Nina Coombs Pykare (21 page)

He was so obviously offended with her that she searched over the events of the past days for some clue to this sudden change in his attitude. But search as she might she could find nothing to account for it. When she’d brought Henrietta down from the parapet and asked his lordship to lock the door, he had not been angry with her. There had been no cause. And at dinner last night he had been his usual self.

So whatever had given rise to his anger had occurred after dinner, last night after dinner—but she had seen no more of him after she left the table.

So what- It must be, she thought with a sudden bristling of her own anger, that Lady Leonore had been talking to his lordship. Telling tales was probably her style. She must have told him some awful lie about his governess. That Lady Leonore should lie about her didn’t particularly surprise Edwina. The lady had made her dislike of the new governess clear to everyone, including Edwina herself. But that his lordship should believe the lie, whatever it was, that was a surprise. That hurt her.

Edwina swallowed a sigh. It hurt that the man she’d supposed to be her friend believed lies about her and hadn’t even given her a chance to deny them. It hurt a lot. To her chagrin, she felt the tears rising to her eyes. She couldn’t let him see her cry. Or the girls either. She blinked rapidly and followed the others into the dining hall.

The next half hour was one of the worst in her life, passing like every minute lasted an hour. She ached to find out what she had done to make him so angry, but with the girls there she dared not ask him. It was like some awful play. He made conversation with the girls, just like he did every morning now, asking after their school work and their plans for the day. He smiled at them and spoke softly.

But he didn’t look at her at all. It was as if she’d suddenly turned invisible. Though, given the rage in his eyes during that brief glance in the foyer, perhaps she was fortunate he didn’t look at her. She chewed toast that tasted like sawdust and eggs that were like cardboard, and tried to wash it all down with tea. This, too, would pass, she told herself. Whatever the cause of his anger, whatever lie Lady Leonore had told him, surely it could be refuted.

Edwina turned her attention to the children. Constance was in her usual bright mood, but she kept looking back and forth between her father and the governess as though she wondered what was going on. When Edwina accidentally intercepted one of those glances, Constance’s green eyes questioned hers. Edwina tried to smile reassuringly. The child was aware that something was wrong, as aware as she was.

Constance sent her a timid little smile and turned to tug at her father’s sleeve. He bent his head so she could whisper in his ear. When he straightened, he turned those angry eyes on Edwina again. She wanted to shrivel in her seat, or maybe disappear altogether, but since that was clearly impossible, she sat up straight and met his gaze.

“Constance reminds me I’m remiss, Miss Pierce,” he said, his voice devoid of any emotion at all. “I have neglected to inquire about your health this morning. So, how is it?”

This was worse than being ignored, this charade of sociability. But she had no recourse but to answer him as best she could. She schooled her voice to reveal no more than his had. “My health is fine, milord. It’s considerate of you to ask.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. So she was going to be ironic with him, this chit but newly come from Crawford’s bed. Perhaps that night in his arms had given her false courage, made her think she’d come up in the world. But he was master in this castle still. And the governess would remember that. He would see that she did. “I trust you slept well,” he said.

She started and her face flushed slightly, but she didn’t reply with words, only a slight shrug. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said so much. She’d know he was on to her. Her and Crawford, and their little game. “Shall I take that for a yes?” he inquired.

She sighed faintly. “Yes, milord. I slept well. Thank you.”

Why that tone of resignation? Crawford might discard women once he tired of them, but while he had them he always managed to please them.

Charles turned back to his plate. He had no taste for food, not at all. His stomach was all upside down, but a man had to eat whether he wanted to or not. “Eat hearty, girls,” he told his daughters. “You’ll need strength for your walk in the woods. There’ll be a lot to see out there. A lot to learn.”

Miss Pierce cast him a strange pleading look. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought it a look of longing. But why should she look at him that way? Certainly the chit didn’t think she could have the both of them!

Charles ate hurriedly, and when the interminable meal finally drew to a close, he excused himself to the girls. Then not trusting himself to stay any longer in Miss Pierce’s presence, he left without saying anything to her. What she’d done last night really rankled. He wasn’t sure he could control himself—and the girls were there. Somehow it enraged him—the wide-eyed governess, staring at him with those wondering eyes. Looking so innocent, when she was anything but.

He wasn’t quite sure why he felt so infuriated with the chit. Maybe it was because he thought she ought to know better. Certainly he couldn’t blame Crawford. Crawford was a woman’s man, in London or elsewhere, always after the ladies, and with success. Yes, Crawford had had many women. He had that kind of charm that made women forget what they should above all else remember. After all, Miss Pierce was no innocent child. She was well over twenty, old enough to know what she wanted, to make her own decisions.

But this was not the right decision for her! He was positive it wasn’t. Why couldn’t she see it? It made him angry that the chit didn’t care, couldn’t see her own best interests. It made him so angry he wanted to grab her and shake some good sense into that pretty head of hers.

But instead he’d controlled himself and finished his meal, heading for the library where he could examine these unusual feelings in privacy. He’d never in his life been so angry with a woman. And he’d never manhandled one. He didn’t want to start now.

He frowned and threw himself into his chair. What had gone wrong here? He’d thought through what he wanted to say to her, spent the hours since he’d seen her pass his door in deep thought—marshaled all the sane and sensible arguments, the words of reasonable warning about Crawford’s propensity to dalliance, and the harm such dalliance could do to a young woman in Miss Pierce’s position.

He thought he had it all figured out. He’d meant to invite her into the library for a little chat, to be calm and cool about the whole thing—a kindly employer giving a friendly warning. Then, when he saw her coming down the stairs, her pretty face aglow, all sanity, all control, deserted him in a flash, leaving nothing but such rage that he couldn’t think straight. And like some bucolic swain he’d snapped out that stupid remark about better company.

He’d been embarrassed then at his behavior. But when she’d flushed and turned away, looking so guilty, his anger had grown even larger. So large that during breakfast he’d hardly trusted himself to say a word. He wouldn’t have either, if Constance hadn’t taken it upon herself to remind him of the duties of politeness.

Still, Miss Pierce should be warned about Crawford and his propensity for women. She’d saved Constance, she was a good governess, an excellent governess. Perhaps a warning wouldn’t be necessary. Perhaps her flushing meant she had understood his displeasure over this affair with Crawford. And would not continue to pursue it.

He leaned back wearily, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to think about Miss Pierce and Crawford. He wanted to think about Catherine. The Catherine he used to share his life with before all this terror had come, leaving him with nothing but trouble and this terrible emptiness inside.

* * * *

In the foyer Edwina turned from adjusting her old straw bonnet in the mirror. Her face looked pale and it was only with great effort that she kept the tears brimming in her eyes from spilling over. It wouldn’t do to let the girls see her embarrassment. They were already disappointed that their father wasn’t going on the walk with them. She didn’t want to make them feel any worse. “Come girls, tie your bonnets and let’s be on our way. The woods are waiting for us. They should be lovely and cool today.”

“Yes, Miss Pierce.” Constance’s cheery smile seemed to indicate that she hadn’t detected anything unusual in her father’s behavior. But Henrietta’s eyes held a coldness that told Edwina she was aware of the earl’s displeasure with the governess. There was no question that she shared it.

Edwina ignored the child’s dark look. Or tried to. In any case, there was little point in calling Henrietta to account on a few looks. The earl’s not coming with them needn’t really change their plans. Though all her excitement for it was destroyed, she meant go on with their excursion into the woods. And try to have a good time there.

She forced a tone of cheerfulness into her voice. “We’ll see you later, Wiggins.”

The old butler gave her a sympathetic smile. He, at least, hadn’t changed his attitude toward her. He didn’t believe her guilty of- What? Exactly what horrible thing did the earl think she’d done?

When they reached the outdoors, and started down the rutted road, Constance’s hand slipped reassuringly into hers. Edwina swallowed over the lump in her throat. The little girl had sensed her father’s displeasure, but she had chosen to ignore it, to believe that the Miss Pierce she loved couldn’t be guilty of anything wrong. Edwina managed to give her a small smile and squeezed the little fingers nestled so trustingly within her own.

“I like the outdoors,” Constance said. “It smells good. And it looks nice. All green and pretty.”

“The sun is too warm,” Henrietta snapped. “It will ruin my complexion. Aunt Leonore says a girl’s complexion must be protected at all costs.”

Of course. Lady Leonore would say such a foolish thing. “Your bonnet will protect your complexion,” Edwina returned calmly. “Besides, we’ll soon be in the woods where the sun cannot reach you. It’ll be cool there. And there will be wildflowers.”

Constance gave a little skip. “Wildflowers. Oh goody! May I pick some?”

Edwina smiled. “Of course, dear. We’ll take them back to the castle. You can put some in the schoolroom.”

Henrietta sniffed. “Aunt Leonore says flowers are dirty things, always dropping leaves and such.”

Edwina swallowed and bit back a sharp reply. “Wildflowers are some of God’s loveliest creations. We are fortunate to be able to see them.”

Constance skipped again. “Oh, Miss Pierce. I’m glad you came to live with us.”

“Constance!” The word seemed to burst from Henrietta’s mouth, and the look she gave her sister reminded Edwina of the earl’s most quelling gaze.

But it didn’t quell Constance. “I don’t care,” she said, raising her little chin stubbornly. “I
like
Miss Pierce. I don’t believe Mama wants her to go away. I
won’t
believe it.”

Henrietta glared at her. “Well, she does. Mama told me so.”

Constance’s grip tightened, but her voice didn’t falter. “I don’t care. She didn’t tell
me
, and I like Miss Pierce. I like her a lot.”

Henrietta shook her head in defiance, her eyes dark with conviction. “You’ll see. You’ll be sorry. I know what Mama said. I know something bad will happen. I know.”

“Girls, I hardly think such an argument- What’s that?”

Chapter Twenty-one

“A horse,” Constance cried, her eyes wide. “It sounds like someone’s coming on a horse.”

“Step aside, girls.” Edwina herded them toward the hedgerow. “They may not see us in time to stop.” She shepherded them off the side of the road where they waited in silence. What person dared approach the cursed castle? Then the horse came cantering around the bend, a single horse carrying a nattily dressed rider.

Edwina bit back an exclamation. The Viscount Crawford, evidently on his way back from a morning ride. He pulled up the dancing little mare and half bowed to her from the saddle.

“Good morning, Miss Pierce. I see you’re taking your charges on an excursion.”

“Yes, milord.” She couldn’t help returning his cheerful smile. It was good to be greeted warmly after such cold treatment from the earl. “We’re going to admire the woods.”

“And pick some wildflowers,” Constance piped up. “They’re so pretty.”

“They are indeed,” the viscount replied, with another smile toward Edwina. “I like them myself.” For a moment he appeared to be thinking. “You know, I have been wanting to take a walk in the woods. I believe I’ll just join you.”

Edwina hesitated. She’d already decided it was wiser to avoid the viscount’s company, but after all, she was only human. Henrietta’s boldness and her continued distrust were difficult to bear, especially today when the earl—for whatever strange reason—seemed so angry with his governess.

Then the moment passed and it was too late to politely refuse the viscount’s company. He swung down with practiced ease, looping his reins over his arm. “I’ll leave my mare in the shade wherever we turn off the road into the woods.”

At her raised eyebrow, he smiled. “Have no concern for the mare, my dear. No one travels the road to the castle any more. I assure you she’ll be quite safe.” He grinned. “Besides, even without the curse, no one would dare take her. She’s well known in these parts. Known as mine.”

Edwina could only nod. No doubt everyone in the county avoided the castle and its curse. Even in the warm sunlight she felt a chill creep over her. Last night, locked in that cold dark room, she had tasted panic. It had only been for a little while—it was true—but still for that while she had been almost paralyzed, unable to function. She still had no idea what kind of creature she had followed through the dark corridors of the castle. Or for what reason it had lured her on—for now she was convinced she’d been deliberately enticed into that room, deliberately locked in there for the night.

For a moment she considered mentioning the occurrence to the viscount, asking him what he thought about it, if he had any idea who could have done it. But that would hardly be wise. Though he obviously enjoyed having her at the castle, she wasn’t sure he could really be trusted. Even if she asked him not to, he might forget and mention the incident to the earl. And in his present strange condition, there was no telling what the earl might decide to do.