An Improper Companion (18 page)

I found it difficult to suppress a smile myself, for he had read my intentions rightly. I sighed. “Very well, Meg. When you return for the tray you may inform Sir Leslie I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes, my lady.”

I was oddly cheered by this bit of news, for it made Leslie seem familiar again. Surely he was not as mad as he had seemed the day before. I should speak with him and we would reach an understanding. But when he came, his manner was as cold as ever. “I trust you are almost well, madam?” he said.

I waited until Meg had left the room. “Oh, Leslie, stop this nonsense! Can we not discuss the matter calmly?”

“There is nothing to discuss, Heather,” he replied quietly. “I will settle for nothing short of your word not to run away again.”

“Well, you shall not have it,” I said petulantly.

He shrugged. “As you wish. It is no trouble to me to have you an invalid.”

“Leslie...”

“Your word, Heather.”

“No!”

“Good day.”

He was gone. I stared at the closed door in disbelief. And I threw another candlestick. A moment later, the footman timidly opened the door. “You wish something, my lady?” “Get out!” I shouted, and he hastily withdrew.

I determined to again search for my clothes. But this time, the door to Leslie’s chamber was bolted from his side. I was truly a prisoner now, for I knew the footman still guarded my door. I began to pace, determined to hit upon a scheme for my escape. But none occurred to me that I did not soon dismiss as foolish or impossible. At tea, I sounded Meg as to the possibility of her aid. I was soon stripped of my illusions: her loyalty, and indeed that of all the servants, lay with Leslie. For some reason (what it might be, I could not conceive) the servants had a high regard for him. Without question, they would follow his orders, and it signified nothing if the orders were bizarre. So, I must act alone. But I could think of no plan. Leslie had come to know me well, and taken all precautions, it seemed. Broth arrived at the usual hour. I grew more and more discouraged, trying the door and, each time, finding the footman still outside. And finding, each time I tried it, Leslie’s door was bolted. That night, sleep would not come.

I arose, sleepless, at my usual hour. My head ached and I felt close to tears of frustration. Had Leslie appeared, I should have screamed at him and thrown all that I could find. But he did not appear. And would not, Meg informed me, until I felt “better.” She brought my broth early that day. When I said it lacked the proper hour, Meg explained, “I know, my lady. But I thought I might bring it early for ’tis a busy day in the kitchen. Sir Leslie has commanded a large noon meal.”

And in that moment, I recognised what had disturbed me ... the smells of the kitchen. I looked at the tray with my broth and suddenly wondered what was the point of my futile resistance? “Take away the broth, Meg,” I said quietly. “And please inform Sir Leslie I am feeling
quite well
.”

“Yes, my lady.”

When she had gone, I privately resolved to give Leslie my word, but not to keep it if he did not change his manner toward me. For he had offered an exchange: my freedom for my word. If he failed to keep his side of the bargain, I should not keep mine. And then he was there. He closed the door and regarded me with his piercing eyes. “Meg said you felt
recovered
?”

“Yes,” I said wearily, “I give you my word, I shall not run away again.”

He advanced and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You shall not regret it, Heather,” he said quietly. Then he grinned. “I’ll send Meg with your clothes, for I suspect you would prefer to dine at table.”

I did not answer and he left. So. I was bound here, and what the future held I could not guess. When Meg arrived, I dressed quickly, and after checking my bag to be sure the journal still lay there untouched, I went downstairs, arriving before the table had even been set. As we sat down to dine it seemed Leslie gazed at me oddly. But I dismissed the notion impatiently. I was hungry and I ate as one who had not dined for many days. We had started the final course when there was a noise in the hall. Leslie and I rose as one to investigate. And I stood frozen as I watched Peter and Ellen enter with a mass of luggage. I looked at Leslie, and catching my eye, he flushed. Truly I felt ill, for in that moment, I understood. Had I but been firm two hours more, I should have won. Leslie could not have kept me prisoner with Ellen here to aid me. And even Peter, I was certain, should have protested. Slowly I turned and went back to the table. I forced myself to eat to cover my confusion. He had won by such a short margin! Had I but understood him better ... But I understood him, it seemed, not at all. Leslie returned to the table, and as we completed the meal, I said, “And what should you have done this afternoon?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed, understanding well enough what I asked. “But it doesn’t matter as I do have your word.”

“Yes. You have my word.”

Quietly I rose and walked away from the table. I could not yet face Ellen and, instead, sought out a maid (not Meg) to show me the house. If I must stay here, I should at least be mistress of the house. It was a house much as any other in this fashionable district of London, save that it was furnished in a manner already out of favour. And I knew Leslie must have left it as his mother had chosen, so many years before. I had made no changes at the castle, but here I would. Some rooms were well enough: the library, the dining hall, Leslie’s bedchamber. But the others ... As we finished the tour of the house and the maid left me I encountered Leslie. Rather defiantly I told him of my intentions. He sighed and, taking my arm, propelled me into the library. Once there, he pushed me into a seat and faced me. “Heather,” he said frankly, “you are angry with me. But we need not be enemies. I shall not stop you if you wish to make changes here. It is your house as well as mine.” He hesitated. “I have spoken with Philip. You will no doubt meet him in Town, but I suspect you will find him cool and distant.”

“Do you expect surprise or dismay of me?” I asked.

“No. I understand well enough what passed between the two of you. Perhaps better than you do.”

“It is of no concern to me what you think,” I said coldly. “Nevertheless, in view of your behaviour, I cannot believe you do understand.”

“Heather!” His voice was quiet, dangerously so. “It is you who does not understand. Nor will you until you cease to behave as a child.” As I started to protest he cut me off. “Yes, a child! It is a child’s reaction to run away. Or a coward’s. Oh, I know well enough that you are angry with me ... for having tricked you into giving your word. But it was necessary. And I hold you to your word, Heather. You have behaved as a child long enough. It is time to grow up. You are quite capable of doing so, I know.”

I was angry and could not speak. Twice angry, for I could not decide whether his words held truth or not. Worse, I was close to tears. It was at that moment my father arrived. He did not wait for a servant to announce him and he did not bother to knock. He did, however, think to close the library door behind himself. “Why the devil didn’t you warn me you were coming to Town so soon? And why have I not heard from you? It took a chance acquaintance to inform me of your presence!” He paused for breath.

Leslie answered quietly. “Frankly, I felt it none of your affair. Heather and I need not answer to you for each action we take, Lord Pellen.”

As though he meant to be soothing, my father said, “No, of course not. But I was worried a new problem had appeared.”

I felt Leslie’s hand on my shoulder, warning me. He answered easily, “Then you need not trouble yourself further. Heather and I have remained in seclusion merely to plan her debut. I took a look in at my clubs, of course, and this evening, Heather and I will go to the theatre. We intend to begin discreetly, you see, as though there were no need to question her acceptance. She is not, after all, a young chit being launched onto the Marriage Mart.”

“True, quite true,” Lord Pellen answered. “The theatre, you say? Well, I had not planned to attend, but I believe I shall put in a brief appearance.”

The two men bowed to each other, perfectly in accord on this matter, and at odds on most others. They exchanged suggestions for the following week, and then my father left. Leslie turned back to me, his earlier bad humour lessened. “Heather, we’d best go upstairs and choose your gown for tonight.”

I assented and even took his arm. As we mounted the stairs he explained the sort of dress he wanted: simple yet elegant. Something that would suit a matron, not a maiden, yet which did not bespeak sophistication. Tonight was very important, it seemed. Ellen opened the door at our knock, pausing in the midst of unpacking. Leslie greeted her kindly and explained our problem, whereupon Ellen drew out three or four dresses for his inspection. At last, he settled upon one of silver. It was not white as a schoolgirl’s would have been, yet it suggested the air of innocence. It was a dress I had not seen before, and I regarded it almost with awe. “What jewels will she wear?” Ellen asked.

“The emeralds,” Leslie said at once.

“
Emeralds
?” Ellen asked in surprise.

“Yes, emeralds,” he replied quietly. “There are enough people who know their importance ... it will mean more to them than anything else could.”

I was exasperated. “What
do
they mean? Others seem to know, but I do not.”

He took my chin in his hand and regarded me seriously. “Someday soon, I shall explain, Heather. But not just yet.” There was that in his eyes which bade me quietly accept what he said. And it mattered little enough, just then. So I nodded. He released my chin and smiled gently, “It will be a long evening, Heather. Rest if you can.”

And he left. I stared after him, at the closed door, for several moments, before I turned back to face Ellen. She stood, hands on hips, eyes flashing. “Now, Ellen...” I hastened to say.

But she did not heed me. “My lady! How could you do such a thing? Leaving alone and at such a time? With but three
notes
to say good-bye! And such notes they must have been to set each wailing so! My lady, I know well enough you’ve not had an easy time of it. But could you have seen Sir Leslie’s face when he knew you gone, you’d not have left so lightly! He searched for you both day and night, asking everywhere and refusing to rest. Had the message not come from Mademoiselle Suzette, he were desperate. And we, belowstairs, were worried too, my lady. You be so young. Oh, my lady, if you
must
run away again, take me with you.”

“There will be no more running away, Ellen,” I said slowly. “I have given my word.”

“Thank God, my lady!” she replied. Then, timidly: “Do you hate him so very much, my lady?”

“No, I do not hate him, Ellen,” I said wearily. “What gave you cause to think I did?”

“He did, my lady. Sir Leslie. When he found you gone, he asked me why you could not cease to hate him. I said I thought you did not, but he laughed bitterly. Then of course, I found the notes you had left. He was quieter after he read the one for him. But still so unhappy, my lady.”

My face blushed crimson with the memory of what I had written, not thinking I should see him again. And also with the image of Leslie asking Ellen why I hated him so. Suddenly I wished I could begin again with this strange man who was my husband. And yet, wearily, I knew it should have been of no use, that Leslie and I would always come to cuffs.

Ellen, watching my face, judged me sufficiently subdued and ceased to scold.

I could not rest and she drew a bath for me. Then it was time to dress my hair and, finally, don my gown. I found it difficult to believe that the young woman in the glass was myself. Downstairs, Leslie awaited me, dressed almost as elegantly as I, in his own way. And for the briefest moment, I read approval in his eyes. But then it was gone, and he led me in to dinner with polite formality. What we talked of then, I cannot recall.

Chapter 16

The theatre. I had been there few times before, as the poor guest of some kind friend’s parents. My dresses had always been shabby, and once I had even been taken for a young governess. But that was all past now. To me, it would be a night of triumph. A night for all my old schoolmates to envy me. And I knew they would, for none could guess the Unhappiness that lay behind my expensive gown and elegant manner. They would wonder, but they could not know. We arrived in Leslie’s town barouche, led by a splendid team of chestnuts. We were treated as persons of some importance, and I discovered that I enjoyed the sensation. Leslie had thoughtfully timed our arrival so that, while we were not late, there were few people in the lobby to stare.
That
came when we reached our box. Many eyes turned to see the new Lady Kinwell, but as the curtain was rising, they had little time to note me. Nervously I awaited the intermission. Leslie had drilled me in the barouche as to whom I must watch for, whom I must nod to. I cannot remember the title of the piece we viewed, only that it was a tragedy. Instead I recall the smell of the lamps and the faintest trace of mustiness in the velvet curtains that hung in our box. I recall a woman’s high-pitched laugh and some man’s sneeze. And I recall the glint of light on diamonds and opera glasses and the stillness at the denouement. But I cannot recall the play.

I remember the precise moment when the curtain fell for intermission and it seemed all eyes turned to our box. But that was only a fantasy, of course. Yet many did stare at me, some in frank curiosity, some with animosity. To those classmates I noticed, I smiled. Each in turn, with at most a moment’s hesitation, returned the smile. I had never been popular, but I had rarely made enemies. This now stood me in good stead. As though on cue, my father appeared at the door of our box. Would we care to go to his box and pay our respects to Lady Pellen, his mother, and Lady Phyllis, his wife? We would. Leslie gave me his arm and squeezed my hand in reassurance. He seemed to understand how I felt. And I was grateful for his presence.

And then I stood before her. The woman who had hidden my existence from my father and was, in a sense, responsible for my present position. She was a formidable woman, though small in stature. She looked at me with hatred and wonder in her eyes. I forced myself to look away from her and smile as Lord Pellen introduced me to his wife. I liked her immediately. She had no nonsense about her, and a sense of humour that made one almost forget she seemed cold. “So this is your daughter, Robert,” she said. “She’ll do very well, I think. Welcome to London, Heather. I trust you are enjoying your first public appearance? Simply remember never to look embarrassed or guilty, and the
ton
will accept you.”

I thanked her rather awkwardly and Leslie paid her some sort of compliment. Lady Phyllis was amused, for she said to me, “Have you reformed him already? London will be quite disappointed to learn he has acquired such polish.”

Hastily my father began, “Mother, my daughter, Heather, and her husband, Sir Leslie Kinwell.”

I curtsied slightly and Leslie bowed. .She surveyed me carefully and said distastefully, “Quite like her mother, I fear.”

Lacking wisdom but not courage, I retorted, “Not quite, my lady.
I
should never have allowed my husband to be taken from me!”

A hand closed hard around my arm and tightened until I smiled as she was smiling. Only then did Leslie loose his grip somewhat. My grandmother spoke languidly. “The same deplorable tendency to hysterics. Nevertheless, child, you shall have to do. Pray recall, in the future, that your father was not taken from your mother and that we have only now discovered you. I think it best if you kiss me.”

“I will not!” I answered softly.

Leslie’s hand tightened on my arm. “I believe you will, Heather,” he also said softly, “since everyone seems to be watching.”

Though inwardly rebellious, I did as I was bid, kissing the powdered cheek and submitting to a hug. Then I stepped back. We were both smiling false smiles. “There,” she said. “I have done my duty by you. I shall acknowledge you when asked, and of course, at times we will meet. But you must expect nothing more of me.”

I smiled sweetly. “And that will be such a change!” Hastily Leslie made our excuses and we withdrew. “Now
my
family,” he said when we were in the corridor.

I hung back a moment. “No ... Leslie ... I ... could we not go home? Or, at the least, return to our box?”

He paused long enough to put an arm about my waist. “Heather, Lady Pellen is an unpleasant woman ... and always has been. Forget her and be calm. I think you will not find my aunts so formidable.”

But they were. As we entered their box and Leslie introduced me I felt them scrutinise me as carefully as my grandmother had. Anne, Jennifer, and Harriet, they were named, in order of age. Harriet wore mourning, but Leslie enquired after the husbands of Jennifer and Anne. Such politeness taken care of, Leslie presented me. I curtsied awkwardly, I fear. As I had heard Leslie speak the names of his uncles by marriage, I had realised I stood before women who were powerful in London society. They were frequent guests at Carlton House and held, moreover, the power to ruin a young girl simply by declaring her fast. The silence grew longer until Anne spoke. “Why didn’t you warn us, Leslie?”

“There was no time,” he said quietly, “nor did I feel it was your affair.”

“Father? Mother? Education?”

“Robert, Earl of Pellen. Elizabeth Wade. Mrs. Gilwen’s School for Young Ladies.” My voice was as crisp as hers had been. I continued, “Married by Mr. Watly. Dressed by Mademoiselle Suzette. Aged eighteen.”

Jennifer nodded. “Well, at least she’s no milk-and-water chit, Nephew.”

“Pretty enough,” Harriet added thoughtfully, “and knowing Leslie, needle-witted as well.”

The silence fell again and grew until I demanded impatiently, “Well? Am I to be accepted?”

Harriet shrugged. “Oh,
accepted.
There was never any question of that since you wear the Kinwell emeralds. We know our nephew is not a sapskull.” She turned to Leslie. “I suppose you want her to receive the proper vouchers? She shall. I’ve taken a fancy to the child.”

Leslie bowed, and as the intermission was drawing to a close, we prepared to withdraw. I almost thought Anne would have spoken again. But she did not. As we hurried to our box I felt Leslie’s arm taking mine; he was in excellent humour. And amused. But he would not explain. The women had been formidable, but not, strangely, intimidating. Perhaps it was because I felt a kinship with the three women. They would not have submitted meekly to Mrs. Gilwen’s offer either. Nor to marriage against their will.

We barely entered our box in time, as the curtain was rising. My thoughts, however, were on the other members of the audience. Leslie, too, seemed preoccupied. And once or twice his eyes strayed to a nearby box. In the dim light I could only see the profiles of the occupants: two men and two women. Then one of the women turned toward us for a moment, as though returning Leslie’s gaze, and nodded. I sat stiffly, then forced myself to look at the stage. The nod had clearly been directed at Leslie. It was nothing to me, of course, if Leslie had a female friend. We were not, after all, married except as a matter of convenience. But I wished he had shown more discretion than to signal her in the theatre. I relaxed only as I realised she was probably simply another relative.

The play finally over, Leslie was the perfect attentive husband. He offered me his arm and helped me with my things and smiled tenderly at me. I matched him, smile for smile, and even, as we turned to leave our box, rested my head against his shoulder for a moment. We were very convincing, for more than one person stopped to congratulate us on our marriage and comment on the true “love match.” The glances of the men were admiring, those of the women almost envious. One young matron told me, “Lady Kinwell, you are accounted something of a sorceress. You have married one of London’s most elusive bachelors. And, it appears, made him more human. We have missed him in recent years.”

It was an auspicious beginning, and in the barouche I laughed easily with Leslie. So much so that he said, “You see? Is it so terrible to be with me?”

The laughter died in my throat. I wanted to say I was sorry I had run away. And my hand moved to his arm. But I did not speak. My voice should have betrayed more than I wished, and Leslie might have asked so many questions to which I would have had no answer. I could feel his eyes on me, piercing, even in the darkness. And then ... then he was leaning back, speaking easily about his aunts. Had they been my age, he said, their reputations should not have survived a Season. But they had been young at a time when high spirits were admired. And there was nothing they despised so much as what they termed the growing hypocrisy of respectability. But they had married well: all titled men. And they therefore remained powerful in the
ton,
if a bit eccentric. “What did she mean,” I asked, “when she said that because I wore the emeralds, they must accept me?”

He looked away and spoke so softly I could barely hear his voice. “The emeralds have always meant ... something special ... not given to all the Lady Kinwells...”

He stopped and I knew I should pry no more from him. I was puzzled and a little frightened by something I could not name. I did not understand. I did not
want
to understand.

We were a silent pair as the barouche drew up to Leslie’s town house. Once inside, driven by something I could not explain, I bid a hasty good night to Leslie and fled to my room. Ellen awaited me and I chattered helplessly, as she prepared me for bed. She looked at me oddly, once or twice, but then said sympathetically, “Yes, my lady. I expect it was quite an exciting evening for you. And looking fine as ninepence, you were.”

Childishly I cried myself to sleep that night, not knowing what it was I cried for?

So began our social life in London. Invitations arrived, some procured, as promised, by Lady Phyllis and Leslie’s aunts, others that came of themselves. I began to pay and receive morning calls, to and from old school friends. How happy they seemed to see me! And I chided that cynical side of me which noted how much friendlier they were now than when I had been poor Heather Wade. How romantic my story was, they said. And all wondered (though they were too well bred to ask) how I had contrived to be courted under the very noses of our schoolmistresses.

There were a few friends, of course, who had shown
me kindness
when I’d been at school. These I greeted with true pleasure, and we would laugh and exchange memories of t those years. At such times, I was happy. But at other times, I would stare at myself in the mirror and wonder at the ease t with which I was being bribed. For that was what it was: my position, my clothes, the trinkets Leslie would upon occasion bring home to amuse me. And when next I saw Leslie, I would stare at him, wondering how he felt. I could remember his words and tone of contempt as he said that the muslin-set at least provided what they were paid for. At such times, I would grow angry and tell myself
he
was the one who insisted upon marriage.
He
had known and accepted then that life would be so. And yet ... I began to wonder at his patience ... wonder if he had a mistress. And because I wondered, I began to observe Leslie more closely.

My mind was upon household matters, however, the day Melinda Corvil came to call. Her first action after we had kissed was to scold me. “You
promised
I should be the first you told!” she said. For a moment, I stared at her bewildered, and she continued, “Oh, you must remember! The night before you ran off ... at table ... I asked what was wrong and you told me it was a surprise, and that I should know of it first.” Here, her eyes began to dance, “It was Sir Leslie’s proposal, no doubt. How you made game of us all! With your meek and quiet air we, none of us, thought to suspect you of a secret
tendre.
And yet, when I think now upon the matter, you were often slipping off to be alone. And you did miss history class that day!”

She laughed and I breathed a silent prayer of thanks for my solitary habits. I forced myself to laugh as well. “I recall my promise. But I only said that I would
tell
none of the other girls, first. And I did not. But come, sit down. I am delighted to see you. Tell me what happened the next day, when my absence was discovered.”

She laughed again. “Oh, it was beyond everything, Heather! You were not missed until bedtime. And then what a fuss! Mrs. Brenner demanding to know where you had gone, and all of us believing you were in the sickroom! Then, Mrs. Gilwen appeared. I never saw her so angry or so distressed. She demanded an account of Mrs. Brenner, who was quite overset. Then, realising we were all listening, she summoned Mrs. Brenner to her parlour. You can be sure we talked late that night.”

I smiled at the thought of Mrs. Gilwen’s distress. It was well deserved. I had no fear she should betray me ... I was too powerful now. Melinda was speaking again ... Sir Leslie! He is such a figure of mystery. I’ve heard it said he is nip-farthing and harsh and unpleasant.”

“Not true!” I protested. “He is just and honourable and often gentle and patient. And
never
clutch-fisted.”

She looked at me with surprise. “But his nephew Philip Gainesfield says...”

I cut her short. “Philip is, in many ways, a ... a sapskull. He expects Leslie to frank him when he is afraid to face his father with his debts. And he dislikes Leslie because Leslie has given him more than one sharp setdown!” In fairness, I added, “Though I grant you that Leslie has a temper and has, no doubt, ridden roughshod over Philip. But how do you know Philip so well?” I asked.

She blushed. “Well, I’ve a brother at Oxford ... and you know the circles we move in are so small...”

In spite of myself, I smiled. Yes, the
haut ton
seemed very small indeed. I only hoped she was not too set on Philip since I suspected he would think her a blue-stocking. Well, no matter, she was pretty enough and would soon find a suitor. “In any event,” I added, “I did not mean to disparage Philip. I think him rather nice. I just could not bear to hear you speak so of Leslie.”

She nodded in understanding. “Of course, when one is in love...”

I blushed guiltily, wondering what she should think if she knew the truth. I turned the talk to that of the Season. I had, of course, missed much of it and she told me the latest
on-dits.
We were chattering so when I heard a footstep and turned to see Leslie enter the room. He bowed over Melinda’s hand as she blushed in confusion. Then I gave him my cheek to kiss. “I am sorry to intrude, Heather,” he said, “but I’ve just this moment received an invitation for tomorrow and the courier waits a response. Lady Willby requests our presence for cards in the evening.”