Lady Caraway's Cloak, page 19
He would have regarded her as an interfering little wench with designs on himself and his title. Her motives would have been called into question, not to mention her judgment, for who would have imagined a young lady of her birth and breeding could prove so capable on matters so traditionally of the male sphere?
He would probably have written her a polite but dismissive note and thus ended an unsuitable communication. But having continued with the subterfuge, even after he had returned to his inheritance, that was quite another affair!
He remembered how Serena had said she disliked even the whitest of lies. Oh ho ho, how she must have disliked this, then! So why had she done it? He would not have punished her for telling him the truth. As a matter of fact, he would surely have kissed her most thoroughly but since he was set on making an honest woman of her anyway, she could hardly have objected to this outcome. Or could she have? My lord was now unusually beset with self-doubt.
He had seen, firsthand, after all, how she had shrugged off the Duke of Bedford—the Season’s most glittering catch—like a fly. Could she—would she—do the same to him? Trifle with his affections, his obvious attraction, then let him suffer the fate of a score of men before him? The very thought was intolerable!
Robin snatched at the cloak. Where was she? She must have left at first light if she’d traveled by road. She had worn the cloak yesterday, which meant that even now she must be on the estate. What could have brought her here, with such speed? Surely not the edifying letter, which could have been written from London just as easily. He slipped out of the small, low-ceilinged room, decorated with gilded beading and painted all about in a tasteful cherry red. A few portraits adorned the walls, one of them of a child with a dappled pony. He rather thought it might have been Serena, but the rendition was poor, which was why the portrait was probably consigned to these quarters. Such were his fleeting impressions, as Robin slipped out from these quarters and made his soft way to the stables.
When he saw the chaise, rather mournful-looking on three wheels with the fourth removed for the attentions of a wheelwright, his suspicions—fantasies really—were confirmed. Serena, for reasons he could not yet quite fathom, had traveled up from York Crescent. Whether her charge was with her, or whether Adam suspected a thing about it, he could not say. By the look of the wheel, though, it would be nightfall before she could make the return journey.
Robin remembered that the moon was not at its zenith, and that there were very few lamplighters or outriders currently employed at Caraway. He wondered whether she would be fool enough to take the risk. Knowing Serena, he rather thought she would. He walked back to the bailiff’s quarters, his stride slightly brisker than before. The moment had almost come, he thought, to take matters into his own hands. He had hours, yet, before the coach would be ready to travel. Plenty of time to hatch a plan and wait.
“It’s a broken spoke, ma’am! It will be all on four hours before the wheelwright can be called in from Upper Leith, where ’e is just doin’ a spot of work for the Prince’s party, which wiv fifty coaches an’ all, all cabriolets and them fancy high-perch phaetons and wotnot, the ladies are restless-like, and there are a few repairs and the ’orses all needing shoeing and stablin’—well, it’s a busy time it is and that’s a fact.”
Serena looked tired and crestfallen. The last thing she wished to do was return to the dowager, for she did not trust her fluctuating mood to last more than an hour or so at best, and she was too tired for any more explanations or recriminations. She was just congratulating herself on using no stronger term than “bother”—for bother it was, undoubtedly—when the sound of hooves and carriage wheels crunching up the long, tree-lined drive drove all annoyance from her lips.
Who could this be? This was not a morning caller, but a positive entourage! There were five carriages at least that rolled up, all of them very smart and furbished with squabs of purple and silver, colors Serena could not immediately place. Her sister-in-law upstairs obviously could, however, for it seemed no time at all before she had leapt from her writing table—where she had been engaged in writing a particularly spiteful letter to one of her dearest bosom friends—and glided her way down the stairs of the dower house. Serena knew she never would be so indecorous as to run.
Then, seeing the fanfare stop at the grand entrance to Castle Caraway, which was empty, she sent out staff to redirect the throng to her elegant new establishment. The coachmen clambered up once more and doors were hastily closed almost before they were opened. It was not a great distance, really, a mere matter of a few yards, but it was unthinkable for such visitors to have to walk, or to muddy their boots and slippers in any unnecessary way. Not that there were any boots to speak of, in this instance, for it seemed to be a visit comprised almost entirely of young ladies in day dresses of taffeta and lace and little seed pearls carefully stitched into corseted bodices.
Serena blinked, for not since His Majesty had made a brief stopover at Caraway ten years or more ago, could she remember such a fanfare, or such unsuitable clothes for the country—all plumes and the highest poke bonnets she had ever seen.
She chuckled, for it must be taking all Lady Fanny’s strength to wait for the butler rather than to rush out herself. In this, she was entirely mistaken, for Lady Fanny was too busy squealing for her emerald-studded Spanish comb and declaring she could not be seen dead in her attire, which, while elegant and preposterously expensive as Serena knew, for she had to deal with the bills, nevertheless was cast into the shade by her visitors.
Serena thanked the coachman, who was eyeing the new carriages with misgiving, and ordered her own conveyance to be set aside until such time as the wheelwright could be located. Then, resigning herself to a night’s stay at Caraway, she walked toward the throng of people, trying to work out who in the world they might be. They seemed to have foreign accents, and were all talking at once, which did not help Serena make any sort of sense in the least.
Stranger yet, Lady Fanny was curtsying, which made the matter more intriguing still. Serena hastened toward her. She was caught out in a drab gown. If only she had her new, delectable cloak, but of course, like a silly jackanapes she must have left it at the bailiff’s lodge.
“Serena!” Lady Fanny rather maliciously looked over Serena’s attire, which must have been a sad trial to her.
“May I present to you her Royal Highness, the Princess Valmont, and her ladies in waiting ... gracious, I can’t remember you all!’ She laughed in a high-pitched, ingratiating kind of way. “There is the countess, of course, and Lady Gracia De Salvo and Lady Du Barrie, and—oh, come inside, and we shall make our introductions in the comforts of the dower house, which I have naturally just refurbished. The castle, you know, was too vast for my tastes. I simply had to have something cozier, but not inelegant, I am sure you will think, Oh, do come in. Yes, yes, pelisses and cloaks ... I am sure the butler and a few of our liveried staff will see to it ... . see to it, will you, Stevens?”
Lady Fanny was in a high fever, for though she aspired to the highest of circles, it was such a coup to have royalty drop in on one! It would have been better, of course, had it been English royalty, but what with the King so ... disabled, and the Prince without a suitable consort—for really, one could hardly count that Caroline creature, it was all very trying ... . Still, royalty was royalty... . She must write to Lady Bowbeck at once. She would be green, positively green with envy!
“I am so glad you could come! When you did not answer my invitation I feared you had other, more pressing engagements.”
“No, my dear, we are all so bored, bored, bored. This England, it can be so boring ... no? I look at my maids and I say, “Ladies, what can we do? What can we do on this dull English day? Then Lavinia, here, she remembers your oh, so sweeeeet invitation, which really I thought I had thrown away, for I am vairy vairy naughty that way, but see!
“She had it still. It does not matter, n’est pas, that the day ’as passed? We think, Oh, that Lady Fanny, it will not matter, this day, that day ... all days are the same when the skies are dull and we are stuck at the coast—sea air is vairy bad for me—when we could be in London.”
“No,” said Lady Fanny faintly, “no, the day does not matter at all. I did have a banquet prepared, and fresh strawberries and ices ordered up from London, and a confection known as an ice castle, which I am positively certain you would all have been entranced by ...”
“What ’as ’appened to thees ice castle? Can we see it?”
“No, for sadly it melted into a puddle of pink sugar. The confectioner warned it would be so.”
The princess pouted. “But ’ow vexing!”
“Yes.” Lady Fanny ground her teeth and said no more, for “vexing” was hardly the word for her fury at being publicly snubbed but two weeks before by the princess.
The dowager had invited several of the surrounding neighbors, and she was certain—though naturally they had said nothing to her face—that they sniggered still. The ice castle—for only the tiniest sliver had actually been eaten—had long been consigned to the pigs. It seemed a very poor exchange, really, for no one of Fanny’s social standing would be seen dead eating bacon, or salted pork, so the only people to gain by this tragedy were the cottagers, who would kill half a dozen pigs as Christmas drew close. It was no wonder Lady Fanny had said unkind things about the princess! Serena concentrated on the Gothic eaves—hideous—so as to hide her smile. It was cold. She wished, once again, she had her cloak.
Chapter Seventeen
At the same time as Lady Serena Addington Winthrop Caraway was making that wish, Robin was discovering something interesting lying hidden deep within that same cloak’s folds. He drew it out, and with it, a deep breath.
It was not the custom of a gentleman to read the diary of a lady, however hopeful or besotted he might be. He told himself this, and a great deal more, in extremely stern terms, but the book seemed to beckon to him like a siren. Here, he thought, lay the answers to all the secrets he wished to unravel. He did not need to employ the Bow Street runners or anyone at all to find out what he most needed to know.
How easy it would be to simply glance at the entries—glance, mind you, no more—and understand, at last, the very secrets of Serena’s heart.
It was a moral question, and a hard one. He, travel-stained, conscious of some greater danger before him, yet smitten by that terrible disease he had long scorned and taken pains to avoid, set the little book down with a sigh. How he detested love! It removed from him all his resolve, for surely, the most trifling of peeks could harm no one and save him a great deal of time? But no! He had to honor Serena and her secrets and leave the tempting little book be.
He shuffled some papers, consulted his pocket watch—practically the only adornment he permitted himself—and stared steadfastly out the window. Inactivity, he was certain, was a penance.
Serena, who had just heard the dowager describe the princess as “tedious” was now bemused to find that Lady Fanny was practically apologizing for her own existence, begging—no pleading—with that personage to stay for tea.
“If you will be so kind as to overlook the paucity of our table, Highness, I will be glad to have a collation served outside. Nothing grand, you understand, merely a few roast pheasants, some chilled blackberries, mulled wine, oh ... I don’t know, I always leave these details to the servants, so much more efficient, is it not? Ah, Mrs. Dumpley, there you are at last! I rang the bell this age, it seems! We have been honored by a visit from the princess and all these delightful young ladies, only see how elegant they are! See to it that a table is prepared outside at once, with a suitable collation. You know the sort of thing. Soufflé, a little of that tureen of turtle we dined upon last night for dinner ...”
Serena had to valiantly suppress a chortle at this, for she knew perfectly well that Lady Fanny was far too much of a skinflint to dine on boiled chicken, never mind the outrageously expensive turtle she boasted of. Housekeeping came from her own purse, generously endowed by Robin, but since she was a nipfarthing beyond compare, not much of it ever saw the light of day.
The only person more bemused than the princess (who spoke only a smattering of English and had no notion of what “turtle” might be, never mind “soufflé” which Lady Fanny pronounced “so–flea”) was poor Mrs. Dumpley, who could not, for the life of her, recall anything but jugged hare being on the previous night’s lamentable menu.
She curtsied, however, and shot an imploring glance at Serena, who excused herself and hurried after her to once again save the day. “Some of your freshly iced cupcakes, several loaves of bread, and an assortment of cheeses, Mrs. Dumpley. Many thanks, and if you could ask one of the scullery hands to pick some wild grapes and some cherries from the hothouse, that will do very nicely indeed with a serving of your famous clotted cream.”
She returned to find the ladies exclaiming about this and about that, and her sister-in-law gushing on about the heraldic crest of Caraway, and mentioning that there had been Earls of Caraway almost since William the Conqueror had landed from Normandy in 1066. None of which the ladies were at all interested in, being more partial to the current earl, who they were disappointed to hear was still away from home.
As Serena, still in her drab gown, ushered the ladies to the outside pavilion, she could hear the princess still bemoaning her boredom with Lady Fanny, who was practically groveling in sympathy.
“For I cannot see why, ma chèr, zee prince—my ’usband, you understand—’e cannot leave me in London while ’e catches these very great rogues. I ask ’eem, this ees what I say: Why, why your ’Ignees, must you choose this cold damp rrrrrainy part of England to catch your corsair? If you want to catch zee buccaneers you should do so in Spain, or Malaga, or somewhere there ees sunshine for your très belle Sancha. But does ’eee listen? No, no, I may just as well not spik! But come, Lady ... Carlaway?”
“Caraway.”
“Zat is wot I said. Lady Carlaway, we must not grumble, you and I. It is our lot, our sad, sad lot. Tell me, what in zee virld ...” But Serena had stopped listening to the spate of ceaseless chatter. Lord Valmont was wanting to trap a pirate and truly, it stretched imagination a little too far to think there might be two lurking in the calm waters of Caraway. But Robin was safe in London ... The Albatross was berthed and anchored, she had seen as much with her very eyes; there could be no possible connection ...
“Princess, did you say pirate? How utterly terrifying!”
“Yes, but it ees all vairy boring. No treasair, no gold, no twinkling jewels ... just papair ... bits of old papair . . . just because this très fat English prince—wot you call ’im? Zee prinny—just because ’e goes and ’e signs with ’eez own hand ... what eez all zee fuss? I ask ’im. ’Ighness, I say, wot eez all zees fret, fret, fret? Mon Dieu, I say! Boring, boring.” “And what did the prince answer you?” Serena, now riveted, was fascinated.
“Oh, ’e only snaps ’eez fingers, so! You know! Then ’ee say, wait, mon amie, there is much reward for such sings, and ’e will buy me zee emerald necklace I see in Venice. Ah, it eez a little beauty, so I say yes, yes, we wait in zis rrrainy side of zee earth.”
Serena did not object that it was not raining at all, but really rather fine, if a little crisp for this time of year. She was more interested in extracting as much information as she could from the princess, without seeming overly curious.
“You are very long-suffering, Your Highness, but it must be for a worthy cause! How long are you waiting?”
The lady shrugged her shoulders, bored with the topic. “Zee prince, ’e promise, not more than four days. Not tonight, ’e say, for zee vessel is anchored and ’ee ’as quelle important duties, but mebbe tomorrow, mebbe next day ... . we shall see. It is zee tiresome, is it not?”
Lady Fanny agreed effusively, but secretly rejoiced, making plans in her head for a lawn party on the next day, for what use, she thought, was being visited by royalty if none of the surrounding neighbors were available to witness her triumph?
Oh, doubtless the news would spread—she would make perfectly certain of that—but it would not be the same as playing hostess and being seen to be on terms with the princess, and ushering people here and there ... thank goodness the roses were in full bloom!
Serena, less serene than her name would imply, was seriously disturbed. Was Robin planning some action in the next few days? If he was an agent for Whitehall, as she suspected, and the Prince Valmont never a political friend to the Regent, despite all his glittering receptions, had some damning piece of ... goodness knew, it could be anything!
Valmont was reported to be very cozy with the Czar, and there was a faction in France dissatisfied with the Bourbon reinstatement ... then there was the issue of the Prince’s appalling behaviour toward Caroline of Brunswick, whispers of a morganatic marriage with his mistress—a political disaster ... all of these could have serious ramifications for the England still coming to terms with a troubled peace.
So Valmont could very well be holding something he knew perfectly well was politically sensitive. He was planning to leave England through Upper Leith, rather than through more usual channels. But worse, he was expecting to capture pirates. Did that mean he knew that Robin was going to act, or was it just that he had had trouble, in the past, with unscrupulous knaves who had boarded his vessel and made off with the pickings? Why was he so certain he was to be boarded this time? And why was he so sanguine about it when he had a sensitive document in his possession?
Because, as the princess seemed to believe, he was after the reward, or was it something more sinister? A plot, perhaps, to expose the best of England’s spies? Serena shuddered. It could be worse, still. He might choose not to expose him, just to run him through with his sword and claim he had rid the shores of one more villain.
