Kinsford made certain not to look down at Max at this point, as the “mad” dog was gazing devotedly at him, as friendly and eager to please as a puppy. Mr. Franklin, however, was not moved by Kinsford's revelation of the previous night's incident nor by his logic.
“Harding may snap occasionally at an errant student. He is not a vicious dog, as the headmaster at Oak Knoll would tell you himself. In defense of his territory he can sound fierce. He is a particularly precious dog to me, and I feel that William must be held accountable for his actions."
“What do you propose to do?”
“I will put my case before the local magistrate.” He looked inquiringly at Lord Kinsford for a name.
“Sir John Herbert."
“These local magistrates are often tired of the shenanigans of the neighborhood boys and I'm sure he would see that William was properly punished."
“Did you have in mind for him to be hung, or merely transported?” Kinsford inquired with bright-eyed interest.
“Hung?” Mr. Franklin stared at him. “Well, of course not. He should have to pay damages for his action. Though my dog has now been restored to me, I have suffered severely from his loss."
“Were you planning to hold Mr. Upton responsible as well?"
Franklin shifted uneasily in his seat. “It's no use bringing him up before a magistrate. He's incorrigible, and he's on scholarship."
“I see.” Kinsford had felt certain they were bargaining over money, but it was useful to have this confirmed. “You'll find Sir John located just the other side of Pennwick, maybe a mile down the lane to Corston. On the right, a large house with an entry lane of larches. He's accustomed to handling matters quickly, so he'll probably arrange for a hearing on the issue within a few days."
“Days? I would have to insist that the matter be settled immediately, tomorrow at the latest. I have my responsibilities at school to attend to."
Kinsford stroked his chin and mused, “He'll want to have Will there. It would hardly be fair to hold a hearing without him being able to defend himself. I imagine Will would have something to say about the reasons for the dog's abduction. Possibly even wish to hold his owner (yourself) responsible for endangering students and creating a disturbance of the peace. Yes, definitely William must have his say."
Franklin looked less certain than he had previously. But he straightened his shoulders and rasped, “Our English magistrates have a reputation for integrity which I'm sure your Sir John will wish to uphold."
Kinsford nodded. “Indeed. Sir John will be desirous of doing the right thing, especially as he is my brother's godfather.” This was not precisely true. Sir John was actually Kinsford's own godfather, but he and Lady Herbert frequently referred to themselves as godparents to all the fourth earl's children. Who was to quibble with such a small distortion of the truth? He was obviously learning a few tricks from Clarissa Driscoll.
Defeated, Franklin turned acid. “That's just like the aristocracy, to use their position to abuse the little fellow,” he hissed. “Well, I shall see that your brother is not invited back to Oak Knoll. I have that much power."
Kinsford doubted it, but it was not his intent to send the master off in a rage. “You misunderstand me,” he interjected smoothly. “I had intended to send William to you to see if you could not reach a suitable arrangement without the necessity of involving Sir John. Would that be satisfactory?"
His dignity somewhat restored, Franklin murmured a cursory agreement.
“Then I'll send my brother to you,” Kinsford said as he rose. When Max attempted to follow him from the room, he ordered the dog to stay and, looking puzzled, the little animal did so.
In his study, he explained the situation to William. “I shall allow you to handle the matter, Will. He is obviously more interested in money than in the animal, and your sister is inordinately fond of the dog. Pay him something for the little beast and I'll take it from your allowance.” As the boy prepared to leave he added, “And, Will, you should apologize, you know. Despite the fact that the man is obnoxious, you and your friend Upton have indeed harmed him."
To Kinsford's surprise, Will nodded. “Trust me, Kinsford. I can handle it."
“I know you can."
A while later Kinsford watched from his window as the master stalked over to his horse and mounted. William followed with the dog tucked under his arm and waited until Franklin had ridden out of sight. Then, catching Kinsford's eye, he indicated that he was off to the village to return Max.
The earl dusted a spattering of dirt from his buckskin breeches. Surely it was easier to manage the affairs of state than to keep track of one small household in the country! he thought ruefully. And yet, for the first time, he realized that his family duties did not weigh so burdensomely on him as he had expected. There was a challenge here of a different type, but of no less interest than that in London.
Not that he intended to stay here forever. When Aria was well, he would return to the capital. He had only to make arrangements for her safekeeping—a governess, perhaps, or a companion. Or she could return to school, a new one if the old was impossible. Definitely there were arrangements that could be made. And he would come home more regularly to oversee the household. It could be done, and with no damage to his brother and sister, surely.
There was, however, the matter of Clarissa Driscoll. That was not so easily to be resolved. If he took the children from her care, he could impoverish her, and he would not do that. Yet how could he not remove his sister from the care of someone who refused to bend to the demands of convention? Clarissa's situation seemed to him to be a scandal waiting to happen.
Though his father had been to some degree responsible for her coming down in the world, Kinsford knew he could never right that wrong, could not make up for her years of barely scraping by, and suspected that Clarissa would not welcome any highhanded interference from him. And yet he would have to do something. Set up a trust fund for her, or offer her an interest-free mortgage. So there would be no nonsense about a dame school. Preposterous! She was not cut out to be run ragged by a bunch of undisciplined village and farm children.
He was not as yet ready to examine his own feelings for the woman. He had never been long enough in the country to feel the pull that she exerted on him, until now. His youthful fantasies had seemed just that, too childish to contemplate. He was a mature, responsible member of the House of Lords, with no time for romantic memories.
And besides, Clarissa wasn't like that any more. She wasn't the sweet, charming young girl he had known. She was strong and opinionated and dismissive of his natural claims to formality and respect. She was attractive still, to be sure, but hardly the fresh-faced beauty of the past. She was, in short, a woman. And one to be reckoned with—unintimidated by him, unimpressed by his title or even his position of influence, unwilling to bend even before his ability to deprive her of the majority of her income.
Not that he would ever have been able to treat her so shabbily. But what the devil was he to do about her?
Chapter Fifteen
Clarissa had to admit to a certain amount of pleasure when William showed up with Max again, explaining that he had had no difficulty in getting Mr. Franklin to sell him the dog. “Especially after I apologized to him for all the trouble I'd caused,” he explained, adding with twinkling eyes, “And intimated that a cairn terrier was not a manly sort of dog and that Max would do better with my sister.” Whereupon he had proudly borne the dog forth to Aria, whose delighted cries Clarissa could hear even in the sitting room.
Shortly after William departed, the Earl of Kinsford presented himself, obviously determined to be pleasant. “No doubt Will has told you the whole story,” he said, as he seated himself in the chair she indicated beside the sofa. “I'm sorry he involved you in such a tangle. It was not right of him."
“Apparently he told Franklin it wasn't manly to have a cairn terrier,” Clarissa informed him.
The smile that broke through his serio
usness was like the sun appearing. His blue eyes, usually so coolly assessing, sparkled with amusement. “The young gudgeon! No wonder he was sent down. I hadn't the heart to tell him what I was sent down for when I was at Oak Knoll. Abducting a dog! And that wasn't even the determining factor, apparently. They jammed the lock on the chapel because they were tired of its being so cold there! The boy has a real future."
“Much like yours,” she suggested, her head cocked to one side. “Only I suspect it will be much easier for William to straighten these things out with you than it was for you with your father. You're a deal more approachable than your father was.
Kinsford sighed. “I'm not sure Will thinks so. And I have to admit I haven't always made things comfortable for him. It's funny how I almost find myself behaving like my father, even when I thoroughly disapproved of how he treated me when I was Will's age."
“You have no other example, perhaps."
“That hardly seems an excuse.” He brought his gaze back from absentminded contemplation of a bronze candelabra to her face. “You've been a better example, and a better friend, to both my brother and my sister than I have over the years, Miss Driscoll. I find I begrudge that a little."
If this was his way of making amends between them, it was very effective. Clarissa could feel an entirely different sort of tension between them. This had nothing to do with disapproval, but something much more complicated, and personal. She found herself reaching out to lay a hand lightly on his forearm. “You have their love and respect, but they have felt a distance because you're so seldom here. They wish you could spend more time with them."
He covered her hand with his, briefly, withdrawing it when her fingers fluttered uncertainly. “I haven't known how to treat them. I'm not their father, and yet I'm expected to understand what they need. And provide it for them. Fortunately, I'm beginning to remember what it was like to be Will's age."
He frowned. “It was actually a confusing time, in many ways. I wanted to be independent and yet I didn't know a damn thing about the world outside school and the estate. I had no money of my own, and my father didn't believe in spoiling his heir by giving me a decent allowance. I couldn't have kept a horse if I hadn't lived at home."
“Your father was trying to curb your excesses, I imagine. Unfortunately, he overdid it. I know you don't keep William on so short a leash.” Clarissa smiled encouragingly. “You seem to have given William the opportunity to manage his own problem this time.''
He was rueful. “I'm used to taking care of things myself."
“Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to let someone make his own mistakes and recover from them. But it's often the wisest course.''
“Perhaps that's true of Will. But Aria is another matter entirely. She's only fifteen."
“And quite a capable girl. She's able to handle the freedom you've given her."
He shifted uneasily in his chair. “I probably would have treated Aria differently if I'd known about her mother and...” He let the sentence hang in the air and then, trying to lighten his tone, added, “I'd probably have acted as though she belonged in a nunnery.''
“Yes, I know.” Clarissa straightened the white cap on her tidy brown hair. “You show a decided preference for the women around you behaving like paragons of virtue, Kinsford. Lamentably, not one of us is designed for that role. Not those here in the country, in any case."
Lord Kinsford had the grace to look uncomfortable. “A woman's reputation cannot be restored once destroyed. That's regrettable, but a fact of life, Clarissa."
“I think you overestimate the possibilities for sin in our neighborhood, Kinsford. Really, it's a very quiet village, when all is said and done. I doubt if there are villains waiting to seduce helpless maidens on every country lane. Your sister is relatively safe here."
“I realize that. And I realize that I may have exaggerated the danger of your own situation with regard to your cousin.” He corrected himself hurriedly. “Not exaggerated, precisely, but viewed your dancing with him in the least favorable light. I beg your pardon."
“Oh, I don't think you need to beg my pardon, Lord Kinsford. For all you know, I may still turn out to be the village trollop.” She gave him an impish impersonation of a scarlet woman, thrusting her hip out and pursing her lips provocatively.
“That's not how they do it at all,” he instructed her. “It's done more with the eyes and the feet."
Clarissa looked skeptically at her own feet. “Well, I have shoes on today. I should think it would be far more effective barefoot, as I was the other day when you came."
He laughed. “You did surprise me."
“Possibly the correct word is ‘shocked.’ You apparently aren't in the habit of being received by ladies without footwear."
“No, but I understand things are done differently in the country,” he said, mocking himself. “I shall have to become more familiar with the native habits. Doubtless you will be more than happy to educate me."
It was a simple comment but somehow its overtones rang in the room. They regarded each other for long moments. Clarissa could think of no comment that would express the odd excitement she felt at his nearness. Kinsford could not begin to sort out his mixed emotions. Above them the dog began to bark and dash about, its nails scratching on the wood floors. With something like relief the earl rose and said, “I should check on Aria and that unmanageable dog."
Unable to speak, Clarissa merely nodded.
* * * *
Aria was surprisingly spirited and greeted him with, “Now don't fuss about Max. We were just playing a game."
“I think he needs a firm hand, Aria, and I doubt you possess one. Perhaps Miss Driscoll could train him a bit before you bring him home."
Aria pursed her lips and avoided his eyes. “She likes Max. I can tell. Perhaps I shall bring him with me when I come for my lessons. Once I'm home again, I mean."
Rather than engage with her in an argument over whether she would continue her lessons, he said, “Do you think you could come home soon, my dear? You're looking quite fit and I believe Dr. Lawrence is satisfied that the disorientation has passed."
“Oh, but it hasn't!” she cried.
His brows rose in surprise. “Is there some instance that you haven't told us about, Aria? That would not do at all, to hide any problems."
“Well,” she said, blinking moisture out of her eyes, “I didn't want to alarm anyone. And it was a small thing. I think it means I am getting better."
“Hmm.” Kinsford sat down in the rocking chair and said, “Tell me about it."
“Um, it was this morning. Um, I got out of bed.” Aria waved her hands about in a distracted way, looking about the room almost as though she expected the story to be written somewhere on the walls. “I thought I was getting dressed for a carriage ride and I, um, looked in the armoire for my favorite carriage dress. When it wasn't there, I became very concerned and I was about to call for Betty when,” she paused dramatically, “suddenly I remembered where I was. So I didn't tell anyone."
“I see,” he said, skeptical.
“So I don't think it would be a very good idea for me to go home just yet. Perhaps in another day or so.” She cocked her head at him. “You wouldn't mind so very much, would you?"
“We can't impose on Miss Driscoll forever, Aria."
“No, no, of course not. But she doesn't seem to mind, does she? She's really quite the most agreeable person in the world, don't you think?” she asked eagerly.
Kinsford rose from the chair. “She's a remarkable woman,” he said, rather obliquely. “Get some rest, Aria."
“Oh, I will,” She obediently lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes.
“And behave yourself,” Kinsford murmured as he pulled the bedclothes up around her shoulders. Her face in repose looked defenseless and sweetly innocent. He suspected, however, that if she had ever had any disorientation, it certainly hadn't been this morning in searching for a carriage dress. Frowning, he left the r
oom, drawing the door silently closed behind himself.
* * * *
When Kinsford descended the stairs he found the hallway empty. Meg, who usually appeared instantly at his step, was nowhere to be seen. He could have left then. It would not have been rude, under the circumstances. But he paused only momentarily before striding to the sitting-room door and tapping firmly on the wood panel. Miss Driscoll bid him enter.
She was seated on the sofa doing patching on a sheet. Kinsford was overcome with a sensation of anger—unreasonable, fierce, and consuming anger.
Looking up from her stitching, she regarded him quizzically. “Now what has caused this thundercloud? Surely Lady Aria has not put you in such a frame of mind. The poor child is not well and deserves your indulgence."
“It has nothing to do with Aria,” he fumed. “Why are you mending a sheet, for God's sake? I can't stand to see you mending a sheet."
“Well, upon my word,” she retorted, mincing her syllables like a little old lady. “Am I to throw them away when they are still perfectly usable? Or make dust cloths out of them? Just because you don't wish to see me mending them? My dear Kinsford, you have no idea of the economies to which we are reduced,” she teased, with an exaggerated sigh. “Reusing the candle wax, surviving on crusts of bread. We are a sorry lot."
He strode over to the sofa and firmly removed the sheet from her hands. “I'll send you some sheets from the Hall.”
“You'll do nothing of the sort,” she snapped. “I can manage perfectly well by myself, thank you. I don't mind mending sheets. In fact, it is a very relaxing sort of work. Since Lady Aria has been ill there have been no lessons to keep myself occupied. I have an abhorrence of waste, not a total lack of funds."
“You've just said you are unable to continue your lessons while Aria absorbs your time and remains in the house. I'll reimburse you for any loss of income."
The Village Spinster Page 14