The Beautiful One (17 page)

“Yes.” It had been too late some time ago. She stood. His face was below hers and slightly tipped up, and she looked down into dark eyes that had touched her deeply.

Those eyes were not for her, she reminded herself. Those blue eyes, and everything else Will Halifax had to offer, were for someone else, someone of his own class.

Anna stepped away from the bench, and from the madness of sharing the starlight with him. He was Viscount Grandville, she reminded herself. She needed to stop thinking of him as Will.

“Good night,” she whispered, and though he lifted a hand toward her, she turned and left.

* * *

Will watched Anna disappear through the doors with a tug in the general area of his heart, an organ that he'd considered a ruined thing, incapable of anything good. It didn't feel that way tonight.

He made his way in through the library, closing and locking the doors behind him, and entered the corridor. A figure was standing at the bottom of the stairs, in a rectangle of moonlight coming in one of the large windows. Judith.

“A word with you, please, Grandville.”

She had a candle, and the light played on features on which he had focused so much disgust as a young man.

“Yes?”

She sighed. “I know I deserve your scorn. If I had it to do over, I would have stayed away from your father while your mother was still alive. But I loved him, and I wasn't wise then.”

“Do I really have to listen to this? Now? Here? And from the woman who walked around the family wing each morning in dishabille, letting everyone know that she and the master were lovers?”

“I was foolish then. Young and foolish and afraid. I thought your father might fall out of love with me.”

“For pity's sake, you weren't here a month before you were trying to get him to believe that Mother had a lover!”

A pause. “I didn't realize you knew about that.”

He gave a bark of mirthless laughter. “I heard you talking in the breakfast room. ‘Have some kippers, dear Alistair. I think your first wife had a lover. I may have found some proof.'”

He'd shocked her with this memory, and he was glad. He'd spent countless hours in misery, doubting everything his family had ever been to him, until he realized that Judith was only trying to besmirch his mother.

“You're right,” she said. “I wanted to replace your mother. Of course there was no proof of any such thing. I made so many mistakes. I'm sorry.”

“It's easy to say that now.”

She tipped up her chin with a pride he didn't think he'd ever seen in her before. She'd always been so needy, desperate for his father's attention and her stepsons' acceptance. She'd doted on his father, buttering his toast, watching from windows for his return whenever he was gone, draping herself on him when he was home, and the sight had always disgusted Will.

“I'm no longer a fragile young woman unsure of her worth.”

“Good for you.” He moved toward the stairs.

“I'm not done yet,” she said. “I wish to address whatever is between you and Anna. I saw you on the terrace with her just now.”

He turned around. “We had things to discuss, which is none of your concern.”

“Really? You needed to meet with the governess late at night on a bench in the garden?” She crossed her arms and returned his haughtiness. “Anna doesn't deserve to be trifled with. She should be off limits to you.”

Damn it, how the hell had he come to be discussing Anna with Judith of all people? “I see you have appointed yourself her champion.”

“Anna is as fine a woman as they come, and I've seen the way you two are when you're together, each surreptitiously aware of the other. You need a viscountess. Would you choose her for your wife?”

She was right about what he owed Anna, but he'd be damned if he was going to listen to such things from Judith. “Champion of virtue is a new role for you.”

“I'm concerned that whatever you are up to with her is a way of avoiding a serious effort to find a wife for yourself, someone who would share your life.” A hard glitter lit her eyes, as if from some inner fire, and he felt a surprising flash of admiration for her, but it was quickly replaced with the scorn she always stirred in him.

“You wish to claim a right to interfere, but what you have always failed to accept is that though you may be a stepmother, you are no true relation to me and Tommy. You are merely”—he shrugged—“a woman my father married. Though you
were
always fond of gestures. I can still recall the sight of the breakfast embrace to which Tommy and I were treated each morning.”

“It takes two to embrace, Grandville. Your father and I did grow to love each other deeply.”

He recoiled from her words. How dare she talk to him of love, she who had interfered in the love his parents shared? “Your marriage was wrong and ridiculous. He was vulnerable and you took advantage of him.”

“Your father was desperate for companionship, or he wouldn't have taken up with me.”

“No one recovers from the loss of a loved one so quickly. You preyed on him.”

“You have always been so admirably loyal, Grandville, but there comes a time when loyalty, along with duty, must be weighed to see if it is merely something behind which one is hiding.”

She sighed. “I do not press for your forgiveness. I seek to speak for your father, whom, whether you wish to accept it or not, we both loved. He wanted so much for Stillwell, and for his sons. He would have been proud of the way you've managed the lands, and of the cottages you're building for the tenants. But he wouldn't have wanted to see his oldest son turning into a man whose life was defined only by duty. Duty has such a capacity for harshness when it's not motivated by love.”

“You take on too much in my father's name!”

“For his sake, I would see you married, and married well.”

“Have I not agreed to attend your ball?” he said tightly.

“But that will be for naught if you don't see it as a step to finding a wife soon and returning to the land of the living. If that woman isn't going to be Anna, then you shouldn't allow yourself to be distracted by her.”

“I hope you are not so far deluded that you think to choose a wife for me.”

“Of course not. I am merely providing a push. The rest is up to you.” She paused. “After the ball, I will consider my debt to your father paid.”

“You will leave then, once I have fulfilled what you ask?”

She nodded.

“And I trust that I won't see you again.”

“Very well,” she said, “though I think it would disappoint your father. But if that is your wish…”

“It is.”

He stepped past her and went up the stairs.

Once in his bedroom, he sat down on a chair and lifted his leg to pull off his boot. It was a task that required contortions, but he was hardly inclined to rouse a servant at that late hour, and anyway the last thing he wanted then was the company of another person.

The words of his conversation with Judith still rang in his ears. Being in her presence was uncomfortable, a return to the same bind he'd felt when younger: awareness that his father had cared for her, and that he himself was disgusted by her. If his conscience niggled, whispering that she seemed different now, he knew better than to believe she didn't have an ulterior motive.

He threw the first boot to the floor and brought his other ankle across his knee and leaned over to grab the heel, a hideously uncomfortable position. Judith had spoken of loyalty and duty as if they were not the highest good. As if he'd been hiding behind his loyalty to his family and the duties of his title.

He pulled hard at the heel and the boot came off with a jerk and he dropped it to the floor. He slumped down in the chair, wishing he'd brought the brandy upstairs with him. But then he decided it was better he hadn't; he'd resorted to it too often over the last year, and that must end.

And while he was acknowledging home truths, Judith was right, damn it all, about what he owed to the title; he must marry soon.

Maybe Miranda, he thought unenthusiastically as he tugged his shirt over his head. Her face was not the one his mind supplied, though.

What if Anna had said yes tonight when he'd proposed the idea of marriage? He'd been relieved when she'd refused, yet now he found himself wondering what it would be like to be married to her. He'd felt so close to her, out on the terrace, and he'd wanted nothing more than to enfold her in his arms.

But she hadn't said yes, and he knew it was just as well. She stirred unruly feelings in him when what he needed was to focus on carrying out his responsibilities in a steady, reasoned way.

He was far too restless to sleep, though, and he stayed up into the wee hours reading a report about crop yields, wishing fruitlessly that the words and numbers would chase away the image of shining black curls and the alluring memory of the scent of fresh pencil shavings.

Will had something on his mind that he wanted to discuss with his brother the next morning, and he found him in the stable.

As Will entered the building, Tommy was standing outside Strider's stall, petting the huge chestnut's head. Will hadn't touched the horse since the day he'd thrown Ginger, though he didn't blame the animal. Ginger had been riding Strider when he'd been spooked by a wild dog, and the powerful horse had pulled up suddenly in panic, throwing her off. She'd hit her head on a rock and been gone so quickly. He'd seen the whole thing and been powerless to stop it.

Will's grooms kept Strider in good shape, while he rode another of his horses if he required one.

Now, seeing Tommy with the animal, Will walked toward the stall, feeling the jumble of memories the sight of Strider brought, and he just…accepted them. They were part of him, but they weren't his future.

“Have you come for a ride?” Tommy said.

“No.” Will's eyes drifted toward Strider's shining head. The horse's enormous dark eyes rested on him, as noble and bottomless as ever. He lifted a hand and set it on Strider's muzzle and thought about what Anna had said about taking up the reins of his life.

“I was wondering how things are at Longmount,” he said. He hadn't been to his other estate, or to Halifax House in London, since Ginger died. “You were there a few months ago, weren't you?”

“Yes,” Tommy said, pulling a small piece of carrot from his pocket and offering it to Strider. “It fares pretty well, though the mill is in poor shape.” He shot him a sidelong glance. “It could do with a visit from its master.”

Will nodded. Perhaps it was time to consider paying a visit. Beside him, Strider finished his carrot and tossed his head gently against his shoulder. Will patted him.

“So,” Tommy said, “what are you going to do about Lizzie? Will you take her to Town for the season and show her off?”

From the direction of the stable door at that moment came a small shuffling sound, but when Will glanced that way, he saw nothing.

Will shrugged. He
could
take Lizzie to Town for a few days, and a short visit would be an opportunity for him to return to society. The thought would have oppressed him a few weeks ago, but now he could imagine himself attending a small party or two, perhaps even hosting one.

Still, Lizzie only had a few more weeks here, and going to London would mean bringing Anna as well, and he found he didn't like the idea of bringing her somewhere she would be in company with other men. It was disgracefully selfish of him, but she was so unique and lovely, and he knew he'd be jealous if she attracted the attention of other men. Anyway, he already had Judith's infernal ball; that ought to present Lizzie with enough society for the moment.

“London's not a good idea at the moment.”

“So will you take her later, then?”

“No. She's only staying a few more weeks. There's really nothing here for her, you know. I've got Norris investigating some place that would take her. Perhaps she'd like to go to school in Switzerland.”

“Why don't you just ask Anna to stay on?”

Will gazed off into the distance. “She won't.” He flicked a glance at Tommy and raised an eyebrow. “Miranda Chittister was asking after you when I was at Trippleford for dinner. You really ought to have come.”

Tommy shrugged. “Miranda's all right, but I knew I'd hear nothing but boring fashionable talk.” He patted Strider's flank, then leaned casually back against a post by the stall and crossed his arms. “I say, but Anna is a fine woman.”

Will gave him a look. “Enough, Tommy. What about Lucy Melbourne? I thought you had a tendre for her.”

“Lucy's all right sometimes, when she's not blathering on about fabric and gossip and any number of stupid things. Young ladies are, unfortunately, so often like pretty candies, full of nothing but dry stuffing when you bite into them.”

Will's eyebrows shot upward.

“Metaphorically speaking, obviously,” Tommy said, grinning roguishly. “I mean they're not much fun to be around. Anna's fun, though, and she must be almost my age.”

“She is older than you.”

Tommy seemed oblivious to the edge in his brother's voice. “She is really quite beautiful,” he said, “and I'm certain
she
never says stupid things.”

Will felt as though the top of his head would shortly blow off. “Anna is under my protection, and I'm certain that I will not have to be protecting her from my own brother's improper attentions.” He ignored the voice of conscience calling him a hypocrite.

“Certainly not! She is too good—how could you even think such a thing?” Tommy crossed his arms. “How did she end up here as Lizzie's governess anyway?”

“She was working at the school where Lizzie was.”

“Well, all the same, I wonder if Lizzie will want more learning. She's quite gorgeous, but there doesn't seem to be much else to her.” Tommy tapped his head. “More hair than wit.”

“Oh?” Will said. “I hadn't paid much attention.” Or spent enough time around her to know much of anything about her, he thought guiltily. “I'll see what Anna thinks. Perhaps Lizzie would benefit from a school that focuses especially on social graces.”

A sharp cry near the doorway drew their attention again, but a moment later the arrival of the stable cat provided an explanation.

Now that he thought about Lizzie, though, Will felt a pang of compassion; considering that she'd lost her family so young, she seemed remarkably resilient, and was it any wonder that she'd misbehaved outrageously? He must be sure to have her to stay at Stillwell at least once or twice a year in future.

He shrugged. “Well, she's creative at any rate,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Do you know, she got angry at me and took a hammer to the Apollo statue's cock, then draped the gaping hole she made with rather wicked clothes made out of ivy?”

Tommy's eyes lit up. “Really? That's diabolically inventive.”

“Yes,” Will agreed dryly. “It wasn't by accident that she was discovered sneaking out of school and had to be sent down.”

“You mean she got herself sent down on purpose?” Tommy's expression held growing admiration. “That's quite interesting. And unexpected. Perhaps she's not so lacking in wits after all.”

Will groaned inwardly at his brother's interest in such inappropriate doings. And surely that wasn't the light of conquest in his eyes?

“You really ought to go visit the Chittisters,” Will said. “People will talk about you being back, and they'll take it as a slight if you don't stop by.”

“That's rich, coming from you,” Tommy said, but cheerfully, and he called for a horse to be saddled.

* * *

At some distance from the stable door, Lizzie hid in anguish behind a large copse of juniper. She'd been approaching the stable with the intention of riding when she heard the men's voices. She heard Tommy say she was a ninny, heard Grandville agree and talk about the school where he'd send her. She hadn't listened to the rest but had stepped away blindly, not noticing where she went until she stumbled into the cat.

Her heart throbbed louder each moment as the hurt grew. How could she have thought Grandville was softening toward her, that he might want her to stay after all? She'd been a fool. He didn't care about her, and he was still going to dump her at some school when her month was up.

And what pained her almost as much, she'd been entirely wrong about Tommy being attracted to her. He thought there was nothing to her but her appearance.

She ignored the jab of conscience pointing out that she'd
meant
for him to focus on her looks, because he was also supposed to see that behind her face and figure, she was special and different. She didn't blame him for admiring Anna, but listening to him sing her praises when he'd dismissed Lizzie herself had stung.

She watched bitterly as Tommy rode out across the grounds on a beautiful white horse. Grandville would still be in the stable, but she supposed he wouldn't stay there long, and the last thing she wanted was to see him ever again.

She peeked around the juniper bushes, and when she saw no one coming from the stable, she took off at a run for the manor. As she rushed inside and up the stairs, no one paid her any attention because everyone was busy preparing Stillwell for the ball. Tristan, though, appeared as she neared her bedchamber and followed her inside. He whimpered softly when he saw her take out her valise.

A familiar, hollow pain burned inside her. She'd never really belonged anywhere, not since her father had remarried. That had been the end of all the good times. But at least she was no longer a helpless little girl, and she wasn't going to let herself be shuffled about at other people's whims anymore.

She put only a few things in the valise, because she was going to have to carry whatever she brought very far—all the way to Portsmouth. She'd dress in her coffee-colored silk, which would travel well, and play the part of a young lady whose maid had taken ill to explain why she was traveling alone. If she looked wealthy, she would be treated well.

She took out her pin money and rolled it up in a cloth that she tucked in the pocket hanging from the waist of her gown. It was enough to pay for passage to Malta, she was fairly certain, though she supposed she'd have nothing left when she arrived.

The voyage wouldn't be easy, but anything was better than staying where she wasn't wanted. She'd had enough of that to last a lifetime. She felt bad about leaving Anna, who'd been so good to her, but Anna couldn't help her. She'd send her a letter later and apologize for leaving as she had.

Everything would be better once she got to Malta. She'd go to the home of her old friend Cecelia Waltham, with whom she'd vowed eternal sisterhood on the Walthams' beach. If she could just get back to Malta, she knew they'd be like sisters again.

She pulled the top of her valise closed and tested its weight—heavy but manageable. It was perhaps five miles to the nearest town. Once there, she would catch the mail coach.

Tristan followed her to the window and stood by curiously as she opened it and looked out. The grounds below were deserted, and that sealed her choice. She threw her case to the ground and, hanging from the balcony grating, dropped onto the sturdy line of shrubs that grew below. From there, it was a quick sprint to the shelter of the trees that flanked the manor, and she was away.

* * *

Stillwell Hall was like a hive that afternoon, bustling inside and out with footmen beating carpets in the warm sunshine and maids polishing woodwork and the housekeeper rushing about with lists, all in preparation for the ball.

Will had retreated to his library desk and was trying to add up costs for drainage ditches, but his mind kept skittering about every time he presented it with a column of figures. It wanted to dwell on other things, like where Anna had been all day. She hadn't been at breakfast or lunch, nor had he glimpsed her anywhere in the corridors. She was obviously, if subtly, avoiding him.

Of course he understood why. She was the daughter of a respected country doctor and learned author. She was not the sort of woman who should be doing the things they'd done at the cottage, and it was for the best if they stayed apart, considering the powerful attraction between them.

Unfortunately, his own good intentions about behaving properly toward her from here on out were being tested constantly by his imagination, which had turned devilishly creative and kept supplying erotic scenarios involving the beautiful, unusual governess residing under his roof.

A sharp rap sounded on the library door, and Anna rushed into the room.

“It's customary to await a reply—” he began, ridiculously pleased to see her.

“Lizzie's gone!”

He blinked. “What?”

“She's run away, I'm sure of it. I haven't seen her these three hours. She was supposed to be working on a map of the world, and when I checked her room, she'd clearly packed a case and left. By the window.”

The papers in his hands slid to the desk and he groaned. “I wish that part surprised me.” He stood up and went over to where she stood by the door. “Do you have any idea where she might be going?”

She pressed her lips grimly. “Lizzie has such romantic ideas. My guess would be to the village, to catch the mail coach to Portsmouth.”

“Why—” he began, but then they both said together, “Malta.”

“An outrageous idea,” he said, “for her to think of traveling there alone. And yet I believe her fully capable of doing so.” He cursed softly.

“Yes,” she said, her voice husky with worry. “So much could happen to her. She has far too much faith in the wisdom of her own way, and so little actual wisdom.”

“I know,” he said, feeling ill. This was his fault. “She may have reached the village already. Tomfool girl! Doesn't she know the danger she's running?”

There was no time to waste. He stepped to the door and bellowed for Dart, who arrived quickly.

“Send someone out to fetch my brother from Trippleford, where he's visiting, and tell him that Miss Tarryton has gone missing and he's needed to help search for her. Tell him to go east, toward Rillover.” Dart nodded and left. Will turned to Anna. He didn't try to disguise the anxiety in his voice.

“Can you take a horse and ride along the road to the village?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Good. I'll take the path through the countryside, in case she's trying to hide herself as she goes.”

They left together and quickly reached the stable and chose mounts. As Anna climbed onto a roan mare that a stable boy had brought her, Will flew past her on Strider, Tristan at his heels.