Nina Coombs Pykare (16 page)

in me.”

Jennifer shook her head slightly. “I thank you for your offer, Monsieur Dupin, but I do not need any help. My heart is in its usual sound condition.”

She could tell by his eyes that he did not believe the lie, but it was the best she could manage. Oh why couldn’t he just leave her alone? There was too much happening all at once. She could not straighten everything out when she was assaulted from all sides. And everyone seemed to be demanding something of her.

Monsieur Dupin wanted her confidence - and her secrets - for what reason she could not tell. Ingleton wanted her help in capturing the Viscount, help she was most reluctant to give. And Haverford - what did he want from her with his talk of the Fates and the warm smile in those grey eyes? Clearly something that a governess would be a fool to give.

She was conscious that Monsieur Du-pin’s eyes still rested upon her face and she pretended to study the dancers. “You enjoy the dancing,” he remarked.

“Of course. Who could not?” Jennifer shifted uneasily. Why did everything this man said, even an innocent remark of this nature, seem fraught with some unname-able danger? She was frightening herself, and she would stop it this instant.

Fortunately, as her eyes moved over the room they caught those of Mrs. Parthemer who made a gesture of summons. Swallowing her sigh of relief, Jennifer made her excuses and hastened to her employer’s side. Any errand, no matter how stupid or unfruitful, would be better than remaining with the man who so disturbed her.

The errand was a small one. Mrs. Parthemer had misplaced her handker-chief and sent Jennifer off to fetch her another. As she was returning with it along the ill-lit corridors, she was stopped suddenly by a hand on her wrist. Lord Proctor stepped out of the shadows that had hidden him. His glassy eyes reflected that he had been at the spirits overlong.

“Let me go, Sir,” said Jennifer stiffly. Proctor shook his head. “Gimme kiss.”

Jennifer smiled inwardly. Here was a problem she knew how to deal with - an ordinary, everyday problem that she had met with more than once.

“Mrs. Parthemer is expecting me,” she said softly, seeming to waver.

Proctor pulled her toward him. Jennifer did not resist. She went quite willingly, but just at the moment he drew her against his chest she brought her foot sharply down on his instep. The pain was enough to loosen his grip and before he had regained his befuddled wits she had gathered her skirts and sped down the corridor back to the ballroom.

And so the evening wore on. She danced once with every gentleman who asked her and carefully refused any second invita-tions. She had already risked a good deal by appearing clad as she was and she certainly had no desire to add to her problems by appearing to be a threat to the happiness of any woman present.

Oh why, she thought to herself with a sudden spurt of anger, why had she ever ridden out in the pony cart, why had she ever looked up into a pair of warm grey eyes flecked with brown? And why, why, why, must she be so foolish as to form a partiality for a man who was so far above her reach?

  An hour or more had passed since Haverford left her side when Jennifer, whose eyes had never ceased to watch the door, again caught sight of his tall form. Whatever had occasioned his rushing away, he was now all right and her heart leaped with joy.

His eyes quickly scanned the room and he set out quite purposefully in her direction. This time she watched him come.

“I have returned to your side,” he said gallantly and bowed low.

Jennifer’s heart stopped in her throat and before she had time even to think her hand had flashed out and retrieved the little ivy leaf that had caught in his hair. She crumpled it in nervous fingers and let it fall unseen to the floor.

Then he was leading her once more to the dance floor and she had to concentrate on the steps of the quadrille. But no amount of concentration would erase from her mind the fact of the ivy leaf - very like those that grew in the pavilion. The pavilion where smugglers and spies were supposed to leave messages.

Jennifer’s heart pounded heavily beneath the silk gown. Here was more evidence against him. And still she refused to believe it. She must refuse.

  It was not till the quadrille had ended and he was escorting her once more to a chair that she realized what she had done. She had twice stood up with the Viscount Haverford and there were plenty of busy eyes to note such an unusual circum-stance - and plenty of mouths to whisper vicious tales. She suppressed a sigh. It was very difficult for a poor girl to earn an honest living. Everything seemed to conspire against it. Everything.

For a moment she longed to put her head in her hands and cry. But Jennifer Whitcomb was made of sterner stuff than that and so she kept a little smile on her face and pretended to be oblivious to some of the looks around her.

“Our last dance,” remarked the Viscount, “seems to have caused some comment. Is there something out of place in my gear?”

Jennifer shook her head. She was tired of lies; she would give him the truth. “I danced with you twice. And with the others I refused the second dance.”

Haverford’s eyes gleamed. “I see. And so the ladies suspect you of throwing out lures.”

Jennifer nodded.

The Viscount laughed. “These ladies have a poor opinion of me, do they not? A man of my stripe being taken in by a mere governess?”

  His tone made the words amusing and Jennifer was forced to laugh. But there was something besides amusement in his eyes -something warm that made her heart beat faster.

“Of course,” he added with mock solem-nity, “if the Fates have really decreed that we are to be together there is no point in defying them.”

Jennifer’s heart began to pound. A light tone, she judged, was the best. “You are quite right. Milord, no point in defying the Fates. Once one is sure of their purpose.”

Those eyes held hers for a long moment and then he chuckled cheerfully.
“Touché,
Miss Whitcomb. You are very quick.”

“Brains,” said Jennifer with a smile, “are quite the thing for a governess to have. Provided, of course, that she uses them properly.”

“Of course.” Haverford considered. “I suppose there is no way I can prevail upon you to stand up with me again?”

Jennifer shook her head. “I cannot, Milord.”

“Well, then, I think I shall find my host-ess and make my departure. But first I must thank
you,
for it is to you that I am indebted for my pleasure of this evening.” He bent low over her glove.

“You are too kind, Milord,” she replied.

And then he was gone, striding across the huge room as though it were an open meadow. Oh, how she loved him, thought Jennifer. How very much she loved him!

She was still standing thus, thanking God that she had seen the betraying ivy in time to remove it, when Ingleton appeared at her elbow. The little man was obviously very tense, but was making an effort to hide it.

“Why didn’t you keep him with you?” he hissed. “Why did you let him go?”

Jennifer gathered all her courage. Enough was enough! “Mr. Ingleton, may I remind you that I am a governess? I did all that I could to keep Viscount Haverford at my side. And much to the detriment of my character, I’ve no doubt. Are you or the government going to compensate me if I lose my position? I sincerely doubt it. I do not wish to hear another word on the subject. Not one.”

And with that she moved gracefully away. Let him report her to his aunt. He couldn’t talk about the spy thing anyway.

  With a slight smile Jennifer considered the changes that had been made in the household in the past fortnight. It would take a great deal for Mrs. Parthemer to sacrifice the comfort of these last days and even more for Mr. Parthemer to disregard the well-being of his children. No, her position was probably still safe. The Vis-count Haverford was, after all, a hardened rake-shame and so most of the odium should fall on his shoulders. They were broad shoulders, she thought with a sigh, and probably quite used to such a burden.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze. On occasion she danced, even accepting second dances with several gentlemen, hoping in that way to make her actions with Haverford less conspicuous. And finally the evening drew to a close, finally the last guest had departed with a rumble of carriage wheels. The houseguests had already made their way up the dimly lit stairs and Jennifer, trailing the Par-themers, could think only of the softness of her bed.

But once she closed the door of her room behind her, once she had slipped off the blue silk gown and hung it carefully in the wardrobe, once she had pulled her nightdress over her head and fastened the strings of her nightcap in a neat bow, she could not forbear lingering by the window that looked out at the pavilion. Its roof glowed dimly in the moonlight and Jennifer’s fingers closed around an imaginary leaf of ivy. What
had
he been doing in the pavilion? Could Haverford possibly be a traitor and a spy?

Chapter Eleven

The next morning found Jennifer in a strangely pensive mood. She could not believe  Ingleton’s  accusations against Haverford, but certainly something was strange there. She sighed and rolled over in the bed. She simply must banish all such ridiculous thoughts from her mind. It was as a governess that she had come to Seven Elms and it was as a governess that she would remain.

The Viscount’s attentions, gratifying as they might have been, were more danger-ous to her character than the attentions of someone like Lord Proctor. Indeed, it was the very fact of that gratification that marked the danger. Lord Proctor may have impressed the ladies of London with his fine clothes, but Jennifer would not easily forget the look of his horses. No, Lord Proctor would have no chance in an assault on her heart. It was Viscount Haverford who could, she feared, quite easily storm that citadel.

  She forced herself to rise from the bed. Lessons had been severely neglected in the furor over the ball. But even more neg-lected were the children themselves. Today should be a day for them - a special day.

She selected one of the drab dresses in the wardrobe, pushed down the sigh that arose at the sight of the blue silk, and went to waken the children. “No lessons today,” she said cheerfully.
“We shall take a long outing. Up and dress now.”

There was no need for further words and, indeed, by the time Betty appeared with breakfast each child was groomed and ready.

“Goodness me,” exclaimed Betty as she pushed open the door. “If this ain’t some-thing.”

Betty was soon dispatched to the kitchen with orders to have Cook prepare a huge lunch basket and to send a footman to the stable for the pony and cart.

“Where are we going, Miss Jennifer?” asked Mortimer, carefully cleaning his porridge bowl.

“I have not decided yet,” declared Jen-nifer. “We shall have an adventure. We will decide as we go.”

  Soon all the breakfast was finished and the children, the girls bonneted and gloved and Mortimer with his cap, made their way quietly down the great staircase. There was no need, Jennifer thought wryly, to warn them to silence. They didn’t want to see their mother any more than she did them.

Finally they were outside and in the cart, ready to go. As the ruinous house fell away behind them, the fresh young voices rose in song. Jennifer’s heart grew lighter. The sun was warm and bright, the sky a bril-liant blue, the hedgerows abloom with little blossoms. For a whole day she need not think of Ingleton nor of that darkly sinister Monsieur Dupin. For a whole day she could be free and happy. And who knows, perhaps they might meet someone on the road, someone tall and blond.

The miles passed quickly as they sang and laughed and before long they had approached the crossroads. Jennifer halted the pony. “Which way shall we go now?” she asked. “Shall we return to the seashore? Shall we take the road straight ahead? Or shall we go to the right?”

The children chattered eagerly, each, it seemed, in favor of a different route. Fin-ally Jennifer called a halt to the noise. “Children, children!  Let me hear each of you separately.”

“I want the seashore,” said Cammie.

“And I want to go straight on,” said Cassie.

  “I like the right-hand road,” exclaimed Mortimer. “That’s the way to the village. I went there once with one of the grooms. I had a gingerbread man. A great big one.”

The two huge tears that hung rather perilously in Cammie’s big brown eyes were dashed quickly away. “Gingerbread?”

Mortimer nodded.

Jennifer turned to Cassie. “Is it agreeable to you for us to inspect the village? We can follow this road another day. Then we can see where it goes.”

“It goes to Great Oaks,” said Cassie quickly. “I heard the Viscount say so.”

“Oh.” Jennifer hoped that small monosyllable had not given her away. But Cassie’s expression had not altered. For a moment Jennifer was at a loss for words. Then she summoned a small smile. “It might not be very polite to visit without a direct invitation. Shall we see what the village is like?”

Cassie nodded. “Yes, I’ve never been there.”

  As the pony cart passed between the blooming hedgerows, Jennifer could not help smiling. The world around her was beautiful. Life looked good. In the bright sunshine, under the brilliant blue sky, the thought that Monsieur Dupin might possess evil powers seemed ridiculous. And the possibility that Haverford might be a traitor engaged in spying on his country seemed utterly laughable.

And so the pony ambled on, drawing them into a neat little village of fresh-thatched cottages. In fact, the whole village looked in excellent repair, not like so many she had passed on her journey.

“Mortimer, do you know to whom this village belongs?”

Mortimer nodded. “It’s part of Great Oaks. The groom told me so.”

The village took on new interest to Jenni-fer. This was Haverford’s village. He was its lord. And the excellent condition of the cottages was due to him. She was sure of it. Every honeysuckle and ivy that climbed a cottage wall, every well-kept patch of kitchen garden, every group of shiny-faced, healthy children, redounded to his credit.