Anne Barbour (11 page)

“Poor Miss Bavister. Is it always to be your misfortune to depend on strangers?’’

At the sound of the quiet, deep voice behind her, Diana stiffened. Arranging her face in a cordial smile, she turned.

“Why, good morning, Lord Burnleigh.” As she spoke, she searched the earl’s face in an effort to read his mood. “How you do creep up on one! I believe there must be some Red Indian blood in the ancient Talent lineage.”

Jared’s only response was a thin smile. He was dressed for riding, and there was no gainsaying that buckskin breeches and a buff coat set off his athletic form admirably. He turned to address Lissa.

“On your way to breakfast, Puss? I’ll join you. I have just come from Grandfather.”

Lissa fastened her wide eyes to those of her brother.

“Oh, Jared! How did he pass the night?”

“In deep sleep. There seems to be little change, but if you still wish to go to him, I cannot see the harm.”

The girl would have turned away in a rush, but Jared stayed her.

“Best eat something first. Grandfather is still asleep; when he wakes, Fishperk will notify me immediately. I know Grandfather will enjoy seeing you in that very fetching ensemble.”

Lissa laughed engagingly.

“Diana helped me to choose it. And have you no compliment for
her
very fetching ensemble?”

A slight flush spread over Jared’s bronzed cheeks.

“Of course. How remiss of me. A charming gown, Miss Bavister. I see my aunt’s women have been busy, but I did not realize any of them was possessed of such talent. And that shawl—very, er . . .”

“Elegant, is, I am sure, the word for which you are searching, my lord. And I have your sister to thank. She was kind enough to bestow it upon me, and I must say I feel complete to a shade wearing it.”

“Yes.” Jared frowned slightly. “I seem to recall. The infamous Norwich silk, is it not?” he asked, turning to Lissa. “Purchased at Madame Toinette’s very modish and extremely expensive establishment last fall.”

Lissa’s eyes sparkled dangerously.

“Why is it you always remember precisely what one wishes you wouldn’t, and why must you always be bringing it up?’’

“The peculiarities of the male mind, my dear,” put in Diana before Jared could form an answer. “It is my belief they do it just to be irritating.”

Lissa drew her close in an impetuous hug.

“Oh, Diana,” she chuckled. “I’m so glad you have come to us. I just knew we would deal famously!”

Diana, glancing at the earl, surprised an almost comical expression of puzzled suspicion in his eyes.

They had by now reached their destination, and Jared ushered the ladies into an informal breakfast parlor. He led Diana to a chair at a small table near a pair of French doors.

Breakfast was a casual affair, with only the three of them at table. Lady Teague, it appeared, was an early riser, and preferred to take a light meal in her chambers, as did Mrs. Sample. Miss Bledsoe’s whereabouts were unknown.

“She’s probably up in the schoolroom concocting French declensions for me,” muttered Lissa with foreboding.

“But speaking of French,” she added, turning to Jared, “I wish you had been present abovestairs a few minutes ago. You remember Odile? And the problems I’ve had with her? Yes, I know it’s mostly my fault, but what I mean to tell you is that just now Diana came to my room in the middle of one of our brangles, and absolutely stopped Odile in mid-spate. Jared,” she continued in an awed voice. “Diana spoke to her in French. Fluent French. Odile simply folded her tent and crept off meek as a nun’s hen, if you can believe it.”

Lissa beamed at Diana in simple pride, as though it were she herself who had been responsible for Diana’s miracle.

Jared’s expression as he absorbed this information was unreadable. To Diana he said only, “I am indeed impressed, both at your linguistic fluency and your triumph over the notorious Odile. May I serve you, Miss Bavister?” He indicated the laden buffet table standing nearby.

With what she hoped was a patrician nod, she accepted from his lordship’s hands eggs, toast, and several generous slices of York ham. The food was proffered with an exaggerated air of solicitude that went unnoticed by Lissa, but was enough to set Diana’s teeth on edge with annoyance.

Suppressing a desire to empty the steaming silver coffeepot into Jared’s lap, she maintained a flow of small talk as servants threaded their way among the diners, filling cups and replenishing plates. Midway through the meal Mallow entered, bearing a salver upon which rested the day’s post. This he placed before Lord Burnleigh.

“Anything for me?” asked Lissa idly, sifting through the assorted missives. “Ooh, what’s this?” She selected a note of pale pink, and waved it delightedly in the air. “Why, it’s addressed to you, Jared, and—” she drew it slowly under her small nose, sniffing noisily—”what an exotic scent. And lavender ink, in such a flowing hand. She must be a very
special
friend.”

Jared reached peremptorily for the letter.

“Merely an acquaintance,” he replied curtly, and then turned with obvious relief as Mallow indicated he had an additional message for his lordship. Lord Chamford was awake, and asking for Lady Felicity.

“Go along, Lissa,” said Jared. “Go be Grandfather’s tonic.”

“I will,” replied Lissa stoutly. “I can always cheer Grandpapa out of the dismals.”

She hurried from the room enveloped in sunshine and sprig muslin.

Chapter 10

Silence fell heavily on the two remaining breakfasters, and Diana’s glance flicked to the letter looming on the salver like an exotic flower.

“Would you not like to attend to your correspondence, my lord?” she inquired in dulcet tones.

“There is nothing here that requires my immediate attention,” the earl replied stiffly. His face relaxed in a slight smile as he continued. “At the moment, I would like to hear about this marvelous fluency in French.”

“Why, my lord,” Diana answered tartly, “surely you must know that any adventuress worthy of the name must become proficient in a foreign language. It’s one of the first things they teach us in Trollop School.”

She rose with an indignant rustle of silken skirts to pace the room.

Jared watched her, his eyes warming with an irrepressible amusement. The moment passed quickly, and he sobered.

He, too, had passed a restless night, caused not only by concern for his grandfather, but by the image of luminous gray eyes meeting him with annoying frequency in the corridors of his thoughts.

Her impassioned words had threaded in and out of his dreams through the long watches of the night. There could be no doubting her anguished sincerity last night, particularly after her virtuoso performance on the piano. Lissa said she spoke fluent French, and she certainly seemed to have a knack for handling high-strung young girls.

He sighed. The woman was obviously who she said she was, and being so, he had behaved unforgivably.

She was unlikely, of course, to be any less rapacious than any other woman of his acquaintance. The brazen manner in which she had coerced him into raising the fee for her services was proof of that. Still, he would be careful in the future not to wound her sensibilities any further.

“Touché,”
he said now with a laugh, and Diana was once again struck by the transformation in his features. The harshness to which she had become accustomed was gone, and she was drawn against her will to the dark eyes lit with genuine amusement.

“And do they also,” continued Jared, “at Trollop School, provide instruction in the pianoforte?”

At this, Diana raised her eyes to his face. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks, and took a deep breath.

“About last night,” she began, “I must apologize for my outburst.’’

Jared’s brows rose in surprise.

“Apologize? I did not think to hear that word on your lips. Miss St. Aubin. But you were rather harsh.”

Her clear gaze met the earl’s unflinchingly.

“I will admit that I meant my words to sting.”

“Sting! My dear young woman, I went to bed feeling as though an entire hornet’s nest had been loosed on me.”

Diana colored.

“My lord, you deserved every word. But,” she added hastily, “I am sorry to have behaved so intemperately.”

“As an apology,” responded the earl with the faintest of smiles, “I feel your little speech leaves much to be desired, but I suppose when the hornet withdraws its stinger, even temporarily, one must be grateful.

“In any event,” he continued, “your talent at the pianoforte is most impressive. I hope you will take the opportunity, while you are here, to make use of the instrument in the music room, or any of the others in the house. Perhaps you would like to try your hand at the pipe organ in the ballroom. And now, to change the subject, what are your plans for the day, Miss St. Aubin?”

“You must know, my lord,” she replied stiffly, disappointed that the earl had offered no apology for his own inexcusable behavior, “that I have no plans, either for this day or for the ones hereafter. Except, of course,’’ she added coldly, “to do your bidding, as does every other unfortunate soul in this house.”

“Submission becomes you, my dear, although I feel I would be deluding myself to grow accustomed to it. But, as for this day, Grandfather has given me express orders that I escort you on a tour of the Court. Since we have several hours before luncheon, we should be able to cover at least the main wings.”

“Lord Burnleigh,” Diana began, “I have no desire to spend even so much as one hour in your company, and the prospect of an escorted tour of this grotesque monument to the feudal system is repugnant. Please do not—”

Jared interrupted.

“What happened to ‘doing your bidding, my lord’? As I said, this is not my idea, but my grandfather’s, and be assured, if he should summon you again, he will want a full accounting of the expedition.’’

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the door. Diana, swallowing a number of scathing responses, followed.

* * * *

Sometime later, she was obliged to admit that she was enjoying herself. Stonefield Court was a magnificent old pile, dating from medieval times. The original building had formed a large square, but as the Talent fortunes prospered, more wings had been added, and the present edifice was comprised of a harmonious hodgepodge of courts and passageways and galleries.

“Most of which,” explained Jared, “are closed off. Now the family makes do with twelve saloons, twenty bedrooms, not including the state suites, a mere three dining rooms, and various parlors, service rooms, and, of course, the library. When we entertain on any scale, we scrape through by opening up the west wing—the original portion of the manor—and using the old Great Hall as a ballroom.”

Despite Jared’s casual attitude toward the home of his ancestors, his love for it was obvious. Starting in the old hall, with its suits of armor and a fireplace into which, Diana was told, entire trees were flung, the tour led through innumerable rooms and corridors. Everywhere, centuries of care and attention were evident. Brasses glistened, marble gleamed, and wooden floors, paneling, and balustrades glowed with fragrant waxes.

Wide-eyed, Diana listened to histories of linenfold paneling, Gothic archways, Chinese hangings, and Restoration staircases. It was not until they had reached the oldest of the state suites, supposedly constructed for a visit by Queen Elizabeth, that she sank down on a brocade sidechair, embellished with Tudor roses, and pled for mercy.

“But you have not seen the Jacobean suite yet,” pointed out the earl. “Nor the muniments room, which contains records going back, I daresay, to the days of Ethelred the Unready.’’

“Perhaps we could postpone that treat until another day?” asked Diana in a failing voice. “You must have many other demands on your time, my lord.”

“Not at all,” disclaimed the earl smoothly. “I am completely at your disposal. Perhaps we could have a picnic lunch sent up, thus allowing the entire afternoon for the northernmost sections. They have been closed
off
for as much as a century, I should imagine, and are now used mainly for the storage of abandoned belongings. A fascinating glimpse of the Talent family through the ages may be obtained through their perusal. I beg your pardon?”

“That was a groan,” replied Diana. “Lord Burnleigh, my interest in your family history borders, of course, on the breathless, but I simply cannot take another step. If you will not guide me back through the trackless wastes, I shall have to find my own way.’’

“Nonsense, my dear Miss St. Aubin—but did we not agree on first names at the inception of our, er, agreement? ‘‘ He continued without waiting for an answer. “If you set off on your own, we would find you months hence, white-haired and witless in some closet in the nether regions. I have one more area I wish to show you before I return you to civilization, Diana. I believe you will find it of interest.”

As Jared turned aside to allow Diana to precede him through the doorway, her toe caught on the fringe of the fragile old carpet. She stumbled and would have fallen, but the earl grasped her to him and held her until she was righted.

At his sudden closeness she stiffened. She was intensely conscious of his solid masculine strength, and, for an instant, felt the beat of his heart against her own. With an incoherent murmur, she thrust herself away and fled into the corridor.

Diana did not allow herself to glance at the earl, thus she could not perceive any discomfiture he might have felt at the encounter. Indeed, he had little to say until, after several turnings, they found themselves in a long gallery. The walls were hung with portraits of stiffly posed personages.

“The family gallery,” announced Jared. “We begin with the first of our line to make his mark on the world, Henry Talent, the third Earl of Burnleigh, and the first Marquess of Chamford. By all accounts an opportunist of the first order, he found favor with Henry the Eighth. He must have been an accomplished fence-sitter, not to say the most appalling toadeater, as he continued to prosper mightily through the reigns of both Catholic Mary and Protestant Elizabeth.”