The Heart's Companion (11 page)

A shuttered expression greeted Jane’s words until she mentioned Lady Serena. Lady Elsbeth sighed, her body sagging as if it were a deflating aerial balloon.

"Yes, my dear sister Serena. I can just imagine what she said," Elsbeth drawled. She shook her head and sat down on the edge of her bed to remove her shoes and stockings. "I met Lord Conisbrough during the little season. I’d just turned eighteen. I’d had a successful regular season, even received two offers of marriage, both of which I refused with my father’s full blessing.

"I was in London for a holiday fete. Afterwards we were all to return to Larchwyn Hall. Everyone was coming to Larchwyn for the Christmas holidays. Anyway," she continued, rolling her stockings down, "it was at that party that I met Lord Conisbrough. He was ten years older than I was, already quite shockingly divorced from a woman who ran off to Italy with some Italian aristocrat she’d met while she and Conisbrough were in Italy for their wedding trip. The man actually followed them back to England and convinced Conisbrough’s wife to run away with him. Or so the story goes."

Jane shook her head. "We can’t seem to get away from gossip, can we?"

"No," Lady Elsbeth said, sighing. "Only that was pretty much the true tale. There were no whispers of cruelty or other sordidness. She simply fell in love with someone else. Here," she said, turning around, "if you want the whole tale, you’ll have to make yourself useful and help me with these lacings. I’m not ringing for the maid to overhear all this and exaggerate it to everyone!

"After his wife left him, Conisbrough became quite jaded. He dallied with women here and there, broke endless hearts, and laughed. He gambled hard, rode hard, and played hard. Some say he had a death wish. I don’t think so. I think he was looking for some kind of cleansing, as if in burning himself out he could burn himself clean. He was near that point when I met him. He had not yet aged physically, but there were dark shadows beneath his eyes and his face was unnaturally drawn. I remember thinking when I first met him that his voice was also unnaturally harsh. Truthfully, he fascinated me. I found myself wondering about him.

"I blush to admit it now, but I maneuvered to dance with him just before everyone went down for the midnight supper. Afterwards, quite naturally, I went down to supper on his arm. Somehow we started talking about herbs. I was surprised to find him quite knowledgeable about them. His mother was a noted herbalist. It was strange, but as we talked his face seemed to lose some of its sallowness, and his gray eyes lost their harsh metallic edge and turned to a beautiful, soft, foggy gray. I fell in love with those eyes." Lady Elsbeth sighed and smiled. She murmured her thanks as Jane unlaced her dress. She stepped out of it and picked it up, shaking it out.

"We left for Larchwyn the next day. I didn’t see him again before we left, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I know I mentioned his name to one or two. I was gently warned to be wary. I did not understand why. Serena told me he was a callous rake, a user of women. Her words did give me pause, especially when I remembered the dissipation I’d seen in his face. Then, the day before Christmas, I received a package. It was from Lord Conisbrough. It was his mother’s journal, full of notes and recipes for herbal remedies."

"Do not tell me that is the same red leather-bound journal you jealously guard, consult daily it seems, and enter quotes in?"

Lady Elsbeth laughed. "The same. With it Lord Conisbrough sent a note saying that he wished his mother’s beloved work be used and appreciated, not relegated to a dusty library shelf as it had been since her death. I think I fell in love with him that day. "

Elsbeth smiled reminiscently, then briskly continued, "I don’t recall any more of that time at Larchwyn. My time was taken with studying Lady Conisbrough’s journal. I do remember that the family was disgusted with me for my passion with herbs and that book. Everyone wondered why Lord Conisbrough sent it to me. I had no answers for them, and I didn’t attempt any. Serena said I probably reminded him of his mother. I was at first hurt by that statement, then I didn’t care, for I felt that any woman who could write such a beautiful volume must have been a fantastic creature."

She poured water into a washbowl, added a few drops of a fragrant oil from one of the many bottles that lined her vanity, and splashed her face, neck, and arms, luxuriating in the feel of the cool water on her skin. "Hand me that towel, will you please, Jane? Shouldn’t you be getting ready, too?"

"Yes, but I’m not leaving until I hear the end of the tale. If you do not tell me now, I fear my active imagination shall construct all manner of wild tales to end your story. "

Her aunt laughed. "Well, we can’t have that, can we? All right, as quick as possible." She dried her face and went over to sit on the edge of her bed. Jane joined her.

"By the time the new season began, I was anxious to see him. As it was, I was back in London three weeks before we met again. Three of the longest weeks of my life. Immediately he took me aside to ask how I liked his mother’s journal. Naturally, I raved about it. I don’t know how long we talked—or rather, how long I talked and he listened; but afterwards I was chided for spending such an unconscionable amount of time with him. I was told his manners were too polite to allow him to walk away. No doubt I bored him completely."

"Who—Why—Please don’t tell me you believed this!" Jane expostulated.

"It did shake me," Lady Elsbeth conceded. "The next time we met, I was very quiet and shy. Painfully so. The last thing I wanted was to give him a disgust of me. Finally he asked me what was the matter, did I no longer desire his company? Had he disgusted me in some way? Horrified, I told him no! I told him what family members had advised me. He was angry. Frighteningly angry. He let me know that the time I’d spent with him had been the most enjoyable interlude he’d known in a long time. In fact, he wanted to spend more time with me. He asked me to go driving with him the next day. I was ecstatic. Then I was warned, quite kindly I thought, that he was using my innocence to redeem himself with society for his jaded existence. I was hurt. Not having great confidence in myself, I believed that."

"Oh, no, Elsbeth!"

Lady Elsbeth laughed. "When I look back now, I am awed at my naiveté. I kept our relationship very formal, for I was afraid of being hurt. During that time I was told that he was currently supporting two mistresses in different establishments. That he had no intention of changing his life-style. He was merely in the market for a quiet, biddable wife. I didn’t want to believe that. I was even driven by one of the mistress’s houses. Another time, while at the theater, I had one of the women pointed out to me and I heard some young men joke about Black Jack’s good taste. Then one day he came to speak with Father. Afterward Father called me into his study and left me alone with him. I was astonished. That was when Lord Conisbrough proposed to me."

"Elsbeth!"

Her aunt smiled sadly. "I was confused, distraught. I loved him so, and I wanted to be loved as strongly in return. I was not willing to share him with even one other woman. I formally and coldly turned him down. Afterwards I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep. Later, still bleary-eyed, I went downstairs. Father didn’t understand what went on, but he knew I was miserable. To cheer me up he suggested we all go to Vauxhall Gardens. It was a more acceptable place to go back then. As it happened, Lord Conisbrough was there. He was stern and forbidding in appearance, sarcastic in speech. I was never so miserable. He said he wanted to talk to me. I felt I owed him at least that. We went off down one of the many dark walks at Vauxhall. He accused me of leading him on, of playing the innocent, of toying with his emotions. He was talking to me as if I were the miscreant. I grew angry. I told him in no uncertain terms what I thought of him and his morals. He never tried to defend himself, but his expression in the moonlit shadows became even more forbidding. All he said, in a quiet, contained voice that sent shivers down my spine, was that he had thought better of me. He said I was a creature of gossip."

"And that you should try being a woman."

"Yes! How did you guess?"

Jane smiled wryly. I’ve been accused of the same. "

"Royce?"

"The same."

"And it was Royce who brought Conisbrough here," Lady Elsbeth said thoughtfully. "I wonder—"

"You wonder what?"

Her aunt smiled. "Nothing. But now you know my sad tale. I need hardly say that later I learned that he had kept two mistresses at once, but he’d severed both relationships after he met me."

"Dear God."

"Yes, exactly. But by then Father had died and Hereward and his young family needed me, and it just seemed to go on from there. At first I desperately wanted to see him so I could apologize, not that I thought it would change things, but it would ease my conscience. But we were in mourning, which seemed to go on for the next six years. After that I felt it was too late, and it would smack of the old spinster trying for what she foolishly gave up, so I made sure I stayed away from him.

"I thought of writing, but I consider that the coward’s way. If I had known all those complications were going to happen in my life, I would have written him. Last night was the first time I’ve seen him in fifteen years, but he had never left my thoughts. That’s why I fainted."

"It doesn’t seem as if his feelings have altered in time. "

"Oh, they have. He carries around a great hurt inside him. I can feel it. He could never truly bring himself to forgive me. "

"Elsbeth, how can you say that without giving him a chance?"

Her aunt smiled and patted Jane’s hand, a faraway look in her eyes. "I should be happy if we could go through life as friends. I hope that is not too much to ask."

"But Elsbeth!"

"Shush. I’m too old."

A mulish expression pursed Jane’s lips tight and hardened her eyes into green gemstones.

"Enough," Lady Elsbeth begged. "Now go and get dressed. We haven’t much time."

"All right. But do not think because you fob me off now you will do so in the future."

"I shall continue to do so as long as you fall into the traps I did."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, dear, dear Jane, do not believe all the gossip you hear," Lady Elsbeth said, shutting the door firmly behind her.

The generously greased hinges of the heavy oak door that closed off the ground floor family quarters from the remainder of the house opened silently. Jane crossed the threshold soundlessly and turned to pull the door closed behind her. Suddenly she stopped, one hand on the ornate brass latch. A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. There, not twenty feet away, stood Jeremy—or rather, crouched Jeremy. The young footman was bent down to the keyhole, listening to the conversation in the parlor!

"Jeremy!" she called in a strident whisper. She pulled the door closed behind her with a snap.

Jeremy jumped and fell backwards. His face flushed bright red. He unfolded his long legs and scrambled to his feet.

"Oh, Miss Jane!" he said excitedly as he hobbled toward her while brushing his backside. He paused to twist the tails of his coat forward, checking for telltale signs of dirt. Satisfied, he dropped them and hurried forward, skittering awkwardly to a stop before her.

Jane stood with arms akimbo, glaring at the footman.

"Miss Jane! I heard them! I heard Lord and Lady Willoughby and Lady Tipton."

"I’m certain you did. Haven’t you been warned against eavesdropping? You shall never get a full butler’s position if you continue in your present manner!" she remonstrated him.

"Yes, ma’am, but—"

"I don’t want to hear any excuses! If I catch you once more, I shall be forced to demote you and put David in your place until Mr. Nagel is well enough to resume his duties. "

"I’m sorry ma’am, but—"

Jane’s patience fled. "Enough! All I want to know is if you understand me?"

"Yes," the young man said miserably. He shifted from foot to foot, one hand clasping the fingers of the other, stroking them like worry beads.

"Now, I was coming to tell you I wished you to accompany us on this picnic today. It shall be your responsibility to lay out the blankets, set out the food, and serve everyone. You may choose one assistant. It shall also be your responsibility to watch over my nephews and keep them from mischief."

"But who’ll be in charge here?" he blurted out.

Jane smiled thinly. "I think I shall appoint David. It will be good experience should he need to replace you in your duties."

Jeremy blanched. "Yes, Miss Jane."

"Go see that Cook has everything ready and arrange for its transport. Then I want you to check on the boys, see that they’re ready. Bertram will be riding a horse Lord Royce has provided. See that he is properly attired. You may go."

"Yes, ma’am," he said, bowing carefully. He turned to go, then stopped. "About Lady Tipton—" he began.

"Jeremy, I do not want to hear gossip! Particularly any garnered by an eavesdropping footman! Look at the trouble Henry Culpepper caused! Gossip only causes pain. You’d do well to remember that."

He compressed his lips and hung his head. "Yes, ma’am," he muttered and went off to finalize arrangements for the picnic.

Jane shook her head as she watched him walk toward the nether regions of the house. If she could only break him of the habit of eavesdropping, he’d make a fine butler. It would hurt her as much as him to see him demoted and demeaned. She sighed and walked toward the parlor.

When she opened the door, conversation abruptly stopped.

Seated close together were her aunt and the Willoughbys. Millicent, a bored expression on her face, was making a circuit of the room, touching this object, then that. She looked expectantly toward the door, rolled her eyes, then resumed her aimless walk. The Willoughbys leaned back in their seats. Lady Willoughby picked up her workbag and began rummaging through it. Lady Serena rose to her feet swiftly.

"Jane, dear! There you are. We were just having a comfortable coze while we waited for you and Elsbeth. Lord Willoughby was telling me how much you remind him of a young niece of his. He says she has the same eyes and manner. Isn’t that quaint?"

"Quaint?" Jane asked with a laugh. "If you insist, Aunt."

Lady Serena grimaced. "Please, Jane, do not call me Aunt. It makes me feel positively ancient! Just call me by my Christian name, as you do Elsbeth."

Jane inclined her head in silent acquiescence. She walked over to the settee near the Willoughbys and sat down. "Everyone should be gathering shortly." She turned toward Lady Willoughby. "I’m sorry ma’am, you must think me a terrible hostess, for we haven’t had much opportunity to talk. Lady Serena wrote you were from the north. What part?"

"Yorkshire."

"Northumbria. "

The Willoughbys responded in unison, her harsh rasp in odd harmony with his military crispness.

A hiss of sound came from Lady Serena. The Willoughbys looked at each other, disconcerted, then laughed thinly.

"Actually, Miss Grantley, we have two properties. One in Yorkshire near York proper, and the other in what you would term the wilds of Northumbria," explained Lord Willoughby with strained joviality. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

Lady Willoughby nodded. "The York house is my favorite. Probably because I come from York," she said, hesitating over each word.

"I see," Jane said, smiling at them. Lady Willoughby struck her as a frightened little mouse of a creature, her husband a domineering bluff fellow. A strange couple to be so devoted.

In the light of day it was easy to tell Lady Willoughby wore an inordinate amount of cosmetics. Her skin was caked with layers. Her hair was also powdered in the old style, but under the lace cap she wore it was evident she had applied the powder unevenly. Her hands particularly caught Jane’s attention. They were smooth and delicate, out of keeping with her age. Jane found herself staring at them where they lay, clutching the tapestry workbag.

"Tell me, Miss Grantley, have you ever been to the north country?" asked Lord Willoughby. He cleared his throat and mopped his upper lip, then rested the hand clenching the handkerchief on his ample stomach.

"No, Lord Willoughby. I haven’t had the pleasure. You shall have to tell me about it."

The sound of the doorknocker saved Lord Willoughby from answering.

"If you’ll excuse me, I sent Jeremy on some errands. Consequently, I’d best go see to the door myself," Jane said, rising to her feet.

Millicent snorted inelegantly. "Oh, really cousin," she said with exaggerated disgust.

Jane ignored her, glad for an excuse to get away from their company. She hurried out of the room, her mind mulling over the strange situation. If the Willoughbys were from the north, then she was an Indian. She also doubted their claim to a peerage. The question was, did Lady Serena? She bit her lip. She shouldn’t have been so hasty to silence Jeremy, but she could not now ask him what he'd heard, for that would be granting him tacit permission to continue in like manner. Were the Willoughbys, in the vulgar cant of the streets,
caging the lay
?

No, that couldn’t be the answer. They were not unrefined, yet there was a certain studiedness about their speech and manner.

She shook her head. She could not fathom the set-up. Perhaps she’d best discuss it later with Elsbeth.

She was surprised and amused to see young David already assuming Jeremy’s position. The young man was acting ridiculously proud as he escorted Lord Royce and Lord Conisbrough into the house. He was trying too hard to fill the oversized shoes she’d asked him to wear. Jane sighed. Perhaps she’d been too harsh on Jeremy. She went forward to greet the earl and his friend. Her curiosity, in light of Elsbeth’s story, was piqued as to the personality of the Marquis of Conisbrough. All niggling thoughts of the Willoughbys and Jeremy vanished as she approached the gentlemen.

She went forward, smiling. It was a smile that pierced and melted the frost mantle that habitually swathed her. It was the smile she unconsciously used whenever she greeted the Earl of Royce.

Royce was glad to see her smile so. He went forward to take her hands in his and kiss the tips of her fingers. His manner was formal, though his eyes gleamed with carefully banked fires. A little shiver ran down Jane’s arm, and she knew a momentary confusion. She inclined her head at Lord Royce, her smile slipping slightly as she murmured a little inarticulate greeting that brought a grin to the earl’s face. Then she struggled to regain her composure. She turned toward Lord Conisbrough and held out her hand to him.

"My lord," she said, bowing her head slightly. She looked up at him, her head tilted. "I’m delighted to see you again. A pity we did not have a chance to converse last evening. I understand you once held an interest in herbs," she said evenly, though her eyes glittered with warmth.

Lord Conisbrough’s fair brows rose, and years fell away from his expression. He smiled. "Yes, I still do. I maintain a large herb garden at my estate in Leicestershire. But I am afraid it is more for ornamental purposes than anything else, though the honey we collect is superior, owing, I am told, to the abundance of herbs on the property."

"How fascinating. You must tell my aunt, Lady Elsbeth, about your garden. She has a great interest in herbs also, you know. Do not be surprised if she plagues you with permission to see it," Jane said carefully.

An arrested expression came over the marquis’s face. He looked at Jane intently, his face serious, his eyes dagger gray.

Jane shivered and wondered if she’d overstepped her bounds. She thought to subtly tell the marquis that Elsbeth still cared for him. Perhaps she’d been wrong to do so. She searched frantically in her mind for something to say, for something to break the unnatural silence that fell between them. Without thinking, she looked helplessly at the earl.

Royce felt his heart twist unnaturally in his chest. He frowned, blinked, then rallied. "Reverend Chitterdean was telling us only last evening of the marvelous medicines Lady Elsbeth makes. I understand the entire neighborhood is beholden to her."

Jane turned toward him with relief and led both men toward the parlor. "Since we’ve been here she has been like a child playing happily outdoors. She has added countless plants to her pharmacopoeia and conducted experiments on cultivating others."

David went before them to fling open the doors to the parlor. At that moment, Mr. Burry began to descend the stairs followed by Sir Helmsdon. Sir Helmsdon was dressed for riding, as were the earl and marquis.

Millicent spying the earl, strolled languidly but purposefully to his side, her arm threading his.

"Miss Grantley," called Sir Helmsdon as he reached the bottom stair. "Lady Elsbeth wished me to convey to you that she is having some trouble with your nephews. It seems the youngest is upset that his elder brother is to ride and he is not, or something to that effect," he drawled.

"You do not mean to have the children come with us, do you?" asked Millicent in scandalized accents.

"Yes, why not?"

"But Jane, that’s so—so—"

The earl removed her arm from his, so startling Millicent that she forgot what she was going to say. "This is partially my fault for providing a horse for Bertram. I should have known something like this would fall out."

Jane laughed. "No, why should you? You have no children to learn from."

"No, I don’t," the earl said harshly. "Excuse me, Miss Grantley," he continued stiffly. "May I have your permission to go to Edward? I caused the problem, perhaps I can remedy it."

Jane was so mortified at the implications of what she said, she could have cut out her own tongue. She could only nod dumbly, then indicate to David that he was to conduct the earl to the nursery.

Millicent glared at her and stalked back into the parlor.

It was another miserable twenty minutes before the party was completely assembled and ready to be off. The earl solved the problem of Edward by taking him up before him on his horse. To Edward, that was ever so much better than trying to manage his own pony and keep up with everyone. Bertram didn’t know how to react. He could no longer preen over Edward, but it wouldn’t do to indulge in a fit of sullens, either. He compromised by being unnaturally silent. Soon, however, all his attention was taken with managing his mount.

Two carriages were used to convey the rest of the party to the little Grecian temple. Lady Serena and Mr. Burry, along with the Willoughbys, rode in the Littons’ barouche, while Millicent rode in a closed carriage with Lady Elsbeth and Jane. Her beautiful face was set in a petulant pout emphasizing her full lower lip. She stared gloomily out the window at the earl; but not once did the earl look her way, his attention consumed by Edward Litton. Frustrated, Millicent turned to cast Jane a venomous look.

Jane shrugged her cousin’s poisonous glare aside. Privately she was amused. If Millicent would relax and expend less energy in hating and scheming against anyone she saw as a rival, she’d no doubt soon find herself engaged to some worthy gentleman. Unfortunately, the darkling looks she cast did not go unnoticed by others. Any sweetness she displayed to the object of her intentions came across as patently false. It was unfortunate. Millicent was a beautiful woman and a wealthy one as well. Though not a fresh and dewy debutante, she was a desirable match. But she was ruled as much by imagination and exaggeration as selfishness and greed.

Jane paused in her ruminations, a rueful smile curving one side of her lips. Millicent was not alone in her faults. Society's gossip had as much validity, springing as it did from the collective imagination of the bon ton. Oh, there was always a dabble of truth to all the tales, as there was to Millicent’s exaggerations. But in the telling, some point was always embellished to make for a more interesting tale. Retold, further enhancements were made, and further ones after that. Ultimately, the tales held only the kernels of truth.

Jane looked past Millicent’s broad-brimmed bonnet out the window at the earl. Where did truth end and fiction begin in the tales told of him in the elegant drawing rooms of society? Royce had his arm securely around Edward, while his head was turned to look back at Bertram. Jane couldn’t hear the words, but she saw that he was laughing and nodding agreeably to the boy. Then he shifted back around in the saddle, settling Edward more securely against him.