by Dorothy Mack
Lord Altern looked up to see her eyes on his hand. “Ah, you have caught me out, Miss Latham. I have been indulging a decided partiality for these delicious muffins, which is another way of saying I am making a pig of myself.”
“The cook will be delighted, sir, but perhaps you should make that a brisk walk this morning,” she added teasingly before turning to thank Oliphant for the coffee he had just poured into her cup.
Emerald engaged Lord Altern’s attention in the interim, and Cleone, settling back with her raised coffee cup, exchanged a few remarks with her uncle until she became aware that Philip was trying by subtle signs to catch her eye. She permitted him to do so and was given to understand that he desired private speech with her. Since this had been her frustrated aim for the past thirty-six hours, she acted immediately after she had swallowed half of her coffee.
“If you will all please excuse me, there are things I must attend to,” she said with a smile, pushing back her chair from the table.
“I shall see you later, shall I not, Cleone?” her great-uncle inquired in, for him, mild accents.
“Yes, of course, Uncle.” She waved the other men to stay seated and took herself off before anyone could question her proposed activities.
Philip caught up with her five minutes later outside the ground-floor morning room the ladies used while the maids were doing up the bedchambers. It quickly became clear that he had no intention of discussing his plans to repay his gambling debt but had sought her out merely to beg a favour. He had torn his favourite blue coat on a branch and wondered if she could repair the tear.
“Of course,” she replied mechanically, “but, Philip, please tell me how you plan to get the money.”
“No, Cleo. I never should have told you anything about it. It isn’t a woman’s business to bother her head about such matters. Do not think of it again.”
“Rubbish! If I can help, of course you should tell me.”
“I’ll bring you the coat.”
She could not get another word from him on the subject.
A half-hour later, all the women were established in the morning room with their handwork when Oliphant showed Lord Altern in.
“Have you finished your business with your coachman, sir?” inquired Miss Hardwicke.
“Yes, thank you. John will allow the horses to rest today and take them on to Brighton tomorrow.”
“Oh, but there is no need for that, Lord Altern,” protested Lady Henley. “My father-in-law intends that you shall make use of his stables while you are here.”
“I would not dream of putting Lord Brestwick to the expense of housing my cattle and my coachman for that length of time, ma’am.”
“Nonsense, he will insist on doing so.”
“I have contracted for stable space in Brighton, ma’am. It is no inconvenience, I assure you, though I am grateful to Lord Brestwick for his generosity.”
“It will be much more convenient to have your coach already here when you are ready to leave.”
Miss Hardwicke, impatient with a conversation that held no interest for her, broke in at this point to suggest that such matters could be settled later. “Why should we waste this glorious morning arguing about boarding horses?” she challenged with a provocative pout of her pretty mouth.
“Why, indeed? I am at your disposal, ladies, whenever you are ready. Have you to fetch your bonnets?”
“They are right here,” said Cecily, popping hers on her head without benefit of a mirror, since her sister had already moved in front of the small gilt-framed mirror on the wall where she was arranging a charming hat of chip straw with yellow ribbons over her black curls.
Cleone continued to set small neat stitches in the garment she was mending, but she looked up to advise Cecily to tilt her bonnet a bit farther forward.
Lord Altern looked at her questioningly. “Will you not join us, Miss Latham? Could you not put off your project until later?” indicating the object in her lap.
“Oh, I will be finished mending Philip’s coat in a trice,” she explained smilingly, “but this is the morning I assist my uncle with his correspondence. He suffers from a bothersome arthritic condition in his hands, you know, and counts on me to act as his secretary.”
Lord Altern was looking fixedly at the sewing in her lap, and after a moment her brows rose in unspoken question. He seemed to recollect himself and bowed in acknowledgment.
“I am sorry that we shall not have the pleasure of your company, Miss Latham. Do you join us, ma’am?” He directed his polite invitation to Lady Henley, who replied that she feared she would find their explorations too fatiguing.
“Is Philip going with you?”
Lord Altern explained that Lord Henley had recalled an errand and would leave the pedestrian tour in his sisters’ capable hands. He took civil leave of the older ladies and left with a pretty guide on each arm.
It would have been a sterner spirit than Lord Altern who could fail to be entertained in the company of two such attractive and lively young ladies as the Hardwicke sisters. The grounds of Bramble Hall could not but please someone who preferred nature untamed by man’s interference everywhere, having achieved the unintentionally picturesque through years of benign neglect. The overgrown and broken maze was a child’s delight, and the huge banks of rhododendrons at the edge of the home wood put on a spectacular show each spring, his guides assured him. It would have taken an army of gardeners to restore the curving walks to their original design, but the estate did not employ an army of gardeners. Still, there were unexpected little corners where clumps of forgotten flowers bloomed defiantly to delight the eye of strollers.
The only area still in good order was the rose garden, which had been the late Lady Brestwick’s particular fancy. When Lord Altern commented most favourably on the variety and condition of the bushes, Cecily informed him that their cousin had taken on the project of restoring the rose garden, even doing some of the labour herself when the gardeners were at other tasks about the estate. She also supervised the work in the cutting garden to keep up the supply of flowers for the house.
“Your grandfather is very fortunate to have Miss Latham’s services.”
“Oh, yes, Cleo runs the whole place,” Cecily agreed blithely.
Lord Altern looked a trifle surprised. “Surely your mother —” he began.
“Mama is my grandfather’s hostess, of course,” Emerald said, “but her constitution is not strong. She could never assume the responsibility for this great barracks of a place. Grandfather commissioned Cleo to be his housekeeper long before we came here — oh, not for money like a servant,” she corrected as the gentleman’s brows rose, “but she takes care of anything that would overtax Mama’s strength.”
“Indeed,” murmured Lord Altern.
“Mama says Cleo is a godsend,” offered Cecily.
“Indeed,” repeated Lord Altern.
“Cleo’s interests are entirely confined to household affairs,” Miss Hardwicke put in hastily. “She has no taste for town living or society.”
“Then Miss Latham has never been out in London or elsewhere?”
“Oh, yes, she had a London season ages ago, but she didn’t take, as she will be the first to confess.” Emerald added the bright rider when Lord Altern’s penetrating grey eyes sent a little squiggle of discomfort down her spine. “But enough of talking about poor Cleone behind her back,” she declared even more brightly. “Why don’t we head toward the orchards?”
Lord Altern acquiesced readily to this suggestion and proved himself the perfect houseguest, willing to be pleased by his hosts’ efforts on his behalf. With ten years on the social scene behind him, he could play his part in this sort of agreeable semi-flirtatious dallying with half his brain while the rest of his intelligence pursued a separate course. His pretty guides never guessed that their attentive escort was mulling over two discoveries he had made earlier that morning, little things by themselves but oddly disturbing in context.
When
he had checked on his team after breakfast, he had noticed that one of the grooms working in the stables had a bandage tied around his left arm above the elbow. “What happened to him?” he had asked his coachman, nodding in the groom’s direction.
“He says he ran into a branch in t’dark.”
Jason had looked up from checking one of Beelzebul’s shoes. “Does anyone say differently?”
“He’s t’young master’s groom, tha see, and it seems like t’two went off last night and that one came back wi’ a bloody arm. They do say t’young master himself insisted on binding it up.”
“I see.” Jason had not been particularly impressed by the darkling tones of his coachman, but he had warned him to button his lips on the subject.
“Aye, but I’ll keep my eyes open, with your lordship’s permission.”
Jason had all but dismissed the incident from his mind when he entered the ladies’ parlour five minutes later and discovered Miss Latham mending a tear in a coat that belonged to young Henley — a blue coat whose outsize silver buttons had gleamed when she moved the garment in her lap. It could have been a coincidence; practically every man of his acquaintance owned a blue coat, though not with saucer-sized buttons. Jason, however, was not a firm believer in coincidence. In all likelihood, Philip Hardwicke and his groom were the men who had held up his coach.
What was the young idiot thinking of, playing highwayman, and in his own neighbourhood too? Would he have gone through with the robbery had he not recognized the crest on his victim’s carriage? Was it some kind of schoolboy prank, a wager perhaps? Would he try again — tonight, for instance? His grandfather had said there had been no trouble on that road for years, which would indicate that last night’s escapade had been the first. But was it? How effective were Lord Brestwick’s sources of information, living virtually retired, as his granddaughters claimed? It took him only a moment or two to conclude that if this area were anything like his own locality, the servants probably had connections among those of all the neighbouring families, so that objection was invalid. They would all hear of any strange events hereabouts. The attempt on his carriage must have been an isolated incident — so far. It queered him to know what his own position should be in this imbroglio except that for the time being, he would follow the advice he had given his coachman: he’d button his lip and keep his eyes open.
Having decided on his most immediate posture, Jason returned his full attention to the beautiful Miss Hardwicke, mildly surprised with himself that this delightful prospect should require any effort at all on his part.
CHAPTER 5
Luncheon passed without incident, with Lord Brestwick refraining from questioning his grandson about his morning activities. Cleone was able to relax and enjoy her meal, no strategic interventions being necessary. The conversation and their guest’s attention were monopolized by the old earl, which did not sit well with his granddaughter, but Emerald was not so unwise as to display her irritation. On the contrary, she visibly hung on her grandfather’s every word, applauding his stories and reinforcing her role of pretty deference to the head of the family. It was only when Lord Altern proposed to retire to some quiet spot to take care of some business correspondence that a tiny crack appeared in her facade of sweet acquiescence, but she made a quick recovery.
“I know all you ladies have dozens of things to attend to at this time of day where a man’s presence can only be a hindrance,” he had said, including all four in his charming smile, “so with your permission, I shall get out from under your feet for an hour or two to take care of some dull business correspondence. Is there an unused spot where I shall not be in the way, ma’am, or would you prefer that I retire to my quarters?” He had addressed the request to Lady Henley, affecting not to see the chagrin that flitted across Miss Hardwicke’s face before she got her expression under control.
His hostess hastened to assure him that he was welcome to make the green saloon and its secretary breakfront his during his stay at Bramble Hall.
Cleone silently saluted Lord Altern’s finesse in wangling himself some privacy and establishing a limit to the amount of time he was at everyone’s disposal. When Emerald gave the matter some thought, she too would no doubt be grateful for a little breathing room, but at the moment she was too busy dealing with a sense of pique to recognize the benefits of the situation. Accustomed to having dozens of swains competing for her attention in London, it wasn’t unreasonable that she should see Lord Altern’s action as a slight. Following on the heels of her social success, it would not occur to her that it was possible even for persons of the opposite sex who were strongly attracted to each other to experience a temporary surfeit of the other’s company. Cleone’s respect for Lord Altern’s diplomacy advanced apace.
She went about her accustomed routine after lunch, paying her usual visit to the kitchen to check with Mrs. Willet on the status of the meals. She also had an interview with the laundress, who would be needing additional help to cope with the drastic increase in laundry that having everyone home entailed. Both these ladies were most interested in hearing all about Miss Emerald’s suitor, and, since neither was likely to encounter him in the normal course of events, Cleone relented and gave each a thumbnail sketch of Lord Altern’s person. When asked directly by Mrs. Willet whether she approved of this fine lord for Miss Emerald, she called upon all the social skill at her command to explain that, while she thought she spoke for everyone in considering Lord Altern a charming and personable guest, there had been absolutely no talk in the family of a prospective betrothal. She could only hope that by tactfully emphasizing the latter aspect in her remarks to the shrewd Mrs. Willet, she could convey obliquely that such talk on a lower level would also be premature. Fortunately, Mrs. Mimms the laundress was a meek, simple soul who would never dream of questioning the actions of her betters, because Cleone was becoming weary of trying to smother the inevitable round of conjecture when anything out of the ordinary occurred within the family.
By the time she was able to escape from her staff, it was quite clear that all hope of stealing a few hours for painting must be abandoned, and in any case she had been cooped up indoors for every single minute of this lovely day. Guessing that Louisa should be up from her nap by now, Cleone detoured by her studio, though this was an exalted term for what was no better than an unused bedchamber, and collected a sketching block. She would give Nurse a little freedom while she took Louisa into the gardens. Perhaps if the child were cooperative, she could make a few preliminary sketches for the portrait she was planning to paint as a birthday present for Isabella.
Lord Altern found them there when, having dealt with his correspondence, he took advantage of his temporary privacy to wander out through the French doors in the green saloon into the shrubbery for the nefarious purpose of blowing a cloud. He had taken up cigar smoking in the Peninsula but was perfectly willing to confine his bad habit to the outdoors, London hostesses being united in detestation of the lingering aroma of cigar smoke in their houses. The birds must have been resting, because the only sounds to break the summer stillness were those of buzzing insects and his own footfalls on the gravel walks as he strolled about enjoying the soft air and the pungent tobacco.
He went where his feet took him and came unexpectedly upon Miss Latham sitting on a stone bench some dozen yards ahead when he rounded a turn in the shrubbery. Her attention was concentrated on the pad in her lap on which she was writing or drawing, and he paused, uncertain whether she would welcome or resent the intrusion of another human into her happy solitude. She looked very purposeful and quite contented, and he had almost decided to retreat when a stealthy movement behind Miss Latham caught his eye. His rather firm mouth softened as he watched the progress of a tiny figure in a white dress obviously intent on sneaking up on Miss Latham undetected. The intended victim must have noted the tell-tale sounds of moving branches — he could hear them from his position — but she continued to wield her pencil as though sublimely unaware of her d
anger until two chubby hands reached up and covered her eyes from behind. Miss Latham produced a splendid squeal of fear and turned, sweeping her giggling tormentor into her arms.
“You little imp, you frightened me out of a year’s growth,” she scolded, gathering the little girl onto her lap. She glanced up from her wriggling burden as footsteps sounded and smilingly greeted the man approaching.
“Good afternoon, Lord Altern.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Latham. I trust you are fully recovered from your fright by now.” He kept his expression sober as fine dark eyes glowed up at him briefly before she removed her glance to the little girl on her lap, who had stopped squirming and was now hiding her face against her shoulder.
“Yes, thank you, sir. May I present Miss Louisa Hardwicke? Come now, my pet, can you not shake hands with Lord Altern?” She gently turned the child’s face toward the smiling man, who bent down with his hand extended.
“How do you do, Miss Hardwicke?”
It was touch and go for a moment, but at last the little girl allowed her hand to be taken in his large clasp for a split second while huge green eyes peeped up at him from the safety of her protectress’s embrace.
“I’m afraid Louisa is very shy with strangers, sir, especially men,” Miss Latham explained.
“She’s an enchanting mite, a perfect replica of her eldest sister.”
“They are not at all alike,” Miss Latham refuted swiftly, then reading surprise in the cool grey eyes looking down at her, amended her denial. “There is a strong physical resemblance, of course, but the girls are very unlike in personality. Louisa has not her sister’s intrepidity or her ease of manner. Wait till you see Emerald on a horse.”
“I have had the pleasure of riding in the park with Miss Hardwicke,” Lord Altern returned smoothly. “She is indeed an accomplished horsewoman.” He saw that his companion’s faint air of tension had eased. She had regretted that fervent denial of similarity between the sisters and had covered it cleverly, but he could not help wondering what lay behind it. He smiled again at the little girl watching him solemnly. “The green eyes are extraordinary, are they not? — and quite rare. I can only recall one or two others over the years, and they were blondes.”