Nina Coombs Pykare (8 page)

Lady Carolyn was in a perilous position, judged Jennifer. Any sensible chaperone should have immediately removed her from the house and the vicinity of three preda-tory males, each of whom quite probably had cast greedy eyes on the young woman’s wealth.

But Mrs. Parsons evidently had no sense of imminent danger and bustled about her unloading until the color of her face ex-ceeded that of her gown.

“Milord,” cooed Mrs. Parthemer as Lord Proctor swung down from the saddle. “So delighted you could come.”

“I, too, am delighted,” said that gentle-  man, his eyes searching out those of Lady Carolyn. She colored up at his smile and turned away, ostensibly to admire the great oaken door.

“The dressing-bell will give you plenty of warning for dinner,” said Mrs. Parthemer. “Until then perhaps you would like to settle in. Lord Proctor, I have given you the Yellow Room. My nephew, Ingleton, will show you the way.”

Lord Proctor nodded, but his eyes never left Lady Carolyn. “It will not take me long to settle in. Perhaps, Lady Carolyn, you would be so kind as to join me in a walk in the garden before dinner.”

Lady Carolyn turned and nodded, but seemed unable to speak. Ingleton frowned and then seemed to think better of it.

“Now that all this is decided upon, I shall have to go lie upon my bed,” sighed Mrs. Parthemer. “The strain is too much for my delicate constitution.”

  “Of course, of course,” chattered Mrs. Parsons. “You’re such a fragile little thing. A mere nothing. You just go and rest your-self. There’s not a thing to worry about.”

Mrs. Parthemer did not feel particularly happy at this overflow of cordiality, but she only sighed again, and leaning heavily on Gibbons’s arm disappeared from the room.

Jennifer, intending to slip quietly up the stairs to the nursery, found her way blocked by Monsieur Dupin. Since Mrs. Parsons and Lady Carolyn had trailed off in the wake of Mrs. Parthemer, and since they had been followed by a very attentive Lord Proctor and Ingleton, Jennifer felt a strange sense of dread.

She began to move around him, but Monsieur Dupin effectively blocked her. “Mademoiselle, you must not be frightened of me.”

“I’m not.” But Jennifer knew it was a lie. And even worse, she knew that the Frenchman knew it. He smiled sardon-ically. “Mademoiselle is frightened of what she does not understand.”

Jennifer made no reply to this, conscious that she understood him only too well, but afraid to intimate as much.

“I wish you to come with me to the Red Room so I can explain the working.”

  Jennifer wished very much to evade the man, but she could see no way. Because of his influence with
Mrs. Parthemer she could not afford to antagonize him. “Very well, but then I must attend to the lessons.”

Monsieur Dupin nodded and took her elbow to guide her. It was with the greatest difficulty that Jennifer refrained from jerking away. Even through the sleeve of her dress the man’s touch burned her arm.

The Red Room was now in better order. The tubs had been prepared, each had its lid on. From holes in the lids protruded iron rods and to iron rings in the center were tied lengths of rope.

“Some will grasp the rods,” said Mon-sieur Dupin. “And others the ropes. The fluid travels through the rods and the ropes - and through the people.” He touched her hand and again she had to fight to hide her aversion. “The fluid now travels from me to you.” His eyes probed hers and Jennifer felt herself being drawn into a darkness. The feeling was terrifying and she jerked her eyes away.

Monsieur Dupin did not take offense. “At this moment you feel the fear. Tonight when you see how much they benefit - these others - then you will recognize my power to help you.”

“I have no ailments,” said Jennifer with false cheerfulness. “I am healthy as a horse.”

“Perhaps no ailments of the body. But of the heart - that is a different story.”

Jennifer knew the man’s eyes were on her and somehow she kept from coloring up. She even managed a small laugh. “Monsieur is mistaken. My heart is quite intact.”

The Frenchman did not contradict her, but his eyes showed plainly that he did not believe her words. “Mademoiselle has not yet the trust for me. When that comes, she will see that there is much I can do for her. The shame is great that one of such refinement and beauty should be reduced to taking care of
enfants,
should be deprived of her rightful station in life.”

“I am quite content in my position,” said Jennifer calmly, knowing as she did so that she had lied yet again. She
had
been more or less content with it until recently, until she had met and talked to a certain viscount. Quickly she banished such thoughts from her mind, almost as though she feared Dupin might be able to read them.

The Frenchman inclined his head. “I bow to Mademoiselle’s wishes. But she should know - the truth cannot be hidden. Not from a man such as I.”

  Jennifer did not quite know how to respond to this and so she said nothing, merely turning away with a smile and hurrying off to the nursery.

The children were eager and ready to go on their outing. They laughed happily as they made their way toward the stables. The sky was a beautiful deep blue with only the merest wisp of a cloud here or there.

The pony whinnied at their approach and Jennifer was pleased to see that each child hastened to pet her. And this time Mortimer did not feel impelled to go under her belly or put himself in danger from her hooves.

Jennifer congratulated herself. Mortimer had come round too. After his spirited defense of her to Haverford, he had been like another child altogether. Of course, that had not been very long ago, but somehow she felt that the change in the boy would be permanent. In the nursery, at least, things would run with relative smoothness.

She realized that Mortimer’s change was due, in some part at least, to his meeting with the Viscount Haverford and the opening of his eyes to the true meaning of being a gentleman. She owed the Viscount a great deal, she thought, not only for his stopping the runaway but for being such an excellent example for Mortimer to observe.

  It would certainly be nice, she mused as the pony cart, now safely loaded, moved off down the road, if they should happen into the Viscount this afternoon. It was very good for Mortimer to observe a gentleman in action. Actions always spoke louder than words. And no better model of good could be offered to Mortimer than the big blond man.

“Can we go to the sea today?” asked Cassie as the pony trotted smoothly along.

Jennifer considered. Several hours yet remained till the dressing-bell would summon her for a dinner she much dreaded. Why not take a quick drive to the shore? The children would benefit and so would she. The fresh air and sunshine felt so good after the musty chill of the house. Gothic ruins might be very picturesque, but they were not particularly healthy to live in.

“Yes,” she said. “I believe we have time to visit the sea.” A chorus of childish exclamations of joy could be heard. “But we must return in good time,” she warned. “And you must be careful not to get wet.”

  “Oh, we will. We’ll be very careful,” chorused the girls. Jennifer smiled briefly, remembering how as a barefoot child she had played tag with the waves. Later perhaps, when she had made provision for dry clothes, she would encourage the children in such things, but for today they would behave demurely.

“We shall pick up some shells for further study,” she added in her most governess-like tone. “And tomorrow during lessons we shall learn about the tide.”

By this time they had reached the crossroad and taken the left-turning path. The path - for it could no longer qualify as a road - grew narrower and rockier and finally they reached the edge of a cliff. Jennifer pulled the pony to a halt and fastened her reins securely to a tree some distance back. Then she marshalled her charges and approached the path.

At first glance it appeared quite steep and Jennifer hesitated. But the children were not about to be done out of their fun. Mortimer instantly began the precarious descent and in moments he stood at the bottom grinning up at them. This was too much for the girls and with mingled squeals and groans they, too, made their way down. There was nothing for Jennifer to do but follow and she did so as quickly as possible.

  The narrow beach was strewn with drift-wood and shells and the children gazed around as though turned loose in a treasure palace. They darted this way and that, squealing at each new find. When finally they grew tired, they came to sit beside her in the sand and examine their trove.

The sea was a deep deep green and extremely peaceful. Jennifer, looking out over it, wished that there were some way she could obtain such peace. For she realized that all the work of the past five years had been destroyed. All the serenity and acceptance of her reduced lot in life that she had striven so hard to acquire had quite vanished, driven out of her head by Haverford’s smiling face.

Without realizing it, she turned to survey the beach. It was not until the pang of disappointment hit her that she realized what she had been looking for - a tall blond figure on a black horse.

This was stupidity, Jennifer told herself, sheer stupidity. There was no sense in torturing herself over the Viscount, a man now far beyond her reach. And still she continued to gaze out at the sea.

Finally she turned to the children. “We must gather up our things now. We still have to reclimb the path.”

“How shall we carry our things?” asked Cassie in dismay. “I want to take these home.”

“Me too,” cried Cammie.

  Jennifer removed her bonnet, which fortunately had a very deep crown. “We will put your treasures in here and I will carry them.”

“But your nose...” cried Cassie in alarm, “it will freckle.”

Jennifer smiled wryly. “There is no need, Cassie dear, to be concerned about
my
complexion. It is you girls that are to be the ladies, not I.”

The treasures were soon deposited and the trek back up the path began. Mortimer achieved the top first and Jennifer, laden as she was with the bonnet, felt a moment’s apprehension. But Mortimer stayed right at the edge of the cliff and assisted his sisters on the last part of their journey.

It was a hot and disheveled young woman who finally finished the ascent, but the contented happy faces of the children were sufficient payment for her exertion.

“I shall give you girls the bonnet to hold,” she said as they climbed into the pony cart. “I shall have to get the sand out before I wear it again.”

Mortimer was already in his place and Jennifer untied the pony and turned the cart homeward. A curious empty feeling somewhere inside her spoke of disappoint-ment, but she refused to recognize it. The outing had been a complete success, she told herself firmly.

They had reached the crossroad and turned back toward Seven Elms when the clatter of hooves announced that someone was catching up to them.

“Miss Whitcomb,” said Lord Haverford as he reined in his stallion beside her.

“Milord,” acknowledged Jennifer, recalling miserably that she was wearing no bonnet, her gown was spotted with sand, and quite probably her nose was red as a beet.

“I see you have been to the seashore,” the Viscount observed. “Did you find it entertaining?”

“Quite so, Milord.
We collected a quantity of treasures, and, having lacked the foresight to bring a basket, are forced to carry them home in my bonnet.”

“You are quite becoming without it,” commented his lordship with a cheerful smile. “But you will get freckles on your

nose.”

Jennifer could not help chuckling. “Yes, so my charges told me. But there seemed no other course of action.”

  “And so you sacrifice your nose to the treasures of the sea.” He turned and addressed himself to the children. “I hope you realize how much Miss Whitcomb does for you. It is not every governess who would allow her bonnet to be used as a basket.”

“Oh, we know, Sir,” said Cassie. “Miss Jennifer is the best governess we ever had.”

“Yes,” averred Mortimer. “She teaches us everything. Tomorrow we’ll learn about the tides.”

Jennifer flushed. For some reason the children’s praise made her uncomfortable. And the way the Viscount’s warm eyes rested on her was even more disconcerting. She pushed ineffectually at the wisps of hair that had escaped their knot.

“You should let your hair hang free,” said his lordship with that air of authority that went so naturally with his title.

“Governesses do not behave in such a fashion,” replied Jennifer. “We are not young ladies just come out, you know.”

The Viscount laughed, a warm vibrant laugh that seemed to reach her very heart and squeeze it. “Neither are you a decrepit old spinster,” said he. “I fail to see how the way you wear your hair can have any effect on your abilities as governess.”

  Jennifer knew there must be a good reply to this, but while she was casting about in her mind for one, little Cammie cast the Viscount a shy look from her sparkling brown eyes and said, “It’s real long, Sir. And it shines - like sunlight!”

Jennifer felt the color rising to her cheeks and was powerless to stop it. The Viscount did not seem to notice. “Yes, Miss. It does,” he agreed. “Very like sunshine.”

Jennifer did not know what to do. She found this personal discussion of herself very painful. Assuredly the Viscount did not mean to be so free with her. For certainly he must know that she could never be a suitable connection for.... And then a cold hand of dismay seemed to tighten around her heart.

Of course the Viscount did not see her as a suitable connection. But life in the country was rather dull at times. And probably most of the village girls had already succumbed to his lordship’s very obvious charms. So now he needed a fresh conquest. And he had chosen her!

  Unconsciously she stiffened her back-bone. It was quite true that in another situation she could have formed a par-tiality for the Viscount. But she had decided never, no matter what the temptation, to jeopardize her future by surrendering outside of marriage to a man. Aware that her chances of marriage - dowerless as she was - were very slight, she was probably dooming herself to a lifetime without love. But the kind of love offered a governess by an aristocrat was quite apt to be of shallow depth and short duration. Better to keep her good name, she had always told herself.