by Joan Smith
They went over their plan a few times, Cressida got her dark mantle, then had Antonia smuggled down to the library, where they had extinguished the lights so Gaunt could not see in. The plan began auspiciously enough, although the darkness outside was a little frightening when they first stepped out. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, Cressida could see the park spreading before her, spotted with darker shadows that were trees and bushes. A pale white moon looked down from the black heavens. The breeze from the sea was chilly.
Beau offered Gaunt a cigar, and they stepped off a few paces to protect Lady deCourcy from the smoke. She began to walk away from the house into the park, toward the shadowed concealment of the spreading elm, where she stopped. No, she must go a little farther, though it really was rather frightening. The library door was easily distinguishable from there, if Gaunt should chance to look. The leaves above, stirred by the breeze, emitted a menacing hiss.
She was just about to continue, when a form came lunging out from behind the tree to attack her. She felt her arms being seized and pulled roughly behind her. Fear jolted her heart, momentarily holding her speechless with terror. Who could it be? Was it Harold, come early? No, he could not be here yet. She couldn’t see her attacker, who was behind her, but she felt the rough strength in his hands and arms. Her heart banged in her throat.
She was just summoning breath and courage to shout, when the strong hands on her arms suddenly loosened their grip. Why had he let her go? She emitted one ear-splitting scream, then jerked away and began to run. Her attacker grabbed the tail of her mantle and pulled her back roughly.
“Cressida?” the man asked in an incredulous voice.
She recognized that voice. Turning to peer over her shoulder, she saw the unmistakable form of Lord Dauntry. While still digesting this unwelcome fact, she heard running footsteps, and soon Beau and Gaunt were at her side. She cast one quick peek at the library doors and saw a dark form slip out. Antonia did not realize the scream was genuine, that Dauntry was there. It might still work. Antonia had escaped unseen.
“What the devil is going on?” Dauntry demanded. “Cressida, why are you out alone at night? What is the point of my guarding the house if you choose to leave it? If I had been a ken smasher, I might have killed you.”
Her mind went temporarily blank. She just stared at Dauntry with guilt writ large on her face. Fortunately, Beau came to her rescue.
“Why, she was not alone, milord. We came out together. Sid had a migraine, wanted a breath of air. I came out with her. I was just blowing a cloud with Gaunt, not two steps away.”
“You are not paid to blow a cloud, Gaunt, but to protect Lady deCourcy’s house,” Dauntry said angrily.
“My fault, milord. I gave him the cigar,” Beau said. “How is the migraine, Sid? Feeling better now, I hope?”
“Much better,” she said foolishly, swallowing a gulp.
Behind Dauntry's back, Beau winked. Cressida assumed he had also seen Antonia leave the library. “I think you can go back inside now,” he said. “Dashed foolish of you to wander off into the dark, Sid. You ought to have waited for me. I was just asking Gaunt if there had been any action. Quiet as the grave out here, he tells me. That is a good thing, eh?”
At this point, Sandy, who had been patrolling the house, caught his mistress’s scent and went howling past in pursuit, as if she were a long-lost bone.
“Chasing a rabbit, very likely,” Beau said. “Well, I shall continue my stroll, help Gaunt keep an eye on things. Why don’t you take Lord Dauntry inside, Sid? Give him a glass of wine.”
Dauntry realized he had stumbled into the middle of an imbroglio and fully expected Cressida would find an excuse to be rid of him. To his astonishment, she gave a weak, guilty smile and latched on to his arm.
“Yes, do come inside, Dauntry. I am still a little shaken. You run along, Beau. I shan’t let Dauntry attack you,” she added, beginning to recover. The house was the best place for him until Beau and Antonia got safely away.
Beau went whistling off into the darkness. When Sandy’s barks turned to yelps of delight, Cressida knew he had met up with his mistress. She drew Dauntry toward the library, chatting brightly. “You gave me quite a turn, Dauntry, lurking in the park like a hedgebird. I hope that is not a regular habit.”
“Not at all,” he said, holding the library door for her to enter. “Why are the lights extinguished? I collect you and Beau left from the library, as the doors are open?”
“It is much easier to see out the window if the lamps are not lit. We were on the qui vive for the intruder,” she explained.
Dauntry busied himself with relighting the lamps. “I assume Miss Wantage is still occupying the saloon?”
“Very likely. Would you care for a few hands of Pope Joan?” They exchanged a speaking glance.
“Or we could remain here.”
“If you like.”
“We would not want to scandalize Saint Wantage. I fancy the tale you are about to tell me is not fit for delicate ears,” Dauntry said.
“Tale? Why, whatever can you mean, Dauntry?” she asked, assuming an air of nonchalance.
“I am not a cretin, Cressida. It is clear to the meanest intelligence that you are running some rig.”
“You have a poor opinion of me!”
“On the contrary, I have a high opinion of your pluck and intelligence, to say nothing of your powers of dissimulation. It is hardly your fault if Tony and Harold have made egregious asses of themselves. Now, tell me what happened.”
“Tony?” she asked in a weak voice. “Harold? What—why should you leap to the conclusion it has anything to do with them? They are on their way north, are they not?”
“I think not. I was not certain that green and white skirt I saw fleeing your saloon was Tony’s, though it looked familiar. I thought the surfeit of sugar in the cup might possibly have been Jennet’s doing, though Tony has the same revolting habit. It was not until Brewster’s flying visit this evening that I became fairly sure what was afoot. Sandy’s joyful yelps merely confirmed it. Then when I recalled Sandy’s love of shoes, there was no longer any possibility of doubt. Have Tony and Harold run into a muddle so soon? What happened, were they robbed, thus cutting short the honeymoon?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. Brewster has been promising to call ever since I met him.”
“Very likely, but a gent don’t make his first call after dinner in the evening. And why did he head north instead of going home when he left?”
“Have you been spying on me?”
“Use your wits! Of course I have. Are Harold and Tony putting up at Melbury’s place? Why the devil did she not just write me to send her money?”
“You are quite mistaken—about everything.”
“Am I mistaken that Beau saw a blond lady at the cottage? Good God! Don’t tell me Tony has left her bridegroom, after pestering me to death to let her marry him!” He read the astonishment on her face. “So that’s it!”
“You must not be angry with her, Dauntry. It was not all her fault by a long chalk.”
“I agree it takes two to create a quarrel. What was his part in it? You might as well tell me, or I shall suspect only the worst. Surely to God it was not another woman?”
“No! How can you say such a thing? It was an excess of brandy on their wedding night. He fell into an argument below stairs at the inn.”
“Mawworm! She would have forgiven him if he had asked her nicely.”
“Unfortunately, he was in no position to do so.”
“Drank himself into a stupor, did he?” Dauntry asked, his lips moving in amusement.
“Worse. Drank himself into the roundhouse. She didn’t know what to do and came home.”
Dauntry just shook his head in frustration. “She lacks your venturesome spirit. I wager Lady deCourcy would not turn tail and run in such a circumstance.”
“Indeed I would run—to the roundhouse to ring a peal over the constable. She behaved ver
y foolishly, but she is young, and so is Harold. They have made up their differences and hoped to get away again before you—anyone—knew what had happened.”
“So I am to feature as the ogre in this Cheltenham farce, am I?”
“Yes,” she said bluntly, “and I wish you will pretend to be in ignorance of the whole thing, Dauntry, for it is exceedingly humiliating for them.”
“I am not likely to broadcast such a jape about my own family. The foolish chit ought to have come to me. There is no excuse for her battening herself on you, no doubt causing a deal of mischief.”
“She was no trouble at all—once I knew who she was. It was the confusion of things disappearing, and noises in the attic, and trays being taken to the cottage. It was Harold who caused more trouble, pretending to be Melbury, and breaking into my room last night. Tory added her bit, lying her head off.”
“Now, there is a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black. You are no stranger to lies yourself, madam.”
“I promised to help Tony. A few minor evasions seemed a small price to pay.”
“As my sister would not think to thank you, may I now tender my appreciation for your efforts on her behalf? I think Tony might have come to her brother with her problem. And you, shrew, might have come to your landlord.”
“Speaking of lies, and landlords ...”
“You know my excuse—er, reason. That missing letter could prove vital. The safety of England must come above all else.”
“I am not an ogre either, milord. You might have told me the truth. Now that all is out in the open, I have a recommendation to make. Take those three unnecessary footmen, send them to the cottage, and tear the place apart until you find the letter.”
“I shall send them home. The letter will not be found buried beneath a floor, or between the joints of a wall.” He went to the door and gave Gaunt the word that the footmen could leave.
“Tell me all about Tony and Harold’s tribulations. I could use a good laugh,” he said, settling himself comfortably on the sofa.
She told the story as she knew it, from the first night when Miss Wantage had heard noises in the attic, through Tory’s insisting it was bats, Antonia being hustled from attic to cottage and back again when Dauntry spent so much time at the cottage looking for the letter.
“She has given you a poor notion of the intelligence of the Dauntrys,” he said.
“Not in the least, I already had a poor opinion of the Dauntrys’ intelligence before I met her. How you could think I wanted to hire the dower house when I said specifically the little Swiss cottage on the cliff is beyond me. I think you misunderstood on purpose.”
“Now, that, my dear, is an extremely provocative statement to make to an unexceptionable gentleman.”
“Unexceptionable! You have a high opinion of yourself, for a liar!”
Miss Wantage exploded into the room like Jehovah. “Cressida! Really, this is the outside of enough. As if entertaining a gentleman alone were not bad enough, you have to revile him, after all his kindness to us. It is small wonder you are still single at your age.”
Dauntry rose, trying to maintain some shred of civility. “Mere persiflage, madam. No offense was taken, I promise you.”
“You are foolishly generous, milord. To forgive such behavior is tantamount to encouraging it. But I did not come here to ring a peal over Lady deCourcy, for she told me she and Beau were going to the library to study his yacht.” An edge of suspicion tinged her voice as she turned back to Cressida. “How did you get rid of Beau? Is he in on this tryst as well? Corrupting a minor along with all the rest!”
“Beau stepped out to blow a cloud,” Cressida said through clenched lips.
“A filthy habit.” Miss Wantage turned her gimlet gaze back to Dauntry. “I did not see you come in. Very odd, as I never left the saloon until I came here. You must have sneaked in by the library door.”
“I entered by the library door, if it is of any interest whatsoever to you.”
“I am Lady deCourcy’s chaperon. Naturally, her carrying on with a gentleman she feels obliged to term a liar is of interest to me.” She turned her back pointedly on Dauntry and said to Cressida, “You will never get a decent husband carrying on in this way, miss. You will do nothing but lose whatever remains of your reputation, which is not much, from what I hear.”
“You are mistaken,” Dauntry said, his nostrils pinching dangerously. “Lady deCourcy already has a husband—if she wants him.”
Miss Wantage stood silent a moment, then, without offering either apologies or congratulations, she said, “I came here to inform you that those footmen his lordship sent over have run off and left us unprotected, Cressida. Like master, like servant.”
On this leveler, she turned and stalked off.
“So there,” Dauntry said, and resumed his seat.
Chapter Seventeen
The air of discomfort in the library was not all due to Miss Wantage’s outburst, but it was of this that Cressida spoke.
“I should go and speak to her,” she said.
“It is for Miss Wantage to apologize to you. After her behavior, I should give her her congé, if she were in my employ.”
“But she is not a servant, Dauntry. She is one of those removed cousins, whatever that may be. In any case, she runs from relative to relative, retailing all the family gossip. I had best hang on to whatever vestige of my reputation I still have after this night’s work.”
“Nonsense! You have done nothing wrong. If society thinks you have, then I want you to know I was serious when I said you have a husband if you want one.”
She looked for signs of romance, and saw only a scowling visage. A duty proposal, then, to protect her name. “I am gratified by the honor you do me.”
“Don’t talk such fustian!”
Cressida gave an impatient twitch and resumed her speech. “But despite the honor, I cannot—”
“Forget the honor. What is your answer?”
“Will you stop interrupting? I had a nice speech all ready, and you have made me lose my place.”
“You were anticipating an offer, then?” he asked mischievously.
“During my years in London I have received a few offers, I have a standard speech prepared for such contingencies. I might have known Miss Wantage would shame you into offering eventually.”
“I have no shame. Nor do I give a tinker’s curse what that harpy says or does. The world must know her reputation by now. Never mind your set speech. I think you and I would deal admirably. I love you. Will you marry me?”
He was still scowling, but his eyes betrayed a different mood—of uncertainty, and hope.
“No! We should not deal admirably in the least. You only think you know me. I am not at all the sort of dasher you take me for, despite my reputation. I would not condone your using the cottage as your papa used it, for example. I know my friends make a joke of such things. Well, it is society’s way. I can tolerate it in others, but never in my own husband.”
“Then we are agreed on the basic principles— faithful till death do us part.”
She peered at him from the side of her eyes. “From the way you are glaring at me, that will not be long.”
“I am not glaring.”
“You are so, ogre!”
His rough frown softened to a smile as he gazed into those glimmering emerald eyes. She sat, waiting in perfect stillness, like a cat who might permit herself to be stroked if he moved very carefully. He saw an untamed spirit trapped in the body of a beautiful lady with an exquisite face.
His arms reached for her. “Shrew!”
Her lips trembled into a smile as his lips seized hers and pressed them with a kiss. When she did not object, his arms tightened around her until the breath caught in her lungs, growing and expanding until she felt ready to burst. Her arms looped around his neck, with one hand gently palming his cheek. This was what had been missing with other gentlemen; this sense of wholeness, of finding the other half of herse
lf, of peace. But it was a very exciting peace. As the kiss deepened, she forgot about the peace and merely tried to capture for all time this first ecstasy of loving, and being loved.
When he released her, they just gazed quietly at each other a moment with wildly dilated eyes.
“Is that a yes?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Yes, Dauntry. I will marry you, if you are sure—”
He seized her two hands and raised them to his hot lips. “I have never been surer of anything in my life.”
“Then it is settled. Shall we tell Miss Wantage?”
“The hell with Miss Wantage,” he said, and kissed her again.
At the sound of heavy footfalls beyond the door, they drew reluctantly apart, expecting to see Miss Wantage. It was Tory who came in, holding Antonia’s soiled suit and one good slipper.
“I wonder now,” she said while her eyes trotted all over the couple, who sat close together on the sofa, “Shall I just throw this old suit of yours into the dustbin, your ladyship, or will you be wanting to see if it can be rescued?” Her wandering eyes settled on Cressida in a commanding way. “It is all over dust and grime from that tumble you took from your mount the other day.”
“Dustbin,” Dauntry said. “The game is over, Tory. I know Tony was here, and if I did not, you may be sure I would recognize the suit she wore on her honeymoon. It was one of her chief concerns for a week.”
“I’ll just check the pockets, then,” Tory said, unashamed at being caught dead to rights. “It would be a pity to throw out a good handkerchief or a bit of loose change.”
She rifled through the pockets and drew out a crumpled bit of paper. “What is this?” she asked, frowning over it. “I cannot make heads or tails of it. It must be French, though it don’t look quite like it either, all jumbled up with numbers. Some game she and Lord Harold were playing, very likely, before the gossoon went and drank hisself into a stupor.”
She crumpled the paper up and was about to drop it in the wastebasket when Dauntry suddenly stiffened. “Let me see it,” he said in an excited voice.