The Fugitive Heiress (23 page)

Catheryn realized she was staring rudely while Miss Felmersham waited for an answer to her question. She blushed. “I beg your pardon! I don’t know where my wits have wandered, ma’am. I was diverted by the view.” The warmth in her cheeks increased when she realized exactly what she had said.

But Miss Felmersham did not seem the least disturbed. She strode purposefully toward the bell. “In effect, my dear Miss Westering, you have not rung.”

“No, ma’am.” Catheryn had never had a governess, but she suddenly had the strangest feeling that if she had had one, that lady might have been very like Miss Felmersham, except for her manner of dress, of course.

“No matter. Save a trip for someone. What about Ashley?”

“He will be along momentarily, I believe,” Catheryn replied, dragging her eyes away from her hostess with difficulty. “He is with Teddy and Dr. Quigley.”

“Good.” Miss Felmersham stepped briskly to the table and whisked out a chair. “Sit down, child, sit down! Doesn’t matter where. But do, for God’s sake, have a good hard look at me and be done with it! I dress for my own convenience and no one else’s. You’ll get used to it.”

Flushing to the roots of her hair, Catheryn begged her pardon but was ruthlessly told to sit down and put a sock in it, unless she had something of worth to impart. Meekly, she obeyed and sat staring at the polished surface of the table wishing she could think of something to say and thinking that even Dambroke at his fiercest would be more easily dealt with than this difficult old lady. Silence reigned for several seconds. Finally, she looked up to find Miss Felmersham, elbows on the table, staring at her with amusement. Her natural courage bolstered by that look, Catheryn asserted with only a hint of defensiveness that it was rather an odd costume.

“I daresay.” Miss Felmersham let the propping hand fall to the table and directed a more piercing stare at her guest. “I expect I was rude to you last night. Never at my best when I’m wakened. Often rude anyway,” she added with wry candor and a slight shrug. “However, I think I might like you, Miss Westering. Believe you’ve got spunk. I shall call you Catheryn, and you’d best call me Miss Lucy like the rest of them. What’s going to be done about that dratted boy?”

Completely disconcerted, Catheryn was grateful for the interruption of John the footman and two maids with their breakfast, or the first part of it at any rate. She discovered that Miss Lucy took only hot chocolate, toast, and fruit as a morning repast. She disdained early chocolate served in her bedchamber, saying she disliked crumbs in her bed and had a nagging fear that Belinda, her cat, would overset the tray one day. As for having it served upon a table in her room rather than in bed, why, if she were to arise from the bed at all, she was certainly capable of tottering so far as the breakfast parlor—quite the closest room in the main house to her own—to be served in a proper Christian style. As a result of her well-known tastes, the servants had not arrived empty-handed but produced a basket of fresh fruits from the succession houses, a large silver pot of chocolate, and a covered basket of fresh buttered toast. John ascertained that Miss Westering preferred an expanded menu, and she agreed enthusiastically to his smiling suggestion of a cheese omelet prepared in the French style, to be accompanied by thin slices of Yorkshire ham. In the meantime, she helped herself to toast, jam, and chocolate.

Mr. Ashley arrived as the servants were leaving, paused long enough to confer briefly with the footman, and then took his place at the table. He smiled. “Good morning, Miss Lucy.” She bent her head in response and he continued, “You will both be pleased to know that Quigley thinks Teddy is going to be fine. He looked him over carefully and believes he is only shaking off the effects of the drug, just as you thought, Miss Westering.”

“Oh, I am glad!” Her relief checked when he frowned. “There’s more, Mr. Ashley?”

“Well, he thinks the boy does have a mild concussion and doesn’t want to dose him any more if it can be avoided, since the stuff seems to affect him so severely. Said he ought to have shaken off the small amount he gave him last night well before dawn. At any rate, Teddy’s going to be in a good deal of pain and will likely have trouble sleeping. I’m afraid it will mean a lot of nursing, if only to make certain that he stays put and doesn’t die of boredom. Your Mary is with him now. She came looking for you and offered to stay. And Mark will be here later this morning. I know he will help keep the boy entertained, though Teddy won’t be wanting lessons for a while yet. Mark’s a great one for reading aloud and for making up hair-raising tales as well.”

“I’m certain he will be very helpful, and I know I can depend upon Mary. We’ll do nicely, sir.”

“Well, there’s servants aplenty,” declared Miss Lucy, “which is a blessing, since the Lord knows I’m no nursemaid.” She pushed back her chair. “I’ve things to do, so if you’ll excuse me….” She nodded in her curt way and left the room.

Catheryn stared after the old lady, her temper aroused by the suggestion that Teddy should be tended by servants. Ashley, watching closely, seemed to read her mind. “Miss Lucy is a bit disconcerting at first,” he said quietly, “but she is only being honest when she says she is no nursemaid. She hasn’t the patience for it. She’ll leave Teddy to you, Miss Westering, and I know you will not be distressed by her blunt manner. She dotes on his lordship, but no one would know it from the way she speaks to him.”

Since he seemed to expect it, she returned a smile, but her heart wasn’t in it. Embarrassed that he had read her thoughts so accurately, she still didn’t quite know what to think about Miss Lucy, and she didn’t particularly want to think about Dambroke at all. The servants arrived with breakfast, and their conversation turned to Ashley’s forthcoming journey. The chaise had been ordered for half past nine.

A
FTER BREAKFAST, CATHERYN WISHED
Ashley a safe and speedy journey and returned to the schoolroom feeling a little forlorn. At least while Ashley remained she knew she had an ally. Once he had gone she couldn’t be sure. She dismissed Mary and turned her attention to the boy. He was wan and pettish, his eyes still seemed too bright, and he complained of headache, but he seemed to have his senses about him. Mary had ordered toast and an egg for him, but both were untouched. There was also the teapot, still warm under its thick cozy. Catheryn poured out a second cup, adding plenty of cream and sugar, then fluffed up his pillows and helped him to a more comfortable position. He grumbled.

“Don’t fret, Teddy.” She spoke briskly. “You’re bound to be uncomfortable for a while, but it’s no use moaning and groaning about it. Drink your tea like a good boy.”

He hitched himself up obediently but muttered in fractious tones, “Just like a flogging.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What they say. ‘Six of the best,’ he droned, imitating a master, ‘to be taken as delivered. No moaning and groaning, young Dambroke. You know the drill.’” He grimaced. “Same thing.”

“Oh.” She thought for a moment, watching him scowl over his tea. “Perhaps it
is
a kind of punishment, Teddy, for disobeying Dambroke.” Grimacing again, he shrugged, but he had forgotten his bruises. His face clouded over with pain.

“What did he say before you left? About me, I mean.” She explained again about the assassination and her own decision to come to him. Clearly, the boy’s only interest in Perceval was a certain gratitude that the tragedy had delayed Dambroke, but his eyes widened when she told him about convincing the countess to let her come. “Do you mean to say that Richard didn’t even know you were leaving London?”

“No, dear, how could he when he was still at the Commons? He will understand that it was the sensible thing to do. For your mama to come would have meant disrupting the entire household.”

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, “and I’ll wager Tiffany kicked up a dust, too. But Richard won’t care about ‘sensible,’ Cathy.” He gazed at her shrewdly over his teacup. “I believe you’ve already thought of that. He don’t care to have his authority set aside.”

“Nonsense, Teddy.” She took the cup and motioned for him to eat his egg. “What could he possibly find to say?” Her protest sounded weak even to her own ears, and the boy actually grinned, looking normal for the moment.

“I think he will find plenty to say to us both, and I doubt much of it will be very comfortable to hear.”

“Well, I think he will be too worried at first to say much,” Catheryn said, “and, hopefully, by the time he realizes there is nothing further to worry about, he will have forgotten to be angry. He may still have something to say to you about your little ride, but only because he cares about your safety and not till you are recovered from your injuries.”

The boy looked doubtful but left her to her own reflections while he finished his egg and toast. She remembered Ashley’s comment about Teddy being in good company. She had hoped he referred to himself but knew now that he had not. He, too, understood the earl’s nature and knew Dambroke would oppose any decision he had had no part in making. She sighed. It would do no good to worry about it now. When Teddy finished, she took the tray and the teapot into the schoolroom and rang for someone to take them away. While waiting, she glanced over the books on the shelf. They were not precisely dusty but looked as though they ought to be. Cheek by jowl with an outdated geography was an ancient book of rules for proper conduct. After rejecting its fusty neighbors, she plucked the latter from the shelf, thinking it might prove amusing, and carried it in to Teddy. They were chuckling over the author’s advice to children when Miss Lucy entered, accompanied by a sturdy young gentleman.

“Miss Westering, this is Mr. MacClaren, the new tutor.”

“MacClaren!” She realized immediately what must have happened and laughed, letting him shake her hand. “How silly of me! Mr. Ashley has spoken of you only as Mark, and I just assumed you would be Mark Ashley. How do you do!”

MacClaren grinned. “Cousins on the distaff side, Miss Westering. Is this my charge?” Teddy had been eyeing him warily and Catheryn quickly made the introductions. Mark MacClaren was fair with crisp curls and broad shoulders. He was not as tall as his slim cousin and, despite his recent illness, had more the look of sportsman than scholar. Even his well-made coat fit loosely, as though his muscular body needed room to breathe. His eyes twinkled merrily when he realized Teddy was sizing him up. He hefted the load of books under his arm and grinned when the boy blinked. “I am supposed to be a tutor,” he mocked. “Did you expect me to arrive with a trained monkey on a string?”

“Wouldn’t half mind it if you did, sir.” He showed relief to discover that, though MacClaren had brought along Magnall’s
Questions
, Lindley Murray’s
English Grammar
, and the first volume of Oliver Goldsmith’s
History of England—
all unhappily familiar to the boy—he also had a copy of Defoe’s
Robinson Crusoe.
Teddy’s eyes lit up, and Catheryn and Miss Lucy left him confiding to MacClaren that he had never read the famous tale.

“That relationship looks promising.”

“Yes, indeed,” Catheryn agreed. “Mr. Ashley’s cousin seems to be perfect for Teddy.”

“I don’t know about perfect,” declared Miss Lucy. “Seems a bit easy-going. That lad’s a handful and no mistake. Ought to have a birch rod along with all those books, if you ask me.”

Catheryn held her peace and was delighted when Miss Lucy offered to show her over the house. They had reached the ground floor and stood in the octagonal stair hall. Miss Lucy pushed open one of a set of double doors set under the curve of the great stone stair and preceded Catheryn into a magnificent drawing room. The north wall was fully glazed with French doors leading onto a lovely, symmetrical terrace. Broad, curved steps swept down to the gardens, and Catheryn had a clear view beyond to the lake and the Home Wood. The view was incredible.

From the drawing room Miss Lucy turned west and guided her through a saloon to the long gallery, pausing to view a charming inner courtyard with a fountain in the center. Catheryn soon came to realize that the house was symmetrical, a huge four-story central block with wings attached by stairway passages at each corner. East and west courtyards balanced each other, as did the pedimented portico and colonnade of the south entrance balance the magnificent terrace to the north. She wondered aloud that the lovely inner court had no mate on the east side.

Miss Lucy nodded. “I’ll show you.” They passed through the great hall and into the room from which the old lady had made her entrance the night before. “Dambroke’s study,” she noted briefly, turning briskly to the left into a narrow alcove. At the end was a door somewhat smaller than the others in the house, so Catheryn was totally unprepared for what lay on the other side. Dambroke’s library was large enough to be a ballroom; but, unlike the other rooms she had seen, it was cavernous and gloomy, for the only light came from clerestory windows above the bookshelves lining its walls. Surrounded as it was by other rooms—the study, East Hall, dining room, and another saloon—the library had no direct egress to the outside. One could enter through the alcove door from the study or through the larger double doors from the East Hall. Miss Lucy pointed out that, though it was a bit dim by day, it was lovely in the evenings with a cheerful fire, and added that it was Dambroke’s favorite room.

When they parted company after the tour, Catheryn still didn’t know what to make of the old lady, for she seemed to maintain a polite distance between them. As the days settled into a pattern, Catheryn saw her only at meals, for Miss Lucy spent the mornings busy with her own affairs, avoided the schoolroom, and retired early in the evenings. Thanks to MacClaren, Catheryn spent her own mornings riding Psyche or walking in the gardens; but, once he had gone for the day, she found herself racking her brain for ways to keep Teddy amused. She sent word to the countess of the boy’s improvement and, Friday morning, she received a letter from Tiffany.

It was mostly town gossip. She mentioned the assassination briefly, with no indication that it had cast a cloud over her activities, except that Dambroke, she added, was going about like a bear with a sore head. Catheryn read more carefully. Evidently, the earl had said very little after a conversation with his mother, from which that lady seemed, if Catheryn read the crossed and recrossed lines correctly, to have emerged in tears. There was room for doubt, however, since he had also given his sister permission to have a new gown made for the forthcoming masque. Tiffany neglected to mention when or even if he intended to visit the Park. Catheryn set the letter aside with a sigh of frustration. Teddy was beginning to rebel against staying in bed, and she knew that he was also anxious to know when Dambroke was coming.