Be My Bride (16 page)

“Oh?” the countess prompted from her bed. “Justinian and I were just discussing that, dear. What other things are troubling you? Perhaps we could help.”

Just thinking of her empty future made Eleanor pale, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how the Darbys would react to the plight of a servant. Besides, the countess couldn’t do anything about it, and she could not ask Justinian. “It’s nothing so very pressing, your ladyship,” she replied, lowering her eyes once more and hurrying past him to the countess’ bedside. “It can easily wait until after Christmas.”

“There, you see,” his mother said, patting the coverlet beside her for Eleanor to sit. “Everything has been arranged quite nicely. Nothing about this should disturb you, Justinian. You may go.”

Nothing to disturb me indeed
, he thought as he offered his mother and Eleanor a bow and quit the room at last. Only a house guest in the one woman he’d ever loved but who seemed afraid of his presence, the impending return of his niece with potentially no one to care for her after Christmas, and a small, black kitten named Jingles. By Christmas, he predicted, he would be quite disturbed indeed!

* * * *

Justinian was not the only one disturbed by the turn of events. Eleanor soon regretted her impulsive decision to remain. While Justinian did not press her as she had feared, she still could not seem to avoid him, no matter that the Great House was huge. He came to wish his mother good morning and inquire after her health while they breakfasted each morning. Mr. Faringil brought him up with annoying frequency to answer a question or inspect her work in the nursery and school room, to the point that she jumped whenever she saw a movement out of the corner of her eye. He was a shadow on the terrace outside the library while she took Jingles out to play in the gardens behind the manor. She found him listening to her read Shakespeare to the countess in the evenings. And she saw him when the countess sent her on some errand to the ground floor, each time she passed the open door to the library.

The door was not often open, but when it was, she found she could not keep her gaze from straying to the figure behind the desk. Sometimes his brow would be knit, and he’d be studying the papers before him with such intensity that she wondered if he were not grappling with the fate of the Empire. Other times he would be leaning back and staring at the ceiling as if invoking heaven’s assistance. The times that wrung her heart, however, were when his leonine head was cradled in his hands and his broad shoulders were slumped over the desk as if the burden he bore were simply too great.

And she could see that he did bear a burden. However much she had once teased him about the difficulties of being born to the manor, she could now see that that gift came with a heavy price. Nothing happened on the estate without Justinian’s consultation and advice. The steward brought a steady stream of issues and concerns from the tenants; Mr. Faringil seemed unable to manage the household without appealing to Justinian for each decision; and even the cook requested his preferences for dinner as if she were cooking for the Prince Regent and not an elderly woman, an overtired earl, and an impoverished ex-school teacher. He seemed to have no time to himself and little appreciation for his efforts. She only wished she could find some way to help.

Unfortunately, with visiting the countess, keeping the kitten out of trouble, and finishing her work in the nursery, her days were also busy. After inspecting the nursery and schoolroom, she worked with the countess to identify furniture and linen that could be used to refurbish and brighten the little-used rooms. Using paper, pen, and ink Mr. Faringil provided her from his lordship’s library, she drafted a schedule for Dottie that included time to study, to play, and to exercise in the gardens or on horseback. She had to make the schedule twice as the first time Jingles jumped onto it in mid-scribble and proudly smeared the ink into small, paw-shaped patches.

Although she delighted in spending her evenings reading books from the Darbys’ excellent library, each afternoon while the countess napped she borrowed the several-day-old
Times
from Mr. Faringil and scanned the ads for positions. She saw any number for governors and nannies and two for teachers at girls schools in London. Somehow, she found a reason not to respond to most of them. The one time she did sit down to compose a letter, Jingles jumped onto her lap and reached up for the paper and she put the quill and ink away for fear of another mishap.

She knew she could not keep hiding away from her future, or her past, but for now, only the present was even tenable.

As for Justinian, he was finding the present to be completely untenable. It seemed to him that he was constantly on the verge of breaking into two people. One impertinent fellow wanted to drag Norrie Pritchett off to a secluded corner of the manor, kiss her nearly senseless, and demand to know why she had reappeared in his life if she wasn’t willing to acknowledge his existence.

The more scholarly fellow who had been forced to be an earl raised an eyebrow at such brutish behavior, reminding the impetuous fellow that he had frightened her away in the first place with far more gentle actions than that. The scholar cautioned prudence; all good things came to those who waited. Justinian wanted to follow the latter advice, but he found his good intentions ruined every time he happened upon Eleanor.

Luckily, the habitual coolness with which she greeted him only convinced him that he should not speak; however, it did not keep him from remembering. Now there were new memories overlaid on the old: the loving attention she devoted to setting up Dottie’s apartments and schedule, the sparkle in her beautiful eyes when she showed them the newly refurbished schoolroom, the sound of her laughter at some quip of his mother’s, the soft hush of long skirts passing his door and the absurd longing to hear them pause. She distracted him from his routine, she distracted him from his work, she distracted him from his writing. He did not have an answer for how to stop her bitter-sweet distractions and wasn’t entirely sure he wanted one. His very ambivalence only served to trouble him further.

He was trying once again to determine the appropriate course of action one night about a fortnight before Christmas when he found his supper, which he had been wont to take alone in the library at the desk, very much disturbed. It started innocently enough. He was just spooning up a mouthful of chicken broth when a distinct thump sounded overhead. He frowned at the frescoed ceiling but soon returned to his reading. The second noise occurred as he was starting his ragout of beef; that sound was definitely more of a thud. His salmon tart was taken to the tune of repetitive drumming that made him wonder whether he had been invaded by the Scottish army. The feet running back and forth during his lamb brisket made him sure of it. Before the blueberry trifle Mrs. Childs had promised him arrived, he was taking the stairs two at a time to find out what was going on.

His mother didn’t even look contrite when he appeared in her doorway. Both Mary and Norrie dropped a curtsey, and it was not lost on him that both had red faces and appeared winded. Indeed, Norrie’s slender chest was heaving, and she was biting her full lower lip as if she was afraid she was going to burst out laughing at any second. The laughter sought escape through her twinkling eyes instead.

“Good evening, Justinian,” his mother heralded. “So good of you to join us. We were about to ring for dessert. Will you have some?”

He took a deep breath. “No, thank you, Mother. Is everything all right up here?”

The countess raised a finely etched white brow. “All right? Certainly. We are all fine, aren’t we, Eleanor?”

Eleanor thought she would explode if she didn’t let the laughter out. Until this evening, she had been successful in keeping the lordly little cat from exploring the countess’ bedchamber. For some odd reason, the countess had demanded that he remain through dinner, and Eleanor had hardly eaten a bite before he had begun stalking about. His reactions to different pieces of furniture and belongings at the floor level had been funny enough, but when he jumped up on the dressing table and scowled at himself in the mirror, the countess had whooped delight. Both Mary and Eleanor had repeatedly tried to distract him, but the calling, pulling, and petting had been to no avail. His highness Jingles was determined to play in the face powder and other interesting items. She had just spent the last few minutes in a wild chase about the room as the kitten bounded off furniture and scampered around the harried abigail’s legs. As Justinian’s gaze swept her direction, she sucked in a breath. Consequently, her voice came out entirely too high and tight. “Perfectly fine.”

“You hear that?” The countess smiled serenely. “We’re purrr-fectly fine.”

Eleanor choked and bowed her head, clutching her heaving sides.

Alarmed, Justinian took a step toward her. “Miss Eleanor, has your illness returned?”

Eleanor waved him away. “No, no, really. I’m quite all right. Please don’t let us disturb you.”

The countess cocked her head. “You know, Eleanor dear, I think Justinian may be right. You look quite done in. You should go to bed, immediately. Justinian, would you be so kind as to escort her?”

Eleanor froze, but Justinian frowned at his mother, who sighed gustily as if suddenly quite weary herself.

“I’m sure Miss Eleanor would rather have Mary,” he replied so quellingly that Eleanor felt herself pale.

“Out of the question,” his mother snapped, drawing her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “She can’t be spared. Good night, Eleanor, dearest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning. Don’t forget to take the kitten with you.”

Eleanor had no choice but to hug the countess good night as she had been wont to do. “Yes, your ladyship, thank you.” As she pulled away, she swore she saw the countess wink. Discomposed, she could only peer under the dressing table, where she had last seen the kitten. “Jingles? Here, kitty, kitty.”

“Allow me,” Justinian clipped, reaching up the bed hangings beside his mother and untangling the kitten’s claws from its precarious hold. Jingles blinked at him and had the audacity to yawn. Eleanor hurried forward to accept the little animal.

“Thank you, my lord,” she murmured, burying her face in the kitten’s fur to hide her embarrassment. Unfortunately, that only set her nose to itching and they hadn’t even reached the door before she was sneezing again.

“Give him to me,” Justinian commanded as they started down the corridor. Face reddening, she complied.

“I’m very sorry we disturbed your work,” she told him, eyes following the scroll pattern in the Oriental carpet underfoot. “The countess does so enjoy Jingles’ antics. I had no idea our hilarity was carrying beyond the room.”

“It is of no significance,” Justinian assured her and was surprised to find that he meant it. “My mother needs something to take her mind off her problems.”

“Is she very ill, then?” Eleanor couldn’t help asking. For as long as she had been at the Barnsley School, the countess had been bedridden. It struck her now that she had never been told why. She supposed it was not a subject for a lowly school teacher.

Justinian answered her readily enough. “Dr. Praxton tells me there is nothing wrong with her outside the normal changes that come with age. My father married late. My mother was nearly forty-five when I was born. She will be seventy-five this year.”

“Sh,” Eleanor cautioned. “I don’t think she likes that fact to be well known. Besides, if she isn’t unwell, why does she remain in bed?”

Justinian sighed. “I wish I knew. But she seems happier now than anytime I can remember.” He glanced at her and decided to speak his mind. “You seem to have that affect on people.”

Eleanor blushed again and wished she had Jingles to hide it. She glanced quickly at the kitten, who lay cuddled against Justinian’s broad chest. Jingles’ yellow eyes were closed, and his cheek nuzzled against the black waistcoat, not far from Jusintian’s heart. She could imagine no finer place to rest. She swallowed and averted her gaze.

“Norrie.” He stopped in the corridor, and she had no choice but to stop beside him. “Norrie, we must talk. We cannot be expected to live in this house for the next fortnight as if we are nearly strangers.”

“But we are nearly strangers, my lord. It’s been nearly ten years. I’ve heard that you went on to be a great scholar, just as you had planned. And now you are being the earl, which I know you had not planned, nor even wished. Our lives were different then. The paths have only diverged even farther. You are no longer Justinian Darby, and I am no longer Norrie Pritchett. You are Lord Wenworth. And I am Miss Eleanor, the governess. That is how things are. It took me some time to truly understand this. Now, if you will please hand me Jingles, I will say good night.”

She was so calm and sure of herself that any nebulous ideas of professing undying devotion blew away like mist in the wind. Solemnly he handed her the kitten, who snuggled just as contentedly against her breast as he had against Justinian’s chest moments before. “Very well, Miss Eleanor, if that is how you feel. I guess we have nothing to discuss after all.”

Norrie couldn’t understand why her eyes blurred as he walked away. It must have been the illness returning after all.

Chapter Seven

 Eleanor assured herself that it should have been easy to act nobly so close to the Christmas season, but she found it progressively difficult. She should have been relieved that Justinian did not mention their past relationship again but was not a little disappointed to find that he gave her a wide berth. She should feel pleased that by reminding him unselfishly of his greater duty, which was to marry someone far more important in the world than one insignificant school teacher, she had put a wall between them. That was what she had meant to do, and she had succeeded. Now she just had to finish her business and leave.

Christmas was still over a sennight away the day the snow began to fall. She had taken Jingles out to play in the gardens that edged the back of the house and was surprised to find how cold it had grown. They had only gone a little ways along the house from the kitchen when the first flakes descended, large and heavy. Jingles didn’t notice them at first. When he did, he proceeded to pounce upon them as interlopers to his kingdom, lifting his paws in approval to find nothing but a thoroughly vanquished puddle. As Eleanor’s own cloak was beginning to dampen, she soon scooped him up and hurried up the steps to the terrace to find the nearest entrance to the manor.