by Regina Scott
“Yes, whatever was bothering me seems to have disappeared in the night,” she told him, “just as Dr. Praxton predicted. I’m very relieved it wasn’t infectious after all, as Mr. Faringil suspected. I would never forgive myself if I made you all ill.”
His smile seemed a little rough around the edges. “It does indeed seem to be a passing thing. I take it none of the students at the school were ill.”
She started. If she was forced to endure his company, at the very least she could mention Dottie’s predicament. She would have to go carefully this time, remembering her place and how the Darbys considered things. She pulled Jingles to her and began petting him to hide the trembling of her hands. “You have been very kind, my lord. I wonder, could you spare another moment?”
“Certainly,” Justinian replied. “Is something troubling you?”
Eleanor smoothed her hands over Jingles’ fur. The kitten deigned to suffer her touch. Justinian was regarding her so fixedly, she could see out of the corner of her eye, that she wasn’t certain how to start. She forced herself to remember the tableau in the headmistress’ office. “I am very concerned about Dottie, that is your niece, Lady Dorothea.”
He sat a little straighter. “I’ll visit her soon. I am well aware that I am neglecting her.”
“Neglecting her?” Eleanor blinked in confusion. “You most certainly are not neglecting her. Dottie receives more visits from you in a month than many of the girls receive in a year. You are obviously the most loving of uncles.”
He shifted on his seat as if embarrassed she had noticed. “Thank you.”
“Your behavior does not concern me in the least,” Eleanor assured him. “It’s Dottie’s. The loss of her mother and father is too fresh for her to return to school. She cannot concentrate on her studies. She needs reassurances. I’m sure that’s why she became obsessed with Jingles.”
He glanced down at the kitten, who stretched out and relaxed in pleasure under Eleanor’s petting.
“Is she unhappy then?” he asked, rising to move about the room.
“Dreadfully so,” Eleanor confided, watching him. She was a little surprised by how strongly he reacted to her words. When his father had sent her away, and he had never pursued her or sent a word of encouragement, she had convinced herself that he was not a person of strong feelings after all. Either he had changed or she had been wrong. Both possibilities made her stomach flutter. She shook herself and plunged ahead. “I think she would be much happier here with her family for a time. I don’t wish to be impertinent, but would you consider bringing her home sooner than Christmas?”
He backed toward the door. “No impertinence,” he all but panted. “But it can’t be done. No one to care for her.”
Eleanor looked up in wonder that the usually eloquent Justinian Darby was all but stammering. His tawny hair curled about his damp forehead, and he was swallowing almost convulsively as he attempted to meet her gaze. All thoughts of modesty fled. Eleanor scrambled from the bed, thrusting Jingles at a startled Mary.
“My lord, are you ill?” Her own concerns forgotten, she hurried to his side and raised a hand to his forehead. She could not have brought a disease upon him. She would never forgive herself.
*
Her suggestion was entirely reasonable. Any other time he would have applauded her good sense. However, all he could see was the way her hands had stroked that silky black fur. If Norrie paid him such attentions he’d probably roll over and purr as well.
What was he thinking?
He backed away from her, bumping up against the solid panel of the door. The flannel nightgown draped her body effectively, but his memory conjured up the feel of her fingers in his.
“I’m fine,” he yelped, ducking to avoid her touch.
She blinked, clearly surprised, and hesitated. “Your voice seems unusually husky, and your face is turning red. Perhaps Dr. Praxton was wrong about the nature of the disease.” As if to check for a fever, she pressed her hand to his brow.
Justinian groaned at the cool touch. Her nearness, her sweet concern, and his reaction convinced him who he faced. “Norrie, please! I assure you, I’m fine. Return to the bed.”
She stared at him, washing white. Her hand fell, and she swayed. He caught her easily and swung her up into his arms. For the second time in two days, he found himself holding the woman who had once been most precious to him in all the world.
“It is you, isn’t it?” he murmured.
She nodded. “Yes, I used to be known as Norrie Pritchett. The headmistress thought my full name, Eleanor, was more fitting for a teacher. I promise you, I won’t faint. Would you please set me down?”
“Need I remind you that you have been ill?” he replied, relishing the feel of her so close. He remembered how noble he’d felt at twenty to refrain from doing more than pressing her hand fervently. What an idiot he’d been. Life was entirely too short to forego such pleasure. He pulled her closer and tried to smile reassuringly when her eyes widened in obvious alarm. They both knew that, in another minute, he would kiss her.
“Put that down,” Mary commanded, and Justinian started. Then he realized she addressed Jingles, who had picked up a piece of fuzz off the counterpane and was attempting to swallow it, nearly crossing his eyes in the process. Norrie was blushing in his arms. All he needed was servant’s gossip to frighten her away again before they could become reacquainted. Reluctantly, he crossed the room and set her on the bed.
She lost no time scrambling beneath the covers and snatching Jingles to her, burying her face in his fur.
A thousand questions crowded Justinian’s tongue, but none found its way forward. It seemed insipid to ask her whether she was all right when he could see she was greatly distressed by his recognition. He didn’t have the heart to press her with more important questions.
“We must speak,” he started. “About Dottie and other matters. But I’ll come back when you’re recovered.”
She glanced up then, and panic rode in those blue-violet eyes. Who was he to promise recovery? He had never recovered from her regard the first time. What made him think this time would be any different?
Chapter Five
Eleanor Pritchett was running away again. She didn’t seem to have any other option. She was entirely recovered from her mysterious illness. The only time even a remnant of it returned was when she held Jingles too close to her face. Then she was sure to sneeze several times in quick succession, and she could feel her eyes tearing. It seemed that the illness was directly related to the little kitten, although that explanation did not account for Justinian’s strange symptoms the day before. He had hardly been holding Jingles at the time. Still, she could be reasonably assured that, as she was leaving the kitten behind, the disease would trouble her no more.
And she must leave. Justinian had indicated that he wanted to talk, but she could think of nothing they could say to each other that she had not told herself a dozen times over. She knew her place. His father had taught it to her, and Miss Martingale had made sure she never forgot the lesson. If she had been an unthinkable mate for a second son, she would never be suitable for the earl. She could never have his love; she would not have his pity. Ten years ago she had slipped away and hidden herself at the Barnsley School. She had been a girl of seventeen then. Now she was a woman of twenty-seven, and the prospect of running away held even less solace, especially when this time she had nowhere to run.
As she dressed in her black bombazine and traveling cloak, now cleaned and pressed, Jingles sat by the fire, licking his fur and eyeing her between flecks of his little pink tongue. For all his nonchalance, she had a feeling he might miss her. Certainly no one else in the household had made much effort to care for him. She had hoped Mr. Faringil would attempt to settle Jingles into his new home. Unfortunately, the butler seemed only too happy to leave the care and feeding to her. She had managed to convince Mary to bring water and kitchen scraps for the kitten and to let him in and out and watch him when he n
eeded to relieve himself. But it was clear to Eleanor that the abigail did so under duress. If only Dottie would come home sooner! Then Eleanor would not have any qualms about leaving Wenworth Place behind.
Before the Tompion clock on the mantle struck eight, she set out. Determined to find someone to take charge of the kitten, she let him scamper about her feet as she started down the corridor. Doors like her own dotted the silk-hung walls on either side in both directions. When she had visited the estate all those years ago, she had never had occasion to rise above the ground floor, so she scarcely knew her way. Farther to her right, she thought she saw a wider archway that must be the main stairway. Clucking to Jingles, she started in that direction.
Part way there, a door opened, and Mary backed into the corridor, a tray of empty serving dishes in her arms. Eleanor paused to keep from bumping into the abigail. Before she could cry out, Jingles stalked around Mary’s legs and into the room beyond. The king was intent on inspecting his holdings. Mary was equally intent on balancing the tray; she obviously did not see the kitten. Before Eleanor could speak, the abigail trotted in the opposite direction, oblivious to her presence.
Eleanor bit her lip. Someone had been in the room or Mary wouldn’t be cleaning afterwards. But was it the breakfast room or a bedchamber, and if the latter, whose? She hardly wanted to meet up with Justinian in his nightshirt. Just the thought made her blush. But if the room was empty, ought she to leave Jingles alone? They might not find him for days in this huge house!
From inside the room came a thud and a startled mew. No human voice responded. Encouraged, Eleanor opened the door and peered inside.
The room was a bedchamber, considerably larger than the one in which she had stayed. In the center stood a walnut box bed with yellow and gold hangings. A fire blazed in the grate of the marble fireplace, and the gold velvet drapes were closed against the dawn of a winter day. Nowhere under the long curved legs of the dark dressing table, armoire, or wash stand could Eleanor spy a small black kitten.
“Jingles,” Eleanor hissed, unable to see beyond the hangings of the bed to determine if anyone was still in it. For all she knew, Mary had merely been cleaning away a breakfast long eaten. She tiptoed a little farther into the room. “Jingles? Here, kitty, kitty.”
“He’s here,” a voice called. Eleanor swallowed, not sure whether to be relieved that the voice was not Justinian’s or concerned that the room was indeed inhabited. She peered around the hangings to see a tiny elderly woman nearly lost amongst a mountain of pillows piled up against the headboard. Her skin was as pure as fine bone china, crinkling around the sharp blue eyes and soft pink mouth. In fact, her eyes and mouth were the only spots of color from the white lawn cap trimmed with lace and dripping ribbon to the white coverlet that was pulled up to her chest. The only color, that was, except the very black kitten who was trying to cross the white counterpane. Every time he minced across the uneven surface, the woman gently seized his hind foot and drew him back. Outraged, he dug his claws into the fine material and pulled it back with him. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile.
“You must be Miss Eleanor,” the woman murmured. “I am Eulalie, Countess Wenworth.”
Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat, but she managed a curtsey. “Your ladyship, an honor to meet you.”
The countess quirked a white brow. “An honor is it? That is yet to be seen.” She nodded to where Jingles was once more attempting to reach the foot of the bed. “Is this my granddaughter’s kitten?”
“Yes, your ladyship,” Eleanor replied, reaching to catch the kitten. “I’m sorry Jingles disturbed you. I was just looking for someone to take custody of him.”
Deprived of his freedom, Jingles squirmed in her grip. Lady Wenworth held out her frail arms. “You needn’t take him away. I’m sure I can find something to entertain him.”
Eleanor wasn’t sure that was the best choice. If the kitten somehow was transmitting the illness, it would hardly do to infect someone as frail as the countess. She hesitated, and a vaguely familiar light came to the lady’s eyes.
“I am not accustomed to having to repeat myself,” she murmured, the steel evident behind her gentle tone. “Give me the kitten.”
Swallowing, Eleanor complied. Jingles stared up at the countess before deigning to rest in her arms.
“Very good,” Lady Wenworth said. “Now, sit, Miss Eleanor. I should like to get to know you better.”
Surely the woman could see she was dressed for travel. Eleanor hesitated again, but, as the blue eyes narrowed, she hurriedly sank onto the hard-backed chair beside the bed. She certainly didn’t want to give the woman apoplexy. On the other hand, it was apparent that Justinian hadn’t mentioned her connection with a certain Norrie Pritchett, whom the last earl had accused of fortune hunting, and Eleanor didn’t want to refresh her ladyship’s memory. An invalid even then, the woman had only met her a few times. Still, it seemed the better part of wisdom to escape as soon as she could.
She tried to remember Miss Partridge’s classes on etiquette at the school. Beyond forms of address and curtseys, she didn’t think topics of conversations suitable for dowager countesses had been covered. She vaguely remembered that fashion, weather, and health were considered safe gambits. Unfortunately, she knew nothing about the latest fashions, and it seemed rather impertinent to discuss matters of health with an invalid. “Lovely weather for December,” she said with a pleasant smile.
The countess regarded her sternly, although her blue-veined hands were gentle on Jingle’s fur. “Stop that at once. I was positive from Justinian’s description that you would make better conversation than that.”
“Sorry,” Eleanor murmured, abashed. “What is it you would like me to converse about?”
The countess waved a hand airily at everything and nothing. “Whatever you like. So long as it is original and witty.”
Her mind suddenly froze. She had never been called upon to discuss anything with anyone other than the staff and children. Certainly, no one had ever demanded that she be witty. She gazed at the countess, whose look was turning surly again, and suddenly she recognized the resemblance. “I see where Dottie gets her determination,” Eleanor said. “She’s just as likely to put me in a difficult position when she makes up her mind to have something.”
The countess laughed, a surprisingly hearty sound for one so frail. “And what do you do when she does?”
Eleanor returned her smile. “I have a choice of scolding her or hugging her. So far, the latter has worked rather well.”
“Very well then, I submit.” The countess threw open her arms, sending a startled Jingles dashing to the end of the bed, where he eyed them both unforgivingly.
Eleanor stared at her a moment in disbelief, but there was no mistaking her gesture or the curious moisture behind those blue eyes. If the countess had been one of Eleanor’s charges, she would have said the woman was lonely. Her heart went out to Lady Wenworth, and she hugged her tiny body close.
After a moment, the countess released her, eyes overbright. Eleanor felt tears in her own eyes as well.
“How lovely,” Lady Wenworth said with a sigh. “We must have more of those while you’re here.”
Eleanor glanced down at her traveling cloak. “I’m terribly sorry, your ladyship, but I shan’t be here long. I was just on my way, actually.”
The countess frowned. Something about the intensity of those knitted brows reminded Eleanor of the lady’s son as well. “That will never do. We’ve hardly had time to become acquainted. No, you must stay, at least through Christmas.”
The thought was so alarming that Eleanor had to press her lips together to keep from protesting. The countess was not what she had expected, but that didn’t mean Eleanor would ever be welcome here. She could not let a moment’s pleasantness cause her to forget her place. Collecting herself, she straightened. “I’m sorry, your ladyship, but I simply can’t.”
“Pish tosh,” she replied. “You can’t, or you won’t? If that scho
ol is the problem, I shall simply write and tell them your presence is needed here at the estate.”
Eleanor managed a polite smile. She had been in that position once before. It had not ended well. “But it isn’t needed. We both know that, Lady Wenworth. There is no possible reason for me to stay on. I would only feel as if I were taking advantage of your hospitality.”
The countess’ eyes narrowed again. “I’m not offering you hospitality, girl. I’m ordering you to stay and visit. That should assuage your sensibilities. Didn’t your mother teach you to defer to your betters?”
Eleanor felt herself grow cold. She could hear the echo of Lord Wenworth’s words: Do not strive to mimic your betters, girl. Your place is at our feet, never at our sides.
“I know what is expected of me, Lady Wenworth,” she murmured, clenching her gloved fists. “But sadly, I tend to speak my mind. You would not find me a pleasant companion for long, I fear. I might tell you that you are quite impossible.”
The countess grinned at her. “Only my husband ever had the courage to say such to me, mores the pity.” She reached out and squeezed Eleanor’s hand. Eleanor raised her head, surprised by the kindness of the touch. “Please stay, dear. Justinian doesn’t have time for me, and Mary hasn’t the courage to stand up to me. Even when Dottie is home…” She trailed off and clapped her hands. “That’s it! Of course. Dottie must come home for Christmas. Justinian mentioned you recommended she come home sooner. You can tell the school you stayed on to get things ready for her.”
Much as she knew she must leave, she felt the pull of the countess’ offer. How sweet it would be to make a home for Dottie, a place where the girl could find happiness again. Still, she could not risk seeing Justinian. “I’m sorry, your ladyship, but I don’t see that that’s necessary.”
The countess waved her hand airily as she had done before. “Children need routines, schedules. At the very least, no one has lived in the nursery on a regular basis for years. Someone has to see that it is fit for my granddaughter. And it shouldn’t be too taxing, so you would have time to visit me. What do you say, my dear?”