Sherri Cobb South (4 page)

“Ah, but milord, I do not know.”

“You
don’t know?"
demanded Lord Waverly with lowering brow.

“Mais non!
I have never been to England, so how could I know? But you! You are English, so
naturellement
I assumed—”

“My child, I am truly humbled by your faith in me, but I must point out that there are a few people in England whom I have never met!”

“Oh,” said Lisette, momentarily daunted.

“You are clearly a judgment upon me,” declared Lord Waverly, dashing a hand over his eyes. “As God is my witness, I will never again touch anything stronger than claret! Pray tell me, what, if anything,
do
you know of your grandfather?”

“I know his name is Robert, for Papa hoped to name me after him, but Mama thought Roberta was a name very ugly, and said
Grand-père
did not deserve that I should be named after him, on account of his having cast off Papa.” Her brow puckered as a new thought occurred to her. “I know he was a soldier, like Papa, and I know he hated the French, for he has never forgiven Papa for marrying
une françoise.
I also know that he must be very rich, for he cut Papa off without a sou, and unless he had great many of them, such a thing would not matter,
n‘est-ce pas?”

The earl, following this speech with an effort, understood only that his promised reward had very likely no more substance than the proverbial castles in Spain. Nevertheless, it was all he had to go on, and so he betook himself to the nearest bookstore, where he spent several hours poring over a tome entitled
Stevenson’s Guide to the Great Houses of England.

“We are bound for Lancashire,” he informed Lisette upon his return. “It appears your grandfather—who holds the rank of colonel, by the way—occupies a property there by the name of Colling Manor.”

They set out northward that very afternoon in a hired post-chaise. It had been four days since they left Paris; the trip to Lancashire required another three, and by the time the carriage at last rattled to a stop before Colling Manor, they had been traveling for more than a se’ennight. The sun was setting over the lowlands of western Lancashire, and Lisette, whose excitement over the coming reunion had at last spent itself, had drifted into sleep, her head lolling upon Lord Waverly’s shoulder. As the postilion leaped down to open the carriage door, Waverly gave his companion a gentle shake.

“Wake up, child, we’re here.”

Lisette sat upright and leaned across him to look out the window. Colling Manor was an imposing structure dating to the Jacobean era, with a pilastered façade ornamented with strapwork and punctuated at intervals with pointed arch windows. At present, these were decked in black crape, giving the house a forbidding aspect.

“It—It looks as if
Grand-père
is not at home,” Lisette said uncertainly.

“Let’s go see, shall we?”

He yielded to the urge to cup her elbow in his hand as she stepped down from the chaise, and side by side they mounted the steps to the portico.  Here they found the door knocker also swathed in black. Waverly was suddenly conscious of a chill in spite of the warmth of his sleeve where Lisette’s head had lain. He raised the knocker and let it fall, then, fearful that its muted thud might not be heard within, stripped off his gloves and rapped sharply on the door. A moment later it swung open to reveal a cadaverous-looking butler wearing a black armband over the sleeve of his dark suit.

“Yes?” he uttered in sepulchral tones.

“Lord Waverly to see Colonel Colling,” the earl informed him.

“I fear that is impossible, your lordship,” responded the butler, “Colonel Colling died ten days ago.”

* * * *

“It will be dark soon,” said Lisette, after they had climbed back into the chaise and left Colling Manor behind.

“Thank you for that observation,” Waverly replied tartly.

“What will we do now?”

“My dear child, I haven’t the faintest idea,” said the earl with less than perfect truth. He had a very fair idea of where this adventure would end, and was equally certain that he would not be pleased with his fate. “Our first concern must be finding a place to stay for the night, and then in the morning we can—”

The carriage lurched drunkenly to the right, and Waverly broke off abruptly on an English word Lisette had never heard before. One look at his thunderous countenance, however, was enough to give her a very fair suspicion of its probable meaning, and she wisely forbore requesting a definition. Waverly sprang down to assist the coachman, and a moment later returned to help Lisette descend from the crippled vehicle.

“The rear axle is broken,” he said. “I’ve sent the coachman and postilion to see to its repair, while I find a place for you to stay the night. I seem to recall seeing a gate some distance back; perhaps we can get help there.”

They trudged over a mile before seeing the gate Waverly had remembered and, finding it open, followed the gravel drive to a large stucco edifice edged with iron railings in the Italian style, its tall, well-lit windows casting welcoming pools of light onto the manicured lawn. A greater contrast to the colonel’s dreary abode would have been difficult to imagine. Once again Lord Waverly knocked on the door, and once again it was opened to him by a stately-looking butler.

“Is your master in?” Waverly asked this promising personage. “We’ve met with an accident on the road, and I wonder if he might assist us.”

“And who shall I tell him is calling?”

Lord Waverly glanced at Lisette and hesitated, remembering all too well his ignominious flight from England and the peculiar circumstances in which he and his companion now found themselves.  Until he discovered whose house he had stumbled upon, discretion, he decided, was the better part of valor.

“If you will take me to your master, I think I had best present myself directly to him.”

The butler recognized in the visitor’s voice the tone of one who will brook no argument and, except for muttering something about its being “highly irregular,” made no demur, but allowed the two visitors to follow him up the stairs to the first-floor drawing room. The door to this chamber was closed, and when the servant opened it to announce the caller, Lord Waverly was rewarded with a glimpse of his would-be host.

In the middle of the room, a man in his shirtsleeves crawled about on the floor with a pair of curly-haired tots, both squealing with delight, riding astride his back. The butler’s entrance caused the beast of burden to look up, and Lord Waverly, recognizing his host, was startled into exclamation.

“Good God! Not
you
!”

* * * *

It was not, thought Sir Ethan Brundy, the most distinguished manner in which to confront one’s mortal enemy for the first time in over four years. Easing his twin passengers to the floor, he rose to his feet and reached for the coat tossed carelessly across the back of a striped satin chair.

The children, sensing that their fun was at an end, were much inclined to cling to their father’s coattails, the firstborn, Master Charles Brundy, going so far as to regard the unwelcome visitor with accusing brown eyes and a lower lip thrust forward in a pout. His brother, Master William Brundy, the younger by some twelve minutes and ever the more vocal of the two, was more direct.

“‘oo’s dat man?” he demanded of his parent, pointing a pudgy finger at the invader.

“ ‘ush, Willie,” chided his father. “Lord Waverly is an old—acquaintance.”

“What’s ‘e doing ‘ere?” persisted Willie.

“I’d like to know that meself,” said Sir Ethan. “Run along to your mama, Willie. You too, Charlie.”

Master Charles obeyed, albeit reluctantly, but Willie Brundy was made of sterner stuff. “I want to stay with you,” he insisted, tugging at the tail of his father’s baggy coat.

Sir Ethan scooped the lad up into his arms, then turned back to regard the earl suspiciously. “I thought you were still in France, Waverly. What brings you ‘ere?”

“Not the pleasure of your company, I assure you,” drawled Waverly. “In fact, it took nothing less than a broken axle to, er, propel me to your door.”

Sir Ethan was spared the necessity of a reply by the entrance of his wife of four years, a honey-haired beauty bearing yet another dark-haired child, this one still in leading strings,

“Emily is so fussy, darling, do you suppose she could be cutting another—” But Emily’s teething woes were forgotten as she recognized the elder of the two callers. A wealth of shock and revulsion were contained in one word:
“Waverly!”

“Lady Helen, your very obedient,” he said silkily, sweeping her an elegant leg. He bent his quizzing-glass upon the three children, then added in a bored drawl, “I have thought of you often over the past four years, my dear, but not once did I imagine you as the mother of no less than three weaver’s brats.”

“Four, actually,” said Lady Helen with some satisfaction. “The baby is napping.”

Waverly turned and trained his quizzing-glass upon the proud papa. “Do try for a little restraint, Mr. Brundy,” recommended the earl. “Overzealousness is the curse of the lower classes.”

“I daresay you will not have heard, living abroad, but Mr. Brundy is properly addressed as Sir Ethan,” said Lady Helen, chin held high.

“We won’t stand on ceremony with ‘is lordship, me dear.” Sir Ethan set Master William on his feet and sent him to his mama with a gentle swat to the derriere. “Take the children upstairs, ‘elen. I’ll be along directly.”

Lady Helen cast an uncertain glance at her husband and, receiving her answer in that method of silent communication peculiar to married couples, took her son by the hand. “Come along, William, you heard your father.”

By tacit agreement, neither man spoke until the door had closed behind Lady Helen and her children. Then Lord Waverly addressed his host. “Look here, I know this is deuced awkward, but I’d be most grateful if you could give my ward and me a room for the night.” As if fearing a rejection, he hastened to add, “I think you know I would not ask for such a favor were it not absolutely necessary.”

Though not gently born, Sir Ethan was an astute man, and he received the strong impression that there was more to Lord Waverly’s story than he was telling. Seeing the earl’s almost imperceptible nod in the direction of his young ward, Sir Ethan surmised the reason for Waverly’s reticence.

“You look fagged out,” he spoke kindly to the youth, who had been following the conversation with a baffled expression, much like one who enters the theatre during the second act of the play. “I’ll ‘ave the ‘ousekeeper show you to one of the guest rooms.”

He suited the word to the deed, and in a very short space of time a plump, matronly woman bore Lisette off with the promise of a plate of biscuits and a hot brick for her bed. Alone with his adversary, Sir Ethan regarded the earl expectantly.

“Will you ‘ave a drop of brandy, Waverly?”

Waverly would have accepted, but bethought himself of his vow. “Have you any claret instead?”

Sir Ethan raised his eyebrows at this unexpected request, but decanted the preferred liquid into a glass and handed it to his guest.

“Now, I wonder what sort of mischief you’re up to, that you’d turn up on me doorstep after all this time?”

“Mischief?” echoed the affronted earl. “I assure you, I spoke no less than the truth when I said I’d had a carriage accident. And why you would suppose my motives to be dishonorable—”

“I daresay I was unduly influenced by the fact that you once kidnapped me wife,” Sir Ethan offered by way of apology.

“Au contraire,”
protested Waverly.   “Lady Helen entered my domicile of her own free will.”

“Aye, but would she ‘ave left it in like manner, if I’d not intervened?”

“Probably not, but this is all water under the bridge. If you must know, I’m in the devil of a coil. You will no doubt be surprised to learn that my ‘ward’ is, in fact, a young lady.”

Far from registering shock, Sir Ethan received this revelation without batting an eye. “Knowing you the way I do, I must say that doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

“I am doing my damnedest to prevent her becoming a nun!”

“You’d be the man to do it, too,” agreed Sir Ethan with a nod.

“It isn’t at all what you think!” growled the earl. “I discovered her escaping from a French nunnery, and I agreed to escort her to her grandfather in England.”

“Foxed, were you?” remarked Sir Ethan knowingly.

“Completely castaway, but that’s neither here nor there. We arrived at Colling Manor only to discover that the Colonel had died.”

“Aye, almost a fortnight ago.”

Lord Waverly heaved a sigh. “I shall have to marry the girl, I suppose.”

“I can’t see as ‘ow she’s done anything as bad as all that!” objected Sir Ethan.

“Touché!”
said Waverly, acknowledging this hit by lifting his glass. “I assure you, I am fully aware of my unsuitability as husband to a child of seventeen! But what would you? If her grandfather had been alive, he and I might have concocted a story to satisfy the tabbies, but as it is, I can hardly abandon the girl.”

“What’s the matter, Waverly? ‘ave you developed a conscience, during all that time in France?”

“If so, I could wish otherwise, for I am finding it damned inconvenient!”

“ ‘as the girl no family in France?”

Lord Waverly scowled. “Her uncle practices law in Amiens, but her maternal relations are the ones who sent her to Sainte-Marie. I won’t hand her back over to them.”

“You’ll forgive me if I ‘ave an ‘ard time picturing you in the rôle of knight-errant,” observed Sir Ethan. “What, pray, is your interest in Colonel Ceiling’s granddaughter?”

“If you must know, Mademoiselle Colling assured me that her grandfather would reward me handsomely for her safe arrival.”

“ ‘is heir might do the same. ‘ave you a place to stay while the colonel’s solicitor could be sent for?”

“The truth is, I need more than a place to stay. I live in daily expectation of being recognized and hounded by duns.” Waverly raked slender fingers through his raven locks. “Oh, the devil! In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose. I would be much obliged to you if you would buy up my vowels.”