Mary Blayney (23 page)

“Are you?” Gabriel asked, pretending shock. “Your behavior is not what I would expect from a boy so old.”

The two looked at each other and shrugged.

“Surely there are things that interest you more than chasing hens and ruining the nursery.”

“We want to go to the lake, but mother says we may not. We have nothing to do.”

“What is at the lake this time of year?”

“Nothing,” one answered.

“Ducks, we like to look at the ducks,” the other said.

“Girl ducks?” he asked.

They could not tell if he was joking, which was exactly the way he wanted it. He’d bet the rabbit he was holding that girls came down to feed the ducks every day. “If you are not permitted to go to the lake, why not practice your fencing?”

“We do not know how to fence. Our tutor wears spectacles,” the shorter one said, as though that was an explanation.

Gabriel was only half attending, which was never wise when dealing with children. How could he work his way to the silhouette of Le Havre? And what did it say about him that he did not have a qualm about using the boys this way?

“Have you tried your hand at cutting silhouettes?” he asked as he put the rabbit back in its hutch.

They shook their heads as though held by the same puppet master, eyeing him as though he were crazed. He turned to look at the view of Le Havre again, unable to hold back a smile. “Do you know who did that one? It is quite impressive.” Gabriel heard movement. “Do not touch that latch,” he said and then turned around. He saw Burgess—he was fairly certain that was his name—step away from the rabbit cage, his hands behind his back. He and his brother exchanged a glance that would warm a tutor’s heart. Yes, Gabriel thought, let them think that I have eyes that see everywhere.

“What was your mother thinking to allow your tutor to leave? She was right, you do not deserve tarts. For a week at least,” he said in his best imitation of an adult. “Tell me,” he said without stopping for a breath, “who did that city silhouette?”

“Miss Gilray,” they answered promptly.

Charlotte, I have found you.

27

O
NE HUGE STEP
in the right direction. How many more steps would it take before he could see her again? “Does she live nearby?”

“Yes, sir. Her brothers come here to share lessons with our tutor.”

The other spoke at the same time. “She lives near the village, in the cottage Mama grew up in. We have this house now, so we do not need it. This one is much closer to the lake. Miss Gilray lives on the other side.”

He could see water out the window, a short walk even by city standards. “That close?”

“Yes, sir. You have to go around the lake to reach it.”

“Do you know if Miss Gilray is in residence?”

“Yes, sir, she is. Mama went to call on her yesterday. Or was it two days ago?”

He wanted to leave the boys behind, race down the stairs, find the lake and Charlotte. Guilt for his betrayal of Madeline weighed him down just enough that he found himself offering to teach the boys the basics of fencing. It would give him an excuse to be in the neighborhood for a while. The basics could take a day or two years.

When they reacted with crazed excitement he promised he would speak to their mother on the way out. In the meantime, they were to clean up the rest of the nursery or he would run them through with the sword.

He found Madeline at her husband’s desk, half-asleep, her neck at such an awkward angle that he picked up a pillow from a chair.

The movement must have awakened her, for she jerked upright and smiled a tired apology. Before she could beg his pardon, he handed her the pillow.

He made his good-byes as quickly as he could. Madeline seemed appreciative of his order for the cleanup, but sent one of the servants to surpervise. His offer to tutor the boys while their regular teacher was away brightened her tired eyes considerably.

“Do you have any idea what you will be taking on, my lord? Honesty compels me to ask.”

“Boyhood is not so far in my past that I cannot recall what works and what does not. I think I will start with fencing lessons.”

When her eyes widened in alarm, he raised his hand to stall her dismay.

“With blunted tips. I will have them fashion head gear and protective vests. They will not come to any more harm than they do chasing hens.”

Madeline not only welcomed him as a tutor, but offered him a room with them. If he would spend one night in the inn in the village, she would have a room ready for him on the morrow.

Her genuine relief at his promise to return the next day eased his conscience for using the boys to further his own ends. How would the captain react? Gabriel was sure that his wife had considered that.

He rode out the drive and headed south.

Less than a quarter mile away he passed the lake. He kept on and at the end of short path saw a tidy house with a tightly thatched roof, set back from the road. It was two stories, with a tower to one side.

There were flowering bushes along the lane and trees that had been planted long ago and randomly on the grass. The house itself was surrounded by more greenery, looking almost as though it had sprouted on the spot just as the plants had. There was a settled feeling about it. Not elegant, but welcoming in the way his nurse’s lap had been in childhood.

He stopped when the house was fully in sight, and drew a long, uneasy breath. What was he going to say? He had been so focused on finding her that he had not paused to consider what he would do when he did.

Was this, as Jess had suggested, about nothing more than his masculine pride? Or was he afraid of what he would find when he saw her again?

His horse danced, sensing his unease. Gabriel settled him, wondering if he should wait until tomorrow to call. It was close to evening now, the sun moving more deeply into the west. It would give him time to sort through his reasoning.
To hell with that,
he thought. He wasn’t some boy longing for a romantic liaison. He was, in fact, a man who wanted some answers.

“C
LAIRE, DEAR, THE KITTY MUST
go to its mama now.” Lynette stooped down so that she could see the child’s face. “Let her go, please.”

Claire was sitting on the front step, cuddling the kitten despite its inclination to leave. She released it with a pout. “I love her, and Peter said that we have to give some of the kittens away. Not this one. I named her Marie. I want to keep her. I will not let her go to an orphanage!”

“We will ask Mama, but I am sure it will be all right to keep one and, of course, we will find good homes for the others.” Then everyone in the village would think they were daft. Who needed more cats?

The orphanage was Claire’s constant refrain. Lynette understood perfectly, and not only because they had been through various versions of this with the others.

Last night Claire had cried because she could not eat all her peas and was afraid they would have to “go to the orphanage.” Mama’s solution had been to feed them to the dog. That had satisfied Claire for almost an entire day. Was the little thing tired? Or was it hunger that reminded her of the past?

Claire pulled on Lynette’s skirt.

“Is that Monsieur Papa coming to call?”

“Who?” Lynette looked down the drive, now in deep shadow. She could see nothing.

“Monsieur Papa. The man who was with us on the boat from France.”

Gabriel Pennistan? Now she could see a man on a horse at the far end of the drive. No one’s eyes were so good that they could make out who it was from this distance. He was not moving, going so far as to still his restive horse rather than come closer.

A man has been asking for Mrs. Strauss.
Wilton’s warning words came back to her, as well as her mother’s mention of another incident that occurred a few days before she returned from France. This time it was a letter addressed to her mother asking if she could please advise the writer of her daughter’s—Mrs. Strauss’s—whereabouts for a “business suggestion of mutual benefit.”

Mama had burned the letter. Now all she could recall was that the name was unpronounceable. So typical of Mama to think and still do the wrong thing. Lynette was sure if she could have seen the letter, she would have been able to find some clue as to who had sent it and why.

Even as the memories flitted through her head, she patted Claire on the back. “Mama is in the sitting room. Would you ask her to come here? Then you go to Cook and tell her I said to give you an apple. It is still a long time until supper.”

Lynette watched the motionless rider while she waited, stepping to a shaded part of the entry, where she could not be easily seen. It was the first time she had felt the need for protection at home.

Mama came quickly enough.

“Where are the boys?” Lynette asked, still watching the man on horseback.

“Marcus took them to the old Norman watchtower. They have a picnic with them and will be back before dark.”

“They walked?” she asked, still watching the man watch them.

“Yes. It is not more than three miles.”

Lynette could feel her mother move closer to her.

“My eyes are not as good as yours, Lynette.” Her mother stepped down into the drive as if that would improve her vision. “Do you see someone?”

“Yes, a man. I am not sure if he is lost. Or, Mama, could it be someone looking for Mrs. Strauss?”

Her mother burst into action. “Come with me now, Lynette,” she said, turning so quickly her cap would have fallen off if it had not been pinned securely. “I’ve thought about what to do if this happened when we are home alone. Let’s go inside and close the door and have the maid tell him no one is home.”

Lynette almost laughed, would have if there had been anything funny about her mother’s fear. “No, Mama, we will wait right here and see what he wants. And exactly why are we afraid of someone looking for me as Mrs. Strauss? I broke no laws as Charles’s wife. No laws of man, at least.”

“He broke enough to taint everyone near him, Lynette. I fear that some would blame you for his behavior.”

Even as she spoke, the rider began to move up the drive, toward the two women, standing alone. The mother moved in front of her daughter. Lynette honored the gesture by allowing it. “Go inside, Lynette. I will take care of this.”

“I will be right back, Mama. Do not do anything foolish. Talk to him.” She hurried into the house. She knew exactly where her gun was.

G
ABRIEL SAW ONLY
one woman by the front door and saw that Charlotte was in yet another costume. Was Gilray even her real name? This time she was dressed and made up as an older woman. Padding made her look a welcoming mother, or would have if she were smiling.

How did she change her hair from the brown it had been in France to the blond streaked with gray? Not becoming so much as comfortable. She did not welcome him, but she did not look angry either. Suspicious. Wary. Uncertain. Not qualities he had seen before. He felt awkward, as though confronting a complete stranger. How odd. He had thought some sense of who she was and what they had shared would transcend any costume she wore.

He jumped from the horse, still watching her.

“Who are you and what do you want?” she asked.

“That game will not work, Miss Gilray. You may be in costume again, but I am sure your memory and eyesight are as good as they were in France.”

She raised a hand to her throat as if she had just recognized him. “But…”

“I told you I would find you. I told you I wanted answers.”

A woman came from the house. She was the one who spoke. “You also said ‘I will see beyond the costume you wear to the true woman you are.’” The woman came forward, a gun in her hand. “Apparently not, my lord.”

Oh yes, he thought with relief, there she is. He knew he should be at least a little worried about the gun in her hand, but the sense of triumph brought its own euphoria. He drank in the sight of her and stepped closer so he could recognize her scent. Not the spicy perfume Charlotte favored but a clean sweetness that was unmistakable. The simple hairstyle, the odd apron she wore made her look not much more than twenty when, by her own admission, she was closer to thirty.

She waved the gun under his nose.

“Lynette,” he said with feigned patience, “put the gun away. You are not going to shoot me.”

“Do not tempt me.” As she spoke she did lower the gun and then set it on the ledge of the potted profusion of flowers beside the door.

“Do you know this man?” the older woman—aha, her mother—asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” her mother said with keen new interest. She leaned forward as though a few inches less between them would give her all the answers she was looking for.

“I am Gabriel Pennistan, madame,” he said, giving an answer to one of them. He accompanied the self-introduction with a generous bow.

“Esther Gilray, Lynette’s mother,” she returned, bobbing a curtsy.

“As beautiful as your daughter, madame.”

Lynette shook her head. He was sure she was about to say something like “Stop acting, you are terrible at it,” but her mother was so clearly flattered by the compliment that her daughter settled for shooting him a nasty look.

“Lynette Gilray?” he asked, taking a step closer. Her mother matched the step as if to protect her daughter.

He stayed where he was, mentally trying the name out. He gave his attention to her mother once again. “Before I begin to think of her that way, madame, would you swear to me that she was born Lynette Gilray?”

“Isn’t that what I said, young man?”

“Yes, but you did not swear to it.”

“Swear, Mama. Or this farce will never end.” Lynette had folded her arms across her waist. She meant it to show disdain. It did. But it also emphasized her lovely breasts.

“All right,” Mrs. Gilray said with a puzzled shrug. “I swear that on her birth her father and I named her Lynette. I know it is not a conventional name, but she was named for my mother and my husband’s mother. It seemed to please them. To my mind it suits someone with her sort of artistic temperament. I will tell you, though, that by the time she was ready for her come-out I was not at all sure that it had been a good idea.”

“Mama does not need a weapon. There are times when she can talk people to death.” Lynette then turned to her mother. “You do not have to give him my life history.”

“Oh, but I wish she would. I can see you as a little girl with braids, and a paintbrush in your hand.” When Lynette looked surprised, he nodded to her smock. “I saw some of your work at my brother’s home.”

“What do you want, young man?”

“I want to talk with your daughter.”
I want to lie with her. I want to know why she feels such guilt, such pain. I want to see her art and hear her dreams.

He spoke the first to her mother and told Lynette the rest with his eyes.

“I do not know what you hope to learn from her after all these years.” Her mother came closer, brandishing her finger as if it were a weapon. “Strauss was a devil in human form. He made her his wife and then ruined her.”

“Mama!” Lynette almost shouted. “No, Mama. Lord Gabriel is the man I rescued in France. He only knew me as Charlotte Parnell. That is why he wanted you to swear to my name.”