Laura Matthews (3 page)

“But the action was largely on land for some years,” Alvescot replied, unwilling to let yet another of these unamiable people annoy him.

“The blockade! You forget how essential the blockade was.”

Mabel Curtiss interjected a word presumably culled from her son. “Boring. The blockade was nothing but a bore. All the young men said so.”

Captain Lawrence turned on her. “These young puppies don’t have the guts to withstand the least discomfort. All the sailors were forever getting sick. Not once did I succumb to a disease on board ship. This generation is a bunch of cossetted ingrates and lily-livered idiots. You didn’t find that kind of behavior in my day.”

Without waiting for anyone to invite him to sit, the captain did so, and continued to express his opinions of the current youth of England. Alvescot tolerated this for several minutes before excusing himself to find his hostess. She was, a footman informed him, on the nursery floor, but he would be glad to find out if she would see the earl when she was finished there. Alvescot found the assumption that she would come at her leisure a rather unique one in his experience. He was accustomed to immediate attention on account of his rank.

But he refused to feel offended, since that would only somehow put him in league with his sharp-tongued aunt, and he had no desire to share any niche with her. When the footman returned to advise him that Mrs. Damery would meet him in the Library at four, he thanked the man and, not being willing to return to the Saloon, wandered about the ground floor to familiarize himself with any changes that might have been made since his last visit.

* * * *

Vanessa reached the Library several minutes before their appointed time. Waiting for his arrival that morning had caused her to miss being with the children and she had insisted on keeping to her schedule of being with them in the afternoon. He had, after all, invited himself to Cutsdean. Vanessa had chosen the Library with its bookshelves built into the walls and its flood of sunlight coming though the bay windows because it was seldom visited by her household, and because it contained her ledgers for the estate, being her office as well. Lord Alvescot, as co-trustee of the estate, had the right to examine her household and estate books if he so desired.

The old pedestal desk dated from the 1720s and Vanessa found it expedient to keep the drawers locked against any unwanted inspection of her records. The heavy mahogany piece was five feet wide with a kneehole flanked by carved corner pilasters so grandiose as to make her feel slightly ridiculous when she sat at it. Despite her unusual height, the desk dwarfed her, making her appear young and vulnerable. Not exactly the impression she wished to give Lord Alvescot, so she pulled a book at random from the shelves and seated herself in one of the red velvet winged chairs which surrounded the room.

At precisely four o’clock the earl appeared in the open door, located her with a quick glance, and stepped into the room.

“You’d best close the door if you don’t want everyone to overhear our conversation,” she warned him. “I’m not saying any of them would be so crass as to eavesdrop, mind you, but they might just happen to be wandering through the Drawing Room and find a sudden desire to study the portrait right inside the door.”

He grimaced and retreated to draw the heavy door tightly closed behind himself. Before sitting down opposite her he made a quick survey of the room. “What are you reading?” he asked as he disposed himself comfortably, crossing one long leg over the other.

“It was just to make me look busy,” she admitted disarmingly. “I don’t know quite what it is, but I think it’s something my mother wouldn’t approve of.” She laughed and set the book on a table between them, bringing her attention fully back to him, but making no mention of the scrape on his forehead. “I’m sorry for the disaster on your arrival. Of course, I will assume responsibility for the rebuilding of your curricle, though you may not wish to entrust it to our local carriage-builders. Frederick always found their workmanship quite satisfactory.”

Alvescot shrugged. “I’ll have my coachman check them out. Please don’t concern yourself with the matter. It’s hardly your responsibility.”

“It is, though. I knew how wretchedly Edward drove in the curricle. It makes my blood run cold to think what might have happened.”

His brows rose. “I hadn’t gained the impression anyone here cared in the least whether I was maimed or killed in the accident.”

“I wasn’t speaking of you,” she said absently, then her eyes widened at his startled expression. “I beg your pardon! Of course we are concerned for your safety, Lord Alvescot. But you sustained little damage, or so you say. I had a mental image at the time of one of the children trampled by the horses. Knowing how Edward rides and drives, I don’t let them out of my sight when I have them out of doors, but . . .”

“Yes, well, I believe mothers are prone to visions of disaster.”

It sounded so odiously condescending that Vanessa found it necessary to bite down a sharp retort. Instead, she studied him with cool gray-brown eyes, taking in his artfully windswept brown locks, the deep-set hazel eyes, the disapproving set of his mouth. His coat sat well on his broad shoulders, and he wore a plain waistcoat, unlike the florid style Edward adopted, but Vanessa considered him only passable in looks. There was something too rugged about his face, too unyielding, for the tribute of handsomeness.

In addition, she decided with satisfaction, his countenance clearly indicated that he was neither good-natured nor open. Why this should have pleased her, she didn’t know, since it was imperative that the two of them should rub along tolerably well as co-trustees of Frederick’s estate.

Her perusal was accompanied by a silence which Alvescot made no attempt to break. In fact, several minutes passed with neither of them saying anything, though his eyes narrowed slightly as the time lengthened. Vanessa was aware that he expected her to provide some sort of social chatter, or to query him on his trip, if not his purpose in being there, but she refused as steadfastly as he to be the one to speak first. Eventually, with an exasperated sigh, he said, “I presume Frederick’s children are well.”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I would like to see them.”

“Would you? They would be in the nursery at this time of day. Did you want to see them now?”

“No, not immediately. First I think we should discuss the matter that brought me here.”

Vanessa acknowledged this straightforwardness with a gentle inclination of her head.

“I have, as you know,” he began pompously, “agreed to all the expenses you’ve recommended during the two years since Frederick’s death. Though unaware that he had appointed me a co-trustee in case of his death, I was willing enough to accept the position, since he was my cousin and a dear friend of mine. The responsibility for seeing that his estate comes intact to his son is one I regard as a family duty and intend to pursue with . . .” Here he paused to regard her with a quelling gaze. “. . . resolution.”

“Admirable,” she murmured, meeting his gaze steadily.

“I have, to this point, been amenable to the large expenses you’ve entailed on behalf of the estate out of consideration for your bereavement and your position as the mother of the heir to it.”

Vanessa interrupted him to say dryly, “You have, to this point, agreed to the expenses because you weren’t paying any attention to them, Lord Alvescot. May I ask what drew your notice?”

His lips pursed with irritation. “My solicitor questioned me about them,” he admitted. Absently picking up the volume she had laid on the table, he glanced at its title and his eyes widened.

“I told you I chose it at random to look busy. Have no fear that it’s my usual reading material, though I must admit,” she said, her eyes crinkling with mirth, “that I found the few paragraphs I happened upon most enlightening. I wonder what it is doing in the Library.”

Alvescot flipped to the flyleaf of the book and was seized by a fit of coughing. His attempt to conceal the book during his digression was unsuccessful, as Vanessa reached out an imperative hand for it and he reluctantly released it to her.

On the flyleaf was written, in a schoolboy’s hand,
James
Montague Damery, 1801.
“Such bravado,” Vanessa remarked, referring to the scribbled notation below:
Very warm but very interesting!
“Would you like it back, Lord Alvescot? I would prefer it not fall into John’s hands until he is at least . . . what? Sixteen?”

“I would have been fifteen at the time,” he muttered, pushing the volume down in the chair beside him.

“Precocious, probably. Frederick said . . . Well, never mind. We were discussing the exorbitant expenses I’ve incurred for the estate.”

Trying to recapture the upper hand, Alvescot insisted, “They are exorbitant, Mrs. Damery. My solicitors pointed out to me that a family of three and the associated servants could not possibly incur the expenses you have.”

“But as you have seen, we are hardly a family of three. And you should note, sir, that with the exception of Mr. Oldcastle, they are all Frederick’s relations.”

“Who the deuce is Mr. Oldcastle?”

Vanessa shook her head with barely concealed amusement, making the black ringlets dance wildly. “Well, I guess one would say he is a special friend of Louisa’s.”

“Louisa,” he said flatly. Surely Mrs. Curtiss’s name was Mabel. He asked, with his unfailing politeness strained somewhat, “Who is Louisa?”

“Edward’s sister. Edward is the one who ran you down. They’re both Mrs. Curtiss’s children. I would have thought you might have met them when you visited Cutsdean as a child.”

So that was why the young man had looked familiar, Alvescot realized at last. He
had
met Edward as a child, and his memories of the fellow were not at all pleasant. There had been an episode when Alvescot was perhaps eleven, and Edward eight, when the younger boy had deliberately lied to get him and Frederick into trouble. There had been several instances of that nature, actually, but fortunately he had only encountered the fellow two or three times on visits, and had gathered that Aunt Damery’s side of the family was not particularly welcome at Cutsdean in those days. And now he found them all here—Aunt Damery herself, who had a perfectly good house in Basingstoke, and her brother, and her sister, with two children. Plus the suitor, Mr. Oldcastle. The earl eyed Vanessa with growing suspicion.

“What are they all doing here?”

“They live here, Lord Alvescot.”

“But why?”

Vanessa sighed and rose from her chair to pace about the sunlit room. “First Mrs. Damery came, right after the news of Frederick’s death. I could understand that, I suppose, her having lost her only child, though she never appeared to care much for him, if I may be so candid with you. She let out her house in Basingstoke and took up permanent residence here. The . . . shock of his death left me a little . . .” Vanessa waved a hand to indicate her unstable state at the time. “And then she started to gather the others around her—her brother, her sister, Edward and Louisa.”

“Why did you let them stay?”

“What else could I do?” she demanded, impatient. “They’re family. The captain and the Curtisses haven’t enough to survive on and Mrs. Damery saw a way for me to support them rather than she herself. Hers was an impoverished family even when she met and married Frederick’s father, and he made an allowance to the family for many years. Recently, Hortense has had to make provisions for them again from her widow’s jointure, which doesn’t best please her.”

Alvescot tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “They’re
her
family.”

“She’s Frederick’s mother,” Vanessa countered, adding, “And some of them are very expensive.”

“Edward,” he guessed. “Do you mean to tell me you’re supporting that rattlepate out of my cousin’s estate?”

“I make his mother an allowance.” Vanessa stopped in front of the earl, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Actually, I make all of their allowances from my own jointure, rather than the estate, but the expense of having them live here comes from the estate. There’s really no way to separate out the cost of their food and lodging from those of the rest of the household.”

“Their allowances are Mrs. Damery’s responsibility,” he replied, impatient, “not yours.”

“And if she says she can’t afford it?” Vanessa rejoined. “Am I to let them starve?”

“Obviously, she can afford it. She was doing it before you took over the burden, and she could do it again. You’ve allowed yourself to be duped, Mrs. Damery. Frederick wouldn’t have wanted you to drain your resources supporting a bundle of useless people who are only relations by marriage.”

“You can’t possibly know that. My mother-in-law constantly points out that
her son
would not have wanted her to suffer on any account in her old age. And she wasn’t supporting the Curtisses, you know. They’ve come here more recently because Mr. Curtiss left them without any funds.” Vanessa waved aside the topic altogether. “Besides, it’s irrelevant. You have no control over the money I’m using to support them. If you wish to object to the cost of housing and feeding them which comes from the estate, then do so. Work out some equitable figure, and I’ll reimburse the estate.”

“Which would only further impoverish you.”

“I’m not impoverished.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully and confessed, “It’s not just that, you know. My parents insist that it’s my duty, since they’re Frederick’s kin. Mother is adamant about it. She says that I’m housed and fed and have sufficient pin money for my needs, and that I shouldn’t begrudge those who have less. Of course,” she admitted, rueful, “they live in Somersetshire and only visit occasionally. Still, my parents are very religious and mother simply goes around tight-lipped and tolerant when she’s with them, and my father breathes a sigh of relief when he leaves. Family ties are important to them and they would feel I had disgraced myself if I didn’t treat Frederick’s kin as I ought. Frankly, I can’t afford to set them all up in places of their own and Mrs. Damery insists that the house in Basingstoke won’t accommodate all of them.”