by Regina Scott
She had to say no. She couldn’t be in the same house as Justinian for the three weeks remaining before Christmas and hope to avoid him. They would meet, repeatedly. As a sort of governess and companion, she would be in an impossible position, neither peer nor servant. She should leave before her heart could be bruised any further. She should walk out of the house and never see Jingles, Dottie, Lady Wenworth, or Justinian Darby ever again. What did she owe any of them?
“Lady Wenworth,” she heard herself say, “I would be delighted to stay. Consider me your Christmas helper.”
Chapter Six
From the frown on his mother’s face as he sat at her bedside, Justinian knew he was not reacting as she had expected to the news that Miss Eleanor would be gracing them with her presence through the Christmas season. “You asked her to stay?” he all but yelped.
His mother eyed him with such intensity that he wondered whether his remark had been taken as annoyance or joy. The truth of the matter was, he wasn’t sure himself.
“Really, Justinian,” she said, patrician nose in the air. “You simply must stop acting the part of martyr. Miss Eleanor will hardly get in your way. She will spend most of her time preparing things for Dottie and the rest of the time here with me. You won’t have to lift a finger. On the contrary, you might even find her helpful. I would imagine that as a teacher she writes with a fine hand, and she must know something about summing. I daresay she can’t be as bright as that girl we had up from the school that summer for you, but she might be able to help you with your estate work.”
Justinian had a sudden vision of Norrie seated at the mahogany desk, the winter sun making a halo of her light brown hair, dust motes glittering around her. He swallowed. “No, thank you, Mother. I prefer to work alone.”
His mother shook her head. “And will you dig your own grave as well? It isn’t a sin to need assistance, Justinian. You weren’t so prickly when you were younger. I think you actually enjoyed having that young lady as a tutor.”
Was she reminding him of what Norrie had meant to him? She needn’t have tried so hard. He had never forgotten. He peered closer at the guileless blue eyes, the dimple that was still evident in the wrinkles beside her mouth. His mother had ever been the master manipulator. What was her game this time? She obviously did not recognize Norrie, or she wouldn’t be teasing him about it now. Or were these reminders her way of showing that she had recognized his lost love?
“Perhaps you should tell me exactly what you and Miss Eleanor discussed,” he said, watching her. “If some agreement has been made, I should understand it better.”
She waved an elegant hand. “Oh, fah, we have nothing so formal as an agreement. She is pleasant company. Haven’t you been harping at me to find a companion? I liked her and persuaded her to stay.” She frowned again, gaze sharpening even as her hand fell. “And it took some persuading. Have you taken her in dislike, Justinian? Did you say something to make that poor girl feel unwelcome?”
Despite himself, he flinched. Was he so obvious in his attentions once again that she should feel the need to flee? Why could he not be more civil in her presence? “All the teachers at the school know they can count on the Darbys for assistance,” he hedged. “I’m sure Miss Eleanor is no exception.”
“Yes, well,” his mother said, obviously dissatisfied, “she seemed in a tearing hurry to leave. It was all I could do to convince her to stay until Christmas. Has she family, do you know? Have I intruded on pressing business of some sort?”
Now Justinian frowned. “She has no family, of that I’m certain.” He remembered her comment the first day about leaving for a holiday in York. What gammon! Norrie Pritchett was an orphan. She had no family outside the Barnsley School. His frown deepened as he wondered why she had felt compelled to lie. Or was it that she thought to keep him from mentioning her presence to the school? He had no time to puzzle further, however, for he caught his mother leaning forward, for all the world like a hound who’d caught the scent, and forced a pleasant smile on his face. “Most likely you merely put her in a difficult position with the school,” he offered. “I’ll send word you’ve appropriated her. I’m sure they won’t mind.”
His mother tossed her head. “Of course they won’t mind. We are Darbys.”
“Of course,” he said with a chuckle, rising to go, then bending to kiss her cheek.
“You should also know that I asked her to dine with me every meal she’s here,” the countess said as he straightened. She eyed him for a moment, then smiled brightly. “You may join us if you’d like.”
The last thing he wanted was to spend a cozy meal with his mother and the woman of his dreams. “Thank you, but no, Mother. I have matters that I must see to.”
She sighed, lowering her gaze and plucking at the bedcovers. “Oh, very well. Leave an old woman to her own devices. Small wonder I’m reduced to picking up strays when my own sons can’t find time for me.”
Justinian felt a stab of guilt. “Mother, you know I’m not trying to avoid you. Besides, there isn’t room here for three.” He blew her a kiss, but she refused to look up. Annoyed, he shook his head and turned to go. As he opened the bedchamber door, he found himself nose to topknot with Norrie.
She dropped a deep curtsey, treating him to the view of the crown of her golden-brown head. As she rose, he saw that she was completely recovered from her malady. The line of her cheek was smooth and soft, and her lashes wreathed her eyes in gold as she demurely lowered her gaze. He wanted nothing so much as to tip her chin up with his finger and press his lips to hers. Instead, he returned her curtsey with a nod.
“Miss Eleanor. My mother tells me you will be staying with us a while longer.”
She glanced up quickly, as if she could not tell whether he was relieved or concerned. He wasn’t sure himself. He kept his smile polite, but her answering smile looked just as strained.
“Merely until things are set to rights for Dottie’s return, my lord,” she said. “I have other things I must see to.”
“Oh?” the countess prompted from her bed. “Justinian and I were just discussing that, dear. What other things are troubling you? Perhaps we could help.”
She paled. Did she think they wouldn’t be concerned, or wouldn’t be able to help her?
“It’s nothing so very pressing, your ladyship,” she replied, lowering her eyes once more and hurrying past him to the countess’ bedside. “It can easily wait until after Christmas.”
“There, you see,” his mother said, patting the coverlet beside her for Eleanor to sit. “Everything has been arranged quite nicely. Nothing about this should disturb you, Justinian. You may go.”
He offered his mother and Eleanor a bow and quit the room at last. Nothing to disturb him indeed. Only a house guest in the one woman he’d ever loved but who seemed afraid of his presence, the impending return of his niece with potentially no one to care for her after Christmas, and a small, black kitten named Jingles. By Christmas, he predicted, he would be quite disturbed indeed!
*
Eleanor soon regretted her impulsive decision to remain. While Justinian did not press her as she had feared, she still could not seem to avoid him, no matter that the Great House was huge. He came to wish his mother good morning and inquire after her health while they breakfasted each morning. Mr. Faringil brought him up with annoying frequency to answer a question or inspect her work in the nursery and schoolroom, to the point that she jumped whenever she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. He was a shadow on the veranda outside the library while she took Jingles out to play in the gardens behind the manor. She found him listening to her read Shakespeare to the countess in the evenings. And she saw him when the countess sent her on some errand to the ground floor, each time she passed the open door to the library.
She could not keep her gaze from straying to the figure behind the desk. Sometimes his brow would be knit, and he’d be studying the papers before him with such intensity that she wondered if he were not grappl
ing with the fate of the Empire. Other times he would be leaning back and staring at the ceiling as if invoking heaven’s assistance. The times that wrung her heart, however, were when his leonine head was cradled in his hands and his broad shoulders were slumped over the desk as if the burden he bore was simply too great.
And she could see that he did bear a burden. However much she had once teased him about the difficulties of being born to the manor, that gift came with a heavy price. Nothing happened on the estate without Justinian’s consultation and advice. The steward brought a steady stream of issues and concerns from the tenants; Mr. Faringil seemed unable to manage the household without appealing to Justinian for each decision; and even the cook requested his preferences for dinner as if she were cooking for the Prince Regent and not an elderly woman, an overtired earl, and an impoverished former school teacher. He seemed to have no time to himself and little appreciation for his efforts. She only wished she could find some way to help.
Unfortunately, with visiting the countess, keeping the kitten out of trouble, and finishing her work in the nursery, her days were also busy. After inspecting the nursery and schoolroom, she worked with the countess to identify furniture and linen that could be used to refurbish and brighten the little-used rooms. Using paper, pen, and ink Mr. Faringil provided her from his lordship’s library, she drafted a schedule for Dottie that included time to study, play, and exercise in the gardens or on horseback. She had to make the schedule twice as the first time Jingles jumped onto it in mid-scribble and proudly smeared the ink into small, paw-shaped patches.
Although she delighted in spending her evenings reading books from the Darbys’ excellent library, each afternoon while the countess napped she borrowed the several-day-old Times from Mr. Faringil and scanned the ads for positions. She saw any number for governesses and nannies and two for teachers at girls schools in London. Somehow, she found a reason not to respond to most of them. The one time she did sit down to compose a letter, Jingles jumped onto her lap and reached up for the paper, and she put the quill and ink away for fear of another mishap.
She knew she could not keep hiding from her future, or her past, but for now, only the present was even tenable.
*
As for Justinian, he was finding the present to be completely untenable. It seemed to him that he was constantly on the verge of breaking into two people. One impertinent fellow wanted to drag Norrie Pritchett off to a secluded corner of the manor, kiss her nearly senseless, and demand to know why she had reappeared in his life if she wasn’t willing to acknowledge his existence.
The more scholarly fellow who had been forced to become an earl raised an eyebrow at such brutish behavior, reminding the impetuous fellow that he had frightened her away in the first place with far more gentle actions than that. The scholar cautioned prudence; all good things came to those who waited. Justinian wanted to follow the latter advice, but he found his good intentions ruined every time he happened upon Eleanor.
Luckily, the habitual coolness with which she greeted him only convinced him that he should not speak; however, it did not keep him from remembering. Now there were new memories overlaid on the old: the loving attention she devoted to setting up Dottie’s apartments and schedule, the sparkle in her beautiful eyes when she showed them the newly refurbished schoolroom, the sound of her laughter at some quip of his mother’s, the soft hush of long skirts passing his door and the absurd longing to hear them pause. She distracted him from his routine, she distracted him from his work, she distracted him from his writing. He did not have an answer for how to stop her bitter-sweet distractions and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted one. His very ambivalence only served to trouble him further.
He was trying once again to determine the appropriate course of action one night about a fortnight before Christmas when he found his supper, which he had been wont to take alone in the library at the desk, very much disturbed. It started innocently enough. He was just spooning up a mouthful of chicken broth when a distinct thump sounded overhead. He frowned at the frescoed ceiling but soon returned to his reading. The second noise occurred as he was starting his ragout of beef; that sound was definitely more of a thud. His salmon tart was taken to the tune of repetitive drumming that made him wonder whether he had been invaded by the Scottish army. The feet running back and forth during his lamb brisket made him sure of it. Before the blueberry trifle Mrs. Childs had promised him arrived, he was taking the stairs two at a time to find out what was going on.
His mother didn’t even look contrite when he appeared in her doorway. Both Mary and Norrie dropped a curtsey, and it was not lost on him that both had red faces and appeared winded. Indeed, Norrie’s slender chest was heaving, and she was biting her full lower lip as if she was afraid she was going to burst out laughing at any second. The laughter sought escape through her twinkling eyes instead.
“Good evening, Justinian,” his mother heralded. “So good of you to join us. We were about to ring for dessert. Will you have some?”
He took a deep breath. “No, thank you, Mother. Is everything all right up here?”
The countess raised a finely etched white brow. “All right? Certainly. We are all fine, are we not, Eleanor?”
*
Eleanor thought she would explode if she didn’t let the laughter out. Until this evening, she had been successful in keeping the lordly little cat from exploring the countess’ bedchamber. For some odd reason, the countess had demanded that he remain through dinner, and Eleanor had hardly eaten a bite before he had begun stalking about.
His reactions to different pieces of furniture and belongings at the floor level had been funny enough, but when he jumped up on the dressing table and scowled at himself in the mirror, the countess had whooped in delight. Both Mary and Eleanor had repeatedly tried to distract him, but the calling, pulling, and petting had been to no avail. His Highness Jingles was determined to play in the face powder and other interesting items. She had just spent the last few minutes in a wild chase about the room as the kitten bounded off furniture and scampered around the harried abigail’s legs. As Justinian’s gaze swept her direction, she sucked in a breath. Consequently, her voice came out entirely too high and tight. “Perfectly fine.”
“You hear that?” The countess smiled serenely. “We’re purrr-fectly fine.”
Eleanor choked and bowed her head, clutching her heaving sides.
Face tightening in obvious concern, Justinian took a step toward her. “Miss Eleanor, has your illness returned?”
Eleanor waved him away. “No, no, really. I’m quite all right. Please don’t let us disturb you.”
The countess cocked her head. “You know, Eleanor dear, I think Justinian may be right. You look quite done in. You should go to bed, immediately. Justinian, would you be so kind as to escort her?”
Eleanor froze, but Justinian frowned at his mother, who sighed gustily as if suddenly quite weary herself.
“I’m sure Miss Eleanor would rather have Mary,” he replied so quellingly that Eleanor felt herself pale.
“Out of the question,” his mother snapped, drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “She can’t be spared. Good night, Eleanor, dearest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning. Don’t forget to take the kitten with you.”
Eleanor had no choice but to hug the countess good night as she had been wont to do. “Yes, your ladyship, thank you.” As she pulled away, she swore she saw the countess wink. Discomposed, she could only peer under the dressing table, where she had last seen the kitten. “Jingles? Here, kitty, kitty.”
“Allow me,” Justinian clipped, reaching up the bed hangings beside his mother and untangling the kitten’s claws from its precarious hold. Jingles blinked at him and had the audacity to yawn. Eleanor hurried forward to accept the little animal.
“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, burying her face in the kitten’s fur to hide her embarrassment. Unfortunately, that only set her nose to itching, and they hadn’t
reached the door before she was sneezing again.
“Give him to me,” Justinian commanded as they started down the corridor. Face reddening, she complied.
“I’m very sorry we disturbed your work,” she told him, eyes following the scroll pattern in the Oriental carpet underfoot. “The countess does so enjoy Jingles’ antics. I had no idea our hilarity was carrying beyond the room.”
“It is of no significance,” Justinian assured her. “My mother needs something to take her mind off her problems.”
“Is she very ill, then?” Eleanor couldn’t help asking. For as long as she had been at the Barnsley School, the countess had been bedridden. It struck her now that she had never been told why. She supposed it was not a subject for a lowly school teacher.
Justinian answered her readily enough. “Dr. Praxton tells me there is nothing wrong with her outside the normal changes that come with age. My father married late. My mother was nearly forty-five when I was born. She will be seventy-five this year.”
“Shh,” Eleanor cautioned. “I don’t think she likes that fact to be well known. Besides, if she isn’t unwell, why does she remain in bed?”
Justinian sighed. “I wish I knew. But she seems happier now than anytime I can remember.” He glanced at her. “You seem to have that effect on people.”
Eleanor blushed again and wished she had Jingles to hide it. She glanced quickly at the kitten, who lay cuddled against Justinian’s broad chest. Jingles’ yellow eyes were closed, and his cheek nuzzled against the black waistcoat, not far from Jusintian’s heart. She could imagine no finer place to rest. She swallowed and averted her gaze.
“Norrie.” He stopped in the corridor, and she had no choice but to stop beside him. “Norrie, we must talk. We cannot be expected to live in this house for the next fortnight as if we are nearly strangers.”