Lady Elizabeth's Comet (11 page)

"You might as well practice hospitality on Willoughby and Cecilia. Willoughby is
merely protecting his interests. Besides, Cecilia would make you an excellent countess."

"What!" That did make him blink.

"If it's as apparent to Willoughby as it is to me that you dislike him, he'll be thinking you
mean to marry to disoblige him, and he'll see only two courses. He can murder you or marry you
to his sister. As he's a civilised man he probably prefers the second course." I regarded Clanross
thoughtfully. "I daresay between the two of you, you can bring Cecilia up to scratch. You can't
be much more than twenty-five years older than she is."

He stared. "She's ten years old? Shall I have to provide a nurse?"

"Ten?" My turn to blink.

"Thirty-five less twenty-five are ten," he said impatiently. His eyes narrowed. "Or so I
always assumed as I grubbed my way through my ledgers. What a nuisance. D'ye think Lady
Jean and Lady Margaret would object to keeping the child company?"

I regained the power of speech. "Cecilia Conway-Gore is in her third season, handsome,
ripe for wedlock, and unmarried only because she's confronted with too many choices. I daresay
you find it annoying that Willoughby has forced your hand, Clanross, but no man I know would
consider Cecilia an affliction. She's accounted a diamond of the first water."

"You almost reconcile me to my fate."

"Good."

"Almost. I consider your part in this comedy officious and impertinent, ma'am. No
doubt you'll point out that I'm indebted to you as well as your father and must allow you your
little amusements."

That stung and was unfair besides. I said through clenched teeth, "I acquit you of any
debt to me. Good day." I departed with the dignity of my forebears stiffening my backbone, and
seethed all the way down the hill to the Dower House.

When I had taken the time to think, however, I perceived that the trick I'd so
lightheartedly played on Clanross was really rather unpleasant. He was not yet recovered and
would have found it a strain to see to Willoughby's entertainment even if he had liked his heir.
There was only one solution. Bevis must come to the rescue. Swallowing my pride I wrote him a
full account and begged him, Horse Guards or no Horse Guards, to follow Willoughby from
Town.

I did not doubt Bevis's capacity to please even such a nonpareil as Cecilia Conway-Gore
was reputed to be.

Clanross ought to marry. Why not Cecilia? He owed it to the Family to set up his
nursery. Willoughby would make a deplorable earl. He had no sense of responsibility to anyone
but himself. That wouldn't debar him from enjoying the prestige of an earldom, but he'd shrug
off the duties. From what I knew of Clanross he seemed at least conscientious. While
Willoughby, I reflected, still piqued, was at least amusing.

Could Clanross be only five-and-thirty? That made him three years older than Bevis and
only six years my senior. There was no reason why he shouldn't wed some placid creature who
would endure the shafts of his malice meekly and bear him half a dozen sons. Cecilia probably
wouldn't do--too fashionable--but there must be dozens of possible brides, hundreds even.

That night I had nightmares, and Clanross figured in them, his face as it had appeared
that terrible night I had forced him to drink the laudanum. His eyes were closed and he did not
speak. I knew he was dead. I knew I had killed him.

The third time I woke in the grip of this vision, I gave up trying to sleep, lit a candle,
and read grimly through a volume of Mr. Wordsworth's verse. Kill him, indeed. I had saved the
ingrate's life. Even Wordsworth's poetry was preferable to the baseless and overwhelming
sensation of guilt the dream provoked.

* * * *

In the ensuing week two things happened. Bevis wrote to tell me he was coming "to
save Tom's groats," and Clanross sent me a curt note of apology. He did not explain his fit of
temper, nor did he make further mention of the Conway-Gores. Apparently, he meant to deal
with them alone.

Appalled at the possibility that I might miss the comedy I had staged, I wrote him a less
curt note in which I gracefully acknowledged my responsibility for his predicament and
volunteered to assist him in diverting Cecilia. Further than that I did not choose to go, so I
watched Mrs. Smollet's mobilisation of forces from the outside.

Troops of girls from the village were called in to unshroud and polish the furniture.
Cook, quite unbidden, offered to help out with the baking, as everyone knew Mr. Conway-Gore
had not given the earl time to send for extra staff from Lunnon.

In due form Willoughby and Cecilia rattled up the long drive past my door. I made no
attempt to waylay them. Bevis did not appear, and I began to feel some anxiety. At tea time
Willoughby and Cecilia were announced, and I took a deep metaphorical breath and girded
myself to charm them.

When the flurry of presentations was done with, Willoughby seated his sister gracefully
by Alice and took his own chair beside me.

"Such a snug house, coz. I'd forgot its quality. Don't you admire Liz's taste, Cecy?"

"Indeed, Lady Elizabeth," Cecilia said agreeably. A nice child and quite beautiful.

I poured, and Alice kept up a gentle babble of social chitchat. The twins were under
control, but it was inevitable that Jean would snaffle a
marron glacé.
She
showed it to Maggie, who giggled. Willoughby raised his eyeglass. When they found themselves
the objects of his leisurely scrutiny, the girls fell silent.

"I trust Mrs. Smollet has made you comfortable, Cecilia," I said.

She looked at Willoughby uncertainly and flushed. "Indeed, Lady Elizabeth." A female
of wide vocabulary. She made me feel ancient and worldly. She
was
beautiful. Clanross,
and Bevis when he came, could look at her.

Willoughby was causing a flutter with Alice. Miss Bluestone, I perceived, was trying to
deal with the twins and Cecilia, and she looked a trifle harried. I rose, exchanged seats with
Alice, and did my duty by Willoughby's sister. Why had no one told me she was a widgeon? Or
perhaps she wasn't. Perhaps, all unwitting, I intimidated her.

"Are you acquainted with Lord Bevis, Cecilia?" I asked in my kindest tones.

"In-indeed." She looked as if she would burst into tears. What could ail the child? I am
not a dragon like my Aunt Whitby. I ignored Cecilia's distress as the kindest course, but it
puzzled me.

"Bevis is a particular friend of mine. I believe you visited the Tyrells at Dunarvon Castle
this Christmastime, so I thought you must know him. He is coming here very soon."

I missed her response because Willoughby took me up at once. "Bevis? Is he coming
back?"

"So he said in his latest letter."

Willoughby composed his features, but I thought he was...what? Uneasy? Pleased? He
said languidly, "Excellent news, Liz. At least
he's
conversable."

Cecilia smiled uncertainly, the twins munched chestnuts, and Miss Bluestone initiated a
discussion of the weather.

"By the bye," Willoughby said as they prepared to leave. "Clanross asks you, Mrs.
Finch, and Miss, er, Bluton, to dine. Not the schoolroom." His glance flicked over the twins. "If
you've any regard for my sanity, Elizabeth, you'll come."

"Yes, of course. When?"

"Sevenish, I believe."

"Country hours."

"Just so," he said blandly. "Make your
adieux,
Cecy. If we behave conformably
now perhaps we may be allowed to come back."

"Cecilia may come whenever she wishes, cousin."

He acknowledged the hit, smiling, and they took their leave.

"I hate that man," Jean said intensely.

"He looked at us as if we were beetles." Maggie screwed up her face in a fair imitation
of Willoughby looking down his nose. "'Not the schoolroom.' You won't go, Miss Bluestone,
will you?" It was a plea.

"I'll wager Clanross wanted to ask us." That was Jean defending her Hero. Maggie
looked less certain. They were both injured.

"Why don't you take tea with Clanross tomorrow?" I proposed. "I'll remove Willoughby
and Cecilia to Aunt Whitby's, and you can make your feelings known to his lordship."

"All right," Maggie grumped.

"It's not the same as dinner." Jean had probably fancied herself sporting the Legion of
Honour in the Brecon dining room.

Miss Bluestone said firmly, "Tea is an excellent notion, my lady. I'll escort the girls. If
you will convey my excuses, I prefer to dine with Jean and Margaret this evening. The lace
fringe of my gown is not yet mended, and besides, his lordship will not be needing an extra lady
at table."

I regarded her suspiciously. The twins brightened.

"Very well, Miss Bluestone, so long as Alice doesn't desert me." Alice proved staunch.
Bevis did not.

Bevis had not arrived by the time Alice and I--in state, in the barouche--rattled off up the
drive.

I approached Brecon with mixed feelings. Jenkins ushered us into the yellow salon that
adjoins the small dining room, small, that is, in comparison with the State Dining Room, which
seats sixty. The yellow salon sparkled with Mrs. Smollet's efforts and about four dozen wax
candles.

I greeted Clanross as coolly as he received me, but I could not altogether repress my
surprise that he was using a stick instead of crutches.

The second surprise--or set of surprises--was the presence of Charles Wharton and Mr.
and Mrs. Chacton, he of the mill. Chacton looked suspicious, though no more so than usual. Mrs.
Chacton, a small faded woman in lavender lace, seemed to me like nothing so much as a mouse
in a trap.

Charles looked dazed. I deduced he had got his surgery and said so when the flurry of
curtseys and bows was over and we could be private.

"Yes. It's true. I can't credit it, but Clanross writ me so yesterday and asked me to dine
here tonight with the Chactons to seal the bargain. This is your doing, Liz." His eyes shone. "I've
half a mind to kiss you here and now."

I laughed. "I've no mind to be kissed. If you're all aquiver with gratitude, go flirt with
Miss Conway-Gore. She wants a spot of masculine attention."

Willoughby was very fine. He had on four watchfobs and a diamond stickpin, and he
wore black silk knee breeches that showed his well-muscled calves to perfection.

"Weston?" I ventured.

He smiled complacently and smoothed the brocade of a truly magnificent waistcoat with
one careful finger. "Nugee. Weston cut off my credit. Dear Liz, who is the red-faced
greengrocer?"

"Hush. Mr. Chacton is a man of wealth and position in the county, and I believe he is
about to become a philanthropist. Mr. Chacton, how do you do?" I moved to do my social duty.
"It's some time since we met."

Chacton assembled his hard-bitten features into a smile. "Indeed it is, Lady Elizabeth. I
hope, nay, I see I find you in the bloom of good health. I was saying only the other day to Mrs.
Chacton, 'Mother,' I said, 'I daresay her ladyship finds it melancholic with Brecon shut up like a
tomb.'" He laughed heartily. "Little did we fancy we'd be dining here within the month."

I made a polite and, I hope, friendly noise.

He moved closer. "Tell me, my lady, what think you of our enterprise?" He cast a
significant glance at Charles.

"I congratulate you, sir. You could not find a better surgeon anywhere."

"So Lord Clanross said. Hrmmmph. I daresay you think it odd that I've changed my
mind in the matter..."

"Not at all," I said mendaciously. "Times change, Mr. Chacton. The old order
passes."

"I'd not like you to think me disrespectful of your Papa, seeing how set he was against
the project."

I could only blink at this enormous self-deception.

Chacton went on at some length about my father's feudal virtues and wound up,
handsomely, "He was a true nobleman of the old school, my lady, and we shall miss him. Now
his present lordship is cut of different cloth. Hardheaded, some might say, and not so easy in his
manners, but he showed me in plain ink on a balance sheet where my gain will lie in this
business, and I must say he knows what he's about. Agent to Lord Dunarvon, wasn't he?"

I blinked again. Chacton spoke of the Scandalous Fact with approval! I assented
cautiously.

"Showed me how Dunarvon's new infirmary at Payton Newtown cut down on his
workers' absences. I never thought of the infirmary in that light. Wouldn't have credited it if I
hadn't had a letter from Dunarvon confirming every shilling. Production up in the mines."

I saw that Clanross had moved to Cecilia's side and decided to fill the gap. Mrs. Chacton
was momentarily alone.

"How do you do, Mrs. Chacton? I've been admiring your garnet brooch," I murmured,
softly so the mouse would not take flight.

"Oh, Lady Elizabeth." She swallowed. "Thank you, my lady. Chacton calls it trumpery,
for it has no value, but it belonged to a dear aunt and I always wear it to give me courage."

"I hope you don't feel the need of courage here, ma'am. You must know you're among
friends."

"Oh, yes, dear Lord Clanross. So kind." Inexplicably she dabbed her eyes. "It is just all
so...so large, my lady. Brecon, I mean."

"Too large, my stepmama was used to say. She refused to live here except in July, for
she said it reminded her of the catacombs and was impossible to heat. And so it is."

What Clanross had caused to be done in the dining room rendered it somewhat less
grandiose than usual. Even with the épergne and all the extra leaves removed, however,
the table was still meant to seat twelve and we were eight. Clanross directed me implacably to
the hostess's chair, where I sat through the entire meal listening to Mr. Chacton's plans for a
canal to transport his cloth to market.

Willoughby, seated next to Charles who was on my left, could scarce insert a
bon
mot.
His style suffered from having to be exercised in a genteel shout. The seating was
absolutely correct. Clanross had Mrs. Chacton on his right and Alice on his left. This reduced
Willoughby and Cecilia to the status of mere relations rather than guests of honour, and I silently
hailed Clanross's superior malice. Willoughby was equal to almost anything but indifference. I
felt sorry for Cecilia.