She shook her head. “No. Just…gone.”
“But where has he gone? Will he be returning?”
“No one knows where he is. I doubt after all this time we will see him again.”
“How long has it been? And why did he leave?”
She frowned at him. “If you have questions, you should ask them of Lady Delaware. Now drink your posset and rest.” With a curt nod, she turned and left the room.
Adam stared after her. In his admittedly limited acquaintance with governesses, he had never known one to act so forward. True, she thought him a mere gentleman, not a peer, but she acted with the assuredness of a mistress of the house, and not an upper servant. Or was it merely that living in a household to themselves, without the influence of men, made Miss Freed and her mistress more outspoken than most?
He smiled, remembering Clarissa Delaware’s stiff pronouncement that she did not treat those suffering from “the French disease.” Most of the ladies of his acquaintance would faint rather than acknowledge such a coarse ailment.
Ah, but then he had already decided Clarissa was not like any of the other women he knew. Her letter proved that beneath her brisk façade lay a woman of passion and intellect. A woman cunning enough to assist a gang of smugglers while pretending to be a grieving, abandoned wife. Had she in fact sent Miss Freed to question him? She would be sadly disappointed that he had given away nothing.
If only his head would stop pounding! He picked up the mug and sniffed at the posset. It smelled inoffensive, though he had no doubt its taste would make him gag. In his experience, physicians did not believe a medicine effective unless it tasted most foul. That, and so heavily laced with narcotics or alcohol one could not think clearly after consuming it.
He shoved the mug aside. He would not consent to be doped by Lady Delaware’s potions. He intended to keep all his senses about him.
He picked up the cloth. It was still warm, and smelled of herbs. Lying back, he placed it across his forehead. He recognized the scent of lavender, that most feminine of aromas that made him think of rumpled linens and tangled bodies. Did Lady Delaware scent her linens with lavender? When she lay upon her bed, did the fragrance surround her and her lover with its sweetness?
On such thoughts, he fell asleep, and dreamed of a woman with auburn hair and milk white skin, who whispered to him words of love. How long the nights stretch when we are apart. How empty my arms without you to hold.
“You know he’s not really ill, don’t you?” Emma said. “I doubt he was even a soldier.”
Clarissa looked up from her sewing. Old Miss Mosely snored softly in the corner of the sitting room while the two younger women worked at their stitching. Emma calmly pulled a scarlet thread through the linen on her tambour frame. “I think he’s come here to spy on us,” Emma added.
“Spy? On us?” Clarissa laughed. “My dear Emma, whatever about a house full of invalids, women and children could interest anyone, much less Mr. Kendrick?”
“I don’t know.” Emma carefully knotted her thread, then snipped it off with a pair of scissors shaped like a stork. “But I know when someone is lying, and Mr. Adam Kendrick is not telling the truth.”
Clarissa glanced toward Miss Mosely again. The old dear’s mouth had fallen open, and the ribbons of her cap fluttered with each exhalation. She leaned toward Emma and spoke more softly. “I admit it seems strange he should come here, but he was truly suffering from a pain in his head. Why would you think he was lying about the rest?”
“Did you notice his clothing? That suit came from a Bond Street tailor, no doubt.”
“As you say, I don’t keep up with such things,” Clarissa said. Though she would admit that Mr. Kendrick’s clothes did much to set off a fine figure of a man. “There’s no doubt Mr. Kendrick has money.” She smiled. “He couldn’t afford to stay here if he didn’t. That doesn’t prove he’s a spy.”
“He’s after something,” Emma said. “I’m sure of it.”
Clarissa shook her head. “You should have been a general, not a governess.”
Emma raised her chin. “If circumstances had been different, I would have been a general. Or at the very least a Baroness.”
Clarissa kept her head bowed over her needlework. Though Emma seldom gave voice to her feelings, Clarissa knew the disparity in their positions wounded her friend. As girls, they’d been equals, gentlewomen in like circumstances, from respectable families who did not have the money to provide attractive dowries. As young ladies, they had consoled each other as wealthier girls were wed.
And then, at twenty-seven, long after she believed she was firmly on the shelf, Clarissa had made what all considered to be an advantageous marriage to a baron, one with wealth of his own, who did not see her lack of funds as a detriment to his future happiness. Indeed, Jared had even been happy to reside at her home seat of Waverley House, preferring to let his family seat to a tenant.
Meanwhile, Emma had seen her family ruined by debt. She was forced to take up work first as a companion, then as a governess. The fact that she had landed a position in her old friend’s household did little to lessen the sting.
“I’ve invited Mr. Kendrick to dine with us tonight,” Clarissa said after a moment. “Perhaps you can determine what he’s after.”
“He was asking a lot of questions about Lord Delaware when I carried the posset to him.”
“Oh?” Had Mr. Kendrick known her husband in years past? Was he associated with him now? The thought sent a chill through her. “What did he ask?”
“He wanted to know why your husband was not here. I told him he had gone away and no one knew where.” Emma raised her head to look at Clarissa. “Was that right?”
“Of course it’s right. It’s the truth.” With shaking hands, Clarissa tried to guide her needle into the cloth and failed. Five years since Jared had left and still the hurt cut deep. How foolish she had been, to be taken in by his flattery and words of love. She had given her whole heart to him, yet he had cast her aside as easily as he might have discarded a worn cravat.
“Maybe Mr. Kendrick is after the smugglers,” Emma said.
“Smugglers!” Miss Mosely woke with a start and blinked at them from beneath her many-frilled cap. “Are there smugglers here? Hand me the poker, girls. We must defend our virtue.”
“There aren’t smugglers here, Miss Mosely.” Emma raised her voice and leaned toward the elderly woman. “They’re in the cove.” She glanced at Clarissa. “Or at least, there are rumors of smugglers in the cove.”
“Smugglers, you say? When I was a girl, it was pirates.” Miss Mosely’s eyes twinkled. “And a handsome bunch of rogues they were, too. I might have run away with one, except it wasn’t considered respectable. I suppose it still isn’t.” She sighed. “I must say, the older one grows, the more one wonders what precisely is the point of all this respectability.”
“Now, Miss Mosely, surely you don’t mean that,” Clarissa chided.
The old woman sat up straighter in her chair. “Oh, but indeed I do. Now tell me, why this talk of smugglers?”
“We were merely speculating on why a handsome gentleman would come to Waverley House,” Emma said.
“Well, he obviously hasn’t come to see me.” Miss Mosely gave them each a considering look. “So it must be one of you. About time gentlemen were coming to call, I must say.”
Clarissa bit back a smile. “He hasn’t come courting. He’s come to stay here. To rest and get well.”
“What ails him, then? You don’t want yourselves a sickly husband girls. Unless, of course, he is very ill…and very rich.” She shook with laughter at this display of wit.
“He suffers from headaches and nerves,” Clarissa said.
“He doesn’t look the least bit sickly to me.” Emma stabbed her needle into the cloth and left it there. “He’s quite the healthiest looking gentleman I’ve seen in some time.”
“I don’t think it’s quite polite for us to speculate on Mr. Kendrick’s ailment
s or lack of them,” Clarissa protested. “He is entitled to his privacy.”
Miss Mosely sat forward in her chair and spoke in a whisper. “What? Do you think he listens at keyholes? I say a woman who questions a man’s motives in only doing her best to look out for herself.”
Clarissa could not argue with this line of thinking. After all, if she’d done more investigating before she wed Jared, she might have discovered more about the man who professed to love her, when in the end he clearly had not. “I don’t think we can say anything more at this point about why Mr. Kendrick is here,” she said. “He paid for more than a month’s lodging, so I’m sure in that time we shall come to know him better.” She laid aside her needlework and rose. “Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to dress for dinner.”
“Is Mr. Kendrick dining with you?” Miss Mosely asked.
“Yes, he is,” Clarissa said.
Miss Mosely nodded. “Wear the blue silk,” she advised. “It’s most flattering. Your new gentleman will forget all about his illness when he sees you in it.”
Clarissa’s cheeks heated. “Mr. Kendrick is not my gentleman,” she protested.
Miss Mosely laughed. “Perhaps not yet. But you can do something about that, you know.”
Emma and Miss Mosely’s laughter followed Clarissa out of the room. Of course, the old dear meant well with her teasing, but really, Clarissa was a married woman. And she had no interest in making a match. Though a few moments in Mr. Kendrick’s company had shown her she was as vulnerable as ever to a handsome face and a forceful manner, she was determined to guard her heart well, lest it betray her again.
CHAPTER THREE
“What do you think is wrong with him?”
“I don’t know. But there must be something. Nobody comes to stay here unless there is.”
“Do you think we ought to wake him?”
“I don’t know. I suspect he wouldn’t like it.”
“But it’s almost time for dinner.”
Adam awoke with a start to find two children by his bedside. They stared at him, pale and wide-eyed, but unflinching.
He removed the cloth from his head and shoved up onto his elbows. “Who are you?” he demanded. “And what are you doing in my bedroom?”
“Fanny Delaware.” The girl executed a quick curtsy. She nodded to the boy. “And this is my brother, Harry.”
“We heard there was a new guest,” Harry said. “So we came to meet you.”
He was a handsome lad with thick brown hair falling over blue eyes, and his mother’s upturned nose. The girl was Clarissa in miniature, right down to the pretense she made of not being interested in him, while sneaking furtive glances when she thought he wouldn’t notice. But even attractiveness and polite manners did not excuse this intrusion. He frowned at them. “It is most impolite to barge into a person’s bedroom uninvited.”
Harry glanced at his sister. “We knocked, but you didn’t answer.”
Adam sat up. “Then you shouldn’t have come in.”
“We discussed that.” The girl, Fannie, spoke now. “We decided that since you are here because you’re ill, we’d best check to make sure you hadn’t died or something.”
Adam was starting to be amused. “Do people die here often?”
“Hardly ever.” The boy looked disappointed. “Well, never, really. But people do die all the time, so we thought we’d best check.”
Only a desire to preserve his dignity kept Adam from smiling. “As you can see, I am quite well.” Very well, in fact. His rest, or perhaps the compress on his head, had almost completely vanquished his headache. “Does Miss Freed know you’re here?”
Harry shook his head. “No. She thinks we’re playing shuttlecock on the back lawn.”
“Ah.” He nodded, as if this made perfect sense. “Do you think she would approve if she knew you were here?”
“She doesn’t approve of most things we think are fun,” Fanny said.
Adam settled back against the pillows. He usually avoided children, thinking them messy and dull. Who would have suspected they could be such interesting conversationalists? “What sort of things?” he asked.
“Sliding down the bannister to the front hall,” Harry said.
“Playing hide and seek in the cellars,” Fanny added.
“Badgering cook for sweets.”
Miss Freed obviously had her hands full with this pair. Adam did his best to look stern. “It is a governess’s duty to teach you that all of life is not fun.”
“I suppose so.” Harry did not sound convinced.
The children continued to stare at him. “What is it now?” he asked.
Harry cleared his throat. “What happened to your eye?”
It was the question everyone wondered. Only a child would have the audacity to ask. Adam found such honesty welcome. “I was in a carriage accident when I was younger,” he said.
Harry tilted his head, considering this. “Is there a hole where the eye used to be?”
Adam bit back a chuckle. “No, there is not. The eye is whole, it merely does not see.” Anticipating the next question, he added, “I keep it covered, because it is sensitive to wind and bright light, and because it unnerves people to have it staring at them.”
The boy leaned forward, face alight with interest. “Can I see?”
Fanny poked him in the side. “Harry!” She took her brother by the arm and backed toward the door. “It was nice to meet you, sir. We had best go now.”
“Will we see you again?” Harry asked.
“Since I am staying here for a time, I believe it is safe to say you may see me again. But you must not come to my room uninvited.”
“Yes, sir,” they chorused, then scurried away.
When the door had shut behind them, Adam got up and turned the key in the lock. For children, they had been quite intelligent and personable. Was Miss Freed responsible for such paragons, or did the credit go to their mother? He rather thought the latter. A woman with the capacity to love displayed in her letter would surely lavish affection on her offspring.
He dressed for dinner, in a black suit and snowy linen. As he folded his neckcloth, he wondered about this neighbor Clarissa wanted him to meet. He could not think of her as Lady Delaware, not with her signature on that letter burned into his mind. Your Clarissa.
He had never felt himself to belong to someone that way, nor had a woman who thought of herself as his. There had been encounters, surely, and once a three-month affair with a fetching opera singer. But the lust had always faded and there had been no stronger emotion to replace it.
Had it been that way with Clarissa too, or did she still have fervent feelings for her husband? Was she in contact with him even now, this whole story of being abandoned merely pretense?
He shrugged into his coat and went down to dinner. As he passed through the gallery, he studied the portraits. There was one that resembled an older version of the boy. Not Jared – the clothes were too old-fashioned. But Jared’s father, perhaps.
He found the others in the drawing room, the ladies in pale silk gowns in conversation with a middle-aged man in fawn breeches and a sky blue coat.
Clarissa led him over to the man. “Adam Kendrick, may I present Lord Carstairs, who is our nearest neighbor.”
Adam bowed. “My lord.”
Carstairs nodded his head, then turned back to his conversation with Miss Freed. Adam accepted a glass of Madeira and listened half-heartedly to a discussion of corn taxes – not a topic he would have thought would interest a governess, but Miss Freed seemed to be holding her own.
He moved over to a gilt-framed mirror, pretending interest in the ornate frame while he studied Clarissa’s reflection in the glass. She was dressed in a delft blue silk gown in a simple pattern with a snug pellice trimmed in silver lace. The dress was modest, but showed her figure to advantage. Miss Freed, in contrast, wore a robe of pink muslin so bedecked with ruffles and lace as to lend her the appearance of a lavish confection.
> After a moment, Clarissa set aside her glass and approached Adam. “Are you feeling better?” she asked.
“Some.” Once downstairs, the throbbing in his head had returned, though with less intensity than before.
She nodded, thoughtful. “I’m sorry my posset didn’t relieve your pain. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll try a different mixture.”
“I did not drink your posset.”
She looked puzzled. “Why not? It would have helped you.”
Was her concern genuine? But why should it be? He was a stranger to her. A paying customer. “I did not ask for your medicines. I came here to rest, not to be dosed and drugged.”
She stiffened. “The posset contained no strong drugs. Only herbs and barley water.”
“I appreciate your efforts, my lady, but my one desire while I am here is to be left alone. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes.” Her eyes sparked with barely suppressed anger. “I understand that you are a man who would rather suffer than accept help from anyone.” She turned her back on him and walked away.
How dare she pass judgment on him? He started to pursue her, but was interrupted by the announcement that dinner was served. He walked in with Miss Freed. “Did you sleep well, Mr. Kendrick?” the governess asked.
He was tempted to tell her he had met her two young charges, but thought better of it. “Yes, quite well, thank you.”
They took their seats and addressed themselves to the soup.
“Mr. Kendrick, what is your opinion of the wine?” Carstairs asked from his seat at the head of the table.
Adam sipped from his glass. “Most excellent vintage,” he said. The claret might have come from his own cellars. Did everyone who dined at Waverley House enjoy such hospitality, or was Lord Carstairs a very special guest? He glanced at Clarissa, to see if she regarded Carstairs with any particular favor. Instead, he found himself the object of her intense gaze.
The directness of her look unnerved him. “I compliment you on the wine, my lady,” he said, raising his glass to her.
She looked down at her plate. “Your compliments should go to Lord Carstairs, as the wine was a gift from him.”
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