Maggie MacKeever (22 page)

Nikki frowned. This was the opposite of what she had intended, of course. Alas, Nikki had failed to take into consideration the fact that Lady Regina was perverse. She should have guessed at that quirk in the young lady’s nature, thought Nikki, as she gazed gloomily at her guest. Fond as she was of her stepson, Nikki realized there had to be something queer in the makeup of any female who wished to marry Rolf.

“Do you take my meaning?” Fortunately Lady Regina was not privy to her hostess’s suspicion that she was deranged. “I mean to have Rolf. And I mean to have him on my own terms, which means that he will not spend more time thinking about you than he does me, and worrying about your scrapes.”

“Does he worry?” Nikki looked sympathetic. “I must tell him he need not. Though I
do
tumble into scrapes, I always manage to climb out again.”

Having numbed one foot by continuous tapping, Lady Regina applied the other to the floor. “You are to be felicitated,” she snapped. “It is quite wonderful that on a subject so enormously dreadful as your own misconduct, you should be able to be so cool. I know I should not say so, but clearly someone must. It is very bad of you to be trying to manipulate everyone for your own gain. Do not deny that you have done so, Lady Sweetbriar! No one has been safe from your machinations, not Rolf, myself, Mr. Thorne, Sir Avery, or Miss Clough.”

Was
she such a slyboots? Nikki pondered her own recent actions, and winced. For most of her meddling, there was selfless reason—she had wished to save Rolf from Lady Regina, and Clytie from Marmaduke, and to preserve both the Clough and Sweetbriar fortunes. As for Sir Avery—Nikki’s conscience twinged. “I didn’t bamboozle him,” she muttered.

Lady Regina narrowed her eyes at the woman who stood between her and the Sweetbriar fortune, which had gotten confused in Regina’s mind with Lord Sweetbriar himself. The greatest of Nikki’s sins, Regina had failed to mention—that of thwarting her own ambition to drape herself about with jewels. Enviously her green glance lingered on the openwork necklet that Lady Sweetbriar currently wore.

“Whom didn’t you bamboozle?” Regina inquired skeptically. “Sir Avery? You may toll yourself so, if you wish. That is between you and your conscience, Lady Sweetbriar. It is not for me to point out that such a gentleman would hardly have betrothed himself to you except as result of severe bamboozlement. I
will
point out, however, that it is not your place to criticize my conduct, when yours has been much worse.”

Feeling very melancholy, Nikki pleated the fabric of her gown. How many other woes, she wondered, would come to roost upon her weary head? Lady Regina was not to be swayed from her determination to marry Rolf. So be it. If Regina was destined to be her step-daughter-in-law, Nikki must try to be civil to the chit.

“Very well,” said Nikki. “I still think Rolf would be happier did he settle on Clytie—and happiness, no matter how insignificant it may seem in comparison to a fortune, is nothing to sniff at! But since he does not wish to marry Clytie, I will say no more on that score. Come, let us cry quits.”

“Cry quits?” As if it were a poisonous snake, Regina flinched from her hostess’s outstretched hand. “You have totally failed to take my meaning, Lady Sweetbriar.”

“Have I?” Since Lady Regina seemed to find it so distasteful, Nikki glanced also at her hand. She saw nothing there to account for her visitor’s ungracious remark. Perplexed, Nikki returned her hand to her lap. “I think I must have misunderstood you, as you say. Perhaps if you were to speak plainly, I might be able to make some sense of all this.”

In response to this, Lady Regina drew herself erect. “I shall be delighted to speak plainly!” she snapped. “Indeed, I thought I was doing so. Since you have asked for it, you must not censure me for what I am going to say.”

Lady Sweetbriar contemplated asking her uninvited guest to leave. Curiosity won out, however, over her growing desire to withdraw altogether from the world. Lady Regina looked excited and uncomfortable and queerly triumphant, very much like a hen about to lay an especially large egg. “Open your budget,” invited Nikki, good humor restored.

Had Lady Sweetbriar
giggled?
How could the creature be amused? wondered Lady Regina, whose mirror had also failed to acquaint her with her resemblance to a pretty broody hen.

Lady Sweetbriar would not long continue so merry. “The Foliots may no longer be wealthy, but our lineage is among the best in the land. You will understand my reluctance to ally myself with a family upon whose escutcheon there is a blot.”

This was her caller’s notion of enlightenment? The only revelations thus afforded Nikki had concerned Lady Regina’s manners, which could have stood refurbishing—or perhaps shabby conduct was a privilege of venerable lineage.

Clearly, until her point was made, Regina had no intention of taking her leave. So as to hasten that event, Nikki thought very hard. “Is it Rolf’s, er, escutcheon you’re talking about? I’ll go bail there’s no blot on it so bad as all that. Reuben was a devilish ugly customer, but no worse than your own papa, from what I hear.”

Though Nikki made a pretty picture, her heart-shaped little face tilted inquiringly to one side, a fingertip to her lips, Lady Regina was not disarmed. “I am not referring to Sweetbriar’s papa,” she responded coolly.

“No?” Nikki chewed thoughtfully on her fingertip. “Then it must be Duke. But Duke has done nothing for which he may be so thoroughly censured.” She recalled her various suspicions. “Yet.”

“Nor am I referring to Mr. Thorne,” retorted Lady Regina, more coolly still. “I believe that leaves only one other possibility.”

No wonder Rolf was determined to marry Lady Regina, and vice versa; she was as crackbrained as he. “If you think Rolf is a blot on his own escutcheon, then why—” The puzzlement cleared from Nikki’s face. “Ah! You mean me.”

Finally the point had been taken. Lady Regina inclined her head. “I have nothing against you personally,” she said. “If you were someone in who was found nothing for which to blush, I would not fuss. But you must yourself admit that you are hardly a model of good breeding. I do not want a stepmama-in-law who will be forever making me wish to sink, and to that I shall hold fast.”

Though no lady could relish so uncharitable a reading of her character, Nikki was afraid that there was in it much with which to agree. The reflection did little to endear her denouncer to her. “So I am the impediment that stands in the way of your happiness,” she murmured.

“Mine—and Rolf’s.” Pleased by Lady Sweetbriar’s sensible attitude, Lady Regina rose, permitted herself a last covetous glance at Nikki’s jewels. Soon that Italian openwork set would adorn her own ears and throat, she exulted. Her gaze moved to the diamond ring.

Around that item, Lady Sweetbriar’s hand protectively closed. “How do you propose I remove myself from your pathway?” she inquired ironically. “Perhaps by putting a period to my life?”

Lady Regina pursed her lips. “I do not think it necessary to go to such lengths,” she responded, after a time. “It would be sufficient if you just removed from town. Sir Avery will be relieved when you break off your betrothal. And you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that for once you did what was right. But I do not expect you to arrive at a decision straightaway. Sleep on it and you will see that I am right in saying we shall all go on much better without you.” One last time, Regina glanced at Lady Sweetbriar, who had turned very pale. Nikki made no comment, merely stared unseeing at her blue vase. Regally Regina swept out of the drawing room, content to have had the last word.

With the last words bestowed upon him by his beloved—a forcibly stated desire that he might be banished to perdition—Lord Sweetbriar was far from content. Since Lady Regina had failed to inform Rolf of her determination to become his bride, that young man thought his romance was in dire straits. Rolf did not despair, however. He fancied he knew the way to reinstate himself in Lady Regina’s affections. All that he need do was present her Nikki’s jewels.

It was for that purpose that his lordship skulked about Fitzroy Square. For the first time he rejoiced that his stepmama’s hired lodgings were so close to Jermyn Street, where he dwelt in state behind forged iron rails and a tall red brick facade. Lord Sweetbriar had entered with enthusiasm into this bold venture. Already he thought in terms of a successful get-away. But before one could triumphantly exit, one must first enter. “Eyes like stars,” he muttered. “A face beyond compare. Absolutely enraptured. Fudge! Her temper ain’t so incomparable. There was no need for her to wish me to the devil just because I said she had windmills in her head! What do
you
think, Mr. Brown?”

Mr. Brown, that most starched-up of manservants, thought very frankly that it was his young master whose mental processes were impaired. Only in an attempt to save Lord Sweetbriar from dangling on the gallows had the valet joined in this mad venture. “I am not certain, sir,” he said aloud, “if peers
are
hanged.”

“Hanged?” echoed Lord Sweetbriar, then glanced guiltily around him and lowered his voice. “Dashed if I know why you must be so Friday-faced. You was the one who wanted to come along.”

It was not Mr. Brown’s place, superior servant that he was, to point out that someone had to try and make his young master see sense. Since his attempts to do so had thus far failed, the valet could only insure the family suffered the least possible ill consequence. Too, Mr. Brown thought that Lord Sweetbriar should marry Lady Regina, to whom keeping an amiable mooncalf in line would be child’s play.

Or so Mr. Brown had thought until recently. Now he had begun to wonder if Rolf’s beloved was any less crackbrained than he. “I fancy, sir, that this is the entrance we seek.”

“Oho!” Curious, Lord Sweetbriar gazed at that portal, which lay at basement level; then he tiptoed ponderously down the steps. Having waited hidden in the shadows while Nikki departed her little house en route to Covent Garden, the conspirators were now ready to housebreak. From his pockets, Rolf removed a center bit and pocketknife, borrowed from a footman with connections that weren’t particularly nice. The footman, after advising against a crowbar as too noisy, had explained how to use the center bit to drill holes along the edge of the doorsill, close to the head of the panel, how to run the pocketknife from hole to hole until— voilà! The panel was removed. Enthusiastically, Lord Sweetbriar had practiced this new art until he was confident he had the hang of it, to the dismay of his servants, and the detriment of his house. That Lord Sweetbriar did not practice his art now was due entirely to his valet, who stepped forward with a long-suffering expression, and the house agent’s key.

For any other servant, the penalty for such presumption would have been severe. However, Rolf stood in awe of Mr. Brown, whom he had inherited from his father, and who had an uncanny ability to make him feel as though he were still in leading strings. Therefore, he stood aside and allowed the valet to precede him.

Mr. Brown pushed the door open. Together, they stealthily entered the nether regions of Lady Sweetbriar’s hired house. A front and back kitchen occupied the basement, with a hallway running beside. Voices came suddenly to the intruders. Recalling Mr. Brown’s ghoulish comments regarding the gallows, Lord Sweetbriar clutched at his valet.

Calmly Mr. Brown disengaged himself, and with a trace of disdain; no valet of the previous Lord Sweetbriar would have long survived a faint heart. The previous Lord Sweetbriar had possessed no nerves whatsoever, and a subsequent contempt for anyone who did. In point of fact, there had been precious little Master Reuben had
not
held in contempt, reflected Mr. Brown.

But this was no moment in which to ponder the deceased Reuben’s character, or his lack thereof; the servants were mere yards away. The subject of their animated conversation seemed to be the additional tasks one was expected to perform in this small household, and the erratic fashion in which one was paid.

So Lady Sweetbriar was in the suds again? Rolf seemed fascinated by the conversation. Mr. Brown hoped no lull would come therein, so that the speakers might hear his master’s chattering teeth.

 They could not stand forever in the hallway, no matter how fascinating the complaints of Lady Sweetbriar’s servants, nor how cold Lord Sweetbriar’s feet. Rolf seemed as firmly rooted as a sapling. Though it offended his nice sense of what was proper, Mr. Brown grasped and tugged his master’s sleeve.

“W—” gasped Rolf, and only in time broke the word off. As he realized how close he’d come to inviting discovery, he blanched.

No one turned to apprehend them. Lord Sweetbriar’s exclamation had gone unnoticed, so strident had been the cook’s complaints.

Again the valet tugged on his lordship’s sleeve. Rolf allowed himself to be tugged away. The intruders crept down the hallway, the laments of the cook—who had come from a larger establishment where such onerous tasks as lighting fires and scrubbing kitchen tables, sweeping and dusting the dining room and front hall and doorstep, had been performed by house and scullery and kitchen maids—masking their cautious footsteps.

Past the kitchens tiptoed Lord Sweetbriar and Mr. Brown. Up the uncarpeted back stairs proceeded his lordship and the valet, until they reached the floor whereon Nikki’s bedroom lay. His lordship’s familiarity with the location of the chamber, Mr. Brown was too well trained to remark. For his part, Lord Sweetbriar was too distraught to notice that he had earned the censure of his valet. Rolf’s earlier enthusiasm for this venture had fled. He was feeling as jumpy as a cat on hot coals. Only when they were safe in his stepmama’s chamber, with the draperies drawn and a candle lighted, did he draw a relieved breath. Then, before his valet’s astonished gaze, he leapt onto the gabled tent-bed. A wild thrashing ensued. At length, his lordship emerged from the draperies, looking red-faced.

“It don’t do to take Nikki for granted.” Lord Sweetbriar’s explanation was prompted by the disapproving expression of his valet. “I know we saw her leave, but that ain’t nothing to go by; Nikki will do almost anything to throw a rub in my way. Look at the clankers she told Lady Regina—or if she didn’t
tell
them, she at least implied! I don’t have a partiality for Clytie. I never did. And then Uncle Duke took up throwing the hatchet at Regina—all these people flirting when they don’t
want
to, and it is all Nikki’s fault!”