Amanda Scott (22 page)

At last, with a final glance around the dressing room to assure herself that she had left behind no sign of her visit (other than a slight, lingering scent of damp wool which she trusted would soon dissipate), she slipped into the corridor again, closing the door behind her. Stifling an incipient bubble of laughter, she told herself as she hurried back to her own room that he would surely be unable to ignore what she had done this time. The thought that he might come to her bedchamber in the middle of the night did not distress her in the least, even though it also occurred to her that if he should so exert himself it might be for the sole purpose of wringing her neck.

Sydney had not returned from his dinner engagement before she retired, and throughout the night, each time she awoke thinking she heard a noise in her room, she was visited by a sense of mixed fear and anticipation. But by the time she had broken her fast the following, gray morning and learned from Abel that Sydney had ridden out earlier and had not seemed the least out of sorts or disturbed, her feelings changed from a surge of exasperation to the dismal belief that he didn’t simply care what she did. From that point it was but a small step to the restive awareness that she had allowed herself to be carried away by an impulsive, childish desire for revenge, and the belief that he must now despise her all the more for behaving so stupidly.

She would have been surprised to learn that Sydney, while not despising her in the least, had certainly been thinking about her and had ridden out early that morning for the sole purpose of avoiding a confrontation. The discovery during the small hours of the night that not only had the lid been glued to his chamber pot but that the pot itself had been glued to the shelf upon which it rested had very nearly overcome his careful patience.

As he had made his way to the commode closet at the end of the dark, chilly corridor, he had seriously considered visiting Carolyn in her bedchamber to express his displeasure. Only the knowledge that such a late-night visit to a chaste young woman living under his protection could not, under any circumstances, be justified had dissuaded him.

He had made no effort that morning to conceal what she had done, either from the chambermaid whose duty it was to empty the pot, or from his valet, when that worthy entered to set out his clothes for the day. Ching Ho had observed dispassionately that it would be difficult to preserve the shelf and impossible to preserve the chamber pot but that he would attend at once to the matter of replacing the latter, an attitude that had succeeded in exasperating his sorely tried master.

By the time Sydney finished his ride, his disposition was fairly tranquil again, and he returned to the stables safe in the knowledge that he could now meet Carolyn without affording her the satisfaction of knowing her prank had vexed him. It was a distinct annoyance, therefore, to learn that the carriage had been ordered out a bare half hour before his return to carry his mother and Miss Carolyn into town to visit the Pump Room.

Frustrated, Sydney went directly to a room behind the stables, where he knew Ching Ho might be found at such an hour. Ching was there, wearing a loose cotton tunic and baggy pantaloons and seated cross-legged on one of several large mats that lay on the floor, his hands resting lightly upon his knees, his eyes narrowed to slits. It was a moment before he responded to his master’s presence, but when he did, he rose smoothly to his feet and made a slight bow.

“You wish to take your exercise so early, my master?”

“I’m in no mood for duty this morning,” Sydney said casually. “I had thought we might have a go at the new way we devised for defending against an attacker with a weapon.”

Nodding, Ching Ho helped him change into garb similar to his own, but as he moved to hang up his master’s buckskins and coat on the rod provided for them, he said over his shoulder, “Do we practice for a particular assailant, my master?”

Sydney grimaced. “The only one assailing me at the moment is unarmed, Ching, though I cannot say she has no weapons. I just wish that a few hours of practicing Wu Shu on a mat could teach me the right way to deal with her.”

“Yes, my master.”

“What the devil does that mean—yes, my master?” Sydney demanded, taking his place opposite him. “Sometimes, I swear, talking to you is like talking to myself, which—now I come to ponder the matter—is no doubt why I talk to you at all about such personal stuff as this. It is not generally my nature to gabble, you know.” He bowed.

“No, sir.” Ching Ho returned his bow and watched critically as he began a series of stretching and limbering movements, speaking only once to suggest that Sydney lunge a little more to the left in order to center his body.

Straightening a moment later, Sydney said, “I wish you may tell me why I allow that young woman to exasperate me so.”

Holding his hands out at waist level, Ching Ho moved toward him. “Knife sharpens on stone,” he said. “Man sharpens on man.”

“I’m talking about a woman,” Sydney said testily, moving to his left without taking his eyes from Ching. “’Tis an altogether different matter.”

“I do not know that, sir.” Ching Ho likewise began to move, keeping the same pace, his gaze fixed upon his master’s eyes. Feinting with his right hand, he countered with his left when Sydney responded. The brief flurry of hand movement that followed did not alter their steady, circling pace. When their hands were still again, Ching Ho said, “I think perhaps it is not only the lady’s mischief that disturbs your senses, my master.”

“No?”

“No.”

The pacing continued as Sydney said grimly, “I damned nearly lost my senses altogether because of her flirting at Oatlands. When I saw that devil Cumberland with his hands on her, I wanted to kill him. Daresay that disappoints you after all you’ve taught me about self-control, but it was damned fortunate for him the pool was there. A fine thing it would have been, killing a royal duke right in front of the Regent. Oof!” This last remark came as he went down hard on his back, on the mat. As he drew a long breath to regain his wind, he glared up at Ching Ho.

Reaching out a hand to assist him up again, Ching said gently but with a twinkle in his eyes, “A man should not allow himself to feel hate or to seek revenge when evil is done to him, my master, but neither should he isolate himself from
all
feeling lest when passion comes, it should overwhelm him and thus prevent his observing that which it is necessary for him to see.”

“You are absolutely right,” Sydney said as he got to his feet and faced him again.

The edge in his voice brought a glint of wariness to Ching’s eyes as he feinted again and said softly, “A man must be grateful for all experience, my master. Without bad people and bad relationships, how can we appreciate fully the good peo—” His voice broke off with a cry when, like twin streaks of lightning, Sydney’s right hand and foot flashed out, simultaneously catching his wrist and his knee. An instant later, the Chinese servant lay as his master had lain before him.

Sydney looked down at him and said in a measured tone, “I don’t believe I have yet reached that state of blessedness wherein I can properly appreciate the good Cumberland has done me, Ching. Shall we try that move again?”

Although Sydney had put little force behind the blows, Ching Ho was a little slow to rise, and conversation between them after that confined itself to the exercise. Sydney emerged from the session refreshed and calm of mind, and when he met Carolyn later in the day, he was able to treat her in the politely affectionate manner that had become habitual with him. Noting, throughout the evening that followed, that she cast him a number of speculative looks, he decided that being left to wonder what he was thinking was doing her a great deal of good. Knowing that his behavior was frustrating her and hoping the lesson would prove to be a salutary one, he yet guarded his flank, lest she resort to behavior even more outrageous than before.

This state of affairs lasted but two days. On the third, while sorting through his morning post, which had been delivered to him in his library, Sydney discovered a letter bearing what appeared to be the royal seal. Opening it, he read a flowery announcement of the Regent’s intent to arrive at Bathwick Hill House the day after Christmas for a visit of undetermined length. Sydney stared at the missive for a long moment before he grinned appreciatively and rang for Ching Ho.

Showing him the letter, Sydney said with amusement, “The lady surpasses herself.”

Ching scanned it quickly and said, “This is not genuine?”

Sydney laughed. “Prinny coming here? I wish I may see the day. He detests Bath. When he desires my advice, he sends for me, as you very well know. ’Tis a good trick, but that wench wants a lesson, and I believe I am the man to teach her one. We are expected to spend Christmas at Swainswick with Skipton’s family, and I doubt my sweet Nemesis has realized that I shall be unable to escort them if I must cater to Prinny’s whims. No doubt she meant only to throw me into a dither by this little prank, but I’ll show her the error of her ways.”

Thus prepared, he bided his time for the rest of the day and joined the family at the supper table, anticipating sweet revenge. He had no intention of mentioning the matter too soon, knowing Carolyn must be wondering how he had taken the news of the royal visit, so he waited until someone else brought up the subject of Christmas. Not much to his surprise, it was Carolyn herself who did so, saying she hoped the intermittent, drizzling rain would cease before they left for Swainswick.

Seizing the opportunity, Sydney said casually, “I shan’t be able to go with you, I fear.” He watched Carolyn’s face, but all he saw was a shadow of surprise, perhaps even disappointment.

Before she could say anything, the dowager said, “I cannot think what could be important enough to prevent you from escorting us, Sydney, but if you believe that the journey will inconvenience you, there is really no reason for us to go at all. ’Twas only the fact that you have always joined the family there in the past that decided me to put myself to the trouble of going this year. But I believe it will suit us better to invite Skipton to bring Matilda and the children here instead. I shall write to him directly after supper.”

“What!” Sydney’s aplomb evaporated without warning, and he turned from gazing pensively at Carolyn to stare at his mother in shock. “You cannot mean to invite them all here!”

She lifted her lorgnette to peer at him. “And why not, may I ask? He is your brother, after all, and while I do not approve of Matilda, I must suppose that she has every right to accompany him. What is more, I believe the children will be delighted to have this opportunity to see all your little treasures.”

“I am persuaded, ma’am,” he said, paling at the thought, “that you have lost your mind. What can you be thinking of even to consider inviting such an invasion of this house?”

Although Carolyn stared to see him so unsettled, the dowager was made of sterner stuff. She straightened ominously and, without even resorting to her lorgnette, looked down her nose at him with such an expression as would have withered a lesser man, and said, “You will surely not be so selfish as to attempt to prevent their coming here.”

He was silenced, but he took the first opportunity after the covers were removed to demand a few words with Carolyn.

“In the library,” he said, making it clear by his tone that he would brook no argument.

She went with him without speaking, but when he had shut the door, she said at once, “Whatever is the matter, Sydney? I believe your mother was only awaiting an excuse to invite them here, you know, for it will be a great deal easier for her to bear with Matilda in this house than in the one that used to be her own. And, truly, you will not mind—”

“Not another word,” he said, adding with grim determination, “Basil and his brats are not coming to this house if you can help me prevent it, my lass. ’Tis the least you can do after precipitating this whole mess.”

“Me!” She stared at him. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Enough, Caro. I know the letter I received this morning was only one of your pranks. When I said I wasn’t going to Swainswick, it was to teach you a lesson. I don’t want Basil and his family running roughshod over this house, but I’ve no wish to betray you to Mama either, so we must think of a plan.”

“But, Sydney, I didn’t—”

“Don’t make it worse! I know you meant only to stir me up, as you put it, but even the notion of turning this house into a battleground between Mama and Matilda makes me queasy. I don’t wish to sound selfish, though very likely I do, but you know exactly how it will be with the pair of them under this roof. At least at Swainswick I can plead business elsewhere on nearly any day but Christmas itself, and the children have their nursery and schoolroom. Here, I shan’t know from one moment to the next what mischief they have got into, and nothing will be safe.”

“Sydney,” she said, eyeing him as though she feared he had taken leave of his senses, “I’ll willingly help prepare for their visit, and we can put away those things you are most concerned about, but there is nothing dreadful in such a visit, and—”

“No, there isn’t.” He steadied himself with an effort. “I suppose I sound as if I’ve lost my wits, but this house has always been a sanctuary to me, even before I inherited it. Uncle Henry never cared much for the conventions, so I could be myself here and not behave according to all the petty rules laid down by the
beau monde
. I shall detest having them here.”

Without warning her eyes filled with tears. “As you have detested having us here, I suppose! No wonder you have taken such care to hide your—”

“No, no!” He was shocked. “Good God, Caro, don’t cry! I only wanted you to help me persuade Mama to go to Swainswick as she originally planned to do. I never meant for you to think you were unwelcome here. No one was ever more welcome!”

“Then I do not understand why you are so upset,” she said with a sniffle as she drew her lace handkerchief from her sleeve to dry her tears. “You mentioned a letter, Sydney. Is it a matter of business that prevents your going with us to Swainswick? Surely, it cannot be Trust business at such a—”