Evelyn Richardson (26 page)

Freddie stood silent for a moment, his brow wrinkled in a fierce effort at concentration. “Well,” he said in a burst of perspicacity that took even him by surprise, “I think she must not dislike you, because if she did dislike you, she wouldn't have been the least upset if you had done something very bad. And she is upset. I could just tell by the way she looked. When she's blue-deviled she likes to walk in the country. And she went to Cresswell because she's in the dismals, not because there's anything amiss there,” he concluded triumphantly. “The staff there can take care of anything that comes up. She herself said that the day we left. So you see, sir ...”

A slightly conscious look stole across Lord Mainwaring's features. “You may not be too for wrong, lad. We may just have to put your theory to the test.”

“Oh, please do, sir,” his youthful mentor begged. “I know I am not wrong. You could say you have come to visit Cassie and me. Promise to try, sir.”

Mainwaring seemed to consider the invitation, though anyone privileged to observe how quickly the gloom had lifted from his brow would have known this hesitation was purely for effect. “Very well, Frederick. I shall put it to the touch. But you must run along now before you are missed.”

“Splendid, sir! You won't forget about the cricket, will you, sir? We shall be going down to Cresswell ourselves at the end of the week, so we don't have much time.'' And with this parting shot he was gone, leaving Lord Mainwaring to stare pensively into the ashes of last night's fire.

“By God, the scamp just might be right. Kilson!”

Kilson, who had been standing suspiciously close to the library door, took some time before answering his lordship's bellow. “Yes, my lord?”

“Pack my bags. I think it's high time we found out how things are progressing at Camberly.”

“Very good, my lord.” Once outside the door again, Kilson's wooden countenance relaxed into a smile of heartfelt relief. “Bless you. Master Frederick,” he breathed to himself.

Young Master Frederick was not at all above congratulating himself. “Cassie! Cassie, I say, where are you?” he bellowed up the stairs the minute Higgins had shut the door behind him.

“I'm up here, Freddie, with Ned. Whatever do you want?” his twin responded with some annoyance. She and Ned had just completed the laborious construction of an elaborate card castle, whose instant doom was imminent the moment her rambunctious brother appeared. Sure enough, he had only to enter the doorway of the drawing room for the entire structure to collapse. “Really, Freddie! You're worse than Wellington!” Cassie began disgustedly, but broke off at the sight of her brother's face. He was obviously bursting with information and quite obviously put out at finding her with company. Cassie was at a loss. On one hand, she was dying to discover what had put Freddie in such a state. On the other, she was very fond of Ned, and though wishing him to leave, knew that the last thing someone as quiet and shy as Ned needed was to be made to feel like a third party. “Ned is such a good castle builder, you can't think, Freddie,” she began, seizing the first thing that came to mind. “He knows ever so much history, and so many stories that he's been telling me as we have been building this.” Ned blushed uncomfortably. He appreciated Cassie's efforts to draw him into the group, but he would so much have preferred to be called a clever cricketer or a bruising rider.

“Does he now?” Freddie looked curious.

 “Yes, he does, and what's more, he told me all about going to see the Horse Armory at the Tower with Nigel. Did you know they have effigies of all the kings of England, from George II back to William the Conqueror, mounted on horses and wearing their armor?”

“No.” Freddie's interest was stirred. “Did you see all kinds of weapons too?” Fortunately, Ned had an excellent and exact memory. This, coupled with his true interest in the subject and a talent for narration, soon had Freddie listening with rapt attention, his momentous visit completely forgotten.

“Perhaps we can go together again sometime before we all go back to the country,” Cassie suggested. Ned looked gratefully at her.

“That would be famous,” her brother agreed enthusiastically.

“But who would take us?” They all agreed that this was indeed a puzzler, and all three of them realized, not for the first time, how seriously they missed Frances. Ned soon made his exit, promising to hint to Kitty so that she might hint to Lady Streatham that a second excursion to the Tower might be in order.

“Now, what has happened to put you in such a state?” demanded Cassie the minute he had gone. “I feared that if you had to wait another minute you might burst your buttons.”

“Now, Cass,” her twin began heatedly. Then, adopting a tone more suitable to the important nature of his mission, he continued coolly, “It's nothing. I've just been calling at Mainwaring House and thought you might be interested in how Lord Mainwaring is getting on.”

Cassie was suitably impressed. “Freddie, you didn't! Weren't you dreadfully afraid? After all, he hasn't come to call in weeks.”

“Well, I thought that might have to do with Fanny's being so mad at him in the park. I thought he mightn't understand that she doesn't stay mad long and she's always willing to cry friends, so I thought I'd tell him that.”

Cassie was awed into silence by this worldly pronouncement. She soon recovered and added thoughtfully, “You're right, of course, but I'm not sure Fan would like us meddling in her affairs.”

“I'm not meddling!” he retorted indignantly. “But I don't see why we should lose such a bang-up friend just because of a silly little brangle. You know how grown-ups are. They think the least little thing is terribly serious and important.”

“You might be right,” she began dubiously. “But what did he say he would do?”

Freddie tried to recall his lordship's exact words. He didn't remember Lord Mainwaring actually promising anything, but from somewhere he had come by the impression that Lord Mainwaring, feeling a great weight lifted from his mind, was on the point of immediate departure for Hampshire.

In fact, Lord Mainwaring's departure was forestalled in a slightly frustrating manner by the most amiable of friends, Bertie Montgomery. Bertie had an innately sympathetic nature, a quick, observant eye, and a finely tuned sense of social situations. Perhaps sooner than anyone else, the dowager Marchioness of Camberly and Lady Streatham included, he had foreseen Frances' and Julian's friendship developing and continuing into something more. He sensed, even before they did, the understanding that had grown up between them. Without being party to their last two disastrous encounters, he had a fair sense of what might have occurred. He had visited Frances not long after the episode in the park and had instantly noted the change in her and put it down to his friend's account. From her subsequent transformation he was able to surmise that somehow another woman, presumably Vanessa Welford, had been involved. Mainwaring, of course, had been out of town, so Bertie had had to wait some time to see how the situation was affecting him. Because he was fond of both Frances and Mainwaring and continued in his original conviction that they would suit each other very well, it was with some satisfaction that he observed the restless behavior Mainwaring had exhibited upon his return to the metropolis. The man who ordinarily scorned the social for more weighty affairs now haunted the opera, the theater, routs, balls, and even Almack's. To the casual observer, Mainwaring remained as aloof as ever, cutting the presumptuous and the insipid with his usual quelling hauteur, but there was a look in his eyes that spoke volumes to Bertie of his friend's unhappiness.

For a while it had seemed as though Frances, under the tutelage of the Comte de Vaudron, not only had recovered but also was discovering and truly enjoying the delights of society. Bertie was delighted. He had long thought she was dreadfully unappreciated and was glad to see her coming into her own. Perhaps even more gratifying was that she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as well—a rare but well-deserved state of affairs. Still, a small part of him was sad that she seemed to have outgrown her friendship with Julian so quickly. Frances was so convincing in her role as a young lady enjoying taking the ton by storm, indeed she had almost convinced herself, that Bertie was unaware how much she too missed Mainwaring's companionship.

Then came the night of the Duchess of Devonshire's ball. Bertie had been part of the general circle around Frances and had happened to glance up at the precise moment Mainwaring had entered the room. He saw the look that Mainwaring had been unable to hide completely, read the admiration, the jealousy, and the longing in it. He also observed, by the way she studiously avoided looking in Mainwaring's direction, that Frances was as intensely aware of his movements in the throng as Mainwaring was of hers. Having thus established that neither one of them was as indifferent as he or she hoped to appear, Bertie set himself to watch them closely. Thus it was that out of the corner of his eye he saw Frances go out on the terrace, trailed by young Wolvercote and shortly followed by Julian. When the only one of the principals to reappear was Wolvercote, he developed fairly accurate suspicions as to the nature of the scene and its outcome. The suspicions were confirmed the next day by Higgins, who informed him, “Lady Frances has gone to the country, sir. Urgent business at Cresswell required her presence, you understand.” Though a confirmed lover of London, Bertie was well enough aware of country life and Frances' excellent managerial abilities not to be fooled a moment by this flimsy excuse to escape a difficult situation. Furthermore, he knew that it would not fool the sharper members of the ton either. Partly out of a true desire to offer her sympathy and companionship, and partly out of a desire to offer the type of support that would mislead the rest of the world and ensure her continued good standing in society, he gathered together a house party of the most witty and socially brilliant of his friends and, to his mother's complete astonishment, retired posthaste to his own nearby estate.

It was just as he was about to embark on this journey that he encountered Mainwaring. Both were caught in the crush of traffic on Park Lane. Mainwaring, on a handsome but nervous bay, was on his way to work off some of its skittishness and his own impatience as well. He was astounded and slightly alarmed to see his friend ensconced in a traveling coach. Knowing that Bertie never willingly left the bustle of the city, he inquired his destination with genuine concern. His amazement grew when he learned that Bertie was actually returning to his ancestral acres. “Is Lady Montgomery ill, then?”

“Oh, no. Quite the contrary, chipper as ever. I just felt in need of rustication and have invited Alvanley and some others to bear me company.”

Lord Mainwaring might not have been as socially aware as his friend, but he was no fool. He was well aware that Bertie's friendship with Frances arose from the proximity of their estates. He had always thought of Bertie as a perennial bachelor, never the type to become serious over a woman, but as he quickly reviewed the past months, he realized uncomfortably that, aside from himself, Frances' most constant companion had been Bertie. The more he thought about it and of the warm way in which Bertie always spoke of Frances, the more jealous and suspicious he became. His face darkened as he said shortly, “Enjoy yourself.” This ill temper was not lost on Bertie. It had not been part of his plan in the least to make Mainwaring jealous, but if he were, so much the better. Jealousy sometimes drove intelligent men to take steps they might otherwise avoid.

Bertie's visit to Hampshire was at least partially successful. He had managed, via his customary grapevine, to keep the ton informed of the picnics, the excursions, and the fetes in which Frances always played an important role. Certainly Frances enjoyed all the company and the activity, but Bertie, catching her in unguarded moments, saw such sadness in her eyes that he longed to comfort her, to offer her anything—himself even-that would dispel it even the tiniest bit. And Bertie was someone who had a pure and unadulterated horror of the married state. Still, he advised himself, if one had to marry. Fanny would be the one to choose. She was so easy to get along with. But fortunately, before he moved too far in this vein, he realized that however comfortable it would be for him to live with Fanny, it would not be the least bit comfortable to live with the other Cresswells. Nor, when he thought about it, would Fanny be happy with him. She needed someone as intelligent and articulate as she was—someone like Lord Julian Mainwaring. In fact, he became so much more convinced of this than ever that he soon found himself returning to town in the hopes that he could effect some sort of reconciliation.

On the slimmest of pretexts, a totally false interest in the affairs at Camberly, he presented himself at Mainwaring House. “Place is looking a bit run-down, you know,” he reported to a surprised Mainwaring. “Wouldn't dream of telling you how to run your affairs, old fellow, but I know you've got so many of them you can't be everywhere and, well, I know Frances never trusted that rascally agent of yours.”

“Oh, you saw Lady Frances, did you?”

“Oh, certainly. Called on her almost every day.” Mainwaring's brows lowered threateningly. “She was perfectly charming. Always an addition to any party, and there were a good many of them. But she seemed a bit pulled.”

“Oh?” Mainwaring would allow himself to reveal no more than that of his intense curiosity.

“Yes. She seems quieter than usual, almost worried. Something's upsetting her. 'Course, knowing her, she'll take care of it, but I don't like to see her tackling so many things on her own.” The seed successfully planted, he rose to go. “Just thought I'd drop by and let you know how things are at Camberly. Might not be a bad thing for you to go down with Ned and Kitty when they return, and cast an eye around.” And having given his friend the perfect excuse to pursue his happiness on his own, he departed, well-satisfied with his morning's work.

Bertie was more successful than he could have hoped. In fact, he was almost too successful. Mainwaring at first was infuriated by the thought of Frances flitting and enjoying herself with such a gay crowd while he suffered in London, tortured by an uncomfortable conscience. This brought back thoughts of the confrontation that had driven her from London in the first place. Bertie had mentioned her fatigue. Was she still upset over his unpardonable behavior? Or was it really some problem at Cresswell Manor that was wearing her down? Bertie's concern, damn him, had seemed almost proprietary. Mainwaring wanted someone to share and ease Frances' burdens, but Bertie Montgomery was not the person he had cast in the role of her supporter. Bertie was too much the gay dog to take on such burdens. Still, and there a shattering doubt crept in, Bertie cared a great deal for Frances, was an old friend, and possessed the kindest heart in London. Perhaps, despite his horror of anything remotely intellectual, he was the very person for her. Bertie, in any event, never upset her, never made her angry or acted reprehensibly toward her. How could he, Mainwaring, outstanding for his calm diplomacy, have forced his attentions upon her out of pure jealousy and anger? Again he cursed himself for having treated her so roughly at the Duchess of Devonshire's ball. She would never forgive him. At least, he consoled himself with a bitter smile, his further alienation of her brought with it the memory of her in his arms, a memory so intense that he ached with the longing to feel the softness of her, to bury his hands in her delicately scented hair and kiss her until she was forced to respond, to admit that he had been correct in interpreting that brief instant of yielding as passion for him. But no. Lady Frances had too much pride and independence. She would never allow herself to become a victim of passion. Even in her greatest moment of anger she had always been in command of her thoughts, her words. What had she said? “You seem to forget I am not Lady Welford.” A passionately involved woman would not have been able to respond with such presence of mind. A woman less completely in control of herself would have raged at him or wept. Not Frances. Always mistress of herself and her surroundings, she had left rather precipitately, but in full possession of her faculties. Perhaps she did love Bertie. He was another one who never allowed his passions, if he possessed any, to obscure his delicate social sense. Yes, perhaps “Bertie was the man for her. He, Mainwaring, should stay away from Cresswell and allow them a chance to pursue their friendship in peace. No! his mind and body protested. She is too vital, too spirited, too adventurous for him. She would be wasted on Bertie, bored within a month. They won't do together. He can't have her! Worn out with thinking, he poured himself a glass of brandy, and another, and another, savoring the burning in his throat as he slouched in his chair, head in hand.