There was something so agonizing in her face that Constance felt her own anger abating and began to speak more calmly. "Noelle, you are mistaken. Oh, I have often thought what a shame it was that you did not have the advantages you so obviously should have had. But pity? No one could pity you. You are an intelligent young woman with a strong character, and I happen to hold those traits in much higher regard than I do upbringing and family background. I am not such an elitist as you seem to think."
Refusing to listen to the part of her that said that Constance was speaking from her heart, Noelle chose to interpret her words as patronizing. "Elitist!" Her voice was filled with scorn. "What big words you hurl at the stupid little pickpocket. The poor, ignorant creature; so defenseless; such a burden." She glared venomously at Constance. "Well, you did your duty. You practiced your friggin' Christian charity so now your precious conscience can rest easy!"
"That's enough!" Simon's voice cut through the fragrant morning air of the garden like the crack of a whip. "I will not have you abuse Constance any longer."
Impatiently he thrust a hand through his thick, dark hair. What happened between these two strong-willed women to upset all his plans?
"You don't have to defend me, Simon. Now, if you will excuse me."
Without so much as a glance in Noelle's direction, Constance walked toward the house, her tiny embroidered slippers making a soft, crunching sound on the gravel path. A robin, peacefully sunning himself near the house, flew up in alarm as the door of the house shut behind her.
Suddenly Noelle was overcome with shame. She had transferred her own pain at leaving into anger at Constance. Regardless of her motives, Constance had given her the most precious gift she had ever received, and Noelle was deeply in her debt.
"Mrs. Peale!" Gathering up her skirts, she ran toward the house. Roundly cursing both of them, Simon followed.
Constance had just reached the base of the staircase when Noelle caught up with her. "Mrs. Peale, I'm sorry. I should never have said what I did. I owe you so much that I can never repay, and I am deeply grateful."
Slowly Constance turned, knowing what it had cost Noelle's pride to admit she was wrong. "I accept your apology." She smiled faintly. "Now, you must tell me why you have been so antagonistic to me. There is a reason, isn't there?"
Holding his breath, Simon watched as Noelle slowly nodded her head and then paused to collect her thoughts. Finally she said, "I overheard you talking with Mrs. Finch about me on my first morning here."
"Mrs. Finch? What on earth…?"
Slowly comprehension dawned on Constance's face and, with it, consternation. Mrs. Finch's accusations… her own attempt to placate the woman's injured dignity…
"Oh, my dear," she cried, resting her hand on Noelle's arm. "What a muddle. No wonder you have resented me so."
"I've been waiting patiently, hoping that, if I kept silent long enough, I'd be able to discover what the devil is going on," Simon interjected. "Neither of you, however, seems to want to tell me. Now, by God, I'll have some answers." His eyes were the color of pewter as he advanced on the women.
"Don't growl so, Simon. The whole thing is a frightful misunderstanding. Now, let's go into the drawing room, where we can unravel all this privately."
She swept the two of them ahead of her into the magnificent gold and ivory room and then, closing the doors firmly, began.
"The morning after Noelle's arrival, Violet Finch came to me all in a flutter because she had heard from Letty how Noelle was dressed in London and had concluded that I was sheltering a harlot. Simon, you know what a sanctimonious snob she has always been. You also know she is probably the best cook in England and that, at one time or another, practically every member of the ton has tried to steal her from me.
"When Benjamin was alive, I didn't worry about losing her. She was totally devoted to him, which, I might add, frequently caused him a great deal of distress." She smiled softly at the memory.
"Will you get on with it?" Simon barked impatiently.
Constance looked at him reproachfully but continued her story. "Since Benjamin's death, several ladies of quality have resumed their pursuit of my cook-among them, the Duchess of Alls worth, who is a frightful old curmudgeon and, in my opinion, the worst of the lot. To top it, she will insist on wearing puce."
Simon cleared his throat in a manner that Constance could only interpret as ominous.
"At any rate," she hastened, "I have no intention of losing her to anyone, so, when Mrs. Finch was so outraged at Noelle's presence in the house, I thought it only sensible to play on her sympathies.
"After assuring her that Noelle was not a harlot, I proceeded to 'cast myself on her tender mercies,' as I believe I put it." Constance smiled. "She rather liked that. I then painted Noelle as poor and ignorant-a person with no advantages. This, of course, is what Noelle overheard. I led Mrs. Finch to the conclusion that she and I, as women of good conscience, could do nothing else but clasp her to our bosoms, so to speak, in the spirit of charity."
Turning to Noelle, she was suddenly serious. She cared deeply about this child and regretted inflicting such pain. "I'm sorry, my dear. It was certainly a less than noble thing to do, but I confess a dreadful weakness for properly prepared food. If the truth be known, I attached no importance to the encounter at all. If I had, I would certainly have discussed it with you."
Noelle knew that Constance spoke the truth. Her own prejudices against the privileged classes had been her greatest enemy, not this woman.
"I'm so ashamed," she murmured. "You should have thrown me out weeks ago."
Constance laughed in relief. "Not for the world! For the first time in months I haven't awakened in the morning trying to decide how to fill the hours until bedtime. Just wondering what trick you'd pull at the dinner table was enough to keep me amused for half a day."
Noelle looked at the older woman in amazement. "How can you smile about it? What I did was horrible."
"Absolutely," Constance agreed cheerfully, her green eyes dancing. "Several times I would have happily strangled you. Why, the first time you picked up your soup bowl and drank from it, I feared I should have a spasm."
At the sight of Constance's features alight with amusement, Noelle's admiration for her blossomed into full flower. "You are a remarkable woman, Mrs. Peale. I've greatly misjudged you."
Constance waved a hand in elegant dismissal. "I'll hear no more of it. We were both in the wrong. Now, I don't know about either of you, but I am in dire need of a cup of tea."
She rang a small silver bell, then settled herself on the settee, pulling Noelle down beside her. "Now, tell me, Noelle, what would you like to read after you've finished Robinson Crusoe?"
Although Noelle knew how unlikely it was that she would have access to the books she yearned to discover, she pondered Constance's question seriously. "Molière's plays, I think."
The two women were soon engrossed in conversation. The arrival of the maid compelled them to slow down, but when their cups were filled, they began anew, Noelle bombarding Constance with questions about the books in Benjamin's library and Constance dancing from one answer to the next.
Simon stood forgotten in the corner of the room. Although it was still morning, he poured himself a large brandy and sat down to wait them out, studying the two women as he lit his pipe. Constance's elaborate auburn curls rested near Noelle's shorn locks. So tall and proud, she reminded him of a young lioness. Perhaps, just perhaps, his gamble would pay off. If only she weren't so unattractive, for she certainly had the spirit to ensnare his wild son.
Caution, Simon, he warned himself. She still has to be convinced to stay. His pipe had gone out. He relighted it, the smoke clouding around his handsome head as he spoke. "Noelle, your stiff-necked pride almost ruined your chance for a good life. Are you going to let it happen again?"