The Village Spinster (12 page)

Steven grinned at her. “He’s obviously going to be easy to train. Want me to try my hand at it?”

Clarissa was not at all sure she did, but she nodded. Steven, in a commanding voice, ordered the dog to come to him. Max eyed him with suspicion for a moment, then amenably trotted back to sit down in front of him, cocking his head to one side. He looked so adorable that Clarissa couldn’t help laughing. Max barked in accord.

“No!” Steven snapped his fingers and the dog regarded him curiously. And barked. Steven tapped the dog’s nose and repeated his “no,” and Max slunk down on his haunches as though he’d been beaten. Obviously a dog of great sensitivity, Clarissa thought.

“Now don’t encourage him,” Steven protested. “He’ll never learn that way.”

“I’d be surprised if he learned in any case,” she said, and continued to walk along the lane. There was a stile onto a footpath crossing the hillock to the church and she led the way over it. Max scampered after her, ignoring Steven’s command to stay. Clarissa shook her head. “Don’t bother with him, Steven. I doubt if he’s trainable at his age and I probably won’t keep him anyhow."

“What about Lady Aria? Isn’t she fond of him already?”

“Well, that’s how I thought I’d get rid of him,” Clarissa admitted. She reached down absently to pet the little dog. “She’ll probably want to take him back when she returns to the Hall. So I don’t intend to get too devoted to him.”

The footpath was narrow and a little rough. Clarissa hadn’t changed into her walking shoes and she could feel the pebbles through the thin soles of her slippers. But the day was glorious, sun streaming down and the smell of new spring growth. There were birds caroling in the bushes. Max darted about, chasing wisps of straw or blades of grass. When they came abreast of an old log, Clarissa sat down and made room for Steven.

“Aren’t we going to trudge for miles?” he asked as he seated himself.

“Not today.” Clarissa watched Max as he scurried off and hastened back. “How’s Jane feeling? She must be due for her lying-in any day now.”

“Not for a week, and her doctor said it might be two. She’s a little tired and rather nervous. Things upset her easily. I seem to get on her nerves.”

He looked so woebegone that Clarissa patted his hand in sympathy. “She’ll get over it, you know. This isn’t a time to have your feelings hurt. She’s the one, after all, who’s facing a frightening time.”

He sighed. A frown drew down his brows. For a long time he stared off toward the horizon, where a lone tree’s branches were etched against the blue sky. “One of her friends died in childbed a few weeks ago,” he finally said. “We don’t talk about it, but it’s there between us, the fear. What if she died, Clarissa? What would I do?”

“She’s not going to die,” Clarissa said bracingly. “She’s a healthy young woman and she’s taken good care of herself during these long months. What she probably needs is a good distraction and I can’t think of anyone better than you at distracting someone.”

“She’d rather have her mother there,” he rejoined, morose.

“Well, her mother has had a child. It must be reassuring to talk with her.”

Max returned to nudge against Clarissa’s leg. She ignored him and he jumped up into her lap. Shaking her head with amused acceptance, she continued to concentrate her attention on Steven.

“Her mother keeps saying how useless men are at such a time, hinting that her husband went off hunting right when she was about to have Jane.”

“Perhaps he did. You could very well be here visiting me when your own wife delivers, if you’re not careful.”

“I know. And I’d stay there twenty-four hours a day except that her parents drive me crazy, and Jane herself shoos me out of the house, telling me not to hang about all day, that it makes her edgy. What am I to say to that?”

“I wouldn’t argue with her about it,” Clarissa counseled. “And I’d make sure your whereabouts are always known, so you can be reached when she needs you.” At his frown, she added, “You don’t have to tell her or her parents. Perhaps you trust one of the servants, or a friend they could reach.”

“Perhaps. I hate to be so tied down,” he grumbled.

“I dare say your wife isn’t just thrilled that she can’t do whatever she wishes, either. That’s simply the way things are, Steven. We’d all like to be able to do whatever we please, but it just isn’t possible.”

He seemed to hear a special note in her voice and regarded her quizzically. “What would
you
want to do, Clarissa? If you could do anything you wanted.”

As a game, it seemed a good distraction. But Clarissa wasn’t about to tell him the whole truth. “Well, if I were rich, I’d have a home here in the country, much like Pennhurst, with a stable full of horses and lots of servants to keep all the rooms sparkling. And then I’d have a house in London, too, where I’d go for the Season. I’d see all the plays and attend all the musical evenings I could fit into my schedule.”

“When did you develop this love for London?”

“My father took me there when I was younger. Perhaps half a dozen times. It was always delightful. So exciting to live amidst all that bustle. Father knew a number of fascinating people, too. Poets, painters, politicians.” She smiled reminiscently, stroking the little dog in her lap. “I miss that. Not that I would have wanted to live there year-round. But to visit occasionally..."

“Now me, I wouldn’t mind in the least living there permanently,” Steven said. “Especially if Jane’s parents didn’t.”

“You’d enjoy living anywhere they didn’t,” she retorted.

“Not at all! I should hate living in Yorkshire, for instance. Far too far away from everything. And too rugged for a gentle soul like me.”

Clarissa appreciated his poking fun at himself. Steven was hardly a gentle soul, but restored to his usual equanimity, he was easygoing and humorous. His brightness lit her sometimes somber life. If it had been difficult for her to descend to scraping by after her former privileged life, it seemed even more formidable for the Pennwick villagers to accept her as one of them. They were polite, even kind on occasion, but they did not open their hearts to her; they could not seem to offer her friendship on an equal basis.

With Steven she could feel herself again. In many ways they offered each other the solace they found lacking in their lives. Though Clarissa didn’t particularly mind giving lessons to the sons and daughters of the local gentry, it was not a lucrative endeavor and she would not like it at all if she had to open a dame school, with all its demands. Steven was the only one to whom she could confide these things, and it made her treasure his company. Not for appearances, not even for the sake of retaining the earl’s brother and sister as pupils, would she have given up his visits. His wife’s peace of mind, however, was a different matter.

“Jane does know that you come to visit me, doesn’t she?” Clarissa asked.

Steven tugged at his earlobe, considering. “Well, I’ve told her that I see you sometimes. You’re a relative, after all. She’s suggested that you come to visit us, but you wouldn’t like that.”

“How do you know I wouldn’t?”

“Well, because everyone would be curious about you, especially her mother. A difficult woman. She’d pry into your business, and pity you because you’d come down in the world, and just generally make you feel miserable.”

“What a pleasant picture you paint!”

“Oh, you could ignore her, I suppose, but that would be rude, wouldn’t it? And her father is on the loose-screw side. Well, I’ve told you stories about him, all of them true, I swear!”

“I’ve often wondered how these two paragons produced your sweet Jane.”

“I credit her governess,” he said, in all sincerity. “Remarkable woman. Patience of a saint, sharp as a tack. I honestly think Jane is as devoted to her as she is to her mother. Maybe more so, only she would never admit it.”

“Is the governess in Bath?”

“Yes, but with another family now. She and Jane have often arranged to meet on her half-days off. I think Jane misses her, now that she hardly goes out.”

Clarissa lifted Max off her lap and rose, ready to head back toward the village. “Then I think you have a perfect opportunity here to do something delightful for your wife, Steven. Arrange with the governess to come to your house to see Jane. I dare say Jane would love that.”

Steven grinned. “You’re right, of course. Why couldn’t I have thought of such a simple thing?” And he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it with a playful intensity. “My very dear Clarissa!”

Naturally this was the moment when Max began to bark excitedly because he’d spotted Lord Kinsford astride Longbridge approaching them. Clarissa withdrew her hand a little precipitately and Steven regarded her with mild surprise.

“He thinks there’s something improper about my friendship with you,” she whispered as the horse and rider drew close. Max had continued to bark and she scooped him up and held his muzzle to quiet him. She could feel a totally unwarranted flush creep into her cheeks. How very inane of her! As though she had done anything amiss.

Lord Kinsford’s face wore a solemn expression which said as plainly as words that he had witnessed the episode and drawn the least favorable conclusion from it. He tipped his hat at each of them, murmuring, “Miss Driscoll, Mr. Traling,” before riding off without another word.

Clarissa was tempted to let the dog have his head, since Max was growling fiercely and showed every indication of wishing to charge off after horse and rider to do great damage to one or both of them. Instead, she said, “Oh, be still, you little noise-box. Where did you learn to be so ferocious?”

“Well, I think it’s the outside of enough if he entertains any such ideas,” Steven said, referring to Lord Kinsford rather than the dog. “What kind of character does that give you, or me for that matter? How very odd in him to imagine such goings-on. Has he forgotten what it’s like in the country?”

“Yes, I think he has.” Her voice was dull, discouraged.

“Clarissa, you cannot mean that he’s serious? Does he imagine we do something illicit out in the fields? No, no, he’s not such a gudgeon. You’ve misunderstood him.”

It did sound ridiculous when Steven said it and she gave a small hiccough of laughter. Then she said seriously, “He’s rather stuffy where his brother and sister are concerned. There was, I believe, the suggestion that he might have to take them out of my charge.”

“Nonsense! He would not be so foolish. Where could he find the kind of expertise you bring to them? There’s not another soul in the neighborhood who could do half so well.”

His indignation on her behalf was admirable, but irrelevant. “He’s only trying to protect them, Steven. How does he know what kind of woman I am?”

“He has only to look at you to tell,” Steven retorted. “The earl probably has a good working knowledge of what the other kind of woman looks like.”

“Do you think so?” Her eyes danced. “I should be very surprised. He’s become so righteous these last few years.’’

“Wasn’t he like that when he was younger?”

She gave one last glance in the direction of the distant rider, then turned toward the village, Max at her ankles. “No, when he was young, he was quite wild. I remember my father talking of him, and when I’d meet him in the village I’d think he was such a daring young man, somehow
dangerous,
and I would get quite a thrill out of speaking to him. As if I were risking my reputation, or some such thing. Of course,” she admitted ruefully, “he hardly noticed me at all. He was always polite but dismissive. And now he’s the one who behaves ever so properly, and views me as the suspect one.”

“Well, he must have a mental disorder if he suspects you of anything other than being a tiny bit unconventional.” He placed her hand on his arm and matched his stride to hers. “Pay no mind to him. He’s in your debt now for taking care of his sister. You haven’t a thing to worry about.”

Clarissa didn’t quite believe she had nothing to worry about, but for the time being there was very little she could do to change the situation. So she smiled and changed the subject.

Chapter Eleven

The Earl of Kinsford was arguing with himself. It was not something he did as a rule, and it annoyed him. Half of him seemed to believe that Miss Driscoll was exactly what she appeared to be: a spinster of some seven-and-twenty years, brought down in the world from a position of decided country eminence by her father’s gambling; who now with complacence taught the sons and daughters of the neighborhood quality various accomplishments that they would otherwise not have acquired until they reached London.

The other half of Kinsford, perhaps irrationally but with some small encouragement from his own observations, believed that Miss Driscoll led a double life, which was not at all in accord with her position. This part of him believed that she only maintained the appearance of a suitable teacher for his brother and sister, that she was in actuality nothing like what appearances declared she must be.

This half of him believed that she was carrying on with Steven Traling. And it infuriated him.

The earl believed wholeheartedly that the reason it infuriated him was that he had the purity and integrity of his brother and sister to protect. The earl was, on occasion, quite able to fool himself in a spectacular way. There had been the instance of the horse which he had been determined to purchase from his friend Rutherford some years ago. But he hadn’t dwelt on that after the fact, and so he had not perhaps learned the lesson it offered.

Ordinarily it was without the least difficulty that his lordship reached an opinion on any manner of subject. It was uncomfortable and somewhat perplexing for him not to understand what was going on with Miss Driscoll, especially as he was, at the moment, quite dependent on her good nature and her goodwill. Aria was ensconced in her house, next door to her bedroom, as it were, and he had to accept this arrangement or possibly jeopardize his sister’s future health.

Miss Driscoll's bedroom, which he had seen that morning in retrieving the dog for his sister, had given no clue as to any sinister behavior on the spinster’s part. It had been a bright, charming room with several family miniatures on the flowered-paper walls. There were a great number of books resting in a wooden trunk which served as a bookcase, and almost no toiletries on the vanity. That struck him, now, as strange. No woman of his acquaintance could manage for long without these feminine essentials. There had, in fact, been just the sort of things one would expect in Miss Snolgrass’s room. Very odd, indeed.