Jane Ashford (11 page)

Nothing intervened that evening to lessen Laura’s temper. She went over and over the scene with Lady Quale, becoming angrier with each repetition. The cheek of the woman! Thus she woke the next morning determined to carry through on her impulse, and she set out first thing to buy a domino for the masquerade. She avoided her sister and the servants, for she did not want this outing discussed. As she awkwardly gathered her skirts to climb into a hack near the corner of the street, it suddenly occurred to her that she had never before entered any vehicle without someone’s helping hand on her elbow and an escort to see to the details of the journey. Some of her nervousness dissolved in contempt at this realization. What a poor creature she was, after all.

***

The hack dropped her on Bond Street, and she walked awhile, looking for a small dressmaker’s establishment. She did not wish to go to Madame Antoinette with this order. Finally, when she had turned a corner, she found a place that looked to be just what she wanted—a plain, respectable shop without pretensions to fashion. She nodded once and went in.

A stout, rosy woman hurried up as she entered and greeted her cheerfully, but when Laura told her what she was seeking, a frown appeared on her wide pleasant face. “A domino is it, miss?” she replied. “Well now, we don’t get many requests for dominoes, and I swear I don’t know if we have one made up. Was you wanting a special color? We can do whatever you like in a trice, of course, but if you’re set on having it now…” She paused. She was clearly torn between the desire to retain this very promising customer and uncertainty that she could satisfy her.

“Any color will do,” answered Laura, “though I should prefer something dark and not too arresting.”

“Yes, miss,” said the dressmaker vaguely. “Well I shall see what I can find.”

A voice came from the back of the room where a group of young girls sat around a large table, sewing. They were only partly screened by a flowered curtain, and clearly they could hear whatever went on in the front. “I believe there are two or three dominoes hanging in the back attic storage room,” said one. Laura was surprised at the education evident in the voice. “Shall I go up and fetch them?”

“Why yes, thank you, Marina,” said the woman. “You’re sharp as ever.”

A slender young woman with brown hair and blue eyes rose gracefully from the table and disappeared into the closed staircase at the back of the room.

The proprietress rubbed her hands together happily. “There you are, miss,” she said. “What did I tell you? Won’t be a moment, and you can take your choice. That Marina, she’s never mistaken. Has the sharpest eyes in the shop. Would you care to sit down while we wait? Perhaps I could get you a cup of tea?”

“No thank you,” replied Laura. “I do not require anything.”

In a few moments Marina returned. She carried several garments over her arm. As she walked toward them, Laura noticed her graceful carriage and composed expression. The girl looked quite out of place in a dressmaker’s shop. And when she spoke again, this impression was intensified. “Here you are ma’am,” she said, in accents as cultivated as Laura’s own. “There are two dominoes and a hooded cloak I thought might be suitable as well. They were covered with a sheet, so they are not at all dusty.”

“Thank you, Marina,” said the dressmaker. “You are the one for finding things.”

The girl dropped a small curtsy and returned to her place at the table. Laura watched her walk back with some curiosity. What was such a girl doing here? But her attention was quickly claimed by the proprietress, and she forgot Marina as she chose a domino. Of the two offered one was black and the other crimson, and the cloak was of serviceable gray twill. Laura chose the black as being the least likely to attract attention and paid the woman for it. She indicated that she would take it with her, and a bandbox was fetched. It seemed to Laura that if she carried it home herself, no one would notice it.

The bandbox was a bit awkward to carry, but Laura found another hack almost immediately, and a hasty scan of the street did not reveal any acquaintance who might think it strange to see Mrs. Crenshaw climbing alone into a cab and hauling a parcel after her.

***

Laura reached home without mishap and used her latchkey to get in. Mercifully Mr. Dunham was not on duty in the hall. Laura breathed a sigh of relief and started up the stairs. But as she reached the first floor and passed the door of the drawing room, a voice called to her, “Laura, there you are,” and she froze in dismay. Eliot!

He came out of the room as she turned, stunned. “I was concerned,” he continued. “None of the servants seemed to know where you had gone.”

She gulped. “Oh. Well I just stepped out to pick up a dress that was to be done today.” She thrust the bandbox onto a chair on the landing and turned to stand in front of it.

“But one of the footmen could have gone. You should not have to do such errands.”

“Oh yes, but you see… that is, there was a final fitting still to be done.”

Eliot frowned at her. “But why did you not take your barouche?” He appeared more puzzled than angry.

“It was only a step,” she replied more easily. The first lies of her life were both more difficult and easier than she would have expected. “I wanted a breath of air. But you returned a day early, did you not?” She hoped to divert him from the subject of gowns, and she succeeded.

“Yes. I found it somewhat tedious, and besides I was not easy about the way we parted. Come into the drawing room. I wish to talk with you, Laura.”

His tone was kind, but Laura was too nervous to pay much heed. “Of course,” she said, “as soon as I have taken off my bonnet and tidied my hair. I won’t be a moment.”

Eliot started to speak, then nodded and walked back into the drawing room.

Sighing in relief, Laura picked up the bandbox and hurried up to her room. She put it on top of the wardrobe, where it was unlikely to be disturbed, then stood a moment with a hand clenched at her breast. She was breathing rather fast, and her face in the mirror was pale. Her plan suddenly appeared to her in a completely different light, and she wished she had never begun it.

After a few moments she removed her bonnet and ran a comb through her curls. Walking back downstairs at a much slower pace than she had come up, she had leisure to wonder what Eliot wished to say to her. Suddenly she froze. Could the rumors of her drive with Mr. Allenby have reached him so soon? She had no doubt that Lady Quale was happily spreading the tale. Calculating quickly, she realized that he must have been on the road most of yesterday. He could not know then.

Eliot sat on the sofa, one leg crossed over the other, when she entered the drawing room. His dark hawk-like face was pensive. He rose as soon as he saw her and ceremoniously ushered her to a seat. Laura sank down and eyed him uneasily. He smiled. “I can hardly blame you for looking apprehensive, though it saddens me. But it is quite my own fault, I know, and I came home expressly to apologize to you for my outrageous behavior last week.”

Laura made an inarticulate noise.

“I allowed myself to become angry,” he continued, “and to say things I now regret. I have always prided myself on controlling such emotions, and I cannot excuse my failure in this case except by my concern for your welfare. I ask your pardon for my hasty words.”

The coolness and composure with which he spoke somewhat lessened Laura’s discomfort.

“It is quite all right,” she faltered.

“But it is not. I promised you that we would deal extremely well together, and yet at the first strain I gave way to anger. This is not the example I would wish to set.”

“Example?” asked Laura. The word rankled, and she spoke coolly.

He nodded. “I, having so much more experience of the world, must necessarily set you an example in our relations. And I have been a poor one. I can say only that I shall try to do better.” He smiled, his austere features lighting charmingly, and took her hand. “Come, let us cry friends once more.”

Laura’s hand trembled in his, and she could think of no answer at first.

Eliot bent closer. “I said that we should become better acquainted, Laura, but somehow I have not found as much time for that as I would have wished. Why is it always the pleasant duties that get neglected?”

Laura drew back a little. Why must he continually use words like
duty
and
example
with her. Surely he did not speak so to Mrs. Allenby. He did not see her as a blundering, obstinate child, who must be trained and guided. Vera Allenby was all excitement and sparkle, a wicked sparkle. Nothing was changed. Eliot had gotten over his fit of temper; that was all. Laura realized that she was very tired of Eliot’s “duty.” She had almost come to hate it, as if it were a living creature. She pulled her hand away. “I too have been busy,” she said, attempting a light, unconcerned tone.

“The season is hectic,” he agreed. “But we can overcome such obstacles, surely. Dine with me tomorrow evening, at the restaurant you liked when we first came to town. We can be alone there.” He started to reach for her hand again.

Something deep inside Laura trembled. She hardly knew what she felt. One part of her wished desperately to agree, but another insisted that he often planned such evenings with another woman, whom he no doubt preferred. She drew back involuntarily. “We can’t,” she almost gasped. “Mr. Redmon is coming to dinner tomorrow.”

“Redmon?”

“I told you all about it.”

“I’m sure you did. I had forgotten. It is vexing. I have engagements for the following evening, and the next. It must be Monday then.”

Monday was the day of the masquerade. Color flooded Laura’s cheeks. “I can’t.”

“Another party?” He smiled. “Could you not change your plans? Cry off?”

Looking into his gray eyes, Laura started to say that she would, of course, but some stubborn impulse made her ask, “Could you? I am free Saturday.”

Eliot shrugged. “Alas. I have promised a friend.”

Thinking that she knew quite well who that friend must be, Laura straightened and drew even further away from him. “A pity. I too must keep my promise.”

He frowned a little at her tone. “Laura,” he began, but before he could go on, Mr. Dunham came in.

At the interruption Laura was suddenly swept by a wave of despair such as she had never felt before in her life. Everything seemed to be going wrong. Would she always be wondering whether Eliot was out with Vera Allenby, while she was left with only the leavings of his time and attention? In that moment she knew that she wanted nothing less than to go to the masquerade, and nothing more than to dine with Eliot. But she had gotten into such a muddle that she must do the thing she hated. Tears were close.

“The Earl of Stoke-Mannering,” announced Mr. Dunham impressively.

The Crenshaws stared at the newcomer, Eliot frowning. His appearance was nondescript—pale lashes and eyebrows matching sandy hair and eyes of a washed-out blue. His clothing was that of a prosperous country squire.

Conscious of their amazement, the earl bowed carefully. “Good day. You are surprised to see me, and I can understand your feelings only too well. I took the liberty of calling after I was informed that my cousin had recently married. I can only hope that the familial relationship will excuse my temerity.” He bowed again.

Laura blinked, trying to regain control of herself. “Of course. Come in, sit down.”

The earl bowed yet again. “I am not mistaken, I hope, in claiming you, madame, as my cousin?”

“No. That is, I think not. I was told I believe that a cousin of my father’s had taken the title.”

“That is correct. You are right to remind me. We are not cousins, but second cousins.”

Laura smiled. “Well it comes to the same thing, I suppose. I am happy to meet you.”

“I thank you. And I assure you that your gratifying sentiments are fully reciprocated. It is best to be precise, after all.”

“Always,” agreed Eliot promptly.

He nodded. “I decided the time had come for me to visit the metropolis. I am confident of my skills in country society, but I lack what I believe they call town bronze.” He allowed himself a small smile, as if he had made a joke. “I admit I have never thought such an addition necessary, but at this time another consideration moved me as well. I have come to the conclusion that it is time I married.”

“Indeed?” said Laura, repressing a smile.

“Yes. I am two and thirty this year, you know.” He smiled complacently. “I was gratified when I found that my second cousins were also in London. I owe you an apology and an explanation, of course, for my lack of notice these past years. It is inexcusable.”

“Oh no,” began Laura, but he held up a hand.

“I do. I have meant to visit you these five years. When I inherited the title, of course, it was not to be thought of. I was only fourteen years of age, a callow youth. In fact my education and upbringing had not at all prepared me for the position I found myself occupying. No one expected that I should succeed. So for some years I was completely occupied in readying myself for the responsibilities of managing the estate and fulfilling the duties of magistrate and landlord. And later these things in themselves diverted me. Still I know I have been remiss, and I offer you my sincere apologies.”

“There is not the least need,” replied Laura. The slow precision of her cousin’s conversation amused her. “After all, we never communicated with you either.” She did not add that it had never occurred to them to do so.

But he was not satisfied. “You are generous. But it was my place to initiate relations.”

“Well the omission is righted now,” put in Eliot. There was impatience in his tone.

“It is a great relief to me,” agreed the earl.

There was a pause. Laura met Eliot’s eyes and smiled a little at the combination of amusement and exasperation she saw there. Her husband took out his snuffbox and languidly took a pinch. He offered it to the earl, who waved it away emphatically. “I do not indulge,” he said. “The drug tobacco is decidedly injurious to the moist tissues.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows but made no retort. Laura thought that he was showing marvelous restraint.