Nina Coombs Pykare (5 page)

There was something in the way he said this, in the way his eyes regarded her closely, that gave Jennifer quite a warm feeling. However, she was well aware that warm feelings for a man of the Viscount’s worldly stature was quite out of place in a governess, and she managed to reply with a nonchalant, “Perhaps.”

His grey eyes smiled into hers. Then he touched his hand to his beaver and spoke softly to the stallion. Jennifer watched bemused as man and horse cantered off down the right-hand road. How well he sat the saddle, she thought absently, and what good shoulders he had. Papa would have called him a real prime article.

“Is
he
a gentleman?”  demanded Mor-timer, recalling her to her duties and to the unpleasant facts of her situation.

  Jennifer suppressed  a  sigh.  “Yes, Mortimer, he is. A gentleman of the first

water.”

“Well,” declared Mortimer with annoyance, “I wish you’d have told me what a gentleman was like sooner.”

Jennifer managed to control her smile. “I am sorry, Mortimer. I did not realize that you were lacking in information. But tell me,” she continued curiously, “you must have had some idea of a gentleman. You were so strongly against it. What
did
you think a gentleman was like?”

Mortimer scowled. “Like cousin Ingleton. Mama always said I should be a gentleman like him. But I didn’t want to. He ain’t a gentleman, is he?”

Here was a dilemma, thought Jennifer. Her prime duty was to the children and Ingleton was
not
really a gentleman. But if she said so she might well lose her place. Mrs. Parthemer obviously had a great deal of affection for her nephew.

“Sometimes we take an aversion to certain people,” she explained carefully. “And that does not depend on their status in life. However, I assure you that the Viscount is in every way a gentleman. He rescued us, he was concerned for us, and he stayed with us to see that all was well.”

“That was a famous horse he had,” observed Mortimer, obviously more attracted to this than to his lordship’s kindly nature. “And he rides good.”

“He rides well,” corrected Jennifer automatically, turning the pony back toward Seven Elms.

The rest of the ride home was devoted to Mortimer’s description of their rescue and the girls’ accounts of their hair-raising ride.

As they neared Seven Elms, Jennifer began to consider the results of all this reaching the delicate ears of Mrs. Par-themer. That would quite probably end any more excursions for some time. Yet she dared not ask the children to keep the event quiet, that put her in an equally bad position.

It was Cassie who solved the problem. “I’ve been thinking, Miss Jennifer. If you tell Mama about what happened, it will worry her so - her being sick and all. And we might not get to go again.”

“And I’ll behave like a gentleman,” said Mortimer. “I promise I will. But,” he added bravely, “if you think Papa ought to know, I’ll... I’ll tell him.”

  Jennifer smiled at the brave little fellow. “I rather think we can regard today’s ride as another lesson. Each of us learned something important from it. And since it is not likely to happen again there is little sense in worrying anyone with it.”

Two pairs of arms clasped her from behind and Mortimer’s eyes appeared suspiciously bright. “Oh, Miss Jennifer,” whispered little Cammie, “I love you.”

Jennifer felt a lump in her throat. How little love these children had experienced. And how eager they were to be cared about. It was for their sake, she told herself, that she had not wanted the story of their escapade bruited about. And she knew that was true.

But she also knew, with a little skip to her heart, that she was looking forward to the possibility of meeting the Viscount on some of their future excursions. And though part of her mind kept reminding her that the Viscount should never be allowed to generate any feelings in her, another kept insisting that
if
they met, it would be entirely by accident. And she could not in good conscience curtail the plans she had made for the children in order to protect herself.

And so having come by a roundabout road to the decision that her heart insisted upon, Jennifer pulled up in the stable yard.
“We
appear to have lost the whip,” she told the groom calmly. “But we did not need one anyway and will not bother to carry one in the future.”

“Yes, Miss,” replied the groom, if he had any suspicions they were not evident on his face.

Gathering the children around her, Jennifer set off for the house in a curiously lighthearted mood for one who had so lately escaped danger.

Chapter Four

The afternoon and lessons passed quickly. Jennifer, having supervised the children’s dinner, left them in Betty’s care and hurried into her blue dress, tucking a stray wisping curl into her bun. She did not particularly relish dinner with Ingleton beside her, especially if he were apt to continue his tirade against the Viscount.

Undoubtedly Haverford had had his share of liaisons. What lord hadn’t? But it was eminently clear to Jennifer that any woman in her right senses must prefer the virile Haverford to the effeminate Ingleton. There was something about the Viscount that inspired confidence in a woman, something that Ingleton could never begin to copy.

  It was not, Jennifer told herself, necessarily the fact that Haverford was a lord, though his breeding was evident in the fit of his clothes, the tilt of his head, the way he rode. It was more than that. There existed in his lordship some power, a power that could never be simulated. And even if Ingleton had succeeded in imitating everything else to perfection, he would still lack that power.

Turning away from the cheval glass, Jennifer noticed that her eyes were unusually bright. However, she assured herself that this condition was the effect of her exciting escape and not at all due to thoughts of the Viscount. And she heartily endeavored to believe that.

Well, she mused as she descended the dark and gloomy staircase with care, she could well understand why she had been invited to share the Parthemers’s table rather than relegated to the nursery with the children. She suspected that most people found Ingleton a poor dinner companion.

As she entered the dining room she was surprised to see him turn from the window and accost her. “There you are!”

Jennifer almost drew back in alarm, but steadied herself and replied calmly, “Yes, here I am.”

“You have been plotting behind my back,” cried the distraught Ingleton. “I knew it!”

“I? Plotting? I do not understand.” Jennifer found Ingleton’s behavior very strange. The man appeared to be in a veritable fury.

  “You said you didn’t know Haverford. Yet you were riding with him today. Explain that!”

Jennifer was more than a little dismayed at such conduct in a man who purported to be a gentleman, but she thought it best to try to calm him. The man appeared almost physically ill. He was trembling violently and his nervous fingers plucked and pulled at a wadded lace handkerchief.

Her first impulse - to give him a good dressing down for presuming to shout at her - faded. She spoke softly and evenly. “I did not know Lord Haverford at the time we spoke. I met him only today.”

As Ingleton continued to glare at her, Jennifer considered how much to tell him. She did not want news of the runaway to reach the children’s parents. Her charges would believe that she had betrayed them if it did, and all her influence with them would be gone.

She thought quickly.
“We met the Viscount on the road and asked him directions to the sea. The children and I plan to picnic there. And of course they did not know the way.”

Ingleton looked somewhat mollified, but he still eyed her suspiciously as he said, “I suppose he talked about me.”

  “No,” replied Jennifer, asking silent forgiveness for this lie if it were one. After all, neither of them had named any names. “We spoke of the countryside and the roads. Actually, we were together for a very short time.”

Ingleton’s suspicions seemed somewhat abated, but he still shook rather nervously. “I’m surprised you even spoke to such a man,” he declared. “I told you he was dangerous. Especially to women.”

“So you did,” agreed Jennifer complacently. “But I did not know who he was until we had been talking for a while. And he did not
look
dangerous.”

Ingleton sniffed. “Looks aren’t everything, you know. I warned you - stay away from the man or you’ll be sorry!”

Jennifer did not at all like the tenor of this and so she was relieved to see the Parthemers enter. Mr. Parthemer seated his wife, who was clad in a gown of yellow silk that made her pallid skin even more sallow by contrast, then settled himself. Jennifer wondered absently if Gibbons was the originator of this infamous creation in silk. If she were, her allegiance to her employer was seriously in question, in Jennifer’s estimation at least. But perhaps poor Gibbons had no more sense of fashion than her mistress.

Equally possible was the probability that poor Gibbons had been overridden. Mrs. Parthemer might look like a frail invalid about to depart this life, but her pale exterior hid a will of iron and a determination that would not be bested. It was due to that iron will, Jennifer had learned only that day from Betty, that this great musty heap had been constructed. It seemed that Mrs. Parthemer wanted a Gothic ruin and, after having gone into a violent decline, had succeeded in con-vincing her mate that only a Gothic estab-lishment would prevent her imminent demise.

And the master, Betty admitted with that cheerful smile, had been right good about the inconvenience. Only he would not permit the lighting of candles in daylight. If the mistress wanted gloom there weren’t no sense in lighting it up.

“Well, Jennifer, how did the children get along today?” inquired their mother, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

“We are doing quite well, Mrs. Parthemer. Lessons are coming right along.”

“That’s fine. Now I hope you can spare some time right after dinner for I have a few things for you to do.”

  Jennifer swallowed a sigh. She had been planning to ride on the little mare, Lady-fingers, but now that would have to wait. “Of course, ma’am.”

“Here now,” interrupted Mr. Parthemer heartily. “I heard tell from the groom that ye was planning to exercise the mare.”

Jennifer smiled. “I was. Sir, but perhaps I shall finish in time.”

“Of course, ye will. What is it ye want the girl to do?” he asked his wife.

“I want her to write some letters for me - some invitations for that ball I’m planning. When the houseguests have arrived.”

“Well, can’t that wait? That mes... mes... whatever he is fellow won’t be here for a while.’

“Au contraire,
my dear,” said Mrs. Parthemer. “Monsieur Dupin arrives this evening.”

“It’s quite all right, really it is, Mr. Par-themer. I shall have time to exercise the mare in the morning. Tonight I will do the letters.”

Mr. Parthemer did not look quite pla-cated but Jennifer sent him a pleasant smile and he returned to his meal.

“I have invited Lady Carolyn Kingston,” said Mrs. Parthemer with an arch look at Ingleton.

  So, thought Jennifer, Ingleton was after an heiress
and
a lady. In this case, how-ever, Mrs. Parthemer was palpably out of her depth. Lord Kingston might allow his daughter to be a houseguest in the home of a rich cit, but he would never allow her to wed a member of the trade class. Nor did it seem likely that the lady, although her naiveté was legendary among the
ton,
would consent to form an alliance with a mere commoner.

“Monsieur Dupin will be here, of course. I have set aside the Red Room for him. It has that little sitting room next door that he can use for his crisis room.”

Jennifer’s look reflected her bewilder-ment.

“Monsieur Dupin is a mesmerist,” Mrs. Parthemer chattered on. “He studied at the feet of the great master himself. And he has consented to spend a fortnight with us.” She sighed deeply. “I have great hopes that he may find a cure for my malady.”

“He better had,”  interjected  Mr. Par-themer bluntly. “He’s costing me a pretty penny.”

“Mr. Parthemer, please, certainly money is no object where one’s health is con-cerned.” The invalid cast her eyes to heaven in such an anguished expression that the poor man put down his fork and hastened to assure her that he would cheerfully give all the ready he had to see her returned to good health.

And Monsieur Dupin would undoubtedly
take
it all too, thought Jennifer. The man sounded like an obvious charlatan.

“Who else will be her,  Aunt?” asked Ingleton.

“Why, Mrs. Polly Parsons, of course. She’s Lady Carolyn’s chaperone, you know. And Lord Proctor.”

Ingleton’s face fell at this information.

“I assure you, I cannot help it, my dear. Lady Carolyn is at the moment intrigued with Lord Proctor and that is the surest way to get her here. After she is here - I leave the rest to you.”

Jennifer did not have much faith in Ingleton’s chances against those of Lord Proctor, no matter how naive the lady in question, but as usual she held her peace. Mrs. Parthemer’s machinations on the behalf of her nephew were certainly no concern of hers. She had only to raise the children to hold their own in the
ton.
Only, she thought with a slight tinge of bitter-ness.

Sometime later Jennifer rose from the table and assisted Mrs. Parthemer to the library where Gibbons waited with an unhappy looking Peterkins. The little monkey made a move toward Jennifer but was restrained by the leash in Gibbons’s hand.

“There you are, my pet,” cried Mrs. Parthemer, holding out her arms to receive the small animal. He sought refuge in them immediately and Jennifer could only surmise that however negligent Mrs. Parthemer was about her children, she obviously treated the monkey quite well.

Mrs. Parthemer was finally settled to her satisfaction on the divan. It had legs made in the shape of crocodiles and was, of course, upholstered in red velvet. Jennifer thought it quite the most hideous piece of furniture she had ever seen.

Dutifully Jennifer settled herself at the writing desk and began to copy out the peculiar effusions that Mrs. Parthemer glorified with the name of letter.