Page 23 of A Winter’s Romance

L ady Tyndall’s other guests arrived over the following two days, and the ladies in the party being of merely tolerable aspect, Lord Windon’s loyalty to Miss Tyndall’s beauty was not to be challenged by them. He was only mildly troubled by the memory of Miss Stowe’s face, as well, for he did not catch even a glimpse of her during that time, as she conscientiously adhered to her aunt’s commands.

But a chance remark by Miss Tyndall regarding her cousin having attended the Dowager Marchioness of Foxham’s ball during the Season brought a memory fluttering into his head of a lovely brunette with smiling brown eyes, who had captivated him at that ball. His mind was not a quick one, nor was it tenacious, but perhaps because Miss Tyndall’s face was continually before him, he could easily trace the lines of her cousin’s, and he began to be possessed of a conviction that Miss Stowe and the brunette were one and the same.

By the third day, Lord Windon had received enough reminders—between his own admiration of Miss Tyndall and Lady Tyndall’s admiration of her for him—to wonder if he might contrive another meeting with Miss Stowe. It had occurred to him that he was guilty of a solecism, for a gentleman ought not to forget an acquaintance made, especially if that acquaintance was a lovely young woman with rosebud lips. As a gentleman, he could not allow such a lapse to be perpetuated—even were she a governess—and he envisioned a romantic apology, followed by a few stolen moments together, wherein he could drink his fill of her beauty.

The following morning, Lord Tyndall took the gentlemen out to bring in the yule log, and Lord Windon’s bay mare had the misfortune to step in a rabbit hole and strain a hock. Rather than simply allow a groom to take his mount to the stables, Windon elected to go along, for he really had better things to do than wander about in the cold searching out a dashed big tree.

As they came across the paddock toward the stables, however, an unholy racket sounded from within. The mare, already troubled, tossed her head and shuffled, and the groom hastened to soothe her lest she worsen her injury. Affronted at the indignity being perpetrated in his horse’s sanctum, Windon strode to the door to put an end to it, and stopped short. There, in the middle of the floor, was a young boy, kicking and screaming while a drably-dressed female attempted, without success, to restrain him.

“Good gracious, Henry!” cried the lady, her back to Windon as she danced around the boy to avoid his kicking feet. “Stop this at once! You will ruin your coat! Whatever can be the matter?”

“They’re all gone away!” the boy wailed, flailing about in his tantrum. “They’re getting the yule log with Papa, and all the horses are gone! ”

The lady ceased her fruitless attempts at restraining her charge and put hands on hips, regarding him in annoyance. “Certainly they are, you ridiculous boy. You could not expect that they should walk so far in the dirt and snow!”

“But I wanted to see the high-bred-uns! Papa promised, but it’s been three days already, and I’ve not seen none of them!”

Windon’s mare tossed her head again, backing and whinnying as she put undue strain upon her injured hock. This was enough for his lordship.

“Now see here, my boy,” he said sternly, making his presence known. “Can’t go on caterwauling in the stables like a fishwife! Not a wife! Not a fish! Besides, Calliope needs peace and quiet. Better do as your nurse says and go away. Back to your books!”

Henry sat up with a start, his legs splayed out before him, and regarded this impressive gentleman with wide eyes. “I wasn’t at my books, sir!” he squeaked. “I was playing at tin soldiers, but I wanted to play with real horses!”

“It don’t signify what you were at! No excuse for making a racket and troubling decent folk. Not gentlemanly, you know! Daresay your nurse don’t like it above half!”

With this, Windon gave a nod to the nurse, who had only half-turned and did not raise her eyes. He pitied her, poor creature, to have the charge of this brat. Her shapeless grey pelisse was covered in dust and straw from the floor, and her hair was wisping about her face where it had come loose from the severe bun at the back of her head. A plain, poor creature, to be sure, who did not deserve to be served so.

“Do you, ma’am?” he inquired kindly, with a bow.

“No, I do not, sir,” she said without turning to him, but crouching low to pat at the red, tear-streaked face of her charge with her handkerchief. “As you say, it is unseemly and unbecoming a young gentleman.”

The timbre of her voice gave Windon pause, but it was not until she helped the boy to his feet and turned to guide him out of the stable that his eyes narrowed, gazing intently upon the face now fully in his view. He inhaled sharply.

“What the devil—Miss Stowe!”

Her eyes flew to his, her cheeks pink, but she lowered her gaze once more and said only, “My lord, I hope that you will forgive Henry for disturbing the peace of your morning. Henry, beg his lordship’s pardon.”

Henry drew himself to his full four feet and said manfully, “I beg your pardon, sir, for cat—cater—making a racket. May I meet Calliope?”

Miss Stowe remonstrated with him, but Lord Windon, recovering from his stupefaction, gestured him toward the mare, if only to have a moment alone with the governess.

“Mind you don’t startle her again, young man,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll not have her injury made worse!”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse, sir,” whispered Henry, and tiptoed up to the groom holding the mare’s halter.

Miss Stowe attempted to slip past his lordship, but he put out a hand to stop her.

“What’s all this, then?” he inquired, his brows lowered as he gazed anew at her face. It certainly was Miss Stowe, but the enchantment of her elfin countenance was marred by the severity of her hairstyle and the Quakerish cut of her gown. In all his imaginings of this meeting, she was fashionably dressed and ravishingly coiffed, for that is how he had seen her before. But this romantic vision was shattered by the dowdily-dressed scarecrow of a female before him.

The color deepened in her cheeks as she sought to look anywhere but at him. “I—I am a governess, my lord. I know I ought to have told you—only I did not think—I did not know what I should do. I hoped that I should never see you again—that is, I—I beg your pardon.”

“I know you’re a dashed governess, but that don’t give you cause to dress like an ape leader!” He was overcome by a crashing sense of ill-use, as the connoisseur in him revolted. “Where’s that enchanting pelisse you had on, and the curls? What can you be about? You never wore something this hideous to Lady Foxham’s ball. It’s beyond anything! This ‘do is devilish ugly, too, and you ought to know it! It won’t do at all—won’t do at all! I tell you, ma’am, if you ain’t careful, you’ll frighten away all the gentlemen in the party!”

Miss Stowe, whose pink cheeks had been thus far one of her redeeming features, paled alarmingly, and her eyes, which could not meet his an instant before, were now fixed on his face and sparking dangerously.

“Then it is providential that I will not be of the party, sir,” she snapped, “for whatever either of us could wish, I am yet a governess, and grateful to be! You may not like it, but it is not my place to try to improve my looks, much less to attempt to attract gentlemen meant to partner my cousin and her friends. I have borne many trials since my aborted Season, and I’ll thank you not to throw them up in my teeth! I did not desire it, but I know my place, and I hope I am wise enough to take pains to look as though I do, for if I do not, I will not even be a governess anymore—I will be nothing! Good day, sir!”

And she sailed away, plucking Henry away from the mare and leading him, protesting in whispers that gradually grew louder the farther they were from Calliope, back into the house. Windon gazed after her in shock until the sidelong glances of the groom standing stock-still beside the mare brought him to himself.

“Go on, man, take her inside. Cold compresses—you know what to do. I’ll be down after dinner to see how she goes on.”

With all the dignity he could muster, he turned and marched back up to the house. Nursing his own hurt pride, he went to his bedchamber, called Gripson, and ruminated on his injuries while his boots were removed and his raiment changed suitably for a morning indoors.

Miss Stowe hadn’t cause to fly at him like that. It had been almost more than he could bear to see her so altered—after such satisfying visions, too. He’d only given her a piece of advice, and very good advice it was! What did she think she was about, to skin her hair back and put on such horridly drab clothes—it was a crying shame, that’s what it was! A pretty girl like her—no, an Incomparable! She had captivated him at the ball and again at the inn, only to hide away behind those weeds—for that was what they were, practically widow’s weeds, and as attractive! How could she mock his admiration with that get-up? It was an affront to discerning eyes everywhere.

His valet finished and Windon dismissed him, going down to the drawing room where he found Miss Tyndall ensconced with the other ladies, engaged in tying ribbons for decoration. There was a general twitter of welcome at his entrance, and Lady Tyndall rose to learn what had brought him back betimes.

“I see,” she said when he had told of his horse’s injury, a sly smile in her eyes as she led him over to Honoria’s side. “A strained hock. Well, one can only be grateful our good Hamley has charge of the stables, for he is a magician with such things, depend upon it. You must not worry about a thing! Well, my lord, you must make do with us, now! Honoria, dear, Lord Windon will not wish to sit about while the ladies are employed with the ribbons. Do take him up to see the long gallery.”

Amid the disgruntled whispers of the other ladies, Miss Tyndall rose obediently and led Windon out into the hall and back up the stairs to the first floor. Down the corridor to the left, they entered the long gallery, where centuries of Tyndall ancestors gazed down in various states of dissatisfaction upon their visitors. Windon, whose conscience had become restless, shuddered under their scrutiny.

“Now, really, Miss Tyndall, must we? Ain’t there a parlor or—or a library—dash it! They make one’s skin crawl!”

Miss Tyndall giggled. “You are being nonsensical. They are only paintings. However, I will take your arm and bear you up as we pass through, for the library is on the far side. But I must not quiz you, for I will own that I did not like to come here as a girl, fancying as I did all these people knew my very thoughts! Oh, what shivers it sent down my spine, especially when my thoughts were not precisely what they ought to have been!”

Distracted momentarily with curiosity as to what sort of improper thoughts the angelic Miss Tyndall might ever have entertained, Windon allowed himself to be led further into the hall. But the succession of her revered ancestors all gazing sternly down at him—ancestors she shared with Miss Stowe, no less—soon renewed his discomfort.

“Nothing fanciful about it, Miss Tyndall!” he declared, planting his feet and refusing to go farther. “I can feel ‘em piercing my soul!”

Her laughter echoed through the lofty gallery. “But you have nothing to fear, I am persuaded, Lord Windon! Whatever could you be ashamed of?”

“Not a thing! That is, not the sort of thing I’d like to tell. Not that I’m some sort of rum touch—” Windon grimaced, thinking he had better make a clean breast of it. “Only, I seem to have vexed your cousin.”

Miss Tyndall blinked. “My cousin? You’ve seen Prudence?”

“In the stables.”

“The stables! Whyever was she there, I wonder?”

Windon coughed. “Brother of yours—Henry, is it? Having a tantrum on the stable floor, dust and straw everywhere. Miss Stowe trying to talk sense into him.”

“Oh dear,” said Miss Tyndall, dismayed. “How unpleasant.”

“I’ll say! Boy caterwauling to beat the band! Nearly spooked my horse!”

“Oh, certainly, but I did not mean for you. I meant for poor Prudence.” She sighed. “Henry can be frightfully horrid when he does not get his way. I hope your presence calmed him. He holds sporting gentlemen in the greatest esteem.”

Windon frowned. “Seemed more taken with Calliope. Not that I blame him—fine animal, complete to a shade.”

“Oh, famous!” cried Miss Tyndall, smiling warmly at him. “He does love horses. That must be why he was in the stables. I’m sure Prudence was excessively grateful to you for distracting him. ”

He snorted. “Not in the least! Nearly bit my head off!”

“No! I cannot credit it! Prudence is the most charming creature, and could not act so improperly.” She lowered her brows, her pretty lips pursing in disapproval. “You must have done something odious, Windon. Did not you say you had vexed her?”

“But it ain’t my fault!” He put up his hands in defense. “She took a pet when I told her she ought to dress up and curl her hair. Looked frightful, like some old scarecrow! No accounting for it! Couldn’t have been the same young lady I met at Lady Foxham’s ball.”

“Then you recollected that,” said Miss Tyndall, her mouth pursed.

Windon looked hard at her. “Told me yourself, didn’t you? Though I wouldn’t credit it after today if I hadn’t seen her myself looking ravishing at the Black Bull. Dashed waste of a pretty face in that fusty old gown, if you ask me.”

“I must agree with you, sir,” said Miss Tyndall, turning away. “But it simply would not do, you know. She is now a governess, after all. Mama would send her packing in a trice if she was so coming as to dress herself up. Prudence is quite lovely, and Mama could not bear to have her outshine me.”

She sighed, plumping down on a settee beneath the likeness of a particularly somber ancestor. Windon, non-plussed, sat beside her.

“Don’t see why she would,” he said loyally. “Incomparable yourself, you know. Hold your own, to be sure.”

She smiled sadly but shook her head. “Thank you, Windon, but Mama is terribly jealous. And she is anxious that I make a splendid match. She says that I was not born so lovely for nothing and has been throwing me in the way of every titled gentleman we meet.”

Windon could not miss the note of wistfulness in her voice. “Sure to make a good match! Taken with you myself! That is, think you’re the loveliest—”

“Oh, pray do not continue, sir!” she cried, cringing away from him, then bowing her head. “Forgive me, I beg. You cannot know, and I would not have led you on for the world.”

Hovering between relief and injury, Windon murmured, “Nothing to forgive, ma’am. Had the notion you were amenable—title and all that. Quite a splendid match, if I say so myself.”

“But I do not wish to make a splendid match!” she said mournfully, blinking back a tear. “I—there is—I beg your pardon, sir, but I can no longer dissemble. There is a certain gentleman—”

He turned toward her, intrigued. “Attached already? If that don’t beat the Dutch! Had no notion—told my mama you were smitten, and all the while, she was right! Well, suppose it’s all for the best. Who is the lucky fellow?”

She had been anxiously watching him throughout this odd speech, but perceiving that he was not about to rant and rave about his love for her, she exhaled and said, “You do not know him, I am sure. He is a mere Mr. Benchley of Pattendon Hall. His fortune is only a competence, and his consequence non-existent. Mama will not allow me to think of him—not with you showing so flattering an interest.”

Windon’s brows shot up. “Dashed awkward business.”

Miss Tyndall sniffled noisily and he automatically handed her his handkerchief, lost in his own thoughts. He was not a powerful thinker, but he had enough experience with the machinations of match-making mamas to comprehend Miss Tyndall’s despair. He was a viscount, after all, and the promise of an earldom far outweighed a competence, no matter how well the gentleman loved the lady. It did not bode well for Miss Tyndall’s chances at happiness. But Lord Windon, if not prone to thoughtfulness, was a romantic, and the lady’s plight touched him deeply, sufficient to overcome any affront he might have taken over her rejection.

Sitting up, he declared, “I will help you, ma’am, though I don’t quite fathom how at the moment.”

Miss Tyndall turned to him, the handkerchief suspended at her cheek and hope alive in her glistening eyes. “Will you help me, sir? Oh, do you mean it?”

“Said I would, didn’t I? Well, man of my word. Never one to stand in the way of true love. Will help you if only I can fix upon something. Can’t leave the party—not good ton. Besides, don’t wish to.”

“Oh, but you needn’t, sir! Indeed—” A strange look came over her countenance, and she stared into the distance. “Indeed, it would be better that you stay, I am persuaded.”

She leapt up and began pacing back and forth and murmuring to herself, unconscious of the disapproving stares of her forebears. “It is perfect—only too perfect! And Mama will be obliged to put a good face on it.”

Windon had jumped to his feet as well, his curious gaze following her. After a full minute, he inquired politely, “Got an idea, ma’am?”

She stopped, clapping her hands. “To be sure! Oh, forgive me, but this is beyond anything!” Rapturously, she clasped her hands before her chest. “Lord Windon, will you pretend to be a friend to my dear Mr. Benchley? He is our neighbor, you know, and you may ride over to his estate tomorrow, and take a letter to him for me. But before you go you will let it be known that you know him—oh, from school or something—and that you have a deep regard for him.”

Windon blinked, considering this. “Suppose I could. All sorts at school. Possible I did know him. Always did have a lamentable memory.”

“Certainly! Gentlemen are always forgetting such things. Mama will never suspect you, depend upon it! But my letter will tell Fred all about my plan, and why he must pretend that you are old schoolmates, and then he will return with you, and Mama will be obliged to invite him to the ball Thursday next!”

Windon nodded gamely, though not quite following.

“You must mention the ball, you see,” she said, gazing intently into his eyes to make sure he understood. “If you mention it to him in her presence, she will be forced to be civil and invite him, for she has invited all the other neighbors.”

“Ah! Certainly, ma’am.”

“And then, he will tell you—again in Mama’s hearing—that he intends to make me his wife, and you will be so encouraging and congratulatory that she must give up all hope of your offering for me. And if you can manage to tell Papa what a fine fellow Mr. Benchley is, and that he would make me an excellent husband, then Fred’s way will be made safe!”

Again, Windon nodded, a trifle overwhelmed at the part he was to play but spurred on by the gallantry to which he always fell victim in the company of a lovely woman .

Observing his rather dubious look, however, she suddenly blanched, taking her lower lip between her teeth. “Dear me, is it too much? I beg your pardon. I suppose it is excessively impertinent to ask you to practice such gross deception. What must you think of me? I can only imagine that I have overexcited myself and am somewhat frenzied in my mind.” She plumped back down on the settee.

“No, no, ma’am!” he said quickly, dismissing the immense impropriety of her request with an airy hand. “Nothing to it! Nothing at all, assure you! Friendly fellow, I’m told. Can make a friend of anyone. If—Fred—will abet us, then all’s right and tight. Good cause, you know!”

She beamed upon him once more. “Oh, thank you, my lord! I knew I could depend upon you. It is a good cause—it is my only hope for happiness, after all. And I shall be forever grateful—Fred too! We shall never forget your kindness!”

He brushed aside her thanks with many murmured protestations, relieved when at last she stood and linked arms with him, leading him back out of the gloomy hall and away from the accusatory gazes of her—thankfully—deceased relations.