Maggie MacKeever (12 page)

“Not entirely.” Clytie thought she might make Rolf her ally. “I fear that Nikki has taken it into her head that you and I might make a match of it.”

“You?
I?” So
startled was Lord Sweetbriar by this suggestion that he let his hands drop. Obediently his horse started out at a brisk trot. Some few moments were engaged in his lordship’s recovering his seat, self-possession, and control of his steed. Miss Clough, meantime, sought valiantly to choke back a laugh.

“You ain’t set your cap for me, have you, Clytie?” inquired Rolf. “You know I already popped the question to Lady Regina. If you wished me to throw the handkerchief in your direction, you should have said so! A fellow can’t be leg-shackled to two females at once.”

Due to her strong inclination to fall into the whoops, Miss Clough’s voice was strained. “I didn’t—” she gasped.

Not without a degree of sympathy did Lord Sweetbriar gaze upon his companion, whose cheeks had turned pink. “I didn’t even know you was casting out lures. Another time you want a fellow to know you’re épris, you’ll need to be more direct. Look at Lady Regina! Even a slow-top would have known
she’d
set her cap at me.”

Thought of Lady Regina’s reaction to this discussion of her conduct increased Miss Clough’s distress. She raised her hands to her gloved cheeks. “Oh, pray stop!” she begged.

Lord Sweetbriar recalled their surroundings, and the tendency of his peers to verbally dissect one another at whim. Were Clytie not persuaded to give over her posturing, his reputation for brutality would be assured. “Don’t make such a piece of work of it! It ain’t nothing against
you
if I’ve a partiality for Regina! You mustn’t take it to heart.”

Miss Clough was not unaware that her odd behavior must occasion comment. With a supreme exercise of self-control she squelched her imminent hysterics. “Pray drive on, Rolf.”

“That’s my girl!” His lordship took up the reins. “I mean, you’re a great gun. The best of all my friends, even if I
don’t
wish to tie the knot! To own the truth, you may look higher than me, Clytie. You ain’t at your last prayers yet.”

Could she not look higher than Lord Sweetbriar, Miss Clough reflected, she would just as soon never wed. “You do not understand, Rolf. It is not my idea that we should suit, but Nikki’s.”

“Nikki!” With more energy than was necessary, Lord Sweetbriar flicked his whip. “I should have guessed she was somehow involved in this. She don’t want Regina as a daughter-in-law any more than Regina wants
her.
It’s a devilish ticklish situation, I can tell you.” He heaved a sigh. “There never has been any keeping pace with Nikki.”

“No? But I fancy we may do just that—or at least prevent her going to even further lengths.” During Lord Sweetbriar’s ponderous cogitations, Miss Clough had had ample time to formulate her own conclusions. “Do we but let her think her plans may reach fruition, she may refrain from further mischief. You must speak highly of me to Nikki, Rolf, and I shall speak highly to her of you, and hopefully that will be an end to it.”

“Do you think so?” Long acquaintance with his stepmama led Rolf to take a less optimistic view. “Nikki’s at home to a peg. It’s worth a try, at any rate! She ain’t awake on all suits; I’ve put one over on her myself. Or I think I did. Now I’m beginning to wonder if maybe it ain’t true.”

Lord Sweetbriar was less a potential ally, decided Clytie, than an encumbrance. “Wonder if what ain’t—isn’t!—true?” she inquired.

“If Uncle Duke ain’t after my papa’s blunt.” Lord Sweetbriar looked irate. “I only told Nikki so because I thought it would take her attention off Regina—once Nikki takes a notion into her head, there’s no telling what she may do! I fancied if she was occupied in thwarting Uncle Duke, I might be able to snatch back the jewels. Or so I
think
I fancied. Regina explained it all to me, and I may not have got it right.”

Clytie suspected she suffered a similar complaint. “Do I understand you? Lady Regina suggested you tell Nikki that Mr. Thorne covets your father’s wealth?”

“Uncle Duke and Papa never did get on!” Lord Sweetbriar pointed out in defense of his beloved’s stratagem. “Look at Nikki! I mean, a fellow would never knowingly up and marry his brother’s ladybird.”

“His brother’s—” Clytie’s voice trailed off. She had known Nikki and Mr. Thorne were acquaintances, but had not guessed how close. Her failure to suspect the truth made her feel not only foolish but somehow betrayed. Nikki and Marmaduke— Oddly, receipt of this unwelcome intelligence made Clytie wish to exact vengeance not upon the lovers, but upon the source of her disillusionment.

“Why the devil,” Lord Sweetbriar inquired plaintively, “are you scowling at me? Ain’t it bad enough that Uncle Duke and Nikki have joined forces? Dashed if I don’t think Nikki called him back! Your papa’s blunt ain’t enough for her; she wants mine too. Well, she shan’t have it, and that I promise you.”

“Do not excite yourself.” So severe was Lord Sweetbriar’s perturbation, and so agitated his hands upon the ribbons, that Clytie feared they might be overturned. “Perhaps I may think of something.”

The ray of hope that with these words pierced the gloom of Lord Sweetbriar’s reflections caused him to bite back additional laments. Clytie was a very good sort of girl, he thought fondly; offering to help him out of his difficulties scant moments after he had broken her heart. Perhaps he could do something nice for her, once this troublesome business was resolved. Perhaps he might even assist her in discovering someone worthy of her affections. But that was for the future. Presently, Rolf’s own problems must take precedence. With bated breath, he awaited Miss Clough’s next remarks.

Clytie was not unaware that Lord Sweetbriar breathlessly awaited her pronouncement, but she did not hastily speak. Indeed, she did not trust herself to do so, so severely had the notion of Marmaduke Thorne as villain agitated her mind. Clytie was very much afraid that Rolf’s suspicions of his uncle were not without some basis in truth. Even Nikki’s surprise upon learning of Mr. Thorne’s return could have been feigned. Nikki
had
once been an actress, though Clytie had not believed her so good an actress as all that.

Whether originally in complicity with Nikki, however, Marmaduke Thorne was almost certainly her accomplice now; and it made scant difference which of that unscrupulous duo had originated the scheme. The purpose of their alliance, Clytie could not fathom. It sounded very much as if between them Nikki and Marmaduke meant to divest a good portion of fashionable London of its wealth. So they might, and welcome to them, she decided, so long as her own father was spared.

Yet how to protect Sir Avery, who had already proven himself reluctant to heed advice? As if in search of inspiration, Clytie glanced around. Her thoughtful glance lit upon a distant figure. “Aha!” said she.

So long had Lord Sweetbriar held his breath that his plump cheeks were tinged with blue. “Aha
what?”
he queried, hopefully.

Miss Clough did not immediately answer, being deep in contemplation of positively Machiavellian intrigue. For some unexplained reason Mr. Thorne professed to admire her. Why he should do so, Clytie could not determine. However, she imagined his pretended partiality could be put to good effect.

“Aha,” she said finally. “I think I see a means by which we may thrust a spoke in Nikki’s wheel.”

Miss Clough was not the only maiden to achieve inspiration amid the leafy byways of Hyde Park that afternoon, nor was she the only damsel to gaze with speculation upon Marmaduke Thorne. In point of fact, any number of ladies eyed Mr. Thorne with varying degrees of inquisitiveness. Among them was Lady Regina Foliot.

Forced by Lord Sweetbriar’s last-minute disregard of their engagement to take the air in company no more stimulating than her mother and sisters, Lady Regina was in no amiable frame of mind. The remarks of her siblings concerning Sweetbriar’s cavalier behavior were largely responsible for her discontent. At least she was mounted on horseback, and could move away from the little cats. Alas, she could not move so far away as to escape their voices wholly. For reasons not entirely monetary did Lady Regina seek to make a good match. It was as one of her sisters commented bitterly upon the parental favoritism that permitted Regina to go on horseback while the rest of them were confined to an outdated carriage, and Regina’s mama pointed out the consequences of a public airing of their financial difficulties, that Regina espied respite. Impulsively, she beckoned.

Lady Regina was not the only female to beckon to Marmaduke Thorne in Hyde Park that day; Mr. Thorne received so many invitations, tacit and otherwise, as must have quite turned the head of a gentleman with a less cynical habit of thought. Life among the Russians had left Marmaduke with little appreciation of the dramatic. Moreover, Marmaduke had been the focus of arch glances and knowing looks—not to mention outright propositions—ever since he came of age. Aside from the amusement it afforded him, such stuff no longer held allure.

Now it was Rolf’s paragon who sought his attention. Mr. Thorne, whose experience of avaricious young women was not inconsiderable, contemplated ignoring her. A sense of duty prevented him taking that ignoble step—a sense of duty and a lively curiosity about what the young lady might wish to say. Marmaduke had as yet seen no reason to alter his initial impression of the inspiration of his nephew’s ardor. Lady Regina was cold, conscienceless, and calculating. Marmaduke wondered what use she thought to make of
him.
In Mr. Thorne’s experience, females did not simper in that pea-brained fashion without ulterior motive of some sort.

Lady Regina did not disappoint him, within seconds after general greetings were exchanged edging him aside. “I wish to speak with you, Mr. Thorne,” she said, urgently.

“In that case, Dame Fortune appears to have smiled on you.” Already Mr. Thorne regretted his impulse. Lady Regina was an undeniable beauty, and showed to excellent advantage in her riding habit of pale blue cloth, fashioned after a military uniform, and worn with a small fur stable cap, blue kid gloves, and half-boots. But, for Marmaduke, mere beauty had long since palled.

Nor was he especially impressed by her powers of perception. “You
are
speaking to me,” he pointed out, when she continued to look blank.

“Oh! You are teasing me.” Though his familiarity offended, Regina let it pass. “You will be wondering why I wished to speak to you, especially since when last we met, you delivered me a set-down. I do not blame you for it. Lady Sweetbriar is your friend. However, you have been long out of the country, and do not know how it is with her and Rolf.”

“On the contrary: I know all that I wish to on that head.” An onslaught of boredom smote Marmaduke. “And more.”

Though Mr. Thorne might be undeniably attractive, thought Lady Regina, his looks were spoiled by his rude ways. She suspected life among the Russians had exaggerated an innately overbearing nature. To the account already against Marmaduke—the brusque manner in which he had treated her at the opera, as much as accusing her of dangling after Nikki’s jewels, and then giving her a snub; as well as the damning fact of his close acquaintance with Lady Regina’s arch-enemy—she added his inference that her conversation was dull. Mr. Thorne’s comeuppance, when she figured how to go about delivering it, would be devastating indeed.

But she had not yet determined how best to secure Mr. Thorne’s comeuppance, and until she did so, it behooved her to proceed with care. Marmaduke was not without influence. Regina pondered how best to persuade him to wield that influence on her behalf.

As these thoughts passed through her mind, Lady Regina continued to speak. “It is not for me to point out that you have a certain responsibility to Rolf. You must perceive that his situation is most uncomfortable.” She arched a delicate brow. “Or perhaps you are not conversant with the manner in which Lady Sweetbriar has wrapped your nephew around her thumb. It is not an association which I can consider beneficial. Mr. Thorne, I earnestly conjure you to rescue Rolf from the clutches of that—that adventuress!”

Were his nephew fallen into the clutches of an adventuress, it was not Lady Sweetbriar. Gallantly, Mr. Thorne did not voice this remark. “Nikki is not as bad as all that. You would be much happier if you left off teasing yourself with thoughts of her, you know. What excellent weather we are having. Everyone has come out to enjoy it.” He gestured to their surroundings. “This puts me in mind of Moscow, where the favorite amusement is the promenade.”

Lady Regina had not the slightest interest in Russia, save as a location whence she wished Mr. Thorne would speedily return. Her wishes had little bearing upon either Mr. Thorne’s presence in Hyde Park, alas, or his conversation, which dwelt affectionately upon Moscow. In detail, he described the city—parks and little wooden huts, lakes and market gardens; flocks of crows feeding among the hens, cows wandering through the streets; the spires of the Kremlin swathed in misty moonlight; the Kitay-Gorod, or commercial quarter, located near the Spaskiya Gate. Lovingly he dwelt upon the fantastic Vasiti Blazhennzi, that cathedral unparalleled because, after its completion, the architect’s eyes were put out.

“How interesting!” interrupted Lady Regina, rather faintly, at this point. “Since you miss Russia so much, I wonder that you don’t go back.”

“Oh, I don’t miss it.” As had another young lady before her, Regina discovered that Mr. Thorne was impossible to snub. “Russia is a barbarous country. Capital punishment as such doesn’t exist; one is merely sentenced to receive corrective treatment. The penalties range from fifty strokes with the knout to running the gauntlet between lines of men wielding birch rods soaked in salt—which is, of course, tantamount to being beaten to death.”

Regina was beginning to think that Mr. Thorne and Lady Sweetbriar were excellently matched, neither possessing any more sense of delicacy than a stone. “Really, sir! If you should not object, I prefer to speak of happier things.”