The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (44 page)

"I suggest a bonfire, if that doesn't offend your sensibilities," Kevin said, then added tightly: "And don't swear."

Just as tightly Gilly retorted, "I have no sensibilities, or manners, for that matter. I am a servant, remember?"

Mutter entered just then, possibly saving the two from coming to blows—no one will ever know. Kevin quickly disposed of the clock on a nearby table, and put a purely social smile on his handsome face.

"Ah, Mutter," he said silkily, "so glad you could join us. The clergyman I requested isn't with you? Was he detained?"

Mutter told the Earl the minister would meet them all in the family chapel at nine, as he first had to visit an elderly lady in the village who was ill, though much improved today, thank your lordship kindly for asking, which his lordship had not.

Kevin then conferred with Mutter as to what he preferred in the way of liquid refreshment, and the two men went about the pouring of drinks, totally ignoring Gilly, who stood watching the scene, a look of disgust on her pinched white face.

Just look at the man would you
, she thought, hating Kevin at that moment.
The fellow's a regular popinjay, all decked out like he was being presented at Court or some such thing.
She wrinkled her freckled nose at the sight of Kevin's sartorial finery.
He looks like a peacock and smells like a rose garden. Why, it's enough to put a girl off her supper.

Gilly may have been untrained in the proper attire for gentlemen, but in this case she was partially correct. Kevin was overdressed for the country. Lavishly so. It was mean of him to wish to impress Mutter with his finery, meaner still to deliberately point out the disparity between the beauty of his own raiment in proportion to the shabbiness of Gilly's faded dowdiness. But Kevin was feeling rather sorely used at the moment, so perhaps his small show of vanity could be overlooked.

By Mutter, that is.

Certainly not by Gilly, whose sly smile, as inspiration hit her, would have had anyone who knew her shaking in their boots in the realization that the girl was plotting some fitting retaliation.

The sly smile turned sweet as Kevin handed her a glass of sherry, causing the bridegroom-to-be to remark to himself that at least the child had good teeth, before he dismissed her from his thoughts almost at once as he turned back to catch what Mutter was saying.

"I repeat, my lord. Is Lady Sylvia to join us?" Mutter asked.

"Lady Sylvia was invited by way of a message delivered through one Olive Zook, a peculiar, skittish woman, who returned from her mission holding her boxed ears to tearfully inform me Lady Sylvia attends no social functions unless her companion Elsie, receives a like invitation," Kevin reported as seriously as possible. "I sent Olive back with an invitation for both ladies to be present at the ceremony, so perhaps you'll see her then. My invitation to dine, however, was declined, as Elsie is teething, and cannot be oppressed by the sight of solid food."

In her corner of the room Gilly could be heard to give out with a delicious giggle.

A few minutes later Mrs. Whitebread came in to announce that dinner was ready to be served, if they would all be so kind as to adjourn to the main dining chamber, quickly please, for Hattie did like to have the food arrive hot at the table.

"Ah, a wedding dinner," Mutter mused as he seated himself at his place, set midway between Gilly and Kevin, who were soon situated at either end of the long, long mahogany table. "There's nothing tastier than a country wedding feast. I remember mine own as if it were yesterday. Beef, fowl, suckling pig, a green goose, some river-eel, puddings, pies, cakes, custards. And, of course, plenty of our own home-brewed beer, wine, and syllabub. Fair makes my mouth water now in anticipation."

Kevin looked around the dark, cavernous chamber, which the few brace of candles did little to illuminate, and down the length of the smeared, dust-streaked table, shaking his head in disbelief. "Hold fast to that fond memory, Mutter. Perhaps it will help you digest Hattie Kemp's sure-to-be-dismal excuse for a nuptial feast."

Long minutes passed and no one appeared from the kitchens. Finally Kevin, who half-wondered at his seeming anxiety over his missing dinner when any man of sense, he told himself, would be better off rejoicing over its absence, lifted the tarnished silver dinner bell at his elbow and rang for service.

From the near-dark at the other end of the table, Kevin heard an indelicate feminine snort. "Fat load of good ringing that tiny bell will do. Mrs. Whitebread will be serving tonight, seeing as the servant hired for the work is herself at table." Raising her voice to near shriek level, Gilly called out, "Hey there—Mrs. Whitebread! My belly's shakin' hands with my backbone! Bring on the mutton!"

While Mutter cringed and Kevin availed himself of another deep drink from his glass, Mrs. Whitebread, Olive Zook in tow, carried in the sum total of Hattie Kemp's wedding feast—jelly pancakes served on priceless Spode china. If he hadn't already known such ridiculousness to be standard fare at The Hall, Kevin might have thought the cook was trying to make a statement concerning her sentiments on the forthcoming nuptials.

As the pancakes congealed (all but Gilly's) untouched on the plates, Mutter raised his glass, cleared his throat, and made a feeble toast. "To your marriage. My condol–er, that is, my congratulations to you both."

Kevin reluctantly raised his own glass, as did Gilly. With a good imitation of the men she had observed drinking at the Cock and Crown, she called out gaily, "Well then, gentlemen—easy into the grave!" and tossed the liquid at the back of her throat.

Luckily, very luckily, she then coughed and sputtered for the full minute it took Kevin to beat down his urge to vault up on the table, sprint down its length, and spank his bride-to-be so thoroughly she would be forced to eat her mutton (or jelly pancakes) standing at the mantel for a month or more. Instead, he contented himself with pinning Mutter with his hot gaze and asking if he was truly certain there was no way to break Sylvester's will.

"None, my lord," the lawyer replied with a commiserating sigh.

Peering out from behind wine-fogged eyes, Gilly clucked her tongue at her intended's sad face and tried to boost his spirits. "Poor man. But don't you fret. Unless I miss my guess, you'll be haring off to London or some such place before the ink on the marriage lines is dry, and you'll be able to put all your sordid memories of The Hall and your detested wife out of your mind."

"Oh, no. Oh, no,
no!
" Mutter interjected quickly. "That is not true at all. Not at all! Could I have neglected to mention, my lord, that the late Earl's Will makes it mandatory you remain in residence for the full year or until—"

"Until we solve the puzzle and find the jewels," Kevin parroted wearily before Mutter could finish, his heart sinking to his toes, even though he'd not really considered leaving The Hall. How could he, with so much to do? Still, being imprisoned there by the terms of Sylvester's Will did leave a bad taste in his mouth. "How kind of mine uncle," he drawled, "knowing full well my inborn laziness, to have taken care to provide me with an incentive sufficient to turning me into a puzzle-solving fanatic."

Rising from his chair, he added, "I'll wish to hear the full particulars of this puzzle business immediately after the ceremony is concluded, Mutter. Gilly," he called out as the girl made to leave the chamber ahead of him, "you have one hour to make yourself presentable for our wedding. I trust you'll use that time well."

In way of an answer Gilly paused momentarily at the doorway, just long enough to pin a rather threatening grin on her face and reply, "Kevin, old fellow, you can count on it."

#

The Rawlings family chapel was situated in the most ancient part of The Hall. Neither the Hurley oriel windows nor the more recent Grinling Gibbons wood carvings provided sufficient aesthetic beauty to make Kevin blind to the generations of accumulated dust that cloaked the dark chamber. Neither could the prevailing damp, cold, dank odor that permeated the place from its stone floor to its high vaulted roof escape his notice, or his disdain.

Candles placed on the stained marble altar flickered and smoked, but did little to illuminate the chapel, which Kevin, just then standing at the rail awaiting his overdue bride, could only consider a Heaven-sent blessing.

Kevin was being supported in this time of trial by his able manservant, Willstone, who had been pressed into service as the lone groomsman. His slight frame drawn up to its fullest height, the valet was near to preening in his place of honor beside the Earl, and he silently vowed there and then to swear lifetime allegiance to his lordship. That his presence at the altar was a matter more of necessity than a show of returned friendship mattered not a jot to the valet, who felt that at long last, after five generations spent in service to the gentry, the Willstone family had at last "arrived."

Sitting in the raised gallery usually reserved for members of the family were the servants of The Hall. Mrs. Whitebread was decked out in her finest rusty black. Hattie Kemp sat beside the housekeeper, her handkerchief already damp with tears. Lyle and Fitch refused to sit, but stood nervously shuffling their feet in their anxiety to be away to where "they belonged." And Willie, the groom, positioned himself some ways away and, fortunately, downwind of the rest.

Olive Zook was seated before the huge painted organ that had been made in Holland and transported to Sussex at great expense some generations earlier. At a signal from the clergyman on the altar, she began to inflict such horrible tortures on the ancient instrument that it belched forth great creaks, groans, whistles, and puffs of dust to the barely discernible tune of Watt's "Oh, God, Our Help In Ages Past."

Sitting on one of a pair of gilt chairs placed on the main stone floor of the chapel at her request, Aunt Sylvia leaned over to pat Elsie's death white china hand in encouragement (Elsie, naturally, occupying the second gilt chair), before lifting her voice to sing along with the organ in a high, shrill soprano.

Kevin smiled to himself, devoutly hoping God possessed an active sense of humor. One thing though, he went on to tell himself, regardless how to-let in the attic she may be, Aunt Sylvia at least knew how to rig out her Elsie. The doll looked almost human. He'd let Aunt Sylvia have the dressing of his bride, if he weren't already sure Gilly would strangle the poor dotty old creature for her efforts—then come looking for him.

As Olive began the second verse of the hymn (Kevin hoped against hope the maid would not feel honor-bound to play all the many verses in the hymn), the double doors at the back of the chapel opened and Mutter stepped inside the door, dragging a recalcitrant Gilly behind him.

There followed a brief contretemps punctuated by fervent whisperings and one or more foot-stompings before Gilly at last agreed to place her arm on Mutter's and begin her march down the aisle.

Kevin turned to view his approaching bride and was hard put not to allow his purposely bland features to reconstruct themselves into a visage of fury. He raked her slim, proudly held body with his angry gaze, focusing lastly on Gilly's mischief-filled face.

Nearer and nearer she came to the altar, at last well within the circle of light thrown off by the candles. Her freckled white skin was alabaster pale against the wild disorder of her orange red curls. The curls were topped incongruously with three high dusty-white ostrich plumes that nodded and waved and knocked against Mutter's head with every step moving them closer to the altar.

But neither her white skin, nor her flamboyant hair, nor even her outrageous plumage could outshine Gilly's choice for her bridal gown.

The gown was three sizes too large, nearly slipping off her shoulders as she walked.

The gown was also thirty years out of style, its long train dragging behind Gilly for a full four feet.

The gown was, moreover, made entirely of satin, a fabric that caught and reflected every bit of light from the candles.

Oh, yes, one thing more. The gown was red. Bright, vulgar, lurid ruby
red
.

Gilly's eyes met those of her bridegroom as if to say
challenge me, will you, Kevin Rawlings?

Kevin raised a hand to rest his forehead wearily against his palm as he shook his head in—what? Disbelief? Disgust? Precisely what emotion was he feeling at the moment? Even he was not sure.

Just then Aunt Sylvia, a person whose thoughts at any time did not bear too much deep contemplation, chanced to look up and see Gilly slowly passing by her chair. She reached up and gave her lifelong servant's red skirts a determined tug. "You there, girl. My Elsie is feeling the draught. Go at once and fetch her shawl."

All things considered, as Mutter told his wife later that same evening, the marriage between Kevin Rawlings, Earl of Lockport, and one Eugenia Fortune was not the sort of ceremony to invoke fond memories anytime in the near future. At least not when sober.

#

"Eugenia Giselle Horatia Dawn Fortune?" Kevin recited sarcastically once the wedding party (sans clergy, servants, and the superfluous Aunt Sylvia) was closeted in the large saloon. "By thunder, Mutter, that's quite an impressive collection to bestow on the result of a casual toss in the hay. Are you quite sure the old boy hasn't pulled yet another fast one, and my new wife here is indeed the genuine article?"

"Being I was abed with the quinsy when the mock ceremony took place, and did not witness it, and being as I never saw any marriage lines, I cannot say either way for certain, my lord," Mutter returned, looking apologetically toward the new Countess. "Even the supposed clergyman involved was a traveling preacher, and once the Earl made his startling announcement over a year later, it was impossible to locate the man."

"And the girl's parents?" Kevin pursued doggedly. "Surely our disgraced bride could have appealed to them."

"Even that avenue was closed, my lord, for both became victims of influenza within months of their arrival in Italy." Mutter shook his head sadly. "And they went there to live among foreigners to improve their health. There's a lesson there for all of us, I believe."