A Change of Fortune Page 4

  Rupert remained by the window, his back toward them, and as Leonie began to pour the tea, he showed no inclination to come and sit down.

  Miss Hart was still enduring Russian history, and was glad of the diversion as Leonie handed her her cup. Conversation died away for a moment as Dorothea too took her cup and sipped it. Leonie turned to pour Nadia’s tea, but Nadia immediately leaned forward and put her hand over the cup. There was a challenging look in her green eyes. “I don’t drink tea,” she said coolly. “I drink only strong black coffee topped with thick cream.” She spoke as if Leonie were little more than a servant.

  Dorothea looked at her in disapproving surprise and Miss Hart sat forward hurriedly. “Oh, dear,” she said in dismay.

  Nadia smiled, still looking at Leonie. “Do not be concerned, Miss Hart, for I’m sure that Miss Conyngham will be only too pleased to be of assistance.”

  Rupert had turned from the window now, his hazel eyes sharpening as he looked at Nadia. Leonie was extremely angry, but she hid this very successfully behind a sweet smile. She had no intention of letting Nadia get away with such unwarranted rudeness. “But of course, Miss Benckendorff,” she said. “I’d be delighted to help you. Tell me, how thick do you like it?”

  “Like it?” Nadia was caught unawares. “Like what?”

  “The cream.”

  The green eyes flickered. “As thick as possible,” she said, knowing that much of the cream she had sampled in England was far from thick.

  Still smiling, Leonie got up to ring for Joseph, who came immediately. She went quickly to him, her voice low so that only he could hear. “Joseph, does Mrs. Durham still have some of that clotted cream her sister sent her from Devon?”

  He looked at her in surprise. “Why, I believe so, Miz Leonie.”

  “Do you think she could be prevailed upon to part with a little of it? For me?”

  He smiled. “I’m sure she could, Miz Leonie.”

  “Well, perhaps not exactly for me. Miss Benckendorff would like some strong black coffee topped with thick cream.” She paused, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I rather think Mrs. Durham’s clotted cream would be the very thing, don’t you agree?”

  He grinned. “I do indeed, Miz Leonie, I’ll attend to it straightaway.”

  Leonie returned to her place. Conversation was now turning upon school matters again. Dorothea was once more finding fault. “Miss Hart, I could not help but notice at church last Sunday how very untidy your young ladies looked.”

  Miss Hart gave a start. “Untidy, my lady? Oh, surely not!”

  “Oh, individually they may be quite acceptable, but as a whole they present a rather disagreeable mélange. Uniformity is the key to excellence, as the magnificent example of the Smolny Institute proves beyond a doubt. Your young ladies must follow this example, they too must have a uniform. I’ve been giving the matter much consideration, for one must be careful about such things, and I thought that green stuff dresses with tippets and white sashes would be suitable for the winter. For the summer the colors could be reversed, with white muslin dresses and green sashes. What do you think?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Bon, it is settled then. I trust you will attend to it as quickly as possible.”

  Miss Hart nodded resignedly.

  Joseph returned with a small tray on which stood a small silver coffeepot and a dish containing a portion of Mrs. Durham’s clotted cream. He set the tray carefully before Leonie and then withdrew again. Miss Hart forgot all about uniforms as she stared in astonishment at the thick yellow cream, which was so firm and unyielding that the spoon stood up in it. Rupert also noticed the cream, and glanced quickly at Leonie’s demurely lowered eyes as she poured the coffee and handed the cup to Nadia. Then she picked up the dish of cream and held it out as well. “No doubt you would prefer to help yourself to the cream, Miss Benckendorff,” she said lightly, her expression all innocence. “I trust it is thick enough for you.”

  Nadia gave her a venomous look and took the coffee but ignored the proffered cream. Leonie said nothing, but replaced it on the tray. Tit for tat, she thought with some satisfaction.

  At that moment Joseph returned to the room and hurried across to Miss Hart, who looked up with some irritation. “Yes? What is it? You know I do not like being disturbed when I have guests.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but Sir Guy de Lacey has called. He says he wishes to see over the premises with a view to sending his niece here.”

  Miss Hart was a little flustered, for Sir Guy was a man of some importance, but at the same time she had no wish to neglect Dorothea. “Joseph, perhaps you could find Miss Ross and ask her to attend to Sir Guy.”

  Nadia put her cup down quickly. “Oh, surely there is no need for that, Miss Hart,” she said with a sugary smile, “for you have an ambassadress par excellence in Miss Conyngham. Could she not assist Sir Guy?”

  It was an attempt to remove Leonie from Rupert’s vicinity, something which Nadia obviously thought would annoy and dismay her, but the very opposite was the case and Leonie leapt at the chance. She rose immediately to her feet, smiling at Miss Hart. “I’d be delighted to be of assistance, Miss Hart.”

  The headmistress beamed with relief. “Oh, my dear, would you really? Perhaps you could invite Sir Guy to join us for tea, and then I would be able to conduct him personally over the seminary afterward. If that is not agreeable to him, then I would be most grateful if you could show him around for me.”

  “Very well, Miss Hart.” As Leonie withdrew, she noticed how quickly Nadia got up and went to Rupert by the window. They richly deserved each other, she thought, for they were surely well-matched. As she closed the door and proceeded toward the vestibule where Sir Guy de Lacey waited, she wondered if he and Imogen Longhurst were equally well-matched. Somehow she simply could not believe that a man who was of true quality and sensitivity could fall in love with a woman as cold and hollow as Imogen.

  Chapter 7

  Sir Guy de Lacey was about thirty years old, tall, handsome, and very manly, with a clean strong profile and dark arresting eyes. At first he did not hear her approach. He stood by the fireplace in the vestibule, one hand resting on the mantelshelf as he gazed thoughtfully into the glowing flames. His tousled black hair was a little longer than present fashion dictated, giving him an individuality which was set off perfectly by his impeccable taste in clothes. He had on an oyster brocade waistcoat, a frilled white shirt, and a close-fitting gray coat. There was a small diamond pin in his starched cravat, and it glittered now and then in the firelight. He had evidently ridden to the seminary, for he wore breeches and top boots, and there was a riding crop on the table with his hat and gloves. There was something disconcerting about him, for he was at once rugged and authoritative, and yet elegant and refined. He was the sort of man toward whom women were inexorably drawn, and in spite of her desire to dislike him because of Imogen, Leonie found that she was no exception; indeed when she looked at him she thought him devastatingly attractive.

  He became aware of her then and turned. She was very conscious of how dark and compelling his eyes were. It was as if he was able to read her every thought. A strange, totally unexpected nervousness beset her for a moment. She lowered her eyes as she curtsied to him. “Sir Guy?”

  “Your youthfulness amazes me, Miss Hart,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, I’m not Miss Hart,” she replied quickly.

  “I’m relieved to hear it, for I cannot envisage entrusting my niece to the care of a woman who somehow manages to look younger now than she apparently did twenty years ago.” He studied her for a moment. “If you are not the redoubtable Miss Hart, may I inquire who you are?”

  “My name is Miss Conyngham, Miss Leonie Conyngham. Miss Hart sent me to see if I could be of any assistance to you.”

  “Conyngham? I rather think your name is known to me.”

  No doubt it was, she thought, for Imogen was bound to have mentioned her, and not in a flattering light! She cleared her throat
a little uncomfortably. “Miss Hart wishes to know if you would care to join her guests for tea.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Take tea with the Borgias? Perish the thought.”

  “I…beg your pardon?”

  “Her guests are Countess Lieven, Miss Benckendorff, and the Duke of Thornbury, are they not?” He paused. “On second thought, maybe I insult the Borgias. No, Miss Conyngham, I do not wish to take tea, I’ve merely come to see over the premises with a view to sending my niece here.”

  “Perhaps I could conduct you?” she suggested tentatively, feeling inexplicably awkward in his presence.

  He seemed to find her hesitancy amusing. “I don’t know, Miss Conyngham—can you? Perhaps you do not feel sufficiently well-acquainted with the building.”

  She flushed. “I’m perfectly well-acquainted with it, sir.”

  “Then by all means show me around.” He glanced at the long-case clock in the corner. “And I suggest that you do so promptly, for I have an early dinner appointment and wish to have this mummery over with as soon as possible.”

  Mummery? What manner of word was that to use of something concerning his niece’s future?

  “Do I detect a gleam of disapproval in your eyes, Miss Conyngham?”

  “It isn’t for me to approve or disapprove, Sir Guy.”

  “I’m glad you realize that fact.”

  She was beginning to dislike him. The initial sense of attraction was still there, but although Guy de Lacey might be the most handsome of men, his manner left a great deal to be desired, and his ill-concealed impatience grated very much indeed. “Perhaps,” she suggested coolly, “you might find it more convenient to call another day, when you have more time.”

  The dark eyes swung quickly toward her. “No, madam, I would not find it more convenient, and since Miss Hart has evidently dispatched you to assist me, might I suggest that that is precisely what you do?”

  She felt hot, angry color flooding into her cheeks, and quickly she turned to pick up a lighted candelabrum from the nearby table. “If you will come this way, Sir Guy.” She walked toward the schoolroom wing at the rear of the house.

  They entered the music room first. Dancing was also taught there, and on a sunny day it was a bright, cheerful room, its windows overlooking the adjoining house on the corner of Curzon Street, but now it was dark and cold, the shutters closed and the velvet curtains tightly drawn. Their steps echoed on the gleaming parquet floor, and the shivering light from the candelabrum illuminated the dust sheets over the pianoforte and harp. The chandeliers moved slightly in the draft from the open door.

  Leonie’s voice sounded hollow as she explained the various lessons which took place in the room, but she was aware that he was paying very little attention to what she said. His thoughts appeared to be elsewhere. On his dinner engagement? On Imogen? Wherever they were, they did not seem to center upon his unfortunate niece, on whose behalf he was here. He was, Leonie decided, merely going through the motions of being the concerned uncle and guardian, and he was doing it very gracelessly. The more she was with him, the more disagreeable she found him, and the more she thought him extremely well-suited to a woman as odious as Imogen Longhurst! Her growing dislike almost became too obvious when he suddenly took out his fob watch and again looked at the time. Her voice died away and her lips pressed closed. What point was there in explaining anything to this man? He quite palpably was not interested.

  “Have you finished. Miss Conyngham?”

  “There doesn’t appear to be anything else to say, Sir Guy.” It was as close as she dared come to letting him know what she thought.

  His dark glance rested thoughtfully on her. “No doubt there isn’t,” he murmured, “since you’ve been extremely informative and efficient.”

  She doubted if he’d heard a single word she’d said, let alone been able to judge if she’d been either informative or efficient. “Shall we proceed, sir?” she inquired, turning back toward the door, the sudden movement making the candles smoke and stream.

  He said nothing more as she conducted him over the rest of the seminary. She showed him the classrooms, the dining room, the small dormitories where the youngest pupils slept with either Miss Ross or Mlle. Clary to watch over them, and the single bedrooms where the older pupils were allowed much more privacy. The circuit almost completed, she led him through the kitchens, and then the bathhouse, finally taking him to the small punishment room, where Mlle. Clary presided over the dreaded reclining board. The board was where miscreants were sent and ordered to lie motionless for a prescribed time. Leonie had herself been dispatched there only once, and she had found the experience so unpleasant that she had vowed never to be so punished again. Imogen, it went without saying, had never been sent there at all; it also went without saying that Athena Raleigh had spent a great deal of time there, reflecting upon her many sins, and repenting none of them.

  At last the tour was over and they returned to the vestibule. Miss Hart and her guests were still in the visitors’ room: Leonie could hear the low murmur of their voices. She put the candelabrum back upon the table. “I trust you find the seminary to your approval, Sir Guy.”

  “I do, Miss Conyngham, but then, it is hardly likely that I would not approve of the establishment attended by the lady I am to marry.”

  “I think your niece will be very happy here.”

  He gave an ironic laugh. “My dear Miss Conyngham, Stella de Lacey would refuse to be happy in paradise itself at the moment. To be perfectly honest, she may be only twelve years old, but she has recently become a veritable monster, a tyrant, intent only upon having her own way, come what may. She is rebellious, rude, vindictive, and unreasonable, and she has decided to resent the fact that I am shortly to be married. All this manifests itself in a campaign against Imogen, who is completely innocent and does not deserve to be subjected to such a despicable display.”

  Leonie stared at him.

  He gave a faint smile. “You seem at a loss for words, Miss Conyngham.”

  “You surely are not surprised.”

  “No, perhaps I’m not. But believe me, I don’t exaggerate anything. Stella is indeed as horrid and unmanageable as I’ve said.”

  “Has she always been like that?”

  “No, it has been a very recent thing.”

  She looked away, afraid that he might read her thoughts. Recent? Yes, she’d warrant it was, as recent as the arrival of Imogen Longhurst in Stella de Lacey’s life!

  “Miss Conyngham, no matter what you might think of me, I have my niece’s best interests at heart. I’ve tried sweet reason, I’ve tried everything I can think of, but she will not promise good behavior—unless, of course, I agree to end my association with Imogen. That, quite obviously, cannot be, since I am not prepared to be dictated to by a chit of just twelve. I will be the master in my own house, and Stella is going to have to accept that what I wish is the law. I want her to come here, where I trust she will learn to mend her ways, for if she does not, then she will remain here until she does. I sincerely hope that her stay will not be a long one, for it is my desire to have her return home to Poyntons, my estate near Windsor, in time for the betrothal celebrations at the beginning of February. There is to be a very large house party, a number of balls, and so on. It is my fervent hope that this will prove an irresistible lure, for Stella adores house parties and dearly wishes to attend her first ball. If she is sent here as a salutary lesson, I believe that she will promise to be on her best behavior and that the whole of this disagreeable affair can be forgotten. Imogen is in complete agreement with me, indeed it was her suggestion that Stella should come here.”

  Leonie said nothing. Imogen suggested it? Yes, that was just the sort of thing she would do, and she’d do it with the full intention of never allowing Stella back into the de Lacey household! Imogen wasn’t one to even attempt to understand a twelve-year-old girl’s unhappiness—she’d think only of herself—and Guy de Lacey was obviously little better.

  �
�You’re very quiet, Miss Conyngham.” He was looking at her. “I doubt if I would be far from the truth if I guessed that your sympathies are quite obviously with my niece.”

  She flushed a little. “She’s only a child, Sir Guy.”

  “Aye, and what a child,” he replied with some feeling. “You know nothing about my niece. Miss Conyngham, and I wonder if perhaps you instinctively sympathize with her because she has set herself against Imogen. Come now, don’t look so astonished, for I know full well that you and Imogen cordially loathe each other.” He gave a faint smile. “I also perceive that you feel more or less the same way toward me.”

  Her cheeks were still hot. “I wouldn’t presume to like or dislike you, Sir Guy.”

  “Looking at you at this moment, Miss Conyngham, I’d say that you are the sort of young lady who would indeed presume, if she felt strongly enough about it. One way or another, you’ve left me in little doubt as to your opinion of me, and since you’ve allowed me to become aware of that opinion, I can only wonder if the grooming provided by this establishment is as completely efficient as it might be.” His eyes were cool as he held her gaze. “I know that you are soon to be launched upon society. I can only trust the monde deals summarily with you. You need taking down a peg or two, Miss Leonie Conyngham, and if you cross my path again at some future date, you may be sure that I will be quite ready to do just that. Good day to you.” Picking up his hat, gloves, and riding crop, he left. A breath of freezing air swept over her as he slammed the door behind him.

  Chapter 8

  Stunned, she remained where she was. Her face felt as if it was on fire and her heart was thundering in her breast. She had never been spoken to like that before, which was bad enough, but to think that she had suffered such humiliation at the hands of so uncivil and unpleasant a man! After all of which he was so patently guilty, he had had the gall to rudely criticize her! Oh, how she wished she’d told him exactly what she thought of him, and his loathsome bride-to-be, to say nothing of their joint unkindness to a mere child! But she had held her tongue, and so allowed him the privilege of the last word. She quivered from head to toe with anger and frustration, and at that moment she heard the door of the visitors’ room opening. The thought of encountering Miss Hart’s guests at this particular moment was too much, and she quickly gathered her skirts and hurried into the deserted school wing.