The Portrait (23 page)

Seeing the situation, when they all retired to the drawing
room after supper, Flora attempted to engineer a situation
where the two would be afforded private speech. However, all
her efforts were frustrated by the arrival of Carlton, who made
his entrance into the drawing room issuing profound apologies for the lateness of his arrival.

"I would have come earlier," he explained amid Flora's orders that a meal should be prepared for him, "but matters of
business held me in Devon."

Rising, Sinclair poured him a glass of burgundy and pressed
it into his hand. "There was no need for you to travel hotfoot,"
he said, smiling. "However, once you are refreshed, I will explain all to you"

The hour was late when Carlton finally quit the library
where he'd been in discussion with the earl. Sinclair remained
alone, and, taking his glass, he went to sit by the hearth, deep in thought. He wouldn't acknowledge the sense of elation
he'd experienced when told of Jennifer's repudiation of Rutledge. Even to himself, he found it difficult to admit the great
sense of relief Flora's words had evoked. Possibilities that had
been so long held in check flooded his mind, tormenting him
anew.

He dared not believe in Flora's assumption that Jenny held
any affection for him other than that of a friend. He'd fought
so hard to maintain his resolve that to give rein to such
thoughts brought him dangerously near casting resolution to
the winds. He'd loved her too long and too well not to be
tempted by the thought that his regard could be returned, but
still he found it difficult to reconcile himself to the rightness
of attempting to unite her life with his.

Eventually the chiming of a distant clock prompted him to
put aside his glass, and, forsaking his reverie, he also prepared
to retire.

Collecting the oil lamp left for his use on a table at the base
of the stairs, he made his way to the first-story landing and
thence along the corridor toward his bedchamber. However,
the sight of a light beneath Jennifer's door brought him to a
halt, and he stood for several seconds fighting the impulse to
knock. Suddenly, as he would have moved away, the door
came wide, and Jennifer, in a satin wrap, stood before him.

"What, you could not sleep, Jen?" he asked, an unfathomable
smile twisting his lips.

"It would appear no more could you," she replied, coloring
at the warmth in his tone. "I thought I heard your tread on the
landing. I'd assumed you to have retired some while since but
was concerned that one of your terrors might come upon you
again."

His eyebrows snapped together in a frown. "Did I disturb
you last night?" he asked, contrition heavy in his voice. "If so,
I most humbly apologize. Although they are far less frequent,
I know not when I will rid myself of these nightmares."

"I came to your door, but Estelle was before me and appeared to cope quite well without my assistance. Then Perry came, and I could see you would be outnumbered and would
have no need of me"

It seemed he would have given a reply but held back and instead offered in explanation, "Estelle was used to seeing my
night terrors when we were in the convent. They came more
frequently and were far more violent then, and she often came
to my aid."

"I see," she replied in a small voice. "She's obviously more
equal to the task than I"

"My dear girl, what nonsense is this?" he cried, for the moment forgetting to moderate his voice, then looking guiltily
around and adding in a much quieter tone, "I know we would
be flaunting the proprieties, Jen, and the hour is late, but there
are matters we must discuss...."

Suddenly a door farther down the corridor opened, and
Estelle stepped out, candle held high. "Is anything amiss,
Edward?" she called. "Do you have need of me?"

Issuing a sound of frustration, the earl turned from Jennifer
and advanced a few steps along the landing. "No, no, all is
well," he assured her in hushed tones. "I but make my way to
bed, and it would appear I wake the whole house in the process"

"Then I will wish you good night," whispered Estelle in return and closed her chamber door.

The earl turned once more to speak to Jennifer, but she, too,
had gone. Issuing an oath, he continued on to his own room,
not at all pleased with the outcome of the event.

Entering his room, he put aside the lamp and, dismissing
his valet, proceeded to prepare to retire. For once he felt not
the desire to retrieve the portrait. Instead, his brain was in turmoil, reliving his brief conversation with Jennifer.

It was useless denying that her words had not affected him
deeply. As in common with most men, it had not crossed his
mind that his actions toward Estelle could be misconstrued,
for what could be more natural than a desire to come to her
aid? The thought that Jennifer would see it as anything more
had not even entered his head. Realizing that his motives had been so misread, he felt a strong desire to set all to rights with
her. He could not bear it that she should feel that he deserted
her for Estelle. He'd not been aware that he had such power
over her as to wound her by his actions. When they had spoken in the corridor, the signs of her dejection at the thought
that Estelle had replaced her in his need for care had come as
quite a shock to him.

Although he lay in the vast bed, sleep was the furthest thing
from his mind. Indeed, he wished Flora had never spoken.

"I think it best that I return to London," Jennifer informed
Flora as they traversed the formal gardens the following
morning. "I would not wish it to appear that I trespass on
Edward's good nature. Freddie may stay if he wishes. I believe he's good for Perry and keeps him diverted, but ..

"I will not allow it," cried a shocked Flora. "Whatever
would Edward say?"

"I believe I would be one less problem for him. He has, after all, so many other claims upon his time."

"Which you will only increase if you leave."

"Do you think so? Do you truly think so?"

"I do, and if you were to approach him on the subject,
he would say exactly the same" Flora tucked her hand into
Jennifer's arm and leaned confidingly toward her as they
walked. "I believe I know your reason for leaving, and it is
Estelle, but you must believe me when I tell you that your leaving is totally unnecessary. Why, surely you must see that there's
nothing remotely loverlike between them. One only has to observe them together to realize it."

Jennifer colored and pulled slightly away so that Flora was
obliged to drop her hand. "You have it completely wrong,"
she cried in a scoffing manner, averting her face so that her
companion would not see her confusion. "You make it appear
that I am resentful of their association, when I am not. I merely
state the obvious, that Edward has enough concerns at the moment without the added burden of invasion."

For a moment Flora allowed her impatience to show, but to her relief, she saw Sinclair a short distance away, heading for
the stables, and she hailed him. "Edward, do come here. I
have need of your support in convincing Jenny that she should
stay. 'Tis her wish to return to London, but I will not have it
so. I need her to bear me company."

The earl came obediently to his sister's bidding, both ladies
aware of the frown that creased his brow.

"What? You would desert us, Jen?" he asked earnestly, all
but ignoring his sister's presence.

Seeing the situation, Flora, thinking it prudent, slipped
away unnoticed, leaving the two to make what they would of
the chance for conversation.

Sinclair reached out and took Jenny's hand. "I cannot order
you to stay, but may I ask it of you?" he said quietly. "No, don't
draw your hand away, Jen. This is how friends should greet
each other, and you have avowed that we are friends."

"Yes, yes, we are friends," she replied, attempting to smile,
but further words failed her.

"Was it our conversation of last evening that drives you
away?" Sinclair asked solicitously, attempting to read her countenance. "For I swear to you, I would not wish it so. I cannot
bear the thought that any words of mine should wound you"

"Then you must have no fears. What words could you say
that would wound me?"

He held back, and it seemed he searched for words. Eventually he said, keeping close watch for her reaction, "Flora
tells me that Rutledge has returned to Buxton."

"Yes," was her only reply.

"And you do not miss his going?"

"Not at all."

A long silence ensued, and once more it appeared that Sinclair had words that remained unsaid. He retained her hand
in his firm clasp until, suddenly becoming aware of it, Jennifer
pulled away.

"I will accompany you to the stables," she said, more for
something to say to break the moment than any desire to continue her walk.

Turning, Sinclair offered his arm, and they started along
the path. "I ride out to visit one of the farms," he said lightly,
taking her lead and turning the conversation toward the noncommittal. "If you would like to accompany me, I will wait
while you change so there will be no need for you to chase after me as you did at Ravensby."

"I did not chase after you!" she said emphatically.

A teasing light came into his eyes. "You admitted you
sought me out. Now be honest, Jen-you did, did you not?"

"Edward Thurston ..

Sinclair threw back his head and laughed. "That's more like
it. That's the Jen I know."

Jennifer joined in his laughter. "Yes, I'll ride out with you,
Ned," she said once the laughter had died down. "It will seem
quite like old times."

As she would have turned to return to Fly, he detained her.
"I have a great fondness for those old times, Jenny," he said
with a deal of sincerity in his voice.

"So do I," she replied before hastening away.

If it had not been for the uncertainty hovering over Perry's
future, the next few days at Fly would have been idyllic, but
always in the back of everyone's mind was the thought of the
accusations, preventing a true enjoyment of the gathering.
Carlton was often ensconced with the earl in the library, while
the ladies of the party talked and walked and generally enjoyed one another's company. Perry and Freddie took the opportunity for sport and were rarely seen about the house during
the day; even Caesar deserted the comforts of the hearth to
bear his master company on his daily expeditions.

Perry, with the fortitude of youth, had regained some of his
former spirits, Oxford and its accusations appearing a million
miles away. It was then with a great jolt that he was brought
back to earth when a missive arrived for the earl requesting
him to accompany his brother on a visit to the Dean as soon as
it was possible.

Arriving with the letter from the college was a note from Randall. He asked that his employer speak to him before his
meeting with the Dean, informing him that he was to be found
residing at an inn called The Star on the north road out of Oxford. He gave no indication as to what to expect, not the merest hint of his findings, and Perry thought it boded ill for his
case. Surely he would have been all eagerness to put his mind
at rest, if all was well.

Sinclair took a different view of the matter and assured
Perry that Randall could not commit his findings to paper lest
they fall before an inappropriate source. Carlton volunteered
to go with them should they have need of a third party to go
between Fly and Oxford at any stage. Freddie, much to his
disgust, was ordered to remain at Fly to keep the ladies company and ensure that Caesar, in his eagerness, did not attempt
to follow his young master.

The chaise bowled away from Fly, Sinclair and Carlton attempting to allay Perry's fears. At the house, the ladies took
up their various occupations in the small salon, but their attempts at needlepoint, sketching, and reading were soon forsaken as they sat dejectedly discussing the projected meeting,
not knowing when to expect the travelers to return.

The chaise with the earl's crest upon the door halted before
The Star, and Sinclair stepped down. Intent on speaking to
Randall alone, he had left Perry and Carlton still at breakfast
at The Badger, a large inn on the outskirts of Oxford.

He eyed the building before him, looking up at its swinging
sign that held a silver star, but there was nothing starlike about
the inn before him. Indeed, one could scarcely qualify it by
the name of inn pothouse, more like-he thought, bending his
head to enter the long, squat building. Inside, the grimy ceiling
appeared low, not much above head-height, and he wondered
at Randall's motives for staying at such a place.

The landlady, a scrawny individual in a greasy smock,
came forward at his entrance, wiping her hands on her equally
dirty apron.

"I believe you've a man named Randall staying here?" said the earl, noticing with some distaste the way she scrutinized
his person.

"Aye, I 'ave m'lord," she replied, continuing her bold examination. "Y'll find him at his meal in the taproom" And she
pointed to a door at the side of the hallway.

Sinclair entered and immediately spied Randall sitting over
the remnants of his breakfast, which he quickly pushed away as
he saw his employer approach and, rising, made toward him.

"I hope I don't disturb your meal," said the earl. "Though I
can't help but wonder at your motives at staying at such a
place as this. Did I not provide you with sufficient funds?"

"All will be explained," Randall assured him in a confiding
manner. "However, I think we would be better speaking away
from here. Would you be averse to taking a stroll with me, sir?"

"Not in the least," replied Sinclair, relieved to be leaving
the repugnant odor that permeated the inn.

Once outside in the lane, Randall fell in beside the earl, attempting to match his stride with the length of his companion's but finding it no easy feat.