He gawked up at her as if she were a figment of his imagination, or more likely, an hallucination whose origins might well be attributed to the consumption of far too many bottles of smuggled French brandy.
She waited while he rubbed his eyes and then goggled up at her again without apparent comprehension. “I am the new governess.” With more patience than she had shown the groom, she looked down at him and repeated herself, this time speaking loudly and enunciating every word clearly. “Send the housekeeper here to me at once.”
Finally her words seemed to penetrate the alcoholic haze in his brain. “The housekeeper? You want to see Mrs. Plimtree?”
“Yes, fetch Mrs. Plimtree.” Anne sat down on an immense chair of medieval design, which appeared totally incongruous next to a delicately carved table holding a cracked Venetian glass vase containing the dismal remains of what may or may not have once been roses. The parquetry surface of the table had been damaged by water leaking from the vase, and the corners of many of the individual pieces of inlaid wood were curling up.
The butler shuffled his feet beside her, but Anne stoically ignored his continued presence, and finally he went away. Some time later a painfully thin woman appeared in the hallway, a ring of keys at her waist proclaiming her to be the housekeeper.
“If you are the new governess, you ought to have come ‘round to the servants’ door,” the woman began querulously, but Anne cut her short.
“You may show me to my room and then have my luggage brought up. I shall require hot water immediately and a cup of tea in precisely twenty-five minutes.” A duchess could not have been more regal or more haughty, and the housekeeper, although not precisely cowed, began to sound a bit more respectful.
“Well, then, I’ll just have Harry fetch your things in at once.”
“Harry has been detained in town. From somewhere he seems to have acquired the absurd notion that he is being paid good wages to drink ale with his friends. In this he will find that he is grossly in error.”
So saying, Anne rose slowly to her feet, and by the time she had straightened to her full height, the housekeeper’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes were virtually popping out of her head, and her hands were twisting her apron, which in Anne’s opinion could have been vastly improved by the judicious application of soap and water.
Twenty minutes later there was a very loud knock at the door of Anne’s room. Opening it, she did not find the tea she had ordered, but in place of the maid, two slightly grubby boys stood in the corridor. They were obviously not expecting to find someone as tall as she was, since their gazes were firmly fixed at about the level of her waist. Slowly their eyes traveled up to meet hers.
They regarded her with blank looks, then turned to each other and Anne had the feeling they were engaging in some form of unspoken communication. From what she could see, they were as alike as two peas in a pod—tousled blond hair above guileless green eyes.
They lifted their faces to her again, and Anne had to admit the two of them were appealing. If one discounted the dirt, they might easily have served as models for a painting of cherubs by Raphael.
“Are you the new governess?” the boy on the left asked.
“Yes, I am Miss Anne Hemsworth. You may call me Anne.”
“I am Lord Anthony,” the boy on the right said. “And this is my brother Andrew, Lord Wylington.”
The boy on the left turned to his brother. “I thought you were Andrew, and I was Anthony.” His look of puzzlement was every bit as false as it was meant to be appealing.
“You’re right. I do believe I am Andrew.”
“No, wait. I think you had it correct the first time.”
“Oh, dear.”
They looked at her expectantly. She let them wait. After a long pause they shot each other a quick look, then the one on the right asked, “Aren’t you going to tell us we are little men now, old enough to know which of us is which?”
“It does not really matter, does it?” Anne looked down at them calmly.
“Of course it matters,” the one on the left said. “One of us is Lord Wylington ...”
“And the other one isn’t,” his brother finished for him.
“But since I have no way of telling the two of you apart, at least this early in our acquaintance, I shall simply call you both Anthony on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays I shall call you both Andrew.”
“And what about on Sunday?” the one on the right asked, receiving an elbow in his ribs from his brother, apparently for allowing his curiosity to get the best of him.
“Oh, by this Sunday or the next I shall doubtless know which one of you is which.”
They exchanged speaking looks, then the one on the left asked hopefully, “Would you like to go for a walk on the moors with us? It is such a beautiful day and we are so tired of being cooped up in the house.”
They both smiled angelically up at her.
Chapter Two
Demetrius Baineton, Viscount Thorverton, stood in the window of his club gazing disconsolately down at the passers-by. Behind him the room was singularly devoid of anyone under the age of seventy. It was hardly surprising, since there was a prize fight scheduled for the morrow some fifty miles distant from London.
Now that he had one precious day of freedom, Demetrius was finding it decidedly unrewarding to be at loose ends. If only he were home in Devon, taking care of his stud. With forty mares and an equal number of colts and fillies either already born or due to drop any day, there would be no possibility of time hanging heavy on his hands.
Catching sight of a man striding along through the crowds, his boredom vanished. Could it possibly be Leatham? The last Demetrius had heard, his neighbor was halfway around the world. But who else in London towered so tall above the crowds? No other gentleman whom Demetrius had ever encountered.
* * * *
Bronson Roebuck felt a hand touch his arm and a familiar voice sounded behind him.
“Leatham, well met!”
“Thorverton, what the devil are you doing in London? Do not tell me you have entrusted the care of your precious horses to your cousin Mallory?”
“Lawrence is a good man and capable of managing the stud without me.”
Bronson smiled. “I know that, and Mallory knows that, but you have never before been willing to admit you were not totally indispensable.”
A shadow crossed his young friend’s face. “I am spending the Season here in London with my fiancée and her mother. The wedding is scheduled for a week from tomorrow. I hope you will be able to attend.”
For a man about to take the plunge into matrimony, Thorverton did not appear to be looking forward to his upcoming nuptials with anything approaching the eagerness one might expect from a young bridegroom who has won the hand of his chosen lady. “It is Diana Fairgrove, I presume.”
“Of course. It has been an understood thing since we were in leading strings. We have been sweethearts forever.”
With difficulty, Bronson was able to control his curiosity. “I am on my way to Manton’s for a little target practice. Would you care to accompany me?”
“Manton’s,” his friend sighed. “Of course, I would be happy to go with you. It seems an age since I have been there.” They walked in silence for a while, then Demetrius abruptly asked, “Why have you never married, Leatham? Excuse me, that was rude of me. You need not answer.”
“On the contrary, I will be happy to answer. You know I travel a lot.”
“And a woman would not wish to be exposed to the dangers you encounter.”
“No, that is not precisely the case. My father was also a great one for exploring strange parts of the world, and he married. To be sure, he was not home often. But with me it is really quite simple. I have been to exotic lands, seen wondrous sights, matched wits with truly ingenious barbarians—and in all my travels I have never found a woman who was the least bit entertaining except when she was in bed. To make matters worse,
compared to some of the innovative foreign beauties I have dallied with, the average Englishwoman is too much a lady even to hold my interest when she is between the sheets. In short, the idea of being leg-shackled does not interest me in the least.”
Beside him Demetrius smiled ruefully. “And I thought there was something wrong with me. It is not that I do not love Diana ... or at least, I have always felt a strong affection for her, which is the most one can hope for. But until this spring I had never before been in her company for more than an occasional evening.”
A heavy lorry rumbled by, forcing them to pause in their conversation until it had passed.
“And now?” Bronson asked.
“Now I have discovered that Diana is thoroughly accustomed to being the center of her parents’ attention.”
“Spoiled, in a word.”
Demetrius gave a short laugh, which contained very little in the way of good humor. “Beyond belief. I am expected to devote my every waking moment to her entertainment. She apparently feels my whole reason for being on this earth is to keep her from languishing in boredom. My greatest delight should be in helping her decide the color of a ribbon or the tilt of a bonnet. I tell you, Leatham, you would not believe the tears, the pouts, and the sulks if I do not compliment her every hour. And she takes to her bed if I so much as hint that I might wish to engage in any activity she is not also interested in.”
Bronson looked around. “And yet I do not see the fair Diana now.”
“I have been granted an unexpected furlough for one day only. Quite extraordinary, really. ‘Tis the first time I have had to myself in over two months. And more than likely the last hours of freedom I shall have during this lifetime.”
“Surely it will not be so bad once you are married. She will not wish to sit in your pocket forever. I cannot picture her following you about in the stables like a puppy dog, for example.”
“That was my most serious blunder. By coming to London at the height of the foaling season, I have apparently ‘proved’ that Lawrence can run the stud without me, and I am therefore to consider myself free to spend the entire year escorting Diana around the countryside from one house party to the next, only dropping in at Thorverton Hall for a day or two from time to time.”
“Good God. Can you not... no, I suppose you cannot simply call off the wedding.”
“No.” There was a long pause. Finally Demetrius sighed. “Honor is sometimes a heavy burden, is it not? There are times when I think I would prefer to be a complete cad.”
* * * *
“You are a complete cad.” Rosemary Pierce-Smythe leaned back against her pillows and made no effort to hide her displeasure behind dimples and fluttering eyelashes. Creighton Trussell was bought and paid for, body and soul, although he appeared not to be fully cognizant of the fact. “I am perfectly willing to frank your losses at the table and on the turf, but I am strangely unwilling to support your mistress.”
“But I have no mistress. Only you, my dearest darling, and I have never thought of you in such crude terms. You are the only love of my life, and—”
“I am not the fool you seem to think I am.” She cut his excuses short. “I have had you followed, my good sir, so let us be done with all pretenses.”
She waited, but he made no further effort to continue his denials. Good. Now to make sure he knew exactly who held the end of his leash. “You will give that tart her congé, after which you will form no relationship with any other woman, whether professional or amateur. If you do, be sure I shall discover it.”
“I think the time has come, madame, to end this liaison instead.” He bowed curtly. “It has been a pleasure, but it is no longer worth the money you expend on my behalf.”
“I am afraid it is not that easy,” she said. “I have not actually discharged your debts, as I have led you to believe. I have merely bought them up from your other creditors. At the moment I hold your vowels to the tune of fifty-five thousand pounds.”
He blanched, and for a moment she thought he was going to faint. It would seem he was beginning to realize exactly how much freedom he had sold away with his gaming.
“This is preposterous. I begin to suspect, madame, that despite the outward trappings of a lady, you have the heart of a usurer.”
“Whereas you, my gullible love, have deliberately set out to make me believe that you desired my company only because of a deep and undying passion. Were you perhaps attempting to dupe me out of my money? Rest assured, I have a strong dislike for being duped. Were I to think, even for a moment, that such were the case, I am afraid I would be forced to have you brought before a magistrate and thrown into debtors’ prison. Assuming, of course, you did not have the money to redeem your vowels.”
He wavered, but in the end cowardice won out, and he took the hand she held out to him and kissed it.
Unfortunately for him, Rosemary thought to herself, he had not had the courage to call her bluff. Had he but known it, she would have done everything in her power to prevent a scandal, rather than have caused one. It was all very well to take a much younger man for a lover, but nothing must interfere with her daughter’s chance for marriage with a member of the peerage.
After he dismissed his mistress would be time enough to make it clear to him exactly why she had loosened her purse strings to such an extent. She had deliberately let him think it was because she had conceived a grand passion for him, but actually it was because of his connections in society. It was unfortunate that he had no title himself and was therefore ineligible for her daughter, but even so, he was not only the uncle of the Marquess of Wylington, but also the grandson of the Earl of Bardeswythe. With the proper coercion, he could open all the doors of the haut ton for her and her dear daughter Rosabelle.
In the meantime, there was no harm in enjoying his love making, which had proven to be far more imaginative than anything her late husband had been capable of.
“Come, come, my dear boy. I am a generous woman and I forgive you for your little lapse in judgment. But now you must show me that you are truly repentant.”
Creighton Trussell was astounded to realize this faded beauty actually expected him to ignore the scene that had just taken place as if it had never happened. Ecod, what did the woman expect? That she could bawl him out like a schoolboy, treat him like some demmed gigolo, and then expect him to perform in bed?
While he hesitated, her smile became colder, and he could hear the ominous words echo in his mind: fifty-five thousand pounds ... debtors’ prison. She would do it, too. The widow of a rich cit, she had not the delicacy of mind that characterized a true lady.
With no further delay he went to the window and drew the heavy draperies closed, then returned to where she waited and slid between the sheets. He was cold through and through, and the heat from her body had no power to warm him.
In desperation he closed his eyes and did his best to pretend she was not a plump widow from somewhere in Yorkshire, but a tall, incredibly well-endowed governess named Miss Hemsworth. His imagination proved equal to the task, and he was thankful to be able to satisfy the widow as to his continued devotion.
* * * *
The mist was beginning to rise from the moor, although it was as yet too wispy to present a serious problem. Anne turned slowly around, scanning the horizon in all directions. There was no sign of any man-made object, whether path or shed or building. Stones jutted out of the ground at awkward angles, waiting patiently as they had done for centuries.
The twins had completely vanished. Anne sat down on the nearest stone, which had been shaped by the wind into a convenient seat. “Well, well, well, here I am, alone on the moor. Whatever shall I do?” Her voice was a bit louder than usual. “I could, of course, have the vapors and sit here all night, crying my eyes out, but that would be a bit uncomfortable, not to mention cold. On the other hand, I suppose I could retrace our steps.”
There was the merest sound of scuffling, not enough to tell the direction it was coming from o
r determine whether it was made by a small animal or a ten-year-old boy.
“But since we have been walking in circles for the last hour, and since it is now nearly teatime, I think I might as well return directly to Wylington Manor.” So saying, she rose to her feet and set off.
Walking south for about a hundred yards she topped a small rise and saw the chimneys of the manor house. Proceeding another fifty yards in that direction, she was joined by two boys, one on either side of her. She said nothing to indicate she was aware of their presence.
Finally, the one on her right spoke. “How did you know which way to go?”
“Skanadajiwah, who has lived for several years with my great-aunt Sidonia, is a Mohawk Indian. He taught me how to avoid getting lost. It would have been more difficult today, of course, if the sky had been overcast, but even so there are signs to watch for.”
“Would you ...”
“Could you teach us how you did it?”
“Well, I suppose, considering that I am your governess, I am actually expected to teach you any number of useful things.”
There was a sigh from the boy on her right, echoed by the boy on her left.
“Did Skanadawija—”
“Skanadaziwah,” she corrected.
“Yes, did he teach you any other things? Useful things.”
“What kind of things are you interested in? Things like how to build a snare and catch rabbits? How to dry meat into jerky so that you can carry a week’s worth of food in a small pouch? How to make a bow and arrows? How to tell whether bad weather is coming? How to ride a horse bareback? How to throw a tomahawk? How to catch fish without a fishhook or net? Do you mean those kinds of things?”
One boy slid his hand into her left one, then the other boy took her right hand. “How did your aunt come to have an Indian living with her?”
Charlotte Louise Dolan Page 4