Leo listened with only half an ear to what the Preseley chit was saying. He could not think why he had allowed himself to be lured into the conservatory. Lured? Perhaps that was too strong a word. But Jenny had undoubtedly drawn him hither, on the pretext of finding some flowers for Timma’s room. It was his own fault, for had he not mentioned her liking of flowers only yesterday when he had sent the girl out to wander about the grounds? He had joined her there only to make sure that she kept away from his cousin.
Timma had looked so drawn, there was no bearing it! He’d had to obtain her some peace. He had found a pretext to leave Jenny after some time, and returned in stealth to Timma’s room to check on her, and had found her asleep. It had only been by the most supreme act of will that he had torn himself away. Indeed, when Valentine had proved to have interrupted his errand to bring Susan back here, Leo had seized on the opportunity to take himself out of the vicinity, so strong was his compulsion to post himself by Timma’s bedside. Which, as Valentine had pointed out, could only result in wrecking her reputation.
It might enforce her acquiescence in the future he had planned for them both. But, knowing Timma, it would certainly serve to divide him from her, driving a deeper wedge between them. And that, in the new knowledge that his wayward conduct had made him privy to, was too unbearable to be contemplated.
He had thought, after that night on the Fenns, that he had succeeded in ousting from his mind and will his obsession with marrying his cousin. Indeed, he had fought hard to overcome the tendency of his thoughts to contemplate nothing but roseate visions of Timma in his house. He had seen her everywhere! At his desk, in his parlours, in the stables. Flaxen locks awry, skin golden in the sun, the swell of her full bosom enticingly exposed, the beguiling smile curving her lips. And—most disturbing vision of all—flushed and radiant, in his bed.
Then, when he had all but won the battle over his baser self, had come her accident. Seeing her spread upon the ground, helpless and broken! All the instincts of their long and affectionate association had consumed him, sweeping away every remnant of the distresses of the latter days. Yet, after the first shock had abated, he had come in while she slept and watched her lying in that bed. She had looked so vulnerable, her hair splashing its pale gold sheen across the pillows, and he had been shaken with a powerful recurrence of desire.
He had felt acutely its intrusion at such a time. Was he a monster, to be subject to such inappropriate promptings? For two pins, he would have gathered her up into his arms and—
‘A penny for them, Mr Wetheral.’
Leo started, horrified to have allowed his thoughts to wander thither. Jenny Preseley was standing between the two tall palms at the very end of the conservatory wall where a pair of French doors, tightly closed at present, gave onto the gardens. Leo drew a breath, pulling himself together.
‘I beg your pardon. My mind was wandering.’
The girl smiled. ‘So I saw. I expect you were thinking of Miss Dulverton.’
Leo felt himself redden, and moved away to stare through the rain-splashed glass at the green lawns outside. ‘She is the chief subject of my present thoughts, yes.’
‘You must be very worried.’
He turned to look at her, a frown in his eyes. What was the girl at? Had she brought him in here only to talk of Timma? If so, it was a tactic whose object was not immediately apparent.
‘Miss Dulverton is my cousin,’ he said evenly. ‘We have ever been close.’
Jenny nodded, smiling. ‘My father has told me. Like brother and sister?’
Leo was betrayed into a short laugh. ‘It ought to have been so, I suppose.’
‘But it was not, was it?’
There was a seriousness in the tone, but she was smiling still. If this was a ploy, its meaning escaped him. ‘Why do you say that?’
Jenny chose not to answer this. Her smile increased, and instead she asked him as she moved across to a collection of plants, ‘Do you think Miss Dulverton would care for these purple flowers? I believe they are called lilies of the Nile.’
Leo allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion of which of the many exotic blooms were likely to appeal to Timma. He could not think what he was doing here. He cursed himself for abandoning this morning’s intention to escape from the house. He had only himself to blame for running his head into a noose! But that made it no easier. He did not know how he was to re-establish himself with Timma. Instinct had dictated that he ought to give her time. Hence his decision to avoid her.
Only, when he had run into Preseley, he had suddenly recalled the doctor’s warning yesterday, after he had examined Timma’s injury, that he suspected cracks in the bones. All else had faded in the anxiety to hear Preseley’s further diagnosis. Only when he had arrived home had he recalled the awkwardness that must attend any encounter with his cousin. He had resolved to await the doctor’s verdict—without making any attempt to see Timma—and then resume his mission.
Not that he had the slightest desire to ride through the wetlands of the forest in search of Beauleigh’s infuriating oak. And in this rain. But anything was better than the direful prospect of facing Timma again! At least, not yet.
Was it by design or accident that he had found himself instead in Jenny Preseley’s company? He had been so preoccupied that he could not tell how it had happened. She seemed innocent enough, but he could not be impervious to the broad hints that had been dropped by the Baguley matron. Years of London society had inured him to the wiles of matchmakers, and he had learned not to trust even the most ingenuous of feminine creatures. One did so at one’s peril! Even Valentine, who was not noted for his perception, had an ingrained instinct of self-preservation when it came to designing débutantes.
But Jenny Preseley had all the advantage of an apparent artless charm. Wasted on himself—if that was her intention. He regretted having been betrayed by his annoyance with Timma into encouraging her that night at Somersham. He was reaping the harvest of it now. Unless the chit’s anxious solicitude over Timma was genuine.
He discovered that Jenny had stopped speaking again, and was regarding him in mute question over the top of a row of potted orchids on a stone table. He drew a breath, and forced a laugh.
‘I am sorry, Miss Preseley. I was miles away again.’
‘It makes no matter.’ She was giving him a bright smile. ‘Orchids, do you think?’
‘No, she would disapprove of their being taken from this habitat,’ he responded automatically. He grimaced, shifting to converse with her across the stone table. ‘I should have told you before, but I did not like to dampen your kind intention. The truth is that Timma believes one should not cut flowers. They should be left, she says, to live out their natural term. She would accept roses, I think, in these especial circumstances. But it is too wet, and the blooms are already on the decline.’
Jenny was silent for a space, looking at him with, he thought, speculation in her eyes. What in the world was the chit up to now? He was not left wondering for long.
‘You know Miss Dulverton so very well, Mr Wetheral,’ she commented in a tone that gave nothing away.
‘Necessarily,’ he replied shortly. ‘We have spent a good deal of time in each other’s company.’
‘You are going to be married, are you not?’
The question took him so much unawares that he knew not what to say. He stared at her blankly. How should he reply? She could not know of the dissension that had attended that very question. Or no, perhaps she could know it. Had not the world been discussing the matter for some little while?
‘You have been listening to gossip, Miss Preseley,’ he said flatly.
She blushed and looked away. ‘I beg your pardon, sir. It was impertinent.’ Then her eyes came back to his, and there was trouble in them. ‘I only asked because—because I wanted to be able to say something that might protect Miss Dulverton. Oh, not to you! But—oh, dear, this is excessively awkward!’
Leo’s frown grew as he watched her move away from him. But the implication in her words hung heavy. What had caused her to bring this up? He moved around the table to her and grasped her shoulder, turning her to face him.
‘Miss Preseley, if there is aught you have to tell me, I beg you will do so—and without roundaboutation. Believe me, where Miss Dulverton is concerned, I have as much interest in protection as you—more, I dare say.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Jenny, looking up at him with evident concern in her face. ‘To tell you the truth, it was for that very purpose that I suggested we should come in here. Only I did not know how to bring up the subject.’
The relief that Leo felt on learning that she had no designs upon him was overwhelmed by the instant anxiety that attacked him at the idea that some danger threatened Timma.
‘Well, now that you have broached it, pray don’t hesitate to give me a round tale. What is the matter?’
Thus adjured, Jenny appeared to relax a little, and her air became confiding. ‘You see, a letter was brought over to me from Mrs Baguley this morning. She is hot for news from this house. Indeed,’ she added, with a rising indignation that did more to endear her to Leo than anything she said, ‘she had the effrontery to bid me snoop out any little tidbit that I could, for she had heard that my father is attending Miss Dulverton.’
‘Oh, the deuce!’ burst from Leo. ‘Do you say that the gossips are already at it?’
Jenny nodded. ‘I am afraid they are. If you will forgive my speaking blunt—’
‘Miss Preseley, I will welcome it.’
‘Well, they are making something disgraceful out of Miss Dulverton’s staying in your house,’ Jenny said frankly.
‘But surely they must realise—if they have not also heard it—that Mrs Hawnby is come here.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘They do not place any faith in her ability to prevent anything from happening.’
‘Devil take it!’ Leo swore, taking a sharp turn about the room. He could not very well blame anyone for taking this point of view. He knew it to be true. Not that it excused his own conduct. But he was perfectly aware that nothing but his own honour had prevented events last night from being pursued to their logical conclusion. Despite the fact that the dragon Hawnby had been two doors away, and Timma’s own house-maid in the dressing-room next door.
He saw that Jenny Preseley was looking rueful, and drew in his breath against the building anger. ‘There is more?’
She nodded. ‘I pledged myself to tell you it all, Mr Wetheral, though it pains me to say this. Mrs Baguley has even dared to suppose that there is no serious injury, and it is but an excuse to continue a liaison which must have been going on for several years.’
Leo stared sightlessly at her face. How dared they? How dared they impute such base conduct to Timma? For himself, he cared not a straw. Let them say what they would of him. But what had Timma ever done to deserve that slur?
‘That is why,’ came the voice of the Preseley chit, jabbing into his thoughts, ‘I asked if you were going to be married. For you have only to announce your betrothal, and they will be silenced.’
Announce his betrothal? The devil! How little the girl knew of Timma! He might readily give in to such pressures—only to spare her any further humiliation. But if Jenny supposed Timma would allow herself to be coerced into marriage by such idle gossip-mongering she was mightily mistaken.
‘What will you do?’
Leo looked at the girl. ‘I do not know, but if you are wishful to be of service to Miss Dulverton you may write back to that—to Mrs Baguley that you are more often in the sickroom than I. Not to mention Miss Hurst, Mrs Salcombe, and I don’t know how many maids—let alone the dragon Hawnby!’
Jenny nodded seriously. ‘Yes, that is very true. But will you not—?’
‘I will not ask Miss Dulverton to kowtow to a parcel of busybodies, no,’ he answered swiftly, out of a sudden rise of passion in his chest, and hardly conscious of what he said, or to whom he was speaking. ‘You do not know her, Miss Preseley, but I do. Timma would die first! And since I am extremely desirous of marrying her I will do nothing to jeopardise my chances.’
A beaming smile swept across Jenny’s face. ‘I knew it! Oh, I am so glad I have not been mistaken. You are in love with her, are you not, Mr Wetheral?’
Timothia’s expression of despair was over. Her natural resilience reasserted itself before long, and after speaking her mind—in a rather watery fashion, and with renewed recourse to a sodden handkerchief—on the subject of designing hussies who hid a vixenish soul under an innocent front she straightened up against her bank of pillows and allowed Susan to run a comb through her tangled hair.
‘Are my eyes red and puffy?’ she demanded uneasily.
‘You could not expect that it would be otherwise, dearest,’ pointed out her friend, making a thorough examination. ‘But the effects are already wearing off. In a moment or two, no one who sees you will suspect a thing.’
Relieved, Timothia shifted into a more comfortable position, cautiously moving the bandaged foot. The initial agonies attendant upon having it splinted had reduced considerably, although she was still very conscious of the ankle. Her other physical ailments had eased a little with moving the muscles, and the bout of tears had done a great deal to lessen the tension of her nerves.
‘I don’t think I require Dr Preseley’s valerian, after all. Which may please Jenny, for I am sure she is much more pleasurably occupied!’
‘Dearest, don’t say so. And I think you should drink the brew in any event, for you look peaky still. There are shadows beneath your eyes.’
Timothia sighed. ‘It is well that I have no mirror by me, then, for I am sure I should crack it.’
‘That is silly.’ Susan placed the comb back upon the dresser, and returned to the bed, sitting down beside it with an air of great importance. ‘Now, Timma, I want to talk seriously to you.’
The ghost of a smile crossed Timothia’s features. ‘Are you going to treat me to one of your “elder sister” lectures?’
‘Yes,’ said Susan resolutely, and then frowned. ‘At least, no—I wish you will not try to turn the subject.’
‘Very well,’ said Timothia meekly, folding her hands together and relaxing into the pillows. ‘Go on.’
‘Timma, you cannot continue in this way.’
‘In what way?’
Susan waved agitated hands. ‘In this dreadful state of depression and nerves!’ She drew a determined breath, and uttered tensely, ‘You must speak to Leo.’
At once, a tattoo started up in Timothia’s breast. Speak to Leo? No, she could not! ‘Susan, it is useless to tell me that. What in the world do you suppose I might say to him?’
‘The truth, of course,’ pursued Susan doggedly.
The truth! About last night? But she had no idea what was the truth. And besides, it was hardly a subject she could bring herself to discuss with Leo. She saw that Susan’s pansy eyes were fixed upon her face.
‘Susan, how can I? Suppose it never happened—why, I should feel doubly conscious. Especially now, when I have every reason to suppose that he is fixing his interest with Jenny Preseley.’
But Susan was not to be put off. ‘You do not know that. And after his manner to you yesterday, when he was so very concerned for you, it is ridiculous to suppose that he does not care for you.’
Timothia shifted her shoulders in a gesture of discontent. ‘It does not mean anything. He fell automatically back into the bond of friendship that we have ever shared, that is all. I would have been as distressed as he had our positions been reversed, I assure you.’
‘You have no need to assure me of it,’ said Susan breathily. ‘How could it be otherwise, when you are completely in love with Leo?’
A stone lodged in Timothia’s chest. She tried to speak—and failed. It was not true. It could not be true. If that were the substance of her feelings towards him, she would have known it! She would have felt it long ago. This was not love! This agonising, hideous state of indecision and despair. It was not possible. Love was tender, and sweet. If she were in love, she would not be so critical of Leo. Love would have made her gentle towards him, not fierce and venomous as she had been. No, whatever it was that had ruined the bond of friendship between them, it was not love.
‘You are mistaken,’ she said, and could only ascribe the husky quality of her voice to the grief that had entered her soul. ‘I do not regard Leo in such a rosy light. How could I, when I know him through and through? No, Susan, it has naught to do with love.’
‘What, then, do you call it?’ asked her friend, and Timothia could not remember ever having heard such a sceptical note in Susan’s voice.
‘You do not believe me, but that must be because of your own feelings towards Valentine. I could not swoon over Leo! I admit that I find myself attracted to his manly quality, but that does not betoken anything more romantic than lust.’
‘Timma, how can you?’ protested Susan in shocked tones.
‘For pity’s sake, let us call a spade a spade! I am not a schoolroom miss, and nor are you.’
‘Very well,’ agreed her friend, ‘but then why are you jealous of Jenny Preseley?’
‘I am not jealous!’ objected Timothia. ‘It is not that, I assure you. I do not deny that the thought of Leo falling—succumbing to her wiles—’ she corrected herself rather hastily ‘—is galling to me.’
‘Because you cannot bear the thought of his marrying anyone else!’ said Susan bluntly.
‘I do not deny it,’ Timothia uttered strongly. ‘It is hard for me to release myself from the too strong bond of friendship. I thought I had done so, but to my shame I find I cannot. It hurts me dreadfully! And I know that it affects Leo too. But,’ she added with fierce determination, ‘it is not—it cannot possibly be!—love.’
And nothing was going to move her from this standpoint! Susan looked as if she would have argued further, but they were interrupted at this moment by Edith, who came in with tidings that were not altogether welcome.
‘Dr Preseley has gone, and Jenny is running out to fetch this herb. She is going to prepare the drink herself, and bring it to you. Mrs Salcombe wishes to know if you are staying for luncheon, Susan. You may have it in here with Timothia, if you wish.’
While she listened to her friend accepting the invitation, Timothia was willing herself not to enquire after Leo. Edith did not volunteer any information about him, and she was obliged to bite down on the question. She would not lower herself to ask! But when her companion left the room she was slightly cheered by a decision of Susan’s.
‘Dearest, I have just thought what I may do for you.’
‘You are not thinking of talking to Leo on my behalf!’ exclaimed Timothia, seized with a sudden fear.
‘Of course I will do no such thing. I might have spoken to Valentine, however, but perhaps I may not see him.’
‘I am glad!’ said Timothia with emphasis.
‘In any event, it is not that,’ said Susan. ‘What I was thinking, Timma, is that I will go after luncheon, and offer to take Jenny up in my carriage. Once she is removed, and if I am no longer here, Leo will feel himself obliged to visit you.’
For a moment, Timothia’s spirits lightened. But then she recalled the embarrassment that must be attendant upon a meeting with Leo. ‘Not unless I ask him. Remember that he said in his note that I should send him word.’
‘Then ask him!’
Timothia looked at her. ‘What have I been saying to you? Besides, I do not wish him to visit me only because he feels obliged to do so.’
Susan leaned forward and gripped her fingers. ‘Dearest Timma, you do not wish to remain upon distant terms with him; you know you do not.’
‘No, but—’
‘Then take this opportunity, I beg of you!’
There was time for no more, for Polly and two maids entered with the promised luncheon trays, which they busily served. It was a light meal without frills, such as Timothia could readily eat, and they had barely started on it when Jenny Preseley entered the room, armed with the drink made from valerian. Timothia schooled herself to receive the girl with every evidence of pleasure, and found the drink to be acceptably tasty.
‘It is sweetened with honey,’ Jenny told her. ‘I think you will find that it will make you sleep soundly.’
Whether it was due to the drink, or to the stresses of the day, in the event Timothia did drop off to sleep, about a half-hour later. The last thing she remembered was Edith summoning Jenny to the luncheon parlour, and Susan whispering to her that she would follow to persuade Jenny to remove with her after she had eaten.
She awoke to the sound of heavy rain, and wind rattling strands of ivy on the panes. A storm! Timothia started up, her friend’s final words leaping to her mind. She only hoped that Susan had reached home before it broke. Her glance caught at the chair by the head of the bed. Edith was dozing there.
Timothia blinked away the mists of sleep, and lay back among her cushions, her gaze idly sweeping the room. It halted, transfixed. Her heart jerked. Leo was standing by the far window, looking out.
He had evidently not yet noticed that she had woken. Almost holding her breath for fear that its unsteadiness would give her away, Timothia regarded his profile, trying to stem the tide of warmth and consciousness that flooded her at his presence. Oh, this was so excessively uncomfortable! This was Leo. Her lifelong companion and friend. How was it possible that she should experience such a degree of inner tumult at the mere sight of him?
He looked excessively attractive, despite the forbidding set of his jawline. His hair had grown, one unruly lock of it now falling across his brow. She could not see much of his eyes at this angle, but the line of both nose and chin carried strength and purpose. His hands were clasped behind his back, his shoulders taut, and the power of his muscle showed even in the relaxed pose of his buckskin-clad thigh. Timothia could not think what had possessed her to refuse him.
Leo must have felt her watching him, for his head turned and their eyes met. For a brief moment of silence, Timothia could not look away from that startling blue gaze. Then the sombre quality of it penetrated, and consciousness returned. Her own eyes dropped, and she made a play of shifting her position in the bed.
Leo glanced at the Hawnby dragon and saw her still sleeping. It afforded an excuse to remain silent for some moments longer. As well, for he knew not what to say. He had come in on impulse, abandoning his earlier intentions—driven by so intense a need that he could not resist. And then he had spent the last ten minutes standing here, rehearsing speeches in his head. But that look had changed everything! Nothing that he had intended to say seemed an adequate response. All his attention had been on redeeming himself somehow—for last night had convinced him that Timma could not forgive his wanton destruction of their earlier relationship. But what he had seen in her eyes this moment past was a message altogether different. Unless he had misread it?
Anxiety gnawed at him. But the silence was becoming oppressive. Bracing himself, he started softly across the room towards the bed. She looked up, alarm in her face, and he halted. For want of anything else—for no more intelligent an idea occurred to him—he put a finger to his lips and indicated the sleeping companion. As if that could explain his silence!
Timothia looked across at Edith, and then back to Leo. He was moving again! Oh, heavens, what to do? What did he mean to say to her? In a state of unnerving trepidation, she watched him pick up a chair and approach to the opposite side of the bed from where Edith sat. The business of setting it down quietly and taking his seat took time, but insufficient for Timothia to compose herself. But something had to be said! Whispering, she found herself stating the obvious.
‘You have not, then, gone off to the north wood?’
Leo seized the subject with alacrity, delivering, in a lowered tone, quite as inane a reply. ‘I decided against it, on the score of the weather.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Timothia. ‘It is quite a storm, is it not?’
‘It has become worse through the day.’
To Timothia’s dismay, this remark appeared to have exhausted the topic of the present climate. She could think of nothing else to say on the subject. Dreading another silence, she sought for some other, equally harmless. She found it.
‘Has Bickley come for Faithful?’
‘I told him to leave the horse resting here for a day or two, and I would send to him.’
‘But is he fretting?’
‘Bickley?’ asked Leo unthinkingly.
‘Faithful.’
‘No, no. He has settled very well. He cannot return now to Fenny House until the weather improves.’
Which left Timothia with no further questions. She thought frantically. Oh, of course. Leo’s excursion to the north wood.
‘What—what business had you?’
Leo almost started, realising that he had been on the point of expressing a hope that the storm would not last out the night—almost as stupid as his reference to Timma’s groom! Her question threw him completely. What was she talking of?
‘Business?’
‘In the north wood.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Eagerly, he embraced a topic that might prove fruitful. ‘Beauleigh is putting up some fencing there, and he wished me to—’
‘Fencing!’ interrupted Timothia, all her managerial instincts aroused. ‘But the north wood is a deer park!’
‘Yes, I know, but—’
‘Leo, you cannot allow him to fence it!’ All else was forgotten. Embarrassment slipped away, ousted by an imperative need to make her cousin see sense. ‘Deer must be allowed to roam free if they are to survive. If you fence them in, you will have every poacher for miles around stalking your lands, and killing off the fawns!’
‘No, no, Timma, you mistake,’ Leo uttered, slightly irritated. ‘There is no question of fencing off the deer park. The thing is, there is a blasted oak.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She frowned. ‘Is it merely withering, or do you have a blight?’
Leo shifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. ‘That is just what we do not know. Beauleigh wished me to see for myself, for he is in favour of cutting it down.’
‘If there is a blight, you must do so, of course,’ agreed Timothia. ‘And burn the trunk, too.’ Then her eyes widened as a thought occurred. ‘It is not the ancient oak that sits in a clearing by itself? I remember my uncle saying that the roots had spread so far that nothing else can grow around it.’
‘Did he?’ Leo could not remember his father ever having spoken to him on the subject. But then he had not shown the slightest interest in anything to do with the estate lands. He sighed. ‘Timma, I have no idea which oak it may be. You know I am no hand at matters such as this.’
She caught his tone, and recognised in it the old despair at his own failings in administering the lands. The root cause of their estrangement shot back into her mind, and she remembered, all too clearly, why she had refused him. Embarrassment returned, and she stumbled over her words.
‘I only meant—it was only that—if that was the—the tree, then there is hope that it may be only withering,’ she said, finishing in something of a rush. ‘Close fencing would probably answer.’
Leo said nothing for a moment. If his interest in the blasted oak in his north wood had before been tepid, it was now utterly defunct. Nothing could have been more unfortunate than to remind Timma of what had prompted him to offer for her. Especially, he abruptly realised, since it had no longer the same importance. Not that her value in that area was any the less. On the contrary, she had just proved how very much more able she was than he to make judgements upon such matters. Only he no longer cared for that! Would Timma believe him?
‘Timma—’
She cut across him, low-voiced and tense. ‘That note, Leo.’
The devil! Must she bring that up? His chest hollowed out. ‘It does not matter.’
Her gaze came up to his. ‘Does it not?’
The wistful note pierced him. He leaned forward. ‘Timma, I never meant—it was outrageous of me to…’ He petered out, unable to continue against the expression in her face.
‘Then it did happen,’ she said in a horrified whisper, a tremor in her lips. ‘It was not a dream!’
Appalled, Leo watched her throw her hands over her face. What could he say? How to ease her embarrassment when he felt it as acutely as she?
‘The things I said!’
He heard it only muffled through her fingers, and wished fervently that he might reach out and quiet them. ‘Forget it, pray! I assure you I do not regard it—can hardly recall—’
He broke off, for a grunt from the other side of the bed informed him that the dragon Hawnby was stirring. Leo watched her yawn herself awake, unable to decide whether he was glad or sorry. For Timma’s sake, since he had proved himself to have little self-control when she was so distressingly vulnerable, he supposed he must welcome the necessary curb.
Timothia had no such doubts. Relief flooded her, for there must be an end to this disastrous tête-à-tête! She withdrew her hands from her face, and turned gratefully to her companion. ‘I believe you have slept longer than I did, Edith. Look, Leo is here.’
The old governess directed a stare across the bed, and grunted. ‘I see him.’ She heaved herself up from the chair, and began waddling round the bed. ‘I dare say you will like to be private together.’
Two voices struck in unison before she could reach the door.
‘Mrs Hawnby, no!’
‘Edith, stop!’
The companion halted, turning to look at them in surprise. Timothia felt herself go hot, and she could not look at Leo. She had called out from panic at the thought of being alone with him. The reason why he had done so became obvious a second later—and none too welcome.
‘Mrs Hawnby,’ he uttered urgently, rising from his chair, ‘you must not leave the room, if you please. It is imperative that Timma is not left unchaperoned while I am here.’
Timothia was convinced that a flush was staining her cheeks. He could not have made her more conscious if he had spoken outright of last night’s appalling occurrence. Heaven help her, but she could have no lingering hope that it had been a dream. He had as good as admitted the whole!
Her companion moved back into the room, and directed her all-seeing eye at Leo. ‘It has never seemed to trouble you before.’
Leo’s cheek darkened, and he crossed to the window, avoiding the woman’s formidable gaze. ‘The case was different then. In my house, Timma is more vulnerable.’
To his dismay, the dragon chose to take this up. ‘More vulnerable to what, Mr Wetheral?’
Heavens, let him not say it! Timothia sought hastily for some other explanation—and found it. ‘Gossip, Edith. Leo is right. People are already talking.’
Leo’s eyes turned swiftly towards her. ‘You have heard that too?’
‘Susan told me.’
‘I had it from the Preseley chit.’
It was like a douche of cold water. Where else would he have heard it? Timothia looked away to hide the instant distress. She had almost forgotten! Now she saw why he wanted to dismiss last night as being of no account. And Jenny must have found the gossip most inconvenient. She could not wish to have Leo compromised by Timothia’s presence in his house, when she wanted him for herself.
Edith’s matter-of-fact tones intruded on her thoughts. ‘Won’t make a particle of difference whether I’m here or not. People are bound to talk. They always do. As long as you are inhabiting the same house, nothing will serve to stop tongues wagging.’
‘Then we must not inhabit the same house!’ Leo said, snapping uncontrollably. He could not have Timma compromised, whatever it took!
‘Timothia can scarce remove,’ Mrs Hawnby pointed out.
‘I can—in a day or so at least.’ And she would, for it was evident that Leo did not want a repetition of her ill-fated drug-induced dreams, whatever she might wish!
‘You know very well what Dr Preseley said, this very morning,’ Edith reminded her.
‘What did he say?’ demanded Leo. ‘He told me only that the ankle was healing as it should, and that he had splinted it with a bandage.’
It occurred to him all at once that he had not even enquired after Timma’s state. Coming to the bed, he tried to remedy this lapse, but in his dispersed state of mind succeeded only in firing questions without giving her time to answer them.
‘I have not asked you—is the ankle still paining you? Are you feeling more the thing today? You don’t look as if you slept at all well. Devil take it, there are rings under your eyes, Timma! What more did Preseley tell you? Have you cracked the bone? He did not say. I wanted to ask, but you were sleeping when I came in, and—’
‘Mr Wetheral!’
He stopped in mid-stride, his glance flying to the dragon’s face, and then back to Timothia. A faint glimpse of her provocative smile was playing about her lips. He sighed out his breath, and threw up his hands.
‘I beg your pardon!’
Timothia let out a tiny laugh. Her heart was heavy, but she could still find Leo’s tempestuous outburst endearing. ‘Never mind it. I am better. The pain is much less, and Preseley does not believe that I have cracked any bones. The splinting is only precautionary.’
‘Thank the Lord for that! But you cannot possibly remove. Surely Preseley cannot have given you permission to walk on it?’
It was Edith Hawnby who answered. ‘By no means. He is of the opinion that she should recuperate here, since there is no room to move at Fenny House.’
‘Yes, but that does not mean—’ began Timothia.
‘Don’t even say it!’ Leo threw at her angrily. ‘You will stay here for as long as it takes. If need be, I will myself go and live in Fenny House!’
Timothia was obliged to laugh. ‘I wish I might see you!’ She saw the grin appear in his face, and felt her constraint lessen. ‘But you need not carry on in this autocratic fashion. I can be just as stubborn as you. If there is to be any question of your removing from your own house, merely because of a pack of gossip-hungry vultures, then you may take it that I will have myself carried out of here the very moment that your back is turned.’ She saw him glance frowningly at her companion, and added quickly, ‘Don’t look to Edith to support you! You must know perfectly well that nothing she can say would stop me, once I made up my mind to it.’
Leo was all too aware of it. Why in the world he wanted to saddle himself with so pigheaded a female, he could not think! Well, so be it. If she did become compromised through her own folly, then she would discover that he could be as adamant as she. If need be, he would force her to the altar! After—well, that could take care of itself. He had rather not think about that just at this moment.
‘Very well,’ he said evenly, meeting the bright rebellion of his cousin’s gaze with steely determination. ‘Let it be as you wish. But from this moment I do not set foot in this room as long as you are in the house.’
The night had been filled with unquiet dreams. Not, to Timothia’s relief, the stuff of drug-induced nightmare. Thankfully, she could not remember the substance. But she knew that a certain pretty redhead had featured strongly, and she thought there had been a laughing chase on horseback through the confines of Leo’s north wood. For the rest, there were snippets of motion, and the suspicion of some heat-laden tangle with a strong-limbed torso of unknown origin.
At least Timothia was loath to guess at its identity, and could only be grateful for the merciful blanket of forgetfulness. It had been a long day besides, and she did not wish to remember that either. Knowing that Leo was in the house—and determined not to present himself in her bedchamber—had prevented her from thinking of anything else. She had lain in bed, staring dully at the grey drizzle that continued long after the lashing rain had died away.
Edith, with a belated recognition of her duty, had seen to it that either herself or Polly had remained in the room at all times. A development that Timothia had found acutely restrictive. Not that she would have done anything other than lie there had she been alone. But the continued presence of another person had seemed to set a barrier even upon her thoughts. She had sunk into a slough of despondency that had followed her into sleep.
This morning, however, she felt the curb more on her energies than on her thoughts. Her physical condition had improved with the enforced rest. The ankle no longer ached as incessantly, starting up only with motion. The bruising at her right side had subsided considerably, with but a twinge or two if she made an incautious move. Timothia began to fret at the necessity of remaining abed, and wondered if Dr Preseley might sanction some exercise.
While she waited perforce for his dictum, once having been readied for the day, Timothia called for more pillows so that she might sit more upright, and obliged Polly to bunch two under her knee to give her further support than the bolster provided. This so much improved her comfort that she began to wish for something to do.
‘A book?’ suggested Edith. ‘Would you wish me to hunt through Mr Wetheral’s library? No doubt your aunt will have left some suitable volumes.’
Timothia approved this plan, and could not but be gratified when Edith returned some time later, armed with a stack of reading matter which, she said, had been picked out for her by her cousin.
‘Leo chose them?’ she asked, looking over the titles of the leather-bound volumes. Warmth invaded her breast as she took them in. How well Leo knew her tastes! There were her favourite poets, and a copy of Tristram Shandy to laugh over. Oh, and here was a Smollett that she had not read. She smiled to see that Leo had not omitted to include two thick tomes that he supposed must appeal to her—one on agriculture, another on the farming of pigs! She turned over the last book, a slim little folio of rather dilapidated appearance. It was evidently very old.
The History of the Tales of the Fairies, she read. Oh, Leo! She opened the book, and discovered a brief note inside. ‘A touch of the will-o’-the-wisp.’ It was signed only with the letter ‘L’.
Tears started to Timothia’s eyes. That he had remembered was infinitely precious. Had he sought for it, recalling that Madame D’Aulnoy’s tales were on his library shelves? Or had he come across it by chance, and sent it to her for a jest? However it might have been, Timothia was touched by his thoughtfulness. He was once again the Leo of her childhood. Oh, if he could but have remained so! She would not then be in danger of losing him to a hateful wretch who would only use him to further her own ends.
Sighing, she placed the rest of the books upon her bedside table, and spent a pleasant hour browsing through those long-forgotten stories that had enchanted her early years.
She was roused from her absorption by the arrival of a note from Susan, bearing ill tidings. To her consternation, she learned that her friend had been soaked to the skin on her return journey, the downpour to which Timothia had woken yesterday afternoon having begun immediately after Susan had set down Jenny Preseley at her home. Not surprisingly, Susan had succumbed to a chill. ‘But, though I am subject to fits of sneezing and Mama has confined me to my bed, be assured, dearest Timma, that it is nothing but a cold in the head.’
Her friend was the more troubled by her inability now to pursue her vigilant aim to keep Jenny Preseley away from Leo. In a burst of self-sacrifice, Susan offered to stifle her own hopes and send Valentine to Wiggin to steal the girl away. ‘For you will not deny that Valentine is even more eligible than Leo, and must inevitably attract her interest.’
Timothia was both touched and exasperated by this effusion, and immediately rang for paper and ink that she might send back an instant reply by the footman who was waiting. She had just completed a brief note imploring her friend to stop being stupid and concentrate on getting well, when Jenny Preseley herself was ushered into the room.
‘Miss Dulverton, I am come in place of my father, who is trusting me to take back a report of your ankle. Oh, do not fear me! I am pledged not to touch his bandaging, but only to enquire how you feel, and to look where the bruising has reached.’
Submitting, with inward reluctance, to the girl’s admittedly gentle examination, Timothia could yet not prevent herself from awaiting her verdict with interest.
‘It is just as Papa told me to expect,’ she said at last, in a satisfied tone. ‘There is a bruise all the way down to your toes, and it looks to be creeping up your leg above the bandage.’
‘Is that good?’ demanded Edith blankly.
‘Excellent. The more it bruises, the better it is healing.’ Replacing the covers, Jenny came around to the side of the bed and smiled at Timothia. ‘And now I am obliged to say what I had rather not. Dear Miss Dulverton, I am sorry to tell you that I will not be able to visit you again for some few days.’
Suppressing an inclination to cheer, Timothia spoke with an assumed expression of regret. ‘Oh, why not, Jenny?’
‘Mrs Baguley has invited me to go with her to a house party at Great Gidding, and Papa will not have me refuse on account of her kindness to me.’
Timothia was startled—and delighted. ‘At the Marquis of Rockingham’s home? I should hope you would not refuse!’
A sentiment which appeared to relieve Jenny’s mind. ‘I had hoped to see you once more, but since tomorrow is Sunday we are to travel today, for everyone is supposed to be there for an excursion early on Monday morning.’
Timothia was able to say all that was suitable with heartfelt enthusiasm. But she was less satisfied later, when she received from Edith the news that Leo was also going away. A horrid suspicion leapt into her mind.
‘Not to Rockingham’s seat?’
‘No use asking me,’ said her companion. ‘All I know is that he and that fool, Lord Pentre, are to go together. Some house party or other, I understand.’