TheEnglishHeiress Page 41

  That question checked for a moment the dizzy spinning in Leonie’s brain. Her eyes searching the corridor and fastened on Pierre, who was just turning to face them, having judged from the sounds that Roger had covered his woman. To Leonie that slow movement spelled doom. She was sure it was Danou, who had been lying in wait in one of the rooms and now had them trapped. Uttering a choked cry of warning, Leonie tried to throw herself forward to protect Roger. To him it seemed as if she were trying to get past him, to escape him, and the agony of the last few days exploded into raw rage so that he slapped her, forehand and backhand.

  The pain, coupled with the belief that they would both die in that moment, pushed Leonie past the hysteria that had been rising in her, directly into unconsciousness. She toppled forward limply, right onto Roger, who staggered back down the few steps he had climbed. Pierre was enormously surprised at what he had heard and seen, but surprise had never slowed his reflexes. He would have been long since dead if it had. Now he leaped toward them just in time to save Roger from falling over, and between them they eased Leonie down. Although Roger had not fainted, he was a little use as Leonie who had, and Fifi dancing around the pair of them yelping with excitement, added to the confusion.

  All the noise, Pierre noted, had produced no reaction. There had been plenty of time after the three shots were fired, the dog’s barking, and the noise of Leonie and Roger shouting at each other, for someone to come—even if that person had originally been asleep. Thus, Pierre deduced that they were alone in the house. He mentioned this to Roger, who paid him no attention, alternately agonizing over his own cruelty and Leonie’s unfaithfulness. Shaking his head sadly over the degeneration a woman had produced in a previously cool and clearheaded companion, Pierre went to block the back door against intrusion. He did not expect any, but leaving the door open was asking for trouble. Then he ran upstairs to find a more effective covering for Leonie than Roger’s coat. The garment did not conceal a great many essentials, which explained pretty clearly to Pierre what had turned Roger’s head, and it seemed to him that both Roger and Leonie would feel much better when she was adequately covered.

  The only open door was that of the room in which Leonie had been imprisoned, and Pierre naturally tried that first. Inside, the candle Panel had carried was still burning. The light was not bright, but the scene that met Pierre’s dark-adjusted eyes cleared up the puzzle of Leonie’s behavior. He whistled softly, his eyes skipping from Panel’s unbuttoned breeches to the discarded pistol to the horrible wound in the dead man’s head. Such a woman! Perhaps Roger was not such a fool, Pierre thought a trifle wistfully. Perhaps if he had met a woman who combined such loveliness of form with such determination of character, his head would also have been turned.

  Of course, Pierre was crediting Leonie with rather more than she had really accomplished. He thought she had somehow wrested the pistol from Panel. This small detail was corrected when he came down carrying a blanket. By then Leonie had recovered her senses, and as her first words to Roger had been a warning against Danou, Roger’s suspicion had been reduced enough to permit him to listen to what she said. What he heard then made him mute with shame, so that instead of apologizing and explaining he said nothing.

  Pierre’s arrival temporarily settled Roger’s problem because he gave them no further time to talk. Since it was possible that Danou would return to the house at any moment, he sent Roger to get Leonie’s clothes. She refused, with a convulsive shudder, to reenter the room where Panel lay dead, and dressed in the parlor. Then Pierre hurried them out of the house, the blanket serving Leonie in lieu of a cloak. The commissioner’s scarves stood them in good stead, as did the weather. The streets were empty, even of bands of thieves and the night watchers—in some cases a distinction without a difference—so that they made their way through the freezing drizzle without interference to the docks on the Seine where Pierre’s boat lay. Once there, a sufficiently haughty manner, coupled with the official scarves, overawed the two miserable guards who were standing watch.

  Even when they were aboard there was no time for explanations. Roger was needed to help man the ship and to stand guard in case they were challenged. Unfortunately, these duties did not fully occupy his mind. His offense against Leonie assumed enormous proportions, and he had more than enough time to dwell on a series of most unpleasant facts. That he had behaved abominably might not have been much of a problem. Roger had a glib tongue and an agile mind when he had a clear purpose and a clear conscience. He could devise both reasons for what he had done and arguments for why he should be forgiven. More difficult was the time and place in which to present these reasons and arguments. During their walk to the ship there had been more pressing things to discuss, such as whether it would be better to sail directly for England in the small vessel or return to Pierre’s base and transfer to the Bonne Lucie.

  The decision had been to sail directly. The weather was wet and cold but not at all stormy, and Pierre was relatively sure it would hold for the short passage across the Channel. Whether the calm would continue long enough for them to sail against the prevailing winds to Brittany and then cross was much more doubtful. In ordinary times Pierre could have guaranteed Roger’s safety in his own home town if they had to wait out a winter storm, but in the present political situation he was not sure. All in all it seemed a lesser risk to cross immediately in the small but sturdy fishing boat. However, small was the operative word. There was barely room aboard to find a sheltered corner for Leonie. There was certainly no place that would provide the privacy necessary to the soft explanations and affectionate caresses Roger thought necessary to comfort her.

  Having got that far, the third and only insurmountable problem presented itself. Roger began to wonder whether it would not simply be better to allow Leonie to think the worst of him. He knew it would not be fair to press his love on her at this moment. She was a great heiress. She was young and beautiful. She could marry where she chose—a younger man, wealthier, of greater rank than his own. It would not be fair to bind her to him before she had seen men more suitable to her age and station. Roger remembered quite well that he had argued this subject with himself previously, remembered his rationalization that Leonie might be pursued and taken in by a fortune hunter who cared more for her purse than her person. He saw now that the rationalization had only been a salve on his guilty conscience. The guardian appointed—and most likely it would be his father, who was already the executor of her uncle’s will—would take good care that she did not marry unsuitably.

  Thus, when they were at last clear of the river and out into the Channel, relatively free of danger, Roger made a stiff, formal apology to Leonie for striking her and for his unjustifiable suspicions. Until that moment Leonie had been very happy. She had not given a second thought to the slap Roger had dealt her, understanding without explanation what must have passed through his mind when he saw her apparently unrestrained and armed instead of a helpless prisoner. She had not taken umbrage at his lack of trust. After all, she had accused him of worse on less evidence.

  Nor had it troubled Leonie in the least that Roger had not spoken to her except to ask after her physical comfort. Leonie realized how dangerous their situation was. It would not have been safe for a “witness” to be tenderly embraced by or gaily conversing with a commissioner on the street. And it was obvious, once they had reached the boat and started out, that Roger had duties to perform that could not be interrupted for “sweet nothings”. Leonie concentrated on keeping herself and Fifi out of the men’s way so that they would not endanger their rescuers.

  The voice and manner in which Roger addressed her was, therefore, a horrible shock. Unbelievingly she listened to him say that he was very sorry for the misunderstanding, that he hoped Mademoiselle de Conyers would find it in her heart to forgive him, although he acknowledged that what he had done was inexcusable.

  “What you have done? What have you ever done me except good?” Leonie whispered, aware of the men around th
em who, because the boat was so small, could not help but overhear. “You have saved my life again and again. There is nothing I cannot forgive you.”

  Roger winced. She had said in the past that she loved him and had called him beloved, but she might have been fooling herself, confusing love and gratitude. This certainly sounded like it. If so, he was lucky he had not pushed her into marriage or into promising to marry him. Unhappy as he was now, it was nothing compared to what he would have suffered if Leonie had fallen in love with someone else after they were married.

  “Thank you,” he replied, his blue eyes as blank as marbles, “that is most generous, but I beg you to think no more of the matter. I mixed myself into your affairs quite voluntarily. I assure you, you owe me nothing. My friend Pierre will tell you that I have a nasty habit of intruding into other people’s affairs.”

  “Roger,” Leonie murmured, “why are you so angry? What have I done?”

  “I am not angry at all,” he insisted. The pain in her eyes caught at his throat, and he had to pause a moment to clear his voice. “I assure you, mademoiselle, that you have done nothing wrong ever, nor ever displeased me in the smallest way. To know you has given me the greatest joy I have ever experienced, but your welfare is no longer my responsibility. I—have no claim to you. We are safe now—except for the possibility of a storm at sea, but I cannot protect you from that.”

  “What are you saying?” Leonie gasped. “Are you going to abandon me in a strange country in which I know no one, where—”

  “Of course not, Mademoiselle de Conyers,” Roger said, stressing the name. “Pierre will take us to a port only a few miles from my father’s house. My stepmother will receive you. She is a most delightful woman, kind and sensible. She will tell you just how you must go on and present you to the ton—that is, the best and most elegant society. In no time at all you will have more invitations than you can manage, and so many friends—”

  “And you?” Leonie interrupted, “Will you be there too?”

  Roger’s eyes dropped. He could not look into her pleading face. He would end by promising to accompany her, escort her, and he could not. He would not be able to endure watching her slip away from him day by day as her circle of friends enlarged and more and more men courted her. Every word she said made it clearer that it was a mixture of gratitude and need that bound her to him. When she needed him no longer, she would realize that she wanted a younger companion. The gratitude would last longer. He could hold her with that, he knew. Desire flicked him, and he hated himself for thinking of imprisoning Leonie in that disgusting trap.

  “You will not need me,” he assured her. “You will be so busy, and I will be busy also. I must try to reestablish my business—I am a barrister, an avocat, you would say. And I must get to know my son again. He will have changed from a boy almost into a young man in the years I have been gone.”

  Leonie stood mute, her eyes brimming with tears. She wanted desperately to plead with Roger not to desert her, to cry that she loved him, that she would rather have him than ton invitations and casual friends, but she knew that would be wrong. She had already robbed him of more than two years of his life, separated him from his child at a crucial time, possibly ruined his business… How could she ask more of him?

  Perhaps if the voyage had been tedious or dangerous, some incident might have occurred to break either Leonie’s or Roger’s reserve. However, it was a perfect crossing, swift and uneventful. In addition, the weather did not encourage idling by the ship’s rail, which would have made conversation almost obligatory in so small a vessel. The sleety rain fell steadily so that anyone without specific duties tended to huddle silently into whatever protection could be found.

  Arrival did nothing to improve matters for Leonie. During the voyage Pierre told Roger that he would set them ashore and leave immediately. He did not wish to be trapped in England, perhaps for weeks, if a series of winter storms began. His parting from Roger was warm and emotional. It was a terrible contrast to Roger’s manner toward Leonie. In an effort to guard her reputation from the smallest hint of scandal, he adopted a manner of icy formality. He did not even enter the private parlor he engaged for her at an inn until a carriage could be obtained to take her to Stonar Magna. Leonie’s numb despair deepened.

  She was hardly aware of the storm of excitement and joy when they reached the house. She stood silent, even when she was enveloped in a soft, scented embrace. The tone of the soft voice changed from welcome to concern. Leonie struggled with herself, trying to respond, but a sense of isolation, of utter distance from everyone and everything around her, bound her tongue. The soft voice sharpened, orders were given. Leonie, resistless, found herself being helped up a flight of stairs, undressed, given a warm, sweet drink that had an odd, bitter flavor, and tucked into a warm bed. Leonie would have wept, would have cried out for Roger or not to be left alone, but she was sleepy, so sleepy.

  When Leonie’s breath came in the long, even sighs of deep sleep, Lady Margaret left the room to rush downstairs and join Roger and her husband. She had done little more than kiss and hug her stepson when he arrived because it seemed to her that Leonie, a stranger in a strange land, needed more comfort and attention. However, her first real look at Roger made her draw a sharp breath. The light was gone from his expression again. She told herself that it was only exhaustion, but the concern in her husband’s eyes when they met hers briefly warned of a deeper trouble.

  “Roger tells me,” Sir Joseph said, “that the situation in France is terrible. There are hundreds of executions every day in Paris alone.”

  “How dreadful,” Lady Margaret murmured, but she did not believe that the execution of strangers, no matter how numerous, could have brought that look of suffering to Roger’s face. “Mademoiselle de Conyers is asleep,” she said. “Poor child, it must have been terrible for her.”

  Not a muscle moved in Roger’s face and yet Lady Margaret knew at once that she had touched the source of his pain. She was shocked—part furious, part incredulous.

  “Terrible is not the word,” Roger was saying. “You wouldn’t believe the agonies she has suffered, and without a complaint, with hardly a tear…”

  He went on to describe the happenings of the last few days, and Lady Margaret’s rage and amazement began to diminish. She was even more sure now that Leonie was the seat of Roger’s trouble, but it certainly did not seem to be the girl’s fault. There was a note of warmth and tenderness in Roger’s eyes and voice that had never been there, except in the beginning, when Roger spoke of Solange. Lady Margaret waited for her husband to ask questions, but he did not. She was annoyed, although usually she agreed with Sir Joseph’s refusal to interfere in the lives of his adult children. He would listen if they wished to tell him something and then offer help and advice, but he did not ask questions.

  Somehow Lady Margaret felt that he was wrong this time, and when Roger refused to spend the night, she burst out, “What is wrong, Roger dear? No, Joseph, don’t say it isn’t my business. Something is very wrong, and I think it is Mademoiselle de Conyers’ fault.”

  That was a trap and Roger fell into it headlong. “No,” he protested. “She is the kindest, sweetest… Oh, for God’s sake, I am twice her age! And what the devil would people say if I married the heiress before she ever had a chance to meet any other men?”

  Sir Joseph pursed his lips at the latter statement. Lady Margaret shook her head at the first. She was far younger than her husband, but except for the knowledge that he would probably predecease her, she had never regretted her marriage. She interrupted Roger’s catalog of Leonie’s perfections to state this fact. A muscle in Roger’s jaw jumped.

  “Don’t make it harder, ma’am. I know what you say is true, but—but you were a woman who knew something of life when you chose my father. Leonie is a girl without any real experience and she had a strong obligation to me. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

  “Would she be willing to marry you, Roger?” Sir Joseph asked. />
  “Yes—I think so.”

  Again Sir Joseph pursed his lips. Roger held his breath. If his father said it would be best to marry Leonie…

  “Perhaps it is as well you did not,” Sir Joseph said slowly. The muscles jumped in Roger’s jaw again. Lady Margaret bit her lip. Sir Joseph held his son’s eyes steadily as he continued to speak. “I don’t think nineteen is so young, and I don’t think you should worry too much about what people will say—they will always find something unpleasant to say when they see someone else snap up a prize. Still, the atmosphere in which you were living could not have been conducive to clear thought on either your part or that of Mademoiselle de Conyers. Both of you need a period of calm and stability.”

  Lady Margaret opened her mouth to protest, then shut it. She was a great believer in striking while the iron was hot, but in this case her husband was right. Another mistake like his first marriage would kill Roger. Lady Margaret determined that she would measure Leonie’s character, and if it was not all it should be, Roger would soon have his eyes opened. On the other hand, Lady Margaret thought, smiling a little, if the girl was worthwhile she could manage so that there would be no chance for Roger to lose her.

  “Your father is right,” she said, patting Roger’s hand. “And now you come up to bed. No, I’ll not hear of your traveling home, exhausted as you are. Phillip is at school—you can ride over to see him tomorrow, and the house itself has managed to stand for two hundred years and more. It won’t fall down if you don’t live in it for another day or two. And there will be no need to see, we might as well give her her English name, Lady Leonie,” she added in a lower voice as she drew him from the room. “You will be gone long before she wakes.”