The Heart's Companion

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.

Suddenly Jane felt an unreasoning jealously toward her young nephew. In her mind she felt the earl’s hand about her waist, pulling her securely against him. A prickly tingle began below her breasts where his hand would rest. It spread throughout her body. A warm rush of blood surged through her veins. She gasped and turned her head away before Elsbeth or Millicent could see and comment. She closed her eyes, willing her pulse and breathing to slow, waiting for the prickly tingling to subside.

What was wrong with her? Never had she allowed her mind such license! Never had she even imagined feelings like those that consumed her. Desire curled and coiled within her.

Wanton!

The word exploded in her head. She felt weak, boneless. This would never do! They were pulling up before the Folly. Desperately she pulled at remnants of her icy mantle. The Ice Witch would not be so consumed!

She breathed deeply, composing her face. By the time the carriage door opened and the steps were let down, she’d achieved a modicum of control. She hung onto it tightly, as a shipwrecked sailor hung on to flotsam and jetsam, praying for rescue. He was there, by the door, waiting to help them alight. Millicent, anxious to secure the earl for herself, pushed past Lady Elsbeth to take the earl’s hand. She remained by his side while he assisted Lady Elsbeth and finally Jane. Jane’s fingers trembled slightly when her hand touched his. He looked at her quizzically, but she refused to meet his dark gaze. When she was safely on the ground, she quickly pulled her hand from his and walked hurriedly toward the other carriage, ostensibly to greet the others.

Blankets were spread out in the shade of a tall, spreading elm. Hampers of food revealed delicacies to tempt everyone’s appetite, along with bottles of wine and jugs of lemonade. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Sounds of laughter and the ebb and flow of voices floated across the hillside and down into the valley. The boys ran after each other playing a game of tag. Giggling, Edward careened around Lady Serena, using her shoulder to pivot. Lady Serena screamed in surprise and jumped, spilling her glass of wine across the blanket, barely avoiding staining her pale yellow skirts.

"How dare you, you little—"

"Serena!" cut in Lady Elsbeth. "They are only playing a game. Boys, don’t play around here. You’re liable to hurt yourselves or someone else, not to mention the hazard of falling into a platter of food!"

The boys laughed. "Yes, by Jove, wouldn’t that be a sight! I can see you now, Edward, face first in one of Cook’s cream puffs," said Bertram. The picture he imagined sent him laughing harder and reeling backwards, clenching his sides.

"Oh, really? Well, I can see you in one of the jellies!" Edward countered. "All sticky and gooey, with ants crawling all over you!"

"I can see caterpillars falling on you from the trees," Bertram yelled, his chin thrusting forward pugnaciously.

"Yipes!" squealed Lady Serena, looking upward. Her skin crawled and she flicked at imaginary crawling insects.

"Children!" cried out Lady Elsbeth, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

"And getting stuck in all that cream, wriggling about," Bertram finished with a flourish.

"That’s nothing," began Edward, puffing out his small chest as he prepared to launch into an even more gruesome image.

"That’s enough," corrected the earl, laughter robbing his words of force. "Remember the ladies’ sensibilities."

Millicent, seated next to the earl, preened at what she considered his obvious attention to her.

"Why don’t you show me how that telescope of yours works," he continued, surging to his feet in one fluid motion.

"What—" protested Millicent. She clamped her lips shut, a determined look steeling over her features. She got to her feet and followed after the earl.

"Poor Millicent," said Jane to Lady Elsbeth, "I don’t think she knows how to handle children as rivals."

With a laugh, the Marquis of Conisbrough leaned back on his elbow next to Lady Elsbeth. "That’s not a contest she has a chance of winning, either. "

"Oh?" encouraged Jane.

The marquis sat up. He looked pointedly at Jane. "I don’t tell tales on another. If you want that story, you’ll have to ask him."

Jane flushed and bristled at the implied criticism. Lady Elsbeth took pity on her niece and patted her hand understanding. Jane released a long sigh and relaxed. No doubt the primary subject of numerous tales, the marquis had learned the consequences of gossip. When was she going to learn?

With his wineglass refilled, Sir Helmsdon sauntered back to Jane. In his other hand he carried a wine cork, which he absently tossed into the air, catching it as it fell. "I’d like to see this telescope, too. Would you be my guide, Miss Grantley?"

"Certainly, sir," she said, anxious to get away from the scene of her embarrassment and to give her aunt and the marquis a modicum of privacy. She held out her hand for Sir Helmsdon to help her rise.

He deftly caught the cork once again and, palming it in the same hand that held the wineglass, offered her his free hand. They walked slowly toward the Folly.

"Miss Grantley," he said when they were out of hearing. "What do you know of those Willoughbys?"

"Nothing much. They say they’re from the north. That they have houses in Northumbria and Yorkshire. Truthfully, I have not had time to sit and talk with them. Serena has seen to their entertainment. She is much in their company. I believe she met them in Margate. Why do you ask?"

"I do not recall seeing them before we all gathered to set out for Penwick Park. I had the opportunity when their carriage broke down to spend some time with them. They are a trifle crude. Mr. Burry does not like them, and he is a man given to easy camaraderie with everyone."

"Sir Helmsdon, if you are implying I should think badly of the Willoughbys without any justifiable reason, then I say bluntly that you should desist in this conversation. It has come to my attention that I have in the past given too much credence to just such suspicions and innuendos. I will not be subject to idle speculation and gossip. It is ruinous."

"My dear Miss Grantley, it is not my intention to slander without cause. I am merely asking that you exercise caution," protested Sir Helmsdon.

"Against what? See, you have no answer for me. Such vague suspicions are the stuff that do great damage. They prey upon the imagination, which is ripe for exaggeration. Now please, sir, I have of late given much thought to the effects of gossip. It is not worth my time. I refuse to be a party to scandal mongering. "

"A thousand apologies, Miss Grantley," Sir Helmsdon said tightly.

Jane looked up at his rigid face. "Come now," she said, cajoling, "let’s cry friends and be done with it. I, too, apologize. There was no need for me to harangue you as I did. My only defense is that I have lately been on the receiving end of just that sort of argument!"

He looked down at her then, his lips twitching upwards despite his best efforts. "You are a baggage, aren’t you?"

"Yes," she said with mock sorrow, her green eyes glinting with laughter. "I try hard to conceal it before society, but truth will out. I am not a comfortable person, sir. You are lucky I do not take your suit seriously."

"Ah, Miss Grantley, that is still a matter of opinion."

Jane, uncertain how to respond, was saved from saying anything by the disconcerting halloo Bertram bellowed.

"By Jove, there’s a bird’s nest up there!" exclaimed Bertram, pointing to the ledges near the ceiling of the replica temple. He climbed up on one of the stone benches to get a better view. Millicent, seated on another bench, didn’t even glance up.

"I shouldn’t be surprised if there were bats up there!" she said acidly. She was pouting because the earl was assisting Edward in making adjustments to the telescope.

"Hardly bats, Mrs. Hedgeworth," Royce drawled. He came to stand by Bertram. "Where do you see it?"

"There, my lord."

"Where? Where? I want to see, too!" demanded Edward. He dropped the telescope, sending it turning wildly on its swivel mount.

Jane gasped as she saw it come around. "No!" she cried, dropping Sir Helmsdon’s arm and running. The heavy instrument was coming about, wheeling directly for the back of Edward’s head. As Jane ran she clipped her shin on the corner of one of the benches, sending pain shooting up her leg. Ignoring it she reached for Edward’s little arm, stumbled and missed.

When Jane heard a smack instead of the thud she was expecting, she looked up. The earl had stopped the telescope with the palm of his hand mere inches from Edward’s head. A shuddering sigh convulsed her body. She gulped air and sank down on a bench. "Edward Litton," she said tersely when she could speak, "if you cannot handle the telescope properly, I shall refuse to allow you to touch it. I will not be forced to explain to my sister why you have a gash in your head or why the telescope is broken. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Aunt Jane. I’m sorry." Then he turned his attention back to the bird’s nest, forgetting her words and the telescope. "Where’s the nest? I can’t see it."

Sir Helmsdon came up beside her. "I believe you could use this wine more than I," he said ruefully.

Jane nodded and gratefully accepted the proffered glass. Sir Helmsdon began tossing the cork again.

Edward climbed up beside his brother on the stone bench and stood on tiptoes. "Where?" he demanded again, his brow furrowing.

"I do not understand all this nonsense over a little bird’s nest. One would think it was a rare gem," said Millicent.

The earl ignored her. He placed a hand on Edward’s shoulder and pointed up. Edward jumped up and down, trying to see. Royce laughed. "Here, none of that, or we’ll have an accident yet. Let me put you on my shoulders." He turned around and squatted down. Eagerly Edward put his legs over Royce’s shoulders and grabbed him about the neck. When the earl rose again Edward squealed with delight.

"I see it! I see it!"

Millicent rose from the bench, angry at the attention given the children. She brushed past Sir Helmsdon, jostling him. He missed catching his cork and it fell to the stone floor, rolling away.

Millicent sidled up to Lord Royce, sliding one arm through his while waving her fan before her with the other. "Oh, my lord, I feel faint," she moaned artfully, leaning heavily against him.

"Mrs. Hedgeworth, please!" snapped the earl, stepping backwards to steady his balance. His heel caught the cork. It rolled under his foot throwing him backward. With Millicent’s weight at his side he could not catch his balance. Suddenly he was falling and Edward, riding on his shoulders, was heading straight for a stone bench!