Carola Dunn (24 page)

Dared she take the risk?

Abandoning secrecy was difficult after keeping it for so long, but Lord Ashe already knew enough to discover the rest if he put his mind to it. She trusted him to do what he considered best for her and the boys. The question was, would she agree with his notion of what was best?

She looked into his warm brown eyes and read there an earnest desire to help her.

“Very well, sir,” she sighed, “I shall tell you.”

Chapter 19

“I scarcely recall my mother,” Lissa began. “She died when I was six. I do remember missing her dreadfully, even though I had a loving nurse and governess and Papa was a wonderful father. When I was not at my lessons, he used to take me with him to visit tenants and neighbours, and just riding about the estate. He was a farmer as well as a nobleman, always working to improve the land. After Mama died, he hardly ever went to London, or anywhere. He just stayed at Woodborough Hall, with me.”

Lord Ashe nodded. “I imagine that is why the circumstances of his family are so little known, why it was possible for you to disappear virtually unnoticed. You have no close relatives, I collect.”

“Both my parents were only children. I vaguely recall distant cousins being mentioned, but I was not acquainted with any. Papa seemed quite content with the society of our neighbours.”

“There is no fourth earl listed. No doubt all the cousins were female, or your mother’s.”

“Perhaps, though I thought Papa spoke once of an heir, the son of an uncle who emigrated to America, I think. I daresay he would not wish to assume the title, for Papa said the Americans have done away with such things.”

Lissa paused as a footman came in unobtrusively to light candles. In the library dusk had arrived but, glancing at the window, she saw daylight lingering outside. A sudden longing for fresh air overcame her.

A governess summoned to the library stayed in the library until dismissed, but she was Lady Felicia now, whether she would or no. “If you have no objection, Lord Ashe,” she said, “I should like to step outside while it is still light.”

“By all means. You must be quite as sick of camphor as I am!” he said with a smile. “But don’t expect me to wait for your story. With your permission, I shall walk with you. James, send a maid for Lady Felicia’s pelisse, if you please.”

The footman did not seem in the least surprised, forcing Lissa to realize how futile was her hope of keeping her identity from the servants. Apparently they had known she was unmasked before she did!

“I shall not need my cloak,” she said. “I shall only step out for a moment, in case Colin needs me.”

“My dear Lady Felicia, have I not made it plain...?”

“You may prevent me from being his governess,” Lissa said fiercely, standing up, “but nothing shall stop me nursing him until I am quite certain he will not have a relapse!”

Rising, Lord Ashe gazed deep into her eyes as if searching her soul. She withstood his stare resolutely. He nodded acquiescence. “No cloak, James. If Lady Felicia is sent for in the next few minutes, we shall be on the terrace.”

He led her to a room she had not seen before, a long gallery in the older part of the house, facing west. French doors opened onto a stone flagged and balustraded terrace, with steps down to a formal, old fashioned parterre. Lissa and Lord Ashe crossed to the top of the steps. Below, laid out in an elaborate pattern around a central fountain, low box hedges edged beds of lavender with fading purple spikes and autumn crocus glowing pink in the evening light. Pink puffs of cloud scudded across the pale blue sky, driven by a warm breeze, a last breath of summer.

In summer this must be a charming place to stroll or sit, open to Lady Felicia as it would never be to a governess. But by next summer, where would she be?

His hand resting in a comfortably familiar way on the head of a curly-maned stone lion, Lord Ashe asked, “When did your father remarry? The
Peerage
made no mention of it.”

“I daresay he did not trouble to notify the editors--is that how they know? It was a small country wedding, in 1808, when I was nine.”

“And then began your troubles,” he observed sympathetically.

“Oh no! I do not believe Papa would have married anyone I did not like. His second wife was a neighbour, Lady Carpenter, widow of Sir Frederick Carpenter. She had always been very kind to me, besides having Peter. He was an adorable baby!”

“So Peter is your stepbrother. Sir Frederick was a baronet? Then the lad is Sir Peter Carpenter!”

“Yes. He has an estate of his own. Papa administered it until he died, but I do not know what happened afterwards. I daresay his lawyer keeps an eye on things, as he does for Woodborough Hall, but lawyers cannot be expected to understand farming, can they?”

“I fear not,” Lord Ashe agreed, “and the land has had eight years to deteriorate. When did Lord Woodborough die? No one notified the Peerage of that, either, come to think of it. Teague told me.”

A lump in her throat silenced Lissa for a moment. As she struggled to swallow it, he took her hand in a warm clasp.

“I don’t mean to harass you,” he said seriously, “but I cannot help if I don’t understand just what happened.”

“I know.” Agitated as much by his touch as by her memories, Lissa withdrew her hand and started down the steps. “It was in 1810. Papa and my stepmother went on a belated wedding journey--they waited to make sure Peter was settled at Woodborough and I was at ease with the new family situation. They sailed to Jamaica, where Stepmama had inherited an estate she wished to sell. Papa died of a fever, and poor Stepmama was left quite alone in a strange country.”

“An unhappy position!” Lord Ashe’s boots crunched on the gravel as he walked at her side towards the fountain.

“Was it not? I try to remember that, and not to blame her.”

“Blame her?”

“For marrying Mr. Exton.” There, he had the name; she and Peter and Michael were in his hands now. Tense as a setter come to the point, she wondered if he realised. She could not look at him.

Yet despite her misgivings, she felt a great burden roll from her shoulders. With sympathy she regarded the nymph in the centre of the fountain, forever bearing a doubtless heavy urn on her shoulder from which water poured endlessly into the marble basin.

“Lady Woodborough met Exton in Jamaica, I presume.”

“Yes, he also owns property there. He helped her sell her estate, then offered to escort her home provided she marry him.” Bitterly Lissa explained, “His religion would not permit him to travel with a female not his wife, however well chaperoned by her maid. Mr. Exton’s religion is not of a forgiving nature.”

“I was sure religion came into the picture somewhere,” Lord Ashe said thoughtfully.

“Everywhere. When they reached England, Peter and I had to remove to his house, lest living at Woodborough we learn to indulge the deadly sin of Pride. For the same reason our titles were never used. The aristocracy is anathema to Mr. Exton.”

“Wait a minute. He is Peter’s stepfather, but not yours, merely your stepmother’s husband. Surely he had no power to remove you from your home.”

“What else was I to do? I had no relatives to turn to. My stepmother was my joint guardian with my father’s lawyer. Mr. Oldham sent Mr. Exton an allowance for my keep, but he would have been at Point Non Plus if I had turned up on the doorstep of his chambers!”

Lord Ashe grimaced. “No doubt.”

“Nor did I know how to find him. I was only eleven, remember. And things were not so bad while my stepmother lived. To do him justice, I believe Mr. Exton had some fondness for her, in his way. At least she stood between us and his severity as best she could. Michael was born the following year and though Mr. Exton seemed to have no affection for him, his early childhood was quite happy.”

“Only that can explain his sunny nature. Lady Woodborough must have been a remarkable woman.”

“I loved her,” Lissa said simply. “But when Michael was three she died. I tried...I tried to protect the boys as she had....”

“Exton’s favourite biblical maxim was ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ I take it.”

“‘He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes’--one of his favourites. Another was ‘Sorrow is better than laughter.’“

“Ye gods!”

“He wanted them to be saints, not children. I could not stop him whipping them, but I tried to make up to them for losing their mother, to teach them to love each other, that love is important. Love, and compassion, and generosity, not just lack of avarice and pride.”

“You succeeded admirably!” Lord Ashe exclaimed. He offered Lissa his arm. Without her noticing, they had circled the fountain and returned to the steps. Laying her hand lightly on his sleeve, she glanced up at his face. In contrast to his words, it was grim. Abruptly he demanded, “Did the brute beat you?”

“No.” Disconcerted by his obvious profound relief, Lissa looked away and started up the steps. “He recognised that he had no real authority over me and never raised a finger to me. He had no legal duty to give me a home, either. Mr. Oldham sent money for my keep, but even so I suppose I ought to be grateful.”

“NO!”

“He could have separated me from the boys. Well, in a sense he did. When my stepmother died he sent me away to school, a school run by his church. It is called the Church of the Fiery Pit, so you can imagine....No, I doubt if you can. They did not beat us, nor starve us, but we lived in the drabbest surroundings, wore the drabbest clothes, ate the most tasteless food they could invent. Our minds were to dwell on the certain punishment of our sins by hellfire, not on outward things.”

“Is that where you learnt to read Greek?” he enquired with interest.

“So that we could study the New Testament in the original, and other ancient church writings. Not Latin, because it is the language of the Roman Church, a hotbed of blasphemy and perversion. Of course, the Anglican Church is not a great deal better,” she added dryly.

Lord Ashe grinned. “Don’t tell the vicar, pray. Should you like to stroll about the terrace or shall we go in? It’s a trifle chilly now the sun is going down.”

A wave of tiredness swept over Lissa. Absorbed in the past, she had almost forgotten the exhausting week of nursing preceding the present. Suddenly she felt as if she was wading through treacle.

“Let us go in.”

“We’ll sit in the gallery if you like. It is pleasant in the evening.”

They found a pair of chairs facing the windows. Outside the sky was turning to rose and apricot and a clear, pale green. Inside, in the twilight, Lissa soon could not make out Lord Ashe’s expression. It made it easier to talk about what came next.

“How long were you at the school?”

“Four years, until last year. That is, I returned to Mr. Exton’s house--I cannot bring myself to call it ‘home’--in the summer and at Christmas and Easter, though we did not celebrate those pagan festivals. So I saw Peter and Michael regularly, for a few weeks at a time.”

“Luckily for them.”

“And for me. Their affection meant as much to me as mine to them. Without them, how could I have survived? Why should I have wished to?”

He was silent.

“They are all I have,” Lissa went on quietly. “Mr. Exton wanted me to leave them. When I turned eighteen, he found a husband for me, an elder in the church, elder in both office and age. It was an honour to be chosen by such a brilliant preacher of fire and brimstone, he told me. Wed to him, my soul might have some slim chance of avoiding the Pit.”

“You refused.”

“I refused. Mr. Exton washed his hands of me, said he could not provide a home to an ungrateful, impious apostate. By then I was old enough to understand that Mr. Oldham would be obliged to set up an establishment for me if I arrived on his doorstep. But he has no such obligation to Peter and Michael, and to abandon them was unthinkable! You must see that!”

“I do,” Lord Ashe said reluctantly.

“Then you must also see that I cannot abandon Colin. Do not make me leave him!”

“You cannot remain as governess, now I know your true rank. There must be a solution.” Restlessly he rose and took a turn about the darkening room, while Lissa scoured her weary brain for arguments. Returning, he stopped in front of her and said tersely, “You had better marry me.”

Astounded, for one brief moment Lissa let herself believe it was possible to accept. But she did not deserve to have her prayers answered, after all her lies and deceit. He did not wish to marry her. He just saw it as the easiest way out of the predicament she had landed him in.

“That is not necessary,” she said stiffly, her gaze fixed on the floor at his feet. “I am perfectly willing to stay as governess. You need not pay me. When my brothers are old enough to be safe from Mr. Exton, I shall reimburse you for our expenses.”

“My dear girl,” he burst out, “don’t be totty-headed! Money has nothing to do with it. You must see the impossibility of the situation.” He started to pace again. “You might stay as my mother’s ward, and enter county society, but your stepfather will have to be told. I’ve no desire to go to gaol for alienating minors from their guardian.”

“We shall run away again!” cried Lissa, appalled.

“Taking Colin too, this time?” he threw at her, swiftly crossing the gallery towards her. He seized her hands. “We’ll think of a way to do it. Trust me! I shan’t let them be taken from you. There is no need to reveal your whereabouts.”

She was too tired to go on struggling. “How will you manage that? They will trace us through you.”

He let go her hands and sat down, leaning forward eagerly. “To start with, I shall do everything through lawyers. I shall have my man, Plumditch, approach your father’s solicitor without mentioning my name. A letter from you to Oldham--that’s the fellow’s name?--asking him to explain your position to Plumditch, that will do the trick. Once I understand what’s what I can plan further. Do you know if he is also Peter’s solicitor?”

“I think so. I am not sure.”

“If not, he’ll know who is. Never fear, I shall sort it all out.”