Elisabeth Kidd (35 page)

“Monster!” she protested, laughing. “You are not in the least reasonable,
but merely stubborn, as I admit I am myself. But do you not think we
may be able to detect, and therefore to modify, that fault in each other?”

“I doubt that we shall find it necessary. I feel certain that we shall
always have well-meaning friends and relations —such as my future
brother-in-law! —to point them out to us. Naturally, I cannot help but be grateful for his interference thus far—for I’ve no doubt our meeting here
tonight was of his contriving—since it has produced such an end as a
good friend would wish, but I cannot feel I can tolerate much of the same
in future!”

“You are very good friends with Carey, are you not? Did you meet in
Spain? Is that it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“I wish you had told me. Or that he had.”

“Again, my stubbornness was at fault. I wanted you to accept me for myself, not as a friend of your brother.”

“As if I would be so easily swayed.”

“Yes, I realised you could not be when you accepted Charles Kenyon in
spite of everyone—and in the face of Carey’s obvious dislike of him. That
was stubborn of you—but courageous, too.”

“It was nothing of the sort,” she said flatly. “I was simply jealous of
Barbara Neville.”

“Bab?” He did not understand at first. “Of course! I pledged Carey to
secrecy on that head as well, fool that I was. Antonia, I never had any
interest whatsoever in that quarter, and Bab never had eyes for anyone
but Neil Gary, Octavian’s brother. They met when Neil was home on
leave two years ago, but the two fathers opposed the match—Henry
Neville because the Garys are poor, obscure, and not worthy to kiss the
hand of his only daughter, and Constant Gary because Barbara is a Roman Catholic and because his brother Junius, who controls the
pursestrings, threatened to cut Neil off. Petty objections in our eyes, perhaps, and easily overcome if only the elders could have been brought to speak to
one another.

“I chose to exaggerate the difficulties, as if there had been murder
done or treachery committed between the families, to make the task more
worth my while. But even if just cause was lacking, it took a good deal of
persuasion on my part, and finally a secret marriage—last month in
Dover—to break down their stubbornness. Since most of my family was
ranged on old Neville’s side, the, ah
...
negotiations had to be clandestine.
It was always only Neil I wanted to help, and by the time he and Bab were
married, it seemed as if I’d already lost you, so that I never thought
telling you about it would serve any purpose.”

He smiled at a memory and added, “Julia didn’t think it was too late,
however. She told me only yesterday that I should not give up, but I had
no idea she knew anything about it and so could not share her confidence.”

“Then that is why she came to see me. She was...reconnoitering!
But I cannot imagine how she guessed—that is, I did not know myself that I would change my mind.”

“She came to you?”

“Yes. I was amazed to see her, to say the least of it. But she merely
asked me if it were true about Charles, and when I said it was, she wished me happy and left as suddenly as she had come. I can only suppose there
was something—some hesitation—in the way I spoke which told her, before I knew it myself, that I would never marry Charles.”

“Why did you accept him?”

“Oh, he was a
...
a young girl’s dream come true. I had loved him as a girl and never thought that time—time apart—would be bound to change us
both. I think I began to see almost immediately that it had, but I thrust
the truth aside, telling myself that it didn’t matter because what I
admired most in Charles—strength, generosity, dependability—he still
had in abundance. But I could never make a joke that he understood, or
make him see that in all those years I had learned to think for myself. Nor
could I accustom myself to the idea of living in London for the rest of my
life, with only Christmas visits to Wyckham to renew my soul. At first, I
thought you were so town-bred as to never leave the world you seemed so
comfortable inhabiting.”

“My heart, why do you suppose I bought Windeshiem—and, I might
add, sent an army of servants and carpenters and glaziers there to
refurbish the place?”

“You bought Windeshiem? Have you meant all along to live there?”

“No, I had hoped all along that you would live there! I suppose the
redecorating was a desperate attempt to convince myself that it really
would happen. If not, it would have been a waste of a great deal of money,
for I would certainly never have set foot in the place if you had married
Charles after all.”

“Oh, Duncan, what will I tell Charles? He really believed he was being
generous to give me another chance; he’ll never forgive another disaster
in Vauxhall Gardens. Indeed, I’m convinced that is why Carey chose this
spot—but it is too shabby to treat Charles like this!”

“Would you go through with the wedding, then, merely to avoid
behaving shabbily?”

“Don’t be idiotish.”

“Then tell him simply, as you’ve told me—well, perhaps not precisely
as you told me!—that you have made a mistake. Even Charles should see
that, once it is pointed out to him.”

“But it’s not even the first time—”

He sighed and kissed her again. “Really, my heart, I have no wish to
hear any more of your past amours! If they continue to weigh so heavily
on your conscience, unburden yourself to a diary—not, I beg, to me.
Besides, there are unidentifiable objects falling on us while we sit under this tree. I suggest we go on, and put the waiting conspirators out of their
suspense.”

They rose, but Antonia had long since forgotten her loose heel, and no
sooner did she put her weight on it than it broke off again.

“Oh, dear! I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid you are going to have to mend it
again.”

“Certainly not,” he said. “I have many interests in life, but developing a
skill at cobbling is not one of them. I have a better idea.”

So saying, he slipped his arm under her legs and picked her up as easily
as if she weighed nothing at all —which she was painfully aware was far
from the case. But not daring to struggle for fear of doing him an injury,
she could only laugh.

“Oh, put me down! This is too absurd.”

“Not at all. Imagine the delight of our plotting friends when I carry
you back like a Roman abducting a Sabine. Carey will be certain to
appreciate the gesture, even if you do not.”

Unfortunately, the first person they encountered as Kedrington rounded
the turn into the Italian Walk was not Antonia’s brother but her former
betrothed—understandably, since he was unaware of his changed status,
astounded to see his much admired lady in a position he could not help but recognise as compromising.

“Bother!” Kedrington said, inadequately, and came to a halt. Gently, he lowered his burden to the ground. He kept a firm grip on her for a
moment, until it occurred to him that if he removed Antonia’s other
shoe, she could at least walk steadily, if to the ruination of her silk stockings. However, the sight of Viscount Kedrington calmly lifting Miss Fairfax’s foot and removing the shoe while she balanced herself by gripping his shoulders with both hands incensed Charles even more than
the initial shocking sight had done.

“Antonia!” he uttered in ominous accents.

Up until then infinitely more intrigued by watching Kedrington’s
ministrations to her person than in ascertaining the reason for them, Antonia had not at first even seen Charles, and now she turned her head
only to say, mildly, “Oh, hullo, Charles. What are you doing here?”

Kedrington’s muffled laugh was lost in Charles’s wrathful “Antonia!”

“Oh, do stop saying ‘Antonia’ in that nonsensical way, Charles. I broke
my heel, that is all. Lord Kedrington has been so kind as to
...
er, to—

“To take her off your hands, Kenyon. I’m sure you understand.”

Kedrington smiled amiably at Charles, whose powers of speech seemed
to have fled, for he could only look from one to the other of them in blank astonishment. He looked oddly out of place in his well-cut but, by
comparison with the colourful garb all around him, drab grey superfine
coat and pantaloons. Since no one else ventured to say anything either, he
at last muttered in a hoarse voice, “I will speak with you another time,
Antonia,” before turning abruptly and walking away down the path at a
stiff, agitated gait.

There was a moment’s pause before Antonia said, “Yes, but what was
he doing here?”

Kedrington turned toward her and studied her face. “Are you still tipsy, my heart?”

She shook her head. Nothing seemed to jar loose inside it, so she said,
“No, I don’t think so.”

“Good. Then let me remind you that you have just promised to marry
me instead of Charles. Did you mean it?”

She tried to concentrate her mind on the question, to convince him
that she was not being impulsive and frivolous this time. She even tried
to remember a gentler Charles, one who had loved her sincerely and
might even be hurt at losing her. But the present sensation of Kedrington’s arms around her and the closeness of his lips to her own were too strong.
The image of Charles Kenyon faded from her mind, and she smiled up at
her true hero, the answer to his question alight in her eyes.

They were not at all surprised, on returning to the pavilion, to discover
that the rest of their party had quite vanished, so that Kedrington was
obliged to see Antonia home. It was a long time before they could bring themselves to say good night, and still longer before Antonia fell asleep
, with the memory of Kedrington’s laughter—oh, it had been
so long since she had enjoyed laughing with anyone!—echoing in her
ears.

She came down to breakfast the next morning, however, to find the
entire family, and Octavian Gary, waiting for her. None of them appeared
in the least anxious or remorseful, but they had the grace to say nothing
until she smiled, then laughed, and finally told them roundly that they
were entirely shameless for having deceived her so basely. At that, Isabel
flung herself into her aunt’s arms, saying happily, “I knew you would not
be angry with us!”

There followed a merry round of hugs and thanks and apologies—
mainly on Antonia’s part for having reduced them to conspiracy through
her foolishness. After a time, however, it occurred to her that one friend who might have been expected to be present was missing.

“Where is Clory?” she asked, having been informed by her Uncle
Philip that Charles had gone off in a huff—which Philip took no share
in —back to Kent after discovering that the unexpected business which
had called him back to town had been a fabrication on Carey’s part.

The conspirators exchanged glances, but it was a long moment before Isabel said, “Clory and Oliver have decided to take a jaunt into the countryside—to Kent, I believe.”

“Kent?” Antonia said, bewildered.

Isabel nodded. Carey grinned. “Right! To Tunbridge Wells. To
...
ah,
comfort Charles. Lord, I wish I could be there to see the Nabob’s face
when Clory catches up with him!”

Antonia stared at her brother, comprehension dawning. “Carey, how
could you!”

“Me? What did I do? I don’t even know who’s going to come off worse
out of this campaign—Clory or Charles!”

Everyone enjoyed a hearty laugh at this, and indulged in speculation
on the effect the news would have on Clory’s many beaux. This led to further hilarity when Carey imaginatively described the shattered reac
tions of the various mamas who had indulged hopes of Kedrington’s
favouring their daughters, with the result that when Antonia told Mrs Curtiz that next week would suit her nicely for the wedding, no one
immediately noticed the satisfied expression which settled on Imogen s
face.

“Then Isabel may be married out of Windeshiem.”

Antonia smiled and nodded.

“And I may leave the details to you while Philip and I are on the Continent. We shall, of course, return in time for Isabel’s wedding.”

Antonia’s head jerked around, and she gazed in amazement at her
friend, who was calmly pouring herself another cup of tea. “Imogen—
Philip—do you mean to tell me...no, I cannot credit it!”