Karen Harbaugh (5 page)

I rang for tea and biscuits. “Alas, she has gone out for a carriage ride. You have missed her by half an hour. Sir Jeremy Swift came at eleven for her.”

“Him!” uttered Lord Ashcombe in accents of extreme loathing. He jumped up from his chair and paced the room like a caged tiger, and if he had had a tail, I am sure he would have lashed it. “That a—a libertine like Swift dare touch even the hem of her gown!”

I knew a moment of unease at these words but on reflection saw it was jealousy on his part. Sir Jeremy was of the Corinthian set; one glance at Lord Ashcombe’s attire told me that he aspired to be one of them. I noticed, too, that his neckcloth was tied in a very similar style to Sir Jeremy’s. How humiliating it must have been for his lordship to find his example also to be his rival!

I felt I should treat Lord Ashcombe as kindly as possible, for I had decided that whatever Sir Jeremy’s intentions, he did seem to have at least a strong affection for Mama and did not seem to be the sort to give up lightly what he had. It might be a hard blow for Lord Ashcombe if Mama did marry Sir Jeremy.

“I had not heard that Sir Jeremy was a libertine. Is he so very loose in his morals?” I asked.

“Mistresses!” Lord Ashcombe said darkly. “For years!”

“But don’t most men have them?” I felt I should have been shocked at the mention of such a thing, but the topic was too intriguing for me to leave alone.

He puffed out his chest a little. “Well, when one is a man of the town, one does get about, you know. But one doesn’t flaunt—I mean to say—” He stopped and eyed me sternly. “What business does a schoolgirl chit like you have asking questions about mistresses?”

“Why, you were the one who brought it up!”

“Well, you needn’t take one up so!” he said testily. “I may have brought it up, but you still shouldn’t be asking questions about them! You shouldn’t even pretend to know what they are!”

“You’re out there!” I retorted. “I do know what they are, so I don’t have to pretend!”

“Learned about them from the servants, eh?” He did a good imitation of a Byronic sneer.

“Not at all.” I smiled sweetly “Mama told me.”

He looked daunted at this but recovered, scowling. “It’s Swift’s dashed influence, no doubt! Trying to make that goddess stoop to his level! Preying on a defenseless widow—I’d like to see him try! He will have me to answer to, you may be sure!”

“I am sure that will not be necessary,” I said coolly. I resented his trying to usurp my role as Mama’s protector. “Who are you, after all, to claim responsibility for Mama’s welfare?”

He regarded me with a fiery eye. “
I
mean to
marry
her, though Sir Jeremy may not!”

I wanted to burst out laughing at that, and I know my face grew warm with the effort not to. I managed to say brightly, with only a slight tremor: “Oh, how delightful! That means you shall be my new papa!”

Lord Ashcombe’s foot seemed to catch on the rug and effectively stopped his pacing as he turned to stare at me in pop-eyed horror. I don’t know if he caught hold of the chair back to support himself or to keep from tripping farther on the rug. “I—I hadn’t thought—you wouldn’t— of course—Good God!” he uttered in a revulsed voice. Apparently Mama had not brought this aspect of her life to his attention.

I looked meltingly into his eyes. “Wouldn’t you
like
to be my new papa?” I said with sweet wistfulness.

He stared back at me for a long moment with the expression of a hunted deer, then seemed to recover. “You will be going back to your school shortly, won’t you?” he said half-hopefully.

I looked down at my hands clasped on my lap and glanced up through my lashes. “Oh, I expect not. I was sent home because I have overdone myself with studying. I am nearly eighteen now, so I suppose by the time I fully recover, it will be too late to go back. I know I can keep up with my studies at home—indeed, the headmistress says I am far above the oldest students in her school even now. Although I daresay she is merely being kind in saying so.” I cast down my eyes modestly.

Silence reigned for the next few minutes while Lord Ashcombe digested all this. Bartley entered with the tea and biscuits, and I became busy pouring the hot liquid into Mama’s dainty teacups. I stole a look at my lord’s face after I gave him a cup, and though I managed not to laugh aloud, my shoulders shook so much that I hastily set down my own cup before I spilled any tea. His starting eyes had earlier been expressive of horror when he realized he would be a father upon marriage with Mama. Now his eloquently hangdog look showed that even if he could entertain
that
thought, being saddled with a seventeen-year-old girl at the tender age of three-and-twenty was too much to be borne. By the time he looked up at me again, I had myself sufficiently under control to smile demurely at him.

A thought seemed to strike him, and he said, faint but pursuing: “I know! You like the country, don’t you? Well, I have a respectable estate you could stay at until it is time for you to be presented.” His voice rose questioningly at the end, as if he were cautiously offering a bone to a growling dog.

I shook my head. “Oh, but I adore London! And Mama would never consent to having us parted, especially after my illness.”

His face fell again into such morose dejection that I could stand it no longer. I tried to stifle my laugh behind my hand but only ended up snorting in a very unladylike way, which brought his eyes sharply to my face. . “Why, you—!” he cried.

“Oh, goodness!” I moaned. “Your f-face! I have never s-seen anyone more d-dejected at the thought of marrying Mama!” I clutched my stomach with one hand, gripped the arm of my chair with the other, and gasped with laughter, kicking the rug with my feet.

His face had frozen at my first snort of laughter, but the corners of his mouth trembled upward slightly. “Oh, no! Not at marrying your mama! It was just the terror of someday presenting to all and sundry a ramshackle minx like you! My
God,”
he said in tones of horror, “that
would
be devastating!”

I managed to grab a pillow from behind me for support, and at this I let go of another wail of muffled laughter. His own shout of laughter brought me out for air, but when I caught his eye, we both collapsed again.

It was in this state that Mama and Sir Jeremy came upon us. Mama entered first, and at the same time Lord Ashcombe and I looked at her and then glanced at each other. Again we started to laugh but tried desperately to stifle it.

Mama beamed at us. “So nice to see young people enjoying themselves, although I can hardly see what it is about me to set you two off laughing— is my hat askew?”

I noticed that Lord Ashcombe did not wince at Mama’s phrase “young people” but merely grinned at her in a mischievous way and looked at me, daring me to tell her. Though Mama was oblivious of his difference in attitude, Sir Jeremy seemed to notice a change, for he raised his eyebrows at his lordship’s unbesotted face and then transferred his keen gaze to me. I smiled at him in limpid innocence and turned to Mama.

“I don’t mean to be impertinent, Mama, but I don’t think we can compose ourselves enough to say right now— I assure you, you look quite lovely, and we were not laughing at you at all.”

Mama and Sir Jeremy sat down and partook of the tea that was left—quite a bit, as Lord Ashcombe and I had been too busy laughing to eat and drink.

I think, of all the calls Mama and I have had from gentlemen, this was the most comfortable. We chatted of this and that, all at ease; Lord Ashcombe had lost his awkwardness around Mama simply because he had suddenly lost his infatuation for her. Indeed, he handed her the posy he brought with all the respect that could be given to an elderly lady in failing health—and joked and laughed for all the world as if he were sitting at home. Sir Jeremy was the only one who did not enter into the conversation much, but he seemed to survey us all in amused benevolence.

Lord Ashcombe left soon, as he had promised to squire his sisters to the shops—this he reported with a slightly disgusted look that disappeared when he saw it was going to set me off again. He took his leave, bowing to Mama and then to me with a laugh in his eye.

“Well, I must say, Lord Ashcombe was certainly less impetuous in manner than usual!” exclaimed Mama. “Not, of course, that he isn’t a dear, good boy, but so pressing in his attentions! But today— why, if I did not know I am not a day over six-and-thirty, I would have thought he believed me near my dotage!” She gave a trill of laughter. “And it is just as well if he did, poor boy!”

“You may have your daughter to thank for that, I think,” said Sir Jeremy, amused.

Mama looked at me, surprised. “Georgia? But, my dear, she is not yet eighteen! That is not to say she is not a lovely girl, but... Oh, Jeremy, do you think it is true? Lord Ashcombe for my dear, dear girl! Oh, Georgia, I know you are still young yet, but it would be everything I could wish for!”

“Mama,
please!”
I said, blushing furiously. “It is not like that at all, I assure you! Indeed, he changed in attitude because of what we were laughing about when you and Sir Jeremy came in. He was striking one of his Byronic poses, saying that
he
would marry you if”—I cast a surreptitious glance at Sir Jeremy—”no one else would.” Mama looked taken aback at this and opened her mouth to comment, but I rushed on. “He was very serious in offering for you. But I brought to his attention the fact that I would then become his daughter, and he looked so despondent about it, I laughed, and so did he.” Mama again looked as if she would say something but was interrupted by Sir Jeremy’s shout of laughter.

“Indeed! A daunting prospect! I do not doubt he quailed at the thought of acquiring you as a daughter! It puts me in a quake even to think of it!” he said, chuckling.

“Now, really, Jeremy! Georgia is an exceptional girl, a wonderful daughter!” Mama protested.

“I’ll agree with the exceptional, and add ‘a handful’ to it as well! What a wonderful way of ridding you of your suitors, Celia! Tell me, Miss Georgia, do you plan to use this tactic on the rest of your mother’s admirers?”

“Jeremy! This is most improper!” Mama exclaimed faintly.

I was not sure whether I felt indignant or amused, but the image of dandies fleeing the house in droves came to me, and I nearly laughed. I fixed Sir Jeremy with a challenging eye and said: “Why not, if it will work?”

He returned a quizzical look. “And if not all of them are scared away? What then?”

I stood up to ring for the refreshments to be taken away. “Why, the one left, I suppose, will have to become my papa!” I retorted pertly, curtsied, and skipped out of the room.

Chapter Three

I sustained only a light lecture from Mama that afternoon for my pertness toward Sir Jeremy; she seemed to be thinking of Lord Ashcombe’s change of heart.

“And I must say, Georgia, it was also not very well mannered of you to make fun of Lord Ashcombe, either, although he did take it in good part. Such a good-natured young man! And so eligible! So particular in his attentions to you!”

I blushed. I felt more abashed by this than by any lecture Mama could give me. “I beg to differ, Mama. If we seemed to be ... be friendly with each other, it is only because we had laughed together before you came into the parlour. I am sure his lordship has no feelings toward me at all, other than simple civility. After all, he has been in love with you for ages—how could he switch his affections so suddenly to me?”

Mama waved a dismissing hand. “Calf-love! And why should he not acquire a
tendre
for you? You are much nearer his age, and you are quite a lovely young lady. I have always thought you have a look of your dear papa—quite a handsome man—although Sir Jeremy said yesterday you are growing to look much like myself, which I cannot quite see as an advantage, for I have always thought my nose a trifle too short.”

I resisted an urge to run upstairs and look in the mirror; I felt gratified that Sir Jeremy saw in me a resemblance to Mama, for I had always thought her the most beautiful lady I had ever seen.

Mama sighed. “ ‘Tis true you are but seventeen, but that is not so
very
young....”

“That is precisely it,” I said instantly. “We are both too young. Why, only think, Mama! Lord Ashcombe fell out of his infatuation with you in less than a half hour! Even if he did have a
tendre
for me—which he does not, I assure you—just think how quickly he would transfer his affections to another!”

Mama’s brow furrowed for a moment, then cleared. “Youth! It is hardly the calf-love it was for me, after all. We shall see!”

In vain I argued, for Mama literally laughed it off, saying I needn’t be so modest, sly minx, indeed she was pleased I had an admirer already. It was hard to bring Mama around to see the folly of her notions. She always seemed to slip through one’s grasp like a ball of grease between the fingers. I gave it up. Time would show her I was right when Lord Ashcombe’s visits grew fewer.

As it was, Lord Ashcombe did not come to call as often as he was used to, but he still was a regular caller. “After all,” he remarked, “can’t insult your mama by cutting her acquaintance, now, can I? Besides, there’s always jolly good company here, better than at home. Get to know all the Corinthians!”

“Yes, but Mama has come to think...” I blushed. “She is thinking that your attentions are getting most particular....”

Lord Ashcombe’s ears became a little pink, but he said: “Can’t think I’m still in love with her! I haven’t written a sonnet in weeks! Oh, I might bring a posy for her once in a while but I give one to you, too.”

“Well, that’s just it!” I retorted. “What is she to think when you start giving
me
flowers when you haven’t before?”

The ears took on a bright red color, pushing the pink to his cheeks. A hunted look crept into his eyes. “But, but you’ve just returned from school! She can’t think—”

“Oh, yes, she can! Mama is very fond of me, and I know she wishes to establish me creditably— and thinks to have me married well. And if you think, my lord, that you are not one of the most eligible bachelors in London, your modesty overcomes your good sense!”