In My Lady's Chamber

by Laura Matthews

  A cold silence greeted this remark and James laughed. “You become too familiar with the lower orders in the countryside, Joanna. I’m sure you learn all about their aged mothers and arthritic fathers, their sick cows and poor turnip harvests. In London the problem doesn’t arise. If they aren’t satisfactory, you dismiss them. There are hundreds more where they came from, champing at the bit for a chance to make enough to maintain themselves. Being softhearted with dependents—any dependents,” he stressed, his eyes on Steyne, “is a waste of time. They don’t admire your weakness.”

  Lady Eastwick did not deign to reply to his callousness; Edward glared at him. The comments were really meant for Steyne, however, and the viscount realized with something of a shock that James was declaring his philosophy as a direct challenge. For the simple reason that he wished no unpleasantness at Charton Court, Steyne had purposely not commented on the marriage, but James could not resist pushing his luck. Convinced that he had the upper hand in the negotiation, that he was to marry Ruth, he intended to make it clear that he would exercise the upper hand in his marriage as well. He was not merely discussing domestic servants: He was discussing Ruth as well.

  For the first time Steyne was forced to reconsider his own attitude. He could feel the anger coursing through his veins at the very thought of James dictating to Ruth, ordering her life, bullying her into obedience. His sister was a courageous, intelligent and strong-willed woman. These attributes had not detracted from her first marriage. Morrison had accepted her as she was without feeling the necessity to dominate. James was announcing his resolution to wield his power over another “dependent.” Steyne found his mind wandering to Theodosia and forced it back to the issue at hand.

  “You are confusing strength with power, James,” Steyne remarked with no show of the turmoil that had seized him. “If Lady Eastwick shows an interest in her servants’ personal problems, it is a sign of her ability to accept that the management of a household depends on dealing with human beings, not animals. If Edward treats the tenants with courtesy, it is a sign of his responsibility toward his inheritance and his position. Both necessitate strength rather than weakness, and both will generate loyalty rather than slovenliness. It is the weak man who must use his petty power to cow his dependents, who must use ceremony for want of sense. Privilege entails responsibility and wealth bestows obligations.” Steyne trumped the trick James was sure he had won and continued calmly, “A ma--or woman—must earn the right to be admired. You are content, I dare say, with servility, but it has a nasty way of turning sour on you. Take, for instance, a man who has made not the least effort to earn his servants’ respect. When someone approaches them for information, possibly damaging information, they are not averse to being bribed.”

  James had been regarding Steyne with a superior smirk during most of this lecture but now his hand paused in midair, holding a card of no value. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

  As Lady Eastwick took the trick, Steyne met the hostile eyes. “Just what I said. Where there is no loyalty, there is no security. A man has few secrets from his servants, especially a man who considers them beneath his notice. Do you think his parlormaid doesn’t notice the stack of duns when she dusts? Or his porter recognize the bailiffs when they come to his door?”

  "What his servants know,” James growled, “is that they will be dismissed for gossiping about such matters.”

  “Why should they care?” Steyne countered. "Their employer isn’t providing an amiable setting in which to labor. Perhaps they are offered a chance to change employment.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!"

  Steyne, unperturbed, observed the furious countenance and said gently, “There is very little I wouldn’t dare, James, with the proper incentive, but why should you read anything personal into my comments? We were discussing strengths and weaknesses in the abstract, were we not?”

  By now Edward was openly gaping at them but James had forgotten the card game, as well as the other occupants of the fashionable drawing room. His laughter grated in the tense silence. “You would be ill-advised to interfere, I think, my lord.”

  “Possibly.” Steyne turned to Lady Eastwick, smiling. “Rubber to us, ma’am. Shall we play another?”

  “I think not, if you don’t mind. I’d like to check on Miss Tremere before I retire.”

  “Of course.”

  Edward showed an inclination to linger with the two men, but his mother insisted that he accompany her. When the door had closed behind them James was immediately on his feet, pacing about the room. After a moment he stopped behind Steyne’s chair, his eyes dark with anger.

  "So you’ve been playing cat and mouse, have you, Steyne? Well, it won’t do you any good. No matter what you find out about me behind my back, your sister will marry me. She doesn’t need your approval but she does need me. Her shame would be on your head if you prevented a marriage she has already consummated.” His eyes now glowed with mocking triumph.

  Steyne sat perfectly still except for the thumb which rubbed slowly across his watch fob. "No one but a scoundrel would make such a statement, which I know to be a lie. I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed my sister to marry you, James. If you wish to be frank, let us. You are bleeding your estate; you have innumerable debts in London; your life is incompatible with marriage.”

  “Nonetheless,” James retorted coldly, "your sister wishes to marry me, and you really can’t stop her.”

  "You are mistaken, James. My sister does not wish to marry you. I’ve spoken with her.”

  If this came as a surprise to James, not by the twitch of a muscle did he show it, but his eyes became colder, more calculating. “I fear your sister has not been wholly frank with you, Steyne. Her behavior has been such as to make a marriage between us highly desirable.”

  "Nothing could make a marriage between the two of you highly desirable, James.” Steyne met the cool eyes with a steely gaze of his own. "You needn’t spell out for me how you could make life disagreeable for my sister by discussing your connection with her. No gentleman would do so, of course, but you have yet to prove that you fall within that category. I will not be intimidated or blackmailed or coerced, James. You shall not marry Ruth, and if any whisper, any innuendo reaches me, I will kill you. It’s as simple as that. You’re a spiteful devil and I give you this warning because I know you’ll be tempted. You would only be tempting fate. After the effort I have made to come here with you, any reasonable man will assume that I scotched the connection because of your financial standing, and that your tales are mere bravado and malice. Ruth may have removed from London by this time, but I will be happy to see that she writes to tell you the exact state of her feelings on the matter, if you doubt me.”

  One of the candles guttered, causing a soft hissing in the room. Otherwise there was no sound as the two men fought a battle of wills with their eyes. James turned away first. Another gamble in his long career had failed, his veracity and his honor had been called in question, and he knew he should challenge Steyne for the insult. But he was not, when all was said and done, a particularly brave man, and he had seen Steyne at Mantons any number of times, unerringly accurate with a pistol. James had decided that afternoon to abandon his hunt for the family treasure but now, in an effort to salvage something from the trip, he changed his mind again. He would take one more stab at it.

  “I have decided to stay another day or so . . . if that will be convenient for your lordship,” he said, his voice laden with sarcasm.

  "As you wish.” Steyne was relieved that he would not have to contrive some damage to his carriage to delay their departure. There was one more thing he felt it necessary to say, though it nearly choked him. "Ruth never meant to mislead you, James. Since her husband’s death, she has been emotionally overwrought. I’m sure she would wish me to apologize for any misunderstanding.”

  It was a handsome concession but James only threw him a look of violent dislike and strode from the room, slamming the door after
himself. Steyne rose wearily from his seat at the cardtable and proceeded to Theodosia’s room where his light tap went unanswered. Trying the knob he found the door unlocked and slid quickly inside. From the bed came the gentle sounds of breathing and he whispered, “Sleep well, my dear,” before taking the key and locking the door from without, and slipping it underneath.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Theodosia was asleep when Steyne entered, but even the slight sound he made on leaving roused her somewhat, and when she fully woke she was surprised to find it completely black outside. Too exhausted when she went to bed to bother disrobing, she was still fully dressed, with the exception of her shoes, and she climbed out of bed to check the clock on the mantel. Almost eleven! What must they think of her for missing dinner without sending a message?

  Very likely they had all retired by now, but Theodosia slipped into her shoes and brushed her hair into place in the dark room. Only a glimmer of moonlight stole through the window, making it difficult for her to see whether indeed she had managed to control all the whispy ends. She would take a candle from the sconce outside her door, where one was left burning each night so the girls could find her if they were frightened or worried. Strange, Theodosia thought, as she tried the door and found it locked. I don’t remember doing that. But the key was not in the hole and she knew instantly that Steyne had come to lock her door. As before, she found the key at her feet and let herself out into the hall.

  Shielding the flame with her hand, she walked down several corridors until she reached the main staircase. There was no indication that any of the family was still up—no spare lights or the sound of voices. Fyfield was closing the house for the night and smiled up at her.

  "Miss Tremere. I hope you’re feeling better. My lady retired some time ago.”

  Theodosia nodded. "I thought as much, but I wished to check. They weren’t worried about me, were they? I feel perfectly fine right now—except that I’m famished.”

  Her rueful expression met with an answering grin. “Of course you are. Let me bring you something from the kitchen. I’ve banked the fire in the drawing room, but it won’t take a minute to have it blazing.”

  Despite her protests that she could come to the kitchen herself, Theodosia found herself led firmly to the drawing room where Fyfield lit several candles and promised to bring a tray immediately. Left alone she found her mind had a tendency to revert to the scene in the schoolroom that afternoon. How could she have said such a stupid thing? Amazing that he had realized exactly where her mind had been. Had he, too, pictured her in her father’s home, waiting to see if he would come now that she was truly free? Did he regret that his aunt had withheld the information of her father’s death until it was too late? Or was he relieved that the responsibility had been taken out of his hands?

  He had looked so handsome standing there. Not exactly as she remembered him: His face was thinner, more rugged, and there were lines which hadn’t etched themselves across his brow six years ago. His stance was no different, though, just as proud and self-confident as ever, the broad shoulders seeming to block out the entire doorway. She had often thought you could tell a lot about a man by his hands, and Steyne had such wonderful ones—long, strong, well-used, gentle hands. Not like James Heythrop’s, which were short and pampered, as though he had never so much as handled a pair of reins with them. When Theodosia had cried out to Steyne, half in a dream, she had extended her hands to him, knowing exactly how it would feel to have them encased in his. And how it would feel to have him hold her in his arms—he had done so six years . . .

  Oh, Lord, why was she allowing herself such flights of fancy? He might, out of a misplaced sense of chivalry, consider himself still bound to her, but . . . Theodosia’s vacant gaze had come to rest on the mantel, where the first earl’s lines were legible even in the dim light. Sir Arthur, the gallant knight who fought for his king . . . Suddenly Theodosia realized where all the Heythrops had gone wrong. Chivalry. The glorious name. Proudly passed from father to son . . . until the eighth earl, who didn’t know which name it was that he was supposed to pass on. Not Heythrop, but Arthur. The first earl had been Sir Arthur Heythrop before he was raised to the peerage. How many Arthurs had there been? Theodosia could not remember exactly. There had been Edwards, but had they been younger sons? She would have to see the list. But she had given the list to Steyne.

  Fyfield arrived with a tray loaded with tea, bread and butter and cheese and a variety of cold meats, plus a sampling of cakes which had been served at dinner. Though Theodosia had suddenly almost lost her appetite, she forced herself to do justice to the meal, since the butler had gone to such trouble for her. Her mind raced, linking clues here and there, wondering, trying to remember everything. Did this bring her any closer to the treasure itself? Not necessarily, but perhaps. With impatient fingers she stacked the dishes neatly on the tray and carried it out to Fyfield, who scolded her, affectionately, for her effort.

  Taking the candle once more, she thanked him and climbed the stairs, almost wishing she could do it two at a time, as Thomas always did. John’s legs weren’t quite long enough yet for him to accomplish the same feat. In her headlong rush she had not actually decided what she was going to do when she reached Steyne’s room, but she knew there was no possibility of sleep for her that night if she didn’t look at her notes. There was one candle burning in the hallway, its light barely reaching beyond the area where Steyne and James Heythrop had their rooms. She knew Steyne’s room faced onto the exterior because he had commented at breakfast one morning on the view. Hesitantly she tapped, suddenly astonished at her own courage. There was no response.

  The papers were sure to be in his room. Theodosia rationalized that they were her papers, after all, and it would do no harm to retrieve them for a few hours. They could be returned to him in the morning, before he even woke. She blew out her candle and slipped silently into his room, closing the door behind her with only the faintest click. If there had been a fire in the room to warm it after the chill of the rain, no embers glowed and the pale moonlight did not reach this side of the house. Unfamiliar with the layout of the furniture in the room, she stood just inside the door for some time allowing her eyes to become accustomed to the dark. When she could distinguish the four-poster bed, with the black lump that was Steyne, she tiptoed over to the bedside table and stretched out her hands to feel along its surface. Her wrists were clasped in a firm grip.

  Theodosia gasped, protesting in a whisper, “It is only me—Theodosia. I need the notes I lent you this afternoon.”

  “What the devil are you doing up at this hour of the night?” he demanded, releasing her.

  “It’s not at all late. I doubt it’s gone midnight. If you were awake, why didn’t you respond to my knock?”

  "I wasn’t awake,” he said irritably, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, having momentarily forgotten that he wasn’t dressed to receive company. His nightshirt gleamed white in the darkness of the bedhangings. “Hand me my dressing gown, would you, Doe? It’s on the chair.”

  Fumbling past the nightstand, her toe painfully encountered the claw-footed chair where the silk dressing gown blended so well with the upholstery that only by the feel could she find it. She turned her back as he stood up, shrugged his way into it and tied the cord about his waist.

  “Where the hell do they keep the tinder box?” he grumbled as he ran his hands along the nightstand. The only evidence that he found it was a rather noisy clatter as it fell to the floor. “Oh, damn, forget it. Give me your candle and I’ll light it in the hall.”

  “Couldn’t you just tell me where the papers are and I’ll leave?” she suggested diffidently.

  "No, I couldn’t. Where did you put your candle?”

  “I dropped it when you grabbed my wrists.”

  Steyne swore again, softly, and banged his head against the nightstand as he stooped to feel around for the errant candle. “If you laugh, I’ll strangle you,” he muttered.

&n
bsp; Theodosia attempted to restrain the gurgle that rose in her throat, and was only partially successful. “Forgive me. Shall I find it for you?”

  “Certainly not. Just sit down and be quiet.”

  Naturally he stubbed his toe against the chair, just as she had, as he stood up and stomped to the hall to light the candle. When he returned he lit the lamp on the bureau and another by his bed. Then he seated himself and regarded her sternly. “If it’s not asking too much, I would like to know why you must suddenly have your notes back in the middle of the night.”

  "I told you it’s not the middle of the night.” He glowered at her and she continued, “I think I have just uncovered a part of the puzzle, about the missing treasure, I mean. But I need to see the list of earls in order to confirm it, and the poem.”

  “What have you discovered?” He was interested now, his eyes keen and his lips no longer so grimly pressed together.

  Theodosia, surprisingly, dropped her eyes. “Well, I’m afraid it will sound absurd. It seemed so logical in the drawing room . . . I mean, when I was looking at the mantel and thinking about chivalry . . ."

  Her voice trailed away and he smiled. “Why were you thinking of chivalry, Doe?”

  “Heaven knows!” she said crossly. “One sees so little of it these days.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you this afternoon.”

  “Didn’t you? Strange, I thought you did. Well, that’s irrelevant.”

  “Are you feeling better now?” he asked, belatedly.

  “Perfectly fine. I don’t know how I came to sleep so long. Did anyone remark on it?”

  Steyne grimaced. “Everyone. Lady Charlotte was determined on sitting with you, and her mother checked on you twice. Edward was visibly shaken.”