Ask Me No Questions (18 page)

"Thank you for that, ma'am. However, Papa is not a good sailor, and his doctors frown upon such a journey. Were it once undertaken, it would be expedient that he remain for several months before attempting the return voyage, and much as my father longs to see Quentin, he cannot bear to be long away from Lac Brillant." He shrugged. "Point Non-Plus."

"Oh, dear. What a fine pickle."

They were approaching the cottage now, having slowed almost to a halt, and Ruth reached for the basket.

Chandler swung it away. "You are extreme deft at turning a conversation, Miss Allington. I had wanted to learn more of your circumstances, and you have instead manipulated me into talking about my family affairs, which I am persuaded can hold little real interest for you."

"They hold interest for me, Mr. Chandler, because I have become fond of Sir Brian." She saw the wary light that at once came into his eyes, and her own twinkled. "No, but you really must not think I am setting my cap for him."

Again caught off stride, he said, "What next will you say! As if I would think such a thing!"

"Stuff! You have been thinking it since first you laid eyes on me. Never deny your guilt, sir."

The boyish grin that she found quite astonishingly at tractive overspread his bronzed countenance, and he bowed theatrically.

"Such a Jezebel you think me," she teased.

"No, no! But I was foolish past permission. I should have realized that so lovely a lady must have admirers. Are you by chance betrothed, ma'am?"

Ruth blinked. What a satisfactory way to assuage his suspicions, and how generous of him to provide it. "I have accepted an offer of marriage," she said with considerably oblique truthfulness.

"Ah, then I need not be anxious for your future. Are you soon to be wed?"

That would never do! "Not for a year. Or two," she said, quickly distancing this threat to her continued employment. "He is—er, in the military, you see. In—India at present."

"Is that so? What rank, ma'am?"

"A—major."

"Splendid! And shall you be going abroad after your marriage?"

"I rather expect I will, for a wife's place is beside her husband." She took her basket. "Only think, Mr. Chandler. A year from today I may very well be en route to a new life halfway around the world, while you and your bride will be happily settled into this beautiful home." Saddened by the reality her words concealed, she looked around the gardens wistfully.

Chandler said a rather clipped, "Yes. Just so. Well, ma'am, whatever the future holds, for this afternoon you can enjoy some peace and quiet without having to scrub away at our chapel wall."

"Thank you. I'll own 'twill be lovely to be lazy. And what of you, sir? Shall you work as usual, or do you dare to be lazy also on this lovely afternoon?"

It really was a lovely afternoon. Tempted, he said, "By Jove, but I shall! I've not gone fishing in an age!"

"
C'est bon
!" She turned back from the front door and called, "Save one for me, sir!"

Over his shoulder he said, "With luck, I'll bring one for each of you."

Ruth scarcely heard Grace's whispered words of astonishment at her new rapport with Mr. Chandler. She was thinking, 'So in spite of my present appearance, he judges that I am a lovely lady…'

It was peaceful in the shade of the elm tree, and Chandler propped his back against the trunk and watched the drift of the stream. It was not the best time of day to fish, especially with the afternoon having become so warm, but half the pleasure of fishing lies in the quiet beauty of the countryside, and the opportunity to do very little but enjoy one's thoughts and surroundings.

He'd have been here sooner save that he'd been obliged to spend some time at Swinton's cottage. Yesterday, the gardener had seemed rather taken aback by the new responsibilities placed upon him, but he'd followed instructions, and if he was resentful there'd been no trace of it. He was concerned for his garden, of course, though there was small need. A bit of a fanatic was Swinton. Chandler grinned as he recalled the head gardener's amusement about Miss Milford's "daemon." Despite her foolishness, one gained the impression that Swinton was rather taken with Miss Allington's reclusive cousin. From what he'd said she had a lush shape, and for many men, of course, intelligence in a female was the least of their requirements. Even so— daemons, indeed!

The branches of the elm tree whispered in the soft breeze; the air was fragrant with the scents of damp earth and wild flowers; the stream slapped lazily at the bank, and the surface was broken occasionally by the swoop of a bird as it snatched up some insect. Chandler felt drowsily content, a feeling he'd not known for some months. He had Miss Ruth to thank for that. He saw in his mind's eye her teasing smile. So she was betrothed. It was a relief to know that her major would take care of her. Poor lady, she'd had a heavy burden to bear. In all probability, her fiance would allow her cousin to stay with her after they married. They'd be setting up their nursery, and Miss Milford would likely be of great assistance when the babes arrived.

Inexplicably irritated, he heard that clear voice again. "You and your bride will be happily settled into this beautiful home…" One hoped they would. Nadia was all fondness for and admiration of Lac Brillant when she was here, but her unguarded remark at Covent Garden had reinforced his suspicion that my lady really preferred the excitements of London's social whirl. Logical enough. Nadia was young and so very beautiful, and it was but natural that she should enjoy being petted and made much of. Certainly, she had many admirers. He wondered suddenly, and for the first time, if she cared for him. And with a frown he wondered also if he really cared for her. It had been such a long-accepted thing. He'd never thought of love in connection with his marriage. Matter of fact, he'd never thought of it at all. At school he'd had pretty Sylvia to warm his bed and lighten his pockets, but he'd been under no illusions that she nourished a real
tendre
for him, any more than he had done for her.

He watched a dragonfly hovering over the water, the sun drawing flashes of purple from its delicate wings. He'd have to talk to Nadia and see if—

A jerk on his line startled him into tightening his hold on the pole. "Zounds," he muttered. "I've got a bite!" He sat up straight, then stood, playing the line carefully. In a few minutes he dropped a fine trout into his basket. Surprised to have caught anything at this hour, he was also mindful of his promise to Miss Allington. He selected a worm and made another cast.

Twenty minutes later he was flushed and jubilant, and two more trout of a very respectable size had been added to his catch. It was foolish to cast again, but he did, and was little short of astounded to almost immediately feel a strong tug. It was clear at once that this was no trout. He'd hooked a big one. With a whoop he entered the fray. And wishing with all his heart that Quentin was here to see such a run of luck, he didn't dream that two others were.

When he pulled his catch in he gave another involuntary shout. It was a perch, one of the biggest he'd ever seen. Holding it up, he gasped, "Jupiter! It must be a six-pounder, at the least! Papa must see this!" He added the giant to his basket, and was preparing to leave when he heard a loud splash behind him. Half expecting to see a sturgeon break water, he jerked around.

In that instant a very young gentleman darted from concealment, snatched up the perch, and galloped madly for safety. Unfortunately, Chandler's efforts had resulted in a considerable dampening of the grassy bank. Thorpe's feet shot from under him. Instinctively, his arms flung upward. The perch sailed into the air.

Chandler, scanning the surface eagerly, was petrified with astonishment when his prize perch suddenly leapt high above him and splashed down far out in the stream. His jaw dropping, he stared, glassy-eyed and briefly too stunned to move. Recovering his wits he sent a narrowed gaze all around. There was no sign of life. He snatched up his basket. The three trout were still there, showing no tendencies towards athletic prowess. Of a practical nature, Chandler was inclined to dismiss such commonly accepted phenomena as miracles and witchcraft. But it went against Nature for a landed fish to suddenly essay a leap of such Herculean proportions. His jaw jutted angrily. Snarling profane assessments of village pranksters, and appending his intention to apply a cane vigorously to the seat of the culprit's breeches, he plunged into the adjacent trees and shrubs.

His search was thorough and lasted for some ten minutes, but since it did not occur to him to look up as well as down, he found no sign of another presence. At least, not of a human presence. When he finished, the uneasy whispering at the edges of his mind had grown louder. That blasted fish
had
sailed through the air, yet there was not a trace of anyone who might have perpetrated such a dastardly deed. Swinton's tale of Miss Milford's daemon began to seem less ridiculous.

Heated, disgruntled, and bewildered, he gave up at last and, having lost all interest in fishing, departed at a rather brisk pace.

He left behind him two small boys, who clung to each other on their leafy branch, trying to stifle their sobbing hilarity.

A short while later, the head gardener looked up as Chandler marched from the woods. "Any luck, sir?"

"Not too bad. Three nice trout."

Swinton left his flower bed and came at once to peer into the basket. "Nice indeed." He grinned. "Not so nice as the one what got away, eh?"

Chandler started and looked at him fixedly for a minute. But it wasn't possible. Had a man of Swinton's size crept up and heaved his superb fish back into the stream he couldn't possibly have then vanished so quickly and completely.

Curious, Swinton asked, "Bean't nought wrong, be there, Mr. Gordon?"

For an instant Chandler considered revealing that he'd caught a giant perch and that the minute his back was turned the creature had vaulted twenty feet into the air to return to the stream some twelve feet from the bank. He thought bitterly, "They'd have me clapped up!' There was a slight motive here, however, so he said experimentally, "It occurs to me that the task I inflicted upon you yesterday may be an annoyance, Swinton."

"Lord, sir," said the gardener, shaking his head. "A little thing like that? Never. Not my place to be annoyed by anything you or Sir Brian ask of me."

Searching the broad, honest features, Chandler found only respect and an affection that made him ashamed of his doubts. He said, with the smile that endeared him to his dependents, "Thank you. That's a nice bouquet you've gathered. For the house, is it?"

Swinton reddened, and his eyes fell. "Er, well, as a matter of fact, Mr. Gordon, I was going to take the flowers over to the blue cottage. It's like I told you. I were a bit sharp-like with the little lady when the coach tore up my— your lawns, sir. And—well, I thought her and Mrs. Allington… er… you know."

"A peace offering, eh? You sly dog!"

"I wouldn't have ye think as I was stepping outside o' me station, sir. Nothing hanky-panky, I promise you. I reckon as I knows a proper lady when I see one."

"Had words with her often, have you?"

"Not to say often, sir." Swinton turned the bouquet in his work-roughened hands. "Mrs. A. be very strict, y'see. Miss Grace telled me right off as I wasn't welcome in her kitchen. But I don't mind that. It's easy to see she's had a few of the lads come flirting round her."

"Who? Miss Allington?"

Swinton let out a guffaw. "That's a good one, Mr. Gordon! Not likely! She's a proper high-bred lady is Mrs. A., and—"

"Hold up!" Chandler intervened sharply. "Why do you keep saying
Mrs
. A.?"

Dismayed, Swinton stammered, "Sorry, Mr. Chandler. I—I meant no disrespect 'Tis what Miss Grace calls the widow. Mrs. Allington, I should rightly say."

His eyes suddenly as dark as storm clouds and as threatening, Chandler thrust his fishing rod at the gardener. "Take this back to the house, if you please. And be so good as to delay offering your bouquet to Miss Milford for half an hour."

Without another word, Swinton hurried off. When he was safely out of earshot, "Cor," he muttered to his carefully gathered bouquet, "you're going to Mrs. Tate, me pretties! I ain't running up agin Mr. Gordon no more today. Not while he's got that black scowl on his phiz!"

There was a wooden chaise longue beside the cottage, set in the shade of the acacia tree. Ruth carried some cushions out to the chaise and settled down to enjoy the peaceful warmth of the afternoon, insofar as was possible. Grace had gone to try and find the twins. Convinced they would not have ventured far, Ruth was nonetheless put out as she waited for them to come creeping home. The fact that she would have to discipline them cast a shadow over the balmy afternoon. So many times she had warned that they must not be seen. They were only five, true, but they were such bright little boys, and should be aware of what a blessing this situation was, for them all. Whatever could have possessed them to disobey her and go out so early in the afternoon? With Gordon Chandler off at his fishing, he might very well run right into them! She uttered a faint moan of frustration. But she wouldn't dwell upon it. If she did, she'd only become more and more apprehensive.

Her thoughts somehow found their way back to Mr. Gordon. She had been shown a very different side of him this morning. A nice side. And a charming smile that lightened his grave grey eyes. He really was most attractive; thrown into the shade by his brother's exceptional looks, perhaps, but having his own appeal nonetheless. It must not have been easy for him, she realized, managing this great estate, steering troublesome matters away from his sire, and keeping his firebrand of a brother from getting himself killed. She smiled faintly. She admired steadiness in a man, and when Mr. Gordon had been shocked into displaying that engaging grin, she'd realized that warmth and humour lurked behind the stern face he showed to the world.

She wondered drowsily what his chosen lady was like… Mr. Aymer admired her… but… "I have brought your fish, Mrs. Allington." She jerked awake, holding up one hand against the bright glare of the sky. She must have dozed off, and here was Mr. Gordon looming over her; a dark silhouette, holding out a basket.