A Night Like This (5 page)

“You have an abundance of cousins.”

“All of whom I missed while abroad. Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.”

“Oh, stop,” Sarah finaly said, looking as if she’d like to throw up her hands in disgust. “You are fooling no one.”

“I beg your pardon?” Daniel murmured, even though he had a feeling his goose was cooked.

Sarah roled her eyes. “Do you think you are the first person to notice that our governess is absurdly gorgeous?” He was about to think up some dry rejoinder, but he could see that Sarah was about to say,
And don’t say you haven’t noticed . . . ,
so instead he said, quite plainly, “No.”

Because realy, there was no point in saying otherwise. Miss Wynter had the kind of beauty that stopped men in their tracks. It was not a quiet sort of thing, like his sister, or Sarah, for that matter. They were both perfectly lovely, but one didn’t realy notice just how much until one got to know them. Miss Wynter, on the other hand . . .

A man would have to be dead not to notice her. More than dead, if such a thing were possible.

Sarah sighed, with equal parts exasperation and resignation. “It would be most tiresome if she weren’t so very nice.”

“Beauty does not have to be accompanied by a bad character.”

She snorted. “Someone has grown quite philosophical while on the Continent.”

“Wel, you know, those Greeks and Romans. They do rub off on you.”

Sarah laughed. “Oh, Daniel, do you want to ask me about Miss Wynter? Because if you do, just say so.” He leaned forward. “Tell me about Miss Wynter.”

“Wel.” Sarah leaned forward. “There’s not much to tel.”

“I may throttle you,” he said mildly.

“No, it’s true. I know very little about her. She’s not
my
governess, after al. I think she might be from somewhere in the north. She came with a reference from a family in Shropshire. And another from the Isle of Man.”

“The Isle of Man?” he asked in disbelief. He didn’t think he knew anyone who’d even
seen
the Isle of Man. It was a fiendishly remote spot, hard to get to and with very bad weather. Or so he’d been told.

“I asked her about it once,” Sarah said with a shrug. “She told me it was quite bleak.”

“I would imagine.”

“She does not talk about her family, although I think I heard her mention a sister once.”

“Does she receive correspondence?”

Sarah shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. And if she posts any, she does not do it from here.” Sarah shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. And if she posts any, she does not do it from here.” He looked at her with a bit of surprise.

“Wel, I would have noticed at some point,” she said defensively. “At any rate, I shal not permit you to bother Miss Wynter.”

“I’m not going to bother her.”

“Oh, you are. I see it in your eyes.”

He leaned forward. “You’re quite dramatic for someone who avoids the stage.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What do you mean by that?”

“Merely that you are the picture of health.”

She let out a ladylike snort. “Do you think to blackmail me? I wish you luck with that. No one believes I was il, anyway.”

“Even your mother?”

Sarah drew back.

Checkmate.

“What do you want?” she asked.

Daniel paused, the better to draw this out. Sarah’s teeth were clenched just
splendidly,
and he rather thought that if he waited long enough, steam might emerge from her ears.

“Daniell. . .” she ground out.

He tilted his head as if pondering the point. “Aunt Charlotte would be so disappointed to think that her daughter was shirking her musical duties.”

“I already asked you, what do you— Oh, never mind.” She roled her eyes, shaking her head as if about to pacify a three-year-old. “I might have overheard Miss Wynter this morning, planning to take Harriet, Elizabeth, and Frances for a constitutional walk in Hyde Park.” He smiled. “Have I told you recently that you are one of my very favorite cousins?”

“We are even now,” she warned him. “If you say a word to my mother . . .”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“She’s already threatened to take me to the country for a week. For rest and recuperation.” He swalowed a chuckle. “She’s concerned about you.”

“I suppose it could be worse,” Sarah said with a sigh. “I actualy prefer the country, but she says we must go all the way to Dorset. I’ll spend the entire time in the carriage, and then I realy
will
be il.”

Sarah did not travel wel. She never had.

“What is Miss Wynter’s Christian name?” Daniel asked. It seemed remarkable that he didn’t know it.

“You can discover that for yourself,” Sarah retorted.

He decided to alow her the point, but before he could say anything, Sarah turned her head sharply toward the door. “Ah, perfect timing,” she said, cutting through his words. “I do believe I hear someone coming down the stairs. Who could it possibly be, I wonder.” Daniel stood. “My dear young cousins, I’m sure.” He waited until he saw one of them galop past by the open doorway, then caled out, “Oh, Harriet! Elizabeth!

Frances!”

“Don’t forget Miss Wynter,” Sarah muttered.

The one who had walked past backed up and peered in. It was Frances, but she did not recognize him.

Daniel felt a pang in his chest. He had not expected this. And if he had, he wouldn’t have thought it would make him feel quite so wistful.

But Harriet was older. She had been twelve when he’d left for the Continent, and when she poked her head into the drawing room, she shrieked his name and came running in.

“Daniel!” she said again. “You’re back! Oh, you’re back you’re back you’re back.”

“I’m back,” he confirmed.

“Oh, it is so lovely to see you. Frances, it’s Cousin Daniel. You remember him.”

Frances, who looked to be about ten now, let out a dawning, “Oooooh. You look quite different.”

“No, he doesn’t,” remarked Elizabeth, who had come into the room behind them.

“I’m trying to be polite,” Frances said out of the corner of her mouth.

Daniel laughed. “Wel,
you
look different, that’s for certain.” He bent down and gave her a friendly chuck on the chin. “You’re nearly grown.”

“Oh, wel, I wouldn’t say that,” Frances said modestly.

“She’ll say everything else, though,” Elizabeth said.

Frances whipped her head around like a shot. “Stop that!”

“What happened to your face?” Harriet asked.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Daniel said smoothly, wondering how long it might take for his bruises to heal. He did not think he was particularly vain, but the questions were growing tiresome.

“A misunderstanding?” Elizabeth echoed. “With an anvil?”

“Oh, stop,” Harriet admonished her. “I think he looks very dashing.”

“As if he dashed into an anvil.”

“Pay her no attention,” Harriet said to him. “She lacks imagination.”

“Where is Miss Wynter?” Sarah asked loudly.

Daniel gave her a smile. Good old Sarah.

“I don’t know,” Harriet said, glancing first over one shoulder and then the other. “She was right behind us coming down the stairs.”

“One of you should fetch her,” Sarah said. “She’ll want to know why you’ve been delayed.”

“Go on, Frances,” Elizabeth said.

“Why do I have to go?”

“Because you
do
.”

Frances stomped off, grumbling mightily.

“I want to hear all about Italy,” Harriet said, her eyes sparkling with youthful excitement. “Was it terribly romantic? Did you see that tower everyone says is going to fall over?”

He smiled. “No, I didn’t, but I’m told it’s more stable than it looks.”

He smiled. “No, I didn’t, but I’m told it’s more stable than it looks.”

“And France? Were you in Paris?” Harriet let out a dreamy sigh. “I should love to see Paris.”

“I should love to shop in Paris,” Elizabeth said.

“Oh, yes.” Harriet looked as if she might swoon at the prospect. “
The dresses
.”

“I wasn’t in Paris,” he told them. No need to add that he
couldn’t
have gone to Paris. Lord Ramsgate had too many friends there.

“Maybe we won’t have to go for our walk now,” Harriet said hopefuly. “I’d much rather stay here with Cousin Daniel.”

“Ah, but I would rather enjoy the sunshine,” he said. “Perhaps I will accompany you to the park.” Sarah snorted.

He looked over. “Something in your throat, Sarah?”

Her eyes were pure sarcasm. “I’m sure it’s related to whatever it was that befel me yesterday.”

“Miss Wynter says she’ll wait for us in the mews,” Frances announced, trotting back into the room.

“The mews?” Elizabeth echoed. “We’re not riding.”

Frances shrugged. “She said the mews.”

Harriet let out a delighted gasp. “Maybe she has formed a
tendre
for one of the stableboys.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Elizabeth scoffed. “One of the stableboys? Realy.”

“Wel, you must admit, it would be very exciting if she had.”

“For whom? Not for her. I don’t think any of them even know how to read.”

“Love is blind,” Harriet quipped.

“But not iliterate,” Elizabeth retorted.

Daniel choked out a laugh despite himself. “Shal we be off?” he asked, giving the girls a polite bow. He held out his arm to Frances, who took it with an arch look directed at her sisters.

“Have a
jolly
time!” Sarah caled out. Insincerely.

“What’s wrong with
her
?” Elizabeth asked Harriet as they headed out to the mews.

“I think she’s still upset about having missed the concert,” Harriet replied. She looked over at Daniel. “Did you hear that Sarah missed the musicale?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “Vertigo, was it?”

“I thought it was a head cold,” Frances said.

“Stomach ailment,” Harriet said with certainty. “But it was no matter. Miss Wynter”—she turned toward Daniel—“that’s our governess,” she added, her head bobbing back to her sisters, “was briliant.”

“She took Sarah’s part,” Frances said.

“I don’t think she wanted to,” Elizabeth added. “Mother had to be quite forceful.”

“Nonsense,” Harriet cut in. “Miss Wynter was heroic from the start. And she did a very good job. She missed one of her entrances, but other than that, she was superb.”

Superb? Daniel alowed himself a mental sigh. There were many adjectives to describe Miss Wynter’s piano skils, but
superb
was not one of them. And if Harriet thought so . . .

Wel, she was going to fit right in when it came time for her to play in the quartet.

“I wonder what she’s doing in the mews?” Harriet said as they stepped out behind the house. “Go fetch her, Frances.” Frances let out an indignant puff of air. “Why do I have to?”

“Because you
do
.”

Daniel released Frances’s arm. He wasn’t going to argue with Harriet; he wasn’t sure he could speak quickly enough to win. “I will wait right here, Frances,” he told her.

Frances stomped off, only to return a minute later. Alone.

Daniel frowned. This would not do.

“She said she would be with us in a moment,” Frances informed them.

“Did you tell her that Cousin Daniel is going to join us?” Harriet asked.

“No, I forgot.” She shrugged. “She won’t mind.”

Daniel was not so sure about that. He was fairly certain that Miss Wynter had known he was in the drawing room (hence her rapid flight to the mews), but he did not think she realized that he intended to accompany them to the park.

It was going to be a lovely outing. Joly, even.

“What do you suppose is taking her so long?” Elizabeth asked.

“She’s only been a minute,” Harriet replied.

“Wel, now, that’s not true. She was in there at least five minutes before we arrived.”

“Ten,” Frances put in.

“Ten?” Daniel echoed. They were making him dizzy.

“Minutes,” Frances explained.

“It wasn’t ten.”

He wasn’t sure who’d spoken that time.

“Wel, it wasn’t five.”

Or that time.

“We can settle for eight, but I think it’s inaccurate.”

“Why do you talk so quickly?” Daniel had to ask.

They paused, all three of them, and regarded him with similarly owlish expressions.

“We’re not talking quickly,” Elizabeth said.

Added Harriet: “We always talk this way.”

And then finaly Frances informed him, “Everyone else understands us.”

It was remarkable, Daniel thought, how three young girls could reduce him to speechlessness.

“I wonder what’s taking Miss Wynter so long,” Harriet mused.

“I wonder what’s taking Miss Wynter so long,” Harriet mused.

“I’ll get her this time,” Elizabeth declared, shooting a look at Frances that said she found her to be ineffectual in the extreme.

Frances just shrugged.

But just as Elizabeth reached the entrance to the mews, out stepped the lady in question, looking very much like a governess in her practical dove gray day dress and matching bonnet. She was puling on her gloves, frowning at what Daniel could only imagine was a hole in the seam.

“This must be Miss Wynter,” he said loudly, before she saw him.

She looked up but quickly masked her alarm.

“I have heard such splendid things about you,” he said in a grand voice, stepping forward to offer her his arm. When she took it—reluctantly, he was sure—he leaned down and murmured, so that only she could hear, “Surprised?”

S
he wasn’t surprised.

Why would she be surprised? He had told her he would be here, even when she had said she would not be at home when he caled. He had told her he would be there again, even when she’d told him
again
that she wouldn’t be at home.

Again.

He was the Earl of Winstead. Men of his position did as they pleased. When it came to women, she thought irritably, men
below
his position did as they pleased.

He was not a malicious man, nor even truly selfish. Anne liked to think she had become a good judge of character over the years, certainly better than she’d been at sixteen. Lord Winstead was not going to seduce anyone who didn’t know what she was doing, and he wasn’t going to ruin or threaten or blackmail or any of those things, at least not on purpose.

If she found her life upended by this man it would not be because he’d meant to do it. It would simply happen because he fancied her and he wanted her to fancy him. And it would never occur to him that he should not alow himself to pursue her.

He was alowed to do anything else. Why not that?

“You should not have come,” she said quietly as they walked to the park, the three Pleinsworth daughters several yards ahead of them.

“I wished to see my cousins,” he replied, all innocence.

She glanced at him sideways. “Then why are you lagging behind with me?”

“Look at them,” he said, motioning with his hand. “Would you have me shove one of them into the street?” It was true. Harriet, Elizabeth, and Frances were walking three across along the pavement, oldest to youngest, the way their mother liked for them to promenade.

Anne could not believe they had chosen this day to finaly folow directions.

“How is your eye?” she asked. It looked worse in the harsh light of day, almost as if the bruise was melting across the bridge of his nose. But at least now she knew what color his eyes were—light, bright blue. It was almost absurd how much she had wondered about that.

“It’s not so bad as long as I don’t touch it,” he told her. “If you would endeavor not to throw stones at my face, I would be much obliged.”

“All my plans for the afternoon,” she quipped. “Ruined. Just like that.”

He chuckled, and Anne was assaulted by memory. Not of anything specific, but of herself, and how lovely it had felt to flirt, and laugh, and bask in the regard of a gentleman.

The flirting had been lovely. But not the consequences. She was still paying for those.

“The weather is fine,” she said after a moment.

“Have we already run out of things to say?”

His voice was light and teasing, and when she turned to steal a glance at his face, he was looking straight ahead, a small, secret smile touching his lips.

“The weather is
very
fine,” she amended.

His smile deepened. So did hers.

“Shal we go to The Serpentine?” Harriet caled out from up ahead.

“Anywhere you wish,” Daniel said indulgently.

“Rotten Row,” Anne corrected. When he looked at her with raised brows, she said, “I am still in charge of them, am I not?” He saluted her with a nod, then caled out, “Anywhere Miss Wynter wishes.”

“We’re not doing maths again?” Harriet lamented.

Lord Winstead looked at Anne with unconcealed curiosity. “Mathematics? On Rotten Row?”

“We have been studying measurement,” she informed him. “They have already measured the average length of their strides. Now they will count their steps and compute the length of the path.”

“Very nice,” he said approvingly. “And it keeps them busy and quiet as they count.”

“You have not heard them count,” Anne told him.

He turned to her with some alarm. “Don’t say they don’t know how?”

“Of course not.” She smiled; she could not help herself. He looked so ridiculous with his one surprised eye. The other was still too swolen to register much of any emotion. “Your cousins do everything with great flair,” she told him. “Even counting.”

He considered this. “So what you are saying is, in five or so years, when the Pleinsworths have taken over the Smythe-Smith quartet, I should endeavor to be far, far away?”

“I should never say such a thing,” she replied. “But I will tell you this: Frances has elected to break with tradition and has taken up the contrabassoon.” He winced.

He winced.

“Indeed.”

And then they laughed, the both of them. Together.

It was a marvelous sound.

“Oh, girls!” Anne caled out, because she could not resist. “Lord Winstead is going to join you.”

“I am?”

“He is,” Anne confirmed, as the girls came trotting back. “He told me himself that he is most interested in your studies.”

“Liar,” he murmured.

She ignored the gibe, but when she alowed herself a smirky half smile, she made sure the upturned side of her mouth was facing him. “Here is what we shal do,” she said. “You shal measure the length of the path as we discussed, multiplying the number of your strides times the length.”

“But Cousin Daniel doesn’t know the length of his stride.”

“Precisely. That is what makes the lesson so much better. Once you have determined the length of the path, you must work backwards to determine the length of his stride.”

“
In our heads
?”

She might as well have said they must learn to wrestle an octopus. “It is the only way to learn how to do it,” she told them.

“I have great love for pen and ink myself,” Lord Winstead remarked.

“Don’t listen to him, girls. It is extremely useful to be able to do sums and tables in your head. Just think of the applications.” They just stared at her, all four of them. Applications, apparently, were not jumping to mind.

“Shopping,” Anne said, hoping to appeal to the girls. “Mathematics is of tremendous help when one goes shopping. You’re not going to carry pen and paper with you when you go to the miliner’s, are you?”

still, they stared. Anne had a feeling they had never so much as inquired about price at the miliner’s, or any establishment, for that matter.

“What about games?” she tried. “If you sharpen your arithmetic skils, there is no teling what you can achieve in a game of cards.”

“You have no idea,” Lord Winstead murmured.

“I don’t think our mother wants you to teach us how to gamble,” Elizabeth said.

Anne could hear the earl chortling with amusement beside her.

“How do you intend to verify our results?” Harriet wanted to know.

“That is a very good question,” Anne replied, “and one that I will answer tomorrow.” She paused for precisely one second. “When I have figured out how I am going to do it.”

All three girls tittered, which had been her intention. There was nothing like a little self-deprecating humor to regain control of the conversation.

“I shal have to return for the results,” Lord Winstead remarked.

“There is no need for that,” Anne said quickly. “We can send them over with a footman.”

“Or we could walk,” Frances suggested. She turned to Lord Winstead with hopeful eyes. “It’s not very far to Winstead House, and Miss Wynter does love to make us take walks.”

“Walking is healthful for the body and mind,” Anne said primly.

“But far more enjoyable when one has company,” Lord Winstead said.

Anne took a breath—the better to hold back a retort—and turned to the girls. “Let us begin,” she said briskly, directing them to the top of the path. “Start over there and then make your way down. I shal wait right there on that bench.”

“You’re not coming?” Frances demanded. She gave Anne the sort of look normaly reserved for those found guilty of high treason.

“I wouldn’t want to get in your way,” Anne demurred.

“Oh, but you would not
be
in the way, Miss Wynter,” said Lord Winstead. “The path is very wide.”

“Nevertheless.”

“Nevertheless?” he echoed.

She gave a crisp nod.

“Hardly a rebuttal worthy of London’s finest governess.”

“A lovely compliment to be sure,” she voleyed, “but unlikely to spur me to battle.”

He stepped toward her, murmuring, “Coward.”

“Hardly,” she returned, managing to respond without even moving her lips. And then, with a bright smile: “Come along, girls, let’s get started. I shal remain here for a moment to help you begin.”

“I don’t need help,” Frances grumbled. “I just need to not have to
do
it.”

Anne just smiled. She knew that Frances would be boasting of her steps and calculations later that evening.

“You, too, Lord Winstead.” Anne gazed at him with her most benign expression. The girls were already moving forward, unfortunately at differing speeds, which meant that a cacophony of numbers filed the air.

“Oh, but I can’t,” he said. One of his hands fluttered up to rest over his heart.

“Why can’t you?” Harriet asked, at the same moment that Anne said, “Of course you can.”

“I feel dizzy,” he said, and it was such an obvious clanker that Anne could not help but roll her eyes. “It’s true,” he insisted. “I have the . . . oh, what was it that befel poor Sarah . . . the vertigo.”

“It was a stomach ailment,” corrected Harriet, and she took a discreet step back.

“You didn’t seem dizzy before,” Frances said.

“Wel, that was because I wasn’t closing my eye.”

That
silenced all of them.

And then finaly: “I beg your pardon?” From Anne, who realy did want to know what closing his eye had to do with anything.

“I always close my eye when I count,” he told her. With a completely straight face.

“You always— Wait a moment,” Anne said suspiciously. “You close
one
of your eyes when you count?”

“Wel, I could hardly close both.”

“Why not?” Frances asked.

“I wouldn’t be able to see,” he said, as if the answer were plain as day.

“I wouldn’t be able to see,” he said, as if the answer were plain as day.

“You don’t need to be able to
see
to count,” Frances replied.

“I do.”

He was lying. Anne could not believe the girls weren’t howling in protest. But they weren’t. In fact, Elizabeth looked utterly fascinated. “Which eye?” she asked.

He cleared his throat, and Anne was fairly certain she saw him wink each of his eyes, as if to remember which was the injured party. “The right one,” he finaly decided.

“Of course,” Harriet said.

Anne looked at her. “What?”

“Wel, he’s right-handed, isn’t he?” Harriet looked to her cousin. “Aren’t you?”

“I am,” he confirmed.

Anne looked from Lord Winstead to Harriet and back again. “And this is relevant because . . . ?” Lord Winstead gave her a tiny shrug, saved from having to answer by Harriet, who said, “It just
is
.”

“I’m sure I could take on the chalenge next week,” Lord Winstead said, “once my eye has healed. I don’t know why it did not occur to me that I would lose my sense of balance with only the swolen eye to look through.”

Anne’s eyes—both of them—narrowed. “I thought one’s balance was affected by one’s hearing.” Frances gasped. “Don’t tell me he’s going
deaf
?”

“He’s not going deaf,” Anne retorted. “Although
I
might, if you yell like that again. Now, get going, the three of you, and carry on with your work. I’m going to sit down.”

“As am I,” Lord Winstead said jauntily. “But I shal be with you three in spirit.”

The girls went back to their counting, and Anne strode over to the bench. Lord Winstead was right behind her, and as they sat she said, “I can’t believe they believed that nonsense about your eye.”

“Oh, they didn’t believe it,” he said nonchalantly. “I told them earlier I’d give them a pound each if they endeavored to give us a few moments alone.”

“What?” Anne screeched.

He doubled over laughing. “Of course I didn’t. Good heavens, do you think me a complete dunce? No, don’t answer that.” She shook her head, annoyed with herself for having been such an easy mark. still, she couldn’t be angry; his laughter was far too good-natured.

“I’m surprised no one has come over to greet you,” she said. The park was not any more crowded than usual for this time of day, but they were hardly the only people out for a stroll. Anne knew that Lord Winstead had been an extremely popular gentleman when he’d lived in London; it was hard to believe that no one had noticed his presence in Hyde Park.

“I don’t think it was common knowledge that I planned to return,” he said. “People see what they expect to see, and no one in the park expects to see me.” He gave her a rueful half grin and glanced up and to the left, as if motioning to his swolen eye. “Especialy not in this condition.”

“And not with me,” she added.

“Who
are
you, I wonder?”

She turned, sharply.

“That’s quite a reaction for so basic a question,” he murmured.

“I am Anne Wynter,” she said evenly. “Governess to your cousins.”

“Anne,” he said softly, and she realized he was savoring her name like a prize. He tilted his head to the side. “Is it Wynter with an
i
or a
y
?”

“
Y
. Why?” And then she couldn’t help but chuckle at what she’d just said.

“No reason,” he replied. “Just my natural curiosity.” He was silent for a bit longer, then said, “It doesn’t suit you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your name. Wynter. It does not suit you. Even with the
y
.”

“We are rarely given the choice of our names,” she pointed out.

“True, but still, I have often found it interesting how well some of us are suited to them.” She could not hide an impish smile. “What, then, does it mean to be a Smythe-Smith?”

He sighed, with perhaps
too
much drama. “I suppose we were doomed to perform the same musicale over and over and over . . .” He looked so despondent she had to laugh. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“It’s a bit repetitive, don’t you think?”

“Smythe-Smith? I think there is something rather friendly about it.”

“Hardly. One would think if a Smythe married a Smith, they might be able to settle their differences and pick a name rather than saddling the rest of us with both.” Anne chuckled. “How long ago was the name hyphenated?”