Laura Matthews (12 page)

Unfortunately, without the curricle, Edward was spending a great deal of time on the premises. His treatment of the captain’s horse had left that poor beast in no fit shape to ride for several days and Vanessa refused him permission to ride any of her horses until he learned to treat the animals with some respect. This move on her part was actually thwarting Alvescot’s plan to search Edward’s room, and he was unhappily considering the desperate measure of offering the young man one of his horses as he snuffed his candle and climbed into bed.

In the darkness, however, he found that his thoughts drifted to his hostess rather than to schemes for ending Edward’s blackmail. His original annoyance with Vanessa had long since passed, replaced at first by a kind of sympathy for her plight and more recently by some more ephemeral emotion. It had nothing whatsoever to do with his feelings of guilt for not having come to her assistance more quickly than he had. Alvescot didn’t waste emotion on things that could not be changed, except perhaps in the case of Maria.

And he realized, almost with surprise, that he hadn’t thought of her in days, save that once on his arrival. Well, it was about time he came to terms with that loss, he congratulated himself. Her death could have been no more final than her marriage. But there had been those two years when some sort of hope had seemed to remain, more wishful thinking perhaps than anything with a solid foundation. She might have convinced her parents to change their minds; no unexceptionable suitors might have come along. Both highly unlikely, but they had served as the basis of his hopes for a long time.

The night was warm and Alvescot had left the window open slightly. A sultry breeze wafted the curtains but there was no moon and the darkness without was as deep as within. The earl was once again contemplating the smallness of his room, his eyes grown accustomed to the dark, when he was severely startled to hear the handle of his door turn. His first thought was that the intruder would be Edward on some nefarious mission which included the stealing of a few crowns from the pockets of his breeches, or in search of some incriminating evidence with which he could blackmail the earl. Alvescot would immediately have sprung from his bed to confront the young man, but he was sleeping in the buff and it did not appeal to his sense of dignity to be caught at such a disadvantage. So he lay still watching the door inch open.

A head was thrust through the opening and a soft voice called, “William?”

Alvescot was too surprised to answer.

The door was pushed a little wider and Louisa slipped into the room. She had on nothing—no nightdress, no wrapper, not even a pair of slippers, but she carried a wavering candle. Stunned, Alvescot lay blinking at the vision of white nakedness.

“William?” she called again, slightly louder.

Finally recovering himself somewhat, Alvescot said in a strangled voice, “This isn’t William’s room.”

“Oh.” The single syllable oozed disappointment. “Do you know where his room
is?”

It was a well-known fact at Cutsdean that Louisa had a difficult time finding her way around the rambling old structure. Mabel had once complained that Louisa wouldn’t be able to find the staircase if she weren’t within sight of it. Neither mother nor daughter admitted to the latter’s short-sightedness, but that was only part of the problem. Louisa had absolutely no sense of direction.

“Yes,” Alvescot said shortly, “I know where his room is, but you aren’t going there, Louisa. You are going back to your own room and you’re going to stay there.” He felt trapped in his bed, but he thought it his gentlemanly duty to clothe her in something, anything, and he pulled out the sheet which covered him and wrapped it about himself before climbing awkwardly out of bed. He was reaching for his dressing gown when he realized that there might be a certain amount of explaining to do in the morning if it was found by Mabel, or even one of the maids, in Louisa’s bedroom.

Instead, he picked up one of the blankets he had kicked off the bed and approached her with it, trying not to let his eyes wander to the naked body which Louisa was making no attempt to cover.

“Here,” he said, draping the blanket around her shoulders. “You can’t walk about the halls naked, Louisa. Someone might see you.”

Her long hair, ordinarily so youthfully displayed about her face, was pulled back severely into one long braid. The style was surprisingly appropriate to her, making the wide eyes appear more serious and less vacant. But her eyes were filled with tears now and she clutched the blanket tightly about her shivering frame. “I must go to William’s room,” she insisted.

“Is he expecting you?”

The coolness of Alvescot’s tone did not penetrate her preoccupation. “Oh, no, but I think he would be glad to see me, don’t you? He’s so terribly hurt by my avoiding him all the time. I don’t do it on purpose, you know. Mama won’t let me so much as say a word to him without dragging me away.”

“Yes, well, you can’t go to his room, Louisa. It wouldn’t be proper.” The earl found it unnecessary to add anything about her nakedness.

A gleam appeared in her eyes, which if Alvescot hadn’t known better, he would have called sly. She smiled and said, “Yes, I know it would be improper. In fact, it would be . . . compromising, wouldn’t it?”

Something clicked in his mind. That second evening the ladies had been discussing neighborhood gossip when he entered the Saloon after dinner, something to do with compromising positions and the supposition of intimacy between two people. He regarded Louisa with wonder. “You intend to trap William into marrying you?”

“Well,” she said, defensive now, “I really think he would like to marry me, you know. He’s very unhappy without my attention. Everyone can see that. Mama is hoping that he will go away, but I don’t want him to.” A tear splashed onto her cheek. “I . . . I'm very fond of him.”

“I see. Still, Louisa, I think it would be better to give him an opportunity to offer for you in the ordinary way. He might resent being
forced
to marry you, even if he really wants to.”

“But he’s had twelve years!” she wailed.

Alarmed by the piercing nature of her cry, Alvescot had visions of being descended upon by some member of the household or staff, who would not think it at all amusing to find Louisa wrapped in only a blanket standing in his room. He said soothingly, “There, there. He’ll come about. Perhaps I could have a word with him. Nothing blatant, of course! Just say a little something that would point him in the right direction.”

“Mama has tried everything,” Louisa said stubbornly. She tugged more firmly at the blanket but only managed to accidentally uncover one small, heaving breast.

Alvescot quickly twitched the blanket back into place and turned her toward the door. “Let me have a crack at it. Man to man, you know.” He put a great deal of confidence into his tone.
“Can
you find the way to your room?”

“I suppose so,” she said doubtfully, squinting out into the hall as he opened the door.

It would be too much, Alvescot decided, to be discovered in the hall with her, he wrapped in a sheet and she in a blanket. But there was really no alternative. If he let her leave on her own, she might end up anywhere. She might even decide to have another go at finding William’s room.

An exasperated sigh escaped him. Really, Cutsdean was more like a madhouse than a placid country home. It would be in his best interest, he felt sure, to pack his valise in the morning and disappear, never to return again. When he thought of all the complications staying meant . . .

“I’ll take you there,” he murmured, closing the door behind him.

Every step of the way he listened for the sound of other footsteps or voices. When Louisa started to say something, he hushed her rather brusquely. At her door he whispered, “Go in and take off the blanket. I’ll carry it back with me so there won’t be any question in the morning.”

Really, she has no conception of modesty, Alvescot mused in amazement as Louisa took him literally at his word. Without closing the door behind her she allowed the blanket to drop at her feet before picking it up and handing it to him. “I’d be very grateful if you could convince William to marry me,” she said, once again standing there without a rag on her body. “He needs someone to look after him, you know.”

He isn’t the only one, Alvescot mentally amended as he took his leave. Before he had gotten many feet up the corridor he considered going back to warn her not to mention the episode to anyone, but thought better of the idea. Even Louisa wasn’t likely to be that naive, and she would probably only open the door again to him in all her pale nakedness. Dear God, talk about your child of nature!

Disgruntled, Alvescot managed to reach his room without further mishap, but it was some time before he was able to fall asleep. Incredible as it may seem, the question his mind continued to debate for some time was whether a woman of such naiveté would ultimately make a better lover than a woman with a highly developed sense of social and religious values.

On the one hand, there was that total natural response in Louisa (look at her astonishing performance on the pianoforte!) while on the other there was the restrained self-confidence of Vanessa Damery. Though Alvescot reproached himself for thinking of his hostess in such a light, he found himself altogether incapable, at that particular moment, of doing otherwise. He told himself, repeatedly, that it was an academic question, having nothing personal to do with either of the women. And since his own experience had been only with assorted mistresses, whose profession it was to please a man, it was a subject which suddenly fascinated him—from a theoretical point of view. And a thoroughly more interesting study than that of the estate books which awaited him in the morning.

* * * *

The next day he rose later than usual and found himself alone in the Breakfast Parlor, much to his relief, actually. He had an opportunity to eat a leisurely meal before he set himself down to the accounts. And when, an hour before luncheon, he felt he had enough questions to justify an interview with his hostess, he sought her direction from one of the footmen.

“She’s in the Morning Room, milord,” he was informed.

“Then I shall join her there,” Alvescot remarked, remembering that he hadn’t as yet set foot in that particular room since his arrival.

The footman’s face grew concerned. “Begging your pardon, milord, but no one is allowed to join Mrs. Damery there without her specific permission, and she only gives that to the children. But I can take a message to her and have her join you in the Saloon or the Mirror Room.”

For some reason this annoyed Alvescot. Certainly it was sensible of her to have some place where she could not be interrupted by her bothersome guests, but he didn’t like the idea of being excluded himself. It was on the tip of his tongue to say that she would make an exception for him, and to simply barge in on her. His good breeding was not what stopped him; it was the thought of her reaction. He had no difficulty envisioning her look of surprise and annoyance, her carefully controlled voice saying, “Did you wish to see me, Lord Alvescot? If you will wait in the Saloon I will join you shortly.” And what could he do but obey her? Alvescot hadn’t the least desire to make a fool of himself again.

“Never mind,” he told the footman. “I’ll speak with her at luncheon.”

Disappointed, he wandered out onto the East Terrace, slowly walking to the southernmost end of it, where two windows from the Morning Room overlooked the flagstoned surface and the shrubbery beyond. The green velvet curtains were partially drawn against the morning sun and except for the broad bands of light which pierced the room, it wasn’t possible for him to see into its depths without coming a great deal closer than a casual stroller was likely to do. He stood for some time at the stone railing near one of the windows, hoping to hear some murmur from the room. It was not from within that voices reached him, however, but from the shrubbery to his left.

“Come now, my sweet lady,” Edward’s voice said persuasively. “How am I to prove that I can care for an animal if you won’t let me ride one?”

Vanessa answered after a short pause. “Edward, you’ve wrecked the curricle and damaged the captain’s horse all within the space of a few days. I cannot, with a clear conscience, allow you to mistreat my animals any further. If you wish to prove your good intentions, go and help them in the stables. Put poultices on the captain’s horse; groom some of the animals; help with the feeding. Do anything, but don’t expect me to believe in your change of heart. How many times have you promised me you wouldn’t race the horses, or drive them beyond endurance? I have only to be out of sight for you to forget your glib words, and you don’t seem to understand that I don’t have to
see
you mistreating them to know on your return that you’ve done it.”

“For God’s sake, Vanessa, horses like to run! I’ve never had one drop dead under me.”

Alvescot could hear her sigh. “In time you will,” she retorted. “And I don’t want it to be one of mine.”

“You know I can’t afford one of my own.”

“If you stopped spending all your time and money in Basingstoke, you could save up for one, Edward.”

There was a distinct change in his tone when he spoke. Alvescot had moved from the end of the terrace to a spot closer to the shrubbery, but he couldn’t see the two of them, owing to a bend in the walk. Still, he felt sure exactly what sort of expression Edward wore and it made him grit his teeth.

“My lovely Vanessa, I wouldn’t spend so much time in Basingstoke if you would give me the least sign of encouragement.” His voice was soft, insinuating. “You know I want to spend every minute,
every minute,
of the day and night with you, but, alas, you offer no hope. Do I detect the tiniest evidence of jealousy in your annoyance with the time I spend in Basingstoke? You have but to say the word, my angel, and I will never set foot in the stupid town again.”

“Go there as often as you like, Edward,” she returned, “but not on my horses.”

Her voice had abruptly become louder, and Alvescot decided this was not caused by her raising it, but because she had turned toward the house. He quickly retraced his footsteps to the door of the Saloon, hesitating for a moment to hear if Edward replied. All he heard was the slight whisper of shoes on the gravel walk before Vanessa came in sight, swiftly negotiating the stairs to the terrace with her long skirts held up to avoid tripping on them. He noted that she had remarkably well-turned ankles.