“She thought it would be wisest not to confront Mr. Heythrop with the knowledge.”
“I wasn’t speaking of my uncle,” he rasped, “but of your being with Lord Steyne.”
Theodosia regarded him with wide brown eyes. “She didn’t say anything about it.”
“Then you didn’t mention you were with him.” The statement was made belligerently, but he refused to meet her gaze.
“Of course I did. There was no harm in the situation, Lord Heythrop, any more than when I have seen or spoken with you late at night.”
Edward’s face suffused with an unbecoming flush. He was tempted to point out that he was (temporary) master at Charton Court and Steyne a guest, but there seemed no purpose. His late calls had been harmless, he assured himself, if not in his mind, then certainly in their execution. Had Miss Tremere handled Lord Steyne in the same manner? Was he attempting to seduce the governess? Unlikely, he thought, since Steyne had known her some years ago and must be aware of her gentle birth. Edward stomped along beside her in silence for some time and eventually said, “You should keep your door locked.”
"I do.”
Not knowing what to make of that, Edward fell silent again.
Chapter Thirteen
Lady Winchmore and her daughter Christina were at Charton Court when the searchers returned. With Lady Eastwick they were cozily ensconced in the Summer Parlor, cups of tea in hand and plates of tarts and biscuits at their sides. Theodosia’s charges were hardly dressed for the occasion but their mother allowed them to join, fearful that they would starve, having missed the cold luncheon which only she and James had enjoyed before her brother-in-law had left the house, not bothering to explain where he was going. Christina cast a shy glance at Edward as he entered, but it was Charlotte who hastened to her side.
"Have you been here long? I’m so sorry we weren’t here to greet you, but we’ve been . . . walking in the hills.”
Perhaps it was perverseness on Steyne’s part, but he paid a great deal of attention to Christina, asking her about her London season and regretting that he had not had the opportunity to encounter her there. His charm was wasted on the girl, as she kept darting glances at Edward, where he sat with his mother and Lady Winchmore. The younger children disappeared as soon as they had stuffed themselves with sufficient nourishment to sustain them until dinner time, and Theodosia excused herself with them. Lady Eastwick, thinking she looked a little tired, made no effort to stay her.
None of the children went to the schoolroom; Theodosia hadn’t expected them to, but it was her destination, nonetheless. From the schoolroom window she watched Thomas race John across the drawbridge, their unbounded energy renewed by a little sustenance. The aroma of newly mown hay drifted up to her, along with that of freshly baked bread from the kitchen wing. Stands of oaks stood gloriously green in the heat of the afternoon and the cry of birds echoed from the wooded park. Later she would take a book into the topiary, when the heat of the day diminished a bit, but now the schoolroom was one of the coolest spots in the house. Theodosia settled herself in an overstuffed chair, drowsily reading the notes she had made on the foolscap, her mind not completely on the task, but finding it simpler than the other questions which rose to tease her.
Her eyelids drooped and she thought she might just let them stay that way for a minute. The heat and the morning’s exercise and the lateness of the hour when she had gotten to sleep the previous night combined to enervate her. She was soon dozing peacefully, a faint smile on her lips and the breeze from the open window stirring a few stray strands of the luxuriant brown hair.
When the Winchmores left, Charlotte and Eleanor drifted off to their rooms and Steyne decided to take Theodosia up on her offer of studying her notes about the Heythrop family. There was no answer when he tapped at her door and he climbed the stairs to the second floor, sure that the schoolroom must be there. He had no trouble finding it: The door was open and from the doorway he could see her fast asleep in the chair, the foolscap pages under her folded hands.
As though she could feel his gaze on her, her eyelids fluttered but a haze of dreams clung about her. She was in her father’s house in Chipstable, waiting. Waiting to see if he would come. She had been waiting for more than a month and could only stay a few days longer. The new vicar wished to move in with his family; she must make a decision on whether to go to Lord Eastwick’s. So many times she had half expected to look up at the doorway and find him there, smiling at her. And at last, just when she had almost given up hope—there he was. In a daze of dreamlike happiness she extended her hands and said, “Marc! You came.”
Shaken out of her stupor by her own voice, confused, she still could not fail to comprehend the stunned look on his face. She was not at Chipstable but at Charton Court, and he had not come, not when she needed him. Slowly she rose from the chair and smoothed down her skirts with the uselessly extended hands, saying, "Lord Steyne, I beg you will forgive me. I seem to have been dreaming. Did you come to see the notes on the Heythrop family?” In her embarrassment she busied herself at the desk, sorting out anything that might be of interest to him.
Two long strides brought him to her side. “My aunt didn’t write until you had left Chipstable.”
She lifted her head from perusing the papers and gazed calmly at him. “I realize that now, and I suspected it then. It’s of no importance. I don’t dream of the past very often. Now, this is a copy of the first earl’s poem, and a list I have made of the . . ."
“What do you mean 'it's of no importance’?” His countenance was grim, his hands clenched at his sides.
“We leave the past behind us, with all its joys and miseries. What seemed crucial then is only a memory years later. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“I haven’t.” The dark eyes regarded her intently. “You could have written me yourself.”
“No, I couldn’t. You know I couldn’t.”
Steyne thumped a fist against her desk and muttered, “Doe, I . . . You know I never meant what I wrote you. I was upset! You had come of age and you still wouldn’t leave him!”
“He was very ill at the time. I explained that to you in my letter.”
“But you had always let him convince you that he was ill! He didn’t die for almost another year!”
Theodosia smiled sadly. “You must believe what you wish, Lord Steyne. And you have always believed that I was a fool to do my Christian duty.”
“Duty!” he growled. “No one owes a duty to an irascible old man who thinks of no one but himself. It would have done him no harm to lay out a few pounds for a housekeeper and a boy to replace your domestic services. You will never convince me that he had any other use for you.”
“I would never try.” Theodosia tapped the papers so their edges aligned and offered them to him.
Steyne stared at them uncomprehendingly, as though his valet had handed him a candlestick instead of his hat. Impatiently he jammed them into his coat pocket. “Did you want me to apologize? Did you expect me to bow down to that aggrandized, pompous . . .? Have you never realized that I only felt so strongly about him because of what he did to you? Treating you like a servant, finding fault with every effort you made, returning no affection for the devotion you poured on him.”
“Steyne,” she said, her voice sharp with anger, “I don’t wish to discuss my father. I don’t wish to discuss our past. In fact, I don’t wish to discuss anything with you just now. My head is aching abominably. If my notes aren’t clear, I will be happy to explain them to you at some other time—or you might consult Lord Heythrop. Please don’t say another word,” she cautioned as he looked ready to protest. “I am going to rest until I feel better.”
Her anger was something new to him and he stood rooted to the spot as she vanished out the door. At nineteen she had cajoled, she had teased, she had apologized, she had begged him to understand her actions, but she had never spoken a cross word to him, let alone ordered him to silence. His confusion was as great as he
rs had been on waking, compounded of annoyance and remorse, the memory of the surge of hope he had felt and the despair as their exchange turned to bitter recriminations. Had he been to blame? Was he at fault even now? Steyne walked to the window and watched as dark clouds obscured the sun and the first drops of rain splashed against him. Damn! A change in the weather could well presage a change in James’ plans. Steyne closed the window and walked from the schoolroom, the foolscap sheets forgotten in his pocket.
* * * *
Since it would never have occurred to him to visit the schoolroom, Edward had been unable to locate Lord Steyne. He had opted for a short ride when the storm clouds gathered, and found himself halfway to the stables when the first drops of rain fell. Taking refuge on the terrace outside the Summer Parlor he was about to wipe the muddy splashes from his boots when he realized that Charlotte and Eleanor had sought shelter just around the corner under the overhang. As usual, they were not in agreement on the subject which absorbed their attention.
“Well, I think he was decidedly smitten by her,” Charlotte pronounced. “How am I to get the mud off these white shoes?”
“You won’t be able to,” her sister informed her smugly. “They’re ruined. You should have worn your boots as I suggested.”
“You never suggested any such thing. All you said was that you were wearing yours. Anyway, you didn’t know it was going to rain.”
Eleanor snorted. “Of course I did, goose. It is exactly on days such as this when the weather gets unbearably hot that a shower comes to cool it off. I never take my sketchbook out when it gets muggy hot this way.”
“Why don’t you think Lord Steyne was interested in Christina? He certainly paid her particular attention, and you have to admit she is charming and pretty.”
“He’s far too old for her, Charlotte, for one thing.”
“Stuff! Lots of girls marry men his age.”
“Christina won’t,” Eleanor declared in her most definite manner, nicely calculated to set up her sister’s back.
"You can’t possibly know that!”
“For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, she’s your best friend and you can’t see what’s right in front of your eyes. I can understand why she wouldn’t tell you, but surely you could have guessed.”
Edward, who had considered letting them know that he could overhear their conversation, abandoned the idea of doing any such thing when he heard Charlotte, bewildered, ask, “What are you talking about?”
“Christina has a tendre for Edward, silly. Haven’t you noticed the way she always glances at him when he’s in the room with her? She was hardly aware of Lord Steyne.”
“You have windmills in your head, Eleanor! Who in her right mind would find anything the least bit romantic about Edward?”
If Edward was miffed by this reference to himself, few outsiders would have been able to tell. He stood transfixed on the terrace, unaware that the wind had changed direction and rain was pelting him unmercifully. Nothing is quite so flattering as learning that you are the object of another’s adoration, and though Edward had never until that moment so much as given Christina a thought (other than seeing her as a neighbor and a friend of his sister’s), suddenly he was stricken with a most gratifying gallantry. He never doubted the truth of Eleanor’s assertion, and barely heard her reply to Charlotte: "Chacun à son goût.”
Christina Winchmore. Edward could picture her readily enough, though he had not paid particular attention to her that afternoon. Several years his junior, she was just the sort of young lady who would appreciate his finer qualities. Miss Tremere, he decided abruptly, had a certain levity in her nature which was not in keeping with his conception of a truly aristocratic lady. Christina, on the other hand, showed a proper reserve and decorum at all times, and if she was a trifle timid, well, Edward was just the one to give her confidence. Knowing that he had the edge over Lord Steyne in this one particular instance was a marvelously heady sensation. Christina Winchmore was attracted to him, Edward, heir to the Earl of Eastwick, bulwark of his family during his father’s absence; she had no interest whatsoever in the noted Corinthian, Lord Steyne. Edward was smiling fatuously when his mother opened the door onto the terrace and expostulated, "For God’s sake, Edward, what are you doing standing in the rain? You’ll catch your death of cold.”
Edward looked at her, bemused, and sneezed.
* * * *
When dinner time arrived and Theodosia had not reappeared, Lady Eastwick, worried, sent Charlotte to inquire. Her eldest daughter returned to report that Miss Tremere was sound asleep and she hadn’t the heart to waken her.
"Of course not, love. I thought she looked a bit peaked at tea. After dinner I’ll check on her myself”
But Theodosia was still sleeping soundly when Lady Eastwick went to her room, and she did nothing more than place long, cool fingers on the governess’s forehead to ascertain whether she had a fever. Her brow was no warmer than it should be, Lady Eastwick decided as she tucked the bedcovers more closely about the sleeping form. The fact that Miss Tremere had not experienced even the slightest indisposition in the three years she had been at Charton Court, and that she should feel ill today rather worried Lady Eastwick, especially when she had found Edward standing like a love-struck schoolboy on the terrace in the rain.
There might not be any connection between the two events, she mused, but it would be wise to keep an eye on the situation. Then there was the added anxiety from James being in the house. He could very well have upset the young lady with his unwanted attentions. And Lord Steyne . . . Lady Eastwick had an intuitive feeling about the state of his emotions, if not the reason for his being in Somerset. Her theory on matters of the heart, however, was to allow them to sort themselves out in their own time, whenever possible. She closed the door quietly behind herself.
Questioning eyes turned toward her when she returned to the drawing room—Charlotte’s, Edward’s, Steyne’s. "I don’t think she has a fever. She’s still sleeping, though, so she must be exhausted. Having the boys home doubles the demands on her time but she has always insisted that she enjoys working with them. Perhaps I should have seen that they weren’t so much underfoot.”
"I wouldn’t alarm yourself, ma’am,” Steyne interjected. "Most likely Miss Tremere is simply suffering from the headache brought on by the muggy weather before the shower. My sister is prone to suffer a similar inconvenience.”
Charlotte frowned. "It's never happened before, and it’s not uncommon for us to have weather like this.”
They really did treat her as one of the family, Steyne decided, disgruntled. Their concern was as real as it would have been for any one of them. He listened silently as Charlotte suggested she might go to sit with Theodosia, but Lady Eastwick fortunately thought such a measure unnecessary. Somehow Theodosia’s absence seemed to leave them dispirited. Lady Eastwick halfheartedly suggested a hand of whist, but Steyne countered with a request that Charlotte play for them. The girl was midway through her second piece when James entered after being gone since early afternoon.
Three of those present studied him circumspectly for any sign that he had been successful. If he had been out digging in the rain, there was no way of telling, for he wore a fresh cravat and a spotless brown coat. His boots, too, were polished to a high gloss, indicating that they had not even been worn outside the house. Obviously, James had seen fit to change before joining his relations.
Not waiting for the conclusion of the piano-forte performance, James turned to his sister-in-law and announced, “I have finished my business here and intend to head back for London tomorrow.”
His words caused a bit of a sensation in the small group. Lady Eastwick replaced the fragile teacup she had been holding on its saucer, her brow puckered. “So soon, James? When you have come such a distance, I thought you would remain for at least a week.”
Edward, finally alarmed out of his intriguing daydreams, stuttered, “B-But you hadn’t s-said anything!”
His u
ncle regarded him with a sardonic twist of his lips. “Did you expect a written itinerary, Edward? I felt sure it would not be necessary with my closest family. A few days was all I ever intended to stay. Lord Steyne will wish to be returning to town.”
All eyes swung to Steyne, even Charlotte’s. She was not immune to the sudden tension in the room. His lordship sat at his leisure, long legs casually crossed, one hand idly toying with his watch fob. Had James found the treasure, then? Or was he merely put off by the rain and lack of success? Steyne couldn’t imagine him spending long on any one endeavor; he would cut his losses at the first frustration.
“Tomorrow?” he asked, his voice thoughtful. “After this afternoon’s cloudburst the roads are bound to be muddy.” Steyne was stalling for time and he disliked the speculative look that came to James’ eyes. “However, I dare say if we leave at an hour you would consider reasonable, they will have had an opportunity to dry somewhat.”
“True,” James retorted with lazy satisfaction. “I have never understood this passion to be off at the break of day.”
And the discussion ended, if not the racing thoughts of several of the parties present. Over a hand of whist, Lady Eastwick mutely indicated to her son that his countenance was an obvious testament to his suspicions, and Edward attempted to modify his grim stare into a disinterested gaze. Neither of them could help but look to Steyne for support, but the viscount gave no indication that he was aware of anything the least bit out of the ordinary. Charlotte had excused herself for the night and James, bored by Edward’s worse-than-usual performance with the cards, asked, “Where’s the governess?”
His condescending tone set up Lady Eastwick’s back. He could have called her by name; no one referred to Miss Tremere as “the governess.” Calmly taking the trick with an ace of spades, she explained, “Miss Tremere wasn’t feeling well and has retired to her room.”
“You shouldn’t put up with sickly servants,” James taunted, knowing full well he was alienating at least two-thirds of his audience and noting with interest the hard line of Steyne’s lips. “I give them notice at the first sign of indisposition. That way you haven’t any doctor bills to pay. You would be astonished at how healthy my dependents stay.”
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