"Of course."
"If you were free to marry any man you desired, what sort of man would you chose?"
The question seemed to take Catherine by surprise, but she hesitated only briefly before responding. "One I could respect," she said, her firm reply making it obvious this was a question she had considered more than once. "Lord Barstowe is very nice, but he is so vain and shallow at times, caring only for his appearance and his racehorses. And there is something about him I do not trust. I would much prefer a man of honor and courage. A man I could trust to protect me always. Do you know what I mean?" She gave Nia an anxious look.
Nia swallowed again, her eyes closing against the onslaught of pain. "Yes, Lady Catherine," she said, her voice bleak as she met her inquisitive gaze. "I know precisely what you mean."
Chapter 10
They set out for the country the following morning beneath leaden skies that were heavy with the threat of rain. Nia thought Wyatt would postpone their departure, but he wouldn't hear of it, and after all that had happened she couldn't blame him. She, too, would rest easier once Amanda was far away from London and the danger stalking her.
Amanda started out in her customary high spirits, but as they continued northward she grew increasingly fretful and cross until Wyatt was forced to speak sharply to her. To his dismay she burst into tears and flung herself into the governess's arms, sobbing as if her heart would break. She fell asleep soon afterward. As she slept, he gave Nia a rueful look.
"What an ogre you must think me to make a little girl cry," he said, leaning forward to tuck the traveling robe more securely about Amanda. "I never meant to upset her."
He sounded so contrite that Nia's heart went out to him. "If you hadn't reprimanded her, I would have done so myself," she assured him gently. "Despite everything she has been through, there are still certain rules that must be followed, and Amanda mustn't be allowed to think she can behave so poorly without facing the consequences. She'll recover, don't worry, but I wonder if the same might be said of you." She added this last with a teasing smile.
The smile had its desired effect, and Wyatt settled back against the cushions. "As I have already observed, Miss Pringle, this guardian business is the very devil. I cannot remember a time when I have felt so bewildered." He gave the sleeping girl a loving glance. "I shudder to think what I shall go through once she makes her bows."
Nia's expression softened as she imagined an anxious and overprotective Wyatt watching a grown-up Amanda taking her place in society. "I am sure you will do quite well, Your Grace," she said, the sparkle in her eyes at odds with her prim tones. "After all, how difficult can it be? You'll only have to contend with rakes, fortune hunters, and ne'er do wells all trying to court Amanda for her money. To say nothing of beaus and fops and, of course, the man she will eventually marry."
Wyatt shot a genuinely horrified look at the little girl sleeping in Nia's arms. "If your intention was to terrify me, ma'am, you have succeeded," he said with a shudder. "I am turning Catholic at once, and sending her into a nunnery."
Nia gave a merry laugh, and then lowered her voice when Amanda stirred restlessly. "Hoisted with your own petard, sir," she said, gently laying her charge on the bench beside her. "I daresay you have given more than one father a nervous moment or two in your day. It seems only fair that you should suffer a similar fate."
The amusement died abruptly in Wyatt's eyes. "Ambrose once said the very same thing," he said quietly, turning to gaze out the window. "And I recall feeling quite smug about it. Now I find myself praying that fending off her beaus will be the greatest of my concerns."
Without thinking of the impropriety of her actions, Nia leaned forward to cover his clenched hand with her own. "You're talking about the attack, aren't you?" she asked, her voice gentle.
He gave a bleak nod, but did not look at her. "She could have been killed," he said, his jaw tense with suppressed fury. "I can't forget that. I won't. And when I find proof of the man's villainy, I shall see he pays for his folly with his life."
The brutal words would have made a lesser woman swoon, but Nia was a soldier's daughter. She may not have approved of his plans for deadly vengeance, but she understood his need to exact it. He blamed himself for what happened, and she knew that blame could only be assuaged through action. She only hoped he was prepared for the repercussions. Whatever he might think now, killing another man was never easy. She prayed the guilt wouldn't be too much for him to bear.
The sun was setting when they arrived at Perryvale Manor. Despite having been warned by Mrs. Mayton that the house was "A grand place, miss, with a hundred rooms or more," Nia was unprepared for the sheer size of the elegant estate. Built out of red bricks that had faded to a soft, creamy rose, the house glowed in the dying rays of sun. Mullioned windows winked in the golden light, and wide, stone terraces overlooked gardens that were alive with color.
Gazing up at it, Nia thought she'd never seen anything more beautiful or, she admitted with a heavy sigh, more intimidating. She turned to take Amanda's hand, only to find her in the duke's arms, her eyes wide as she gazed about her.
"Is this really your house, Uncle Wyatt?" she asked, her voice filled with awe.
"It is the home of the Perryvales," Wyatt replied, feeling a raw emptiness as he lifted his eyes to the house that had never seemed truly his. "And now it is your home as well."
"May we go inside now?" she asked the moment she was set on her feet. "I would like to see my room . . . and my pony. I most especially want to see my pony."
Wyatt smiled at her eagerness. "I am afraid you'll have to wait until tomorrow to meet Pegasus," he apologized. "But I think a tour of the house can be arranged."
The household staff was lined up on either side of the great hall to meet them, and after a quick round of introductions that left Nia's head spinning, the duke drew her off to one side. "I know you will want to see Amanda settled," he said, his dark gaze resting on her face. "But I would be most grateful if you would meet me in the receiving room. Shall we say in an hour?"
"Certainly, Your Grace," Nia replied, knowing the polite request was really an order. She'd been hoping to lie down for a bit, but she supposed it could wait.
The rooms that had been set aside for her and Amanda were the most luxurious Nia had ever seen, and it took all of her control not to gawk at them like a country bumpkin. She managed to control herself until Annie, the young maid who was assigned to help Nancy, escorted her into a large bedroom located across the hall from the schoolroom.
"This is my room?" she asked, standing on the threshold and glancing around the violet- and cream-colored room with disbelieving eyes. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, Miss Pringle," Annie replied, bustling over to the French windows and throwing them open. "His Grace was most precise in his instructions when he ordered the room redone. Do you like it?"
Nia's dazed eyes moved from the tent bed draped in amethyst silk to the cheval glass set in a gilded frame, before coming to rest on the pair of needlepoint chairs angled in front of the tiled fireplace. "It is perfect," she said, her voice soft as she walked over to the bed. She reached out to stroke the shimmering material, wondering why something so beautiful could make her so sad.
"Will you be having a lie down, miss?" the maid asked politely. "You're looking a wee bit whey-faced, if you don't mind my saying so."
"His Grace is waiting for me in the receiving room," Nia said, turning from the bed. "I'll change, and then go down. It wouldn't do to keep him waiting."
To her surprise Annie insisted upon helping her with her toilet. It was the first time she'd had a maid attend to her so personally, and she found the experience disconcerting. She soon learned that Annie, for all her youth and shy smiles, was a gentle despot, and that it was easier to submit to her ministrations than to argue. It was only when Annie insisted that Nia leave off her starched cap that she felt compelled to protest.
"But, Annie, I am a governess," she said, staring at her ref
lection with a mixture of disbelief and delight. "It wouldn't be proper for me to go about with my hair uncovered."
"Nonsense." Annie gathered up the rich mahogany tresses she had just brushed and began arranging them in a smooth chignon. "You're a young lady, miss, and there's years yet before you need to be bothering with such things. And you've such pretty hair, it seems a shame to hide it."
Nia was human enough to be pleased by the compliment, and settled back to let Annie work her magic. When her hair was arranged to the maid's exacting demands, Nia was bustled into one of her new gowns of emerald georgette trimmed with black braid. Annie added a fringed shawl of gold and green wool, and Nia knew she had never looked better. She said as much to Annie, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile.
"Thank you, miss," the young maid said, dropping a modest curtsey. " 'Tis my hope to be a lady's abigail someday, and if you don't mind, I thought mayhap I could practice on you. I'll be ever so careful," she added, when Nia didn't answer at once.
"I'm sure you shall," Nia capitulated. She'd helped train enough young girls for service to know that a lady's maid was as high as someone in Annie's position could hope to aspire. "And I would be delighted with your assistance. I'll soon be the best-dressed governess in all the Cotswolds, I'll wager," she added with a teasing smile.
The maid drew herself up, her chin set with pride. "You will be if I have aught to do with it," she declared.
Nia was still smiling several minutes later when she walked into the receiving room. Her fear that she would lose her way proved fruitless, as there were footmen everywhere who were more than eager to assist her. The duke was waiting for her, and as she entered he swung around to greet her.
"I am sorry to interrupt your rest when I know you must be exhausted," he began, his expression serious. "But there is something I . . ." His voice trailed off as he took in her appearance for the first time.
"Is something wrong, my lord?" Nia asked, puzzled by the odd look in his eyes.
"You aren't wearing your cap."
Nia blushed scarlet, feeling more mortified than she ever had in her life. "I will go up and fetch one at once, Your Grace," she mumbled, silently cursing herself for allowing her vanity to overcome her good sense. "I apologize if I have offended—"
"No," Wyatt interrupted, stepping forward to offer her a penitent smile. "It is I who ought to apologize to you for having made such a personal remark. It is just that I was taken aback." His eyes lingered on her before he added, "You have beautiful hair."
Nia didn't know what to say. "Thank you, Your Grace," she said at last, deciding it was probably wisest to accept the compliment and be done with it.
Wyatt continued gazing at her, feeling as awkward as a school lad. He'd always thought her lovely, but looking as she did now, she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. Oh, he had met women who were more beautiful, but they seemed pale and insignificant when compared to Nia.
Afraid of revealing his thoughts, he turned toward the opened French windows that overlooked the gardens. "There is something of great import I wish to discuss with you, and I thought it best that we get to it at once," he said, his hands clenched behind his back as he stared out at the garden. "It is about the man responsible for the attack on Amanda."
Nia brightened at this bit of news, her uneasiness with the awkward situation vanishing. "Are you going to tell me his name?" she asked, pleased that he had finally decided to take her into his confidence.
Her eagerness for the truth made him flinch, but he knew the time was not right. "Not just yet," he said regretfully, wishing he could be more forthcoming with her. "I still have little in the way of proof, and until such time as I do, I prefer keeping my suspicions to myself."
As if she intended going about shouting the man's name from the rooftop, Nia thought sourly, controlling her disappointment with difficulty. "What is it you wished to discuss, then?" she asked, piqued by his continued obstinacy on the subject.
Wyatt heard the sharpness in her voice and tried not to smile. "I've set some runners to watching him," he told her, recalling the meeting he had held with Ambrose and Mr. Hemsley prior to leaving London. "I don't think he'll attempt to follow us here, but I can't be sure. Because of that I am afraid you and Amanda must be restricted to the estate. If you need to go into the village, either one of the senior servants or I will accompany you. And of course you are forbidden to ride about on your own," he added, wisely anticipating her.
Nia glowered at his back. If the situation hadn't been so desperate, nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to hurl his odious commands back at him. But since she knew he was right she managed to contain her annoyance. "Yes, Your Grace."
Her stilted tones brought him swinging around to face her. "I know these restrictions chafe, Nia," he said, meeting her gaze, "but I assure you they are for the best. I would not have you harmed because of me."
The torment in his husky voice touched something deep in Nia, and she longed to offer him some comfort. She took a hesitant step forward before she managed to regain control of her errant emotions. "Then you agree that it is enmity toward you that is responsible for the incident?" she asked, forcing herself to be as cool and logical as she could.
He nodded slowly. "I spoke with the ruffian who was taken into custody," he replied, sharing with her what he could. "Although he knew next to nothing about who hired him, he did admit that he was told the attack was to occur when I was there to witness it."
"Good God, why?"
"He didn't think to ask, but I would hazard a guess it was because I was meant to suffer. And believe me, if anything had happened to Amanda, I would have suffered."
A wave of protective fury welled up in Nia, this time on Wyatt's behalf. The thought that anyone would try to hurt him in such a vicious manner aroused feelings in her that were as powerful as they were confusing. She remembered her vow to protect Amanda, and silently amended it. Not only would she do everything within her power to keep her charge safe, she pledged, but she would also shield Wyatt from any harm. Whoever was after him would have to get past her to reach him.
The first weeks at Perryvale flashed by in an idyllic haze for Nia and her delighted charge. They spent sun-filled mornings exploring the elegant old house, and flower-scented afternoons roaming over the estate on their horses. Wyatt usually accompanied them on their rides, but on those rare days when he was occupied elsewhere, his steward, a Mr. Lohman, rode with them, answering Amanda's ceaseless questions with a stilted dignity that Nia found vastly diverting.
They had been at Perryvale almost a fortnight when Amanda came dashing into the schoolroom, her blue eyes alight with wonder as she skittered to a halt in front of Nia's desk. "Oh, Miss Pringle, you must come quickly! Mr. Sanderfore has a broken knight in his armory!"
Nia's eyebrows climbed as she attempted to decipher this startling pronouncement. One of the things that had captured Amanda's mercurial interest was the estate's extensive collection of medieval armor, and she was always clamoring for a peek inside the ancient suits. Mr. Sanderfore had recently been hired to restore the collection, and although he indulged Amanda to a point, he'd never allowed her to handle the armor, explaining it was too valuable. He had, however, promised that the next time he restored a piece he would let her examine it.
"Ah, you mean he has taken one of the suits apart," Nia said, setting aside the book she had been reading with a laugh. "That does sound interesting. Have you peeked inside?"
Amanda solemnly shook her head. "I only looked in for a moment to wish Mr. Sanderfore a good day, and when I saw the bits of knight lying on the table, I came to fetch you. I thought you'd like to see them, too," she added with the air of one bestowing a rare treat.
"I see." Nia wasn't fooled by such generosity. The armory, with its dangerous collection of swords, maces, and battles axes, was strictly forbidden to Amanda, and she was only allowed to visit it when she was with an adult. She'd already broken that rule and Nia knew
she should reprimand her for the infraction, but she didn't have the heart. What could it hurt? she asked herself, adjusting her spectacles as she rose to her feet.
"Very well," she said, offering Amanda her hand. "Let's meet your disassembled knight."
The armory was located in the north wing of the house, in the ancient place the servants called the "keep." The rough walls of damp gray stones were hung with exquisite tapestries and faded battle flags, and the flagstones beneath their feet were worn uneven by centuries of use. Nia could feel the weight of history about the place, and it captivated her as much as the more sumptuous portions of the house left her dazzled.
Perryvale was much like its owner in that respect, she mused, pausing to admire the sunlight streaming through a stained-glass window. It was refined and elegant on the surface, but hard and deadly at its core. The oddest part was that she found it was the cold, stone core she preferred to the polished perfection. The fanciful admission brought a pensive look to her eyes.
The young curator was seated at a table and hard at work polishing an arm piece when they entered. "Good afternoon, sir," she said, greeting him with a polite smile. "I hope we aren't interrupting you?"
Mr. Sanderfore set aside his rubbing cloth and stumbled to his feet. "Not at all, Miss Pringle," he assured her, his pale cheeks flushing a deep brick-red. "You must know I am always happy to receive visitors. Lady Amanda." He patted her on the head. "I thought I saw you peeking in here earlier."
"We have come to see the knight," Amanda said hastily. She inched closer to the long table and studied the pieces of gleaming silver metal scattered on its surface. "Where is the rest of him?" she asked.
"This is all there is, I fear," Mr. Sanderfore said. "This is one of our smaller suits, worn more for ornamentation than for protection. Unlike this piece." He moved to another table that held a confusing array of polished metal.
"Do you see this?" he held up a metallic sleeve fitted at the shoulder with supple pieces of leather. "Most of these joints were of hinged metal or mesh, but this has been made with leather for flexibility. The elbow is similarly jointed, and would have allowed its wearer greater freedom of movement. An important consideration when one is swinging a sword in battle."
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