Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 04] Page 8

  Novins nodded, but did glance her way at least.

  “One more thing, Novins. Mrs. Cantwell suggested that Mary Horner might be asked to come help with the sick.”

  “Absolutely not.” Mr. Novins spoke with surprising force. He certainly thought it his duty to protect women.

  “Mrs. Cantwell says she has been vaccinated.”

  “Yes, but once again, my lord, this is not necessarily smallpox. I will not risk a young woman’s health for your convenience. Besides, Miss Horner is busy enough caring for her mother and her three siblings. She is needed at home.”

  “I will tell Mrs. Cantwell and we will manage, Mr. Novins.” If the surgeon’s adamant refusal embarrassed Lord David, he didn’t show it.

  “I could send one of the boys who help me,” Mr. Novins added in a conciliatory tone. “They have been vaccinated and are well compensated for the risk to their health.”

  As if money matters when one is dead. Mia could never understand that logic, but Janina insisted that she would if she had ever been poor. Oh, Mia did miss her maid, and felt like the most selfish person in the world to have left her alone.

  Right now it was too easy to imagine what it would be like to face death with no one who cared nearby. Her eyes filled. No tears. No tears. No tears, she reminded herself. Not before the worst happened and, please God, it would not.

  “Thank you, Mr. Novins. When you come tomorrow I will let you know if more help is needed.” With a nod of farewell, Lord David took Mia’s arm as if she were a child and had not proved herself an adult.

  “Into the carriage, Miss Castellano, and once in the house keep to your room for the rest of the day.”

  Mia pushed his hand off her arm. “I will walk to the house.” She used the freezing tones his arrogance deserved. “Have someone bring my trunks and Janina’s bag as soon as possible. I will write to Elena myself. And to Janina.”

  Without waiting for permission or direction, Mia walked toward the house. She could feel Lord David, the surgeon, everyone, staring at her, but she kept on, her head up, her back straight.

  Janina would not die. She herself would not become ill. But there was no chance in the world that Lord David would turn into a charming gentleman, even if he faced death from some dread disease. A week, seven days in a veritable prison with a bore like Lord David Pennistan her only company. The prospect was daunting.

  Mia had all the clothes she could possibly need but no maid to help her dress. She was to be a guest in a house with no one to entertain her. At least there was a housekeeper. Mia had no idea how to cook.

  She had turned the corner on the curving drive so the others did not see when she stumbled. Mia regained her footing easily but when she pushed fear of illness to the back of her mind, the thought that upset her most grew to monstrous proportions.

  The chaperone. What had happened to the woman who was to act as her chaperone?

  Mia looked back toward the gate where the housekeeper was still in earnest conversation with Mr. Novins. Mia was certain the odds were very good that she would be spending the next week with a man she did not like without a lady to act as chaperone.

  There was no chance, no chance in hell—she used the word quite firmly and on purpose—that, when this was over, anyone, up to and including the duke, would convince her that she must marry David Pennistan. She would tell Elena that in this first letter and hope to kill the idea before anyone gave it life. She would rather die first.

  It struck her that if the disease was smallpox, then death was entirely possible.

  Chapter Ten

  THE CARRIAGE PASSED HER as she walked. Lord David drove the team and did not offer her a ride, never mind that she would have declined. She hoped he would hurt himself carrying her trunks upstairs.

  “Oh dear, I hope Lord David doesn’t hurt himself carrying everything upstairs.”

  The housekeeper had caught up with her and spoke in an even voice, as if almost running had not winded her at all.

  “He will have the groom to help him.” Mia heard the edge in her voice and when she spoke again tried for a more ladylike tone. “Do you think we will be able to convince the chaperone to stay through the quarantine?”

  Mrs. Cantwell slowed her brisk pace. “I’m sorry, miss, but I could not find anyone willing to come, even for only one night.”

  “What did you say?” Mia stopped abruptly, her shock not at all theatrical. “No one would stay? Even if they were paid?”

  “I apologize, Miss Castellano. I most sincerely do, but I was not surprised.”

  “But why would anyone refuse?”

  Mrs. Cantwell started toward the house again before she answered. “Miss, do you know why the duke keeps this estate?”

  “I assume it is part of the entail.”

  “As to that I do not know, but it came to the duke’s grandfather to redeem a gambling debt. My grandmother kept house here then. My family has been here even longer than the Pennistans.”

  Mia heard both pride and condescension in Mrs. Cantwell’s voice.

  “The fact is that Sandleton has been used for their pleasure ever since. Their very personal pleasure.”

  Oh, this must be like the hunting boxes she had heard about, where men brought courtesans. Mia had always wanted to see one. “Let me assure you that this is anything but a clandestine meeting. The duke and duchess both know we are here.” How odd that she, the lady, must reassure the housekeeper. “Lord David has some business with Mr. Cantwell, some business that would not wait. So we made this small detour and then it only made sense to stay the night.”

  Mia waited for the woman’s nod of understanding before she went on.

  “My maid became ill and stayed behind at the inn where we were last night.” Mia explained the whole misadventure in detail. This woman had suspected her of being a courtesan. Mia felt both shock and a little pleasure, but was determined to correct that misapprehension. She would make a decision about her future when she chose and not because of a servant’s gossip.

  Had Lord David come here with a cyprian? The pig. How could he not consider her reputation? He must have known what the villagers thought of the gatherings at Sandleton before planning to bring her here. She shook her head. Hardly. He was not the sort to elicit any sort of conversation from the local gentry or even storekeepers. Meet them in the boxing ring, of course he would, but actually converse with them? Never.

  She tried again. “Mrs. Cantwell, Lord David is a selfish oaf and he finds me as irritating as I find him. I am sure it never occurred to him that there was anything inappropriate about stopping here.”

  “That is rather frank of you, miss. But I do appreciate it.” The housekeeper paused. “But then where is Lord David’s valet? Has he taken ill as well?”

  “Oh, no, Mrs. Cantwell. Since Lord David expected this trip would include only two nights he sent his valet ahead to Pennford. I am sure he will regret that now.” She tried not to smile.

  “I see.” Mrs. Cantwell stared off, looking toward the house, as if trying to decide whether to believe what Mia knew was the absolute truth. Finally the housekeeper nodded to herself. “The new duchess is your guardian, Miss Castellano?”

  “I am almost twenty-one but, yes, she has been my guardian since her first husband died. He was my guardian after my father died.”

  “How upsetting for you to lose so many loved ones. But you are so lucky to be able to call England home now.”

  Mrs. Cantwell sounded as if she thought that Mia had landed in paradise when she set foot on English soil.

  “The Pennistans have always been generous employers. Lord David himself never fails to write when he is coming to see Mr. Cantwell.”

  Mia could hear the change in her attitude. Not fawning, not at all, but eager to undo any damage her initial supposition might have caused.

  “Miss, I will do my best to see to your needs this week.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Cantwell, I know that we will all be doing things that we are not a
ccustomed to and I assure you that I am very capable of caring for myself when it is necessary.”

  “Thank you, again, miss.” Mrs. Cantwell glanced at Mia. “If you can unpack your own things that would be a great help.”

  “Of course. You have more pressing responsibilities. There is one thing though. I am not at all skilled at cooking.”

  “And why should you be?”

  She gave Mrs. Cantwell a smile of such gratitude that the woman patted her arm and murmured, “There, there.”

  She and Mrs. Cantwell made their way through the empty house. No servants gathered to greet her, no maids bustled up the stairs with hot water for the travel-weary. Mrs. Cantwell did not offer tea and biscuits but hurried Mia up the stairs to the first floor.

  The stairway was elegant, rising from the middle of the entry hall and then splitting to the left and right and ending at a set of double doors on both sides. To the right the doors were closed. To the left the doors were open to show a wide passage with a series of paneled doors on each side.

  Mrs. Cantwell gestured to the right as they turned left. “That wing is for the family only. For the duke or whichever of his brothers is hosting the party, and also for their personal guests.”

  Mia noticed the housekeeper did not say wife. This was most definitely not a family retreat like the Richmond house. “Do the men of the family come often?” Mia asked, too curious to care that she sounded like she was a visitor on a tour of the house.

  “The duke has not been here since he married his first duchess.”

  But what about Lord David? Mia did not ask, would not ask. If she had to know, she would ask the man himself.

  Mrs. Cantwell escorted her down the passage to a room as far as possible from the bedchamber Lord David would use. “Your room, miss.”

  Despite her disappointment over the size of the house, Mia thought her bedchamber lovely. “The gentle pink and pale blue is so feminine. They’re colors that make a woman feel pretty.”

  “Thank you, miss. It’s what makes having a lady here a pleasure. You appreciate all that it takes to make a house a home.”

  “Indeed, I do, and I realize that you have other people to attend to. I can settle myself and even help with the patients if need be.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Castellano, that would not be at all proper. The other groom will help me. There is a nice library. I am sure you will find entertainment there.”

  “Is there a pianoforte?”

  “Usually, but it sustained some damage during a house party last year. Lord David had it sent out for repair.”

  “It’s been in repair for over a year?” Mia could not hide her dismay. And then wondered if Lord David had hosted the party.

  “Lord David is not musical. I think it has not been a concern.”

  Not musical. Well, that was hardly a surprise. It was one more thing they did not have in common.

  “I shall manage with the library then, Mrs. Cantwell.” But it will be very dull, she thought, and was so very disappointed to have no music to distract her.

  Mrs. Cantwell curtsied, explaining, as she moved to the door, that the sick needed her attention.

  Left alone, Mia set about making the room her own. It had its small size against it, but very charming was in its favor. Tucked into a corner, the room had three windows and a fireplace, plus a small writing desk. The connecting dressing room had the same dimensions as the bedroom, a grand space for one’s clothes with a small daybed for the maid. Her trunks were already in place.

  She moved the ornaments around, taking the elegant statue of a woman in pink tulle from the writing desk and placing it on the mantel as a balance to the longcase clock that ticked with quiet comfort. She moved the inkstand to the left of the desk as she preferred it, and dismissed the ugly potpourri bowl onto a shelf in the clothespress.

  Opening the trunks, Mia rooted through her frocks until she found the three that she could manage without help, hanging them on the wall hook shaped like a butterfly. She could iron out the creases if necessary but hoped that the wrinkles would hang out. All the while, she considered the next seven days. How exactly would she entertain herself without a pianoforte? Who had ever heard of a boring adventure?

  Chapter Eleven

  MIA WENT BACK into the bedroom and stood at the window, looking out over the back of the property. A great expanse of well-kept lawn rolled up and down in a gentle slope to a small river or large stream. It looked ideal for trout, and if one could fish it would be a fine distraction. In any case, the prospect alone entertained her. The grounds were much more extensive than the small house deserved.

  Mia turned her back on the window and hurried to the desk, remembering that Lord David had told her to write her letter “with dispatch.” No doubt he would send Mr. Cantwell off at first light, so her letters had best be written tonight.

  Besides, ignoring responsibilities had never been one of her failings, unless it was something she didn’t want to do.

  The writing desk had paper, quills, and fresh ink and she sat staring at the paper debating what to say. If she died she would want Elena to be sure that her money was used wisely. To support Janina first and foremost. Would Nina want to continue as a maid, or would she prefer a life better suited to her family, if not her birth? She and Romero could start their own business. Mia’s capital could give them the independence that she herself had so craved.

  It would take Nina years to recover from Mia’s death—if she survived this illness herself. If they both died their branch of the Castellano family would end. How discomfiting to think that in a few years no one would remember that they had ever existed.

  Mia felt a tear drop on her hand. No tears, you stupid woman. Stop the maudlin thoughts.

  Mia dashed off a short letter to Elena. We are safe and I am adequately chaperoned. Elena would suspect it an outright lie, but she could use it as proof that her ward’s reputation remained intact until Mia could decide how to handle the situation.

  With assurances that this quarantine meant nothing serious, another lie which Elena would probably see through, Mia signed the letter with her love and sealed it.

  She spent longer on her letter to Janina, suggesting that, once she had fully recovered, her maid send notice to Romero in case he should want to come and escort his beloved the rest of the way to Pennford.

  Mia debated telling Janina about their quarantine. She decided not. If something deadly had been unleashed, they would know of it at the posting house by now. The Belforts could have taken it home. It could be spreading through most of England.

  The panicky feeling came back and Mia folded her hands and prayed for calm, for good health for all, and that she would come through this test with fortitude and good will.

  Prayer made her feel better, even though she had long ago given up the Roman Church for the Church of England. It could be that God still listened no matter how the prayers came to him.

  Mia almost ran to the stairs but then slowed as she descended, hoping Lord David noticed that she had not tried to ring for a servant.

  The entry hall was empty and the door stood open. Mr. Novins waited outside some little way down the front steps, talking with Mr. Cantwell, a man who looked as capable as his wife. Finally Mr. Cantwell made his way down the road to the front gate, leaving Mr. Novins looking quite lonely.

  Flirtations began in less intimate settings, but right now Mia wanted to know more about the woman Mr. Novins wished to marry. Mary Horner. Why else would he be so adamant in his refusal to allow Mrs. Cantwell to ask for her help?

  If the man had already given his heart and the woman deserved the honor, Mia would do all in her power to bring them together, not pull them apart. She might be considered the worst kind of flirt, but she had never, would never, set her sights on a man whose heart was truly engaged.

  She caught his attention and asked him to take her letters as he had Lord David’s. The surgeon assured her that he would pass her letter to Janina to the postma
ster and her letter to the duchess on to Mr. Cantwell, “who will be on his way first thing in the morning.” Mr. Novins went on. “I hope your fears do not overcome you, Miss Castellano.”

  Concern filled his voice—a concern Mia would have welcomed, if she had been ill.

  “Mr. Novins, the only fear I have is that I will be bored into a decline.”

  “How brave of you, dear lady.”

  “No, sir, there is no bravery involved on my part. One does what one must. Like Miss Horner, taking care of her mother and her siblings. Now there is a brave woman.”

  “Yes,” he said and, after a dispirited sigh, went on. “Though I would say Miss Horner is noble rather than brave.”

  “Noble is an even greater virtue.”

  “Do you think so? I think nobility and an inclination to act the martyr are too closely aligned. There is no denying bravery.”

  Mia could argue that. But she did not want a philosophical debate. She wanted to know more about his feelings for Miss Horner. Dear God, men spent too much time on nonsense and not nearly enough on the important issues. This called for a more direct approach. “Miss Horner is a friend of yours.” She did not make it a question.

  “A friend?” When he took time to think about that, Mia did not need his answer.

  “Oh, I see, dear sir. She is more than a friend.”

  He looked around as if someone else might be listening. Mia laughed.

  “Mr. Novins, here is one advantage of a quarantine, which is a phrase I never thought I would use. Mrs. Cantwell is with the sick and Lord David is writing to the duke. There is no one else here, no servants, no other guests, not even any pets. We are completely private.” Maybe she should not have said it. Mia rushed on before he had a chance to think about that. “Please, tell me about Miss Horner.”

  For a moment Mia feared she appeared too forward to the very proper Mr. Novins, but after a long pause he nodded, started to move closer to her and then stopped himself.