Flower for a Bride (19 page)

Dom Julyan looked at her for a moment as if he suspected that the strange tranquillity in her eyes was not quite natural, and then went on his way down the drive, and Lois took her charge indoors. Afterwards they had lunch with Miss Mattie, who had betrayed no surprise when she learned that Lois would soon be leaving, and in the late afternoon the Marquiz de Valerira arrived.

Lois caught the faint stir of his arrival once more from her balcony. She heard the car crunching over the gravel of the driveway, the sound of masculine voices, and then inside the house, usually as quiet as a pool, a curious ripple of activity seemed to disturb the placid vibrations as his luggage was carried upstairs.

Miss Mattie had told Lois that the Marquiz, although a very elderly gentleman, never travelled without at least a couple of his own servants, and for however short a stay a

quite disproportionate amount of personal luggage. Apparently he was a very impeccable old gentleman who favored a gardenia in his buttonhole, or sometimes a half-opened rosebud, if the color took his fancy, and in spite of age still fancied himself as something of a lady’s man. That is to say, he was a great admirer of the opposite sex, but was strongly imbued with Victorian ideas as to the manner in which he should approach them.

Lois thought it quite likely that she would meet him during his visit, for he would almost certainly wish to see his great-nephew, and might condescend even to visit the nursery quarters. The one thing she did not expect was a summons to dine in the main dining sala on the very night of his arrival, and when she did receive the summons she could hardly believe her ears.

It was Josie who conveyed to her her employer’s wishes, and having put Jamie to bed she offered to stay and help Lois with her toilet for the evening. Josie had been a lady’s maid for several years, and she was very interested in fine feminine clothes, and loved assisting to beautify a reasonably attractive face.

Lois found that the decision as to what she should wear that night was taken out of her hands, for it was Josie who went to the wardrobe, and Josie who pounced on the clover-pink dress. She also spent a great deal of time brushing, and finally polishing with a silk handkerchief, Lois’s soft fair hair, and when she was at last ready to go downstairs Lois realized that a transformation had been wrought in her appearance. She was even more attractive than on the night she had been taken out to dinner by Rick Enderby, for on that occasion she had had a light golden tan, but now—mysteriously—it seemed to have vanished all at once, and she looked fragile and very feminine. A little too fragile, she knew, for a happy appearance—but that didn’t matter when she wasn’t happy. In fact, nothing really mattered any longer, with the knowledge that each passing day brought her nearer to the moment when she would say goodbye to the Quinta de Valerira for good.

And in spite of moments of acute temptation she was determined that nothing was going to cause her to withdraw the notice she had given, or stay on where she was so liable to have every action misconstrued, and where

there would soon almost certainly be a new mistress.

But as she went down the stairs in the clover-pink dress she was conscious only of a suddenly wildly thumping heart because in a few moments she would be face to face with her employer. She had no idea whether there were any other guests, but she heard voices and laughter coming from the main sala, and amongst them she recognized feminine voices, and feminine laughter.

On the very point of putting her hand on the door handle and turning it her courage seemed to ebb away and leave her. She was thankful that, in spite of Josie’s protests, she had insisted on wearing the tiny bolero that went with her dress, thus giving her the feeling that—for a governess—she was adequately clothed, at least, with no bare shoulders, and only a small expanse of creamy-pale neck and chest exposed to view.

She had a simple pendant that had belonged to her mother fastened about her neck, and her fingers went to it, and clutched at it, as if for support, before she turned the door handle.

Then she was inside the huge main sala, and for the first time it seemed to her that it was filled with people. And they were all exquisitely elegant people, laughing and talking with that natural ease of manner which was the birthright of those born into an existence where everything else came easily. There was Donna Colares, wearing black that glistened and sparkled with her every movement, because it was embroidered all over with golden thread. She had a gold lame stole about her shoulders, and there was a crimson flower behind her ear. Amongst the other ladies present there were several elderly ones, and some very distinguished looking males of all ages, only one of whom had absolutely white hair, although his eyes were young and twinkling and dark as night.

Lois knew one moment of sheer panic, and she never afterwards knew quite what it was that stopped her from turning and retreating swiftly by the way she had come. Perhaps it was some latent pride that came to her rescue— the recollection that she was the only representative of her country present amongst a positive welter of foreigners, and that it would be undignified in the extreme to flee as if aware of her own unworthiness.

And by the time she had overcome that moment of panic someone was coming towards her, and she looked up like a swimmer who had been thrown a lifeline to see that it was Dom Julyan himself who was hastening to make her feel that she was merely a welcome late arrival, and not his son’s governess who had never expected to be where she was that night.

“Come and let me introduce you,” he said, and with his hand supporting her elbow he led her amongst his guests.

Lois had only a confused idea of what happened after that. She knew that she received smiles and bows, and that one or two people asked her questions in quite a friendly manner. She was asked how she liked Portugal, whether she missed England, and how she got on with Jamie. One very charming elderly lady said that she was sorry she hadn’t had an opportunity to meet her before, and that she must get to know her daughters, and they must see she was not too lonely. The elderly gentleman with the twinkling eyes and the very white hair proved to be the Marquiz de Valerira, and he surprised her very much indeed because he paid her a delightful compliment while he retained her slim fingers for quite an unnecessarily long time between both his own well-cared for white hands, and all the room looked on.

“You remind me of a summer I spent in England,” he said, “when I was not much more than twenty. For an English summer it was perfect, and the countryside was enchanting. I was quite sure I would never see anything quite like it again, and I never have.”

“Our English summers are not very often perfect,” Lois heard herself answering, feeling almost painfully shy beneath the attentive gaze of his eyes.

“No, that is why I was fortunate, and why I remember it with much affection—and why you recalled it to my mind the instant you came into the room!” he told her.

Lois tried to control her blushes, and to smile up at him appreciatively at the same time.

“That is a very pretty compliment, senhor Marquis,” she murmured.

“I meant it for a compliment,” he assured her, with a gallantry that sat well upon him in spite of his years.

After dinner, once the gentleman rejoined the ladies in the great sala, he sought her out again, this time he had a request to make of her.

“I should like very much to have a little talk with you while I am here, Miss Fairchild. There is much I would like to learn from you about my great-nephew Jamie, and if it is permitted I will visit him in the nursery quarters tomorrow morning?”

“But, of course, senhor,” Lois assured him hastily.

He sat beside her on a damask covered settee and looked at her out of the corners of his constantly twinkling dark eyes.

“He is a very fortunate young monkey, that one, to have anyone like you to figure so largely in his daily life,” he told her. “When I had a governess she was selected not for her looks, but for other qualities which were deemed highly desirable, but which never succeeded in impressing themselves upon me!”

“I hope I have a few highly desirable qualities as well, senhor,” she murmured, looking demurely down at her hands clasped in her lap.

“I'm quite sure you have,” he responded. “But that was an age when the ornamental seldom went hand in hand with ability and efficiency. For one thing, ladies who found it necessary to offer their services as mentors to the young were usually the ones for whom it was difficult to find a husband; but in this modern age husbands are not the prizes they were once looked upon as. There are other things— freedom, for instance—that are of far greater importance.” But although Lois smiled at him she declined to rise to his rallying, and he patted her hand and said:

“I will call upon you tomorrow morning about eleven, and perhaps we will drink our mid-morning chocolate together? Yes? That would be very pleasant!”

Lois saw Donna Colares looking across at them with faintly raised eyebrows, and she had a feeling that the widow did not altogether approve the appearance of intimacy that was a little misleading. For she was quite sure the marquis had a very strict sense of what in his world was considered correct.

Later, when she found herself alone for a few minutes, after assisting the charming elderly lady who was presiding at the coffee-table by handing round coffee cups, she decided that it was time she slipped away, and that if she remained any longer she would be outstaying her welcome. Donna Colares’s cool look while she was talking to the Marquis had warned her of that, and she didn’t wish anyone to think that she over-valued her position as governess in the house, or had the wrong ideas about it.

So she crept quietly from the room when no one appeared to be looking, and was just crossing the hall and making for the staircase when her employer came after her.

“Lois!” he called, and she stopped.

“Yes, senhor?” She turned and looked up at him in surprise—not so much because he had called her Lois, but because he had called her at all.

“Is anything wrong?” he demanded quietly, looking down at her. “You are not thinking of retiring at such an early hour?”

“It is not early for me,” she assured him, looking up at him almost gravely. “I usually go to bed well before ten o’clock.”

“But tonight it is different,” he replied. “You are not alone, and you are not dull—or are you?” he broke off to ask.

She hesitated for a moment, meeting those enigmatic but lustrous dark eyes of his.

“Your friends are your friends, senhor,” she returned at last, “and although they are extremely kind there is no reason why they should strain that kindness by endeavoring to prevent me from being dull. I am employed here to look after Jamie, and it seems a bit of an infliction to thrust me upon them, particularly when you have the Marquiz de Valerira staying with you.”

“I see,” he said, and his voice—that had been warm and slightly anxious—froze into coldness. “But it seemed to me that you were getting along very well with the marquiz.”

“He is extremely charming.”

“But our evenings are too formal, and you find them boring? Rick Enderby’s society would probably be preferable. By the way, have you seen him lately?”

“I think you are quite well aware that I have not left the quinta grounds, except in a car with Jamie, since the only free evening I have had since I came here.”

“In that case you must feel that another free evening is overdue. Take one whenever you feel like it, Miss Fairchild, and all that you need to do is to notify Josie where you are going, so that some track at least can be kept of you. And now I will return to my guests.”

She had the feeling, as he turned away, that a gulf as wide as the Atlantic was spreading between them, and that it was quite unbridgeable. She also had a wild desire, for a few moments, to bridge it somehow, and at whatever cost to herself.

“Senhor! . . .”

“Yes?” He turned back to her, but his eyes were still cold.

She felt suddenly completely dismayed.

“While I remain here I shall not bother about free evenings,” she informed him hurriedly. “It was most kind of you to ask me down to dinner tonight, and that has provided all the change I need.”

“Then perhaps we will repeat it sometime before your departure,” he said casually, and she knew that she flushed as if he had unexpectedly lifted his hand and slapped her across the face. “Goodnight, Miss Fairchild. Don’t take your duties too seriously while you remain here, and if you do feel the urge to spread your wings and enjoy a little freedom don’t hesitate to accept what is your due. Goodnight,” he repeated.

But Lois made up her mind that so long as she was employed by him, and in danger of being criticized for unbecoming conduct, she would accept no invitations that were likely to come her way, even if they were completely innocuous, and from close friends of Dom Julyan. And when she received a note from Rick Enderby pressing her to have tea with him at his cottage one afternoon she returned a regretful refusal.

He declined to be put off by her refusal, however, and called at the quinta to see her. Fortunately—or she couldn’t help regarding it as fortunate—Dom Julyan was not at home at the time, and only the old Marquiz saw a disappointed and slightly annoyed Enderby taking his departure ten minutes or so later, and following Lois into the garden twitted her upon dealing with her admirers in a

somewhat unceremonious manner.

“That young man looked as if he had received quite a severe rebuff,” he remarked. “An Englishman, too, I believe! Is it that you no longer have much time for your own countrymen, little one?” looking at her a trifle quizzically.

Lois flushed, but decided to explain the situation.

“Dom Julyan does not approve if I conduct myself in a typically English manner, and Mr. Enderby wished me to take tea with him at his cottage. That would have been contrary to the approved behavior of a young woman of my age—a Portuguese young woman, that is! And since I do not wish to compare too unfavorably with them I had to say ‘No’ to Rick.”