A Lady in Disguise (13 page)

“Go and greet your grandfather,” Lady Genevieve said. Lillian could never be certain if the blue-shaded eyelid dropped a trifle or not. But the suddenly appearing and disappearing smile on the child’s face told that she at least was in no doubt.

“Phew,” Addy confided as she and Lillian crossed the enormous red carpet, “she always smells of medicine.”

“She can’t help that; you shouldn’t mention such things.”

Mr. Grenshaw, on the other hand, smelled of tobacco smoke and some kind of fish, but not anything fresh. At the moment, he was leaning forward, prodding Thorpe’s middle waistcoat button with a square-tipped forefinger. “It’s a grand opportunity to double or even triple the money in but a few years’ time. I wouldn’t let anybody but a blood relative in on it, but seeing as you’re the father of my only grandchild ...”

“And here she comes now ... oh, Addy, how beautiful you are! Is that the frock I bought you in London?”

“Yes, Papa,” she said, twinkling at her father. Yet the glow went out of her eyes when the other man leaned forward, his hands on his knees.

“Is this my little puddly pudding?” he said, screwing up his face into a caricature and sending his voice into a grating squeak. “Is this my rumblety-tumblety kittycakes?”

Now what, Lillian wondered, was any sensible person to say to that? Surely “yes” was out of the question. She was tempted to answer for Addy and the answer would be a round “Certainly not!” But she held her tongue. She heard a muffled cough from Thorpe. He’d covered his lips with his fist, yet he could not hide the amusement that lit his green eyes. Lillian was sorry he found his daughter’s embarrassment so funny, until she realized he laughed at her own expression. Quickly, Lillian schooled her features into a more becoming blandness.

Addy said, “I’m pleased to see you. Grandfather,” holding out her hand.

Mr. Grenshaw ignored it to pat her head, disarranging her carefully brushed hair. “My, aren’t we the little lady though? I suppose if I offered you a sweet, you’d refuse it?”

“I should like a sweet, if I may?” She lifted her eyes for permission, not toward her father but toward Lillian who felt obscurely pleased that she did so.

“I think it will be all right,” she answered.

“Ah, a governess!” Mr. Grenshaw said, as though it was a great discovery. “Now what have you done, little one, to deserve such a lovely mistress?” He looked at Thorpe and this time there was no doubt that a wink was offered.

Thorpe said, “Miss Cole came to us most highly recommended by a Mrs. Garnet, friend to Lady Paulina Pritchard.”

This was the first time Lillian had heard Paulina’s name on Thorpe’s lips. She forgot her displeasure in glancing up to see how it affected him. But he’d not changed color nor had his voice quavered so much as a quarter note in its deep timbre. Lillian realized she could not really have expected him to give away his emotions on the subject, yet she now knew no more about his feelings for Paulina than she had when she’d first met him.

“Ah, a well-connected governess.” Mr. Grenshaw once more gave his attention to Lillian. “Perhaps we shall have a chat, Miss Cole, about your highly placed friends.”

“As I was an employee only, Mr. Grenshaw, I can tell you nothing about them.” She noticed that Mr. Grenshaw had hard blue eyes, at odds with his aggressively cheerful smile and jolly voice.

“Grandfather,” Addy piped. “My sweet, if you please.”

“Eh? Oh, yes, certainly.” He rummaged in his waistcoat pocket and then clapped his hands to his sides. “Let me see now ... I could have sworn... no, not there. I can’t seem to ... I know. I left those citron drops in my other coat. But I’ll give you two tomorrow, if you are a good and patient pippity-poppety tonight. Be certain to remind me, now.” He beamed assurance. “You’d best run away and play now, tiddly-pins. I’ve something important to discuss with your papa.”

“Yes, come away, Addy,” Lillian said, taking her by the shoulders. Somehow she felt a strong urge to place her body between the child and Mr. Grenshaw.

“We shall have to have that chat, Miss Cole,” he said even as they walked off.

Addy said, “I knew he wouldn’t have any sweets. He never does although he always
says
he does. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t be able to talk at all if I had one in my mouth. It wouldn’t be polite.”

“Never mind, Addy. Sometimes adults play silly games. What shall we do now? Do you want to go upstairs? You needn’t go to sleep yet, if you’re not tired, and I shall finish the story I began last night.”

“Not yet, please, Miss Cole. I think I shall go outside for a little while, if you don’t mind. I shan’t get dirty.”

“May I come with you?”

Addy regarded her with an oddly mature expression in her large gray eyes. “Don’t you want to talk to Grandfather either?”

“It isn’t that....” Lillian suddenly felt the impropriety of lying to a child, especially when the child saw through every story perfectly well. “Actually,” she continued, lowering her voice, “no, I don’t.”

“Very well.” Addy held out her hand. Lillian took it, as though their roles were reversed, as if she were the child fleeing an uncomfortable situation.

They very nearly escaped. Just as Lillian opened the door to the hall, Mrs. Grenshaw called out, “Oh, you’re not going up to bed yet? Surely not! It’s much too early! Come, my love, and sit beside me. I’ve not seen you in ever so long....” She blew her nose on Lady Genevieve’s handkerchief and tucked it into her reticule.

With a sigh, Addy disengaged her hand from Lillian’s and slow marched back to the embrace of her mother’s mother. Lillian took a chair close to them, so that she might step in if needed. Lady Genevieve, however, made a masterful attempt to divert the conversation whenever Addy showed signs of reluctance to answer any of the thousand questions pressed upon her.

Knowing, however, that Addy relied on her to keep her promise, Lillian kept her eyes upon the finely inlaid face of the long-case clock near where Thorpe stood. Her gaze, though she made every effort to control it, drifted sometimes toward him. The black coat of his dress clothes became him even more than did the blue of his everyday wear. Open over his waistcoat, the contrast between the black and white made his chest seem wider and deeper. Remembering what she’d seen of his body in the lake, Lillian suddenly found the brightly gilded salon rather warm.

The moment the clock’s hands stood at quarter to six, Lillian rose. “It is time for Addy to go to bed. Say good night to everyone, my dear.”

“Good night, Grandmother,” Addy said, standing up at once. She endured another embrace from Mrs. Grenshaw, even kissing the pasty cheek thrust in her direction, and gave no sign that it was unwelcome. Lady Genevieve merely nodded in response to Addy’s farewell to her. Lillian followed the child.

“Good night, Papa and Grandfather,” Addy called from the doorway, contenting herself with a wave in the general direction of the purple-gray marble of the fireplace. Stepping into the hall, she waited until Lillian had shut the door behind them. “Thank heavens that’s done.” Addy sighed exactly as a hostess might after the last guests were gone.

Lillian hid a smile. “I think you were very well behaved. So much so that you deserve a special reward. Would you like me to ask Mrs. Becksnaff if there is any of that custard left from yesterday? You could have it instead of bread and butter before you go to sleep.” Addy nodded, smiling. “Very well, run upstairs and I’ll go and ask her.”

Before she’d gone very far, Addy paused. Turning back, she stood on one foot and said, “I don’t mind having you here half so much as Great said I would.” Then she dashed away.

Lillian did not know whether to be glad that Addy was beginning to accept her or not. Though this was certainly nattering, she must not forget that her time at the castle was limited. She could hardly believe that this was only her third day here, for already so much had happened. The personality of her young charge was beginning to interest her more and more. Were all children as wise as Addy in their own way? She couldn’t remember whether she herself had been such a strange mixture of child and adult, coolly facing uncongenial people one moment and yearning after custard the next.

Preparations for dinner were at their height in the kitchen. Lillian did not want to interrupt anyone to make her request known, but Mrs. Becksnaff caught sight of her. She stood with her hands on her hips and waited for Lillian to come up to her.

However, when she heard what Lillian wanted, her expression softened. “Ah, the poor thing. I’ll make some up fresh, Miss Cole, and send it along by Burrows. It should have occurred to me that Miss Addy would want something to cool her throat after jawing with that old watering pot... I beg your pardon, Miss Cole.” Mrs. Becksnaff’s face, already red from her exertions, shone a deeper crimson.

“Never mind. I shan’t even say that I agree entirely. Please send up the custard whenever you can spare a moment.”

“Appearing out of the blue, like that. They should be ashamed. ‘Course, that one wouldn’t know what it’s like to run a house like this one. Lympie Hall, indeed. It isn’t half so big as my grandma’s cottage. That Mrs. Grenshaw’s dead common, for all she’s Mrs. Everard’s mam.”

“You ... er ... knew Mrs. Everard?”

“That I did. A right and proper .. . what do you think you’re doin’?” Mrs. Becksnaff hustled past Lillian to snatch an enormous silver tray from a maid’s hands. “Get the big one, not this little snip of nothin’. And be quick about it. We don’t have all evening.” Her quick heels tapped on the stone floor as she came back, shaking her head, the silver hanging from her hand. “Excuse me, miss... it’s bedlam as you can see. Tell Miss Addy she’ll have her custard before she’s an hour older.”

Lillian thanked her, but doubted she heard. Returning up the corridor, she walked up the stairs only to be called back by Thorpe. He stood at the foot, his large hand concealing the plinth of the gleaming wooden bust of Diana that decorated the newel. Even that virgin goddess might have reconsidered her mode of life if Thorpe had asked her to.

Standing above him, Lillian forgot that she was supposed to be acting the part of a reserved and sensible governess. Instead of waiting meekly to hear his will, she said, “Don’t tell me you left them alone with Lady Genevieve! Aren’t you afraid of finding nothing left but twin puffs of smoke?”

“I am not afraid, but I confess—softly spoken—that I am hopeful.” He grinned and she could not resist dropping down a step or two. “I cry of your mercy, Miss Cole, to dine with us tonight. If I have not something beautiful to look at occasionally during dinner, I might lie awake all night with galloping dyspepsia.”

Lillian retreated, stepping up. “Please .. .” she began to say. She had not thought, in speaking first, that he would think his kiss had made her pert and take advantage.

“You are quite lovely, you know. The color of that dress does enchanting things to your eyes and hair, for you have just that shade of golden brown in them.”

“You are not keeping your promise, Mr. Everard,” she said.

“Promise?”

‘To speak to me only as a governess. You did promise that.”

“Yes, I know. But you were about to protest that you are not beautiful, that you never thought of being beautiful, and I might have had to agree with you out of politeness. But, my dear Miss Cole, I shan’t lie even for you.”

Never, not at a thousand separate routs and parties, not even those that became sad romps, had Lillian ever blushed as brightly as now. She seemed to know that he thought of, perhaps even relived, the moment when she’d clung to him and silently begged for his kiss. “I—I must go to Addy,” she stammered.

“You’ll join us for dinner, then?” He came two or three steps closer, his muscles rippling beneath the tight fabric of his breeches. “Please?” His black eyebrow went up.

“No, I don’t think it would please Mr. and Mrs. Grenshaw to dine with a servant. Thank you, though.” A poor excuse of an answer to his smile crossed her lips as she walked away, knowing that in truth she fled from him. When she reached the safety of her room, she stood with her back to the door, her heart beating absurdly fast. Pretending calm, she sat before the window, breathing in gulps of fresh air, but even that fragrance reminded her of him.

Even knowing she’d been right to refuse Thorpe her company, Lillian hated to disappoint him. Not that he’d given the matter a second thought once she’d said no. She knew by now that Thorpe had no idea that he affected women rather as a mesmerist she’d once seen in London. After a few waves of his hand over her face, he’d made one of Lillian’s dearest friends say she loved a certain man when Lillian knew she’d despised him for years. The fact that they married but a few months later had nothing to do with the case. Thorpe Everard could make her do anything just as if he’d made magic passes before her eyes—including fall into his arms with a passion she’d never known lived in her heart. Thinking of that moment, Lillian groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

Was she in love with him? Lillian did not know. When he was near her she felt so strange, as if she were another person. Not Lillian Cole, the ostensible child of an impecunious vicar forced to work for her keep, nor Lillian Canfield, the socially acceptable daughter of a wealthy man, but as though she’d changed into a nameless someone without any connection in this world, save the exceedingly tenuous one that bound her to Thorpe.

A timid rap on her door brought Lillian upright. “Who’s there?”

A small and serious face appeared around the edge. “It’s me,” Addy said, attired for the night. “I thought you were coming to tell me the rest of that story.”

“So I shall. Has Burrows come up with your custard yet?” Addy shook her head despairingly. “Well, I’m certain she’ll be along quite soon. They’re terribly busy downstairs just now.”

“It must be very difficult stretching a dinner.” Lillian looked blank and Addy consented to explain. “Henley said they’ve got to stretch the dinner, but I don’t see how they can. I mean, you can stretch taffy—I’ve seen Mrs. Becksnaff do it—but a goose?” She pressed her lips together as though thinking hard. “I don’t see how they can,” she repeated.