Four

A grandfather! the word had burst upon Philip with the effect of a gunshot. Now, two weeks later, back at home at Gyllford, it still had a way of jumping into his mind. He stood at his shaving mirror and stared at his reflection. The hair at his temples had already turned more grey than black. When had it happened? How was it possible he had not noticed it before? Those grey hairs had encroached upon his head as the years had encroached upon his youth, in stealthy stages, bit by bit. He remembered how he’d laughed at the first pale hair that had appeared among the dark, as if that grim reminder of the impending future were a joke of nature. The reality of aging had seemed so far in the future that the warning had appeared ludicrous. But now, before he’d had a chance to accustom himself to the realization, he’d become quite grey, and his youth had disappeared.

A grandfather. Philip shook his head and grinned at himself ruefully. He was not usually given to such mawkish, feminine musings. Besides, Jamie wasn’t even married yet! Forty-four years of life did not make one ancient, not by any means. What he needed was a good breakfast, a brisk walk on the grounds of his beloved Gyllford, and a couple of hours at his desk, wrestling with the logic of his antagonist, Burke, to put him in a more sensible frame of mind. But the lift that the thought of his writing always gave him was soon dispelled by the realization that his house was filling with guests. Gervaise and Sally were already in residence, and the whole Covington family was expected to arrive this afternoon. The duties of a host would keep him from his desk all day. He sighed and, his depression returning, he went reluctantly down to breakfast.

Clarissa and Sally were already settled at the table in the breakfast room, drinking their second cups of chocolate. Gervaise was lingering over the sideboard, loading his plate from the generous buffet with cold meats, smoked fish and coddled eggs. The sight of his cheerful countenance did a little to lift Philip’s spirit. Gervaise’s very appearance occasioned smiles. He always tried valiantly to dress as befitted a man of style and substance, but his girth and his indolent nature were constantly at war with his clothing, and winning. Without warning, a button would come loose here, a seam would split there. His much-harried valet would send him forth tailored and pressed to perfection, but Gervaise would return to the dressing room before long, looking sadly rumpled and shabby. Now, just minutes after leaving his dressing room, his waistcoat buttons already gave the appearance of being strained beyond their strength. Philip was sure the middle one would pop off before Gervaise’s breakfast was completely consumed.

All unconcerned, Gervaise’s eyes twinkled and his round cheeks creased in a welcoming smile for Philip. “There you are, my boy,” he greeted warmly. “We’ve been wondering if you had overslept this morning.”

“I must apologize to you all. I had no idea you would all be so prompt. I dawdled in front of my mirror, I’m afraid.”

“Not you, Philip, surely. I’ve never known you to do so before,” Clarissa said in amused surprise.

“That is because you never told me how grey I’m growing, my dear. I noticed it this morning with quite a shock.”

“Nonsense!” Sally laughed. “It makes you look quite attractively distinguished.”

Philip bowed his thanks and turned to the sideboard. Was Sally still determined to pursue a useless flirtation with him? Bother the holidays, he thought, bother the guests and bother this whole interruption of his pleasant life’s routine! His day was quite cut up.

Sally Trevelyan looked at him musingly. If he had calculated a manner meant to attract her, he couldn’t have found a better. As he turned back to the breakfast table with his plate of beef and eggs, she motioned him to the seat beside her. Philip seemed not to notice; he took a seat beside his sister. Sally smiled to herself. Let the man struggle. She had two lovely weeks before her—there was plenty of time.

The Covingtons arrived at mid-afternoon. Hutton, the Gyllfords’ imperturbable butler, announced the arrival of the carriage to Lady Steele and managed to throw open the front door, descend the steps and take a magisterial stance at the bottom before the coach had come to a complete stop—and all without hurrying his usual dignified gait. Clarissa and Philip followed soon after, making an impressive welcoming party for the new arrivals.

The six-year-old twins spilled from the carriage first, racing past their hosts and up into the hall with all the abandon that five long hours of suppressed energy can stimulate in little boys. They were followed out of the carriage by their sister Marianne, a seventeen-year-old miss with bouncy curls and warm blue eyes now shining with the excitement caused by this prolonged escape from the schoolroom.

Next came her father, Edward Covington, whose usual, anxious expression was now replaced by a smile of relief that the journey had ended without mishap. Twenty years of marriage to the good-natured but hapless Martha had etched a number of worried creases into his forehead and a sense of nervous fearfulness into his spirit. Life with his Martha, he was wont to remark, was a series of crises and disasters for which she was neither to blame nor able to resist generating.

Martha herself was the last to be helped from the carriage. She eagerly hugged and kissed Clarissa and Philip with effusive warmth. Then she turned to the footmen who were attempting to unload the great number of boxes and trunks that the Covingtons found necessary for their survival away from home. “Be careful with that one, please,” she urged, “for it contains all the children’s gifts for Christmas morning. And that one has the wine, does it not, Edward? Clarissa, we’ve brought you some of that excellent Madeira Edward discovered on the Continent last year. Oh, and that one goes to Marianne’s room, if you please.”

Keeping up a steady stream of warnings and instructions, Martha moved with the rest of the party to the front hallway. This large, high-ceilinged room had become a sea of activity. Old friends were greeting each other with kisses. Children were being tossed in the air. Wraps were being removed and carted off up the stairs. Footmen were weaving their way through the press loaded with boxes and trunks. Suddenly, one of the twins, having had enough of the petting and patting of his elders, darted across the stone floor without heed and collided with a footman who was staggering toward the stairway under the burden of a large trunk which he carried on his back. The impact caused the man to stumble. The trunk fell to the floor with a tremendous crash and burst wide open.

The entire assemblage gasped and turned to stare at the wreckage. Martha’s corsets, stays and undergarments, and the pots of rouge she had hidden among them, all lay exposed to public view. Martha, aghast, responded as she always did in times of crisis—she swooned. Clarissa and Edward bent over her, administering vinaigrette and soothing murmurs. The guilty twin made loud excuses. The servant stammered his apologies. Lord Gyllford tried to still the hubbub by urging all the other guests into the library where a fire and refreshments were waiting.

In the midst of this confusion, the front door opened to admit Jamie and his party. The little group, rosy-cheeked and in excellent spirits after an invigorating ride through the English winter countryside, stood stock still surveying the chaos, their smiles fading into puzzled concern.

Lord Gyllford came forward to greet them. “Don’t look so appalled,” he said, smiling reassuringly at his son. “We’ve had a bit of an accident with a trunk, but it will all be set right in a few minutes. How do you do, Reggie? It’s good to have you with us.”

“Sir, I’d like you to meet Miss Evalyn Pennington. Miss Pennington, this is my father.”

Philip turned, looked down into Miss Pennington’s upturned face and felt an unfamiliar lurch somewhere deep in his chest. The serene grey eyes smiling up at him were set in a face whose sweetness of expression struck him with complete surprise. Could this calm, composed, and lovely creature possibly be the choice of his immature, scatterbrained son? He felt quite breathless with shock as, for one frozen moment while he stared at her, the world around him ceased to exist.

Miss Pennington bowed. “How do you do, my lord,” she said quietly. “It was most kind of you to invite me. We seem to have arrived inopportunely, I’m afraid.”

Philip recovered himself at once. “Not at all,” he said, a reassuring smile lighting his face. “This is quite normal behavior in our household.”

Clarissa bustled up in time to hear his words. “Philip, what a dreadful thing to say! How do you do, Miss Pennington? Please forgive this confusion. If you’ll bear with us until Mrs. Covington is recovered, we’ll be able to see to your comforts as we should. Reggie, my dear, how good to see you! And Jamie, love, it’s good to have you home.”

With a quick kiss for Jamie and a hug for Reggie, Clarissa turned to go back to the side of the still swooning Martha. A small, involuntary sigh escaped her at the sight before her—the maids hastily gathering up armfuls of lingerie and running up the stairs with them; Gervaise and Sally bending over the prostrate Martha; Edward Covington shaking his head and muttering, “I knew it, I knew something had to happen,” under his breath; and the twins, as boisterously as if nothing had happened, chasing each other up and down the staircase.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” came a soft, calm voice behind her, “but may I be of assistance? I would be glad to take the little boys and settle them in.”

Clarissa looked at Miss Pennington with an expression of gratitude and relief. “Oh my, that would be most helpful, and most kind in you.…”

“But my dear,” Lord Gyllford objected, “it would be unforgivable of us to put a guest to work, like a governess, as soon as she puts her foot in the door. We could not so impose on her.”

“If you please, my lord, I would not feel in the least imposed upon. I am a governess, after all, and I’d be grateful to be permitted to make myself useful.” And without waiting for an answer, Miss Pennington handed her cloak and gloves to a waiting servant and gracefully crossed the floor. Philip and Clarissa stared after her as she spoke a few words to a young woman they took to be her abigail. Then the astounding Miss Pennington took each of the twins firmly in hand and in seconds had disappeared with them around the bend of the stairway.

“Governess? Did she say governess?” Clarissa asked Jamie in surprise.

Jamie grinned down at his puzzled aunt. “Yes, she did. Wonderful, ain’t she? Don’t worry about it. I’ll explain later.”

Jamie and Reggie moved into the hall, greeting the others. Martha soon revived, and by slow degrees the whole party made its way to the library, where hot soup and mulled brandy did much to restore order and good spirits. But Philip gave scant attention to the laughter and banter around him. He was staring at his son. Jamie must possess depths beyond his ken. He had brought home a young woman who, although perhaps beneath him in station and wealth, seemed vastly superior in character. Certainly she was not at all the sort of young woman whom Philip would have thought likely to attract a young buck so newly on the town. Philip had to admit that the sight of Jamie’s choice had completely surprised him. In the past, he had prided himself on the aplomb with which he had withstood the shocks, disappointments and worries of fatherhood. But this time … well, this time Jamie had shaken him profoundly.