A Scandalous Connection, page 10
But Maria had gone. And Lady Raquel was grabbing at the silver-handled hairbrush and tossing it onto the bed with scant regard for decorum.
The dresser stared.
Lady Raquel’s mouth curved. “I am in a hurry, Anders! I believe I may have mentioned that fact!”
And so it was that precisely one hour and two minutes later, Lady Raquel Fortesque-Benton, one traveling companion, three portmanteaus and a bandbox, several baskets of fruit and a novel from Hookham’s lending library trailed down the polished stairs.
Mr. Endicott’s fob snapped shut. His eyes caught Lady Raquel’s, who quailed before their stern glint. She braced herself for some morsel of scathing reproof, but heard none. Instead, he inclined his handsome head politely, so that Lady Raquel did the unthinkable. She turned all missish and blushed, much to the amazement of Maria, who despite her toothache knew enough to know that Lady Fortesque-Benton was fabled for her icy composure.
Then, without comment, he helped with two of the baskets and signaled to the attendant footmen. They instantly stepped forward and strapped the luggage to the back of the carriage.
“Have you a pelisse and muff?”
“In the bandbox.”
“A pity. You shall need them, the roads will get icy.”
“I shall be perfectly comfortable, thank you.”
Mr. Endicott surveyed her proud stature with some amusement. He showed no indication that he had noticed the stream of golden buttons down her excellent back. Lady Raquel looked annoyed.
“Nevertheless, we shall retrieve them at the first posting inn.”
Her ladyship’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing, merely seating herself in the farthest corner of the supremely comfortable chaise.
Mr. Endicott helped Maria in with great politeness. His brow raised slightly as he caught a sniff of what his expert palate determined immediately to be an illegal variant of some form of King’s gin. He said nothing, however, for the girl looked ready to weep. Doubtless Lady Raquel had been bullying her mercilessly.
“Good. We are ready, then.” A swift word to the postilions up front and he was upon them again, this time taking up a seat directly opposite from her ladyship, so that if she did not want to catch his eye—as doubtless the little minx wouldn’t—she would have to continue gazing out of the dull, rain-soaked window all afternoon.
Mr. Endicott hoped, rather politely, that she would not strain her neck. In response for his kindness, he received something very close to an unladylike snort. Being a charitable sort of fellow, he ignored the choked response and settled peacefully into considering himself entirely mistaken. Lady Raquel, he was certain, had merely delicately coughed.
Nine
“I shall return you, now, to the guests, Miss Mayhew. Doubtless they are engaged in inspecting the cellars, for I would wager a farthing they were rated high on Lady Caroline’s interesting itinerary.”
The duke cast a wry glance at Miss Bancroft, whose hands were fluttering in disorganized panic to the starched white ruffle at her throat. She coughed, then frowned severely at him for his levity. The duke, most unfortunately, appeared not to notice.
“They were, were they not, Miss Bancroft?”
The rotund lady in the prim ocher gown found herself forced to reply.
“Yes, among other things.”
She glared at Demian, Lord Darris, repressively, for he was clearly enjoying himself at Amy’s expense. “I believe the herbarium and the turrets at the east tower were also considered to be of passing interest.”
The duke made a small movement. “Then we shall start at the top.”
Again, a panicked flurry of hands. “No, no! You shall remain here, my lor . . . eh . . . Mr. Hartford. I shall locate the others and return Miss Mayhew to the company. There is no need—none at all—to trouble yourself any further.”
If Miss Bancroft could look fierce, she would have. Instead, her face creased into a million charming wrinkles, though her eyes appeared determined. She had not forgotten, after all, the reason Caro had sent her here. She was to separate the duke and dear Miss Mayhew before any further calamities occurred.
“Oh, but there is every need, Miss Bancroft.”
The duke was not to be put off so easily. A soft smile hovered about his eyes as his gaze rested upon his guest’s charming, dark fringe.
Amy met his stare evenly.
“I must ask you a tremendous favor . . . sir.”
“Must you?”
Glowing dark hair nodded in decision. The duke noted with approval that though it was cropped, it nevertheless looked decidedly feminine as it brushed against merino-clad shoulders. Her color was still distressingly high, he noted. She was flushed, but he doubted, now, whether she would actually faint. Removing her from the company had certainly been justified.
“Is it far to the nearest watering post?”
The question startled him.
“Not terribly. Some few miles to the Lion and Anvil, I would imagine.”
“Is the snow likely to hold?”
“It is hard to say, Miss Mayhew. I would say that this is certainly probably the lull before the storm, but the storm itself may not break until tomorrow.”
“Yes, I see that. If I leave now, I shall make it before any further flurries.”
“You can’t leave now. The grooms are all resting and the horses would need to be harnessed again.”
Demian, who had been mentally cursing these necessities a moment before, for he had been calculating how soon he could get rid of his other unwanted visitors, now looked alarmed.
“Does . . . ”
“Yes?” The duke looked into troubled eyes inquiringly. They were slate gray, again, and had lost all the fascinating hints of silver. For all that, though, they remained compelling.
“Does . . . do you think . . . I mean, would it be an awful imposition of me to borrow a horse?”
There was a moment’s stunned silence.
“A horse?”
“Yes. It doesn’t have to be a very fine one, for I understand His Grace’s stables were . . . are . . . I mean . . .”
“What I think you mean to say, Miss Mayhew, is that it is well known His Grace has had to make a few economies. Is that it?”
She nodded.
Miss Bancroft interjected at this moment.
“Oh, my dear child, you cannot think to be out riding in this weather! It is impossible!”
“Not so impossible as staying, madam. I am accustomed to riding, but I beg you to believe I had no notion that . . . that . . .”
“That the Murgatroyd woman could be so unscrupulous?”
She flashed him a piercing look. “I did not say that, sir!”
“No, but you should have. Miss Mayhew, do you think you have received your two hundred pounds worth?”
“Beg pardon?”
“You heard me. Have no fear, I am entirely in Lady Caroline’s confidence in this matter.”
“Sir, the money should never have changed hands. I regret it was ever so.” But now her eyes dropped, and the telltale flutter of her lashes told His Grace that Miss Amy, though undoubtedly very beautiful, and adorably fetching, was nevertheless not being quite truthful.
The stern expression vanished from his countenance. “Regret, Miss Mayhew? Regret? That is an extremely harsh word. Have a care that my feelings are not too wounded!”
Then the silver returned to her eyes as a small smile curved her lips.
“Oh, not meeting you, sir, but pushing my way into the household! It is truly untenable to me. My only relief is that His Grace is presently out of town. I could not have borne the mortification if he were not. No, nor the triumph in Mrs. Corey’s eyes!”
“It is as well that he is gone, then. But come, think a little. You have had an excellent repast, it is true, but you nibbled like a bird.” Here, the duke turned to Martha, who was eying both Demian and Miss Mayhew with a thoughtful expression. His Grace, quite fortunately, did not appear to notice. He was teasing.
“It is true, is it not, Miss Bancroft? She nibbled.”
Martha could only shrug her shoulders. She was finding the whole conversation fascinatingly beyond her comprehension, but the strange thought that had struck her earlier prevailed. She nodded, a small smile lurking behind her very proper exterior.
“There, I told you. Let me see, now . . . a smidgen of grouse, two carrots glazed in Cook’s excellent sugar cream sauce, a tiny—tiny, mark you—nibble of veal, and two glasses of champagne. Let me work at this. Even calculating in the nobility of the residence, the attendance of one fake butler and two bona fide footmen, the outstanding vintage of the champagne and the undoubtedly regal settings—Sevres china, you understand—I cannot tally the total expenditure to be worthy of more than forty of your excellent pounds. Naturally, you took in His Grace’s outstanding marble statues, the most notable of these being Venus and Androcles at the entrance, and some of the lesser works within, throw in, perhaps, the charm of the chandeliers and the honor of the freezing receiving room . . . ”
The duke had the felicity of hearing a giggle.
“Must you be so nonsensical!”
“I am only showing you, quite properly, my dear, that you have not yet had your money’s worth of the entertainments.”
“Oh, I have! You forget, sir, my glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. Be assured I would have sipped more had I known that my every morsel was being observed. And by the by, I did not have the grouse. I merely passed the plate on to Miss Amanda Simmons.”
“Very wise. I shall credit your account with one further pound.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I have it on the best authority—myself—that the grouse was tough.”
In spite of herself, Miss Mayhew laughed. The duke found the sound quite delightful and was tempted to dream up more nonsenses for her edification.
He was prevented from doing so by a squawking Miss Bancroft, who gazed anxiously at the door. Much as she was inclined to encourage this unlikely couple, Lady Caro’s trust hung heavily upon her shoulders. If Miss Mayhew was compromised by any lack of diligence on her behalf, she would never forgive herself.
“Perhaps I can show Miss Mayhew His Grace’s private collection of the Masters. That shall make up for any deficiencies in the meal, one would hope.”
“One hundred and sixty-one pounds worth? I doubt it. You will have to escort her to the library, I am afraid. There is an original copy of Pilgrim’s Progress to be found there. I believe His Grace also collects first editions.”
“Oh!” Amy’s eyes widened. “How I would love to see them! But it is an absurdity, of course. I would no sooner encroach on His Grace’s private collections than on his castle.”
Mr. Hartford adjusted his immaculate cravat. The effect was so breathtaking it constricted Amy’s throat.
“Have it your way, of course. But I venture to suggest, Miss Mayhew . . . ”
“Yes?” The eyes were definitely silver, now, and the lips were parted just slightly.
The duke hesitated. “I would suggest, Miss Mayhew, that it would be quite unkind of you to leave.”
“Unkind? How so?”
“Contrary to what you may have heard—and by the by, a pretty female like you should not be gossiping—His Grace is a very honorable gentleman. If you have not had your money’s worth, he will naturally be compelled to return your purse.”
“Oh, what nonsense! Consider the remaining one hundred and sixty-one pounds compensation, then, for the loan of a horse.”
“Utter balderdash! There is no horse, save one, in His Grace’s stables worth the price.”
“Then I will take that one!”
“You will not, for it is Season’s Glory, the duke’s personal mount. He goes nowhere without it.” Demian could have bitten his tongue for this obvious slip, but Amy did not seem to notice. The fact that the duke was supposedly in London while his mount was stabled at Darris did not immediately register.
“Botheration! Then I am in a fix.”
“Precisely. Why don’t you join your party and make the best of it. You will be doing the duke a favor, I assure you.”
“Just as I was doing my aunt a kindness in acquiescing to this ridiculous excursion. Do you know, she wanted me to sparkle at dusk like a sylph, solely, I am told, for His Grace’s edification?”
At this, Martha gasped in horror, but the duke could not suppress an appreciative grin. This naturally brought down the wrath of heavens from a proper spirited Miss Bancroft, who knew very well that the duke was engaged in precisely the wild imaginings she had been sent to dampen.
“Come with me, Miss Mayhew! Mr. Hartford is being very unchivalrous in keeping you from your amusements! I believe, if we go swiftly, we shall not miss out on the fabulous gargoyles, though the weather is unfavorable for any of the more interesting outdoor pursuits. . . .”
Amy smiled. “Miss Bancroft, you are shamming it, too! You are no lady’s maid, however superior!”
At which Miss Bancroft looked so rosy pink and flustered that Demian had to kiss her cheek gently and allow that she had been unmasked.
“But do not be afraid, Miss Bancroft! I doubt whether Miss Mayhew will betray you!”
“Indeed, no, though I never thought to be so entertained. Good Lord, I think I have now had my money’s worth, for I have not been so surprised, amused, or . . . or . . .”
“Or?” His Grace looked deeply into those lovely eyes.
“Or moved, Mr. Hartford, since I first saw Kemble on the stage.” There was a moment when the duke thought he might kiss her. Then it passed away, as fleeting as the tiny drifts of snow floating in the crisp air outside.
“You shall have your way, then. I shall escort you to the posting house.”
“No!” Both ladies uttered the same alarmed protest, but for different reasons.
Demian smiled. “Yes, for I fear that whilst we have dallied in speech, Mrs. Honoria Murgatroyd and her denizens of hell have been using up the remaining eight hundred pounds. By the time they have finished their tour of the ice, eh, house—which I fear shall be rather uncomfortable given the current temperatures—and dropped a few more of the priceless Sevres plates, His Grace’s obligation will be complete. At that time, Miss Bancroft, you may escort the whole tedious bunch of them to the south wing, holland covers or not.”
“Oh! How unscrupulous, Mr. Hartford!” But Amy’s eyes were laughing again.
“Yes, isn’t it? The Darris butler shall return to bow and scrape, then he shall disappear forever whilst plain Mr. Hartford escorts the charming Miss Mayhew to her favored destination.”
“No!” Again, the chorus of disapproval, for while Amy’s heart was soaring quite wildly despite her every attempt to still it, Miss Bancroft was still looming like a benign black cloud, if such a thing could ever exist.
“It is not fitting, Your Gr . . . ” The duke glared at Martha, who remembered, just in time, that he was masquerading as a commoner.
“It is perfectly fitting that, as a representative of His Grace’s household, I escort her to her destination. It is a common civility in this weather! ”
“It is a common madness,” Martha muttered under her breath. She was not heard, however, for Amy was engaging Demian’s august attention.
“If I cannot saddle up a horse, I shall return to the party. If we are to be foisted on the dreaded south wing, then my conscience, I suppose, can rest easy.”
“That is all that will rest easy! The south wing, I assure you, is positively uninhabitable! The chimneys have not been used in a decade, so the chances of lighting a fire will be abysmal.”
“If it is good enough for Mrs. Corey, then it is good enough for me!” A defiant tilt to Amy’s chin should have warned the duke, but he was too used to going his own way to take any heed.
“You miss the point, my darling little innocent!” At which Miss Bancroft started looking around for the reticule. If ever she needed her smelling salts, this must surely be the moment!
“I am not that!”
“Oh, but you are!”
Martha tried to weave herself between the pair of them, but they seemed not to notice her, despite her bulk. So, despite her hero worship of the duke, she decided something must be done. “Wait! I am going to fetch Lady Caroline!”
“And leave us unattended? Martha, dear, you shock me!” The duke’s tone was light, but already he had allowed his gaze to travel back to the travel-stained green merino.
“The point, Miss Mayhew, is that the lodgings will be decidedly below the standards to which I hope you are accustomed.”
“I am not a flower, Mr. Hartford, I shall not wilt. The worse, the better, in my opinion. Mrs. Murgatroyd will be in hysterics and Mrs. Corey will be silenced, at last.”
“And you?”
“I, my dear Mr. Hartford, shall have the satisfaction of standing in debt to no one, least of all to the duke of Darris. I hope, when he hears the tale, he has a hearty chuckle at our expense. We deserve it.”
“Not you, Miss Mayhew.”
“Yes, I. For being so foolish as to agree to this expedition in the first place. I knew very well that the guests had only one small matter on their minds.”
“And what was that?”
“Capturing the interest, if not the heart of, our noble host.”
Martha’s jaw dropped open. This was plain speaking indeed! She opened her mouth to say something, then clamped it shut again. No one, she knew, was listening. There was a rapt stillness about the room that lent itself to the brief silence that ensued.
“But surely it was known he would be away?”
“It was known, yes. But it is also commonly known, I am afraid, that he is sadly in need of a wife.”
“Really? You interest me greatly.” Now. Mr. Hartford assumed a studied expression of bored disinterest that was decidedly at odds with his words.
