Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (13 page)

She followed girls and dogs up the steps. The front door had opened by now, and a flustered, untidy elderly woman stood there.

“Heavens above, Miss Isabel, how many have you brought with you?” she cried.

“My father said I might bring as many as I pleased, Prosser,” the child answered with dignity.

“Well, it’s not my place to complain,” complained the housekeeper, “but if his lordship expected more than two or three it’s more than I bargained for, I must say. However, least said, soonest mended. You’ll be wanting to tidy yourselves, I’ll be bound, so if you’ll be pleased to follow me, miss and young ladies, I’ll show you the way.”

About to step over the threshold, Amaryllis was struck by a sudden, inexplicable agitation. Had she been wrong to come? Trying to regain her composure, she turned and gazed around. The circle of lawn surrounded by the drive was neatly mowed but barren of the flowerbeds she would have planted there. Beyond stood an orchard with rosy apples peeking through the yellowing leaves and horses grazing beneath the boughs. The carriage was disappearing round the east wing of the house, where doubtless the stables were located.

A little hand slipped confidingly into hers. “Do you like it, ma’am?” asked Isabel anxiously.

She smiled down at three hopeful faces. “It is very pleasant,” she told the child, and scratched the dogs behind the ears.

“Won’t you come in? The others have gone above-stairs but I must go and see Papa first. He is in the library.”

They stepped into the centre of a long, high-ceilinged hall with a fireplace at one end and a carved wooden staircase, age-darkened, rising at the other.

“I had best go and tidy myself as your housekeeper suggested,” said Amaryllis, taking off her gloves.

“Papa will not mind if you are not tidy. I shall take you up to my own chamber afterwards. Please come.”

Amaryllis let herself be urged towards a door to one side of the stairs. Isabel opened it, tugged her through, then abandoned her to fling herself at Lord Daniel. Just rising from his chair, he was abruptly thrust back into it as his daughter landed in his arms.

While they exchanged greetings, Amaryllis looked about the room. It was large, well lit by tall, mullioned windows, and every inch of the walls was hidden by books. There was a desk to one side and several comfortable-looking chairs, some by the windows, others near the fireplace. She moved to the nearest bookshelf to study the titles.

“An eclectic collection, Miss Hartwell,” said Lord Daniel drily. He had extricated himself and stood up, and as she turned he bowed politely. “As you will recollect, I told you that I am not a sociable man. Literature absorbs a considerable portion of my time, especially since Isabel is no longer with me.”

“Your farms are in good heart, my lord. I am sure you must expend some time on them also.”

“I have good tenants and a good bailiff, but you are right, I take care that everything is done properly,” he admitted with surprise. “Tell me, what does a schoolmistress know of the land?”

“I was not always a schoolmistress,” she said shortly. “Isabel, if you will show me where to go, I had as lief take off my bonnet.”

He stepped forward and took her hand. A tingling shock ran up her arm, making her heart jump, and she scarcely heard his words.

“I beg your pardon, ma’am. I did not mean to offend you.” He spoke softly, and his dark eyes searched her face. “I had hoped that this would be a holiday for you as well as for Isabel’s friends. Forgive me.”

“Of course. I mean, there is nothing to forgive. It was a perfectly natural question.” Amaryllis heard herself babbling like the sort of featherheaded widgeon she had always despised. “Pray excuse me, sir, I really must go and see what my girls are doing.”

Isabel took her upstairs to a sparsely furnished bedchamber where a ewer of rapidly cooling water awaited her.

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked. “Ring the bell if you want anything else. I shall be next door with the others.”

She skipped out. Amaryllis sank down onto the bed and removed her bonnet. For several minutes she sat there, trying to understand what on earth had come over her down in the library. At last, shaking her head uncomprehendingly, she got up and washed her face in the lukewarm water. A brush and comb lay on the dressing table. She unpinned her hair, brushed it slowly, and put it up again, severely restraining the copper curls. Gazing at herself in the mirror, she wondered how she could feel so strange when she looked no different from usual.

Deliberately, she set herself to examine her surroundings. Isabel’s bedchamber confirmed the vague impression she had received from what she had seen of the rest of the house. In its concentration upon the necessary and lack of the decorative, it was a thoroughly male environment. There was dust in the corners and on the mantel. The brass doorknobs needed polishing. The bed hangings were threadbare and the windowpanes grimy. Mrs. Vaux, a most particular housekeeper, would have thrown up her hands in disgust. This house was sadly in need of a mistress.

Appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken, Amaryllis jumped up. She realised that the chatter of young voices in the next room had ceased some time since. When she went out into the hallway the door was open, the chamber empty. Isabel must have taken them all somewhere. Listening in the hope of hearing their whereabouts, Amaryllis descended the stair. Lord Daniel was lounging in the doorway to the library, obviously watching for her.

“Isabel is giving her friends a Grand Tour,” he said with a smile. “They will come to no harm. I have ordered tea. Will you sit with me in the library?”

The invitation sounded much too intimate, but she could think of no way to refuse that was not churlish. Sternly she reminded herself that she was his daughter’s teacher and doubtless he wished to discuss Isabel’s progress. It was entirely her own fault she was feeling like a green girl meeting a personable gentleman for the first time—and that he was both personable and charming, in this mood, she could not deny.

Somehow she found herself seated in a remarkably comfortable leather armchair near a window, with his lordship opposite her. Between them stood a small table bearing a tea urn, pot, and two cups.

“Pray do the honours, Miss Hartwell. I am unhandy.”

She made the tea and poured a cup. “Milk and sugar, my lord?”

“Thank you, no.”

He took the cup and saucer with his right hand. His arm jerked and for a moment it seemed the hot tea would spill in his lap, but he quickly righted it with his left hand and set it down carefully. Puzzled, Amaryllis noticed that he used only his left hand to pick up the cup thereafter. The brooding look had returned to his face. To distract him from his embarrassment, she asked him what was his favourite reading.

“Gothic novels,” he said provocatively, a glint in his eye.

“Indeed! Then may I recommend Miss Austen’s Northanger Abbey? After reading it you will be quite unable to appreciate a Gothic novel ever again.”

He laughed. “I have read it, ma’am, and must agree that it is a cure. No, as I told you, my tastes are eclectic. You will find in this room everything from Miss Austen’s works to the classics—in translation, that is, for I am no scholar. If you care to look around, perhaps you will find something you would like to borrow.”

“Thank you, you are very kind, but I have little time to indulge in reading for pleasure. Much as I enjoy history, it is tedious to read nothing else for months on end, though my pupils do their best to make it interesting.” She described Louise Carfax’s version of the history of Hedingham Castle.

He laughed again and asked her a question or two about teaching history. They went on to discuss the school in general, and time passed unnoticed until the housekeeper appeared to announce that luncheon was ready.

The girls were already in the dining room, flocking like starlings about a cold collation set out on a long sideboard. Here again the masculine influence was apparent: cold roast beef, a ham, pigeon pie, with no sight of the kickshaws and sweetmeats a thoughtful hostess would have provided for her female guests’ delectation. Nonetheless, the young ladies ate heartily, and Miss Hartwell, supplied by her host with a generous plateful, surprised herself by displaying a most unladylike appetite.

Afterwards, Lord Daniel provided baskets and they all went to the orchard to pick apples, accompanied by the spaniels. The sun was still shining, though the breeze was cool. As the girls scattered between the trees, chattering as they searched out the sweetest fruit, Isabel came up to Amaryllis and took her hand.

“Please, will you come and meet Pegasus?” she asked. “Look, he has seen me.”

A sturdy Welsh pony was trotting towards them. Amaryllis bent down and picked up a windfall. Holding it on her flattened hand, she offered it to Pegasus, who took it gently with a whuffle of his soft lips. She rubbed his nose.

“He likes you,” said Isabel in a satisfied voice. “Papa, may I ride?”

Lord Daniel was watching Amaryllis. He started at his daughter’s question.

“Ride? Why, I suppose so. At least, what do you say, ma’am? The young ladies may all take turns on Pegasus if they wish, and I have a mare who would suit you very well, I daresay, if you care to join them.”

“Thank you, my lord, but we are none of us dressed for riding.”

He looked at her in dismay. “No, of course not. You will think me very stupid,” he added ruefully. “I am unaccustomed to considering the dictates of female fashion.”

“It is not merely a matter of fashion, but of comfort and convenience. These dresses are cut quite wrong for sitting in the saddle. However, I expect Isabel has a habit in the house and I see no reason why she should not take Pegasus out, if she promises not to fly away.”

“He does not really fly. No, I shall not ride if my friends cannot ride too. I had not thought. I shall go and find Louise and pick some apples.” Retrieving her basket she disappeared among the trees.

“What a thoroughly good-natured child,” exclaimed Amaryllis.

“Unlike her father,” Lord Daniel responded with a sardonic quirk to his lips.

“I did not say so. You have been all that is complaisant— today. I wish I was able to accept your offer of a ride. It is all of ten years since I enjoyed a good gallop.” She sighed.

“Ten years! You are not half old enough to have been running a school for ten years.”

“I lived in London for several years, and I am sure you are aware that to gallop in Hyde Park would put one quite beyond the pale.”

“I did not know. I go to London only on business.” That explained why she had never met him in the society his birth entitled him to frequent, though not why he avoided it.

“It is so, I assure you. Indeed, the highest sticklers frown upon a modest canter.”

“You have not yet explained how you recognised my land to be in good heart.”

“Simple enough. I lived in the country all my life before removing to London. My father took no great interest in the estate, and I was too young to try to remedy the lack, but I was aware that all was going to rack and ruin.” She tried to speak lightly.

As if recognising her emotion, he turned the subject back to horses. “Should you like to see my stables? I lay claim to no superior cattle, since I am more interested in their abilities than their looks, but it will take us out of this devilish wind.”

She accepted, grateful for his tact. As they strolled around the side of the house, she noticed that he was careful to stay on her right side. If she needed to take his arm, it would be the left one that he offered. It was warm in the stableyard, sheltered from the breeze but catching the sun. They spent a pleasant half hour treating the horses to windfall apples, of which he had collected a pocketful.

A distant clock struck three.

“Heavens, is it so late?” exclaimed Amaryllis. “We must go, or we shall not be back before dark.”

“I shall order the carriage,” he said at once. “While Grayson is putting the horses to, one of the men shall collect all the apples your girls have picked and put them in a box to take with you. You shall come into the house and drink tea till all is ready. I warned Prosser to keep water on the boil.”

She laughed. “Ignorant as you may be of female fashion in clothes, I see you understand the female need for tea at all hours. Thank you.”

Half an hour later, the coach with the box of apples tied on the roof and nine passengers squeezed inside rolled down the drive and out between the gateposts. Everyone was tired and a little sleepy. They talked quietly or drowsed, leaving Amaryllis to her thoughts.

These were confused. She had seen Lord Daniel in an entirely new light and a flattering one. That did not explain her own extraordinary reactions to him. She had fluttered like a Bath miss, and she had never been a fluttering female, even in her first Season. She almost hoped it might be the early, lightheaded symptoms of an attack of the grippe.

It was dusk when the carriage pulled up in front of the school. With Isabel and Louise, she went to thank Grayson while the other girls straggled into the house. While Isabel gave him some message for her father, Amaryllis turned to Louise.

“Congratulations,” she said gaily. “You have not fallen into a bumblebath all day.”

Louise’s face was alarmingly pale. “Yes, I have,” she contradicted hollowly. “I think I ate too many green apples. I have the most dreadful pain in my middle.”

Chapter 10

In order to escape describing her day at Wimbish to her aunt and Tizzy, Amaryllis pleaded exhaustion and retired to bed early. She was nearly as tired as she claimed, and did not lie awake long.

As usual, she was too busy during the week to brood, and on Friday a letter arrived that drove all else from her head. She went so far as to summon Mrs. Vaux and Miss Tisdale from their classrooms.

“Aunt Eugenia! Tizzy!” she cried as they arrived together in her office. “Godmama is coming here tomorrow, and since she does not travel on Sundays, she wishes to stay until Monday!”

Lady Mountolivet Gurnleigh, owner of the house they occupied, had always visited at the end of June before, on her way home after the London Season. At that time she would collect her peppercorn rent. Amaryllis had never been able to persuade her that term was a metaphor for a small amount, so every year she handed over a peppercorn. Cook had enough in the larder to pay the rent for a hundred years.