The Heart's Companion (3 page)

The earl rounded the bend in the road and was lost from sight behind a tall hedgerow before Jane felt her breath expel in a long, pent-up hiss. She hadn’t even been aware of holding it in. She pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed as she continued to look down the empty road.

So that, she mused, was the infamous Vernon Morecaster, fifth Earl of Royce: rake, betrayer of innocents, and inveterate gambler. The Devil’s Disciple. There could not be a less contemptible person. Millicent was welcome to him.

For the remainder of the afternoon Jane brooded over her meeting with the irritating earl. The man lacked any sense of social nicety. In person and manner he was the complete antithesis of Mr. Hedgeworth. It was just as well that he remained on the continent for so long for, despite his rank, the earl did not belong in polite society. But perhaps, she thought with asperity, she should foster his acquaintance. That way when Millicent arrived, Jane could include him in their social engagements and pair him with her cousin. It was obvious the two deserved each other; a more self-centered couple she’d yet to meet.

So caught up was Jane in her ruminations that Lady Elsbeth had to address her twice before she was aware of her aunt’s presence.

"All afternoon you have been glowering at the world. I know you are not happy at the prospect of Serena’s visit, but please dear, do not let her put you in queer stirrups. If her coming bothers you that much, I will write to her to see if there may be some way of dissuading her from visiting," Lady Elsbeth said.

Jane smiled. "I’m sorry Elsbeth. I suppose I have been frightfully bearish today. But you do not need to write to my aunt. In truth, I am beginning to anticipate her visit."

She laughed and drew Lady Elsbeth over to a yellow damask settee, urging her to sit beside her. "It would be best, I suppose, to confess that I have met the infamous Earl of Royce, and if I have been brooding today it’s because I have been attempting to stratagem a way to throw the earl and Millicent together. "

"Throw them together?"

"Yes, for when I met the earl this morning I determined that he is well deserving of my cousin and she of him. They are like bookends, equally full of their own self-worth and equally ready to do anything to achieve their goals."

"Gracious!"

"Exactly," Jane said dryly. "I will allow that in normal society I would steer a wide path around the man for I sense a wildness in him. He’s like a storm ready to break, a storm that if it did break would leave destruction in its wake. His looks, coupled with that underlying turbulence is, I will admit, compelling. That is until one has the opportunity to take the measure of the man. Lady Tipton and Millicent will be intrigued and shall not look behind the surface image, that I can assure you. I shall be certain to include the earl on our invitation list during their visit. He shall keep them busy and so they will spare little thought for me or my marital status. Particularly if I pretend an interest in the earl myself."

Lady Elsbeth tsk-tsked and tried to look severely at her niece, but without success. Her own lively sense of fun appreciated Jane’s plans, though her position as chaperon demanded that she protest. "I believe you are espousing Machiavellian principals, which is very unladylike. I cannot help but wonder what your mother would say. "

Jane laughed. "Elsbeth, it is about time you learned that I do not possess a well-disciplined mind; however much I may try to conceal that deplorable circumstance. In truth, I also possess my share of pride, and that pride demands I serve Lady Tipton and Mrs. Hedgeworth some measure of a trick as they would me. "

Lady Elsbeth pursed her lips and shook her head slowly. "I don’t understand, Jane. Won’t you please tell me what happened between you and Serena and Millicent?"

Jane looked at her aunt with deep regret swimming in her liquid green eyes. "I’m sorry, Elsbeth, truly I am. Perhaps it is best if we drop this subject. It is too fine a day to talk of gloomy things. And it is nearly teatime. Do you know where the children are? I picked some blackberries today especially for them."

"Blackberries? This early?"

"First of the season, I believe, but very juicy nonetheless."

"I don’t believe they would care to miss fresh blackberries. They’re outside, no doubt getting as filthy as pigs. Nurse Twinkleham sent them out with one of the maids, young Becky I believe, while she helped Mrs. Phibbs and me inventory the linens."

Jane, amused, rolled her eyes. "Not, perhaps the best of choices. Bertram and Edward hardly ever mind her."

"I know, but she would only have been underfoot here. Becky is worse than useless as a maid, though she does try hard. Sometimes I wonder how Mary can see fit to keep her on, even if she is Mrs. Phibbs’s niece."

"I believe she hopes that Becky’s multitude of good intentions will one day help her to compensate. I’ll wager Bertram’s talked Becky into going to the Folly. I’ll go and see if I can’t urge them to return home with a bribe of blackberries."

Jane carelessly tied on a plain straw bonnet and set out purposefully across the park toward the Folly in the distance. The day had become very warm. When she came to the man-made lake about halfway to the Folly, she stopped to loosen the buttons of her dress at her neck and wrists, pushing her sleeves up to her elbows. Screening her eyes from the late afternoon sun, she looked up the hill toward the miniature replica Greek temple that sheltered a telescope. Bertram loved that telescope. He spent hours using it to scan the park, spying on the servants’ comings and goings or on the wildlife of the wood. But there was no sign of children or maid there now. A concerned frown pulled at Jane’s lips. Where could they be? Jane scanned the park, searching for any sign of movement. The boys knew it was near to their teatime. Their aunt didn’t put it past them to engage in a game of hide-and-seek in order to prolong their time outdoors. She started to walk back toward the house. The only thing to do was to send the grooms out in search of them. She hoped they had not talked Becky into letting them explore too far afield. The maid had a poor sense of direction and was often lost. One day she had been sent to the village, only to end up circling the town five times before she came upon someone who could direct her way. That memory brought with it a shiver of uncertainty. Jane picked up her pace, walking quickly back toward the house.

"Miss Grantley! Miss Grantley!"

Jane sighed thankfully. The high, strident voice was Becky’s. She turned toward the sound, which was followed a moment later with Becky bursting out from the shadows of trees surrounding the park. Her mobcap was askew, and leaves clung to her dress.

Becky ran up to Jane and seized her arm. "Oh, Miss Grantley, it is reet sarry I is. I can’t git him down. The tyke’s just a hangin’ there. I didn’t think it would be no harm, truly I didn’t. I tried, miss, I did try. Now only it’s a cryin’ he is."

"Calm down, Becky, calm down. It’s all right. Tell me slowly. Where are the children," Jane asked firmly grasping the hysterical maid by her shoulders.

"Like I been sayin’, miss, uppa tree! Leastwise, Master Bertram insisted he stay with his brother."

"Edward is caught up in a tree? Where is he?"

"In the ol’ orchard, miss. Near the lane to his estate. I’m that wurrit lest he sees them. He eats children, ya know, miss," the little maid finished in an awed whisper.

"Do not be ridiculous, Becky," Jane said, prying the girl’s fingers loose from her arm. "Go on up to the stables and fetch one of the grooms. I’ll go on to see if I can’t be of some assistance. At least I may be able to get Edward to calm down."

Becky shook her head, clinging like a leach to Jane’s arm. "But miss, I heard tell he does even worse to young ladies!"

"Becky, that will be quite enough! Do as you’re told!" Jane said with exasperation.

"Yes, miss," Becky’s face screwed up in anguish, tears threatening to fall. She meekly bobbed a curtsy before running toward the stable.

Jane watched after her for a moment, then picked up her skirts and ran through the forest toward the orchard. Poor Edward! He could not understand that he was too little to do everything his elder brother did. She hoped he was not too badly frightened and had the sense to stay still until help arrived.

Jane tripped once over a root, ripping the hem of the same dress she had worked so hard that morning to keep from harm, but she scarcely noticed. Her hat fell back off her head and bobbed up and down on her shoulders with each step. Strands of black hair curled as perspiration ran down her face and neck.

"Bertram! Edward!" Jane gasped when she reached the edge of the orchard. She stopped for breath, her sides heaving.

"Here, Aunt Jane!" came Bertram’s clear, high voice.

She followed his call, relieved not to hear panic in his voice. When she finally spotted him, he was on the ground, peering intently up through the branches above his head. "Bertram, where’s Edward?"

"He’s up here, Miss Grantley. I’ll have him down to you in a moment," drawled the sardonic voice of the Earl of Royce, coming from above.

She looked up in time to see the earl free Edward from his tightly wedged position high in the tree. He swung the child onto his back and ordered him to hold tightly around his neck so he could carry him down.

Jane bit the knuckle of one hand as she watched them descend, terrified lest one or the other lose his grip. When they reached the ground, she rushed to pick up Edward and clasp him to her. "Are you all right?" she asked, anxiously searching for fresh cuts and scrapes or any sign of broken bones.

"Aunt Jane!" protested Edward, squirming to get out of her arms.

"Mind your manners, young man. Your aunt was worried about you," the earl remonstrated. At the same time he reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Edward grinned cheekily.

"You must thank Lord Royce for his effort on your behalf," Jane ordered Edward as she set him on the ground.

"Lord Royce!" ejaculated Bertram. He cuffed his younger brother on the shoulder. "Make a leg, you clodhead."

Royce and Jane stifled laughter as a very serious five year old bowed and stammered his thanks.

"It is I who should be giving you thanks, Edward," said Royce. He laid his hand on the child’s shoulder. "I haven’t climbed a tree since I was in short coats. I’m glad for the excuse your little contretemps afforded me. I’d forgotten how appealing the sights are from high up in a tree," the earl said, his gaze resting on Jane.

A slow blush transfused Jane’s pale complexion. She was suddenly aware of her own disheveled appearance. With trembling fingers, she smoothed the long sleeves of her dress, buttoning them at the wrist. "Bertram, Edward, it is nearly teatime, you know. I have a special treat for you, too. Blackberries. But you’ll need to get cleaned up first. Though whether you should have any or not, I don’t know." She was babbling and knew it. She avoided the earl’s gaze as she leaned down to straighten Edward’s jacket and brush grass from Bertram’s sleeve. It was a useless, nervous endeavor, for the children’s clothes were too disheveled to be set to rights.

"Fresh blackberries! Did you hear that Edward? I’ll race you home!" Bertram cried, tearing off through the trees.

"No fair!" declared Edward, taking off after his elder sibling.

Jane and the earl laughed again as they watched them scamper off.

"So all your efforts this morning were for those two scapegrace boys," he said.

"Yes. The Littons, my sister and her husband, are out of the country. Their governess wished to be relieved of her duties, so my aunt and I came down to Penwick Park to care for the boys in their absence," she found herself explaining.

The earl nodded, his expression solemn. "They are lucky boys to be surrounded by people who love and care for them," he said gruffly, a faraway expression in his dark eyes. Then he looked back at her, his devilish smile returning. "I am beginning to believe, Miss Grantley, that you need a keeper. First I find you ensnared in a blackberry bush, and now I discover you threatening that flawless complexion," he said, lifting her hat from where it lay dangling by its ribbons on her back and resettled it on her head.

Conflicting feelings surged in on a tide of embarrassment. Was that a touch of sorrow she’d seen in his face? Why? By all reports he did not care for children. Rumors abided concerning a child born to him and a woman he fled to the continent with more than ten years past. Still more speculation was raised as to why he never married the woman, for she was of good family. Conflicting tales of the fates of those two innocents still circulated society, lessons for young women flattered by another rake’s attentions.

Suddenly Jane doubted all she’d heard about the earl. She looked up at him, a curiously intent expression in her eyes.

"My lord, would you care to join us for tea?"

The words spilled out of her mouth before Jane could stop them. She felt herself blushing anew. Exasperated, she marshaled all her emotions and drew on her cool society cloak. The earl was observing her far more closely than she liked. "We will, of course, understand if you choose not to join us for our little early tea, as it is a gathering in which we include the children. More in the way of a divertissement for them, you understand, before they adjourn to the nursery for their supper and evening ablutions."

The earl frowned. "And should that sway my decision?"

"That I cannot answer, my lord." Jane smiled faintly. It was her social smile, for she concluded that no gentleman of fashion, let alone a dissolute rake like Lord Royce, would deign to participate in what could only be considered a nursery meal. Her invitation would be refused, and that would be the end of it. There was no need for agitation.

"Then I accept, Miss Grantley," Lord Royce said smoothly, and the smile he returned was the devil’s own.

Jane blinked, dumbfounded, then rallied. "Very well," she returned briskly, thoroughly nettled as much by his smile as by his answer. "I see you have your horse tethered nearby. I leave you to ride to Penwick Park while I return through the woods. My aunt, Lady Elsbeth Ainstree, will entertain you until the boys and I are fit to join you for tea. "

"And here I was anticipating taking you up before me on Brutus. You have dashed all my hopes and expectations, Miss Grantley," the earl teased.

Jane refused to be drawn. "It would be neither seemly nor comfortable. Thank you for your offer, but I must refuse."

"Winter in summertime! I see I shall have to look to Lady Elsbeth and your nephews for comfortable conversation, for the Ice Witch has returned." He bowed formally to Jane, but amusement lingered in the depths of his dark eyes. "At Penwick Park then, Miss Grantley," he said in farewell before he turned to loose the reins of his horse. He mounted and touched his hat briefly in salute before wheeling the animal around to trot down the lane.

Jane stamped her foot in frustration. The Earl of Royce was the most disagreeable man ever to enter her orbit. That he found amusement at the expense of others was unpardonable. His good humor toward Bertram and Edward was surely an aberration of character, no doubt engendered by the recent receipt of some good news. Perhaps a horse he’d bet on had won a race, or perchance a debt owned him had been repaid, making him magnanimous and pleasant for a change. Why had she so rashly and foolishly invited him to tea?

A slight pout marred the porcelain perfection of her features. For some mysterious reason, the man’s mere presence shredded the social cloak she’d worn for so many years. Perhaps, she considered as she stared off down the empty road, she’d become too complacent in her adopted mien. She’d have to work to mend the rents and reinforce the seams, for she was not going to allow herself a relapse into the uncertain, hurt young woman she’d been three years ago.

But why was she staring after him like some country bumpkin? And if the earl could so destroy her cool facade, she hated to think of her aunt’s response to his sardonic demeanor. Royce’s appearance at Penwick Park would no doubt fluster Elsbeth and reduce her to a timid mouse. Oh, to foreswear her ready tongue! She must protect Lady Elsbeth from her folly, she resolutely decided. Whirling around, she ran back to the manor, entering through a discreet side door.

Childish giggles and laughter greeted Jane’s ears as she descended the stairs after changing her gown and righting the wild tangle of her hair. She crossed the Great Hall to the parlor door, her satin slippers making no sound. Judging by the amused expression of the footman eavesdropping by the door, she could tell that the occupants of the parlor were clearly enjoying themselves.

"Jeremy, the door please?" she said, standing before the footman who had temporarily assumed the duties of butler.

Jeremy straightened abruptly, stammering a disjointed excuse.

Jane ignored his words, her lips slightly pursed in an effort to refrain from laughing. Jeremy had much to learn about the proper etiquette of a butler. "The door," she reminded him gently, pointing to it.

The young man reddened and quickly pushed open the double carved-oak doors, bowing curtly to Jane as she swept by him into the large parlor with its unusual floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the park to the Folly in the distance. The late afternoon sunlight, streaming into the large room, placed its occupants in shadowy silhouette. The Earl of Royce sat in the middle of the long settee, flanked on either side by a child. That he was enjoying their company was obvious, even though the shadows made his facial expression indiscernible.

Jane paused, frowning in confusion, uncertain how to interpret the scene, for it so strongly worked against her expectations. As she stood facing the windows, her face was open to the afternoon sun, her expression visible to all. On seeing her, the earl rose from his seat and urged the boys to follow his example. They did so with alacrity.

Expressions of surprise, amazement, and curiosity chased across Jane’s unguarded countenance. The earl bowed, as did the boys, and Lady Elsbeth, seated on a japanned and gilded chair with her workbasket at hand, choked down a laugh.

"There you are, Jane," said her aunt in a tone light with contained mirth. "I feared you would not join us."

Recovering her calm mask, Jane acknowledged the earl’s presence and murmured some apologies to all as she slid gracefully into a chair next to her aunt.

Lady Elsbeth poured her a cup of tea. "I forbade the boys and our guest the blackberries until you could join us. I felt it only proper that you have the first taste, as they are your treat. "

"I believe Miss Grantley has already availed herself of a taste. Among other things," the earl drawled as he sat down again. "I distinctly remember a dark purple cast to her lips when I met her this morning. "

Now that she was seated among them, Jane could see the smirk on the earl’s face and realized he’d tasted the berries on her lips. A slight blush stained her cheeks.

"I will admit I lacked forbearance," murmured Jane wryly, catching the earl’s eye. The slight elevation of one of his dusky brows prompted her to add, "A vice I find universal. Now, Elsbeth," she said briskly, perturbed by the earl yet determined to ignore these alien sensations, "since you have waited, allow me to do the honor of serving."

She deftly divided the small harvest into five bowls, then picked up a silver creamer. "My lord?" she asked coolly, holding the creamer over one of the bowls.

"If you please. Miss Grantley."

"Judging from the laughter I heard as I descended the stairs, I gather my prolonged absence was not missed," Jane remarked as she handed the earl a bowl of berries.

"I beg to differ with you, Miss Grantley. You were certainly missed," the earl returned with a smooth, practiced gallantry that made the skin around Jane’s mouth tighten. "But I must confess, the laughter you heard was, lamentably, at my expense."

The wry expression he bestowed on her nephews sent the children into renewed gales of laughter, keeping Jane from making a peevish comment. In awkward defense, she tried to look at him archly, but only succeeded in appearing adorably confused. Worse was the realization that the horrible man seemed to know her thoughts and feelings and found humor in them!

"Lord Royce has been regaling the boys with some of his more youthful exploits. Though perhaps it would have been best if he had refrained from giving them ideas," Lady Elsbeth said pointedly, fixing her nephews in turn with a meaningful stare.

"More to the point, Lady Elsbeth," Royce interceded, "are the punishments that were meted out. Though I must admit, on more than one occasion, my punishments were self-inflicted."

"What do you mean, my lord?" asked Edward, screwing up his face in perplexity, his feet swinging against a leg of the settee.

"He’s just teasing, you nodcock," said Bertram disgustedly. "Lords don’t get punished."

The earl leaned back, the better to assay Bertram. "I beg to differ with you, young master," drawled the earl. "Not only are lords punishable, sometimes they bear punishment, beyond physical scars, their entire lives."

Jane and Lord Royce exchanged covert glances over the heads of the boys. "The most valuable possession a man has is his good name. Lose that and you’re punished day in and day out for all your life."

Jane squirmed under his steady regard, for in his stare she read the real truth of his words, a truth that somehow cut at her heart. Elsbeth pursed her lips, her eyelids drooping over her soft hazel eyes as she feigned renewed interest in her embroidery.

"How can you lose a name? I mean, it’s not like a marble," Edward said.

The earl laughed, ruffling the boy’s hair. "It means to lose the good opinion that people have of you."

"Oh, is that all?" Edward said disgustedly.

"Yes. I know that in youth one holds a name cheap; but believe me, young Edward Litton, when one is an adult, one’s priorities change," the earl said dryly. "But I do not wish to talk of these things. I wish to tell you how I imposed a punishment on myself for failure to listen to my father, tutor, gamesmen, and grooms. One day I, too, decided to climb one of those big fruit trees in the orchard. Like you, Edward, I climbed as high as I was able, and then beyond that. And, like you, too, I became stuck. Unfortunately, I did not have anyone to help me down. I was forced to free myself, and the result was my punishment. I fell."

"From way up there?" Edward squeaked.

"What happened?" Bertram demanded.

"I broke my arm. I was lucky I didn’t do more damage, though I confess I felt as if I had. For what seemed like a long while, I lay on the ground under that tree, waiting for someone to come help me. But no one knew where I was. Finally I was forced to get to my feet and return home, cradling my arm as best I could. A hue and cry was raised, and the doctor was sent for to set the bone. Unfortunately, he was away."

"That was luck," claimed Bertram, nodding his head knowingly.

Jane frowned at Bertram, but the earl merely laughed. "Bad luck, I’d say. My arm was broken and the bone had to be set. By the time it was decided to proceed without the doctor, my entire arm was swollen and painful to the slightest touch. The only person who had any experience with broken bones was Wilcox, the head groom. He plied me with liquor, which at my age I thought a great treat, and then had some of the other men from the estate hold me down while he pulled the arm straight to line up the bones. Then he splinted it tightly."

"Were your parents away, like ours?" Edward asked.

"My father was seldom at Royceland Hall. Mother went visiting so she wouldn’t have to hear my screams."

Jane pursed her lips at the wealth of emotions evoked in that last sentence. Bells clanged in her head, warning her that there were hidden, untold depths to the earl that might impinge upon the rumors that so freely circulated about him. She found herself leaning forward in her chair, hanging on to every word of his recital.

"Despite Wilcox’s rough methods," Lord Royce continued lightly, a rueful smile curving his thin lips, "he did a good job of setting the bone. Even impressed the doctor when he saw me later. Breaking a bone was not, however, an experience I wished to repeat, then or now."

Edward shuddered slightly as he sat staring at his own arms. "I don’t think I like tree climbing anymore," he said vehemently.

The earl laughed. "You would have been fine had you not climbed so high. The trick to enjoying life and surviving is becoming aware of your own limitations. Unfortunately, that is often easier to tell someone than to do, as I know full well."

"If you say so."

"I think it’s all a hum. He’s just telling us what he thinks Aunt Jane wants us to hear," declared Bertram, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look worldly-wise at eight.

"I beg your pardon," Lord Royce said coolly. "I just met your aunt today. Why would I do that?"

Bertram looked at him in disgusted. "Because you’re sweet on her. All gentlemen are sweet on her. That’s what I heard her and Aunt Elsbeth saying when they came here."

"Bertram!" admonished Lady Elsbeth, coloring almost as pink as Jane.

Laughter danced in Lord Royce’s eyes, though he maintained an impassive expression. "I see your point, but I beg you will take a moment to reflect. I am older than she and nearly without a feather to fly with, certainly not eligible to join her long list of suitors. And truthfully, you know," he said, his voice dropping conspiratorially, "she looks at me like one of my old maiden aunts used to do, like I am some multi-legged, ugly creature that crawled out from under a rock. No humor at all."

"My lord, that is unjust!"

"See how she cuts up all stiff and cold? I’ll wager she doesn’t talk to you like that. "

The boys laughed, delighted to be treated as equals. Outrage kept Jane silent, though her light green eyes shimmered with anger.

Lady Elsbeth raised a lace-edged handkerchief to her lips to hide a smile. "Bertram, Edward, if you’re finished with your berries, I suggest you return to the schoolroom. Nurse Twinkleham is waiting," she said, taking pity on her niece.