Cry of the Peacock (13 page)

“I’ve been out,” she said.

“Out? I hope you do not mean to tell me you have been out alone?”

“I wanted to see the progress on the new construction.”

“You cannot go out unaccompanied. You know this.”

“She was not un—”

“It won’t happen again,” Abbie answered, cutting David off.

“You know the rules, Arabella, and that they are in place for your safety. Inconvenient though they may seem to you, you
will
respect them. Sarah is to accompany you if you
must
go out, and you will—”

“I said it won’t happen again.”

Lady Crawford stopped. She was not used to being interrupted.

“We’ll discuss this later,” she said at last and with barely restrained frustration. “Now you need to dress for dinner. You mustn’t be late tonight.” With this direction given, Sarah moved past Lady Crawford and led the way to Abbie’s room.

“I won’t ask where
you’v
e been,” Abbie heard Lady Crawford say to David. “Our guests will be here within the hour, and everyone, it seems, is determined to be late! Your father and brother have only just returned home as well. Promise me, David, that you
will
be down, and on time, to greet them.”

“Yes, of course.”

“David?” his mother called after him.

“What is it now?” he asked with only enough patience to sound respectful.

“You won’t disappoint me?”

“Good grief, Mother.”

“David?” she asked again, and took a step forward to place a hand on the newel post.

“Truly, Mother, it’s the last thing in the world I want to do.”

It was harder to get away than we had planned.

“S
O THIS IS our young protégé!” said Lady Barnwell as Abbie was presented to her, and examining her very closely as if she were a new piece of furniture or a painting bought at auction that might yet prove itself a forgery. But it seemed, after all, she met with approval. “Well, I don’t blame you for making much of her, my dear Margaret. She has a great deal to recommend her. A very great deal, indeed! I do hope you and my Katherine will be friends,” she said, taking Abbie’s hands in her own and offering an appreciative nod toward the young woman who had just come to stand beside her. “Now you study her very closely,” Lady Barnwell said to Abbie, “and be sure to let her guide you in all things.”

“It’s a treat to finally meet you,” Katherine said taking the hand her mother gave her and leading Abbie away to a quiet corner of the room. “I’ve heard so very much about you.”

“And I, you,” Abbie said and knew not what else to say. So this was the woman David was to marry. Next to her Abbie was to be compared. How would she measure up? Desperately short, she feared.

As if to prove her right, Lady Barnwell began to offer Lady Crawford some sober counsel. “You must take the greatest care to scrub away every ounce of country coarseness, you know,” Lady Barnwell said to Lady Crawford as the one drew the other away, and in tones much too loud for confidential speech. “You must be relentless. Spring is fast approaching, and it will not do…”

“Never mind her,” Katherine said. “She doesn’t know what she means. Five minutes introduction is hardly sufficient to judge what you may or may not require. Ignore her. I always do.”

Abbie could not resist a smile at this. Though she had rather determined not to do it, she could not help but like Miss Barnwell. She was not so fine as Abbie had convinced herself she must be. She was certainly not haughty or proud. Neither was she particularly beautiful, at least not by the common standard, and yet there was certainly something very becoming about her. Her copper hair, worn high up on her head, was certainly striking. Her brown eyes and porcelain complexion did for her what it might not do for another less charming.

“Now you must tell me how you are finding your new life, how you get on amidst the family. Are you very happy here?” she asked as if the answer could not be doubted.

“Oh, yes. I think so. Everyone is so kind.”

“Everyone?” she said, and sounded doubtful. “Even James?”

“Not at first, I confess it. But we are friends now, I think.”

“He’s a good sort, really. He means well. I think he only needs someone to ground him before he’ll be the remarkable man I know is in there somewhere.”

“Yes, I think you may be right.”

“And David?” Katherine asked, glancing across the room at him. He had only just entered, Ruskin and Sir Nicholas with him, and the three together were now busy welcoming their guests. David met Katherine’s gaze. He smiled very handsomely, and Abbie observed a little extra color in Katherine’s complexion in consequence.

“He is very charming, of course,” Abbie answered her.

Katherine observed the effort. “Your answer seems to come with a qualifier, my dear Miss Gray. You can be honest with me, you know. I rarely take offense, and I doubt very much I could ever do so with you.”

“Well, then,” Abbie said and considered what to say. The truth, she supposed, was what Katherine most desired. “I can’t seem to make heads or tails of him, to be quite honest. One minute I think he has determined himself never to approve of me. The next he is all consideration and politeness.”

“He hasn’t treated you unkindly?” Katherine asked, suddenly concerned.

She thought of the words she had overheard him say. Though they had certainly been uncharitable in intent, they had not, after all, been intended for her ears. He had certainly been kind and respectful today. Only what to make of his following her! Had he meant to protect her? Or was he merely playing the spy? “No, not unkind,” she answered at last. “Not intentionally unkind, at any rate. He has been very gallant in offering me assistance on one or two occasions, but I know he has reservations and I do not blame him for them.”

“I’ll speak to him,” Katherine said confidentially. “Together we’ll bring him ‘round. Never you fear.”

Abbie was not sure what Katherine thought she could say to change his mind, but she was nevertheless glad to find she had one more supporter.

“Ruskin, of course, has been very kind and attentive to you?” Katherine asked in that same confidential manner.

“Yes,” Abbie answered, and wondered at Katherine’s ‘of course’, and what exactly was meant by it. “Yes, I think I can say we are friends.”

With this, Katherine took her hands. “Very good friends?” she asked. “Do say yes.”

“I hope so,” Abbie answered. “At least I hope it may be so.”

“That will do for now,” Katherine said, and patted the hand she still held. “Tell me, won’t you, all about yourself? You have a sister? In London, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“She lives with your aunt?”

“Yes.”

“You have lately been ill, I understand. You are much better now?”

“It seems you know all about me,” Abbie said. “What about you? Have you always lived in London?”

“Yes, always,” she said in answer. “I like the country very much. I’m certainly at home here, and this great house is remarkable, but I confess I prefer London, with all its diversions and excitements. And the family’s townhouse is every bit as nice. It’ll be ours, you know—mine and David’s—when we are married.”

“You have been engaged a very long time,” Abbie observed, and observed, at the same time, David watching them as he stood conversing with, perhaps only half listening to, Lord Barnwell.

“Oh yes,” Katherine answered. “Our mamas have always been the very closest of friends. They designed their plan for us when we were infants, and fate has determined to make their wish our own.”

“When will you be married?”

Katherine’s face clouded momentarily with this question. “There is no date, as of yet. We have not made the engagement official. But I expect we will announce it very soon.”

“I’ve no doubt of it,” Abbie said. David’s gaze met her own in that instant and she determined to ignore him. “I’m sure you will be very happy. I think the best marriages are made by those who start out as the best of friends besides. It is clear you are very dear to the family. You are a natural part of it already.”

“You are very kind, Miss Gray. And I think it no very great stretch of the imagination to suppose the same might soon enough be said of you.”

Abbie was not certain how to take this. Was it an allusion to Ruskin’s intentions? Or was it nothing more than the Crawfords’ plans to raise her and make her a part of them? There was no asking the, however, for David, having broken from his conversation with Sir Nicholas and Lord Barnwell, was now crossing the room to approach them.

“Will you excuse us, Miss Gray,” David asked her. “I see Miss Barnwell so rarely that I get a little jealous of her company.”

“By all means, Mr. Crawford,” she said.

He offered his hand and helped Katherine from her seat, and then drew her away. Abbie watched them go, watched his marked attentiveness, his gentleness and undisguised admiration. And she watched as Katherine basked in these. It was a charming scene and she was a little sorry to have it interrupted.

“May I?” It was Ruskin, begging permission to take the seat, now vacant, beside Abbie.

“Please, do,” she said, and wished to feel a little of that joy she had, until that moment, been merely witness to. She might bask in Ruskin’s attentiveness if she would only grant herself leave to do it. She remembered then, that he had cause to be angry with her. Was he?

“You look very well tonight,” he said. It certainly did not appear that he was put out with her in any way. His mother had not yet told him, it seemed, that she had been out unaccompanied, which was not, after all, exactly the case. She was not certain he would be pleased however she had conducted her excursion.

“So what do you think of Miss Barnwell?” he asked once she had thanked him for his compliment.

“I find her very amiable, indeed, and I expect we’ll get on famously,” she answered quite honestly, despite her previous suppositions to the contrary. “My only wish is that there should be some opportunity to improve the acquaintance.”

“Ah, but there will be. She’ll be staying on for the next week or so. I do hope you’ll allow yourself to be guided by her.”

“Still an embarrassment to you, am I?” she answered with a teasing smile that was intended to cover her dismay at having been importuned on the subject for the second time now.

“Not hardly. But I think you could not do better for a friend than Katherine Barnwell.”

“Then I promise to make the most of her stay.”

“I’m very glad to hear it.”

Dinner was announced, and so they went in. Abbie, throughout the meal, felt that she was at once the center of too much attention and the recipient of none at all. Whispered conversations were going on all around her: Sir Nicholas, Lord Barnwell and Ruskin—who continued to cast proud and appreciative looks upon her throughout the meal—Katherine and David who sat opposite her; and Ladies Crawford and Barnwell who sat to her left. She could not hear their words, but the darting glances and eager and confidential dialogue was telling enough.

*   *   *

“My new friend thinks you do not like her,” Katherine said to David with a sideways look and a coy smile. “Do you really begrudge your brother his happiness?”

So Katherine had made up her mind to champion Ruskin and his aims to woo and win the overseer’s daughter, had she? He was not surprised. But he was not very pleased by it either. “My reluctance to believe wholeheartedly in the merit of her charms has little to do with Ruskin.”

“Merit? David, I’m surprised at you.”

“And they say familiarity breeds boredom. I’m glad to know I still have it in me to catch you by surprise.”

“I think you are far more likely to tire of me than I ever can of you.”

“Don’t say that, Kat,” he said and felt the guilt he rightly deserved. Their engagement ought to have been made official already. She had been given reason, by his procrastination, to doubt his enthusiasm for the event. But it was not that. It was merely for a lack of confidence in other matters regarding his life. Was it really his wish to manage the family’s financial affairs? Particularly if his father and brother were not inclined to follow his advice? Perhaps not, but there were other plans in the making, he knew; politics, law, diplomacy, of which none, he feared, truly suited him, or ever would. At least the when and how of his marriage were still his to decide upon. Perhaps it was for having this power alone that he held onto it as long as he could. If only he had Ruskin’s power, his power to align all to his own desires, even when those desires were foolhardy and selfish. Then he might do whatever he liked, and do it without argument or obstacle.

Ruskin was watching the object of his desire now. How ridiculous he was in his mooning! Did Miss Gray realize he was gawping at her like that? She would not meet his gaze. Perhaps she had determined to ignore him. Perhaps she was somehow ignorant of the strength of his regard, or of the depth of his determination. Was Ruskin wholly unaware that she had a will and determination of her own? If he had seen her today as David had seen her, would he consider her a heroine, or would he resent her interference? He feared the latter—and feared the day she would learn it too.

“She is very beautiful,” Katherine observed. She had no doubt observed, just as well, his unattended attention upon Miss Gray. It was yet one more thing to regret.

“Stop it,” he said, and slipped his hand into hers to hold it beneath the tablecloth.

“I do want you to like her, David. Think how much happier you will be if you learn to love her. She is to be your sister, after all.”

David, at the moment, with Katherine beside him smiling and beautiful, very much wanted to forget Miss Arabella Gray ever existed. And to make Katherine forget, too. If only they could have ten minutes alone together.

*   *   *

Abbie was trying very hard not to notice the eyes that intermittently rested upon her—Ruskin’s, David’s. Nor to be mindful of the conversations of which she was the subject. As Lady Barnwell was the loudest of all present, and her conversation, consequently, the most impossible not to follow, it was this Abbie focused on. It was a means, at any rate, of distracting herself from the unsought attentions of others.

“Your country folk—” Lady Barnwell was saying to Lady Crawford, “—and of course I exclude you, for you are in Town as much as you are out of it—are rather inclined to gossip, you’ll find, and nothing will taint a young woman’s prospects as much as gossip, either by participating in it or by making herself a subject of it. Imagine it, if you will: Someone sees a young woman pocket a handkerchief loaned to her, and then a handkerchief is found in the laundry with strange initials on it, and then the maids get to talking, and then the housekeeper overhears, and she tells Mrs. Huggaby down the street, who knows the daughter of the second son of a minor noble, and before you know it, the young woman’s fate is sealed. What was merely the answer to an unexpected sneeze soon becomes, in the wind of gossip, a clandestine elopement, a torrid love affair conducted on balconies and behind drawing room curtains. Heed my warning; you cannot be too careful.”