The Cornish Heiress (47 page)

“Yes, here is the bad penny again,” Philip said cheerfully,
shaking the servant’s hand fondly. “Is Lady Leonie at home?”

“Yes, indeed, sir, and if I may say so, she will be very,
very happy to see you again.”

“Well, I—” Philip looked anxiously back at the carriage,
unsure of whether to go in and prepare Leonie for Meg or bring Meg in with him.

The choice was not left to him. Leonie had heard a carriage
stop and had looked out the window. At the sight of a hired vehicle hope sprang
up unbidden. She knew perfectly well that it might be any of Roger’s numerous
half brothers or half sisters—the luxury of the vehicle had implied that it was
a woman traveling. Nonetheless Leonie could not help running out into the
corridor—as she had been doing like a fool since Philip left. But this time
hope was confirmed when she heard the butler utter Philip’s name. She flew down
the stairs and into his arms hugging and kissing him, careless alike of the
cold, the butler’s smile (soon hidden), and the shock on the face of a
passerby.

“
Cher, cher, Philippe, tu en es revenue sain et sauf
!”

“
Bien sûr, Leonie, ne sois pas si sotte
. But listen,
I have someone with me. Her name is Megaera Devoran, and she is the daughter of
Lord Bolliet of Bolliet, Cornwall, but—“

Megaera bit her lips hard to keep back her tears at the
knowing look that flashed across Leonie’s face, but what she said was a
complete surprise. “
Bête
!” she cried, “the girl of whom you wrote. I
know what you have done. You have led the poor girl into mischief, and now she
is afraid to come in.”

“But I want to marry her,” Philip said.

“
Bien sûr
,” Leonie agreed. “Would you bring to me a
girl you did
not
wish to marry?” She advanced on the carriage and opened
the door while Philip let down the step. “Come in, my dear, come in. That
Philippe is a fool the most extraordinary. Did you hear him announcing to the
whole street that he wishes to marry you? He has no reserve, that one.”

Megaera swallowed hard. It did not seem to her that Leonie
had much reserve either, but she did not dare laugh, and her eyes were enormous
with nervousness. It was Leonie who laughed.

“You must think me mad,” she said, “but I have been so
worried. That Philippe, he takes no care. Everything he does he says is not
dangerous. If he were to take it into his head to fly off a mountain, he would
explain how it does birds no harm and, therefore, must be safe. Come, my dear,
you must be very stiff and cold.”

Knowing she could delay no longer—Leonie was
shivering—Megaera struggled out of the carriage. She was not cold but was,
indeed, so stiff that if Philip had not caught her, she would have fallen.
Leonie cried out with concern, and Philip picked Megaera up and carried her
into the house. He turned toward one of the drawing rooms, but Leonie waved her
hands at him.

“Upstairs, upstairs,” she ordered. “After such a trip
Megaera will want to rest, and the maids must see to her clothes.”

“I have none,” Megaera whispered.

“
Zut
!” Leonie remarked with unimpaired cheerfulness,
to Megaera’s intense surprise. “Like father, like son! Always they cause such
upheavals that a woman must come away just as she is. Roger was bad enough, but
with Philippe I am surprised you are not in your bare skin. Never mind. We will
find something. I am too small, but Sabrina’s gowns may fit you with a little
touch here or there. She is a blonde, unfortunately—but we will find something.
The blue room, Philippe,” she called after them, “I must send a footman to tell
Roger you are home.”

“Put me down,” Megaera said at the top of the stairs, “I
think I can walk now.”

“Nonsense,” Philip whispered, squeezing her. “This is the
last chance I will have to hold you until those damned lawyers get finished
haggling.”

He got the door open and deposited Megaera on an exquisite
white-brocade chaise longue. She bounced up instantly with a cry of horror,
fearing her filthy pelisse would soil the fabric. Philip laughed at her, but
realized she was upset by more than dirtying the white chair.

“What is it, love?” he asked.

“I had no idea you were so rich,” Megaera said honestly.

“I am not,” Philip replied. “This is Leonie’s. She is the
heiress of the Earls of Stour.” He kissed her forehead. “Do not let it frighten
you. You see, Leonie is not at all a grande dame. However, I do not mean to say
that I am poor either.”

“Philip, perhaps—”

But he would not let her finish and closed her mouth with
his. From the doorway Leonie smiled approvingly, then stepped aside before they
saw her and called out, quite unnecessarily to the butler. Megaera pushed
convulsively at Philip, and he released her reluctantly, turning his head to
grin over his shoulder at Leonie, who had reappeared in the open doorway.

“Go away, bad boy,” she said. “Sorel is having a bath
brought to your room. You have already filled the whole house with the smell of
fish, from which I suppose you came on the
Bonne Lucie
. How is Pierre?”

“Very well, and we should be seeing more of him now. I think
I have convinced him to trade at Kingsdown again.”

“Ah, good—unless—will it be more dangerous? But no! This we
can speak of later. Go! Bathe! And tell Sorel to
burn
those things you
are wearing.”

“
Oui, madame
.” Philip bowed deeply, formally, and
scurried out of range, promising to relay Leonie’s message to Sorel as she
reached out to twist his ear.

Megaera stood frozen, barely able to restrain herself from
running after him. She knew Leonie’s kind playfulness in Philip’s presence
could be a mask drawn on for his benefit. She tried to brace herself for a new,
colder, face and voice. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to be so
terrified; there was nothing Leonie could do to her. But Leonie did not try to
do anything. She was less animated with Philip gone, but just as pleasant. She
talked gently to Megaera, encouraged her to take off her soiled pelisse and
bonnet, and opened the wardrobes in the adjoining dressing room to display a
full range of women’s clothing. There was a tap on the door, which opened at
Leonie’s call to show menservants lugging a tub and buckets of hot water.

“I am so sorry, Megaera,” Leonie exclaimed moment later. “I
should have left it to you give permission to enter. You forgive?”

“Oh yes, indeed. Please—”

“It is Sabrina’s room, you see, my cousin, but I have raised
her and, like a mama, I have no courtesy when I am here. I thought if you would
not mind staying here it would save the maids carrying the clothing back and
forth until you decided what you wanted to wear. You do not mind?”

“No, but would Sabrina… I mean Miss—”

“Lady Elvan. Sabrina is married to William, Lord Elvan.”

Did a flicker of a frown cross Leonie’s placid face Megaera
wondered? If so, it was gone before Megaera could be sure and was replaced by a
smile.

“This is Katie,” Leonie continued, gesturing at a young
maid, who dropped a curtsy. “She will wait on you. And this is Annie.” An older
woman also dropped a curtsy. “She is very clever with her needle. Just pick
anything you like to wear, my dear, and Annie will fix it to fit you while you
bathe. Do not give a thought to Sabrina. She would give it all to you, if she
thought that would give Philippe a minute’s pleasure.” There was a short pause,
and Leonie sighed. “Really, I would like best to stay and hear all about your
adventure, but that would be very wrong, I know.”

“I will tell you anything you want to know,” Megaera said,
trying to keep her voice steady.

“I know you would,
petite
, but it would be unkind of
me when you are so tired and, I can see, still frightened. Roger would be
angry… Well, no, he is never angry with me, but he would think it cruel. Later,
Megaera—ah, perhaps I should have called you Miss Devoran, but because you are
Philippe’s affianced.

“Please, Megaera or even Meg, but—but it’s Mrs. Devoran.”

Leonie looked startled. “A widow… Should I say I am sorry my
dear?”

“No!” Megaera exclaimed with so much force that Leonie’s
eyes widened.

“Did you—” she began, then clapped her hand over her mouth.

Megaera felt frozen again. It was plain that Leonie did not
like the notion that she was a widow. She hardly felt Katie unbuttoning and
removing her clothes and only came to with a start when the soft, Irish-burred
voice of the maid asked if the peignoir she was holding would be satisfactory.
Megaera agreed before she really saw it, but it was a lovely thing. Katie
displayed two morning dresses and an evening gown.

“I don’t think Annie could do more until tomorrow,” Katie
said shyly.

“No, and in any case I cannot make free with Lady Elvan’s
wardrobe.”

But she hardly knew what she said. She could not imagine
what Leonie had been about to ask before she stopped herself. In a way she was
sorry for the restraint Philip’s stepmother had shown. The warm welcome had
been so unexpected and so wonderful. Philip had been right when he said that
Leonie was a kind person and would want to love and be loved by her prospective
daughter-in-law, that she would be willing to overlook certain deviations from
the accepted code of good behavior. However, Leonie had already shown dismay on
hearing that Megaera was a widow. How then, would she react to the tale of
smuggling, the huge debts on Bolliet, and living with Philip openly? Those were
scarcely to be classed in the same order as losing one’s wardrobe.

It would be all the more, painful when coldness replaced
warmth, Megaera knew. She tried desperately to think of some way of describing
the situation so that it did not sound quite so dreadful. No matter how she
turned it, however, it sounded worse and worse. She was hardly aware of being
bathed and dried, wrapped in another, equally elegant, peignoir led to the
chaise to rest. She was only aware of the hours passing of the fact that she
had not been called to make a part of the family party that was no doubt
hashing out her future without permitting her to say a word in her own defense.

She surfaced briefly when Katie urged her to sit up,
inserted her into undergarments every bit as lovely as the special ones bought
for her trousseau, and rewrapped her in a dressing gown so that the hairdresser
might come in and attend to her. If she had not been so depressed, he would
have made her laugh, a furiously voluble little man who clucked and groaned and
said dreadful things under his breath about whoever had cut her hair. He made
the best of it, although it seemed to take him a very long time.

When Megaera became aware of the immediate present again,
she was being asked anxiously if she felt strong enough to be dressed and go
down for supper or if she would prefer to go to bed. So, she thought, the jury
has come to its decision and the accused is being brought before the judge to
hear sentence. She had one advantage; she could delay judgment by a few hours.
But Megaera was not really tempted. She knew that indecision was always more
unendurable than pain. However, a real hope that Leonie was on her side was
born when she saw herself. She had been dressed in a delightful confection of
sea green with tiny puffed sleeves and a deeply flounced hem. Her hair was
trimmed neatly and curled so enchantingly that she did not miss the heavy knot
with its hanging curls. Surely if Leonie directed that she be made to look
beautiful, she did not mean to try to turn Philip against her.

The enormous improvement in her appearance gave her
sufficient courage to go downstairs, but her knees were shaking so much that
she had to cling to the banister. It was very odd, she thought, but she was far
more frightened now than she had been when Fouché’s men had nearly captured
them. The door was invitingly open, but she was the last to enter the room.
Leonie, Philip, and a man—who resembled Philip so closely that it had to be his
father, were already grouped near the tea table. Their voices came to her, and
when she heard the subject of conversation, she felt a dreadful fool.

It seemed to her as if no one had been judging her or even
thinking about her. All the hours she had spent primping and selfishly worrying
about herself, poor Philip had probably been making reports and delivering the
letters Cadoudal had sent with him. Philip’s father was saying, “I don’t know
what Addington will decide. He doesn’t seem to be able to decide anything these
days, but I don’t think it matters, either. If Pichegru wants to go, go he
will. I think that matter is well and truly out of our hands.”

“Yes,” Philip replied, “and I am just as glad that it is. I
do not like the thought of shooting a man in the head or the back by surprise.
You would think the French had had enough of government by assassination during
the Terror and the Directories.”

“Ah,” Roger laughed, “but that was legal—or semi
legal—assassination, if you can call anything done by the insane laws they had
then legal. Now they are ready to try illegal assassination and see if that
works better.”

Leonie shuddered. “Me, I do not see that that is funny,
Roger.”

“No, my dear, it is not. I laugh because I am helpless—and
furious—and whichever way I look I only see more bloodshed.”

“Well, at least it will be a little less of ours now that
d’Ursine is exposed,” Leonie said with satisfaction.

“Yes, but the exposure of Charon was equally important. His
shop was a center for spying. It is being watched very discreetly, and will be
for some time. When we have all the information we can get that way, we will
have a little gathering of the guilty.”

Megaera had stood clinging to the doorway, listening. Her
first relief had melted into dire apprehension. Perhaps the tender care she had
received was because Philip had been too busy to tell her story. Now she would
have to do it herself. At that moment Mr. St. Eyre looked in her direction. He
had the bluest eyes Megaera had ever seen. Megaera tried to step forward, but
couldn’t. Now they would think she had been eavesdropping.