The Notorious Lord Havergal (20 page)

It was some hours later that she remembered she had told Tom to be sure to call on Havergal in London. She must write and counter that order. Tom would think she had run mad, changing her mind so often. Speak to Crymont but not Havergal. Speak to Havergal but not Crymont. And now, don’t have anything to do with either of them. She would follow the advice she gave to Tom. Have nothing to do with either of them. Forget them and just go on with her life.

What a wretched life it would be, with Violet gone, and Tom settled permanently in London. That thought called up memories, too, of Havergal’s strange insistence that she go to London. Not home to meet his family, but to London for a tawdry flirtation. Of course! The firm handling the trust was in London! How convenient to arrange the handing over of the monies. Her heart hardened to consider his treachery.

And to think, she had to endure dinner with him tomorrow without telling him exactly what she thought of him. She would never be able to do it. She would just have to send a note to Norton Knoll canceling the dinner. She couldn’t face the ordeal.

Lettie did not have to pretend to be ill the next morning. Her cheeks were fevered, and when she lifted her head from the pillow, the dull ache between her temples throbbed like a drum.

“We shall cancel our dinner party,” Violet decided when she rushed into Lettie’s room to see what kept her abed on such an important day and saw her friend’s pale face. “You are ill, dear. How very vexing for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lettie said, and tried to smile.

“Back into bed with you, miss. I am in charge now, and I say we cancel the party,” Violet repeated, straightening the coverlet around Lettie’s shoulders.

“I am sorry, Violet. Really I don’t feel well enough—”

“I should say you don’t. You’re as white as paper. I’m calling for the doctor this instant.”

A ragged voice called out, “No!” Then it continued more restrainedly, “That is not necessary, thank you. It is just my nerves and all these unaccustomed late nights. I hate to think of all that food going to waste and all Cook’s work. Don’t cancel the party, unless you fear you cannot handle it alone.”

“Of course I can do it alone, for the arrangements are already made.” Violet peered hopefully to the pale face on the pillow. “I cannot like to abandon you to the servants, however.”

“I’m not fit for company today, Violet. I shan’t require anything but an occasional cup of tea and some fingers of toast. Really, I would rather be alone, for my head throbs so.” Hostessing the party would keep Violet out of her hair. All Lettie wanted was to be alone.

“I’ll proceed with the party then, after I bring you some headache powders. With luck you may feel well enough to join us by dinnertime, or at least by evening. You will want to say good-bye to Havergal. He is leaving tomorrow, you know,”

“Yes, I know,” Lettie said in a dying voice.

Violet did not attend the service at St. Mary’s Church that morning. Her absence caused Mr. Norton some worry. Havergal was less concerned about Lettie’s absence. Parties do not throw themselves, she had told him, and no doubt she was busy. He thought it intrusive of Norton to call at Laurel Hall after church, but there was no preventing him. Miss Millie was along, and rather than sit alone in the carriage, Havergal went in with them.

Violet had soon explained matters to them. “Lettie has a touch of migraine and is in bed. She says she will not attend the party this evening, but I hope I can persuade her to.”

“This laddie here is the one who could do it for you, Vi,” Norton said, smiling at Havergal. “He has only to bat an eyelash and all the girls come trotting. I have noticed Lettie doesn’t glare at him as she used to.” He turned to Havergal. “Why don’t you just nip up and give her arm a twist, laddie?”

“I never met a lady yet who wanted to be seen when she was feeling under the weather,” he replied, “but I’ll send up a note, if I may, Miss FitzSimmons?”

“The very thing,” Violet smiled, and led him to the study to compose his note.

Havergal knew she had been annoyed with him last night, but felt sure it was merely a fit of pique. Explaining it all in a note would take too long. He would do his explaining in person tomorrow when she was feeling stouter. He just dashed off a few lines.

The note was delivered, and Lettie took it with trembling fingers. “Dearest Lettie,” she read. “I am sorry to hear you are not well. Too much trotting for one of your retired habits is, no doubt, the culprit. By all means stay in bed if you aren’t up to another party, but may I call on you tomorrow before I leave? Best regards, and sincere love, Jacob.”

Her lips trembled, then firmed in an angry line. She got up from bed and went to her writing desk. Across the bottom of his note she wrote, “You misjudge the culprit. It is not an excess of trotting but an excess of Lord Havergal’s duplicity. Please do not call tomorrow, for I do not wish to see you. L. A. Beddoes.”

She rang her bell and had the note taken below before she changed her mind. As soon as it was gone, she wished she had answered on a separate sheet, for she wanted to read his words again. “Dearest Lettie,” he had written, not just “Dear Lettie.” And the closing, too, with the mention of love. What a fool she was to think that meant anything. She returned to bed, but between excitement and anger, she knew sleep was impossible.

Below, Havergal awaited her reply in the study. Hoping for some meaningful message, he preferred to read it in private. He read her curt, insulting words, scrawled on the bottom of his own returned note, and turned pale. Was it a joke? He soon realized it was not. This was her reaction to Crymont’s turning up last night. As if that were his fault! It was Norton who invited him. Pride soon tinged his shock with anger, and when he joined the others, he said stiffly, “Had we not best be going, Ned? Miss Violet will have her hands full today.”

“Miss Lettie failed to succumb to your note, eh? That surprises me, but we shall see her at the head of her table this evening if I know anything.”

Several minutes later Havergal finally succeededin getting Norton and Miss Millie out the door. Hisdecision to leave for Willow Hall that same day wastaken en route home. What was the point of hanging on? Lettie had let him know in no uncertainterms how she felt about him. An excess of LordHavergal’s duplicity, indeed! She treated him as ifhe were a libertine. Leaving would require an unexceptional excuse, for he did not wish to offend his host. A pity there was no post on Sunday. But that letter he had from Papa on Friday—he might pretend he hadn’t perused it thoroughly

Norton tried in vain to detain Havergal, but didn’t really mind that he was leaving. To arrive at Laurel Hall without him would cause a greater stir, and he alone would be the one who knew all the ins and outs of it. Havergal was worried at staying away from home so long. Tomorrow was his Uncle Harold’s birthday—Havergal had overlooked it, in the rush of pleasures his host provided, but he had been rereading his Papa’s last letter and come across the reminder. He would make a good story out of it, mentioning Havergal’s concern at traveling on the Sabbath. To cap it all, there was his invitation to Willow Hall in a month’s time. That was as good as an invitation to meet the Prince Regent in Norton’s humble view.

The party was a merry one, despite Lord Havergal’s defection and Miss Beddoes’s absence. Echoes of conversation and laughter floated up to Lettie’s chamber from below, telling her she was little missed. It was not till the party was over and Violet came to her to report on it that she learned Havergal had not attended.

“What excuse did he give?” Lettie demanded.

“He had to go home—an uncle’s birthday, I believe.”

“He deserted our party for that paltry excuse-traveling on a Sunday as well?”

“He was worried about that. Ned mentioned it two or three times.”

“I don’t believe a word of this faradiddle. He had made a rendezvous to meet Crymont. That is why he left.”

“I cannot think so, Lettie, for they all—Havergal, Ned, and Millie—saw Crymont heading for London on their way to church. That was hours before Havergal left. He has invited Ned to Willow Hall in a month’s time. Ned is very excited about it. Such an honor!”

“I don’t see much honor in being used as a free expert in setting up the hog operation.”

Violet gave her friend a rebukeful glance, but blamed this display of ill manners on the headache. “Ned is happy in any case, and I am happy for him.”

Over the following days, word of Havergal’s doings eventually seeped back to Laurel Hall. Norton corresponded with the viscount and brought each letter for the ladies to peruse. Havergal had a fair idea they would fall into Lettie’s hands and composed his epistles with her in mind. They were a litany of worthy doings, including a purely apocryphal account of his Uncle Harold’s seventieth birthday, after which he immediately dashed to London to resume committee work at Whitehall.

When being worthy had no effect, which is to say no apology from Lettie, he decided to try jealousy and invented a Lady Annabelle, whom he fictitiously escorted to various social dos. She was the daughter of a Scottish lord, a petite blonde, to make her as different from Lettie’s statuesque brunette type as possible.

All of this was highly vexing to Lettie. She remembered Lord Cauleigh saying his son was thinking of marriage. Was it even remotely possible Havergal had been thinking of offering for herself? Surely his behavior suggested it. But the likelier explanation was that he was only trying to con his twenty-five thousand out of her. As she had refused, he was marrying an heiress instead.

Soon a matter of greater concern arose. Tom had always been expensive and, naturally, settling into a career in London required extra money. Funds had been set aside for this and were turned over to him. Although Tom had reached his maturity the winter before and was in charge of his own estate, from long habit their family man of business, Mr. Telford, kept Lettie in touch with matters.

He called at Laurel Hall toward the end of May, wearing a worried frown. He was not a worrier by nature. Since her father’s death, he had been calling frequently in the way of business, and when Lettie thought of him, she saw in her mind’s eye a broad, smiling face, dancing brown eyes, and a rotund figure.

“I thought we ought to have a word,” he said when he was shown in on that sunny afternoon.

“I hope nothing is amiss, Mr. Telford!” she exclaimed, noticing his mood.

“Not amiss, exactly. The estate is Tom’s. Naturally he may do as he wishes with it, but I am a little concerned at his spending. I have already given him a hefty advance, and now he wants me to sell off the orchards. Twenty acres of prime fruit trees. It seems a shame. Has he discussed it with you?”

“Sell the orchard? No!" Lettie exclaimed, staring in disbelief.

“Oh my!” Miss FitzSimmons said, clutching at her heart. “The trees are so pretty in spring.” Ever the optimist, she added, “But we shall still see the blossoms. It is not as though the buyer will chop them down.”

“No, he mustn’t sell,” Lettie said firmly. “Papa would not have approved.”

“It is his not getting a position,” Violet said. “I expect it is very dear, living in London.”

“Not that expensive,” Lettie objected. “He has a good income from the estate, and he has hired modest rooms. He decided against setting up a carriage, though even that should have been possible from the monies we had set aside. What excuse did he give, Mr. Telford?”

“He mentioned some debts he must discharge immediately. Tradesmen would agree to monthly payments. I fear—now I don’t wish to alarm you, ladies, but the thought does just arise that it might be gambling debts.”

“Good God!” Lettie said, staring in horror.

“The exigent nature of the demand leads me to fear it,” Telford explained. “A gentleman cannot delay paying his gambling debts. Young and inexperienced lads are pushed into foolish behavior to save their reputations.”

“I know it well,” Lettie said. An image of Havergal rose up in her mind. “I wish Papa had left the estate under my control till Tom was older.”

“He was always a steady boy—sensible,” Violet reminded her. “Oh, extravagant in little ways, like wanting sugarplums and new waistcoats, but nothing like gambling. He must have fallen into poor company in London.”

Lettie knew only too well what vile company abounded there. Knaves like Havergal and Crymonth

“I do think your father ought to have delayed handing over the whole to Tom,” Mr. Telford said, “but as Tom is the legal owner now, I must do as he says, Miss Beddoes. I shall be stopping at the estate agent’s office when I return to town to list the orchard for sale. I just wanted to warn you, in case you didn’t know. I hope you can talk some sense into the lad.”

“Thank you for coming. I appreciate it."

He left, still wearing his frown.

“You must write him a stiff letter, Lettie,” Miss FitzSimmons declared. Almost on the same breath she decided to consult Ned in this matter. If nothing else, he would be happy to buy the orchard at a high price and save them the shame of having a FOR SALE sign posted on the property.

“Of course,” Lettie agreed, still stunned from the news.

Violet called the carriage and darted off at once to consult with Ned. Lettie declined to join her. She would stay home to write the letter. It was difficult to summon the words hard enough to tell Tom what she thought of his behavior. Half a dozen discarded sheets littered the waste basket before she realized she must go in person to lecture him. She had to be there and see just how badly dipped Tom was. It was too easy to prevaricate in a letter. She put her pen aside and went to her room to begin packing. She would leave that very day.

When Violet returned, she had Ned and Miss Millie with her. “So Tom has gone to the bad,” Norton said, shaking his head mournfully. “I always thought you were too soft by half with the lad, but it was none of my concern if you spoiled him rotten. Never fear, Lettie, we will straighten him out.”

Lettie’s objection died on her lips. He was right. She had been too soft on Tom. She ought to have insisted he live within his means, instead of supplying the extra from her own allowance. And recently she had hardly given Tom a moment’s thought from head to toe of the week. Her mind was too full of her own concern over Havergal.