Until You (26 page)
Authors: Judith McNaught
Tags: #Man-Woman Relationships, #England, #Historical Fiction, #Americans - England, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #Romance, #Americans, #Amnesia, #Historical, #English Fiction, #General, #Love Stories
All three women nodded, and Sheridan found it very touching to know the husbands were also wishing her well.
The task that lay in front of her was daunting. The realization that Stephen had evidently cared enough for her to wait with the cleric for hours after she ran away was heartbreaking. Sherry had never been happier in her life.
A
fter Sheridan, Alexandra, and Victoria left the drawing room, the three women who remained within it, despite their valiant efforts to seem normal and confident, were jumpy and tense by the time they heard the sound of a coach arriving an hour later. "That
must
be Stephen," the dowager duchess said, putting her teacup down with enough nervous energy to cause the priceless Sevres cup to clatter and tilt upon its delicate saucer. All morning, guests had been arriving for the birthday celebration, including the Skeffington party, but Stephen had not put in an appearance, and it was becoming obvious something either had detained him or was going to cause him to miss the day completely. "If he has not been injured or held up by highwaymen on the road," she continued peevishly, "I shall be sorely tempted to do him bodily harm myself! My nerves are drawn to the limit. I am entirely too old to be subjected to this sort of suspense."
Too anxious to wait for the butler to announce the new arrival, Whitney was already on her way to the windows to have a look.
"Is it he, dear?"
"Yes… Oh, no!" her daughter-in-law answered, and turning around she pressed against the draperies, looking positively frantic.
"Yes, it is he, or 'oh, no,' it is
not
he?" inquired Miss Charity.
"Yes, it is Stephen."
"That's good."
"With Monica Fitzwaring."
"That's bad," said the dowager, handing her three-year-old grandson to Charity, who opened her arms to him, and who'd been included in the plot out of necessity. Since she and Noel had become inordinately fond of each other, Whitney didn't have the heart to send the elderly lady away from him on his birthday, nor could she have allowed Charity to remain if she weren't forewarned of Sheridan's arrival and apprised of the reasons and the plan.
"He has also brought Georgette Porter."
"That is
very
bad," the dowager said, sounding more dire.
"I think it is very nice!" exclaimed Miss Charity, drawing their incredulous looks as she grinned at Lord Noel Westmoreland. Picking up the youngster's wrists, she clapped his chubby hands together, making him laugh, before she glanced up at the two duchesses and noticed they were looking at her as if she were demented. "One woman would occupy his time," she predicted happily. "Two women can occupy each other and leave him quite free for our Sheridan."
"Unfortunately, Monica and Georgette cannot abide each other."
Miss Charity didn't see that as an obstacle. "In order to secure Langford's good opinion, they will spend all their time trying to surpass each other for amiability. Or else," she added, her brow furrowed in thought, "they will unite and turn all their malice on our poor Sherry, should Langford pay her attention."
Less than pleased with the second possibility, Whitney looked at her mother-in-law. "What shall we do?"
Unwilling to be left out of the excitement for more than a moment, Charity said brightly, "We ought to invite dear Monsieur DuVille to even out the numbers!"
The dowager duchess's nerves were strained enough to cause that lady to turn clear round in her chair and glower at Miss Charity. "What a perfectly absurd idea! As you well know, Stephen developed an aversion to the mere mention of the man's name from the day Sheridan disappeared!"
Wary of the dowager's unprecedented mood, Whitney hastily interceded. "Why don't you take Noel outdoors, ma'am," she suggested to Charity. "I instructed the governesses to take the children down by the pond at this hour to see the swans and have a sweet. You could keep an eye on our particular governess if she appears there."
Charity nodded at once, stood up, and took Noel's hand. "Well, my young lord, shall we endeavor to spy out our prey?" she invited.
Noel pulled back and shook his dark, curly head. "First, kiss 'bye," he explained, and ran across the room on sturdy little legs to kiss his grandmother and his mother as he knew they liked for him to do. Satisfied, he grinned at Miss Charity, offered her his hand, and allowed her to lead him outdoors through the French doors that opened onto the lawns.
The Dowager Duchess of Claymore managed to keep her smile in place until Noel vanished, but the moment he was out of sight, she focused her irate gaze on the door that led into the room from the main hall. Stress had finally pushed her past the limit of her endurance. She was irrationally angry with Stephen for foiling their carefully made plans to effect a reconciliation with Sherry by bringing not one, but two women, and she was vastly, if unjustly, annoyed with both women for coming along. Unaware of his mother's strained temper, Stephen escorted his guests into the drawing room and went straight to her chair. "You look a little weary," he said, bending to kiss his mother's cheek.
"I wouldn't
look
weary if you wouldn't persist in being late and worrying me when you are."
Stephen was too startled by her tone to react strongly to the unjust criticism. "I wasn't aware time was of the essence. I'm sorry you were worried."
"It is excessively rude to keep your hostess waiting," she added crossly.
Stephen straightened and eyed her with surprised annoyance. "My sincerest apologies for my tardiness, your grace." With a formal bow, he added, "For the
second
time."
Dismissing her unnaturally querulous behavior with an imperceptible shrug, he turned so that she could acknowledge his guests. "Mother," he said, "I believe you're acquainted with Miss Fitzwaring—"
"How is your papa, Monica?" the dowager demanded as the young woman made her a pretty curtsy.
"Very well, thank you, your grace. He sends you his warmest regards."
"Please convey mine to him. And now, since you are clearly exhausted from your trip, I suggest you go straight upstairs and stay there until supper so that you may rest and recover your color."
"I am not in the least tired, your grace," Miss Fitzwaring said, stiffening in affront at the bald hint she didn't look her best.
The dowager ignored her, extended her regal hand to the other woman, and announced as Georgette curtsied, "I heard you have been ill recently, Miss Porter. You must spend the weekend lying down."
"Oh, but—that was last year, your grace. I'm fully recovered."
"Prevention is the key to good health," she persevered doggedly. "That is what my physician always says, and that is how I have lived all these years with such
robust
health and
cheerful
disposition."
Whitney stepped in and greeted her unexpected guests before they could pause to mentally challenge her claim to cheerful disposition. "You both look perfectly fit, but I'm certain you'd like a few minutes to refresh yourselves," she said with a smile as she escorted the mortified Miss Porter and the offended Miss Fitzwaring to the door so that a footman could show them to their rooms.
"Where is my nephew?" Stephen asked as he pressed a brief kiss to Whitney's cheek. "And where," he added in a sardonic whisper, "is my mother's 'cheerful' disposition?"
"Noel is with Miss Charity…" Whitney began as it suddenly hit her the time was at hand. It was now. There was no turning back. "In a half hour, everyone is to go down to the pond, where the children are to have a little party. Noel will be there then, along with some of the cottagers' children."
S
wans floated gracefully on water as still as a mirror, as Sheridan and the two other governesses stood near a graceful white gazebo, watching several children who lived on the estate playing happily with small, fledgling ducks on the bank of a small lake on the front lawn. Their happy voices rang out as they tried to coax the lofty swans closer to the bank, mingling with the deeper, more reserved voices of the Fieldings, Townsendes, Skeffingtons, and Westmorelands.
Sheridan kept a close eye on the children, but none of the day's sounds were as loud as the thunder of her heart as she watched Stephen finally emerge from the house with two women. Whitney had already whispered a warning about the women before she joined her guests, but Sheridan scarcely paid it any attention. In her mind, all she could hear was Whitney's earlier words: "
Stephen kept the cleric there until late that night. He could not
—
would not
—
believe you weren't coming back
."
Tenderness and regret shook through her every time she thought of it, reinforcing her courage, her determination to face him and give him whatever "invitation" was necessary to bring him back to her.
He was listening to whatever Monica was telling him, but his smile was absent, and his gaze was on the children.
The closer he came, the harder Sheridan's heart beat until it seemed to roar in her ears. Noel came running up to her with Charity close beside him, and he stopped shyly in front of her. "Flower, for you," he said, holding out a tiny wildflower that Charity had told him to pick.
Charity's reason was obvious as she said, "Langford will be looking for Noel, and if he is with you, then we will all be relieved of our tension sooner than if we have to wait until he notices the governesses."
Sherry didn't care for that idea, but she crouched down to accept the flower, smiling softly at the sturdy three-year-old, who reminded her of his father and Stephen both. "Thank you, kind sir," she said, watching Stephen from the corner of her eye as he neared the gazebo. Behind her, beneath a large oak tree, the adults were surreptitiously watching the same scene begin to unfold, and their conversations became halting, while their laughter came to an abrupt end,
Noel looked at the sunlight glinting on the flaming strands of her hair, reached out to touch it, then paused to look inquiringly at Charity. "Hot?"
"No," Sheridan answered, loving every feature on his face. "It's not hot."
He grinned and reached out to touch it, but Stephen's call drew his instant attention.
"Noel!"
Noel broke into a grin, and before Charity could stop him, he turned and raced to his uncle, who swept him up into his arms. "You've grown a foot!" Stephen told him, shifting him to his left arm, his gaze on the group of adults beneath the tree. "Have you missed me?"
"Yes!" Noel said emphatically with a shake of his head, but as they passed within a few feet of Sheridan, Noel saw Sherry watching him with a hesitant smile. He made a sudden decision and wriggled to get down.
"What, leaving me so soon?" Stephen asked, looking surprised and a little hurt. "Obviously," he joked to the Townsendes and Fieldings, as well as Georgette and Monica, as he lowered the wriggling little boy to his feet, "I need to start bringing him more lavish gifts. Where are you going, young man?"
Noel gave him an adoring look, but pointed a chubby finger to a woman who was standing a few paces away, wearing a drab dark blue gown, and explained, "First, kiss 'bye!"
Unaware that he was the cynosure of a half-dozen pairs of eyes, Stephen straightened, glanced in the direction the child had pointed… and froze, his gaze levelling on Sheridan, who was bending to receive her kiss but looking directly at Stephen.
Whitney saw his reaction, saw his jaw clench so tightly that a muscle began to throb in his cheek. She had secretly harbored the hope that he might somehow believe the Skeffingtons were actually acquaintances of hers and that Sherry's appearance here was coincidence, but that hope was in vain. Slowly, Stephen turned his head and looked straight at her, his eyes boring into Whitney's. In frigid silence he accused his sister-in-law of complicity and treachery, and then he turned and stalked purposefully toward the house.
Afraid that he intended to leave, Whitney put down her wineglass, excused herself to her guests, and went after him. His legs were longer, and he didn't care about appearances, so he had gained the house several minutes before she entered it. The butler provided the information that he had called for his carriage to be brought round and gone up to his room.
Whitney ran up the steps. When there was no answer to her knock on his door, she knocked again. "Stephen? Stephen, I know you're in there—"
She tried the door, and when it wasn't locked, she opened it and went inside. He stalked out of the dressing room wearing a fresh shirt, saw her, and his expression became more forbidding than it had been outside. "Stephen, listen to me—"
"Get out," he warned, quickly fastening the shirt up the front and reaching for his jacket.
"You aren't leaving, are you?"
"Leave?" he jeered. "I
can't
leave! You worked that out too. My compliments to you,
your grace"
—he emphasized contemptuously—"on your duplicity, your dishonesty, and your disloyalty."
"Stephen, please," she implored, taking a few hesitant steps into the room. "Just listen to me. Sherry thought you were marrying her out of pity. I thought if you had a chance to see her again—"
He started toward her, his expression threatening. "If I'd wanted to see her, I'd have asked your friend DuVille," he said scathingly. "She went to him when she left me."
Whitney began talking faster as she automatically backed away. "If you will just try to see it from her perspective."
"If you are wise," he interrupted in a soft, blood-chilling voice as he loomed over her, "you will avoid me very carefully this weekend, Whitney. And when this weekend is over, you will communicate with me through your husband. Now, get out of my way."
"I know you loved her, and I told—"
He clamped his hands on her shoulders, forcibly moved her aside, and walked around her.
In stunned silence, Whitney watched him stalk swiftly down the hall and bound down the stairs. "My God," she whispered weakly. She had known Stephen Westmoreland for over four years, and she had never guessed, never imagined, that he was capable of the kind of virulent hatred she saw in his face when he looked at her.
Slowly, she went back downstairs to rejoin her guests for a party that had already had a very inauspicious beginning. When she reached them, it was to discover that Stephen had taken Monica and Georgette for a jaunt to the local village, which meant he would probably be gone for several hours. Lady Skeffington looked as dismayed as everyone else over his departure, only for different reasons, of course. In fact, the only two members of the party who didn't seem depressed about it were Sir John, who was having yet another glass of Madeira, which—thankfully—seemed to make him quiet instead of effusive, and Julianna Skeffington, who was talking to Sheridan and helping with the children. With a smile, she lifted Noel into her arms and hugged him tightly, then she turned and said something to Sheridan with an expression on her face that was clearly sympathetic.
From the sidelines, the dowager duchess watched the blonde girl and, in a halfhearted attempt to distract their thoughts from Stephen's very violent reaction to Sheridan's presence, she idly remarked to Whitney, "Julianna Skeffington knows something is in the wind. She saw the murderous look Stephen gave Sheridan when he saw her, and she was at Sherry's side within seconds. She seemed like a thoroughly delightful girl when I spoke with her earlier—charming and intelligent."
Whitney dragged her thoughts from the alarming things Stephen had said to her to Julianna's lovely features. "Beautiful, as well."
"It makes one marvel at the capriciousness of nature that allowed that man—" she nodded distastefully toward Sir John, "and that woman—" she grimaced at Lady Skeffington, "to produce that heavenly creature."
N
ormally a full staff of footmen were always on hand to assist arriving guests from their carriages and see that the vehicles and horses were taken around back to the stables, but when Stephen returned from his jaunt to the village, no one came out of the house. The only servant in evidence was a lone footman who was standing in the drive, staring fixedly in the general direction of the hills that rolled gently away from the stables at the back of the estate. He was concentrating so hard on whatever it was he was trying to see, that he seemed not to hear the carriage wheels until Stephen pulled up behind him, then he turned with a guilty start and trotted over to take the reins.
"Where is everyone?" Stephen asked, noticing that the butler still had not dispatched more servants from the house, nor opened the front door, as was customary.
"They're down at the stables, milord. It's quite a show, if I may say so, and not one to miss. Or so I've heard from them that's watching from the back of the house."
Stephen took the reins back from the footman, having decided to drive around to the stables and see for himself what the footman meant by "quite a show."
A long stretch of fence enclosed the stables and the large grassy area between the buildings where the horses were walked and cooled before being put away. To one side of the fence, pasture stretched all the way to the base of wooded hills, dotted with hedges and stone fences that were used to train Claymore's horses for the hunt. When Stephen pulled the carriage to a stop at the stables, the entire length of fencing was lined with grooms, footmen, coachmen, and stable hands. Stephen helped Monica and Georgette down from the carriage, noting as he did so that the entire house party, minus his treacherous sister-in-law, were standing on the far side of the fence, as absorbed with whatever unknown spectacle was taking place on the hillside as the servants were.
Stephen studied his brother's inscrutable profile as he and his two companions joined the group, wondering if Clay had actually collaborated in Whitney's scheme, and unable to believe he would have. Since Stephen wasn't completely certain, he deliberately addressed his question to Jason and Victoria Fielding. "What are you watching?"
"Wait and see for yourself," Jason advised him with an odd grin. "It wouldn't be right to spoil it with an explanation in advance."
Victoria Fielding seemed to have a difficult time looking him in the eye, and her smile was overbright. "It's really quite amazing!"
It occurred to Stephen that the Fieldings and the Townsendes were both behaving oddly. There was a nervousness in the women and an uneasiness about the men. Either they were uncomfortable because they were surprised and unhappy about Sheridan Bromleigh's presence—or else they'd known all along that she was going to be here, and they felt guilty. Stephen studied the four people he regarded as particularly close friends, deciding whether or not that friendship was about to end permanently. The women had definitely known, he decided, watching color stain Alexandra Townsende's cheeks as she felt his gaze on her. Not once in the three hours since he'd looked up and found himself only a few paces away from his former fiancée had Stephen allowed himself to think about her. Shutting out the reality of her presence was the only way he could stomach staying here.
She had pretended to be someone she was not, and when she was about to be exposed, she had fled to DuVille, leaving Stephen to wait for her like a besotted idiot with a cleric and his family standing by.
In the weeks since her disappearance, he had gone over everything she'd said and done while she supposedly had amnesia, and he could remember only that one slip—when she'd objected to having a paid companion. "I don't need a ladies' companion," she'd blurted. "I
am
a—"
She was an amazing actress to have pulled off the whole sham so well, Stephen thought with a fresh surge of disgust for his own gullibility.
A stellar actress, he decided wrathfully, remembering the softness in her eyes during the few moments their gazes had locked this morning. She'd looked straight at him with her heart in her eyes, unflinching. Except she had no heart. And no conscience either, obviously.
She was going to make another try for him. Stephen had realized it within seconds of seeing that wistful expression on her lovely, deceptive face this morning.
He'd assumed DuVille had been keeping her neatly tucked away for his own pleasure all these weeks, but evidently he'd tired of her in a surprisingly short time and sent her packing.
Now she was working as a governess and obviously longing for a better life. Based on that sweet pleading look she'd given him, she was apparently hoping he'd be as stupidly susceptible to her nonexistent appeal as he'd been before.
He shifted his speculative gaze to the men, but Victoria Fielding's exclamation drew his attention.
"There they come!" she said.
Stephen tore his mind from furious thoughts of Sheridan Bromleigh and lifted his gaze to the edge of a wooded hillside where she pointed.
Two mounted riders were galloping at full speed, crouched low over the horses' necks, leaping hedges in graceful unison, side by side. Stephen recognized Whitney at a glance; she was one of the most skilled riders he'd ever seen mounted—man or woman. The lad who was challenging her was slight in stature, clad in a shirt, breeches, and boots, and he was even more skilled than Whitney. Riding at breakneck pace, he took each jump with an effortless, breezy unconcern for style that Stephen had never seen before. With his face pressed close to the horse's mane, there was a jubilation, a simplicity in the way he soared over each jump, as if he were one with his mount—confident, trusting, elated.
"I never knew that animal could jump like that!" Clayton exclaimed with an admiring laugh. Oblivious to Stephen's private doubts about his filial integrity, he added, "Stephen, you've ridden Commander in the hunt. He's fast on the flat, but did he ever soar like that over the jumps?"
Stephen squinted into the late afternoon sun, watching the riders jumping in perfect tandem, then galloping flat-out, soaring over the next hedge together. Since he couldn't demand answers about Sheridan from his brother at the moment, he reported what he could see of the lad who was riding in a flat, unemotional voice. "It appears that he's holding Commander back, to keep him from gaining on Khan—"
"Who is normally more willing to take the jumps than Commander," Clayton added to his friends.
The riders took the last fence, then turned their mounts in unison at full speed toward the open gate of the enclosure, where the spectators were gathered. Since Clayton had been trying out new trainers for the past year, Stephen naturally assumed his brother had probably decided to give the slightly built lad a chance at the position. As the horses thundered closer, he was about to suggest his brother make the position permanent, but two things happened at once that made him break off in mid-sentence: a stable hand rushed forward into the field and dropped a grain sack on the ground—and as Commander's rider began to lean to the right, her hair came unbound.
Piles of fiery tresses unfurled like a flag behind her, swirling about, and she leaned farther and farther down to the right, and began to fall. Monica screamed in fear, Stephen took an involuntary step, starting to run toward her… and Sheridan swept the grain sack off the ground while the servants and houseguests erupted in wild cheers.
In the space of one second, rage replaced Stephen's fear—rage that she had terrified him with her stupid stunt, and fury that she had been able to evoke any emotion in him at all. And while he was still struggling to get that under control, she headed the lightly galloping horse straight at Stephen. Monica and Georgette jumped back with cries of alarm, but Stephen folded his arms and stood his ground, knowing damn well she was in full control. Not until she was almost on top of him did she haul Commander to a smart stop, and at the same time, she swung her leg over the horse's back and slid gracefully to the ground. While the servants erupted in cheers, and the houseguests applauded, Sheridan landed on both feet in front of him, a smile on her soft mouth, her color gloriously high. But what Stephen noticed, as he gazed impassively at her, was the look in those liquid-silver eyes. They were imploring him to soften, to smile at her.
Instead, he raked her with an insulting glance from the top of her gloriously tousled flame-colored hair to the tips of her booted feet. "Didn't anyone ever teach you how to dress?" he asked contemptuously.
He saw her flinch at the same moment Georgette laughed, but Sheridan's gaze never faltered. With everyone looking on, she smiled at him, and said with a catch in her soft voice, "In days of old, it was customary for the winner of a tournament to bestow his favor on someone at the tournament as a gesture of his—his very
high
regard and—and
deepest
respect."
Stephen didn't know what the hell she was talking about until she held out the empty grain sack to him and softly said, "My favor, Lord Westmoreland—"
He took it before he realized what he was doing.
"Of all the brazen, the outrageous—" Monica exploded, and Lady Skeffington looked as if she were going to burst into tears of mortification.
"Miss Bromleigh!" she cried angrily. "You forget yourself! Apologize to these good people and then go at once and tend to your pack—"
"Tend to me!" Julianna interrupted sharply, linking her hand through Sheridan's arm and drawing her toward the house. "You must tell me when you learned to ride like that and how you did it…"
Victoria stepped away from the group and glanced at the Skeffingtons. "Miss Bromleigh and I are both Americans," she explained. "I am longing to talk to someone from my own country. Will you excuse me until supper?" she added, looking at her husband.
Jason Fielding—who had once been the subject of ugly gossip and an outcast from polite society—grinned at the young wife who had changed all that. With a tender smile, he bowed slightly and said, "I will be desolate without your company, madam."
"I, too, would love to know more about America," Alexandra Townsende announced as she broke away from the group. Turning to her own husband, she said with a smile, "And you, my lord? May I count upon you to be equally desolate without
my
company?"
Jordan Townsende—who had once regarded his marriage to a besotted young Alexandra as an "obligatory marriage of inconvenience"—looked at her with unhidden warmth. "I am always desolate without you, as you perfectly well know."
Whitney waited until her coconspirators were well on their way to the house before she fixed a bright smile on her face and prepared to invent an excuse to leave, but Lady Skeffington forestalled her.
"I cannot imagine what has gotten into Sheridan Bromleigh," she said, her face red with ire. "I am always saying to Sir John that it is so very hard to find good help. Isn't that what I always say?" she asked him.
Sir John nodded and hiccupped. "Yes, my dove."
Satisfied, she turned to Whitney. "I must implore you to tell me how it is done, your grace."
Whitney pulled her thoughts from Stephen, who was conversing with Monica and Georgette as if nothing had happened—the grain sack Sheridan had sweetly offered him on the ground beneath the heel of his boot. "I'm sorry, Lady Skeffington, my thoughts wandered. You wished to know something?"
"How do you find adequate servants? Were it not so difficult, we certainly wouldn't be employing that brassy American woman. I have the gravest misgivings about keeping her in our employ for another hour."
"I do not regard a governess as a servant—" Whitney began. She had thought Stephen wasn't listening, but at that remark, he looked over at her and replied to Lady Skeffington in an acid voice, "My sister-in-law regards them as
family
. One might even say she holds them in higher esteem than mere family." His dagger gaze shifted to Whitney. "Don't you?" he snapped sarcastically.
It was the first remark he had addressed to Lady Skeffington since their introduction, and that lady seized on it as a source of great encouragement; at the same time she missed the sarcasm in his voice. Dropping the subject of a governess altogether, she hastened to his side and said, "My dear Julianna is the same way, as you will have noticed. She leapt right to Sheridan Bromleigh's defense. Julianna is such a wonderful girl," she continued, and somehow managed to squeeze herself between Stephen and Monica, "so very loyal, so sweet…"
When Stephen walked off to the house, she stayed at his side with Sir John trotting along in their wake.
"I could almost feel sorry for him," Clayton remarked idly, watching Lady Skeffington continue her one-sided monologue.
"I cannot," Whitney said, still stinging from his cutting remark about her misplaced loyalty. With a quick apologetic look at the men, she said, "I want to talk to Victoria and Alexandra."
They watched her leave, all three of them silent and thoughtful. "Despite what our wives think, this was a mistake," Jason Fielding said, echoing all their thoughts. "It's not going to work." He looked at Clayton and added, "You know Stephen far better than Jordan or I. What do you think?"
"I think you're right," Clayton said grimly, remembering the expression on Stephen's face when Sherry sweetly offered him the "favor."
"I think it was an
enormous
mistake, and Sheridan Bromleigh is the one who's going to be hurt by it. Stephen has marked her down permanently as a scheming opportunist who fled out of fear of prosecution, but who has now gained enough confidence because he
didn't
file charges against her to try to insinuate herself again. Nothing she says or does is going to matter, because she is going to have to prove he's wrong. And she can't."