An Improper Companion (12 page)

“The credit must be given to good teaching,” I replied.

“Well, I believe Heather will do very well in London!” Mary’s voice intruded. “She will be-more popular with a little skill than if she were an expert.”

The talk became more general as Leslie asked Pellen the
on-dits
of London. Foolishly, I barely listened, forgetting that what seemed trivial here might well be important when we arrived in Town ourselves. At last our guest announced a desire to retire, adding as an afterthought, “Oh, I believe you may expect callers in the morning.”

With no further explanation, he went upstairs, followed by Mary and Philip. When they were no longer in view, Leslie turned to me. “You should not have lied to Lord Pellen about the cards.”

To cover my confusion, I lifted my chin, “I dislike the man.”

“Nevertheless, he is not stupid.” Seeing this made no impression on me, he added in exasperation, “You cannot always choose your companions! Quite frequently you shall have to deal with people you dislike.”

“I have already discovered that!” I muttered.

He flushed, but ignored the insult. Continuing, he said, “You are really not being fair to his lordship, Heather.”

At this injustice, I could bear no more and fled to my chamber in tears. Behind the bolted door, I pounded a pillow with my fist. All through dinner the man had taunted me and I was being unfair! Ellen tried to soothe me, insisting I undress. Then she brushed and plaited my hair. By the time I was ready for bed, the fury had drained out of me, leaving only weariness. But sleep was elusive and it was some time before I found its shelter.

Chapter 10

I woke early, as usual, but determined not to face Lord Pellen before I must, I rang for Margaret to bring a light breakfast to my room. Grimly mindful of his lordship’s warning that I could expect callers, I told Ellen to bring out my best morning dress. Had matters been otherwise, I might have been excited at the prospect of someone new to meet and pleased that the barriers had been broken. As it was, I resented that Lord Pellen felt free to invite anyone he wished without asking if it were convenient for Leslie or myself. I also was angry that people would come to see Lord Pellen when they had avoided calling to see me heretofore. Perhaps I was unjust to the man, I told myself. Perhaps he simply assumed people would come to call, having heard he was here. No doubt the
ton
usually did when he went visiting.

Privately I wondered how I would deal with his lordship during the remainder (undetermined in length) of his stay. I had understood Leslie quite well. This man was not to be offended. Yet what was I to do? He seemed to delight in taunting me, and I could not bear the touch of his hand on my arm. And he always seemed to want to hold my arm or kiss my hand or stare at me in an intimate way. Could Leslie not see this? Was it possible he did not care?

The next few hours were a nightmare for me, and looking back, it is difficult to remember all the events that took place, all of the words that were spoken. I had waited until the last possible moment before leaving the refuge of my chamber and descending to the morning room. I noted with relief that his lordship was not in evidence. Leslie and Philip, Mary informed me, were out riding. And Mary and I? What were we to do as we waited for the arrival of callers? Mary shook her head. “My dear Heather, you must not allow yourself to be overset. You are looking well today and need not bother about refreshments since the servants are well trained. Really, my dear, what you need is to be busy. But not with mending. Perhaps some delicate needlework...?” she suggested.

I agreed, knowing her advice to be sensible. As we worked, Mary and I discussed many of the women who had greeted us in the village. (By mutual consent, we did not speak of Lord Pellen.) The time passed agreeably enough and I was quite calm when Mr. and Mrs. Bentworth, of the neighboring estate, were announced. I sent a footman in search of Lord Pellen and Leslie as the Bentworths were shown in. I was greeted coolly by Mrs. Bentworth, who scarcely seemed to notice me. Mr. Bentworth was kinder and felicitated me on my marriage before turning to Mary. “May I offer you tea?” I asked. Mrs. Bentworth inclined her head and I rang for a servant.

When the maid arrived, I gave the proper orders, then turned my attention to my guests once more. “I do not remember seeing you during the last London season,” Mrs. Bentworth said to me.

I began to feel ill. Mary spoke hastily. “Well, of course not. Leslie married the child straight out of the schoolroom.”

“Which school, if I may ask?”

“Mrs. Gilwen’s School for Young Ladies,” I replied.

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I have heard it is a ... serviceable establishment. I believe Mr. Watly sent one of his daughters there.”

I wished that the tea tray would arrive. I could think of naught to say. Mrs. Bentworth, however, felt no such loss. “Have you met many of the local gentry, Lady Kinwell?”

“Not ... not yet,” I stammered.

“You see, Heather and Leslie are so recently married they feel no need for other company,” Mary inserted.

Mrs. Bentworth smiled. “And then, of course, one must be
so
careful. It would not do to form an ... er ...
unsuitable
acquaintance. One must be quite certain of people one doesn’t know before calling.”

The tea tray arrived before I could speak. When I did, it was with deliberate misunderstanding. “I am gratified to see you have resolved the question in my case.”

She drew herself erect and spoke coldly. “I see I must speak plainly, Lady Kinwell. I am not in the least satisfied as to your background. However I felt that your guest, Lord Pellen, deserved the consideration of a call from us.”

I was white with anger and would have retorted sharply, when a voice from the doorway forestalled me. “Madam, if you cannot speak with common courtesy to my daughter, you will please leave at once!”

We all stared, our mouths agape. Lord Pellen, followed by Leslie, calmly strolled into the room. An extremely flustered Mrs. Bentworth dropped a deep curtsy. To cover my confusion, I poured tea, hoping no one would notice my trembling hands. Someone passed the full cups around and his lordship sat next to me, taking the next but last cup. He spoke, ostensibly to me, but with a quiet voice that carried to every corner of the room. “My dear Heather, you must learn not to allow such impertinence. I am aware you dislike to be rude, but really I think you are far too tolerant.”

Mrs. Bentworth had regained her tongue, however, and said indignantly, “Lord Pellen! Why ... why
everyone
knows you have no daughters!”

The earl regarded her with deceptive mildness and delicately yawned. “Indeed? Then
everyone
is mistaken.”

Suddenly a thought occurred to Mrs. Bentworth. “Are you boasting, my lord, that you have a daughter born the wrong side of the blanket?”

Before any reply could be made, I rose to my feet and, setting down my teacup, said with all the dignity I could muster, “If you will please excuse me, Mrs. Morgan has need of me in the kitchen.”

My eyes appeared to look at each of them, but in reality I saw nothing. I withdrew, forcing my steps to the slowest pace they were capable of. I continued down the hall and through the kitchens, my head erect, greeting those I passed but not pausing. I calmly walked out of the castle and toward my favorite copse of trees. Halfway there I broke and ran into their sheltering midst, sobbing as I ran. Over and over the words chased through my head, “My father ... my father...”

I reached out to steady myself against a tree, almost blind with tears. I leaned against it, my head tilted back. “My father ... my father...”

I still could not fully accept what I had heard. All my life, until a month before, I had believed my father dead. And my mother. Was it possible my mother...? I forced myself not to consider the thought. My father. A month ago I had learned he had not died but deserted me ... his illegitimate daughter. I was never to see him or know his name. And now ... now I had met him. He was a man I did not like and did not want to know. Why, why had he come? I no longer needed him, and I could not bear his boasting to the world of my shameful birth. How could my mother have loved such a man? Or was she, as Mrs. Gilwen had implied, a lightskirt who cared only for the gifts a man might bring? I felt bewildered. None of my assumptions had been true, it seemed, and I knew not where to begin again. I felt dizzy and leaned harder against the tree, my head aching.

After some time, I moved to a rock at the water’s edge and sat. I was exhausted, drained of my fury and tears. I must think, I told myself, and determine what was to be done. There was no one I might turn to Mary? Even if she did not reject me now, she was well meaning but not very wise. Leslie? The name was bitter in my mouth. My husband! He had known and not told me. Nor had he stopped my father from speaking. Well he should suffer for it! He had been so concerned that none guess the cause of our marriage. Well, here was far greater shame for him to face! Why had he let my father come? What, dear God, could I do? Run away? Where could I go? Who would receive me after this?

Over and over the thoughts went round my head. Looking in the water, a tear-swollen face stared back at me, and I bathed it in the cool water. This calmed me some, and my thoughts became more coherent, then turned wild again as the hopelessness of my position bore relentlessly in on me. At times I paced under the trees, and at times I stood and stared at the water. I considered the possibility of refusing to see Lord Pellen during the rest of his visit, and I considered speaking with him long enough to ask him to leave. But these emotions also passed, and finally I was left standing, staring at the water, with a quiet resignation. Soon, I would return to the castle and face what must be faced.

I stood thus for some time, how long I cannot say. Then from behind me came a voice, “Don’t, Heather!”

I turned to see Leslie only a few feet away. As my brain strove to digest the knowledge he came and pulled me roughly toward him. I stumbled and fell against his chest and his arms immediately encircled me. After a moment, the shock wore away, however, and I tore myself free. An arm’s length away, I stared up at him. His face was distorted by an emotion I did not know. I saw him anxiously glance past me to the water, then at my face. And I understood. I moved away from the stream, careful not to approach any closer to him. In a voice tinged with contempt, I said, “You need not fear. I have no intention of killing myself.” His tense shoulders relaxed and I continued, “Whatever else you may believe me to be, I am not such a coward.”

“Oh? You ran from your guests and left the castle.”

I looked down. “I believe I had a good cause to leave. Nor did I
run
.”

His voice, when it came was heavy with anger and sarcasm. “Well, Heather, if you are quite finished with your childish games, shall we return to the castle? You need not fear, the Bentworths have left.”

“Childish games!” I exclaimed in disbelief.

“Yes, children’s games,” he retorted. “Running out of the castle and hiding in the woods. Philip and Peter are also out searching for you. There would be others except that I did not wish this latest foolishness bandied about, among the servants.”

“They have enough other cause to gossip,” I laughed bitterly.

Leslie ignored me. “Why didn’t you answer when I called your name?”

“I didn’t hear you,” I said sulkily.

“Not hear me!” he exclaimed. “I did not realise my voice was so softly pitched. Come, madam, admit you did not wish to hear me.”

The injustice of this accusation angered me further. “Had I heard you, sir,” I said between clenched teeth, “I should have answered.”

He stared at me for a moment, then said quietly, “Shall we go in? Your father wishes to speak with you.”

“How dare you invite him here?” I demanded. “I don’t
wish
to speak with him!”

Leslie’s voice was sharp. “You forget yourself. This is still my castle and I invite whom I wish. As for speaking with Lord Pellen, you have no choice. If you will not come willingly, I shall carry you. It will be a most undignified experience for you.”

Aghast, I stepped back and turned to run. A hand closed harshly about one wrist and the other arm around my waist. From over my shoulder, as my heart pounded, came his voice. “Well? Which is it to be?”

I forced my head up. “I’ll come.”

After a moment, apparently satisfied, Leslie released my waist but not my wrist. He did not speak as he dragged me out of the copse and I could not understand what was happening. Even of Leslie I would not have expected such Turkish treatment. “Can we not walk slower?” I gasped.

“We have kept your father waiting long enough!” he tossed back at me.

“You knew!” I accused bitterly.

“Yes, I knew,” he said grimly.

The effort to keep pace with Leslie reduced me to silence. Only when we reached the castle did he slow. “Smile,” he warned.

Mrs. Morgan met us at the door. “If Master Philip or Peter return,” he told her softly, “tell them Lady Kinwell is found.”

She nodded, and pretending an amiability neither of us felt, Leslie and I proceeded to the library. Lord Pellen was seated at the desk, waiting. He stood as we entered and Leslie, not content with dragging me here, thrust me into a chair. Pellen waited for Leslie to shut the library door, then shook his head at me. “My dear child, I am disappointed. I thought you were made of sterner stuff. Nevertheless, your behaviour was not a disaster. Mrs. Bentworth quite naturally assumed you were a well-bred young lady who disdained to reply to her insult.”

Though stunned, I now found my tongue. “Indeed? How fortunate. Yet I wonder how she reacted to your reply. I am very sorry,
father,
but somehow I could not bear to stay and hear you confirm her suspicions. Was it necessary to tell her I was your by-blow? But then what should I have expected of a man who deserted me at birth, spending barely enough to keep me at school and allow me two dresses a year? And who should cease even this meagre aid upon my eighteenth birthday!”

“That will be quite enough!” Pellen’s voice rang out. “You speak from ignorance. First, as I told Mrs. Bentworth, you are not illegitimate. Your mother, Elizabeth Wade, and I eloped and though underage, were married nineteen years ago. If you care to see them, I have the marriage lines.” I nodded and he passed a paper over to me, and I saw the names and the fact of their marriage stated there. At last I looked at my father questioningly. “That’s better,” he said. “Elizabeth’s father opposed the match and he disowned her. My parents were more incensed and physically dragged me home. Elizabeth was the daughter of a clergyman. I, the future earl, betrothed to a wealthy heiress from an eminent family. My parents tried to annul the marriage, but Elizabeth was pregnant. I was kept locked at home until you were born, while my parents hushed up the elopement and, unknown to me, did not break my engagement. Elizabeth died giving birth to you, Heather. That much I know to be true. But I was also told you had died. Within a year I allowed myself to be married to the heiress, who had no notion this was my second marriage. Secretly my mother arranged for your care and education, determined no one should ever know of your existence. She was afraid it would destroy my marriage. I did not learn of you until Sir Leslie came to inform me he intended to marry you.”

I sat in shock, finally managing to say, “But Mrs. Gilwen said I was illegitimate.”

Leslie answered. “She thought you were. Lord Pellen’s mother claimed to be your guardian but swore Mrs. Gilwen to secrecy. She scented a scandal.”

“You must not judge my mother too harshly,” Pellen said, “She felt she was doing the best for me and doing her duty by you. When Mrs. Gilwen offered to give you a position at the school, my mother felt it would be suitable.”