Nina Coombs Pykare (20 page)

Jennifer felt the color flooding her cheeks. She knew she should grab her pins and leave his side immediately. There was only danger here so close to him. She knew it, but she was powerless to move. She had used the vision of his face to escape the fearful darkness lurking in the eyes of the Frenchman. But what could she use to escape the dangerous tender-ness that enveloped her when Haverford looked at her like this?

His hand moved from her hair and lingered for a moment on her cheek. And still she could not wrench her eyes away from his.

“Sometimes,” said the Viscount in a gentle tone, “sometimes it helps to talk about our problems.”

  For one wild moment Jennifer thought she might throw herself into his arms, but she merely shook her head. “I should not waste time mourning my past. It serves nothing and only makes my present less supportable.”

His eyes held hers. “Perhaps your future will be a better one than you envision now.” His hand sought and covered hers. She read clearly the promise that lay in his eyes. She did not withdraw her hand from his, but she replied stiffly. “There is little cause for rejoicing at my future. Govern-esses do not lead notably exciting lives.”

“Perhaps you will not always be a govern-ess.”

“Perhaps not,” she said bitterly, very conscious that her partiality for him was so great that it could conceivably drive her into the position of being a kept woman.

“I will ask you no more questions,” he assured her. “One has a right to his griefs.”

Jennifer nodded. Why must he be so unfailingly kind? Why couldn’t he be like the Earl of Linden? A man so obnoxious that he was easily rejected?

“However,” he continued gravely, “I have long been aware that when one is hurting the comfort of being held is indispensable.” He opened his arms.

For a moment Jennifer stared at him in surprise. A part of her remarked bitterly that his was a new way to bring a young woman to ruin.

It was almost as though he read her mind. “I mean you no harm. No one is here to see us. How long has it been since you have had the comfort of being held?”

Jennifer shook her head. In those far-away days she had not allowed the young men any such liberties. And it had been many years since she had felt her mother’s arms. “I... I....” The tears made a great lump in her throat and prevented her speaking.

The Viscount did not wait for further words, but very gently gathered her against his waistcoast. There was no strength left in her and she leaned against him willingly. All thought of the future was buried in the glorious peace of those mo-ments. She felt the warmth of his waist-coat against her cheek, the strength of his arms around her.

And while she nestled there, wrapped in a security that she had never thought to know, his hand moved gently in a soothing motion over the golden cascade of her hair. There was a great deal of comfort in his touch. Jennifer banished all thought and absorbed every nuance of her feelings.

  For long minutes he held her so. And then he began talking to her. “I believe you are grieving for your lost dreams,” he said softly. “But dreams should never be lost. They should be cherished. For they are our only route to happiness.”

Jennifer swallowed. “Governesses have no right to dream,” she murmured.

“Indeed,” replied the Viscount. “It is precisely those with the least who should hold the most tenaciously to their dreams.”

“That sounds good,” Jennifer whispered against his waistcoat. “But dreams that have no chance at realization sour a per-son’s life.”

His arms tightened momentarily. “Every dream has a chance at realization if we do not give up to despair.”

Jennifer had no answer for this. She could not argue with him, nor could she be more specific without letting him see the extent of her partiality for him. And so she remained silent, savoring every precious second of this time that would never again be.

After more minutes had passed, she felt his hand under her chin. He tipped back her head and gazed into her eyes. Her lips trembled but she did not try to escape his embrace.

“Your employer’s nephew is a strange man,” he said, his eyes watching her closely.

“Yes,” Jennifer replied. “He wants to be a lord.” There was no harm in saying that.

“I doubt that he has the ability,” replied Haverford in a tone of complete objectivity.

  “
I
know that,” said Jennifer. “But
he
does not.”

“Has he spoken to you of me?” asked the Viscount.

Jennifer hoped he did not feel the slight stiffening of her body. “I told you some.” She hesitated. “He said you were a - rake-shame.” A sudden wave of color swept her cheeks, but he did not release her.

“A certain lady preferred my company to his.” Again there was that matter-of-fact tone. “He did not take the fact lightly.”

“An incognita,” murmured Jennifer, and then regretted it.

He eyed her curiously as she leant there close against his chest. “Of course. I have not yet taken a wife.” His eyes crinkled in amusement. “But, like any man, I have met my needs.”

“Of course,” Jennifer replied, extremely conscious now of her position in his arms. “I did not mean to criticize.”

“No criticism was taken,” replied the Vis-count. “I suppose Ingleton also told you that I cheated him at cards.”

She flushed. “Yes, but....”

“No need for concern,” he said. “No one in London believed him.”

“You did not call him out?” she asked, rather in surprise.

“No. I do not kill those so obviously my inferiors.”

“Of course. He was beneath your touch.”

He chuckled. “Very well put, but do I de-tect a light note of acrimony? Perhaps you would have preferred that I dispose of him?”

“Of course not.”

His eyes narrowed suddenly. “Ingleton has not annoyed you, has he?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No, no. Of course not.”

“Good. I will not permit such a thing. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Milord,” replied Jennifer, grateful for Ingleton’s sake that she could make a truthful reply. From the hard look in the Viscount’s eyes, Mrs. Parthemer’s nephew would have been in an extremely difficult position had she replied otherwise.

For another long moment the Viscount looked down into her eyes. Jennifer became conscious of a deep yearning within her. She found that she was holding her breath.

“You are a beautiful woman,” said the Viscount in the same objective tone that he had used to discuss Ingleton.

“I.... Thank you,” she murmured. The consciousness of her position was very much with her but somehow she did not seem able to move out of the secure circle of his arms.

He touched the tip of her nose lightly with one finger. “I’ve no doubt that there were many young men who visited often at your father’s.”

She could not deny this and so remained silent.

“It must have been very difficult for you,” he continued. “Losing your parents and your way of life all at once.”

“It was. But I have survived.” The lump in her throat threatened to choke her again.

“Survival is not the same as living,” said the Viscount gravely. And slowly, giving her ample time to resist, he bent his head and his lips met hers.

It was not a frightening kiss. It was tend-er and gentle and kind. And something inside her seemed to melt into a warm feeling of contentment.

She was sorry when he drew away and it was not until he had again smiled down at her that she recalled herself. This way lay madness. She wrenched herself suddenly from his embrace. He looked at her in surprise but made no move to reclaim her. “You forget yourself, Milord,” she said with what dignity she could muster.

“I beg your pardon,” he replied gravely. “I did indeed take unfounded liberties. I hope you will forgive me.”

In the face of such an apology Jennifer could not maintain even a semblance of anger. “I... I too was at fault,” she stam-mered.

“Then let us not refer to the matter again,” he said.
“We have both made our apologies.”

Jennifer looked at him suspiciously, but his features were set gravely. “Yes, let us not,” she agreed.

There were several moments of somewhat strained silence. Finally Jennifer could bear it no longer. “Do you think the French will win the war?”

Haverford shook his head. “Boney ought to give us up as a bad cause. We may be a nation of shopkeepers, as he has called us, but we know how to defend our homes. No one will invade England successfully. Not even Boney.”

Jennifer felt a warm wave of relief. Cer-tainly he was not a spy.

She glanced at the sun. “Oh, I must go. The children will be up. Lessons must begin.” She jumped to her feet and extend-ed her hand. “I must pin up my hair. May I have my pins?”

The Viscount bent his gaze on the rock. “I... I dropped them. Here, here are some.”

  “Thank you.” With fingers that wanted to tremble, she pulled and pushed and patted her hair, securing it with the pins.

“Now you are the proper governess again,” he commented dryly.

“Yes, and I must hurry back. Just because Mr. Parthemer was kind enough to let me exercise the mare does not mean I should neglect his children.”

“Of course not,” replied his lordship. “I much doubt that you have ever in your life neglected your duty.”

He stood up and extended his hand. “Mystery is tethered nearby. I shall give you a ride up the path.”

She hesitated and he smiled dryly. “Come, we have forgotten the past. You are in a hurry to get back and I am offering to assist you.”

She could not dispute this without recall-ing the forbidden kiss. And so she allowed him to lead her across the sand. The great stallion stood patiently waiting.

He raised his head and nickered at his master. “Yes, boy.
We are going now.”

The Viscount turned to Jennifer. She expected him to offer her his palms, but instead he clasped her around the waist and lifted her easily to the great horse’s back. Then he swung up behind her, one arm going around her waist.

As he turned the horse toward the path she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck. Again that strange melting sensation went through her. With great effort she kept herself from leaning back into his arms.

Slowly and carefully the great stallion made his way to the top of the cliff. Haverford guided him to where the little mare stood tethered. He swung easily down and reached up to lift her. For a long moment after her feet had touched the ground his hands remained on her waist. She gazed up into his eyes, fearing another kiss and yet somehow hoping for it.

He seemed about to lean toward her and then he straightened suddenly, as though recalling something. He removed his hands from her waist and offered her his arm for the few paces they must cover to reach the little mare.

Again he did not give her his palms, but took her by the waist and swung her light-ly up. “I trust you are an excellent horse

woman.”

Jennifer nodded. “The mare will not run away with me.”

“Good,” he said with a satisfaction she could not comprehend, but then, there was much about him that defied her understanding.

As she looked down on him another wave of longing rushed over her and to counter-act it she mustered a frown. “I shall really be late. I must thank you again for your... your....”

“Comfort?” suggested his lordship.

“Comfort,” Jennifer agreed. “It was most kind of you.”

The Viscount shook his head. “It was nothing. I enjo.... That is, I was glad to do it.”

She nodded. “Thank you, again.” She touched the little mare and the horse moved off down the road. Steadfastly Jennifer refused to look behind her. Not for another moment could she bear the scrutiny of those eyes. What if her own eyes had revealed the depth of her feeling for him?

And so the little mare found her own way homeward; for the beautiful young woman on her back was oblivious to her sur-roundings. The only reality that existed for her resided in the embrace of a pair of strong arms, the look of tenderness in those grey eyes. The memory of each sep-arate moment was taken out and lovingly examined and burnished to brightness. She wanted no moment of this day to be lost. Each second, each minute, was pre-cious in its own right, to be hoarded against the vast expanse of loneliness that lay inevitably ahead.

Chapter Fourteen

Somehow, in spite of the memories of that meeting with Haverford, Jennifer contrived to get through the morning. The children attended to their lessons with an eagerness that warmed her heart. That it was caused, in part at least, by their desire to spend the afternoon in the pony cart, did not detract from its meaningfulness. Lessons attended to, whatever the motive, were lessons learned.

So when Hobbs came around at the now usual hour to inquire if they’d be needing the cart, Jennifer was quite happily able to say yes. Lessons were finished soon after and by the time the cart appeared they were all ready.

As Red Rust moved easily off down the lane the children began to chatter gaily - at peace with themselves and their world. Jennifer sighed. To be young was indeed a joy.

  They had been moving along at a slow pace for some time, Jennifer deep in her memories, when she heard Cassie say, “Miss Jennifer, I asked where we’re going today.”

Jennifer roused herself from her reverie. “I don’t really know, Cassie. Just for a ride, I guess.”

“I want to see Great Oaks. His lordship promised.”  Cassie’s  bright eyes held determination.

“But my dear, we cannot go up to the door and invite ourselves in.” Not today of all days, her heart clamored.

“But he asked us to come!”

“Yes, he did, Cassie. But we must wait till we see him again and ask when a time would be convenient. That is the proper thing to do.”

Cassie’s face fell.

“But, we could drive part way there,” Jennifer found herself saying. “As we did before.”

“Yes,” nodded Cassie. “I like that house. It looked very old.”

“It is old,” replied Jennifer. “Several hundred years I should imagine.”

“Why isn’t it falling apart then?” Mor-timer inquired curiously.

“Because his lordship keeps it in good repair.”