Hiding from Love (10 page)

“Oh, you are undoubtedly misinformed as to Mr. Chandos's character,” she whispered back urgently.  “I can assure you he is a gentleman.”

He drew back and regarded her with narrowed eyes.

“You are acquainted with him?”

“Not – really.”

“Then how can you tell?  For my part, I think no gentleman travels without luggage.”

Leonora said no more on the subject, but turned to observe the rest of the table.

Mr. Chandos had taken his seat and Mrs. Griddle, put to shame by her daughter, was hastening to make up for her previous lack of good manners.

“Of course we are most honoured that a gentleman such as you should choose to join our humble group,” she purred at Mr. Chandos.  “I've been admiring the cut of your waistcoat since you arrived.  Am I right in thinking that it's a Saville Row acquisition?”

“In fact, it was made by a tailor in Rio de Janeiro.”

Mrs. Griddle simpered.

“Indeed?  Well, they are more advanced there than we thought.”

Mr. Chandos looked amused, but was saved from the necessity of further chat on the subject of his waistcoat by the arrival of the waiter with a pot of lobster bisque.

As the waiter ladled out the soup, Leonora regarded Mr. Chandos from under lowered brows.

His features in repose indicated a man of authority, a man used to giving orders.  And he really was very very handsome.  His jaw was firm, his lips finely wrought, his nose supremely aristocratic, whilst his brow –

Leonora broke away from this train of thought in horror as she saw that he was looking directly at her.  He must have sensed her eager scrutiny!

Her colour heightened and she was relieved that the waiter's arm now interposed between herself and the object of her admiration.

“Soup, madam?” asked the waiter.

“Thank you, yes.  Just a little.”

She stared down as the liquid flowed into her bowl.  She shook out her napkin and at last dared to sneak another glance at the intriguing Mr. Chandos.

He was no longer looking her way.  Spoon in hand, his head was inclined towards Desirée, who was speaking with a degree of animation that Leonora would never have suspected her to possess!

Mr. Chandos listened intently to Desirée's chatter, only now and then interposing a rejoinder.

Leonora could see that Mrs. Griddle was acutely aware of this
tête à tête
.

“Why are you scowling?” came Señor de Guarda's voice at Leonora's ear.

“Was I?”

“Yes.  To see your pretty lips turned down – ugh!”

“Well, you must desist from looking at me then!”

Leonora spoke in a louder voice than she intended and there was an immediate pause around the table.

With an attempt at nonchalance, she reached to take a bread roll from the breadbasket.  Seeing eyes turn and follow her movement disbelievingly, she looked down.

Her sleeve – too wide for her wrist by a good inch or two – was dangling in her soup.

“Oh,” she whimpered in despair, trying not to note what she took to be Mr. Chandos's dry amusement.

Señor de Guarda beckoned the waiter over and took the white cloth from his arm and then proceeded to dab at Leonora's damp sleeve.

She looked at him for a moment and then raised her eyes towards Mr. Chandos, who was regarding the Señor's hand on her wrist with a frown.

His gaze then travelled up to Leonora's face.  She drew in her breath as she saw again that same fevered glow in his eyes, that same devouring hunger.

Then it was gone and he looked away.

Mrs. Griddle shook her head across the table.

“I am so amazed, Miss Cressy, that your mother let you travel without attending first to your wardrobe.”

“
Mama
!” chided Desirée.

Leonora blushed.

“My m-mother was not in a position to – attend to my needs,” she tried to explain, “and I decided quite on the spur of the moment to – sail to Brazil.”

Mrs. Griddle's brows furrowed inquisitively together and she gave a wag of her finger.

“Young lady – why am I now getting the distinct impression that you are some sort of
runaway
?”

“Bullseye, eh, Miss Cressy?” whispered Señor de Guarda.

Leonora tried to ignore him.

“I am not – running away from my mother, at any rate,” she emphasised truthfully.

She wanted to add that anyway none of it was Mrs. Griddle's business, but she managed to bite her tongue.

She was after all travelling alone and without the permission of her parents and thus she needed to keep such busybodies as Mrs. Griddle on her side if she could.

“You are not a runaway from school?” interposed Mr. Griddle unexpectedly.

“Oh, I should never have wished to do that,” cried Leonora with some passion.  “I loved my school.”

“You are lucky,” came in Desirée.  “I
hated
mine.”

Mrs. Griddle rounded on her daughter in outrage.

“Hated Gadbolt?  One of the finest Academies for Young Ladies in England!  Nonsense! I'm sure Miss Cressy would have been only too delighted to attend Gadbolt.”

Her eye swivelled towards Leonora.

“Where
did
you go, dear?”

“Fenfold,” replied Leonora simply.

Mrs. Griddle swallowed.

Fenfold was seen as
the
best school for daughters of the gentry, whilst Gadbolt was merely a Finishing School of sorts for the middle classes.

It was unendurable that Miss Cressy should have attended a finer school than her own poor Desirée.  With some degree of ill nature, she cast about for some way of reducing the stature of Fenfold,

“I hear there's been some hint of scandal attached to Fenfold.  It's common knowledge that one of the pupils had to leave when her Guardian stole her Trust money!”

Mr. Chandos looked up sharply.

“The poor girl was surely not to blame for the fact that her Guardian was a scoundrel,” he countered stiffly.

Leonora, remembering Edith Lyford's sobs the day she had to leave Fenfold, was gratified that he had spoken up on the innocent girl's behalf.

Mrs. Griddle was unappeased.

“But for a school of that reputation to take in a girl with such questionable connections!”

Leonora now felt exasperated and intervened sharply,

“When Miss Lyford came to Fenfold her father was still alive and
he
was certainly not questionable!  He was a businessman who worked abroad and when he became ill, he asked his London Solicitors to appoint a Guardian for his daughter and it was
they
who suggested the gentleman who turned out to be entirely untrustworthy.”

“Bravo, Miss Cressy,” applauded Señor de Guarda.

Mrs. Griddle sniffed.

“Nevertheless – ” was all she could find to say.

Desirée, who had been listening keenly to the story of Edith, now leaned eagerly across the table.

“Whatever happened to Miss Lyford after she had had to leave Fenfold?” she asked Leonora.

Leonora toyed unhappily with her napkin.

“I don't quite know.  I lost touch with her.  I wish I hadn't, but my own life took such an unexpected turn that I was quite taken up with other matters.”

She thought for a moment and added,

“I do know that Edith Lyford had some hope of her father's business partner coming to her aid.”

Mr. Chandos leant forward to pour a glass of wine.

“Did this partner live in England?” he asked.

“No, he – why, I believe he lived in Brazil.  Yes, it's where her father had his business.  Isn't that strange?”

“Strange?”

“Well, if he didn't come to England as Miss Lyford hoped he would, then he would still be in Brazil.  I might run across him in Rio, and if I did, I would put Edith's case to him and insist he help her retrieve her money.”

“Did you learn his name?” asked Mr. Chandos.

Leonora's face fell.

“No, I didn't.  Edith never mentioned him by name.  She said she had only met him once, when she was a child.  She remembered him as handsome and kind and he let her dance on his toes.  He sounded just the kind of man with whom – ”

Leonora blushed and added,

“With whom – one might easily fall in love.”

She scarcely knew why she had introduced such a subject, as it was one she and Isobel had scorned to discuss at Fenfold.

“Why, Miss Cressy,” said Señor de Guarda, turning to regard her with interest.  “So that is how to win your heart – dancing on my toes?”

Aware of Mr Chandos's stony silence, she wished the earth would open and swallow her up.

Desirée meanwhile, her hands clasped tight on the table, stared at Leonora with shining eyes.

“Miss Cressy?  Can you be by any chance running away
for love
?”

Leonora was spared the necessity of a reply by Mrs. Griddle, who turned and slapped Desirée's wrist.

“You are
not
to bring up such a subject, daughter!”

Desirée shrank back in her chair as a flash of anger crossed Mr. Chandos's face.

He concealed the emotion quickly, but Leonora did notice.  She also noticed how from that moment on he took no further part in the general conversation, but redoubled his attentions on Desirée.

He filled her glass with wine, helped her to bread rolls, and even removed the bones from her fish when she expressed her dislike for the task.

From time to time Mrs. Griddle glanced over at her daughter and Mr. Chandos with an air of satisfaction that dismayed Leonora.

She had never considered herself a great beauty, but
surely
she was more pleasing to the eye than Desirée?

The girl had the distinct air of a shadow – a skeletal creature with hair so pale it was almost white and pupils lacking any discernible colour.

She was a mere mouse!

And yet here was the elegant and distinguished Mr. Chandos,
showering
her with attention.

It – was not – fair!

She, Leonora, had encountered him first!

A half hour later Leonora stood staring out over the dark waves.  A sea breeze blew and she gave a shiver.

She wished that Finny would hurry with the shawl he had gone to collect from her cabin.

It was Finny who had suggested a stroll on the deck before retiring for the night.

He had found her in dismal spirits in her cabin.  She had left the supper table before pudding, unable to bear any longer the sight of Desirée monopolising Mr. Chandos.

Leonora was relieved to see Finny and had agreed with alacrity to a stroll.  The sight of the star-laden sky had lifted her spirits, but the night air was so cool.

Placing her hands on the ship's rail, she gazed out at the horizon, a thread of pale light between sea and sky.

Shivering again, she looked for Finny.  There was no sign of him, but her eye was caught by the red glow of a cigar in the shadows.

“Hello?” she called out.

The red glow advanced.

Her heart lurched as she saw that it was held in the left hand of Mr. Chandos.  He went to the rail and flicked the cigar overboard, then leaned on his elbows to watch it being swallowed by the deep.

He said not a word and she wondered unhappily if he did not feel inclined to talk to her because it was she and not Desirée.

“It's a beautifully clear night,” she ventured at last.

He turned his head slightly, but she could not read his expression as the moonlight was behind him.

“It is indeed,” he replied.  “Had we been on deck a short while ago we might have seen the Scilly Isles.  We should reach the Azores in two days time.”

“You have – made this journey often, then?”

“Not often enough.”

He raised his head to regard the sky and the large white moon riding there.

“An Atlantic moon,” he murmured.

Leonora followed his gaze.

“Is it – so very different – from other moons?”

“Look at it.  Is it the same moon you can see from your bedroom window in England?”

“Well – no.  At home, at most times, it looks softer as if it's wrapped in muslin.  Only on very frosty nights is it like this – sharp as a blade.”

“Alas!  It's not often enough that I witness a frosty English night.”

“Oh, you don't live in England?”

“I live in Brazil,” he answered.

“In – Rio?”

“In Rio,” came the firm reply.

Recalling that the Griddles were going on to open a shop in São Paulo, she felt an ungallant surge of triumph.

Her rival Desirée would be leaving the field free!

She studied his profile as he stared out to sea.

That nose really was most aristocratic!  Perhaps he
was
indeed an aristocrat – the younger son of an Earl or a Duke.  After all, she really knew very little about him.  In fact she really knew too little about him to feel as she did.

With a sudden rush of shame she thought of Isobel and their pact never to succumb to the allure of romance.

What had happened since parting from Isobel?

Firstly she had found Señor de Guarda attractive and then she became so infatuated with the masked gentleman who turned out to be that dreadful Lord Merton – and now here she was dreaming of a dalliance with Mr. Chandos.

Perhaps it was because she was so far away from the life of study at Fenfold?  Perhaps this was what happened to a young lady with nothing better to occupy her mind – she became victim to storybook love!

Yet she was helpless in its grip and she had no one to turn to for guidance.

She was so alone – alone with this growing passion for the elusive Mr. Chandos.

As if he sensed her train of thought, he turned from his perusal of the sea.

In a shaft of moonlight his eyes gleamed at her.