Gayle Buck (14 page)

Michele turned her head. “Whatever do you mean, Lydia?”

Lydia shrugged nonchalantly. “It is an observation only. I suppose the familiarity between the two of you can be accounted for through your past close association. Quite frankly, Michele, I begin to think that Lord Randol shows something of a partiality for your company.”

“Pray do not be ridiculous. His lordship does not care for me in the least,” Michele said, though without the heat that her words should have conveyed. She could not help but be caught up in the warm reeling of pleasure Lydia’s comment had given her. “I think we should be getting back to the town house. Our aunt will be wondering where we have got off to,” she said quietly. Lydia agreed, and instantly began talking about the various personages and carriages that they passed on the return home. Wiser than she had been just weeks before, Lydia did not once refer again to Lord Randol.

Chapter Thirteen

The following afternoon Clarence and Elizabeth Hedgeworth were visiting with the ladies when Lord Randol called. Lady Basinberry introduced Lord Randol to the Hedgeworths. Clarence recognized his lordship as a very knowing customer, someone that he would not care to tangle with. Elizabeth cast a fleeting glance up into his face before she colored and stammered a shy greeting, put out of all countenance by his grave and distant manners. In Lydia’s confidence, she was already halfway persuaded that she should fear his lordship.

Lord Randol settled into a chat with Lady Basinberry and Lydia, while Michele played hostess to Clarence and Elizabeth. Lady Basinberry thought it time to give Lord Randol a little encouragement, since Lydia did not appear capable of doing so herself. “My lord, Lydia was but just telling me how much your visits mean to her,” said Lady Basinberry. She glanced at her niece, whose mouth had dropped open slightly, and gave her a meaningful stare. Lydia closed her mouth and flushed, looking unhappy.

Lord Randol was not behind in noting the byplay, but he preferred to ignore it. He inclined his head to Lydia. “It is always a pleasure to call on you, Miss Davenport. I hope that we may spend a great deal more time in one another’s company in the not-too-distant future.”

Lydia took his meaning instantly. With a particular sinking feeling she heard her aunt assure the viscount that they were all anticipating that happy time. She realized what Michele had warned her of was coming true. She was inexorably being driven into a position where she would have no choice but to agree to marry Lord Randol. She swallowed convulsively, feeling ready to sink, but she knew that the moment of truth had come. “I am honored by your attentions, my lord. But I cannot ever accept your kind offer for my hand. You see, my heart quite belongs to another.” Her clear voice carried to the others in the room, and all conversation abruptly ended.

Lady Basinberry was aghast. She threw a wild glance toward Lord Randol’s shuttered face. “Lydia, you do not know what you are saying!”

Lydia tried to maintain contact with Lord Randol’s penetrating gaze, but after a moment her lashes fluttered down. She made a helpless gesture. “I am sorry, my lord,” she whispered.

“On the contrary. Lady Basinberry, I believe that Miss Davenport knows very well what she is saying,” Lord Randol said. He wondered why his paramount feeling was not outrage, but instead one of immeasurable relief. Lydia looked up quickly, startled by his cool tone. He saw the anxiety lurking in her eyes. Lord Randol smiled, dispelling his grimness of expression. “You need not fear, I shall not eat you.”

She flushed fierily. “Oh, I am sure that I never . . . what I mean to say is, thank you, my lord,” she said in a shaking voice.

Lord Randol took her hand and raised it to his lips in a brief salute. “I think that I shall take leave of you now, Miss Davenport. You will admit that after such a leveler, a dignified retreat is all that is left to me,” he said humorously.

“I am so very sorry, my lord,” Lydia said breathlessly.

Lord Randol bowed to her and to Lady Basinberry. He took leave of the others in the drawing room and strode to the door. He was met in the doorway by Mr. Davenport, who stepped back to allow his lordship past. “My lord, surely you do not leave already?” Mr. Davenport asked genially.

“I have recalled another visit that I must make,” Lord Randol said. He exchanged a few more brief words and then he was gone.

Mr. Davenport looked around at those in the drawing room, and he was struck by the complete immobility of the small company and the varying degrees of shock or amazement on their countenances. “Whatever has gotten into the lot of you? One would think that an apparition had just passed through the room.”

His bantering tone released Lady Basinberry from her stupefaction, “Edwin! Your daughter has just given Lord Randol the roundabout.”

“What!” Mr. Davenport turned startled eyes on his daughter.

Lydia was pale and somewhat awed by her own temerity. “It is quite true, Papa. I have told Lord Randol that his suit is unacceptable to me,” she said in a low voice. She turned toward her aunt. “I am sorry, Aunt Beatrice. I know that you are as disappointed as Papa. I did try to like his lordship, I did truly.”

A strangled sound issued forth from Mr. Davenport’s throat, swinging the attention of all to him. They watched fascinated as he opened his mouth once or twice. His face was becoming suffused with an alarming shade of puce and he appeared to swell with the strength of his emotion.

At the unmistakable signs of a grand rage, Michele stepped quickly to Lydia’s side. She slipped a supporting arm about her cousin’s slender waist. She could feel Lydia trembling. She was soothingly, “My cousin was civil about it, uncle. Lord Randol took the disappointment quite well. I do not think that there will be repercussions from that quarter.”

Mr. Davenport found his voice at last. “That will be enough, Michele. There can be no creditable defense.” Mr. Davenport stared angrily at his erring daughter. “I wish to see you in my study at once, Lydia!” he said awfully. He stood waiting for her in the doorway.

Lydia quailed before her father’s anger. “Yes, Papa.” She slipped quickly past her father, and Mr. Davenport closed the drawing-room door with a distinct snap. Those left in the drawing room heard, a moment later, another door shut.

Clarence and Elizabeth Hedgeworth exchanged horrified glances. With one accord they rose to take their leave. “We . . . we really must be going,” said Miss Hedgeworth.

“That I readily understand,” Lady Basinberry said in a tone that brought quick color into Miss Hedgeworth’s cheeks. Lady Basinberry held out her hand to the younger woman. “I apologize for the awkwardness of the past several moments, Elizabeth. I know that I may rely upon your discretion.”

“Oh ... of course, my lady,” Elizabeth said, acutely uncomfortable. She seemed to have difficulty in meeting Lady Basinberry’s eyes.

Her brother managed to rise to the occasion with an aplomb at variance with his young years. “Rest assured of it, my lady,” he said firmly.

“Thank you, Clarence. Do, pray, give my regards to your dear grandmother,” Lady Basinberry said graciously.

The Hedgeworths promised to do so, and Michele offered her hand to each of them in turn. “Good-bye. I hope that I may visit with you both again,” she said.

Elizabeth pressed Michele’s fingers, saying with repressed agitation, “Pray tell Lydia for me ... I am so very sorry! But I am her friend. Assure her of that, please. And …and I shall be happy to do anything ...”

Michele smiled at the embarrassed young woman. “Certainly I shall do so, Elizabeth.” After taking brief leave of Michele, Clarence took hold of his sister’s elbow and the Hedgeworths got themselves out of the drawing room without a moment’s loss.

When they were gone, Lady Basinberry shook her head. She was already past her own agitation and was prepared to shrug off the unfortunate incident. She picked up her embroidery hoop and began to place smooth unhurried stitches. “It is an extremely bad piece of work. I had thought Lydia better-mannered than to do such a thing, but at least she did not blurt it out during an assembly. It is fortunate indeed that only the Hedgeworths were present, for I am confident that we may actually rely upon their discretion.”

Michele was paying scarce attention to Lady Basinberry’s observation, having discerned even through the closed door the angry rise and fall of her uncle’s voice. Disturbed, she asked, “My lady, what shall my uncle do? I can hear him even now. He is so very angry with Lydia.”

Lady Basinberry paused in her embroidering to consider the matter. “It is true, I have rarely seen Edwin in such a taking. I suppose I should not have sprung it on him as I did, but I was so rattled myself that ... I still can scarce believe Lydia’s ill-breeding! It passed all bounds of propriety, and I suppose that is what has so struck Edwin. I suspect that once he has finished shouting at Lydia, however, everything will be back to normal. Edwin dotes on Lydia, as I am sure you have noticed. He will not remain angry with her for long, I promise you.”

“I hope that is true,” Michele said. She perched on the arm of the settee and began to pleat and repleat her muslin skin. She could not help wondering if it had been the scolding she had given Lydia that had led her cousin into such a disastrously public declaration to Lord Randol.

Lady Basinberry glanced irritably at her. “Pray do stop fidgeting, Michele. If you must be doing something, come sit beside me and sort my colors for me. My eyes are not as sharp as they once were.”

“I do not believe that for a moment, ma’am,” Michele said, managing a laugh. Obediently she sat down beside her aunt and picked up the tangle of multicolored yarns. She had barely begun to separate the colors when her quick ears caught the sound of a door being thrown open, to be followed instantly by distressed weeping and running steps on the hall tiles. The yarns dropped from Michele’s lap as she leapt up.

Lady Basinberry only tilted her head. “What can you do, my dear? Lydia will be the better for a good bout of tears in the privacy of her bedroom, you know.”

Michele wavered. Finally she sighed and sat down again. She bent to retrieve the yarns that had tumbled to the Aubusson carpet. “You are right, of course.”

“I invariably am,” Lady Basinberry said. She then introduced a casual topic and Michele made an effort to uphold her end, but it was a lagging conversation. Lady Basinberry gave up on her, defeated by Michele’s abstraction, and allowed silence to fall until just the slow ticking of the mantel clock was heard. Michele waited for what seemed to her a decent interval before she excused herself from the drawing room. She went upstairs to knock on Lydia’s door, but there was no answer, which did not particularly surprise her. Undoubtedly Lydia preferred to be alone after such a miserable scold.

Michele managed to fill the remainder of the long afternoon in the library, writing letters to her parents and to several other friends in Brussels. She had left the library door open and she raised her head when she heard Mr. Davenport request that his sister join him in the study.

Through the open library door Michele saw Lady Basinberry precede her brother into the study. “I find this whole episode preposterous,” she said as she entered.

“No more than I, Beatrice. And that is what I wish to discuss,” said Mr. Davenport. He shut the study door with a decisive snap. From her place at the writing desk in the library, Michele stared meditatively at the closed door. Her uncle was obviously still upset by Lydia’s surprising announcement. She hoped that Lady Basinberry could persuade him to a calmer state of mind.

Michele returned to her letters, but it became increasingly difficult to concentrate on her task because she heard Lady Basinberry’s angry exclamations, forcibly matched by Mr. Davenport’s deeper voice.

Michele was becoming uncomfortable and had just gotten up to close the library door when the door opposite opened. Unaware of his niece, Mr. Davenport stomped down the hall. Michele heard him tell the butler that he would be dining at his club and that he did not know when he would return. Lady Basinberry came out of the study to stand in the hall looking after her brother with the coldest expression that Michele had ever seen on that lady’s countenance. The outside door slammed. Lady Basinberry turned on her heel and walked swiftly away, her skirts swirling about her ankles.

Michele slowly closed the library door. She finished her letters quickly, not feeling able to convey enjoyment on paper when she was so perturbed. She felt a strong sense of guilt, which she knew was irrational. But she was convinced it had been her advice that had made Lydia make known her feelings to Lord Randol. If she had not urged Lydia to it, perhaps the entire incident would never have happened. And too, she had felt such a leap of her pulses when she realized what Lydia had done, for it meant that Lord Randol was free to pursue another young woman as his bride. Michele knew that what she was thinking was fanciful in the extreme. There was still that bitter wall between herself and the viscount and there could never be more until the unexplained bitterness was dealt with.

Michele moved restlessly about the library, picking out a title here and there, then replacing the volumes on the shelves. Finally irritated by her own behavior, she decided to change early for dinner. She swept up her letters to give to the butler to post for her and went upstairs.

An hour later, when Michele went down, she discovered that only Lady Basinberry awaited her. “Good evening, my lady.” Lady Basinberry stared at her and then returned to what appeared a grim contemplation of the flower arrangement. Quietly Michele asked of the footman in attendance, “Is Miss Davenport joining us this evening?”

“No, miss,” the footman said woodenly.

“I see. Thank you.” Michele followed Lady Basinberry into the dining room and seated herself opposite the older lady. Michele summoned up a smile for her aunt’s benefit. “It seems that we are alone tonight.”

“Quite.” Lady Basinberry’s tone was short. She seemed disinclined for polite conversation, her expression showing her to be preoccupied with rather unpleasant thoughts.