Amanda Scott (49 page)

She shook her head in disappointment. “I promised Auntie Wynne I’d help shoo the few remaining guests away before supper. The countess keeps encouraging them to stay. Sir Spenser returned with us from church this morning and means to linger till suppertime, but although Auntie Wynne doesn’t mind him, she says watching the other old gentlemen writhing in the countess’s clutches gives her a pain. I think she wants them gone because Sir Spenser doesn’t like them here, if you want my opinion.”

Lyford nodded. “Newton thinks Grandmother’s making a cake of herself. Daresay he’s right, but if it makes her happy …” He shrugged, then turned to Davy. “Like to come along?”

“No, thanks,” Davy said. Then, evidently thinking some excuse was necessary, he added quickly, “Web’ll be up and about any moment now. Daresay he’d wonder where I’d gone.”

Lyford nodded, but the moment he disappeared into the stable, Gwenyth said, “You know perfectly well that someone would tell Mr. Webster where you had gone. You don’t live in his pocket, Davy, so why did you not go with Lyford?”

“A pretty fool I’d be to give my head to him so easily for washing,” her brother said scornfully.

“What are you talking about?”

“Good Lord, Gwen, don’t be such a tipping noddy. He walks bang into us when I’m as good as calling his cousin a name I’ve no business using, and then you demand to know the definition of a word you had to have heard from me, a word I ought not to have used in the presence of a lady, even if I didn’t mean it so strongly as he thought. At Oxford a hook is just someone one don’t like much, someone who pushes, encroaches—you know the sort of thing! Still and all, while Lyford may have brushed it all aside then, you can bet your best gown he’d have something to say to me privately if I were such a fool as to give him the opportunity to do so. No, thank you, ma’am.”

She turned back toward the house, and he fell in beside her. “You are wrong, you know,” she said. “He says precisely what he means, and encourages others to do likewise. Moreover, if he had thought you deserved censure, he would not have spared you just because of my being here.”

“Perhaps,” Davy said musingly, “he thought he did not have the right to censure me at all.”

“No,” she said, grinning at him. “I doubt he thought that. Nor would it have weighed much with him if he did.”

“You sound as though you like him,” Davy said.

“Well, of course I like him. Why should I not?”

“That isn’t what I meant, precisely. I meant you really like him.” He regarded her narrowly. “Not falling toward the parson’s mousetrap at last, are you, Gwen?”

“Don’t be nonsensical,” she snapped. “If I were so foolish as to marry any man, I can promise you I should never choose one like Lyford.”

“Why not?”

She struggled to think why not, wishing her mind had not chosen that moment to present her with delightful fantasy visions of what married life with him might be like. “I … I cannot think why you need ask, Davy. The man … the man is like all men. Yes, that’s right. Just like them.”

“He ain’t like Joss or he’d have taken me up straightaway about my language and the things I said,” Davy pointed out.

“Well, he’s just as likely as Joss is to take you up over your heedless extravagance,” she said without thinking.

“Aha,” he said, unabashed. “So Lyford don’t like you tipping over the ready, is that it?”

“Don’t be silly. He has nothing to say about what I spend.”

“Well, he has nothing to say about what I spend either. Which reminds me, I must have a chat with Auntie Wynne.”

They had reached the entrance hall, and he left her at once. She didn’t see him again until suppertime, when he disconcerted her by openly studying the earl as though to learn as much as possible about him before departing with Mr. Webster for London. That they had decided to leave much sooner than he had led her to believe became clear before the end of the meal.

“Ooh,” Pamela said in response to something Mr. Webster, sitting next to her, had said, “to be leaving Tuesday. How lucky you are, sir! I want more than anything to visit London and enjoy all the Jubilee festivities.”

“Come with us,” said Mr. Webster amiably.

“Oh, how I wish I could!” Turning her best smile on the earl, she said, “I know I said I would not plague you, Marcus—”

“And you would be very wise not to do so now,” he said gently.

She fluttered her lashes. “But I want to go.”

“Well, you cannot, so don’t dwell upon the matter if you wish to avoid my displeasure.”

Hoping to divert Pamela so that she would not make the mistake of teasing him, Gwenyth said, “Do you go so soon as Tuesday, then, Davy? I thought—”

“First night is a week from tomorrow, you know,” her brother said glibly. “Wouldn’t want to miss it, but they say tickets are going quickly, so I daresay we must get to Hookham’s as soon as we can in order to buy ours before they are gone. Need some togs, as well,” he added cheerfully, giving her to understand that his mission with their aunt had been even more successful than he had hoped.

Sir Antony said, “Why don’t the pair of you ride with me tomorrow, lad? You can spend the night at the manor and visit Meriel. Lyford was going to travel with me, but he has decided to go to Bristol first. I’d be glad of your company.”

Dismayed, Gwenyth turned sharply to the earl and, without giving her brother a chance to reply, said, “You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid I must. I will return as quickly as I can, but you may be gone before I do.” He spoke to her alone, as though no one else were present, but they were not alone. She could not demand that he explain himself, though she wanted very much to do so.

Pamela’s outraged voice broke the brief spell. “You were going to go to London without us?”

He looked at her. “I was to have gone on business, Pamela, a brief visit only. My visit to Bristol will, I trust, also be brief. In any case, where I go has nothing to do with you.”

She said angrily, “I think it is beastly that you did not even think of taking me with you. If you had business in London, we might all have gone. Indeed, it is monstrous unfair that we are not allowed to go, whatever you choose to do.”

He sighed. “We have already discussed this subject.”

“But I wish to go! You are most unfair.”

“That will do.” He still did not raise his voice.

She looked at him, then shifted her gaze to take in the presence of Jared, Davy, Sir Antony, Mr. Webster, and Sir Spenser. Her eyes filled with tears. “You are unkind, Marcus.” Blinking back the tears and smiling bravely, she turned her gaze full upon him. “I do not know why you wish to deny me pleasure, when I have had so little of it since Papa died, but surely—”

“Leave the table, Pamela.”

“What?” Her tears dried instantly, leaving no trace of their presence, but before Gwenyth could do more than wonder how Pamela managed such a trick, she said indignantly, “You cannot order me from the table like a child! I won’t go.”

Lyford stood up. “We will go together. And,” he added when she looked mutinously up at him, “if you are thinking that I won’t pick you up and carry you if you continue to behave in this childish manner, you had better think again.”

Looking scared now, Pamela glanced around the table, but no one spoke up in her defense. Indeed, except for Gwenyth, the others had returned studious attention to their meals. Gulping audibly, Pamela got up and left the room with the earl.

When the door had shut behind them, the countess sniffed and said, “Hope he burns that chit’s ears good and proper. Too much to hope he’d burn her backside for her instead.”

“Now, Almeria,” Sir Spenser said, looking at her with noticeable affection, “Miss Beckley’s very young and perhaps a bit spoiled, but I daresay—”

“You be quiet,” snapped the countess. “I might have known you’d take up the cudgels in her defense.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes twinkling at her now, “you might. You know me better than anyone else does. And I know you. And I know you don’t begrudge that lovely child her desire for a crack at town life. You’d use her in a minute as your own excuse to go, if Lyford would only allow it.”

“I don’t need an excuse,” she told him. “Indeed, had I realized that Covent Garden was to open so soon, I’d have made my plans already. Perhaps we ought to take the
Times
again. It was a mistake to cancel my subscription.” She looked at Davy. “You come see me before you leave for town, young man. I shall want you to execute some small commissions on my behalf, if you will.”

Davy nodded at once, but Lady Cadogan, sounding slightly scandalized, said, “Not opening night, Almeria!”

“No, I suppose not,” the countess agreed with a sigh, “but do not tell me I mustn’t see something I enjoy, for I’ll do as I please, thank you very much.” She glared at Lady Cadogan as though daring her to speak. When she did not, the countess reached for her cane and stood up. “Good, then let us adjourn to the drawing room, ladies, and leave these gentlemen at their leisure to swill more port than is good for them.”

B
Y THE TIME GWENYTH
awoke on Monday morning, all the gentlemen except Jared had departed. She knew when she wakened that the others were gone, and the knowledge sat like a stone in her consciousness. Not the sight of the sun streaming through her windows when Annie opened the curtains, or the sound of the birds singing in the garden, or the smell of freshly baked buns with her morning chocolate had power enough to cheer her.

She told herself that her mood stemmed from the sudden lack of company at the abbey, from the fact that there was now no one to talk to. But there was still Pamela, though she had not seen her since her departure from the dining room with the earl the previous evening. Her aunt and the countess were still there too. And no doubt they would see more of Sir Spenser, since it was unlikely that the countess would really make good her threat to leave them for London. Certainly she had said nothing more about it the previous evening when the gentlemen had rejoined them in the drawing room. Of course, that might have been because Lyford had come in shortly after the others.

He had still been out of temper, but Gwenyth did not think that any of the others had noticed the fact. Indeed, he had seemed perfectly calm, and if she had had to explain how it was that she knew he was angry, she would have been hard-pressed to give a sensible answer. But she knew.

“Play for us, Gwen,” Sir Antony had said, gesturing toward the pianoforte in the corner of the room, its gaily embroidered drapery as bright and busy as the rest of the room’s decor.

Seeing the interest stir in the earl’s eyes, she had agreed at once, knowing precisely what to play for him. That she was playing the gentle, soothing sonata for him and for no one else did not occur to her until she saw him begin to relax and realized that she had been watching him closely. Feeling sudden warmth in her cheeks, she had looked away at once, only to glance back at him again within moments.

He had winked at her.

Remembering his wink that morning was painful, and she tried to push the memory aside, calling herself a child, and foolish besides. Her mind disobeyed her. She seemed to think only of him. He cared for her; she knew it, again without knowing how it was that she could be so certain. And she cared for him. Being certain of that fact was easier, for he stirred feelings in her that had never stirred before. Not only had she more than once found herself watching a doorway in impatient anticipation of his entrance, but a mere glance from him was enough to send the blood surging through her body like river water through a flash lock. Why, she wondered, had no one ever warned her that such feelings existed? Only a dolt would continue to deny them.

Pushing the last thought firmly aside with the others, she drank her chocolate and ate the buns without further ado, all the while chattering determinedly to Annie, who was sorting out her clothes for the day. When she had finished her repast, she dressed in her habit and went to the stables, where she called out to Ned to saddle Prince Joseph and his own nag, determined to ride the fidgets out of her brain and body. After a long, hard ride across the downs, she returned, feeling only a little better, changed her clothes, and sought out Pamela.

She had fully intended to seek her out the evening before, but when she had finished playing and closed the instrument, Lyford, rising to help her put away her music, had asked her in a blunt undertone to leave Pamela to her own thoughts for a time.

“I hope you were not too harsh with her,” she had said.

“No more than I had to be,” he replied. “I don’t like coming the guardian over her, you know, but she invites it.”

Gwenyth sighed. “I know she does.”

“She is my responsibility. I’m a poor choice for the position, I’ll grant you, for I don’t know anything about young females. Do you think I’ve treated her harshly before now?”

“I don’t think you ought to have left her at school.”

She would have said more to him, but he had not even had time to respond before they had been interrupted by the countess, who demanded to know if Lyford would take a hand at whist, and there had been no other opportunity to speak privately with him. As a farewell, it had been most unsatisfactory.

She thought now about what he had said about Pamela. He had not sounded in the least like a man who had ever had designs upon either his ward’s person or her inheritance, and Gwenyth wondered if Pamela had honestly believed him capable of such conduct or if she had merely been waxing theatrical, as she had been wont to do at Miss Fletcher’s. Gwenyth put the question to her when she found her in her bedchamber overlooking the courtyard.

“Do not talk to me of Marcus,” Pamela retorted. “He is a beast. I’d never marry him, not if he were the last gentleman on earth.” She rolled her eyes. “Gentleman? Ha! He is no gentleman, not if he can say the things he said to me, he isn’t.”

“What, precisely, did he say?” Gwenyth inquired. As she took her seat in the chair nearest the open window, she noted that the air outside had grown warmer and that a slight though not yet unpleasant scent of the stables drifted in.