A Simple Lady (14 page)

“That,” Kenrick agreed, “but so much more. There are many people in London who delight in finding gullible young innocents to— Damnation!”

Elizabeth immediately glanced out of the window to see what had caused her husband’s sudden exclamation of anger. The carriage had just pulled up in front of Kenrick House, and a gentleman could be seen descending the steps toward the street.

“Gerald,” Kenrick muttered between clenched teeth. “Excuse me a minute, Elizabeth.”

Not waiting for the steps to be lowered, Kenrick bounded from the carriage. Elizabeth watched with a worried frown as he grasped Gerald’s arm and dragged him several feet down the street before stopping.

Elizabeth could not hear what passed between the cousins, nor could she see either man’s face. Both had their backs to her. However, from the square set of Kenrick’s shoulders and the occasional shaking motion of Gerald’s head, Elizabeth could deduce much about their conversation. That Kenrick was lambasting Gerald for having introduced Elizabeth to Ethel Stanhope seemed quite likely, and Elizabeth was amazed to find just how pleased she was to think that her husband cared enough about her to scold his cousin for his carelessness. Within seconds the conversation between the two men had ended, and Gerald hurried away.

Kenrick was smiling when he returned to the carriage to assist Elizabeth in descending. His smile faded quickly as the sound of pounding hooves attracted his attention and he turned to observe a groom from Oak Groves approaching at a gallop. Disheveled and covered in road dust, the rider pulled his blowing mount to a halt beside the carriage and quickly dismounted.

“Your lordship! ’Tis happy I am to find you so quick. Doc Snider sent me with a message for you. There’s trouble at Oak Groves. The bailiff’s been shot in the back, and Doc Snider don’t think he’ll live long. Doc said for you to get back to Oak Groves today if you have any hopes of seeing Homer Smithfield alive again.”

Kenrick, his face suddenly ashen, turned instantly to Elizabeth. “I regret having to leave you alone after having just declared my intentions of watching after you more carefully, but I must travel to Oak Groves immediately. Homer Smithfield is an old and dear friend.”

“Of course you must go,” Elizabeth said without hesitation. “I am so sorry about your friend. Is there anything I can do?”

“Look after Mother in my absence. And be wary of making new acquaintances until I return. I wish I could tell you when that will be, but I cannot. Even if Homer survives, my presence will be required at Oak Groves for a while.”

Feeling quite daring, Elizabeth reached to take her husband’s hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “You must not rush back on my account. I promise to be more careful and to take good care of Mary. God speed, my lord.”

Kenrick lifted her gloved hand to his lips and turned it to kiss her palm. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I shall be looking forward to seeing you in a few weeks. But now I must go.”

The house that night felt strangely empty, Elizabeth noted, a circumstance that struck her as especially peculiar since she and her husband had never spent even one evening there in each other’s company. But that situation appeared likely to change in the future, she thought, smiling dreamily to herself. After all, she and Kenrick had been married for only a few weeks, and already he appeared to be losing his suspicions of her and was perhaps even growing a bit fond of her. Obviously she was not the total failure her parents had so often made her feel.

Chapter Twelve

“You have callers, my lady.” Larkman had tapped lightly on the library door before opening it and stepping into the doorway to make his announcement.

Elizabeth glanced up from her book to study Larkman’s face. She had yet to determine how the butler could so readily convey approval and disapproval without changing either the expression on his face or the inflection of his tone. Still, she was certain he disapproved of her afternoon callers, despite the fact that he had taken it upon himself to announce them. Elizabeth had instructed the staff to say she was not at home to visitors that afternoon.

Stifling a sigh, Elizabeth reached for her bookmark and reluctantly closed her book. She had begged off from accompanying Mary on calls, hoping to spend the afternoon relaxing with her latest acquisition from Hatchard’s. “Who is it, Larkman?” she asked.

Larkman’s aura of disapproval burgeoned. “The Earl and Countess of Ravingate, my lady.”

Elizabeth jumped to her feet, her book sliding unheeded from her lap into the floor. “I beg your pardon, Larkman, but I thought you said—”

“So! We have found you, Elizabeth. Your father and I feared we were to be kept standing in the entrance hall all afternoon. Have you not yet learned that guests expect to be received with some degree of congeniality?”

Larkman’s usual rigid expression dissolved into outrage when he found himself being shouldered to one side by the Countess of Ravingate, who strode into the room pulling her husband behind her. The pair paused, frowning and subjecting Elizabeth to a thorough and seemingly unrewarding examination.

Elizabeth returned her guests’ stares for long seconds before she could force her vocal chords to respond. At last she forced out “M-M-Mama!”

“Yes, child, I am your mama. Good heavens, Elizabeth. Do not stand there gawking as though you were seeing a pair of specters. Can you not ask us to be seated? I am sure your father would welcome an offer of tea. After all, we just arrived from Canterbury and are tired and thirsty. We came as soon as news reached us that your husband was allowing you to visit the metropolis. Well, what about our tea?”

Elizabeth continued to gape at her guests. She had always assumed that, upon her marriage, she would see no more of her parents. After all, they had appeared to think themselves well rid of her at the time. Yet here they were—her mother, imposing as always, her steel grey hair pulled back neatly and covered with an unattractive green bonnet, and her father, a frown furrowing his high forehead, his coat a bit rumpled and his boots dusty.

“Shall I order the tea tray, my lady?” Larkman asked. Elizabeth detected sympathy in her butler’s tone and quickly squared her shoulders. “Yes, Larkman, please do so. Mama, Papa, have a seat. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

“Unexpected for us also, Elizabeth,” the Earl of Ravingate said. He glanced about at the various chairs and chose one with its back to the library windows. “Your mother and I had assumed Kenrick would live up to his word and protect you from exposure to the excitements of London. We were most disturbed to learn he had brought you here. Where is he, by the way? I would like a word with that gentleman.”

“Kenrick was called to Oak Groves a little over a week ago,” Elizabeth said, motioning her mother into a chair beside the earl’s. Now that the shock of seeing her parents had abated somewhat, she was thinking rapidly. Perhaps their visit was a blessing, after all. Elizabeth was certain she had attained a degree of self-assurance in the last few weeks that would prove of value to her now. Surely today she could convince her parents that she was as mentally capable as anyone else.

With an anticipatory glint in her eyes, Elizabeth stepped backwards to take her seat, forgetting that the volume she had been reading still lay where it had fallen from her lap. When her heel descended on the spine of the book, her ankle turned and she fell backwards in an orgy of flailing arms and legs. After long seconds of grasping at air, she landed on the edge of the seat, her limbs sprawled ungracefully askew. She looked up just as her parents exchanged pitying but disgruntled glances.

Hastily righting herself, Elizabeth forced a smile onto her flushed face. “How clumsy of me. I had forgotten that Ovid was in the floor.”

“Do you frequently leave books lying about like that?” the earl asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, it is just that I—” Elizabeth began. She was saved from having to continue her explanation by the entrance of Larkman and two footmen with the tea and several plates containing an assortment of biscuits and cakes. Their arrival had certainly been timely, Elizabeth was thinking, but then Larkman was a genius of a butler.

Elizabeth took several deep breaths and exhaled slowly while pouring the tea, willing her betraying blush to fade and her hands to stop trembling. Why was she always so awkward in the company of her parents? Well, she was not going to allow them to discompose her again today.

“Do you take sugar, Papa?” Elizabeth inquired, quite pleased with the composure in her tone and the fact that she had stuttered only once since her parents had entered the room.

“Good heavens, Elizabeth. Can you not remember such a simple fact?” The countess jumped to her feet to take the tea from Elizabeth’s hand and carry it to her husband, her wary expression suggesting that Elizabeth could not be trusted with even this uncomplicated task. “Of course your Papa does not take sugar. He never has.”

“But then I have never poured tea for him before, ma’am,” Elizabeth said, raising her chin. She was determined to hold her own with her parents this time. “Will you try some of these cakes, Mama? They are quite good.”

“Who is reading Ovid?” the earl asked, a spark of curiosity brightening his eyes.

“I am,” Elizabeth answered with a note of pride in her tone.
“Metamorphoses
to be exact.”

The earl gazed at his daughter with interest and unprecedented approval written clearly on his face. “Who is the translator?”

“The translator is— Apollo!” Elizabeth leaned forward, staring in consternation at the draperies twitching behind her parents’ chairs. She had forgotten that Apollo was sleeping in his favorite spot between the draperies and the windows. What she had
not
forgotten was her mother’s propensity to disintegrate into screaming hysteria whenever coming in contact with a cat. If only she could intercept Apollo before he approached her mother, she might be able to avert disaster.

“Oh, you poor, pathetic child,” the countess said, her expression vacillating between pity and disgust. Obviously she believed that Elizabeth had named Apollo as the translator for the book she’d been reading that afternoon.

The countess shook her finger in Elizabeth’s direction. “You should never pretend to know more than you actually do. You succeed only in proving your ignorance. Apollo was a mythological god, not a translator of Roman poets.”

“But Mama—” Elizabeth began, jumping to her feet in hopes of heading Apollo off. The kitten had now stuck his head around the edge of the drapery and was eyeing with interest the full plate of food balanced on the lap of the strange woman with her back to him. Elizabeth had taken only one step when the kitten crouched to jump.

“No! No! Apollo!” Elizabeth yelled, freezing in place.

“There is no need to raise your voice, child,” the countess said, frowning severely. “You may insist the translator is Apollo all you wish, but in fact, Arthur Golding is— My heavens! Help! Help! Somebody help me!”

The next several minutes deteriorated into a cacophony of screams, hisses, shouts, and curses. Flying food greeted Larkman, who had come running at the countess’s first screech. The butler, with his usual aplomb, ducked an airborne plate and dashed for the brandy decanter sitting on a nearby sideboard. Elizabeth was already on her hands and knees groping under her mother’s chair in a futile attempt to capture the affronted Apollo, while the countess stood in that same chair waving her arms and screaming with increasing degrees of intensity. The earl still sat with his teacup in his hand, his expression bemused.

“Apollo! Apollo!” Elizabeth called, trying to make herself heard over her mother’s screams.

“Stubborn chit, ain’t she?” the earl inquired of no one in particular.

Larkman poured a generous measure of brandy, carried it to the countess and, after one look at her flailing arms, quickly gulped the liquor down himself.

“Larkman, will you please stop fortifying yourself and help me corner this cat?” Elizabeth asked in an exasperated tone. “We must remove him from the room or my mother will stand there screaming all day.”

“A broom. Someone bring me a broom,” Larkman yelled to any one of the several servants who had gathered in the doorway, surveying with gasps of horror or smothered laughter the chaos taking place in the library.

“Never mind. I have him,” Elizabeth called from under her mother’s chair. “Please, everyone, get out of my way. I must remove him immediately.”

By the time Elizabeth returned from locking Apollo in the pantry, her parents were in the hallway preparing to leave. The countess, her face white, her clothing disheveled, was steadfastly refusing the brandy Larkman was trying to press on her. The earl had retrieved his hat, gloves, and cane and was supporting his wife on his arm as they headed for the front door.

“Mama, Papa, please do not go,” Elizabeth begged, staring in alarm at her mother’s pallid features.

The countess, strengthened by a sudden surge of anger, turned to glare at Elizabeth. “Unnatural child!” she shouted, her face contorted with fury. “You have always been the bane of my life. Now this! I swear to God, if Kenrick does not have you locked away in Bedlam, I shall do so myself.”

Elizabeth stared numbly as her parents hurried out the door and into the street. Neither turned to say goodbye.

As soon as she had retrieved Apollo from his place of incarceration in the kitchen, Elizabeth returned to the library where she sat for several minutes, petting and comforting the still-ruffled kitten. The library had already been put back in order. The tea tray had been removed, as had all traces of the food that had flown from the countess’s plate when she tossed it into the air.

Elizabeth gazed morosely about the orderly room, knowing she could no longer relax here with her reading. Although common sense assured her she was not responsible for the misunderstanding with her parents, her mind insisted on replaying the scene over and over, finding numerous ways in which she could have succeeded in averting the disaster if only she had possessed a smidgen of foresight. Sighing, she stood, longing now for company, anyone to take her mind off the debacle of her parents’ visit. Perhaps Mary would return soon.