Lois Menzel

by Ruled by Passion

  At each crossroad, where there was a possibility that the coach might turn, it proceeded stubbornly on his route. When it slowed to turn in at the gates of the Castle, he swung his team around it, cantered them the wrong way down the drive normally used as an exit from the park, and arrived at the Castle first.

  Jumping down from the curricle, he mounted the steps quickly and demanded of Kimble, “Are we expecting visitors?”

  Given no opportunity to welcome Lord Tenbury home, Kimble replied, “No, my lord. I believe this is the coach hired by Miss Waverly. She is leaving today.”

  “Leaving?” Tenbury stepped into the hall and stood for a moment contemplating the pile of baggage stacked there. He slowly stripped off his driving gloves and handed them to Kimble, then glanced through the doors as the hired coach pulled up before the Castle. “Pay off the post boys and send that vehicle back where it came from,” he ordered Kimble. “If Miss Waverly plans to travel, she will do so in my coach, with servants I can trust. Where is she?”

  “I believe Miss Waverly is in the library, my lord, with your brother.”

  While Kimble stepped outside to dismiss the hired chaise, Tenbury walked the short distance to the library doors.

  Anne rose instantly when she saw him on the threshold; she had hoped to be gone before he returned. As he advanced, she noticed his blue coat was wrinkled and his breeches creased, while the customary shine of his boots had been obscured by dust and his fair hair disordered by the wind. His eyes looked tired, but beyond the fatigue was something else.

  “Excuse us, Jack,” Tenbury said abruptly, never taking his eyes from Anne’s face.

  A shiver of fear raced through Anne at those words, an emotion she had never before connected with Tenbury. She wanted more than anything for Jack to stay, but she would not ask him to defy his brother.

  “I will see you before you go,” was all Jack said before he left them alone.

  “Kimble tells me you are leaving,” Tenbury stated.

  “Yes. A great deal has happened since you left the Castle on Friday, my lord. I cannot think where to begin.”

  But she did begin, telling him she’d had a visitor and who the visitor was. Several minutes into her dialogue, Anne had the impression the earl was not listening. His eyes had a vacant, far-away look, much like the one a teacher sees in the eyes of a student who is not attending. She paused, for some reason suddenly remembering the words she had overheard Tenbury speak to his mother. “She was hired by my contrivance. I have a specific reason for wanting to keep her within my control.” That memory, coupled with Lady Tenbury’s revelation of the kinship between Tenbury and Chadwicke, raised a sudden suspicion. “None of this is news to you, is it, my lord?” she asked.

  She watched carefully as his eyes and thoughts focused on her, returning from wherever they had been. He did not answer but walked away to the windows and stood looking out, offering her only his profile to study. After a moment she followed him there, standing directly before him so she could read his expression clearly.

  “You knew I was to receive an inheritance,” she accused.

  “Yes, I knew.”

  “When did you know?”

  “From the beginning.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Chadwicke told me. That is where I have been these past days. I went to his home in Norfolk. I intended to ask his permission to tell you about the inheritance myself. But my trip was in vain.”

  “Because he had already left to come here.”

  “Yes.”

  “When you say you knew from the beginning, when precisely was that?”

  “Before we met. I planned to have you hear of the position in my house. I arranged to have you hired.”

  Her eyed widened in surprise. “To what purpose?”

  “Chadwicke was concerned when you moved to London. He wanted to be certain you came to no harm, that you found a safe refuge until the day he was free to tell you of your grandfather’s plans. He enlisted me to help him.”

  “So I was not hired for my qualifications after all. When Mr. Raymond sent me away, that was all a ruse, so I would not suspect.”

  “No. That was a point where my plans went awry. Raymond knew nothing of my design. I did not expect you to come without references, so I did not foresee that he might dismiss you.”

  Now it was her turn to walk away. She sat on the edge of a nearby chair, shaking her head in disbelief. “But why could you not simply tell me the truth? Why was all the deception necessary?”

  “Pentworth wanted nothing said until all was arranged. Chadwicke actually knew few of the details until recently, though he suspected the property would be considerable.”

  “Then all these months, when I thought you were being kind to me, you were filling the role of duenna—a watch-dog to the Pentworth heiress! Is that right?”

  “Not precisely.”

  “But wait,” she said, as another thought intruded. “You said you knew everything before we met, but that is not possible. We first met in the milliner’s shop. You were not there by design.”

  “I was,” he confessed. “I followed you that day. I heard you speaking with your companion about the position you were seeking. I then acted on the information.”

  “So you came to my aid that day only because you were protecting my interests?”

  “That is partially true, yes.”

  “Come now, Lord Tenbury. Only partially? I viewed you that day as some sort of guardian angel, while the truth is you only helped me because you felt obligated. Your gentle concern for my lack of recommendations—it was all a sham. You hired me, or undoubtedly forced your sister-in-law to hire me, despite my qualifications being less than adequate. Your apprehension when I walked about the town, your solicitude when you discovered my motion sickness, even your heroic rescue at the lake—you did not do any of those things for Anne Waverly, your niece’s governess—you did them for Anne Waverly, heiress-to-be. You could not allow this heiress to drown in the lake, nor permit her to fetch and carry; she must not work too hard, nor too long, nor too strenuously.

  “I trusted you, from the first. I thought you sensitive and caring and gentle. You were there when I needed you; you smoothed out the rough places, had all the answers, made me face my fears, allowed me to respect and admire you. And all the while you were deceiving me, never concerning yourself with who I was, but only what I was worth.”

  When she finally paused he said, “Much of what you say is true; I cannot deny it. At first I did see you merely as a responsibility—even an inconvenience. But at some point, between then and now, things changed.”

  Suddenly she rose from her chair and lifted her reticule from a nearby table. “I am sorry, Lord Tenbury, but I must go now. There is a coach waiting for me.”

  “I sent it away.”

  “You sent it away! You had no right,” she snapped.

  “If, when we have finished our discussion, you still want to leave, my coach and servants will take you wherever you wish to go.”

  “As far as I am concerned, we have finished our discussion, sir.”

  “I suspected you would be angry when you learned the truth,” he said, “but I did not think you would be so unfair as to refuse to hear my explanation.”

  “I have heard your explanation.”

  “About my reasons for employing you, yes. But we have not discussed Thursday night.”

  When he mentioned the night they had kissed, she felt herself blushing, but when she tried to walk away, he took hold of her arms above the elbows.

  “I had not meant for it to happen,” he said. “When it did, I was uncertain how to proceed. I wanted to tell you then how I felt, but found I could not with so many secrets between us. That was why I went to speak with Chadwicke. I thought if I could first explain to you about the inheritance and the part I had played in your being here, then it would be easier to explain what happened that night.”

  She was listening to what he said, but f
inding it difficult to concentrate. His hands, despite all she now knew of him, felt warm and wonderful. His voice was like the sweetest music. He was so close, inches from where he had been that night, pressed tightly against her.

  “Anne.” The single word was half-caress, half-pleading question. She looked into his fervent blue eyes. How easy it would be to lose herself in them.

  No doubt sensing her weakness, he lowered his head to kiss her, but the moment contact was made, she pulled away.

  “I think it would be best if we simply forget what happened that night, my lord. I was kissed by a man I thought I knew. But I was wrong. I do not know you at all, and I do not believe I wish to. I have said good-bye to everyone, and I should like to leave the Castle—immediately.”

  As he stood regarding her in silence, she felt he was about to argue, but he said only, “I will have a coach at the door in fifteen minutes.”

  He moved toward the door then but stopped before he reached it. “There is one thing you must believe. No one besides Chadwicke and myself knew anything about this—not my mother, nor Arelia, nor Jack. There is nothing false in their feelings for you.” He left the room without looking at her again.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she stood there alone. She was not sure why, but she believed him, and she was grateful he was the only one involved. At least the relationships she had shared with the other members of his family had not been a lie.

  In the hall Tenbury ordered his chaise-and-four brought round immediately. Then he instructed Kimble to speak with the maid Cassie. “Tell her she has ten minutes to pack. She is to accompany Miss Waverly. When they reach their destination, if she wishes to continue in Miss Waverly’s employ, she is free to do so.”

  Tenbury shut himself in his study, leaving strict orders that he should not be disturbed. He withdrew from an inside coat pocket the special license he had collected in London. As he propped it against his ink stand and reached for the brandy decanter, he wondered briefly what had led him to believe that a woman as principled as Anne Waverly would ever consider an offer of marriage from a man who had so completely betrayed her trust.

  Chapter 14

  Anne’s journey into Lincolnshire took the better part of two days. She ate a meal at each stop and though she suffered not at all from motion sickness, she suffered greatly from heart sickness.

  During her interview with Lord Tenbury, she had wanted nothing more than to be gone. Now, even though she tried again and again to force all thought of him from her mind, that meeting kept coming back in bits and pieces to haunt her. She had accused him of much, he had admitted much, yet there was so much more that had been left unsaid, so many questions unanswered.

  He said he had wanted to tell her how he felt. What did that mean? She realized now it could mean almost anything. Why had she not asked him to explain?

  Did he know the extent of her wealth? She had failed to ask him that. After consideration, she decided he probably did. She also thought she understood his actions the evening in the pool. She had no great beauty, but it was possible she had more wealth than Lady Mason, Lady Constance, and Miss Redditch combined. Certainly enough wealth to make her palatable as a wife. Tenbury had never shown any interest in the lively butterflies Arelia paraded before him year after year. Had he concluded that an extremely wealthy, quiet wife, who would sit at home and allow him to go his own way, would suit him best?

  Her most unsettling memories of their last meeting were the emotions that took control when he touched her. How was it that he still had such power to attract her? Why for that brief moment had she considered yielding to him? Passion, she decided, was a complex and fearsome thing. But Anne Waverly—reasonable, intelligent woman that she was—had no intention of allowing such an emotion to rule her reason again.

  The Duke of Chadwicke had told Anne little about Pentworth House beyond the fact that it was well managed; therefore, she was pleasantly surprised when she arrived there. Approached through a heavily wooded park, the red brick manor nestled on the far side of a small clearing. It was compact and rectangular, two stories overall with a third story rising above the central portion. A raked gravel drive, retained by a skillfully constructed stone wall, turned in a gentle arc before the house. From a break in the center of the wall five shallow steps descended to a natural pond surrounded by carefully scythed lawn and wildly colored flower beds.

  Inside the house all was clean and orderly. A crisp housekeeper curtsied and greeted Anne with a smile, then invited Lord Tenbury’s servants to spend the night. When they departed the following morning, Anne was left with only Cassie in a house full of people she did not know.

  Yet the transition from stranger to mistress did not take long. Anne met her steward and saw immediately that the duke had been correct about him—he appeared to be an honest, able, industrious man. All the servants at Pentworth seemed pleased to have the house occupied again, while Anne was happy to involve herself in any activity that came to hand, for the busier she stayed, the less time she had to think of Tenton Castle and the friends she had left behind. Pentworth House had been decorated with both taste and style; she found it suited her well.

  Anne wrote to her old vicar, Mr. Boone, to discover if his widowed sister-in-law, Mrs. Sophia Boone, would be interested in coming to Anne in the position of companion. Mrs. Boone was approaching fifty, but she and Anne had always been compatible; Anne was certain they could cohabit comfortably. If she must have a companion, she preferred Mrs. Boone to anyone else.

  Sophy Boone, nearly as pleased at the opportunity to help Anne as to relieve her brother of the burden of her support, purchased a ticket on the mail coach and was with Anne within a few days of receiving her letter.

  Anne spent the month of August settling in to her new home. She wrote to Belinda, Tom, Lady Tenbury, and Arelia, but only Belinda and Lady Tenbury answered with any regularity. When Arelia did write, she dashed off a quick note only, always apologizing for being a poor correspondent, admitting she was not good at friendships over long distances. Anne was neither offended nor surprised by this. It would have been uncharacteristic for Arelia to sit for any amount of time laboring over the composition of a letter.

  All who wrote to Anne mentioned the earl occasionally; none of them knew that he and Anne had quarreled. And, of course, with each correspondence she received from the Castle came Tenbury’s frank, scrawled across the corner. She could not recall ever seeing his signature before; now she had a collection of them tied with a ribbon in her desk drawer. It was a bold, self-assured hand. Sometimes when a letter arrived, she would gaze at the signature and try to imagine him writing it there.

  It was a short note from Arelia in early September that started Anne thinking about a visit to London.

  Arelia stated that she and Lady Tenbury were going to the city soon. She suggested that Anne open her house and come up for the Little Season.

  The efficiency of the staff at Pentworth House left Anne with little to do. It was tempting to think of wandering through some of the London shops she had merely glanced into. She had always dreamed of visiting the museums, the libraries, the theater, perhaps even the opera. Her aunt had kept her too busy for these entertainments on her first visit to London; if she went now, she could do as she wished.

  With Arelia’s letter in her hand she went in search of her steward. She found him in his office and, as was her custom, came directly to the point. “Mr. Romney, how long would it take to prepare my London house for occupancy?”

  “If I could take some experienced staff with me and be authorized to hire more when I arrived in town, I would say less than a week.”

  “Could you spare the time now to undertake the project?”

  “I could leave tomorrow.”

  Anne was not surprised at his willingness to leave immediately, for she had encountered this spirit of cooperation at their first meeting. Knowing next to nothing about land or property ownership, Anne had determined at the outset to make her wishes kn
own, and then allow those who were experienced to implement them for her. She had explained to Mr. Romney the way she wished her household to run and then left the hiring of a complete staff to him. She had defined what she needed in terms of carriages and horses, but left the choosing of the vehicles and animals entirely to others. Now she simply stated that she wished her London residence prepared, and she knew without question that when she arrived there, all would be orderly and proper.

  Throughout the whole process she tried to listen and learn, but she soon discovered that the change from isolated country spinster and governess to lady of property would not be accomplished overnight. Her bank account might place her among the wealthiest women in England, but in her mind and heart she was still the scholar’s daughter.

  Having the money at her back gave her a wonderful sense of freedom and an almost childlike delight in shopping, but it added little to her self-confidence. Nor did it add to her sense of security, for somehow she believed that if wealth could come so easily, without warning, then it could disappear just as easily.

  Sometimes at night, she would dream that the gems had been stolen and the house reduced to ashes. She saw herself tired and hungry, using her last coins to take a coach to Tenton Castle. She stood on the steps in the rain as Tenbury answered the door; she begged him to take her in, to allow her to be governess again. He never answered her, but only stood there with an inscrutable expression on his face.

  At this point the dream would invariably end, the image of his face slowly fading away, disappearing into a mist of light and shadow. And in those first moments after he was gone, despite the trauma of loss—loss of her wealth and loss of her home—it was another matter that troubled her most. She longed to hear him speak, was frustrated time and time again by his silence. If only the dream would continue a moment longer, what would he say to her?

  Anne and Sophy Boone arrived in London to find the house in Charles Street modest in size but lavishly decorated. Handsome paneling and stylish paper brightened many of the rooms, while throughout the house, floors were spread with rich Oriental rugs.