Love on Assignment (36 page)

Sadness washed through Charlotte. She'd sorely miss the Wilmont children. They'd grown close during their recitation of multiplication tables, piano practice, sketching, reading books, and playing croquet on the back lawn and down along the beach.

“Where are you going, Miss Hale?”

“To find your papa. And I'm in a big hurry.” But she refused to be brusque with the little girl who'd befriended her. Sweetness and sass, winning qualities that defined the child.

Ruthie broke into a grin. “Whew! I was afraid you were angry at my papa.”

“No, of course not. Why did you think that?”

Ruthie tilted her head, frowning. “Because you won't marry him. Last night I heard him arguing with Grandmother. Maybe I was snooping, but I wanted to know if you had a grand time at dinner.” Her face clouded. “Papa said he asked you to marry him, but you turned him down.”

Charlotte nodded. “I did say no, but for a very good reason.”

“Which was what?” The little girl looked sly. “Am I being too impertinent?”

Charlotte bent down and squeezed Ruthie's hand. How do you explain a complicated situation in a few simple words? “Because we're not meant to be together.” Every muscle and fiber in her body screamed her words were untrue. “I wish it was otherwise, but it isn't.”

Ruthie jutted her lower lip. “Well, I've been praying about it and God told me you and Papa should marry. I asked Him directly and He said yes in my heart. You can't go against the Lord's will, can you? That would be sinful.”

Charlotte didn't know whether to laugh or cry. “I promise I'll pray about it some more, but I'm afraid you misunderstood the Lord's message.”

Could Daniel possibly forgive her for her deception? That seemed too much to ask. No one was that saintly, not even Daniel.

Ruthie clasped her hands. “Please, Miss Hale, pray until you hear God telling you what He told me.” Ruthie's face flickered with hope. “I know Papa will make you happy. And I shall too. So will Tim if you remember he's just a little boy who says and does a lot of silly things he doesn't really mean. Even Grandmother will be nice to you.”

Most definitely wishful thinking. “Sometimes we can't have what we want.” Charlotte's voice choked. She cleared her throat and blinked back hot, stinging tears.

As Ruthie leaned forward the glider squeaked. “But sometimes we
can
. Please don't say no. Just get on your knees so God will know you're serious.”

“I shall. But right now I must go.” Overflowing with love for the little girl—and her father—Charlotte gave the youngster a tight hug and then clattered down the porch steps into the rain. She and Ruthie shared the same childish dreams and the same inability to make them come true, but the little girl clung to hope. Charlotte wished she could be as foolish.

Ruthie's voice rang out. “I'll pray for you, Miss Hale. And remember how much Papa loves you!”

Yes, Charlotte knew he did, but for how much longer?

RAIN PUMMELED HIS buggy as Daniel headed at a fast clip toward Spring Creek Lodge. He pulled his derby forward to keep the light rain from his face, and squinted through spectacles rapidly fogging over. With a flick of the reins, he urged his horse to lengthen her stride down Ocean Drive. It shouldn't take long to locate the inn once he'd turned down Bolling Hill.

If only he'd declined Missy's invitation to conduct the retreat, he'd be home right now, dry and reading by a blazing fire. Or even better, convincing Charlotte to reconsider his proposal. Once she understood he'd forgive her for any indiscretion, large or small, she'd soften. Why did she want to admit every detail? He didn't wish to intrude on her privacy and embarrass her. Sometimes it was best to keep indiscretions private without alleviating some of the guilt by voicing them to another.

If only Sarah had kept her misdeeds to herself and not written a journal, he'd never had known she'd turned from him, even after their reconciliation. Of course he'd known their relationship hadn't improved as he prayed it would, but he'd never suspected she'd stopped caring altogether.

He never wanted to experience that kind of intense pain again—not that he thought Charlotte's transgressions would wound as deeply as Sarah's.

But, instead of staying at Summerhill and calming Charlotte's apprehension, he was driving down a deserted, muddy road toward a retreat he didn't want to conduct for a young lady he didn't wish to see. Yet in good conscience, he couldn't refuse anyone in spiritual need, even Missy LeBeau. If her relationship with the Lord strengthened because of something he might say, then this retreat was well worth his effort. He sighed. It was just that after last night's dinner with Charlotte, he was in no mood to present solid spiritual truths to a group of giggling college students led by the giddy Missy.

Perhaps he should've spoken to Charlotte before he departed for Spring Creek Lodge. To his regret, she didn't appear at breakfast, so he lingered until the last possible moment before leaving for his only class of the day. He'd speak to her as soon as he returned this evening. Despite the weather, he urged the horse into a fast trot. What was the matter with him? He never took his frustrations out on his driving, endangering himself and others—if there actually were others on this deserted stretch of country road. But he hadn't seen another cart or carriage. Fortunately the rain let up as he approached Bolling Hill Road, a winding lane edged with stone walls and leafy elms that arched overhead. Behind the low fences rolled green lawns and pastures veiled in mist. Hazy outlines of mansions rose behind the drizzle. Negotiating the potholes and pools of standing water, his carriage bumped along. Ten minutes later he came to a clearing with a vista of rolling meadows. A sign announced Spring Creek Lodge.

He turned down the narrow road that cut through an open field and drove until he came to a rambling cottage. It resembled an Adirondack hunting lodge with a wide porch and smoke curling from the chimney. He halted the buggy and jumped down.

Where was everyone? No other carriages parked along the muddy drive and no stable boy appeared to help with his horse. Strange. Maybe he'd arrived too early, although Miss LeBeau had said the retreat started at eleven thirty on Friday. His pocket watch read eleven forty-five. No sign of life anywhere.

As he climbed the steps to the porch, unease crawled up his back like an army of spiders. He opened the door expecting to find the innkeeper behind the front desk. Instead, he saw an enormous room paneled in rustic pine and surrounded on three sides by a balcony. No front desk and no desk clerk to welcome him. A fire roared in the fieldstone fireplace, brightening the lobby and giving off the strong wood aroma. He passed through the small vestibule into what must be the lobby, placed his book bag and valise on the floor by one of the leather sofas, and wondered what to do next.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned toward the staircase. Ah, he wasn't alone after all. He felt a surge of relief as a middle-aged maid hurried down the steps.

“Good afternoon, sir. Are you Professor Wilmont?”

“Yes, I am. Would you kindly tell Miss LeBeau I've arrived?”

The maid nodded and climbed back up the stairs. Within a minute or two the young woman he waited for slowly glided down the steps. A sultry grin curved Missy LeBeau's lips, unusually full and red, as if a bee had stung them. Her features looked brighter than normal. He suspected she'd painted them for emphasis. Not that such a stunning girl needed such tawdry enhancement. His voice hitched in his throat as he attempted to greet her.

Then he noticed a narrow-faced young woman with frizzy hair followed at her heels. Charlotte's cousin, Penelope. What was she doing here?

“Good afternoon, Miss LeBeau. Miss Smith. You're Miss Hale's cousin, aren't you?”

She looked him straight in the eye and came forward, her hand outstretched. “I am, indeed, Professor. And I'm Missy LeBeau's cousin as well. But we're related through our mothers' families. Our great-grandmothers were sisters, which makes us—well, kis-sin' cousins, I suppose. I'm so glad to see you once again.”

“You're here for the retreat?”

“Indeed, I am. Miss LeBeau invited me even though I'm not a student at Aquidneck or a member of her prayer group. But she thought I might benefit from your talks.”

Missy's jaw tightened as she glared at the wiry woman.

“If you'll excuse me, I shall adjourn to the library for a while.” Penelope strutted off.

Daniel's gaze fastened upon Missy's strange, almost seductive expression as she drew closer. She wore a low-cut gown possibly appropriate for a ball, but all wrong for a ladies' retreat and immodest for any occasion. The yards and yards of shiny, champagne-gold fabric shimmered in the dim gaslight. He cleared his throat and glanced toward the door, his nearest escape route. His hands clasped behind his back, he leaned forward slightly and rocked back and forth, then stopped. He must look like a professor unnerved by a question he couldn't answer.

“Where is everyone else?” Daniel asked, glancing around the lodge as his apprehension mounted.

Missy floated toward him, her high-heeled shoes barely touching the floor. “The rest of the ladies will arrive shortly. They're waiting for the weather to clear.” Her voice came in airy puffs of soft sound. Most disconcerting.

He nodded as he stepped back toward the fireplace. “That's an excellent idea.” Arriving late was actually a dreadful idea. Now he was alone with a
femme fatale
. Sweat erupted on the back of his neck.

“So what shall I do until the retreat begins?” As soon as the words emerged, he recognized his
faux pas
.

Missy's eyes gleamed with unspoken answers. For a moment he feared she might suggest something entirely unsuitable. But she smiled sweetly and her eyes widened with an earnest innocence. He couldn't tell if she was sincere or playacting.

“We can stroll by the pond or . . .” she began.

He certainly didn't want Missy to entertain him. Who knew what her idea of entertainment might be, though he felt sure it wasn't the same as his. “The weather is still bad, so perhaps I should check in. I wonder where the innkeeper is. I think I'd like to go to my room.”
And lock the door
. He wouldn't spend the night, though Mrs. Finnegan had packed him a bag just in case the retreat discussions ended too late for him to return home that evening. But he would appreciate the privacy of a room between sessions with the ladies.

Missy laughed. “There is no innkeeper. Spring Creek Lodge belongs to my parents. It's our summer cottage. Didn't I tell you?”

“No, you neglected to mention that very relevant fact.” Maybe he should grab his valise and head home. “And where are your parents?” Upstairs, he hoped.

Lord, don't desert me now. This woman seems a bit deranged
.

“They left for Greece yesterday. But don't fret. They gave me permission to hold the retreat here and explicit instructions to make you comfortable. Most of the staff is still here.” She descended onto an overstuffed loveseat facing the fireplace and patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit down,” she murmured in her soft-as-silk voice.

“No, I'll be quite comfortable right here.” He dropped onto the raised stone hearth. The blaze from the fire oiled his face, and he reached for his handkerchief to mop off the perspiration. “I'm sorry, Miss LeBeau, but I can't remain here, since this isn't an inn.”

“Don't be silly. You won't bother the ladies and I promise we won't bother you,” Missy purred.

“Naturally you understand I must return home this evening.” Staying overnight with a houseful of young females would cost him his reputation. He'd always shied away from compromising situations and he wasn't going to change now. In fact, he shouldn't remain in the lodge alone with Missy for one more second.

“Of course you can stay. Our servants will watch over all of us. But if you'd prefer to return home tonight, we'll understand. While we're waiting for my prayer group, shall we take a walk? I'll show you around the grounds. They're really quite splendid, though I would've designed formal gardens, if given the choice. My father prefers nature at its most wild, as you can probably tell.”

Daniel brightened. A breath of fresh air might clear his head, even if a little drizzle still lingered. “A grand idea. But first I'd like to telephone my mother. She's been ill and I need to check up on her.”

A stab of irritation flashed across her face. “Of course. The telephone is in my father's study. Please follow me.”

Missy led him down a hallway and opened the door to a small, dark room with a desk and bookshelves. She turned up the gaslight, pointed to the telephone, and departed. “I'll be in the main hall, Professor.”

In short order, Mrs. Finnegan put his mother on the line. “Mother, how are you feeling this afternoon?”

“Much better, thank you. Doctor Lowe examined me earlier. He said I'm not out of the woods yet, but I'm doing as well as can be expected.”

“That's good news.” Daniel paused. “Is Charlotte close at hand? I'd like to speak to her, if you don't mind.”

“Yes, I do mind, but in any case, she's not here. She left us awhile ago.”

Her snicker came across loud and clear. “Now I'll have to hire another governess, someone dependable who won't walk out without notice.”

“Charlotte quit? Did she explain why? Was she going back home?”

“She didn't say. As soon as you return, would you mind contacting the domestic employment agency? I'm not at death's door, but I shall require assistance for another few months, at the very least.”

“Yes, of course. I've got to go. Take care of yourself.” He hesitated. “Do you need me home right now? I could leave—”

“That's not necessary. Mr. McClintock is taking good care of me. Now don't worry, Daniel. I'll be fine.”