the pianoforte.”
“She is not so good as you,” Arelia commented.
He neither agreed nor disagreed but only said, “Her style differs from mine.”
Even in the darkness, Anne could sense a restraint in Dennis—a subtle change that came over him whenever Arelia was present. At first merely suspicious, she was now nearly certain that Dennis admired their flamboyant employer. Thinking how much he had to offer when compared to Arelia’s London beaux, Anne excused herself on the slimmest pretext and hurried up the steps to the door, leaving them alone in the moonlight.
“Your hair is wet,” Dennis commented when they were alone.
“We have been swimming,” Arelia replied, and then added provocatively, “in the nude.”
Dennis smiled, pausing a moment before he replied, “Whenever we talk, you seem to enjoy saying things intended to shock me. I am not so easily scandalized.”
“I admit I have always been uncomfortable with members of the clergy,” she said. “My faults and shortcomings seem greater in the presence of good and worthy men.”
Lois Menzel Page 10
