by Kruger, Mary
Wearily Thea picked up the penknife again and began to open her letters. Life went on, and she supposed she would survive. It would, however, be hard. Very hard.
Chapter Eleven
Agatha glanced out from the Powells’ carriage as it turned into the drive of Moulton Hall. “Why, I think we must be there, my love. I can just see the chimneys.”
“Thank heavens,” Evadne, sitting across from her, said fervently. “I’m tired of this stuffy old carriage.”
“Now, my love, we’ve spoken on this before. A lady expresses herself more elegantly. Quite an estate,” she added, looking out again. “I wonder what the income is?”
“Oh, Mama.” Evadne moved restlessly on the seat. “I wish I could have brought Fluffy.”
“Now, girl, there’ll be no more of that. Imagine bringing that cat on a visit.” She shuddered. “You may be certain Stanton would not be pleased.”
Evadne’s lips set in a mulish pout. “I don’t care.”
“We’ll have no more of that, girl,” Agatha sai, sharply. “Stanton is doing you an honor by marrying you and you’re to behave in his home.”
“My home. Well, it soon will be, Mama.” Her eyes, candid and very blue, met her mother’s, taken aback.
“As you say.” Agatha turned away, feigning indifference to her daughter’s sudden attempt at dominance. Thank heavens the chit would soon be married and off her hands.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and a footman came to open the door. Agatha emerged, followed by Evadne, who stopped and stared for a moment at her future home. Of rosy brick, with ivy-entwined walls and black shutters, Moulton Hall was a comfortable house, dating back to Queen Anne. There was no great entranceway, only a modest portico jutting into the drive of neatly-raked gravel. Flowers bloomed in borders bright against the brick. It was a charming house, but compared to Rochester Castle it was tiny. “Why, it’s a poky old place!” Evadne exclaimed, just as Jeremy came down the stairs.
“Welcome to Moulton,” he said, holding out his hand to Evadne so she could descend. She gave him a ravishing smile, which he did not answer. He had heard her comment on his home, and he was in no mood at the moment to deal with her flirtatious ways. “Come.” He took her arm and led her inside. “My staff is waiting to meet you, and my daughter.”
“Oh, yes, I cannot wait to meet the dear little thing!” Evadne gushed.
Inside the hall she stopped and looked around. Ahead of her was a wide, straight staircase, its banisters curved and polished with the touch of time. Lined up nearby, on the polished parquet floor, were the servants, Gregg, the butler, and Mrs. Gregg, the housekeeper, by his side; several footmen and maids, and the cook. Evadne smiled at them, holding to Jeremy’s arm with a possessiveness that was not lost on any of them. “What a charming home, Stanton,” she said, when the staff had been introduced. “But where is your daughter?”
Jeremy looked up and grinned. “Here she comes now,” he said, and went to stand at the foot of the stairs, arms akimbo. Coming down the stairs was a small girl, one hand clinging to her governess, the other holding a large piece of paper. The governess was a tall, thin woman of uncertain age, a cap set upon her graying hair, and though she was plain there was a humorous twist to her lips. Evadne dismissed her from her thoughts immediately. But the child! Lud, she’d rarely seen such a plain little girl. Like her father she was dark, with the same penetrating blue eyes, but the features that made Jeremy handsome were too heavy for a little girl’s face. Evadne’s lips twitched with annoyance. There were definite disadvantages to this marriage. However, she was certain she could soon persuade Jeremy to send his daughter to school. Then, Evadne thought, she wouldn’t have to look at her.
The child’s eyes were wide and solemn as she reached the floor and, prompted by her governess, curtsied. Jeremy watched with no expression until he suddenly dropped to one knee and opened his arms. “Well?” he said, and Gillian crashed into his arms, nearly toppling him over. He gathered the small, wriggling body close to him, fighting a surge of emotions and an absurd lump in his throat. “Got a kiss for your father?”
Gillian pecked him on the cheek, and then pulled back, her face wrinkling. “Your face is scratchy, Daddy.”
Jeremy passed a hand over his chin; he was heavy-bearded and needed to shave twice a day. “So it is. My apologies, Miss Vernon,” he said, and Gillian giggled at being addressed quite as if she were a grown-up lady. “What is that, Gillian?”
“A picture. I made it for you, Daddy.” Gillian said shyly, handing him the paper and then standing with her hands behind her back.
“Well, it’s fine.” He smiled at the childish painting of a red boat with a triangular sail floating above waves of deep blue, under a blazing yellow sun. Jeremy pointed to the stick figure on the boat. “Who is that, poppet? The Prince Regent?”
“No, Daddy! That’s you!”
“Hm?” Jeremy reared back and pretended to study the picture again, a frown on his face. “Looks like Prinny to me.”
“Oh, Daddy!”
“Do you sail, Stanton?” Agatha asked, and Jeremy rose, tucking Gillian’s small hand in his.
“Yes. Would you like to try it sometime, Evadne?” he said, turning to her.
Alarm flashed briefly in Evadne’s eyes, and she lowered her head. “Yes, Stanton, I would. But, sir, you’ve yet to introduce me to your daughter.”
“My apologies, Evadne. Miss Powell, may I present to you Miss Gillian Vernon.” He nudged Gillian in the back and she dropped a quick curtsy before returning to his side.
“Why, hello, Gillian,” Evadne said, her voice unnaturally high as she smiled and reached out to pat the little girl’s head. “How pretty you are.” Gillian squirmed against her father, her eyes wide, and popped her thumb into her mouth.
“Come, Miss Gillian.” The governess stepped forward. “It’s nearly time for your tea. If we may, my lord?”
“Yes, Miss Moffett.” Jeremy rumpled his daughter’s hair, and she smiled up at him. “I’ll want a word with you later.”
“Of course, my lord.” Miss Moffett and Gillian both dropped curtsies and then went upstairs, the slump of Gillian’s shoulders showing undoubted relief.
Jeremy looked at them speculatively for a moment and then turned back to his guests. “Shall we go into the drawing room?” he said, and indicated a door to his right.
The following morning Jeremy walked toward his stables, accompanied by Evadne, fetchingly clad in a sky-blue riding habit with a frill of lace at the neck. He hardly listened to her chatter about Moulton or the changes she would make once they were married; all his attention was centered on Gillian, walking on his other side and clinging to his hand. Her silence bothered him. She was a well-mannered child and would not talk when an adult was speaking, but this went deeper. It was a sullen silence, broken only by the monosyllables she gave to any question asked her. Odd, but it was almost as if she disliked Evadne, and for the life of him he could not imagine why. Evadne certainly was nice enough to her, smiling at her and talking to her, but Gillian had not responded. Instead, she tended to cling to him or to her governess, her eyes wide, her thumb in her mouth, a habit he thought she’d broken long ago. Gillian, raised with only adults for company, was usually friendly and at ease with people. Jeremy, remembering a childhood spent isolated from his parents, had always allowed her to talk, instead of sitting mute like a little doll. There was no excuse for her acting this way. He would have to speak with her later.
“...and of course, we’ll be spending winters in London,” Evadne chattered on. “And you’ll be taking your seat in Parliament.”
“I will?” Jeremy said, startled out of his thoughts.
“Yes, of course. It’s your duty, and Mama says one must always do one’s duty.”
“Certainly, but I have no interest in politics, Evadne.”
“None?” Evadne stared up at him in surprise. “But that’s silly! If I were a man, I’d want to be in Parliament.”
“Would you?” Jeremy said, biting his lips to hold back a smile. Evadne, an M. P.? Absurd! “I assure you you’d find it quite boring.”
“Daddy.” Gillian tugged on his hand. “Can’t we go sailing?”
“I told you no, poppet. We’re going to select a mount for Miss Powell.”
“Do you like horses, Gillian?” Evadne asked, her voice high.
“No.”
“No? But that’s silly! Everyone likes horses.”
“I don’t. I think they’re stupid!”
“Gillian!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Apologize to Miss Powell at once!”
Gillian looked down and dug one toe into the ground. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.
“That’s quite all right, dear. Do you ride?”
“My groom has been trying to teach her,” Jeremy said, when Gillian didn’t answer, “but without much success, I fear.”
“I expect she’ll learn. My, what a fine stable,” Evadne said, as they passed under the archway into the stable yard.
“I think so. That’s Follett, my groom, holding that bay mare. I think you might like her.”
“Yes, she’s a beauty.” Evadne went up to the mare.
“Daddy.” Gillian stopped short, dragging Jeremy back. “May I go back to the house?”
“Not yet, poppet. See, Follett’s saddled Pepper for you. I thought we’d show Miss Powell about the estate.”
“I don’t want to ride, Daddy.”
“I don’t care for it when you whine, Gillian,” he said, his voice crisp, “and—”
“Jeremy!” Evadne called, her voice high with delight, as the groom threw her into the saddle. Jeremy looked up, and Gillian took advantage of his distraction to free herself. “Oh, she’s a darling!”
“Yes, isn’t she?” Jeremy strode forward, noting from the corner of his eye that Gillian was sidling toward the fence.
“She’s a spirited one, isn’t she? Let go her head,” Evadne commanded the groom, and the mare, let loose, danced a few steps sideways. “What fun!”
Gillian had scrambled up to the top rail of the fence and now was sitting there, her eyes huge in her pale face. Jeremy frowned slightly, and crossed to her. “Come,” he commanded, holding out his hand. “I’ll help you mount Pepper.”
“No, Daddy, don’t make me—Daddy!”
Her words ended on a scream. Jeremy whipped around in time to see the mare rear. He raced forward, but Follett had caught hold of the bridle, bringing the mare down and soothing her with soft words and a gentle touch. “Good God!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Are you hurt?”
Evadne’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “Oh, that was splendid!” she exclaimed. “I shall expect a fine ride.”
Jeremy stared at her and then turned back to his daughter, to see her running out of the stable yard, toward the house. “Gillian!” he called, and started after her.
“Let her go, Stanton.” Evadne walked the mare, now well under control, to his side. “She’d only hold us back. It’s stupid to be so scared of a horse.”
Jeremy turned cold, hard eyes on her. “Gillian is not stupid.”
“No, did I say so? Come, Stanton, mount up! I want to ride.”
Jeremy looked at her a moment longer and then turned toward his horse. For a moment his eyes met Follett’s, and then he mounted. The pleasure had gone from the morning for him. He was not, at the moment, pleased either with his daughter, or his future bride.
Several days later, Jeremy sat in his study, a sanctuary from the bedlam his house had become, and wondered about the wisdom of bringing Evadne here. Since his wife’s death, Moulton had been a place of peace and relaxation for him, a haven from the hectic life led by the ton. Here he could follow his own pursuits, whether riding or sailing, or just being with his daughter. Here he could breathe freely. The Powells’ visit had changed all that. He felt he might never have any peace again.
Matters had gone wrong almost from the beginning. First, Evadne hadn’t liked her room, the best guest bedroom at the front of the house, claiming the early morning sun would awaken her. Mrs. Gregg had taken exception to Evadne’s tone of voice, and though Jeremy had managed to soothe his housekeeper’s ruffled sensibilities, she was not the last of his staff to be annoyed by the visitors. Both Agatha and Evadne had an unfortunate way of ordering the servants about, and Jeremy, who liked his home to run in an easy, relaxed way, had finally had to speak to his fiancée. That had led to her pouting and flouncing angrily away. The whole of that evening she had not addressed one word to him, but had instead concentrated on the new vicar, whom Jeremy had invited to dinner, until that young man was dazzled.
Jeremy had been out of patience with her, then, but the next morning she had come downstairs in such a sunny mood and asked his forgiveness so prettily that his annoyance had melted. She was young, he’d thought, indulgently. She’d soon settle down. However, matters had not improved, and the incident at the stables hadn’t helped. Evadne hadn’t meant to frighten Gillian, though she should have known better than to let her horse rear, he thought, with a return of the annoyance he’d felt then. Of course, she hadn’t realized just how frightened Gillian was of horses.
To tell the truth, he hadn’t, either, and it bothered him. Strange, for she was so intrepid in the boat with him, and was turning into a creditable sailor. Evadne, on the other hand, when they had gone out yesterday afternoon, had turned green when they were not twenty feet from shore. Of course, that wasn’t her fault. In all fairness, much of what had happened hadn’t been. He could understand she might find life here a trifle flat, after the excitements of London and Rochester Castle. Nor did she seem to know how to handle children. But this was his life. She’d best become accustomed to it, as Daphne, his first wife, never had.
That made him frown. Lord knew he didn’t want to make another such mistake. Certainly he needed money, but not so badly that he’d throw himself into another bad marriage to get it. Nor did he have the excuse this time of being in love; he thought he saw Evadne very clearly, indeed. Yes, she was a flirt. Yes, she liked the excitement of town life. But she was young, he told himself once again, and malleable. Surely he would be able to mold her to his liking.
His musings were interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels rumbling on the drive. Glad for the interruption, he rose and looked out the window, to see a Powell footman descend from a traveling chaise, holding, at arm’s length, a large box with holes cut into its sides. Curious, Jeremy crossed the room and went out into the hall, just as Gregg opened the door. From the box issued an unearthly howl that made Jeremy’s hackles rise and caused Gregg to step back in surprise.
“What the devil?” Jeremy said, and the footman turned to him, looking vastly relieved.
“Miss Powell sent for this, my lord,” he said, thrust the box at an astonished Gregg, and fled. Jeremy and his butler exchanged mystified looks, and at that moment Evadne tumbled down the stairs.
“Fluffy!” she exclaimed. “Is that Fluffy? Oh, do put him down, Gregg!”
“Yes, miss,” the butler murmured, setting the box down with a thump as another howl filled the hall.
“Evadne, what on earth?” Jeremy said.
“It’s Fluffy.” She fell to her knees and tugged at the latches, opening the box. Immediately the huge, brindled cat Jeremy had seen on his occasional visits to the Powells’ London home emerged, snarling and spitting, in spite of Evadne’s efforts to calm him. Jeremy and Gregg took an involuntary step back. “Mommy’s little precious,” Evadne crooned. “Pretty little kitty.”
“Good God!” The cat looked, if anything, more disreputable now than it had in London, where it apparently had had a fine old time. His nose was scratched, and there was a bald patch on his neck. “You don’t mean—is that deuced animal staying here?”
“He’s mine!” Evadne said defiantly, clutching the cat closer. He let out a long, low growl. “I want him to stay.”
Jeremy gave her a long, hard look, and sneezed. “That tears it. Gregg,
I want that animal out of here immediately,” he said, and stalked into his study.
“No!” Evadne cried, and followed him without knocking on the door. “Fluffy is staying.”
“No, Evadne.” Jeremy turned from his desk, gazing at her coolly. “I don’t like cats. The creature will have to go.”
Evadne gazed up at him, and then laid her hand on his sleeve. “But he’s such a nice cat,” she said, coaxingly. “Pleath? Pleath let him thtay?”
“I’m sorry, Evadne.” Jeremy’s voice was firm, but kind. “I can’t have a cat in the house. He can’t stay.”
Evadne pulled back, her eyes filling with sudden tears as she stamped her foot. “You—you beast!” she cried, and ran from the room.
Jeremy looked at the study door for long moments after it had closed, and then walked out into the hall. “Gregg?” he called, and the butler came forward, looking sheepish. “Did you do as I asked?”
“No, my lord. The young lady was powerful upset,” he went on, before Jeremy could say anything. “She took the—creature and went upstairs with it, sir.”
Jeremy stared at him for a moment and then turned. “Oh, very well. I shall be in my study if I’m needed.”
And pray God he wasn’t, he thought, sinking down behind his desk. He needed a rest from his guests, from the entire situation. There was no denying the fact: Evadne’s visit was not going well. If only Thea were here, he thought wistfully, and then banished the thought. Thea was lost to him. He would have to make do with Evadne.
However. His fingers, which had been toying with a pen, stilled. However, that didn’t mean he had to spend the rest of his life like a monk. Nor did it mean he couldn’t see Thea, even if he had lost her friendship. When they were in town for the season they’d be bound to run into each other, for one thing. For another, there’d been too much between them, even before that night at Rochester Castle, for him to forget her. He missed her, damn it! He missed her serenity, her intelligence, her calm beauty. He wanted to see her again. He wanted, if nothing else, to apologize for his behavior. He could not go on, the rest of his life, being at odds with Thea. With anyone else, but not with her. He had to see her, and he thought he had the perfect excuse.