A Change of Fortune (34 page)

Stella’s eyes shone as she gazed over the ballroom. “It will be my very first ball,” she breathed, “and I can hardly wait. Oh, I wish I could stay up until the very end.”

“You’ll be allowed up until midnight,” replied Guy firmly.

“Oh, but—”

“Midnight, and not a minute later.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s very fair, Miss Grizzle.”

Stella glanced slyly at him then. “Let’s go on down, I’m starving,” she said, catching Leonie’s hand and drawing her away toward the staircase. On the half-landing, by the portraits, she stopped again, glancing mischievously at Guy and then at the painting of Sir Edwin. “Leonie, don’t you think he’s very like Uncle Guy?” she asked with seeming innocence.

Leonie was uncertain how to respond, for she knew that Guy had forbidden his niece to mention the portrait. “Well, I…. Yes, I suppose he is.”

Guy came down to the landing, toying with the spill of lace at his cuff and giving his niece a dark, warning look. “Stella, I thought I made it plain—”

“Oh, please, Uncle Guy!” she begged. “I just want her to know the story—it’s such a strange coincidence that her name and a previous Lady de Lacey’s are the same.”

Guy glanced at Leonie and then nodded resignedly. “Very well. But, Stella, if you embarrass Miss Conyngham even remotely, I shall extract a very humble apology from you.”

“Of course, but she won’t be embarrassed, I promise you.” Stella was filled with impish delight, clearing her throat and then striking a very melodramatic pose, one arm extended toward the portrait. “Behold, Sir Edwin, so dashing and handsome, and so unhappily married to the Lady Maria.” She turned in an aside to Leonie. “A dragon, and, as it so happens, an ancestor of Imogen’s.” She cleared her throat once more and moved on to the next portrait, that of a grim-faced woman with a thin mouth and a bony figure, who rather reminded Leonie of Dorothea Lieven. “Behold the Lady Maria,” went on Stella. “Dragon, tyrant, and all-round miseryguts.”

“Stella!” reproved Guy.

“Well, it’s true, she was awful.”

Leonie felt the urge to laugh, but she struggled to hide it, gazing steadfastly at the portrait and thinking that Lady Maria did indeed look a miseryguts. Looking away from the painting, she happened to catch Guy’s glance, and she saw a flash of devilment in his eyes. He wasn’t as angry as he was pretending to be.

Stella gave Lady Maria’s portrait an arch look and then moved on to its neighbor, this time a likeness of another woman, a shy-faced creature with rather wistful eyes and lips which seemed as if they would often tremble. Stella struck her dramatic pose again. “Behold, the Lady Penelope, Sir Edwin’s mistress and then his second wife.” She turned to Leonie. “And this is the coincidence: Lady Penelope’s name, before she married him, was Cunningham.” She surveyed the portraits again, stepping back thoughtfully, but then pulling a dreadful face at Lady Maria. “Oh, isn’t she just too much? She’d make a splendid gargoyle, wouldn’t she?”

Guy looked in all seriousness at her. “Actually, there’s a miniature somewhere of her when she was your age. She looked exactly like you—it could be a portrait of you, in fact.”

Stella’s eyes widened with horror and she looked quickly at Maria’s picture again. “You don’t really mean that, do you?” she whispered.

It was too much for Leonie, who suddenly burst into a fit of the giggles. Stella stared at her, much offended, but then she saw how Guy was concealing a smile as well. “You beast!” she cried. “You’ve been teasing me!”

“You deserved it,” he replied, laughing. “You get far too big for your boots at times, young lady. Perhaps that will teach you not to force your wishes upon others.”

“I didn’t force them, I knew Leonie would like the story You did, didn’t you, Leonie?”

Leonie had to nod, still laughing. “Yes, Stella, I did. It was very funny.”

Stella was at her most wicked then. “There you are,” she said to Guy, “Leonie thinks your ancestors are hilarious.”

“I didn’t say that!” protested Leonie.

He turned to her at that, putting his hand to her chin and making her look at him. “I trust, madam,” he said sternly, “that you do not find my family history a matter for mirth?”

“Oh, no,” she said quickly, “I wouldn’t do such a thing.” But there were still tears of laughter in her eyes.

He smiled, bending down quickly to kiss her on the cheek. “Then you are forgiven,” he said softly.

At that moment the main door of the house was slammed and with a start they all three turned to look down into the entrance hall. Imogen and Edward stood there, and by the flash of cold fury in Imogen’s eyes, she had witnessed everything.

* * *

Dinner was a very strained affair, after being delayed for some time while Guy and Imogen were closeted alone together in the drawing room. No one knew exactly what was said, but Imogen’s raised voice could be heard from time to time and it was evident that she was requiring a great deal of placating. Leonie and Stella waited uneasily in the entrance hall with Edward, who seemed to find the whole business secretly amusing. He didn’t address a single word to either of them, and for that at least Leonie was grateful.

At the table, when Guy and Imogen at last emerged from their discussion, it soon became evident that Imogen had decided upon a plan of campaign. There was no sign of her anger, but Leonie knew her well enough to know that that was only because she’d chosen to mask it for the time being. Imogen had seldom been more witty and amusing than she was that night; she positively sparkled with brilliance, her tinkling laughter ringing out time and time again, but through the dazzling display, the real Imogen shone out, and always to devastating effect upon Leonie and Stella. Stella tried to avoid catching her attention, but to no avail, for Imogen was intent upon provoking her if possible, and she did it simply by correcting the girl, finding mild fault, and then smiling almost apologetically at Guy.

Leonie was subjected to different treatment, Imogen made a point of frequently mentioning people from society whom she knew perfectly well Leonie had never met; then she asked Leonie’s opinion about them. Leonie could only admit having no knowledge of them, at which Imogen raised a surprised eyebrow and then moved on. After a while it began to seem that Leonie Conyngham knew nothing at all and was a very dull creature.

Guy was strangely reticent throughout. Only once did he react sharply to anything, and that was when Edward very unwisely made a cutting remark at Leonie’s expense. Guy turned quickly on him. “Have you been to the theater recently, Longhurst? I understand there are some very amusing spectacles to be seen.”

Edward stared at him, color rushing into his pale cheeks; then he quickly applied himself to his meal and didn’t say another word.

By the end of the meal, Imogen was alone in still managing to recount witty anecdotes and generally appear unconcerned by the atmosphere that had descended over everyone else. Stella was looking rebellious and resentful again, Leonie wished she was anywhere but at that table, and Edward seemed to find the structure of the epergne of immense interest. Guy was hard to read. Leonie had watched him from time to time, but only when he had rounded on Edward had he shown his feelings; beyond that, he was a mask.

The meal over, both Leonie and Stella seized the opportunity to excuse themselves, pleading tiredness after a long day. They escaped, going hand in hand up the staircase and not even glancing at the portraits; it was as if all the shared laughter of earlier had taken place in another lifetime. Stella was struggling not to cry, her lower lip quivering, and she looked a different child from the bubbling, carefree girl of a few hours before.

Leonie helped Stella undress, and when the girl was sitting in the capacious bed, sat beside her for a moment, hugging her tightly. “Don’t give in, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Don’t let her win so easily.”

“I hate her,” cried Stella, her voice muffled as she hid her face in Leonie’s shoulder. “We were so happy before she arrived. We
were
happy, weren’t we?”

“Yes, we were.”

“You won’t go away and leave me, will you?”

“I’ll only be in the next room.”

“I don’t mean that, I mean leave Poyntons.”

Leonie gently cupped the girl’s face in her hands, kissing her on the forehead. “I don’t think it would be right for me to stay, Stella.”

“Why not?”

“It isn’t easy to explain.”

“Tell me. Please. I want to understand.”

“Stella, I mustn’t stay here because I love your uncle.”

Stella stared at her. Slowly Leonie got up from the bed and went back into her own room, leaving the folding door slightly ajar so that she would hear if Stella called her again, but there was only silence.

Leonie didn’t undress straightaway; she sat by the fire, Lord Byron’s
The Bride of Abydos
unopened in her lap. It would be so easy to accept the post of Stella’s governess, for it would make Stella happy, it would mean being close to Guy, and it would mean security. But it would also mean seeing Guy with Imogen, and it would mean Imogen’s constant spite and jealousy, jealousy which, as far as Leonie herself was concerned, was only too well-founded.

The door from the passage opened suddenly and Imogen walked in unannounced, her jewels glittering in the candlelight.

Leonie rose slowly to her feet, glancing briefly toward Stella’s room.

Imogen was icily contemptuous. “I want you out of this house, madam, as quickly as possible. Oh, I suppose you think you’ve been very clever, not only persuading him to invite you here but also somehow managing to receive the offer of the post of governess. Well, I don’t intend to let you continue, do you understand?” She came a little closer. “I’ve never liked you, Leonie Conyngham, and the last thing I intend to put up with is your presence in my house. I know your Achilles’ heel: you’ll do as I wish if you think it will benefit Stella. Stay and I’ll make her life a misery. Go, and I’ll soften my attitude quite considerably. Guy de Lacey is mine, and I don’t intend to surrender him to anyone, least of all a nonentity like you. Be warned, Leonie, and if you have any thought in your head at all for Stella, you’ll leave this house tomorrow.” Her skirts rustled as she turned and went out once more.

A small sound from Stella’s room made Leonie turn sharply. Had the girl been listening? She hurried to the door and peeped inside. The room was very quiet, but she saw the crimson bed curtains moving just a little, as if someone had at that moment slipped between them. Stella
had
been listening.

Leonie hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should go to the girl, but the continued silence from the bed made her feel that for the moment, at least, Stella did not wish to talk about what she had heard. Turning from the door, Leonie went slowly to the window of her own bedroom, looking out at the park, which was bathed in moonlight, the shadows deep blue on the snow. On impulse she opened the window, shivering a little as the icy air swept over her. At first she heard no sound in the iron stillness, except for the distant wavering call of an owl, but then she heard the soft drip-drip of melting snow. She took a deep breath. There was a difference in the air, a dampness which hadn’t been there before. A thaw had set in.

She remained by the window for a while longer, thinking of what Imogen had said. Could her word be trusted? Would she indeed be more kind toward Stella if Leonie herself was not there? She lowered her eyes, loath to believe that Imogen would abide by her word. She didn’t know what she should do; but she knew that in her heart she wanted to stay at Poyntons. She wanted to look after Stella and be near Guy…just be near him….

After a restless night, Leonie woke early the next morning. Outside there was every sign that the thaw was going on apace, but as she looked out she heard Stella calling her from the other room. She hurried through to find the girl looking very pale and wan. “What is it, Stella? Aren’t you well?”

“I have a headache.”

“Is there anything I can bring to you?”

“No. I’ll just stay in bed today. I want to feel well again in time for the ball.”

Leonie looked at her in concern. “Stella, is this because of what you overheard last night?”

The girl looked away. “It’s because of all last night,
her
especially!”

“Stella—”

“I’ll be all right, truly I will.” The girl struggled to appear brighter then. “Are you going to go down to breakfast now?”

“Isn’t it a little early?”

“Breakfast’s always very early at Poyntons, very early indeed.”

Leonie looked at her in surprise. “Is it?”

“Oh, yes,” replied Stella earnestly, “Uncle Guy makes a point of it.”

“Well, I suppose I’d better go down, then.” Leonie hesitated in the door. “Do you want any breakfast sent up?”

Stella thought for a moment and then nodded, a shade of her old self suddenly shining in her eyes, as if she’d suddenly thought of something. “Yes,” she said, “I’d like lashings of scrambled egg and bacon.”

Leonie stared at her. “I thought you were wilting with a headache.”

“I am,” replied the girl quickly, “but my nurse always told me that food was good for such things.”

“Did she indeed. All right, lashings of scrambled egg and bacon it is.” Leonie looked curiously at her for a moment more and then left.

The servants were all busy preparing for the arrival of the guests, and the ballroom was a hive of activity in readiness for the ball that night. The sofas and chairs had already been put in place, and the chandeliers were receiving a very thorough polishing.

She found a footman and inquired where breakfast was served. He looked at her in some surprise and then directed her to a room on the ground floor, facing the east and therefore catching the full force of the early-morning sun. It was a handsome room, with blue-and-white Chinese silk on the walls and a huge log fire burning in the immense hearth. The hounds she had seen on arriving were stretched lazily before the flames, and they looked up with quick interest as she entered. The butler, who had been standing by the sideboard with its array of silver-domed dishes, stepped forward to greet her.