Beyond A Wicked Kiss (43 page)

The visit was a pleasant surprise, and Ria welcomed the diversion. Margaret was reasonably at ease; Tenley behaved himself. It seemed to Ria that something had been changed between them, and it made her wonder what West might have said on the occasion of his last visit to Ambermede, or whether he'd said anything at all. They must have been surprised by him again, arriving at the manor a second time without notice or invitation. What excuse had he given for taking his leave so soon after his arrival?

The thought of it made Ria smile. She would have liked to have been listening at that door as West made his explanations to a curious Tenley and an even more curious Margaret.

Ria leaned forward in her chair and farmed the drawings across her desk again. There was no disputing that they were not Jenny Taylor's best work, nor even her second best. Each of them bore a passing resemblance to the men who were their subjects, but none was quite right. Jenny had not been able to capture their features as well as she had done for Jane Petty. What had inspiration to do with this task? Ria wondered. Sir Alex, at least, was a handsome enough man, his piercing eyes and taste for young women notwithstanding. It seemed to Ria that Jenny might have been inspired by the look of him, if not by the others.

There were five more drawings to be done to complete the current board, and Ria did not think she could press Jenny any harder to sketch these three a second time. Telling Jenny the real reason she needed the drawings was not possible. No one must know the suspicions that West, and now she, harbored. Not yet, not without proof.

There was nothing for it but to send Miss Taylor's rendering of Sir Alex to West.

* * *

"The post has arrived," Mr. Blaine said. He raised the neatly tied bundle for West to see, then entered the library at his employer's indication he should do so. He set them on the table at West's side. "Will there be anything else?"

West stopped sharpening his knife long enough to examine the blade. "Inform Mrs. Corbell I will be gone from home this evening, Blaine. Dinner at Northam's tonight."

"Very good."

Out of the corner of his eye, West watched Blaine make a slight bow and exit the room. He waited until the butler was gone before he set aside the whetstone and picked up the post. The knife was so sharp that it met virtually no resistance as it cut through the string. West placed it beside the stone and then sorted the mail. The letters he identified as invitations were tossed immediately back on the table for attention at another time.

He riffled through the others, looking specifically for Ria's distinctively bold scrawl. It was there, the third from the bottom. He broke the seal on the small packet and unfolded the wrapping. A letter bearing his name lay on top of a lightly creased piece of parchment paper. He opened the letter first and began to read.

Ria's missive was three pages. It described her visit from Tenley and Margaret, the girls' latest venture into Gillhollow to be measured for new shoes, and Mrs. Abergast's tumble from a stepstool which left her with a badly sprained ankle. It seemed that someone named Julianne Chester—a student, West surmised—had been moved to free the hens from the henhouse, and they were still searching for their best egg layer. Amy Nash had contracted chicken pox and was confined to the infirmary. The students were working on a special gift for the board of governors, one that included copies of the portraits in the entrance hall. What arrangements had His Grace made to add his own portrait to those at the school?

West grinned as he read this last. His portrait in the hall at Miss Weaver's Academy? Not bloody likely.

He finished the letter but read it two more times. Ria had painted vivid images of what was going on all around her, but gave no attention to herself at the center of it. He was left to wonder how she fared, and it troubled him that she was not forthcoming. Did she truly think he did not want to know?

She closed by inquiring politely after his health and the health of his friends, most particularly Lord Northam. West supposed it was encouraging that she had not simply asked after his friends.

* * *

"Well," Elizabeth said, looking up from the letter. "She does inquire about your health. That is something, at least."

West sighed. "It is hardly an overwhelming statement of affection." He held out his hand for the letter. "She evinces more concern for your husband."

"He was shot," Elizabeth said crisply. "Whereas you were not."

"A detail."

"Which you are inordinately good at managing." She took the folded parchment he held out for her and opened it. "This is Sir Alex Cotton?"

West nodded. "I do not believe it is a good likeness."

"He could be anyone."

"That is what I thought. The pen sketch does not give due attention to the color of his eyes." He watched Elizabeth as she studied it. "Will you take it to the dressmakers?"

"Of course." She glanced at him. "Perhaps it will be enough."

West hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "You will be discreet in this? Much depends upon it."

"Do you mean, will I keep this from my husband?" she asked, her dark amber-colored eyes narrowing a fraction. "Or will I refrain from waving the thing about on Firth Street."

"I would not ask you to have secrets from North."

"Good, because I cannot do it." She paused a beat and offered up a slightly guilty smile. "Or at least I can do it no longer."

A consequence of the shooting, West thought, but probably not only that. "It will be enough if you refrain from waving the sketch about," he said. "I shouldn't like North's mother to get wind of it. I know you are often about with her. If the dressmakers can confirm this is the man who was in their shop with Miss Petty, it will help a great deal."

Elizabeth nodded. A tendril of silky brown hair fell across her forehead, and she pursed her lips and blew upward, lifting it back into place on a puff of air. "I'm happy to do this small thing for you. Northam will not object, or at least he will not object overmuch. He cannot, can he? Not after he has made plans to ride with you and Eastlyn to Marlhaven."

West chuckled. "Have you already forgotten that you were the one who pressed us to go after South? By my reckoning, it was only an hour ago that you were insisting we rush to his aid."

"A small price for an excellent dinner, I think," she said. "And I believe it was East who suggested that following South was rushing to his aid. I am always for a plan."

"There will be one. I'm certain of it." He stood. "You will have the information I need upon my return from Marlhaven?"

"Yes. And you will deliver my husband safely to me."

It was not a question, West noted. "Of course."

"Miss Parr also."

There was a slight inflection at the end of this, indicating that Elizabeth was not as certain this would be possible. West answered with more assurance than he felt. "If she is with South, then, yes."

Elizabeth stood as well. "Will you say farewell to Northam and East, or shall I bid them good night for you?"

"Make my excuses for me. If I am to leave for Marlhaven on the morrow, then there are things I must attend to tonight."

"You will write to Miss Ashby?"

He gave Elizabeth full marks for her perceptiveness. "Yes," he said. "It is one of the things I must attend."

Elizabeth crossed the distance to West and touched him lightly on the forearm. "Will you write that I am desirous of making her acquaintance? After reading her missive, it seems to me that she is precisely the sort of person I should know better." Her pause lasted no longer than a heartbeat. "And I do not think it would come amiss if you told her that you love her."

* * *

"You will excuse me, girls," Ria told her class. She glanced toward the hallway where Mr. Jonathan Beckwith stood out of sight of her students. "Emma. Please review the map again. Trace the Roman campaigns across Europe from the reign of Julius Caesar to the assassination of Emperor Commodus." She gave Emma the pointer and slipped out of the classroom, pretending she did not see all the necks that were craning to have a look at what had captured her attention.

"Mr. Beckwith," Ria said, dipping her head slightly in greeting. This small gesture of respect gave her opportunity to compose herself. "How good it is to see you. May I inform my class that you have come to pay us a visit?"

"Pray, do not disturb their studies. I wish I did not have to interrupt you."

She drew him down the hallway, away from the open door of her classroom. "Allow me to tell Mrs. Abergast that my students are alone. She will look in on them until I can return."

"Of course. I will wait for you in your apartments."

Ria could find no reason to protest this arrangement other than her own discomfort. It was not so long ago that she would have welcomed Mr. Beckwith without any misgivings. Now she had to keep those feelings strictly suppressed so she would not give herself away. "As you wish." Knowing that he never liked to dine with the students, she asked, "Shall I arrange for luncheon?"

"Please."

Nodding, Ria excused herself and went in search of Mrs. Abergast. The teacher was immediately aflutter with the news that they were being visited by one of the governors, and Ria had to calm her before she could make her exit.

Mr. Beckwith had already made himself comfortable behind her desk by the time Ria arrived in her apartments. "I thought we would eat in the sitting room," she said.

"Yes. That will be fine." He smiled. "But we will talk in here."

Ria was struck first by the coolness of Beckwith's smile, then by his words. She was suddenly given to the suspicion that he had used her absence to search her desk. "Very well," she said, relieved there was no tremor in her voice. She accepted his direction to seat herself and chose the Queen Anne chair situated on the other side of the desk. "I gather there is something particular that brings you here. How may I help you?"

He leaned back in the chair and laid his hands firmly on the arms. "First, permit me to say how pleased I was to read Mr. Lytton's account regarding Miss Petty. While it is not the best we might have hoped for, there is at least the assurance that she found a protector, if not a husband."

Ria nodded faintly. "As you say, it is not the best we might have hoped for. I am still waiting to hear that he has put a name to the gentleman who invited Jane to leave the school."

"You will not take any action, I hope, without approval by the governors. I must insist on that."

"I have no wish to blacken the gentleman's name. It is only my desire to inform Jane that she is welcome here if she requires help."

Beckwith looked at Ria sharply. "Help? What sort of help? You must allow that she will be the poorest sort of influence on the other young ladies if she were to return here."

"I disagree," Ria said calmly. "She may provide the very best example by way of demonstration of the consequences."

"I'm afraid no one will approve of her return."

Ria did not press her point. If West was right about everything regarding the governors, their approval would not matter a whit. "I understand," she said. "I will not compromise the reputation of the school or the education of the students by acting rashly." Ria saw immediately that instead of placating Beckwith, she had inadvertently pointed him to precisely what he wanted to say. He was looking eager of a sudden, like a dog who had the scent of a meaty bone.

"Will you not?" he asked bluntly. "Do you not think you acted precipitously in speaking to Westphal about Miss Petty's elopement?"

"In hindsight, perhaps I did. I was frustrated by Mr. Lytton's lack of progress. It has been brought to my attention that I should have sought permission from the governors before broaching the matter with him."

"Oh? Who said so?"

"The duke. After he met with you. I thought he was conveying your concerns. He was, wasn't he? You will not be surprised to learn that he had no liking for being thrust into the middle of things."

"Gave you a proper dressing-down, did he?"

Ria nodded. She did not affect a contrite mien, believing it would be overplaying her role. With the governors, she was invariably respectful but not spineless, and she remembered it was Beckwith who had suggested that West tether her. "I realize that as headmistress of Miss Weaver's, I have no voice in determining the membership of the board of governors..."

"But? Speak freely, Miss Ashby. It is clear to me that you wish you had been consulted on this occasion. You have some objection to your guardian joining the board?"

"It is not an objection, precisely—rather more of a caution."

"Really? A caution. You mean to tell me, don't you?"

The chilly undercurrent of mockery in Beckwith's tone was so unlike him that Ria was alarmed. There was no mistaking the prickle at the back of her neck, and she could hardly credit how difficult it was not to shiver in response. She forced herself to answer evenly. "It is only that I do not think the duke is entirely dedicated to the cause of our school. He means to be controlling of me, or that is my interpretation of his desire to be a governor."

"Then you did not encourage him."