Joan Smith (21 page)

There is not much I prefer to riding, but it is not the best means of advancing a romance. You have to wait till you find some secluded spot to dismount, and there is no saying one would be found in this territory that was still not too well known to me.

“Give Diablo a rest. He’s earned it. I’ll take you for a spin in the whisky instead.”

“I’ll accept your offer, before you talk me into driving my grays.”

“What a splendid idea, Welland!” I said at once. “Why did I not think of that?” Had my mind not been full of other more intriguing things, I would have done so.

“After the tongue-lashing I have just given my groom, I would be ashamed to let you drive them out of the stable, though I make no doubt you could handle them with one hand.”

He was sorely mistaken here. I had little experience handling the ribbons. The sole extravagance allowed me at home was my mount. I did not possess a phaeton, or anything of the sort. My experience was limited to the few times I had conned gentlemen into letting me drive their rigs.

“Let’s walk instead,” I suggested. “I’ll leave the whisky at your stable, and we’ll go for a stroll through the park.”

When he accepted this tedious pastime with great alacrity, I felt Miss Milne was in some danger of losing her beau.
When he took a firm grip on my elbow as we strolled off to the
west, I began to hope a week would be sufficient to detach him from her completely. The initial talk was not romantic,
but then we did not have to rush things
that much.

“Did you find out if Hill ever proposed to your aunt?” he
asked, pretending not to notice that his hand had slid down from my elbow to grab my fingers. Holding hands is much
more satisfying than having the elbow taken. His grip too
was firm, as though he did not mean to let me slip away.

“He has offered. I wouldn’t be much surprised if she takes
him up on it.”

He nodded, then asked, “How about the folks from
Suffolk?
Anything there? Did she tell you anything about the other
Lady Sinclair—Alice Sedgely?”

“I have the whole history at my fingertips,” I said. As we walked on, my eyes peeled for a private spot to stop, I
recounted my aunt’s Bath tale, including such items as Mr.
Arundel, the Princess Frederica, and America. “It is only what is to be expected, of course, when a marriage of conve
nience is arranged for a couple.”

There was a nervous increase of pressure on my fingers.
“Let’s keep this impersonal, shall we?” he asked.

“What do you mean? Welland, you cannot think I meant
you!”
I said, batting my lashes shamelessly.

“I don’t think for one minute you mean anybody else. The
fact is, I have been considering what you said about my marriage to Mary. A gentleman cannot call off without good reason, but as the whole affair was St. Regis’s doing in the first place, I have written asking him if it might be possible to work something out. Find someone else for Mary, I mean.
Her heart will not be broken. She
likes
me, was agreeable to
the match, but not
—
well, not
in love,
as you novel-reading
ladies would say.”

“I don’t read as many novels as I should,” I answered, weighing his statement, and deciding to take offense at his half-hearted attempt at disengaging himself. “As to seeking
St. Regis’s
permission
to lead your own life, it is disgusting.
You’re not a child.”

“I am not independent either.”

“We have already had this discussion, have we not?” I asked sharply, snatching back my hand, or trying to. He not only maintained his grip, but tightened it, which was about the most satisfactory thing he had done thus far.

“Yes, the night I kissed you.”

“Why do you raise the specter of
that
piece of poor behavior at this time?” I asked, my heart thumping.

“Because I feel a repetition of it coming on.”

“Don’t think I am going to sneak behind bushes and doors to dally with you, Welland. That is not the way I carry on. Either your intentions toward me are honorable, or your conduct is unforgivable.”

“You knew all along I was engaged. It didn’t bother you before.”

“Yes, it
did
bother me. Engagements have been broken before. This would not be the first time.”

He emitted a weary sigh. His fingers released mine and fell to his sides. His damned shoulders were drooping again. They had been much straighter when he was courting
me.
“I must wait and see what St. Regis has to say in answer to my letter.”

“I pity poor Mary Milne is all I can say. She’s not marrying a man; she’s marrying a—a—a puppet, who allows himself to be danced at his cousin’s whim.”

“He’s not really
...
”

“Don’t say another word in his defense. He is an interfering nipcheese, and a
woman
to boot, arranging matches like a bored spinster. I suppose he will order your jackets and linens and china for you as well.”

“This discussion has become not only pointless but demeaning to us both. Though before we part, I really must thank you for your blatant efforts to steal another lady’s fiancé. I am flattered.”

“You should be!”

“I am. You could steal a much wealthier gentleman, if you had your wits about you.”

“You don’t need those glasses either!” I said angrily, for I was curious to see his eyes, to see if he was at all impressed at my fine rant.

“Oh, but I
do
, Valkyrie! I must cast a shade over your vibrant charms, or I shall succumb to temptation again. I adore those spencers, by the by. So much more revealing than the high-waisted gowns the ladies favor this year. It suits you admirably. What is its
real
color?” he asked, reaching up to lift off his spectacles.  He looked at me for about half a  minute, the spencer and skirt, that is, nodding his head in approval. Then he looked me in the eye with a laughing spark in his own. “Do I put them back on, or do I kiss you?” was his bold question.

“Why don’t you run back home and write St. Regis a letter, asking his opinion?” I asked helpfully. Never let it be said I was forward in hounding a man to the altar.

“I know what he would say,” he replied sardonically, sticking them back on his face, while I tried manfully to hide my rage. “Do you really think I ought to shake free of him?”

“Only if you are interested in
growing up,
Welland.”

“I am not sure I’d ever be up to your weight. I ain’t a thoroughbred Arab, you know.”

“No, I am convinced there is a strain of mule in there somewhere.”

“Mules do not breed; they are sterile. Fancy a horse woman like you not knowing that.”

“A slip of the lip. I meant jackass, of course.”

He made a convulsive movement toward me. I thought I had goaded him into action at last, but he pulled himself back, straightened his shoulders, and suggested we return to the stable, to let me continue my drive alone, since I would not like to have so asinine a companion cluttering up the whisky.

“An excellent idea,” I agreed, stiff with anger.

There was no hand-holding on the return route. We strode briskly, not saying a word. I climbed unassisted into the gig and left, more or less forced to take a drive. In about two minutes he shot past me in his curricle, going fifteen or sixteen mites an hour. He pretended not to notice me. I turned around at the first farm I came to and went home, in a thoroughly wretched temper.

I was a pattern-card of civility at Welland’s dinner party that evening. Dr. Hill came to call for my aunt. I went with Pierre, who had returned from the cockfight just in time to change for the evening. “How was the sport?” I asked him.

“Very much fine sport. Excellent.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” I said, wondering where he had actually gone. Had he been at a cockfight, he would have had more to say. I concluded he had spent his day chasing some girl or other, but his first speech to Sinclair, said while still at the front door of the gatehouse, caused me to wonder.

“I do every things like you tell me,” Pierre assured him. “Spoke at the .
..
”

“Good. We’ll discuss it later, Peter,” Welland said. “Come in and take off your wrap, Valerie.”

I bowed coolly, said good-evening, and sailed past on Pierre’s arm. I allowed Peter to help me off with my pelisse, made no objection when he reached up to nuzzle my neck, and only set him down when he followed that up with an arm around my waist. I refused to enter the saloon actually in his arms. Pierre was still at my elbow when I stopped to adjust my hair in the mirror. I caught Welland out in the act of frowning at us, saw him reflected in the mirror, I mean. He turned quickly away, pretending to be interested in something else.

I had some hopes Pierre’s attentions might goad my lagging suitor into a fit of jealousy. I am sorry to relate it was not the case. Welland elected to sit with Aunt Loo and Dr. Hill. The subject, when I managed to lend an ear, was archaeology again. The interval was put to use by me ferreting out where Pierre had actually spent his day. “Was this your first cockfight?” I began.

“I never seed
...
” he answered quite spontaneously, then with a guilty glance to his cousin, he changed his tack. “The cockfights is not to talk to the ladies about. Very much blood and gory.”

“You would not have liked that. I wager you did not stay longer than half an hour. Come now, confess you were out chasing the girls.”

“Mom is the word. I can keeping the good secrets. I don’t tell you who I am speaking at.”

“Now you are making me jealous, Peter. Who was she, eh?”

“No ladies are doctors,” he pointed out. “The ladies’ places is in their house.”

“Doctors” brought to mind Dr. Hill, which soon brought to mind the sanatorium he had been at, which had another doctor in charge. “You went to Southampton with Dr. Hill, did you?”

He closed his lips hard, blew out his cheeks, turned scarlet, and glared at me. “Please not to be saying nothing. It is the most great secret.”

His antics brought Welland darting to us. “Pierre was just telling me that he was at the sanatorium, speaking to the doctor there,” I mentioned casually, though a little note of triumph intruded. “I understand now how it came you were returning from the west, when you were supposedly headed to Winchester. Sorry to have interfered with your plans, Welland. And if you don’t tell me
everything
this very instant, I shall ask Hill what is going on.”

He wanted to murder me. “We’ll speak of it later. Don’t say a word.”

He was saved by the dinner bell. I entered the dining room wedged between my two guardians. “If I feel so much as a toe molesting me under the table, the offender will get my soup poured over his head,” I warned. The two gentlemen exchanged offended glances, escorting me to the table in silence, where they took not the least heed of my warning. I tucked my feet safely under my chair, from which safe point it would take a contortionist to get at them. I enjoyed a lovely dinner.

The subject of Suffolk arose while we ate. Welland, in his own way, made the opportunity. “So your father is off to Suffolk, is he, Valerie?” he asked, with a demanding look at me.

It was time to grill Dr. Hill. “Yes, to visit an exhibition of new farm equipment. Blaxhall he is going to. I have never been there. I hear it is not spectacularly beautiful. But then I am spoiled, being from Kent. Have you been to Kent, Dr. Hill?”

“I certainly have. I admire it. It is justly called the Garden of England. A delightful spot.”

“How does it compare with Suffolk? Or have you been there at all?”

“My wife was from Suffolk,” he admitted readily. “She was a Fowler. I have often visited her folks. I still go once a year. Her parents are dead, but her sister and brother are alive. You know the Fowlers, Lady Sinclair. You met them once at my place, if memory serves.”

“Yes, Elizabeth sets a beautiful stitch. She promised me a pattern for a cushion cover, but never sent it. Hit her up for it next time you visit her, Walter. My eyes are beyond stitching, but Miss Brendan in the village could do it for me.”

“Do you happen to know the Sedgelys at all?” Welland asked, his face never lifting up from his plate to indicate any particular interest.

“I was well acquainted with Alice, Sir Edward’s first wife. I do not visit the family, but I know them, due to my own wife’s connection with them.” This readiness to trot out the kinship was disappointing. It would have been more interesting had he denied it, but he could hardly do so with Auntie at his elbow. The elders went on for a disconcertingly long time discussing past events and memories that meant nothing to the rest of us.

When she tired of this topic, Aunt Loo said, “We must have another séance one of these evenings.”

“The Franconis are going away on
a holiday, are
they not?” Hill asked.

“They did not say a word to
me!”
Loo objected.

“I heard nothing of it either,” Welland added.

“They mentioned it when I drove them home the other evening,” Hill went on. “They do not usually stay long in one place. Outside of us and Lady Morgan, I don’t believe they get much business here. I fancy they are scouting out new headquarters.”

“That is a great pity,” Welland said sadly. “Madame is so very talented. She never
did
expand on that curious statement about justice for the lady, did she, Lady Sinclair?”

“Indeed she did. That is all taken care of,” Loo said quickly, then she looked up with a conscious start and began praising the strawberries. “Such a treat. We had a lovely crop, but forgot to cover them, and the birds ate them all up.”

“I expect we have overrated Madame’s talents,” Dr. Hill said, setting down his dessert spoon. “I for one am not particularly sorry to see them go. One can become obsessed with this spiritualism business. I find myself peeping behind doors and under tables for ghosts. When medical men reach such a state, it is time to leave off playing with the spirit world.”