Jennie Kissed Me (20 page)

“Oh no! Invalids must be pale.”

“Paleness does not afflict sly schemers, I see. Your rosy cheeks betray you, Jennie. If I am to lie on my back like an overturned beetle, at least bring me my netting basket. And a fresh pot of tea.”

“Certainly, but you must not get out of bed till I say so.”

“What determines your saying so?”

“The offer Marndale is about to make. If it is like Anselm’s, then you may recover by noon and let me be ill. If it is different–”

“So that’s how it is. You are a pea goose if you hope to get an offer of marriage from a marquess. Rich noblemen don’t marry schoolteachers, no matter how many airs the ladies give themselves. You never learn from your mistakes. You have just this minute learned what Anselm wanted from you, with all his smirking and compliments.”

“You must have noticed, Mrs. Irvine, Marndale was not smirking. Quite the contrary.”

After a frowning pause she acceded to my view. “I wondered when he was scooting in and out like a lackey with those notes.... He
did
look miserable enough to be trying to crank himself up to the sticking point.”

“Well put.” I smiled benignly and went in search of her netting basket and to order her tea.

I pondered how so many misunderstandings had arisen. Marndale thinking I cared for Anselm—perhaps we had behaved as old friends. Why had Lady Pogue been at such pains to initiate me into the rites of landing a London beau and assured me it would be easy to accomplish? Was it because she feared I might prove competition with Anselm if I went to Levington Hall? There were still a few misapprehensions to be cleared up, and I was eager to begin.

Chapter Sixteen

The delicate chore now facing me was to inform Lord Marndale that Mrs. Irvine was too worn to travel without revealing any weakness in my own position. The very real possibility still existed that Marndale wanted no more from me than a companion for his daughter. Anselm hoped to recruit me by flirting, why not Marndale? Contrary to what my companion thought, I was alive to that degrading possibility. An offer from his daughter hardly constituted a proposal of marriage or even the likelihood of one. My plan was to carry on my normal occupations with Victoria as if nothing unusual had occurred. Marndale had until Monday to speak to me, one way or the other.

He heard of my decision to remain through Victoria, who had come to visit Mrs. Irvine when I brought the netting box.

“I am so glad you are to stay, at least till Monday,” Victoria said.

“Yes, indeed. We shall let you drive on the main highway today, Victoria. And I must drop in on the Munsons to say good-bye to Peter and Paul.”

“That would be the twins you spoke of?” Mrs. Irvine asked, pulling the needle from her netting. I nodded. “You know what causes twins, of course?” I feared for what lewd notion was to follow, and she rushed on with Victoria hanging on every word. “When a man and woman—”

“That’s enough, Mrs. Irvine!”

“But I would love for Papa to have twins!”

“Then Mrs. Irvine may speak to your papa.”

“Figure it out for yourself,” Mrs. Irvine said with a wink. “What makes one baby if done once will make two if done twice on the same occasion.”

“Let’s go for our drive now, Victoria.”

Victoria was so enthralled with this misguided lesson in reproduction that she sat unmoved by an invitation to her favorite pastime. “And for triplets, three times,” she said, nodding sagely. “Good gracious, the Fortescues have quadruplets!”

“He must be some stallion!” Mrs. Irvine exclaimed, vastly impressed.

I got a hand on Victoria and dragged her from the room by main force. “You won’t mention this to your papa, Victoria,” I said.

“I expect he already knows.”

“You must not listen to the rambling of ignorant—of superstitious—of simple—”

“Perhaps you’re right. Odd that Mrs. Irvine has no children. Surely she and her husband must have–”

“It was the rocking of the ships that caused her miscarriages,” I said curtly. “Now go and get your bonnet and pelisse.”

I darted swiftly to my room and grabbed my bonnet, which gave me a few minutes to loiter in the hallway below, hoping for a sight of Marndale. He either heard my noisy descent—I called rather loudly for the butler to have the carriage brought around—or he espied me from his office. He came strolling out with an unwonted air of distraction and pretended to be surprised to see me.

“Ah, Jennie. So you have taken my advice and decided to remain a few days.”

“Yes, I fear Mrs. Irvine is really not stout enough to travel till Monday. Monday morning early we shall leave, as planned,” I added, to let him know how long he had to speak.

“It is for the best. No point in jostling her in her condition.”

“The ankle is improving. I hadn’t realized she gave her shoulder such a wrench. I daresay it happened when Belle rolled her over in the bog.”

“A fall can be a nasty thing.”

“A bog is soft falling, if messy. It would have been worse on hard ground.”

“Oh, infinitely! I once gave my ankle such a turn I couldn’t walk for a fortnight. Just at a very busy time, too, of course. It’s always the way.”

The very banality of our conversation told me nothing was to come of it. It sounded dreadfully as though I had been imagining things. Victoria came pelting down before anything more could be said.

“Off for your driving lesson, eh?” her father said in that hearty way that wishes to confer an air of interest where none exists.

“On the main highway today, Papa,” she boasted.

“Then I shall be sure to stay off the roads. Ha ha.” Victoria pouted playfully. I looked bored, and he continued, “What have you ladies planned for this afternoon?”

“We are going to see the Munson twins before Jennie leaves,” Victoria said.

He looked at me over her head. It was an interested, impatient look. “See if the rig is at the door, Vickie,” he said.

We all knew the butler would tell us when it arrived, but none of us said so. She left, and Marndale continued. “I gave Anselm your message. He appeared disappointed at your reply. I take it it was a refusal?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.” He studied me closely, wanting to ask for more details but prevented by good manners.

“It’s here, Jennie!” Victoria called from the doorway.

“Wish us well,” I said, and turned to leave.

His hand reached out and grasped my wrist. “Jennie, before you go ... there is something ...” Surely I was not mistaking the cause of that glow in his eyes.

“Come on,” Victoria called impatiently.

He gave her a dark look and said to me, “We’ll talk when you return.” I had to leave with that tantalizing promise preying on my mind.

You may imagine how little attention was paid to Victoria’s driving. She must have acquitted herself reasonably well, for we returned without having been capsized. I could not recall any close shaves either.

“Excellent!” I complimented when we reached Wycherly. My mind flew in the door before me, anticipating the pending visit with Marndale. I knew he had been anticipating it, too, for he stuck his head out his office door the moment we entered. Victoria danced forward, and I followed.

“I did splendidly, Papa. Didn’t I, Jennie? Now the carriage is mine, and I shall have it painted green.”

He made a great fuss over her. “Well done! No white ponies, mind, but I might find you your own set of matched bays or grays if you would like.”

“Do you think cream ponies pretentious, Papa? Lady Pogue tells me cream ponies from the Prince Regent’s stud are all the crack.”

“We shall see,” he said, and she was content with that. She darted upstairs to relay her success to Mrs. Irvine, and Marndale invited me into his office.

We stood facing each other with such a weight of anticipation in the air that it was nearly palpable. “So you have rejected Anselm’s offer,” he said, eying me warily, as if I might try to bite him.

“Yes.” I waited to be offered a seat, but he either forgot or preferred to remain standing.

“I daresay the fact that he has a grown sister had something to do with your decision?”

This revealed that he believed the offer to have been for marriage. I read in it also some apprehension that his having a grown daughter might make me reject him. “It was the only reason I received the offer,” I replied, true in word if not spirit.

“I shouldn’t think that the
only
reason.”

“You are free to think what you like. I happen to know that this was his reason.”

“He is a demmed awkward fellow if he told you so.” He smiled uneasily.

I had had enough of running around in circles. “What was it you wished to talk about, Marndale?” I asked bluntly.

“I have been thinking about Victoria. She is very keen to accompany me to London.”

“Yes, she mentioned it to me, the possibility of our continuing to see each other.” I said not a word about returning to Bath.

“The problem is, London without a truly excellent companion offers such a world of mischief for a lively girl like Vickie. My idea was that you and Mrs. Irvine might live at my London house with us instead of taking the apartment on Audley Street.”

My heart sank like an anchor into the cold sea. So this was all he wanted—a companion for Victoria. He had never said otherwise. I had once again let optimism run away with common sense. “I’m not interested. Thank you for the offer.”

“There would be collateral benefits,” he continued eagerly. “Superior company, a much better house than the Audley Street apartment, the use of my theater box, carriages, horses. You would be a guest, not an employee, though I would be happy to pay you—” He came to an embarrassed halt. I think he regretted his last words.

“I believe I have made clear I am not interested in employment, Marndale.”

He shuffled his feet and said, “Victoria has never been so happy and well behaved as she has with you. I would do
anything
to convince you to remain with us. Is there any way I can convince you?” A pregnant pause, during which he gulped, then said warily, “Marriage—”

The word hung like a rotten apple on the bough. Even Eve would not be tempted by this inedible fruit. I spoke roughly to hide my disappointment. “You are even more generous than Lord Anselm. He gave me carte blanche to name my own price in his offer to mind Lady Mary, but I doubt he included marriage.”

“What?”

“He offered me the position of minding Lady Mary at Levington Hall.”

“Good God!”

“I refused, as I intend to refuse all such offers, even if they include a titular marriage. You must excuse me now. I have to see Mrs. Irvine. I shall be taking lunch with her in her room. Good day, Lord Marndale. Sorry I couldn’t accommodate you.”

I dashed upstairs, blinded by unshed tears of shame and sorrow, and went straight to my own room. I couldn’t face anyone yet, not even Mrs. Irvine. What I really wanted to do was to leave Wycherly at once, but I was ashamed to suddenly declare Mrs. Irvine miraculously recovered. There was nothing for it but to camp out in her room till Monday morning when we could leave as planned.

As soon as I could lift up my head I began to execute this plan. I played with my luncheon in Mrs. Irvine’s room, moving around a piece of beefsteak with a fork and sighing. Over the afternoon we had a raft of visitors. Every time I heard a footfall my heart went into palpitations, always in vain. Our callers were not such prestigious ones as the morning had brought to my bedchamber, but only Victoria and servants. Victoria came up after lunch and seldom left the room, which made any meaningful conversation difficult, though I had already confessed my shame to Mrs. Irvine and been informed with ill-concealed satisfaction five or six times that she had told me so.

Meg Hubbard came crashing in, fire in her eyes. Her excuse was to bring wine, which she hurled onto the bedside table with a clatter. “That was a mighty fine dress you gave Sal, Miss Robsjohn,” she said angrily. “A pity it don’t fit her wide hips. It would have fitted me just right.”

I saw my meager charity had caused havoc below and quickly decided which other gown I could do without. “I thought you might prefer a muslin gown, Meg, with summer coming on.”

“You never mean that dandy blue-sprigged one you’ve been a wearing?”

Indeed I did not! “No, a yellow-sprigged one, to match your hair.”

“Lud, wait till Hubbard hears this.” She ran off, smiling from ear to ear.

Hubbard’s excuse to come begging was to present me with a wing from a partridge he had shot. “You’ll find it dandy for dusting off the lids of books,” he assured me. “You just slide her along the tops of the books on the shelf.” It would have to be a very narrow book shelf. A goose wing was more commonly used.

“Thank you, Hubbard.” I ransacked my mind for what I could give him. A lady’s belongings would be of no use to this outdoorsman, and I settled on money. A crown seemed to satisfy him. I deduced that I should have tipped the servants who accompanied us on our excursion.

Cook came huffing upstairs in person, not to beg but to ask what she might cook to tempt the invalid. She said to me, “His lordship wants to know if you’ll be eating dinner at the table, Miss Robsjohn.”

“No, I shall bear Mrs. Irvine company in her room.”

“As you wish, but I’m making up a dandy ragout.”

“It can be brought upstairs, can it not?”

“It won’t be hot when it reaches you. Not with the servants all fighting and flipping coins for the honor of delivering to this room.” She shook her head and left.

My largesse to the servants appeared to be gaining mythical proportions belowstairs. Victoria had been studying me as if I were some rara avis she was unlikely to see again in her lifetime. “We could serve Mrs. Irvine’s dinner early,” she suggested. “You could sit with her while she eats then come downstairs to dine with me and Papa.”

“And leave her alone? That would be uncharitable.”

“I wouldn’t mind a little of my own company,” Mrs. Irvine said testily. “In fact, I’d like a nap. Run along, Jennie.”

“Very well. I could do with a nap myself, but I shall join you for dinner and the evening.”