Lady Elinor's Wicked Adventures (16 page)

Breakfast the next morning was late, but even so, it was a quiet meal. Savelli had not yet returned, though he was expected to arrive before evening. The contessa, of course, was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted hostess. Landi was nowhere in sight. This left the terrace and the morning sunshine to the English visitors.

They did not mind.

The two servants waiting on them managed to appear cheerful and energetic, even though they could have had little sleep themselves between ball and breakfast. They brought pots of coffee and pitchers of steaming milk, baskets of oranges and baskets of rolls, bowls of butter and bowls of jam. They were rewarded with smiles and thanks by Lord and Lady Penworth.

Lady Elinor and Lord Tunbury were oblivious to everything, including the food that was placed before them. Instead of being insulted, the servants were amused. Those who hadn't observed the scene in the library had heard about it. They rather relished the discomfiture of Landi, whose connection to the princely Savelli family was of the flimsiest. The young lady would doubtless be far better off with her English suitor, even if he failed to make
una
bella
figura,
an elegant appearance.

About the other young Englishman, the handsome one, they were not quite certain. This morning he did not seem as happy as the others. In fact, he seemed quite disturbed about something. Not the betrothal of his sister, though. He could be roused to smile at the couple, but soon he relapsed into a brown study.

Eventually there was nothing left to place on the table or remove from it. There were no cups to fill, no crumbs to brush away, and there had still been no interesting remarks, no revelations about the events of the evening, not even a mention of the cavaliere. Disappointing. The two servants looked at each other, shrugged, and returned to the kitchen.

“What on earth is the matter with you, Pip? You look as if you have indigestion.” Lady Penworth's mothering style had never veered toward sweetness.

Rycote flushed. “I was thinking that perhaps I should return to Rome. We have been away for more than two weeks, and I can't help worrying about Lissandra.” The sudden silence at the table made him flush more deeply. “Donna Lissandra. And her family, of course.”

“Of course.” Lady Penworth sipped her coffee.

“It's that French fellow, Girard. I don't like the way he keeps hanging around her.” Rycote wriggled uncomfortably.

“She is a lovely and charming young lady,” said Lord Penworth, looking at his son with some compassion. “It is hardly surprising that she should have suitors.”

“Not like him!” Rycote pushed to his feet, strode over to the balustrade, and leaned on it to stare out over the garden. The others watched him. Finally he turned back. “It's not only that. It's her brother.”

“I understood that he had fled with the other followers of Garibaldi some years ago.” Lord Penworth was looking cautious now.

“But he's back.”

Lord Penworth looked actually alarmed now, but his son failed to notice this. Rycote kept his voice low and glanced about only to make sure none of the servants was within earshot. “Girard was following her one day, thinking she'd lead him to Pietro. She knows he's watching her, so she'll be careful. But I don't like it.”

Penworth picked up his coffee, lifted it to his mouth, then decided against drinking it and put the cup back down. He took a deep breath and gave his son a level look. “I can understand your concern. However, you will remember that we are guests in this country. I may not be a member of the government, but I do hold my seat in the House of Lords, and it would ill become me—or a member of my family who is traveling with me—to become involved in what might be considered treasonous rebellion.”

“You would hardly expect me to leave an innocent lady exposed to danger,” said Rycote indignantly.

“Of course not,” said Lady Penworth, putting her napkin aside and standing up. “I agree. It is time we returned to Rome. After all, we have a wedding to plan.” She patted her son on the cheek. “Don't worry, dear. It is all a matter of perception, and I am sure we can all see to it that things are perceived as we would like.”

“My dear, we cannot leave until Savelli returns.” Penworth spoke mildly but firmly. “We have to tell him about Harry and Elinor's discovery yesterday. That is a matter of no little concern. You must see that.”

Lady Penworth smiled at him. “Of course I do, and I agree completely. But the prince will be returning today, and it will not take you long to tell him all about the stolen goods. I am sure the contessa will be delighted to see us leave, now that she realizes that Elinor will not marry her son. The servants can set to work on the packing while you and Rycote finish arranging the notes and sketches for the prince, and we should be ready to depart tomorrow. You young people may keep out of the way.” She waved a dismissive hand at them all as she marched into the house.

Penworth looked after her with a resigned smile. “It appears we will be returning to Rome tomorrow.”

Tunbury had been attending to all this with only half an ear. He had been busy admiring the way a lock of Norrie's hair had escaped its chignon and curled around her ear. In shadow it was almost black, but when she turned her head and the sun hit it, all sorts of colors appeared in it. It was quite fascinating, and he was going to have the rest of his life to determine all of those colors. Every morning he would be able to sit with Norrie and look at her hair. And other parts of her.

“Tunbury, stop looking at my sister like a besotted idiot, and pay attention,” snapped Rycote. “We're returning to Rome tomorrow.”

“Fine,” said Harry, still looking at Norrie. “We could go on a picnic today, if you like.”

“Lovely,” she said, looking back at Harry. “Is that all right, Papa?”

“Hmm?” With an abstracted air, Penworth continued looking at the doorway through which his wife had disappeared. “That sounds fine. Enjoy yourselves.” He stood up and went after his wife.

Rycote was still frowning, as if unable to decide whether he was pleased or not with his mother's pronouncement. Pushing himself away from the table, he followed his father.

* * *

Elinor held up the rose dimity, looked in the mirror, and tossed it on the pile of discards. “No, that one won't do, either.”

Martha looked at her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation and held out the pale green muslin dress she had just finished pressing. “This one, Lady Elinor?”

Elinor looked at the maid and smiled ruefully. “I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?”

“Not at all, my lady. You just never felt the need to please a young man before. Now let me help you into this.” She lifted the flounced skirt over Elinor's head, careful not to disarrange her hair, and tied it over the petticoats. Then she fastened the undersleeves into the bodice and allowed Elinor to close the tiny pearl buttons running down the front. She fluffed the lace ruffle at the neckline so it stood up properly, tweaked the flounces so that the green and white embroidery showed to best effect, and then stepped back and smiled approvingly. “There now. You look just like a breath of spring.”

With a half-laugh, Elinor turned to look at herself in the mirror. “It's all backwards, isn't it, Martha? I feel as if I'm just starting the courtship, only we're already promised to each other. And it's not as if we haven't known each other since childhood.” She turned from side to side to see how the flounces fell as she moved. Very nicely, she decided.

“Ah, but getting to know each other as man and woman isn't the same as knowing each other as boy and girl, is it? You'll have plenty to learn about him, and him about you, never you fear. Now, it's the leghorn bonnet you'll want with this. The ribbons match and the wide brim is protection from the sun. And which parasol?”

“The white Battenberg lace, and the white lace mitts.” They were impractical for a picnic, but the lace made her feel delicate and fragile, and that, she thought, was how a girl being courted should feel.

Millie smiled her approval, and when Elinor reached the portico where Harry was waiting, she saw approval in his face as well. She admired the way he looked in return. His fawn trousers and brown frock coat fit him beautifully, showing his broad shoulders to advantage. His waistcoat was a mix of tan and brown, and his pale hat, with its soft, low crown and wide brim, looked quite dashing. How silly of him to think he looked ungentlemanly. He looked bold and brave and, and…. Her breath caught as she thought of the wonderfulness of him.

He handed her up onto the buggy's seat. It wasn't the most dashing of vehicles. The seat was little more than a board, and the space behind, now occupied by a picnic basket and blanket, looked as if it had last been hauling bales of hay. The whole was pulled by a horse that looked as if he would be happier pulling a plow. He probably had been pulling a plow yesterday, but Elinor didn't care. She was sitting beside Harry, and she was setting off into an entirely new part of her life, uncharted territory. Rather like those old maps that said, “Beyond this place be dragons.” Only it wasn't dragons. Her map said, “Beyond this place be Harry.” That was all she needed, or so she told herself.

They drove along in silence, an unusual circumstance to Elinor's mind. Not only was she sitting stiffly erect, while Harry was sitting precisely the same way, but she couldn't think of anything to say. She couldn't remember the last time she had nothing to say to Harry, or he had nothing to say to her. Or if they should happen to be silent, it was always a comfortable kind of silence. This silence was more like a nervous uncertainty. She stole a glance at Harry. He was looking unsure of himself. That was not like him. Not at all. Harry always looked at ease, even when he wasn't. And he was stealing glances at her, as if he hesitated to look at her straight on.

What was going on?

Had he decided she was too naïve, not worldly and glamorous enough? Was he having regrets? He couldn't be. Not now, not when he'd finally spoken. She didn't think she could bear it to have all her happiness snatched away.

* * *

Harry's gut had begun churning right after breakfast. His sisters. He'd forgotten to tell Norrie about his sisters.

Who was he trying to fool? He hadn't just forgotten to tell her about his sisters. He'd forgotten all about them, period. Again.

What kind of a brute was he that he could forget he had sisters? What was wrong with him?

Rycote never forgot he had sisters. He might complain about them, but he always looked out for them. He never simply forgot their existence.

He, on the other hand, had barely been able to recognize his sisters when he had finally remembered to go see them.

Of course, they had changed a lot in the years he had been away, and he had hardly ever seen them in the years before.

What kind of an excuse was that? Whose fault was it that he had not seen his sisters in years? That he barely knew them?

And now he had gone off and forgotten them all over again. He was as bad as his parents.

No, he was worse than his parents. He knew better. He had the Tremaines and—deliberately or not—they had taught him how families were supposed to behave, how brothers were supposed to behave.

He had responsibilities to his sisters, and they couldn't be ignored. Not any longer. He had tucked his sisters off in a corner of his memory where he kept the rest of his family, where he kept the things he didn't want to think about. Now that was changed. When he had seen his sisters this time, he had made promises. He didn't make promises often, because when he did, he kept those promises.

The problem was that these promises were going to affect Norrie too. Unless she changed her mind. God, he didn't think he could bear it if she changed her mind. It was one thing to have no hope; it would be another to have paradise snatched away just when it was within his grasp.

She looked so innocent when she came down, so pure, all lacy and fragile, and he had to seat her in this sorry excuse for a carriage. He darted a glance at her. She was sitting there so peacefully. But he had to tell her, and the longer he put it off, the harder it was going to be.

He pulled the horse to a halt, a very minor change in its speed, tied off the reins, and turned to her. “Norrie…” The hint of fear in her eyes froze him. What was going on? Norrie was never frightened.

“You've changed your mind,” she said.

“What?” He was too confused to say anything else for a moment. “What are you talking about?” he finally managed to say.

“You haven't?”

“Of course not. What an asinine thing to suggest.”

“Then why have you been sitting there looking tragic?”

She sounded irritated. That was better than frightened, he thought. “I have to tell you something. It's about my sisters.” Best to just blurt it out.

She blinked. Then she blinked again. “Your sisters.” She stared at him in silence.

He nodded.

She shook her head as if to clear it of confusion. “Good heavens, you have sisters. I remember now. Two of them. Is that right?”

He nodded again. “Julia and Olivia.”

“That's right. You told me their names once. I'd forgotten all about them.” She turned on him. “But you never talk about them. You haven't said anything about them in, in years. I don't know anything about them.”

He could feel the heat rising in his face. “Well, I don't really know them very well myself. I haven't seen them much. They were still babies when I went off to school.”

“Babies,” she repeated.

“And then I was almost never home on vacations.”

“No, you weren't. You were with us.”

“That's right.”

“Where were they?”

He didn't think he could feel much more uncomfortable. “Not with our parents. They were at the Abbey with their nurse, and then with their governess.”