Netherby Halls

by Claudy Conn

  Sassy pulled up to the house and then frowned. “What shall I do with the horses and carriage? We can’t just leave them on the open road.”

  “No, but neither one of us should wait here with them either … just pull into the courtyard where there is sure to be a post we can tether them to. Then, as these evergreens are so lovely and tall, we shan’t be seen at all.”

  “Sophy, you are quite the little cunning thing, aren’t you?” Sassy remarked with a short laugh.

  “When I have to be,” Sophy answered, unabashed.

  They waited at the front door, and it seemed an interminable time before a male servant opened the front door.

  The elderly man made no effort to hide his shock as two young maids burst in on him, one demanding to be taken to Mr. Lutterel.

  Obviously torn with indecision, the butler finally made that decision with a prim mouth and said, “You may not enter. You must leave.”

  “Leave? Nonsense—we have already entered. Now be good enough to inform Mr. Lutterel that we desire an audience with him,” Sassy said, putting up her chin. All she wanted to do was escape, but she had to put on a front for the servant without giving away their identities. Tricky.

  Sophia turned an admiring glance to her friend and said, “Well done, dear, well done.” She then turned to the butler. Her voice a bit shrill from the danger and excitement of her boldness, she said imperiously but politely, “Now, if you will be so kind, you may bring Mr. Lutterel to us at once.”

  Sassy still could not believe she had allowed herself to become embroiled in this mess. She knew it was shocking behavior. She knew, if caught, her life would no doubt be ruined. What had moved her to do this? Sophy—she had felt Sophy and Percy needed to see each other, and the dratted girl had convinced her that he would leave. Ah, but was that the real reason? You also knew the marquis would leave with Percy. She frowned this thought away.

  “Good God!” exclaimed the marquis, stepping into the hallway.

  A darkling look came over his face, and his blue eyes seemed to fill with anger. Oh no—he wasn’t pleased to see her.

  “That is all,” he said to the retainer; then in a strange voice laced with magic Sassy knew only she could hear, he added. “You will forget these young women. They were never here.”

  The elderly man nodded and walked away. Sassy was a bit surprised that the marquis had used a spell right before her eyes. She looked at Sophy, who hadn’t a clue.

  He ignored Sophy and went to Sassy, towering over her like a god, and asked, “How came you here?”

  She attempted a smile, but it faded before completely forming. His grim expression made it clear just how terrible a thing she and Sophy had done.

  “Miss Delleson’s curricle,” Sassy said quietly.

  The marquis crossed the hall and pulled at a bell rope. A lackey appeared, dressed in blue livery, and the marquis’s voice came swift and hard. “Have my phaeton prepared and brought to the courtyard, at once. And on your way, you will see a curricle outside. Put it in the coach house, but in thirty minutes, fetch it and bring it to Mr. Lutterel. Now hurry, lad.”

  Sassy assumed the boy would have no memory of his errands in the end. She watched him dart off and felt her elbow taken by his lordship. He steered her across the hall, not bothering to note whether or not Sophy followed, though Sassy turned to look towards her friend.

  Sassy gasped at such commandeering but could not find the words to say. She allowed him the moment as he sat her upon a hard-backed chair in the study. She took to studying the Oriental rug at her feet, while Sophy stood fluttering her hands in the air and looking as though she were about to faint at the sight of Mr. Lutterel, who strode towards her, his face a mask of shock.

  “Sophy,” he exclaimed. “Egad, Sophy!”

  “Percy!” Sophy wailed, her hands outstretched towards his chest. Once he was within reach, she caught the lapels of his waistcoat and released a sob.

  Sassy knew that in coming to a man’s lodgings they were breaking a rule but had managed to convince herself that they could get in and get out without any harm done. Now, it hit home that the breaking of this particular rule carried with it serious consequences if they were caught. Her gaze left the couple before her and returned to the design of the rug. What had she done? What could he think? She knew that to be found visiting a man’s lodgings would unalterably condemn both hers and Sophy’s reputations forever. She should have been the wise one; she should have done something other than give in to Sophy. Her heart sank with her gaze, and she had a moment where she felt as though she might just faint. She had never in her life fainted, but the disapproval in the marquis’s stern gaze, which she could see when she uplifted her own for a moment, added a certain appeal to the idea of succumbing to a case of the vapors.

  “You will kindly tell us why you have you jeopardized your reputation and blessed me with your presence, Miss Winthrop.”

  No longer did he call her Sassy was her reaction to his words. She felt shame rush through her mind, and the heat of high emotion stilled the sharp retort she might have given him under different circumstances. “Well, I did not come to visit you, my lord,” she managed.

  “Then why, Miss Winthrop, are you here?” the marquis demanded.

  Sassy did not wish to put the blame on Sophy and, in truth, knew she could have remained steadfast and refused to come. She could see out of the corner of her eye that Sophy had retired to her handkerchief while Mr. Lutterel held her shoulders and told her that she should not have come.

  “Well … I-I …” stammered Sassy, at a loss.

  “You what, woman?” the marquis demanded relentlessly.

  “It was all my fault,” Sophy wailed suddenly when she realized her friend was being seriously put to task. “I insisted Miss Winthrop accompany me, and it has all been for naught.” She turned to Mr. Lutterel. “You, sir, are a brute!”

  “A brute? Me?” Percy appeared astounded, too much so to say more.

  “Yes, y-es … you are!” cried the distraught lady, once again diving into her handkerchief.

  The marquis’s oath was indistinguishable, which Sassy guessed was just as well, as it was likely not something either lady should have heard. He returned his blue-eyed gaze to Sassy, his finger about to wag, but was interrupted by the arrival of his lackey, to whom he said, “Ah, good.” He turned back to Sassy and commanded, “Come along, quickly now.”

  Sassy glanced towards Sophy and uttered, “But … Sophia …?”

  “Mr. Lutterel will see to Miss Delleson. She is none of my concern, but you are!” He waved his hand for her to go before him and then took a moment to don his outer garments.

  Sassy was stunned by his statement and thrown into a state of confusion. At her back, Percy and Sophy were making mewling sounds to one another, and she, therefore, made no objection as the marquis rushed her outside to his waiting team and carriage.

  As he helped her up, she turned and looked at him feeling very shy but needing to mention, “I … ah … my portmanteau is in the Delleson curricle.”

  This elicited another oath before he sent the lackey to fetch it from the coach house. During this short delay he did not glance her way, and she kept her gaze averted in the uncomfortable silence of the moment. She felt like a child. Here she was, on her own, a tutor—supposed to set a good example—and what had she done? Oh, but she could not believe it. After all, she was one and twenty! A veritable ‘old maid’ who should not have romantic notions and allow one’s friend to talk her into something she knew at the outset was wrong.

  The marquis hoisted her up onto the seat of his neat vehicle. He dismissed his waiting tiger and jumped expertly up to take a seat beside her, moving the phaeton in the direction of the main road, while Sassy wondered mildly whither they were bound.

  He was in a temper, something she had not really experienced from him before. Perhaps the best thing to do under the circumstances was to sit very still and not offer his wrath any further fuel. However,
she asked herself, why he should be so angry with her? After all, what had this to do with him?

  “I could wring that little fool’s neck!” he exclaimed suddenly. “How she managed to convince you, with your normally level head, to fall in with her wild scheme has me fairly baffled. I thought you did not have a want of sense, ma’am!”

  “I have also never thought I wanted sense,” she agreed, trying to maintain an even temper. “Do people with sense never err?”

  He pulled on the strings and the horses slowed to a stop. Turning to face her, he sighed, put out his gloved hand, and took her chin to lift her face to his. Their eyes met, and she thought in that moment she was going to err again and fling herself into his arms. She loved him. With all her heart, she loved him, and the sudden admission to herself was as though a rosebud inside her had burst open all at once.

  “Freely, you admit your mistake? You are a marvel, Miss Winthrop for I do not think I have ever encountered a woman who would do so.” He shook his head, but clearly his temper had abated as he said softly, “Tell me, do … just what did you think you were doing—furthering the course of true love? A very silly notion, my sweet. You must certainly never do such a thing again.”

  She was in love with a rake, a libertine, a man who went from woman to woman, a marquis whose station was quite above that of a tutor—a vicar’s daughter. These thoughts, not his words, occupied her mind as he spoke. Somehow, though, his meaning filtered through, and she said, “Er … yes … you are quite right. I shan’t do such a thing again, but you are being very solicitous, my lord.”

  He hurriedly stuck in, giving her a naughty grin she found irresistible, “Am I? Yes, to be sure I am.”

  “But you have insinuated that I might agree to be your … your … to …”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “’Tis a contradiction to protect me from gossip and yet try and set me up as your … light o’love.” There, she thought, she had said it.

  He picked up the reins and urged his horses forward, throwing her a sideways glance as he said quietly, “Perhaps, my sweet Sassy, perhaps my intentions toward you have undergone an alteration, and that is not what I wish at all.”

  His words silenced Sassy; her mind went into a stupor. She stared at his handsome profile, completely confounded by this calculated and meaningful statement. She had nothing to offer in response and felt herself blush.

  The sound of a lone rider’s clopping over the hard earth brought her head up. An odd-looking man rode towards them on a dark roan. He was bearded and wore his old, weathered tri-cornered hat at an angle. Sassy stared at him, for it hit her, that feeling of having seen him somewhere. She shrugged it off; perhaps it was just his style—could be someone from the docks of Bristol.

  The marquis’s eyes flickered from her to the man when the rider nodded as he passed them. “Are you acquainted with that particular gentleman?” he asked with an accompanying frown.

  “Why do you ask?” Sassy answered, still mulling the problem over in her mind.

  “The way you stared at him. I thought you were looking at someone you knew.”

  “Nooo,” said Sassy evasively. “Yet … I seem to recall—” She stopped herself at once as dawning lit in her brain. She knew where she had seen the stranger before.

  She saw that the marquis was waiting for her to finish her sentence, and she had a sudden urge to confide in him. She wanted to tell him what she had witnessed at Netherby late the other night. She wanted to tell him that the headmistress had received this man and two others in secret, but … could she trust him?

  Her fear that she could not trust him kept her reticent, so she said, “I-I don’t know him but, he looked familiar … nothing more.”

  The marquis’s blue eyes flickered, and his lips moved into a hard line. “I see.”

  The school was reached moments afterward, and Sassy wondered if the bearded man had been visiting the headmistress in broad daylight. The marquis nimbly jumped to the ground, assisted her to do the same, and carried her portmanteau as he walked her to the school doors, seeing her in before he bowed and took his leave.

  “Good day to you, Sassy. Perhaps this time you have averted a scandal—you may not be so lucky again. Are we clear?”

  “You are not my father,” she said, chafed that he would not let it go.

  “No, I am not. Fortunately that is not the position I mean to have in your life.” So saying, he turned his back and was off.

  She went to the window near the front door and watched him turn his phaeton and leave with a long sigh.

  What did he mean? What position did he mean to have in her life? No doubt he still wanted to seduce her to his bed and make her his mistress. The sorry fact was, at that moment, she wanted him so badly she was nearly ready to settle for that—nearly, but not quite. As a plan began to formulate in her mind, she smiled to herself and hurried up the staircase.

  ~ Eighteen ~

  THE MARQUIS STOOD frowning a moment before he pulled himself up to his seat and took up the reins. Once there, he noticed that Sassy’s yellow scarf must have fallen and gotten wedged into the seat.

  He picked it up and before he could stop himself brushed it past his lips, closing his eyes with the intoxicating scent—her scent, particular to her and infused with her own brand of magic.

  Placing it carefully inside the inner pocket of his greatcoat, he made the decision that he would revisit the school and Sassy soon, very soon.

  Making his way back to his lodgings, his mind collected his facts, his feelings, and his sixth sense that, because of his magic, could never be denied. He put them in their proper places and knew just what he was going to do. His plan was laid out before him and gave him a moment’s pleasure—interrupted by the notion that Sassy had recognized Tom Wheeler!

  Perhaps not at first, but he had seen the look of recognition come over her face. Yet, she had deliberately lied—as all females did in the end, always for their own reason.

  Perhaps, perhaps ’twas because she felt she still could not trust him enough to tell him how she knew such a blackguard? She did not trust him, and this galled, because he believed she trusted Dr. Bankes, whom he despised.

  He felt his heart had become dislodged from its granite walls—for her. He knew this, and he knew she was the only woman on earth for him, but he wasn’t sure he had a heart to give. Trust was something he couldn’t hand over easily. Trust was something even more important than what he felt. Could he trust her?

  He was sure that first encounter in Sutton, where they shared that first hallucination, had been her magic. At one and twenty, she was no doubt going through transition; somehow her magic had connected with his and made her dream of him. But now he wanted her to want him, not just her magic. He wanted the human in her to want the human in him, just as his human wanted her beyond measure.

  She was unlike any other, and he adored her, but at the moment he had another problem. He had to get to Percy and make certain his friend had not become embroiled in a situation that might hinder his carefully laid out plans! He didn’t wish to use magic any more than he had to—the damnation of it was that, while useful, it was addicting. He had always to maintain control lest it control him.

  * * *

  Percy was, in fact, not acting with any observable logic. Sophy’s curricle stood once again in front of his lodgings, and logic—indeed, a regard for his beloved’s reputation—should have taken him off with her posthaste, but they remained still in wild discourse with each other, heedless of all else.

  “But I do … I do love you, Percy. I never meant to marry Grey—please believe me, Percy,” Sophy cried, whining and using her lovely eyes to plead with him.

  “Then why did you say you would?” the stoic young man demanded.

  “To … well, to stop you from killing him,” she answered unwisely.

  “Why try to save him, if you didn’t care for him?”

  “Oh you are a dunce!” She stomped her foot. “
Stop being so hard-hearted, you odious boy. I didn’t want you to go to prison or flee the country. That would have made me wretched. Do you want me wretched?”

  He took her into his arms and said desperately, “No! No. I only want you for all time.”

  She put her head against his chest and twisted the lapel of his buff-colored waistcoat. “Oh Percy, I do love you.”

  “Then say you will be my wife! Say it, Sophia. Without such a promise I cannot remain here. I am flesh and blood, and my heart beats only for you, but it needs nourishment, and you—you give me nothing!”

  “But, Percy, I want to give you everything,” the lady wailed.

  “Then say it!”

  “Yes, Percy, my love, I want to be your wife.”

  “And so you shall be,” Percy said with some determination as he took her passionately into his arms and burned her hungry lips with his own.

  At length she said, “oh, darling, but what will Mama say?”

  “What can she say?” the gallant replied with a nervous laugh.

  “A great deal I am afraid.” Sophy sighed.

  He groaned, but as he was determined in his resolve, he bade her wait while he donned his outer garments. Then he gave her his arm, and they made their way to the waiting curricle just as the marquis arrived.

  “Good God, Percy—why are you still here? This will never do,” the marquis said with a shake of his head.

  “Wish me happy, Justin. We are to be married,” Percy replied, feeling all was nearly right with his world.

  The marquis slapped him on the back and wished him well before telling him to hurry along. “Don’t take no from Mrs. Delleson. In fact, I rather think Mr. Delleson might step in on this one. He likes you a great deal.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Sophy. “We shall apply to Papa without Mama even being aware.”

  The marquis watched them drive off and turned to see the butler in the hallway watching with avid interest. Servants talked to other servants; within a very short span of time, the world would be talking.