Amanda Scott (24 page)

“Good day,” he said. “I see that I am interrupting a family party. Your man ought to have denied me.”

“Oh, no!” exclaimed Eliza before either her aunt or brother might speak. “Marwyn knows he must never do such a thing as that, Freddie … that is, Captain Halldorson,” she added hastily with an oblique glance at Meriel. “You must come in and meet my sister, the Lady Meriel, and … and her friends.” These last words faltered when she encountered her sister’s frowning gaze.

Jocelyn had arisen, however, and began to make Captain Halldorson known to everyone. Meriel realized from her brother’s cheerful demeanor that he welcomed the newcomer and thought highly of him, so she nodded graciously when Captain Halldorson bowed to her, and continued to regard him thoughtfully from beneath her dark lashes.

He was certainly a handsome young man, and by the grace of his manners she was certain that he had had a decent education. When she learned that he was a member of the Dragoon’s’ second foot, that famous regiment known popularly as the Coldstream Guards, she was sure his antecedents must be excellent and thought for a brief time that at last her capricious sister had discovered a suitable young man. She was disabused of this notion some moments later when Sir Antony commented casually that he rather thought he knew Captain Halldorson’s oldest brother.

“Oh, do you, sir?” inquired that young man politely. “He’s years older than I am, so I daresay you might.”

Sir Antony blinked as though he had felt a twinge of pain, but he replied calmly, “He is Ribblesdale, is he not?”

The captain nodded his fair head. “Yes, sir, and he’s grown dashed proper since he inherited the title. Use to cut his capers with the best, so they say.”

“A dashed fribble is what
I’d
say,” murmured Mr. Carruthers under his breath.

Hearing him, Meriel favored him with a quelling glance, but he grinned back, quite unabashed, confirming her opinion of him as one who would take advantage of his betters at the least encouragement. She turned her attention pointedly back to the conversation between Sir Antony and Young Halldorson.

Sir Antony was saying, “You come from a large family, do you not, captain?”

“Don’t I just,” agreed that young man with a droll look. “Twelve others between Ribblesdale and yours most sincerely, and two-thirds of them males, all clamoring for post and position. ’Twas a fortunate circumstance for me that my mama chose her great-uncle Frederick for my godpapa. He purchased my colors for me and set me on the road to success.”

The conversation became general after that, and when the visitors had departed, Jocelyn informed his sisters and aunt that he had business to attend to in his library. Before taking himself off, he said briskly to Meriel, “I know you must be wishing to rest after your journey, but make no plans to go out tonight, my girl, for I’ve several things to say to you.”

When he had gone, Eliza let out a long sigh, but Gwenyth said angrily, “He takes too much upon himself, Meri, coming back like he has and assuming he can tell everyone what they can and cannot do, just as though he had never gone away and left the whole to you to manage.”

“Well, I for one,” said Lady Cadogan, rising from her chair and gathering her fancywork, “was prodigiously glad to see him, and so I do not scruple to tell you.” She bent a stern eye upon Gwenyth. “And you should not be speaking so of your brother
and
the head of your family, for if he does not have the right to order things as he likes them in his own house, then I should like to know who has. I am persuaded, moreover, that he would not like to hear you speaking of him in such an uncivil fashion.”

Gwenyth flushed deeply at the reprimand, astonishing her eldest sister, who had expected to have to take Lady Cadogan’s side in the matter. In the past, Gwenyth might well have been stirred to impertinence by such a rebuke. Instead, she now offered a swift apology, which Lady Cadogan accepted graciously before suggesting that she take her younger brother up to the schoolroom.

“No doubt Mr. Scott has been wondering this age where you have disappeared to. For you must know,” her ladyship added in an aside to Meriel when the two younger children had taken themselves off, “that Davy’s very excellent tutor has agreed to teach Gwenyth as well, until it can be decided where she shall go to school. For now that the French have so unfortunately taken up arms against England again, we can scarcely send her to Mademoiselle Lecolier.”

“No, ma’am,” responded Meriel, hiding a smile, “but how is this? Am I to understand that you have succeeded already in finding a proper tutor for my brother? I was persuaded that you would rely upon Mr. Glendower’s services until my return and that my first duty would be to interview a number of intimidatingly brilliant young men in an attempt to find someone suitable.”

“Oh, I had little to do with it, my dear. No sooner did dearest Jocelyn return than he saw that dear Mr. Glendower was no longer able to cope with young Davy’s mischievous ways. Indeed,” she added with a small, sad grimace, “I fear that both Davy and Gwenyth had got distressingly out of hand.”

“They behaved dreadfully, Meri,” Eliza interposed, taking pity on her aunt, who was beginning to wring her hands at the memories now assailing her. “’Tis a wonder there’s a servant left in the entire house, for what must they do first but lock one of the between maids into the wine cellar, where she had no business to be in the first place.”

“She told Mrs. Peabody—your brother’s housekeeper, you know—that that young limb of Satan told her Marwyn had given orders that she was to dust all the wine bottles.”

“God have mercy,” breathed Meriel, hardly daring to think what her brother must have said when he discovered that his father’s precious wine collection had been disturbed.

“Just so,” responded her aunt, nodding wisely. “Most fortunately, Davy slammed and locked the cellar door before she had so much as reached the bottom step, thereby frightening the poor girl so much that she never dusted so much as a single bottle but went into a screaming fit instead, a fact which Marwyn seemed to greet as a heaven-sent miracle when he discovered what had occurred.”

“And the very day Joss arrived,” Eliza continued wryly, “both those young scamps gave Mr. Glendower the slip and took themselves off to view the circus riders at Astley’s Amphitheater. Marwyn was on the point of sending several of the footmen in search of them when he opened the front door to see Joss stepping out of a hired chaise. His shock was nothing, though, to what Gwen and Davy must have felt when Joss was there to greet them upon their return.”

“Oh, such a scene as there was!” said Lady Cadogan, shaking her head. “But I must say that both those young’uns have behaved themselves a deal more circumspectly since his return.”

“Well, I should think so,” said Eliza, shooting a look brimful of amusement at Meriel. “When one considers the alternative to good behavior, I daresay anyone might take care to behave circumspectly—anyone with experience of Joss’s temper, at any rate. Isn’t that right, Meri?”

Meriel grinned at her. “From your superior tone, I take it that you at least have managed to deal happily with our brother.”

“Oh, Joss is not difficult to manage if one but makes the effort, you know, although he does not properly understand the difference between prices here in London and those in backwoods America, I might say.”

Lady Cadogan chuckled. “That he don’t. Why, how he thinks Eliza can be rigged out for an evening’s entertainment for any less than what she is and not be looked down upon for a dowdy is more than I can tell you, Meriel. But he has been perfectly reasonable about it, for all that. Indeed, he has been a great deal too forbearing in some areas, more’s the pity.”

Eliza lifted her chin. “You are only saying that because he likes Freddie and you do not. Oh, Meri,” she went on, turning impulsively toward her sister, “do you not think that Freddie—Captain Halldorson, you know—is the handsomest, most charming of gentlemen? Please, please say that you have not taken him in dislike, for I must tell you that I have fallen quite madly in love with him, and even if you do not quite like it, there is nothing to be done, for Joss says he is the very man for me, and Joss is my guardian, after all, so there is no more to be said, is there?”

F
ORTUNATELY FOR THE COURSE
of pleasant relations between the two sisters, Marwyn chose that particular moment to announce the arrival of two lady callers who were particular friends of Lady Cadogan. Since they were also influential hostesses, she insisted that Eliza must stay at least long enough to greet them and be civil, but Meriel, pleading travel fatigue, was able to make good her escape before the butler showed the callers up to the drawing room.

She half-expected Eliza to come in search of her as soon as she was free to do so, but for one cause or another that young lady did not get upstairs until it was time to change for dinner, so Meriel was able to greet her in the drawing room, where the family gathered first, with their good relations unimpaired. The entire family was present in celebration of her safe return, including Davy and Gwenyth. Meriel discovered that so glad was she to be with her family again that she could even welcome the presence of Mr. Glendower; however, the feeling lasted only until that gentleman made his way to her side.

“My dear child,” he said, his full voice carrying his words to the others with ease, “how grateful we must all be to the Almighty for having brought you safe amongst us again. You can have no notion how worried your beloved aunt was for your safety. We must hope you never have cause to do such a thing again, indeed we must. Not,” he added with ponderous humor, “that everyone agrees with you that there was cause.”

“Good evening, Mr. Glendower,” she said calmly before adding in a raised voice, “Gwenyth, do smooth your skirts before you sit down, dear. If you plop into a chair in that hoydenish fashion you will rumple them sadly.”

Mr. Glendower chuckled. “I daresay we all have our work cut out to turn that one into a lady, do we not?”

Meriel looked at him. “Indeed? You must excuse me now, sir. I see that my aunt wishes to speak with me.”

He bowed, his good cheer quite undisturbed by her snub, and she moved quickly past him. “Oh, Auntie Wynne,” she said, coming up beside that lady’s chair, “I feel as though I never left the home fires at all.”

Her aunt smiled up at her. “Do you, my dear? I believe that is often the case when one travels abroad. So like a dream, you know, when the journey is done and one is returned to that which is most familiar to one. I like that gown,” she added, peering at Meriel critically. “You had it made up in Paris, I daresay.”

“Yes, indeed. Is it not elegant?” She turned a little, this way and that, showing off the peach-colored, gaily embroidered skirt with its blond lace edging, and holding her arms away from her sides to give the full effect of the high waist and the little puffed sleeves that flattered her round arms so well. She wore elbow-length white gloves buttoned tightly at the wrists and peach satin slippers over white silk stockings. Her hair was piled high on her head, except for three neat ringlets tied at the nape of her neck with a narrow peach ribbon. Her only jewelry was a simple necklace of aquamarines.

“The color of that gown becomes you exceptionally well,” said her aunt. “Do you not agree, Tallyn?”

“Certainly,” said Jocelyn, stepping up beside Meriel. “A devilish fine rig, Meri.” He was smiling, making it clear that for the moment, at least, he had declared a truce between them.

Meriel, with Eliza’s earlier declaration still echoing in her mind, was not feeling altogether charitable toward him, but she had better sense than to take him to task then and there, so she responded lightly and moved on a moment later to join in conversation with Davy and Gwenyth.

“Oh, Meri, I adore special occasions,” Gwenyth said when she approached them. “Dining with you is far nicer than dining in the schoolroom, truly it is, and I am by far too grown-up for that sort of thing now, you know.”

“To be sure,” Meriel said, squeezing her hand as she sat down in a chair beside her, “you are growing up very fast, are you not?”

“Hmmph!” said Davy, slouching in his chair.

“Sit up,” Meriel told him, grinning. “You are growing up too, and must learn to behave like a gentleman.”

“I’ve seen gentlemen,” the boy informed her. “They wear spotted neckerchiefs knotted round their throats and lean against walls with their arms folded over their chests instead of dancing. I’ve no great opinion of gentlemen.”

Meriel chuckled. “In Paris they wear gold earrings in their ears, and some of them clearly forget to wash. We must hope those particular fashions do not find their way here. But how do you know how gentlemen look when they might be dancing, sir?”

He shot her a sapient look from under his thick eyebrows. “There was dancing here one night after a supper party, and Gwen and I hid in one of the window embrasures and peeped at the guests.”

“Goodness, that must have been a large supper party. How fortunate that no one wished to open a window for fresh air.”

“Well, it was rather a big party,” Gwenyth acknowledged. “Auntie Wynne did not wish to have a proper ball, you know—not when you were away, and without a gentleman host—but she could not think there would be anything amiss with a buffet supper, and there were not above fifteen couples for dancing afterward. And Auntie Wynne does not approve of London’s night air, you know, so we had little fear of discovery.”

“Well, you ought not to have spied upon the guests, nonetheless, but I expect you will know better if we ever do have a proper ball here.”

“We are having one,” Gwenyth informed her. “The invitations have gone out already—almost as soon as Joss got home, in fact—and Auntie Wynne was afraid the whole thing would have to be canceled if you got thrown into a French prison. Only you did not,” she added complacently. “I wish I were old enough to attend.”

“Well, you are not,” said Meriel, hiding a smile and repressing the urge to comment upon how fortunate it was that Lady Cadogan’s pleasure was not to be spoiled by the inconvenience of her imprisonment. “Here is Marwyn to announce dinner. I confess, I am quite famished.”