The Curious Rogue

by Joan Vincent

  “He must have been terribly hurt.” She gasped. “Even as I was by Father’s death.” This sudden realization of the root cause of all her anger and hatred shocked her. “I turned against all things French,” she murmured aloud, “and Cavilon—his overly foppish dress and mannerisms could all have been caused by a violent reaction to this woman’s having played falsely with him.”

  And you, too, rejected him, came the sobering thought. You rejected him harshly and without good cause or genteel manners. Perturbed, Elizabeth hurried from her room and down the stairs. At the foot of them she encountered Niles.

  “I am going for a walk but shall return in time for tea,” she told him.

  “Should I call Spense to go with you, miss?”

  “I am not in London now, Niles. Lady Waddington cannot object to my walking in my uncle’s woods,” she returned sharply.

  “As you say, miss,” the butler said impassively. He walked before her and opened the doors.

  Now, why did you have to snap at him? Elizabeth rebuked herself as she strode down the gravel drive, then turned south to go into the woods beyond the rambling manor house. Entering them, her steps slowed as she stepped over brambles and broken limbs. Her thoughts became calmer.

  Why should you he so upset? she asked herself. Cavilon is in London. You are here. You never made any commitment to the man. In fact, you were tactlessly brutal about your feelings towards him. Lady Juliane must have misunderstood the reason for my return here. Her letter changes nothing.

  But would it have, her conscience questioned, if you had known what she has written before your last encounter with the comte?

  Shaking herself, Elizabeth forced the question aside. She stamped forward, trying to find relief in physical exertion. Her thoughts left Cavilon and moved towards her father. Then they strangely mingled. A deep sorrow filled her.

  Suddenly she was very tired. Looking about, Elizabeth saw that she had come much deeper into the woods than she had meant, but she breathed a sigh of thanksgiving for the privacy this gave her. She sat beneath the shade of the large beech trees. Tears welled in her eyes.

  Nothing is right anymore, she bemoaned her present circumstances. My steady, safe world has gone awry, and there is nothing I can do to set it right. She hung her head and huge tear drops fell onto her skirt. For the first time in many years Elizabeth cried freely, sobbed deeply.

  Sometime later the tears slowed, but the ache held stubbornly fast. Elizabeth attempted to dry her eyes with the edge of her skirt.

  “La, Miss Jeffries, must you be so thorough in everything you do?” a nasal voice drawled at her side.

  Elizabeth started violently, “Cavilon,” she gasped, disbelieving the sight in puce satin and lace before her.

  “It is terribly un-English to carry on so.” The comte tossed his second kerchief to her lap. “But seeing how you have done a—” he tapped his cheek reflectively, “I believe it is called ‘a bloody good job of it’, I daresay it can be disregarded as unpatriotic.”

  For a moment anger surged through Elizabeth; then, studying Cavilon’s ridiculous pose and considering his even more absurd words, she burst into laughter.

  Cavilon fluttered his lace kerchief to his lips to conceal his relieved smile.

  Elizabeth held out her hand, and then withdrew it. “I forgot. You mustn’t soil your gloves,” she teased, still laughing.

  “But if they are removed, then they cannot be soiled,” Cavilon said lightly, deftly removing the white gloves and tossing them to the ground. With an elaborate bow, he offered his hand to assist her.

  His sudden seriousness dispelled the foppishness, but the look was gone in an instance. An awkward silence descended as Elizabeth stood, conscious only of the firm gentleness of his hold.

  “My lord.” She finally removed her hand. “How do you come to be here? I would not have thought our English countryside would be attractive to you.”

  “La, Miss Jeffries, even I tire of... society. I... my dear, what are you doing?” Cavilon feigned shock.

  “There is no reason to waste a perfectly good pair of gloves,” she told him, picking his off the ground. Elizabeth handed them to him. “And now, will you tell me why you are here? Are you a guest of Lord Tenbury?”

  “I doubt that he would think so. I won his estate in a game of hazard,” Cavilon noted carefully.

  “It certainly was a hazardous game for Lord Tenbury,” Elizabeth said with lightly concealed surprise.

  “A lesson to the unwise,” the comte quipped. He smiled.

  “I am most pleased to see you somewhat restored to your usual mien, Miss Jeffries. Was the matter serious?”

  “My lord, we all know you are never serious,” she answered lightly.

  “La, you have understood me perfectly. Can you not see how well we would deal together?”

  “Uncle Henry would not agree, but then he does not value his toilet as highly as you do yours. Nor is his as... striking as yours.” She paused, a finger on her chin, and surveyed him from peruke to shoes.

  “Dare I hope, Miss Jeffries, that you are not of your uncle’s thinking?” he asked, half serious, half teasing.

  “Oh, I assure you, my lord, I think your dress as memorable as Uncle Henry does,” she quipped.

  Cavilon retreated. “And how do Tom and his four-footed friend fare?”

  “Why, you remember his name!” Elizabeth said, surprised. “Actually, once we found Aunt Waddie’s—Lady Waddington,” she explained. Her inflection warning Cavilon not to utter the quip on the tip of his tongue. “Once we found her vinaigrette and explained that Barney was not a lion all went fairly well.

  “I am currently trying to teach Tom how to be a page but,” she shrugged hopelessly, “I doubt I have the patience for such work. The experience has almost destroyed my hopes of being a governess.” She forced a smile. “But it will soon go better.”

  “Have you thought Tom might be better suited to being a groom—having worked with animals, that is?” the comte suggested with a yawn.

  Elizabeth frowned deeply at him, and then shook her head when she realized that he simply baited her with his attitude. “I shall consider that,” she finally said with a begrudging smile.

  “Now I must go... before Barney is sent in search of me. Naturally the distance to Ashly is too far for you to even consider walking,” she noted dryly.

  “Naturellement,” Cavilon agreed with a wry smile. “But I shall see you again... ma petite.”

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth laughed gently. “Perhaps,” she said softly. Waling away from him briskly, she retraced her steps. A short distance away she paused briefly and glanced back to find Cavilon still gazing after her. On impulse she waved at him, but turned before he could respond.

  If nothing else is in his behalf, she thought, he can make me laugh.

  * * *

  Barney’s loud barking told Elizabeth that she was nearing Ashly. At the edge of the wood she halted and watched a rider mount and ride away. When he was out of sight, she dashed forward thinking he might have brought word from her brother.

  Hearing the front doors slam, Lady Waddington paused at midstair.

  Elizabeth hurried to her. “Was that a message from Morton?” She saw regret cross her aunt’s features.

  “No, my dear. The rider brought an invitation. The Chatsworths are having a day party on Tuesday next. From the note Mrs. Chatworth enclosed, I gather that it is to be an elite gathering. I am so happy we were able to do some shopping before Henry rushed us home. I do hope he returns in time to escort us.”

  “Yes,” murmured Elizabeth, wondering if the comte would be at the gathering.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Looking from her window the morn after the invitation was received, Elizabeth saw a rider approaching Ashly and recognized the younger Miss Chatworth. She smiled, looking forward to a coze.

  Suzanne Chatworth, although five years younger, was a close friend of Elizabeth’s. The pair had enjoyed trips to the
lending library in Ashford, as well as long walks and other country pursuits permitted to ladies of genteel upbringing ever since the younger was released from the schoolroom. Suzanne’s lighter, more effusive nature effectively balanced Elizabeth’s more serious inclinations. They took great pleasure in their visits.

  This morn Suzanne’s colour was more heightened than usual as she flowed into the small salon where the two oft met. She pursed her lips tightly, took a seat opposite her friend, and primly removed her gloves.

  “You shall burst,” Elizabeth told her dryly, “if you keep the news inside a moment longer. I know that look.”

  Suzanne scooted to the edge of her seat, but she eased back when Lady Waddington came into the salon. She fielded all of Lady Waddington’s queries about the day party with effusive babble. Her girlish chatter brought Lady Madeline to a standstill, and she excused herself.

  “I thought Lady Waddie would never leave,” Suzanne exclaimed the moment the door closed. She jumped up eagerly and plopped down on the sofa beside Elizabeth. “My mother made me promise on my honour not to tell Lady Waddie who is coming to our day party,” Suzanne trilled the word, “but that does not include you.

  “It will be the most glamorous party we have ever had.” She clapped her hands in delight. “You must wear your very best gown, for there are to be two eligibles present.” Suzanne paused and wrinkled her nose at Elizabeth’s lack of interest.

  “There will be Lord Fromby, who is visiting with the Newcombs... and... Comte de Cavilon. Father says he is quite plump in the pocket and an excellent catch. Do you think I might stand a chance of snaring him?” She patted a golden curl into place.

  “Why... why I would not think you would want to,” Elizabeth stuttered. “I mean, I thought there was a gentleman who had captured your heart two years past.

  “It really does not matter to me if you wish to try for the comte, but you must realize he is vastly different from the gentlemen we are accustomed. Why, he does not hunt or ride and goes about in powdered peruke and even wears facial powder and rouge.

  “What became of that young man you have always refused to name?” Elizabeth asked, developing a sudden interest in her friend’s past love.

  With a wave of her hand Suzanne dismissed the question. “Is the comte quite old then?” she asked. “Perhaps I might wed him and become a wealthy widow.”

  “Suzanne!” Elizabeth looked askance at her friend. “How can you say such a thing? Comte de Cavilon is... Well, he is neither young nor old, but not young enough to make you a suitable husband nor old enough to make you soon a widow.

  “But why ask me about him?” she ended exasperatedly, upset as much by the other’s interest as by her voiced intent.

  “Because,” Suzanne leaned close, “Lady Waddie called on Mother shortly after you returned. You should have heard what she said about the comte. Most unfit for maidenly ears,” she tisked.

  “Then why did you listen?” Elizabeth’s annoyance tinged her words.

  “It was so fascinating. Comte de Cavilon offered for someone known to Lady Waddie. A shame she did not say who.” Suzanne sighed, watching Elizabeth closely. “But she did tell Mother that he rescued you both from a terrible carriage accident while you were in London, so I knew you had seen him. Is he ghastly handsome?”

  “No. Yes... I mean no. And the accident was minor.” Miss Jeffries felt her cheeks grow warm.

  “Why Elizabeth, are you angry at me?” Suzanne asked.

  “Of course not,” she returned contritely.

  “Then tell me about Comte de Cavilon. Perhaps he will save me from being put on the shelf as you have been.” She arched an eyebrow.

  “I doubt you will find the comte that appealing,” Elizabeth said curtly,

  “Oh, we shall see,” the other said with a coy smile.

  Watching the coquettish pose, Elizabeth began to wonder what her friend was about. She surely did not mean to try for Cavilon?

  “You are interested in the comte?” Suzanne questioned.

  Elizabeth forced a laugh. “Of course not.”

  “I am so happy to hear that,” Suzanne said, rising. “Now I must go. There is so much to be done.” She brushed the other’s cheek with a kiss. “No need to see me out.

  “Remember, wear your most attractive gown. We can, perhaps, interest Lord Fromby in you,” Suzanne prattled, and fluttered from the salon.

  The visit prompted Elizabeth to go to her room and examine her suddenly meagre wardrobe. The most stylish of her gowns was the icy green muslin she had worn to the Tretains’ ball. At odds with her usual practical nature, she dismissed it as impossibility.

  “I don’t know what to wear Tuesday for the Chatworths’ party,” she told Spense, who had entered with some daygowns she had just finished ironing.

  “Why, the green muslin, miss,” the abigail answered, taken aback by this sudden interest in gowns.

  “No, I cannot wear it. If only the other gowns we ordered while in London had been delivered. The deep blue would have been perfect. It was soft muslin with the new high waistline,” she told an astounded Spense, “trimmed at the sleeve, hem, and neckline with a deeper blue piping and white lace. A knock turned Elizabeth to the door. Yes?”

  “Sir Henry has returned,” Niles told her. “He wishes to see you at once.”

  “Oh, he will have news of Tom,” she said excitedly, “Leave things as they are. We shall continue when I return.”

  * * * *

  Sir Henry greeted his niece cordially. “Happy to see you looking so fit. Hoped you wouldn’t have any nonsense like pining away for that Cavilon. Rumours abound in London about the man. Some say he won Tenbury’s lands in a game of hazard. They are all wondering why he has disappeared without a word.” Sir Henry shook his head.

  “Knew my decision was for the best.” He patted her clumsily on the shoulder. “Your trip to London was not a total loss,” he said, smiling brightly. “I have brought the gowns you and Madeline ordered. Thought you might enjoy having them.”

  “Oh, thank you, Uncle Henry,” she said, filled with relief. “But what of Tom?”

  A subtle hardening of the lines across his features portended ill. “The lad will have to return to London.”

  “But why?”

  “He ran away from his master three months past and must be returned,” he told her firmly.

  “Tom said he was an orphan,” Elizabeth protested.

  “That is true enough, but he was bound to a Mr. Bickle before his father died and must serve his term. The law is not to be mocked.”

  “But there must have been some reason for him to run away. What work did this man have him do?”

  “Honest work—a chimney sweep.”

  “Don’t you see, Uncle? Tom is getting much too large for that kind of work. You yourself have told me of the abuses, how some masters light fires beneath the boys’ feet to force them up the chimneys. You cannot mean to send Tom back,” Elizabeth pleaded.

  “I am satisfied that Mr. Bickle is a fair man. He will not use the lad in the chimneys but for running errands. The matter is no longer in my hands. Mr. Bickle came with me. He will take Tom back in the morn. This will be for the best. We cannot have you taking in every ragamuffin you see.

  “Now go and try on the gowns. That will raise your spirits,” Sir Henry told her gruffly, his conscience beginning to trouble him.

  “Has Tom been told? No, then I will do so,” Elizabeth said and hurried from the room. Going outdoors, she heard Barney’s angry barks coming from the stable. When she entered, she saw a sparse man towering over Tom. Only Barney prevented him from thrashing the boy soundly. Rushing forward, she grabbed the dog by the collar.

  “Quiet, Barney. Quiet, now,” Elizabeth commanded. She was amazed when he obeyed.

  “The lad be mine,” the man said belligerently.

  “But not yours to abuse. He will go with you in the morn,” she retorted.

  “Ye’ll not be taking that beast with ye,” Bic
kle swore looking past her at the lad. His eyes went back to Elizabeth and wavered. He turned and stomped out of the stable.

  “Ye ain’t lettin’ him take me?” Tears welled in Tom’s eves. “Ye can’t let me go. Ye don’t know what he’ll do to me.”

  “I know,” Elizabeth put an arm about the boy’s shaking shoulders, “but you must go with him. It will only be for a short time, though. I promise.”

  Huge, tear-filled eyes were raised to hers. “Ye promise?”

  “Yes,” she swore, “and I’ll take care of Barney till you return.”

  “God bless ye, miss.” The lad pressed her hand gratefully. “I believe ye’ll do it.”

  The lad’s trust shook Elizabeth. What if she were unable to do as she had promised?

  Returning to the house, she hurried to her room. The abigail had removed the blue gown from its box and laid it across the bed. A glance at it sent Elizabeth to her writing desk.

  “You may go, Spense.” She motioned for the abigail to leave. “I will call you when I need you. Seated before the desk, Elizabeth drew out paper and dipped her pen. Did she dare ask this of Cavilon?

  I have to, there is no one else, she thought, and hurriedly wrote.

  * * * *

  Early next morn Elizabeth stole from the house. She found Tom in the stables. Giving the lad the few coins she had, she instructed him to do as his master commanded and remain out of trouble until his bond was purchased. This done, she accepted the piece of rope he had tied to Barney’s collar.

  “Best keep him close to ye, miss,” Tom instructed. “Yer the only one ‘sides me he pays a mind to. And he may try‘n follow me. Old man Bickle’ll harm him if he ‘as the chance,” he ended.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll see to his care. Now do as I told you.”

  “Aye, miss.”

  Farewells done, Elizabeth tugged at Barney’s collar and managed to get him to follow. Halfway to the house the huge dog suddenly halted and looked back to the stables with a soft whine. Tom ran to them and hugged the large animal tightly.