Tender the Storm (18 page)

He let another week go by before presenting himself at Gloucester Road. On the doorstep, he met Madame Bertaut. From her, he had the intelligence that Zoë had taken a position as companion to Lady Kilburn. To say that he was astonished would be to put the matter mildly.

"Companion!
Lady Kilburn! Without
so
much as a by-your-leave? Who the devil is this Lady Kilburn? I've never heard of her!"

With the greatest circumspection, Madame Bertaut smothered a small smile. It had been brought to her notice that both Zoë's name and Rivard's figured in an ill-bred wager in one of the gentlemen's clubs in St. James. And though she knew that as a lady she must deplore such dubious goings-on, she wished, rather whimsically, that, just this once, she might place a bet of her own. She would stand to
make a fortune.

Calmly, reasonably, she faced down the storm in those turbulent gray eyes and embarked on an explanation of Zoë's changed circumstances. For reasons known only to
herself
, she became mischievous. She painted a picture of Zoë's situation which was not quite accurate, and, at the same time, not quite total fabrication.

Lady Kilburn had her residence, Kilburn House, in the village of
Twickenham
, by Richmond. This elderly widow was afflicted with an arthritic condition. She rarely went out in society. Nevertheless, she did not pine or lack for company. Her son and his wife doted on her, and her two schoolboy grandsons, who attended Eton, on the other side of the river, were frequent visitors. This was far from remarkable since Lady Kilburn made light of her own troubles and was deeply interested in the welfare of others.

Zoë came to her notice through the kind offices of the countess of Jersey, a near neighbor. The countess was a close friend of the duchess of Devonshire. Zoë had made an impression on Georgiana Devonshire, and where Her Grace bestowed her favor, she was generous to a fault. She canvassed her friends and in very short order had an offer of employment for Zoë.

The position of companion to Lady Kilburn was not onerous. There was a nurse in residence, and also an unmarried cousin who served her kinswoman in the capacity of friend and confidante. Zoë
was instructed to make
herself
useful, in some vague and unspecified manner, and more particularly, to be on hand of an evening for the quiet entertainments which the ladies enjoyed in the green drawing room.

Zoë considered her situation a fortunate one, for not only was she within easy distance of London (and therefore in a position to be reached if and when Madame Bertaut had any report of her family) but she also found the society of the elderly ladies at Kilburn House pleasant co a degree. What Zoë had not divined was the Lady Kilburn was something of a philanthropist. She was a Christian lady, a daughter of the manse, and highly sensible of the duty one of her exalted position and fortune owed to those in less happy circumstances. It was a testament to the lady's character and upbringing that not one of the beneficiaries of her charity ever suspected
themselves
to be in that unenviable position, least of all the latest addition to her household.

Three weeks to the day of having removed to
Twickenham
, Zoë was surprised in her daily constitutional around the environs of the house by the spectacle of Rolfe's splendid curricle and four driving through the stone gates of the park at a dangerous pace. It swept out of sight round a turn in the drive before Zoë had time to collect her wits. A moment later, she quickened her step. It was a good ten minutes before she reached the house, and another five minutes after that before she had divested herself of her outer garments and answered Lady
Kiiburn's
summons to wait on her directly.

A little breathless, Zoë entered the morning
room. Rolfe was seated in the comfortable, stuffed armchair closest to the blazing grate. It registered that the conversation revolved around Lady Kilburn's grandsons when Rolfe rose to make his bows.

That his eyes were as gray as Zoë had ever seen them relieved her most pressing anxiety
The
marquess was not the bearer of bad news respecting her parents. Not a trace of sympathy warmed the chill in those wintry orbs. Then what, she wondered, had ruffled his feathers? And why, when he had snubbed her so patently at their last meeting was he now seeking her out? Containing her patience as best she might, at Lady Kilburn's behest, Zoë accepted a chair close to the warmth of the fire.

On one level, she was conscious that her employer had returned to the topic of her grandsons. On another level, Zoë contemplated the object of her most persistent and most unwanted dreams. Lord Rivard's resemblance to her deputy was, she decided, only superficial. This man was more urbane, more polished, and far more elegantly turned out. From his form-fitting tobacco brown cut away coat, to his supple leather
topboots
he was the epitome of the man of fashion. His hair, too, was arranged differently, giving him a more severe aspect. Zoë swallowed a sigh. If it was highly improbable that she could attach the likes of a Deputy Rolfe with this unsmiling stranger the task was beyond contemplating. And if only her dreams would accept the inevitable she would be a far happier girl.

She was jogged from her reveries when her employer made to get up. The operation was always a difficult one, but Lady Kilburn never allowed anyone to assist her, averring that to do so would be to encourage a dependence which would serve her ill. On this occasion, she surprised her nurse and kinswoman by declaring with an uncharacteristic tartness, "If you would be so kind, ladies, I should like to retire. Well? Don't just sit there! Give me your arm." Miss Peabody and Mrs. Stonewell exchanged a questioning look but did as they were told. Zoë made to help them. "No, no, Zoë. No need to trouble yourself. I'm quite certain that you and Lord Rivard will wish to catch up on mutual acquaintances and so on. You'll have another sherry, Lord Rivard? Zoë, see to it, there's a good girl. My physician, you know —he has promised to look in on me." At this point in Lady Kilburn's monologue, her nurse attempted to remonstrate but was shushed into silence. "It's been a pleasure, Lord Rivard, a pleasure. Don't hasten away on my account. We'd be delighted if you would sit down to dinner with us, but I won't he offended if you're promised elsewhere. I know how it is with you young people." And with many other such inanities, Lady Kilburn carefully steered her companions through the door.

Zoë and Rolfe faced each other across the room.

"Sherry?" asked Zoë.

"Thank you, no."

Silence.

"As you wish."
Zoë seated herself and Rolfe followed suit.

"Lord Rivard," began Zoë, and stopped for he had spoken at exactly the same moment. She inclined her head, indicting that he should speak first.

With marked formality Rolfe observed, "Madame Bertaut asked me to present her compliments."

"Thank you. How does she go on?"

No more than half a minute was taken up in satisfying Zoë on that point. Rolfe cleared his throat and continued, "Madame Bertaut seems to think that felicitations are in order."

"Felicitations?" repeated Zoë blankly.

"On your nuptials to Lord Robert."

"Lord Robert!" Zoë was thunderstruck. Lord Robert was Lady Kilburn's elder grandson, an engaging scamp of thirteen summers or so. "I collect Madame Bertaut has mistaken my meaning," said Zoë. She chuckled. "You may tell her that there is no hope of an offer of marriage from that quarter." Her lashes swept down to conceal the smile in her eyes. Madame Bertaut, unless she was mistaken, was set on fanning the flame of jealousy in his lordship's breast —a ridiculous notion!

"No hope, Zoë?"

"None!" answered Zoë emphatically.

Rolfe's smile came into play. His eyes were more blue than gray. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Now don't frown at me, kitten. I make no apology for telling you that virtue holds no appeal for men of that kidney. You're well out of it! And quite frankly,
it's
women of a different . . .
well . . . in
any event, you shouldn't wish to acquire that kind of polish." Observing Zoë's unsmiling face, Rolfe amended in a placating tone, "You are just as you should be, kitten, and very nice too, if I may say

Zoë regarded his lordship with a smoldering eye. She knew, of course, that he was laboring under a misapprehension. She suspected that Lady Kilburn's references to her scapegrace grandsons had confirmed the totally erroneous picture which Madame Bertaut had painted of the elder boy. Zoë's conscience constrained her to correct that misconception. It was feminine pique which propelled her on a different course.

That the marquess had paid her the indirect compliment of calling her "virtuous" was no compliment at all by her lights. And though she had only the vaguest notions respecting the "polish" to which he alluded, she knew, without a doubt, that it was something all women must covet. She did not possess it. The marquess had said so, and he should know. But, oh!
that
he should think so was more than she could bear.

Carefully arranging the folds of her skirts, she said, "You are quite right when you say that Lord Robert is not like to offer me marriage." She sighed. Her lips trembled. Her lashes swept down, veiling her expression.

"What's this?" Rolfe's eyes narrowed.

Zoë gestured helplessly. "I am a stranger here with no family. I have no dowry." She paused, casting around in her mind as she tried to recall some of what Francoise had said on the subject. That makes me fair game, you see." As Rolfe's expression turned hard, Zoë faltered.

"Don't stop there, kitten. I would know the whole," he encouraged.

Far from reassuring Zoë, this rigidly imposed con
trol awakened every instinct for caution. It was too late to turn back, however. In a voice that was barely audible she said, "I regret to say that the offers which I have received made no mention of marriage." This was no lie. The only offer which had been made to her was of her present position as Lady Kilburn's companion. Rather defiantly she determined that wild horses would not drag that admission from her.

"No mention of marriage?" Rolfe's voice was as smooth as satin.

Zoë's bravado suddenly deserted her. She was beginning to see that she was spinning a web that might very easily entrap her. She smiled shyly. "May I know the purpose of this visit, Lord Rivard?"

But Rolfe was not to be so easily distracted. His calm tone at odds with the chill in his eyes, he said, "Lord Robert will answer to me for this insult."

Zoë's hand fluttered nervously to her throat. "You can't! You mustn't!"

"Why mustn't I?"

"He . . . he's just a boy," she confessed.

"All the more reason that the young coxcomb be taught a lesson before he becomes a hardened rake- hell."

A vision of Lord Rivard's face — somewhere between shock and laughter— when he caught up with her pretended suitor appeared before her eyes. Shuddering, swallowing painfully at this mortifying picture, she lost no time in exculpating her innocent victim. "Lord Robert is everything that is respectful. I never meant to imply . . . what I mean to say is . . . Lord Robert has no interest whatsoever in females."