The Heart's Companion (6 page)

A quick glance in a tall pier glass on the stairway landing convinced Jane it was a good idea for her to freshen up; but, she would not remain above stairs. She fully intended to have words with the Earl of Royce for his high-handed manners before too much more time had passed! His arrogance obviously knew no bounds. If those were continental manners he’d adopted, she would be certain to let him know they were not appreciated in England!

When she came down some twenty minutes later, bathed, her hair once again neatly arranged, and a soothing unguent applied to the worst of her scrapes and bruises, she discovered Jeremy once again in his listening position, this time hovering against the library door. An amused, appreciative smile twisted her lips and lit her eyes.

"Listen closely, Jeremy, for I’ll expect a full report," she whispered.

The young footman stiffened and turned. "Begging your pardon, ma’am?"

"Oh, it’s to be that way, is it?" she observed, nodding her head sagely. "Just be careful lest you forget for whom you work and be out of work," she snapped, thoroughly nettled.

Behind the footman came the rising sound of voices. The library door cracked open, and Jane distinctly heard Mr. Culpepper addressing his son. "If you’re going to eavesdrop, get it right, boy!" His words were followed by his person dragging his son out by the ear.

"Ouch, ouch! Please, Papa! I promise, Papa!" the child wailed as he was led past her.

Jane blinked in surprise at this turnabout. She looked questioningly at the earl, who followed the Culpeppers out; but a little negative shake of his head forced her, seething with curiosity, to hold her peace.

Mr. Culpepper led his son to the manor house door and pushed him outside. "Wait for us in the carriage. I’ll attend to you later," he told the red-faced child. Then he turned his back on Henry and shut the door.

He glanced up at Jane and scowled, his lower lip protruding sulkily. He looked as if he wished to say something, then changed his mind and raked a beefy hand through his scraggly gray-streaked hair. Shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other, he nodded shortly at her and turned to enter the parlor to fetch his wife and daughter.

Jane looked at the earl. "What has been going on?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Wait," he said, nodding in the direction of the parlor. He turned toward Bertram. "I’m certain Miss Twinkleham is waiting to fuss over you. You’d best go on up."

Bertram made a sour expression.

"Be thankful you have people interested in your welfare. The world is a cold and cruel place without them, and you are not, entirely, without blame," the earl reminded him sharply.

The boy nodded and with dragging feet slowly mounted the stairs.

Impatience welled within Jane. "Will you please tell me what’s been going on? I’ve been on tenterhooks for the past half hour!" she hissed softly, glancing around to see that no one was listening.

The earl glanced up and down the hall and led her to a long bench near the door. "Henry apparently overheard his sister telling her mother about your—ah—nickname. But he did not hear their conversation clearly. He only overheard snatches. Somehow he thought you were referred to as an Old Witch rather than an Ice Witch and taunted Bertram with that name."

"Old Witch?" Jane repeated, dazed. Then she fell to laughing.

The earl remained punctiliously serious. "It was, quite naturally, more than the boy’s honor could bear. "

"Oh, come now, my lord. What’s in a name?" she returned easily.

The earl refused to be drawn. "You fail to appreciate the enormity of the situation, here. You were being insulted. He, as the nearest male relative, was defending your honor."

"Defending my honor? Oh, come now!"

"Do not think to shuffle it casually aside. Bertram strongly feels he has a responsibility to you and Lady Elsbeth as the nearest and oldest male relative available."

"But he is only a child!"

"That does not weigh with him. Do not belittle his action. "

"But he was fighting!" protested Jane.

"His pride and honor are involved here. Do not crush them with feminine nonsense."

"Feminine nonsense!"

"If you feel strongly that the boy should be punished, then punish him for something that he knows was wrong and won’t affect his pride. Punish him for wandering off without letting anyone know."

"Well that, certainly—"

"No, make it that only, Miss Grantley. "

Jane looked like she would protest again, but just at that moment the rest of the Culpeppers came out of the parlor and hurriedly made their good-byes. Mrs. Culpepper was observed quietly badgering Mr. Culpepper for information on what had transpired. But it didn’t look as if she met with any success. They saw them out to the carriage. By the time Mr. Culpepper bundled his nagging wife into the carriage, his face had again assumed a choleric hue. He slammed the door on her and climbed up beside his coachman so abruptly, that the man nearly dropped the reins. Though the driver looked uncertainly at Mr. Culpepper, he didn’t say a word as he whipped up the horses and turned down the drive.

Watching them race down the lane, Jane leaned against the doorframe. She was suddenly exhausted. Muscles she didn’t even know existed began clamoring for attention.

The earl studied her closely. "You, young woman, belong in your bed."

"That’s what I told her when I sent her upstairs," added Lady Elsbeth.

"Enough, both of you. I am all right."

"Listen to her. She talks as if falling down a hillside were an everyday occurrence," snapped her aunt.

"It is perhaps good that I am accustomed to hell’s fires," the earl casually told Lady Elsbeth, "for I don’t feel ice."

Before Jane could react he had bent over and scooped her up into his arms as he did at the blackberry patch.

"Lady Elsbeth, would you care to lead the way?" he drawled, ignoring Jane’s outraged gasp.

"Of course, Lord Royce. This way please," Lady Elsbeth said, struggling to keep laughter from her voice. "Now Jane, don’t carry on so, you’ll only injure yourself further. I’m confident you’re quite safe. That is, you will be if you’ll stop squirming. Be careful lest his lordship drop you on the stairs and you tumble down, adding bruises to the ones you already have."

Realizing her aunt and the earl were beyond reason, Jane gave up struggling and settled for glaring at them with a full Ice Witch’s freezing intensity.

Later that evening Lord Royce summoned his groom to see him. When the man appeared, the earl handed him a letter.

"I want you to take this to the Marquis of Conisbrough. I believe you’ll find him in Brighton somewhere. If he’s not there, track him down. Give him this letter with my compliments. Do you understand?"

The grizzle-haired old man nodded and tucked the letter into a waistcoat pocket. "Aye, my lord. And I take it I’m off tonight?"

"Yes, Robert, I’m afraid so. But first, have a glass of brandy to warm your insides," the earl invited, smiling.

The old man smiled as well. He’d worked loyally for the earl. He knew the earl’s copybook was blotted within society, but that didn’t matter to him. If the earl was truly the Devil’s Disciple, Robert would follow his path to hell itself, he would, and no denying that. He tossed back the small glass of brandy, then sighed contentedly as it fired his insides.

"Thank you kindly, my lord. Good day to you, sir," he said, setting the glass back down on a small table and bowing. He placed a grubby cap on his head, then turned to leave the room, his hobnail boots ringing on the marble hallway floor.

When Jane woke the next morning she knew immediately that she’d taken her tumble down the hillside far too lightly. There did not seem to be a square inch of her body that did not ache. She groaned as she stretched.

"Sore ye’d be, I prophesied to Lady Elsbeth, and sore ye are," stated a clipped, Irish voice.

Jane turned her head to see her dresser, Mrs. O'Rourke, lay down the petticoat she was mending. The widow of an impressed seaman, she’d been with Jane since her come out and had long adopted the forwardness of a lifetime servant. She was an imperious looking woman with a stern, long face and gray hair swept severely off her high brow. Other servants were in awe of her. She was good at her job but secretly given to periodic indulgences with the bottle, spouting prophecies and conversing with 'little people' no one else could see.

"You were not alone in that prophecy," Jane said tightly as she straightened cramped limbs and struggled to sit up. "I believe I was the only one who did not. I stand, or rather sit," she amended as her legs gave way under her when she attempted to stand, "corrected. I do not recall ever hurting so. I suppose my aunt has another liniment ready for me to try?"

"Aye, a minty one. Sweet smellin’ and bound to clear yur head if not ease yur pur muscles." She crossed to the dressing table and came back carrying a white, wide-mouthed jar. She liberally rubbed the creamy lotion into Jane’s skin, her wide, spatulate fingers kneading tight muscles. Slowly Jane relaxed and gave herself over to enjoying the massage.

"Hmm, I must admit I do feel better," admitted Jane when Mrs. O'Rourke stopped and recapped the jar, rubbing her hands on her apron front.

"Now you be restin’ there while I send fur yur breakfast and inform yur lady aunt that yur awake."

"You’ve massaged my muscles until they’re incapable of movement. I will not be going anywhere," Jane assured her, languidly closing her eyes and savoring the cold-hot sensations of the lotion on her skin.

She must have drowsed lazily for several minutes, for the next thing she was aware of was the sound of rattling china. She opened her eyes to see Lady Elsbeth pouring a cup of tea. Jane struggled to sit up against the pillows.

"Tea? You know I prefer coffee in the morning," she protested.

"This is a special herbal blend. It will help you feel much more the thing." Lady Elsbeth handed Jane the china cup, then drew a chair forward to sit beside the bed. "Serena has written again. She has supplied me with a list of those that accompany her. I may thankfully say it is not a long list."

"Oh?"

Lady Elsbeth nodded. She held up a closely written letter. "Mr. Raymond Burry is, as you may guess, escorting her."

"He has been in her entourage all season. What does Beau Burry see in Lady Serena? Or she in him? He’s neither wealthy, wise, nor—if you consider his corpulence—healthy."

Lady Elsbeth looked reprovingly over the edge of the letter. "Such cynicism does not become you."

Jane waved her hand in apology and request to continue. "Serena also mentions a Lord and Lady Willoughby. "

"Who?"

"Willoughby. She says they’re from somewhere up north. Evidently this is their first trip south. "

"How odd," Jane mused. She took a sip of tea. "Is that all?"

"No. And I’m afraid the last is a name you’ll not like."

"Gracious, such hesitancy in your tone! Dislike more than my two relatives? Impossible, I’m sure. Who could be more unwelcome than Aunt Serena and Cousin Millicent?"

"Sir Garth Helmsdon."

Silence fell between them. Then Jane blinked and rallied. "It appears that of late I’ve been too impetuous," she said lightly. "I did not believe it was possible to ache so after a fall and I did not believe there could be a name more unwelcome to me than my aunt’s and cousin’s. It appears I was wrong." Shadows darkened her eyes. She took a sip of the tea.

"Perhaps he is now dangling after Millicent," Elsbeth offered.

"Oh, I’m sure he is. However, recall that we agree Millicent is likely coming here to throw her cap at Royce. She most likely desires someone to take Helmsdon off her hands. And who would be better than the very woman he so ardently pursued during the season?" Jane asked bitterly.

She handed the cup back to Elsbeth and threw off the covers. Picking up a wrapper from the end of the bed, she jerkily stuffed her arms in and wrapped the garment about her. She began pacing the room, her protesting muscles a bittersweet counterpoint to the pain of her thoughts.

Ardently was perhaps too weak a word to describe Sir Helmsdon’s pursuit for her hand. The man was a gazetted fortune hunter who was desperate to find a match that would relieve him of financial worries. He could have married well into trade, for there were businessmen in abound who would trade their wealth for society’s entree; but Helmsdon was a snob and would do anything to avoid cit’s blood.

It was unfortunate, for the man could be charming when he chose. Nonetheless, as Jane discovered to her dismay, he could also be ruthless and was not above kidnapping or ruination to achieve his goals. He was the true reason she took to her heels and departed London before the season was out. He tried to arrange an assignation designed to insure her ruination unless she married him. What he did not know was that she was wary of all such traps for it was a trap sprung on her in the past that only through happenstance failed. The irony being it was the very trap Aunt Serena attempted to use on her three years before, not to marry her off for some gentleman’s advantage, but to clear the field for her own daughter’s pursuit of another. Mr. David Hedgeworth. When her original plan failed, Lady Serena altered it slightly to lead to a supposed ruination of Millicent at the hands of Mr. Hedgeworth, knowing that the gentleman would do decently by her daughter and solicit her hand in marriage.

Jane rubbed her temples to ease the incipient headache building there. Was there ever such a coil? Who could she get to act as a shield? What could she do to protect herself, for she did not put it past Sir Helmsdon to make an attempt upon her virtue and thereby force her hand. In this Lady Serena Tipton would no doubt aid and abet him.

Then she remembered the apartments on the ground floor.

"Elsbeth, in your opinion would it require much effort on the part of the servants to make the old family apartments habitable?"

"No, not at all. Why?"

"Because that is where we shall be staying for the duration of our guests’ visit."

Jane wouldn’t tell Elsbeth why they must remove to the ground floor rooms; nonetheless, once Lady Elsbeth assayed the heavy oak door with its ornate lock that guarded the entrance to that wing, she began to understand. What puzzled her was Jane’s quiet conviction that such safeguards as distance and a heavy oak barrier were necessary. Sir Helmsdon was an annoyingly persistent suitor, but certainly not one to overstep the bounds of propriety! Still, it wasn’t like Jane to act unwarrantably, and there was her matter-of-fact attitude that argued against any suspicion of hysteria.

That afternoon, as Jane directed the cleaning and organizing of those apartments, there was a certain grimness to her expression not totally explained by her weakened condition. She had just finished directing the movement of certain heavy pieces of furniture when Jeremy came with the information that the Earl of Royce was in the parlor. Lady Elsbeth glanced at her niece worriedly, dubious as to her reception of the information. To her gratification Jane merely directed the servants to carry on and formally suggested Elsbeth accompany her.

"I should be very remiss in my duty if I didn’t!"

"Oh, excuse me, Aunt Elsbeth. I’m sorry. I must seem the most cold individual today. My mind is quite tied up in knots. I’ll own that news of Sir Helmsdon’s eminent appearance has rattled me a bit. It’s just that he was so persistent...." she said, her voice fading away. She shook herself and forced a bright smile to her lips, but it was a smile that failed to reach and warm her icy green eyes. "Will you forgive me? I shall strive to be better. I promise."

Jane saw the worry in her aunt’s eyes and was touched; but she did not feel she could confide the extent of her misgivings surrounding the upcoming visit. She hoped she was wrong, but she suspected that neither Lady Serena Tipton nor Sir Garth Helmsdon intended to act in a totally honorable fashion. She felt like a warrior girding up for battle, checking her defenses, setting strategy, and readying her ammunition. The problem was, she really had no ammunition with which to fight save for the Earl of Royce. And he was at best a keg of dynamite as likely to destroy her as her enemy.

What could he want now? she mused as she tore at the strings of the large white apron that covered her gown. She flung it over her head, tossing it in a hallway chair by a tall pier glass in which she stopped to check her appearance. She patted a stray raven lock back into place, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. The trick to dealing with men like the earl, she told herself, was to be impeccably polite. Such behavior drove them crazy.

She closed her eyes a moment to will a relaxed, calm state in which to greet the earl. Behind her Lady Elsbeth began making slight noises indicating her growing sense of unease. Jane opened her eyes and flashed Lady Elsbeth a smile before taking her arm in hers.

"I’ll not deny the man makes me nervous. Look at me, preening like some fresh debutante! It is simply not to be borne!"

Lady Elsbeth relaxed and smiled in turn. "No, but I’ll own I feel it healthy for you to be thrown off stride a bit. One can become too complacent."

"With Aunt Serena and Sir Helmsdon arriving, complacent is the last thing I could possibly be!" she said, laughing, her eyes warming at last.

"Miss Grantley, it is welcome to see you recovered from your unfortunate accident," drawled the Earl of Royce from the open parlor doorway.

Jane looked up, emotion draining from her features and leaving two bright spots of color in its wake. Royce was dressed in riding attire, his hat and crop tucked under one arm.

"My Lord Royce," she murmured, dipping slightly while extending her hand. "You do me an unexpected honor." Her lashes descended over her eyes, masking the irritation reflected in those twin green pools of light. "Please come in and sit down. May we offer you anything in the way of refreshments?" She gracefully swept past him and sank onto one of the settees. She indicated an invitation to be seated with a brief wave of her hand.

"No, thank you anyway. I do not intend to stay long. I only came by to determine if you or Bertram have lingering complications due to your unfortunate contretemps of yesterday." Taking up a position by the fireplace, he remained standing.

"So kind of you." It rattled her that he stood, looming over them. He was so damned casual and at ease. He wasn’t even dressed properly for visiting!

He laughed shortly. "You’re mistaken. I’m told I’m never kind. Merely curious, meddlesome and presumptuous. A respite from boredom," he drawled.

One of Jane’s eyebrows lifted as she absorbed his enigmatic speech. She rose from her seat and moved about the room, restlessly pacing. An odd, tingling irritation prickled at her nerves. She must regain control. She mustn’t let this man affect her!

"And in my meddlesome, presumptuous, and bored way," he continued, "I am curious as to what you decided regarding punishment for Bertram. "

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I like the lad."

Jane’s lips twitched, but she refused to give in to humor. "I must confess, not knowing what my sister and her husband would say, I let the matter drop."

The earl laughed. "And so the Ice Witch melts."

"Hardly, sir," she said repressively to cover confusion.

"Lord Royce," interrupted Lady Elsbeth. She glanced askance at Jane then continued, her full attention upon the earl. "We are expecting guests in a few days and will be devising entertainments for their enjoyment. May we count upon you to help make up our numbers?"

"Guests?" He frowned a moment. "I did not think you had the notion to entertain here at Penwick."

"Actually, we don’t," Lady Elsbeth candidly confided. "But my sister has autocratically decided otherwise," she continued with a laugh. "She writes that she and some friends will be in the neighborhood for a few days on their way to Brighton. "

Out of the corner of his eye Royce saw a slight frown mar the cold perfection of Miss Grantley’s studied, formal expression. So the upcoming visit did not find favor with the Ice Witch, he thought. Interesting. He wondered why.

"I should be delighted; however, I am expecting company of my own within the next few days," he said, his hands spreading open in apology.

Jane turned swiftly to face him, her skirts swishing at the sudden movement. Red flags flew on her cheeks. She stood rigidly, her hands clasped tightly before her as she stared up at him. "Must you display your prurient interest in the country? Isn’t the city a more apropos setting for that kind of indulgence?" she inquired coldly.

"Jane!" Lady Elsbeth gasped at both the indelicate suggestion and the tone in which it was proposed.

The ice underlying Jane’s words would have given a lesser man pause. The Earl of Royce merely laughed.

She flushed, gnashing her teeth together while the earl gave himself over to unrestrained mirth. Despite her anger and chagrin, Jane could not help but note how relaxed and approachable Royce looked in the throes of laughter. Hardly a devil’s disciple. Laughter even lent his hard, craggy features a certain handsomeness normally missing with his habitual sardonic expression. These observations did not please her. Royce was not a man to like, let alone call friend. And, she told herself, she pitied any woman who called him lover.

"My dear Miss Grantley, you undoubtedly have listened to society’s tales and have allowed your imagination to play upon them. I’m flattered to have come so into your thoughts. But I’m afraid I should disappoint you. My guest is altogether male."

His last word hung heavy in the air like some unspoken threat or impending thunderstorm. Lady Elsbeth shivered at his tone. She glanced at her niece, and noted that Jane blanched as she absorbed his meaning.