Mists of Moorhead Manor Page 13

  With each word he had moved a hair’s breadth closer, until he was so close his words faded into the drumming of my heart, and I thought I should die from the tumult reverberating between us. I closed my eyes to shut him out. Grasping the coverlet with both hands, I managed a nod.

  “Penny, look at me!”

  I peeped at him from under my eyelashes—a missish trick but the best I could manage.

  “The day of the picnic I was attempting to fulfill the role expected of me, and I made a bad decision. I left you to fend for yourself when I should have made sure you had an escort. Therefore I am not only sorry about what happened, I feel responsible.”

  If he only knew the thought that had broken my concentration . . .

  “You knew quite well I was capable of making such a climb on my own,” I assured him. “It was simply an accident.”

  I made the mistake of looking up, straight into those azure eyes where not one hint of laughter lurked. Suddenly, we were the last two people on earth, and a sudden urge to repopulate the planet surged through me.

  “G’morning, miss. Lady Vanessa sent me to help you with your clothes—” Alice Ord’s voice broke off with the gasp. “Beg pardon, miss, I’ll come back.” She scurried out, carefully closing the door behind her.

  With a groan, Robert straightened up. Fists clenched, he shook his head. “I daresay it’s just as well,” he muttered, “though I’d like to wring her neck.”

  I was so appalled I could not even think, let alone produce coherent speech. If word of this got out—and the speed of servants’ gossip was notorious—I would be on the next stagecoach back to London.

  “I am sorry, Penny. I will make certain this goes no further.” Robert hastened out, leaving me to wonder if he was bent on silencing Alice, or did he refer to the powerful emotions that had nearly overwhelmed us? Emotions that could go no further, for I had just come closer to being ruined than I had in all the years that had gone before. I should not wait for Hycliffe to send me away but pack my things and leave as soon as I was able. Here lay only disaster.

  Late that afternoon, Vanessa came to visit me. David usually sat in a comfortable chair near the fire while we talked, but today she sent him away, rather peremptorily, declaring, “Come back in half an hour. Penny and I have female things to discuss.” After one of his lazy, indulgent grins, David took himself off.

  “Men!” Vanessa declared, shaking her head. From the chair that David had set as close to the bed as it would go, she studied me for a long moment before adding, “I suppose we are as much a mystery to them as they are to us.”

  “I am afraid so,” I agreed, knowing a good deal of rue must be showing on my face.

  “I should have seen it,” she declared. “You and Robert. Did you know each other during those many years he was gone?”

  Oh dear God, this was not a topic I wished to pursue, but there was no getting out of it. Fortunately, the truth would do. “He believes he may have heard me sing once in Portugal, but that is all. We never met until this past month.”

  “And yet there is much between you.”

  What to say? How could I make sense of something I myself could not fathom? “I suppose we have the war in common,” I ventured. “Each of us hiding more serious thoughts behind our smiles.”

  “More than that, I think. I saw his face when you nearly collapsed this morning.” She offered a rather wicked smile. “And poor Alice came back quite flustered.”

  I could only hang my head and pray she would be merciful. My position, my life, my love were in Lady Vanessa’s hands.

  “Love hurts, does it not?”

  I stared. But of course she understood. What a ninny I was not to realize it. Each in our own way, we suffered. “Do you truly love him?” I asked.

  “Quite hopelessly. For my love is far more impossible than yours.”

  “He adores you.” As soon as the words popped out, I felt Lord Hycliffe’s wrath scorching the back of my neck.

  “He never speaks of it,” Vanessa admitted, “but sometimes I see it in his eyes.”

  “Forgive me, but you seem to find Lord Norvelle quite charming?”

  Vanessa offered a watery smile. “And so he is. If I had not seen David first, I might have been tempted.”

  “A convoluted coil,” I murmured. “Or is it a spider’s web that holds us fast?”

  “A giant female-eating spider,” Vanessa declared. She heaved a mournful sigh.

  I chose my next words with care. “I could not help but notice Lady Rothbury was not enthusiastic about Norvelle’s attentions to you. Is it not possible Hycliffe noticed the family’s reticence and might be more realistic about a match for you?”

  “You mean because I am a cripple?”

  “I mean,” I returned carefully, “that with a marquessate at stake, the Durrant family is naturally concerned about heirs.”

  A shadow passed across her face; her blue eyes turned to ice. “Nor would I make a grand sight greeting guests from my chair at the top of the staircase.”

  “Forgive me, I should have kept my thoughts to myself.” Once again, I’d overstepped my bounds.

  “You have lived too long out of the country, Penny. You are not as hidebound by our class system.”

  What could I say? Had those of us on the Peninsula fought the French so long that some of their egalitarian philosophies had seeped, willy nilly, into our minds? I hung my head and was silent. David would never declare himself. The customs of our society would not allow it.

  A glance outside the window revealed that the evening mists had crept in while we talked, dimming my room and lending a ghostly aura to the seriousness of our discussion. After several moments of silence, Vanessa said quite out of the blue, “Robert never cared a fig for the rules—if he did he would not have gone off and left us here with only two visits in more than four years. Kenrick said he was looking for mother, but for that long? I think, regardless of his title, he was in the midst of the war, recklessly endangering himself when he knew quite well he was needed at home.”

  “But you had your father, Huntley, your cousin, Lady Emmaline, and David. I am certain Lord Exmere was doing what he felt he had to do.”

  “A fine pair we are,” Vanessa declared with more than a hint of mockery. “Lovelorn and without hope.”

  Needless to say, I’d never felt closer to her. If only I could see a way out . . .

  Frankly, David’s return was a relief. I’d had more than enough agony for one day.

  I was released from my room in time to bid Lord Rothbury and his family goodbye, an occurrence that was almost as much of a surprise as a relief. I had begun to think they would not budge until Exmere made Lady Daphne an offer. Perhaps Lady Rothbury feared Lord Norvelle fixing his roving eye on Vanessa more than she desired the pairing of her elder daughter to a future earl. In any event, ice fairly dripped onto the sparkling white linen tablecloth at dinner on the Durrants’ final night. I might as well have stayed in my room for all the notice our guests took of me—with the inevitable exception of Lady Jocelyn, of course. I frequently wondered how such a naive and cheerful creature had been born to such a family. I could not blame Huntley for his long face as he gazed at her. But they were both young—time enough for lasting attachments when each had experienced more of life.

  The blow fell after dinner when it was revealed the Durrants were en route to visit one of their properties in Cornwall and planned to break their journey back to the family seat in Wiltshire by another week at Moorhead Manor. My heart plunged to my toes. I admit it. Just when I thought Lady Daphne gone forever.

  I stood in the background the next morning and gritted my teeth as the family, with the exception of Vanessa, lined up on the pebbled drive to bid farewell to our guests. But I did not manage to avoid a venomous look from Lady Daphne that should have stabbed me to the quick. Instead, I made the mistake of glancing at Exmere, and he winked. Horrid man! The both of us indulging in shocking bad manners.

  As
the Rothbury coach rattled off down the road, Kenrick slapped Exmere on the back. “A grand maneuver, dear boy. Escaped parson’s mousetrap by a whisker.”

  “By more than a whisker, I should say. The day I succumb to the blandishments of a sharp-tongued shrew, you have my permission to shoot me.”

  Kenrick gave a shout of laughter. Huntley’s eyes went wide as he protested, “But you let her hang on your sleeve the entire time they were here. ’Tis clear an offer is expected when they return.”

  “Good manners, dear boy. Good manners. Believe me, you had much the better of it. Lady Jocelyn is a gem.”

  Blushing furiously, Huntley scrubbed a hand over his face. “A kind-hearted wench. I daresay she’s worth a second look.” Laughing, the three young men turned toward the house.

  Exmere stretched a hand in my direction. “Come, Penny, let’s be off to enjoy the peace and quiet of nothing more than family.” He tucked my hand beneath his arm. “Now tell me how my sister goes on after suffering a whole week without the services of Penelope Ruth Ballantyne.”

  It was my turn to blush and suffer from a freeze of the brain. Alas, touching him always did that to me. But there he stayed, supporting me up those two flights of stairs—which admittedly had grown to twice their height this past week—and not leaving my side until he had deposited me in a comfortable chair in Vanessa’s sitting room. If I were not already madly, blindly in love with him . . .

  We settled back into long-established routine so quickly it was almost as if our guests had never been. Two days before All-Hallows, Lord Hycliffe sent for me. Settled behind his imposing desk, he leaned back in his burgundy leather chair and eyed me with what might have been amusement. “Tell me, Miss Ballantyne, what did you think of our houseguests?”

  “My lord!”

  He proffered a wicked smile, his eyes suddenly as mischievous as his heir’s. “You do not consider Lady Daphne a proper match for Exmere, I take it?”

  I fixed my eyes on a globe in the corner of the room. “It is not my place to say, my lord.”

  “The younger one wasn’t an antidote,” he offered, clearly dismissing Lady Daphne, at which I felt an unworthy surge of satisfaction.

  “Lady Jocelyn is charming,” I responded through lips that barely moved.

  “And Norvelle. What did you think of him?” The azure eyes, shrewd as shrewd could be, had lost their humor.

  “My lord, you know quite well it is not proper for me to—”

  “You are as bright and worldly as any young woman could be. You were witness to all the nuances of eight young people in one house.” He sighed, adding softly, “Perhaps I should say nine.”

  Nine. Where did he get . . .? Ah, he was counting me. And David.

  And he was waiting for an answer. “Norvelle?” he repeated.

  I crossed my arms, uncrossed them, forced my fingers into a knot around each other to keep them still. Lord Hycliffe was my employer; as much as I abhorred giving my opinion, he had a right to ask. “Lord Norvelle has a good deal of the charm we see in Lady Jocelyn,” I said carefully, “but he has a roving eye. A liking for catching females in dark corners and pressing his intentions on them. I was forced to give him a set-down more than once while he was here. As were several of the maids.”

  “Does my daughter know?”

  “No, my lord, but though she enjoyed Lord Norvelle’s attentions, I see no alteration in her affections. But,” I added hastily as he scowled, “I do feel Lady Vanessa is making great progress toward leading a more normal life. I think you should take heart at how well she managed while your guests were here.”

  “Indeed.” The earl steepled his fingers beneath his chin and subjected me to an intense examination. “I fear Lady Rothbury left in something of a huff. She alleges that it is you who came between Exmere and Lady Daphne, thwarting our carefully laid plans.”

  Scrambling for some modicum of justification, all I could manage was, “But, my lord, I was not even present for the last week of their visit.”

  “A fact that seems to have escaped both the marchioness and her daughter,” Hycliffe drawled. “And either emphasizes the poisonous quality of the young lady’s temperament or the strength of Exmere’s devotion elsewhere.”

  I stifled a gasp and fixed my gaze on my clasped hands.

  “You have gone quite pale, Miss Ballantyne. Shall I send for a footman to escort you to your room?”

  “No, my lord,” I whispered. I levered myself to my feet and staggered out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I could only assume I still held my position because the earl believed my ability to help his daughter outweighed my danger to his heir or because he found it convenient to have a spy in his household. One who dared not refuse his questions lest she find herself and all her worldly possessions on the road to nowhere. And yet, for all my independence, I could not rail against his power over me. Men of superior authority, from Papa to General Wellington, had loomed over me all my life. I actually liked the earl and had hoped he liked me. In him I saw his son a quarter century from now. Though hopefully Robert would never suffer from such a great loss and humiliation as Hycliffe had endured. No wonder the poor man—

  But for today’s words I could not forgive him. He had frightened me badly—so badly, in fact, that I felt the shadow of dismissal hanging over my every move. The comfortable, almost halcyon, days I had known before the arrival of our visitors were a thing of the past. I vowed to work diligently with Vanessa to improve both her physical well-being and her attitude, speak only when spoken to at dinner, and eschew the company of all three young gentlemen, leaving them to solely masculine pursuits.

  I moved through several days surrounded by a self-righteous glow so strong even quizzical glances failed to penetrate my determination, until David took me aside one morning, dark brows raised over knowing eyes. “And who has read the Riot Act to our dear Miss Ballantyne?” he asked. “Hycliffe or Exmere?”

  I firmed my lips and looked him directly in the eye—or as close as I could come to someone who topped me by at least six inches. “Don’t be absurd. I am merely settling back into our normal routine after so many days of gaiety.”

  “Something has frightened you, and you are not one who frightens easily.” David’s sympathy, as well as his perception, penetrated my armor with ease. David understood impossible love. He was the closest of my few remaining friends since Hycliffe had made it all too clear the family was out of bounds. Even to Vanessa I could be nothing more than an upper servant.

  My gaze fixed on the shining tips of David’s boots, I murmured, “I have attracted too much attention.”

  “And Rothbury and family have gone away in a huff.” I nodded, still looking down. “Yet you are too useful to be turned out on your ear.”

  “Something like that, I’m not sure.”

  “Just mind you p’s and q’s and don’t look up,” David advised. Once again, I nodded. A slight pause and then he added, “Hycliffe has been a bit strange since his wife ran off, casting doom and gloom over us all. And though you must heed his wishes, here in these apartments you are allowed to bring the sunshine back. Vanessa needs it. I need it. Even poor Maud, who was never known to crack a smile until you came. So come back to us, Penny. Don’t shut yourself away.”

  I gulped, fought back a rush of tears. “It’s hard to bear two faces,” I whispered.

  “Yet you must. For yourself, as well as for Vanessa. This house has known too much sadness. As much as I want to keep her to myself, I know she needs your smile, your songs, your courage. Be careful with the others, if you must, but here, be yourself. You bring hope of better times.”

  I put my hand over my mouth and simply stood there, contemplating what David had said. In front of me was the backbone of England, the yeoman whose ancestors had farmed barren moorland for generation after generation. A man with an instinctive gift for understanding people as well as the land and the birds and animals on it. And here I was, one more wounded creature, a pro
duct of foreign climes, yet since I was on Moorhead land, I was eligible to be taken into the fold, tucked under the guardian’s wing, or whatever metaphor one might choose. Like Vanessa, I was hurt, and David was rushing to the rescue.

  I looked up, managing little more than a wry twist of the lips, and said, “Thank you, David. I will do my best to smile again.”

  He patted me on the shoulder, as I had often seen him pat Vanessa, and then he was back at his post, pushing his charge to her favorite window, arranging her easel, bringing her sketchpad. I slipped into a seat in the far corner of the sitting room and made an effort to summon the courageous girl I once had been. Not an easy task. I had been confident to the point of arrogance, certain of what must be done next, even in the face of tragedy. When I set off for Moorhead Manor, I was confident I was doing the right thing. Now . . . I had never had so many doubts about myself. My thoughts were all at sea, with no firm ground in sight. Unless I counted David.

  No wonder Vanessa loved him. Yet another topic on which the earl and I could not agree.

  I came to no conclusions other than that David was right. I must maintain good humor and good will in our closed little world and rouse Vanessa to even greater achievements while damping down her volatility. Those goals were achievable. Or within the realm of possibility. My other dreams, however, I must accept as mere fantasy.

  Vanessa’s peremptory summons interrupted my musings. I gathered up the translation of The Odyssey we were currently wading through, settled myself on the sofa, and began to read. Poor Penelope. Imagine the lonely life of a woman waiting a decade for a wandering husband to return. I hoped Odysseus had been worth it. At the moment I took rather a dim view of the whole male species.

  Except David, who must surely be a candidate for sainthood.

  I was to have a half-day at last, and I admit, for all my fulminations about men, I suffered bitter disappointment when I saw Zeus’s stall was empty.