Nina Coombs Pykare (22 page)

Jennifer shook her head. She could not do such a thing, not now when she had been hit with the realization that she had waited, yearned, hoped for that kiss every moment she had been in his arms. And even now, while he was attempting to take her guilt upon himself, her heart was yearning for just such a kiss again!

Shame darkened her cheeks. She struggled to remove her hands, but he would not release them. “Concede that the guilt is mine,” he insisted.

She shook her head.

“Come, be reasonable. Look, now I hold your hands. If I drew you into my arms and held you, you would be powerless.”

Jennifer pulled her eyes away from his. Oh God! If only he would! But then sanity returned. She must not - for her own safety - she must not encourage this attitude of his toward her. “All right,” she said softly. “I concede. The blame is all yours.”

For several seconds longer he held her hands and then he released them with a smile. “Good, now that is settled. I do not want you to fret yourself about it.”

Jennifer nodded, remaining silent. Fortunately the butler chose that moment to return with cakes and lemonade and a pot of tea. The Viscount stepped to the win-dow. “Your cakes have arrived,” he called.

A halloo of happy voices answered him and soon they were all happily settled - the children with their lemonade and cakes and Jennifer with a cup of tea. She noted the delicate design of the cup, Wedgwood, no doubt.

Everything in this house, she thought with a pang, reflected its master’s good taste. The woman that he chose as his bride would be one of the most fortunate alive.

  She wrenched her thoughts away from such dangerous channels and glanced at the children. In spite of their obvious joyous mood they were behaving with per-fect decorum. She was proud of them - quite proud.

She wished there were some way to pro-long these moments, for in spite of her embarrassment with the Viscount she felt in his presence a kind of contentment that she knew at no other time. It was - she tried to put words to it. It was - a feeling of having come home. That was it. The feeling of home.

An absurd thing to feel about a man who was obviously only being kind. Indeed, for a rake-shame he was being extremely well-behaved. What other man would have resisted pressing such a palpable advantage?

She had not forgotten how long that kiss had lasted. Nor how unresisted it had been on her part. No. And he was not likely to have forgotten either. Not a man of the world like that - a man who knew women and how to win them. She was really in-debted to him, she realized suddenly, for not following up on his advantage. That had been most kind of him. Too kind, said some perversity within her that wished she could have savored one more kiss before he made his apologies.

  The children finished the last of the cakes and lemonade. “Your cakes are good,” said Cammie with a satisfied smile. “I like it here.”

“Me, too,” said Mortimer, in a man-to-man tone. “It’s a capital place. Capital.”

His lordship nodded a grave thank you, suppressing   the   amusement   Jennifer glimpsed in his eyes.

“I like it, too,” said Cassie, who had been strangely silent during most of the tour. “It has a nice feeling. Like Mortimer said... it’s a happy house.”

His lordship’s eyes lighted up. “Yes, I’ve always been happy here. At present I’m a little lonely.” His eyes met Jennifer’s and moved suddenly away. “But I expect to re-medy that in the future. Yes, it’s a happy house. Full of good memories.”

How
did he mean to remedy his lone-liness, Jennifer wanted to ask, but of course could not. Such an inquiry would be far beyond the bounds of good taste - quite far.

She stirred in her chair and glanced toward the hall where the bonnets and gloves lay on a table. “Well children, I’m afraid we must bring our visit to an end. We must get home before dinner.”

“Can we come back again?” asked Cam-mie with a glance at the plate that had held the cakes.

“Of course you may, Cammie. Any time.”

The Viscount accompanied them outside and handed them up into the pony cart. His hand remained around Jennifer’s for a moment longer as he smiled up at her. “I was most pleased to have you in my house. You must bring the children again. Any time.”

She nodded in acquiescence but something in her heart told her that she would be foolish to invite such torture again. Each sight of him only increased her agony. Far, far better to keep out of his way, to forget him. Far better, thought Jennifer bitterly, but also impossible. She doubted that even the passage of many years would erase from her mind the picture of his face.

“You have been very kind,” she said softly.
“We are most grateful.”

He released her hand then and she clucked to the pony and started off. She could hear the children laughing and shouting goodbye, but she did not turn to wave to him. She could not, not when she could barely keep the tears in check. Leaving him was like leaving a part of herself behind.

She sighed heavily.

“Is something wrong, Miss Jennifer?” asked Cassie, ever alert to the moods of her beloved governess.

“No, no. I am just tired,” Jennifer man-aged to reply. “It has been a long day.” And so they made their way homeward -three laughing, chattering children and a pen-sive young woman who was trying her best to convince herself of the foolishness of certain very evident feelings - trying her best and not at all succeeding.

Chapter Fifteen

Jennifer, having seen to the children’s supper, stood before the cheval glass adjusting the drab brown dress cut down from one of Mama’s. It was not a prim and proper governess with hair pulled back tightly in a knot that she saw in the glass, however, but a beautiful creature in blue silk with a shining golden curl on one shoulder and a sparkle in her eyes. How had she looked to him that night of the ball? Did he really think she was beau-tiful?

A great sigh escaped her unawares. There were so many memories crowded into this day. Her head fairly rang with them and she ached for a chance to be alone, to examine each precious moment in privacy.

But governesses were not supposed to have precious moments nor were they entitled to privacy. And so, with a last pat to her hair, she turned wearily toward the stairs and the table full of people whose conversation she must endure.

  Another sigh rose to her throat. If only she were not forced to also attend Mon-sieur Dupin’s demonstration. But of course she must. Mrs. Parthemer would probably not insist that she accept the mesmerizing Frenchman’s help, but she would want Jennifer to be there.

Monsieur Dupin had not sunk one iota in Mrs. Parthemer’s estimation. In her eyes he appeared still to be the scientific healer -almost savior. A shiver of distaste swept over Jennifer. It seemed almost blasphe-mous to her to consider the Frenchman in such a light, but Mrs. Parthemer obviously felt different.

And so Jennifer suffered through her dinner, some strange compassion com-pelling her to listen with real attentiveness to the chronicle of Mrs. Parsons’s day. Could she herself really support such a life, Jennifer wondered? Or would she fall more and more bitter and cynical, becom-ing eventually a traditional acerbic old maid?

A pair of smiling grey eyes crept wistfully into her mind but they brought no comfort, no comfort at all. For it was the very mem-ory of those eyes and the man to whom they belonged that would darken her future with the remains of dead dreams.

  The little group was strangely quiet as it filed toward the Red Room. Jennifer, watching Ingleton escort Lady Carolyn, realized that he had not spoken of spies to her for several days. He did not, however, appear to be really at ease. There was something frightened about the way he looked at the Frenchman. Jennifer recalled the day Dupin had arrived and the startled white look that had come over Ingleton’s face at some inconsequential remark of the Frenchman.

Her eyes moved on to Lady Carolyn. Whatever Dupin had done -
if
he had -seemed still to be affecting Lady Carolyn who had smiles for Ingleton and frosty stares for Lord Proctor. His lordship, though, must be given credit for a truly persistent nature. For he continued his attentions as though he were the sole recipient of the lady’s favors. The condition of his finances, concluded Jennifer sagely, must be perilous indeed. For even the heartiest love would be prone to wilt under such frosty treatment.

Mr. Parthemer, with Mrs. Parthemer on his arm, moved with the dogged determination of a man prepared to suffer for one he loves. His wife, of course, was all vivacity and flutter. Undoubtedly tomorrow Mrs. Parthemer would find it necessary to take to the big red bed for rest and recup-eration. But this evening she was in her glory - the eminent hostess entertaining her important guests.

With relief Jennifer saw that the
baquets
had regained their former importance and were surrounded by chairs. This time she found herself sharing a
baquet
with Mr. and Mrs. Parthemer, Mrs. Parsons having taken up an adamant stand by the side of her ward. She could not, her stance seemed to say, keep the young gentlemen from sitting beside the lady. But she could be sure that nothing untoward occurred during that sitting.

Jennifer turned back to her tub and helped Mr. Parthemer with the rope, mak-ing sure there were no knots to interfere with the free flow of the “fluid.” With the others she settled into her chair and touched hands. This was much better than watching someone become the pawn of Monsieur Dupin, much better.

She had no fear of Monsieur Dupin’s invisible - and imaginary - fluid. She did, she admitted to herself, fear the strange power of those dark bottomless eyes. They seemed somehow to be able to suck a per-son in, almost into a whirlpool or some equally dangerous place, where only Dupin was master. Such thoughts were best left alone, decided Jennifer. She would not let Dupin master
her.

  The valet, Henri, drew strange eerie sounds from the violin, sounds almost like the cries of some lost soul, damned for-ever. Jennifer refused to shiver. She would not let them get to her.

The tapers flickered fitfully in the dim room. The odor of the heavy masses of flowers seemed to overwhelm her senses. Almost against her will she raised her eyes to one of the strange astrological hangings with which Monsieur Dupin had decorated the walls. The strange figure - half man, half goat - glowed in the dim light.

As Jennifer stared fascinated, she felt a strange numbness creeping over her. A curious kind of lethargy seemed about to overcome her. She wanted to, but it seem-ed that she could not, withdraw her eyes. She seemed to be sinking. Deeper and deeper she sank into a soft downy dark-ness. Her eyelids fluttered against her cheeks.

  A soft moan sounded. With horror Jen-nifer realized that
she
had made the sound. As in a daze she saw herself, a small lonely figure, wandering through a heavy mist across a desolate heath. She was alone, but she knew Dupin was some-where there, hiding in the mist. And he was after her. She could hear herself call-ing. Through the white haze the sound echoed, dim and muted. “Haverford, Haverford,” she was calling. And then she saw him. The mist swirled up around his feet, but he didn’t heed it. He came toward her with great strides; she raised her skirts and flew into his arms. And there she felt secure.

With a start Jennifer jerked her eyes open. She had been in danger of succumb-ing to Monsieur Dupin’s power. And it was the image of Haverford that had saved her again.

Resolutely she kept her eyes on the
baquet.
Nothing supernatural there, just wood and rope and bottles of water. Could it have been her own mind that had be-trayed her into that strange benumbed condition? She could not tell, but she occupied that mind with thoughts of mundane, everyday things - the children’s next geography lesson, the words she would give Cassie and Mortimer for spelling, what they might do in the after-noon. And finally the demonstration was over.

As Jennifer helped Mr. Parthemer un-wind the ropes she wished that there were some way she could rid this house of Mon-sieur Dupin, but she simply could not think of anything that
she
could do.

  The guests filed out silently and Jennifer was quick to follow them. She would not risk being left alone with the Frenchman again. She took her candle and made her way up the dim stairs. She would recog-nize no specters hovering in the shadows tonight. This was
not
the place for them. She would go to her room, prepare for bed, and have a good night’s sleep.

But somehow, before she reached for her nightdress, she had to go to the window and look out toward the pavilion. The moon was just a sliver, the whole lawn and the park beyond it were dark with sha-dows.

For long moments Jennifer stood there unseeing, her thoughts going over the strange scene that had occupied her mind during the evening’s demonstration. Again an image of the Viscount had kept her from succumbing to the Frenchman’s power.

Unconsciously she sighed. The image of Haverford was always in her mind. There was nothing unusual in her summoning it, she supposed. A sudden flicker of light brought her back to the present with a start. Had she really seen a light near the pavilion or had it been her imagination?

She stared intently into the darkness. For long minutes she could see nothing. And then suddenly she saw it again. The merest flicker of light - and it was down near the pavilion!

  The candle in her hand trembled. Could Haverford be down there? She remembered the telltale leaf of ivy that she had removed from his hair the night of the ball. Could the Viscount really be meeting a French spy to pass on information to Napoleon?

Jennifer turned from the window, her chin jutting out stubbornly. She was sick and tired of having her mind filled with suspicions of Haverford. Now she had the opportunity to find out if those suspicions were true and she
would.

She grabbed a dark shawl and draped it over her head. Then, shielding the candle, she crept down the servants’ stairs and out the door. Once and for all she would settle this thing.

Once outside the door she had to stop and wait for her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. A soft breeze touched her cheeks and tugged at the wisps of hair that had escaped the knot. The sweet scent of magnolias hung in the air. It was a night for lovers, thought Jennifer with a wry smile. A night for lovers to walk hand and hand in the romantic darkness. And
she
was going to look for a spy.