Midnight at Mallyncourt (9 page)

The future was promising, and if one certain element seemed to be missing, I could do very well without it. Romance might seem all important to some, but I knew better. I no longer dreamed of a dashing, handsome cavalry officer on a fine white steed who would sweep me up into his arms and carry me off into a misty never-never land of high passion and eternal devotion. I had known too many men, and I was far too levelheaded. Love was a luxury for pampered young girls who didn't have to worry about making a living. If I still sometimes felt these vague, disturbing yearnings, like I did at the moment, I could accept them for what they were. It was only natural for one to feel this subtle, elusive discontent, and it had nothing to do with love. I certainly wasn't in love with Edward Baker. I loathed the man. I was pensive, true, but not because of him.

The sound of footsteps brought me out of my revery. I sat up, tense. Someone was coming down the gallery, no, more than one person. There were at least two sets of footsteps. I heard voices now. They seemed far away, muted, growing more audible as the speakers drew nearer the recess. Should I step out? Should I make my presence known? I hesitated, not knowing what to do, and then it was too late.

“—those diamonds and that gown rather too grand?”

“I thought they would be appropriate, darling. After all, I wouldn't want Edward's little sparrow to outshine me.”

“She isn't a sparrow, Vanessa. Far from it.”

“Oh? You've seen her?”

“I've seen her.” Lyman's voice was rough, disgruntled.

“And she's beautiful?”

“You might say that, yes. Striking.”

“Most unlike you to notice a woman, darling. Usually you're much too boorish and preoccupied to know whether she's fat, thin, short or tall. I wonder about that, luv.”

“What do you mean?” he growled.

“Why you noticed this particular woman. You never notice
me
, pet. I have to resort to all sorts of wiles to make you even acknowledge my presence.”

“Does my indifference disturb you?”

“Not in the least,” she said gaily. “I have my little consolations.”

“Yeah,” he grunted.

“It would be rather
nice
, though, to have you notice me now and then, pet. You're still a fascinating virile creature—quite appetizing. I frequently find you irresistible—like tonight.”

“Forget it, Vanessa,” he said harshly.

“We used to have—”

“What we used to have has been dead for years.”

“I know. It's sad.”

“Sad? You've hardly been consumed with grief.”

She laughed. It was a bright, tinkling, silvery laugh, enchanting, yet there was nevertheless a certain sharpness to the sound, an undercurrent of bitterness. Holding my breath, I saw their shadows on the floor in front of the recess, and, a moment later, they came into view, stopping a few yards away from where I sat. Her back was to me, and Lyman was facing me. I prayed he wouldn't look over her shoulder and see me.

“It's been a long time, Lyman,” she said. Her voice was husky, a rich, seductive voice. “It's quite a blow to my vanity, luv. You haven't slept with me since—”

“Since I found you with—Reggie, wasn't it? Or was it Clive? It's difficult to keep track of them all.”

“I have the same problem,” she said lightly.

Lyman scowled. He was wearing an ill-fitting pale blue broadcloth suit and an embroidered black waistcoat, managing to look unkempt even in this attire. His tall black boots needed shining, and his mustard yellow ascot was already rumpled. He was, nevertheless, a splendid male animal. Vanessa laughed again. Sculptured ebony waves were stacked elegantly on the back of her head. Her blue velvet gown was cut very low in back, leaving an expanse of naked ivory flesh, and her wide blue velvet skirts fell to the floor in puffed scallops caught up with black velvet bows. Her waist was small, surely no more than twenty inches. Even with this partial view, I could tell that she must be breathtaking, a creature of remarkable beauty and glamor.

“You look disturbed, pet. Don't tell me it still bothers you?”

“It did, once. Now I'm totally immune.”

“I wonder—” she said provocatively.

“Save it for someone else, Vanessa.”

“You could have given me a divorce years ago, darling, but no, that would have alienated your dear uncle—a Mallyn divorced? Un
think
able. Immorality didn't bother him, but divorce—it's simply not
done
.”

“After he dies, after I inherit—”

“Then you'll be a very wealthy man, pet. I wouldn't
want
a divorce. Besides, we must think of Lettice.”

“You couldn't care less what happens to her.”

“That's putting it rather strongly, don't you think? Let's just say I'm not a devoted mother. I'm far too young, far too selfish.”

His face impassive, Lyman looked over her shoulder. He saw me. For perhaps half a minute his dark, smoldering eyes held mine, and then he looked away, his face as hard and impassive as ever.

“We'd better get down to the drawing room,” he said gruffly.

Vanessa sighed, lifting one slim white hand to pat the ebony waves at the back of her head. “I suppose we had,” she said. “Really, Lyman, you do bring out the worst in me. I don't know what brought all this on. I suppose I pitied you. You looked so lonely, so moody. I suppose I thought you might appreciate a little wifely—”

“Come along, Vanessa.”

Lyman started toward the wide staircase, and, after a moment or so, Vanessa followed him. I could hear the sound of their footsteps echoing up the stairwell, and then there was silence. My cheeks were burning. I felt thoroughly humiliated to have been caught in such an awkward position. Lyman hadn't seemed surprised to see me sitting here. He had shown no emotion whatsoever. He must despise me. He must think I was deliberately eavesdropping. Wretched, my cheeks still flushed, I stepped out of the recess and moved slowly toward the staircase, wondering how I could possibly face him again tonight.

More footsteps rang up the stairwell. Edward stepped into the gallery, looking rather worried.

“There you are. I thought perhaps you'd lost your way.”

“No—I—”

“What's wrong? You seem upset.”

“N-nothing. I'm perfectly all right.”

“The old man fluster you? Is that what it is?”

“Yes—” I lied.

“Don't worry about it. He does it deliberately. How did it go?”

I managed to compose myself. “I think he likes me,” I said.

“Indeed?”

“He wants me to play cards with him.”

“Splendid,” Edward said, visibly pleased. “That's a good sign.”

“I—I really don't feel like eating anything,” I said. “I'd like to go back to my room.”

“Nonsense. The others are waiting.”

Taking my elbow in a firm grip, he led me down the staircase. Faded, patched tapestries hung on the cold stone walls, flapping slightly in the currents of air that swirled up the well. It was extremely chilly, the air like ice water, and I shivered. Passing down the long hall immediately beneath the gallery, we turned through a doorway, moved down another hall and stepped into the drawing room near the front of the house. The walls were covered with bright mulberry silk, and there was much dark, polished woodwork. A fire burned in the gray marble fireplace, crackling briskly, and candles burned in the elaborate brass chandelier.

Lyman was slumped on a long gray velvet sofa. He stared into the fire with a sullen expression, making no effort to rise as we entered. A plump, nervous-looking middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair stood near the piano, a pale, thin little girl in white organdy beside her. All three of them were merely a backdrop for the radiant creature in dark blue velvet who came forward to greet us, hands extended.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “I've been longing to meet you. You're Jenny! I'm your cousin Vanessa, darling.”

She took my hands. She smiled a dazzling smile. I smiled, too, hating her as strongly as she hated me. Vanessa kissed my cheek and then released my hands, turning to Edward with a delicious pout.

“Cruel of you to keep her from us so long, Edward,” she said, tapping his arm. “You can't imagine the excitement your letter created. It was so
unexpected
, you see. I, for one, was positively delighted.”

“I've no doubt you were,” he said coldly.

“Dear, dear, are you going to sulk, too? These men—” she said, turning back to me. “Impossible to live with! You and Edward must have fallen in love at first
sight
, darling. It happened so quickly. Or has he been keeping you secret for much, much longer?”

“Careful, Vanessa,” Edward warned.

“Whatever do you mean? I was just trying to be friendly with my lovely new cousin.” Her voice sparkled with charming malice. “I can't understand why you're so
touchy
, pet. It isn't as though you have anything to
hide
. Men! I'll never understand them.”

Vanessa Robb was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I couldn't deny that. Tall, slender, elegant, her features were sheer perfection: the shell-pink mouth beautifully molded, the nose classic, the cheekbones high and aristocratic. Her eyes were a deep sapphire blue, lashes long and curling, dark brows perfectly arched. With her creamy complexion and gleaming ebony hair, she was a vision of loveliness. In another woman such beauty might be cool, unapproachable, but Vanessa glowed with a warm animation, and there was a strong seductive allure no man could fail to notice.

“But I'm being a
wretched
hostess,” she exclaimed. “Let me introduce the others. My husband you've already met, I believe. This is our dear little Lettice—say how do you do, dear, curtsy like you've been taught—and this is Miss Partridge. Such an appropriate name! She
is
a dear plump little partridge—we all adore her.”

Flustered, extremely uncomfortable, the governess bobbed a greeting, but Lettice merely glared at me with hostile gray eyes. She had inherited none of her mother's beauty, none of her father's vitality. Much too thin, much too sallow, Lettice was undeniably plain.

“Hello, Lettice,” I said quietly.

She didn't reply. She merely glared, bristling. Openly hostile though she was, there was still something touching about the child, something vulnerable and curiously poignant. Her life couldn't be a very happy one, I thought. She was obviously miserable, lonely, and her belligerence, her stiff, unyielding manner was like a protective shell.

“They won't be dining with us, of course,” Vanessa continued. “They always dine in the nursery, but I wanted to have you meet my dear little girl. She'll play for us.”

“No,” Lettice snapped.

“Chopin, I think, pet. That would be lovely.”

“I won't!”

“She's been taking music lessons for three years now. I do feel girls should be accomplished, particularly when they're not going to be pretty. Lettice is already skilled at a number of things. She can do water colors and sew and—”

“I'm glad I'm not pretty!”

“What an absurd thing to say, pet.”

“I'm glad! And I'm not going to play, either!”

“Really, Lettice, I don't intend to tolerate—”

“Leave the child alone, Vanessa,” Lyman growled.

“Everyone seems to be in league against me,” Vanessa remarked. “Very well, you may go to your room, Lettice. Take her away, Partridge.”

The child marched out of the room with stiff shoulders, the governess scurrying along behind her, more flustered than ever. There was a moment of silence. Vanessa smiled, examining her diamond bracelet. Lyman slumped on the sofa, scowling. Edward was aloof, completely oblivious to the ugly little scene that had just been played. I couldn't believe a woman could be as unfeeling toward her own child as Vanessa had been. She had deliberately humiliated the girl, had seemed to take a perverse satisfaction in doing so.

“I must apologize for my daughter,” she said.

“I quite understand,” I replied.

“Do you, luv?” She knew exactly what I meant.

“Thoroughly,” I said.

We looked at each other. Vanessa smiled.

“She really should be sent away to school,” she remarked. “It would do her a world of good, but Lyman won't hear of it. I can't see why he's so obstinate about it, but, after all, he
is
my lord and master, and I must bow to his will.”

Edward smiled his thin smile. Lyman stared into the fire, his expression unaltered.

“Well, then,” Vanessa said, “I guess you and I should get to know one another, Jenny. We're going to be
such
friends, I feel. Tell me all about yourself. Where did you and Edward meet?”

“She was staying with her aunt in London,” Edward said icily. “I met her at Lady Ashton-Croft's reception.”

“I don't
know
any Randalls. The family must be obscure—”

“I was raised near York,” I said. “My father was a country squire.”

“Oh yes, I believe Edward's letter mentioned something to that effect. It must have been dreary, but you don't
look
like a country mouse. That gown, for example. It might have been designed by Worth. Worth does all my gowns. I delight in buying new clothes, if only to hear Lyman roar when the bills arrive. Dear Uncle James doesn't complain, though, and he's the one who pays. Lyman, of course, is merely his bailiff.”

Her husband completely ignored this sly dig, climbing heavily to his feet, moving over to prod the fire with a poker. He and Edward made quite a contrast, I thought, the one so cool and urbane, the other so rough and volatile. Vanessa continued to chatter, brightly, gaily, hurling subtle barbs now at me, now at Edward, now at Lyman. Her bitchiness was extremely polished, sly, never blatant, an integral part of her vivacious prattle. It was interesting to note that, although she was obviously a fascinator of men, both men in the room loathed her, both looking as though it would have given them great pleasure to throttle her with their bare hands. Knowing this seemed to delight her, spur her on.