Elizabeth Mansfield (5 page)

Cassie went slowly down the stairs, wondering if the worrisome turmoil in her heart—the heart that her sister said she didn't have—would ease enough to permit her to resume her work. But she was not to find out, for as she turned from the landing to the lowest flight of stairs, she saw Clemson, her butler, on his way up. "There's a man at the door, ma'am," he said, holding out a folded sheet bearing a gold seal. "He brought this note."

"For
me?"
It had been years since anyone had sent her such a missive. Right there on the stairway, she took the note from the butler's hand, her brows arched in surprise.

"The man says he was told to wait for an answer," Clemson said, watching her curiously as she broke the seal.

Inside were a few brief lines written in a neat masculine hand. Her eyes flew over the page.
7
April 1817: My Dear Lady Beringer,
she read,
I
deeply regret not having taken advantage, last week in London, of the opportunity to make your acquaintance, as I was invited to do. I have no excuse for my peculiar and thoughtless behavior on that night. However, I hope you will believe that my regret is most sincere. If you and Cicely can find it in your hearts to accept this belated apology and forgive me, I would be very grateful. I would be more grateful still if you would permit me to call on you at your convenience, so that I may try to win your permission to speak to your daughter on the subject of marriage. Yours most humbly, Jeremy Tate, Viscount Inglesby.

Cassie stared in confusion at the paper in her hand. What did this mean? Did Lord Inglesby expect to be permitted to resume his suit? What effrontery! Did the man think that he could casually blight her daughter's hopes one day and then crook his finger to beckon her back on the next? If so, he had better think again! "Bring the messenger to me, Clemson," she ordered, her eyes fixed on the insulting missive in her hand. "I'll give his lordship an answer he won't soon forget."

In a moment a stocky, half-bald, broad-shouldered fellow wearing a caped coachman's coat stood before her at the bottom of the staircase, his tall hat tucked under his arm. She was surprised at his appearance. She'd expected a footman in full livery. Lord Inglesby was a nobleman, wasn't he? And reputedly quite rich. He could afford a properly uniformed staff. For a moment she felt offended by the informality of the messenger's dress, but then she realized that if the fellow
had
been in full regalia, she would have found it pretentious. With her usual honesty, she admitted to herself that
anything
Lord Inglesby did would not find favor in her eyes. She looked the fellow over coolly. "You are Lord Inglesby's coachman, are you?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," the fellow said, grinning up at her. "An' his butler an' valet, too. Hickham's the name."

Well,
she had to admit to herself,
that doesn't sound very pretentious, I'll grant his lordship -that.
But she would not grant him anything else. "So, Hickham, Viscount Inglesby wants an answer, does he? Then I shall give you an answer. I want you, please, to memorize it and repeat it to him just as I tell you. Verbatim. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, m'lady. I knows what verbatim means. Word fer word."

"Right. Good for you. Now, then, listen carefully. You are to tell Lord Inglesby that we do
not
forgive him, that he is not welcome here, and that he is not to communicate with my daughter or me
ever again.
Not ever! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, ma'am, clear as glass." His grin died, and he eyed her warily, knowing that this response would not sit well with his lordship. "Ye wish me to tell 'im he ain't to call 'ere, an' he's not to send any more notes."

"Yes, but I said verbatim."

Hickham shrugged. "Verbatim, then, ye don't forgive, 'im, he ain't welcome here, an' he's not t' com-mun-i-cate wi' you nor yer daughter forever after."

"Cassie!" came a shocked cry from behind her. Eva, her face reddening in horror, came running down the stairs. "Is that the messenger from
Inglesby?
What are you
saying
to him?"

"Eva, my dear," Cassie said with restrained annoyance, "I don't think this is your concern."

"But it is
indeed
my concern!" She brushed by her sister and went down the rest of the stairs. "Listen to me, fellow. You are not to tell his lordship anything of the sort!"

"Eva!"
Cassie cried in shocked fury.

Eva looked up at her sister over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I must countermand you, or you'll spoil everything!"

Cassie came down the few steps that separated them. "Must I remind you," she said in a furious undervoice, "that this is
my
message,
my
house and
my
daughter?"

"But, Cassie, dearest—!"

"Hush!" Cassie hissed. "How can we quarrel this way in front of—?"

Eva, turning her eyes from a fascinated Hickham to the goggle-eyed Clemson, flushed an even deeper red. "Yes, you're right, of course," she said, shamefaced. "But at least let's discuss this in private before you do anything more."

Cassie, despite her anger, could not bear to continue to argue in front of Lord Inglesby's man, to say nothing of her own. "Very well, Hickham," she said, trying her best to keep her voice steady, "do not deliver that message after all. Tell his lordship that I shall send him an answer shortly."

"Yes, m'lady," he said, his face impassive.

Cassie threw Eva a fulminating glance, went down the two remaining steps and started across the hall. "Mr. Hickham," she said to the coachman as she passed, "please stop in the kitchen for refreshments before you start your journey back. Clemson will show you the way. Good day to you."

With her chin high, she strode down the hall to the sitting room, her sister scurrying after her. As soon as they crossed the threshold, Eva closed the door and put her back against it. "I know my behavior was dreadful," she said, facing her sister with a desperate determination, "but—"

Cassie wheeled on her. "But me no buts! Your behavior was worse than dreadful. It was inexcusable! How
dared
you interfere with my affairs in that high-handed way?"

"I'm sorry. But I couldn't let you ruin all our plans."

"What do you mean? What plans?"

"Lady Sarah Inglesby's and mine."

Cassie stared at her, not comprehending. "Lady Sarah's—? Are you speaking of his lordship's
mother?
What has she to do with this?"

"A great deal. Perhaps you should sit down while I explain."

Cassie put a trembling hand to her forehead. "Yes, perhaps I should." She thrust Lord Inglesby's note, which was still clutched in her hand, into a pocket of her smock, dropped into an easy chair and leaned forward. "Well, go on."

"I wrote to her, you see," Eva explained/pacing. "The very night that Jeremy failed to come up to scratch. She came to see me the next day. She told me that her Jeremy had always avoided wedlock but that his attitude changed when she put Cicely in his way. She is convinced, as I am, that the fellow truly cares for our Cicely. He's just a bit marriage-shy. That's why she promised to go to see him at Inglesby Park and give him a proper dressing down. She must have done it! That message was the result."

"Just a moment." Cassie held up a hand to keep her sister from saying anything more. "Let me understand you. Are you saying that Inglesby's
mother
pushed him into pursuing 'our' Cicely in the first place? And that now she has somehow convinced him to renew his suit?"

From the tone of horror in Cassie's voice, Eva knew she had not improved matters. "Well... yes," she admitted hesitantly.

Cassie rose slowly from her chair, her expression a thundercloud. "And do you imagine that I am
impressed
by this? That this recital of maneuvering and subterfuge will convince me to surrender my daughter to this man? Well, my dear sister, you have gone too far. Cicely, I beg to remind you, is not 'our' daughter, she is
mine.
And I will never hand her over to a man who not only is twenty years her senior, has a vacillating mind and is reluctant to marry, but who, at the advanced age of thirty-eight, is such a baby that he is
still under the thumb of his mama!"

"But Cassie," objected Eva, outraged, "you are distorting everything! He isn't
at all
as you describe him. In the first place—"

"Never mind the first place, or any other place," Cassie said firmly, striding to the door. "I've heard all I care to. I shall send a note to his lordship saying exactly what you overheard me telling his man."

Eva stalked after her. "Cicely is indeed your daughter, but you are ruining her life, and I will not allow you to do it!"

Cassie paused with her hand on the doorknob and turned. "Eva," she said quietly, "you are my only sister, and I love you, but if you persist in opposing me in this matter, I shall have to ask you to leave this house."

"I intend to," Eva retorted bitterly. "First thing tomorrow. And on my way back to town, I shall stop at Inglesby Park and pay a call on his lordship. I shall advise him not to seek your permission but to take matters into his own hands and elope."

Cassie shrugged. "Do as you must. But my daughter will never be so foolish as to agree to an elopement."

"We shall see," Eva muttered as she marched off to her room.

Cassie watched her go, her brow knit. She hated quarreling. Any quarrel left her physically and mentally shaken, but exchanging bad words with her loved ones was devastating to her. All her instincts seemed to be begging her to follow Eva and make peace.

But she couldn't. She had an obligation to protect her daughter. Eva, who'd had a good marriage, couldn't know how dreadful life could be with the wrong husband. And there was nothing about Jeremy Tate and this courtship that sounded right.

She went slowly toward the stairs, her mind whirling.
What if Eva made good her threat!
she asked herself.
What if the fellow did indeed try to entice Cicely into an elopement?
Cassie had loudly declared that Cicely would never agree to it, but in her heart she wasn't at all sure. Her daughter was young, with a propensity for melodrama... and what was more melodramatic than an elopement?

She stopped stock-still on the stairs, a plan forming in her mind.
Yes, why not?
she asked herself. She could go to see him herself, right now, and ensure that the fellow never came into their lives again. "Clemson," she called, turning about and running down the stairs, "run to the stable and tell Boyle to ready the carriage. I want him to take me to Inglesby Park. At once!"

Chapter 6

Jeremy had asked Mrs. Stemple, his housekeeper-cook, to prepare a simple country dinner, which he and his guest would take informally in the morning room. Since he and Lord Lucas expected no other guests, he told her, they would not use the enormous formal dining room as they'd been doing the last few nights. "We won't even bother to dress," he explained. "So you see, Mrs. Stemple, there's no need for you to fuss. Mutton and potatoes will do."

"Mutton and potatoes indeed!" grunted Mrs. Stemple to herself as she stalked off. "Ye'll 'ave a proper meal, no matter where ye choose to eat it!"

The outcome of this discussion was that Mrs. Stemple outdid herself. When the two men sat down in their shirtsleeves at the modest morning-room table, glum and dispirited by the continuing downpour, they were presented with a meal so delectable it would have lifted the spirits even of a man about to be hanged. Thus it was that Jeremy and his friend found themselves considerably cheered. One could not feel blue-deviled when devouring succulent glazed lamb cutlets, tiny carrots "
à
la hamonde
,
"
cabbage flowers sprinkled with parmesan, and the half-dozen other dishes Mrs. Stemple had put before them. 'There's nothing so delicious as a simple meal prepared by a genius cook," Jeremy remarked as he eyed the praline cake and the apple pudding with cream that were still to come. "A meal like this makes me almost forget my troubled anticipation of being leg-shackled."

"Mmmm," murmured Charlie, helping himself to a fourth cutlet, "I
have
heard it said that a condemned man will eat a hearty meal."

"It's not that I feel condemned, exactly," Jeremy said in guilty denial. "Cicely will undoubtedly make a delightful wife."

"Not if 'er mama has anythin' t'say to it," came a new voice.

Jeremy looked round to find his man standing in the doorway. "Hickham!" he exclaimed, surprised but not annoyed by this abrupt interruption of his dinner. "Back already?"

"Yes, m'lord, but the news ain't goin' t'be to yer likin'."

Charlie, who did not permit his own man such familiarity, frowned at the fellow in disapproval. 'Took it upon yourself to read the lady's answer, did you?" he asked with heavy sarcasm.

"She didn't send no answer," Hickham said in quick self-defense. "She was goin' to, but Lady Schofield didn't let 'er."

"If there's no answer, why did you say I'll not like it?" Jeremy inquired, puzzled.

"Because before Lady Schofield stopped 'er, Lady Beringer
did
gi' me a message fer ye. She made me repeat it verbatim."

"Well, speak up, man. What was it?"

"I don' know if I should say," the valet-butler-coachman taunted, fully enjoying the rapt attention of the two listeners.

"And why shouldn't you say?" Charlie demanded.

"Because after Lady Beringer gi' me the message, she an' 'er sister 'ad angry words. Then she changed 'er mind an' said she'll send an answer later. So p 'rhaps ye should wait fer that."

"And perhaps," Jeremy retorted, rising from his chair, "you'd like to be replaced by someone with proper manners."

"Yes, fellow, you
are
a nuisance. Speak up!" Charlie prodded. "What did her ladyship say?"