Lady Caraway's Cloak, page 8
“Well, I am!”
“As good with accounts and figures?” The tone was sharp and the eyes, dark with something indefinable and probing, scrutinized her face carefully.
Now it was Serena’s turn to flush, for she had no wish for him to puzzle together any of the pieces leading to her folly.
“That is a man’s job, my lord. I’m not a man!”
“No, indeed, I am more aware of that fact than I quite like to be, Lady Serena. Periwinkle blue suits you. Have you ever been out to sea?”
The subject change startled Serena. “In a boat?”
“Naturally, that is generally the way, I believe.”
Serena ignored the amused sarcasm. “No, for until Napoleon was defeated it was never thought wise, then my brother died and naturally ... well, there were things to attend to at Caraway.”
“Like dismissing the bailiff?”
Oh, not that again! Sparks flashed in Serena’s eyes, but she managed to answer quite placidly. “If you must revert to that tired topic, my lord, then yes. Like dismissing the bailiff.”
“But you never did, did you?”
Shock registered on Serena’s face. It was not pretty, in the way of Miss Waring, but it was nonetheless quite out of the ordinary. Classical, almost. She was unaware of how the sunlight through the French windows lighted her cheekbones and added a lustrous reddish shine to her cropped, coppery hair.
“What can you mean?” But Robin, for once, held his tongue. Serena, extremely uncomfortable under his scrutiny, tried to press him, but he shook his head firmly and even was so bold as to place a finger upon her lips, a fact that made the dowager countess—who had just made her grand entrance—quite heave with outraged indignation.
“Lord Caraway!” She tapped her cane on the floor several times for effect and drew out her quizzing glass.
“Madam?” Robin casually withdrew his hand, leaving Serena breathless, Captain McNichols amused, Julia hopeful—for she had had a sudden wonderful notion—and the countess glowering.
“I hope that is not the type of behavior you learnt in the Americas, sir! Here in England we treat our ladies with respect, we cherish their sensibilities, we do not—not—”
“Not what, ma’am?” asked Robin mildly as he nodded for some more coffee.
“We do not mishandle our lady folk, sir! My husband would turn in his very grave if he knew ... oh, Serena! If you should suffer any harm ... and my little Julia! Oh, it is all too much! Who would have thought we would have to bear such treatment under our very roof . . . My smelling salts, if you please!”
For once, Serena obliged, thinking it was best to suffer great whiffs of vinaigrette being waved in her face than the paroxysms of amusement that Robin shot her way. It was too bad that he seemed to understand her so well, or to share her view of the ridiculous. So she ministered to the countess, while Julia worriedly excused herself and left the breakfast room in search of the redoubtable Redmond, the countess’s personal maid.
The countess, at the center of the scene she was now causing, shot a look of loathing at the incumbent earl and raised her eyebrows haughtily at the sight of Captain McNichols, who was rather wishing himself back at Strawberry Hill.
“And who might you be, pray?”
“I am Captain McNichols, ma’am,”
“I have heard of you. Your mother wants to marry you off to Serena and a damned impertinence I thought it, since Serena is not past her last prayers, mind you!”
Serena, the first to know of such matters, looked startled.
“Good God! Can you be ... are you ... I mean, my good sir, are you Captain McNichols of Strawberry Hill? I am afraid I never quite made the connection when we were introduced.”
Captain McNichols, feeling suddenly trapped, nodded rather miserably.
Serena laughed. “I have made the acquaintance of your mama several times! She is such a sweet lady, but I do believe she has taken some wild notion into her head that we might suit. I am afraid I have merely nodded and smiled politely, thinking you were perfectly safe across the seas.”
“I returned on The Albatross last night. Lord Caraway and I are friends.”
“Then you were not safe at all! My dear sir, I am most dreadfully afraid your mama might think me an excellent bride, but I assure you we shall not suit.”
Captain McNichols who had been thinking so all morning, but for very different reasons, now flushed and mumbled and muttered, rather heroically, that Serena was too harsh on herself, and that indeed she was exceptionally beautiful, just as Mrs. McNichols had described ... .
The countess, now looking speculatively at the pair, waved aside Redmond, who had entered the room fast on Julia’s heels, and ignored, for once, the sal volatile cast in her direction. She was thinking swiftly, as all mamas did, especially one so ambitious as to have bagged an earl herself. Too bad he had died so prematurely. But that was an old complaint, nothing near as important as the ruminations now formulating in her mind ... by George! It was the very thing.
Serena could wed this Captain McNichols chap, for though he looked all very fine in his smart uniform, he was not at all suitable for her Julia, who should marry a peer at the very least. And speaking of peers, why ever not this Robin character himself? With a haircut and the services of a decent tailor like Weston, miracles could be performed. She would not be so unfeeling as to marry Julia off to a barbarian, but the man appeared to have some redeeming qualities ... .
So lost was she in her speculation that she failed to hear Serena’s muttered expostulations or Captain McNichols’s praise—tangled, as it was, with an earnest desire to free himself from any perceived obligation. In the midst of all this, Robin’s eyes were dancing, and Miss Waring’s color was surprisingly high, for she had just been smitten with those first innocent but nonetheless intense pangs of first love.
Her mama, eyeing her through her reverie, accepted the smelling salts at last, wafted them elegantly about her person, and noted that the silly creature—for so, regrettably, she thought of Julia—looked all pink and fluttery. She was delighted, for it did not occur to her that Miss Waring’s affection might be misplaced. The earl, besides being an extraordinarily fine figure of a man—she had to concede that—was also far higher in rank than Captain McNichols and therefore the most obvious choice for any young maiden, no matter how hen-witted she might be.
Alas, poor Julia did not seem to share her insights.
The sal volatile seemed to restore the dowager’s flagging spirits. It helped, no doubt, that she regarded her daughter as a biddable thing, and that she felt much cheered by the notion of herself remaining on as the chatelaine at Caraway.
Doubtless Robin—who stood quite obviously in the need of guidance—mark his current deplorable attire—would welcome her experience. Who, after all, was better fitted to hostess balls and evening soirées? They could open up the London town house, remove all the Holland covers, emerge from this dreary mourning. ... She could not help but wonder why she had not thought on the matter before.
Well, naturally she had been too weak, what with the shock of Caraway’s death, and the knowledge that she was to be evicted—yes, evicted—from the ancestral home ... but she had better act now before the chance slipped from her grip. These things did not just happen, they took planning—careful, calculated, cunning planning as she well knew. She clapped her hands together loudly,
“Very prettily put, Captain McNichols. I am sure you and Serena will make an excellent match of it. Redmond, call the butler, if you please. I am certain the cellars can spare some of his lordship’s vintage best for the occasion, for though I do not imbibe much, I do feel that on occasions such as these it would be ungenerous to be stinting.” The countess rang her bell so that it pealed through the breakfast chamber and several house staff appeared at once, as a result.
Before Serena could stop her, she was making a betrothal announcement in glad tones, whilst the house staff—such as had the good fortune of being near the landing when the bell had rung—all sank into little bobs and bows and murmurings. Captain McNichols, now decidedly green, shot an anguished glance at the earl but Robin, more amused than shocked, was laughing too much to be any aid at all.
“No, no, Serena, do not gawk at me so, it is most unbecoming. No, not another word if you please! Captain McNichols, my foot is suffering from the gout. Would you be so kind as to take a turn with me in the gardens? I sometimes find exercise to be beneficial.”
She had outmaneuvered poor Adam before ever the champagne had arrived. Serena, pacing angrily up and down the Aubusson carpet, had a full hour and fifteen minutes to wait before she could vent her wrath upon her least favorite sister by law.
Chapter Eight
Robin, Lord Caraway, had stopped laughing. This because the Lady Serena had threatened to do him an injury if he did not.
“It is singularly unamusing, sir! And I do think you might have helped rather than laughed!”
“What might I have done? If you had only firmly set your foot down instead of leading poor Adam on ...”
“Are you mad? What in the world can have made you think I was encouraging his suit?”
“You smiled at him brilliantly, you had no business wearing that periwinkle blue if you do not want every man not in his dotage to fall at your feet ...”
“You are not in your dotage!”
“Don’t tempt me, Lady Caraway. I rest my case and if Miss Waring were not present I would show you just how.”
“Oh.” Serena swallowed back a quick retort, for she was flushing at just how much she wished her niece were not present. Then she caught herself up short and waved away the champagne and fluted glasses that had just made their appearance.
“No, no, Mrs. Dumpley, I am afraid there has been a misunderstanding ... no, no, I am not betrothed ... no, no, not at all, but when I see how disappointed you look I almost feel quite guilty! Oh, very well, set the glasses down on the sideboard. I am sure Captain McNichols will require a restorative drink when he returns.”
“Undoubtedly.” The voice behind her was wry. It was also far too masculine for its own good, and brimful of an amusement that made her want to laugh as well.
Mrs. Dumpley bobbed and fussed about the table, dying of curiosity, but far too well trained an upper servant to ask any questions. As she later told those elevated members of the household who were in her confidence, “If that gentleman be the new earl, well, there would be a regular to-doing in the neighborhood, for if he were not fine to the ninepence—not but what his shirt could not do with some hot irons—there weren’t nobody what was.”
Then Delia Simmonds, the second housemaid, told everyone within hearing that he was a “proper dish ’e was, and that it set her to wishin’ ...” but no one heard what it set her to wishing, for she was ordered very sternly to be mopping the scullery floors, not dithering her day away with idle—not to mention sinful—thoughts. Still, even Mrs. Dumpley gave a loud sigh as she bit into yesterday’s jam tarts and pondered his lordship’s smile. All of this was for later, however. At this moment Miss Waring, slightly pale, inquired about the strange turn of events.
“Serena, I can swear I have never heard of Captain McNichols before this morning! When can you have met him, I wonder, for though I rack my brains I can think of no time ... wait! Was it when I ran into Hookham’s and you had the sick ache and ...”
“No, no! You run on ahead of yourself, Julia! Besides, it was you who had the sick ache, not I. I met not him, but his mama. Do you not recall dear Mrs. McNichols from Bath?”
“Gracious, yes! She spoke of a son and I did say ... oh, my goodness, Serena, this is all my fault!”
“A Cheltenham tragedy, I perceive, “ murmured Robin, but was ignored by his audience of two unchaperoned maidens.
“Don’t be nonsensical, Julia! How can this ... . misunderstanding possibly bear on you?”
“I am afraid I encouraged her in the notion, Serena! You know how fond I am of you, and you were looking down in the mops in Bath, and when she happened to mention a son ...”
“Julia, I could strangle you! I don’t know whether to be more mortified that you pushed me forward, or that you thought me in the mops!”
“Neither, for I hate it when you are angry and oh, pray, Serena, don’t frown so ...”
“Yes, it quite mars your countenance.”
“I shall quite mar your countenance if you do not stop being so frivolous, my lord!”
At which Miss Waring looked shocked, and the earl amused.
“Touché! I stand admonished. Shall we go rescue our dear Captain McNichols, or shall we let him suffer a little while longer?”
“Oh, you are a beast!”
“To let him suffer, or to suggest that he shall?”
“Both, for it cannot be so very bad being betrothed to me!”
“I shall have to try it, sometime, then tell you the results.”
“Now you are absurd again.” But Julia, who knew Serena better than most very good friends, noticed a telltale blush upon her friend’s face that had not been there a second ago. It led her to some immediate and rather curious conclusions, but she was too well-bred to quiz Serena in such company, so she stored up her questions for later. Whether the gentleman also noticed Serena’s animated color was a moot point, but suffice it to say that the young lady under scrutiny now felt the strong need for some air.
“I shall go search them out at once. You wait here!”
The tone was imperious, hasty, and addressed, quite clearly, to the gentleman, whom she wanted to flee with urgency.
The answer was languid, and again, faintly amused. “But I cannot stay. You forget, the infant.”
“I am not an infant!” Julia was indignant, for it was quite obvious that his lordship was referring to herself.
“No? Then all the more reason for a chaperon! Tell your aunt that she must stay, to protect your morals.”
“Protect my morals?” Julia, pretty to a ninepence but quite beyond the earl’s humor, looked more than a little ruffled.
“Do not looked shocked, Julia dear. That was a slip of the tongue. His lordship doubtless meant I must stay to protect his morals. You, quite naturally, are beyond reproach.”
Lord Robin flicked Serena an appreciative glance, but addressed Julia quite seriously. “Whatever the case, a pretty little snip like you is in need of a chaperone if the conventions are to be met. I have a much better plan. Lady Serena and I shall seek them out, leaving you in no danger at all.”
Serena shot the earl a suspicious glance but bit back the obvious retort. If she asked how safe she would be with him, his eyes would only twinkle at her dangerously, his stance would be mocking, and he would know—oh yes, she was positive he would know how very much she liked the danger. So she remained uncharacteristically silent, hesitated a moment, then nodded.
“Come then, for I have it on the best authority I am an apt leader and therefore quite beyond the need for such nonsense as chaperonage. Julia, if your mama returns, do put her right about this muddle before poor Captain McNichols quite sinks with mortification!”
It was useless for Julia to point out that she could never sway her mama, so she nodded obediently and prayed fervently that it would be Serena who found her first. “Shall I wait here, in the breakfast room?”
“Yes, for Lady Caraway has not yet broken her fast and doubtless she will return here, rather than to the receiving rooms. You may read my copy of the Gazette to stave off boredom.”
“Oh, no! I assure you, I shall not be bored!” The lovely Julia was filled with the first blossoming of true love, and felt perfectly capable, therefore, of dreaming away her entire morning.
“Good! Then we shall take a brisk walk to the topiary garden, for your mama is very proud of it, and will doubtless wish to display its worth to the captain.”
“What about the ice house? She is very proud of that too!”
“Yes, but she can hardly take a stroll to the ice house. Captain McNichols will think it very peculiar of her.”
“Then the gazebo?”
“That is at the other end of the South Park. Your mama would surely not leave us stranded with the earl for so very long a time?”
But even as she said it, Serena knew she would. If the dowager countess wanted something, despite her die-away airs, she would achieve it ruthlessly. But what could she possibly want?
To keep Captain McNichols from Julia? To convince him that he really had intended a proposal? Or was it more subtle yet? Serena had the strangest feeling Lady Caraway’s impulsive behavior had something to do with the earl.
Her attitude had changed abruptly. Serena wished she knew why.
“Oh, very well, then, we will try the South Park. Ready, your lordship?”
Robin smiled. It was enough to break the hearts of the steeliest of maidens, never mind just one. Serena swallowed hard, and kept her tone light and slightly caustic as she led the way.
“I only hope we have not just been sent on a wild-goose chase. They are probably nowhere near the South Park!”
“I rather hope they are not.”
His meaning was too transparent, even to Serena. She said nothing, as they wound their way down the main staircase in full view of the underbutler and at least two housemaids, but when they were finally alone, she took leave to give him a fine trimming, which served only to amuse him the more.
But there was more than amusement, which puzzled Robin as much as it did Serena. There was something quite intangible between them, some sixth sense that suggested they had met before, if not in person, then certainly in spirit.
Serena felt it, too, for she scolded him as if she had known him her whole life, rather than a few short days. She supposed it must be the intimate nature of the correspondence between them that set her at ease. She could see beyond the long hair and the creased shirt—beyond, even, the Caraway title, to the incisive mind and the quick humor she knew he possessed. They were kindred spirits. She knew it, but he was hampered from the immediate truth by not knowing the source of those invaluable letters. For an instant, when he stopped, half holding his hands to her, she nearly told him.
