Lady Caraway's Cloak, page 9
The moment was lost, however, by the arrival of the long-awaited baggage coach and a varmint of a tiger with the foulest vocabulary and the cheekiest grin Serena had ever seen.
“You should wash his mouth out!”
“I have, but do you know, he only grins and says it is ‘better than a whippin’ what old guv would ’ave dished out not, but what ’e taught me them words ’issef, ’e did, but for cheek an’ such.’ ”
Serena cast her head back and laughed. “You are an excellent mimic, my lord.”
“Only because you are an excellent audience. Serena. Tell me, why do I feel I have known you forever?”
“Because you have.”
“That is not what I meant and you know it. Being a distant relative and having access to the estate once in a blue moon is not the same as ... it is the strangest sensation. I could swear I know your mind!”
“Serena! Lady Serena!” The shrill voice of the dowager countess wafted from the balcony above.
Serena tilted her neck and shaded her eyes from the sun. Yes, she feared as much. The dowager was looking severely displeased. Julia, flustered, stood behind her, making helpless gestures. There was no sign of Captain McNichols, but Robin guessed he must be inside, making well-earned inroads into Caraway’s best champagne. The morning—spent mostly with the dowager—must have ranked, for him, as supremely hideous.
Feeling a little guilty at permitting his friend to so suffer, Robin murmured that he owned a seafaring vessel and that they could both easily run away to sea.
“To avoid the dowager? Coward! We must rescue poor Captain McNichols before he hangs himself!”
“At the notion of his betrothal? He is a lucky man.”
“And you, my dear sir, are a frivolous one!” But Serena could not help feeling her spirit lighten quite nonsensically at his smile, and the flirtatious implication.
Above them, on the balcony, the dowager was having spasms, for she did not like the way Serena was pushing herself forward, nor the way the earl seemed totally duped by her charms. It would not do at all! As for Julia! Well, if she knew no better she would say she was making calf’s eyes at this captain ... this Captain Nobody! But naturally, it could not be ... it must not be ... Julia would not be so foolish ... .
“Julia, his lordship is approaching. You look faint. Fan yourself.”
“But, Mama, I am not faint at all!”
“Then become so, I pray you! Your fan is the height of fashion, for I bought it myself, and the pink so becomes you ... Julia, do you hear a word I say?”
But Julia did not, for she was staring at Captain McNichols, who looked very dapper indeed in his smart regimentals, and who was opening her fan out gently, mouthing that it was, indeed, pretty. So Miss Waring, a little bewildered, fanned herself most becomingly and had a perfectly delightful flush upon her cheeks when the earl finally made his languid entrance.
“Caraway! How good you are to come so quickly! I cannot think what overcame our Serena to behave so hoydenishly. Serena, my love, I know you are used to having the run of the household, but can you not remember when decorum is important?”
Her victim, who did not spar with people unworthy of her wit, bit back a scathing retort and smiled benignly at the captain.
“Captain, I hope you have been put out of your misery.”
The captain, who hoped so, too, but could not very well, in present company, say so, murmured that he could not fathom what Serena was alluding to.
“Ah, the best of good manners!” Serena smiled kindly upon him. “But tell me, sir, are we not in perfect accord that we do not suit?”
The look of relief on Adam’s face defied good manners. Robin, who had surprised himself by feeling a slight pang of anxiety on this score, breathed a small sigh of satisfaction. He had thought not, but could not for the life of him think why Adam should prefer little Miss Ringlets to the more intelligent—and yes, it could not be disputed—beautiful—Lady Serena. Some imp of mischief beset him, though, for instead of aiding his friend, he added to his notable confusion. He took from the table the fluted glass that Adam had discarded just moments before.
“To your betrothal, I believe.” The amused voice of his best friend could not be mistaken. Captain McNichols could at that moment gladly have floored him with his fists, friend or no.
“Yes, yes, we shall drink a toast!” shrilled Lady Caraway. “Now where are those servants when you need them? Ring the bell, Julia dear!”
But Julia, for once, was obstinate. “Mama, he doesn’t wish to marry Serena.”
“What nonsense is this? It is all settled. We have been talking of it this half hour at least.” Which was only partially true, for while Lady Caraway had certainly been talking, Adam had not been permitted a word in edgewise.
“It is by no means settled, my lady. Far from it. I shall not be marrying Captain McNichols—or anyone else in the near future, so do not think upon it again.”
“Serena, you are a very contrary child! If your brother were alive ...”
“He is not, and I must beg you to save your quarrel with me for later. I am perfectly certain we do not want the gentlemen to pass out from boredom.”
At which, Lady Caraway once more needed the aid of her vinaigrette, once more washed her hands of Serena, and once more forbade Julia to be allowed to make her come-out under such poor chaperonage.
Lord Caraway, after paying off the coachmen and murmuring orders to the underbutler with respect to the stowage of his luggage, added wicked fuel to the fire by murmuring that he, for one, was not bored at all, but rather, entertained.
Which bought for him a kick in the shins from Captain McNichols, who was surprisingly swift despite his stockier build, and a chuckle from his cousin, or half cousin, or whoever Serena was—he could never quite figure it out. Well, a chuckle, then a scold, for he was being quite outrageous, really, in annoying the dowager further.
“Oh, that I should live to be so ill used!” bemoaned the dowager. Then, remembering that it was not salubrious to her scheme to alienate the earl, she changed tack and berated Serena instead.
Serena was firm. “Ma’am, if you do not wish Julia to be chaperoned by myself, that is your prerogative, but I must insist that she still have her Season. There is no reason for her to languish at Caraway when she is of an age to make her court appearance.”
“You forget, Serena, that I am impoverished, destitute! I cannot afford such frivolities for Julia.”
“Can you not?” The voice behind Serena was like velvet, but Serena, sensitive to such things, felt the steel behind his tone. Oh, it was a fine kettle of fish! Now Serena was amused, for she knew perfectly well just how much Robin, Lord Caraway, had kept the dowager in funds. “Destitute” was a somewhat ill-chosen word in his august company.
Lady Caraway was cornered, for too late, she had remembered the very same thing. She had forgotten, in her annoyance, the source of her extremely comfortable annuity. “We shall discuss this later!” she announced, seizing her cane and looking at the potted plant as though she were contemplating attacking it.
“No, my lady, we shall discuss it now, for I cannot believe, after all these gentlemen have had to endure today, they cannot endure this one last discussion.”
“It is not fitting!”
“But it is, since I am the head of this ... did I nearly say ramshackle? How silly of me! I meant to say ... remark-able ... family.”
“Oh, I knew he would push himself forward!” groaned the Dowager Lady Caraway, wholly forgetting that but a moment ago she was fawning over him quite shamefully.
Robin grinned. He did not consider permitting the lady to live rent-free in his home for nigh on eleven months an indication of his forwardness. Neither, it seems, did Serena, for she seemed more shocked by the lady’s denouncement than himself.
“Lady Caraway, you forget yourself! When I think how his lordship has been tolerant, how much he has paid of his own fortune to restore the dowager house—for I can promise you that it was not the depleted Caraway fortune that permitted those excesses ...” Her voice trailed off at the sharp glance the earl cast her way. She had nearly exposed herself again. Too much knowledge, she realized ruefully, could be dangerous.
Fortunately, the dowager countess prevented his eyes from boring too deeply into her own by fainting. This, naturally into the arms of poor Captain McNichols, who had gallantly stepped forward to shield Julia from the dead weight of her mama.
He might have laughed—especially if he had caught Robin’s eye—but the situation was too dire. Miss Julia was near tears and he wanted nothing so much as to kiss them away like the soft dewdrops on roses that they were. How fanciful he was becoming! But oh, those dreamy eyes, he could get lost in them, and when she smiled at him, and murmured her thank yous ... oh, he no longer felt like the right-hand mate of a famous privateer.
The dowager moaned a little in his arms. Serena caustically remarked that perhaps they should dash a pail of water over her face to revive her, at which my lady awakened instantly—with fluttering eyelashes of course—and complained that she had never been so ill-used in her life and would pack up her things directly for the dower house, for it was plain where she was not wanted, and so on, and so on, until Captain McNichols thought his arms were going to break off.
He was strong, but not so strong as to hold the dowager long enough to sustain another of her tirades. So he placed her feet gingerly on the floor and hoped she would not swoon again. She did not, having recovered both the use of her feet and the use of her lungs. This she used rather volubly, but when it came to scolding Julia, who appeared rather used to such treatment and surprisingly unflustered, the captain would bear no more.
“Ma’am!” he thundered. “I will not have you speak so poorly of Miss Waring!”
For which he received a dire glare and the threat that if he thought he might have the slightest chance of courting Miss Waring rather than Lady Serena, he was really very much mistaken. Julia paled at this, for it was clear her heart had been perfectly smitten from the outset.
And the captain? His response was unreadable. But that arrested look had suddenly appeared in the eyes of Robin, Lord Caraway. It was fortunate for Serena’s peace of mind that she did not notice it at all.
Chapter Nine
The preparations for Serena’s departure took no time at all, for she had been preparing for a week at least prior to Lord Robin’s sudden return to his estate. To make matters simpler, Serena had bought, from the previous owner, much of the furniture that now stood awaiting her arrival under Holland covers. It would be but a simple matter to whip them off, dust scrupulously—for this she had engaged the services of several house staff who even now awaited her orders—and move in.
There would be none of the usual frenetic hoisting of furniture through the upper French windows, none of the cavalcade of carriages arriving with kitchenware and linen and harpsichords—all these had already quietly and efficiently been installed, along with other essential instruments, a French chef—for Serena meant to entertain at least on a small scale—and sufficient candelabras with white wax candles to last, if not a lifetime, then a Season at least.
So it remained only for Serena’s personal effects to be packed—this was done in record time, for Serena’s taste was simplicity itself and she had none of the woes of worrying about feathered bonnets and muffs that might be crushed, or even which multitude of under-dresses to take and which to discard—all Serena’s were exquisitely stitched, but very similar in style and hue. She had been in mourning for her brother Spencer up until now, and so had had no real need for much more.
Now, as she glanced at herself in the large, gilded mirror that had been hers since she had been in swaddling cloths, she felt an odd twinge of dissatisfaction. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Lord Caraway admired periwinkle blue and that none of her gowns were that color save the one she had worn nearly a week ago, and which now awaited pressing and the refurbishment of a bit of lace. No, she told herself, Lord Caraway had nothing to do with it at all, but she simply must have her wardrobe updated in London. It was no good bringing Julia out if she looked like a regular crow. She’d scare away the suitors before they ever dared approach poor Julia.
And no, she would not don a mob cap as she’d intended. Her cropped copper locks would provide the perfect foil to Julia’s long, bright ringlets. No, indeed, Lord Caraway had nothing whatsoever to do with the matter. Still, as she threw in a sunflower silk ribbon she had never thought to wear again, its color being too frivolous by far for an old maid, Robin’s mysterious smile persisted in haunting her most damnably.
Lord Caraway, in the meanwhile, unaware of the turmoil he was causing, buried himself in the estate for all the world as though he had been born to it, rather than having had it thrust upon him. In two days, he had ridden the length and breadth of the property, inveigled himself into the affections of his tenants, and had had several interesting conversations with the gardeners, the small leaseholders, and the parish priest, all of which gave him the impression that Serena had had a lot more to do with the estate than he had first given her credit for, though naturally he had realized from the start that the smooth running of Castle Caraway itself had been due virtually entirely to her efforts.
But this was another matter. Apparently Gregory Mitchens had Serena to thank for the leak that had been stopped in his roof, and Mrs. Morrison’s smoky coal range had been repaired by dint of the ordering of a chimney sweep.
“And you would not believe what ’e found up me chimney, me lord, that you won’t,” the woman said archly. “It were no wonder it be smokin’ and all, but ’er ladyship like, she said that be awful dangerous, for what wiv all the dry tinder an’ all, the ’ole ’ouse could go up in a shake, like wot ’appened wiv Jimmy Tarradale wot lives on Lord Netherfield’s land, an’ she gave me a ’ole farthing, she did, to ’ave the chimney swept.”
Lord Robin, happy to compound Serena’s bounty with some of his own, added another farthing to the one already given and suggested this one be for a chicken in the stew pot. His popularity was instant, for there was no greater chatterbox than Mrs. Morrison, and you can be sure that curiosity about the new master of Caraway was rampant among his tenants, all of whom had been rumormongering and wondering and guessing about him since the days of the old lord, when his name had not been permitted a mention.
A few coins judiciously administered had unleashed other tongues, and most of them, he thought in bewilderment, made virtually no mention of Mr. Addington, and rather a great deal about Serena herself. In fact, when it came down to it, no one knew much about Addington at all, except some of the older crofters, who muttered vaguely that they supposed “ ’e ’ad ’loped off.”
If Robin had thought carefully, he would have realized that the crofters had responded to his casual questioning about “the bailiff” rather than about “Addington,” who no one would have known at all. Fortunately for Serena, he was not, at this point, thinking too clearly, so it was not until much later that he began to doubt the fabrication Serena had taken such care to produce.
It still was puzzling, though, that although everyone could remember the time mistress Serena had arrived with a rattle “for baby Ned, wot was born out of wedlock to Nanny Briggs and nearly went to the foundling home save for Mistress Serena argumenting most fiercely with the preacher”—nobody correspondingly spoke of Mr. Addington, who had made so many of the recommendations that had improved their lives.
Lord Robin, casting his mind back to one of those improvements, now asked Johnson, a farmhand, how the new well was performing.
“The well, me lord? It is the best thing wot ever ’appened to this place, it is! There ain’t no roundaboutation about it—the new well is a thousand times better than the old ’un, wot is crumblin’ in ruins and soilin’ the water-like, not to mention near dry, for whatever anyone may tell yer, that was no place to site a well an’ oi don’t know what the old lord was thinkin’ of, bless me boots!”
“So the new well is a definite improvement?” There was a smile in Robin’s voice, for the question was really rhetorical, given the enthusiasm of the small crowd gathered respectfully about him.
“Indeed it is, aye an’ that be for sure, for there ain’t now but a smidgeon of disease around here, what with the clean water an’ all.”
“Very good.” Lord Caraway nodded in agreement. “And the irrigation?”
“Oh, much better, me lord, since ’er ladyship showed us them newfangled ways. We ’ave some spring crops, we do, and that don’t never ’appen before, Caraway wot ’avin’ a later ’arvest than most. Reckon there will be summer crops too, wot with the tea and all.”
Robin then made a complete inspection of these said crops, and noted how neatly the rows had been sown, and how promising the first green buds appeared to be.
“Outstanding,” he commented, more to himself than to his listeners, but his words were met with rapt applause and again that strange, puzzling plaudit that it was all her ladyship’s doing. He let this pass, thinking that perhaps Addington had preferred to work quietly, and that Lady Serena, pretty and sympathetic, might have unwittingly claimed credit that was not strictly her due.
But when it came to the magnificent hall that stood proudly on the far east of his estate, he owned himself dumbfounded. Addington had written to him about something of the kind. If he recalled correctly, his permission had been required, though not his funds. It seemed that though the clubhouse was being built, the expenditure was not going to be offset against his inheritance.
All he’d had to do was to sign consent for the use of the land, which naturally he had done, as above all things, he trusted Addington’s judgment. He’d expected to see a modest barn-type structure, not something as palatial as this, with Caraway scribed beautifully above the carved, hinged door, and a stairway leading upstairs to a series of neat, well-swept rooms, modestly furnished and all serving very specific functions.
