Miss Hartwell's Dilemma (19 page)

“Beautiful as ever,” he said.

Amaryllis smiled and shook her head. She knew she was tired, untidy, even a little grubby from rushing about since five this morning, but he would never tell her she was looking less than perfect.

“I know you are busy,” he went on, “so I will not stay long. I hope you will manage to rest for a while before this evening, for I mean to take as many dances with you as country propriety permits.”

“Two,” she said, laughing, “just the same as in town.”

“Then I shall not push my luck by demanding more than three. Including supper. Does Mr. Majendie provide a supper?”

“Yes, and a very abundant one, though no one does it justice because we are so well fed at dinner.”

“Supper, then, and three dances. I have brought you something.” He picked up his greatcoat and delved into a pocket, withdrawing a square leather box.

With great trepidation she opened it, and gasped. A magnificent necklace of emeralds set in gold winked and gleamed at her.

“No!” she said, and snapped it shut. Bertram looked surprised and hurt. “I beg your pardon, but I cannot wear it tonight.”

“You said your gown was green.”

“It would go beautifully with my gown, my dear, but only think what everyone would say to see me decked in finery so far above my station. Half the guests would cut me dead, I daresay.”

“Do you like it?”

She opened the box and studied it. She had scarcely seen it before, too dazzled and shocked by its glittering extravagance. A closer look revealed the delicate workmanship, the deep, glowing perfection of the gems, the elegant setting. She coveted it.

“It is superb,” she said honestly. “I should like above all things to wear it tonight and have all the condescending squires and their plump wives gape at me. But I must not. Do not tempt me. Keep it for me, Bertram, until we are married.”

She held it out to him, but he ignored it.

“Then you will marry me?” he demanded eagerly. When she did not answer at once, he read her face. “No, you are still undecided. I cannot understand, but I accept it, for now. I shall come back next month, Amaryllis, and then I must have an answer. My father is weakening daily. If we are not betrothed before he dies, I shall have to wait out a year of mourning before we can marry.”

“And I have already tried your patience beyond belief. I give you my word, I shall tell you in January. You are too good to me, my dear.”

“I should not dream of contradicting a lady,” he said, and with these paradoxical words he took his leave.

He had scarcely gone and Amaryllis, having taken a moment to regain her composure, was about to leave the office, when a pair of messengers arrived. The first, Lord Daniel’s groom, brought word that his lordship was at the castle, consulting Mr. Majendie. He had been invited to stay for the assembly and hoped that Isabel would not be too disappointed at postponing her return home until the morrow.

Amaryllis was a little surprised that Bertram had not mentioned Lord Daniel’s presence. It could only mean that he considered it insignificant. Isabel was perfectly happy to spend the evening with Louise, but both girls were thrown into a flurry of confusion by the communication of the second messenger.

Lady Caroline Carfax wrote in haste to say that two of Louise’s brothers had come home from school with scarlet fever. On no account was Louise to venture near her home until the quarantine was over. Her ladyship relied on Miss Hartwell to make arrangements for her daughter’s accommodation over the holiday, for which she would gladly pay. Louise’s face crumpled. To have to stay alone at school over Christmas was more than even her intrepid spirit could face with equanimity.

Isabel ran to her and flung her arms about her. “Don’t cry!” she said urgently. “You must come and stay with me. I shall ask Papa, but I know he will say yes. Don’t cry, Louise, pray don’t!”

Two little faces, one tear-stained, looked pleadingly up at Miss Hartwell.

“An excellent idea,” she said slowly, “but one to which I cannot consent without consulting your family, Louise. It is most fortunate that your uncle is in the village.”

Lady Caroline’s servant was dispatched to the castle with two letters in round, childish hands whose inkblots lent force to their urgency, and two in calmer vein. Lord Daniel, reading Miss Hartwell’s composition, could not have guessed that she had torn up three previous efforts before producing a missive that was a model of brevity.

He was in Mr. Majendie’s drawing room when he read it, taking a glass of sherry before luncheon. There were several other guests, members of the local gentry, who, like himself, lived too far off to return home comfortably after the ball and had been invited to stay the night. Lord Pomeroy was also present.

Until this moment, the two gentlemen had succeeded in avoiding any communication beyond polite greetings. Now Lord Daniel looked up and saw in his lordship’s hands two letters like the two in his own. With visible reluctance, Lord Pomeroy approached him.

“Well, Winterborne, what do you think?”

“With your concurrence, I shall be happy to receive your niece,” he said stiffly.

“I don’t like it,” said Lord Pomeroy frankly, with a frown. “It is not as if you are a relative, or even a friend of the family. And you have no wife to take care of the chit.”

Lord Daniel crimsoned with anger. “I believe Isabel has not suffered for that reason.” His voice was sarcastic. “My influence is scarce malignant enough to harm Miss Carfax in three short weeks. She and Isabel are bosom-bows, you know, and she has visited Wimbish thrice already. Incidentally, my brother will be spending Christmas with us, if that makes your mind easier. He, at least, is thoroughly respectable.”

“George? I saw him in town not a week since, and he mentioned going north. I had assumed he meant into Northumberland, to Bellingham.”

“My father goes to Bellingham, I believe. He has been at the trial of course. George has business in London next month and does not care to travel so far.”

“I wish I might take the child to Tatenhill, but my father is not well enough to have grandchildren running about, especially one like Louise. Are you aware of what you would be taking on?”

“I have heard of her exploits,” Lord Daniel admitted, his face lightening somewhat.

“She’s a little devil. Tell me, why are you so willing to invite her?”

“It will greatly distress Isabel if I do not.”

“Ho, has you under the cat’s paw, does she? Well, I cannot like it, but I would not condemn even that little wretch to spending Christmas at school, even under Amaryllis’s care. If you are quite certain it will not inconvenience you, I must thank you for your kindness and give my consent.”

Lord Daniel, who had been relaxing, pokered up at the mention of Amaryllis’s name. He nodded curtly. “I shall write to Miss Hartwell at once,” he said.

“And I after lunch.”

They bowed to each other and parted with relief.

Reading between the lines, Amaryllis guessed at once that Bertram and Lord Daniel were not exactly enamoured of each other’s company, and that Bertram’s consent had been given unwillingly. It made not the least difference to the joy that shone in Isabel’s and Louise’s faces at the news.

“My uncle George is coming for Christmas,” said Isabel. “You will like Uncle George.”

“I like everyone,” her friend assured her.

“Even my Papa?”

“Of course!” Louise was astonished. “He’s nicer than my Papa, and I love my Papa!”

Isabel absorbed this in silence.

By midafternoon the stream of carriages had slowed to a trickle. All three ladies managed to snatch a couple of hours on their beds before dressing for the ball. Daisy had ironed their gowns, not entrusting them to the other maids’ careless hands. She scurried from chamber to chamber helping with hooks and eyes here, pinning a reluctant curl there, gasping with admiration at delicate gauze and intricate lace.

There was a pier-glass on the top landing for the use of pupils and teachers alike. Amaryllis emerged from her room and went to look in it, to see that her dress was in order. A figure from the past gazed back at her.

The underskirt and bodice were of shimmering deep green crêpe lisse, cut very simply and without the now fashionable flounces and rouleaux. From the high waist fell an overdress of Honiton lace, open in front, and an inset of the same lace raised the low neckline to a respectable level. Clasped about her throat, where Bertram’s emeralds would have looked so well, was a gold chain with a locket containing miniatures of her mother and father. Her hair, gathered in a silk band on the crown of her head, fell in a cascade of red-gold ringlets to her white shoulders.

Six years ago the lace would have been from Brussels, the décolleté unabridged, the hair cut in a modish crop. It was the ghost of a young girl she saw in the mirror, a creature of dreams, now gone forever. She sighed and turned to admire Tizzy and Aunt Eugenia in their lavender and blue.

They went down to the common-room to give the remaining girls a glimpse of their finery. Though the others were unimpressed, having seen mothers and older sisters in ball gowns often enough, Isabel stared, wide-eyed.

“You are beautiful!” she whispered to Amaryllis, then ran up and stood on tiptoe to kiss her cheek. “I hope you dance every dance.”

They heard the front doorbell ring below.

“Lord Pomeroy’s carriage is at the gate,” announced Daisy.

Chapter 14

The old brick bridge over the dry moat was illuminated by lanterns, and a pair of footmen stood by to point out the way. The ground was already white with frost. The castle towered taller and grimmer than ever, black against the star-filled sky. Additional lanterns bordered the steps up to the door, along with footmen to lend an arm to nervous ladies. Amaryllis glanced down into the oubliette on her left and shuddered. Even Louise would not have dared that dismal pit at night.

The Guard Room was brightly lit by lamps and candles. Amaryllis had heard the story of one year when Mr. Majendie had used rush torches to give his party a mediaeval atmosphere. He succeeded only too well. The smoke and stink had greatly offended delicate modern nostrils, and the experiment was not repeated.

A colourfully dressed crowd stood chatting in groups about the hall. There were clear divisions between gentry, burghers, and yeoman farmers, but Amaryllis knew that after a few glasses of Mr. Majendie’s mediaeval mead the groups would mingle merrily.

The first person who caught her eye was Mr. Raeburn, sober in black. As a clergyman he was naturally welcomed by all. The footman announced their names in a ringing voice and the vicar looked towards them.

Amaryllis saw his jaw drop, and she followed his gaze towards Miss Tisdale. Her choice of the lavender silk gown had been excellent, Amaryllis thought smugly. She had paid somewhat extra for ruching about the bosom and a number of flounces on the skirt, and the result did wonders for her governess’s spare figure. Besides, Tizzy had been persuaded to do away with her cap, and on her neatly braided pepper-and-salt hair reposed a charming confection of Urling’s net and lavender silk bows. Perhaps, nothing could make her what most consider pretty, but she looked unexpectedly elegant and matronly. The vicar scarcely spared a glance for Amaryllis and her aunt as he rushed up to greet Miss Tisdale.

Bertram was not far behind. He made his leg to Mrs. Vaux, who greeted him absently and went off to try to wipe the expression of outrage from Miss Augusta Raeburn’s face.

Bertram looked at Amaryllis with a satisfied smile. “This is more like the woman I fell in love with,” he said, “though if I had not vowed not to mention them, I would say that it is a pity you are not wearing the emeralds. They are pretty enough in the box but they need your beauty to set them off.”

Amaryllis was not entirely pleased by this speech. However, she was determined to enjoy herself so she ignored it. She also had to ignore the sniffs and stares of the squires' wives and daughters when they realised that not only had the schoolmistress dressed herself up fine as fivepence, she had snabbled the most eligible man in the room as well.

She could not, and had no desire to, ignore the dazed look in Lord Daniel’s eyes when he saw her. He was talking to a farmer and turned as she stopped to speak to an acquaintance nearby. Unlike Bertram, he had never seen her in anything but drab duns and greys. She thought he hardly recognised her, but he moved towards her like a sleepwalker and bowed over her offered hand without taking his eyes from her face.

“Miss Hartwell!”

“How do you do, my lord?” She felt stupidly breathless and found it impossible to break their locked gaze. “I trust your business in London prospered?”

“Very well, thank you, ma’am.”

“We...Isabel missed you.” She became aware that her hand was still in his and withdrew it. The other was tucked into Bertram’s arm. For a moment she had forgotten his presence.

“There is our host,” said Bertram firmly. “Come and make your curtsy, Amaryllis.”

He led her away. She glanced back to find Lord Daniel watching her with a look of yearning despair that left her shaken.

After speaking to Mr. Majendie, Amaryllis glanced round again, but Lord Daniel was gone. She and Bertram continued round the room, greeting acquaintances here and there. They were back near the door when an elderly couple entered, followed by a dark man of about Bertram’s age, narrow-faced, mustached, and dressed like a Tulip of the Ton. The shoulders of his green coat were grotesquely padded, the waist pinched in, the waistcoat liberally embroidered in gold thread. Oddest of all, he wore a sword, a fashion outdated for a decade or more.

The footman leaned forwards to catch their names. An expression of puzzlement crossed his face, and he asked something. The dark young man, appearing irritated, pulled a card case from his pocket and handed over a square of pasteboard.

“Sir Peter and Lady Hoyle,” the footman announced stolidly. “Monsewer Donald Migyuwel Rodridges dee la Rosa.”

“Don Miguel Rodrigues de la Rosa,” translated Bertram, his diplomatic training standing him in good stead. “And that, if I am not mistaken, is the gentleman I saw at the inn some months since, making enquiries about your school.”