by Joan Wolf
“And thank you for bringing our guests safely through the snowstorm,” added my kindhearted son.
The earl’s voice joined ours as we said, “Amen.”
I always said a prayer of thanksgiving before meals.
There had been a time when I was not certain from one day to the next if a meal was going to be on the table at all.
Prayers finished, Nicky picked up his spoon and applied himself to his soup. I picked up my spoon, but before I began to eat, I took a deep breath and made myself look across the table, directly into the face of my enemy.
Savile’s dark gold, beautifully cut hair glowed in the candlelight. His eyes looked as if they were light brown. His facial bones were long and cleanly chiseled.
I had been right in my earlier assessment, I thought. He was a Thoroughbred all right.
He tasted a spoonful of the soup and his eyes flew up to meet mine.
I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Not bad, is it?”
“Not bad?” He took another spoonful. “It’s ambrosia!”
“I know about ambrosia,” Nicky said. “I learned about it from Mr. Ludgate. It is the food of the gods.”
“Very good,” the earl said approvingly. Nicky beamed.
I didn’t know whether to be pleased that Savile was being kind to Nicky or annoyed that my son’s presence had failed to annoy him.
“Who is your cook?” Savile asked me.
I told him a little about the Macintoshes.
“I have a garden in the summer and Mr. Macintosh saves all the vegetables to use in his winter cooking,” Nicky said.
“How splendid,” the earl replied with a friendly smile. “There are not many boys responsible enough to help their mama with the gardening.”
“Nicky doesn’t help me,” I said coolly. “I don’t garden; I haven’t the time. He does the garden all by himself.”
The earl had finished his soup. He poured himself a glass of wine.
“Would you like some more soup, sir?” Nicky asked.
He added proudly, “All of the vegetables in it are from my garden.”
I said, “I feel that I must explain to you, my lord, that the soup is the dinner. There is plenty more of it, however.”
“In that case, I will have another bowl,” the earl said.
Nicky jumped up from his seat and went to do the honors.
Chapter Two
As dinner consisted of only two courses, the soup and a pudding for dessert, we were not at the table for very long. When the meal was over, I sent Nicky upstairs to do his studying and invited the earl to join me in the drawing room for a glass of the sherry I kept for Mr. Ludgate when he came to visit.
I even took a glass of sherry myself. Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid hearing what had brought Savile to see me, and I thought that I was likely going to need all the fortification I could get.
The two least dilapidated of my grayish drawing-room chairs were placed on opposite sides of the fireplace and I invited Savile to take one. I sat in the other, drank half of my sherry, and placed the glass on an old walnut table within my reach.
For ten long seconds we regarded each other in silence across the tattered rug.
Then, “You’re not what I expected,” he said abruptly.
I lifted my chin. “I cannot imagine what your lordship means.”
“Can you not?” He took a sip of his drink and watched me over the rim of the glass. That was when I realized that his eyes weren’t an ordinary light brown at all, but amber-gold, like the sherry.
I looked away from him, into the leaping flames of the fire. “No, I can’t,” I said. My muscles were tensed against the blow I feared was coming. I struggled to keep my face expressionless.
He lowered his wineglass. “I have come here to Surrey directly from Devane Hall, Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “I am afraid that I bring you the news that Lord Devane is dead.”
It was not what I had expected to hear. I kept my face carefully guarded and very still, and after a moment I asked, “Why should you think I would care about that?”
“I think you might care very much when you learn that your son is named in Lord Devane’s will,” Savile returned. I could see out of the corner of my eye that he was leaning back in his chair, watching me.
I shut my eyes.
Finally, “How is Nicky named?” I asked desperately.
“I don’t know precisely what is written in George’s will,” the earl answered. “All I know for certain is that my cousin left him some money.”
I stared despairingly into the fire. “Tell me about it.”
I could feel Savile looking at my averted face. “It happened less than a week ago. George overturned his phaeton and was caught under one of the wheels. It crushed his chest.”
He paused, as if expecting some response from me.
“How sad,” I said, my eyes still fixed upon the fire.
“Indeed it was,” Savile replied. “My cousin was not yet dead, however, when they carried him into the house.”
Too bad, I thought grimly.
“We put him into his bed and sent for the doctor,” Savile went on. “Lady Devane fainted when we carried George in, so it was left to me to stay with him as we waited for the doctor to arrive.”
The earl picked up his glass and took another sip of sherry. “I had thought he was unconscious, but when we were alone his eyes opened and fixed themselves upon me with such an expression of pained urgency…”
Oh damn, I thought. Damn, damn, damn.
“He said my name,” Savile continued. “It was hard to understand him, because when he talked, blood and saliva bubbled from his mouth, but he kept repeating my name.”
The fire I was watching snapped and crackled, and I wanted to hold up my hands to push away what I was afraid was coming next, but there was nothing I could do.
Savile continued his tale. “ ‘Yes, George,’ I said, leaning close to him. ‘I’m here. What can I do for you?’ ”
I saw the earl turning more toward me as he got closer to the revelation I did not want to hear.
Savile went on, “ ‘Find the boy,’ George said, with those desperately urgent eyes still glued to my face. ‘You must…find the boy.’ ”
“ ‘What boy, George?’ ” I asked.
I was gripping my hands together so tightly that they ached. Here it comes, I thought. Oh God, here it comes.
“ ‘In my will,’ George said. ‘He must have the money I’ve left him in my will.’ ”
“I took my cousin’s hand in mine and his grip was astonishingly strong. I said, ‘How shall I find this boy, George?’ ”
Savile stopped. When finally I could stand it no longer and turned my head to look at him, he continued quietly, “He told me to ‘find Gail.’ ”
Our eyes held. I didn’t say anything.
“He begged me, Mrs. Saunders,” Savile said. “ ‘Promise me, Raoul,’ he said. ‘Promise me that you will find the boy.’ ”
I tore my eyes away from his. I forced myself to breathe deeply and slowly and tried to keep my face expressionless.
“I promised him, of course,” Savile said, “and less than five minutes later, he was dead.”
His voice ceased, and for what seemed a long time the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock on the mantel.
I had hated George Melville for many years and had often wished him dead, and now it seemed that even in dying he had managed to cause me trouble.
Savile said soberly, “He was thirty-one—a year younger than I am.”
I tried to organize my thoughts. It could have been worse, I thought. George had not told Savile everything.
“How did you find me?” I finally asked.
“Through your aunt, Miss Longworth.”
I nodded. It was the answer I had expected. I had always remained in communication with Aunt Margaret.
“So now you know why I have sought you out, Mrs. Saunders,” the earl said. “Clearly, y
our son, Nicholas, is the boy my cousin was referring to. I am the executor of Devane’s will and it is to be read at Savile Castle, my home in Kent. I have come to escort you there so that you may be present when the will is made public.”
My mind was in a whirl as I considered the implications of this bequest. “Why isn’t the will being read at Devane Hall?” I asked, playing for time.
“Under the circumstances, I thought you might prefer not to return to Hatfield,” Savile said quietly. “I understood from your aunt that you have not returned home since your marriage.”
The village of Hatfield had never been home to me. It was just the place where Deborah and I had been forced to live after our parents had died. I cared not the snap of my fingers what they thought about me in Hatfield.
This, however, was not something I was about to discuss with the Earl of Savile.
I had made up my mind about what I should do, and I said in an extremely calm voice, “As there is absolutely no reason for Lord Devane to have made any financial provisions for my son, I see little point in my being present for the reading of this will.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Savile said forcefully. He leaned forward in his chair, as if he would persuade me by sheer masculine force. “My cousin told me that he had left a sum of money to your son, Mrs. Saunders, and from what I can judge of your situation, you need it.”
His eyes flicked insultingly around my shabby drawing room.
I clenched my hands and said fiercely, “My house may not be elegant, but I can assure you that Nicky does not lack for any of the important things in life! My lord,” I added with deliberate disdain.
His golden eyes were inscrutable. “I believe I know more about your financial situation than you realize, Mrs. Saunders,” he said. “When I was still in Hatfield I had a talk with your late husband’s mother, and she informed me that you had inherited nothing from him. Nor, according to the same source, have you ever possessed any money of your own.”
I lifted my chin. Lady Saunders had hated it when Tommy married me. He was her youngest son, and her favorite, and she had wanted him to marry a lady who had money. To her mind, I had qualified under neither of those categories.
I thought, I will not let the thought of Lady Saunders discussing me with the Earl of Savile upset me!
I set my jaw, turned my face to the fire, and said coldly, “I have no need of inherited money, my lord. I have been earning a living for myself and my son ever since my husband died.”
Silence.
“I see,” he finally replied. “And may I ask what you do to earn your living, Mrs. Saunders?”
His voice was quiet, but there was a note in it that set off an alarm in my head. It was a moment before I understood what it was that he thought I did to earn my living.
White-hot fury flamed through me. I gripped the arms of my chair to keep myself from jumping up and hitting him. I glared at him instead, and said succinctly, “I teach riding, my lord. My clients are the children of the newly rich—men who have made a great deal of money in banking or in manufacture and who want their children to have the same advantages as the sons and daughters of the upper class. Most of these children have grown up in the city and have had no opportunity to learn to ride. They come here and I teach them.”
He could not disguise his surprise, nor could I prevent the color burning my cheeks. My fingers opened and closed on the chair arms. I absolutely longed to hit him.
At last he said slowly, “So that is why your stable is so full.”
“Yes.” I was still livid with him for what I suspected he had been thinking. “Besides my own horses, I have three horses I teach on, as well as the two ponies whose stalls I commandeered to accommodate your carriage horses, my lord!”
He looked me up and down. “You do this all by yourself?”
I thought his look was insulting. Nor did his frankly incredulous tone do anything to soothe my temper. It is true that I am small boned and consequently tend to look rather delicate, but in fact I am as hardy as a mountain pony.
“Yes,” I said through my teeth. “I do it all by myself.”
The fire had begun to lag, and I picked up the poker and went to stir it up, wishing I could use the iron staff on the earl instead of the logs.
Savile said, “Was this originally your husband’s business?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. The light from the leaping flames made his dark gold hair look very bright. “We undertook it together,” I said. “Then, when Tommy died, I continued it on my own.”
“That must have been difficult.”
I shrugged and gave another savage poke to the fire.
“Difficult” did not begin to describe the horror of that first year after Tommy’s death. Had it not been for the Macintoshes, and for Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate, our local vicar and his wife, I don’t think I would have made it.
I put the poker down reluctantly and turned to face Savile. I said, pronouncing each word as carefully as if I were communicating with someone who did not know the language well, “I do not desire Lord Devane’s money, nor do I desire to travel to Savile Castle with you, my lord. You may consider that your promise to Lord Devane has been fulfilled. You have found Nicholas. You may now go away from here with an easy mind.”
Savile listened to me with polite attentiveness. When I had finished he said smoothly, “Let me remind you, Mrs. Saunders, that I have no idea of what my cousin wrote in his will. All he told me was that he had left money to a boy whom I must suppose to be your son, Nicholas. Whether or not he further identified this boy remains to be seen.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.
Then they did.
Oh my God! I thought in horror. What if George has claimed in his will that Nicky is his son?
Suddenly my legs felt too weak to hold me up, and I made my way back to my chair. I sat as straight as I could and once more tried to breathe slowly and deliberately.
It would be just like George to say after he was dead what he was afraid to say while he was alive, I thought bitterly.
“Does George’s wife know anything about Nicky?” I asked Savile abruptly.
“I have said nothing to Lady Devane about my cousin’s last words to me,” he replied. “She is grieving for her husband and I did not wish to add to her distress.”
“Well, if George has mentioned Nicky in his will, there is no way you can prevent her from being distressed, my lord,” I said tartly. “Particularly since I must suppose that the money George so generously bequeathed to my son is money that really belongs to his wife!”
An ironic look came over Savile’s eyes and brows although his mouth remained grave. He said, “The money, I must suppose, will come from George’s private funds, but since those funds originated from the handsome settlement Lady Devane’s father bestowed upon my cousin at the time of his marriage, then what you say is undoubtedly true, Mrs. Saunders.”
I rested my head against the back of my chair and closed my eyes. “God in heaven, what a spineless creature George was,” I said.
Silence.
“Perhaps you have cause to think so,” Savile replied at last.
I opened my eyes. “I spoke from general observation, my lord, not from personal experience!”
He nodded, but it was evident that he did not believe me.
Under the circumstances, I supposed I couldn’t blame him, but this did not make me any the less furious.
I stood up. “I will sleep on what you have told me and let you know my answer in the morning.”
“Very well.” He had risen when I did, and now we stood facing each other, with six feet of the faded and frayed rug between us.
I said as politely as I could, “I will leave you the sherry bottle, my lord, and if you should like a book to read, please choose one from my collection.” I nodded to the two glass-enclosed cabinets along the wall that held my scant but treasured library.
It was nine o’clock at night.
He was probably accustomed to having his dinner at that time. On the other hand, he most likely did not rise until nine in the morning.
I got out of bed at six.
“Thank you, Mrs. Saunders,” he replied with beautiful courtesy. “You are very kind.”
I thought of the inhospitable bedchamber that awaited him and had to acknowledge that he was behaving very well. I don’t know why this should have irritated me, but it did.
“We must hope that the snow has ended by the morning,” he added. And smiled.
How to describe Raoul Melville’s smile? Its radiance? Its warmth? Its profound intimacy? All I can say is that its effect on me was much stronger than the sherry I had drunk.
“Good night, my lord,” I managed to croak.
“Good night, Mrs. Saunders,” he replied very softly.
I left the room as quickly as I decently could.
* * * *
Nicky was looking out his window when I came into his room to kiss him good night. “It’s still snowing, Mama,” he said, and I went to join him.
It was indeed still snowing hard. The wind was also blowing as strongly as it had all afternoon; one could hear it moaning in all the chimneys.
“Whatever am I going to do with the earl if he can’t get away from here tomorrow?” I muttered distractedly as I stared out at the falling snow.
“I think he’s nice,” Nicky said.
“You think everyone is nice,” I retorted.
“Well, Mama, usually everyone is.”
I put my arm around him and hugged him.
If I tell you that my son is the sweetest, kindest child who ever lived you will no doubt think that I am prejudiced. But my opinion has been seconded by any number of people who are not related to Nicky. Mr. Ludgate, who is a very lovely man himself, adores Nicky, and has often told me that he would make a very fine clergyman.
Nicky looked up at me out of blue eyes that were as clear and lucent as the sky on a summer afternoon. “Don’t you like him, Mama?”
I prevaricated. “It is just that I don’t know what to do to entertain an earl.”
“I promised to show him Squirt,” Nicky said helpfully.