Carola Dunn (26 page)

So the Goddess had refused him. Fanny should have been elated but her euphoria evaporated in an instant. She ached for his disappointment, however well hidden. And Lady Sophia had never been a real rival, simply because Fanny herself had never had any real hope of winning his love.

Nothing had changed. She was still not nobly born, not wealthy, not gently bred, not fashionable, not even beautiful. All she had to offer was her love, and that he must never guess. His pity would be unendurable.

Was she run mad, then, to accept his invitation after all? Could the joy of his company possibly compensate for the torment? She had no strength to resist the temptation.

Avoiding his eyes, she said hesitantly, “We will come to Westwood.”

Chapter 18

Flooded fields gleamed on either side of the raised road from Wells to Westwood and a grey haze of drizzle hid the steep wall of the Mendips. Felix was pleased. Poor visibility would mute the impressive effect of the mansion’s façade. He did not want Fanny to be overawed by his home.

He had carefully planned their arrival. They had dined early at an inn in Wells, and now Anita was fast asleep between him and Fanny while Frank drowsed on the opposite seat. Fanny sat upright, tense as a hare in its form when the greyhounds approach. Irate landladies and amorous lieutenants she took in her stride; even Lady Sophia’s cut direct in the park had annoyed, not cowed her; yet the prospect of meeting the Earl and Countess of Westwood had her shaking in her shoes.

If Felix had his way, she would not have to face that meeting until the morning, when she was rested from the journey. If he was lucky and his parents had guests, nor would he.

As the Cohens’ coachman drew up in front of the house, Felix consulted his watch. Dinner should have been served fifteen minutes ago--perfect timing. He opened the door and let down the step.

“Wait here while I organize umbrellas.”

He ran up the steps to the shelter of the portico and opened one leaf of the wide oak front door. A footman was crossing the great hall bearing a platter that looked too large for the family alone. Catching sight of Felix, he almost dropped the dish, then gave a helpless, apologetic shrug and rushed on into the dining room. A moment later the butler came out, stately as ever.

“Good evening, my lord.”

Felix swiftly explained the situation. The man permitted a harried expression to pass across his face. Nonetheless, within a few minutes Frank had been carried up to Felix’s chamber, kept always prepared, and Fanny was sipping tea in the small saloon while a chamber was readied for her and Anita. Anita, fast asleep, lay sprawled on a sofa with Felix close beside her. When he carried her in she had clung to his sleeve and it was still grasped in her little fist.

“She will not wake if you untangle yourself,” said Fanny with a tired smile. “She will crease your sleeve.”

“No matter, I’ll have to change into evening dress tonight and Trevor should be here tomorrow. I promised the poor chap faithfully he’d never have to travel on the Mail again.”

“I must change into my evening gown to meet your parents?” she asked, dismayed. He had warned her of the ceremony observed at Westwood, but to expect a weary guest to change just to make her bows to the earl and countess seemed excessive!

“You need not meet them this evening, especially as they have guests. The journey is excuse enough for you to retire as soon as your room is ready.”

“Are you certain?” Once again, the fear swept over her of so offending Felix’s parents by her gaucherie that he’d feel obliged to disown her friendship. “I’d hate to be remiss in any way.”

“I’m quite certain. But if you don’t object, I’ll catch Connie when the ladies withdraw and send her to see you.”

“Oh yes, please. I shall have much more confidence in the morning if I have already met one of your family.”

At that moment the door opened and a girl in white came in. Her inelegant, bouncing gait and the fair hair flowing loose down her back suggested that this was not Lady Constantia but her younger sister. Her attention on Felix, she did not notice Fanny.

“Felix, is it true you...”

“Sshhhh!” he hissed.

“Oh!” She tiptoed over to the sofa and gazed down at Anita’s rosy cheeks, long black lashes, and tumbled curls. “Oh, she’s just like a doll. A beautiful porcelain doll.”

“If you will turn around, Vickie, I shall introduce you to Miss Ingram.”

Horrified hand to her mouth, Lady Victoria swung round and curtsied. “Miss Ingram, I beg your pardon, I did not see you. You must think me horridly ill-mannered. Is it true your brother was injured at Waterloo? And is that little girl his ward? May I play with her? Will she sleep in the nursery? My chamber is right next door because I am still in the schoolroom, which is why I wasn’t allowed to dine downstairs tonight. We have guests, you know, tonnish people, not just the vicar.”

Fanny smiled at her. “How do you do, Lady Victoria.” She was perfectly able to deal with an enthusiastic schoolroom miss, even if she was titled. “I think Anita had best sleep in my chamber tonight, but tomorrow you shall play with her, if your governess permits.”

“She will.” Vickie glanced warily at the door. “All the same, I’d better go now or I shall be in the suds. Good night, ma’am. I’m glad you have come to stay.”

As she dashed out, the housekeeper came in to show Fanny to her chamber. Felix carried Anita up, but transferred her to Fanny’s arms outside the door. At Westwood, the proprieties must be carefully observed.

“Good night, Miss Ingram. I’ll make sure your brother is all right.”

“Thank you, Lord Roworth.” She copied his formality, an intangible barrier between them. “Good night.”

She carried Anita into the room. The housekeeper followed and shut the door, another barrier. Sighing, Felix went to check on Frank, who was deep in exhausted sleep, then changed into his evening clothes and descended to the great hall.

Lurking behind the magnificent marble staircase with gilded wrought-iron rail, he waited for the ladies to come out of the dining room. He had not long to wait. His mother led the way with a lady he did not recognize, followed by the wives of two local gentlemen, and lastly, on her own, Connie.

“Pssst!” He beckoned to her.

“Felix!” she exclaimed in a whisper, joining him. “I wondered what all the commotion was about. Mama did not say and everyone was much too polite to ask.”

“I’ve brought guests.” He raised his voice to normal as the drawing-room door closed behind the last of the visiting ladies. “The Ingrams.”

“Oh Felix, how delightful!” Her smile turned to a frown. “But you told me I should never meet them because they are...not precisely common but...”

“Not at all common!” he said indignantly.

“No, that is not what I meant. You said they have no connexions and do not move in the first circles, if I remember correctly. Yet you have brought them to Westwood! What will Mama and Papa say?”

“I hate to think,” he admitted, “and Fanny is terrified. You wouldn’t think someone who has been through innumerable battle campaigns would be afraid of a mere earl and countess. Con, will you go up now and talk to her, try to put her at her ease? She has met Vickie already, but Vickie is far too scatterbrained to be any comfort.”

“Of course, but I must be in the drawing room before the gentlemen come in or Mama will put me on bread and water.”

“Figuratively, I trust. Don’t worry, I’ll go and keep ‘em circulating the port for at least half an hour.”

He was not surprised to find the after-dinner conversation revolving around Waterloo and Napoleon, now a prisoner aboard HMS Bellerophon. His personal closeness to the battle still allowed him to claim a certain expertise. He easily kept his father’s guests sitting for close to an hour while they in turn, however unwittingly, prevented his father’s interrogating him about his guests.

When they repaired to the drawing room, he managed to snatch a brief tête-à-tête with Connie.

“Did you see her?”

“Yes, and I like her prodigiously. We talked about her brother--you did not mention that he is still an invalid. I shall do all I can to help the poor, brave young man recover his strength,” she said earnestly.

“You are a sweetheart, Con. That will give me more chance to have Fanny to myself.”

“Oh, Felix, you are in love with her! I half suspected as much when you first told me about her. But what about Lady...?” She cut herself short as one of the visitors approached them with a request for music. Obligingly she went to the pianoforte.

Feeling he had done his duty by his parents’ guests, Felix slipped out of the room, retired to his temporary quarters, and went to bed.

In the morning he rose early. The housekeeper would have explained breakfast arrangements to Fanny, but he had no intention of letting her meet the earl and countess without his support. Three of last night’s party were staying at Westwood, too, so she would face a terrifying battery of well-bred inquisitiveness.

The first to arrive in the breakfast room, he was half way through a plateful of ham and eggs when Fanny and Connie came in together. His sister’s beauty failed to divert his gaze from Fanny’s fresh prettiness in her sprig muslin gown. He stood up, smiling in response to her warm, dimpled smile and the dancing light in her brown eyes.

“Lord Roworth, how is it you never told me what jewels you have for sisters? Lady Victoria has taken Anita to the nursery for breakfast, while Lady Constantia lent me her abigail and would not let me come down alone.”

“I was prepared to make my breakfast last until you appeared, Miss Ingram,” he assured her.

“I did not know you would be here already,” Connie said, giving him a look that demanded last night’s postponed explanations at no very distant time. “The customs of a strange house can be sadly confusing. Do sit down and eat. Your eggs are growing cold. Miss Ingram, come and help yourself from the sideboard. We are informal at breakfast.”

“Informal? Do Lord and Lady Westwood not come down to breakfast?” she asked hopefully.

“In general Mama does not, but today they both will because we have guests who do not care to breakfast in their rooms. Will you have some kedgeree?”

“Thank you, just bread and butter. I am not very hungry this morning.”

“Nonsense.” Felix was well acquainted with her appetite and he’d be damned if he’d let it be destroyed by apprehension. It had taken her a month at Miriam’s to make up for the weight she had lost after Frank was wounded. He jumped up and filled her plate with a little of everything, then seated her beside him and set about distracting her.

He succeeded so well that she and Connie were laughing over the Duke of Oxshott’s discomfiture when Lord Westwood came in.

“Good morning, sir.” Felix rose. “I’d like to present Miss Ingram.”

She started to stand up to make her curtsy, but he put his hand on her arm. She was a lady, no schoolroom miss to rise when an older gentleman, however distinguished, entered the room.

“Miss Ingram.” The earl nodded, his aristocratic face expressionless.

“How do you do, my lord,” she said, pale but composed.

“Pray do not let me interrupt your meal, ma’am. I trust you have been made comfortable?”

“Thank you, sir, very comfortable.” Fanny toyed with the remains of her breakfast while Lord Westwood helped himself at the sideboard.

Tea, the universal remedy, thought Felix, and refilled her cup as he spoke. “I hope to make Miss Ingram’s brother known to you later, sir, if he is well enough to come down. Their little ward, Anita, is in the nursery.”

The earl’s lips tightened, but before he could speak, Connie put in boldly, “Captain Ingram fought at Waterloo, Papa.”

“Indeed. Which regiment, Miss Ingram?” The earl joined them at the table.

“The Artillery, sir.”

His eyebrows rose and he cast a piercing glance at Felix. The sons of noblemen did not enter the Artillery.

There had been a time when his father’s piercing glance had made him shudder. Since then he had become accustomed to facing the penetrating gazes of Nathan Rothschild and the Duke of Wellington. As piercing glances go, the earl’s came in a poor third.

“Frank Ingram was wounded at Quatre Bras, sir,” he said calmly. “Shall I ring for fresh coffee?”

The butler and a footman were replenishing coffee, tea, and chocolate pots when Lady Westwood entered with her noble guests. Felix presented Fanny, who was received with cool courtesy. In the confusion as the new arrivals were served and seated, he abstracted her from the room, along with Connie, but not before his father had demanded his presence in his study in half an hour.

“I must see Anita and Frank,” said Fanny as the breakfast room door closed behind them.

“I am looking forward prodigiously to making the captain’s acquaintance,” Connie said eagerly.

“Not in his chamber--or mine, rather,” her brother warned as they started up the stairs. “You’ll have to wait until he comes down.”

“As to that, I have a splendid notion. Felix, you know the little room that opens off the gallery? If we turn that into a bedchamber for Captain Ingram, he will not have to go up and down stairs, and he can exercise in the gallery or easily walk into the garden.”

“That is a wonderful idea, Lady Constantia.” Fanny turned on Felix the appealing gaze he was incapable of resisting. “I am afraid that he might not continue his exercises without Miriam to coerce him. He is more likely to walk, at least, if it is easy to leave his chamber. Do you think it possible?”

“Consider it done.”

They went first to the nursery, where Anita was exercising an aged rocking horse under Vickie’s watchful eye.

“Look!” she cried. “I’m galloping. Look at me galloping, Aunt Fanny. Uncle Felix, ‘member when you were my horse? This horse gallops.”

“And I never even managed a trot,” said Felix, shaking his head.

Fanny and Connie laughed. Vickie looked disbelieving. “You let her ride on your back, Felix? An out-and-outer like you? You are a complete hand!”

“Lady Victoria!” Her governess called her to order for her language. A tall, grey-haired woman with a warm smile, she told Fanny she was delighted to take charge of Anita. “I am in hopes that caring for Miss Anita will impart to Lady Victoria a sense of responsibility, a quality in which she is sadly lacking,” she confided.