In My Lady's Chamber
Page 11
But the thoughts refused to keep a distance for long. Steyne found himself dressing once again for dinner in the only respectable outfit he had brought, and he wondered if his predicament amused Miss Tremere. Had he not dressed with particular care that summer, actually going to the length of sending for more clothing from London when he determined to outstay his originally intended two weeks? Not that she had seemed to notice particularly. Her own wardrobe was limited, no doubt because her father thought it unnecessary for a woman in her position to possess a lot of worldly finery. And nothing she wore was the least bit fashionable, by London standards. But the neutral costumes could not detract from her natural radiance and served only to make him want to see her rigged out in style.
Steyne had induced his aunt to invite the vicar and his daughter to dine with them. He had not realized at the time why she made such a storm about the matter, but he had assured her that if she did not, he would have them as his guests at the nearest inn. Not wishing to become the object of local gossip and conjecture, she had reluctantly acquiesced. How could Mr. Tremere have had the nerve to ask Margaret Sommers to marry him? The very idea was ludicrous. Even the idea of her first husband having married her was ludicrous. No one should ever have married such a dried-up prune at all. Steyne could not think of even one redeeming quality in her makeup: she was rude, cold, ugly and spiteful. Thank heaven she had never produced any offspring!
The dinner-party Lord Steyne remembered as not a notable success. Mr. Tremere had smirked, thinking that Margaret Sommers had reconsidered her decision, and she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she thought him the closest thing she could imagine to a worm. Theodosia had been uncomfortable, wishing that they had not accepted the invitation, and confused by Steyne’s frequent attentions to her. He made sure that she had the finest selection of curried lobster and the roast saddle of lamb, the lemon blancmange and the baked gooseberry pudding. He had turned her music when she played the piano-forte after dinner. He had admired her gown and her grasp of the economics of the countryside. But Theodosia had been intimidated by her father’s and his aunt’s presence, and had not really appeared to advantage.
Where she had always been at her best was in an animated discussion between just the two of them. As Steyne absently checked the folds of his cravat in the mirror he more clearly saw the two of them wandering down some dusty lane near the vicarage, Theodosia swinging her bonnet by the ribbons as she tried in all earnestness to explain her efforts to see that the neighboring landlords did not come to an arrangement with the local publican whereby the laborers’ wages were paid on the latter’s premises, so that the proceeds were drunk up before ever they reached home. Her indignation had amused him—no, that was condescending. It had touched him, her simple faith that such matters could be rectified by her concern and her exertions. For the life of him, he could never remember afterward why he had agreed to speak to the landlords, urging the wisdom of discontinuing the practice. Not that he didn’t agree with her, but simply that he had allowed her to involve him in that community which was so foreign to his own interests.
Steyne had thought it only fair, when his promise had been extracted, to insist on a forfeit for his good services. He would never forget the astonishment which had widened her eyes, nor the hurt which had caused her lips to tremble. “Surely you cannot be serious, my lord,” she had whispered. “I don’t sell my kisses.” Her face had flushed and her eyes moistened with sternly repressed tears. “If that is how you view the matter, I would prefer you forgot the whole thing.”
Even her chin, held high as it was, trembled by then and he silently cursed himself for his lack of sensitivity. She was not accustomed to the sophisticated bantering of society. Actually, he had intended to kiss her again when the opportunity arose and they were well shielded from prying eyes by leafy trees on either side of the path, but this was obviously the wrong time to press her. She had made him feel, for perhaps the first time in his life, as awkward as a schoolboy. It had been a week before he made the attempt again, and that was long after he had fulfilled (and not mentioned) his promise.
Lost in his reverie, Steyne had not noticed the passage of time and was surprised to hear the dinner gong resound. Dear God, he was becoming as careless as James. He hastened to join the assembled Heythrops, minus James, and to take Lady Eastwick in to dinner, apologizing for him tardiness.
“No, no, don’t say a word,” she protested. “I know the boys cozened you into instructing them in driving again and barely gave you time to dress. I do hope you won’t let them become a nuisance”
“How can they be a nuisance when they so apparently admire my skill with the ribbons?” he laughed. “Nothing could be more flattering.”
Lady Eastwick had invited the Hedgerleys for an evening of cards, assuming that James would be there (since she had reminded him in the morning), but he did not appear until late in the evening, making it impossible for two tables to be formed. He offered no excuse for his absence, nor did he willingly make a forth for a second table. Barely civil to the Hedgerleys, James was bored and allowed it to show. His eyes wandered speculatively to Theodosia who ignored his suggestive gaze, but he decided that the risk of trying anything there with Steyne in the house was too high. Soon enough he would return to London and marry the succulent widow with the gold-filled pockets. And with luck he would have something else to show for his journey to Somerset. James was quite sure that his reading of the first earl’s poem must be accurate. How fortunate that Eastwick should be abroad at just this time?!
No one was the least sorry that James declined to join them the next day when they set out for the Winchmores. Edward came because Steyne did, and not because his brothers and sisters deputed him their spokesman in asking Sir George if he knew of a Gregory family from the Bicknoller area.
Sir George dug a hand into the pocket of his coat as though searching for the answer there, his brows drawing down in vigorous thought. “None to my knowledge. Used to be, of course. Oh, eons ago. Some scandal attached to the name. Can’t rightly remember what it was, but it’s of no importance nowadays. A long time back one of the Winchmore girls married into the family, and I remember a great to-do in some of the letters of that day which passed back and forth. Should she do it? Had the scandal been forgotten? Was there still a blot on the name? And, good Lord, this was two hundred years after . . . whatever happened, happened. Hadn’t lived in the county for a century by then.”
If Edward was satisfied with this hazy recollection, the younger children were not. Christina was the Winchmores' only child, and the Heythrop youngsters rapidly became restless in the drawing room. Theodosia suggested that she walk with them down to the pond to see the ducks since there were no mysterious sayings carved on the mantels. To her surprise, Christina and Charlotte expressed a desire to join them, and then Edward and Steyne did likewise. The whole party, minus Sir George and Lady Winchmore, Lady Eastwick and Eleanor, wandered through the neatly trimmed gardens down to the artificial pond. Charlotte avidly drank in tales of Christina’s London season while Theodosia listened with half an ear and attempted to keep the boys from frightening the ducks.
“Bet I can make a stone skip more times than you can,” John challenged his brother.
“Ho,” Thomas snorted, “you’ve hardly gotten the knack of it yet.” He stooped down and searched for the flattest one he could find, sending it skimming over the placid water. “Six times. You can’t better that!”
“It was only five,” John protested, reaching for one of his own.
Steyne was standing apart from the others, surveying the gazebo at the furthest end of the pond, but at their words he turned and met Theodosia’s eyes across the expanse of gravel path. Suddenly they were alone again, as they had been that summer day at Oakleigh, his aunt’s home. Mrs. Sommers had taken the carriage to go shopping in Wiveliscombe, not bothering to invite him to join her. Steyne had been delighted at the chance to bring Theodosia for a walk by the artif
icial lake where they would be undisturbed by anything more annoying than a honking goose. The charming setting of the lake had been no testament to his aunt’s taste, but to that of a former owner. Mrs. Sommers had threatened to serve every last one of the graceful geese on her table.
A dryness developed in Theodosia’s throat as she found herself unable to look away from Steyne’s intent gaze. He must be remembering, as she was, that day at Oakleigh when he had taught her to skip stones on his aunt’s lake. She had been clumsy at first, unable to duplicate the motion of wrist and arm that he exhibited for her. Carefully he had chosen the flattest stone he could find. Then he had come around behind her, pressing the stone in her hand and putting his arm alongside hers to guide its motion as she flung it across the water. Theodosia swallowed hard as she remembered what had happened next.
His closeness had set her heart to pounding and he did not withdraw when the stone had disappeared in widening circles on the lake. Instead he had turned her to face him. There had been a question in his eyes; not a demand or even the lightness of humor, but a gentle query: Are you ready now? Theodosia had been ready for days, expecting him to kiss her each time they were alone. When he didn’t she had begun to wonder if he had taken her previous upset so much to heart that he never intended to kiss her again, and she felt bereft.
Her own gaze must have given him the answer he wished, for he drew her toward him and kissed her rather differently than he had that first time. His lips were tender on hers but it was not a simple passing touch. She had no desire to draw away from him but she had not previously experienced the chaos which gripped her, and she was shaken. When he at length desisted, she found that her hands were on his shoulders and had no idea how they had gotten there. Bemused, embarrassed, she let them drop to her sides, feeling as though she had done something terribly improper. He had smiled at her, the most charming, delighted smile she had ever witnessed, and her heart had felt as though it turned over in her body.
Steyne was not smiling at her now. There was no discernible expression on his face at all, in fact, while their eyes were locked. Theodosia knew, though, that he was remembering that kiss, and the dozens that had followed in the succeeding weeks. Remembering how she had once, in despair, come running to fling her arms about him for the last time, the tears streaming down her cheeks. Theodosia could feel them pricking at her eyes now and she turned aside abruptly to ask Thomas and John, "Shall I have a try? I haven’t done this in years.”
Six years, to be exact. Six long, but not always painful, years. Years when she had learned to live with the disappointment, when she had done her duty, when she had found new friends and occupation. Years when she had learned to lock the love away and to smile at the memories, to cherish them instead of mourning them. She must learn to live with them even now that he was present again. There would be no new memories to store. Forcing herself to smile, she said, "Lord Steyne taught me to skip stones, you know. I once saw one of his skip a dozen times.” The stone she had just tossed sank ignominiously the moment it hit the water.
There was a movement behind her and she felt a stone pressed into her hand and his arm alongside hers again, directing its arc toward the water. "You haven’t practiced, Miss Tremere. You don’t wish to disgrace my lessons, do you?”
Theodosia felt a tremor run through her body and immediately stooped to find a stone, saying in a choked voice, "I'm sure I’ll catch the hang of it again in time.”
"Yes, I’m sure you will,” Steyne said softly.
Joining them, Edward assumed the responsibility of reinstructing the governess. He hadn’t the temerity to actually grasp Miss Tremere’s hand as Lord Steyne had, but he demonstrated with a rather stiff grace. His stone skipped no more than thrice and his brothers hooted at him, causing Edward to move along to where Charlotte and Christina sat chatting on a wooded bench in the shade of a willow tree.
Amy, who had been watching the ducks and idly listening to their conversation further down the bank of the pond, now came to stand beside Steyne, gazing up at him with puzzled eyes. "Is it important to know how to skip stones? Why did you teach Miss Tremere? Will you teach me?”
“Of course I will teach you, young lady. And it is excessively important to know how to skip stones. What would you do on a lazy afternoon by the water if you did not know how to skip stones?” He smiled. "I'm surprised Miss Tremere has not included it in her lessons."
"Is that why you taught her? So that she could teach us?”
Steyne frowned at the back of Theodosia’s head. “No, I taught her because it was a lazy day and we were by the water, and because it’s a pleasure to teach other people new things. I think Miss Tremere learned several new things that day.”
There was no question that she heard him. He could tell by the very stillness of her stance and the way she gripped the small, flat stone she was about to toss into the water. But it was Amy who said cheerfully, “Miss Tremere likes to learn new things. She’s told me so. But usually she teaches. Did she ever teach you anything in exchange?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. When he spoke his bantering tone was gone and his voice, to Theodosia, sounded almost brusque. “Yes, she taught me several things. I haven’t forgotten them.”
“Well,” Amy hastened to assure him, "I am sure she hasn’t forgotten, either. Sometimes it just takes awhile to familiarize yourself again—like doing multiplication tables after a vacation. After all, you don’t have an opportunity to skip stones every day.”
“Very true.” He chose a flat stone for her and demonstrated the swing of the arm without letting go of it. “Here, you have a try.”
By the time a footman came to inform them that Lady Eastwick was ready to leave, Theodosia found that she had regained some of her ability at skipping stones, a fact which Amy jubilantly pointed out to Lord Steyne. He nodded and met Theodosia’s eyes once more. “Apparently it was solely a lack of practice,” he admitted, moving over to walk beside her.
With Amy on one side and Steyne on the other, Theodosia felt sure she would not be able to avoid further disconcerting revelations unless she took charge of the conversation herself. “In the winter, if the roads are in decent condition, the children and I sometimes drive to Quantock’s Head to see the long-tailed ducks that migrate there. Sir George says their call-notes sound like a pack of baying hounds. We see scaup-ducks and pintails inland, too, sometimes.”
“How interesting,” Steyne murmured, his eyes dancing.
“Oh, yes,” Amy contributed politely, “we have made quite a fascinating study of birds. Miss Tremere can identify hawfinches, skylarks, whitethroats, green plovers, wagtails—oh, any number of them.”
"Wagtails, Miss Tremere?” Steyne asked mischievously.
“Yes, wagtails,” she replied, her attempt at firmness belied by a slight quiver of her lips. “We’ve seen both the pied wagtail and the yellow wagtail this summer, haven’t we, Amy?”
“Indeed we have. The pied likes the farmyard, but the yellow prefers the open fields. Would you recognize a wagtail, Lord Steyne?”
“I’m sure I would. In fact, I have pointed one out to Miss Tremere in the past.”
The man was incorrigible, Theodosia thought ruefully. She had always tried to walk in a perfectly ladylike manner, but he had, more than once, in those long past days, remarked teasingly that her walk, especially from behind, was what had first attracted his attention to her. Since her father, a notable critic of anything improper or unladylike in her, had never mentioned the matter, she was sure it was only a joke—well, almost sure. Good heavens, they had spoken with uncommon familiarity in those days, hadn’t they? When she glanced up at him, his set expression of the last few days was gone and he was smiling. Theodosia felt her heart quicken.
Unfortunately, they had reached the house, where Lady Eastwick already had the carriage waiting. “Eleanor is not feeling quite the thing, I fear,” she explained. “Nothing serious, I’m sure, but she should be at home resting.”
His smile meant nothing, really; just the sort of shared memory one had with old acquaintances—ludicrous, perhaps, in the circumstances, but undeniable. At most it meant he was beginning to remember the amusing as well as the disturbing aspects of their past and she should be grateful. Theodosia had not dared hope all these years that he would regard the episode with anything but bitterness. His letter . . .
Well, that was something she had forced herself to soften in her own mind, understanding his exasperation, his frustration after his self-imposed wait of several years. She had not asked him to wait, though she had dreamed that he might. How unfortunate that her father should have been so ill when she at last came of age and found that Marc had indeed waited. A lump rose in her throat and she set the hairbrush down gently on the dressing table and extinguished the candles. They were really too alike in their stubbornness to have gotten on well in the end, she reminded herself as she had so many times before. And he would still believe that he knew what was best for her, as he had then. Hadn’t she found a wonderfully comfortable niche for herself without his help? She was loved and needed here. Even he could not deny that. Theodosia sighed as she climbed into bed.
Chapter Ten
Sunday was a day on which the Heythrops broke their usual routine. In addition to church attendance, the girls were not expected to do any studies. The day was not given over to a surfeit of religious observation by any means. The children, in fact, viewed it entirely as a day of freedom and looked forward to it despite the lengthy and usually unintelligible (to them) sermons delivered by Dr. Trainer. He had a habit of choosing obscure texts which led to even more obscure sermons, and his choice of music was almost intolerably lugubrious. But Lady Eastwick had vetoed Edward’s suggestion that he read some edifying verses from the Bible at home after church to instill a proper regard for religion into his younger brothers and sisters.