Lady Incognita (3 page)

His lips relaxed into a charming smile. “So you come accompanied by a family.”

“Of course.” Louisa found this train of conversation rather confusing. “I brought them all for an outing. I am sorry that we should be tres...”

“Nonsense. No such thing. If no one is to enjoy the ruins, of what use are they?”

To this sensible question Louisa could make no reply. And then, as no further remarks came from her, he looked around. “Where is the rest of this invisible family? Perhaps we should take a look after them. I should not want any harm to befall them - especially on my property.”

  “Oh, they ...” It was not until his mouth curved again in that smile that she realized he was teasing her.  She rose somewhat unsteadily and took a step forward, only to tread on a loose stone and feel the sketchbook again slip from her grasp. His lordship-did not, however, stoop immediately to retrieve it. Instead, his hand shot out to grasp her elbow, steadying her.

Feeling strangely lightheaded, Louisa looked up into the dark eyes so close to her own. Their proximity did nothing to help her regain her old sensible feelings. “Thank you, milord,” she faltered, drop-ping her eyes again to the ground. “I must be more careful.”

“Indeed, you must,” replied Atherton lazily, with a tone of voice that caused her quickly to raise her gaze to his. But there was nothing to be seen in those piercing dark eyes. Louisa averted hers again.

“I ... I think Aunt Caroline is over here ... this way.”

“Fine. We shall find her, I am sure.”

With his lordship’s steadying hand still guiding her elbow, Louisa made her way around the crumbling stories toward the tree where she had left Aunt Caroline. That worthy lady, her mouth slightly agape, was making soft wheezing noises that she would have been insulted to hear called snores.

Louisa sent the Viscount an appealing glance. “She gets tired easily. And it
was
a long trip.”

  His smile held a comforting warmth and suddenly she forgot her fear of him. She bent to touch Aunt Caroline’s shoulder. “Aunt,” she said softly. “Aunt.”            

Aunt Caroline’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, Louisa, I must have dozed off. Just closed my eyes for a moment. Oh, gracious.” Her eyes took in the stranger at Louisa’s side. In a flutter she sat up and began patting and pulling at her clothes.

“Please do not distress yourself...”

“Mrs. Pickering,” said Louisa hurriedly. “Aunt, this is Viscount Atherton.”

Aunt Caroline, plainly mortified at being found in such an undignified position while being introduced to a lord, struggled to regain her feet. Two strong hands reached out to help her.

Aunt Caroline, who had never been assisted to her feet by a viscount, stood gazing in apparent adoration. “Oh, my, thank you, milord. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, I’m sure,” replied his lordship. And if the dark eyes twinkled with suppressed merriment only Louisa suspected it and she could not really blame him for it. Aunt Caroline did present a rather amusing picture. In fact, she was tempted to smile herself.

  Fortunately, the silence was broken by the sound of Betsy’s cheerful voice. “Louisa! Where are you?”

“Over here, Betsy,” called Louisa softly. “Where we left Aunt Caroline.”

Around the corner of a crumbling wall Betsy and Harry made their appearance. “I tell you. Harry ...” Betsy was saying when her eyes fell on the stranger at Louisa’s side and she stopped quite suddenly. Harry, too, stopped in mid-stride, his eyes widening at the sight of this tall dark stranger.

But Harry was not long silent. “I say Louisa. Who is
he
?”

Louisa, conscious that Harry’s manners needed improving, felt herself begin to color up again, but she managed to keep her voice calm as she replied. “Harry, this is Viscount Atherton. This is my brother Harry, your lordship.”

Harry, whose experience with lords was not much greater than Aunt Caroline’s stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir. This is a grand place. Do you know any ghost stories?”

The first part of his words had caused Louisa to feel relief, but the latter made the color rise to her cheeks again. The Viscount would think her whole family was queer in the attic.

  Atherton, however, did not seem dismayed. He firmly shook the hand extended to him and replied in a man-to-man way that won him Harry’s undying adoration. “Of course, I do. There’s a special ghost that used to haunt this very abbey. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Yes, sir!” Harry gazed at his new idol in adoration. Louisa could almost hear him thinking. What a bang-up fellow!

“Lou-is-a!” Betsy’s plaintive tone was not really necessary. The expression of intense expectation on her face was sufficient to recall Louisa to her duties. “This is my sister Betsy,” she said. “Betsy, this is Lord Atherton.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you, I’m sure,” said Betsy, obviously following some implanted teaching of Winky’s as she dropped a curtsy. Then, this serious ceremony dispensed with, she edged eagerly forward to ask, “Is there really a ghost, sir? Really?”

“Of course,” said Atherton quite seriously. “I should not say so if there were not.”

  Suddenly around the corner of the wall Aunt Julia came into sight. Her bonnet had been pushed off her frizzled gray curls and dust and cobwebs clung to her outmoded black gown. “Betsy, you scamp,” she was saying. “What do you mean running off …?”

Aunt Julia stopped, too, in mid-sentence, her mouth remaining open in surprise at the sight of this strange male.

Louisa hurried to close the breach. “Aunt Julia, this is Viscount Atherton. These are
his
ruins we have been exploring. He has very kindly said we may.”

Aunt Julia did not snort, for which Louisa was extremely grateful, but neither did she nod or in any way acknowledge his lordship’s presence.

“Aunt Julia does not like males,” said Betsy cheerfully. “So don’t get in a huff over her.”

“It was most kind of you to tell me,” replied his lordship, the merriment in his eyes now even more pronounced.

Goodness, Louisa told herself, why must they all behave like creatures in a street show? It was most embarrassing.

Suddenly his lordship’s eyes met hers and again they held that comforting warmth. She felt some of the embarrassment fade.

Harry pulled at the Viscount’s sleeve. “Please, sir, the ghost. Please tell us about the ghost.”

  “Of course I shall,” said his lordship, “but the story is best told right where it’s supposed to have happened. Will you allow me to give you a guided tour?”

“Yes, oh yes. Please do.” Both the children clapped their hands with undisguised glee.

“Will you accompany us, too, Miss Penhope?” asked the Viscount softly.

“Y - yes,” Louisa stammered.

“And your aunts?” he asked courteously, turning toward those ladies.

“I have seen enough ruins to last several lifetimes,” said Aunt Julia with acerbity. “What I should like is a new skull to examine.”

“I ... I fear I am simply exhausted, dear Louisa,” said Aunt Caroline. “I’ll just rest here.”

“We will not be extremely long,” said Atherton, his fingers again closing over Louisa’s elbow. She thought perhaps she should resist this offer of assistance. But there were many loose stones on the ground and it would be foolish to court a turned ankle. And, of course, his lord-ship meant nothing by it. It was only a form of politeness.

“Your Aunt Julia collects
skulls?”
asked Atherton, after they were out of earshot. Louisa could not help laughing and so it was Betsy who enlightened him.

“Oh, no, sir, not
real
skulls. That is, not dead ones.”

Louisa, seeing that his lordship’s dark countenance still betrayed bewilderment, swallowed her laughter. “What Betsy means is that Aunt Julia studies phrenology. She ascertains character by feeling the bumps on a person’s head.”

His lordship chuckled appreciatively. “That considerably relieves
my
mind,” he remarked dryly.

Louisa turned to regard him. “I do not under-”

“Since I saw Aunt Julia gazing at my skull with the avid eyes of the collector, I am most happy to find that she does not mean to disconnect it from my shoulders in order to study it.”

Harry and Betsy burst into peals of laughter at the thought of Aunt Julia with a severed head to study.

“That would set her back up for sure,” said Harry, obviously relishing the thought. “Imagine Aunt Julia with a live head like that!”

“Harry Penhope,” Louisa said, suppressing her own laughter with some difficulty, “What a horrid thing to say!”

“Undoubtedly so,” averred his lordship, those jet eyes twinkling. “But from what little I have observed of Aunt Julia, also undoubtedly true.”

To this Louisa could not but nod agreement. Fortunately for her peace of mind, since she really did not like to laugh at her relatives, Betsy said eagerly, “Tell us about the ghost, sir. Please, do.”

His lordship stopped and pointed. “Over there,” he said, “along that wall was a row of cells where the monks lived.”

“Yes, yes,” said Harry. “But the ghost,

sir.”

“Patience, boy,” said his lordship in a voice that caused his young worshiper to quiver visibly.

“A great many monks lived here. Devout, holy men, most of them. But one, one was evil. And he wanted what no monk should have - a wife.”

Louisa, looking up in surprise, realized that the tale was being slightly altered for the benefit of childish ears.

“Now there was a girl in the village that the monk wanted. Madeleine was her name. But this girl would have nothing to do with him. She loved a young man named George.

“The monk, thinking that she would eventually forget George, if he were out of sight, killed him.”

  Louisa bit back a gasp. Such tales were not for childish ears. She was about to tell his lordship so when something in his dark eyes made her hold her tongue.

“Of course, this all happened long long ago. Such wicked things don’t happen now.”

“But the girl,” Betsy asked eagerly. “What happened to her?”

“She died of a broken heart,” said his lordship seriously. “And her ghost kept haunting the abbey until it drove the wicked monk to his death.”

“Oooooh!” Betsy shivered in delicious horror. “What a great story that is.”

Harry nodded, his eyes wide. “I bet you can see her here at night, with long white robes flowing out behind her.”

“And the moonlight shining right through her,” added Betsy, screwing up her freckled nose as though she were imagining the sight.

Louisa turned dismayed eyes toward Atherton. What was he thinking of - telling such horrid stories to  impressionable children. Her eyes must have reflected her distress for his lordship’s hold on her elbow tightened perceptibly.

“I’m dreadfully sorry to disappoint you,” said he. “But once the wicked monk had gone to his just deserts, the ghost of the lovely lady was laid to rest. There was no longer any need for her to roam.”

“Yes, I see.” Betsy nodded in agreement.

Louisa was still perturbed. What right had Atherton to tell the children such tales? But then all such thoughts were driven from her mind. For Betsy, looking his lordship up and down, wrinkled her freckled nose again, and announced dramatically. “You know,
you
look like someone in a book.”

“Betsy!” Louisa felt that the whole afternoon had taken on a strange unreal quality. Yet surely no one could
imagine
such a peculiar afternoon. “What a thing to say.”

“But he does, Louisa. He really does. He looks just like a hero.”

Louisa, her eyes swinging around to regard his lordship, bit back an exclamation. Childish though Betsy’s statement was, it held a great deal of truth.

The Viscount’s dark piercing eyes, for instance. They looked like they could bore right into one. And his narrow mouth in that stubborn jaw, certainly that reflected an excess of firmness. His haughty nose and his high cheekbones, his lean well-muscled body, even his dark unruly hair - all could have belonged to a hero in a romance. Did indeed, Louisa realized quite suddenly, belong to
her
hero, Reginald Haversham!

  For a long moment she felt her heart flutter in her throat and then common sense came to her rescue. It was probably for this reason that Atherton’s appearance had so unsettled her. One simply did not expect to meet a figment of one’s imagination suddenly become real and speaking to one!

“I assure you. Miss Penhope ...” Atherton’s deep voice recalled her to the present situation. “I do not at all take umbrage at being called a hero.” Those black eyes surveyed her gravely but she caught the twinkle in their depths. “Indeed,” he added with a dry chuckle. “I have been called much worse.”

Louisa could not help returning his smile.

“Do you know any more stories, sir?” asked Harry eagerly. “I do so love a good story.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” his lordship said, shaking his head. “But that was my one and only story.”

“That’s too bad,” said Betsy. “But you mustn’t feel too off, sir. Louisa knows bushels of stories. Some really bang-up ones. So if you ever need to know some more...”

His lordship smiled appreciatively. “I shall go directly to Miss Penhope. You may be sure of it.”

Louisa felt confusion covering her again. “They are only simple tales for children,” she said. “Something to while away the time.”

  “Now Louisa,” said Betsy firmly. “Don’t go slighting yourself. You tell really good stories. Though they’re not as good as those that Winky reads sometimes. From the lending library.”

Vaguely Louisa could remember Winky’s request for two guineas for what she called an “ordinary” subscription to the lending library. Louisa had parted with the guineas only after being assured that the children would read only such books as would lend themselves to “enlarging the mind.” Such “enlargement” as Betsy seemed to have achieved, she told herself grimly, was not at all what she had had in mind.

Winky must be spoken to seriously - as soon as possible. Such books were all right for readers of more mature years, but it would not do to fill Betsy’s head with darkly handsome heroes. Not when Louisa wanted her to make a good marriage.