If the Slipper Fits (26 page)

“Enough,” Lord Simon said rather forcefully, with a glance at Nicholas, who sat cross-legged on the floor with a book in his lap. Lord Simon strode toward the housekeeper, with Annabelle close behind him. Then he addressed Mrs. Wickett in an undertone, “There’ll be no talk of such foolish superstitions. Is that clear?”

A mask of subservience came over the woman’s plain features. “Of course, m’lord.”

“Mrs. Wickett,” Annabelle said, “would you happen to know who shut the door to the library earlier?”

Lord Simon aimed a quizzical frown at her. “Shut the door?”

“When Nicholas and I arrived, the door was closed. I thought perhaps one of the servants had discovered the crow and went to fetch help. But no one ever came.”

“I heard naught of it,” Mrs. Wickett said doubtfully.

“Then find out,” Lord Simon ordered.

“Aye, m’lord. And I did come to seek ’ee for another reason. There be visitors in the drawin’ room.” The woman slid a chilly look at Annabelle. “’Tis Lady Danville and her daughter, Lady Louisa.”

Chapter 19

Holding Nicholas’s hand, Annabelle paused outside the old cemetery beside St. Geren’s Church. Vines climbed over the low stone fence that enclosed the graveyard, and brilliant colors painted the oak and beech trees. A gust of wind sent a shower of red and gold leaves over the gravestones. Autumn here in Cornwall was much milder than in Yorkshire, yet she was glad to have worn the gray mantlet over her gown.

She glanced down at Nicholas. Carrying a little bouquet hastily gathered in the castle garden, he looked far too sober for a boy of eight. “Dearest,” she said, “it’s quite all right if you wish to change your mind. You don’t have to do this.”

Nicholas lifted his chin with a trace of ducal pride. “I want to leave roses for Mama. They were her favorite.”

Annabelle gave him a commiserating smile. “Then do lead on, Your Grace.”

Unlatching the iron gate, she allowed the boy to precede her into the cemetery. This visit had not been in her plan for the day. She had made arrangements for Nicholas to remain at the castle while she went to shop in Kevernstow on her afternoon off. But he had begged to accompany her, asking if he might visit the gravesite of his parents. The request had tugged at her heartstrings. Apparently no one had brought him here since the day of their funerals nearly a year ago.

Why had she never thought to stop after Sunday services? Perhaps because she’d been too absorbed in watching Lord Simon flirt with Lady Louisa.

Scolding herself for even thinking of the man, Annabelle followed Nicholas down the gravel path. On either side of them stretched rows of tombstones, some mossy with age, others overgrown with brambles. Then there were those that had regular visitors, for the plots were well tended with manicured grass and fresh flowers.

Nicholas headed toward a mausoleum made of pale marble. The grand square building stood in a prominent location shaded by a stand of oaks. Scarlet and gold leaves dusted the large stone angels that flanked the entry with its iron gate.

The boy stopped, glancing up at her. “I don’t want to go inside. Do you think Mama will mind if I put her flowers right here?”

“I’m sure she’d think it the perfect spot.”

As he laid the posy of roses at the foot of one angel, Annabelle found herself blinking away tears. It didn’t seem fair that a child should have to mourn the loss of his mother and father at such a young age. Maybe in a way it had been a blessing that she’d never known her own parents. At least she had no memories to cause her grief.

Kneeling beside the boy, she guided him in saying a few prayers. Then they retraced their path and went out the gate. In an effort to cheer him, she said, “Would you like to stroll along the high street, Your Grace? Perhaps we might find a bakery and buy you a sweet.”

His face brightened. “A chocolate tart?”

She laughed. “I can’t promise, but we’ll see.”

Annabelle also hoped to find a shop that sold dry goods. She needed to purchase fabric suitable for a fine gown, for she had decided to accept Lord Simon’s invitation to the Samhain ball. The thought buoyed her spirits. It would be a shame to avoid the glittering assemblage just because she feared to encourage his attentions.

After all, it wasn’t as if the man would be pursuing
her.
He would be busy dancing with his harem of ladies from the neighborhood. Annabelle could enjoy the festivities from her place with the older women, and perhaps even dance a time or two with an elderly gentleman who was kind enough to partner the governess. Heaven knew, it might be the only chance in her life to attend such a splendid event.

As she and Nicholas walked past the old stone church with its ancient bell tower, she spied a pair of men talking in the garden outside the rectory. Mr. Bunting and Mr. Tremayne.

Annabelle’s steps faltered, and she regretted her lack of foresight. Had she not been so lost in thought, she could have crossed the cobbled street with Nicholas in an effort to avoid encountering those two. But it was too late now.

Mr. Tremayne lifted his hand in a quick wave. He said something to the vicar. Mr. Bunting swiveled around to glower at Annabelle, his eyes dark in his foxlike face. Then he turned on his heel, his black clerical robes flapping as he disappeared into the rectory.

Not so the assistant curate.

Mr. Tremayne came hurrying down the path, obliging Annabelle to stop. In a blue coat with a maroon waistcoat, his wavy brown hair neatly combed, he looked far too stylish to be an underling cleric in a rural church. “Why, Miss Quinn! And Your Grace! What a rare surprise to see you here in the village.”

Bowing, he caught her gloved hand and brought it to his lips.

His effusive manner made Annabelle uncomfortable, and she smiled politely while withdrawing her fingers. “We were visiting the cemetery. Our coachman is waiting at the Copper Shovel to take us back to the castle.”

Nicholas tugged on her arm. “But Miss Quinn, aren’t we stopping at the bakery?”

Annabelle groaned inwardly. She had hoped to give the impression that they had no time to talk. “Of course, darling.”

“Then I shall accompany you,” Mr. Tremayne declared. “It is only proper that such a pretty lady have a gentleman to escort her.”

Nicholas looked askance at the man. The boy made no comment, however, as he started ahead of them down the narrow lane with its charming collection of houses and shops. A few villagers stopped to smile at him for it was unusual to see the Duke of Kevern in their midst.

Annabelle reluctantly tucked her fingers in the crook of Mr. Tremayne’s proffered arm. Although she’d seen him at church, it was the first time they’d been alone since the party at the castle when Lady Milford had come to visit. On that occasion he had spoken disdainfully of Lady Milford’s bastard birth, and his intolerance had told Annabelle much about his character.

But perhaps she ought not judge him so harshly. Many people held the same prejudice. It would be charitable to give him a second chance. Besides, she didn’t want enmity to spoil such a beautiful autumn afternoon.

“I’m glad for your company,” she said. “It’s been quite a while since we’ve had a chat.”

“Indeed! And so much has happened in the interim.” He placed his hand over hers. “Words cannot express how worried I have been about you, Miss Quinn.”

As they strolled down the street, she frowned at him. “Worried?”

“Everyone in the district has heard about the shooting last week. To think that a scoundrel has been roaming the estate, armed with a weapon, firing at you and the duke! Why, it is not to be borne.”

Annabelle looked ahead at Nicholas, who had stopped to peer into a shop window. That dreadful incident still had the power to make her tremble, though she took care to hide her feelings. “I greatly appreciate your concern. However, I’m sure the fellow is long gone. He wouldn’t linger here for fear of suffering the wrath of the duke’s guardian.”

Mr. Tremayne still looked troubled. “I do hope you are right. Mr. Bunting heard from Lord Simon that there may be buried treasure near the place of the shooting—ancient Celtic artifacts. Is that true?”

Annabelle thought it best to reveal as little as possible. “I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to pose your questions to his lordship.”

“Well! If there is, then the villain may return to steal such rare and costly items. I trust Lord Simon has posted guards at the site?”

“Day and night, so you may relax your mind on that matter.”

As they continued to stroll, Mr. Tremayne cast a sidelong glance at her. His blue eyes were narrowed as if to hide his thoughts—or perhaps it was just a defense against the brightness of the sunlight. “I would venture to say, Miss Quinn, that
you
are more precious than any cache of old relics. If there is the slightest possibility that the villain is still lurking about, I wonder that Lord Simon would allow you and the duke to come into town unaccompanied.”

Annabelle felt reluctant to admit that she hadn’t asked Lord Simon’s permission. It simply hadn’t seemed necessary.

Nevertheless, she kept her watchful gaze trained on Nicholas, who had stopped to observe two young boys tossing a ball back and forth in the street. “We’re perfectly safe with the coachman,” she said. “And I’m sure we can depend upon
you
to protect us here in Kevernstow.”

“Absolutely!” Mr. Tremayne placed his hand over his heart in a rather theatrical gesture. “I am always at your service. Indeed, the moment I heard of the shooting, I came straight to the castle to offer my support to you. But alas, his lordship turned me away.”

Annabelle slowed her steps. “Lord Simon did?”

“Why, yes.” The assistant curate’s smooth features took on a rather hangdog look. “It’s happened on several other occasions, as well. Just yesterday afternoon, in fact. He said you were much too busy with His Grace to entertain a caller.”

Annabelle was dumbstruck. That must have been right after Lord Simon had left them in the library. As to the other times, she spent most days up in the schoolroom with Nicholas, isolated from the rest of the castle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I rather thought that might be the case,” Mr. Tremayne said, patting her gloved hand. “I’m afraid the fellow seems to have taken something of a dislike to me. Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but on Sundays he always hurries you and the duke into your coach after church before I can speak more than a word or two to you.”

She
had
noticed. Since Lord Simon rode his horse to services, he didn’t need to depart straightaway; he stayed to mingle with Lady Louisa and her friends. “I hardly think that’s a reflection on you, Mr. Tremayne. He’s merely a protective guardian to the duke.”

“Ah, but I must respectfully disagree. His antagonism toward me is quite palpable. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to offend him.” The assistant curate paused to give her a rather intent stare. “Or perhaps I can. He is very possessive of you, Miss Quinn. And I believe he views me as … a rival for your affections.”

Annabelle had had that very thought herself on the night of the dinner party. Now, against her will, she felt a secret thrill at the notion that Lord Simon could be jealous. Certainly he seemed drawn to her. She had felt the full force of his charm the previous day in the library when he’d asked her to attend the Samhain ball.

She realized that Mr. Tremayne stood watching her. He had a forwardness about him that made her ill at ease. Though on the surface his manner was genteel, she had the impression that he didn’t quite regard her as a lady.

“Lord Simon is my employer,” she said coolly. “I will not gossip about him. Good day.”

A scowl crossed his aristocratic features, but Annabelle paid no heed. She walked away to join Nicholas, who still stood watching the boys with the ball. She felt guilty for neglecting him even for a few moments. He needed friends, she thought with a pang. Perhaps some of the noble families in the area had children who could be invited to the castle to play.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, intending to suggest they do their shopping, when Mr. Tremayne stepped to her side again.

His hands clasped, he spoke fervently. “My dear Miss Quinn, I have offended you. Pray don’t go without accepting my sincerest apology.”

Annabelle could see no way to refuse without creating a scene on the street in full view of any watching villagers. “As you wish. You may consider the matter forgotten.”

His chin lowered in a remorseful pose, Mr. Tremayne made no move to depart. Instead, he entreated, “I promise to be on my very best behavior if only you’ll allow me the pleasure of your company.”

“I hardly think—”

“Please? Should I utter the slightest word of offense, you may silence me at once. Thenceforth, I won’t speak again. My lips shall be sealed.”

He pretended to lock his mouth with an imaginary key. The action was so absurdly unexpected that Annabelle laughed aloud. He chuckled, too, and she felt an easing of her earlier qualms. He was an attractive man, if a bit too chatty for her taste. But surely there could be little harm in tolerating his company for half an hour or so until it was time to return to the castle.

At the very moment they were laughing together, an open carriage drawn by a fine pair of bay horses rumbled down the cobbled street. She stared in surprise to see Lord Simon on the high perch.

Her heart performed a cartwheel within the confines of her corset. Why was he not on the gelding he usually rode? Whatever the reason, he looked meltingly handsome in a charcoal gray coat and tan breeches, the brisk breeze ruffling his black hair.

He had spied them, too, for he guided the team to the side of the road and jumped lithely to the ground.

“Well, well,” Mr. Tremayne murmured. “Something tells me that trouble lies in store.”

Flipping a coin to one of the boys playing ball, Lord Simon bade the lad watch the vehicle. Then he strode toward them.

His expression of cool politeness offered no clue to his thoughts. He looked every inch the haughty lord of the manor as he acknowledged them with a nod. “Miss Quinn. Mr. Tremayne. What an unexpected pleasure.”