“Papa was kind to him when we were younger. I remember that. Then he came to the village when you offered him a living after Papa died,” Sibyl told him. “We were not there so very long after that.”
“Not long enough to know the man if you saw him?”
She could not pretend further. “I should probably know him.”
“Of course you would. There’s something wrong with Meg, isn’t there? That’s why she was vague, and that’s why she walked into the path of a carriage.”
“No,” Sibyl said, truly frightened by his suggestions. “Meg has a cold. There is nothing else amiss with her.” Or so Sibyl hoped—wherever Meg was.
“So you say,” William said, possessively holding her arm and walking her from the park. “I have reason to believe you are short of money and in dire straits. That may be partly responsible for Meg’s odd behavior. But you are both to stop worrying because I have decided what must be done.”
He marched her across the street to the flagway. “We will wait until morning to tell Meg our plans. Meanwhile I shall sleep in your parlor. I cannot bear to think of you passing another night without my protection.”
If only Meggie were here, Sibyl thought, she would be very firm with their cousin and know exactly how to send him packing while he thought it was his very own idea to leave.
They mounted the steps at Number 7, and the front door swung open. Adam Chillworth stood there, looking even wilder than usual.
William made a disapproving sound.
“She’s not back yet, then, is she?” Adam said. “Who’s this?”
“Our second cousin, Mr. William Godly-Smythe,” Sibyl said, casting about for a way to stop Adam from saying anything further about Meg.
“Aye,” Adam said and nodded brusquely at William. “Live nearby, does he? Never heard you mention him before. But he might as well give what help he can.”
“Who is this person?” William asked, taking off his hat as he ushered Sibyl into the foyer.
“Adam Chillworth,” Adam said, looking William over from head to foot. “Seven C. Sibyl and Meg are friends of mine.”
“Because you are all lodgers in the same house?” William wrinkled his rather nice straight nose. “You could certainly have nothing else in common.”
Sibyl shrugged apologetically at Adam, who smiled. On the rare occasions when Adam smiled, it was impossible not to be enthralled. He became boyishly handsome and his eyes sparkled.
As quickly as it had appeared, the smile fled. Adam said, “There’s no sign of her, is there? I should have done what I thought was best and gone to make inquiries. Anyway, I was watching you in the gardens just in case.”
“Just in case of what?” William said. His sleek blond hair shone. The expression in his eyes was angry.
“In case I needed to go to Sibyl’s aid,” Adam said. “She didn’t swoon when you approached, so I thought she must know you. Otherwise I’d have been over to ask your business.”
William stared at him. “Sibyl was waiting for someone, wasn’t she? Who? You are waiting—both of you. Who is missing?”
Color bled along Adam’s cheekbones.
“Speak up, man,” William ordered.
There was nothing for it but to make sure Adam wasn’t responsible for saying what Meg would hate William to hear. “Meg has applied for a position,” Sibyl said. “As a companion. She went to be interviewed this morning.”
“I knew I should have come days ago, as soon as Reverend Baggs told me what he’d observed.” William paced. He had not made a connection between someone missing from Number 7 and Meg applying for a position. He faced Sibyl. “She’s lost her mind. I must speak with her at once. Kindly awaken her while I wait in the parlor.”
“I can’t,” Sibyl whispered. “She has secured the position. She went on an outing with her—her new mistress and—and—and she hasn’t yet returned.”
8
Damned awkward, Ila putting on an exhibition like that—particularly in front of Miss Smiles…and Désirée, of course. “Sit down, both of you,” Jean-Marc said. He shifted Ila from his knees to the chair on his right with as much dignity as possible—very little dignity. “Désirée, you at my left and Miss Smiles next to you.”
The blame was not all Ila’s, other than for her insulting reaction to Désirée’s appearance. There would be no repeat performance.
A swelling anger astounded him. Not anger at Ila. He wanted fulfillment, damn it. He wanted to walk as a man certain of his purpose. He wanted…. He wanted to care, and to know that there was someone for whom his comings, and goings, and doings, were of the utmost importance because they cared about him.
Jean-Marc thrust the foreign notion aside and smiled at Désirée. She sat beside him, her eyes downcast and her color high. Miss Smiles, in her yellow dress minus the pelisse and bonnet, took the next chair. She, too, kept her eyes lowered, but he sensed she was tired.
She conducted herself with quiet assurance. An unassuming woman. Now there was an intriguing thought. “Ila,” he said, “you haven’t met Miss Meg Smiles. As I told you, she is to be Désirée’s companion. Miss Smiles, this is Lady Upworth.”
“Miss Smiles is very good to me,” Désirée announced in a rush, directing a hard look at Ila. “She ’as nothing to work with in me, yet she tries so ’ard and she is kind.”
“Be calm and remember your h’s,” Jean-Marc told her. “Miss Smiles has a great deal to work with, and she has already accomplished a good deal,” Jean-Marc said, watching Miss Smiles’s reaction with interest. With suspiciously bright eyes, she turned toward Désirée. “I knew your hair would look lovely in a mature coiffeur, young lady. And the dress becomes you. Who would have thought of putting so somber a color on one so young? Yet it suits you. I am very pleased.” He avoided looking at Ila.
“Thank you,” Désirée said, and smiled at him. He could not recall the last time she had smiled at him. She continued, “I am looking forward to my music lessons with the other Miss Smiles. Are we not fortunate to find such accomplished people to help us?”
“Isn’t that lovely,” Ila said, sounding flustered, her voice too high. “I am happy for you, Désirée, that you are comfortable with these people. But do tell me I may help. They will need some guidance on many matters and I will be glad to give that guidance.”
Disaster lurked here, Jean-Marc decided. “We will discuss that later,” he told Ila. “This is all new to Désirée. She has too much to think about already and not so very long to learn what she must. I shall be dealing with any help Miss Smiles needs at present.”
“Of course,” Ila said, sounding disappointed and perhaps cross. “Oh, the soup smells wonderful. I have such an appetite. Jean-Marc, being with you always makes me hungry.”
Oh, indeed it did, Jean-Marc thought.
“Jean-Marc,” Désirée said, “Miss Smiles was not prepared to spend the night here. She is concerned because her sister will worry.”
He set down his soup spoon. “I thought you had informed her, Miss Smiles?”
Her breasts rose against the low neckline of her dress. He saw her throat move when she swallowed. “Yes, but I didn’t know you intended to be here for more than a few hours. I assumed we would return to Town before dark.”
That red hair fascinated him. “Verbeux invited you to come with us. You and my sister. Surely he told you to inform your sister of our exact plans.”
“He did not say our exact plans,” Désirée said, almost gleeful. She and Verbeux enjoyed a contentious relationship. “And I should have thought about it. He just said we were to come to Riverside with you. Of course, I have everything here, and I didn’t think.”
He contemplated Verbeux’s devious behavior. The wretch had obtained his master’s agreement to invite Désirée and Miss Smiles, then ordered them to come. And he’d been too pleased with himself to make the plans clear. Too bad he’d remained in Town to oversee matters at Number 17 Mayfair Square.
“Jean-Marc,” Désiré
e said, “do comfort Miss Smiles. She is a tender person and worries a great deal about others.”
Of course he was pleased at Désirée’s acceptance of Miss Smiles, but he was also suspicious. Désirée had never shown an inclination to make friends before. In fact, she was remote and difficult with everyone.
“She knows so much about so many things,” Désirée said. “It doesn’t matter what I ask her, she answers me with such authority. And she is clever. She is going to help me with, er, my water-colors, too, aren’t you, Miss Smiles?”
“Yes,” Miss Smiles said. He didn’t think she heard much of what Désirée said. No doubt she was unable to think of anything but the sister to whom she seemed so devoted.
“I wish it were possible to return you to London tonight,” he said gently. This entire matter was too complicated for a mere man, with a mere man’s interests. “You see that it already grows dark? Traveling at this time is out of the question. You are not to concern yourself. The responsibility is entirely mine. At dawn I will send a rider to reassure your sister. You will allow me to apologize to her. Meanwhile, things are progressing so well, I insist you relax. I am a happier man because of you. What fortune our paths crossed. You and I shall shepherd Désirée through her Season. Yes, indeed, I feel confident our partnership in this will be a success.”
“Have a care, Jean-Marc,” Ila said, leaning close and lowering her voice, “you do not know enough about her yet. In fact, you are trusting much too much, too soon. You met her only a few hours ago. How can you be certain she knows this Viscount Kilrood and his wife?”
The moment Ila had bent toward him and lowered her voice, Désirée had also inclined her head in his direction to hear every word. Unfortunately, Lady Upworth tended to be unobservant.
“Ila,” Désirée said in a loud whisper, “do you think we are in danger from Miss Smiles?”
Jean-Marc looked at Ila, who frowned and said, “Quite possibly. I’m glad you are wise enough to question such things.”
“Thank you,” Désirée responded hoarsely. “Perhaps we should have her taken away.”
Jean-Marc sat back in his chair and crossed his arms while his sister and Lady Upworth strained toward each other and discussed what should be done about Meg Smiles. He supposed he’d have to reprimand Désirée later, but for now Ila was having far too good a time basking in Désirée’s supposed confidences.
Beyond the two women’s nodding heads and gesturing hands, Jean-Marc sought Miss Smiles’s eyes. They shone, and the corners of her mouth twitched.
“A constable, do you think?” Désirée asked.
They were expressive eyes, and he’d like to see them much closer.
Ila, whose curls bobbed, said, “I doubt it would be easy to get a constable out here. But…”
Miss Smiles had pretty teeth and she happened to be showing them now. She stared at him, and they grinned at each other. He must make sure to remind himself of the dangers of employing strangers—one day.
Her eyelashes were very dark, and they curled in a way that added to the sparkle in her eyes—especially when she blinked. She blinked slowly and her gaze never wavered from his.
For her part, Meg delighted in looking at the Count and in his watching her. A small, shared moment of amusement. Not of his making or hers, and innocent on all parts, except for that of the Princess. A moment to remember. My, my, my, what female wouldn’t remember such a face, such a powerful presence?
He was probably unaware that they were staring at each other. No doubt he was bored, his expression fixed. So vital a man was unlikely to be interested in girlishly foolish prattle, and equally unlikely to take notice of someone to whom he had granted temporary employment.
“I shall speak to Jean-Marc about it,” Ila said to the Princess.
“No, I shall speak to him about it.”
Her charge’s wit must never be underestimated, Meg decided.
When Miss Smiles looked away, Jean-Marc felt regret. He would like to leave, take her by the hand and leave this room, to take her where they could be alone and talk. Talk? Now there was a concept. He wanted to be alone with a woman who aroused him for reasons he had yet to discover, and talk. Could he be ill?
The soup had been removed and the next course placed. He couldn’t care less.
The Count shook his head. His expression had become serious once more, and rather mystified, Meg thought. This evening, when she couldn’t expect to do other than fret about Sibyl, she would calm herself with abstract thinking. And she might also turn that period of intense concentration to an analysis of Count Etranger, for purely theoretical purposes, of course.
He wanted to be alone with her, Jean-Marc admitted to himself. That was all. That was monumentally all. They had met that morning, he had employed her because she convinced him she could do what he didn’t want to do—and tonight he wanted to be alone with her.
I may have met a woman I could care for. I must be mad, but it is the kindest form of madness and perhaps I shall never recover. Such an acquaintance could only be casual, of course. Nothing more would be suitable, but I might enjoy it nevertheless.
“Oh, Ila, you naughty tease, I thought you meant it all but you were only joking,” his sister said loudly. “Pah! Now I feel foolish. I was trying to humor you until I could think of a way to change your mind about Miss Smiles. How could you tease me so?”
The true naughty tease at the table, Désirée, turned to Meg and said, “You must forgive us. We idle people entertain ourselves as best we can.”
“How true,” Lady Upworth said, her face flushed. “Oh, poor Miss Smiles, you must have come without any of your things. No matter, I shall lend you some of mine. I’ll have my maid take them to your rooms.” She signaled for the under butler and whispered to him.
In turn the man whispered to a maid, who left the room at once.
Meg said thank-you and tried to visualize what Lady Upworth meant by “things.” It was hard to imagine that anything of the lady’s would come close to fitting her. She made a covert inspection of Lady Upworth’s magnificent figure, then looked at herself.
Jean-Marc followed Miss Smiles’s gaze and was certain he understood her thoughts. She expected Ila’s donations to be overlarge in certain places. He was inclined to doubt that.
Hovering at his shoulder, the under butler murmured something to Jean-Marc. He nodded without considering what he’d been asked, and again plates were removed and replaced.
“Please don’t arise early in the morning, Miss Smiles,” he said. “Take a little time for yourself. Your sister shall hear from us first thing so you might as well enjoy Riverside with us.”
Meg realized she was being dismissed—and having eaten very little supper, not that she was hungry. She got up and curtseyed in three directions. The count rested an elbow on the table and propped his chin in a palm. He had a very direct way of regarding someone—and he was smiling ever so slightly.
Meg turned away and made for the door. Count Etranger found her laughable.
As soon as the door closed behind Meg Smiles, Désirée rose from her chair. She studied Ila before speaking, “I choose to believe you did not intend to insult me when I arrived for supper. Miss Smiles is beautiful, a special sort of beautiful, and she must have unnerved you. You became confused and didn’t think before you spoke. You are forgiven.”
Ila turned to Jean-Marc and said, “You must control her. She is become more difficult, and despite her rank, few men will tolerate such arrogance.”
Jean-Marc said, “Run along, Désirée. Once begun, tomorrow will be another busy day. Get your rest.”
Obediently, she left, but not without hearing her brother say, “Désirée was good enough to hand you an escape from your hurtful comments to her. I suggest you should be grateful for her kindness. For the rest, you are here as my guest, not to instruct my sister—in anything.”
Désirée sped upstairs to her rooms and found Miss Smiles in the bedchamber, sitting on the window sea
t with Halibut in her arms. She had covered her dress with a blanket from inside the seat and held Halibut’s soft head to her mouth while she murmured gently. Désirée heard his purr from the doorway.
“Ah,” she said. “Such gratitude. You get here a few minutes before me and my disloyal cat is happy to leap into your arms instead of mine.”
Startled, Miss Smiles stood and set the cat down.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it,” Désirée said. “I am tired. I am not accustomed to so much conversation, especially with someone as foolish as Lady Upworth.”
Meg didn’t answer. She followed the Princess’s progress around the room. Slippers flew in one direction, stockings in another. The comb landed on the dressing table and was followed by the pins Meg had used in the girl’s hair. Désirée dismantled the plaits and rubbed her scalp hard, wincing as she did so. She turned about and said, “Undo my dress, please.” And soon that joined the scattering of garments about the room.
Swathed in a childish night rail that buttoned to the neck and had a rounded collar edged in simple lace, the Princess gathered up Halibut, then stopped and frowned. “Oh, dear, how could I have forgotten?” She set him down and rummaged for a dressing robe.
“What are you doing?”
Princess Désirée waved a hand impatiently. “Don’t you know anything? He must relieve himself, that’s what I’m doing. So I have to wait for an appropriate moment and go out by a side door and steps leading down from this floor. Stay here.”
“I will not,” Meg protested. She never recalled being so tired, yet she followed her charge as she rushed along the corridor and into a small, empty room at the far end. A Gothic-looking doorway opened onto the top of a flight of steps leading to a very dark corner in the outside wall of the house. Princess Désirée hurried down with Meg close behind. She set Halibut on the ground and Meg closed her eyes, waiting for frantic shouts that the cat had run away into the darkness.
“Vite. Vite,” the Princess demanded.
All Smiles Page 8