Alice Ord came to us the next day—in the kitchen entrance and up the servants’ stairs in a perfectly proper manner that still managed to seem like a conspiracy to keep her presence from Lord Hycliffe. Ridiculous, I know, that we conspired to keep the hiring of Nell Ridgeway’s former ladies’ maid a secret, but the general feeling seemed to be that the earl’s tacit cooperation in the search for Nell was the best one could expect, and it was time to reinstate the barriers between the families.
I shook my head over this bit of sophistry but welcomed Alice, who was a wee mite of a girl with a strong personality and a sunny nature currently overshadowed by grief. I thought she would do very well for Vanessa and was more than pleased to give up my attempts at playing ladies’ maid.
More comprehensively, now that the winds of change were stirring at last, I felt free to consider my own problems—if being strongly attracted to a personable gentleman could be called a problem. Which it definitely could, for Exmere was a gentleman I could never have. A gentleman who was merely dallying with me, a defiance of his father all the more apparent now Lady Daphne was being dangled under his nose. And yet I savored every moment I was with him, even though it was no more than being but a single place away at table or when I continued to join the other young ladies in providing after-dinner music.
There were, however, no more private tête-à-têtes with Robert. Nor was I spared speculative glances from Kenrick, who had evidently not been totally put off by the painful blow I had delivered to his most delicate parts. Lord Norvelle was even more overt, never hesitating to attempt to maneuver me into a dark corner under the guise of complimenting my singing. I eluded him easily enough, but not before I was the object of inimical stares from both the marchioness and Lady Daphne.
For the third afternoon of the Durrant family’s visit, Vanessa suggested a ride along the cliffs, and to everyone’s astonishment, except mine, she joined the excursion in Lord Hycliffe’s luxurious crested coach. Mrs. Linnell seemed to think I was a miracle-worker, since this was the first time Vanessa had been outside the house since her accident, but I knew that only Vanessa’s desperate decision to change herself had brought this venture about.
Lady Emmaline and Lady Rothbury chose to stay at home, leaving the carriage to the Durrant sisters, Vanessa, and myself. The gentlemen rode, with the ever-faithful David bringing up the rear as Vanessa had declared she would not go without him. The day was crisp but sunny, with gulls screaming overhead and glimpses of hawks circling far out over the moor.
We stopped at one particular headland not far from the village, where we got out and walked to within a few feet of the edge of the towering cliffs, David, as always, carrying Vanessa with ease. On the horizon, blue sky met a darker blue sea, while white-capped breakers pounded against cliffs in every shade of brown and gray, with glimpses of sand here and there at half-tide. It was magnificent, and I hoped our visitors were enjoying it. I was not, as Exmere was not. He stood back, grim-faced, allowing Huntley and his cousin to entertain the ladies. And suddenly he was looking at me, and I knew our thoughts were alike. At the bottom of cliffs like these Nell Ridgeway had died The tragedy hung over us all and would not fade away as long as there was doubt about how she died. And about how Mary Perkins died.
As I watched, Exmere shook off his melancholy and moved toward the ladies, transforming into a London beau full of bonhomie, a man without a care in the world. Interesting. It would appear he had acting skills to rival Mr. Kean’s. I experienced a frisson of satisfaction that my regard for him was not totally misguided. There was definitely more to Robert, Lord Exmere, than he allowed the world to see.
On Sunday the household bestirred itself to attend church for the first time since my arrival. “Years it’s been,” Mrs. Linnell told me. “M’lord’s not been next or nigh a church since my lady ran off.”
Nor was he doing so now. Lord Hycliffe stood at stiff attention in the courtyard, allowing his sons and his nephew to escort their guests into the village. I, always curious, joined the party, wondering if Mr. Aylworth would improve when viewed in his native habitat.
He did not. His sermon and general joylessness proved yet again that he was a supposed man of God who completely failed to understand the message of the New Testament.
But the pleasure of watching Vanessa blossom in the days that followed made it easy to forget the dour preachings of the vicar. One evening she even allowed her drawings to be displayed, glowing so brightly from the well-deserved praise that tears pricked my eyes.
Our days were so filled with activities, in fact, that a full week passed before I recalled the secret passage into the hillside. I really should ask Exmere—
Excuses, excuses . . .
A rather good one, though.
I should be ashamed of myself. I should contain my curiosity until our visitors were gone. When, God willing, Robert and I might resume the camaraderie that had marked our brief relationship.
One fog-filled afternoon when I was about to follow Vanessa and David down to the drawing room where the ladies were reading, writing letters, or indulging in gossip, I lagged behind, asking Alice Ord the question that had nagged at me for so long. “Alice, please forgive my curiosity, but I fear to upset Lady Vanessa by asking if she ever hears from her mother, which I am sure could only cheer her. So I must ask—do the Ridgeways ever hear from the runaways—where they are, how they go on?”
“Ah, no, miss,” Alice returned, her brown eyes wide. “In all these years, no one’s heard a word. They simply vanished. Gone off the same night, so o’course we all thought they’d run away together, but, truth is, no one knows for sure.”
“Not a word?” I echoed, astonished.
“Nothing, miss.”
A shiver crawled up my spine. “Do you know if Lady Vanessa, or anyone else in the family, has heard from Lady Hycliffe?”
“Not a word, miss. More’n once I heard her and Miss Nell talk about it. T’ain’t natural, miss. A good mother was Lady Hycliffe. Can’t see her runnin’ off without a word, then or later.”
I murmured my thanks and hastened downstairs to join Lady Vanessa, as a proper companion should. But as I gazed out the window into the blanket of white enveloping the house, I had difficulty concentrating on the demands of the moment. Something odd lurked here, a willow-the-wisp just out of sight in the shadows. Waiting . . .
Dear God, if I had allowed my imagination to run so amuck while with the army, I would not have survived a week, let alone twenty years!
In the drawing room, when I saw Vanessa happily engaged in conversation with Lady Jocelyn, I slipped into a chair behind her and attempted to review the events of the past few days with a more sanguine outlook. Things had been going splendidly, had they not? Vanessa was playing the gracious hostess with more skill than I had dared hope. Even more surprisingly, she seemed to enjoy Lord Norvelle’s attentions, which I would never spoil with tales of my personal experiences with his roving eye. Buoyed up by thoughts of my own cleverness, I fear I had managed to work myself into something close to smug satisfaction when a plaintive question pulled me back to the ladies’ conversation. Where I quickly encountered the truth of that old saying, “Pride goeth before a fall.”
“How long will this ghastly fog last?” Lady Jocelyn wailed.
“Sometimes for days,” Vanessa responded airily. “Is that not correct, Penny?”
After a glance at the sudden plea in Lady Emmaline’s eyes, I managed a smile as I turned to the rather indignant faces of the Durrant ladies, who seemed to consider the fog a personal affront. “I believe Lady Vanessa is teasing you,” I said. “Yes, the mist is lingering today, but it will likely burn off in an hour or two so, leaving a lovely day. And it’s just as likely we will have a normal late October day tomorrow, clear and crisp and ready for whatever plans you wish to make.”
Lady Emmaline closed her eyes, sinking back into her upholstered chair, almost as if I were the reserve cavalry come thundering in to save the day, when in truth I spouted nothing more than common sense.
Arrogance, thy name is Penelope Ruth. I should have known the smooth-sailing couldn’t last.
“Splendid,” Lady Rothbury declared. “I have been told there is a place of great scenic beauty not far from here. A gorge of some kind out on the moor. Perhaps an excursion . . .?” She raised a haughty eyebrow, leaving the rest of her question hanging.
“A picnic!” Lady Jocelyn cried. Then, recalling her manners, she turned a winsome face toward Lady Emmaline. “Would that be possible, ma’am? Oh, do say yes.”
“I do not go onto the moor,” Vanessa interjected from between clenched teeth.
Oh no. I could feel the temper tantrum building.
After all my efforts. All our efforts. Surely Vanessa would remember her role of gracious hostess, where she was, and with whom.
“Of course you do not, my dear,” Lady Rothbury responded heartily. “We never expected it. I am sure Exmere, Mr. Wetherington, and Mr. Blythe will be quite capable of upholding the family honor.”
My sympathies rushed to Vanessa. To be excluded from a full day’s excursion was not at all what her fragile confidence needed at this point. And yet Lord Rothbury and his family were guests of considerable rank and their wishes were not to be ignored.
Since Lady Emmaline remained speechless, cowering in her chair, and I dared not wait to see what Vanessa would say next, I leaped into the fray. “I would be happy to consult Mrs. Linnell about the possibility of a pic—”
“But I do not wish you to go! The moor is a terrible place,” Vanessa cried.
And there was David, bless him, hands firm on the back of her chair, his head bent to Vanessa’s ear as he uttered consoling words only she could hear. They were out the door before even I, who was accustomed to her volatility, could recover my wits.
I pasted on a gracious smile and turned to the ladies, whose impeccable social manners did not keep them from looking quite stunned.
So much for my grand transformation of the daughter of the house.
I directed my words to Lady Emmaline. “With your permission I will speak to Allard about the gentlemen’s schedules for tomorrow, and then I will consult with Mrs. Linnell about a suitable picnic.”
“Yes, yes, my dear, by all means.” She waved me away. I curtsied in the general direction of the three Durrants and left with as much dignity as I could manage, considering that all must be picturing the tail curled between my legs.
What had not gone wrong?
I should have known Vanessa’s good behavior could not last. What arrogance to think I had wrought a miracle in a few short weeks.
I was being pursued by three gentlemen whose intentions were anything but pure. Exactly what Lord Hycliffe had warned me against.
I had done nothing about parting Vanessa from David. I had, in fact, come to agree with Lord Hycliffe’s assessment—forcible separation from David could be disastrous, possibly sending her into a fatal decline.
Worst of all, I had formed a tendre for a man I could never have, a man I could not even respect. Though nagging visions of that climb up the cliffs with Nell Ridgeway’s body occasionally made me wonder if I had misjudged him.
But no, that was not the worst. As happened all too often, I was being self-centered. My personal woes were as nothing to the tragedies of Nell Ridgeway, Mary Perkins, and their families.
And what about Lady Hycliffe and the nabob? whispered a voice inside my head.
At that point—with the corridor so dark in spite of the time not being long past noon—I almost bumped into the green baize door that led to the kitchen stairs. I put my hands out to stop my momentum, my breath whooshed out of me. Fool, fool! Once again, I was deputizing for Lady Emmaline when I should be upstairs hovering over Vanessa, attempting to keep her from dissolving into one of her hysterical fits.
Ever the daughter of the regiment, managing things . . . but a poor excuse for a companion.
It was only much later—after I had spoken with both Allard and Mrs. Linnell and seen Vanessa down off her high horse after a series of angry huffs interspersed with bouts of tears—that I finally retreated to my room and realized this was Thursday afternoon, my half-day. And me with no desire to do anything but sit and ponder the grounded clouds outside my window and wonder what in the name of God and the Devil had brought me to Moorhead Manor. Would I ever be able to do any good here? Or was this the place where I would lose myself, my pride, my reputation, everything my parents had taught me? And all because of a handsome fribble with curling brown hair and laughing azure eyes, who had only to touch me, and . . .
It was a very good thing Lady Daphne was seated between Lord Exmere and myself, for I might have betrayed myself if he were in my line of sight. As it was, I found myself listening for whatever snatches of his voice drifted my way, to the point that I almost failed to hear a remark made to me by Kenrick, who was seated on my left. Embarrassed, I asked him to repeat himself, and after casting an amused, all-too-knowing look in my direction, he did so. I spent the remainder of dinner in an agony of mortification. If Kenrick decided to entertain our guests with tales at my expense . . .
But to my infinite relief, he did not. Instead, he startled me by making his way to the piano as soon as the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room, where he proceeded to pound out some sprightly tunes that soon had everyone smiling. Amazing—somehow I could not picture the indolent Mr. Blythe practicing his scales. More likely, he was one of those gifted with the ability to play without ever learning to read a note of music.
But when he ended with a flourish to much applause and waved me forward to provide the next round of entertainment for our guests, the smiles on Lady Rothbury’s and Lady Daphne’s faces turned to haughty disdain. Ignoring their rudeness, which had become almost commonplace by now, I embarked on a rollicking version of “Henry Martin,” the tale of three brothers gone a-robbing. My melancholy returned, however, as I sang the long, sad tale of “Barbara Allen.” And then, in sheer defiance of both the Durrant ladies and my mood, for an encore I chose a slightly naughty ditty in Spanish, rather enjoying my small joke, presuming no one could understand a word. Until I peeked at Exmere and saw his lips were twitching, his eyes full of mischief.
Where on earth had he learned Spanish? Or did he simply suspect I was bending the rules of propriety?
Which could only encourage him.
I almost faltered over the final notes about three not-so-naive girls from Jaén but could not keep a blush from staining my cheeks as I recognized his comprehension. When the applause was done, he would find me, I knew it.
And he did.