The Fugitive Heiress (8 page)

Tiffany’s face was a mixture of emotions. Guilt, hesitation, and determination all vied with one another. The countess still looked a bit shocked, and knowing it would only upset her to hear a more detailed account of the affair, Catheryn frowned Tiffany to silence before turning with a smile to her hostess. “Dear Aunt Elizabeth, do you suppose luncheon has been served? I confess I am exceedingly hungry.”

With relief, Tiffany and her mother both agreed that if luncheon were not ready it ought to be. With that they retired to the dining room and subsequently to their bedchambers, where they spent a half-hour recuperating from the morning’s exertions before setting out to pay calls.

The countess explained on the way to the Cowpers’ great house in Berkeley Square that, along with Ladies Castlereagh, Sefton, and Jersey, Mrs. Drummond Burrell, Countess Lieven, and Princess Esterhazy, Emily Cowper was one of the patronesses of Almack’s and that Catheryn must be on her best behavior. Lady Cowper condescended to be at home and, though she seemed an amiable shatterbrain, quickly saw through her principal guest’s artless chatter and demanded to know if Elizabeth had not come seeking vouchers for Miss Westering. Lady Dambroke admitted it, whereupon their hostess turned her attention to Catheryn, asking a number of probing questions about her antecedents and fortune. She seemed to think the latter might better have been larger but laughingly added that breeding was what counted and that, after all, Elizabeth could not, in all courtesy, leave her guest at home on Wednesday evenings.

Catheryn nearly chuckled at this unconscious echo of Dambroke’s words, but the thought brought another on its heels, and the next thing she knew she was making a clean breast of the morning’s episode in Hyde Park while firmly ignoring Tiffany’s guilt-ridden face and the agitated fluttering of Lady Dambroke’s hands. Only Lady Cowper was unmoved, listening patiently until Catheryn had finished her confession and made a graceful apology. Then she smiled.

“It could have been worse, my dear,” she said. “At least you did not choose the promenade hour. Of course, you must never do it again, but if anyone brings the matter to my attention, I shall simply say I know all about it and that your horse ran away with you. It is much better, you know, to have aspersions cast upon your horsemanship than upon your conduct.”

When they climbed back into the carriage for the ride around the square to Stanthorpe House, Tiffany squeezed Catheryn’s hand. “I thought you must be mad, Catheryn, but I see you knew exactly how to carry it off! Imagine if she had heard about it later! She would not have been so conciliating then.”

Lady Dambroke agreed heartily and expressed gratitude to the Fates who had guided her to Lady Cowper for the vouchers and not, though she knew her quite as well, to the much haughtier Lady Jersey. She added that Catheryn would be the death of her if she meant to make a habit of confessing her crimes at such awkward moments. By the time Catheryn had apologized for giving her such a start, the carriage had drawn up at Stanthorpe House. The ladies were soon shown into a bright drawing room, where a regular party seemed to be in progress.

Gay laughter and chatter came to a momentary halt as the butler announced them, only to renew itself in merry greetings to the newcomers. Out of what seemed a mob of people, Catheryn recognized a few familiar faces. Lord Dambroke got up from a chair next to the settee upon which reclined a pale young man with blond hair and blue eyes, who seemed to be the focal point of the gathering. One of his legs was propped up, and a lazy apologetic smile lit his face when he saw them. Lord Thomas stood behind him, and Lady Margaret jumped up from a low stool in front of the settee to greet them.

Catheryn was soon introduced to the Countess Stanthorpe, a brisk, bright little bird of a woman who greeted the Dambroke ladies with great affection, reacquainted them with Lady Trevaris, and complimented them on their looks. Then she clasped Catheryn’s hands warmly between her own and told the three girls that she knew they had no wish to sit gossiping with old women and to take themselves off.

It was easy to see how the Lady Margaret came by her vivacity, Catheryn thought, as she was borne off by that young lady to meet the others. Maggie laughed when she began the introductions, begging everyone’s pardon in advance in case she should make a botch of it.

“First, there is Lord Thomas Colby and two of his sisters, Lady Prudence on the right,” indicating a girl a year or two older than Catheryn with rather prim features and a more placid expression than any of the others, “and Lady Chastity, of all things, on the left,” indicating a merry-eyed brunette who looked fresh from the schoolroom. “We call her Chatty,” Maggie went on, “for reasons that will become obvious.”

“Oh, Maggie, I do not chatter all the time,” retorted the damsel in question with a giggle. Her sister smiled with a fondness that lightened the prim features and made Catheryn think she could come to like her very well.

“And you know Richard, of course, or I should have introduced him first.” That gentleman bowed. “And these are my cousins, Tom and Cynthia Varling.” A hand waved in the direction of a smiling blond youth with a pretty, if a bit rabbit-faced girl at his side. “Tom has been rusticated from Oxford and is in deep disgrace, as you can see,” Maggie volunteered. General laughter followed this comment but did not seem to dismay young Varling in the least.

“Takes more than deep disgrace to ruffle our Tom,” noted the gentleman on the settee. “What queers me is why he didn’t manage to talk his way out of the whole shenanigan.”

“Well, you see,” Tom replied with a sweet smile, “it was the Bagwig’s own nag.” A shout of laughter caused Tiffany and Catheryn to look inquiringly at Maggie.

“Tom quite forgot to mention that bit before,” she laughed. “He told us only that he and his friends had enticed a horse into the don’s study with a rude note attached to his, that is, to the horse’s tail. The don, oddly enough, took exception and reported them to the Bagwig, but this explains why the Bagwig was so out of reason cross about it!” She went off in another peal of laughter. “But wait, Catheryn,” she gasped when she had herself nearly in hand. “You will let me call you Catheryn?” Catheryn nodded, still grinning. “Well, I thought you would, and I am Maggie, you know, and
this,
” with a grand gesture, “is Tony, that is, Captain the Honorable Anthony Varling, late of Wellington’s Army! You remember Tony, don’t you, Tiffany?” she added while Catheryn smiled a greeting.

Tiffany nodded shyly. “Yes, indeed I do, though it has been some time since last we met. I was but a scrubby brat in the schoolroom, so he may not recall it himself.”

Blue eyes twinkled up at her from the settee while the captain gallantly kissed her hand. “A schoolroom miss, perhaps, but never scrubby, my lady.”

“A brat, however, Tony. That cannot be denied.”

“Nay, Dickon,” laughed Captain Varling, while Lady Tiffany glared at her brother. “I’ll not allow even you to cast slurs on a guest in my father’s house.”

Catheryn was surprised to hear Dambroke called by a nickname, but she soon learned that the two and Lord Thomas had suffered the slings and arrows of Eton and Oxford together and had remained fast friends despite differing interests afterward. Dambroke had turned to his estates and Varling to the Army, while Lord Thomas was haphazardly hanging out for an heiress. Catheryn listened with amusement while they compared their own pranks with those of Tom and his cronies. Captain Varling quickly emerged as the erstwhile ringleader. He boasted, too, of more recent escapades, which had occurred before his unfortunate mishap. Catheryn realized she was seeing a new side of Dambroke. Relaxed and at his ease, he seemed to have cast off the burden of his responsibilities for a moment in the sheer pleasure of welcoming his friend back to town.

“You must have been out of reason bored in Sussex, Tony,” declared young Tom suddenly.

A thin hand ruffled through already tousled blond curls. “I was that,” he admitted. “If it hadn’t been for Dickon’s visits and Colby’s and the governor having the papers sent down from town, I’d have been a candidate for Bedlam. As it was, I amused myself with the antics of Perceval and company.”

“Didn’t know you were a Conservative,” Colby murmured.

“Not. Brought up in solid Whiggery, just like you. Thought like everyone else that old Wellesley would turn the trick and Perceval would be out when Prinny’s year of restricted Regency expired in February.”

“I thought you said the Marquess of Wellesley was a pompous prig,” piped up Maggie from her stool.

Varling reached out and tweaked a curl. “So I did, my lady, but there’s no need for you to repeat such things.” When, to the general amusement of the others, she only wrinkled her nose at him, he went on, “Wellesley would be Prime Minister now, I think, were it not for his unfortunate personality. Even Bathurst, the only man in the Cabinet he could possibly claim for a friend, deserted him in the end.”

“Cut from the same cloth, if you ask me,” Colby said. “Bathurst disapproved of Wellesley’s threat to resign, so he cut loose himself.”

“Time was,” Dambroke commented dryly, “when I thought you were rather fond of Wellesley, Tony.”

Varling grinned. “You never thought any such thing. I approve his chief cause, but never the man himself.”

“His cause, Captain Varling?” Tiffany spoke shyly.

“The war in the Peninsula, Lady Tiffany. His family’s rather involved, you know. He was used to be our ambassador to Spain, where he’s been replaced by his younger brother, Henry. Then of course, the new Earl of Wellington, our glorious commander, is also his brother. Wellesley’s been pushing for more troops, weapons, and money for years, but he’s got better support now than he did as Foreign Secretary.”

“If he does, it’s a bit of a personal victory for you, lad,” Dambroke said gently. “Public opinion has swung a long way since the fall of Cuidad Rodrigo and Badajoz.”

“So I rest on my laurels,” quipped the hero.

Having drifted into serious channels, the conversation eventually turned from the war on the Continent to the potential for a new war in America and then to the smaller but no less economically damaging wars right there at home. The latter were caused by working class unrest and stirred by the notorious Luddites, who supposedly fought for full employment and higher wages while, in reality, they terrorized whole villages.

“To my way of thinking,” Varling opined, “General Ludd is mythical, a rallying point and nothing more.”

The statement might have opened a whole new debate, but by this time Lady Stanthorpe managed to surface long enough from her own conversation to notice the change in atmosphere. She jumped to her feet and demanded to know what was toward. “For I won’t have you unsettling Tony’s homecoming with a lot of gloomy talk,” she assured them. “Nothing but cheer, you lot, or out you go!”

Coming as it did from such a small lady, her head thrust belligerently forward and her arms akimbo, the vehement threat caused a great deal of merriment. The gentlemen obligingly turned the conversation onto a more cheerful course, but it was not long before an unspoken signal from Dambroke, who had been keeping a close eye on his friend, urged a general departure. Catheryn, following closely behind the earl with his mother and sister as they moved to bid their hostess farewell, overheard Lady Stanthorpe’s expressions of deep gratitude when she grasped Dambroke’s outstretched hand.

He smiled down at the little countess. “It is my pleasure, ma’am,” he replied. “He is doing very well, I think, but still must not overtax himself.”

“Oh, I know, and the company has done him good, but he insists he will dance at your mother’s ball, my lord.”

“He has great determination, ma’am. We’ll just see he does nothing foolish in the meantime. I shall visit often to help keep him in line. Now, I am keeping you from your duties as hostess. Come, ladies.” He held out his arm to Lady Dambroke. Tears of gratitude lingered in Lady Stanthorpe’s eyes as she wished them good day. Catheryn noted them and smiled approvingly at Dambroke when he helped her into the carriage. He grinned back, clearly having forgotten that he was supposed to be out of charity with her.

T
HERE WERE FREQUENT VISITS
to Stanthorpe House in the days ahead, while Captain Varling continued to recuperate. Tiffany went every day, often escorted by her brother, and Catheryn thought they seemed to be on excellent terms with each other for once. Though nothing was heard from Sir Horace regarding her fortune, she did receive a curt reply from her aunt, acknowledging receipt of her note, while Lady Dambroke received a more gracious approval of her invitation.

The earl sent Blaze down to Dambroke Park, and over the weekend a spirited bay mare called Psyche came up to town for Catheryn’s use. Tiffany still accompanied her on morning rides but now seemed to do so more on Catheryn’s account than on her own. They often met Mr. Lawrence. Catheryn found him rather intriguing and had no difficulty understanding Tiffany’s attraction to the man. He was slim, above average in height, and possessed of a boyish face that belied his thirty years. She thought his boots might have been the better for a bit of polish, and he had an irritating habit of pushing his fingers through his thinning, sandy hair, but he knew the trick of charm and displayed flattering interest in every word that dropped from Tiffany’s lips.

He seemed to credit Tiffany’s rather casual attitude on these occasions to Catheryn’s ubiquity and twice brought along his foppish friend, Lucas Markham, whose obvious purpose was to draw Catheryn away from Tiffany. Mr. Markham, sporting red silk boot-tops and an intricately tied pastel neckcloth, was just the sort of simpering beau Catheryn found most ridiculous. She turned a deaf ear to his more subtle hints and once, when he openly suggested that they drop behind the others, stared at him in such wide-eyed astonishment that the fop actually blushed. Mr. Lawrence became more visibly frustrated. It did not seem to occur to him that Tiffany made no move to abet his tactics, if she was even aware of them, but cheerfully included both Catheryn and Lucas Markham in her conversation.