Love on Assignment (18 page)
Yet, after he said good-bye and drove off, Daniel reviewed the visit in his mind. He wasn't completely satisfied with Mrs. Hillman's responses. Something didn't seem quite right. What was it?
T
im smashed his red croquet ball through the last two curved wires and into the stake. His arms pumped in victory. “I won! I won!”
Charlotte clapped. “Indeed, you did. But now it's time to practice piano.” She watched his face fall. “Come now,” she said, slipping an arm around his narrow shoulders, “there's no need to glower. You'll have it done before you know it.”
Ruthie gathered the wickets, balls, and mallets and headed for the storage room.
“Miss Hale, may I speak to you for a moment?” Professor Wilmont appeared on the veranda. With hands clasped behind his back and a frown twisting the corners of his mouth, he looked like he might be preparing a lecture. For her.
“Yes, sir.” She joined him beside the ferns as the children greeted their father and then disappeared inside the house.
He leveled a steady gaze. “I checked your references today.”
“Oh? Did you find everyone at home?” She flicked a weak smile.
“No, unfortunately not. Mr. Stapleton doesn't live at his old address anymore. He must have moved.”
Charlotte's throat went dry. “Yes, that's the logical explanation.”
Daniel shrugged. “No matter. I did find your aunt, but your third reference, Miss Wengle, was at work.” He ran his fingers through his blond hair. “Miss Wengle's landlady claimed she's employed at the
Rhode Island Reporter
.” He looked straight into Charlotte's eyes and she flinched. “Does she work for Arnie Phifer?”
A denial strangled in her throat. “I believe she does, sir.”
“Is she a friend of yours? The landlady said she only moved to Newport a short time ago.”
Charlotte's legs melted to jelly. She gripped the porch rail. “That's true.” Without thinking, she blurted, “Miss Wengle is my cousin. She recently moved here from Tiverton.”
Though Charlotte knew next to nothing about the woman, she did remember the name of her hometown. Edith Ann rarely talked to her, though Charlotte kept trying the friendly approach. Unsuccessfully. Right from the beginning Edith Ann let her know she'd stomp over anyone who stood in the way of her advancement.
Professor Wilmont's frown deepened. “You should explain to her that Arnie Phifer is an unmitigated scoundrel. Tell her to apply at the
Newport Gazette
. It has an excellent reputation, unlike the
Rhode Island
âwell, don't get me started.”
“Yes, sir. I'll be sure to tell her.”
“Do that. No self-respecting young woman should work for that man.”
Charlotte nodded and then hurried to the back parlor, her face burning. She dropped to the sofa as Tim pounded out more sour notes than sweet ones.
She had to consider her family, not herself. Despite the myriad of reasons she needed her position, Professor Wilmont's comments rang true. Perhaps Mr. Phifer didn't deserve her allegiance. What was she to do?
Later, when she passed by the library she heard Mrs. Wilmont mention her name. Charlotte halted by the door and strained to catch the rest of the conversation.
“Did you check Charlotte's references today?” Mrs. Wilmont, the old battleaxe, demanded in that imperious tone Charlotte had rapidly grown to hate.
“Yes, Mother. They're in order,” Daniel said.
“Oh?” Mrs. Wilmont sounded skeptical. “Did you check them all?”
“Actually, only Miss Hale's aunt was at home. Her cousin, Miss Wengle, and Mr. Stapleton, a former teacher, weren't at home.”
Mrs. Wilmont
harrumphed
. “You can't expect a relative to give anything but a glowing report. I'd like you to pursue Mr.
Stapleton just to be on the safe side. That would bring me peace of mind.”
“It's not necessary, Mother. I trust Miss Hale and so should you.”
Charlotte pressed her lips in a grimace. She knew the woman wouldn't give up. What if she discovered the truth? Hopefully, she'd be long gone from Summerhill and Mrs. Wilmont's prying eyes and sharp tongue.
SOUNDS OF THE bridal procession filled the back lawn of Grassy Knoll, one of the most elaborate Bellevue Avenue mansions. Charlotte held her breath as Ruthie slowly proceeded down the path toward the gazebo where her mother's cousin, Eloise Carstairs, would soon be joined in matrimony to Harlan Santerre, a railroad man and this season's most eligible bachelor. At least that's what Mrs. Finnegan claimed, and she knew nearly everything that transpired among the elite.
Behind Ruthie came a bevy of senior bridesmaids also dressed in pale pink silk and the matron of honor, looking stylish in mauve. Eloise slowly followed, leaning on her father's arm. She looked lovely in white satin and her rather plain, flat face glowed with the joy of a happy bride. Her long lace veil, attached to a coronet of orange blossoms, streamed out behind her.
Two page boys gripped the corners so it didn't touch the path strewn with rose petals. Poor Tim. His face grew pink as he marched forward in his royal blue velvet jacket, short trousers, and round collared shirt with a white crepe de chine bow.
The bride and her attendants arrived at the gazebo decorated with masses of greenery, mums, and lily of the valley. Music from the string quartet faded into the mid-afternoon hush, and the ceremony began. Charlotte glanced at Professor Wilmont standing beside her and smiled. The children had made it down the outdoor aisle without incident. The muscles in his face relaxed and he grinned back. He'd insisted she accompany him to the wedding to take care of the children's needs.
The guests descended onto the gilded ballroom chairs set in rows on the freshly mown grass and listened to the couple declare their vows before the minister. Half an hour later Mr. and Mrs. Santerre walked arm in arm toward the hedged-in garden where they'd accept their guests' congratulations and good wishes. Charlotte and Professor Wilmont passed through the reception line and then led the children into the dining room.
“I'm starving,” Tim said as he released the top button of his shirt. They all took plates from the long buffet table covered with an embroidered linen cloth and vases of pink and white roses. Charlotte spooned small amounts of ham mousse, creamed oysters, chicken a la king, and celery salad in tomato aspic onto her china plate and followed the Wilmonts out to the terrace where small tables were set up for dining.
A short time later Tim said, “I'm full for now.” He patted his stomach. He'd eaten all his dinner and more than his fair share of strawberry ice cream. “I think I'll go play on the rocks.”
The professor frowned. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea. Why don't you stay here with the rest of us?”
“I'll watch him,” Ruthie volunteered.
Their father hesitated then looked toward Charlotte. “What do you think, Miss Hale?”
“I'm sure they'll be fine,” Charlotte said. “If they stay away from the edge.”
Daniel pulled a long face. “All right, but do be careful and come back soon.”
They were off. Charlotte sipped her tea as music from the ballroom floated to the terrace. She softly hummed the Viennese waltz. “It's lovely, isn't it?”
“Yes, indeed. Shall we watch the dancers?”
“Yes, I'd like that. But are you sure you want to be seen with a governess? Shouldn't I disappear to the kitchen or someplace suitable for servants? I shouldn't stay with the guests.”
“Nonsense. Shall we go now?”
“As you wish, sir.” Charlotte trailed him into the gilded ballroom scented with roses.
“Please dance with the ladies, sir. I see several of them eying you and glaring at me.” Charlotte laughed. “If they can't figure out I'm only a governess, then they must be blind. I'm certainly not dressed well for a society wedding.”
She knew she looked respectable in a cream-colored skirt, ruffled blouse, and flowered hat she'd borrowed from Simone, who had great fashion sense. But she certainly didn't blend with this social set. They'd obviously spent a fortune on their fancy outfits and flashing jewels.
He tilted his head. “And I get the distinct impression you don't care about the opinion of others.”
“To a fair extent.” She stepped back as dancers swept past.
And the professor stepped closer. “I'm not interested in dancing with any of these ladies. I know many of them and they're quite charming, but we don't have much in common.”
“Except you belong to the same set.”
He shrugged. “I'm afraid all my academic and religious pursuits would bore most of these ladiesâalong with my introverted personality.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes and laughed. “You underestimate yourself, Professor.”
His face flushed. “No, I don't believe so. I've always been more comfortable in a classroom than in a ballroom. When I was young I wanted to be outgoing like my brother, but I was tonguetied with the ladies.”
“Sir, I find you quite interesting.” He wasn't shallow and full of superficial charm like Paul Seaton. She appreciated the professor's sincerity and kindness. He appealed far more than any other man she'd ever metânot that it mattered.
He studied her intently for a moment. “May I have this dance, Miss Hale? Please don't say no.”
Her eyes widened. “I'm honored, sir, but I don't dance. I've never had time to learn.”
He chuckled. “With my two left feet I'm not the one to teach you. But if we shuffle around in the corner perhaps no one will notice we're unskilled.”
“No, we can't dance in the ballroom. Everyone will start talking about the professor and the governess.”
“It doesn't matter to me, Miss Hale, if it doesn't matter to you.”
Her heart fluttered. “But it would matter to your mother. Perhaps if we adjourned to the terrace it might be all right. But just one dance.”
He bowed and smiled. “As you wish.”
They wove their way through the crowd and out to the nearly deserted terrace. Most of the guests had already wandered into the ornate cottage, leaving Charlotte and the professor practically alone. The music floated from the ballroom, muffling the distant rumble of thunder.
He drew her close. Slowly they moved back and forth to the rhythm of the waltz, their clothes brushing together. Their shoes tapped lightly against the stone floor as he guided her expertly around the terrace. His arm pressed firmly, yet gently, against her back. He'd been joking when he claimed he had two left feet. He moved like a whisper on the wind.
“This isn't so difficult, is it, Miss Hale?”
“Not in the least.” Her breath caught in the back of her throat. His aftershave blended with the fresh sea air and the perfume of flowers blooming in enormous stone urns.
A middle-aged couple appeared through the open French doors and Charlotte felt a pang of disappointment at the interruption.
“Wilmont! It's so good to see you. Where have you been keeping yourself?” The gentleman glanced toward Charlotte, then back to the professor.
Daniel broke away from her and moved to shake the man's hand. “I'm busy at the college as ever.”
“And no doubt writing those incendiary articles,” the man said lowly, his brow furrowed in concern. “You can't imagine the ruckus you've caused. And hard feelings as well.”
Daniel nodded. “I regret so many misunderstand my words. I merely suggest Christians ought to take their faith seriously enough to apply it to their business endeavors.”
The gentleman blanched when Daniel refused to back down, and Charlotte tucked a laugh into her cheek and turned away. “Excuse me, Professor. I'd like to check on the children.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
She was glad to escape from Professor Wilmont, who'd quickened her pulse and sent quivers of pleasure down her spine. She needed time and space to sort it all out. As she walked across the lawn, the sun slipped behind a mountain of blue-gray clouds and the breeze stiffened. She re-pinned her hat, then held on to it, afraid it might lift off like a kite. She came to the rocks, which stretched along the coast for as far as she could see, and looked for the children. Where were they?
“Ruthie! Tim! It's time to return to the cottage.”
No answer.
Charlotte eyed the horizon. It looked like rain would soon be upon them. She cupped her hands and called for the children again. But her voice disappeared in the roar of the sea slapping against the rocks. She inched her way over the craggy boulders, careful not to catch her best bone-colored shoes in the wet crevices. Holding up her skirt with one hand, she stretched out her other arm to keep her balance. Around the bend, she spotted Ruthie resting on the edge of a rock high above the pounding surf, her head in her hands.
Charlotte picked her way over the rough boulders and halted by her side, but not too close to the edge. “What's wrong, Ruthie?”