Nina Coombs Pykare (14 page)

  They were some distance from where they had left their things, heads bent to exa-mine a curious shell that Mortimer had discovered, when something caused Jen-nifer to turn and look behind them. There, sitting on his great black stallion, his eyes surveying them carefully, was the Viscount Haverford.

The red flooded Jennifer’s face and her hands flew to her skirt and then to her hair. But they were standing in the water and to lower her dress would mean to ruin it. She could not afford that. And it would be futile to try to confine her hair now.

The Viscount nudged the horse closer. “I see that you are enjoying the sea.”

“Yes, Milord. We are having a very good time.”

The children, after greeting him, moved on.

She would not evade his eyes, Jennifer told herself, and she raised her own. His shone with the same warm friendliness that she had seen before. “I am probably not behaving as a proper governess should,” she said, compelled by some inner insistence to explain her strange behavior to him. “But when I was a child I lived by the sea for a while. And I loved it. I thought....” She faltered under the calm regard of those eyes.

  “Do not worry,” he assured her. “I shall not report this remarkably unorthodox behavior to your employer.” He smiled and her heart gave a sudden lurch.

“That is most kind of you,” she replied, hardly knowing what she said.

“I shall ask a price, however.”

Jennifer stiffened, but fortunately had not time to reply before he continued. “I, too, have good childhood memories of the sea. I should like to share your fun - and your picnic, if you have sufficient. Being a lord is almost as tiresome as being a governess.”

Jennifer stared in some surprise. “You mean you want...?”

“To walk barefoot in the sand. Is that so outlandish a desire?”

“No, only....”

“Only what?”

“I didn’t think lords ... that is...”

“Lords have feelings and memories just like other people,” he remarked, swinging down from the horse. “And sorrows and problems they would like to forget. I wish to share your forgetfulness.”

And Jennifer, knowing that the memor-ies of this day would be bittersweet, could do nothing but acquiesce. If she drove him away, she could not expect him to remain friendly - and there were the instructions of the government, given her through Ingleton’s mouth.

In silence she watched as the Viscount removed boots and stockings, and stuffed them in the saddlebags. “Now I am ready,” he said with a warm smile.

And so they walked on and the day that had begun with such a sick feeling in Jennifer’s stomach became a rosy dream. She knew he was only having fun, escap-ing from a too rigid reality, but she could not help enjoying his company. And when they rested in the shade of a great rock and his hand crept out to touch her hair, she could not wish away the thrill that swept over her. They retraced their steps to the picnic basket and spread its contents out for a feast, the children sharing con-versation and food with him quite as easily as they did with her.

Once Jennifer caught herself imagining that by some miracle the Viscount had made her an honorable offer and that they were surrounded by their own children. What bliss that would be, she thought, before she wrenched herself back to reality. But even that reality was of such an unbelievable quality. Who would ever have imagined that she would be sitting barefooted in the sand, sharing cold chick-en and muffins, cakes and lemonade, with the Viscount?

  After they had finished off all the food and repacked the basket, the Viscount consulted his timepiece and sighed. “I must be getting on home. And so, I expect, must you.”

Jennifer nodded, the sudden lump in her throat making it difficult to speak.

“I will leave your basket at the top of the path for you. In fact...” He paused. “I shall take you up on Mystery. That will spare you the climb.”

“That... that is unnecessary. Milord.” Jennifer found her heart pounding fran-tically in her throat.

“It’s the least I can do,” he declared as he dusted off the sand and pulled on stock-ings and boots. “Come.”

“But... but the children?”

“They need the exercise.” His eyes twinkl-ed. “Children, I propose to carry your Miss Jennifer up the path on my horse. Can you manage the climb?”

“Of course,” they chorused.

Jennifer flushed again. There was really no way to refuse. And so, when Haverford swung up and offered her his hand, she put her bare foot upon his boot and was soon sitting sidesaddle in front of him, snugly encircled by an arm that made her heart pound frantically. “My... my shoes and stockings,” she cried.

His arm tightened around her. “Cassie will bring those, won’t you?”

“Oh yes, Miss Jennifer,” Cassie said. “I’ll bring them and the bonnet. You enjoy your ride.”

Jennifer found it difficult to breathe. He was so close. Through the material of her dress she could feel the heat of his body behind her. As he bent to take the basket from Mortimer she felt his lips brush her ear.

Here was insanity, she told herself sharply. She must never get this close to the Viscount again. For she longed with a dreadful desire to turn in the saddle and burrow into his arms. If the children had not been present, she could no longer say if her resolves would have saved her.

And then Haverford urged the great stallion up the path. She was forced to lean back against him; there was no way to avoid it. More than once she felt his warm breath on her cheek.

When they reached the top and he turn-ed the stallion so that they might watch the children, the arm around her did not loosen. Nor did he offer to set her down until the children had reached the top. Then he swung himself down and lifted his arms to receive her.

  For one long moment her eyes met his and she feared that he had divined her secret. But he set her securely on her feet and said calmly, “There you are.”

For some reason she was very conscious of her bare feet. But she could not simply plop down in the grass and pull on shoes and stockings. And so she waited while he stowed the basket in the cart and returned to her.

“I must thank you - all of you - for the most delightful afternoon I have spent in many a long weary year.”

His eyes sought Jennifer’s and he took her hand in his. “And thank you, maiden with the sunshine hair, for sharing some of your dreams with me.”

Jennifer was covered with confusion. She could only think of one dream, the one that centered about him, but surely he did not mean that. “Thank you, Milord,” she stammered.

“Perhaps we shall meet again,” said the Viscount as he swung up. “The Fates seem to have destined us for something special.”

Jennifer raised startled eyes to his, but he had already turned the great stallion and was trotting off.

Something special, something special. The words echoed in her ears. What had he meant by that?

  Absently she turned her back to the children and pulled on shoes and stock-ings. She twisted her hair and secured it again as well as she could.

And then it was time to return to Seven Elms, to leave her haven of peace and joy and return to the dark influence of Mon-sieur Dupin and the dreadful accusations of Ingleton.

As Jennifer took her place in the cart and picked up the reins she realized with a start that in the last hours she had not given any thought to the possibility of Haverford being a spy and a traitor. Such a thought seemed even more farfetched now that she had spent time talking to him.

She turned the pony homeward. Something special, the words echoed again in her head. And she gave herself a sharp scolding. Even if she could not force herself to believe that the Viscount would betray his country, she must recognize that he was incontrovertibly a rake-shame, a man of the world who had been on the town for a number of years. It was clearly apparent that he was no novice in the petticoat line. He knew quite well how to speak to a woman, how to gain her confidence, how in fact to make her forget many old tried and true resolutions.

Jennifer was above all things a practical, pragmatic person. Life had forced this trait upon her and she had hitherto benefited from it. But now her practicality seemed to have deserted her. For scold herself as she might and rake herself over with the know-ledge that whatever Haverford meant by something special must, by all rights, be something she would consider dishon-orable, she could not help thinking of him with a certain warmth. She would not, of course, accept anything of that nature. She would stand firm in her resolve.

But, she was also aware, all the resolve in the world would not destroy the par-tiality that her heart had already formed for the tall fair Viscount.

Chapter Ten

The tenor of the next few days was one of constant upheaval. Jennifer found herself continually torn away from lessons and pressed into service by Mrs. Parthemer, who seemed more like a demanding tyrant than a fragile invalid. The children were not permitted any excursions, indeed, could not even escape to do lessons in the shady pavilion, because Jennifer must be constantly on call in regard to the ball.

Since Jennifer herself had obviously no chance of attending it - and didn’t even want to - this constant disruption was an added trial to a temper already worn dangerously thin by thoughts no governess should ever have had the temerity to think.

Many times in those fretful days Jennifer would summon the vision of a windswept beach and the happy faces of the picnic day. If in her vision it was the face of Haverford that comforted and calmed her, certainly no one knew the difference. And she could use any kind of comfort she could get.

Finally the day of the ball arrived. Jennifer, making her way up the dark stairs for the hundredth time that day, reminded herself that their ordeal was almost over. Then she heard a “Hssst” and looking into the shadows spied Ingleton. At that moment she would have given consid-erable to have been able just to ignore him. She did not need any more of his silly accusations against Haverford, especially now, when the furor over the ball had temporarily suspended Monsieur Dupin’s machinations and she had gained a modicum of peace in that area.

“Yes? What is it?” she asked, somewhat more gruffly than she had perhaps intended.

Ingleton motioned to her and she moved into the shadows beside him, feeling again how ridiculously the man behaved.

“The... the government gave me new instructions,” he stammered. “Haverford will be at the ball tonight.”

“Here?” Jennifer’s heart rose up into her throat. Thank God she would not have to face him.

But even that was to be denied her. “I got Aunt to send the invitation and he accept-ed. You’ll be there, too.”

  Jennifer began to protest but Ingleton silenced her. “There’s a shortage of young ladies in the neighborhood and Aunt thought it a fine suggestion for you to be there. She told me to tell you so.”

Jennifer bowed to the inevitable. How like Mrs. Parthemer not to give a person any notice! She thought in dismay of the drab gowns in her wardrobe. Well, the blue would have to serve.

“They want you to be friendly with him,” Ingleton was saying. “Stick to him and see that he doesn’t leave the ball.”

“But... I can’t....”

“Those are the orders,” insisted Ingleton. He looked around him fearfully. “I have to go now.” And he bolted off like a frightened rabbit.

The government, thought Jennifer with a sigh, certainly had not made a wise choice in Ingleton. He was a most unlikely crea-ture to be entrusted with such a hazard-ous mission.

The government hadn’t chosen too well in her case either. How was a mere governess to keep a man like Haverford at her side? It was patently impossible. She shook her head and continued on her errand.

  There was little time for thinking and none at all for resting during the remaind-er of the whirlwind day. And that evening, when Jennifer faced the cheval glass clad in the old drab blue gown cut down from one of her Mama’s she was no closer to any solution to her problem.

There was a timid knock on the door. With a sigh Jennifer turned to open it and gaped in surprise. There stood the slight dark young woman who was Lady Caro-lyn’s dresser. They had exchanged greet-ings upon the stairs but had had no time to get really acquainted. The dresser’s name, Jennifer remembered, was Clau-dine.

“Come in, Claudine. Is something wrong? Can I help?” She eyed the folds of blue silk in the dresser’s arms.

“Non,
Mademoiselle. Nothing is wrong. But Lady Carolyn and
moi,
we have... how you call it?... a difference of opinion over this gown. She does not like the bodice and in a fit of pique ordered me to dispose of the gown. I thought perhaps....” The little Frenchwoman paused delicately. “That is... I heard that Mademoiselle was to be at the ball and I thought perhaps she would wear the dress for me. So the Lady Carolyn can see how it looks so good.” The dark eyes danced mischievously. “I think the Lady Carolyn has been too much time now near the gowns of Mrs. Parthemer and Mrs. Parsons.”

Jennifer could not help but return the smile. Nor could she help letting her eyes slide with longing over the rich blue silk.

“Mademoiselle would be doing me a great favor,” Claudine insisted.

“But Lady Carolyn may object.”

Claudine shook her head.
“Non.
She told me to do exactly as I pleased with it. She wished never to wear it again. Come, Lady Carolyn is already dressed. Let me help Mademoiselle.”

The temptation was too great. Jennifer could only stand there as Claudine slipped off the old gown and slid the new one over her head. It fell about her with a soft silken swoosh. The bodice, Jennifer saw, was of the new style, cut low and gathered right under the bosom, from where it fell to the floor in graceful folds. Little puffs at the top of each long narrow sleeve were edged with fine lace as was the neckline and the wrists.

The dresser’s nimble fingers sped, pulling here, adjusting there. Then she was busy loosening the torrent of golden hair.

“I cannot....” Jennifer cried, but the little woman hurried on. “I do it up,” she pro-mised. “But we need here a curl for the shoulder.”